#hang on. and i was always out of line. but i thought you were right there with me. UGH!

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Muggle Pills

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys learn what your pills do. Warnings: Mentions of seizures, depression and suicidal thoughts Series Masterlist

You sit cross-legged on the plush carpet of your bedroom floor, a small pile of pill boxes scattered around you. Your fingers move with practiced ease as you sort the pills into their respective compartments in a weekly divider—Monday through Sunday, morning, noon, and night.

It's a routine task, one that offers a strange sense of solace amidst the chaos of everything else. Plus, it saves you from the struggle of prying open blister packs every day.

Around you, the Marauders lounge about as if this were any other lazy afternoon. Sirius flips idly through a Quidditch magazine, his brows furrowing at an article about the latest racing broom. James lies sprawled out across your bed, tossing a Quaffle up and down while he debates strategy. Remus sits quietly in a corner, engrossed in a book, a sliver of sunlight illuminating the dust motes dancing around him. Your room has become their second home, just as comfortable and familiar as their dormitory.

They've grown accustomed to these quiet moments together, each occupied with their own thoughts or interests. And yet today, something shifts. A question hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

James is the first to break the silence, his voice cutting through the soft hum of activity. "Y/N?" He pauses, catching himself before the words tumble out unchecked. His gaze flickers over to where you sit, still dividing your medication for the week ahead. "Why... why do you take all those? Like, on top of the potions?"

For a moment, time seems to stretch thin, the seconds elongating as you weigh your answer. They've seen you like this before—pills in hand, water glass nearby—but never asked. Not until now. Something about the directness of the question gives you pause, but then you realize: they deserve to know. Especially now, when lines have blurred and friendships have blossomed into something more intimate, more profound.

"Right," you begin, letting out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Your fingers trace the edge of the first pill box—a small, round tablet that's more crucial to your daily life than any potion or spell could ever be. "This one is for my blood pressure."

James, Sirius and Remus lean in closer, their attention rapt despite the seemingly mundane topic. The significance isn't lost on them; every detail about you feels important now, woven into the fabric of their care.

"It's always been too low," you explain, eyes downcast as if you're sharing some great secret. Perhaps it is, in its own way. An admission of frailty, of the battle you wage within your body each day. "If I don't take this, I get dizzy... faint sometimes."

A flicker of understanding passes across James's face, then Sirius's. They've seen you like that before, pale and unsteady in the corridors during your early years at Hogwarts. At the time, they'd chalked it up to nerves or fatigue—anything but a chronic condition. But now...

"Wait," Sirius says, his voice rough with concern. "Are those fainting spells why you had to go back to the hospital wing so often?"

You nod, a hint of relief washing over you. It's easier than you thought it would be, opening up about this part of your life. Maybe because they listen without judgement, accepting each revelation as another piece of the puzzle that is you.

"Yes. That was before I started taking this," you say, tapping the pill box lightly.

Sirius leans back slightly, processing this new information with a furrowed brow. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Remus beats him to it.

"Do you still feel like you might pass out even with the medication?" His tone is gentle yet probing, respectful of your boundaries but curious all the same.

"Sometimes." You shrug, trying to downplay the gravity of what living with such unpredictability means. "But it's better than before."

Remus nods, storing away this tidbit of knowledge like he does with everything else. He understands, perhaps better than anyone, what it means to navigate the world with a body that doesn't quite cooperate. And while your experiences are vastly different, there's a silent kinship in shared struggle—a bond forged through resilience and endurance.

"Next is this one." Your fingers move to a different compartment, closing around another pill. "It's for my heart rate."

Their brows furrow almost in unison, confusion etching lines across their young faces. You suppose it must be strange for them, hearing about the inner workings of your body when all they've ever known are charms and potions, Quidditch injuries and common colds.

"But isn't that connected to your blood pressure?" James asks, his forehead creased as he tries to make sense of it all.

"In a way, yes," you explain, appreciating his attempt to understand. "But while the first medication helps raise my blood pressure, this one keeps my resting heart rate from getting too high."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," Sirius chimes in, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. Although he's always been more comfortable with banter than serious conversations, there's an earnestness in his expression that speaks volumes about how much he cares.

"It's not something I feel most of the time," you admit, setting the second pill aside. "I don't really notice unless I forget to take it or if I'm especially stressed out. But without it, my heart behaves like I'm running even when I'm sitting still."

You let the implication hang in the air, a testament to the silent battles waged beneath your skin. A hush falls over the room, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the fire. The boys exchange glances, each processing your revelation in their own way. From the corner of your eye, you see James run a hand through his already messy hair, a gesture betraying his unease.

"I remember once," you begin again, your voice barely above a whisper, "I got a concussion in school, no big deal but headed the A&E to be checked out, and I ended up being admitted because my heart rate was over 180 beats per minute and wouldn't come down. They were so alarmed, kept asking me if I felt okay..."

The memory is vivid, etched into your mind with sharp clarity. The steady beep of monitors, the worried faces of doctors—reminders of just how fragile human bodies can be.

"And did you?" Sirius interrupts, his grey eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

"Did I what?"

"Feel okay? Or were you..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. It's clear to see why; the notion of such turmoil within you, unbeknownst to them until now, is unsettling to say the least.

"I mean, my head was killing me but otherwise, I felt fine," you state, "but that doesn't mean it's safe to ignore."

There's a pause as they digest your words, the gravity of what you're sharing settling heavy in the silence. Remus shifts slightly beside you, his gaze thoughtful. As ever, he seems to carry an understanding beyond his years—a quiet wisdom born from living in the shadows.

"When we were in the hospital wing together in first and second year—you know, after the full moon and your... episodes," he begins cautiously, mindful of the delicate territory he's treading on. "Was this part of it? Your heart thing?"

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. "While I did have the heart rate as a problem, that's not why I was there."

Remus nods slowly, absorbing this new information. His brow furrows, not in judgement but in concern—a silent question lingering behind his amber eyes. How much more is there to learn?

"Right," you say, moving on to the next pill. It's a small orange capsule and looks innocuous enough, but its role is no less vital than the others. "This one's for my epilepsy."

"Epilepsy?" James blurts out, his eyes widening at the revelation.

The room goes quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the background. Sirius and James exchange glances, their expressions mirroring the unease that hangs in the air.

You nod, acknowledging his surprise with a wry smile. "It helps prevent seizures. But it's not foolproof. I regularly have atonic seizures still, they only last a few seconds and nothing needs to be done with those. I don't really have big ones anymore, but when I get sick or stressed—or before I got my implant, when I had my period—I can still have them."

"How long have you..." James starts, then clears his throat, struggling to find the right words. "How long have you had epilepsy?"

"Basically my whole life," you answer simply. "But it's mostly managed now. The stress of exams and assignments can trigger the big seizures sometimes, but most people don't notice."

Sirius frowns, running a hand through his hair. "Have you had any since getting with us?"

"I mean, I've had little ones but not any big ones." You reach over to squeeze his hand reassuringly before letting go. "But during last year, I did have several because of the stress of OWLs."

His grip tightens around yours, concern etched into every line of his face. It's strange, seeing Sirius so unguarded, his usual bravado replaced by raw vulnerability. But then again, nothing about this situation is ordinary.

"You never told us," James says quietly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. He's not accusing, merely stating a fact—one that seems unthinkable given how close you all are.

"I didn't want to worry you, you were just my friends then," you admit, looking down at your hands. "Besides, you three were so focused on your own exams. You wouldn't have noticed even if you tried."

There's truth to your words, but they do little to ease the guilt that flashes across James's features, and Sirius remains silent, his grey eyes clouded with thought. Both boys are processing this new information, trying to reconcile the image of you—a force of nature, unbowed despite everything—with the reality of your condition.

Remus, who has been listening silently, finally speaks up. "I remember... those nights in the hospital wing when we were younger. I'd be in there because of the full moon, you'd be there because of a seizure…"

"Or worse," you say, almost to yourself. "To be honest, I was also there because no one trusted that I wouldn't try to kill myself, and no healer or doctor would give an 11-year-old birth control for their PMDD. I got the implant at 14, and the seizures went away with my period, as did the temptation to kill myself."

James blinks, stunned into silence. "I never knew any of this," he says at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

"By the time we became proper friends, I already had the implant. There was no reason to tell you about something that was no longer a problem." You give him a reassuring smile.

James nods slowly, although the concern has not entirely left his eyes. Sirius, too, seems pensive as he stares into the fireplace, blowing out a slow breath. Only Remus appears unchanged, his expression calm and thoughtful, as if the revelations were expected.

"Right," you say, taking a deep breath as you reach for the final pill box, a small white container that holds a different kind of lifeline. "This one's my antidepressant."

The change in atmosphere is almost palpable as James and Sirius stiffen beside you. Remus, ever the stoic observer, merely watches.

"Is that... because of everything else?" asks Sirius tentatively, his grey eyes searching yours for answers. You can tell he's treading carefully now, aware that this conversation has ventured into territory far more delicate than any duel or prank gone wrong.

"Yeah," you reply, letting out a long exhale. "It helps manage the lows, but it's not foolproof. Nothing really is."

James's thumb brushes over the back of your hand, tracing patterns there as if trying to will away the pain etched between your words. He doesn't speak, but his silence carries its own weight, heavy with understanding.

"You're not always..." James starts, then stops, uncertain how to phrase his question without sounding insensitive.

"Depressed?" you finish for him, offering a wry smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Not always, no. But when I am... well, let's just say it's better for everyone involved that I have these."

Your fingers tap against the pill bottle, the sound echoing lightly through the room.

A moment passes before Sirius breaks the silence. "And do they work? The pills, I mean." There's a hopeful note to his voice, laced with a quiet desperation that mirrors the way his eyes never leave your face.

"For the most part," you admit. "But like I said, they're not perfect. They help keep things under control, but they don't make my symptoms go away entirely. And some days are harder than others."

You pause, considering how best to explain what living with depression feels like—the relentless heaviness that often threatens to pull you under despite the medication designed to keep you afloat.

"It's like walking through a storm," you say finally. "Most days, the meds are like a good coat—they keep the worst of the rain off. But sometimes the storm gets too strong, and all the coat can do is stop you from getting completely soaked."

"Merlin," James breathes, running a hand through his hair as he processes your words. "Have you been dealing with all this since..."

"Birth?" you supply, nodding once. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Since you were a baby?" Sirius asks, his voice rough with disbelief. "How long have you been taking all these pills?"

"I was little when I was put on the epilepsy meds," you admit, "but the others were added as new conditions developed."

"And what happens if you forget to take one?" James's tone is gentle, but there's an underlying urgency that betrays his worry. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, missing a dose here and there isn't the end of the world, usually." You shrug, trying to make light of it, though the truth is more complex. "But if I go too long without them... Let's just say it can lead to some serious complications."

Remus watches you, his gaze steady and thoughtful. "It must be exhausting," he says quietly, "keeping track of all this, making sure you're always taking the right thing at the right time. Especially with the potions you use for your pain."

"It's a lot," you agree, not seeing any point in denying it. "But the alternative..." Your voice trails off as you picture yourself without the medication: the pain, the fatigue, the despair. "Let's just say I'm grateful for muggle and wizarding medicine, even if it doesn't fix everything."

The words hang heavy in the air, a quiet echo of your confession ringing in the stillness of the room. The boys sit with straight spines and furrowed brows, each processing what you've just shared in their own way. For a moment, no one speaks, the silence filled only by the crackling fire and the soft patter of rain against the window.

The world of pills and doctors is foreign to them, so far removed from the magical healing they know. They are warriors in their own right, but this is a battle they do not understand, cannot see. It's in the lines that etch deeper into Sirius' forehead, the way his fists clench at his sides—not with anger towards you, but with a burning frustration for an enemy he cannot confront.

"I can't believe we didn't know," James finally breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. It's not an accusation, merely a statement laced with self-reproach. But there's no need for you to respond; the truth of it hangs in the air around you. How could they have known? You've become a master at concealing the extent of your pain, hiding behind masks of normalcy even when your body screamed otherwise.

Sirius shifts slightly, and his voice is quiet when he finally breaks the silence, a note of confusion threading through the words.

"Why didn't you say something before?" It's not an accusation, just a question born from concern and a hint of hurt. Sirius has never liked being left in the dark, especially when it comes to those he cares about.

"I didn't want to worry you," your voice barely rises above a whisper, carrying with it a weight that sinks into the silence of the room. "And knowing doesn't change anything." You glance at them, each face mirroring the gravity of your confession. "It's not like any of you can fix it."

James looks as if he wants to argue, to insist that there must be something they can do. But he remains silent, understanding—for now—the boundaries you've put in place. Relief briefly washes over you, even as you see the frustration flicker in his hazel eyes. James has always been a man of action, someone who leaps forward to shield those he loves from harm. To know there's a wound he can't mend must feel like salt on an open cut.

"I don't need you to fix it," you say gently, guessing his thoughts. "I just need you to understand."

Remus nods, his face softening as he speaks for the first time in a while. "And we do," he says quietly, his voice calm and reassuring. "Or at least, we're starting to."

There's a pause as the four of you absorb this shared understanding, a quiet acknowledgement that hangs in the air like a promise. You can almost feel the shift in the room, tangible and real, a subtle strengthening of the bonds between you. They may not fully comprehend your reality, but they're reaching out, trying to bridge the gap. And for now, at least, it's enough.

The fire dances in the hearth, painting the room with flickering shadows and bathing you all in its comforting glow. For a moment, everything else falls away, leaving only the crackling flames, the soft murmur of conversation, and the sense of peace that seems to settle over the world outside.

You finish sorting your pills into their designated compartments, the rhythm of the task grounding you. The lid of the weekly pill organizer closes with a satisfying click, a small victory against the chaos that often threatens to consume you. It’s a simple act, but in these uncertain times, even the smallest semblance of control is a lifeline.

James, ever the man of action even in stillness, shifts on the bed, leaning closer. His voice is a low rumble, steady and sure. "You know we're here, right?" It's not just a question—it's a tether, a lifeline thrown out to you in the darkness. And it's a promise, one that James Potter has every intention of keeping.

