#and I would move out for this reason alone. but I can’t. I can’t afford it nor do I want to live in an apartment.

[artificial-condition]

Ignoring the person you’re upset with and refusing to tell them what you’re mad about and withdrawing from everyone is not a healthy way to express anger or upset. It makes everyone around you miserable and isn’t productive in any way

[deityofhearts]

rn I’m getting through life by romanticizing the idea of me living in a bigger city (not like. new york sized but like just one of our bigger neighboring cities) and working as a librarian or library assistant there or something and having a quiet simply life and a regular routine that I go about

[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[paperultra]

the liminal space.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 1,575 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol use [A/N: written with the cooper!reader from mise en rose in mind. i don't know where in the timeline this occurs, though. lol.]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Living in close quarters can really change how you see a person.

Roronoa Zoro, for instance, had always struck you as rather aloof, having traveled alone for some time before you joined him, and unused to physical affection. He never gave any indication that he was one to enjoy it, and he never sought it out from anyone. That certainly wasn’t odd. You respected his tendency towards personal space, subsequently believing that it extended to his sleeping habits as well.

So when you wake up, hardly able to breathe underneath the hulking mass of a snoring swordsman, you are more surprised than anything.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, patting his back with the hand that isn’t crushed between his chest and yours. Nothing happens, so you swat harder. “Zoro. You’re crushing me.”

His arms squeeze around you as he stirs, inhaling sharply next to your ear. You stop moving as he lifts his head and opens his eyes just wide enough to register you beneath him.

He pauses.

Good morning, sunshine is what you want to say in a cheeky tone. You want to prove that you’re unaffected by the warmth of his body pressing yours into the mattress, the sensation of his breath across your cheekbone and the way his gaze transitions from something bleary into something sharp.

The greeting refuses to leave your mouth. All you can do is blink.

The next thing you know, Zoro’s rolling off of you and out of bed with nary an apology, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

You hum distantly in response and stare up at the ceiling as he shuffles to the door. Once he closes it behind him, you reach up and fold your hands over your eyes, cheeks hot.

Great.

—

It all started because you and Zoro could only afford a single bed at the inn.

(You use the term “afford” loosely here. The truth of the matter is that you grossly underestimated how much a room would cost, and the owner of the one place willing to lend you a room for half the usual rate demanded physical labor to make up for the rest. Given that Zoro would be spending most of his time hunting down a bounty, the majority of the unpaid labor fell on your shoulders.)

(But you digress.)

The room is small and bare, which is fine, because you and Zoro don’t have much between the two of you anyway. The only problem is that there is only one bed. Zoro had expressed no qualms about sharing so long as you didn’t disturb his sleep, and you had readily agreed, not wanting either of you to sleep on the floor.

After the first morning, you’re not sure if that was a lapse of judgement on your part or not.

Zoro doesn’t mention it at all before he leaves for the day, and you don’t, either. However, when he comes back in the middle of the night and you’re already in bed, squinting and shielding yourself from the bright hallway light as he takes his slippers off and walks in, he sits on the carpet just a few feet away from your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he proceeds to lay down.

“Sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. You frown.

“Why aren’t you sleeping up here?” No answer. You lift your head from your pillow, indignant. “Hey, don’t ignore me! I know you’re still awake.”

“I’ve had a long day,” he grumbles, “so I’d like some quiet so I can sleep. Thanks.”

You huff.

The thought that Zoro might actually be just as embarrassed flits briefly through your mind, but you extinguish it just as quickly. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy to be self-conscious about those kinds of things. A more likely reason is that he’s decided that he wants his own separate space after all and can’t be bothered to kick you off the bed.

So, you kick yourself off instead.

“What are you doing?” The phrase now comes from Zoro as you throw the covers off and grab your pillow, kneeling on the ground beside him. His eyes open and his brow furrows.

“Take the bed. I feel guilty.”

“I don’t want the bed.”

“Everybody wants the bed.” You lie down on the carpet and cross your arms over your chest, stubborn. “I’ve already slept in it. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro says.

Neither of you budge.

The next morning, you decide that the first morning was in fact not a fluke, as you awake with your face smushed against his chest and the smell of steel in your nose once again. He’s not on top of you, at least, but the way he clutches you while you’re lying on your side, one ankle hooked over yours, is somehow ten times more mortifying. You wake him up in the midst of untangling yourself and pretend like nothing happened.

Who’s the idiot now? (The answer is both of you. Both of you are idiots.)

—

The third night, you and Zoro flop onto the hard mattress with twin groans, heads spinning and feeling overall miserable.

“That was the shittiest booze I’ve ever had,” Zoro slurs next to you, face down in his pillow.

“But you got a lead, right?” you mumble.

“Yeah …”

You had been there in the bar when he’d gotten that lead, but you can’t remember what it was for the life of you. Another inn? Another bar? Ugh, you’re never drinking there again.

“I’m cold.”

There are blankets on the bed. Unfortunately, getting underneath them would require a lot of moving, and you are physically incapable of exerting yourself that much right now.

You shiver and turn onto your side to curl up. You’ll fall asleep at some point, anyway.

Zoro murmurs your name.

“Hm,” you groan, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But you hear the mattress squeak, the bedsheets rustle as he shifts closer, and your breath catches when the small distance between you closes. He does not wrap his arms around you, no, but your knees touch, and the heat from his skin melds into yours. You hear his breathing slow to a crawl.

Through your drunken haze breaks through a sudden need to draw him into you, to tuck your face into his neck and keep it there forever. You want – you want. But you’re exhausted, and your head aches, so you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber instead.

He’s already gone when you wake up.

—

A suspiciously lumpy gunnysack in the corner of the room catches your eye once you enter, hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Eight million beri,” Zoro says from his seat on the bed. Cleaning supplies for his swords are strewn around him, and he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji as you close the door. “I ran into another bounty on the way back.”

“Eight mill –” You clear your throat. “Wow. That was pretty lucky.” Eight million beri. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to how much bounty hunters can make. (God, that would’ve been more than enough to pay for the room.) “We’re heading out to a marine base tomorrow morning, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

He puts away his supplies, setting them and his swords against the wall near his pillow before standing up to pull down the sheets on his side. You turn off the bedside lamp and do the same, crawling in with a sigh.

The two of you simply lie side-by-side until you decide to break the silence with your big mouth again.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask.

“No.” The plainness of Zoro’s tone is a small comfort, you suppose. “Why are you asking?”

“Well …” You already regret bringing this topic up as you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “I feel like I haven’t really done much. I mean, I help with navigating and searching crowds and stuff, and I’ve been getting better at fighting, but I can’t help you, you know?” You fiddle with your fingers. “You don’t actually need me.”

There’s a gap between you and Zoro that you’ll likely never be able to close. You had always known that, and so had Zoro; in fact, he had told you at the start that going with him was a bad idea, given your inexperience in bounty hunting and traveling in general. And although you’d like to think that your ability to read a map and fix things convinced him of your usefulness, there are times when you think Zoro regrets bringing you along. Like now.

Zoro grunts, turning to lay on his back. His shoulder nearly lands on your hands, and you draw them to yourself as you wait for his answer.

It is brief and straightforward.

“I’m not forcing you to go with me,” he says. “And if you were a burden, I would’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

It is brief and straightforward, and yet, there’s a strange lump in your throat. You swallow it and nod, even though he cannot see you do so.

Nothing more is said. However, as the night goes on, you reach out, and you find him, and Zoro finds you, and the space between your arms fills up with warmth and an unspoken promise. And you sleep very well.

[lipringlrh]

race for your heart | mv1

summary: you’re not meant to be there, but you can’t stay away, especially not from the racer who can’t stop winning.

pairing: illegal street racer!max x fem!reader

an: might be my fave thing i’ve ever written. thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts? i’m also not an illegal street racer and have never seen one so might not be accurate x

word count: 3.7k

warnings: illegal, police chase, speeding, mentions of drugs and dodgy men

feedback appreciated and requests open!!

…

You'd been here a few times before, not regularly, never more than twice a month, but enough times to know how everything goes. You weren't meant to be here the first time, you found it by a complete accident but you were grateful now. It filled you with both excitement and dread to be here. It was illegal and wrong, nevermind the fact someone could die.

The place was crawling with creeps and criminals everywhere, one wrong move or one wrong sentence could get you on the wrong side of some dangerous people, but you lived for the thrill. The danger of the drive, and watching the drivers do it. In brand new sports cars you could only dream of affording. You didn't really know much about the drivers, except one.

Max.

He caught your eye instantly when you'd first shown. He was stood there, head to toe in black, his arm placed carefully on his car, showing off all the right bits. He was the reason you kept coming back. He was fast, quicker than all the other drivers, and everyone knew it. He was the one people wanted to challenge, to beat, but they never seemed to.

You'd seen the bets. The money people were giving to the winner after every race. More money than you knew what to do with. You craved it, the luxury and the lifestyle, but it seemed impossible. You weren't a fast driver, and you weren't a criminal by any means yet you still found yourself drawn here every time. And drawn to the driver everyone deemed untouchable.

He was the same today: a winner. You never expected any different, no one did. All the prizes were handed to him on a gold platter. Crowds cheered for him, men patting him on the back as he got out of his car to grab a beer. He met your eye again as he sat at the bar. He was left alone now, the crowds already moving on to the next big thing to talk about. He didn't look away, and for the second time, he found himself walking over to you.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" He grumbled, taking a sip of his beer. He changed his clothes after the race, now dressed in a white button-down and jeans.

He was weary of you the first time you met. You looked lost, you were, and you were not the kind of person to be here. You looked too pure and good to be surrounded by lousy criminals with more money than they knew what to do with. He wondered if you were with the police, trying to scope out the area and shut it down, but he learned quickly he was wrong.

You explained you were lost and he blindly believed you. He was worried once you figured out what you were doing that you would go to the police but he made you promise you wouldn't, and after he watched how your knees went weak after he called you a "good girl," he knew you wouldn't.

He saw you the next few times you went, looking less and less lost every time, but he never caught your eye long enough to feel confident in walking over. "Can you imagine that?" He thought to himself, "I'm treated as though I'm a fucking god around here and I still can't talk to a girl." He beat himself down over it, watching you interact with people he never wanted you to talk to, in fear they'd ruin the pure image he'd created of you in his head. So he watched from afar, giving creeps the eye long enough to scare them off. Of course, you didn't know it was him sending these men away, but sometimes you were grateful and other times you weren't. He felt bad for a moment before not caring again. "It's to keep her safe," he promised to himself every time.

You didn't reply to him immediately, instead drinking in his appearance: the way his face looked under the moonlight, the way his jaw locked when you didn't reply, and the way his shirt stretched over his muscles perfectly, letting you see everything.

"So?" he replied, smirking, watching you look him up and down more times than he could count, "are you going to answer me?"

You're eyes flew to his face again, watching as he became more confident the longer he saw you looking.

"What did you ask?" you mumbled, holding eye contact.

"I said: "What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" Think you can answer that?" he challenged, taking a step closer. He saw what he did to other girls, how he made them crumble, but nothing compared to you, and how he loved watching his effect on you.

"I- well, I just came for a beer?" you answered, sounding more unconfident the more you went on. You knew why you were here: because you liked it, but you didn't want to. It was criminal yet here you were, enjoying the thrill and the danger. And watching Max, racing or not.

"And the last time? And the time before that? You don't seem like the type of girl to go out drinking alone, especially to the type of place so dirty and illegal." He asked, teasing, stepping closer once again. His voice was growing louder even as he got closer until he was touching you and leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I think you like it, don't you?"

Your body shuddered at the closeness, your hand flying straight to his arm to keep balance. Instead, you made it worse for yourself, grabbing straight onto his muscles, and turning your face the slightest shade of red. You hoped Max wouldn't be able to see - you were too close and there wasn't much light, but you were very wrong. Crowds moved everywhere around you, but all of Max's focus was on you. It was impossible for him not to notice, he was trying to pick up on every detail that he could about you.

His head lifted back up so you could see him fully like he could see you. Your faces were barely apart, a few centimetres at best, but it still messed with your head, a million thoughts flying everywhere at once until there were none. None other than Max and what his lips would feel like pressed against yours.

You let out the slightest nod as a response to his question. You didn't want to admit you liked it but with Max so close to you it was the only reaction you could even fathom of giving. He was messing with your head and he hasn't even done anything yet.

"Are you going to answer me like a good girl or just stand there?" he says, with the cockiest attitude you'd ever seen. He knew what he did to you, and what else those two little words would do, and he loved it.

Before you got the chance to reply, you felt pressure on your back and you were pushed into Max. He grabbed you and kept you upright, but he couldn't miss the sudden uproar of the crowd and the fact they were all running in the same direction.

He gave you a once over to make sure you were alright before looking forward to try to see what was happening. People were screaming and running and he couldn't tell why. His arms wrapped around you in a protective manner, pulling you closer in an attempt to keep you safe.

So many people were shouting at him and he couldn't make out what anyone was saying. He was trying to figure it out but it seemed impossible. You were almost pushed again but the person managed to stop themselves. Max didn't care, he was almost starting to shout at them for their recklessness until he finally found out what was happening.

"Police! Run!" the man screamed at him before carrying on running himself. It was like his fight or flight mode kicked in and he wasn't going to get caught.

"My car," he said as he realised an escape plane, telling you at the same time. He found your hand and took off running, dragging you with him. He led you both to the side of the crowd so that you wouldn't get lost and led you quickly to his car.

Police were everywhere, especially near the cars. They were parked on the road but out of the way of the runners. Many of them were unregistered or stolen, and others held bags upon bags of drugs. Police were stood by his car, trying to look inside the windows for anything immediately suspicious. They were covering the drivers side and he knew he would have to be fast.

"When I jump across to the drivers side, get into the passenger seat and shut the door," he called back to you. You processed the information, barely, and nodded, but Max was already focused on using his free hand to find his keys.

He got them, twisting them around, and unlocking the car just as he was about to reach it. The police were looking in the backseat, but were too slow to process the flashing orange lights and the doors at the opposite side opening.

Max leaped in and switched sides like a machine, doing it with so much ease it seemed impossible. He grabbed the driver's side door, holding it close as officers tried to open it.

"Get in," he screamed, watching as you paused for a moment. You made eye contact with an officer whilst quickly overthinking your whole life up until this moment. How did this happen?

You couldn't think much longer and you got inside, shutting the door shut with a slam. You let out a sigh of relief much too quickly as your breath hitched with the speed the car had just started.

Max locked the doors and took off in a flash. The car sped up in an instant, going to speeds you never dreamed of. Max was absorbed into the roads, dodging people and officers as he tried to escape.

Your hand gripped the seats until your knuckles were white; this was not a situation you ever wanted to be in. Max noticed, taking his eyes off of the road every few seconds to double-check you were okay.

"I do this every day and I've never got hurt," his eyes flicked back to your face after trying to reassure you, which was obviously failing.

"You won't get into trouble with the police either." he tried again. After looking at you again, he realised how badly he was failing. He didn't know what to do. He was fine in situations like these and had never had to comfort anyone. Every solution was running through his mind, not only to get out of here safe and alive but to make sure you knew that.

"Hold my hand," he ordered softly, holding out his hand for you to grab.

"Don't you need to focus on driving?" you questioned, worried. He laughed and lifted his other hand off of the wheel too. When he saw your face he immediately put it back on but kept the other outstretched for you to grab.

You looked at it for a second before grabbing it, interlacing your fingers together, and bringing your hands to rest on top of your thighs. His thumb immediately started traveling back and forth along the back of your hand as you decided to focus on that rather than the road in front of you.

"I promise you I will keep you safe. Nothing bad will happen," he spoke gently. He smiled at you, not that you were looking, but he thought that it might lift the mood anyway. "Trust me," he added, in the softest tone he thought he'd ever spoken with. He shook his head - he was going soft for a girl he's only ever spoken to twice.

You nodded gently, genuinely trusting him for a moment. That all faded when you started hearing sirens in the distance, getting closer and closer.

Max looked through the wing mirrors before speeding up the car even more. You subconsciously squeezed his hand more, gripping it like a vice.

"Okay, pretty girl, I'm going to need my hand back but it's only to keep you safe. I promise I'm going to keep you safe." You didn't believe him but you tried anyway.

You let go of his hand reluctantly, going back to squeezing the seats. You let out a shaky breath and tried to see what was going on behind you. You were on a motorway, going much higher than the speed limit. You could see three police cars in your view, all trying to catch you up.

Max hit the pedal again, speeding up impossibly faster. His eyes were on the road, occasionally on the police behind him and occasionally on you. If he had it his way, they'd be always on you, but he promised to keep you safe and was doing his damn best to keep it.

"We're going faster than their cars can physically go. We'll lose them in no time." He did another once over of you, taking in how petrified you looked once again. "Sitting so tense is going to make you more tense. I don't want you to worry yourself sick."

"Sorry," you mumbled, taking a quick look in the mirrors to see the police much further in the distance than you thought they would be.

"Don't apologise, pretty girl." he spoke, moving the car to the first lane.

He went round a sharp turn, almost heading onto a junction exit but only just missing it. He sped up again, heading around the next corner with flying speed.

"The police will think we just turned off, we'll turn off at the next one." You just nodded, going along with everything. You barely knew the man yet you were on a literal police chase with him.

He slowed the car down to a normal speed, placing his hand back into yours, "see, we're okay."

"We're okay," you repeated, trying to reassure yourself. His thumb was back to tracing lines on the back of your hand and it was helping you more than you'd like to admit.

It wasn't long until you turned off, traveling at a normal speed down some city suburb roads. You headed into an area you'd never seen, full of some of the biggest houses you imagined the city had to offer. You didn't even know where you were going yet you trusted Max blindly.

He parked in front of a huge residence, with all sorts of fancy cars parked in front. You imagined multiple massive families could live there with tonnes of spare space due to the sheer size of the front alone. It was truly extraordinanry.

"Where are we?" You questioned. Max had turned off the car and leaned back in his seat. His hand never left yours, and his thumb never stopped brushing back and forth.

"My home," he spoke, watching your face convey more emotions than he thought was possible. Your mind was racing a mile a minute: what did he want from you? was he kidnapping you? did he want something in return for saving you? You didn't like the thought of what was happening at all but Max read you easily.

"I can drive you back home if you'd prefer. Or take you somewhere, get you a hotel, anything," he spoke sincerely. He fully believed anything you'd want him to do, he would do for you, and he would go to the ends of the world to do it.

"I don't think I can be alone right now." You said, training your eyes onto yours and Max's hand.

"I can take you to a friend's? I can stay with you? I can take you somewhere crowded? Whatever you want me to do, I will do." He said, promising himself he would do whatever you wanted.

It was stupid - so stupid - the way Max had made you feel safe and the fact you wanted to stay by him. Not one thing led to the conclusion that he was a good man yet you still wanted to stay.

"My house is probably over an hour away." You knew Max could drive fast, you knew he could get you there much quicker but you didn't want to leave him. You looked out the window, at his house.

Max saw the way you looked at it, longingly yet worriedly. He didn't want to push you to make a decision, he wanted you to say it himself. He gave you hand a few reassuring squeezes, urging you to say what you felt.

"I want to stay with you," you whispered. You still stared at his house in horror and amusement. Max could see you in the reflection and could feel the worry radiating off you - he wanted nothing more than to make you feel safe.

