#and he responds i don’t know. maybe i’d say what i feel more often.

[saerins]

─── 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

+ sae x f!reader | wc 3.2k | content: angst, insecurities, death

notes: i’m sorry idk how this came about but i was in a mood :’) i promise i love him okay <3 feedback & reblogs appreciated !!

summary: he’s back home, and you recall the times you’d spoken to him. all the calls you made, then all the calls he made, and then all the times it went to voicemail.

you remember every conversation you’ve had with your boyfriend. the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. it’s hard to quantify into numbers since you’d been together for the last five years.

but there’s a few of them that are prominent, that are burned into your mind, engraved onto your brain. the sound of his laugh, for one, that’s always been precious to you, if only for the fact that he doesn’t laugh often.

sae always said you were the only one who could get that out of him, and you’ve kept it close to your heart since.

to the world, he may have seemed rude and off-putting at times, and despite the countless false reports of sae being an asshole to all his girlfriends in private (because the media can never decide who he’s actually with), he’s always been the same itoshi sae to you—the kind of guy who only ever bothers what you think about him because the other people not involved in your relationship don’t matter.

you remember everything he’s ever done for you.

“you know that one day you’ll be mrs. itoshi, right?”

yeah, you definitely remember.

MARCH 2020; [ sae’s fifth day in spain ]

“you miss me, itoshi sae?”

you can feel him rolling his eyes from the other end. “i should just hang up right now.”

“you could, but then you’d miss me even more.”

sae suppresses a grin, even if there’s no one around to see it. you’re right, but he doesn’t say anything.

it was rare for sae to call you at all. but then again, it is the first time you two had been apart since you got together. maybe it isn’t so weird after all.

“how’d practice go today?”

“it’s fine, nothing i couldn’t handle.” of course he’s fine, he’s the youngest on the team and yet it was as though he’d played the longest.

“of course it was fine, mr genius,” you tease, and he smiles because he knows you’re smiling too.

you can’t really remember how the rest of the conversation went. but you only remember this moment because it was the first time you realised that amidst all the times you’d pester him to go on a date with you, amidst all the times you asked him for a kiss, sae could miss you too.

SEPTEMBER 2020; [ sae comes back to japan soon ]

“hey so i was thinking, i’ll meet you at the airport?”

sae hums, “wanna see me that bad, huh?”

“shut up,” you snap at him, hating his quick tongue that so easily gets you flustered. “so i miss my handsome, successful boyfriend, big deal.”

he missed you too.

“am i just arm candy for you, y/n?”

“what? no—”

“too late. i’m offended. bye.”

then he actually hangs up on you.

it takes you half a second to pull up your message thread with him.

itoshi sae, you wanna die or something?

it takes him the same amount of time to respond to you.

y/n l/n, okay, then maybe i’d get some relief from you.

before you can even be actually offended, your phone vibrates again.

miss you too, stupid. see you tomorrow.

you can’t seem to rub the smile off your face.

FEBRUARY 2021; [ first valentines’ apart ]

it takes him three rings to pick up.

“happy valentines’, lover,” you giggle over the phone.

it’s been a few months since your about-to-go-pro soccer player boyfriend had gone back to spain, doing pro soccer player things. you miss him, especially since it’s the first time you guys are spending the romantic occasion apart.

it sucks that you couldn’t even spend new years with him. it’s okay though, you managed to video call him while you spent time with his family.

“think you got the wrong number.”

“itoshi—”

“open the door, smarty pants.”

“w-wait, what? did you send me something?”

you hurry over to your front door, not knowing what to expect. but you definitely didn’t expect sae to be there, in the flesh, sighing when you finally open your door, a pretty bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“what are you doing here?” you’re still shocked from his mere presence.

sae smirks, and you realise just how much you miss him. “think i got the wrong apartment, i was supposed to deliver these to my other girl—”

but you kiss him to shut him up. he’s full of nonsense, and so, so witty, and he’s here.

sae’s always claimed that it was not soccer stealing him from you, it was more the other way around. and he had been joking at the time he said that, but right now he thinks maybe there’s some truth to it.

if there’s anyone capable of having and getting him to willingly relinquish his attention from soccer, it’s you.

JUNE 2021; [ night of sae’s first PR event ]

“someone looks handsome,” you comment as you watch your boyfriend getting ready over the phone.

he has an entire entourage of people over at his hotel—they must be the makeup crew and stylists. his entire team is getting vip treatment for being champions of the league thanks to last week’s game. now, even more brands are trying to sponsor them and you really shouldn’t be surprised over the amount of girls going crazy over your boyfriend.

“and someone should really sleep,” sae pauses for a moment when the man beside him (presumably his stylist, because he’s double checking sae’s suit) asks a quick that your girlfriend?, to which sae says “yes.”

the man winks at you through the video. “lucky girl,” he comments, eyes back on the fabric he’s touching, “the only time i caught him smiling was while he was texting ya.”

you snicker through the phone as you watch sae’s face go beet red before frowning at you.

“he did not.”

his stylist is laughing at his reaction too. “totally did. i thought he was possessed.”

sae grabs the phone and relegates himself to the bathroom, glaring at you through the screen. he’s not mad at you, he’s just embarrassed and you know that. you’ve known him long enough now to tell his cues.

“i hope you know i hate you.”

he’s always all bark and no bite and you’re still laughing at him.

“aw, i hate you too, mr itoshi.”

“stop with the smart mouth before i find another contender for a mrs itoshi.”

you and sae had been staring at each other through the screen up until that point, when sae realised what he just said and has to look away.

“you… think i could be?”

neither you nor sae have ever broached another about the future, and sae has always been generally avoidant about it, which is why it makes you even more surprised that he’s the one who slipped up about it.

after a moment of silence, he sighs, trying to suppress a smile. it tugs at the edges of his lips, not really there but you can feel it.

“you know that one day you’ll be mrs itoshi, right?”

you don’t know that, he doesn’t know that, not until the day has come. but yeah, you really, really want to be.

OCTOBER 2022; [ sae’s birthday ]

“happy birthday, mr. itoshi,” you greet when he picks up the phone.

things had been rocky lately, admittedly. only because you and sae lived worlds apart.

sae is famous now, in both japan and europe, and it’s no surprise because he’s one of the best midfielders anyone has ever seen. his life is now full of the glitz and glam that you’re not even close to familiar with.

and you; you’re just a simple girl living in tokyo, with a normal life and normal friends and normal everything. except for the fact that sometimes people stalk you online because based on theories, you’re his girlfriend.

he was advised against confirming your identity with the press. for a myriad of reasons, apparently. and you’re fine with it, because yeah, you’re aware there are games to be played when you have his status. and it was fine with you, except for times when it’s not.

like how at his previous PR event he had to appear like he was dating some other celebrity. which was fine, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t suck having to see your boyfriend appear intimate with someone else. even worse when you hear said someone else mention in multiple interviews that she’s always had a huge crush on him.

“thanks, though it kinda sucks today.”

but it’s fine; you’ve been with him long enough to know that sae isn’t the type to hurt you like that. so even if it’s rocky, it doesn’t stop you from loving him.

“why? i thought the guys were bringing you out drinking tonight.”

sae sighs. “that’s exactly why.”

you smile, thinking how sae is still the same sae you’ve always known. “you’ve been playing with them for more than a year now, i think one night out wouldn’t kill you, babe.”

“but they’re freaks.” and sae says that because they’re rowdy, noisy guys and he doesn’t even want to imagine them drunk.

“we both know they’re going to bother you to no end if you don’t go,” you point out, and sae relents. “and if you need an escape when you’re too tired, you could just use my name.”

you break into a grin because you know for a fact that sae uses you as an excuse to his publicist sometimes to not attend events.

“yeah, maybe i’ll tell ‘em the missus is angry,” he jokes, and you find yourself wishing you could hug him right now.

“have fun tonight, okay?” a little hesitance comes to you before you ultimately open your mouth, “i love you.”

sae chuckles, and he can’t even describe the relief that comes to him each time he hears you say those words.

“i love you too.”

DECEMBER 2022; [ the day you break ]

you don’t pick up his call.

when you saw the picture earlier, it’s like you’ve gone numb. and now everyone in the world will see the picture too. but you don’t really care. the images the paparazzi capture will die down after a while. the rumours will take longer.

right now you’re not even sure if your relationship is dead.

but you love him. you still do. and he’s still calling for what seems like the ninetieth time tonight.

this time you pick up.

“what?”

sae flinches on the other line because he’s not used to this coldness. “can i at least explain?”

you sniffle, gritting your teeth to stop your crying. “sure, why don’t you explain why i had to find out from the fucking news that you kissed someone else on your birthday?”

it’s that girl. the same celebrity you’ve seen ogling him and gushing over him and the one who has PR relations with him.

“i promise, she means nothing,” and you can hear the panic in sae’s voice. he sounds apologetic and manic and scared. “look, i-i was drunk, and she kissed me, and i pushed her off right after—”

“then why didn’t you tell me?” you yell back. because you’re sure that’s what happened. you believe him. but it wasn’t the fact that some other girl was so desperate for him that she’d do that, it was the fact that sae kept it from you.

sae can’t answer. he knows it, but he’s struggling to find the words. “i-i didn’t want you to misunderstand,” is all he can manage.

you pause for a while because you’re crying again, and sae can sense it even if you’re silent. he loves you and he’s killing himself for his stupid decisions.

“sae,” you call him, softly. “is that how much you know me?” because after all this time, you’d think he’d know better. you trusted him. a hundred percent. now? you’re not sure.

“please, y/n, i’m sorry, please just- forgive me?” and sae’s not sure how to do this. sae’s never had anyone he cared about this much other than you. you’re the only one and you forever will be. and he’s stupid and clueless outside of soccer but he’s always had you to hold his hand through this, yet now you feel further away from him than ever.

you’re quiet and he’s not sure what to expect. you’re just sniffling on the other side, not saying anything, and for the first time in his life, sae is afraid.

“babe, i—”

“don’t say it, sae,” you sigh, because you don’t want to think that he’s saying it just to appease you.

sae obeys, because he’s scared that just a little nudge would push you right off the edge. “i’m gonna fix this, okay? i’ll tell everyone that—”

“it’s fine,” you interject, your mind in shambles. you’re tired, and you really don’t know what to do about this when it’s so fresh in your heart. “i need to think things through anyway.”

“no- y/n, please, i—”

and for the first time ever, you’re the one who hangs up abruptly. then you turn off your phone because you know sae’s not going to stop but you really just don’t want to to feel bad about not picking up.

you still love him, but you’re just heartbroken right now.

sae stares at his phone after you hang up. he can hear his heart beating out of his chest and his breathing gets shallow. he tries to call you again but it’s not even ringing.

there’s only one thing he knows: he fucked up.

a stupid, stupid mistake which was grave enough to make you doubt everything and you’re right. this was on him for not opening his stupid mouth and just trusting that you’d understand.

for the first time ever, he heard what you sounded like when you’re hurt and he can’t forgive himself. not if he doesn’t do anything about it.

he gives up on trying to call you and pulls up his club’s coach’s contact instead. “sub someone else in for me tomorrow, i won’t be there.”

“what? what are you talking about? we can’t play without our star midfielder! it’s a big match against our home rivals—”

but everything he’s lecturing sae about falls on deaf ears because sae’s already packing his duffel bag and searching for his passport. he doesn’t even bother acknowledging anything before he hangs up, dialing his assistant’s number instead.

“i need to fly back to tokyo. immediately.”

his assistant’s distraught voice is apparent. “wha- um, you have a game tomorrow—”

“i don’t care. i need to fly now. get me a flight or you’re fired.”

“uh, but- um, the private jet’s not available—”

“then get me tickets on a commercial flight. i don’t fucking care about what kind of plane it is.”

yeah, because he only cares about fixing things with you. no one and nothing else, just you.

his assistant sighs because he knows he’s going to get in trouble for aiding sae. “fine, i’ll send you the details soon.”

JANUARY 2023; [ the present ]

it goes straight to voicemail. you still talk.

“you know, i hate you so much for not having a voicemail recording.”

you pause, the tears streaming down your face. you’re staring at your phone, at his instagram, at his last post. something he posted before his flight.

a picture of the both of you in private, in your room. he’s sitting behind you on the bed, his arms around your neck as he kisses your head and you take the picture.

it’s funny because he was forbidden from sharing any sort of those pictures yet he still did it anyway. you stare at the caption.

i love only you

“itoshi sae, how am i going to hear your voice now, huh?”

you’re already full-on crying now, as you have been for the last month.

“itoshi sae! talk to me, answer me!” you’re screaming but no one will ever hear you.

how can sae hear you? you’re unreasonable for expecting that.

“tell me how to reach you,” you wail into the receiver.

you’re painfully aware of what you’re getting now.

“i love you, mr. itoshi.”

there’s no one on the other line who’ll chuckle now. you can’t hear the same fondness in his voice when he says he loves you too. you can’t ever hear him joking with you again.

no more sighs, no more video calls, no more love. no more you know one day you’ll be mrs. itoshi, right?

you hang up and look at the note in your hand; something sae’s assistant passed to you on the day of his funeral.

a few weeks ago, sae asked me to get this for him. i know he wanted you to have this. before he left for tokyo, he told me to get this done for you at all costs. it was only ready a day after he left. i thought you might still like to have this. i’m sorry you have to go through this.

the gold velvet box sits heavy in your hand. it’s all of sae’s commitment to you, feelings for you—it’s all of his resolution in one tiny package and it’s heavy.

you open it, same as the countless times before.

it’s still beautiful. it’s shiny and four carats and princess cut because you were always his princess. inside the band, he has mrs itoshi engraved.

you know one day you’ll be mrs. itoshi, right?

you bring up his messages and play the last audio he sent to you.

“look, i know i fucked up and it was stupid of me to keep it from you. i’m sorry, okay? and i know you don’t want to speak to me right now but i can’t just sit around and do nothing. i love you, so i’m coming back home, and we’ll talk, and then… i promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”

you remember your last words to him and can’t help but to hate yourself. you should’ve told him one last time before you lost your chance.

if you’d just stayed on the line, he wouldn’t have come back. if he didn’t come back, he wouldn’t have gotten into that cab. if he didn’t get into that cab, he wouldn’t have been in that fatal accident in shibuya.

staring at the ring, calling his number, getting no response, visiting his plot and running into rin. and repeat. that’s all life is now.

sometimes you wear the ring to pretend he’s still here. to pretend he’s already proposed and you’re waiting for him to come back from spain.

you’re probably at voicemail #314 now.

mrs itoshi stares at you until you’re crying all over again.

you’ll never hear his voice again. never hear his laugh. never get to hug him, or pick fights with him. you’ll never get to feel his broad shoulders or his strong arms around your body. you won’t get to go home ever again.

you’ll never be mrs itoshi now.

[yongbokology]

part dos of ‘don’t accidentally beat your dick to your best friend’

part one

black coded reader <3

warnings; smut

an: you asked, i delivered 🧞‍♀️

eren is a mess. a complete utter mess.

after realizing he’s been jerking it to you for the past few months, he becomes a nervous wreck around. oh it was bad.

his first encounter with you after the realization, literally happens the day after.

you were running late for work and your car was currently in the shop so you sent a rather urgent text to him with multiple crying emojis, asking him to take you to work.

without even seeing the message, he begins to panic just seeing your name pop up.

did you somehow use your woman tuition and found out he was fucking himself to you? it plagued eren’s mind for a few seconds, his hands clammy as he grasps his phone.

he lets out a sigh of relief once he reads the message and instantly responds.

‘yeah ofc, see u in a bit’

‘thx ren, you’re the best!’

oh eren feels like shit.

he felt like a pervert. like he wasn’t supposed to see you in your nakedness, pleasuring yourself for thousands to see.

“.. ren, are you okay? you’re awfully quiet today.. i’m sorry if you were busy-”

he immediately shakes his head “no! i wasn’t doing anything. i don’t mind at all.. just a bit distracted is all.” he clears his throat, eyes fixated on the road. not sparing you a single glance.

you stare at the side of his face, picking him apart in your brain. all these years the two of you had the pleasure of knowing each other, you knew eren’s mannerisms, his nervous ticks and more.

something was definitely up.

…

“god not this again. connie could you maybe not be so open about the porn you indulge in.” reiner is fed up with the porn talk, just trying to enjoy this sunday afternoon with his friends.

“okay but bro i’m telling you, this girl is fire. i’d def buy her only fans if she had one.”

eren isn’t too interested in the conversation. his head’s in the clouds. lately he’s been fantasizing about you. a lot actually.

breaking you in half. fucking your brains out in every setting possible. this was new to say the least. before, eren hadn’t had such thoughts about you.

i mean yeah he did sometimes think about what it’d be like if the two of you were together. would the two of you be good partners as you are friends? but he never thought about you in such obscene ways.

it is this next part that has eren almost falling out of his chair.

“[your user]. never heard of her?”

both jean and reiner shake their heads.

eren on the other hand feels his skin run cold, eyes bulging out his head at the username. it was your username.

connie is now pulling out his phone and eren quickly catches on that he is about to pull up your page. with frantic eyes and haste, eren waits for connie to unlock his phone and in the split second that connie rotated his screen towards the three men, eren yanks it from his grasp and dramatically let’s connie’s phone fall face down on the concrete.

“yo what the fuck man?!” connie yells, mouth ajar as he looks between eren and his phone that is definitely not working when he picks it up.

“i-i um. i’m sorry.. it slipped..”

both reiner and jean silently blink, throwing glances at each other.

“oh it fucking slipped? my five year old nephew could put on a better fucking performance.”

“i’m really sorry man. i get paid tomorrow, i’ll pay for it. i swear.”

…

“i really needed this, thanks for hanging out with me ren. karina has been more bitchy than usual.” it was no secret you hated your boss. you often ranted about her to eren, so much so that he hated her as well and doesn’t even know what she looks like.

“of course. you want some more popcorn? bowl’s almost empty.”

you nod and eren gets up from his spot on his bed and retreats to the kitchen to refill the bowl.

you shift your eyes to the tv, ‘bad boys’ currently at it’s thirty minute mark.

you feel a buzz under your butt.

with furrowed brows you shift and pull out eren’s phone that you had no idea you were sitting on.

his phone screen comes to life, him and armin in the background of the notifications that fill the screen.

there were a few from twitter and growing curious as to what eren’s twitter feed looked liked, you unlocked his phone and hit refresh.

your jaw unhinges when you pop up on his screen. fingers knuckle deep in your cunt.

you’re in shock like you literally didn’t film this a few hours ago and hit post. you just weren’t expecting to see yourself on your best friend’s timeline.

you stare at yourself, at first unsure how to react to this knowledge but then the thought of eren touching himself to you skates across your mind and suddenly you’re clenching your thighs, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

the thought arouses you.

eren comes back with the bowl filled to the brim and his smile is wiped off his face once he sees his phone in your hands.

“eren,” you start. your voice is low but sweet. “is there something you want to tell me?”

he sucks in a breath, pupils shaking as you lay the phone on the bed. he sees what you were looking at clear as day.

“y/n.. i-i can explain.”

your plump lips turn upwards into a grin. mischief writes all over them.

“come here.”

it’s a command that has him hesitantly obeying.

he sits down on the bed, farther than where he originally was.

you sigh and close the proximity by climbing into lap, the popcorn bowl being discarded to the side.

eren feels hell fire creeping up his neck. his mouth his dry and he can suddenly hear the thrumming of his blood.