Sirius doesn't let himself be left behind, his own hand reaching out to touch yours lightly. There's something almost reverent in the gesture, as if he's afraid you'll shatter at a heavier touch. "We're not going anywhere." The words hang in the air, solidifying into a pact made of iron will and unyielding loyalty. His grey eyes are hard with resolve, the decision made long before the words had even left his lips: He will stay by your side, through this and whatever comes next.

Remus doesn't say anything more, but the silence that stretches between you is far from empty. His gaze never wavers, each exhale a testament to the quiet vigil he keeps. He understands, perhaps better than anyone, the battles waged in silence, the wars fought within oneself. And though he doesn't speak, his presence is a constant reassurance—there, always there, offering strength when yours threatens to wane.

[yuuuhiii]

yandere themes, knife usage, mdni

a/n: I need to stop watching Dexter (*´ー｀*)

He loved you so so much. His beautiful bestfriend. You were to good for people, definitely to good for this world. In his eyes, no one was ever perfect for your time.

Nobody deserved it.

Not even him.

But he’d tell himself he was an exception since he was your bestfriend.

You were always nice and gentle to everyone that had the luck of talking to you.

But he hated.

Really hated.

When some morons could think they could have even a chance to be with you. Couldn’t they see that was his spot?

He adored the way you’d reject them, he’d like for you to be more mean but you could never do no wrong. And for the people that could ever mistreat you.

He dealt with them himself.

In the dark of the night, letting you know he’d go get you both snacks and you nodded, a kiss to his warming cheek. He feels the remnants of your lips still on his skin, even when he’s on his way to someone’s house.

It was a guy, someone who thought he could touch what was his. He stops at the end of the street, the guy walking into view.

He knows his routine, where he lives, his name and the best part, how to get in. So before the guy can even make it to his house. He’s settling in, the lights are off and a shot of adrenaline shoots through him when he hears the door unlock.

The guy walks in, unbeknownst of his presence on the couch until he turns the light on. He gasps loudly, almost tripping over his kitchen chair. He turns around from his place on the couch.

“Remember me?” He grins, standing up.

“W-What—Get the fuck out of my house!” The guy yells.

He snickers. “I asked if you remembered me.” He walks over to him. He towers over the guy, a psychotic glint in his eyes it has the guy gulping.

“N-No.” He pouts, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s try to remember okay? You saw the most beautiful girl today? You had your hands all over her, making her uncomfortable right?”

The guy nods his head. “I-I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.” He laughs, squeezing the guys shoulder.

“It’s nothing like that. I’m just her bestfriend, I gotta protect her from guys like you.”

He forces the guy to sit down on his own chair. He walks over to the kitchen counter, grabbing a knife. The guy squeaks, shivering in his chair.

“She was really scared you know? It hurt me to see her like that. I never wanna see her scared. It also makes me upset because I feel like I’m not doing my job correctly. So that’s why I’m here. To finish it.” He pokes at the end of the knife.

“Y-You’re fucking crazy!”

The guy takes off in a sprint for the front door. Making your bestfriend sigh. He goes after him and the poor guy isn’t even able to open the door before he’s dragging him back from the collar of his shirt.

“Gosh you don’t have to make this hard you know.” He rubs at his forehead.

“I swear! I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable! She’s just really pretty—” He nodded along as the guy rambled on, dragging the knife along the guys chest.

“I’ve heard this so many times. Why do you guys always try to justify your actions in the end.” He sucks at his teeth.

“You guys always end up the same either ways. Dead.”

The guys plea’s are white noise in his mind as he plunges the knife in him. It’s always in these moments he feels like something takes over and when he snaps out of it, the work is already done.

He spends some time cleaning up the body. His hands his clothes. Making it look like a murder scene. He curses at himself when he sees the missed calls from you. He dials your number and your pretty voice engulfs his ears.

“Hey, where’ve you been.” He could hear your pout across the line making him smile as he makes his way to his car.

“A lot of the convenience stores are closed so I had to go to one far from your house.” He lies through his teeth.

“Oh ok then.” You murmur and he smiles.

“I’ll be right there ok pretty?” You hum and he hangs up.

When he’s finally back with bags of snacks, you cheer.

“Finally! I missed you.” You say as you throw your arms around his neck. You go to kiss his cheek but spot something.

“Hey what is this?” You swipe your thumb over his cheek, it’s a red stain.

“Huh?” He peers down at your thumb and places the bags on the floor. He laughs and you glance at him confused.

“I might’ve had a little snack without you, it’s ketchup.” You whine and push at his chest but he picks you up, letting you squeal as he places you on your bed.

“It’s fine, I got you all your favorites ok.” He leans in, his breath fanning your lips. It makes you gasp and your eyes lid. He pecks the corner of your mouth, getting off of you and grabbing the bags.

You’re left there on your bed a flushing mess as he hums, sorting out the snacks. You chew at your lip and sit next to him.

“Hey I have a question.” He hums, still taking things out.

“H—How come you don’t kiss me?” He faces you but you’re messing with your hands.

“You’re always calling me names and treating me like your girlfriend. You even scare away guys when they come up to me. But we’re still best friends?” He hates how confused you look.

“C’mere.” He pats his lap and you move to straddle him.

“You want me to kiss you?” He tilts his head and you nod.

His lips are on yours and they’re wasting no time. They’re feverish around yours and if the tv wasn’t on you would’ve payed attention to how loud your guys lips smacked against each others. When he inserts his tongue into your mouth you let out a moan, tugging at his hair. He smiles and pulls away.

“You’ve been waiting for this huh?” You nod quickly.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t feel the same way.” You rest your face on his shoulder. He places kisses on your cheek and down to your neck.

“Oh baby, if only you knew how far I’d go for you.”

YUTA OKKOTSU, KAZUTORA HANEMIYA, HARUCHIYO SANZU, Armin Arlert, Vigilante Deku, Hirofumi Yoshida,

© yuuuhiii 24 : don’t plagiarize, translate, or post my work on other platforms

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat, Chapter 6: Her emotions

Summary: Friday's therapy session turns into camping with you.. where accidents happen.

Warnings: DRUNK WEDNESDAY! Light Angst. EmotonallyConfusedWednesday!!!! Getting Drugged Accidentally

(Note: It is a veryyyy long chapter, Tell me how you guys liked it, or if drunk Wednesday seemed out of character, I won't mind)

Chapter 1 Previous Chapter Worklist

By the time Thursday rolled around, the pattern had solidified itself, like a storm cloud hanging persistently on the horizon. Every morning, you’d sit beside Wednesday in the quad, annoyingly persistent but never enough for her to feel justified in telling you to leave. You had a knack for toeing the line—just far enough to irk her but never enough to earn her outright rejection.

In class, the routine was much the same. You’d slip into the seat beside her as if it were your rightful place. The second you sat down, her entire world seemed to narrow, every sense heightened in your proximity. The faint rustle of your clothes, the soft sighs you made when the lecture got particularly dull, the slight tap of your fingers against your notebook—it all became a package of distractions.

She tried to make sense of it all. Why would you go through such efforts to get close to her? You are definitely working for someone. Perhaps Thornhill? Or worse—another follower of crackstone? Could you have been a spy? Sent to observe her? To get closer and learn her weaknesses?

"What are you really doing here?" Wednesday’s voice was low, more to herself than to you. Her eyes remained focused on the blackboard, but her thoughts were elsewhere—specifically on the constant, irritating sensation of your presence. You blinked in surprise, your pen pausing mid-word. "Uh… learning? Isn’t that why we’re all here?" "Don’t insult my intelligence." Her eyes narrowed, her voice growing colder, “Why are you always here? Sitting beside me, following me like a shadow. It’s pathetic.” You leaned in closer, your breath warm against her ear. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.” Wednesday's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Enjoy? You find my disdain enjoyable?” A shrug. “I find you enjoyable. Everything else is just part of the package.”

That caught her off guard. For a moment, she didn’t have a response and it took all her self-control to avoid showing how much that unsettled her. She hated that you always had the upper hand in conversations like this. She hated that your attention felt like a weight she couldn’t shake. Most of all, she hated that a part of her—however small and buried deep—wondered what it would be like to let you in.

Wednesday didn't particularly care for or against Fridays. They were simply another day in the endless monotony of her existence. But this Friday? It was different. It was another one of those irritating anger management sessions—a pointless exercise orchestrated by fools, for fools. And now, she had to endure it with you. As if her tolerance for idiocy wasn’t already at its breaking point.

She had barely gotten herself dressed when the inevitable, irritating sound of knocking echoed through her door. "Do you ever get tired of existing so obnoxiously?" she asked, her voice cold and flat. You smirked, unfazed. "Not if it means I get to hang out with you." "Ugh," Wednesday muttered under her breath, reaching for her black trench coat. Before you could say another word, Enid popped into the doorway. "Ooh, look at you!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she saw you. "That dress is so cute! It really suits you." You beamed. "Thanks, Enid! Thought I’d try something different." Wednesday rolled her eyes. "Different? You look like a walking garden. I half expect bees to swarm you the moment we step outside." You shrugged with a grin, clearly enjoying her jabs. "I’ll take that as a compliment." "It wasn’t," she deadpanned, slipping into her coat. "Let’s go. If we’re late, David will prolong the session for me."

As you two made your way out of the dorm, Enid waved goodbye cheerfully. "Have fun at therapy!" Wednesday shot her a glare that screamed ‘I’d rather die,’ "So, you excited for today?" you asked, the teasing lilt in your voice grating against her already thin patience. "Excited would imply I feel any sense of positive anticipation," Wednesday responded coolly. "No. Today is just another unfortunate event in a long string of unfortunate events." "Yeah, that sounds about right," you agreed with a chuckle. "Though, spending time with me can’t be that bad." Wednesday shot you a side glance. "Your self-delusion is truly remarkable." "Oh, I’m well aware of my delusions, but hey, they keep me going."

She sighed, trying to ignore the warmth of your presence next to her. It was irritating, how familiar the rhythm of walking beside you had become. You always matched her steps perfectly, never rushing, never falling behind.

Wednesday would've preferred the taxi ride to be as silent as it can get but of course, you filled the silence with light conversation, asking her the most mundane questions imaginable, while Wednesday sat stiffly beside you, arms crossed, staring out the window. "So, I was thinking," you began, pausing for dramatic effect, "do you think if I ordered a black coffee today, I’d be more like you?" "No," she answered immediately. "You didn’t even think about it." "Because I already know the answer. You could drink a gallon of black coffee, wear all black, and listen to Beethoven’s most haunting symphony, and you’d still be as painfully cheerful as you are now." You grinned, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I think there’s a part of you that secretly enjoys my company. You’d miss me if I stopped hanging around." "I’d miss you like I’d miss an infection," she said coldly, her eyes never leaving the window. But even as she said it, there was a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. The truth was, your absence would be noticed. After all, you were always there. And when you weren’t, it left a strange, hollow space in her day. Not that she would ever admit it.

"Ah, there they are!" David called, his voice loud and cheerful, as if he had been waiting all day just for your arrival. He was wearing his usual obnoxiously bright scarf and smiling wide enough to make Wednesday wish she’d turned back sooner.

"Wonderful to see you both! We’re doing something a little different today!" he announced enthusiastically as you and Wednesday approached.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "Different how?" she asked, already expecting the worst.

David motioned toward a minibus parked just outside the café. "Today, we’re going on a therapeutic field trip! Under the open skies, connecting with nature. It’s going to be great!"

Wednesday’s entire demeanor stiffened, and her gaze darkened. "I refuse," she said flatly. "I did not sign up for some kumbaya nonsense in the middle of a field. If you think—"

"If you refuse," David interrupted, holding up a finger, "I’ll have no choice but to report to Principal Weems that you’re not making progress. And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?"

Wednesday’s expression turned venomous. She stood still, glaring at David with pure disdain. "You are a stain on humanity." "Not the first time I’ve heard that!" David replied, still grinning. "Now hop on the bus, both of you." Wednesday clenched her jaw, resisting every instinct to turn and leave. The bus was small and cramped, all those fools were already there. and Wednesday had already claimed the farthest seat in the back, as far away from everyone as possible. You slid in next to her, earning a sideways glare. "Don’t get comfortable," she said icily. "Too late," you replied, settling in with a smirk. As the bus rumbled to life and began its journey to the woods, Wednesday stared out the window, her mind racing. She hated every second of this. But more than that, she hated how… unsettled she felt with you next to her. She hated how she could feel your presence, how your every movement drew her attention. And she hated that she didn’t want you to leave. Maybe this session would offer more than just torturous fresh air—maybe it would give her the chance to figure out why you were really here. Because Wednesday knew one thing for certain: you were hiding something. And she was going to find out what it was, whether you liked it or not.

David, at the front of the bus, was chattering to the driver, too excited for whatever nonsense he had planned. "How much longer do you think this torture will last?" Wednesday muttered under her breath, her eyes fixed out the window, watching the trees blur by. You leaned closer, a smile tugging at your lips. "Not a fan of the great outdoors, Wednesday?" "No, I had my fair share in the woods. I prefer my environment to be hostile," she replied coolly The bus finally rolled to a stop at the edge of a dense forest. David hopped off first, "Alright, we’re heading to the lake! It’s about two hours walk, but don’t worry—we’ll take breaks if anyone needs it! Stretch those legs—we've got a nice hike ahead" Wednesday let out a sigh, muttering, “And thus, the descent into idiocy begins.” She glanced at you, fully expecting to see that infuriating grin of yours, and she was not disappointed. "Come on, Wends," you said, using the nickname you knew she despised. "It’ll be fun." "It will be insufferable," she corrected, stepping down from the bus with her usual grace. She was already too bored to correct you. “Man, I thought we were gonna talk about our feelings. Not… hike.” Alex complained. "Alex. It’s about the journey—learning to appreciate nature and each other." David answered from up ahead Wednesday stayed near the back as the group began to march forward, already regretting every moment of this cursed field trip. You, of course, kept pace beside her, walking with that irritating bounce in your step. "So," you said after a few moments of silence. "What do you think the lake looks like?" "Water," Wednesday deadpanned. Rick whistling low under his breath. “Can’t believe we’re actually doing this. You still got the shovel?” Ashley elbowed him in the ribs again, her voice a low hiss. “Shut up, Rick.” “So, like, do you think there are any wolves around here? Or, ooh, maybe bears! Wouldn’t that be so dramatic?” Brooked chipped. Mike looked like he was seriously considering abandoning her in the woods. “I… really don’t think there are bears, Brooke.” “Oh, but wouldn’t it be romantic? You saving me from a bear or something?” Mike just groaned Wednesday caught snippets of their conversation, her irritation growing with every inane comment. She muttered under her breath, “I would gladly throw her to a bear.” “Isn’t this just wonderful? The fresh air, the sound of birds, the gentle rustle of leaves! A perfect day for personal growth!” David cheered from the front. You were trying to stifle a laugh beside Wednesday, but it slipped out. “You gotta admit, he’s really into this.” “I have nothing to admit,” Wednesday muttered darkly. As they walked. Wednesday found herself paying far too much attention to your reactions—the slight smile on your face, the way you occasionally glanced at her when you thought she wasn’t looking. It was intriguing irritating.