"Let's go to a hotel." he said, your head immediately flicking back to look at his, "We can get different rooms if you'd like, but if you'd feel more comfortable there, we can go. It's no problem at all."

"Yes please," you nodded, grateful for Max's thinking. The more he was talking, the more comfortable and safe you felt around him. Past you would probably be calling yourself stupid in every way you knew how, but you felt like it'd be okay this time.

He drove off carefully, sticking to all the speed limits, something he rarely did when he was alone. He took you to a nearby hotel, only a ten-minute drive away. It was a lovely-looking hotel, something you'd never check yourself into though when you could just get the classic cheap ones that always worked fine.

"You okay?" Max asked carefully as you peered outside.

"This looks expensive, Max."

God, he loved when you said his name. You hadn't said it a lot but he felt like he could get addicted every time.

He chuckled in amusement, "I've got more money than I could use if I tried, it's on me."

You nodded and opened the car door, unfortunately dropping Max's hand in the process. Not for long though, as Max whipped around the side of the car to grab it again after muttering a small, "let me open it for you next time," to you.

He ordered two separate rooms but made sure they were next to each other and handed you both keys to your room and the spare keys to his, making you promise to let yourself in of you needed anything.

You felt yourself drawn to him, becoming disappointed as he left you to your own room, longing for more. You led in bed, in the same clothes you'd been wearing all day, wanting nothing more than to just be with him again.

You also couldn't stop thinking about the night that passed and how it could've ended much differently. You were reckless and a complete disaster of a person but you didn't think you would change it if you could.

So you left. You got all your belongings and you knocked on Max's room. He opened the door rather quickly, with a sudden look of confusion on his face when he realised it was you.

His hair was messy and stuck up in every direction but he still looked flawless. He had no shirt or pants on, just boxers, and you couldn't help but admire his whole body.

"Are you okay? Just let yourself in next time. What happened?" he asked frantically, worry laced all over his voice.

"Can I stay with you?" You asked nervously, refusing to look at his face.

"Of course, pretty girl," he replied with no hesitation, he would do anything to have you nearby. He stepped aside and welcomed you in, taking everything out of your hands and placing it on a table.

"You take the bed. I can either join you, take the sofa out here or take the chair in the bed room. And here," he said, picking up the shirt he'd changed into after racing, "take this, you can't be comfortable sleeping in that."

You took the shirt with a "thank you," and got changed in the bedroom. The shirt was long enough that you couldn't see anything if you tried, and it was incredibly comfy.

You poked your head out of the bedroom to see Max half asleep with his head in his hands. You gently called his name, his head jolting suddenly towards you.

"Will you stay with me?" you asked, a lot more confidently than before, but still a little shaky.

Max got up with a nod and headed inside the bedroom. He watched you get comfortable in bed and snuggled into the side you hadn't chosen.

You immediately moved towards him, throwing a leg over his, and your head on top of his chest. His arms moved instinctively around you, pulling you impossibly closer. He was so tired but wasn't going to waste an opportunity of staring at you a little longer.

"Sorry the night didn't turn out how you planned," he mumbled, wanting so badly to kiss your forehead but didn't want to overstep boundaries, "and sorry for scaring you."

"It's okay Max," you whispered, turning your head to kiss his chest ever so delicately. He decided to kiss your head in retaliation, smiling all the way through it.

"Tell me if you want to go again and I'll be there," he chuckled against your head, "goodnight, pretty girl."

"Goodnight, Max."

…

this might be my favourite thing i’ve ever written so reblogs and feedback would be really appreciated !! :) also thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts?

[samkerrworshipper]

exhausted | barca femeni/alexia putellas x reader

reader has insomnia… but doesn’t tell her teammates alexia begins to figure it out though

was gonna make yall wait till tomorrow butttt i rlly can’t fucked lol

Sleep is something that has never come easy to you.

No matter how hard you try, no matter how much melatonin or herbal teas or meditation you tried, none of it worked.

You, quite simply, could not sleep.

It was fine when you were just a student, when you could dip out of your morning classes or sneak in a nap here and there between classes, when you didn’t have to make it through full days of work.

It was fine when you were playing for London City, when nobody cared about what you were doing, only if you could stop other players from getting past.

It had all changed though when the Barca offer had come in though.

It was known to every single footballer in the women's league that Barca had major injury problems, specifically in their backline, injuries that wouldn’t be resolved until long after the season was over.

You’d never thought though that some absences in Barcelona’s star squad would crate an opportunity for you, but for whatever reason, the Barca selectors had seen something in you, and even though it was mid season, had been desperate to sign you, it was a big move to go from England to Spain, but one you were more than happy to make for the sake of your career.

You’d never thought that the move from home would be so much more detrimental to your sleep schedule, but slowly you’d found yourself becoming more exhausted as you struggled to keep up with your new life.

There were a lot of things that were different about Spain, or more specifically the Barcelona Women’s team. When you were playing in London, training every couple of days and playing once a week, you could afford to miss some hours of sleep during the night, especially considering that nobody in London was concerned about making school a priority over there. You could take some naps during the day, laze around as much as you wanted and go to school whenever you could be bothered.

Barca was different, and not in a good way.

It was good for your football, internationally and just in general. Before Barca, you’d been more of a bench player then a starter for the England under 17s, but your game had lifted and you’d been a consistent starter in every tournament and friendly since.

You were exhausted, more than you’d ever been in your entire life, and you were sure it was starting to show.

It was hard enough being 16, in a foreign country, getting hardly any hours of sleep, training at least three hours a day as well as gym sessions and playing twice a week. Trying to be a full time student as well, it was completely unrealistic and it was starting to show.

“Nena, do you want to slow down on the energy drinks? Someone so itty bitty and young like you shouldn’t be consuming any caffeine, let alone two red bulls before noon, we’re lucky you aren’t pinging off the walls yet.”

Mapi’s hands are on your cheeks, pinching and squeezing them as if you are a baby. Instead of paying her any kind of attention you keep your eyes fixed on your laptop screen and lips pressed to the can of red bull that you’ve been tirelessly sipping at for the past couple of minutes.

Integrating into the team had been hard, but you’d actually become far closer with the crew of injured girls, mapi specifically, as well as her girlfriend Ingrid. Frido had also been one of the first people to welcome you, accompanied by two familiar English faces, Keira and Lucy.

Mapi particularly, had taken you under her wing, or had sort of adopted you in an older sister type fashion. It was sort of annoying, the older Spaniard was constantly talking, to the point where you’d learn to pretty much drown out everything that left her lips.

“If you keep touching my face then it won’t just be your knee that’ll be injured, your hands will be broken as well.”

Mapi frowns at you, her pinching fingers moving to brush loose hair from your face and rub at your temples, trying to rub away the frown lines deeply ingrained on your forehead.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning did we, nena? You know you’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, it’s not good for your little baby face.”

You shake your head in an attempt to get Mapi’s hands off of your face, it partially works, but not fully.

“María I am serious, you’ve got three seconds before I tear this can in half and use it to cut off your fingers, don’t you have rehab to do or something more entertaining than bothering me?”

Mapi’s hands fly up in surrender, something you are infinitely grateful for.

“Fine, you want to be grumpy then you can be grumpy by yourself, don’t come looking for me later when you’re bored of school and looking for some fun.”

You don’t bat an eyelid as Mapi retreats from your table.

You take another sip of your drink, praying that it’ll somehow make it easier for you to read the words on your laptop screen, even though it does absolutely nothing.

You’ve read the same page, over and over again and yet it’s done absolutely nothing to make you understand what it is you are supposed to be learning. It’s a mess of consonants and verbs, jumbled up words that just can’t seem to resonate in your brain.

Whilst Mapi has left, unbeknownst to you, you aren’t completely alone in the recovery room.

Alexia has been sitting on one of the massage tables, doing her exercises for the last hour, watching as you’ve gradually been getting far more frustrated with your work.

Alexia’s relationship with you so far has been… rocky.

The captain had made it clear from day one that whilst the club needed you, that your studies were going to be a priority alongside football. If you had known that you’d be going from doing as much school as you liked, to hours of online school everyday, you probably would have reconsidered your move to Spain, but you were here now and struggling more than you cared to admit.

Alexia knew something was up, beyond your clear hatred for school, she just wasn’t sure what yet but she was determined to find out why.

“Everything alright pequena?”

You practically jump at the sound of Alexia’s voice, hand clutching at your heart as you suddenly become aware of a presence in the room that you were unaware existed.

“Perfectly fine.”

You do well to recover from the shock, your eyes darting straight back to your screen almost as quickly as they had left it.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes.”

Alexia notices that your hands are shaking slightly, most likely due to the insane amounts of taurine that your body is processing.

“There’s a lot of writing on one page.”

You take another sip, finishing off the can and sliding it across the table.

“Mapi’s right, it’s not good for pequena’s like you to be drinking stuff like that, it’s bad for your brain cells, and don’t get me started on what it does to your body.”

Alexia moves to take a seat beside you at the table, her concern for you growing even more when she took a look at your face and realised how exhausted you looked.

“I don’t need the lecture, I’m poisoning my body, I’m aware of it, now can I please have slime peace so I can finish this off before training starts?”

Alexia isn’t anywhere near satisfied with your answer, she wants you to argue with her, not admit your wrongdoing like it’s nothing.

“Yes, you are, you aren’t an adult, you don’t need energy drinks, you will do perfectly fine without them.”

Your eyes leave the screen to look at Alexia for a second, a little exhale huffing out between your lips.

“Okay, whatever.”

Alexia can’t get past just how tired you look, so tired that you’re seemingly agreeing with her just to avoid conflict.

“Pequena, how about you take a break for a couple of minutes, go get some fresh air, I’m sure you can finish this up later.”

Alexia’s never let you finish school early, you don’t understand why she’s deciding to today.

“I need to get it done.”

Your body is so tense, Alexia’s scared that you’re going to pull a muscle just from how tight your body looks.

“I’m sure it can wait till later, you’ve been sitting here for two hours now, you need a break.”

Your hands are still shaking, and you’re as hunched over as possible without being asleep on top of your laptop.

“Alexia, I’m fine, I’ve just got to finish this and then I’ll be done.”

Alexia’s hand reaches up to meet your shaking one, somehow hoping that it’ll stop the frantic tremors.

“You’re taking a break, just go and spend some time in the team room, or go for a walk, just take fifteen minutes and I’ll next you when you need to be back. Go, now, I’m not asking.”

You slam your laptop closed with more aggression then Alexia’s seen from you all morning, your body dragging itself out of the room without any regards for your captain whatsoever.

Alexia begins to get worried when twenty minutes later, after multiple text messages, you are yet to return.

She knows you’re stressed, that school isn’t what you want to be focusing all of your energy on. But Alexia knows from personal experience how easy it is for somebody of your age with your kind of talent to disregard things like education, something that she believes is so crucial to any adult's life. You need options, Alexia is trying to give you them, even if you seem to hate them with every single fibre in your body.

Alexia decides to go looking for you once twenty five minutes have passed and you are nowhere in sight and have ignored every single one of her messages.

It doesn’t take her long to find you, although she does almost miss you.

Alexia peeks her head into the locker room, simply to ask if anyone has seen you, the room is silent and empty though.

She almost leaves, but just as she’s about to close the door, she spots your body, tucked up inside of your locker, your head tucked into your knees.

You look frightfully unrestful, you don’t look like most people look when they’re sleeping, most people look peaceful, you look bothered, like your body is fighting against the sleep that you so clearly need.

Alexia walks over to you, now more than ever she’s certain you’re sick, that you’ve caught some kind of cold that’s causing this exhaustion and the short tempered mood you’ve been in.

She brings the back of her palm up to your forehead, an action that has your eyes snapping opening immediately.

Alexia’s sort of surprised when she realises you’ve got no fever whatsoever, although she’s well aware that not all sicknesses result in fever, something about it is putting her off.

“Hola pequenita.”

It takes you a few seconds to realise where you are and what’s happening, but as soon as you do you are shaking Alexia’s hand from your face and pushing yourself out of your cube.

“Sorry, time completely slipped past me, I’ll head back now.”

Alexia’s hand grabs your forehand before you have the opportunity to slip past her, tugging you backwards until you’re standing directly in front of your captain, forced to look at her.

“Are you sick?”

Alexia isn’t sure what’s wrong, but it’s clear something is up and sickness is the clearest option. She knows that you are no stranger to energy drinks, she spends most of her time heckling at you to try and put down whatever drink you’ve got in your hands. She’s never seen you down two in such a short amount of time though and sickness would be a good explanation.

“No, I’m fine.”

Alexia can’t find any deceit in your words or mannerisms, it appears that you are being completely honest with her, something that makes Alexia even more confused. None of the tell-tale signs are there, you are telling the truth.

“I know you aren’t a stranger to a midday nap, but it’s unlike you to be so tired.”

Alexia’s arm moves from your forearm up to your face, gently tracing the deep purple bags that are sitting below your eyes. Her thumb is soft, it feels like she’s mending all of the fatigue that lies there, but as soon as her thumb moves it all comes back.

“I’m fine Capí, just stayed up a little bit later last night.”

Alexia can tell that’s a lie, a cover up from whatever it is that you’re hiding from her.

“Well see to it that you get into bed earlier tonight. The team is out on the pitch, I told Jona that you’d join them once finished up with your work that you’d head out but I think you need some fresh air. Better get moving.”

Alexia’s voice is ridged and your body reacts to it, reaching into your locker with more speed then she’s seen you work with all day, you grab your cleats and before Alexia has the chance to speak anymore you are marching out of the rooms and out towards the pitch.

It’s perplexing to Alexia, she hates being lied to, especially when it’s clear something is wrong. She waits in the locker room for a few minutes, trying to piece together the mystery yet she comes up with nothing.

Eventually she makes the decision to go out and watch the training, pitchside, maybe you’ll have perked up now that you’re out doing something you enjoy.

The first thing Alexia notices is how frantically you are playing, it’s unlike you to be sloppy and yet as she watches you it’s all she can observe.

You are sloppy, messy and uncalculated, something that you are normally the opposite of.

You are a technical player, something that has helped you settle into the Barcelona squad with ease, you adjusted to the Spanish way of playing without much fuss.

What Alexia is watching though, you look like a completely different player. You’re practically passing the ball directly to Salma, goal after goal being put through your legs and around your body. It’s embarrassing, and she’s certain other people are picking up on your abnormal behaviour, multiple people, specifically Ingrid coming to check on you and make sure everything is fine.

You shake all of them off, even though it’s clear that something is up and whatever that something is, it’s big and it’s affecting your game and mood majorly.

Alexia’s not surprised when Jona drags you from the field, already yelling at you and sending orders your way, what she is surprised by is the way that you don’t even flinch as he throws never ending criticism your way.

You just stare at him, neither nodding or trying to reply to him, Alexia’s not even sure if you’re hearing him, if you’re present enough to be listening to the words that are leaving his mouth. For a second she considers the possibility that you’re violently hungover or acting under the influence of some kind of substance, it would explain the drowsiness and weird behaviour.

The idea makes Alexia instantly filled with anger, you are 16 and she will take you to the grave if you’ve been touching any kinds of substances. She’s mad enough as it is over the energy drinks, and she’s going to express that when the two of you are in private later on, but the chance that you’ve consumed something illegal for someone of your age, it sends shivers down her spine.

Jona has you back out on the field before you can even begin to respond to his critiques, back into defence where you are brutally humbled time and time again by the likes of Aitana, Salma and Caro.

Alexia cringes every single time, she knows that you are struggling, what she’s completely unprepared for is for you to fully collapse on the field.

Caro volleys another ball over your head and for a second Alexia doesn’t even notice you crumpled up on the ground of the pitch, she’s too busy watching the sight of Caro’s ball perfectly managing to slot in behind Cata. It’s a truly beautiful goal, and truly there isn’t much you could have done about it.

She only notices you when Cata doesn’t turn around to grab the ball, instead, she rushes forwards, leaving the ball long forgotten beside the bottom right post. She’s rushing forwards, down to her knees, directly beside your crumpled up body.

Alexia jumps up from her spot immediately, running faster than she should considering the current state of her knee, it doesn’t matter to her though, seeing your tiny little body all clumped up against the grass terrifies her.

Cata’s smart, and apparently fast acting because before Alexia is sitting down next to you, Cata’s already got her shirt off, drenched it with her drink bottle and has it folded up over your forehead. The cold water seems to bring you back a little bit, your head jerking upwards in reaction to the sudden change of temperature across your skin.

Just as Alexia’s crouching down next to you, the medics are pushing everyone out of the way, kneeling down next to you and doing the same as Cata had done, placing wet towels across your skin. They’re treating it like you’ve got heat stroke and whilst Alexia is aware it’s a warmer day, she knows that whatever is wrong with you, it most definitely isn’t heat stroke.

One of the medics squirts some water onto your face, something that Alexia doesn’t like the look of, but it seems to bring you back awake, your eyes bursting open and blinking furiously as you take in your surroundings.

Alexia can see you panicking immediately, your eyes flashing to the multiple faces that are crowding your vision.

“Everyone take a step back, give her some space.”

The medics and your teammates take a step back, leaving Alexia to skoot herself closer to you. Her hand comes to rest on your face, gently brushing the water residue off.

“Hola nena, stay calm for me, you had a little fall, we’re going to get you inside now, do you think you can get up for me?”

You nod at Alexia, you can’t remember what happened but you don’t want to be on the floor any longer than you have to be.

Alexia helps you up and off the pitch, the medics leading the two of you inside.

Alexia immediately gets you situated on a table, the medics immediately getting their hands all over you.

“Test her heart for me please, and her caffeine and sugar levels. I’ll be right back nena, I’m just going to grab something from my locker, text me if you need anything.”

Alexia is inexplicably angry and she knows that if she spends any more time in a room with you she’s going to yell, or say something that she’s going to regret. If it wasn’t for all the doctors, she probably wouldn’t care but she doesn’t need to air out private situations in front of people who have no business in your private life.

So she stomps her way to the locker room, set on trying to detangle the mess of emotions that has developed deep in her gut ever since this morning.

It’s been longer than this morning, Alexia’s noticed oddities in your behaviour, ever since you’d arrived. The energy drinks, the constant eye bags, power naps whenever you could fit them in. You live by yourself, something that Alexia deeply disapproves of and after today she doesn’t think it should continue on like this. You’d requested your own apartment for two reasons, privacy and because you didn’t want to disturb the private life of your teammates.

Alexia wanted to punch a wall, or throw something. That was all that was running across her mind as she paced back and forth in the locker rooms.

All Alexia could think about was your body, crumpled up on the pitch and she had no idea why and no idea how to help you.

You were sitting in the medical room, by yourself, beside the many doctors and physios who were poking and attaching you to different things.

You were exhausted, you were finding it hard to keep your eyes open. You’d felt the same way all day, hitting the pitch had been too much, too hard, too much energy for your exhausted body.

You wished that you’d feel the same every night when you tried to go to sleep every night, but alas, it felt like as soon as you got into bed, or as soon as you tried to close your eyes sleep just avoided you.

Alexia was probably two laps of the locker room away from throwing her phone at a wall when Mapi walked in, weirded out by the sight of her best friend grinding her feet into the floor as she walked back and forth in the locker rooms.

“Ale?”

Alexia’s pacing doesn’t stop, but she does take a second to look up at María and for some reason the concernedly smiley face of her best friend seems to help the anger bubbling up inside her simmer down slightly.