“how many times have you fucked yourself to me. hm?”

his lips tremble. “a few times..” it almost comes out as a mumble.

your smirk widens at his blatant lie.

“oh eren, you and i both know that’s not true.”

you push him until his back is flat on the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips. you splay your hands on his chest and fully plant your clothes pussy on his crotch.

he could literally just cum right then and there.

“you know what i hate more than liars?”

once eren realizes you actually want him to respond he shakes his head.

you lean forward until your lips are grazing against his ear. your tits mushed against his chest.

“i hate disobedient boys,” you lean back up and eren looks dazed. aware but dazed. “are you a disobedient boy eren?”

…

needless to say, he’s not. he listens to your every command which is why he was currently whimpering, hands pressed against his chest, trying his very best not to touch you.

your mouth works wonders on his cock, it weeps in all it’s 8inch glory, precum finding it’s way onto your tongue.

you pull him out of your mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, eyeing eren as you pump his aching length. “you close?”

tears form in eren’s eyes. everything feels fuzzy. his brain is scattered but he still manages to give a slight nod. he looked so fucked out and god what a sight it was.

“you gonna cum for me pretty boy?”

the nickname makes eren whine.

“eren, answer me or you don’t get to cum.” you grit, your free hand taking hold on his throat, clenching your dainty yet powerful fingers around it.

“y-yes! yes. m’gonna c-cum.” he chokes out. his pupils becoming dilated as you speed up your hand around his cock.

you smile at this. “i want you to come in my mouth ‘kay? and you can touch me now.” your mouth is instantly on his cock after finishing your sentence.

eren props himself up on his elbows, the iron grip you still have on his neck combined with you sucking the everlasting life out of him has eren cumming in no time with a cracked moan.

“fuh-fuckkk.” tears are streaming down his face now, jaw unhinged as you lap up the messy head on his cock.

“got anymore for me?” you don’t expect him to answer, instead you squeeze on his balls and one last spurt of cum falls onto your shiny lips.

this has eren falling back flat on his back, panting heavily like he’d just finished running a marathon.

you lick at your lips and hum at the taste of him. salty, as expected but not overbearing.

“you did so good for me ren.” you smile, crawling up beside him. resting a hand on his naked chest.

eren lazily turns his head towards you, his cheeks tear stained. he looks utterly broken and it ignites something within you.

“this stays between us ‘kay?” he nods slowly at that, too tired to speak.

what in the world did he just get himself into?

.

.

.

tag list: @hellavile @animeloverzx @starlightmid @gobblethiskitty

[hotchnisslvr]

for her, i’d endure

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

rating: t

word count: 7.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, descriptions of blood/injuries, drugs

summary: When you and Emily are kidnapped by The Chameleon, an elusive unsub that team had been tracking for years, you’re forced to watch her endure torture at his hands. In the hospital, you reel from your own injuries and the guilt of not being able to stop anything from happening to her. Angst and hurt/comfort with a happy end.

It’s hard to keep them open from the pain it causes you to try. You can’t help the slow drowsy blinking that follows. If they’re closed it doesn’t hurt as bad. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, a dream. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you tell yourself. You’ll feel fine in the morning.

Someone harshly whispers your name. You stir, but ignore it. Closing your eyes, you murmur something that isn’t quite a response, and try to welcome the darkness to take over. You just want to sleep whatever this is off…you try to at least. The harsh rasping whisper returns. There’s your name two, three times.

“Huh?” is all you can muster as you crack your eyes open once more. There’s a fluorescent light somewhere to your left, casting strange shadows over your field of vision. Your eyes burn. You want to close them again.

“Yes, that’s it!” cries the whisperer, “stay with me!” There’s an urgency in their voice, and as you take a few measured breaths, you gain more and more control over your senses. “Are you hurt?”

Emily. That’s Emily’s voice.

“My head,” you complain about the throbbing in your temples. “I think I hit my head.” You move to touch the side of your skull to assess the damage when your wrists don’t follow through with the command from your brain.

“What the—” There’s a sudden clarity that takes over as you hear the clatter of metal against metal. Your wrists are bound behind your back. You kick your legs out, or at least you try to. They’re bound too with zip ties to the legs of a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor.

“Don’t panic.”

“Emily?”

Fingers brush against yours from behind your back and you cling to them, though it’s awkward as you try to reach them. You’d know the feel of her hands anywhere. He’s got you and her back to back.

“I’m here,” she says soothingly, despite the edge in her voice.

“What happened?” you ask as your field of vision begins to clear and the picture of where you’re being held begins to form. It's dark save the fluorescent light you noticed earlier. There’s a few panels in the ceiling still flickering to life, though most are dark. Wires and cables hang haphazardly from the ceiling and water drips from a cracked pipe that stretches over the width of the room. The floor beneath your feet is concrete. You can’t see a door and the only windows are two small rectangles high near the ceiling. You’re underground. “Where are we?”

“The Chameleon,” Emily says after a short while.

Your heart skips a beat and you have to take a few measured breaths to keep the panic from creeping in. “You’re sure?”

The Chameleon, nicknamed such by the local media, is a serial killer that you and the team had been chasing across the East Coast for the last two years.You and the team didn’t care much for these nicknames as they often sensationalize the killer and detract from the victims, but it the name was fitting due to his nature to blend in to every environment he’s been a part of. This is largely due to how he is able to gain his victims' trust. Some of his known ruses include posing as law enforcement, a member of the clergy, other first responders, caretaker for a “lost” elderly patient, and more. He’d feign a scenario that caused the victims to unlock their doors, stop their cars, or otherwise pull their focus under the guise of safety. Once their guard was down, that was all he needed to ensnare them in his trap. Victims were initially blitz attacked, as evident by the bruising to their heads and faces, but as he evolved he began to dose them with heavy sedatives before taking them to a secondary location where he’d hold them for twenty four hours. During this time, he tortured his victims indiscriminately; sometimes cutting, sometimes burning, sometimes removing pieces of them or utilizing a combination of all three before ultimately succumbing to his need to kill. He favored a knife, often slitting the throats of his victims once he’d grown tired of playing with them. Despite his ability to blend in and kidnap his victims undetected, everything else originally pointed to someone just starting out, unsure of their preferences. However, this unsub evolved quickly. Victimology stopped differing and he’d settled on a pattern for women in their thirties, dark features, and often in roles that provided some sort of power. Though methods of torture varied, the rotation or combination of torture implicated states similar enough to create a pattern. He stuck to the routine, though. One woman every three months for the last two years. That was until recently. Now, a woman had been going missing weekly, suggesting a major deviation. Something had changed for this unsub, increasing his need to kill quicker and more often. Emily fits the victimology, but taking you too? It didn’t make sense? He’d never taken in pairs before.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You pull at the cuffs around your wrists, but they’re clamped too tightly. They don’t budge. “How long was I out?” you ask.

“Hours,” Emily responds. She sounds tired. “I don’t know how many.”

You blindly reach for her fingers again, this time with your other hand. When you brush against them, they’re slick with something.

“Emily?” you ask, concern edging into your voice. “What’s he done to you?”

“Cutting,” Emily answers clinically. “Left arm, chest, and right leg. They’re superficial.”

Red clouds your vision knowing he’d hurt the woman you love, and that you’d not been conscious enough to at least try to do anything about it. When you get your hands around this bastard’s neck…you yank hard against your restraints and hiss when all it does is cause the metal to dig deeper into your wrists.

“Baby, stop,” Emily whispers, keeping her voice low in case The Chameleon can hear. “We’ve been closing in on this guy. We just have to hope the team recognizes we’re gone before…” her voice trails off as a door opens.

Your heart stops and then starts, it’s usually steady beat now pumping erratically against your chest. You remind yourself to breathe, to take measured breaths to slow your heart and fight off the instinct to panic. The body’s natural inclination for self-preservation is astounding, but you couldn’t just think about yourself right now. You needed to be alert and look for anyway to wriggle into this guy’s psyche, anything to keep him from hurting Emily any further.

There’s a metallic clank as whatever door that’s out of your eye line slams shut. Heavy footsteps echo in the space and you count. Twenty four. There’s twenty four steps. You can’t fight the way your body tenses as a silhouette begins to emerge from the shadows. As the figure comes into focus, your eyes widen in surprise.

“Surprised to see me?” the man says, a twisted smile curving on his

“You know him?” Emily asks as she attempts to crane her neck to look at him.

You take in the man before you: white, mid-30s, average build, dark curly hair, and blue eyes wild with evil intent. You don’t know his name, but you've seen him before. You all had. Your mind flashes to each body dump where the team had investigated and gathered initial evidence to further flesh out the profile. You close your eyes and let your mind’s eye expand your field of vision to include the gathering crowd of onlookers. As you mentally guide yourself through each crime scene, you can clearly see him.

“You were there the whole time,” you say with a surprisingly level of calm as you open your eyes and meet his gaze directly.

He extends his arms to either side, a look-at-all-i-have-accomplished gesture, though there’s no audience save the two of you to take in his performance. “What can I say?” he says. “The media named me for my ability to blend in anywhere I go. I like the nickname, I do.” He points his finger at you as he begins to circle around you and Emily like you’re an injured seal in shark infested waters. “Though you profilers don’t like when these major news outlets do that. It sensationalizes the killer while taking away from victims.” He stops in front of you and bends at the waist to look you in the eye. You muster as much contempt into your gaze as possible.

“Good,” he snarls. “Those sluts aren’t worth remembering anyway. Any thoughts on that, agent?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m pretty tired of listening to you whine about your mommy issues.” A fire ignites in his eyes as you say this. You smirk. “Ooo, that did something. Did that strike a nerve?”

His lip curls as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I think I did, didn’t I?”

His knuckles collide with your face and there’s an explosion of stars behind your eyes as you feel your lip split in two. Emily calls your name and curses the unsub’s. There’s a buzzing in your ears as you blink the fog away. You sit up as best as you can and spit blood onto the floor. If his attention is on you, it’s not on Emily.

“Is that the best you can do?” you say, leveling your gaze back on The Chameleon. “You had to hit me from behind the first time. Are you scared to face a woman head on? Too much of a coward to face them? Or are you just too weak?” You incline your head toward your lap. “After all, you’ve got us tied up. Untie me and we’ll see just how well you do one on one.”

The Chameleon seethes, nostrils flaring as his rage blossoms. “You know nothing!” he bites.

“We know, everything.” You answer. He may not have been on the team’s radar, but you’ve seen this type before; a man that’s been forced into a submissive role and emasculated his entire life finally snaps and turns the tables on innocent women to make up for the lack of care he missed out on from a mother figure his entire life. He blames them because he can’t take his anger out on the person he wants to most. Mommy.

“Do you?” he sneers and you don’t flinch away from his hot breath on your neck.

“You’re easier to read than a children’s nursery rhyme,” you taunt.

The Chameleon snarls and this time his knuckles collide with the center of your face and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood pours from your broken nose onto the front of your shirt.

“Enough!” Emily shouts. “She’s not the one you want.”

You blink through the haze and blaring pain. Emily’s name is garbled as you try to say it, but there’s too much blood in your mouth. Just like the flickering gaze of a reptile, his eyes shift instantly to her. The desire that alights his face makes you want to throw up. She’s the one that fits the victimology. She’s the surrogate, the object of desire in his twisted fantasy.

“I think,” he says slowly, and you’re surprised you don’t see a serpentine tongue flicker between his lips. “That this next part will be more fun with an audience.”

Your vision shifts in and out of focus as you follow his movements. He shuffles just out of view of your peripheral vision and trying to force your eyes to see farther than they can exacerbates the splitting pain in your skull and face. Everything throbs. You can hardly see straight.

He returns with a syringe in hand. He holds it up for you to see. “Maybe I am weak,” he says bitterly. “But I’m the one in control and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pushes the syringe into your arm and a slow, metallic heat creeps through your veins. Your limbs quickly grow heavy and your senses begin to dull.

Behind you, Emily pulls at her restraints. “Hey! What are you giving her? Leave her alone. You don’t want her, you want me.”

A choked laugh escapes the unsub as he cuts the zip ties at your ankles. You want to kick out at him and knock that smug look off of his face but the signals from your brain are cut off. Your body won’t follow the command your mind is ordering due to the drugs scrambling your system. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to close them. The unsub recognizes this and slaps at your face. “No, no. You can’t close your eyes, now. You’ve got a show to watch.” His lips twist into a sickeningly delighted smile. He slips a key from his pocket and undoes both sets of cuffs keeping you bound to the chair. You slump forward against him and he catches your weight easily. He wraps his arms around your waist and grunts as he hoists you over his shoulder. There’s static coursing through your limbs and despite every wish and desire to lift even a finger, your limbs don’t cooperate.

You slide off of him like rain down a windowpane, though instead of coming to a gentle stop you hit the ground like a stone thrown into a pond; all of your weight crashing down. Your head rattles against the wall and stars explode across your vision once more.

Emily calls your name and you try to focus on that. You blink and her form comes into focus. She’s bound in the same manner that you were in a chair exactly like yours. There’s blood staining her clothes, her blouse cut to ribbons and her pant leg tattered from where he slit it open with a knife; the same knife he used to cut into skin. Blood drips onto the floor.

She smiles at you and her gaze is so tender as her eyes meet yours. “Whatever he does to me, it is not your fault.” She’s soothing you. She’s about to endure more torture and she’s trying to comfort you.

You want to speak, to tell her you’re sorry, that you love her. You want to stand, to untie her and take her to safety. Most of all you want to put that unsub in the ground. A single tear leaks from your eye as The Chameleon wheels a tray table near Emily. The soft eyes she reserved for you steel upon seeing him.

He picks up a scalpel, his fingers gentle as he curls them around it; a stark contrast to the violence he inflicts with it. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Emily licks her lips and raises her chin to look him in the eye, defiant in the face of danger. “I’ve already come back from the dead once before. At least if you’re successful, I know whose ass I’m haunting first.” She narrows her brown eyes to slits. “Come on, lizard boy. Let’s dance.”

•

Tears leak down your cheeks as you’re forced to watch what he does to her. She continues to taunt him, but her voice has grown weak. She’s losing too much blood.

“I wonder,” Emily says, her breathing labored. She lifts her gaze to meet the unsub’s. “You love that knife.” She inclines her chin toward the blade in his hand and his fingers twitch. “Tell me, is it because you can’t get up? Are our mommy issues too severe?”

A wild scream tears from his throat as he backhands her. A sharp grunt of pain leaves her lips but no scream. She sheds no tears for him. She’ll show no fear to him and allow him to feed off of her emotions like he did with his other victims, but he knows she must be feeling the weight of the torture, of the exhaustion settling in.

Her voice is tired, but her words are dagger tipped. “You’re not a man,” she spits blood on the ground, her teeth stained with it as she bares them at him. “You’re just a coward, a little boy missing mommy’s hand to guide him through your pathetic, wayward life.” Each word is sharp and articulated, a needle digging a little deeper and deeper into his flesh with each cutting syllable.

“Enough!” he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth as he lifts his arm. In one swift downward motion, he plunges the scalpel into her thigh.

She screams, her voice ragged and raw. A panicked sound bubbles in your throat, but the drugs overpower your ability to call out to her. Your fingers twitch as you try to summon any amount of strength to them, but to no avail. You can’t move them anymore that. You try to wiggle your toes and only feel a tinge of movement from them. Tears leak down your cheeks and drip off of your chin. The tear stains left behind are cold overtop of the dried blood smeared across your face from your broken nose, still throbbing with pain.

Emily sits hunched over, her shoulders heave with shuddering breaths. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. The thought plays on repeat in your mind. If she dies, there is no place this slimy, spineless creature can hide where you wouldn’t be able to find him.

A strangled moan rumbles from behind your lips as The Chameleon approaches Emily. There’s a smirk on his lips as he brushes his fingers along her jawline. Just as quickly as the smirk appears, it dissipates as he shoves her face away from him, disgust twisting his features.

“I think I’ve had enough of you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re all the same. There is no place for women like you. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.” He picks up another knife off the tray table and moves to stand behind Emily, knife poised beneath her throat. His shifting eyes fall on you and his smile returns. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show.”

You feel your brow pinch as a wash of emotion floods through you. Your hand twitches and you manage to ball it into a fist, but you can’t force much more than that.

“Emi—” your tongue lolls inside your mouth and you can’t get her name out but it’s enough to get her attention. Her wavering brown eyes fall on yours and you hope she can feel your full apology and profession of love in your eyes as you await the inevitable.

“I love you,” she mouths and a sob shudders free from your own.

A single gunshot cracks through the air like a whip.

As the unsub slumps to the ground, Derek’s hulking frame comes into view. “He’s down!” He calls as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Emily. His hand moves to the knife in her leg.

“Don’t!” Emily warns. “Let the medics handle it. The keys to the cuffs are in his pocket.”

As Derek squats beside the unsub Hotch and Spencer clamber down the stairs, spilling into the room.

“We need medics,” Derek says to them, eyes filled with concern. “We need them now.”

“Copy that,” Spencer states as he presses against his earpiece and relays the information.

Hotch holsters his gun and rushes to your side. Crouching down, his hands smooth your hair back from your face to inspect the damage.

“Can you hear me?” he says. You blink heavily as his face comes in and out of focus. He repeats the question and says your name. He’s asking you to talk to him, but you can’t.

“He injected her with something,” Emily says weakly as Derek works to uncuff her. “A sedative or a paralytic, I don’t know. She can’t move. She can’t, she can’t—” Emily’s eyes flutter and roll back in her head. Your eyes widen as she slumps forward. Derek catches her before she can face plant the concrete and risk dislodging the scalpel sticking out of her thigh before the medics can do their job to ensure she’s not at risk of bleeding out, if she wasn’t already.

Your hand twitches, fingers jerking against your palm as a sound of desperation eeks past your still lips. Hotch presses his hand into yours and squeezes. His hard eyes meet yours and there’s pain and understanding in them. He’s born witness to seeing the love of his life killed by an unsub. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He had to hope that Emily would survive what she’d endured here tonight. He squeezes all of that hope into your palm as the medics crash down the steps, backboards and kits at the ready.

“She’ll be okay,” Hotch promises, though there’s a hint of doubt on the edge of his words. “You’ll be okay.”

As the medics make way and his hand slips free from yours, you can only hope and pray that what he says is true.

•

A gentle beeping is the first thing you hear as your senses slowly creep back to life. The sound is soft, but each punctuated tone sends a pulse of pain to the space behind your eyes.

Your eyes crack open and you squeeze them shut again as the bright white of the fluorescent lighting blinds you.

“Shit,” you hiss. Your voice is hoarse.

“Hey, you!” greets a female voice. Penelope’s voice.

“Too bright,” you grumble.

“Oh! Hold on!” Her heels click against the tile of the hospital floor, a switch flicks, and the light behind your eyelids darkens. You feel the relief immediately though the bruising around your eyes and throbbing pain reverberating through your nose and cheeks starts to overwhelm your senses as you become more alert.

You crack one eye and Penelope’s bright face comes into view. Her pink cat eared headband matches her glasses frames and lipstick. Her smile reaches her eyes and that only just eases some of the anxiety that floods your system, the only other thing you’re able to feel besides the pain. If Emily was dead, Penelope wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye right now.

“I need to see her,” you say, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The room spins and your hand flies to your head, fingers pressed against your temple in a poor attempt to stop the whirling sensation.