Eventually, the trees began to thin out, the scent of water growing stronger as the lake came into view.

Mike was the first to notice it, squinting at the far side of the clearing. "Uh… guys? What’s with the tents?"

David clapped his hands together, that annoyingly chipper smile still plastered across his face. "Ah, yes! About that—"

Wednesday's eyes narrowed.

David gave an exaggerated shrug. "Oops! Did I forget to mention we’re staying the night?"

The entire group froze.

"What?" Alex’s voice dropped, his fists clenched. "Staying overnight?"

Rick stared at David like he’d just been sentenced to death. "Nah, no way. I’ve got plans. You can’t just spring this on us."

Ashley threw up her hands. "David, you didn’t say anything about camping! I didn’t even pack!"

Brooke, unsurprisingly, clapped her hands together. "This is amazing! We’re going to spend the night under the stars—just like in the movies!"

"Of course you’re excited," Mike grumbled. "This is a disaster."

Meanwhile, Wednesday stood there, silently seething. Her mind was racing with all the ways she could strangle David without leaving a trace. "You ambushed us," she said, her voice cold, each word clipped. "Do you have a death wish?"

David chuckled nervously. "Oh, come on, guys. It’ll be fun! A little nature retreat, some time away from distractions—" Wednesday interrupted, her tone venomous. "The only thing distracting me right now is the overwhelming desire to set this entire campsite ablaze." You, of course, were clearly enjoying this, "Well, this is unexpected, but kind of exciting, right? At least the lake is beautiful!" She stared at you with her deadpan expression, trying to comprehend how anyone could be happy about this situation. "I sincerely hope the lake swallows you whole." You only grinned wider. "Guess I’ll take that as an invitation for a swim later." "Ugh," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples as though she could ward off the headache brewing in her skull. David, trying desperately to salvage the situation, raised his hands. "It’s not that bad, I promise! The tents are already set up, and we’ve got food, water, and supplies. This will be a great opportunity to unwind and connect with nature." You nudged her lightly with your elbow. "Hey, at least you’ve got me here to keep you company." "You’re the worst part of this." "Aw, don’t be like that. I’ll make sure you have fun." Wednesday resisted the urge to shove you into the lake. Each person got their own tent, which was the one small mercy in this nightmare of an outing. Wednesday glanced at the others, some fumbling with their tents or laughing awkwardly, completely unaware of how insufferable they were. Of course, you were helping David get the campfire going, your face lit up with a soft smile as you fumbled with the firewood. Wednesday watched you from the corner of her eye, wondering how you could seem so content in this ridiculous situation. You didn't seem annoyed or put off like she was—you were just… happy to help. She couldn't understand it. She had been relegated to "supervision duty," which meant standing around doing absolutely nothing while everyone else bustled about with assigned tasks. Mike and Alex were handling the food, Brooke was talking to some random birds like they were her long-lost cousins, and Rick and Ashley were off near the lake, laughing about who knew what.

David, with his typical cheery disposition, waved everyone over. "Alright, everyone, gather around! The fire's going, and it's almost time for our session!" Great. The therapy session. The exact reason Wednesday wanted to bury herself in the woods and never return. But she had to stay—for now because she had to find out why you were everywhere. She watched as you placed a few more logs on the fire before stepping back and joining the group. She hated how naturally you fit into all this, while every second felt like torture for her.

As the sky darkened, the session began. Wednesday sat at the edge of the group, her fingers twitching toward her coat pocket where her knives were hidden. Five knives. She let her mind wander to the logistics of taking them all out. David was the priority. Strangling him would be more satisfying, but a quick knife to the throat would be efficient. She could— "Wednesday?" She blinked and glanced at you, irritated at being pulled back into reality. You looked at her expectantly, probably wondering why she was spacing out. David cleared his throat, obviously oblivious to her thoughts. "Okay, let's start! Today's session is still all about discussing our most recent challenges. How we handled them, what we learned… you know the drill." Wednesday's expression tightened. Oh, she knew the drill all too well. Each session was the same monotonous routine—listening to everyone talk about their mundane problems and pretend they were making progress. It was a miracle she hadn't stabbed someone by now.

Alex started first, talking about how he got into a fight with his dad over some trivial matter. "But I didn't punch a wall this time," he added proudly, and Milo gave him a sleepy nod of approval. "That's great, Alex!" David beamed. "You're learning to manage your anger better."

Next up was Brooke, who dramatically recounted some "epic argument" she'd had with her mom over her phone privileges. "But I didn't give in! I stood my ground, because self-care is important, right?" David nodded enthusiastically, clearly buying into Brooke's theatrics. "Absolutely, Brooke. Boundaries are important."

Wednesday's eyes flicked to the campfire. Maybe she could just throw herself into it. That would be preferable to listening to more of this.

Mike's was about some misunderstanding with his sister, while Rick rambled on about his mother. Wednesday could feel her patience thinning with each passing second.

And then... it was her turn. David looked at her expectantly. "Wednesday, how about you? Have you faced any challenges lately?" She stared at him, the burning firelight reflected in her dark eyes. The group was silent, waiting for her to share some deep revelation. Of course, David had to push a bit, flashing his annoyingly encouraging smile. "It helps to talk, you know. We're all in this together." That was it. That was the final straw.

Wednesday's eyes narrowed, and she felt something snap inside her. "You want to know about my challenges?" she began, her voice dangerously calm. "My challenge is sitting here, surrounded by imbeciles, pretending that anything you people say has any merit. I don't care about your 'self-care' or your 'boundaries' or how you didn't punch a wall for the first time in months, Alex." Everyone froze. The campfire crackled in the silence as Wednesday's words hung in the air. "And you," she turned to Brooke, "standing your ground with your mother over your phone privileges, are you serious? That's not a challenge. That's pathetic. The fact that any of you think you're achieving something meaningful by whining about your trivial lives is insufferable." Then she pointed to Rick "You keep whining about your mother but you are so dependent on her that you can't even move out. How about you fix that and then whine." David opened his mouth to speak, but Wednesday cut him off. "Don't. Just don't. I've had enough of this ridiculous charade." She stood abruptly, her black coat swirling as she turned on her heel and stormed away from the group. You sighed, David giving you a look. "Yeah I know I know, I am going to get her, but umm.. if I do not return, look for me in the lake, that's where she might throw my body." The water shimmered in the fading light as she reached the far side of the lake. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, trying to calm the storm raging inside her.

But then, she heard footsteps behind her. Of course it was you.

"Wednesday," you said softly, your voice cautious as you approached. She didn’t respond at first, her eyes fixed on the shimmering water in front of her. For a moment, you wondered if she even heard you. But then, slowly, she turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto yours. There was a storm in those eyes—anger, frustration, something deeper that she was too proud to acknowledge.

"I don’t want to talk," she said flatly, "Go back to the group. I’m fine here."

You ignored her dismissal, walking closer until you were standing beside her, staring at the same water. "I’m not leaving you alone, Wednesday. Not when you’re this upset."

She let out a sharp breath through her nose, clearly irritated. "Upset? I’m not upset. I’m annoyed. There’s a difference."

"Right. Annoyed." You nodded, as if you were going along with her, but your voice remained soft, patient. "You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but... I just don’t think it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be."

Wednesday shot you a glare, her eyebrow arching in disdain. "Do you enjoy this?" she snapped. "Being part of David’s circus, listening to everyone complain about how tragic their lives are?"

You met her gaze, unfazed by her sharp tone. "It’s not about enjoying it, Wednesday. It’s about trying. Everyone has something going on, and sometimes, talking about it helps. Even if it seems pointless at first."

"Pointless is an understatement," she muttered, turning her eyes back to the lake. "All they do is whine. They don’t solve anything, they just sit around, waiting for someone else to fix their lives for them."

"Not everyone’s as good at handling things alone as you are," you replied gently. "But even you—sometimes you don’t have to handle everything by yourself. Opening up doesn’t make you weak."

She clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching slightly as if she was fighting the urge to argue. "Opening up is a waste of time. It accomplishes nothing. People think sharing their problems will magically solve them, but in the end, they’re still the ones who have to deal with it. Words don’t change that." You sighed softly, recognizing the walls she was building around herself. But you didn’t give up. You couldn’t. You had a mission.

"It’s not about solving everything in one conversation. It’s about letting go, even for a little while. It gives you room to breathe, to think clearly without all that pressure building up inside."

"I don’t need to breathe," she said finally, though her voice was quieter than before, less sharp. "I’m perfectly fine handling things on my own."

"I know you are," you said softly, turning to face her fully. "But that doesn’t mean you have to. You don’t always have to be so... closed off."

Wednesday didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes flickered, something unreadable crossing her expression before she quickly masked it with her usual stoic demeanor. She sighed, clearly exasperated, but there was a hint of something softer in her voice when she finally spoke.

"Why do you even care?" she asked, her tone quieter now, almost vulnerable. "Why do you insist on dragging me into these... emotions?"

You smiled softly, knowing how hard it was for her to even ask that question. "Because I care about you, Wednesday. And I don’t want to see you carrying everything by yourself. I don't want to see you ending up alone. Even if you think you’re fine, it doesn’t hurt to let someone else in every once in a while."

She turned her head slightly, her eyes studying your face as if she were searching for some hidden motive. But all she found was sincerity. That seemed to bother her more than anything else.

"I’m not... good at this," she muttered, her voice almost too low to hear. "You don’t have to be," you replied.

For a long moment, Wednesday was silent, her expression unreadable as she stared at the lake. Then, with a resigned sigh, she turned on her heel and began walking back toward the campfire, clearly unwilling to admit that she was even considering your words.

You followed, relieved that she hadn’t completely shut down.

When the two of you returned to the camp, the group was still sitting around the fire, chatting quietly. To your surprise, no one seemed particularly upset about Wednesday’s earlier outburst. In fact, David greeted her with a bright smile, completely unfazed.

"Ah, Wednesday! Glad to have you back," he welcomed her cheerfully as if nothing had happened. Wednesday narrowed her eyes slightly. "Did you call Principal Weems to notify her about my "failure"? " David chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Of course not! Everyone needs to vent sometimes. It’s healthy." The others nodded in agreement. Rick smirked a little, but even he didn’t seem too bothered. "Honestly, I kind of expected you to blow up sooner. That was nothing compared to what I thought you’d do." Ashley gave Wednesday an exaggerated wink. "I like a girl who speaks her mind."

Wednesday blinked, clearly taken aback by their nonchalant reactions. She had expected them to be offended, maybe even hold a grudge. But they seemed... fine. Completely fine.

She sat down reluctantly, her posture stiff as ever, but there was a faint crack in her emotional armor. "I still think this is a waste of time," she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual venom.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and winced. “I have to take this,” you muttered to Wednesday, who shot you an irritated look. You mouthed an apology and stepped away, leaving Wednesday sitting awkwardly with the group.

David gently steered the conversation back to her. “Wednesday, do you want to share? You don’t have to, of course, but we’re here if you want to talk.”

The urge to reject him outright surged within her, but something—perhaps your words, perhaps the nagging feeling in her chest—made her hesitate. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her coat, and she looked away from the group, staring at the flames instead.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke. “There’s someone... someone who’s been getting under my skin. Someone who I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

The words felt foreign on her tongue, uncomfortable and raw, but she couldn’t stop them. The group remained silent, waiting, not pushing her.

“This person,” she continued, her voice cold but wavering, “is... everywhere. They keep showing up in my life, in my thoughts. And I don’t want them to. But I can’t stop it. It’s... infuriating.”

David nodded, encouraging her gently. “And how does that make you feel?”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” Wednesday snapped, her temper flaring. “Annoyed. Angry. It’s like they’ve invaded my mind, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake them. I don’t like feeling out of control.”

David nods, his tone patient. “How would you feel if you could get rid of those thoughts? Push them out entirely?” Wednesday frowns, the question catching her off guard. She thinks for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she considers it. She felt strange.. she thought she would feel better but she feels.. "Empty." The word tasted bitter on her tongue, foreign and unwelcome. She didn’t realize she had said it out loud until she saw the group’s reactions—or lack thereof. No judgment, no pity. Just quiet acceptance. She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

David nods. “Sometimes, the things we resist the most are the things we need to hold on to. They can fill a part of us we didn’t even know was empty.”

Rick leaned forward with a grin on his face,

“So... is this 'someone' on the phone right now?”

Wednesday's head whipped around, her eyes narrowing into a deadly glare. "If you value your life, you'll stop talking."

Rick held up his hands in surrender, but the grin remained. Ashley quickly elbowed him, muttering, “Not the time, Rick.”

Alex groaned loudly, clutching his head in mock agony. "Ugh, All the emotional talk is making me sleepy, I need coffee, like, now. Someone, please, for the love of all that’s good in this world, make some coffee." David looked over at Rick and Ashley. "Alright, Rick, Ashley, why don't you two get the coffee started before Alex dies." Rick gave a half-hearted salute. "On it, boss." He turned to Ashley, who was lounging beside him. "Hey, go grab the sugar from my bag, will you? Ashley rolled her eyes but obliged, getting up with a huff to retrieve the 'sugar' from Rick's bag. Meanwhile, Rick turned to Wednesday, a sly grin on his face. "So, Addams, how do you take your coffee?" "Bitter," she replied finally, her voice flat. "Just like life." Rick snorted, shaking his head. "Of course. Should’ve guessed."