“Alexia, what’s wrong?”

Alexia’s hands are fidgeting wildly in front of her, her fingers clicking and toying with each other.

“Somethings wrong with Nena, she’s exhausted and frantic and she looks like she hasn’t slept and she’s downing all those energy drinks and maybe they’re getting to her heart? Maybe that’s why she collapsed or maybe she’s sick but somethings wrong and I don’t know what and she collapsed right in front of my eyes.”

Normally, out of the two, Mapi is the one who confides in Alexia the most. Alexia isn’t an openly emotional person and when she is it’s with Olga, because for some reason that woman can get everything and anything out of her. Here though, it’s clear Alexia needs someone to de stress with and Mapi is happy to take up that role.

“It’s just her Alexia, she’s always tired and drinking energy drinks, it’s how the kids these days do it.”

Mapi’s words are supposed to soothe Alexia, honestly they do the complete opposite.

“But she shouldn’t, she’s an athlete, she shouldn’t need them. Mapi, I am telling you, something is seriously wrong, I can feel it. I know she’s always tired, but she looks like she hasn’s slept in weeks and I don’t know why.”

Mapi, for the sake of trying to calm Alexia down, decides that instead of trying to invalidate her worries, it’s best to just try and reason with Ale.

“Ale, how about we go see her, if somethings wrong I’m sure she’d tell us.”

Alexia nods at Mapi, taking the extended arm that her friend gives her and allowing the Zaragozan to lead her back to the physio room she’d previously been in.

When she returns, she’s relieved to see that you look a lot better than how you had on the pitch. There are still grass stains across your face, but you’re less pale than you were before and you’re sipping on a gatorade which somehow makes Alexia feel less guilty about the whole situation.

“Hola pequena.”

Your eyes manage to meet Alexia’s, something that kind of shocks her, considering just how weighed down your eyes seem to be by the deep purple bags underneath your eyes.

“Bon dia.”

Alexia would not call this a good morning, she couldn’t even call it an okay one.

“What’s wrong?”

Alexia’s focus is on the physios, not you, she’s saving you for later.

“Luckily, not a lot. I checked her heart and I couldn’t find any abnormalities, it’s clear that she’s tired, she’s told me she woke up a little bit earlier than normal this morning which paired with the warmer weather and some minor dehydration is probably the main cause. She’ll take today off, rest up, but I can’t find anything that would indicate any serious underlying problems so there isn’t any reason why I would say she couldn’t be back on the pitch tomorrow.”

It’s a positive sign, but not what Alexia wants to hear, she wants something to be wrong, so that she can get to the bottom of whatever is happening to you.

“Good, thank you, do you think you could give us the room for a couple of minutes, por favor?”

The physio smiles at Alexia, giving her a nod before leaving the room discreetly.

As soon as Alexia is certain he is no longer within hearing distance, she pivots on her heel, so she’s facing you directly.

“What are you hiding?”

It’s so ominous, even Mapi thinks it’s a little bit far-fetched, as a 16 year old, Mapi was probably hiding more than she was sharing, it’s not really a fair question.

“What am I hiding?”

It sounds like you're even struggling to get words out, your voice is just so tired, like it’s taking up so much energy for you to speak a few simple words.

“Somethings wrong, you’ve been drinking all these energy drinks, which are not only far too caffeinated but also extremely bad for you and you look like you haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

You want to tell Alexia that she’s right, you aren’t sleeping properly, you haven’t been your whole life, but she wouldn’t be the first person who tried to help you and has failed miserably in the process, it’s quite simple, sleep and you just simply do not work.

“Anyone from England would tell you that I just drink energy drinks, it’s not that deep Alexia.”

Mapi is teetering on the edge of having to hold Alexia back from causing you bodily harm.

“Deep? Collapsing on a pitch is not deep? It seems pretty deep to me amor, you can hardly talk, you could hardly read this morning, it’s clear something is wrong and I want to know what.”

You don’t know how to tell Alexia that something isn’t wrong, this is just you, or the new version of you in Spain. Your insomnia had always affected you, moving to Spain had seemed to make it worse but you’d always lived like this, ever since you could remember, sleep was just something that you could never have consistently.

“Nothings wrong, I am fine, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Alexia’s jaw sets and for a second Mapi does truly worry for you.

“I want you to not lie to my face.”

You visibly flinch at those words, you don’t want nor mean to lie to Alexia, but you figure you are saving yourself from a merry go round of painful conversations.

“I’m not lying.”

Alexia knows you are, she’s not stupid.

“Right, well you’ve got the day off, you’ll be coming home with me and staying with Olga and I until you look less like you are on the brink of a coma. María will go get your things.”

Mapi nods quickly at Alexia, walking out of the room as quickly as she can manage, leaving just you and Alexia.

Even though Alexia is mad, she begrudgingly helps you up from the bed, draping your arm over her shoulder to give you somebody to lean on as she walks the two of you out to her car. She’s just gotten you seated in the passenger seat and closed your door when Mapi pops up with your things. Before Alexia can hop into the car and get going, Mapi stops her.

“Be easy on her, si? She’s going through something and I know you want to know, I know you want to help her but whatever is wrong, she’s not talking about it for a reason. Maybe she doesn’t need you questioning her, just take a look, a proper look at her and see if you can get a better idea. For me?”

Alexia knows that Mapi won’t let go of her shirt without some kind of acknowledgement that she’s going to agree to her.

“Okay, I’ll go easy on her.”

It’s a half truth, Mapi seems to accept it though, letting go of Alexia’s shirt so that the Catalan can take her seat in her car and begin to drive the two of you home.

The car ride home is eerily silent, Alexia keeps her eyes focused on the road, her knuckles whitening from the grip she has on the steering wheel and her jaw so set that you begin to worry that her teeth must hurt from the constant clenching.

When the two of you pull up to Alexia’s house you’re feeling a lot better, your head is clearer and you don’t feel as broken as you had earlier.

You clamber out of the car, walking your way slowly to Alexia’s front door. Alexia bothers around with the keys, twisting them in the hole before opening up the door for the two of you.

“Ale? You’re home early.”

Olga’s voice filters in from the kitchen, the two of you making your way through until you spot her.

“Nena, is that you? I didn’t know we were going to have company, if I had I would have cleaned up a little bit for you.”

You shake your head at Olga, giving her a small smile that you’ve reserved just for Alexia’s partner.

“Go sit down on the couch, get your feet up.”

Alexia’s voice is stern, it immediately makes Olga frown at her.

Alexia allows her girlfriend to drag her from the kitchen and into their pantry.

“What’s with the mood?”

Olga’s happy space is her and Ale’s house, it’s supposed to be the one place that the both of them can get away from football and stress.

“Nena is hiding something, she collapsed at training and we don’t really know why but she does and she won’t tell us.”

Olga nods her head, the somehow younger but wiser woman putting on her thinking hat and trying to rationalise what Alexia is telling her.

“Don’t you think it would be smarter to try and be nice to her? I know that she’s fucked up, but it’s clear she just needs some love right now, maybe you should be giving it to her.”

Alexia thinks that Olga doesn’t understand the whole situation, she doesn’t see you everyday, doesn’t see how ragged you are and how deep this issue stems, but she also can’t not listen to her, the woman somehow tends to always be right and she can’t see why that would change now.

“Okay, okay.”

Olga smiles at her, getting up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Alexia’s jaw before pushing her out of the pantry and back into the kitchen.

Alexia is unsurprised to find you dead asleep on her couch, your head lulled against one of her couch pillows. She’s glad, and decides to pocket the inevitable conversation she is going to have to have with you, instead opting to help her girlfriend make lunch.

You sleep for a total of 40 minutes, something that Alexia is less glad about. As soon as she notices you’re awake she’s forcing a bottle of water into your hands and two aspirins. You take them before she shoves them down your throat, taking multiple gulps of the water so Alexia didn’t have another reason to be mad with you.

To be fair, she looked a lot less mad than she had earlier, you wouldn’t even really describe how she looked as mad, more concerned.

Alexia sat down in front of you on the couch, taking a deep breath before she started speaking.

“I’m not going to force you to tell me anything, I understand that you are going through a lot, I just need you to know that I’m here for you, anything you need nena I am here to support you and try and help you however I think best.”

Alexia’s words cut deep for you, it’s a struggle for you not to break out in tears, as much as you really want to.

“I know Ale.”

She nods at you, holding back her own tears, there’s some kind of understanding between the two of you, that you aren’t going to cry or speak, just acknowledge each other for now.

“Olga’s made up the spare room for you, you’ll stay here until you’re in a better place. You’re welcome here and you’ll be no bother for the next couple of weeks.”

You nod your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from arguing back to her.

The rest of the afternoon is fairly similar, you are fed by Olga and then spend the majority of the rest of the day lounging on the couch, occasionally falling asleep, but as Alexia notices, never for longer than 40 minutes. It’s like your body refuses to properly rest.

When dinner comes around you look just as exhausted as you had this morning, you just look a little bit less dead.

After dinner, you head off to bed, alexia’s glad, she’s hoping that you’ll have a nice long proper sleep and that all of this will be solved.

She’s wrong.

Instead of hopping into bed, you pull out your laptop, knowing that if you stand a chance at getting even two hours of sleep it’s not happening any time soon.

You work at your school work, completing the things you hadn’t finished earlier. When 12 o’clock rolls around, you force yourself away from your laptop and underneath the covers of alexia’s extremely comfortable spare bed.

You stare at the roof, every now and again you’ll twitch and for some reason it’ll hurt your brain. You play your favourite song over and over again in your head, praying that it’ll somehow lull you to sleep, it neves does. You stare at the ceiling and try to focus on the sound of the fan. You stare at the ceiling and wonder if the swirl pattern in it is mobing. You think about your favourite film and how the characters used to provide you so much peace. When you remember how much they meant to you, you let a few stray tears fall.

You stare at the ceiling.

Every once and a while, you’ll roll over and press your face into the pillows and pull the covers over your head and hope that if you hide somehow you’ll fall asleep.

Eventually, you’ll fall asleep.

Sometimes it takes hours, all for you to wake up half an hour later feeling as unsatisfied as ever.

It’s how you live, it’s the same routine every night, it’s your normal.

When 4am rolls around and you’ve managed to get a measly twenty minutes or so of sleep, you climb out of the sheets, annoyed that your glass of water is empty. Your eyes are dry and itchy with the feeling of needing to cry, you push that feeling deep into your gut, ignoring the desperate need to ignore your feelings in favour of keeping a strong face.

You try to be as quiet as possible, filling up your glass and taking a seat on Alexia’s couch, looking out of the window of her lounge room at the Barcelona skyline that lights up along her back fence.

“Nena is that you?”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

Alexia is standing in the kitchen, leaning up against the island, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and staring at you inquisitively.

“What are you doing awake?”

The words trigger something in you, it’s probably the half dazed state you’re in, the complete exhaustion and annoyance you’re experiencing at your inability to sleep, but all of a sudden, tears are dripping your face and you don’t know why or how.

Alexia freezes for a second, she’d expected something obviously, but crying was not one of those things.

She’s never seen you cry, she’s never had to deal with a teenager who is breaking down right in front of her eyes. She doesn’t know what to do, or how to help you, all she knows is that you are crying a lot and she is just standing and watching.

The problem solver in Alexia tells her that she has to do something, so she paces her way over to the couch, sitting down beside you and tentatively wrapping an arm around your shoulder. She doesn’t know whether or not it’s the right way to go, but it seems to pay off when you immediately relax into her, your head craning into the pocket of her neck and shoulder. Fresh, warm tears drip down onto Alexia’s skin.

Alexia is tense, her back as straight as a board. She doesn’t normally have to deal with this kind of thing, she doesn’t have to try and sympathise with feelings. She’s not an emotional person herself, she cries once a year normally and that’s on the anniversary of her fathers death.

“Nena, it’s okay, I’m here.”

Alexia’s words are calculated, strategic, like she’s reading them off of google or something. Truly, she doesn’t intend for them to come off that way, but it’s kind of just how they do.

Alexia waits for the tears to stop coming, she figures it has to happen, you can’t just cry forever.

The two of you sit like that, crisscrossed on the couch until you manage to compose yourself, until you’ve cried out all the annoyance and grievances over your current predicament.

In the past, your insomnia would stop you from sleeping for days, but eventually the exhaustion would catch up with you and you would get a good night or a few of sleep, but it had been weeks now of you living in Barcelona and sleep had been avoiding you the whole time.

“Nena, what’s wrong?”

Right now, it feels like everything is wrong, it feels like your whole world is upside and you want it to be normal, you want to just be able to close your eyes and get some fucking sleep.

“I can’t sleep.”

Alexia’s brow furrows.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have had so many energy drinks, no?”

It’s the kind of reply you should have expected.

“No Alexia, I can’t sleep, I have insomnia.”

Alexia struggles with the translation in her head, in-som-ni-a?

“Sorry, what?”

You take a deep shaky breath, pulling your head away from Alexia’s chest so that you can rub the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Insomnia, I can’t sleep, medically. I have a condition that stops me from being able to sleep regularly.”

Alexia’s head all of a sudden starts working, she’s a little bit behind, it’s 4am after all and she’s struggling to keep her eyes open.

“You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, Alexia wants to tell you that you’re being silly, but when she sees the pure heart break and exhaustion in your eyes she knows that you can’t be lying. You look so young, tear tracks all over your face and body caved in on itself.

“I can’t sleep.”

It makes more sense to alexia now, all the energy drinks, the exhaustion, the power naps.

“Have you talked to the team doctors about it, I’m sure they could give you medication or something that could make it better, this can’t go on forever, nena.”

You shake your head at Alexia, your exhaustion turning to fear.

“No and you have to promise you won’t either. I’ve been through it, the sleep tests, all of it. I won’t take drugs, you can't make me and I refuse to.”

It’s like you go from being a mellowed out version of yourself to an attack dog.

“Nena, you need help, you can’t keep playing when you can hardly keep yourself standing.”

You shake your head, so fast that Alexia worries you might pass out from the sudden and frequent movements.

“I’m not taking drugs, you can’t make me, I won’t do it.”

Alexia doesn’t know where this sudden defensiveness has come from, but she knows two things. She needs to make sure that you understand that she can be there for whatever you are going through whilst also trying to figure out what is your random refusal to not take medication.

“Wouldn’t it help some?”

It’s hard to explain your complete hatred for any kinds of drugs. You’d grown up in a household where your mom might as well have been a druggie with how little she was invested in your life and where your dad was a legitimate druggie.

You struggled to take paracetamol, let alone any kind of prescribed drug.

You were scared shitless that somehow, you would turn out like your father and that was the last thing you could ever want.

You didn’t come from a loving home, you didn’t come from a place where you got the newest cleats every year and the best training. You came from a home where grocery money was spent on cocaine and any football money was spent on heroin. You’d been lucky enough that you were good enough for England teams to notice you, for academies to notice you. You were always good enough that you didn’t have to fork out the extra money and if you did it was your own money.

That’s why you’d been so eager to get out of England, to come to Spain. It saved you from the lifestyle that you had been so desperate to get away from.

“I’m not going to take medication Ale.”

For a long time, you’d blamed the insomnia on the constant partying that happened at your house as a kid. Your dad was a revolving door house kind of person, there were always people inside of your house, women, druggies, sex workers, partiers. It was never ending, and for a logn while you’d just thought you couldn’t sleep because of the constant noise inside of your house. When you went away for your first camp at 11, you realised that just simply wasn’t it, you had a serious problem. Maybe it was a byproduct of always being in a house full of noise, or maybe it was just your fucked up ness, you just knew that somewhere along the way, everything in your brain started working backwards.

“Nena, you don’t have to take medication, but can you tell me why?”

You figure that you’ve already told Alexia too much, why stop now?

“My dad has drug problems, always has, probably always will. My mom was never really home as a kid, when she was it wasn’t pretty. I don’t want to turn out like them. That’s why I didn’t go home over the break”

Alexia’s heart drops. She’s been through her own problems with her family, her fathers death and so on. But she’s always had something and that is a safe place to go if she ever needs it. Her parents loved her, they did everything to protect her as a child, Alexia grew up in a space where she could be whoever she wanted and her parents would support her. You, to some extent, clearly didn’t and it explained a lot to her. It explained why you were so hesitant to accept help from anyone, and why you were such a lone wolf, you had to be for survival.

Alexia suddenly wraps her arms around you, all of a sudden feeling an overwhelming sense that she has to protect you, that you need her to keep you safe.

You’re crying again, it hurts less this time, it comes more from a place of exhaustion than annoyance and anger.

“I just want to rest Ale, I just want some peace.”

Alexia’s grip tightens, she’s compressing your bones in the best way possible.

“It’s okay nena, I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay.”

Alexia just holds you, until you exhaust yourself so much from the crying that you fall asleep.

She doesn’t want to wake you, not after everything you’ve just confessed to her, so she lays herself down on the couch, keeping you pulled tight to her chest as she drapes a blanket over the two of you and rests down against the pillows, deciding that she might as well get a few hours in for herself.

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and the smell of bacon and pancakes.

You feel better than you have in weeks, blinking the sleep away from your eyes and slowly sitting up as you adjust to your surroundings.

Alexia and Olga are in the kitchen, talking hushedly as Alexia cooks over the stove and Olga rocks with her from behind. It feels and looks intimate and you are so tempted to sneak out of the front door to leave them to their peace and avoid all the obvious issues that are going to have to be unpacked with your captain.

You’re seriously considering, but your plotting is stopped when Olga turns around to grab something and she spots you on the couch, conscious and awake.

“Bon Dia, nena.”

Alexia pivots as well, sending a smile towards you.

“Good morning, what time is it?”

Olga detaches herself from Alexia, moving towards the fridge.

“It’s just past six.”

2 and a half hours of sleep, that’s not bad at all, it’s better than you’ve had in weeks.

“Breakfast is almost done, if you want to take a seat at the table.”

You nod at Alexia, standing up from your spot on the couch and walking over to the dining table, taking a seat at the table and trying to tame your bed head whilst Alexia plates up the food.

The plate she hands you is full of food, bacon, toast, pancakes, sausages, fruit. It reminds you of home in a weird way, it’s not a truly traditional Spanish breakfast, more English and it seems like Ale’s done it for a reason.

She waits until you’ve started to tuck into your food before she starts speaking.

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with Jona and the medical team this morning, for you.”

Your boyd goes from relaxed and at peace to tense, Alexia knows it’s breaking your trust in a way, but she also knows that she’s now obligated to protect you.

“I told you I don't want doctors or drugs.”

Alexia takes a deep breath, looking over at Olga and being reminded that sometimes she has to do hard things.

“I know nena, and i’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to, I don’t think I could if I tried, but this can’t keep going. I did some research, there are some really good drugs for people that struggle like you, that aren’t addictive and can help lots. I’m not a doctor and neither are you. We don’t know about these things, it’s not our job, but there are people who do know about this stuff and they can try to help you, really help you. You can’t live like this, it’s not sustainable in any way, we need to find some way to fix this. Whether it’s therapy or medication or resting, you need something and you can’t provide it yourself.”

Alexia words are a punch to the gut, but they also make sense, she knows what she’s talking about.

“You promise that I won’t have to do anything I don’t want to?”

Alexia nods her head, she’s shocked that you’re already sort of agreeing with her.