“Sweetie, oh my God, don’t—” she stands up and crosses the room, but you’re already pushing the sheets back.

You curse as you rip the IV from your arm, the tape holding it in place ripping out the hairs on your arm. Garcia tries to take hold of your hands, but you bury them inside the folds of the hospital gown as your fingers feel for the numerous electrodes tacked to your chest. Hooking the tips of your fingers around the wire once you find a place to bunch them together, one swift tug is all it takes to dislodge them. The machine beside the bed flat lines as it no longer receives your heart rate.

“Honey please don’t make me—” Her face scrunches as you move to stand. She sticks her arms out to block you from doing so “Oh, you’re going to make me, ok— Derek! Hotch!”

Her shouts are like a drill through your skull. You blink and black spots your vision as it blurs. The pain in your face is so intense, but you have to push through it. If Emily could endure what she did, you can push through this to get to wherever the hell they were keeping her in this goddamn hospital.

Hotch and Derek burst into the room, eyes frantic and scanning the scene. Morgan swiftly cuts through the space, swerving in front of Penelope and taking you by the arms. Garcia may have hesitated to stop you in your tracks but Derek has no reservations whatsoever.

��What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks sternly.

Two nurses rush into the room and Hotch placates them with a gesture implying things are under control . He says something to them in a low voice and they glance your way once before nodding and leaving the space.

“I need to see her,” you say as you push against Derek, but in your current state you may as well be trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa upright.

His grip around your wrists is firm, but gentle; his hands placed just above the bandages from where the cuffs had bitten into your skin.

“She’s not awake yet,” Derek says. His features soften as he looks into your panic filled eyes. “She’s stable. She’ll be okay, and I promise you that the minute she wakes up I will take you to see her.”

“But Derek—”

He clicks his tongue. “No buts. You’re no use to her if you’re not well. You nearly overdosed on the drugs that man gave you. He broke your nose so badly, they had to re-break it to set it correctly. You have a concussion. Are you hearing me? You need to get your ass back in that bed.”

“Honey, listen to him.” Garcia adds, her voice equal parts soothing and concerned. “You can barely stand.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as hot tears well in your eyes. They slip down your cheeks and seep into the medical tape plastered to your face and nose. You draw in a shuddering breath as Derek guides you back into the bed. He presses a warm hand to your shoulder before stepping back and putting an arm around Garcia.

“Come on, mama, let’s go get a coffee while the nurses get her hooked back in.”

Penelope’s mouth drops into an o-shape as if she’s about to protest.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hotch assures her. “Go. I’ll call if anything changes.” That comforts her enough to let Derek steer her out of the room and into the hallway.

As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Hotch exhales a heavy sigh. The heels of his loafers click against the tile as he crosses the room and takes the chair Penelope had been occupying at your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he reaches over and presses the call button to summon the nurses.

“Like someone cracked me in the face with a sledgehammer.”

A hint of a smile passes over your supervisor’s lips and a ghost of a laugh passes your own. You wince as the motion sends a new wave of pain rippling throughout your face.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

“The doctors say it should heal fine. They’re baffled that the break didn’t do any damage to your septum. The bruising will take time but you won’t need surgery so—”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Not me, Hotch.”

His lips press into a firm line. “She lost a lot of blood,” he says after a moment. “In total, he cut her about fifteen times before stabbing her. She was right to tell Morgan not to pull the scalpel out. It was dangerously close to her femoral artery. The unsub was either incredibly calculated in avoiding it or it was dumb luck that saved her.”

Your brow pinches as his words sink in. “What was his name?”

Hotch’s chin dips in response to your question. “Carson Peters. He was a Vet Tech on the perimeter of the geographic profile. We never even interviewed him.”

“The whole time we never knew his name,” you breathe.

“If I know Emily, I’m sure she came up with a few,” Hotch remarks, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t take shape. There is an entire slew of names you’d wanted to hurl at the unsub, to say anything that would have taken his attention off of Emily for even a second but you couldn’t because of the drugs he’d pumped into you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an image of him cutting Emily flashes through your mind.

Hotch says your name. You hear the deep tenor of his voice, but it’s as though you’re underwater. Emily’s cries of anguish echo in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as a tear leaks from the corner of your eyes. “Emily, I’m sorry.”

A firm hand slips into yours and you gasp, flinching from the contact. The image distorts and vanishes. You open your eyes and take a deep breath, dropping your gaze onto the hand in yours. You lift your eyes to meet Hotch’s hard stare. His fingers squeeze around yours and he nods.

“You’re safe,” he assures you. “Carson Peters is dead. He can’t hurt you, Emily, or anyone else ever again.”

Your fingers twitch around his as you blink back the onslaught of tears that want to pour out of you. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Hotch’s features soften. “I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat. Hotch squeezes your hand again, intentionally doing so to keep your mind from wandering. He’s keeping you grounded.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “I felt so helpless.”

“I know,” Hotch states as he levels his gaze on hours. His brown eyes waver as he speaks. “Witnessing a loved one’s abuse and not being able to do anything about it is a torture all its own. In our positions we have the authority to do something about it and in most cases, we can. When we can’t,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s natural to play it over and over again, to wonder where you went wrong, to think that somewhere along the line you could’ve done something, anything, to change the outcome.” His brow lifts toward his hairline. “We will kill ourselves ruminating on the what ifs and what could have beens.”

We. He’s not just talking about you anymore. He’s talking about his past when the unsub George Foyet killed his wife, Haley. You’d joined the team several years after her murder, but you’d been briefed fully on the case. It was well known to everyone in the BAU.

It’s your turn to squeeze his hand and you realize how out of the ordinary this exchange is. You’re as close to Hotch as anyone else on the team, but he’s not usually the touchy-feely type; the occasional half hug or handshake sure, but this level of vulnerability is uncommon.

A nurse walks into the room and Hotch stands to greet her. He shakes her hand and introduces himself formally; name, rank, and title. Establishing credibility for what, you wonder. He speaks in low tones and after a moment the nurse looks at you before looking back at him. She nods her head and he thanks her before she exits the room.

“What was that about?” you ask.

“A favor,” he answers as the nurse guides a wheelchair into the room.

“Five minutes,” the nurse says, aiming a pointed look at Hotch.

“Understood.”

The nurse leaves and Hotch pushes the chair up to the edge of the bed. He slips a hand behind your back to help stabilize you as he extends his other hand for you to grab hold of.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you take the proffered hand. You groan as you sit up and your head spins. You swear you can feel every bone in your face throbbing as pain threatens to split you in two.

“To see Emily.”

Your heart swells. You look at Hotch, eyes widening. “I thought—”

“I told the nurse you’d stay put and allow them to do their jobs and help you if you were allowed to see her. Hence, the five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” you repeat, nodding your head.

Hotch smiles reassuringly. “Five minutes.”

Slowly, Hotch assists with the transition from bed to chair. The shift exhausts you and it sinks in just how weak you are. However, the prospect of seeing Emily keeps you alert enough to push through.

The trip to Emily’s hospital room is short. She’s two right turns and one long hallway away from yours. The door to her room is cracked when you arrive and JJ opens it as Hotch reaches for the door.

“Sweetie!” JJ smiles brightly at you, though her eyes are tired. She leans down to pull you in a gentle hug, minding your face as she does so.

Her eyes flit between you and Hotch. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They’ve got her on some pretty strong painkillers, but she’s going to be alright.”

“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.

Your heart hammers in your ears, but you nod your head and whisper, “Yes.”

JJ steps out of the way so Hotch can wheel you inside the room. You raise your chin to peer over the threshold and whimper upon seeing Emily, hand moving to cover your trembling lips. She lies still beneath the sheets, which are pulled up over her lap. Her arms sit atop the sheet, her left arm bandaged from above the elbow to her wrist. Bandages peek out from beneath her hospital gown. An oxygen cannula is fitted under her nose and butterfly bandages hold close the split in her eyebrow. Hotch puts the brake in place after wheeling you right up to her bedside. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “JJ and I will be right outside. Five minutes,” he says.

Your eyes don’t leave Emily. “I understand.”

When the door clicks shut you let the floodgates open. You take Emily’s hand in yours, minding the IV jutting out from it, and cradle it to your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing to you.”

You blink away the stars that dot your vision as each sob sends an intense wave of pain through the break in your nose and bruising under your eyes.

Emily’s thumb sweeps slowly across your cheek. You take a shuddering breath and swallow your tears as you turn your attention to her. Her eyes crack open and a small smile ghosts her lips.

You gasp and choke back a sob. The smile that splits your face sends a burst of pain through your bones, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You’d feel this pain and all that she endured to see her warm, brown eyes on yours like they are now. Her smile, despite the pain meds dulling her senses, reaches her eyes and they’re so bright. As you look into them, for a moment you’re no longer in the hospital. You’re on a bench overlooking the Potomac and the sun is setting; its golden rays falling over Emily’s face and her eyes changed from brown to liquid gold. It was then you knew you’d never love looking into someone’s eyes as much as you loved looking into hers, that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved her.

You blink once and you’re back in the hospital. “I’m so sorry,” you blubber and clutch her hand to your chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but the way she says your name is as soothing as ever. She shushes you and presses her fingers into your skin as she grips your hand. “Shh, baby, honey, look at me.”

You swallow and try your best to still your quivering lip as you raise your eyes to hers. Hers are focused as she looks at you. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch toward her hairline as she inclines her head toward you. “There is nothing that you could’ve done that would’ve prevented this, and that is okay.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head in refusal.

“Hey,” Emily says, pulling you back in. “Look at me.”

You sniff and take a deep breath as you open your eyes. “If anything,” she adds. “Your being there saved my life. He drew out the torture because he had an audience. If you hadn’t been there, there’s a chance he would’ve killed me before the team got to him. Do you understand?”

Your gut response tells you that she’s right, and you have to fight the part of your brain that’s telling you otherwise.

Her hand slips out of yours and reaches to cup your face, keeping her palm along your jawline to avoid your injuries.

She smiles and gestures to herself with her other hand. “Most of this is superficial anyway. The knife he jammed into my thigh will scar and take a while to heal, but that’s the worst that was done to me. I was,” she presses her lips together as tears glisten in her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”

Something between a laugh and a sob escapes your lips. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Emily laughs in turn, the sound enough to make your heart swell three times over. “At least we’ll be able to spend our recovery together,” she says hopefully.

You smirk and tilt your head, considering. “My place or yours?”

Just then the door creaks open and Hotch steps inside. He smiles. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but if I don’t get you back, I think the charge nurse will have my gun and badge.”

You all share a laugh. As he fixes the brake on the wheelchair, Emily tugs your hand toward her mouth and places a soft kiss to the backs of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You smile and nod as the tight feeling in your chest from before ebbs away. “Okay.”

As Hotch exits the room with you in tow, JJ hands you two cups of coffee. “For you and your watchdog,” she says with a nod towards Hotch.

You thank her and as Hotch pushes you back towards your room, you finally feel like things will be okay.

•

Two weeks later, you’re still on medical leave, but you feel as though you're getting back to normal. You’d been released from the hospital first and a few days later, Emily. Her apartment was bigger, so you’d gone to yours and with help from Penelope packed a bag. It was easier for you two to be in the same place knowing how often the team would be checking in.

Garcia had stayed over with you, helping you keep track of the medications the doctors had prescribed. She helped take care of Sergio too. The little guy had been all too happy to see you, weaving in between your legs and rubbing his furry head against your calves. When Emily returned home a few days later he couldn’t stop meowing. When she rested, he’d fall asleep beside her or curled up in her lap.

Just as expected, members of the team had been through in pairs, on their own, or as a whole. Penelope stopped in daily with coffees and pastries from the shop next to Emily’s building. Derek came by every other day, occasionally with Savannah when her work schedule allowed. She’d checked Emily’s wounds a few times from your insisting as you were worried about infection. Savannah assured you each time that Emily was and would continue to be fine so long as she kept up with changing her bandages and taking the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. Hotch had only visited once, which was unnecessary but still so kind of him. You knew he often stayed late working to ensure everyone else could go home on time. He did this all while balancing his responsibility as a father and the fact that he sacrificed a little bit more of his personal time just to check in on you two meant so much. Rossi had sent homemade Italian with Penelope or Derek. This week you’d been given enough carbonara to feed an army.

You’re fixing two bowls now for you and Emily, a late dinner as you’d both fallen asleep around 3pm and napped until 7pm no thanks to the pain medicines that kept you two on relatively similar sleep schedules. You shred some parmesan and sprinkle it over the top before sticking a fork into each.

“I’ve got dinner!” you call as you make your way back to the bedroom.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” You push open the door with your hip and place the bowls on Emily’s bedside table.

You lean down and kiss her, wincing slightly. The bruising around your eyes and cheekbones has gone down dramatically, but your nose was still bound and held in place by a splint and medical tape. The doctors say in about a week or so, it should be healed completely but to still exercise caution with day to day activities.

Emily rests on top of the covers. Her hair is up and out of her face in a loose ponytail, pieces of which had fallen out while sleeping and now stick to and around her face in various places. You try your best to smooth them down before cupping her chin in your hand. You smile and stroke your fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw before dropping your hands to pull the throw blanket down off of her waist, exposing her legs, bare except for the plaid pajama shorts she wears and bandages wrapped around her thigh.

She shivers in response to the air against her legs. “Sheesh, give a girl some warning!” she protests and you throw her a cheeky grin.

You open the bedside drawer and retrieve the supplies to clean and dress her wound. “We should finish the rest of that movie,” you suggest as you climb onto the bed to kneel beside her. Using a small pair of scissors, you carefully snip away the bandages to reveal the square gauze pad covering the wound. “I want to know how it ends and we keep falling asleep.”

Emily snorts. “That’ll happen when we both take narcotics before bed thinking we’ll make it to the end.”

“Yeah, but,” you remove the gauze and inspect the incision, searching for any signs of infection around the twelve carefully placed stitches. As you squeeze a bit of the antibacterial ointment onto your finger and gently rub it over the spiky black threads of the sutures, you can’t help but think of how much it resembles the caterpillars that used to invade the trees in your backyard as a kid, a story Emily did not care for your retelling when you first did this. “It shouldn’t be so hard to make it through a two hour movie.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen The Parent Trap,” Emily says, bristling as your fingers rub over a particularly sensitive area.

You apologize as you lay a fresh gauze pad over the wound. Your fingers move quickly as you unroll and wind a new roll of bandages to keep the gauze in place. When you finish, you wipe your hands off and gently massage the skin around her thigh knowing it helps to stimulate blood flow to the area.

Emily moans in response to the treatment. Her head lolls to the side and she peeks at you from behind long lashes. “I can’t wait to show you how grateful I am for your incredible nursing skills.”

You arch a brow at her as a smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. “Down girl,” you tease playfully.

Emily bends her opposite leg, raising her heel to curve around your body. She pokes her toes up under your tee shirt and your back stiffens as they touch your skin. You reach behind your back and grab her by the ankle, chastising her as you laugh and place it back on the mattress. “Emily!”

“What??” she asks, laughter tumbling from her full lips.

“We’ve not been cleared yet for that!”

She pouts in response and you clamber over her, carefully, so as not to disturb the injuries of her leg. You straddle her waist and lean down to place a soft kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Trust me, I want to get back to that as much as you do.” Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her camisole. “But you and I both know neither one of us are capable of having gentle sex, and I don’t think our doctors would be happy if we did anything to make this take any longer than it already is.”

Emily groans in frustration. “Stupid doctors and their stupid orders.”

You laugh as you lean down to grab your dinners off her nightstand. Carefully, you lift your leg and roll over her body to your side of the bed; passing Emily her bowl as you do so. You reach down and pull the throw blanket up over both of you as you snuggle into the uninjured half of her body. She turns and places a kiss on your temple as she grabs the remote and clicks on the tv.

As she twirls pasta around on her fork, she turns to you and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says, eyes twinkling.

You smile in turn. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you here, right now, at this moment in time.”

“I love you,” she says.

“Not as much as I love you,” you answer.

“Impossible,” Emily promises.

[daisynik7]

Could you possibly do: Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado for Jean Kirstein - Smut (stg he needs more love on this app)

Promiscuous

Pairing: Jean x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.7k

cw: frenemies-to-lovers trope, one bed (in this case, tent) trope, modern day au, explicit language, smut – mutual masturbation, fingering, hand job

Summary: During your annual camping trip with your friends, you find out a little too late that the tent you brought with you is broken. With everyone’s already occupied, you’re forced to share one with Jean, who you don’t exactly get along with. Maybe sharing a small space together for one night will change that. 

Author’s Note: Hi anon! Thank you for your request for the y2k karaoke party! This idea is somewhat inspired by my main man AugustInTheWinter’s “Trapped in Your Asshole Friend’s Tent” (reddit link, +18)  except mine is more of a teaser if anything, since there’s no actual sex, hehe. I hope you like this one! I don’t write for Jean often, but when I do, I always have so much fun! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/mikeykuns.

Your tent is busted, and of course you only find out about it as you unpack it on the campsite, finding it torn up and unusable. You turn to Sasha, panicking. “It’s broken!”

She kneels down to inspect it, looking at all the parts. “There’s nothing you can do to fix it?”

“Everything is in pieces. It’s completely useless. Do you have room in your tent?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sleeping in Connie’s. And Mikasa, Armin, and Eren are squeezing into one. Which leaves only Jean – ”

“No,” you say with emphasis. “No way.”

Sasha rolls her eyes. “Come on. You’re only in there for a few hours each night, that’s it! Set your differences aside for once! Unless you want to sleep out in the cold.”

“I think I’d rather freeze to death and get eaten by a bear than share a tent with him,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest. 

She chuckles, taking a bite out of a baked potato she has stored in her pocket. “Fine. I’ll be sure to write that in your obituary.” She walks away from you, joining Connie by their tent, helping him set it up while you stand there, defiant, and all-too-stubborn. You look over to their right to see the EMA trio working together to assemble their big tent, but still not big enough to house a fourth person. Then, on the other side, furthest away from the others, is Jean. 

You seriously weigh your options, eventually deciding that death by the elements is worse by the tiniest margin than sleeping next to Jean. So you walk up to him, tapping on the thin fabric, pretending to knock. “Kirstein,” you call out when there’s no answer.

He unzips the entrance, glaring at you. “What do you want?”

You clear your throat, putting on the nicest voice you can possibly muster. “Do you have room for me in there?” You even bat your eyelashes, feeling more pathetic that you already do.

“What?!” he snaps, standing up to confront you. 

“My tent is broken and there’s no room in the other’s, so…”

“Fuck no,” he states, a little harsher than usual. 

“C’mon, Kirstein! It’s just for two nights!”

“Then sleep outside.”

“I promise I’ll be good!” you whine, putting your hands together in prayer, pleading. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely know you’re here,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose, irritated. He yells out across the way. “Sash, Connie! There’s really no room in there for her?”

Connie answers, “Nope!”

“Mikasa, how about in your – ”

“No,” she responds immediately, the other two boys shaking their heads to confirm.

Jean groans, scratching his head anxiously, as if this is the worst thing he’s ever had to consider. Eventually, he mutters a contemptuous, “Fine. But we’re not sharing sleeping bags.”

“I never said anything about sleeping bags!” you protest. 

“I’m just saying!”