As Wednesday sat there waiting for the coffee to be made, she found herself growing restless. That hollow, gnawing emptiness she had tried so hard to ignore began to surface again, tightening in her chest. Where had you gone? You were always right there, standing beside her, but now you were out of reach well you weren't actually, you were just gone for a few moments and she hated it.

As the minutes ticked by, Wednesday’s thoughts drifted further. What did it mean?

The quiet chaos of her thoughts was interrupted when Rick handed her a cup of coffee. "Here you go, black as death itself."

She took the cup without a word, the warmth spreading through her hands as she stared into the dark liquid. She sipped it, expecting the usual bitterness. But this...this was different. It tasted...a bit weird but more than the coffee, it was her feelings for you that occupied her mind. How had she ended up here? Talking about her emotions, exposing herself in ways she never thought possible? She wasn’t the type to dwell on uncertainty. She preferred things to be direct, to have answers and solutions, but when it came to you—everything was blurred. Once these therapy sessions were over... where would you stand? Where would she stand?

She felt strange. The warmth of the coffee spread through her, loosening the tightness in her chest. The more she drank, the more that strange, comfortable haze settled in, drowning out her usual sharp clarity. She finished her cup without realizing it,

"More," she demanded, holding the cup out toward Rick.

"Whoa, didn’t take you for a coffee fiend," he teased, but he refilled her cup without hesitation.

What would happen once this was over? Once you both returned to your lives outside of these campfire confessions and group therapy? Would you drift apart, as people often do, or would you stay? And more importantly, did she want you to stay?

Everything felt off, but not unpleasantly so. The others were acting weird—dancing, laughing—but she didn’t care. She just wanted more of this feeling, more of the numbness that let her ignore the confusing emotions you always brought out in her. So, she drank more coffee. And more. And more.

Meanwhile, you wrapped up your call . “Yeah, Dad, YEAAAH, I GET IT. I’ll be careful. I already took them, okay? Yes, I’ll call tomorrow. Gotta go. Bye!” You sighed heavily, tucking your phone back into your pocket. That conversation had gone on way too long. You started heading back to the camp, but as you got closer, something felt... wrong. The group was acting strange. They weren’t just sitting and talking anymore—they were dancing. Not the casual, awkward dancing of people who barely knew each other, but wild, like they didn’t have a care in the world.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, scanning the group. Where was Wednesday? You searched for her, but she was nowhere near the fire.

“David,” you called out, hurrying over to him. “Where’s Wednesday?”

David looked at you, his eyes glazed over, a lazy grin on his face. “Wednesday? Today’s Friday... right?”

You blinked. “What? What does that have to do with—never mind.” You looked past him and saw Wednesday, walking by the lake with a... distinct wobble. Your heart skipped a beat. Wednesday Addams didn’t wobble. She is as steady and composed as a statue.

As you approached, you heard her voice—low, muttering, and oddly slurred. "You... why do you do this to me? Always... being there. Except when you're not, which is even worse. But then you're there again, and I hate it, but... I don’t hate it."

You blinked, utterly confused. "Wednesday?"

She turned, almost tripping over her own feet, and gave you a look that could only be described as... perplexed. But not the usual cold, calculated Wednesday-perplexed—this was more... tipsy.

"Ahh, it’s you," she said, squinting at you like you were a strange object she couldn’t quite figure out. "Why are you always... there?" She waved her hand in a vague circle. "Like... just there, making everything... feel... confusing."

You stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. Wednesday never talked like this. "Wednesday, what are you talking about?"

She pointed a finger at you, jabbing it in your direction with surprising force, but her balance was completely off. "You! You make everything so... so... confusing. I don’t like it. But also... I kind of like it. And I hate that I like it. You’re... annoying. But I get more annoyed when you’re not here."

"Okay, Wednesday..." you took a step closer, noticing how she swayed again, her expression shifting between annoyance and something else—something vulnerable. "What’s going on with you?"

"I don’t know!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air dramatically, completely out of character. "I never know with you. I think about you, and it’s like... ugh, why are you in my head?"

Realization slapped you harder than Will Smith's slap to Chris Rock.

“Wednesday, are you... drunk?”

She squinted at you as if your question was offensive. “I don’t get drunk,” she declared. “I’m above such mortal weaknesses. But you... you make everything so complicated. You and your... your stupid face.”

You grabbed her hand to steady her. Her skin was cool to the touch, but the moment you made contact, she froze, staring down at your hand in hers. “Why does this—this thing always feel weird?” she muttered, her voice lower now. “Your hand… it does this thing... makes me feel… something. I don’t like it. But I do. And that’s the problem.”

You ignored the way your heart raced at her words, focusing instead on what was clearly the problem. You glanced back at the camp, suspicion building. Rick. It had to be him. You reached into Wednesday’s coat, pulling out her knife, not paying attention to the fact that you felt several knives, and marched back toward Rick, who was still swaying around, laughing with no care in the world.

“Rick,” you growled, grabbing him by the collar and pressing the knife to his neck. “What the hell did you do?”

Rick blinked, eyes glazed, a goofy grin on his face. “Whaaat? Nothing! I just made the coffee... best coffee ever, man.”

Your eyes landed on the open box near the coffee pot. You picked it up, sniffing it. This wasn’t sugar. Your heart dropped. “Rick, you idiot,” you groaned. “You spiked the coffee!”

Rick just laughed, completely oblivious to the chaos he’d caused. Meanwhile, you glanced around at the others—dancing, laughing, totally out of their minds. Great. You were now in charge of nine drunk people,

And a high Wednesday Addams.

You sighed heavily. This is going to be a long night.

[nectarinesalt]

Cornflake Girl

...he showed up all wet on the rainy front step wearing shrapnel in his skin and the war he saw lives inside him still...

pairing: drafted/military/PTSD Eddie Munson x reader (whose brother died in the same war)

warnings: war, language, angst, death. terrible childhood, poverty. talk of domestic violence. eventual PTSD, eventual smut.