“I promise nena, I just want to help you somehow, however that may be.”

You take a big bite of your food, and a gulp of the orange juice that Olga has set down next to you.

“I slept better than I have in months last night, because of you, I don’t know how or why but something you did made me sleep and if you think that I need help, then I can’t really argue with that. It needs to be on my own terms though.”

Alexia nods, this is so hard for you, accepting help, accepting that you have a problem that needs fixing.

“Of course nena.”

You nod, drawing all of your thoughts together.

“I think I need help Ale, I want help.”

[mrwavellswaps]

The Parental Solution

“Could you at least put on some shorts or pants if you’re just gonna lie around the house like that?” I asked my dad after walking in on him sprawled across the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs that did little to hide his large assets. Especially when he had his thick thighs spread like that

“Come on kiddo. It isn’t anything you haven’t seen before. Can’t a guy just lounge around on his day off.” He replied with that same subtle smirk he always had as he rested his head against his hand. I cursed myself internally for not being able to help glancing at his armpit for a moment. “Besides, I’m the man of this house and so if I wanna lie around in my underwear then I’ll do just that.” He added sternly before reaching down to give his fat bulge a rub.

I rolled my eyes a little before quickly exiting the room and letting him get back to watching sports on TV. After all, I didn't want to give him a chance to see the growing erection in my pants. I just can’t help it when he shows off his body like that. He knows exactly what he’s doing too. You see that man lying on the couch and showing off his manly form isn’t actually my dad. Not in spirit anyway. It’s actually my best friend Jason inside my dad’s body!

It all started when we were kids. Both me and Jason had pretty shit parents and it was part of the reason we bonded so much. We became each others support whenever we needed it. For me I lived most of my life with my dad after my mom walked out on us when I was very little. Ever since then my dad had been distant and bitter. He wasn’t abusive towards me or anything but he was certainly neglectful to say the least. Jason on the other had definitely got the worse end of the stick with parents that were borderline manipulative and even abusive towards him growing up. I remember telling him all through high school that the moment he turned 18 that he should just get the hell out of there. That day came over a year ago now. Jason turned 18 not long after me but even with the job he had, he still couldn’t afford to move out. Especially with his parents practically stealing half his wage. Before long the two of us were 19 going on 20 soon and Jason still couldn’t see a way of escaping his parents for years to come. That’s when I decided something had to be done.

For weeks the two of us had been brainstorming ideas to get Jason out of his parents house. We considered putting our wages together and renting a place to share but with how much prices had been going up recently, that didn’t seem like a sustainable option right now. Neither of us had other family members we could stay with either. We even considered going to a homeless shelter together but decided that’d probably do more harm than good in the end. After all my home life wasn’t nearly as bad as Jason’s but I wouldn’t wanna leave him alone. After a while we started to lose hope, believing that Jason would just have to put up with his horrible parents for the foreseeable future. That was until I stumbled across a curious shop that I’d somehow never noticed before…

———

Gilgamesh’s Magic Shop - For all your magical needs

The shop radiated a strange presence that I couldn’t help being drawn to. “Magical needs?” I raised an eyebrow as I read the large golden letters that adorned the sign that sat on the front of the building. My first thought was that it was one of those fake magic trick shops but it seemed pretty interesting and I didn’t exactly have anything else planned that day so I decided I might as well check it out.

Upon stepping inside I came face to face with a plethora of weird items and objects filling the many shelves around the shop. It all looked incredibly ornate with how well organised and decorated it was. Naturally I couldn’t help poking around a little, inspecting all sorts of books, potion bottles and crystals that all claimed to have magical properties.

“Ah, hello sir!” A man called from behind the front desk. I couldn’t help but jump a little as I could’ve sworn he hadn’t been standing there a second ago. He looked to be in his early 30’s or so but still looked amazing for his age. He had short hair that shimmered in the light with its golden blonde colour while his handsome face adorned a dusting of stubble. The clothes he wore looked rather unusual, almost like a mix between a wizard cloak and casual suit. “My name’s Gilgamesh but most people call me Gil. I’m the owner of this place so if there’s anything in particular you’re looking for then just ask.”

“Oh… um thanks.” I blushed a little at the stunning man’s proposal. “But I don’t think any of this fake magic stuff is gonna help me all that much.”

Gil laughed. “Please. The magic I sell is anything but fake. Here I’ll prove it.” I watched as he walked around the front desk and grabbed a potion bottle off a nearby shelf. Without any hesitation he popped the top off and downed the potion in one go. What I saw changed my view on magic forever. There was a moment of silence as Gil smirked over at me. Then without warning he lurched over and groaned. I could only watch on in astonishment as his once ordinary sized frame began expanding at a rapid rate. Seeing as his clothes grew tighter while his body packed on excessive amounts of fat and muscle. His entire body growing thicker and stronger! It was hard to tell at first but as his clothes started to rip I began to see how he was growing hairier as well! Even his light stubble from before poofed out into a large blonde beard! At first I’d thought the groans meant he was in pain but as the transformation came to an end, after his voice had deepened significantly, I realised they were actually groans of pleasure!

“W-w…what the fuck… just happened!?” I stuttered, looking up at the new man before me.

Gil turned and smiled at me. “Muscle bear potion.” He stated simply. “Does exactly what it says. Turns you into a big muscle bear of a man like so.” The huge shopkeeper gestured down at his now massive burly body. “This one is only temporary and should wear off naturally within a week but we do sell permanent versions as well.” He explained as he made his way back behind the counter once again, struggling to move a little with his big belly and thick appendages straining against the torn fabric of his clothes. “Looks like I’ll have to grab a new uniform from the back to use the next week though. Oh well, I’m sure my boyfriend Simon will enjoy seeing me like this.” He laughed heartily.

Before I stepped foot into that shop I believed magic was nothing but tricks and fantasy. But after witnessing that man transform right before my very eyes, I had no choice but to believe everything about this shop was real! All the spell books, all the magical clothes, all the powerful crystals. It had to all be real!!

After regaining my composure I managed to explain my situation to Gil. Telling him all about Jason and the situation with his parents. Of course Gil sympathised with the situation and told me I was a good friend for sticking by Jason and wanting to help him. He stroked his beard a little as he thought until he came up with a magical solution to my problem. “You know, I think I’ve got just the thing that’ll sort your friend's situation right out.”

Gil began wandering through the shop, searching the shelves for something in particular as I followed behind him. As he did I couldn’t help glancing at his big bear butt from behind and I guess he could feel my eyes on him judging by the look he gave me shortly after. Before long he ended up pulling another vial off the shelf, this one being filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Strapped to the bottle was also a small instruction manual on how to use it. “This should do the trick. Nectar of the bodysnatcher. Its pure liquid essence made from the blood of real bodysnatchers.” He explained though I didn’t even begin to pretend like I knew what he was talking about. “Drinking this will grant you the powers of a bodysnatcher for a one time use. I think it’ll be perfect for your friend Jason.”

Next thing I knew we were back at the cash register. After much reassurance that this potion was exactly what I needed to help Jason, I ended up forking over my cash and buying the strange looking vial while silently hoping I wouldn’t come to regret it.

———

When I first told Jason about what I’d bought he thought I was insane and rightfully so. Before visiting the shop I would’ve been the same. But after a ton of persuasion I managed to get Jason on board with my plan to get him away from his parents. To put him in a whole new body. I’d given it a lot of thought already by this point and had decided on the perfect candidate. My dad. I figured that way I’d be hitting two birds with one stone. Jason can get away from his parents and Jason can take the place of my asshole dad! It was perfect! He was quick to agree to this as he’d always had a bit of a crush on my dad anyways so anything that involved him was a green light from Jason.

Once it was decided, I brought Jason over to my house while my dad was napping and began going through the instructions with him.

STEP 1: Drink the nectar of the bodysnatcher to allow its power to sink in. Drinking the whole vial is recommended for a smoother experience.

Jason was a little hesitant but with a little encouragement from me he twisted the lid off the vial and tossed it back. Before long the entire potion had disappeared down Jason’s throat. Moments later he described a strange feeling pulsing through his body. Almost like he’d just taken a bunch of caffeine as new energy pumped through his veins.

STEP 2: Find a recently worn article of clothing belonging to the person who’s body you wish to take and put it on.

The two of us snuck upstairs as quietly as possible so as not to wake my dad. We could hear him snoring quietly from his bedroom as I reached into the dirty clothes hamper. Moments after I pulled out a pair of my dads smelly black socks that he’d likely worn to work that day before passing them to Jason who immediately pressed them to his nose.

“Oh come on dude. Really?” I whispered, watching my best friend shamelessly huff on my dad’s worn socks. “Just put them on.”

Jason rolled his eyes, giving the socks one last sniff before starting to pull them on. “Whatever man. I still don’t believe this weird magic shit is real but I know your dad’s hot scent is.” He sniggered quietly as he finished tugging the oversized socks on.

STEP 3: Find the person whose body you wish to take and kiss them directly on the lips. This act will activate the magic now within your body.

Now that Jason had my dads socks on, the pair of us crept towards his room as quietly as possible before slowly pressing the door open. There, laid out on the large king sized bed was my dad. His body was only half covered by the bed sheets as he slept in nothing but his underwear from what we could tell. I could already feel Jason’s eyes burning with desire as he gazed upon my sleeping father. He didn’t even care if the magic worked, he just wanted to plant his lips on my dad.

The two of us tiptoed closer until we stood over my dad, gazing down at him while he dreamt. I gave Jason a nod and he knew exactly what to do. Slowly and silently, Jason undressed until he was completely naked besides my dad’s socks before creeping onto the bed. I held my breath nervously as he manoeuvred his way on top of my dad so that he had one leg on each side of my dad’s body. Jason glanced over at me with a smile before looking down at my father again. Then without another second wasted, Jason lowered himself down until his lips pressed against my father’s…

Almost immediately Jason’s body began to glow slightly while a volt of magic surged through both his body and my dad’s. This immediately woke my dad, his eyes going wide as he saw his son’s best friend kissing him. But they couldn’t pull away. It was as if their lips were glued together somehow! I could only watch in bewilderment as my dad started kicking his legs beneath Jason and flailing his arms around but it proved pointless as soon enough he seemed to lose all the strength in his body. Almost like he was paralysed. It seemed as though Jason was experiencing the same thing as his body now laid dead flat on top of my dad. I would’ve been worried had I not heard Jason moaning delightfully through the kiss. Whatever was happening I knew it had to have felt good.

What happened next looked like something directly out of a Sci-fi movie. Jason’s body glowed once again as it slowly began to sink into my dad’s body. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me but as I watched Jason’s legs disappear into my dad’s beefier ones, I was forced to believe it. The rest of Jason’s body soon followed suit as his arms were next, Jason lining them up with my dad’s before allowing them to sink in as well. By this point my dad must’ve been experiencing just was much pleasure as Jason was by how his eyes had rolled back, not to mention how they both had obscene bulges that were rubbing against each other. That is until Jason’s crotch sunk into my dad’s as well, causing my dad’s dick to grow even harder. This process only continued with Jason’s torso fast disappearing until the only thing left was his head sticking out of my dad’s body, lips still pressed together. But of course that didn’t last long as even Jason’s head eventually pushed its way down inside of my dad’s head. Sinking into his body completely until my father was the only one left, now wearing the socks Jason had stolen from him.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried when my dad’s body started convulsing. For a moment I considered calling 911 but just as suddenly as it started, the convulsing stopped, leaving my dad’s body still and calm besides the pulsing erection in his underwear. “Dad? Jason?” I asked the sleeping man, not knowing who’s name to call. He didn’t reply. Only grunting and murmuring with his eyes closed. Then, without warning, he let out a deep moan which resulted in the pouch of his underwear getting soaked in cum. I had to look away in embarrassment…

“Whatcha lookin that way for kiddo. The show’s over here…” I heard my dad’s voice say but the tone behind it didn’t sound like him at all. It sounded cheerful almost, totally unlike his usual resentful self. I turned back around and I saw my dad now sitting up in bed with a huge cheesy grin on his face as he ran his hands along his thick hairy pecs. “You know I didn’t believe you at first but holy fuck… this is great! My voice is so deep! And I’m so hairy… fuck and these tattoos.” He traced a finger across the inked skin of one of his biceps while simultaneously admiring the thick muscle it sat upon.

“Jason? Is that really you in there?” I asked, still not quite believing that potion had actually worked even after all I’d just seen.

“Who else baby!” I watched as he hopped out of bed excitedly and dashed over towards my dad’s bedroom mirror. The way his face lit up upon seeing his reflection said everything. “But you can call me dad from now on…” he stroked his beard, admiring the facial hair he’d never been able to grow before as he inspected his mature looks. I could tell just by the expressions he made as his fingers ran across his face and down his body once again that he adored each and every sensation. Groping every part of my dad’s body that he’d always fantasised about touching. His pecs, his biceps, his ass and of course his cock. One of his rough hands glided over his wet crotch as he squeezed his cum soaked dad dick, still bulging in his underwear. The way he smirked so full of lust and desire was a look I never imagined I’d see on my own father’s face. Only after all that did he finally turn back to look at me and say “Unless of course you’d rather call me daddy instead.”

“Eww no! You’re literally my dad now Jason! That’s… weird…” I trailed off a little at the end. I’d never been attracted to my own dad before. Why would I be? He was an asshole!! Sure he might’ve been exactly my type with muscles, body hair and tattoo but… he was fucking dad for fuck sake! So why the fuck did I feel butterflies in stomach when he put a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m just kidding man. But seriously thank you for this. With your dad’s body I never have to go back to my shitty parents. Not to mention I look hot as fuck! I always wished I could fuck your dad but this is a whole other level.” With that he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a big hug, something my dad hadn’t given me since I was a kid. His strong hairy body and sticky crotch grinding against my own. “You’re the best *son* a dad could ask for.” He added, holding me tight in his arms allowing for me to get a good whiff of his scent.

After that I could’ve denied the feelings I had all I wanted but the semi in my pants was a dead giveaway. Jason chuckled as I rushed to hide the bulge but it was too late. My face went red as he gave me a pat on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Son. Can’t blame you for getting a little excited around your old man with how manly I am.” He was already acting so cocky and confident. “Now how’s about you and I head downstairs and go through everything I need to know to pull off being your dear old pops. That is after I’ve taken a nice long shower of course to familiarise myself with this hot dad body heheh.”

By that point I could already tell this was going to be a wild ride…

———

And that brings us back to the present. It’s been two weeks since Jason took my dad’s place and he’s been able to play the part perfectly, albeit coming off as a much friendlier version of my father. Turns out that when Jason took my dad’s body, he absorbed my dad’s soul as well. This in turn allowed Jason to tap into all of my dad’s memories, emotions and personality whenever a situation called for it. For all intents and purposes, he literally was my dad now. Hell he even insisted that I always call him dad even when no one’s around. It was weird at first but I’ve gotten used to it I guess.

He never fails to mention to me how great being inside my dad’s body feels. Whether it be his new muscles as he flexed them in the mirror, or bragging about how big of a load his big dad cock and balls can bust now. Loving his new beard, smacking his new ass, appreciating his new tattoos, gawking over his smelly new armpits and the list goes on. He described to me how great it feels to finally be treated like an equal by all the other adults around him when at work only to come home and boss me around in the most seductive ways possible.

If there’s one thing I do somewhat regret about all this however, it’s that now Jason won’t stop teasing me with his new body every chance he gets. Like today when he’d been laying on the couch in just his underwear, practically waiting for me to walk in on him. Whenever we were home alone he made sure to wear as little as possible to show off his body and I was always trying my utmost to tear my eyes away from him. But when he walked around in the house in nothing but a tight jockstrap that showed off his bare ass, I just couldn’t stop myself from staring and imaging what it’d be like to stick my face between my dads hairy cheeks… fuck! I can’t believe he’s managed to do this to me!

Now here I was scampering out of the living room, trying to get the thoughts of my hot new dad out of my head. Everyday it’d been getting worse. I’d been popping boners to my dad more often and even multiple times a day. It didn’t take long for him to slowly start infuriating my jerk off sessions starting with him crossing my mind for a moment as I jerked off until eventually it got to the point where I was having entire jerk off fantasies around him! Imagining what it’d be like to fuck or be fucked by him. And could you blame me when he was constantly shoving that hot body of his in my face! It was torturous at this point. Like he was slowly trying to wear me down. And it was working.

“Hey son. Why don’t you come back through here and watch some sports with your old man. You can snuggle up to me if you want.” Jason said as he came up behind me and wrapped my dad’s strong arms around me and pressed his arousal against my ass. “Come on, I know you love being close to dad.” He cooed, his voice so deep and soft at the same time that I practically melted on the spot.

Before I knew it Dad had managed to guide me back towards the living room where the two of us sat on the couch together watching sports. Jason had never been that into sports before so I could only guess it was a trait he’d picked up from my father after the takeover. As we watched he made sure to wrap an arm around me to keep me pulled close against his body. I didn’t want to admit it but I actually really enjoyed getting to be this close to him now. To feel his hairy body pressed against me as the scent from his pits filled my nostrils. It was driving me crazy.

At one point during the game, dad decided to stuff his free hand down his briefs to fondle his fat hairy balls. Just watching him do such a thing made me horny as fuck to the point where I wished I could’ve been the one cradling his big balls instead. Of course this was all according to dad’s plan as quickly noticed I’d lost all interest in the TV and was now totally focused on him. With a smirk dad pulled his hand out of his briefs and without a second of hesitation he pressed that very hand against my face.

“There you go boy. Huff on that.” He commended as the powerful aroma of his sweaty dad balls invaded my nose and overpowered all my senses. Before I knew it I was sinking deep into his hand, sniffing the scent deeply and craving even more. I knew it was wrong. It was my dad’s body. My dad’s balls. My dad’s scent. But… I craved it so fucking badly! And I only had myself to blame for giving my best friend that damn body!

In a flash I was down on my knees and between dad’s legs as I shoved my face into his pouch. Feeling the heft of his heavy balls press against my face through the tight fabric of his briefs. Allowing the powerful smell to wash over my face. He held my head down, forcing me to kiss and lick his bulge as his thick length grew harder. I wanted nothing more than to take it in my mouth and swallow every last drop of cum he had stored in my dad’s balls. And as he finally pulled down his briefs, allowing his thick cock to spring out in front of me, it seemed as though I was about to get my wish.

What followed was a scene of a father relentlessly face fucking his son as dad absolutely destroyed my throat with his cock. It was clear he’d been waiting to do this ever since I helped him steal that body. Thrusting his hips back and forth as he forced his thick cock as far down my throat as he could, making sure that I gagged on every glorious inch. I have no idea how long it went on for as I was still entranced by his aroma and by just how good it felt to feel his thick dad dick in my mouth but soon enough his moan started to grow and before I knew it my mouth was filled to the brim with thick salty cum.

I fell backwards having just swallowed my best friend's load. No… my dad’s load. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done but at the same time I didn’t find myself regretting it either. If anything I wanted to do it again right! When I sat back up I was of course greeted by a view of my dad’s softening cock as it dripped with cum. “You’re such a good boy for swallowing all of daddy’s cum.” He placed a gentle hand on my cheek, smiling softly. “As a reward, I might let you sleep in my bed tonight. Maybe then dad can give you a demonstration on how real men fuck. How’s that sound?”

“Oh yes please dad! I need your dick inside me!” I blurted out without thinking. I couldn’t believe how much of a slut he’d turned me into.