Not wanting to argue more, you ease up. “Okay, okay. Thank you. Seriously, Kirstein. I really do appreciate it.” You attempt to give him the most genuine smile you can manage. All he does is roll his eyes, zipping the entrance closed.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly. After setting up camp, you all go for an easy hike on a nearby trail. Jean doesn’t interact with you, which is typical behavior from him. You can’t pinpoint the exact reason why he dislikes you so much; it didn’t start this way when you first met him several years ago through Sasha. But the more you hung out with them, the colder he’s gotten towards you. Because of this, you decided to act the same towards him, causing this hostile relationship between you two. Maybe sharing a tent tonight is a good opportunity to let bygones be bygones and finally get along.

Back at camp, you gather around the fire to roast hot dogs for dinner. Jean sits across from you, a serious expression on his face as he focuses on cooking his meal. You study him, watching the flames reflect in his eyes. He’s handsome, that’s for sure; sharp jawline, luscious brown locks on his head, an impressive stature. If he wasn’t such an asshole, you could see yourself being friendly with him, maybe even more. The thought makes you smile to yourself. He meets your gaze for a brief moment, startling you. You quickly turn your head to the side, pretending to be interested in the dirt on the ground, hoping he didn’t catch you staring. 

By midnight, with your bellies nourished with a hot dogs, potato chips, and s’mores for dessert, you all decide to call it a night. Armin and Eren put out the fire while the rest of you do a thorough job disposing any trash and putting away any of the remaining food. Everyone gets ready for bed in their designated spots around the wilderness. You especially take your time, wanting to stall as much as possible so you don’t have to interact with your tent-mate. 

Eventually, you’re the only one left outside and there’s nothing left for you to do but head in. As you walk into the tent, you quietly step inside, noticing Jean already curled in his sleeping bag to the farthest side he can reach, leaving plenty of space for you. He’s wrapped in an additional blanket, head resting on a fluffy pillow, expression the most relaxed you’ve ever seen. You grin, appreciating how cute he looks like this. 

You nestle into your sleeping bag, adjusting your pillow before you find a comfortable position to sleep in. Even with it zipped up and surrounding you, it’s still chilly enough that your teeth chatter. Holding yourself tightly, you rub your arms, hoping to create enough friction to warm yourself up.  

From the other side, you hear Jean’s familiar groan, then shuffling. Suddenly, you feel something thick envelop you. You crane your neck to see Jean near you now, his blanket covering you both. He faces you with that scowl on his face, eyes closed. “I’m only sharing so that you don’t keep me up all night,” he says.

You roll over to turn your body towards him, closer than you’ve ever been before. “Thank you,” you murmur, snuggling into your pillow. 

He doesn’t say anything else, probably drifting off to sleep by now. Although you’re warm enough, you still can’t fall into a slumber the way you want. Not with Jean so near you, pretty eyelashes fluttering, soft lips parted slightly; he is really handsome. Your chest swells, heat rushes into your cheeks. As quietly as you can, praying that he’s actually asleep, you whisper, “I’m sorry, Jean. For whatever I did to make you hate me so much.” You say it more for yourself if anything. Even if he can’t hear you, at least you’ve put it out there for the universe. 

“I don’t hate you.” It startles you when he says it in a low, gruff voice, eyes still closed. 

You swallow hard, not sure if you should continue this conversation, or let it end here. Not wanting to waste this opportunity, you decide to respond. “You don’t?”

This time, he opens his eyes slowly, blinking at you. “No. You’re annoying, irritating, always completely unprepared. But I don’t hate you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “Sorry for always being such a nuisance to you. I’ll be sure to leave you alone now.”

He sighs. “You’re not always a nuisance, okay? And besides, you’re the one who acts like you hate me.”

“I only do that because you did it to me first,” you argue. “I don’t even know what I did to annoy you in the first place. Tell me.”

“If I start now, we’ll be up all night,” he smirks, looking smug. 

“Seriously, what did I ever do to you? I need to know so I can apologize formally.” 

He stares at you, contemplating his answer. You wait with anticipation, nervous for what he’s about to say. Eventually, he admits, “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

More confused now, you ask, “Then why do you treat me like I did?”

He sighs again, this time even deeper. “I don’t know.”

You scoot closer to him instinctually, studying his face as if that will give you a clearer answer. “You don’t know?”

He’s caught off guard by the closing distance between you. “I don’t know,” he repeats, stammering. “I just…”

Closer now, your nose mere inches from his, the heat radiating from his body towards you. “Just what?”

He gulps loudly before leaning forward, pressing his lips to yours in a delicate kiss. You don’t immediately pull back, indulging in the intimate touch until his tongue slips into your mouth. It shocks you, not because you don’t like it, but because of how much you do. You break apart, catching your breath. “What are you…” you trail off, fixated on his lips, slightly shiny now from your spit.  

He unzips his sleeping bag, freeing his hands to reach for you, caressing your cheek. “If you don’t like it, tell me now and I’ll stop.” His thumb brushes against your skin, electrifying every nerve in your body. 

You wiggle out of your confines to touch him too, placing your hands on hands on his chest, clenching his t-shirt in your fists. Something comes over you. Curiosity, lust, temptation, you’re not quite sure. All you know is that you want to keep kissing him, keep touching him, and save the explaining for later. It doesn’t have to make sense right now; all you want is to feel good. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s sloppier this time, his tongue flicking against yours, eager for a taste of you. His hand travels down your body, sliding around your waist beneath your pajama top. It ignites your skin, forgetting any ounce of coldness that occupied your body just moments before. 

“On top,” he huffs, fingers digging into your flesh. “Get on top of me.”

You obey, spreading his sleeping bag open, seeing the prominent bulge protruding from his sweats. You straddle his lap, grinding yourself on him, rubbing your clothed pussy along his shaft. He grips your waist with both his hands, watching you rock against him, biting his lip with a crazed look in his eyes. “Fuck,” he breathes out, brows furrowed in concentration, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. If you had known it would be like this, maybe the two of you wouldn’t have wasted so much time berating each other. You could have spent the last few years doing this instead.

You lean down, kissing him passionately while you continue to ride him with your clothes on. He’s unbelievably hard beneath you now, his big cock straining against the fabric. Your arousal leaks into your panties, wet and ready for him. His hands glide to your bottom, squeezing your cheeks in his hands. Soon, his fingers are hooked on your waistband, tugging them down your thighs, coaxing you to strip. You hop off him, rolling to his side to properly remove your pants, him doing the same next to you. Both of you are naked from the waist down now, lying beside each other. You reach between your legs, rubbing your fingers on your clit. He watches, fist wrapped around his cock, stroking it feverishly. “I didn’t know you were like this,” he whispers, biting his lip to hold back his moans. “Fuck, if I had known I…I would have – ”

“What, Jean? What would you have done?” you ask, playing with yourself faster, watching him jerk himself off.

“I would have fucked you so much sooner. Make you my slut.”

“You want to slut me out? Is that what you want?”

“Yeah. But only for me. I only want you to be a slut for me.”

You reach for him with your wet fingers, replacing his hand with yours, stroking him slowly. He moans, eyes blown wide at the sight. “Come here,” he beckons, stretching his hand towards your pussy. “I want to make you feel good too.”

Kneeling beside him, you guide him to you, teasing your clit with his palm. “God, you’re so fucking wet. Can I fuck you with these fingers, baby?”

The pet name is unexpected from his mouth, but it spurs you on. You nod, lifting up slightly to sink down on his middle finger while his thumb nudges your clit. A moan escapes you, unable to keep quiet. He chuckles softly, shushing you. “You don’t want the others to know you’re getting finger-fucked by me, do you? You better be quiet.” 

You stay like this, Jean’s fingers pumping in and out of your cunt while he fucks your fist. Aching for a new position, you release him, pulling him out of you so that you can straddle his lap again, this time completely nude. 

He stammers, clearly nervous. “Oh fuck, should we…?”

There is no lube, nor are there any condoms around you. It would be a bad idea to have sex under these conditions, though temptation is testing you, especially with how far you’ve already gotten. As badly as you want to be fucked, you decide not to. “Not tonight. But that doesn’t mean we can’t feel good, right?” You flick the tip of his cock on your clit, your core tight with pleasure from the intimate contact. 

He relaxes into his sleeping bag, watching you with a dazed expression on his face, moaning as you grind your pussy along his shaft, hand nestled underneath his cock, stroking him simultaneously. “Fuck, you really know what you’re doing, huh?”

“Is that bad?” you ask, slowing your pace.

He smiles, shaking his head. “Not at all. I just didn’t expect you to be so promiscuous.” He reaches towards you, massaging your clit with his thumb. 

You whine from his touch, rocking back and forth on his shaft, almost inclined to sink down on his cock anyways. “Maybe I’m only like this with you.”

He continues to grin at you, caressing your sensitive bud faster. “Yeah, maybe you are.”

You stay like this until his cock pulsates beneath you, shooting spurts of cum onto his stomach. Soon, you’re coming too with his thumb pressed tightly on your clit, rubbing deep into you, gushing all over him. When you’re done riding out your orgasm, you roll off of him, back into your own sleeping bag. Jean stays flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his tent, his breathing gradually returning to a steady pace. The two of you remain silent, equally confused and thrilled about what just occurred. 

You decide to be the one to speak first. “So…”

He turns to you, a kind expression on his face. Have you ever seen this on him before? It puts a flutter in your belly. “So,” he repeats. 

“Should we talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” He scoots closer to you, holding your hand in his.

“This. Us,” you say, interlocking your fingers with his. Who would have though being this way with Jean Kirstein would feel so…natural?

“Right. Us.” He nuzzles his nose to yours. “The truth is, I’ve been a massive asshole to you because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to express his feelings.”

“So, instead, you act like you hate me?”

He points to himself, giving you a goofy grin. “See? Idiot.”

You sigh, squeezing him tighter. “So, you actually like me?”

Smiling, he kisses your cheek. “I do. I’ve liked you for a while. If you give me a chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. If you let me.”

You don’t respond right away, contemplating the situation. Could it really work out between you two after all the petty arguments, snide remarks, contemptuous glares? It is comfortable, being with him like this. It’s better than you ever imagined. 

You snuggle into his chest, surrounding yourself in his warmth and security. “I guess we could give it a shot.”

“Yeah?” He tips your chin up to meet your gaze, smiling big.

“Yeah.”

He brings you towards him to kiss you sweetly, cradling you in his arms. “Thank you.”

You pull away, smirking at him before you whisper, “And next time, you’re going to slut me out properly, right?”

He laughs quietly, biting his lip. “Absolutely.”

[kyber-crystal]

scarlet ibis (songbird) || anakin skywalker

summary: they say the purest love takes the longest time, and your story is nothing short of that. there’s fragility within beauty and to him, you’re a mosaic of stained glass (alt title: 5 times you call anakin skywalker by his last name, and 1 time you finally call him by his first.)

words: ~3.2k

warnings: angst, mild violence, mentions of blood + death (but no major character death dw), two oblivious idiots in love

a/n: 2nd place fic from my mini poll! not my best work LOL, but i think this is one of my favorite fics i've written (so far). i've had this in drafts for about a year or so as well...

one

It was safe to say that even a nanosecond of interacting with Anakin Skywalker made your blood boil. 

He knew just how to push all your buttons and you hated it. How could one person exist for seemingly one purpose only—to piss you off—you didn’t understand it and weren’t sure if you ever would. “Loyal Jedi” my ass. 

If you were the first person to speak up during meetings, he was also the first to counter your points and shoot you down. If you were late to meals in the mess hall, he took the last roll of bread, so you’d have to wait an extra half hour for more to come out. If you were dueling together, he would always point out every microscopic flaw in your technique. You were sure that your head would explode at any moment by his existence alone.

This is so ridiculous—you’re ridiculous.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Anakin glanced at you in his peripheral vision. “Don’t be mad because my plan worked, and yours didn’t. There’s this thing called accepting defeat.”

“Just because I don’t do things the way you do doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”

“They’re not wrong, but they’re not safe. You can’t declare safety compromisation a success. There’s a clear difference between the two.”

You scoffed. “Since when did you, out of all people, account for safety?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“And you’re not answering mine, either.” He reaches behind his ear and turns his comms on. “Now are we going to head home or what?” 

“Aye aye, General,” you responded sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “Let’s embark on the journey of a lifetime.” 

Awkward silence pierces the air like a dozen tiny needles, but you’ll take it over arguing with a wall any day. You knew what you were fighting for and why. You were confident in your actions and believed you always stood on the right side. 

Except, he didn’t. 

It was a quick two day recon and you got the job done in half the allotted time. In and out faster than you could blink. Of course, Anakin would find fault in that one way or another…and he did. You got caught as you were escaping…dragging the mission duration out by an extra day.

Granted, you were only delayed by a few hours, but it was enough to upset him. You couldn’t even feel the ropes digging into your wrists after hour two, anyway. But from the moment he broke in and saw the first speck of blood on you, a look of fury flashed across his eyes. I’d be surprised if he had even half a heart under all that thick skin, you grumbled to yourself. He’ll slice at anything that moves. 

“You know—” Anakin’s voice breaks through the tension-filled air. He wants to say something else, but the words get stuck in the back of his throat and his tongue goes numb.

“I don’t care.” You pick at your scabbing wounds, not caring that they’re starting to sting and peel all over again. Before he can catch you doing so, you tug your sleeves over them and grit your teeth. “We got the job done, Skywalker, that’s all that matters.”

two

Maybe it was time to stop trying to commit mass murder on the punching bags. They weren’t going to do anything except break after two minutes of merciless attacks. 

Hopefully…you wouldn’t get in trouble for the glass vase that happened to get in your path. Nobody ever bothered to wander to the west wing of the Temple often enough to notice, anyway.

As you clenched and unclenched your fists, the cracks in your knuckles slowly started to stretch out like thin, red spiderwebs. The dots of brilliant ruby seemed to glitter among the pristine flooring—almost like they were meant to be there from the start. 

With every shard you threw away, the cracks and fury dug themselves further into your skin, threatening to explode.

You didn’t even need to look up afterward to know his scalding gaze was on you again.  

“Are you trying to get an infection?”

“Fuck off.”

He ignored your biting reply and kneeled down to clean up the mess. Once he was done, he stood back up and grabbed you by the wrist, leading you down the hall to his quarters.

As soon as he sat you down at the edge of his bed, you shot him a death glare. “What in Force’s name is your problem?”

“My problem,” Anakin replied, “is that you’re about to bleed all over the place. Let me help.”

“I don’t need fixing, Skywalker,” you snapped. “It’s just a cut.”

Anakin raised a brow at you, then looked down at your hands. “Too bad, I think you do. Broken glass will buryinto places you don’t expect.”

“Then you’re severely underestimating what I’m capable of. So let me go,” you snapped, jerking your wrist out of his grip. You unfortunately did this too fast, and hissed in pain as a result. “I’m fine.”

Sighing, the young Jedi reaches for the bacta pads next to him and works carefully to patch you up. He pretends not to notice the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. Or the way you pick at the skin by your thumb, or the way your left foot taps the floor in a nervous rhythm. He pretends not to notice everything you do, but you’re everywhere. It frustrates him because he can’t escape. 

“Why do I have a feeling that exterminating the centuries-old vase of magic and splendor wasn’t in your original plan?”

“I was,” your voice wavers, fingers twitching. He notices this, too. “Leave me be.”

Shadows of the late afternoon light dance across the bridge of your nose, and he lets himself stare for a bit longer than normal. And…being who you two are, neither of you realize the fact.  

“You can go now, if you want,” he finally says after the sun begins descending into the horizon. “But make sure not to overexert yourself again.”

You don’t move. You stay there; quietly sitting in the middle of his room with glistening cheeks. Anakin doesn’t bother asking you to leave a second time. 

A fallen angel trapped in an endless prison; a halo and fractured wings that rendered her unable to fly. And yet, amidst all that death and despair, nothing could mar her beauty.

He feels those same little spiderwebs running through his palms, and he feels them shorten. Just a little bit.

three

The halls of the Temple were eerily quiet early in the morning. You would expect more Jedi to be up before the sun rose, but today, all activity had seemed to stop. Gathering the ends of your cloak into your arms, you made a careful climb up onto the rooftops to watch the sunrise. 

It seemed like you weren’t the only one who had this in mind, though.

“The hell are you doing at this hour?” 

“I could ask you the same exact thing,” Anakin replied as he stood up and turned around to face you. “You’re going to fall.” 

“I’m fine, don’t—” You let out a small squeak as you lose your footing and slip. Luckily, though, he catches you in time by wrapping an arm around your waist and holding on tight. Fire shoots through your veins at the feeling of him pressed up against you. “Let go of me, Skywalker!”

Once he leads you to where you can get more stable footing, he lets you go. But even then, there’s a hand that hovers over the small of your back. 

Brilliant bursts of sunlight stream over the horizon and wash over the world in pale red and pink. It stops you from saying something snarky to Anakin because you’re speechless at the breathtaking sight above. 

“I have…something for you,” he clears his throat. “—And don’t hit me. I’m not trying to poison you.” 

“Okay…?”

He reaches into his cloak pocket and pulls out what appears to be jewelry of some kind. 

“How many innocent beings did you kill to get this? Please don’t tell me it was smuggled. Or that you robbed someone for it. I can’t keep something like that.” 

“Y/N.” 

“What?”

“Do you…like it?”

You paused and took one good look at the necklace in his hand. It had to be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in all twenty years of living, and even that was an understatement. A teardrop-shaped, deep vermillion stone encased by tiny, glittering jewels—it was as if he had captured the stormclouds himself. It was perfect—too perfect, almost. 

Your voice came out in a whisper. “It’s so pretty.”

He takes a careful step to stand behind you in response. His fingers brush against your neck as he puts the necklace on, and fireworks explode behind your eyes.

Without another word, you turn towards him and rest your chin on his shoulder. He pulls you closer, and your heart feels a little fuller than before. 

four

The warzone was an ugly place. 

If hell was a real thing, this had to be it. The sky is bleeding red and each burst of lightning splits it further apart, the smell of death swirling around with the debris. Battle droids push forward in a stampede and you try your best to ignore the sickening crunch of bone beneath their metal feet. You squeeze your eyes shut as you tighten your hold around your lightsaber and pray to every god out there in the universe because war was cruel and mean and you just wanted to go home and sleep forever because anything, absolutely anything, was better than the suffering you were having to endure now. 

When the shot originally meant for Anakin hits you in the side, you’re unable to fully comprehend the pain because your brain won’t let you. You force yourself to keep going. Pain was temporary…you’d deal with the aftermath later. You could afford to.

What feels like hours passes by and the gunfire doesn’t stop. The incessant ringing in your ears is something you’ve forced yourself to grow accustomed to. 

“Y/N!” Anakin’s voice manages to cut through the howling winds. “You need to—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before a grenade detonates near you and throws you against the walls. A searing pain shoots through your body at the impact and the world tilts on its axis. Scarlet seeps into your tear-stained vision and suddenly, the whole world is drenched in blood.

This was it…

If you were going to die now, it would be as far from pretty as you could possibly get. 

It’s another slow few minutes before he finally finds you slumped against the stone. Somehow, you manage to shoot him a small smile before wincing. “Took you long enough to get here.” 

“You…”

“Oh, wow, I’ve been shot,” you let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand over your wound. The color immediately drained from his face as he saw blood seeping through your fingers. “That’s a whole lot of red.”

He crouches down next to you to assess your state, pressing the commlink in his ear as he does so. “Why is it that you’re always getting hurt?” 

“My middle name is Trouble, that’s why.” You cough, and more red drips down your lips. “Trouble follows me around wherever I go.”