word count: 1k

author's note: slightly thinking about making this into a multi-chapter. tell me what you think.

~~~

The exhaust from the line of buses in the road choked you like the clammy, stone grip of Death himself. You found yourself in a trance - staring at the weeping mothers, the trembling young men - the only thing to shake you back to reality was a familiar firm grip on your own shaking fingers.

“...before you know it. Trust me, Wink.”

You stuttered over a response. “W-what?”

Your older brother Zeke raised an eyebrow at you with amusement. It’s the exact look that he had been giving you for weeks, and quite frankly, it pissed you off. How could you be so fucking casual about being drafted, Zeke?

In simple terms, the world as you knew it was ending. Your best friend, your big brother, your savior - he got that goddamned letter in the mail. 

Of course, Ezekiel Elliot Winkler didn’t bat an eye. Did he expect it? Well, you were sure he did. The newspapers talked about nothing but war. But… did Zeke want this? Your mind suddenly ran past all of the memories of the previous years; him and your father shoving each other around, Zeke ripping bottles of wine out of your mother’s frail hands. 

Your brother, only eleven months older than you, covering your ears in the stuffy closet you shared as your parents smashed dishes in the kitchen during a fight. You recalled how bad you shivered in the closet that night - probably because the furnace went out again, and no one had fixed it in months.

Probably as much as you shivered now. Zeke’s chocolate brown eyes were different from yours, lighter almost. His gaze flickered between your pathetic scowl and your hand, where your anxious thoughts manifested into a severe cuticle picking problem.

“C’mon, quit the picking, sis. How’s an engagement ring ever gonna look on a chewed up finger like that?” Zeke winked at you, knowing all too well that you swore off marriage over a year ago.

His sense of humor didn’t fade one bit, not even as the heavy bag slung over his shoulder. You helped him pack it the night before, last minute as always. 

You really want to pack this much? 

He smiled that toothy smile of his, dimples catching the shadow from the bare bulb above you both.

It’s all I got, Wink.

A deep gasp rose in your throat and you squeezed your eyes shut. Your memories escaped you suddenly, but then came rushing back with the enveloping squeeze of Zeke’s long arms lifting you a few inches off the cold pavement. He had always been at least half a head taller than you.

Ignoring the scrutinizing gaze of your mother, Zeke mumbled in your ear. “Just… hang in there. Please? Someone needs to take care of her while I’m gone.”

You fought the urge to argue, to protest. You didn’t want to watch over your drunken mother. You’d be eighteen within six months - who’d be responsible for her then? After all of the nights you both went to bed hungry, the narcissistic comments as puberty hit you like a semi truck. What the fuck did you owe her? 

She didn’t attend the funeral of your father when her car wrapped around a tree… only for her to walk away with nothing but bruises.

You were shocked that she had the motivation to leave the couch to send off Zeke. Hell, right now, you were stunned she was even slightly sober in the parking lot of Hawkins High School. But that was probably for her reputation's sake, not for her only son being drafted like a pig to the slaughter.

A sudden flash of silver caught your eye.

Snapping like a twig in the middle of a dry Indiana January, your neck craned instinctively towards the sight: two buses down, the flicker of a silver chain on the strap of a man’s duffel bag. 

Eddie. Your best friend.

Well, your former best friend. Before you had to start wearing a bra. Before your PMS and family stress turned you into a hormonal monster. Before he popped boners every time you smoked behind the bleachers with him during cheer practice. Before… before he did nothing but obsess over Chrissy Cunningham. 

You sighed.

Eddie Munson, born the same year, nearly the same damned month, as Zeke, got the letter in the mail, too. Duty called to him like a whisper in the night, beckoning him with a curling finger, looking at all of his failures, insecurities; Eddie didn’t think he truly had a future in Hawkins. So why not embrace the draft?

At least, that’s what you imagined it was like. Now, your puffy eyes drew to him like a magnet. Eddie looked drastically different, yet all the same. His hair was buzzed like it was when you were in 5th grade. He kept his back awkwardly straight as he spoke silently to his uncle, Wayne. That tiny family was always so good at trying to make life easier for each other. 

You silently begged them to let the walls down. Shed tears. Hug deeply. But no, nothing like that happened. 

Zeke said his farewell to your frigid mother as you focused on the sparse Munson family. Eddie held a firm grip on his uncle as he pulled him in for a brief embrace. As your childhood best friend turned for the bus, he immediately froze at the sight of you across the parking lot.

Fuck.

A whistle sounded nearby, tearing you from the invisible silver chain that connected you to Eddie.

“Zeke!” you choked out, refusing to let go of the strap on his bag. “Write to me. Please tell me you’ll write.”

“I thought you hated my handwriting?”

“Shut up!” You gripped his strap harder, pulling him forward in a gut-crushing hug, trying to ignore the feeling of Eddie’s eyes on you. 

The last thing you remembered was the easygoing smirk on Zeke’s face as he waved through the bus windows.

[richiejerimovichsblueeyes]

been loving your work recently... I think I need some richie angst to fluff in my life pleasee😆

Hey there anon! Thank you for your sweet words ♥️ I hope you enjoy this! I got kinda carried away with the fluff, lol.

I love you, Richard Lawrence Jerimovich!

Richie Jerimovich × female reader. Angst + Fluff

Warnings- some angst, but other than that nothing else. Brief mention of sex. But other wise just some tooth rotting fluff. There is a age gap between Richie and reader (didn’t specify age, only to keep it imersive for the reader). All my work is 18+, even if it's not smut. Although some of my work is SFW, I do still advise that minors do not interact, only because sex and other adult situations might be mentioned. I can't control what you read, but please be advised.

Author note- Richie's fluff makes me all mushy. This was so much fun to write <3

Word Count- 1,495

Request are open💕

“I have a feeling she is almost ten years younger than him.”

“I don’t know what women would date that loser.”

“I bet she’s just a rebound.”

“She won’t last another year with him”

Every cruel word from their bitchy mouths stung like a bee sting as I stood in line to pick up Eva. Did they think I was stupid? Or did they not care? Yes, I was younger than Richie. But it didn’t bother me until now. Tiff was always nice to me. I think she was happy Richie finally found someone who made him happy. I silently prayed for Eva’s class to let out so I wouldn’t be scrutinized by the snotty mom crew.

Small children burst out of the front door, all running towards their moms, dads, or whoever was waiting for them. Eva came bouncing toward me. She held up a drawing. “Y/N! I made you something” she beamed. I took the pink piece of construction paper. There were three stick people. There is a tall stick figure with brown hair, a shorter one with long hair and a triangle dress, and a short one with yellow hair drawn in with crayon. There was an attempt at a heart above the two adult stick people. My heart clenched in my throat. “It’s you and Dad, and then me.” She said with a smile. I felt tears prick my eyes. “Eva. I love this so much. Let’s go home and we’ll put it in the fridge for your Dad to see.” She grinned as I took my hand and walked her toward my car. 

As we walked to my car I felt the two of the bitchy moms eye me. 

“She’s so pathetic..thinking it’ll last between her and Eva’s dad. Poor girl.” Women A said. I hurried along with Eva, trying to get away from them as quickly as possible, hoping that Eva wouldn’t catch on to what was being said about me.

Eva hugged me before turning to her mom. “Thanks,” Tiff said with a smile as I handed her Eva’s school bag. I nodded trying to keep my expression at bay. The words from those women haunted me. What if I wasn’t meant for Richie? What if he didn’t love me? What if…what if.

“Eva, go run inside,” Tiff told Eva. The spunky kid ran inside as Tiff instructed. “Is everything ok?” She asked me once Eva was out of earshot. “Oh, I’m fine..just tired” I lied. “Hey, look. I know it’s probably weird for you being that I’m your boyfriend’s ex wife…what I want to say is that if you need anything you can talk to me. I know Richie can be a lot to handle with his temper, but I see that he cares a lot about you. And so does Eva.” I smiled at Tiff’s words. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” I felt nice that Tiff was on my side, but the insecure part of me was taunting me.

I held my tears together until I got home. Normally stuff like this didn’t get to me, but maybe the women at the school pickup line were right about me and Richie. Maybe we were destined to crash and burn. Maybe we’d end up with a sad story. Tears soaked my pillow as my thoughts ate me alive.

The door to my and Richies apartment swung open. He usually stopped to hang up his leather jacket, but today, he made his way to me, where I was a ball of emotions. “Hey, babe..are you ok? Tiff called and said you seemed upset while dropping Eva off.” Richie said softly while rubbing my arm. “I’m fine.” I lied. “No, you’re not; you’ve been crying. Come here.” I felt him gently lift me to make room for him to sit next to me on the couch. His arms pulled me in, making me even more emotional. I didn’t deserve him. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He encouraged me. “It’s fine..” I said as I enjoyed the comfort of his embrace. “You’re not fine. Please tell me so I can fix it.” He said with sadness in his voice. I knew he hated seeing me like this, but I was afraid if I voiced my concerns he would realize that I wasn’t worth his time. “Richie..I swear I’m ok. I’m just really tired.” “I’m not buying that bullshit, Y/N.” His voice was a little more firm Indicating he was getting frustrated. “There’s no bullshit, Richie. Stop asking.” “Why won’t you let me in!? I’m your boyfriend for fuck sake. I’m supposed to help you. You’re shutting me out” He said with his voice raised. Tears fell from my eyes, my lip quivering to keep myself from crying harder.

“Hey, hey…” He soothed me while pulling me in tight to his warm body. He gently wiped the tears from my eyes with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry for not telling you why I was upset..” I said as I leaned my head against his shoulder. “I understand that maybe you’re not ready to open up about everything, and I get you need to process some emotions alone. But, it kills me to see you hurting.” He whispered into my hair. “The ladies at school pickup were talking shit behind my back when I was picking up Eva,” I admitted. I felt Richie stiffen. “What did they say?” He asked in a voice that was laced with anger. “Just stuff about how I’m too young for you. How we won’t last. That I’m just your rebound.” All those words they said were like a knife in my gut as I repeated them. “Fucking bitches! I’m gonna pick Eva up tomorrow and give them a piece of my mind. Nobody talks about my girl like that.” I felt his lips brush against my forehead. “babe..don’t cause a scene.” I warned. “I don’t care if they send their prick face husbands after me.” He kissed my forehead again. “Plus, baby..they are just jealous,” I laughed sarcastically. “Seriously sweetheart. Your so fucking beautiful, they’ve got nothing on you..” He declares as he brushes his lips against mine. “And…maybe they are just jealous because I’m so hot.” He teased. “oh, look who’s got a big ego.” I laughed as I gave him a playful swat. “You gave it to me, babe…telling me how good-looking I am all the time.” He winked. “They wish their husbands were as good-looking as you,” I said with a flirty smile and I straddled his lap to face him. He gently cupped my face bringing it close to his. A serious look washed over his face. “You know? I’d love to make you Mrs. Y/n Jerimovich.” The air escaped from my lungs. “You mean…that?” I asked breathlessly. “I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately..want to buy you a ring, put it on your finger” he said with a boyish grin while he brought my ring finger up to his lips and placed a kiss on it. “What do you say, babe? Make me the happiest guy in the world?” I nodded as I was too emotional to speak. I hovered my lips over his and answered his question with a deep long kiss. The heat from our mouths mingled, sealing his question with a kiss. “Well, I take that as a yes.” He said with a husky voice as he separated his lips just a space from mine. “I love you, Richard Lawrence Jerimovich,” I whispered against his lips. He lets out a growl of approval. “I love the way my name sounds coming from that pretty mouth.” He pulled me into a tight embrace, his arms making me feel safe and protected. The steady beat of his heart against me. This is where I belonged, in his arms. Loved and protected. 

We lay in bed, a tangled mess of limbs and sheets basking in the afterglow of sex.  “I completely forgot. Eva drew me a picture at school.” I told Richie, my head lying on his chest. “Yeah? What did the little artist draw?” He asked. “A stick family. You, me, and Eva. She drew a heart above you and me.” I said while picturing the artwork in my head. Richie smirked, giving me an indication he had a secret. “Spill it!” I said while poking his side playfully. “Fine, fine before you tickle it out of me.” He laughed as he grabbed my hands and interlaced his fingers with mine. “I may have already bought a ring. Eva helped me. I’m shocked she kept it a secret this long.” I felt my heart pound with excitement, a smile forming on my lips. “Try and act surprised when I propose? Ok?” He teased me. “I fucking love you, Richie. So much!” I grinned as I attacked his face with kisses. 

[buddiekinard]

several sentences sunday

so no one tagged me (this week) but this is the first time in a while i actually have something i'm actively working on. i posted something maybe last week or two weeks ago but that version of the story has actually been scrapped because i regathered my thoughts. anyway i wrote a couple thousand words today and i just wanted to post a little bit of it. i don't think i've been this invested in/stressed about writing something for a very long time. i've been plotting out this fic for months and i've been living and breathing it, so here's a little bit of it for you.

'tis the damn season au, buddie, aka the fic where buck and his parents moved to el paso and buck went to high school with eddie and shannon, and now he's coming back for a visit (set in 911-time during s3 when buck isn't allowed back to work - instead of suing everyone, buck goes home)

His phone starts ringing.  Of course Eddie hadn’t just texted back. 

Of course Eddie is calling him.

“Hey.” “Hey, Evan.  I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to speak again.”

“Please, call me Buck.  Everyone calls me Buck.”

“Right,” Eddie says.  “Right, you said that.”

“I’m in El Paso.” Buck fumbles with the hem of his t-shirt, nervously.  It’s so annoying that he hasn’t just let himself turn up to Eddie’s parents, asking where he can find Eddie.  Helena had always loved him.  She wouldn’t question his presence even a little bit.  She would probably give him a big hug and invite him in for coffee.  He’s just not sure he has that right or place in Eddie’s life anymore.

After all, he was the one who’d taken off.

“You’re - “ There’s a long pause on the other end of the line and then Buck hears the click of a door.  “You’re here?”

“Yeah, I had to get out of LA.  I was feeling a little suffocated and a lot lost.  I’m at my parents’ house.”

“Did you talk to Shannon?”

“Yeah.” Buck closes his eyes.  “You didn’t tell me you were divorced.” “You didn’t exactly give me the chance.” There’s nothing tense in Eddie’s voice, not like Buck would expect.  He sounds light, sarcastic, like the Eddie Buck remembers from all the way back in high school when everything between them was just so easy.

“No, I guess I didn’t.” “Hey, so, I don’t work tomorrow.  Do you want - we can just, you know.  Hang out, like old times or whatever.”

Buck wants to ask what kind of old times he means.  The ones where he, Eddie, and Shannon would waste the day sitting in the Whataburger parking lot listening to shitty music and sharing a cigarette or the kind in that short window of time where the two of them would go find somewhere to park and make out sloppy in Eddie’s truck.  Or maybe the time they tried to get the fuck away from this town together, before they knew Shannon was pregnant, when Buck really thought he and Eddie could be EvanAndEddie for real.  He doesn’t ask.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.  It’ll be nice to catch up.”

[rainwaterapothecary]

Date Night

Serennedy Mini Week Prompt 1 - Anniversary

Late Fall 2012

The ‘Anniversary Effect’ was a load of bullshit, Leon decided, hunching his shoulders inward during his debrief. To an outside observer, the motion was a careful display of insubordination and boredom.

In truth, it was only the warmth of his jacket that was keeping the chills of a panic attack at bay.

He buried his nose in the fur-lined collar of the coat Luis had bought him when he was out one day doing who knew what.

It wasn’t quite the one he’d lost…There, but it had a similar feeling on his hands when he felt the fuzzy lining and that was good enough.

It was also black, so that was a bonus.

His mask of boredom was beginning to dip into ‘sleepy’ as his eyelashes fluttered.

This jacket had something else his lambskin hadn’t: It smelled like Luis.

Leon usually kept his jackets hung up in a closet when he wasn’t using them, but lately it had been getting chilly enough to hang this one by the front door.

Said front door that sat right beside the kitchen his teacher’s assistant of a partner usually set up camp on school nights.

Herbs and spices danced away from his nose as he gave up and closed his eyes.

-*-*-

Second Summer 2007

”Oh, amor! Bienvenido.” His academic had looked up from the usual whirlwind of notes their kitchen table always became as soon as he’d gotten home and changed out of his work clothes. The soft, yellow light of the space glowed around the seated man’s hair like a halo, highlighting the silver hairs he swore his students were multiplying on purpose.

“Hey, Lu.” Leon was exhausted and all he really wanted was to become a blanket cocoon and bid the waking world goodbye.

For about 12 to 48 hours in a row. He wasn’t picky.

Then Luis had smiled that smile he had. The soft one that brought out his smile lines.

Luis’ crows feet had been getting deeper, Leon realized with a jolt. He pulled a cold beer out of the fridge and closed the appliance with one hip, leaning back amongst the magnets and photos of Sherry.

“What?” Blue eyes sparkled back at the smiling man.

Luis settled his chin on the back of his interlaced fingers and tilted his head.

“Just you. I’m happy you’re home, all safe and sound.” Then the cheeky bastard winked at him and Leon huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes fondly. This guy.

“Yep,” He smirked, pulling his next statement out of his back pocket like a flourish of a surprise. “You have me all weekend, amigo. Start plotting.”

A wicked glint formed in the Spaniard’s eyes just for a moment before he hid his mouth behind one ring-flecked hand.

“You assume I haven’t been plotting? Mi vida, it’s like you don’t know me at all!”

The agent snorted another laugh and sauntered over to the table, happily planting himself on the unclaimed left thigh of Luis Serra. Warm arms easily enveloped his abdomen as he sipped at his beer and tried to make out what the hell his partner had been writing. His handwriting really was atrocious when he was in the Zone.