Dad chuckled softly before shoving my face back into his crotch. “If you clean me up nice and good, I’ll make sure your wish comes true son.” He didn’t need to say another word, I was already licking away. Dad went back to watching TV while I cleaned off his cock. Lapping up any remaining cum dripping from his cock before running my tongue across his soft, but still surprisingly large, shaft. Even after that I couldn’t stop myself from licking his big sweaty balls which dad didn’t seem to mind. God they tasted incredible…

And as my tongue slid back and forth, I couldn’t help but be thankful that I found that strange Magic shop when I did. To think that magic not only existed but could make something as crazy as this a reality?! Maybe I’ll have to head back there sometime and pick out something for myself. After all, Dad won’t stop going on about how amazing it feels to have a bigger, more mature body. Maybe I should find a way to get one myself to see what all the fuss is about…

Read The Sequel next!!

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[piratefishmama]

For dialogue prompts #6 with Steddie pls!!!!

Writing Prompts | No longer accepting new prompts

06.  “I don’t know if I want to know the answer, but what are you doing?”

--

“I don’t know if I want to know the answer, but what are you doing?” Steve startled upright at the voice behind him, turning, his hands and the thing within them flying behind his back out of sight, he found himself looking a little downward to the judgmental gaze of two of the three members of Corroded Coffin. The one in the middle, Gareth, being the one who’d spoken.

How did he, the King of Hawkins High know of Corroded Coffin pray tell? Not important. Definitely wasn’t the painful crush he had on their magnanimous ring leader that’d had him lingering incognito at a gig at The Hideout every now and then despite it definitely not being his scene. Definitely wasn’t that. It wasn’t like he had clothes hidden in the guest room’s loft space so he could attend those gigs and blend in for that exact reason, definitely wasn’t THAT.

“Uhhh... nothing.” Nothing. Gareth raised a single brow. Nothing. “Seriously, man, nothing. What’s it to you anyway?”

“That’s Eddie’s locker, dude. He’s our friend. The hell are you doing at it? Were you trying to break in or something?”

“No” well that was believable. Fuck, why didn’t he get one of the little buttheads to do this. It’d have been easier for them! Nobody knew who they were, would have probably been mistaken for random freshmen. His face was known. He was known in Hawkins High, and he really hadn’t thought that anyone would still be there that late in the evening.

Stupid nerd clubs running late.

“Alright, I changed my mind, I absolutely do know that I wanna know the answer. What the hell are you doing to Eddie’s locker, and don’t say nothing cause I saw you fuckin with the lock, so what is it, Harrington? If this is some kind of practical joke, then cut it the fuck out, he’s never done shit to you, so leave him the fuck alone.” Maybe Eddie had verbally abused them from lunch tables once or twice, but he’d never messed with lockers or hurt any of them.

The basketball team definitely hadn’t shared his hesitance to declare war either, always doing shit unprovoked.

“I’m not—shit, I’m not doing anything bad, Jesus, could you just… I dunno… trust me? and not say anything to Eddie maybe, that you saw me here?” God he was so not sneaky, he was the worst possible ninja ever, the duo only looked more suspicious. “Ugh, look, it’s none of your actual business why I’m here, just… just move on, and uh… forget you saw me. please. I’ll buy you lunch for the next month.”

“Now that’s just extra suspicious” the other one piped up, Jeff the backup guitarist “you think our loyalty to our friend can be bought, Harrington? Cause it can’t, we can afford our own lunches.” Their parents paid for them basically. “So spill it, what do you have in your hands?”

“I have nothing in my hands, look. Im gonna go, I’m just gonna go, so lets just forget you saw me.”

“Or we could tell Eddie we saw you lurking at his locker so he c—”

“No!” Steve grabbed Gareth as the boy tried to start for the door, “No, nope, don’t do that. Why would you do that?”

“Cause you’re being really fucking suspicious and get off the threads, man.” Gareth shoved Steve’s hand away from his jacket “he has a right to know if he’s about to get punked. Especially if he hasn’t done anything to earn it.” Eddie could be pretty fuckin annoying at times sure, especially toward the basketball team, but he’d never done anything to Steve.  

“He’s not about to get punked, Jesus. That’s not—I wasn’t going to—that’s not it. Okay? It’s not. It’s just… I just—” Gareth’s eyes dipped down just in time to spot a box in Steve’s other hand, peeking out from behind his back, wrapped in red with black ribbon… his eyes narrowed “I just—” Steve was obviously grasping at straws, clearly about two seconds from panic if his tone was anything to go by, the choppy speech, the broken sentences.

Gift wrapped box. Sneakily snuck into Eddie’s locker. The date. The day it’d be tomorrow. Holy shit.

Jeff seemed to catch that lightbulb moment at the exact same moment as Gareth did because they both burst out with “It’s YOU!!” At the same time, clearly scaring the shit out of Steve who jumped back in surprise, back hitting the metal of the lockers.  

Gareth continued though “you’re the one that leaves him presents every holiday!! That’s you!” Steve’s eyes widened, clearly just about to deny any involvement when Gareth continued with “oh my god, that’s YOU?! Dude. Oh my god. Dude. Eddie’s gonna flip—”

“You can’t tell him, man” Jeff seemed to catch on quicker though, punching Gareth in the arm as if he’d done something wrong. “We can’t, that’s just… not right, dude.”

“Eddie’s not an asshole, Jeff, c’mon, he deserves to kno—"

“Nope. It’s not cool, man. Even if Eddie’s not an asshole, if Steve wants to tell him, then Steve can tell him, but until then? No. It’s not fair to take that choice from him. How would you feel if you were in his place?” Gareth seemed to consider that for a moment before his whole body deflated.

“Ugh, fine. You’re right, why are you right? Who said you could be the grown up, man, Jesus.” Gareth then turned back to the deer in headlights gaze of Steve Harrington “Alright, man. We won’t tell Eddie. He changed his combo to nine nine nine if you didn’t already know, but I swear if that’s not some real tasty chocolate or some other nice thing that’ll make him feel all gooey tomorrow, we tell Eddie exactly who left it there, and he can corner you himself, got it?”

“…Got it. You uh… you won’t tell anyone else… right?”

“Nah” Jeff answered for him “We don’t tell on our own people, man. Your secrets safe.”

“Thanks. M’not… like… fully, y’know… I’m just—It doesn’t matter, will you both just… I dunno, go? Not like… not like I’m not thrilled you’re being cool but—” he was nervous enough, he didn’t need an audience watching him do something he’d always managed to be sneaky as all hell with before. Someone had to spot him eventually.

“Heh, sure thing, man. But remember, if that’s not something that makes Eddie smile tomorrow, all niceties are off. Got it?” Steve nodded quick to Jeffs warning, which seemed to be enough, because the boy moved to push Gareth toward the doors, away from the scene of Steve’s little holiday crimes, leaving him there to finish up and disappear into the night back to his castle.

Both hopeful, and thankfully thrilled when they attended school the next day, to find Eddie, excitedly bouncing on his heels by his locker with a box of fancy homemade chocolates, a beautiful little dice bag in his hands, and Steve Harrington, barely visible in the throng of teens bustling through the hallways, trying very hard to remain inconspicuous as he watched the reaction from a distance, hope that Eddie liked his gift in his gaze so blatantly obvious even from a distance that they couldn't believe nobody had figured him out yet.

Someday. They figured. Given how determined Steve was to remember every single holiday... someday. They'd find each other properly someday. But until that day...

Eddie had a really cool new dicebag to show off to them.

[loverhymeswith]

hello🙈 i’ve been thinking about a mini story based on “exile” by taylor swift with one tommy shelby… former lovers. shelby sees her at a party with a new beau and gets jealous (“i can see you starin honey, like he’s just your understudy, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me”) it’s a back and forth dialogue type song IDK i think it would be slay

Exile

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: A familiar figure stirs up feelings you'd rather not face

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Mention of drugs.

A/N: Thank you Anon! I love this song and it fits Tommy SO well. Also, I wrote this on a beach. No idea how the setting ended up being NYE. Thank you @a-reader-and-a-writer for the beta read and the ending ❤️

I've added my existing taglist but please note this is not part of the Let’s Be Alone Together universe.

Him

It's fast approaching midnight at The Savoy Hotel. The dawning of the new year is almost within reach. Tommy Shelby drains his glass of champagne, wishing for whiskey instead as he slowly scans the room.

Tickets for the party tonight had been akin to gold dust, a chance to rub shoulders with the upper echelons of London's elite. But Tommy would rather be anywhere else in the world. 

Preferably, Birmingham.

He'd take a bottle of homemade gin, tucked away in the quiet familiarity of Charlie's yard in a heartbeat over this stuffy champagne-fueled ballroom. But no one ever said success was easy.

Tommy had come here tonight for one reason and one reason alone. If his plans to move into the world of politics had any chance of coming to fruition, he would need to mingle with the privileged crowd. To learn their weakness. Their darkest secrets. To take advantage of the liquor loosening their lips.

He's managed to withstand maybe a handful of hours at best before growing tired of all the posturing and arrogance, the not-so-subtle self-aggrandising and the congratulatory back slaps.

Looking for a way out but willing to settle for a distraction, his gaze continues to drift along the sea of tuxedos and expensive dresses.

Unexpectedly, he falters.

These days, it takes a lot to catch Tommy Shelby off guard - between France and his more recent ventures, it would be fair to assume he had developed nerves of steel - but off guard is exactly how he feels when his attention lands on the beautiful woman standing by the bar.

He'd recognise her anywhere. Sometimes, he thinks he searches for her in his dreams. 

Tommy feels the muscles in his jaw clench before he's able to compose himself. A foolish sign of weakness that he can’t afford to display. Not here. 

But it's difficult. A test of his usually unwavering resolve. Because she's not alone. 

There's a man. Younger than Tommy; tall, dark-haired, and slim, the old-money practically oozing off him. Any closer and Tommy would be able to smell it.

Tommy grabs another glass of too-sweet champagne from a passing waiter. Something to occupy his hands, and just in time. Old-Money's arms are wrapped around the woman's body, a possessive gesture and one he recognises well.

Once upon a time, she spent her nights in Tommy’s arms.

Five whole years might have passed - evidently long enough for her tastes to change - but it feels more like five minutes since she walked out of Small Heath and out of his life, a hastily scrawled note declaring she'd had enough.

Three simple sentences. One for each year they had been together. At the time, Tommy had replayed the words over and over until they no longer held any meaning, but liquor and bloodshed had long since turned those memories to slush.

It all boiled down to his plans for the future. Her fear of the potential enemies and danger which those plans might beget.

Whoever said that love would conquer all?

Tommy doesn't taste the sparkling wine as he tips the glass back, draining it in one mouthful. 

The champagne just won't do. He needs something stronger to take the edge off, but his path to the bar is blocked.

Biding his time, Tommy watches the couple. In fact, despite the sourness growing in the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to look away.

Old-Money leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispers something that even Tommy’s lip-reading skills cannot decipher. 

What is plain to see, however, is her lack of amusement. She tenses, discomfort evident in the clench of her jaw and the tightness of her shoulders. Her laughter, when it comes, is forced, never reaching her eyes.

A lightning bolt of unfiltered rage burns through Tommy’s veins, dulling his remaining senses like Arthur’s cocaine, but he quickly tempers it down. It’s not his problem. She's not his problem. 

She's not his to defend.

Not anymore.

Her

It's almost midnight. Ever since your arrival at The Savoy, your attention has been drifting to the clock on the wall. Waiting for the bells to chime and free you from this misery.

The party had been his idea, your date for the evening clearly operating under the assumption that money makes a man more attractive. An assumption which couldn't be further removed from the truth.

Though The Savoy might be the hottest ticket in town, everything about tonight makes you miss Birmingham - Small Heath, to be precise. New Year's Eve at The Garrison. The excitement. The unpredictability. 

The Peaky Blinders.

Your stomach involuntarily flips at the intrusive thought. You've come too far now to be thinking about the Shelby brothers. All memories pertaining to your former life belong firmly in the past.

Ignoring another pompous comment from your date, you glance up from your drink, desperate for an escape. Perhaps you can slip away in time to avoid the awkward but obligatory midnight kiss.

That's when you see him. 

A ghost - a demon - from your past, seemingly conjured into existence by the power of your thoughts alone.

The very same piercing blue eyes that have long haunted your dreams now stare you down, unblinking, from across the room. His full lips are drawn into a hard line.

Thomas Shelby.

Despite your brain knowing far better, your traitorous heart still flutters.

He looks good. Too good. 

Unfairly good.

The expensive dark suit is sinfully cut to his powerful body and his once-severe haircut has been allowed to somewhat grow out. 

Clearly, he's come a long way since the days of bruised and bloody knuckles. In the presence of polite society, he looks like he belongs.

The last five years may have been kind to your former fiancé, but with a start, the realisation dawns that the same can't be said of you.

Because five years later you still haven't recovered from the incurable affliction of loving Tommy Shelby.

Despite what some might say, you hadn't walked into the relationship blind. You'd known the head of the Shelby family for long enough to accept that a life together would be full of surprises, and not all of them good. But for love, you'd given him half a dozen chances.

Honesty. 

That's all you'd ever wanted. To be treated as his equal. His partner. To not be kept in the dark about decisions which could potentially put you both in harm's way.

Yet still he'd schemed and plotted. Twisted and manipulated. Deceived. He had told you it wasn't lying. That for your own safety, he was simply withholding the truth. As if that somehow made it ok.

Inevitably, after three years together, your patience reached its limit. Making good on a promise to yourself, you'd left, starting a new life for yourself in the capital, far away from the demons of Watery Lane. 

But you'd been foolish to believe that any amount of miles could repair the damage done to your heart. Arguably, damage of your own making.

His name has followed you like an ever-present shadow. His handsome picture staring back at you from newspaper articles. Even in black and white, those beautiful eyes just added insult to injury.

And now he's here in the flesh.

Tommy's stare is unwavering, but he makes no move to come over. Still, it's only a matter of time before he seeks you out. After your cowardly way of leaving, it's easy to imagine he has some choice words for you, but you’re not ready to speak to him. Not here, where manners and decorum are all the rage.

Willing yourself to break eye contact, you notice a side door to your left. Relief washes over you. Freedom or at least a small reprieve. Anything is preferable to this form of slow torture.

Him

Tommy watches her leave - a recurring theme, it would seem - her hurried exit presumably on account of his unexpected presence here tonight. She definitely spotted him amidst the crowd and she did not look pleased.

He should let her go. She's not his problem. She's in his past.

Isn't she?

A minute passes before, not entirely of his own accord, Tommy finds himself following in her footsteps. He's always been inexplicably drawn to her. Apparently, even heartbreak isn't enough to change that.

When he finds her in the lobby, her back is turned but she whips around as he murmurs her name.

"Tommy."

The earlier surprise he saw flash across her delicate features has been replaced by a  carefully rehearsed indifference. One he recognises all too well. 

She's at pains to pretend his presence isn't affecting her. A feeling to which he can certainly relate.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight," she adds when he doesn't immediately respond. "I didn't think this kind of thing was your scene."

He doesn't miss the accusation in her tone. 

What she really means is why are you here?

Slowly, Tommy inclines his head, lest she notice the falter in his gaze. Impossibly, she's even more beautiful than he remembers. It's surely a cruel twist of fate that brings her here tonight. Just when things were looking up for him. Just when he thought he'd put the past to rest.

"Likewise," he agrees. 

"Business or pleasure?" She wonders aloud before scanning the lobby, keenly on the lookout for another escape route.

The words, driven by a lingering hurt, fly from his lips before he can check himself, his attention not so subtly shifting to the blonde woman entering the lobby. "There's no reason it can't be both."

Her

Of course, he followed you. It's a problem you could really do without. You're walking a thin line just by talking to him. Experience tells you there's only two ways this will play out. 

Wondering whether there's any possibility of getting away unscathed, you offer him a polite smile and gesture towards the blonde woman now loitering in the corner. "Well, I'll leave you to your… pleasure."

He studies you carefully, his sharp features set into a cool mask of apathy, but you recognise the hurt hidden behind his icy eyes. 

The hurt which you caused.

"I'd tell you the same, except I doubt your friend knows how to pleasure a woman. You looked miserable back there." 

Despite the sentiment, there's no trace of concern in his cruel words.

"My choice of date for the evening isn't up for debate, Thomas," you tell him curtly, despite silently agreeing with his observation.

"Nothing ever is with you, is it?" he muses, his lips slightly pursing.

And there it is. 

Clearly, he's not going to let you get away until he has aired his grievances. 

Perhaps you owe him that courtesy at the very least.

Dropping your own mask of indifference, you take a step towards him and take his warm hand. To your surprise, he doesn't resist.

"I had to leave, Tommy. You were never going to turn things around. You were never going to change. But for what it's worth, I am sorry about leaving the way I did. I should have been better. I should have been braver."

Tommy shakes his head, keeping his tightly guarded emotions at bay. "You left without warning. You never even heard me out."

"Without warning? God, Tommy. How can you stand there and say that? How could you possibly have missed it? I left you so many signs."

Tommy looks away, his eyes rapidly searching for something just out of sight. The only indication he's feeling anything at all. "I guess I never learnt to read your mind."

"You never learnt to listen," you fire back. "Or communicate at all for that matter. Would it have killed you to be honest with me? To tell me what you had planned?"

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "I was trying to keep you safe."

The realisation that he's never going to change his tune stings more than it should. You drop his hand. "I wish I could believe that." 

The truth, in your eyes, is that he never trusted you. He's never trusted anyone. How could you be expected to give your heart over to a man who would never let you into his own?

There's a beat of silence. Enough time for you to regret letting this conversation play out for so long. Nothing good can come from digging up the past. You should go your separate ways before any further irreparable damage is done.

"Was it worth it?" Tommy asks finally, a bite of frustration slipping through his calm facade. "Leaving everything behind for this?" He gestures around. "Are you happier now?"

"Yes," you lie, but your resolve is rapidly weakening under the intensity of his blue gaze.

The door to the ballroom swings open and a small gathering of revellers spills into the lobby, saving you from admitting the very thing you've been afraid of. 

That leaving Birmingham had been a mistake. 

Tommy reaches for your arm, tugging you away from the crowd and into a recess by the cloakroom. As a result, the two of you have infinitely closed the distance.

His chest, broad and still so inviting, is now inches from your own; his calloused hand is still wrapped firmly around your wrist, his thumb pressed against your pulse point.

Can he feel how fast your heart races?

"For all your talk of honesty, you won't face the truth yourself, will you?" He sighs lightly, something like disappointment coating his words.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You scoff, feigning ignorance as a last resort.

Before he can respond, a loud cheer erupts from within the ballroom, saving you once again.

"That's midnight," you murmur just as Tommy glances down at his elegant gold pocket watch.

"Midnight," he agrees, his eyes flicking back up to your own. "Happy New Year."

You stare at him for a long moment, taking stock of his defining features. Long, dark eyelashes, the kind that would ordinarily be wasted on a man - but not Tommy; razor sharp cheekbones and a jawline to match. Crystalline blue eyes you could so easily drown in.

Almost imperceptibly, he shifts closer, large hands finding your waist with ease.

"Do you still believe in tradition?" He wonders, but it's a rhetorical question. You both know he doesn't need an answer.