“It’s not fair,” Anakin mumbled under his breath, applying pressure to your torso as you wince again. “I’m supposed to be jumping in front of bullets for you and getting close to being blown up, not the other way around.” 

“I decided that your massive ego needed a little break so I took the workload for you,” you snarked. “Happy now, Skywalker?”

For the first time ever, he doesn’t bite back with an equally sarcastic response. You don’t question it. “No. I’m not.”

The returning journey's dead silent, save for your labored breathing due to your cracked ribs. You try to sit up, but he places a firm hand on your shoulder to keep you from moving. 

“I told you I’m fine—”

“You need to rest,” he exhales, the distress and tiredness evident in his eyes. “Please.”

“Okay…”

Wordlessly, Anakin reaches over to cup his hands over yours and and brings them to his lips. A pleasant sense of warmth overtakes you and you can almost pretend like the ship’s heater isn't broken and you’re melting, little by little. And if you look closer, you can see clusters of galaxies and shooting stars behind his steel blue eyes. The thought alone comforts you and starts to lull you to sleep. 

His eyes shift to the necklace; the gemstone sits still against your sternum as your chest rises and falls. Beauty among chaos. He wonders every day how such stark differences can coexist in a peaceful manner. 

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs long after you’ve drifted off, “I never really hated you.”

five

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You placed your hands on your hips as you observed the pitiful scene before you. The Jedi Order could host extravagant events and use expensive artillery and clones, but wouldn’t account for comfortable sleeping accommodations. Making a mental note to politely complain to Master Windu, you let out a long sigh. 

“If I stretch out, I’ll fall off,” Anakin pointed out as he too stared at the small queen bed (you were sure it was a twin, though). 

“I’d fall off, too.”

“You know what…I’ll take the floor. I don’t want to hear you complaining about back pain in the morning.” 

He was about to take his pillow and toss it to the floor before you grabbed his wrist. “Are you nuts? I can’t let you do that.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, share the bed without kicking me in the middle of the night?”

Both of you stopped and stared at each other at this. 

“The audacity you have to say that when you’re the kicker…” Anakin began. 

“I’m using the bathroom first.” You pushed past him to go wash up. “Don’t be a bed hog, Skywalker.”

Minutes later, you’re both settled in under the covers and have fallen into a comfortable silence. The only things you can hear are the crickets chirping outside and Anakin’s steady breathing. If you ignored the fact that you were on a mission and crammed into an incredibly tiny motel room, you could imagine that this was a peaceful weekend getaway to some tropical planet. 

You’re the first one to break the silence and speak up. “Do you wonder when the war will end? Or if it’ll end at all?”

“All the time.” He rolls over on his side to face you. “And what I’d do afterwards.”

“Where would you go?”

Anakin hums for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. You?”

“I’d go back to Naboo. To the lakes, where the water is so clear you can see your future, and the roses are redder than your face under the summer sun. Padme would take me there all the time when we were younger.” 

“I think I’d follow you, then.”

“But there’s sand, and lots of it,” you laughed. “Are you sure?”

“I’d be willing to bear its coarse, rough, and irritating qualities for you. Only once, though. I have my limits.”

Your heart warms at the mini confession. “I wish we could just end everything now. Call off the troops, sign a few treaties or something…end the war. I’m tired of the violence and bloodshed. I know everyone else is too.”

“I know.”

Anakin’s hand finds its way into yours, and the tension in your shoulders slowly unravels as your fingers lace with his. 

And all the cracked and bleeding crevices on your skin start healing the longer you lean into his touch. It’s like he has a needle and spool of thread in hand, and he’s slowly but surely stitching you back together. 

plus one

The giant metropolis of Coruscant had gone quiet under blankets of snow—it was a sight unlike any other. You hadn’t seen a speck of snow hit since you stepped foot onto the Jedi Temple as a child. 

You stood alone in the hangar bay with bated breath and reddened, frostbitten fingers. Like you’d dipped them in blood before letting them dry for a bit.. He had to be here any minute now; you didn’t want him to return and not have anyone to welcome him back. So despite the subzero temperatures and barely-healing knuckles, you remained in place. 

When his ship touches down and he hops out with a wide smile, you can feel a giant weight being lifted off your chest. He jogs toward you and brings you in for a crushing embrace, and for once, you finally feel at home. 

“It’s freezing. What are you doing here?” He’s sweating, even though he looks like he should be cold. “You should’ve headed inside.”

“I waited for you, what else would I be doing?”

Anakin grins again and hugs you even tighter. “I missed you. More than anything.” 

Your heart suddenly starts to ache at his admission and that’s when the realization kicks in. “I thought I lost you, Anakin. You could’ve died. I couldn’t sleep for three days after I lost your signal. And yet you’re standing here acting like it’s no big deal because at least you’re alive and in one piece.”

“Y/N…”

A chill runs down your spine and you know in that moment that it has nothing to do with the weather. You knew this wasn’t right; you weren’t supposed to be doing this, but it felt more natural than anything you’d ever done.

That’s when you find an Anakin-shaped shard of glass wedged deep in your heart and you don’t know how it found its way there, but you don’t even bother pulling it out. Glass splinters are supposed to be these jagged, disfigured things, but this one is beautiful and even shines amongst the rubble. It’ll bury its way into places you don’t expect. With the way he fits against your body, you can’t help but feel like he was meant to fill the gaping hole in your heart. So wholly, so perfectly without a single scratch or flaw. 

You look up at him and feel your breath get caught in your throat. Since when did he make you so nervous? 

He’s even closer now and so are you, so you press your mouth to his as if doing so would save you from falling apart. Your brain short-circuits, and as you sink into the sudden burst of warmth you realize you don’t want this to end.

“Took you long enough,” he mumbles against your skin as you pull apart. “I was starting to wonder when…”

“Shut up. Don’t ruin the moment,” you muttered before bringing your hand to his cheek and kissing him a second time. He doesn’t object and tightens his hold around you, and a fire spreads through you from head to toe. 

“I love you,” Anakin says after a while. “Even though you like sand, and I don’t.”

“I knew that already,” you joked with a smile and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. “You’re not exactly the most subtle person ever.”

“Neither are you,” he chuckles.

“But I love you too.”

tags, including people who may be interested: @arkofblake @dameronology @fl0ating @voguesir @lady-elena-adeline @aliciaasky @katelynnwrites @freeshavocadoooo @buckysbeloved @kelieah @kaleidoscope1967eyes @lam-ila @unstablecaffeinatedmind @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface

add yourself to the general taglist/top gun specific taglist !

[lunarduty]

Hi!!can you do tension with gaz???

𝙎𝙈𝙊𝙆𝙀𝙔 𝙀𝙔𝙀𝙎, 𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙁𝙀𝙀𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿?

☾ reader tends to kyle's wounds, and seems to be the only one worried. | [ TENSION ] one muse is patching up the other’s injuries which leads to intense eye contact,  lingering touches and them finally crashing their lips against each other’s. KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK X F!READER TAGS | f!reader, slight smut WC | 1,127 x

“you know, you’re going to get a scar if you don’t take care of this properly.”

“what? don’t like men with scars?”

in spite of kyle’s attempt to break your composure, a smile did not appear in the wake of his dumb comment. a VALIANT move, on your part - he usually found little effort in getting you to smile. said it would your best feature, and that would only get you to smile more. but knowing that he wasn’t changing the bandages as often as the doctor said, you were able to fight it off.

“not when they’re easily preventable,” you fire back, eyes glancing up to chance a glare. kyle chose the perfect time to give a sheepish tilt of his head to match the SWEET look in his dark eyes - he really couldn’t turn the tactical side of him off. “you could get an infection, you know. price is already looking for a reason to keep you behind on the next mission.”

kyle gives a slight shrug with one shoulder, as to not disrupt your work. “he won’t need to. i heal fast.”

“god, you’re frustrating.”

“and you love it.”

“i love when i don’t have to worry about you getting some weird fucking infection. who knows what you could have picked up in that god-forsaken jungle.” and just for that reason, you give the wound on his arm one final drag of the alcohol wipe to ensure it really was clean. absently, a finger gently caresses the skin around it, as if trying to soothe any pain that the cleaning process might be causing kyle. as much as he can annoy you sometimes, he’s been in enough pain.

a smile is pulling on his lips when you look up, sparing him a glance before turning to retrieve the bandages. “careful, love. i might start to think you care.” he’s teasing, of course. if kyle’s at ease and feels in control, he’s got quite the smart mouth on him - but right now, you wish he wouldn’t. 

“of course i care.” yeah, maybe the words come out HARSHER than you wanted. maybe when you turn back, bandages in hand, you meet kyle’s soft gaze with a hard one. maybe you were entitled to it after he just brushes off his safety so casually. “if the roles were reversed, you’d be just as worried.”

he blinks in surprise at your sudden barrage, and to his credit, seems genuinely remorseful. kyle wasn’t like soap or ghost or even price - you loved all of them, but it seemed their reckless ways were rubbing off on him. getting him to play down his injuries more than he should.

or maybe you were just overreacting. the wound itself wasn’t even that bad. he’s had much worse. so why were you being SO HARD on him?

kyle doesn’t respond, and you silently open the bandage to wrap his arm. without seeing his face, you can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling. maybe you don’t want to look up and risk seeing something close to frustration or annoyance or even contempt. maybe he thought you were coddling him. maybe you were. maybe…

just as you finished wrapping his arm, right before you tied it off, kyle’s hand covered both of yours. stopping your movements, yet you resist the urge to look up. “i’m sorry, okay? i didn’t know you felt so strongly about this. and you’re right - if you were hurt, i’d be just the same. maybe even worse, since i love you more.”

despite yourself, a snort comes up at his words. light and teasing, even when he’s serious. maybe it’s what you needed. “not possible. i love you more.” finally, your eyes slide up to find his. kyle was watching you, dark eyes STEADY but soft. the sight of them made you feel better about saying what was on your mind. “i guess… i don’t know, it made me start to think about things.”

“like what?”

“like…if you never came back one day? today it was a gash on your arm, but tomorrow, something way worse. something you can’t just walk off.”

“that’s not going to happen, understand?” his hand gripped yours tight, and kyle leans forward to keep your focus on him - ALIVE and breathing and warm. your eyes fall down to his lips. “i’ll always come back.”

you scoff again, not nearly as amused as last time. “you can’t promise that, kyle.”

“i am. right now. so stop making yourself sick with all that nonsense. it’s not something you have to worry about.”

you want to keep arguing. want to point out the growing probability that his luck will run out someday. how many old men come from his line of work? you aren’t given the opportunity to - not when kyle moves his grip to your wrist, yanking you closer and leaving little choice but to swing a leg over his lap. thankfully, he keeps his injured arm still - even if it rests right around your waist, more than strong enough to keep you from escaping.

“you need to rest…”

he smiles, and it’s dazzling and warm and you can’t help but reflect it. “but love, i’ve got something else that hurts. need to kiss it to make it better.”

your hands settle on his shoulders, and when kyle is as solid and warm as he is, it’s hard to recall the last time you had real alone time like this. long before the mission, at least. back on base, after you finished paperwork, and he lured you into his room under the false pretense of having a talk. kyle was the only one talking - it’s hard to speak when he’s three fingers deep in you.

and that simple, DISTANT memory resurfaces like a flash of lightning. you exhale shakily, fingertips curling gently into the rough cotton of his regulation shirt. “let me guess - your lips?” right now, you were fully willing to play into kyle’s dumb game. before he could even answer, you close the gap. lips molding together, muffling your involuntary moan from the simple feel of them. chests pressed close, hips gently rocking because this was the day after an op, and sore muscles love to get in the way of a good reunion.

kyle’s tongue follows the line of your bottom lip, a smile pulling on his own as he breaks the kiss with a pant. his hand squeezes your hip - solid and eager - and you wondered why you were ever so scared about a gash on his arm when he obviously lost none of his strength. 

a low groan comes from his throat. your mouth drops down to taste it. “well, i was going to say my cock, but we can start at my lips.”

[havemybackanyday]

I started thinking about Buck texting Bobby every time he woke up, and my hand slipped.

---

Bobby is just beginning to prep breakfast at the station when his phone pings.

7:26am hey everything ok

It doesn't click right away—Bobby’s first assumption being that Buck is missing the job, maybe feeling a little left out. 

7:27am Yeah, everything’s fine here. Shift just started, you’re not missing much. Are you ok?

He watches as the three dots pop up and then disappear a couple times, and then puts his phone down to stir the eggs. He’s almost forgotten about it by the time the response comes in.

7:34am just checking

It’s then that the penny drops, and the realization breaks Bobby’s heart a little. He opens his camera and flips it around, taking a surreptitious selfie with A shift seated at the table in the background. Chim is gesturing animatedly, and Eddie is chuckling into a coffee mug while Hen rolls her eyes. In the foreground is half of Bobby’s own face, forgetting to smile as he concentrates on framing the shot. 

He sends the picture off to Buck.

7:36am We’re all here, all safe. We miss you. thanks bobby. miss you guys too

The next one comes in the following morning, just as Bobby is pulling into his driveway.

7:31am hey Hey, kid. All good here. ok, great sorry thanks No need, Buck.

Bobby knows there’s something Buck isn’t telling him about the coma dream and his place in it. When Bobby had asked him about it at the hospital, he’d been cagey, and since Buck got home, Bobby feels like he’s being tracked—like if Buck doesn’t know where Bobby is at any given moment, Bobby might vanish into thin air… or Buck might.

Bobby can be an anchor. He’s had practice.

2:12pm all good? All good.

They fall into a routine, where Buck will text “hey” whenever he wakes up and Bobby will reply with a checkmark emoji. It’s soothing for Bobby, too—this way, he knows Buck is sleeping, and gets a rough idea of when and how much. There’s always a text in the morning, and more often than not, a message also comes through in the afternoon. 

A couple days in, the afternoon text arrives while the 118 is on a call. Nothing serious, but several cars are involved, and Bobby is flitting around the scene, directing his people back and forth to where they’re needed. By the time he wraps up, Eddie is sitting half inside the truck and holding his phone, a concerned look on his face.

“Cap?”

Bobby pulls his own phone out of his turnouts.

3:42pm hey

3:48pm hey, bobby?

3:52pm i know it’s fine and i know you’re probably on a call but lmk if you’re ok when you can

3:54pm please sorry

Bobby takes a quick selfie with Eddie. Neither of them is smiling, but it’s not annoyance—it’s the same way they’d be looking at Buck if he were here, handling the call with them. No performing, just an ordinary moment in time. 

He sends it over.

4:09pm Sorry to make you wait. We’re good.

He looks up from his phone, and Eddie is watching him with pinched eyebrows. Wordlessly, he flips his phone around to show Bobby his own string of texts from Buck. Bobby sees his own name in the thread several times.

“How’s he doing?” Bobby asks.

Eddie blows out a breath and settles his elbows on his knees. “He’s… working through some stuff,” Eddie says, looking back at the text thread. He’s silent for a long moment, and then huffs a rueful laugh. “He seems rattled, which is pretty understandable. But beyond that, I don’t think he knows what he needs yet.”

“Well, until he tells us differently, the best thing we can do for him is to be here, and be us.”

Eddie nods, and they both swing into the engine.

That night, the ping of Bobby’s phone wakes him from a deep sleep in the station house bunks.

2:20am hey you awake

Bobby rubs a hand across his face. I am now. You ok? sorry i woke you No, don’t be. I’d rather you reach out.

Buck doesn’t respond; the three dots don’t even appear.

2:22am Did something happen? You alright?

2:24am just a nightmare You want to tell me about it? nah maybe later glad you’re ok, get some sleep

Bobby locks his phone and stares at the ceiling in the dark. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but at some point he resigns himself to the fact that his swirling worries won’t resolve themselves into anything legible right now. He swings his legs out of bed and heads upstairs to the kitchen.

Five hours later, he pulls into a parking spot outside of Buck’s apartment complex, a pan of cinnamon rolls in the passenger seat.

“Hey, Bobby.” Buck looks tired when he swings open the door, circles under his eyes, smile a little faded. 

“Hey, kid. Brought you something.” Bobby peels back a corner of the foil covering the cinnamon rolls, and watches as Buck’s eyes brighten.

He laughs and gestures to the piles of food on the kitchen island. “I don’t know if I’ve even got space for those, but I’ll move some of this out to the balcony if I have to.”

Bobby hands the pan over, and Buck lifts out a roll immediately, taking a huge bite that leaves icing on his lip. “Mmmmh. God. Thank you.”

He can’t help a smile at Buck’s enthusiasm. “Anytime.”

There’s a moment of quiet while Buck wedges the pan onto the overloaded island and finishes his roll. He’s licking his fingers and avoiding Bobby’s eyes when he says, “Sorry again for waking you up.”

“Buck.” Bobby waits for him to look up. “Don’t be. We’re all here for you—and not just because you got hurt. We’re here whenever you need us.”

Buck pauses, index finger still in his mouth. He pulls it out and says in a rush, as if racing his own hesitation: “You were dead. In my coma dream, you were dead. Because Hen and I never came to your apartment that day.”

“Okay,” Bobby says, nodding neutrally as the memories wash over him. The shame of waking in the shower. The helplessness of placing his pain in his coworkers’ hands. The rock-steady warmth of Buck and Hen on either side of him.

A vise tightens around his heart.

“Is that why you’ve been checking on me?”

Buck has the gall to sound ashamed of himself when he says, “Yeah.”

“Buck, you know—hey. Look at me, this is important.” Buck, who has shifted his gaze to someplace over Bobby’s right shoulder, drags his eyes back. “You know that my sobriety isn’t your responsibility, right?”

Buck nods. “I know, and I’m not trying to… fix things, or control things I can’t. I just…” He trails off, and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to wake up again in a world that doesn’t have you in it. This version of you, I mean.”

“Oh, kid, c’mere.” Bobby steps forward and wraps Buck in a hug. 

God damn anyone who ever told this kid that his heart was a problem. 

When they finally let go of each other, Bobby holds on to Buck’s shoulders. Buck sniffs, and swats a tear off his cheek with the palm of his hand. 

“You’ve been through a lot, and I know you’re still sorting it out. But I also know how stubborn you are when you’re chewing on a problem,” Bobby says, drawing a wet laugh out of Buck. “I know you’ll find your way through it. And we will all be here for you. Every step, however long it takes.”

Buck nods, and breaks into a hesitant smile.

“And in the meantime, let us spoil you a little.” Bobby gives Buck’s shoulder a light jab with his fist. “We don’t want to wake up in a world without you, either.”

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 5

Summary: Harry's got a proposition.

And you're not sure you're ready for it.

Word Count: 1.3k (SHE'S A BABY, I KNOW, BUT I GOTTA SET UP THE BIG STUFF)

(Previous parts to this series are down below at the end!)

So…what’s the appropriate, normal, non-creepy amount of time to wait after fucking your fist to the sound of somebody’s voice over the phone before texting them?

You grin to yourself when you see the text message slide down on your screen, your lip between your teeth as you click on his name.

Well, considering you could have a heart attack and keel over at any moment, I’d say the sooner the better.

How did I know you’d say that?

Cause I’m just so gosh darn charming.

Oh, is that what you are?

You seemed to think so when you were begging me to let you come.

…I wasn’t begging, I was just asking…really…nicely.

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

I sleep a lot better after that phone call.

Yeah?