Soft lips rested on the nape of the Agent’s neck, accented by stubble that always sent a pleasant chill down Leon’s spine. He hummed in question.

“What are you doing tomorrow? Well not tomorrow, I know better than to tear you away from your beauty sleep but I think we’re overdue for a date night.”

The thought shocked Leon for a moment, rifling through recent memory for their last date and it took him too long to find it.

Then a bubbly warmth filled him as the knowledge that his sweetheart wanted to spend time with him sunk in. Had probably had everything all planned out and lined up, just waiting for Leon to walk into it.

He couldn’t stop his smile if he tried.

“Oh yeah?”

Curls rustled against the back of his neck as the other man nodded, coming to rest with his forehead cradled in the dip beneath Leon’s skull. It was a nice feeling, knowing his weak spot was covered and protected in such a way.

-

Date night had started not long after they got together, way back in 2006. It had been another one of those strokes of genius that Luis had pulled out of nowhere that aligned perfectly with the words Leon didn’t know how to say.

Being in a loving, gay relationship in the States was…hit or miss back then, and with DADT in full-swing, it was just easier to keep Luis to himself.

Sure, they went out dancing and they got drinks, but Leon was a romantic, deep down. Beneath the layers of angst and trauma, he was a lover trained to be a fighter.

Luis had somehow seen that from day one, deep in the bowels of his childhood nightmare with Leon’s fist pinning him against a wall.

Those sharp, whip-smart eyes had seen him, his own eyes bloodshot and barely restraining the despair and rage.

Leon had asked him later, of course, when Luis had first fallen for him. While that moment in the cabin wasn’t the answer, it certainly hadn’t hurt.

Instead, he’d learned. He’d gathered what information Leon dropped and he watched.

And the version of Leon S. Kennedy that those jigsaw pieces filled in took his breath away.

Leon had a garbage sense of humor, he liked old movies, he knew how to DIY most things and had a frankly concerning lack of self-preservation when it came to electrical wiring.

Luis collected all of these like they were gems or pebbles of the purest gold. He horded them like a dragon and held them close to his chest to complete himself where his proverbial missing scale lay. He reveled in them.

And then he used them to charm Leon off his feet.

The agent literally didn’t know what hit him. He felt like he’d been leveled by a freight train when he found out how tailored to his interests their first date was and he almost shed a tear.

“You- How?” Some sort of inner turmoil was causing Leon’s face to go through a myriad of expressions and Luis wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold his hand. Instead, he smiled and tucked his traitorous digits into the pockets of his own slacks.

“Well I keep my eyes open, Sancho. You find all sorts of treasures that way, you know.”

The agent did not blush at the way his lover repeated a sentence he’d said the night before under completely different circumstances. Leon caught him biting his lip to hold back a smile and he shook his head, hiked his jacket up around his shoulders, and shrugged.

“Lead the way, Gene Kelley.” Leon made a sweeping motion towards the plaster art nouveau façade.

Luis chuckled and sauntered into the theater.

“Only if you follow, Mr. O’Connor.” He called over his shoulder.

Leon shook his head fondly and followed.

The other man had somehow found a theater, in their tiny town, that was re-screening the classics and the bombastic man had somehow kept it a complete surprise.

It was also the one venue where two men could hold hands in public.

Leon leapt at the opportunity, holding his lover’s hand in one of his own as soon as the house lights went down. The flash of Luis’ teeth in the darkness betrayed the man’s infectious grin at his eagerness.

Watching movies with Luis was perfect, Leon decided afterwards. Sure, they had movie nights at home pretty often, what with their specific cinephile niches barely overlapping (unless it included Judy Garland, for obvious reasons), but that was different. At home, they could (and often did) pause the film when they had to go on a tangent and-

And Luis respected the films enough to understand that Leon hated talking over dialogue, so they paused the tapes. It was so easy.

Luis didn’t know all the specific vocabulary for cinematography and staging decisions, but damn it he knew when they were referencing literary or theatre classics. It blew open a whole new side of Leon’s favorite hobby. He knew there were themes and line-drops from classics, obviously, but to have a partner who was just as willing to analyze and lose their /mind/ over delivery? If Leon wasn’t in love before, he certainly was after listening to Luis compare ancient Greek philosophy to socialism through the scope of a silent movie they’d found in the library’s archives.

But in theaters? He didn’t distract Leon, thank fuck.

The other man always seemed so surprised and pleased when Leon leaned over to whisper something in his ear during the screening, but otherwise he left him the hell alone.

Outside, after looking up at the stars and coming down off of a good film, Leon had looked at his partner with an internal spark in his eyes and kissed him against the bricks of the back of the theatre until they were both bruised and breathless.

-*-*-

“Agent Kennedy!”

Leon’s eyes snapped open and he treated the government peon to one of his finest scowls.

God, he hoped Luis was home tonight. Maybe they could go to the museum again and Leon would be able to let Luis’ excitement wash over him and wipe all of this bullshit away.

“Yeah?” He quirked an eyebrow, eyes cold. This better not be going where he thinks it is…

-

By the time Leon S. Kennedy shouldered his way into the front door of his house, his knuckles had nearly stopped bleeding after the fight he had gotten into after the dickhead he works with had the stones to shit-talk the Soviet resistance fighters.

Fucking Anniversary Effect.

He hung up his jacket, took in the pile of notebooks on the kitchen table, and raised his voice just enough to carry past their warmly lit kitchen.

“Lu? You home?”

“Sancho? Be right there!”

Leon tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders as the muffled footfalls of his partner sounded down the carpeted stairs and finally revealed that halo of silver hair and soft smile lines that were getting deeper, and more cherished, every year.

“Bienvenido, amigo.”

That soft kitchen light caught on the golden band Leon kept on a chain around his neck as he pulled his partner into a helpless kiss and a strong embrace.

Fucking Anniversary Effect.

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

A/N BACK AT IT WITH MINI WEEK! This work is part of my Memories 'Verse from Serennedy Pride Week! You can read the full series [here].

Everybody go say thank you to @wisecrackingeric-2 and @raccoons-garbage-can for putting on this event!

[munamania]

HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY ABOUT U MUNA

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, established relationship, mıssionary, praise, brēeding, petnames, mdni.

nanami who always finds himself in your sheets and between your legs after a long day at work.

“think i want a baby, ‘ken.”

and he took those six simple words personally. nanami’s giving you slow, languid strokes, rolling his hips against yours. he groans at your nails clawing all down his back. as you briefly meet his gaze, you’re met with the most kindest, fawn eyes. all you saw in them were nothing but pools of love with a sprinkle of lust. “oh,” he huskily grunts, hearing the sloshing wet stretch deep into your cunt. he’s stunned for a bit before going deep into imagination. the thought of making your cute tummy all swollen and rounded, it makes him gnaw on his lip like candy.

“my love,” he swallows thickly, a familiar lump forming into the back of his throat. nanami leans into you, his rhythm growing more and more sloppy. you’re jerking back, an ankle of yours sliding down the red lines of his back and he grunts. “c- careful now, might give you more than just one.” and he could have came right then and there—all from relishing in your beauty. he’s never laid his eyes upon anything more pretty.

your knees then get righteously shoved up to your chest. soft, browned eyes flicker at the valley between your breasts before glancing back toward your shimmery spit-slicked lips. you moan, tossing your arms over his shoulders. “i missed my girls,” he groans, stuffing his face between your chest for a moment. your breath immensely hitches at the feeling up him licking a single stripe, still deeply plummeting such inches in and out of your weeping cunt. “they missed me too,” he purrs in a raspy coo, speaking to your tits, and that’s when he latches his plump lips against your perky nipple for a short second. “m-mh.”

the air felt hot — humid, feverish even with each breeze that passes. as warm, kinetic bodies clash against each other at individual hyper strokes, he pries himself off of you. nanami’s jaw tightens so much from your soddened grip that it almost aches. “sweetheart,” he hisses, peering his eyes down to see the milky white ring already coating around his base. it’s probably been hours, hours of you prettily sprawled out for him with your legs open. docile, tawny irises lovingly gaze into you as a thumb of yours strum down his neatly ruffled undercut. “f- fuck, i want you so bad. missed my girl. missed my pussy.”

“she’s missed you too ‘ken,” you pull him into a hot kiss, tasting the mint that lingers on his breath. and as his thrusts grew more sloppy, you whine, feeling his jutting cock kiss against your most sweetest spots. your heart flutters, slithering its way around his waist in a secure lock. “fuck me kento, d- don’t stop, pleaseee.”

“never gonna stop for you, my love,” he huffs, chest heaving in and out. the more he stares at you, the more he falls in love.

through glossed eyes that shimmer with such infatuation—he’s taking in your beauty, your fervor.

nanami loves more than anything to just gawk at you, watching as your eyes droop, your neck crane, and even the way your brows crease into a furrow due to such rapturing pleasure. only he could make you feel this way—you and him both knew that. nobody knew your body like the back of their hand except nanami. your body was his personal canvas, he’s always loved to decorate it and paint it with various, chaste kisses.

to him, you were art. he’s hitting you deep, blurbs and blurbs of whimpers dragging out of your throat until it sounds like inaudible meaningless babbles. so pretty,

repeatedly, the base of his cock perfectly hits against there, leaving you with your jaw hanging open and your entire body being stuck into a limited dimwitted state. he fucks you silly every time, you whimper as a lightening pulse from his cock twitches inside of you, plugging you full.

over and over and over,

nanami blows into your mouth, and you hear a throaty chuckle before he presses yet another wet kiss against your lips. “wanna see you nice ‘n plump s-so bad. gonna give you triplets, my sweet.” and you’re just stupefied, barely a single thought was stored up into your empty, vacant brain. nanami sucks against your bottom lip, still steadily rocking his way into your sloppy cunt. you feel the juncture of his hips mercilessly thrust its way into you raw and you gasp. “right . . here?”

pleasure overtakes you so good that you barely even noticed he was talking to you. you’re too busy moaning your head off and a soft smile pierces against both sides of his lips. a few faint dimples poke against his skin before he grabs your chin. “sweetheaaaart, ‘m talkin’ to you, hey,” and once your eyes meet his mid-thrust, his heart swarms up with love and desire. “there we go. atta girl, yeah. ‘s this spot? this feel good?”

“y- yes,” you whimper, nodding eagerly. he was so big and thick, the prolongated stretch had you drooling. nanami glances at your hand. gingerly bringing it toward his lips, he kisses it, giving it a tender mwah. “kento, ‘m gonna cum a-again.”

“i know, pretty,” he groans, grabbing onto your hand. giving it a firm squeeze. you do the same, interlocking a bundle of fingers with his. his grip was gentle and warm, frantic heartbeat haphazardly picking up speed the more you get a feel of his familiar touch once more. nanami’s always slow with you,

he doesn’t wanna rush this — he hadn’t dreamt of it. already feeling you tighten around him, he invades a strip of your sensitive neck with a plethora of passionate, amorous kisses. “you always taste the same,” and you moan, sobbing cunt gripping down on him so good that it whimpers out a pitchy squelch of its own. his lolled twitching tongue licks against the edge of your shoulder blade once more and your back arches in ecstasy.

he’s never been more in love, with your body arching up backwards at his sweet, sweet hits, you were so close to becoming undone. every pivot of nanami’s hips snap you back to reality before you whine out a needy mewl, tangled digits combing through his unkempt, blond strands. “kento, fuuuuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

“together, my l-love,” his voice falters, and his adam’s apple starts to bob. each delicious thrust of his collapses into your body in such mirroring sync. the rapid, frenzied movements were in complete harmony and beads of running sweat sticks against each skin. nanami gruffly groans, preparing to get milked again, you always did it so so well. squeezing his eyes shut, both broad hands cling onto your hips as he grinds against your core. “c’mon, make a mess on me. ‘m gonna clean you up, promise. give it to me, please.”

your moans were so harmonic, each sound that left your throat coming out to be more elongated. with his cock pounding in and out, he starts to slow his pace down — seeping his teeth into your tender collarbone softly. sharp tips of your fingernails continue to paw at the beefiness of his biceps before within seconds, it happens.

with your lips forming into a lewd circular shape, you’re creaming all down his thickset of a shaft. “kentoooo,” you whine out, feeling your soaked walls clench all around him. he holds you tight, allowing you to form into a puddled mess before he shortly follows. nanami groans, tossing his head forward before a translucent ring bubbles around his heavy base. it comes out in oozing spurts, hot cum pouring into your womb raw.

“ngh, always have me bein’ such a mess for you,” he grunts, pretty arched brows curling up together. nanami sucks at the air, witnessing as your legs grow numb, gluing against his skin. “ah, ‘s gonna be a lot. hold still ‘n take it. take it like a good girl,” and he leans into you, cupping the curvature of your face. “make me proud, baby. thaaaaat’s it. eyes on me, eyes on kento.”

nanami feels a wave of drowsiness dawn over him as he stills himself inside of you. he’s panting right with you, a thumb hooks a strand of hair back toward your face. a school of butterflies flutter inside of you as he’s still dumping a sticky load of velvety thin ropes into your greedy pussy. it’s deeply spewing down alongside of your thighs as you wrap your arms around his neck. “i- i love you ‘ken.”

“i love you more,” he whispers, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your face. he hums at the tiny pout that’s displayed on your lips. you’re underneath him, succumbing into such an orgasmic state that you could barely keep your lashes open. nanami’s not moving anymore but he’s still buried balls deep. a big clammy hand ghosts over your tummy before he nips at your chin. “you’re gonna be such a pretty mommy,” and with a final kiss, you feel him slowly lifting up your leg, tossing it over his shoulder.

and as you gasp, watching him switch positions— nanami then pulls out a wedding ring, sliding it over your bare finger. “but you’d be an even prettier wife.”

[uzurakis]

jjk men w gf who’s overly sensitive and they said something that hurt her feelings? ^___^

FALLING INTO ARGUMENTS?!

featuring: megumi fushiguro. gojo satoru. itadori yuuji. geto suguru.

n. nonnie, allow me to spice your req a bit by make them getting into arguments which hurts your feelings in the process. sorry it took a longer time to write this cause i really don’t want to mess their characterization on this one t—t you also didn’t say i need to end it with comfort so…

GOJO SATORU.

the atmosphere was heavy with tension, as if every breath you took stirred up a storm of unresolved emotions. the soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the lines of frustration etched into gojo satoru’s face. his piercing gaze fixed into yours, a silent challenge hanging between both like a veil of uncertainty.

as you stood before him, the weight of his dismissive words bore down on you like a crushing weight. it was as if every syllable was a dagger aimed straight at your heart, each one leaving a deep, painful wound that threatened.

you cried out, "i can help, satoru," your voice quivering with a mix of hurt and desperation. "please, just let me help you."

however, his reply felt akin to a blow to the face. "i don’t need your help, alright?" he yelled, his voice snapping like a whip. "i've got this covered myself.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, filling the space between you guys with a palpable sense of defeat.

you begged, your voice almost audible, "but satoru, we're supposed to be in this together. i thought you trusted me. isn't that what relationships are built out of?”. nevertheless, his expression remained impassive, a mask of indifference that hid the pain lurking beneath the surface. “trust has nothing to do with it," he replied, voice colder than you had ever heard it before. "i do better alone."

with those comments, the abyss between you and gojo deepened, threatening to swallow both whole. then as you turned to leave his room, the weight of his rejection settled like a stone in your gut, leaving only a hollow ache and the bitter taste of regret.

the silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. every fiber of his being screamed for him to go after you, to swallow his pride and beg for your forgiveness, but something held him back, he didn’t want to pull you into his mess any further.

with a heavy sigh, gojo sank into his chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he let out a long, ragged breath. the weight of his actions settled on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with its suffocating embrace.

tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let himself break down in the face of his own weakness. he had always prided himself on his strength, on his ability to handle any situation with ease and confidence, but now, in the aftermath of this argument, he felt more vulnerable than ever before.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

"are you okay, megumi?" you asked softly as you reached out to touch his shoulder.

his usually calm demeanor was replaced by a tense energy that crackled in the air, setting your nerves on edge as he flinched away from your touch, his expression hardening as he turned to face you.

he snapped, "i'm fine," in a tone that was unlike anything you had ever heard. "stop asking me that."

the words were like a slap to the face, leaving you feeling with hurt and confusion. all you had wanted was to help him, to ease the burden he carried on his shoulders, but instead, you found myself faced with a wall of anger and resentment.

you tried to protest whilst trembling with suppressed emotions. "you know you can always talk to me, right? you don't have to go through this alone." yet he shook his head, his eyes dark with pain as he pushed you away. "i said i'm fine!” insisted, tone slightly went higher. "just leave me alone."