Your last sensible thought before he leans in to kiss you: God damn Tommy Shelby and those ocean eyes.

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

The Mercs take Y/N to a nearby carnival in the badlands

WARNING: Chaos ensues. Why the fuck would you take them anywhere?

Scout:

- He’s fine with this. He used to love going to carnivals. It was all him and his family could afford on weekends.

- You’re somewhat bothered by the heat but he’s resilient as fuck. “You want me to grab you some water, babe?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer. Returns in fucking milliseconds with water. You don’t know how he’s so damn fast.

- Sits on the fariswheel with you, he had planned this to be super romantic but he feels awkward. He tries to lighten the mood by standing up in the car and whacking his ball into the poor crowd of people. “Watch this. This is for you, babe.” The sandman ball hits a guy in the face and probably kills him. You’re pretty convinced he’s not alive anymore. “Home run!” He calls out. “Woooo!”

———————————————————-

Solider:

- EXCITED. EXCITED. EXCITED. If he were a dog he’d be wagging his tail. For all the wrong reasons. You know full well you’re in for a ride. It’s not a thrill ride.

- He takes the shooting games way too seriously. Gets mad when he doesn’t get the plush toy prize and pulls out his actual stock rocket launcher to rely on pure splash damage. (Where the fuck did he even hide that?) They’re forced to hand him his prize in fear for their lives.

- If you lose a game, he beats the shit out of the person running the stall. He insists it’s their fault and the game was rigged. Your shot is flawless.

- You leave him alone for TWO SECONDS and he’s already harassing a random bird on the fence he believes to be a Russian drone. Children are staring at him. You can’t take this man anywhere.

——————————————————————-

Demoman:

- He’s not used to this. He went to the Highland games as a kid. Never really had a carnival around his village. He experiences a bit of awe and intrigue as you walk the streets with him. He’s still in his vest and the people of Tuefort are heckling him. They know he’s one of those annoying mercenaries. He thinks this is fucking hilarious.

- He hates the food though. Eugh. He discovers pretty quickly he has a dislike for fried chicken. Insults America’s tastes to hell and back. Almost fucking vomits when he tastes the mac and cheese. What the fucking hell is wrong with you people?

- “Err.. Dontae think those rides are a bit dangerous?” He asks, jutting his thumb behind him. He doesn’t notice the kiddy rollercoaster breaking into pieces behind him followed by screaming families. He’s probably too used to that sound to process it coherently.

- Suspiciously eyes the men setting up the fireworks for tonight. He glares at them while sipping the cheap alcohol he begrudgingly bought at one of the food stalls. Nitpicks them for setting them up wrong. He sets them up himself but the fireworks nearly kill everyone. Turns out he made them more efficient. By that I mean deathly. “No, sweetheart. they’re FIREWORKS. FIREWORKS.” you tell his drunken stupid ass.

—————————————————————

Engineer:

- Oh fuck he’s excited. He had good memories going to carnivals as a kid. Eats like a fucking beast and doesn’t hold back. You watch this man consume more than his own body weight.

- Goes straight to the mechanical bull. Asks you to hold his cowboy hat he wore on the way here. “Sit back and let a big man like me show you how it’s done, darlin.” He doesn’t even fall off once. It looks like he’s barely even moving. He stands up on the fucking bull and flips off the last guy who ate shit on it. Embarrassing him in front of his kids.

- As you’d suspect he’s sort of insulting the lack of regular maintenance on the rides. Whilst in line for the Zipper he shakes his head like a disappointed father and scraps the rusted paint off the ride with his glove. Crushing it to dust between his fingers. Shakes his head some more and sighs.

- Congratulations. The state of these rides have broken this poor man. He can’t take it anymore. Take him to the petting zoo with the farm animals right now before he suffers a brain hemorrhage.

———————————————————————

Heavy:

- “What did little baby say about carnival?”

- He’s heard of carnivals in plenty of books but his life of isolation has prevented him from ever experiencing such a thing. The concept is almost alien.

- Well, he goes with you and he hates it. He looks like an incredibly discontent kitten the entire time. As you ride with him in all the kiddy rides, he looks even more pissed as he just so happens to break one of the rides upon sitting in it. The consequences of being a giant mass of muscle are truly unfortunate on this day.

- His face brightens up a little bit as you buy him a footlong sandwich. He’s never seen a sandwich this big before. He eats the entire thing within’ minutes.

- Finally you find a place in the carnival he somewhat enjoys but pretends not to. He hits the high striker so hard the bell fucking breaks and goes flying. He complains that this game is too easy — until he’s handed a cute little toy bunny of course. “I have been gifted rabbit?”

- Everybody is now batshit afraid of him.

———————————————————————-

Pyro:

- YAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Bouncing in the car the entire way there. Miss Pauling had to drive you two there because Pyro doesn’t own a vehicle. She sighs in exasperation and asks pyro to“please quiet down, sweetie. Pauling is thinking.”

- You have a massive dog jumping off the walls of the car right now. They can’t sit still. Pauling is miserable. In other words, water is wet.

- Once she drops you off she makes you both swear to not catch anything on fire. It’s bad for business and doesn’t give them a good look. Pyro has no intentions of listening to her and heads straight for the fire eating performance. In their point of view; these people are somehow consuming rainbows.

- They do all sorts of things with you. Allowing you to lead the way to any attraction you felt drawn to. Whether it be trying to get dolls or getting on a ride. They seemingly want to do as much as possible before the sun goes down.

- after you tell them it’s late, they groan in despair but nod obediently. Prioritizing your guys’ shitty adulthood of work was sadly something that had to be done. They held your hand on the way back. Carrying a shit load of plush dolls in the other massive glove.

- “Did you two have fun?” Miss Pauling asks, you swear she puts on a motherly voice just for pyro. He excitedly claps his hands and agrees with her. She blinks though and sees the chaos behind you. You trace her gaze with confusion, wondering what she was gawking at. For some reason the entire carnival was on fire and you didn’t even notice on your way out that it spread to pretty much every corner.

- You both look back at Pyro. They’re holding a match. Of fucking course. Miss Pauling rubs her face. “I’ll call the firemen..” She sighs in defeat.

————————————————————-

Sniper:

- “Carnivals are stupid.” He says, a lit cigarette between his teeth. “Jus’ mediocre entertainment. Not even good. Believe it or not I have standards for my own personal pleasure as well. I’m not going to some stupid thick headed colonel sanders’ freakshow to eat hot grease n’ Emu legs.” You have to correct him that it’s technically turkey legs. “Whatevea mate.”

- You somehow manage to convince him anyway. But he was doing this only for you. He growls as you drag him by the hand onto the carnival grounds. Wishing he was back in bed. He glares at everybody who even dares breathe in his direction.

- He likes the farm animals well enough but quickly diverts his attention away in slight intrigue upon seeing the shooting gallery. You are thrilled and BEG him to win a prize for you. “There’s no way in hell i’m doing that, love.” You want to see this guy in action and the look of shock upon everybody’s faces as Sniper beats multiple children.

- Well.. Okay. But only because you keep inflating his ego with your compliments. He goes up, gives the person in charge his money, and brings the scope to his eye. Multiple kids are in the gallery next to him and missing every single shot on the fake cardboard animals. He mutters an insult to their ineptitude. He doesn’t even have to look to know they didn’t land a shot.

- Sniper takes down literally all the targets within’ seconds. Including the ones that the poor children were shooting at. Every. single. cardboard animal.

- The person running the stall begrudgingly gives him the biggest teddy bear they have. The Teddy bear that multiple families present were wanting to get in the first place. Kids are complaining and parents are complaining. Life’s suddenly great. Sniper looks amused at the amount of attention and cracks a smile at you. He wonders how you knew this would make him happy.

—————————————————————————

Medic:

- “Ack! what complete nonsense! I am far too busy of a man for such boyish games!” He acts dramatic about it. Crossing his arms and turning up his nose.

- “Yeah but— what if somebody dies on the broken ass rides? That’s like free organs right there.” You say.

- “Hoo. Well, you do have a point. Alright! I’m convinced. But only this once.”

- Medic is actually rather terrible at the gun related games. He can’t aim precisely. At one point you found a crossbow related game and he held his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. Realizing he had managed to hit everywhere but the desired target. You joke that hey— at least a life isn’t on the line this time. He passive aggressively slaps you over the head lightly with his glove and moves to the next game.

- You go to the bathroom and come back to see him dragging a bloodied dead body into his car. “Ah, I’d explain but it’s a rather long story!” he says enthusiastically. Accidentally holding up his equally bloodied ubersaw, and then immediately hiding it behind his back.

- He won’t go on the rides. He’s bold and brash but he isn’t an idiot. He knows full well those things aren’t structurally sound. He stands up tall in his usual thinking pose. A finger to his chin as he takes in the sight of the rides. “What are you thinking?” You ask him. He grins at you. That disgusting, devilish, i’m-making-an-evil-plan grin. You are now scared.

- He steals an entire fucking carnival ride for less than moral medical purposes. The ENTIRE FUCKING THING is in the back of his car and the car is chugging along. Wheezing and trying to get this thing back to the base. He’s going to break it apart and sow the parts onto a Frankenstein-like creature.

_________________________________________

Spy:

- Mother of god, can’t you guys go on a more relaxing date? One with less screaming, noisy music, and people? What about a nice five star restaurant? Or the park?

- He refuses to eat any of the food. At all. He’d rather starve in a ditch than eat such filth. Not even bothering with the alcohol. He avoids people like the plague and you’ll turn to ask him a question and WHOOOOSH! he won’t even be there until you reach your hand out and blink his invis watch by poking him. “Stop cloaking, pussy.”

- He literally begs you to choose another place. PLEASE. End his suffering. You swear you’ll find something here he enjoys though.

- You were standing in line for a ride and once you got to the front he had stepped out of line and said “Oh! after you.” In typical gentlemen fashion. Letting you go on the entire ride by yourself. You glare at him from the ride and he’s smirking mischievously. Waving his fingers to greet you.

- For the rest of the night he takes it upon himself to mess with you. You offer him some cotton candy and he hands it to a little boy in a stroller instead while nobody was looking. You saw that in the corner of your eye. “Im not fucking blind, Spy.” You say. He puts his hands behind his back innocently. “Oh, what? I consumed the wretched morsel like you asked!” “No, you didn’t Spy.”

[effortandmore]

worth all your while (ch.1) | knj x reader

summary: you know kim namjoon from your work, but running into him outside of seoul tips your relationship into new territory and your world upside down. eventually, you wonder how there can be a million ways to say "i love you," and namjoon, a literal genius, can't manage a single one when it comes to you. or: 5 times namjoon can't make himself say "i love you" but thinks you understand him anyway (you do not), and then the one time he gets it right

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol, here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: kissing, penetrative sex, fingering, spanking, sex in an airport bathroom (do not recommend, fwiw)

word count: ~5.5k

a/n: idk what to say! i needed to write a fic for yoongi's birthday, but i can't for some reason, so i'm writing this. i hope you enjoy 💜 i'll update chapters probably weekly, maybe bi-weekly, isn't it fun when some things in life are mysteries? the title is from "static" by steve lacy - i love him. thank you as always to the cabal: @ugh-yoongi, @hot-soop, and @the-boy-meets-evil for putting your eyes on this for me. love you all. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.

next chapter

Unpopular opinion: airports are magical places. 

You didn’t always think that, but you’ve changed. Opinion swayed. All it took was one delay on a layover in London for you to start singing a different tune. 

Seoul to anywhere feels like a long flight lately. You love it there, but getting out, back to where you’re from, takes literal days. The short break at Heathrow is welcome, a chance to move around a little before you get on another almost ten hour flight. It seems like a nothing thing, to wander through the concourses and shops after you’ve made it through the customs check. Each time you’re here is the same as the last. Until it’s not. You’ve done it a hundred times: sniff different scents at Jo Malone, look for a bag you shouldn’t spend the money on at Louis Vuitton, talk yourself out of buying duty-free scotch because you know you’d never drink it in front of your mother anyway… Maybe on the way home, you think (but you never do).

“Excuse me.” You’re staring at the Balvenie you can’t really afford, thoughts drifting, when someone startles you. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side. 

There’s a man there, right there. He’s stepped up close so that your arms are practically touching. He’s tall, with dark hair under a beanie, an expensive jacket that’s made to look like it isn’t, and his face hidden under a mask that isn’t required here. There’s something about him, even though you can only see a stripe of his face, that looks familiar. For some reason, neither of you move; he keeps staring at the thousand-pound bottle of scotch, and you keep staring at him. 

“You can’t drink it on the plane, you know?” You say it more than you ask it, and of course he knows. Everyone knows. But you see the corners of his eyes crinkle a little and you think he’s smiling under the mask. He finally turns to look at you. 

“Was thinking I’d get it as a gift,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nice gift,” you remark.

“Yeah…” he replies, turning his attention back to the bottle. “It’s pretentious, isn’t it?”

And at that, you smile. “Maybe a little. Depends on who it’s for.” 

“No one special.” 

“It’s none of my business,” you say, “but I wouldn’t buy ‘no one special’ a hundred-pound bottle of scotch, let alone a thousand-pound bottle.”

The man laughs, and you notice another guy walk up, right next to him. He’s bigger, older, and way too serious looking for your taste. They seem to have a silent conversation and then the would-be whisky buyer turns back to you. “Time for my flight,” he says. “Thanks for the advice.” 

“Anytime,” you nod, still smiling even though you can’t tell anymore if he’s smiling back. Can’t hurt to be polite. 

After he goes, you realize you aren’t going to buy the scotch, either, and it’s probably about time for your flight, too, so you start the scramble to your gate.

One of the bad things about flying all the time is that you feel like you see more than your fair share of delays. And this trip is no different. When you make it to the gate, you can sense the panic before you even see the notification. There’s a particular brand of hysteria that sets in with people when their flights are delayed, and it’s amplified with inter-continental flights in your experience. All of the things that make airports romantic and interesting are the same things that make people think they can behave any way they want and it won’t matter. It's like upon entering, people think they get carte blanche to be raging assholes to the poor airline counter guy who’s just trying to make sure everyone gets where they’re going and probably only makes enough to barely pay his rent. 

So, you know before you’re told that there’s a delay, and you can tell by the level ten panic around you that it’s probably a long one. It’s confirmed when you see the headlines across one of the large televisions at the gate. Big storm off the coast of the Eastern US. All flights are delayed from what you can tell. Yours looks to have a delay of about six hours, but you know from experience it could be more. You’ll just have to wait and see. You’re lucky, you want to get home, but there’s really not a huge rush on your end, so you can wait it out if you need to. 

There’s a quiet spot at a gate with no pending flight, near yours and a few of the other gates with international flights scheduled to leave. You hate sitting, knowing you’ve done it for a half a day already and have another long flight (eventually) in front of you, but you don’t know what else to do and at least you have a couple books in your carry on. 

Maybe thirty minutes passes of you reading when you look up, just to see how things are settling around you as people start to either (like you) become resigned to the fact that they’re not going anywhere for a while, or let their anger hit a fever pitch with the gate agent. 

You see a familiar fancy jacket waiting near the ticket counter, his friend from earlier having an animated chat with a woman who doesn’t seem like she speaks enough Korean to be keeping up. Fancy Coat is watching, looking amused and not chiming in, even though you know firsthand he can speak English perfectly well, and could probably be a help to his travel companion. 

Because you’re one of those people who can never do things as subtly as you think you do, you’re caught out—Nice Jacket turns his head and his eyes lock with yours before you can look away; he knows you’re watching. He tilts his head, eyes widening with what you hope is amusement and not terror that you were looking. Slowly, he brings his hand up and waves at you, then gives you a gesture like he wants you to wait for something before he leans in and says something to his friend. 

You turn back to your book, embarrassed. 

A considerable chunk of whatever willpower you have is used in Not Looking when you hear (and feel) someone plop into the chair next to you. 

“Good book?” Nice Jacket asks. 

“Mmhmm,” you murmur, trying not to make things any weirder than you’ve already made them by staring. It is, in fact, not a good book. But your colleague wrote it, and he’s the special kind of narcissist that will ask you what you thought of it every day you see him until you provide some sort of satisfactory feedback kissing his ass. 

“That guy’s a jackass,” he comments. 

And that gets your attention. You turn to him, a little surprised. “You know him?” 

Nice Jacket nods, eyebrows raised. “Do you not remember me?” he asks. 

“From the duty-free shop?”

He laughs, louder than he means to judging by how he stops himself and looks around self-consciously. “No… I think you’ve interviewed me before…” 

Things begin to snap into place rapidly. Because now that he says it, he goes from looking vaguely familiar to being instantly recognizable. You don’t really keep up with him or his music, but you have interviewed him, when your asshole colleague had passed one of his assignments to your desk, assuming you’d “like that kind of thing.” 

At the time, you’d tried not to let yourself assume the worst about what he meant, and you did the interview over Zoom with no protest to your coworker or your boss. It wasn’t the kind of thing your magazine usually wrote about, but the article was focused on his art collection, and it gave you a good opportunity to learn something you wouldn’t have in a gossip magazine, and a chance to look good for your boss. The whole thing hadn’t lasted more than eight minutes, professional and easier than most of your interviews. Since then, you’ve been in the same room as him a few times at events you’d covered, exchanged greetings and appreciations on both sides for the article, and obviously, you know who he is. 

He’s famous, but not like… idol famous. Stage name RM, he’s a rapper and producer who works with a small collective. You see him in magazines and on TV, his popularity growing over the last few years less for his music and more for his work in art preservation. 

“Oh my god…” you say, closing your book and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Kim Namjoon. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.” 

“Good,” he says with a wink. “That’s the point.” He gestures vaguely to his beanie and his mask and the sunglasses he took off when he sat down next to you. 

“How are you?” you ask, because it’s polite, and that’s what you should do, even though you’re not even sure why he’s sitting here speaking to you. 

“Alright,” he says, but you notice he seems a little amused. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” He raises his hands defensively. 

“No, what? Why’s it funny to ask how you’re doing?” 

Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a second, just watches you with his head cocked. “I guess no one ever really asks me that,” he says. 

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.” 

What’s more ridiculous is that you’re sitting in Heathrow having a conversation with this sort of famous person who you kind of know, but not in a “run into you in the airport and have a casual chat” kind of way. Or maybe it is like that, because that’s exactly what happens. 

You talk about how he’s doing (pretty well but tired from traveling and ready to be settled in his hotel). Then you talk about your asshole coworker and his not-very-good book. You laugh at a story he tells you about said coworker, and you feel your face heat up when he says how relieved he was that you interviewed them instead of anyone else from your magazine, and how much he’d liked talking to you that day. He’s bluntly honest with you about his preference for doing interviews with Korean-language publications, which you completely understand. He tells you that he didn’t mind doing an interview for your small English-language one because you at least greeted him in Korean and tried out a couple questions in the language. 

“It’s my job to make people feel comfortable,” you say flippantly. It’s true, it is your job, and you talk to a lot of sort-of-famous people and their people, so you know that at the end of the day, they’re just people. You get better results and better interviews when you treat them as such. When you tell Namjoon that, you can see him grinning under his mask, you can tell for sure this time by the way the corners of his eyes pinch. 

“That’s a nice way to think of it,” he finally says. “It’s good to be treated like Namjoon and not RM sometimes.” 

“Happy to be of service,” you say. 