Yeah. Except for the fact that I wake up hard as a fucking rock and leaking into my boxers, but…whatever.

Yum. I mean…yikes. Sounds painful. 

 Careful, Cheese Girl. Or I might just call you again.

And what would be so bad about that?

Well, for one, I quite literally don’t think there’s any fucking come left in my body.

…I don’t know if I needed to hear that.

Why? Have you fallen in love?

Oh, is that what this strange feeling in my chest is? Love? Huh, I thought it was heartburn.

Aww, are you saying your heart burns for me?

I’m saying you’re lucky your number isn’t blocked.

You’d never block me. You think about me too much.

Who says I think about you?

Do you?

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes glued to the screen as you contemplate a response.

You could lie to him. After all, he wouldn’t know the difference.

But…it would be a lie.

You do think about him. Far more than you care to admit.

The only problem…is that you don’t want to think about him.

After all, what would telling him even do? It’s not like anything could ever happen outside of the occasional phone sex.

You don’t even know the man.

But…what if you want to?

Yeah, I do. When it’s late at night and I can’t sleep.

A solid minute passes before he finally sends his response.

What did I just say? Are you trying to fucking kill me?

If you can survive a heart attack, you can survive this.

I would never survive you.

You’re not sure if this is meant to be a compliment or an insult…but your heart flutters, nonetheless.

Oops, sorry. Bad time? Are you in another meeting?

Nah. Out by the pool. 

That sounds nice. It’s fucking freezing here.

And where is here...exactly? If you don’t mind my asking.

Again, you hesitate. He could be a catfish…or a stalker…or just a fucking creep.

Or maybe he’s just curious. Maybe he wants to get to know you. And it’s not like you’d be telling him your exact address. Just…maybe a vague description of where you are in the country.

I’m guessing Los Angeles from your area code. 

And I only know that because I also have a Los Angeles area code. 

Which you can probably tell, so I don’t know why I said it.

And now I’m rambling, and you aren’t responding, and I think I freaked you out.

As the texts continue to roll in, you have to smirk, slightly relieved by how adorably flustered he is.

You can almost hear each response in his voice.

That sexy fucking voice.

Easy, Gramps. I lived in Los Angeles for a few years, but I’m in New York now.

Ah, the Big Apple. Nice. I like New York, but you’re right, it’s fucking freezing.

Do you come a lot? To New York I mean.

Uh huh. Sure, you did. And yes. To both.

Very nice. Any particular reason?

Well, sometimes it’s because I'm remembering that phone call. But other times it’s because I’m dreaming about that phone call. Either way, I’m just always thinking about you.

Your stomach flips.

I meant any particular reason you come to New York so often, you twat.

Oh, right. Yeah, I do a lot of business there. Or business-related things.

I see.

Suddenly, the chat goes quiet. Far too quiet, and as the minutes begin to tick by…you feel a strange tingle begin to crawl its way up the back of your throat.

And then—

“…hello?”

“Hi.” Harry. His voice. Breathless and seemingly rattled. “Sorry. I just…I figured if I didn’t call, I’d never say it? And I wanted to hear your reaction instead of just staring at those goddamn bubbles until I shit myself.”

A little surprised, you stand up from your desk and begin to pace toward the kitchen. “No, it’s fine. Are you…okay?”

“I’m…no. Yes, no. I’m fine.”

“…yes, no?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he repeats. “Sorry. I’m…shit. This isn’t going how I wanted it to.”

Your eyebrows raise. 

“I…so, here’s the thing,” he tries again. “There’s a thing. And I know we…don’t know each other, so we don’t really do things…but there’s a thing. That maybe…could be a thing. Like, an us thing.”

“…Harry?”

“…yeah?”

“You’re rambling again.”

You hear him exhale a laugh before there’s a bit of noise and he clears his throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m…I do that. When I’m nervous.”

“I see. And why are you nervous?”

“’Cause of…the thing.”

“Ah.” You nod, despite the fact that he can’t see you. “Well…why don’t you tell me what this thing is.”

“Right.” More noise. “So…the thing. I’m…gonna be in New York this week.”

He goes quiet then, as if giving you time to process what he’s saying.

What he’s implying.

“Oh,” you breathe, the realization weighing heavy on your chest. 

“Yeah.” Another beat. “Look, I don’t…I’m not expecting us to meet. I don’t…that’s weird, I know. But…fuck, honestly? All I keep thinking about…is asking you. And I know it’s fucking weird. I know that but I had to ask you. ’Cause it would drive me nuts if I didn’t.”

A long stretch of silence passes between you as your mind begins to work overtime to create any sort of response.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he adds after a moment, almost sounding embarrassed. “Or at all. I don’t…I really don’t expect anything, but…I’ll be in the city on Friday. And…if you do want to meet…I’ll be at Ellen’s Stardust Diner. At twelve. You could…I don’t know, peek in? See if I look…worth your time? I don’t know. I’m…shit, sorry. I thought this would go better.”

“No, I—” Your eyes squeeze shut. “I’ll…I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” He clears his throat again. “Fuck, sorry. I’m cool. Uh…really. Interesting. Okay, got it. Good to know.”

You smile to yourself as you lean against your kitchen island. “Oh yeah, you are so cool.”

“The coolest—hey, look, I’ve…I’ve gotta go,” he sighs, and for some reason, you feel your heart sink. “I know I keep doing that, and I swear I didn’t mean to drop this on you and then disappear, I’ve just…I’ve…”

“More meetings?” you guess, and you hear him take another breath.

“Yeah. S’always more fucking meetings, and more fucking shit I’m apparently doing wrong.” 

Your expression softens. “I see. Well…good luck.”

“Thanks.” A beat. “So…you’ll think about it?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“’Cause you can tell me if I’m just too attractive for you to actually meet. I’ll believe you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would.”

“Good,” he chuckles. “Okay, I really do have to go now.”

“Hey, I’m just waiting for you to hang up.”

“Honestly, it might be easier if you hang up first. I don’t really think I have the strength to hang up on you.”

There he fucking goes again. 

You tug your lip between your teeth. “Bye, Harry.”

“Yeah…bye, Cheese Girl. Maybe see you Friday.”

You grin.

“Yeah. Maybe see you Friday.”

Next part! ~ iFall for Harry pt. 6

Previous parts:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 4*

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[slytherinshua]

[ 11:27pm ]

“You missed our date. Again.” You muttered, placing your bag down and discarding your shoes. He didn’t respond for a couple seconds, only making it harder for you to not get mad at him. 

It wasn’t even his fault. He didn’t have much control over his schedule, so who were you to get mad that it got changed last minute? You should be mad at his manager if anyone. Still, if there was a little more communication, then maybe you wouldn’t feel as though you were being left in the dark so often.

“Sorry… I’m sure you’re disappointed.” He sighed, voice sounding a bit rough. You wondered if he had lost his voice again from straining it too much.

“It gets a little more than just disappointing after the 4th time.” He didn’t respond and you glanced at him only to see him typing some message.

“You might as well be dating your manager. You spend more time texting them than you do texting me.” You said icily, already foreseeing you saying some things which you would regret later. But your brain was too clouded to worry about that. All you could feel was the disappointment, betrayal, frustration, and sadness that you felt after waiting for hours for him to just show up— but apparently even that was too much to ask.

“I don’t do it on purpose.” Seungmin mumbled. He was tired, you could tell.

“Are you sure about that? Cause it seems like you do.” Your words were getting more heated by the second, and you only got more agitated from another text lighting up Seungmin’s phone.

“Go on. Answer the text. Prove my point.” You challenged, your eyes burning with anger and tears, waiting for what he would do.

“Not tonight, Y/n, please not tonight. This is important.” He said, reaching for his phone to answer the text as if those words were enough to shut you up. They probably should’ve been.

“It’s more important than your girlfriend who you haven’t seen all day?” You asked, a sarcastic laugh escaping your mouth. It at least made him pause, leaving the text unread for an extra five seconds. Record time.

“I hate fighting with you. You know I hate it.”

“Then why do you never show up!?”

He retracted his hand, slow and scared. Scared that he had messed up too badly this time.

“I’m always the one waiting! Waiting for your texts and calls. Waiting for you to show up. You’d think that after all this time I’d stop being so naive about it…” The first tear slipped past your waterline, making its slow descent down your cheek. Seungmin was staring at you, soft eyes still managing to show that he cared. Despite his tiredness, despite your anger, he still cared.

“I keep thinking this date is the one that’ll be successful. But it never is. I always manage to get hurt and disappointed. Every. Time.” Your shoulders shook and you looked down, anger subsiding and being replaced with sadness.

He stood up, hesitantly reaching out to touch your shoulder, making sure you didn’t shrink away from him. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. He pulled you to his chest, heart aching from seeing you cry, especially since he was the reason for it. He hated it the most in the world.

“I’ll show up. I promise I’ll show up…” He whispered as one of his hands gently rubbed circles on your back. 

He wasn’t going to break his promise this time.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ skz taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-bluehair,, @syrxiee2,, @ddeonudepressions,, @justhyunhoer

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a/n: forgive me for this angst idek how this happened, it's 1 am 💀

[yuquinzel]

— singularity.

feat. mikage reo. gn!reader. implied fwb. suggestive. i’d call this toxic. wanted to write reo in a new light. thank u user @fallenssun aka rosie for hyping me for this <3

mikage reo resents you, that much, you are aware of.

maybe hate is too strong of a word. you are afraid to use it. resent rings the right way — the perfect adjective to explain his lasting glares, the twist of his lips followed by dismissive responses whenever you strike a conversation. you catch his eyes on you often, maybe looking for more reasons to abhor you. he doesn’t seem to hide it either, whenever you flash him a smile and he only scowls at you. curse him, he wears it dashingly.

but then again, for reo to resent you so much he can not stay in the same room as you must mean you have done something to be the subject of his bitterness.

that, is where you are clueless.

despite his resentment, reo is quite gentle with you. when he needs to be, at least.

is tragedy a strong word too? your relationship with reo resembles one strikingly. a bloody-eyed tragedy dressed as a daydream in which tongue and limbs entangle and fingers run through disheveled hair, thumbs trace the bruised skin of the other. your vision is blurred and memories are hazy when blinded by euphoria. you can taste nectar on reo’s lips. as much as he resents you, he can not deny you either.

which is why you are still in his life, you conclude. you wonder if you could ever have the power to ruin him like he does with you.

nagi seems to have a strange liking in stirring up the already uncomfortable atmosphere, “think i’m gonna go, ’m too tired. ’ts such a pain seeing you both act like nervous teenagers.”

reo pays him no mind, instead finding the empty ochoko in his hand more interesting. he traces a lazy finger on its outlines, breathing a sigh of content when he pours himself more of the saké the three of you had indulged in.

it had been nagi, who invited you. he did not tell you he would be companied by reo as well. you guess reo must’ve tried convincing him otherwise. but you know you’re just flattering yourself — reo does not think of you as often as delude yourself.

“nagi, shut up. you’re the one who asked me to come. it’s rude to leave after that.” you say with blush-stained cheeks and a slurred voice. you haven’t drunk much. but you have always been a lightweight. nagi had known that, you think.

“come with me, then.” reo stirs in his spot. nagi turns to him. as the snow-haired male speaks the next dragged and slow syllables, you feel reo’s eyes boring into you. in any other occasion, you would’ve pretended to ignore him and shrink in your spot further. but maybe the alcohol has settled in your system. you feel defiant under his gaze. “reo wouldn’t mind, will you?”

it takes countable, pathetic seconds for reo to respond. you would call it hesitation — the second reo steals for an answer, but you know better. “i am going to stay back for some time. you can leave if you want.” he wears an elegant smile, eyes set on you. it is something the poets would call enchanting. a long-drawn breath leaves you. reo’s eyes haven’t left you. not yet.

you know what he’s asking. he won’t verbalise it. you know him. you feel compelled to play along with him. he knows you. you don’t really give him this power over you. he just commands it like it has always been his.

“that so?” nagi waits for your answer.

which comes in the form of a hesitant nod, “i’m staying back too, i don’t wanna go home yet.” you mirror reo’s smile. he pretends to look away and take a sip of his drink.

“ah. can’t be helped. ’m leaving then.” the subtle stretch of lips on nagi’s face and the tone of his voice is a little teasing. one you’d call mocking if you couldn’t hear the fondness behind it.

a part of you feels betrayed. that nagi has left you alone here, fully aware of your shaky relationship with reo. the more braver part of you is thrilled. you blame the alcohol. reo has never initiated a normal time together besides the unassuming “7:30” texts followed by the address of some five-star luxury hotel he must frequent a lot.

you always tell yourself it will be the last time. you always end up going again.

you wonder if this unplanned business is the same one as well. you would be disappointed if so.

the silence that encompasses the quaint tatami room is oddly comforting. there is a faint glow of honey, its origin nothing but the paper lamps hung over the walls. you think the restaurant must’ve been reo’s choice.

“i did not try to convince him to not call you, if you are wondering.” reo begins, and you feel like a part of you — hidden somewhere deep within the confines of your secrets is scanned over and vulnerably exposed. “i was the one who asked him to call you.”

“ah. i didn’t assume anything.” you lie, for reasons you can’t pinpoint. you shouldn’t be drinking more than this, it would backfire later. but it’s a good distraction from being the centre of reo’s attention. it is unnerving. you are not supposed to enjoy it this much.

as if reo can see right through you, he lets a chuckle hum in the air. “i see. that’s good. i was afraid i gave that impression.”

you know he’s doing this on person. that’s just what he does. and you don’t really feel like entertaining his amusement tonight, “you didn’t. but i wouldn’t have come if i knew you asked for me.”

your words take him aback, you hope so. reo clears his throat. “mhm. that’s why i asked nagi to do so. i have something to say.”

“and it couldn’t be over texts?” you lie again, because it is easier than admitting you wanted to see him.

“it couldn’t be over texts.” he repeats. “i had to see you.”

maybe the alcohol was too strong. reo has never been a lightweight like you. and he does not give you the luxury to discern his words further.

“do you hate me?” he mutters after a bated breath.

“i wouldn’t want to see you if i did.”

your finger goes to rest on your lips, brushing a little over the slightly chapped skin. you don’t miss the way reo’s eyes follow your ministrations. you hadn’t expected yourself to answer so quickly, or at all. but it is almost as if it was scripted. like you had hoped for him to be the one in doubts and for once, you being the one who subjects him to your cruelty.

reo lets your words simmer in his mind, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. some phantom words slither through his teeth and rest on his tongue, tasting bittersweet and dangerously addictive.

it has always been like this with you. you have always made him like this.

“do you think i hate you?” he asks. you hold your breath.

“resent would be the right word. you resent me.”

reo sucks in a deep breath, you see yourself behind his eyes. it seemed to you as if he was in pain. you also know you are the cause of it. it is both solemn and exhilarating. you feel bad. but you really don’t.

then he smiles at you. one you have always thought charming and fake. “would you like to go on a walk with me?”

.

.

when nights ascends the city of tokyo, bringing along a rainshower of artificial lights reflecting on the damp asphalt, dwindling the city scrapers with stars and fluttering with the scent of cheap champagne and take-out food— it’s when the city truly comes alive.

reo and you walk side by side. it is a little cold, so reo has you wrapped in his coat. it has been quiet for moments, maybe he is giving you the time to prepare yourself.

“i’m sorry.” the sudden apology hits you like a train. you could not have expected it. your face contorts into something intangible. reo sees your confusion.

“...for what?” you ask when he does not elaborate. you figure he had waited for you to question it.

“for wanting you.”

a nervous breath makes it way past your lips, and you struggle to find it again. the air is knocked out of your lungs just like that, and your heart stalls and stutters in your chest. reo sense your tension. he knows only he is capable of this. he does not say anything about it. if he expects you to question him again, then you’re afraid the conversation will end here.

but then he continues, “i’m sorry for wanting you. and i’m sorry i made it your problem.”

“what? — what are you saying, reo—”

“you have always been the only thing i’ve wanted. so desperately.” this is where reo pauses, to look at you. the contrast to his words and the twist of his lips, paired with the knit between his brows — it’s dangerously charming. “you are also the only thing i’m not good at. it makes me resent you.”

hearing the words resent and you in the same sentence in reo’s voice, directed at you — it would’ve tore you apart, it would picked at your skin until you bleed and fire smokes your lungs. but it would be peaceful. you could accept it and eventually come to terms with it. however long that takes.

but right now, it only leaves you more conflicted. if reo intends to love you, then it is a torment in itself.

“i despise finding you in everything. even when i’m not looking for you. i thought my resentment would eventually overrule everything else. but it didn’t. i only want you more than i can deny. you are on my mind more than you should be — and all that is making me realise i don’t resent you after all.”

a faint glow of strawberries is dusted on reo’s cheeks. you can feel the head radiating off him. along with the scent of his expensive luxury cologne, one he has covered you in many times before. it seems like a lie. “i just resent wanting you when i know i should not.”

seconds seem melt into infinity. you think your thoughts are no less than your words. they are spoken the moment they come to mind. when you part your lips, the december winter of tokyo manifests as the condensed air with your words. reo feels the urge to brush his thumb over your flushed cheeks. something about the moment is making you seem oddly vulnerable. “if you love me, you do not love me in a way i understand.”

your voice comes hushed. reo tenses up. then you hear his chuckle. it does not make you look at him. it does not make him look away from you.

you know you should walk away. this is not good for your heart. it makes you sick. you should walk away and never look back.

but instead,

“will you teach me?”

you feel a sick urge to smile, as wide as you can when you see reo part his lips. a broken voice, nothing more than an incoherent blurb of sound, leaves his lips.

it seems reo and you are not much different.

“teach me, how to love you that way. the kind that is so intense, it becomes greater than love and manifests as resentment. the kind you are so afraid to show. let me see it.”

there is not much distance between reo’s fingers and the heat of your skin. not when he brushes them over the outlines of your jaw, and then the corner of your lips. the very spot your own finger has traced only moments prior.

“you will leave me.” he says, pressing his thumb a little harshly on your bottom lip.

“if i had plans on leaving,” you let yourself lean into his touch. reo seems to like that, “you wouldn’t have seen me tonight.”

“i am afraid of hurting you.” reo knows his voice is weak, uncharacteristic and in contrast to his usual charm. he can’t seem to hate it though. he reminds himself you have seen more vulnerable than this.

he knows you will probably see more of him than he ever has, when your lips brush against his thumb. he aches to make it last, but then you speak again. “of course you’ll hurt me. you already have. i can’t promise i will not hurt you either. but i have stayed. love is just a compromise between hurt and adoration. you should know only you could hurt me in ways i’d adore.”

reo closes his eyes. you watch the rise and fall of his shoulders. “i wanted to see you one last time today. because i’m leaving.”

reo lets his finger rest between the crease of you brows. he smooths it over with a subtle drag. he looks like a bittersweet teenage dream. when he smiles at you like that. you should’ve been at a loss for words. you can not ask him when, or where, how far, how close — you can not ask him anything. yet you find yourself speaking anyway. maybe to fill in the silence. “do you expect me to ask you to stay?”

at this, reo has to look away. it is the first time tonight he has actively avoided your eyes. “no, but if i do — if i stay, will i see you again? will you let me? not just in hotel rooms or dinners like these, but everywhere. i want to keep seeing you.”

it is weak, his voice. he seems to be at the mercy of your reactions. it’s a little odd. your heart shouldn’t skip a beat at this.