the tears threatened to spill over, but you just held it down and bit your lips. with a heavy heart, you turned and left his room.

as the door closed behind you, megumi let out a frustrated growl, the sound muffled by the empty room. he cursed himself silently, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as the weight of his harsh words settled heavily on his shoulders.

"damn it," he muttered under his breath, very much thick with regret. "fuck you, fushiguro.”

the memory of your hurt expression haunted him, a reminder of the pain he had caused with his thoughtless words. he had never meant to hurt you, never intended to push you away, but in his fear and uncertainty, he had lashed out without thinking, building walls around himself to keep you out.

now, as he stood alone in the quiet solitude of his room, he realized the magnitude of his mistake. he had pushed away the one person who had always been there for him, the one person who had never given up on him, and now he was left to face the consequences of his actions.

with a heavy sigh, the man sank onto his bed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of the mess he had created. he knew that he needed to apologize, to make things right, but the thought of facing you again filled him with a sense of dread.

ITADORI YUUJI

under the soft glow of streetlights, yuuji and you found yourselves standing at the edge of a heated argument that threatened to consume the bond between you. the cool night air was heavy with tension, each word you and he exchanged hanging in the air like a cloud of unresolved emotions.

"i just wish you would trust me, yuuji." you said, sounding frustrated as you looked for any indication that he might understand.

however, he shook his head, his expression stubborn and closed off. "i do trust you, but this is different. i need to handle this on my own, babe.”

his remarks pierce deeply. it seemed that he was shutting you down even though all you wanted to do was to help him. you looked at yuuji and said, "i can't just watch you struggle."

"just, give me some time alone, okay?”

the hurt in his voice mirrored your own. as you watched him walk away, the sting of his words lingered like a bitter taste in your mouth. just as you turned to leave, you heard him call out your name, his voice filled with panic and regret. "wait! baby, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

you turned back to face him, the ache in your chest easing slightly at the sight of his vulnerability. in that moment, you understood that beneath his tough exterior, he was just as scared and uncertain as you were.

"it's okay, yuuji," you calmed him down, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "we'll figure this out together."

GETO SUGURU

you couldn't stand idly by as suguru pushed himself into further depression from time and time again, and tonight, you had finally reached your breaking point.

"suguru, you need to take better care of yourself," you begged, tinged with frustration and concern. "you can't keep treating yourself like this."

“is there really nothing i can do to help you?”

only he scoffed at your worries, waving off your concerns with a dismissive gesture, expression stubborn and unyielding. "i'm fine, babe.” with a deep sigh, geto suguru pointed out, "and what would you know about my problems, huh?" he reacted with resentment.

those words cut deep, leaving you mourning with hurt and disbelief.

"suguru..” you claimed, “do you really think i would just stand there as you destroy yourself? when you mean so much to me?”

his eyes softened at your words, a flicker of regret passing over his features before he shook his head, expression hardening as he turned away from you. "i don't need your help," he spat.

“i can take care of myself."

the finality of his words hung in the air like a heavy weight, crushing the last vestiges of hope that lingered in.

"fuck, i'm sorry," he murmured right before you decided to walk away. "i didn't mean to worry you."

“i, i just don’t know what to do with myself. shit, i’m so sorry.”

you turned back to face him, tears welling in your eyes as he crossed the room to pull you into a tight embrace. his familiar arms curled around you, providing comfort and warmth despite the tension. you could feel his heartbeat against yours, a rhythm that expressed both guilt and tenderness. at last, words were unnecessary as you allowed the quiet to envelope both, saying more than any apology could.

@uzurakis — requests are open! <3

[laceyfawn]

warnings. farm hand!ellie, farmer’s daughter!reader, dom!ellie, bratty!reader, pure smut (rough-ish sex, use of strap-on, spanking, light degradation, squirting), ellie refers to her strap-on as ‘her cock’

words. 1.7k

mdni.

thinking about farm hand!ellie…

you’re the pretty farmer’s daughter and she’s the farm hand your father hired to help out with some of the things he can no longer do at his age. they’re simple tasks, things like milking the cows, cleaning the pens, watering the crops.

but you — god, you make the job ten times more difficult. you’re always there, prancing around the farm in tiny little skirts that ride right up your ass whenever you lean over, flashing ellie your panties as you pretend to be laser focused on inspecting how the freshly planted produce are coming along, paired with the tightest crop tops known to man that you never bother wearing a bra with, your nipples hard and inviting as they poke through the shirts.

you don’t even close the bathroom window when you’re showering either, knowing full well that it overlooks the field right where ellie is working, giving her a perfect view of the water sliding over your smooth, naked body, purposefully putting on a show for her by lathering your tits in body wash or pretending to drop the soap, slowly bending down to pick it up, your glistening pussy lips peeking out from behind your ass.

you’re a little tease, and you damn well know it. whenever you catch ellie watching you, you shoot her a wink or blow her a kiss, not bothering to cover yourself or fix your clothes, uncaring that she can see practically everything. she knows you like the attention; you like the way she reacts to you, the way she constantly looks like she’s on the verge of losing control around you, just one step away from taking you in the pumpkin patch and fucking that bratty streak out of you.

and don’t get ellie wrong, she tries her best to ignore it at first. she’s here to work, not play games. she’ll dig her heels into whatever task she’s doing; trying not to nick her fingers when she’s shearing the sheep and she suddenly catches a glimpse of you skipping past on your way to the stables, going full commando under your dress that the breeze graciously causes to flutter up; trying not to outright stare when you’re hanging the washing and purposefully peg your skimpiest pair of panties right above ellie’s head, the fabric smelling of lavender and roses, a scent that makes her clit throb.

(she always ends up stealing them off the washing line when you’re not looking and tucking them away in her back pocket to get off to later, pretending that it’s actually you she’s grinding her pussy against and not just the now soaked fabric of your panties.)

but as the days pass, it gets harder and harder to ignore you, to act like what you’re doing isn’t affecting her. wherever ellie is, you’re not far behind. whether she’s stacking barrels of hay, feeding the livestock, or mending a hole in the chicken wire, you’re right there with her. and as much as ellie tries not to let her mind wander, her thoughts are never on work when you’re around; they’re on you.

she ends up fucking you in your room one day when your father goes into town to pick up a few things. it’s one of very few times she’s been inside your house, because your father doesn’t like her trekking mud through the halls after she’s been outside working all day. she had been looking for the bathroom when she passed by your room, where the loud sound of moans and whimpers were coming from. unable to stop herself, she’d looked in, and there you were — on your bed, knees drawn and spread, two fingers pumping rhythmically in and out of your pussy.

ellie was about to walk away, reminding herself that you’re the daughter of her somewhat boss, but that was when you’d looked up and seen her, and with a teasing smile, you’d tilted your head, batted those pretty lashes, and purred “why don’t you come help me, ellie? i bet yours would feel so much better…”

that did it. that crossed the line. and now—

she’s practically splitting you open on her strap, the curved tip of it slamming against your cervix and sending bursts of pleasure up your spine, her sweaty chest pressed against your even sweatier back. there’s nothing gentle about it. this is her getting back at you; finally teaching you a lesson for how much you’ve been pushing her buttons.

“this what you wanted, huh?” ellie growls in your ear, delivering a firm smack to your ass that has you squealing and rutting back against her. “this why you’ve been acting like such a needy fuckin’ slut? think i don’t know what you’ve been doing? if you wanted me to fuck you so badly, you should’ve just asked.”

the hand on your ass moves around to your front, finding your clit — red, swollen, and crying out for attention — and giving it a hard pinch between her middle and pointer finger, making you gasp sharply, before soothing it over with some quick, gentle rubs of her thumb.

“n-not a slut, els,” you pant out. “just… just wanted your attention… ngnhh.”

“that right?” ellie rasps. “well, you’ve got it now, baby. you’ve fuckin’ got it alright.”

she pushes down on the middle of your back, causing your knees to give out beneath you and your body to slump forward so that your chest is pressed against the mattress, face squishing into the pillows. ellie’s fingers dig into your hips, lifting them higher for her, her strap rabbiting in and out of your pussy at a pace that makes your head spin, like she’s seriously trying to rearrange your guts.

“ellie, ellie, ellie,” you mewl, eyes rolling back. “gonna— gonna cum. oh god...”

“no, the fuck you’re not,” ellie hisses, slapping your ass again, squeezing the fat of it firmly in her hands just for good measure. “not till i fucking say you can. slut.”

she pulls out then, and your pussy tries to protest by tightening around her strap as she moves back, the wet pop of your pussy reluctantly releasing her echoing through the room. you glance over your shoulder at her, face twisted into a desperate look, eyes begging with her not to leave you on the edge like this.

“ellie, please—”

she grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your back, then tugs you up and forward until you’re straddling her, your sticky folds sliding over the glossy tip of her strap, bumping against that swollen bundle of nerves at the top of your pussy entrance. “there we go,” ellie murmurs, more to herself than to you. “you’re gonna do the work now, baby. make it up to me for all your teasing.”

with a whine, you line yourself back up with her and sink down, both you and ellie letting out a low moan at the feeling of her filling you again, the bottom of ellie’s strap brushing deliciously against her own neglected clit. you grind against her desperately, no pausing or hesitating; just the pure, unbridled need to cum. ellie eyes the way your pussy swallows her up greedily, fitting so perfectly around her, tight like a glove, as if you can’t get enough.

“that’s it,” she hums approvingly. “ride me, baby. fuckin’ ride me. show me how bad you want it.”

you begin bouncing up and down on her strap so fast that the headboard slams against the wall. she groans, planting her feet flat on the bed so that her strap angles just right, reaching even deeper inside you, spearing you. a gasp flies from your lips and you throw your head back. ellie’s hands come up to cup your tits and play with your nipples. all the times she’s seen them poking through your shirts or silhouetted in the steamy bathroom window, now she’s finally getting the real thing.

“gonna cum, huh?” she breathes out, when your bouncing starts to get sloppier and your thighs begin to quiver. “gonna cream all over my cock, pretty girl?”

you nod frantically. “y-yes, ellie. oh, fuck, gonna—” you don’t even get to finish your sentence before you cum, mouth open in a silent scream, clenching around her strap, soaking your thighs, her abdomen, and the sheets beneath you in your release, pussy gushing like a waterfall. the force of your orgasm hits you so hard that you swear you nearly black out. you don’t even realize you’ve squirted until ellie chuckles and slaps your thigh, bringing you back into the moment.

“ffuckkkk, that’s it,” she mutters, still bouncing you, still chasing her own pleasure despite the fact that your overstimulated body has gone limp in her grasp. you’re too fucked out to be embarrassed by neither your pussy’s reaction nor the disgusting squelching sounds it makes each time ellie slams you down to the hilt. “squirting all over my cock like such a good girl. knew you had it in you.”

when she cums too, she holds you down on her strap for a good while longer, keeping the pressure of it against her clit and imagining for a moment that she’s filling you up with her cum. then she lets you off and smirks when you immediately collapse into a boneless pile next to her, curling into her side like a cat in the sun.

“s-so good,” you murmur, voice shaky and uneven, slowly coming down from your high, the thrumming between your thighs where her strap had just been lodged unrelenting, as if it’s shaped itself a home inside your womb. with a sigh, you bury your face in ellie’s neck, planting a soft kiss on her pulse-point. “that was so good, ellie.”

“yeah?” ellie responds, her hand coming down to spank your ass again, smirk widening at the little yelp you make into her neck. “you learned your lesson? gonna continue fucking with me or you gonna be a good girl from now on?”

you shake your head, though a small smile tugs at your lips. “gonna be a good girl for you, els. no more teasing, promise.”

“that’s what i thought.”

let’s just say — you’ve never been one to keep your promises. it’s not your fault ellie is so fun to mess with.

please do not steal, copy, translate or repost anywhere else ♡

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @themetalhiro

Hi, I’m Metal! I’m a freelance artist from good ol’ New Jersey. My favorite things to work with are a lot of bright colors, exaggerated poses, and candid scenarios. I try to farm sensible chuckles whenever I can, so I’m also big into comics. I love making them about my life, and the media I’m into, and one day I’d like to publish my own series!  Thank you to everyone who has gotten me this far!!

Check out Metal's interview below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

I guess so! It’s funny, I don’t remember a single time in my life that I wasn’t drawing as a hobby… somewhere in middle school (a little late, I know.) I put the pieces together that animated movies were made by artists, and that it wasn’t just for fun, they were paid to do it. The moment I discovered people could be paid to make art, I decided I would do that, too. Now I’m here!

How has your style developed over the years?

I think the best way to answer this would be with an example! Over the last few years, I have made more of an effort to draw more intentionally, which sounds silly. Now, I put more thought into my poses and step out of my comfort zone with shape language and composition. I had a phase where I drew everyone with a huge, perfectly circular head and no nose. That definitely did not lend much variety...

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

Ack! I’m so terrible at history! I’d love to give a well-thought-out answer about fine artists of old, but I don't think we’d have much in common… Most artists I admire and who have driven me forward creatively are the people behind comics I’ve read. Andrew Hussie, Bryan Lee O’Malley, Eiichiro Oda... these guys have inspired me greatly and had a heavy influence in developing my art style and sense of humor. I’d love to ask them questions about their processes and upcoming projects. I think it would make for an entertaining night!

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

Outside of pure aesthetics like searing bright colors, layered clothing, and loud noises…. the best and most inspiring moments in my life were those surrounded by friends and loved ones! I cherish the hell out of memories of hanging around in fun locations, trying weird food together, and impromptu midnight walks... so I try my best to capture that atmosphere and my own memories in my work when I can, even if I’m imposing fictional characters on top of them. That’s always the core of it.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I would never permanently refuse a medium, but every time I pick up clay, I’m like a baby using its hands for the first time. Absolutely dreadful. If one day I could make and paint a figurine like the ones I admire in videos, that would be awesome... But for now, I’m not counting on it.

How do you want to evolve as a creator?

I’ve had an absolute blast drawing fanart over the years, and it’s certainly played a massive role in my growth as an artist. But my dream has always been to publish my own stories for y'all to enjoy! I have lots of worlds I want to introduce to you before I’m old and gray. I want to get faster, work harder, and get better at drawing interesting settings so I can get the wheels turning as soon as possible. I also want to stop avoiding the color blue like a coward.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out creating art that you know now?

Pay your taxes quarterly. Tablets will break at the exact moment you need them most, so have a spare. Wear your blue light glasses. You’re going to need to wear a brace on every joint on the right side of your body. It can be lonely sitting at your desk all day. The car on the side of the road that costs $1000 cash….. don’t trust it!!!

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@cranity—They use absolutely beautiful colors and weighty line work. Everything looks so sharp and clean! I wanna put it all up on my wall!

@vewn—Their ability to crank out quality short films and illustrations packed with detail is incredible. The off-kilter perspective they use really sells disorientation and catches your attention like nothing else.

@nelnal—They have absolutely banger character designs again and again, I can’t believe one person’s mind can come up with so many creative ideas!

@jinx88kc—They have a beautiful and recognizable style, and the way they incorporate animation into their illustrations sometimes is SO cool!

Thanks for stopping by, Metal! For more of Metal’s work, follow their Tumblr, @themetalhiro! If you haven't seen their Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here!

[maxtermind]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

★ : summary :: when he cheats on you ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: angst ★ : word count :: 5k ★ : a/n :: please remember that all of this is fiction! anyway, enjoy the angst <3 cheating is not a slip up but a statement and i will not be writing a part 2 where they get back together :) as usual requests are open for other endings if you're interested (maybe she ends up with someone else on the grid to make it hurt more lol) ★ : gifs :: @\f1-stuff @\userhamilton @\slowestlap @\tyrannosaurus-maxy

Max Verstappen

Max and you had a pretty healthy work schedule. Thanks to your flexible remote work, you could travel with him and support him in person. But there were times when you were needed back at the home office but despite the distance, Max made sure to keep you in the loop.

From video calls, to texting whenever one was free, to random pictures shared, you were always pretty aware of what the other was doing. So imagine your shock when minutes after hanging up on a call after congratulating him on his win, you failed to get a hold of him before pictures of him started going viral.