Before you can say more, you’re interrupted by his friend, who you now understand isn’t exactly a friend but a manager or a bodyguard or some combination of both. He explains that it’ll be a few hours, that there aren’t any other flight options, and that he and Namjoon can go make themselves a little more comfortable in the airport lounge. It’s spoken like a suggestion, but the way he side-eyes you as he speaks makes you certain it’s more of a directive. Namjoon nods along until his manager tells him, in hushed Korean, that he can’t just sit out in the open talking to strangers. 

“She’s not a stranger,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. 

After a brief explanation that you’re an acquaintance (which is how Namjoon puts it and is a little more generous than you would have been), his manager lightens up, and even keeps his mouth shut when Namjoon invites you to come with them to the lounge. He does, however, insist on walking alongside you when you agree to go with them, making Namjoon walk a little ways in front of you both. Better safe than sorry, you suppose, even though no one seems to be paying any attention to the three of you. 

At the lounge, his manager has a brief conversation with the airline employee at the desk, and then the three of you are whisked through the entrance, past the service desk and the bar, and into a small, private room at the back of the lounge. Namjoon puts his bag down and moves to the coffee machine, pausing to ask if you want anything as he fumbles with the stack of cups there. Cute. The professional in you hates that you even had that thought pass through your mind, but the rest of you doesn’t mind. He is cute, he gets paid to be cute (at least partially), he knows he’s cute. You have eyes, so obviously you see it, too. 

His manager unceremoniously pulls an eye mask and headphones out of his bag, seats himself in the corner, and announces he’s going to try and sleep and to wake him up if anything interesting happens, leaving the two of you essentially on your own.

When you have your drinks, you pull your masks off, settle into loungers in the opposite corner of the room, and start talking again. It comes easily between the two of you—you’re used to asking questions and he’s used to answering them. He’s going to New York for a “personal schedule,” and you don’t ask for more details because you know he wouldn’t give them to you anyway. His whole face lights up when he tells you about an exhibit at the Whitney he’s hoping to catch, about how he’s willing to suffer through the jet lag for a glimpse at a certain Hockney that he probably won’t ever see in Korea. 

Eventually, the tables turn a little, and he starts asking you about your own life. It’s less interesting (in your opinion) than his, but he’s a good listener, and asks good questions. He seems really excited (and remembers, to your surprise) that you’re an arts reporter, asks what you’re writing about lately, asks if you’ve seen anything new that caught your eye, even asks you for gallery recommendations around Seoul. You have a few, and he actually jots down notes in his literal notebook while you speak, claiming he’ll forget which you recommended if he doesn’t write it down. Cute again. 

Hours pass, and you’d swear it’s only been a few minutes. It’s been a long time since you talked with someone like this—leisurely, candidly (or as candid as he can be, anyway). You get food brought to you by an airline employee, and you know it’s an upgrade from what’s being served in the rest of the lounge, but Namjoon isn’t phased at all. You suppose this is his normal, so there’s nothing out of the ordinary for him. 

“I can’t believe you get special food,” you say when you’ve finished. 

“Special food?” 

“Well yeah, they’re not serving anything other than soup and crackers out there. Maybe carrot sticks.” 

“Oh…” he says quietly, brow furrowed, like he’s really thinking about it. “Do you think I should ask them to bring barbeque to everyone else?” You actually think he means it. So fucking cute, you think. 

After you talk him out of wielding his influence, mostly using the argument that it would be an immense amount of work for the airline staff, you settle in again. He produces a blanket from a cabinet against one of the walls of the room, and it’s an obvious sign this whole experience is totally typical for him. When he hands you the blanket, you can’t help it, you smile at him and probably look a little smitten. You might just be. 

You offer him part of the blanket, and he accepts, pulling it over his lap and asking you if he took too much. (He didn’t). You talk more, and you feel relaxed with him—it’s so easy to forget he’s who he is and you’re who you are. It’s just like getting to know any other casual acquaintance better except he’s stupid good-looking and you start to notice that your faces are a lot closer together than they started out as you talk about Marci Kwon and the interesting work that the Asian American Art Initiative is doing. It was the last article you’d written, and you’re surprised to hear he’s read it. 

You’re saying something about non-hierarchical modes of presenting research in art when you realize he’s not listening anymore, just staring at you intently. You’ve been talking a lot. For a while… Maybe talking too much; maybe he’s bothered.

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

His eyes widen like he’s the one who’s been caught-out this time. “I’m really good,” he says, almost like he’s surprising himself. 

It makes you beam. “Good,” you say. “I’ve liked talking to you.” 

He nods. “I’ve liked talking to you, too. You have a lot to say.” 

The fact that you can feel his breath on your face when he speaks makes you certain that you’re sitting too close, that something is happening that probably shouldn’t be. It makes you forget that “you have a lot to say” isn’t always a good thing. You think that everything might sound good when it comes from his mouth, that even the worst insult would trickle out like honey. Your heart rate has picked up, you now notice, and you both keep just staring at each other—you don’t know why you don’t move or look away, it’s like you can’t even though you know you should. 

Namjoon’s eyes flick up behind you to where his manager is, and you can hear the man snoring, so you know he’s not aware at all of what’s happening right in front of him. 

“They don’t have cameras in here,” Namjoon says. “It’s why we come here.” 

You nod, nothing to say to that—you’re not even sure why he said it unless…

“Can I kiss you?”

That is the exact moment when every coherent and rational thought you have ever had rushes out of your brain like a waterfall. You’re not even sure how you manage to respond, but this very cute, very smart, very interesting person has just expressed interest in you of all people, and you’d be an idiot not to say yes. 

“Oh my god, please,” you say all in one hurried breath. 

And before you’re even finished, his lips are on yours. It’s soft, more chaste than you’d expected, but it doesn’t stay that way when he nips at your bottom lip and licks into your mouth. One of his hands comes to the back of your neck, fingers teasing at your hair and pulling you closer as you practically melt into him. It’s a good kiss, a fantastic kiss, and all you can think is more, more, more as the two of you try and do your best to be as close as you can over the armrests of the stupid lounge chairs. 

When you part, his eyes are a little wild, and you think yours must be, too. 

“I have to wake him up soon,” he says, looking past you. “It’s almost time for our flight.” 

You glance over your shoulder at his manager who’s still totally unaware of what’s happening around him, and then stand, offering a hand to Namjoon, too. 

It’s a rare moment of boldness, but something’s come over you, and you’re acting with very little thought as to what you’re doing and how stupid it probably is. “Come on,” you say, tugging him up. When he’s standing right in front of you, you put your hands on his chest and raise up on your tiptoes to whisper, “Let’s get out of here for a minute.” 

He wipes across his bottom lip with his thumb, pausing probably to think about what you’re implying, and then he bends to kiss you quickly before he agrees. “Okay, yeah, let’s go.” 

It’s not your fault that you know where the ‘family restroom’ is—you passed by it on the way to the back of the lounge and you notice things, you remember things. 

You hope he doesn’t think you do this kind of thing all the time, or ever, although you don’t know why you care what he thinks since you’re also willfully oblivious to any looks you might be getting from any passersby who see you tug him into the room behind you.

It’s sheer luck that your go-to travel outfit is a fairly basic knit dress. It takes him no time to have you pinned up against the door, lips on your neck, hand rucking up the front of your dress so that he can get a hand under your tights. God, it feels good. He feels good, large and solid and his fingers… fuck. They’re long and nimble and he’s clearly not new to this, but neither are you, so you roll your hips forward and moan at the contact when he slips his hand under your tights. 

“You’re already wet,” he says, surprised, pulling his head back so he can look at you properly, his fingertips skimming between your legs. 

You nod and pull him back in to kiss you again—you only know a few things about Kim Namjoon, but you already know you like talking to him, and now you know you like his lips on yours even more than that. 

“Come here,” you say, and slide away from the door, pulling him with you so that you can bend over the small vanity where you can see yourselves in the mirror above it. He’s been polite, almost too nice for what you’re in the mood for, and you don’t know if he’ll take the initiative, so you lock eyes with him in the mirror and slide your tights down from under your dress, stepping out of them one leg at a time. 

In the mirror, you watch as he tentatively sticks a hand out to feel you again, groaning when his fingertips slide against you so easily. One, then quickly two fingers enter you, slowly moving in and out, and he studies your reflection, like he’s trying to learn what you like. It’s a lot of effort for a one-night stand in a Heathrow airline lounge. He pulls his joggers down; he’s already hard, feels big against your ass and the back of your thigh. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he sighs. It’s apparently not lost on him how you watch him in the mirror, pupils blown, because then he asks, “You want to watch me fuck you?” He winds the fingers of his free hand around a handful of your hair and tentatively pulls your head up so he can look you in the eye through the mirror. 

You watch him focus on you nodding and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth; he drops your hair as he stares. He has to know already how much you want it, but he makes you say it anyway. 

“Tell me you want to see me make you come,” he whispers into the back of your neck, breath hot against the shell of your ear. Behind you, he’s rolling on a condom that seems to have appeared out of nowhere—you wonder if he had one in his pocket ‘just in case.’

You smirk, widen your eyes, and nod again. “Please? Will you fuck me? I want—” You pause to turn your head over your shoulder and kiss him again. “I want to watch you make me come.” 

Holding onto your hip, he pushes his cock, thick and flushed, into you quickly; you don’t have much more time before his flight. 

He groans as he starts thrusting, pulling almost all the way out slowly before snapping back into you. 

“Oh shit…” you whisper each of the first few times he pushes into you.

Your head falls as he fucks you—It’s so good, he’s deep deep deep, and you feel so full, and you might cry it’s been so long since someone’s fucked you like this… But he wants your attention, so he brings a hand up and slaps you lightly along the back of your thigh to get you to look up. 

It wasn’t hard, but you’re barely acquaintances, so he seems to hesitate, looking to your reflection for reassurance. In return, you look him straight in the eye and let out a moan. 

“You wanted to watch, so watch,” he whispers. 

“Do it again... please,” you plead softly as you raise your head and push your hips back against him. 

He lifts the other hand and strikes the swell of your ass this time, harder than the first slap, making you suck in a breath. White knuckles grip the sides of the sink as your skin turns pink, but you’re still smirking and soaking wet, asking for more as he grips your hips to fuck you harder. 

“Harder… I need you… feels so good,” you pant. 

You move to lean on an elbow and bring your other hand down to your clit. His hand follows yours and moves it out of the way as he leans forward to whisper, “I thought you wanted me to make you come.”

“Then do it.”

Namjoon slows the movements of his hips to focus on you, rubbing circles over your clit with his fingertips and sucking on your neck, right against your pulse point, sending shivers along the length of your spine. 

He rolls his hips into her as you grind against him, whimpering quietly, “Fuck, Joon… yes… oh, fuck…” You trail off, not able to focus on anything except his hands and his cock. You don’t even care that you’re already using nicknames with him. 

“Finally got you to stop talking so much,” he teases as he works you nearer to orgasm. 

You’d laugh, okay with being teased, except you’re practically shaking now, close to release, so he puts more pressure on your clit and moves his cock in you a little less deep, hitting you exactly where you need him each time. 

God, you look good together. There’s a sweat sheen on your foreheads, his cheeks are painted with a rose blush, and your eyes are wide, watching yourself with curiosity in the mirror as you start to come. 

You’re close, so close, tightening on his cock as he lets go of your hip and puts a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle the loud cry you make when your orgasm hits. 

Your cunt pulses around him and he drags his hands slowly away from it and your mouth, back to your hips. 

“You ready?” he whispers.

“Good girl,” he affirms as you nod, and that absolutely shouldn’t have you ready to come on his cock again, but maybe you have a praise kink you didn’t know about. You whimper when he starts fucking into you again, resuming his previous faster pace.

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to come after that, with you babbling nonsense about how good his cock is and begging for him to come inside you. He thrusts into you one last time and releases into the condom, watching in the mirror as you give him a satisfied grin and roll your hips with his. 

When he pulls out of you, he drops to his knees and kisses you where he’d left a handprint on your ass. It makes your breath hitch, feels too intimate for people barely know one another and who’ve just fucked in an airport bathroom. But then he pulls you up to standing, smoothing your dress around your legs. He grabs a bundle of toilet paper and hands it to you to wipe up. 

“Look at you,” you tease, “what a gentleman.” 

He pulls his joggers up and watches you flush the tissue while he discards the condom. You fiddle around for your tights and slide them on under your dress. 

When you’re finished, you lean against the sink and watch him—he’s cute like this: face still flushed, hair mussed, and most of all, he looks as nervous as you’re starting to feel. 

“I don’t do this kind of thing,” you say. Your voice is a little wobbly, and you wonder where any of the self-assurance you’d had earlier when you dragged him into the room has gone to.

Namjoon laughs, bright and dimpled, before he replies. “Fuck, me either. I mean… people sometimes… know who I am and I have to be careful.” The last words come out in a rush. 

“Careful how?” 

He looks fully embarrassed now. “LIke my manager is going to kick my ass when we walk out of here and… well, people back home would have a field day with this if someone saw.” 

You’re not even sure what to say to that. Because of course you know who he is, you get that he’s famous, but the thought of talking about this with anyone just seems… It’s not like it makes you look very good either, so you’d never. It would be professional suicide; you’d never be taken seriously again. You spit out the next words mindlessly, just trying to make it less awkward. “You think this was the ‘something interesting’ we were supposed to wake him up for?” Namjoon just looks at you like you’re nuts before you both burst into laughter. 

When you catch your breath again, you get a little more serious, your voice softer. “I’ll sign something. Whatever we should have done before, we can do it now, you can email me or whatever. God, this is crazy…” You trail off, consequences of what you’ve done starting to sink in. 

“Okay… Thank you,” he says. “I hate how awkward this is. I’m sorry.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable than you can ever remember feeling. Is he sorry that you did this together or is he sorry that it’s awkward? You don’t really know. Maybe it’s both. 

“This was a mistake,” you say without thinking, and his face falls. 

“You think that?” he asks quietly, stepping into your space and reaching out to stroke your arms gently. “Because I really don’t. I know things are complicated with me? But… I liked you when I met you for the interview, I liked you today, and I’d like to see you again. I really wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think anything would come of it. I’m not that kind of guy.” 

“Aren’t all guys that kind of guy?” you ask, wondering if he’s even for real. 

“No,” he says. And you think he’s sincere. “Really. I’ve never done something like this before.” 

You nod, uncrossing your arms and letting your hands slide into his. “So, we should go though… You have a flight to catch, and I guess I have an NDA to sign.” You’re trying to tease, but you think you probably just sound fucking terrified. 

“Can I have your number?” he asks. 

“For the NDA,” you affirm, taking the phone he’s sticking out to you and typing in your contact info. 

“And for a date, maybe?” he says. And when you look up at him, he looks bashful, nervous even, as if you could ever say no to this man with a big brain and a dick to match who has just made you feel at least twelve new things in the last few hours. 

“I’ll be back in Seoul in two weeks,” you say, handing him his phone back. 

He smiles wide at that, and leans in to kiss your cheek. Cute again. 

“I’ll call you,” he says eagerly. “And someone will be in touch about the paperwork… Sorry again.” 

“Not your fault.” You shrug. “But you should head out first so it looks less weird, probably. I’ll freshen up for a minute and then be out in a bit.”

“Right,” he agrees. “Okay. So… I’ll see you in Seoul?”

You can’t help but be endeared to him; the fact that he seems to think you might actually not want to see him again makes you go all squishy inside. “It’s a date,” you confirm.

“Great! Okay… I’m gonna just… go now.” He points at the door, fumbling behind himself for the latch, like he doesn’t want to break eye contact with you. 

“Okay, Namjoon… It was good to run into you and…” You hate that you can’t say anything coherent, your sentence just ending in, “stuff.” 

He laughs and pulls his mask back on. “It was good to run into you and stuff, too.” 

Finally, he’s got the door unlocked, and before he slips back into the lounge he says, “I’m really going to call you, okay?” 

You aren’t sure why, but you believe him when he says it even though you know better, and all the weird feelings you’ve been having about him come together in a bright firework feeling in your chest. Something like hope, maybe. 

“Talk to you soon,” you say quietly. 

And then he’s gone, and you’re left breathless, wondering what you’ve just done.

next chapter

[skittlesfics]

Steve x reader where reader is Dustin’s older sister and Steve tries to convince Dustin to set them up

lol this one was fun 658 words - she/her pronouns

- “Dustin…” Steve was already at the end of his rope, but in this situation, he couldn’t afford to lose his cool.

“NO!” Dustin shot back immediately. He was leaned against the car the way that Steve hated, one foot propped against the passenger door, arms over his chest. The stance of a boy who would not be swayed.

“Dude, I’m serious.” Steve pleaded, changing his tactic. He’d already tried everything. Good cop, bad cop, oblivious cop. Maybe he should stop trying to be a cop.

“So am I. I’m not hooking you up with my sister, Steve. That’s gross!”

Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes in the way he knew he shouldn’t if he was hoping for any help from Dustin.

“How is it gross?” He challenged, crossing his own arms to match Dustin’s defensive posture. It was Dustin’s turn to scoff.

“It just is! She’s my sister. You already dated Nancy, you can’t date all of our sisters.” Dustin winced the second he finished talking, realizing what he had said, “That was a low blow.”

“Low blow.” Steve agreed, shaking his head.

Dustin opened his mouth to say something else, but closed it again when the front door finally opened and you walked out.

“Sorry, couldn’t find the sunscreen!” You called, turning to lock the door behind you.

Dustin gave Steve a warning glance and pushed off of the car with his foot.

“We’re going to be the last ones there, and it’s Steve’s house.” Dustin complained, switching gears like the conversation with Steve hadn’t been happening in the first place, “You could’ve just borrowed someone else’s.”

You rolled your eyes and approached your brother, flicking his cap off his head to ruffle his curly hair. He made a noise of complaint, rushing to pick his hat up off the ground.

“You’re the one that needs extra protection, dusty boy. Or do you want to look like a lobster when we drive you up to camp next week?” You shot a grin at Steve, moving past both of them to slide into the front seat.

Your words quieted Dustin’s complaints, but did not silence them, especially not when he realized that you had sniped shotgun from him that easily.

-

Steve smiled fondly as he listened to the two of you bicker. The current debate was whether seniority or a longer friendship was more important in determining who was worthy of the front seat.

Most days this would drive him crazy, but today you were spread out in the front seat, denim shorts unbuttoned to reveal a hint of the red bathing suit underneath, and you were driving him crazy in a completely different way. Keeping his eyes on the road was a struggle, and it took all of his willpower to get you to his house safely.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re older, that’s my seat.” Dustin repeated, the exasperation clear in his voice. Steve was convinced that the only person who could win an argument against a Henderson was another Henderson, but the stubbornness from both of you was destined to drag this on.

“Oh yeah? I don’t see your ass in it Dusty.” You shot back, grinning like you just knew you were winding him up for no reason.  

Steve pulled into his driveway, grateful for an excuse to end this argument, but you weren’t done. Not yet.

You gathered your things quickly and turned to look at your brother in the backseat.

“Besides, Steve likes when I sit in the front seat, don’t you Stevie?” Before Steve could respond, you were turning to him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek and then fleeing before either boy had a chance to react.

Steve watched you go, heart frozen in his chest. You looked back once to shoot him a wink and then you disappeared around the fence to the pool, leaving Steve alone to deal with Dustin’s wrath.