“i will.” you don’t say, instead letting your hand rest on top of his. the one that is still caressing the side of your face. “then see me.” you don’t demand, instead clutching onto his hand a little stronger.

reo seems to understand you anyway. he has been good at that.

so he lets his lips crash with yours. there is no hesitation, it’s brimming with fervent passion. reo steals your breaths, as if he’s never had enough of it. he has always been a little selfish when it came to you — but you like him like that, he knows. which is why when he pulls back — only because he was breathless — he would look at your lips, swollen and bruised. he relishes in seeing your flushed cheeks. your parted breaths.

he tells you he loves you. in this moment. and later when you’d find yourself in his room, on his bed, covered in his sheets that smell like him. after, when you wear his shirt that hangs loosely around your shoulders. and when he drops you home, when he bends down to place a kiss on the side of your neck.

mikage reo tells you he loves you. and if you believe him, then this time you have no one to blame but yourself.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

unhealthy relationship based on physical attraction, which is mistaken for love. reo does not tell you he loves you, but you simply delude yourself into believing it. so when he does say it — you’re too in love to notice it doesn’t mean anything.

that’s what i was going for i mean but yeah ok. now back to characterizing reo right and writing fluff :> thanks for reading, cya !

[imightgetbetter]

friendship test

i watched a glamour friendship test last night and immediately thought it would be sweet and fun if matty and the missus did one. here's that. no warnings or anything, it's just the two of them being really sweet.

Matty reaches his hands out for you, “Come on! It’ll be fun. It’s just you and me. Nothing to worry about.” Matty is nodding, encouraging you to walk towards him, going towards the edge of the canvas and taking your hands in his, pulling you in front of the cameras.

“And a lot of cameras,” you say nervously, reluctantly walking with him, your heart pounding in your chest as you step under the bright lights and the microphones and the three cameras all pointed at the two of you. “I’m going to kill the guys for being late.”

Matty grabs your face in his hands, “It’s not like this will go anywhere. It’s just us having fun. Maybe it’ll be something we can show Attie, one day.”

“And I can tell Attie that you like to drag me in front of a camera against my will,” you say, mentally recalling the dozens of times you’ve been guilted into appearing in music videos and award shows and anything that involved him being in front of the camera. Matty always argued that you made him feel better, and you could never really argue with that. “Okay, okay. Fine. Tell me what I have to do.”

Around the set in Central Los Angeles, producers and production assistants set the scene, giving you and Matty and run down of the types of questions that they’ll ask and how you should respond, guiding you through the twenty-minute process as quickly as possible. Matty is dressed in one of your favorite suits, a nicely fitted beige suit with a white shirt underneath, the shadows of his tattoos poking through the fabric. His hair is slicked back, curling at the nape of his neck. He smiles at you every so often, squeezing your shoulder as you listen intently and try to ignore the way that you were certainly not dressed for the occasion, at least in your eyes. On your lower half was your most comfortable pair of black trousers, a white fitted shirt on your torso. Nothing too outrageous or fancy, you didn’t see yourself becoming the star of the show, today, you anticipated a nice day behind the scenes, maybe a lunch date with your husband, and then off home for the evening to spend the night with your daughter. Matty clearly had other plans.

“Five, four, three, two,” the producer shouted, waving his finger at you on the silent count of one and instructing you to begin.

“Hi! I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the New York Times Bestselling author.”

“And I’m Matty Healy, from The 1975.”

“And we’re doing the Glamour Friendship Test, with a twist,” you say with a smile, squeezing Matty’s hand intertwined with yours as you feel the nerves begin to heat your neck. “I reckon we’ll be quite good at this, don’t you?”

“I’d hope so,” Matty smirks, turning towards you, and the way he’s looking at you makes you forget there’s even a camera rolling, staring directly at you two. “I’ve been more than your friend for a very long time. I should be very good at this.”

“Oh, yeah? Says who?” you smirk, giggling to yourself as you release your hands and wrap your arms around his waist, tucking yourself into his side. Matty’s arms wrap around your shoulders, and he laughs, kissing your head. “You can’t be better than me, I’m the writer.”

“May the best man win,” Matty laughs, shaking his head and releasing you, turning towards the director and waiting for the next direction and question. “Off you go,” he says with a smile, patting your backside as the producers instruct you off and get ready to ask him his first question.

What was your first impression of each other? When did you first know you were in love?

Matty grins, and you can see a bit of heat rising to his cheeks with the thought of how to answer the question. “At thirteen? I thought my new neighbor was unbelievably hot,” he laughs, the entire room erupting in giggles as you shake your head. “I just remember thinking that Y/N was really nice, and that I really wanted to get high in the backyard because she had this huge tree back there. All the guys came over and we just sat around talking about it. She must’ve seen us staring through the window and invited us over. We were proper delinquents, showing up at her house and introducing ourselves to her parents and hiding a joint in our back pockets. We all sat around the tree and got high and talked, and we’ve been friends ever since.” His smile is so soft and genuine, and you think about that memory fondly. “I’ve known I was in love a handful of times. How could I just narrow it down to one?” Matty smiles at you as your cheeks burn with blush. “Most recently, I walked in from the studio to see Y/N dancing around to one of my songs with our daughter in the kitchen. Our daughter is at the stage where she likes to dance around and that’s what they were doing, and I just watched them for a few minutes. I just thought to myself, I can never be more in love than I am, right now. That wasn’t the first time, the first time I knew was when I was sixteen, but I like that story way more.”

Quickly, you wipe away the tears on your cheeks and move from your spot behind the cameras, allowing the stylists to adjust your hair and makeup while the producers tell you that you’re going to answer the exact same questions. Matty smiles at you with folded arms, checking his phone quickly to see where the rest of the band and their manager is. Going through all your memories, you try to sort out the one of your very first impression, thinking very hard to what you thought before you had a crush on him. “Quite lame that I have to say my first impression of Matty was that I found him very cute and had a crush on him. I’d seen him at school and things, you know, but we’d never spoken. My parents brought me to the house, and he was outside with his father, and I thought I would just perish knowing my school crush was my neighbor. Matty was just the nicest thirteen-year-old, probably because he thought I was cute,” you say, trying to ignore the way Matty laughs in the background, “but when I was in my room, I saw him and the guys eyeing the tree in my backyard. I felt like that was my way in with them, so I invited them out there with me. It’s been history ever since.” Matty smirks when you suck in a deep breath, knowing the story you’re about to share. “I knew I was in love with Matty when I was sixteen, I think. I had fallen asleep on his bed after talking to him about things going on at school, and he turned the lights off and covered me up with a blanket and laid with me. I knew I was in love with him because of how much I could feel my heart in my chest when he did those things, but because he never expected more of me, ever. He was the only one I ever wanted to tell all those things to, as well. I just felt like, that’s the most love anyone could feel at sixteen, and I felt it for him.”

Matty walks onto the canvas and circles his arms around you, kissing your cheek over and over. “I love you,” he whispers into your ear, holding you tightly as the producers adjust for the next shot.

Stare into each other’s eyes for three minutes.

“Easy, I do this all day every day,” Matty boasts confidently, smiling to the camera as he turns and faces you, his hands coming to cup your cheeks.

“You do not stare into my eyes for three minutes, without talking, every day, Matty. Don’t lie.”

“Our daughter has your eyes, so actually, I do. I stare into your eyes every time I look at her.”

“You’re insufferable,” you say, willing your eyes not to well with tears. Matty is just so good at saying things that will make your heart swell to the size of a balloon in your chest, knows just what you need to hear. He always says things that make you realize just how much he loves you, even if he doesn’t intentionally mean for it to. Matty grins, mouthing, I love you, to you again. “I love you deep in my bones,” you whisper back, and you’re sure they caught in on camera, but staring at him like this, you don’t really care.

Hug for one minute.

“Only a minute?”

“Do you have to comment on everything?” you say exasperatedly, leaning onto your toes and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, all your muscles immediately relaxing into his touch when his arms circle around your waist and squeeze you tight.

“Yes, I do,” Matty whispers against your neck, his face immediately finding purchase in the crook of your neck and shoulder, kissing your skin delicately. “Our daughter likes to come and stand in between our legs when we hug, like this.”

“Usually, our daughter will squish herself in the middle of us and ask for kisses,” you say, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as the time ticks on. “It’s not very often we get to hug just ourselves.”

“How does it feel?” a producer questions from behind the lights and cameras. Matty moves slightly, adjusting his face so the camera could hear what he has to say. “And your time is up.”

“How does it feel hugging my wife?” Matty grins when everyone nods encouragingly. “Feels like home,” he smiles, returning to his spot in your neck and kissing you sweetly. He can feel the heat in your skin, and he loves complimenting you, making you feel special. He would devote his entire life to it, to seeing you smile and know that you’re loved unconditionally.

Tell each other ‘I love you.’

“I always tell you this, and I’ll tell you until the day I die, or you die, whichever comes first,” you say quietly, your eyes cast on the ground nervously. Matty grabs your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over your skin and encouraging you to speak only to him, without any worry of who’s around you. “I am very fond of the ground you walk on. I love you, and I love walking beside you, going through life with you. You’re my best friend.”

“I may be all the things in the world that annoy you,” Matty says softly, smiling when he earns a quiet laugh from your lips, “but there has never been another person that loves the way I love you. I love you far more than anyone has ever loved anyone else, a different love than the ones we write about. You’re my best friend. Just don’t tell the guys.”

Matty leans down and kisses you, slowly and sweetly, and for a moment, you forget that you’re standing in front of all these lights, with all the cameras and microphones and everything else. Only you and Matty for a split second, and it’s sweet, to be sharing your love like this.

“Come on, you two! Getting stuck in traffic is bad enough. Now, I have to walk in and see you two making out on the set?” George teases as the band walks into the room, Ross and Adam shaking their heads behind him as Jamie hurries in and introduces himself, explaining the traffic and incident making them late.

Matty turns to you, “Actually, you should probably tell the guys, I’m sick of them getting annoyed when I want to make out with my wife.”

[themultifandomgal]

Harry Styles- Insecurities

Being the girlfriend of Harry Styles can come with many cons as well as pros. We’ve been together now for 3 years. For 2 of those years we kept our relationship quiet for a few different reasons. The first being Harry knew that I would have a fair bit of hate, which would be expected since his fans just want the best for him. I was worried that people (news outlets) would say I’m only with him for the money and fame. Harry is a private person just as I am and neither of us really wanted our relationship out in the public. We enjoyed our own little bubble. Unfortunately our own little bubble was burst after Harry’s phone was hacked and photos of us cuddled on the sofa and kissing were leaked. Harry’s PR team we’re amazing and during any interview about our relationship Harry always responds with “I’d like to keep that part of my life private”. Of course I love him and I know he loves me, but there are times when I can feel very insecure thanks to the media. I try not to look at it, but it’s everywhere.

Before Harry, I was in another relationship. It was toxic. He would often point out little imperfections of mine which caused me to become quite self conscious. Since dating Harry things did get better, but just like anyone you have good days and bad days.

Harry is currently on a break from tour, so I’ve come away with him and his family. Gemma and I are sunbathing while Harry went to get us some drinks. I smile as I watch Harry walking back to us. He’s then stopped by a woman who at first I thought was just a fan, and maybe she is, but when I see her flirting with Harry the insecurities start to bubble

"Are you ok?” Gemma asks, probably seeing my smile drop. She’s beautiful. Long flowing brown hair, tan long legs, and even from here I can tell her skin is so clear she doesn’t need any makeup.

"Look at her"

"Who the girl?"

"Yeah. Look she's so pretty nothing like me. Sometimes I wonder why Harry’s with me. I have stretch marks on my thighs, cellulite, my skin isn’t perfect. My stomach isn’t flat. I just can’t help but think he could do so much better than me” I turn to look at Gemma who’s become my best friend over the last few years.

"Oh YN. I know you struggled after your ex. He was an awful human. But you know just as well as I do that Harry doesn't care about all that. He’s not a shallow person. He loves you just the way you are. God he doesn’t shut up about you half the time. I’ve heard he whines most of the time on your asking when your arriving”

“Everythin’ ok?” Harry asks walking over to us frowning

"I'm going to give you two some space" Gemma gets up and walks over to Anne and Robbin. I a sit up and cross my legs looking down at the stretch marks staring at me

"What's wrong?"

"Why are you with me?"

"Because I love you. You know that" Harry says confused. I sigh "is this about that girl?" I nod my head "oh YN come here" Harry pulls me into him "yes she was flirtin but I told her that I had a girlfriend that I love very much. She then apologised and asked if she could have my autograph. I said no because ‘m on holiday and would like to enjoy m’self. You know I love you more than I ever thought could be possible”

“Even though I’m not a hollywood supermodel?”

“You are one in my eyes. You are smart, kind, and very sexy” this makes me laugh a little as Harry kisses my cheek

"I’m sorry. I try not the be so insecure”

“I know you do love. You don’t need to apologise. Your still learnin to love yourself after your ex and deal with the media”

“How did I get so lucky with you?”

“More like how did I get so lucky with you. Love you”

“Love you too”

[clockmax]

"Behave."

: ̗̀➛ Summary: You wanted to test how far you could drive your mate, turns out yiu shouldn’t have fucked around to find out.

Pairing: Slightlymean!Jake sully x Fem!Navi reader.

Based on this ask

A/N; I know I said I was gonna post this on Friday but I lied. I might split it up into two parts if y’all want. It’s not long cause I’m tired but hey I’ll make another part that’s longer. ! Requests open !

Warnings: Slightly mean jake, slightly bratty reader, spanking(like 4-5 times), fingering, pure filth. 18+ content. MINORS DNI. Slight degrading, small mentions of pet names, use of the word sir, uhh idk I think that’s all.

18+ CONENT AHEAD. MINORS DNI.

You could feel the pair of eyes nearly burning holes into your back. Perhaps it was your flirtatious moves with the other men of your clan, or the attitude you’ve been giving Jake. Whatever it was, it pissed him off big time. No matter how many times he told you to behave, you never listened. To you, it was just a elaborate game you were played, a game to get on his nerves.

Perhaps that’s how you ended up in this situation. Bent over the bed with your loincloth removed, bare for your mate. The sheer excitement and anticipation heating your core. Tension filled the room, your body beginning to feel hot and heavy over Jake's knee. It was so swift how he was able to bend you over, exposing even your most sensitive parts. All this because you simply decided to ‘fuck around and find out’.

“Told you multiple times sweet girl, can't behave yourself now can you,” His voice was stern, almost as if he was going to scold you.

“And what are you going to do?” You almost hissed back at him. You were firing up another insult when you were suddenly Interrupted by a hard smack on your ass.

Your hands looked for something to grasp onto, a gasp leaving your mouth before a hiss. The stinging on your ass providing a painful yet almost pleasurable burn. The feeling had your insides all worked up, your sweetness almost dripping for the man.

“Never thought I’d have to punish a beauty like you,” his eyes glared down at you, scanning over your body.

“ ‘M not sorry-“ you mumbled out, the burning sensation itching your skin.

“I’ll make you sorry,” The assertive way he spoke out just stirred you up more. Maybe you were lucky to play this game. Only thinking you would get spanked, but there was much more in store for you.

Before you can relax from the spank, you felt two fingers immediately enter your core. Velvety walls expanded and contracted on his fingers. Coarse pads hitting that gummy, sweet spot inside of you. The pleasure was overwhelming, overstimulating you almost.

“Jake-! Slower please, oh eywa-“ The voice of yours moaning out his name seamlessly, legs kicking up for just a moment before settling back down.

“No cumming until I say so, ya hear? Whores like you don’t deserve to cum.” There was another slap on your ass, pain mixing in with pleasure.

“Yes sir-“ You whimper as your body is filled with a fizzing sensation, lust clouding over your mind.

The pace found itself rough, almost harsh. Your sweet walls clenching Jake’s fingers, body responding to him in such a sexual way. You could feel heat burning up your cheeks, tip of your ears going a reddish hue of blue.

Your fingers clawed at the floor, looking for some stability as your cunt was fingered ruthlessly. The feeling of his fingers pumping in and out was enough to have you apologizing. The sensations were all too much for you, brain overriding with lust.

“What’s wrong? Dumb on my fingers?” Jake teased you, making you feel only slightly embarrassed at how you were a ting right now.

The attack on your core was ongoing, the knot in your stomach almost threatening to snap any second now. You could feel the moans come one after another, your mates name falling from your mate every so often.

“Sir please-! ‘M sorry I didn’t mean it-“ You whined, fearing that you wouldn’t be able to hold back your impending orgasm anymore.

“If you’re so sorry, tell me who owns this pussy.” There it was, there was another slap.

Your body jerked forward, your bottom turning to a red hue. For sure you wouldn’t be able to sit tomorrow without a stinging pain. Maybe that would signal the men to back off.

“Yours sir! Only yours! M’ sorry! Please-“ You pleaded, once weak from your sweet noises.

“Don’t let it happen again, cum on my fingers.” His voice was stern, pace picking up as he fucked you near stars.

The waves of pleasure washed over you as your orgasm crashed down hard. Legs shaking and you let out a silent scream, moans bubbling and flooding your throat. You swore you could see stars, eyes rolling back with half lidded eyes.

Before you knew it the sensation was over, body going limp over his knee. Chest heaving as your fucked out body recovered from the events. You thought it was all over, just until yiu could feel his hands grip tightly at your waist.

“Stay with me girl, you’re not done yet~” Jake spoke you, flipping you over onto your back.

[callsign-relic]

Hi!! I love your works and this is my first time requesting anything so (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠)

I want to know if you can make a fluff/comfort story of MTMTE Whirl x (gn)reader with him in his holoform?(He's very pretty-) Maybe the reader has a bad day, he doesn't know how to his s/o but wants them to feel better?

If it's too difficult or you don't write for Whirl, it's okay!! I understand he can be tough to write!

Ahh I’m so glad you enjoy my works!!! I’m happy to be your first request! Hopefully this encourages you to make some more requests to any other amazing tf reader insert writers out there :D or if you want to send another request to me, you’re more than free to ;) HAHA

And this is a great concept, I’d love to do this for you! Holoforms isn’t something you see requested right out the gate very often, so I’d be happy to try and write this :D

I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SFW, GN!Human!Reader

You were sat upon the desk in your and Whirl’s shared habsuite, hugging your knees and doing your absolute best to look anywhere that wasn’t directly into the blue mech’s singular yellow optic. He had craned his neck down near the table to try and level himself with you, yet you were shuffling your body in such a way that made it difficult for the mech to see your face.

“Aw, hey, c’mon!” He urges you, reaching one of his massive claws over to you and gently nudging your side. “You’ve been acting like this all day. I like messing with people when they’re not in the mood, but this is starting to get a little concerning.”

You throw him a sideways glare, and Whirl pulls back at that. He tilts his helm to the side, “Hey, what’s that look for?”

You scoff under your breath, pulling yourself out of your little ball to sit cross legged and glower at him. “Listen, Whirl, can you just back off for once?” Your snippy tone comes off much more aggressively than you had intended, and your eyes are quick to widen when you realize that— but the damage has been done. The glowing light of Whirl’s optic goes half lidded, and he throws a dark look back at you, too.

“Fine,” he huffs, raising himself from your level and taking a few heavy steps backwards. “I don’t care. I can just— come back later, or something.” The mech turns to leave, the door to the habsuite sliding open as always as he approached it—

“Wait!”