“HARRINGTON, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”

read part 2 here

[bea-does-stuff]

“𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞?” (𝐃𝐚𝐛𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘺 (𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 ;-;

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 748

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘋𝘢𝘣𝘪 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘳-

You don’t want to say that dating Dabi is hard, but, it’s definitely complicated at times, he’s often cold to you for no real reason, sure, maybe once in a while he’ll be soft and let you sleep in the same bed with him, but for the most part, he doesn’t allow you to touch him.

 He always pulls away from you when you do so much as hold his hand, and honestly, sometimes it kinda hurts you, it makes you feel like you annoy or make him uncomfortable, when in reality, that’s FAR from the case

When you’re with him he feels human, not like a vengeful spirit only existing for the purpose of getting revenge, you’re the only person he loves, and the only person who loves him, even if he doesn’t show it.

It was around 3 AM, and you were already sleeping, Dabi was sleeping on the sofa, why? You don’t know, on multiple occasions you offered for him to sleep next to you, but he almost always refused. Suddenly, you woke up with a very dry mouth, you sighed as you got out of bed to get a glass of water.

You walked through the hallway half asleep to head to the kitchen, when you suddenly heard a noise coming from the living room, it kinda sounded like muffled whispers “dabi?” you yawned tiredly, no response. You decided to go see for yourself, as you entered the living room you saw Dabi on the sofa with a blanket over his head, one of his hands was covering his mouth to stop what seemed like sobs, the most disturbing part was the blood dripping out of his scarlines, he looked scared, it was shocking, you barely ever saw him smile let alone look scared.

You quickly rushed over to hug him “dabi he-” you were cut off by him pushing you away, almost making you fall “I T-TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH ME” he snapped at you, the purple-pink scars around his mouth slightly tearing, he took a deep breath and looked back at you, only to be shocked at the sight of tears at the rims of your eyes “i.. I’m sorry dabi” those words broke him, “look what you did” he thought to himself, “why on earth would they ever stay with you when you're so cruel to them?”

He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know to say, his mind was racing by the minute “you.” he looked away “you shouldn’t apologise for that.” he moved over to the right side of the couch so you could sit with him, blood still pouring out of his eyes 

Dabi could tell you wanted to know why he was so stressed, but the truth is he could never tell you, the real reason he was having a panic attack was that he knows he’s cold towards you, he was never taught how to love and he’s scared of getting hurt. But keep in mind, he has terrible abandonment issues, he can’t afford losing the only person he cares about, that's why he was so scared, he thought you would get tired of him being a dick and leave him behind, he.. He didn’t want to lose that love, even if he didn’t deserve it.

without a second thought, Dabi pulled you into his lap, burying his head in your neck, you were shocked, dabi was… Hugging you? You could repeatedly hear him whisper sorry. “It’s alright Dabi '' you reassured him, cupping his cheek in your hand and cleaning the blood off his face “n-no it’s not… I don’t deserve you, you're too sweet, too caring” he sobbed uncontrollably “but i love you Dabi, of course i care” you softly said with those sparkling eyes “exactly… i don’t get, look at me, how can you love this? i’m-” he was interrupted by your lips crashing into his, it was gentle and warm, he didn’t know but it helped him calm down.

your lips pull apart as he stared at you in disbelief and confusing “what was that for?” he said slightly embarrassed “cause i want you to know that you’re beautiful” you smiled warmly, he was still crying, but not from sadness, it was from joy “t-thank you love… i’ll be a better boyfriend i promise” he smiled, it was unusual seeing him smile, but it made you feel warm inside 

And you two cuddled the night away~

[winniethewife]

It's undeniably real (Layla El-Faouly x The Moonknight system x Reader)

Chapter 4: It's true, I was made for you

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 1234 (wow)

Layla and I were on a mission. Well more Layla was on a mission and I was stuck coming with her. She was insistent that I needed new clothes, because I had worn out a lot of my current wardrobe. We had left the apartment with me begging Marc to send Jake to save me, and he laughed, saying something about it being “For my own good” or something. And now I was in being dragged through a shopping mall being dragged into clothing stores I knew I couldn’t afford, but Layla and Marc had insisted. I was trying on some clothes that Layla wanted me to try.

“Hey Hun? I think I’m having… zipper problems in here” I call out as I try to reach over my shoulder to zip the dress up but I couldn’t reach. I hear the rustle of the dressing room curtain, and the familiar scent of Egyptian Musk enters my space as she takes the zipper and slowly pulls it up looking at me in the mirror with a smile.

“There. How’s that? Good fit?” Layla asks softly before resting her face in the crook of my neck leaving a gentle kiss. “You look stunning…” She says softly running her hands down my sides.

“Yeah, I like it…” I reply holding her hands at my hips. A smile on my lips as I think about when we went on our “trial date”

~

It felt a little silly going on a date with Layla seeing as we had known each other since we we’re little kids. Spent our school days together, both of our families were always on the move. Her father and my mother were archeologists, working on the same digs while the two of us were constantly exploring the ruins. It wasn’t until my father decided I needed to go to boarding school for the rest of my education that I was separated from my best friend and first love, Layla El-Faouly. We were constantly writing, and eventually calls and texts though our young adulthood, never truly loosing contact. She was there for me when my first serious relationship fell apart, one of them cheated on us and the other didn’t want to continue the relationship after it happened. I felt alone. I had called Layla and at the time her relationship with Marc had gone sour, unsigned divorce papers showing up at her door, Layla then disappeared for a short time, but by the next time we talked she and Marc were working things out. Later I would find out things were Steven and Jake along with their marriage.

But now I was walking with her hand in mine in the park as she carries a picnic basket, it feels like we haven’t been apart a single day. I looked over at her as she gave me a smile.

“Like when we were kids right? Picnic lunches with our parents?” She says with a loving look in her eyes

“Are you going to seduce me with nostalgia?” I laugh, she laughs with me.

“Maybe…Is it working?” She smiles at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, the way her curls bounced as she moves, the twinkle in her eye like there was always adventure in front of her, even in the most domestic parts of life. I squeezed her hand tight as I smile at her. She’s always been beautiful. She’s always been the girl of my dreams.

When we get to the spot she was looking for I helped her spread out a Blanket. We sat down together and she started to pull out snacks and wine from the basket, she hands me a glass. After a few sips and some light conversation she turns to me with that jaw dropping smile on her face.

“So…Marc told me you were already going to say yes when you went on his date, are you still on that track?” She asks with a playful tone “Or did Steven’s immense knowledge of everything scare you off?” I laugh

“No, I’m saying yes, I will be your third. I’m actually really excited to start this. I mean, I can’t help but find all of you attractive for lots of reasons.” I take another sip of my wine.

“Oh yeah? I’m curious now…What are your reasons?” She asks with a smile

“Of course, we can’t just have a nice time, you gotta pick my brain.” I sigh giving her a playful look. “Alright…Well Jake, he was a gentleman the whole time, very well dressed, lots of complements, and He took me to do one of my favorite things, not a lot of guys take you dancing on the first date. Marc, I mean you’re the one who married him do I really have to go over it all? Handsome, the dry and dark sense of humor, the way he doesn’t go on about things and is always listening. He’s really just a good guy you know? Steven, well He’s just adorable, he’s like a brand new puppy everything in the whole world is amazing to him, I felt like I could do no wrong with him, he was so attentive and he’s really smart but not at all in your face about it, and he’s funny, so funny.”

I looked at Layla and I felt speechless for a moment the way she was looking at me. That look in her eyes I knew so well. “And then…there’s you. My best friend since we were so little, the first woman I fell in love with, the person who was always by my side, everyday no matter what continent we were on, different time zones, different languages…you’ve been there for me. Always.” I look at her with love and adoration and she does something I don’t expect. She leans in and she kisses me. Her soft lips touch mine and I feel like I’m seeing in color for the first time. Everything about that moment was everything I waited a life time for.

~

We walk back into the apartment with several shopping bags of clothes and Chinese take out for dinner. When we walk in we find Jake is fronting, not a usual occurrence. He looks concerned, he’s half way through getting ready to leave when we come in.

“Jake…What’s going on?” I ask as I set the bags down walking over to him

“Hermosa…It’s not good. There’s trouble.” He takes my hands in his gloved ones. Layla hangs back watching the interaction with worry. “I’ll be gone a few days…I can’t say more the less you know the better.” He takes my chin in his hand and looks into my eyes. “Volveré pronto mi amor...lo prometo.” He whispers before kissing me gently. This wasn’t a normal good bye kiss, this was an ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen and I need to feel you one last time’ kiss. In that second I was terrified.

“Te amo Jake…” I said as he pulls away from the kiss. He hums and presses his forehead to mine, taking just a moment, before he pulls away and heads for the door. Before he leaves he takes Layla’s hand for a second and they share a knowing look. After which he leaves. Layla walks over to me and holds me close, touching her nose to mine as we both silently worry.

~

Translations:

Volveré pronto mi amor...lo prometo.: I will be back soon my love...I promise.

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Taglist: @redeyerhaenyra @summonthesoups

[spenzitz]

JUST ANOTHER THING

you and dazai are done with life at the moment. pm!dazai x gn!reader, small suicide mention, tad angst,

a/n ~ felt really down after i came off one of my medications but writing this made me feel a lot better（*´▽｀*） words ~ 627

neither of you can afford it. it would be too much commitment, too much responsibility. and anything to be expected of dazai is lost. despite what dazai says, both of your lives are going to keep going, keep moving forward whether you do anything with it or not. you don’t know how you got to this point, surrounded by these people, expected to do all these things. you could never recreate it in another life and why would you want to?

the man sitting next to you was a nice consolation you suppose. he was just like you, pathetic. most people revered, respected, and feared him. but you knew dazai too well for any of that. he was empty, nothing at all could fill him. anything he ever had would seep out one way or another, and he would remain just as he was before. it was no different when oda and ango came along.

things were easy with dazai. you never had to explain yourself or pretend to be anything at all. now that the distractions and pleasures of your evening meetings at lupin were just regret-filled memories, it would only be a matter of time before the mafia felt more like a cage to him than a domain.

oda’s death wayed heavily on dazai. for some reason or another. it was just another thing to you, or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself. you’d let yourself cry about it at night though.

you assumed when dazai told you to come on a walk with him it would just be a bit of respite for you two. instead, he leads you to the roof of an abandoned building. you told yourself you wouldn’t stop him if he tried to leave you. it's the least he deserves. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t even look at the edge. you’re glad to not have to fear being alone, you think.

he sits down against a crate, and you follow next to him. he looks out across the rooftops, and you just close your eyes. you’d look at the stars if you could, you think. you listen to the light breeze coming in from the port, a few cars passing by every now and again.

“i’m leaving.” dazai speaks into the night. you don’t find it interesting enough to open your eyes. he lets it sit for a moment, taking in your non-reaction. “and i think i want you to leave with me.” he admits. how selfish of him.

you open your eyes slowly and turn your head to face him. “i’m assuming you’ve already prepared everything?” you say it like a question but, there’s no need for an answer, you already know.

he turns his body towards you, legs folded in. when he looks at you, you see something new. dazai wants something. you don’t have to know what it is, but he’s trying to get something. he has a purpose.

“what happened?” you ask him, whispering. something has changed in him, you realize. “i don’t know.” he whispers back, looking at the ground now. he can’t even look at you. “but, i’d like to find out.”

you both sit there, staring at the ground between you. you think about how hard it will be. the logistics just don’t make sense. you suppose there’s no difference between dying because you’re in the mafia and dying because you left the mafia.

still, there’s something propelling dazai to keep going. if he’s found something to make him put in the effort to leave the mafia, it must be worth it, at least a little. that’s more than you have now.

you stand up and look down at him, reaching your hand out to him. “so, what’s the plan?”

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[pokidot]

MANDELA — twelve

wc: 1,473

“Get in. This is the last time I ever waste my time for some rando.”

Kuni was the first to exit the convenience store. He opened his vehicle door with a force strong enough that the rest of them were surprised it didn't fly off the handles.

You aided in his tyrant wake of destruction by pushing and nudging Hu Tao towards the door, leaving her to fervently panic. "Look, I can't say it out in public, alright?! This is a secret operation, and you're seriously going to blow my cover—”

"Cover? That's what you're worried about, a cover?" Kuni scoffed, "Your cover was to no avail once you got your tears and snot on my very expensive car."

"Did you have to add that it was very expensive?" You said, looking away with half-lidded eyes.

She strode mighty out of the convenience store, the welcoming beacon of neon lights clashing with the sunlight rising. "I can't believe you're the one triggered, I had to almost dig my eyes out with a spoon."

"Oh, we're complaining now? You can stay here, if you'd like. I'm sure you'll love scraping maggots off the floor in the back." But as the silence made emphasis, he grinned.

Hu Tao gasped, holding her manicured fingers towards her lips, her reddened eyes in slight fear. “Are you implying there’s dead bodies in there right now?”

“I’m implying that it’s an extremely unsanitary condition that only a rat would think to be around.” He replied. “Oh wait, I see some similarities now.”

"Okay, can we relax?"

Hu Tao gasped, backing up. "You used your hairspray-nuclear...practice missile thing on the wrong person, buddy. I feel like your dog is ten seconds away from turning me into a chew toy."

"You are really suspicious." You shrugged.

"I'm not!"

"Yeah, you are~ You little sussy-wussy, you." You said while poking at her cheek, swaying your shoulders humorously. “Just get in the car, he’s not gonna bite you. I am!”

You nudged the girl’s shoulder again, closer and closer towards the inside of the car, shutting the door behind her and looking towards Kuni again. Your eyebrows raised.

You knew he knew about suspicion, but in your eyes, suspicion was looking back at you too. “Stop scarin’ our livestock, Johnny. We ain’t gonna have none left.” You said to him in a country accent.

He shouldn't have been seething, but something about Hu Tao’s general disposition irked him. “She’s a creep. If you were alone I wouldn’t be surprised if she sold you to the Fatui.”

“I know, but we gotta lay low!” You threw your hands up. “We can’t just be outing our business to the entire wild west! You think word don’t spread around these parts?” You said while motioning towards the vast land of nothing besides the road and the tumbleweeds in the distance.

"Stop doing that voice. And don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.” Kuni’s eyes moved back towards the rest of the group. “We can’t afford to take chances when we have a pack of idiots with us.”

“Spoken as if I didn’t collaborate the pack of idiots.” You stuck your tongue out sarcastically. “If we’re really talking, I can’t afford anything.”

You drew closer to the rest of the group. “We’re going straight in. Ready?”

“You’re not listening to me.” Kuni’s voice drew out in a louder tone, his annoyance lingering on his tongue. "This is a really bad idea that will get worse, I'm warning you!"

“Damn, for some reason I hear a very annoying ringing! Hope it GETS BACK IN THE CAR SOON.” You responded, ending with a shout, that made Kuni's lip twitch in malcontent.

"...Wow." Kuni scoffed, ultimately listening and retreating back to the drivers seat.

Your head turned back to the group, grin slack on your face. “He’s so happy to be here.”

The group's faces held an air of expectation, but as they all exchanged glances, Heizou's gaze remained fixed. It was like a tapestry unraveled in his brain. "Question," He paused with uncertainty. "We're keeping a hostage with us because...?"

"Okay, chill out." You rolled your eyes. "She can't be a hostage if she attacked me first. Keep up."

"Keep up?!" Heizou's jaw fell slack. "Is your head on right? What if someone is looking for her? We led a paper trail to the rest of us. Then we have blood on our hands, we can't let anybody know we're going into Mori Grove!"

"It'll be fine! This is the best possible outcome." You grinned. "Plus, if I get what I want, we may have further investigation to look into."

"And you're happy?" Aether hesitated. "Like...with the risk?"

"Are you kidding? I'm so happy, I almost forgot I owe the government 500,000 mora." You chortled, the chuckle slowly fading as your face fell. "Almost."

"I thought you said that you weren't in debt?" Kazuha blinked.

There was a sudden tremor in your expression, begging Kazuha not to simmer the burn any further with your pleading eyes. The boy could only nod slowly. "Right...nevermind."

"Oh~ I love when cute people are financially vulnerable." Venti cooed.

"Oh my gosh, not here!" You dramatically replied, making a shooing motion with your hand.

"Well, this was a ridiculously unnecessary amount of time we wasted." Xiao's eyebrow cocked up in disdain. "You better have a good plan."

The car glided up the winding path heading to a cabin not too far from the village itself. It remained nestled in the ominous thicket of the forest, remaining eerie enough for the fog not to clear from the open acres of land. The road was beginning to close from the leeway, but thanks to Venti’s very convincing (and seductive) reasoning, the patrol let them through.

The headlights, like a piercing cat's eyes, provide fleeting glimpses of the ancient trees as it starts to stop along the pathway. There was something wrong with the atmosphere, and that itself was a reminder to Kuni that his stoic mood was necessary.

He turn the key out of the ignition, his eyes made a small glimpse at the sun that was no longer on the horizon before watching the second car with the others approach the other side of the pathway onto the grassy texture.

There was a noticeable sense of presence that was left, like an unseen spectator watching from the windows, their group unknowing that they were there. But before he was about to mention such, he was snapped out of his focus by Hu Tao's nervous chuckle.

There was an imminent silence amongst the three, before Hu Tao laughed nervously, eyes darting around the area. "Haha, well it's been a blast getting to know all of you within...two-ish? Hours, buuuuttt I really gottaaaa-"

"Shut up. You're not going anywhere." You cut her off, your hand reaching for the car door to open it and get out. "Kuni, watch her. I'll get the equipment."

Hearing a small sound of protest from the former, you grunted and shut the door, having felt your nerves on edge as soon as you got here. The home built out of wood stood tall, intimidating in its nature, being the lonesome home.

You wrapped the band of the camera around your neck, hooking on the gear and shoving the spare lens in your pocket, digging for spare handcuffs while the rest of the group approached you.

"Hold this. Can someone knock on the door? She said she would be here." You asked, putting a wad of paper towels and coins into Aether's hand.

"What are you- oh! okay!" Aether was met with anything he could have expected from you: a pair of handcuffs. "Where did you even get those?"

"Stole 'em."

Aether, looking extremely uncomfortable, gave a small cough. "Just a...heads up for next time would be good, okay?"

"Not kink stuff. This is for her." You motioned your head towards the girl who was coming out of the car, being stalked upon by Kuni, who didn't look too pleased either.

You quickly snapped the cuffs on each hand one at a time, to which Hu Tao's mouth dropped. "Handcuffs. Handcuffs? I think you're taking this way too far."

"Yeah? Should've thought about that when you lied to me."

"What, all because I can't tell you what I was doing?! I'm not trying to sabotage your investigation, I swear!" Hu Tao said in a slightly pleading tone.

"Pull your weight if you want out." You leaned closer to her with a hiss to your tone, causing her to draw back slowly. "You're going to wait until we're finished, and THEN I'll decide if I'm feeling generous enough to uncuff you."

You drew your finger back from her face, stepping back and heading towards the wooden door. Hu Tao was frozen in disbelief, along with Aether who slowly murmured towards her. "They didn't put me up to this, I swear."

Kuni, mildly proud of you as his eyebrows rose in delight, nudged Hu Tao and Aether towards the rest of the group. "Move it.”

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NOTES || hey! if anybody saw the other one... no u didn't ! <3 PLEASE NO UYOU DIDN'T (but if you did then u know smth others dont oh well lol)

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