You scramble to your feet, nearly falling over the edge of the desk as you reach back out towards him. Whirl stops in his tracks, but he does not turn to face you.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Whirl, I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.” Your outstretched hand falls, and any adrenaline you had previously felt completes its course through your system. You slowly drop to your knees, sitting on your calves, and you fold your hands over the bends of your knees. As you cast your gaze down, you can hear the door to the habsuite slowly slide shut, and you can feel the vibrations faintly run through you from the table as Whirl’s footsteps land to the floor. Approaching you, though slowly.

“I’ve just… had a lot on my mind,” you admit, the fabric of your pants scrunching beneath your grip as you nervously flexed your hands. “I guess you can say I’ve been a little homesick. That’s not to say I haven’t enjoyed my time here, I love being with you guys, but…”

Finally you look upwards, and you have to crane your neck higher than before as Whirl was staring directly down at you. Helm tilted just a little, yet his demeanor otherwise entirely unreadable as he studied you under the golden light of his optic.

Your shoulders sag as you offer a defeated little laugh. “Sounds weird to say it out loud but, uh, I miss being able to properly hug someone. Or just interact with anyone close to my size in general, really.”

And for a while, Whirl doesn’t respond, only further tilting his helm as he seems to process what you just told him. You’re tempted to just look down and to the side again and try to come up with a quick lighthearted thing to say, but the sound of the mech before you moving again captures your attention. He takes a couple steps back to one of the side walls, leaning up against it and— powering down??

You lean forward— what was he doing? The yellow light of his optic dims to a near imperceptible brightness, and you can swear you hear his inner engines go from their typical roar to a low purr. But before you could even open your mouth to call out to him, a light manifests itself in the corner of your eye. You whip around to look at it, and you suddenly land on your back as you pull yourself away from the humanoid being that was currently materializing itself in wireframe before you.

Fractals of color and detail appear in random splotches on the humanoid form, all spreading and coming together until eventually, a full figure stands before you.

It was… a human girl.

A little on the shorter side with her blue hair tied into twin pigtails on either sides of her head, the eyepatched girl looked at you questioning eyebrows before looking down to examine her gloved hands with a sideways pout. “What? What’s wrong with it this time? Ugh, don’t tell me I got the scaling wrong…”

Yet the voice that emerged from the girl wasn’t just any voice. It was Whirl’s.

Slowly, you raise yourself up from the floor, approaching the Whirl-like girl with cautiously raised hands. “What…? Whirl? Is that you?”

The girl turns her attention away from herself and back up to you, a grin forming on her lips. “Yeah, duh! Whaddya’ think?” She— or, he, you correct yourself— spreads an arm out wide as he places another on his hip, showing off this new form of his with pride.

“It’s… incredible,” you gasp, your disbelieving awe quickly transforming into starry-eyed wonder as a smile spread itself across your face, too. “How did you—? What is—?”

“‘s my holomatter avatar,” Whirl explains nonchalantly, tugging down the ends of his stylish denim overalls. “Holoform for short. It’s a quick fix for when we stop by any mech-unfriendly planets. Heh, there was this one time where we were using these around organics and—“

The disguised mech’s words are quickly cut off by a feeling enveloping his whole body. He shifts his gaze to look, and he sees you, suddenly with your arms wrapped around his slightly shorter form. You stay there for a long time, hugging him wordlessly.

Then, after a moment, Whirl slowly wraps his own arms around your back too.

[hellsbeenbettersincehesplit]

The latest oneshot is finally here! Inspired by replies to this post by @sky-marbles !

In this, Vaggie learns pole dancing from Angel Dust in an effort by him to convince her to let him teach the hotel in a group bonding session. Featuring dancer!vaggie, no romance beyond one or two background ships, no actual sexual content (just references and a couple jokes), and unexpected friendship :)

I'd prefer if you read this on Ao3, but my works are archive-locked, so if you don't have an Ao3 account and thus can't read it on there it's also under the cut!

No Bonding Like *checks notes* Pole Dancing

Vaggie crossed her arms, barely suppressing a sigh. “We’re not stripping as a group activity. That’s final. I don’t have anything against stripping itself, but Charlie’s group bonding sessions aren’t supposed to be sexual.”

Angel huffed. “I didn’t say stripping, I said pole dancing. There’s a difference.”

Vaggie raised an eyebrow.

“There is! Pole dancing is an art. Stripping is also an art when it’s done right, and strippers were the ones who created pole, but pole dance itself isn’t inherently about sex.”

“You’re not exactly convincing me here.”

“Look, I know it can be. Why do you think I learned?” He sighed. “But it doesn’t have to be. It’s like…” He thought for a second. “It’s like how art of naked people can be for anatomy shit, or for porn, or for both.”

Vaggie remained unconvinced.

“How about this.” Angel stretched as he stood from the hotel couch. “I spend an afternoon teaching you a bit of pole, and you approach it with an open mind. If you still think it’s ‘just sex,’ I’ll never bring it up again. But if you do change your mind, we have that group bonding session.”

“Why should I take you up on that when I can just say no as-is?”

“I’d just ask Charlie. We both know she’s easier to convince.”

Vaggie groaned. Why did he have to be right? “Fine. Look, I can’t promise we’ll allow it even if you can convince me. But you can try.”

And so, that was how Vaggie had found herself in a room with Angel Dust and a pole-dancing pole. It occurred to her that she was likely the only person in Hell to have ever had that sentence apply to her without it being sexual in some way. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. Honestly, she’d kind of been dreading this.

Angel Dust looked her up and down. “You’re going to need skin-to-skin contact with the pole. The jacket has to go. The bike shorts should be fine, though.”

Reluctantly, Vaggie took off the jacket. Angel seemed to approve of the loose t-shirt (most likely Charlie’s) that Vaggie had on.

“Alright,” Angel said decisively. “Let’s get started.”

It was very different from what Vaggie expected. The moves Angel had started her out with were very beginner, and Vaggie actually did feel herself starting to understand it after a few tries. It was difficult in the way that learning anything new was, but Vaggie was also familiar with rhythm and dance. That familiarity led to her picking up moves faster than she’d thought she would. She was surprised to find herself genuinely enjoying the dance. She didn’t even fall half as often as she thought she would.

Likewise, being with Angel one-on-one wasn’t awful. He was a little different here than he was around others- maybe because he wasn’t flirting with Husk or Alastor or anyone, maybe because he was confident in what he was doing, maybe just because he was trying to convince her that this wasn’t sexual and making innuendos wouldn’t help him. In any case, she kind of liked this side of him.

“Convinced yet?” He’d asked her on their third break.

“Not quite,” Vaggie responded. “I mean- this hasn’t been what I thought. I’ll admit that you were right and pole dance is an art form, and it's more than I thought it was. But I have other concerns about the group setting. Namely, I think it might turn into something sexual.”

Angel rolled his eyes and offered her a hand up. “I get where you're coming from, but that could happen with literally anything. Now, you wanna practice that move a couple more times?”

Vaggie sighed and slowly stood, as something occurred to her. “Why do you only use one set of arms?” Wouldn’t extra hands make something like this easier?

“Same reason you’re not using your wings yet. I normally do, but you’re on the basics, so you learn the fundamentals that humans can do and build from there. As your teacher, I need to model that.” He raised an eyebrow. “Also, did you think I’d teach you moves that use limbs you don’t have?”

Vaggie shrugged. Honestly, she had expected that.

They were back to the dancing part. Vaggie had to admit, Angel was really fucking good at this. Vaggie herself wasn’t bad for a beginner, but every movement looked so effortless from Angel. It was almost like he was moving in a tank of water, or like his frame rate would be double hers in an animation. She was the one that could fly, but she couldn’t help but think the way Angel defied gravity was just as impressive.

“Do you do any other types of dance?” She asked after he showed her a beginner move she’d attempted 20 times look unreasonably fucking fluid. 

“No?” he replied, audibly confused. “I learned this because of Val. I’m good because I’ve been doing it for half a century, but I’m not really a dancer.”

That actually got a chuckle out of Vaggie. “Not really a dancer my ass. That shit was smoother than half the ballerinas I’ve worked with. Seriously, you’d be great at another form if you do decide to try one.”

Wait. Why did he look so confused at that?

“You do ballet?”

“A bit. Also salsa and cumbia. Maybe modern dance someday.” She was pretty damn good at perreo, but she wasn’t about to tell Angel Dust that.

Now he was the one gaping. There was no way she’d forgotten to tell the others about that. Right?

“Since when are you a fucking dancer?”

She shrugged. “A year or two, I guess.”

“And you didn’t tell us?”

“It never really came up.”

“Because you never mentioned it! How’d you end up doing it in the first place?”

“Running got boring.”

“Come on, there’s gotta be more than that.”

Vaggie didn’t want to go on some long monologue, but Angel seemed genuinely curious, so it seemed to be time for the long answer.

“Exterminators are the most birdlike angels on a biological level, because we’re the ones who have to fly outside of the atmosphere of Heaven. Flying normally burns a lot of energy. When I lost my wings, that change was really hard on me. I started running to get some cardio back, and I saw an ad so I signed up for a few dance classes to get some variety. I went to one a nd… I don’t know, something clicked. Before I fell, my entire life was training. I still like running and sparring, but they’ll always be tied to all the baggage from...” her voice trailed off. “Dance is… it’s fun, you know? I’m not doing it for violence or for Lute or anyone. I’m doing it for me, and I can just lose myself in the music and moving and pursuing excellence and get that rush of endorphins in something that’s just mine.”

Angel somehow looked even more shocked. Fuck, was that oversharing?

“Shit, you’re right. I should absolutely take some classes.”

That was a strange reaction. “What?”

“Like I said, I learned this shit because of Val,” Angel pointed out. “I mean, we’ve got different tragic backstories, but I feel like I could get something similar from it, you know? As long as he doesn’t find out.”

Vaggie grinned. “Can you imagine everyone else’s faces if they see us performing as dance partners?”

That got an actual laugh out of Angel Dust. “Sir Pentious would probably think we’re dating,” he choked out. “That’s it, I’m signing up, we have to make that a reality.”

After a few hours that felt so much shorter, they wrapped up the lesson. Angel had Vaggie combine the building blocks he’d taught her into something of a short dance. She slipped up a couple times and she knew her movements were a little forced and choppy, but he looked so proud of her after that she couldn’t help but be proud too.

“So…” he asked. “What’s the decision?”

On one hand, she still thought that while pole could be not sexual, it might turn into that in a larger group. On the other hand, she had to hand it to him- this really was an art. Charlie’s rules for the hotel weren’t meant to be limiting, and Angel’s idea could be fun.

“I guess it’d be ok,” Vaggie decided. “As long as Charlie agrees with me.” She caught the little fist pump Angel did and added, “Also, we should totally do this again.”

“You want to learn for real?” There was disbelief in Angel’s voice.

“Yeah! This… was kind of nice.”

There was an excited gleam in his eyes as he responded, “Alright, but you had better make good on the salsa lessons.”

“Deal.”

Angel had honestly surprised her today. She’d known he was doing better, but she still wouldn’t have described herself as close to him. That energy of his personality being almost a performance, which Husk had loved to complain about, had given Vaggie a vibe to stay away- which she felt bad about in retrospect. Angel was more considerate than she’d expected and a shockingly good teacher.

“Hey, you better let me know how Charlie feels about all this tomorrow morning,” he told Vaggie with a suggestive wink.

Never mind, she took back all that sweet shit. She flipped him off, and smiled as she set a reminder on her phone for the date and time of the next lesson.

[manheeiim]

chapter three: fill your holes

-- a ghostly love masterlist

The next day, I stood in the hallway in front of the little memorial they had started for me in the main entrance of the school. It was a large table with a framed photo of me, flowers surrounding it. Some people from my team were looking at the photo and talking but I just stood there, not really listening to exactly what they were saying.

“Hey.” I hear and I glance over to see Wally standing next to me, I hadn’t even realized he came over.

“Hey.” I say back.

“Are those your friends?” He asked me. 

“Uh… kind of.” I say.

“Just people on your team?” Wally then asks and I nod. “Yeah, I get that.”

“I still haven’t seen my best friend yet today.” I told him.

“Oh, well, maybe she’s taking the day off from school. I mean, if my best friend died, I wouldn’t want to go to school.” Wally says.

I think for a moment, “True.”

“See, I’m pretty insightful.” Wally says in a cocky manner and I just look at him, rolling my eyes. “If you ever need anyone to talk to, to help fill any holes in your memory, or just to hang with, I’m here. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He then tells me.

I blush a little, “Thank you.” I say, finding it very sweet.

“Yep. I can totally help you fill your holes.” He says and I smile a little wider, biting my bottom lip.

“Um…” I say and he realizes how that came off.

“Um, okay. I obviously did not mean for it to come off that way. In my head my head, it was more of, like, a metaphoric..” He trails off. “I mean, I can help you figure things out, if you need it.” He then says, correcting himself. 

“Well, thank you.” I say, smiling. 

A smirk forms on his face, “If you want me to fill your holes though I’m totally down.” He then adds.

“Oh my god!” I gasp and slap his arm but I can’t help the fact that my cheeks got hot and the smile that formed on my lips. “I take back my thanks.” I say.

“Yeah, yeah.” Wally says, a cocky smile on his face.

“I don’t think I want to do that with someone who looks like they’re headed to aerobics class.” I comment.

“I mean, I’m glad I had this in my locker, actually, or else I would’ve been rocking shoulder pads.” Wally tells me. “Which would’ve been really bad because I think those are out now.” He says.

“Definitely.” I agree.

“I do wish I brought my walkman to school that day.” Wally says and I nod.

“That’d be nice, but would you really want to listen to the same songs forever?” I ask.

“Depends on what cassette tape.” He responds.

“I get that. I have burned a lot of CDs and I think my willingness to listen to the same one forever would depend on the CD.” I told him.

That’s when I remembered that I’d left my backpack in the field last night after my failed attempt to leave the school grounds. “I… I left my bag in the field.” I say, about to head to get it but I’m stopped by Wally grabbing my arm and stopping me.

“It’s not there anymore. It’s wherever you left it last.” Wally tells me.

“What.. how do you know that?” I ask.

“Because we can’t change anything in their world. If we touch or move something, nothing happens in their world.” He explains.

“Oh.” I think for a moment. “I’m… going to my backpack then.” I say.

“Why? Do you need something?” Wally asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “A cigarette.” I say.

<3

I sit on the bleachers with Wally right next to me. I have a cigarette in my mouth and Wally has one as well. “I only ever smoked on special occasions.” Wally tells me. “I didn’t really do it a lot.” He says.

“I only ever did it when I was stressed. Which wasn’t much at first but recently, it was more often.” I say. Wally nods but says nothing, “I can’t believe I’m dead.” I think out loud. “I just.. don’t know how to even feel about all of this.” I add.

“I felt the same.” Wally tells me.

“Should I be happy or sad, I don’t even know anymore.” I say.

“You have time to figure that out.” Wally tells me and I nod. “Like… forever.” Wally says.

“Has anyone ever… like, passed over or whatever?” I ask him.

“One person; Janet.” Wally tells me. “That’s what Mr. Martin told us.” He says.

“Wow.” Is all I could say. It’s silent for a bit. “So you’ve been here for 20 years now.” I say.

“Yep, it’s coming up. My 20 year death-versary.” Wally nods.

“That’s a long time.” I say.

“Mr. Martin’s been here longer, and Rhonda.” He says, defending himself with a cocky smile. I laugh.

“Okay, okay.” I laugh. “But you have been here for a longer time than Charley.” I told him.

“True, that’s true.” He nods. “But, whatever.” He shrugs. “We just have to.. make the most of it.” Wally says. 

“I guess so.” I say.

<3

Later in the day, I walk into the gymnasium, to see everyone sitting in the circle of chairs. As I’m walking over, Wally looks over to me for a moment before looking at the ceiling. I could hear Rhonda talking.

“Who am I supposed to trust? My guidance counselor was supposed to help me. Said I had it, what it’d take to make it out of here, you know? He just sent me six feet under.” I heard Rhonda say as she chuckled to herself.

I furrow my eyebrows, she was murdered by her guidance counselor? Wow. I don’t say anything as I sit down.

“Welcome back, Lucia.” Mr. Martin greets me. “We just.. got a bit derailed while having a discussion on literature.” He tells me and I just slowly nod. 

“I’m so jealous that you can just laugh at it.” I tell Rhonda. “You’re death, I mean.”

“What? You want me to cry, cheerleader?” She asks, taking the lollipop out of her mouth.

My eyes furrow once again, she was making it really hard to be nice. 

“Okay. You just gotta try and think about it as encouraging.” Wally says, answering my question for Rhonda. “Like, at some point, you’ll be able to laugh about what happened to you.” He tells me.

“I hope so.” I say.

“You might not, but look. The whole point is that either way, holding onto the past, what happened, what didn’t, anything really, can only hold you back.” Mr. Martin tells me.

“Hold me back from what?” I respond, feeling hopeless. 

“Eventually, passing over.” Mr. Martin answers.

“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.” Rhonda quotes.

Before I could respond, the gym door opened and a bunch of people walked inside. I was confused about what was going on. “Um,” I look over at Wally without even thinking. “I think it’s your memorial.” He tells me.

As people gathered inside, I could see my mom through the crowd. She’s wearing all black, her hair and makeup done perfectly. I didn’t get it. I didn’t get her.. ever. She had a handkerchief in her hand and she used it to dab away her tears.

“What the fuck.” I say, feeling a sudden surge of annoyance.

“Is that your mom?” Charley asks.

“Yep.” I responded, clicking my tongue as I looked at the ground.

“Thank you all for coming.” I hear the principal say and I look up. “As you know, we are here to spread awareness about the death of Lucia _______.” He says.

I hear a muffled cry and I look over to see Chloe standing in the corner of the crowd, using her sweatshirt sleeve to cry into. 

“We have a few words from Lucia’s mom.” The principal then says, causing me to look over.

My mom stepped in front of the podium so that she could speak into the microphone. She lets out a cry before dabbing her cheeks with the handkerchief again. I don’t bother getting up, just watching from my seat  “I’m Lucia’s mom.” She says. “I… I can’t believe that Lucia’s no longer here with us. All mom’s know that you never want to see your child die before you.” She says. “I miss her, I miss her so much.” She adds and I can’t help but feel my heart warm up. Wow, she was actually being sweet for once. 

“Lucia’s favorite thing in the world was cheerleading. She begged me to sign her up in Elementary school and had done it ever since. I remember her being so happy that she got on the team here at Seabrook high. I just.. wish she could’ve gotten to the end of this year, finished up her highschool cheer career because she deserved that.” My mom then says.

I’m taken aback, honestly, and it showed in my face. The warm feeling in my heart had disappeared. That was all a total lie. I never wanted to cheer, my mom had signed me up on her own accord in Elementary school and forced me to do it for the rest of my school career. I wasn’t happy that I’d gotten into cheer here in freshman year. In fact, I was mad.. enraged, actually. I had purposely done bad at the tryouts but of course, my mom knew the coach and the coach told her and I was forced to redo the tryouts while putting my full effort in, and, well, I got in.

“I just.. I hope that you all remember the wonderful girl that she was.” My mom finishes off her speech before stepping away.

Everyone was looking at me, waiting to see what my reaction was. “We’re here for you, Lucia. Really.” Charley tells me. “Thanks.” I bitterly say before getting up and walking out of the room, I couldn’t bear to see my mother’s face right now. Even if it meant that I never saw her again.