But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory as you stared at the damning evidence on your phone. Pictures of Max, smiling and carefree, dancing with another woman in a crowded club, her arms wrapped around him possessively.

Your heart sank as you scrolled through the images, each one a painful reminder of the betrayal you never saw coming. And then, there it was, the blurry photo that confirmed your worst fears - Max and the other woman locked in a passionate kiss.

The world around you seemed to blur as well as tears welled up in your eyes, hot and bitter against your cheeks. Without thinking, you began to dial Max's number, your fingers trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.

But each call went unanswered, each voicemail left unheard. With each unanswered ring, your heart broke a little more, until you could no longer bear the weight of your pain.

It was an hour later when you were in your bed, crying your eyes out when your phone finally lit up with Max's name, the screen casting a harsh glow in the dimness of your room.

As much as your head told you to hang up and let that be the final answer, you picked it up and whispered a low. ”Hi?” Your voice barely a whisper, choked with emotion.

”Y/N,” Max’s breathy voice came. It was enough to throw you off again and new tears gathered in your eyes.

”Where were you?” The words escaped your lips before you could stop them, raw with hurt and anguish.

”Baby…” Max's voice wavered, and you could hear the weight of his guilt in every syllable. It spoke volumes, you knew what had happened and he knew that. ”I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the pain of his deceit threatening to consume you whole. And then, without warning, a strangled sob escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

You could hear Max's sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, a sound that only served to intensify your grief. But you were beyond caring about appearances now, your heart laid bare for him to see.

”I trusted you,” you choked out between sobs, the words a bitter indictment of the love you had once shared. ”Why would you do this to me?”

How could the man that made you feel like the only girl in the world for him do this to you? Did he even love you or was he just a really good actor?

Your voice quivered with pain as you struggled to maintain your composure,”You've broken me in ways I didn't even know were possible.”

Max's voice wavered as he tried to find the right words to express his remorse,”I never meant to hurt you, it was the biggest mistake of my life.” 

The life he has made sure he spent with someone not you. His voice cracked further and you realized that he was also crying on the other end. ”I can't bear the thought of not having you in my life.”

There was a long pause, as if Max was searching for the right words to say. But what words could possibly undo the damage that had already been done, the trust that had been shattered beyond repair?

Your words cut through him, echoing the pain he had caused,”Did… did you even love me, Max?”

”Of course, I love you!” He spoke, his voice carrying a sense of hurt. As if questioning the audacity to even ask that and that angered you. It made you so mad because this was on him. He did this.

”I wish I could turn back time and make things right, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Max's breath hitched as he spoke before you could. The wounds he had inflicted too deep to be healed with a simple apology. ”I never meant to make you doubt my love for you.”

And as you listened to his voice crack with emotion, you knew that there was only one thing left to do. ”I don't even recognize the person I fell in love with anymore.” You whispered with finality, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Was this really the man who had promised you a future filled with a family and laughter? The man who just made your heart bleed out?

Max caught on and rushed to get the words out,”Please, Y/N, don't hang up. I need you more than ever, I love y-”

You hung up because how dare he say that after what he did. He called you again and again after that and if you weren’t half dying in your apartment, maybe you could’ve scoffed at how the roles were switched.

However, all you could do was switch off your phone and wonder how the man who once kissed all your scars better, could leave deeper ones in their place. Leaving you to do the work to mend them all alone.

Lewis Hamilton

It had all started the day you had foolishly decided to set up lunch to have the two most important people in your life, your bestfriend and your boyfriend, meet.

Lewis seemed genuinely enthusiastic about finally meeting the person who had been such a solid support in your life. Little did you anticipate that this innocent gathering would unravel into a scene of deception.

The signs were subtle at first. A quick exchange of numbers, a glance shared behind your back– easy to dismiss as innocent. But why would you look for such signs? When it included your most trusted humans on the planet?

But then came the slips, the accidental mentions of knowing each other's whereabouts better than you did.

”I don't think she'll pick up, she said she had an afternoon meeti-” Lewis caught himself on time before shrugging and ending with a: ”She posted it on her instagram, did you miss it?”

You laughed it off though it irked you. You were just glad that they were close before...

After an especially tiring day, you finally entered your house. Surprised to see the sitting room empty, where Lewis waits for you every time he's home early.

You sighed, instinctively petting Roscoe before moving inside the house. Desperate for a shower and clean clothes to get the day's stench off of you.

So imagine your shock when you walked into your bedroom,to discover Lewis and Rachel entwined in your bed, their bodies exposed and vulnerable. In your bed.

It took a second for you to process it while they both scrambled to get their clothes on. You just stared in disbelief while Rachel cried on the bed under covers and Lewis frantically wore his clothes while saying… something?

You felt like you were underwater for a second because you saw his mouth moving before his words started registering and tears started to pool in your eyes. The pain felt tangible, like a weight pressing down on your chest, as you confronted the unthinkable reality of their infidelity.

”Baby, let me explain. Ple- Please, this isn't what it looks like... I-”

You tore your eyes away from him before looking over at Rachel who was crying because she probably understood exactly what was happening.

You wanted to ask what exactly Lewis thought was going on but decided not to because your throat was closing up. The image of them together was burned into your brain. You just shook your head as tears fell from your eyes before turning around and walking out of the room.

As Lewis desperately jumbled to dress himself, his hands fumbling with buttons and zippers, he pleaded with you, his voice cracking with desperation.

”Y/N, please, you have to listen to me. This isn't what it looks like, I swear,” he implored, his eyes wide with panic as he reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched away as if his touch burned. Feeling disgusted and deceived.

”What do you mean it's not what it looks like?!” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling with damage and betrayal. ”I come home to find you two... in our bed, na- naked!”

Lewis's face contorted in anguish, his mind racing for the right words to say, but nothing seemed adequate in the face of your devastation.

”It's... it's a misunderstanding, Y/N, I promise,” he stammered, his voice strained with emotion. ”Rachel and I... we didn't plan for this to happen. It's just... things got out of hand, and we never meant to do you wrong.”

You shook your head in disbelief because you didn’t know what else to do truly, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath you. ”How could you do this to me, Lewis? I thought you… that you loved me,” your voice turned in a whisper.

All the times he had discussed the future rushed through your mind. He wanted to retire and repeatedly told you how he wanted to marry you. Your hands trembled as you suddenly remembered asking Rachel to be your bridesmaid.

Suddenly, the pressure on your chest got worse.

Lewis's eyes pleaded with you, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. ”I don't know, Y/N. I don't know what came over me. I love you, you have to believe me. Please don't leave, we can work through this together.”

But his words fell on deaf ears as you turned away from him, the pain in your heart too raw to bear. ”I trusted you, Lewis. I trusted both of you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As you moved towards the door, every step heavier than the last, Lewis's voice trembled with desperation, his hands reaching out to grasp yours, pleading for your attention.

”Y/N, please, don't leave,” he begged, his voice cracking with raw emotion. ”I messed up, I know I did, but I love you. Please, let me make it right.”

You paused, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. ”How can you say you love me after what you did?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, thick with pain.

And with that, you turned away, leaving behind the shattered remains of the life you had once shared, the echoes of Lewis's pleas fading into the emptiness of the night. Swearing to never put your trust in anyone else ever again.

Carlos Sainz

You had sworn off of relationships for so long after your last one that it was honestly a miracle, as your friends and family put it, that you agreed to go out with Carlos. But he was the perfect gentleman to you. The person who gave you hope for a better future. Giving you hope that maybe all the ‘cheesy’ discourse was for you too.

He knew how you were hurt the last time and reassured you about how special you were to him and how you were always enough. Enough for him.

It slowly became a running joke once you guys hit the two year mark. You were finally at a stage where you had a loving partner that you could trust blindly.

So to say that you were blindsided would be an understatement…

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through Carlos's phone, your heart racing with each new message that appeared on the screen.

You never thought you'd be the type to snoop, but the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach had become too much to ignore. He was so distant lately and so secretive about his phone, it was slowly killing you.

There it was, undeniable proof staring back at you in blue and white. Messages from an unknown number, filled with suggestive language and promises of secrecy. Your breath got caught in your throat as you read through the damning evidence, your heart sinking with each word.

‘Hey babe, can't wait to see you tonight ;) xoxo’

The message hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Carlos do this to you? You thought you had something special, something worth fighting for. But now, all those hopes and dreams lay shattered at your feet.

You tried to push down the rising tide of emotion, to find some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But deep down, you knew the truth – Carlos was cheating on you.

When he emerged from the bathroom, you were waiting for him, phone in hand and tears in your eyes. And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

”Carlos,” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy in the air as he stepped into the room, his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you.

You weren’t really sure why you weren’t screaming and thrashing things around already. It was like you were frozen on the spot.

”What's wrong?” he asked, concern etched into his features as he took in your tear-streaked face and the phone clutched tightly in your hand. Though, when you looked at him, all you could see was how he was your everything. How you had given him your everything.

And you still weren’t enough.

You struggled to find the words, to articulate the emotions coursing through you. ”I found... I found something on your phone,” you finally managed, your voice trembling with emotion.

Carlos's expression faltered, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he took a hesitant step closer. ”What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation to come. ”Messages,” you began, your voice barely audible as you held up the phone, displaying the incriminating evidence for him to see. ”From someone... someone you've been seeing behind my back.”

Carlos's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the screen, his hand instinctively reaching out to take the phone from you. ”Y/N, I swear, I can explain,” he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. Why was he reaching for the phone and not your hand?

But the words fell on deaf ears as the full weight of his betrayal hit you like a ton of bricks. ”Explain?” you echoed, your voice trembling with disbelief. ”How can you even explain this, Carlos? How could you do this to me?”

He reached out to touch you, to offer comfort or reassurance, but you recoiled, the sting of his infidelity too raw and painful to bear. ”I trusted you,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face as you backed away from him. ”How could you-”

Can love like this be lost too? You’ve been on your knees begging the universe to grant you one love that wouldn’t be snatched from you. Thinking all your prayers had been heard only for him to do it too.

Carlos's expression crumbled as he watched you retreat, his own anguish mirroring yours. ”I never meant for this to happen,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. ”Please, Y/N, give me a chance to make things right.”

As Carlos pleaded with you, his words heavy with desperation, you couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. His promises of love and devotion clashed with the evidence on his phone, leaving you torn between the man you thought you knew and the painful truth staring back at you.

You met his gaze, seeing the desperation etched into his features as he struggled to make you believe him. ”Can you hear me?” he implored, desperation lacing his words. ”You are always enough for me. Please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything, Y/N.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, the sincerity in his voice almost convincing you to give him another chance. But deep down, you knew that trust once broken was not easily repaired.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his plea bearing down on you. ”I hear you,” you replied softly, nodding through your tears, your voice tinged with sadness. ”But it's not that simple, Carlos. I want to believe you, but...”

Carlos's grip on you tightened, his body pressing against yours as he sought solace in your embrace. ”Please, don't leave,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make this right, to prove to you that you're the only one for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you pulled away, the pain of betrayal still raw and agonizing. ”No,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the sound of your breaking heart. ”You did to us. You made me believe… I'm leaving. This is goodbye.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Carlos standing alone in the wreckage of your brutally murdered relationship.

Charles Leclerc

You had rushed back home because for the first time in what feels like forever, your boyfriend was back home. Charles was a man of many charms. Despite being with him for so long, he still had you blushing and getting butterflies every time he was around.

He was busy when you got home so you decided to wash up but as you paced back and forth in the living room, your heart racing with anxiety, you didn’t know what to do to figure out what exactly Charles was doing.

Charles had been on the phone for what felt like hours, his voice hushed but urgent as he spoke to someone on the other end of the line. Normally, you wouldn't think much of it, but something about his tone tonight had set off alarm bells in your mind.

You tried to focus on a book, anything to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. But every word you read seemed to blur together, your mind consumed with worry.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. With trembling hands, you set the book aside and made your way to the kitchen, where Charles was still on the phone.

”...I can't risk it tonight,” you heard him say, his tone strained ”She's coming home soon, and I don't want to risk it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Who was he talking about? And why did he sound so nervous?

Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept closer, straining to hear the other end of the conversation.

”...I know, I know,” Charles continued, his voice growing even more frantic. ”But I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to you.”

Your blood ran cold at his words. What did he mean, ‘not fair to her?’ And who the fuck was he talking to?

Before you could process it all, Charles abruptly ended the call and turned to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes wide with shock and hurt.

”Y/N,” he started, his voice wavering as he took in your expression. ”I... I didn't realize you were there.”

You struggled to find your voice, your mind racing with a thousand questions. ”Who were you talking to, Charles?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles' eyes flickered with guilt as he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. ”It's... it's nothing, Y/N,” he stammered, but you could tell he was lying. ”Just a friend.”

But you weren't buying it. Not after what you had just heard. ”A friend?” you repeated, your voice rising with anger and hurt. ”Is that what you call my replacement?”

Charles' face paled at your accusation, his eyes widening in shock. ”Baby, it's not what you think,” he protested, but you could hear the desperation in his voice. He looked so scared, as if he knew he was gonna get caught up into lies.

”Then what is it, Charles?” you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. ”Enlighten me.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away from yours as if unable to meet your eyes. ”It's... it's complicated,” he finally admitted, but his words offered little comfort.

”There's nothing complicated about cheating on someone you claim to love.” You were trying to compose yourself, not show him how deeply his words had cut you but your hands were trembling and your voice was cracking. Face pale and eyes glassy.

Charles winced at your words, his guilt written plainly across his face. ”You’re the only person I love,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. ”It's just... things got out of hand.”

You felt like you had been punched in the gut. How could he stand there and try to justify his betrayal? How could he expect you to forgive him after this? Why the fuck was he the one looking distort?

”I trusted you, Charles,” you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. He shouldn’t be expecting you to treat him as a victim too when he was the one guilty. ”I thought we had something special.”

Charles' expression softened, his eyes brimming with remorse. ”We do, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ”I love you, more than anything. Please, you have to believe me.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by his infidelity. ”How can I believe anything you say after this?” You scoffed bitterly. Angry at yourself for crying in front of the man who has probably been sleeping with someone else for months now.

Charles reached out to you, his hand trembling as he brushed a tear from your cheek. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. ”Just give me a chance to prove it.”

You whispered, your voice heavy with resignation,”There are no second chances for cheaters.”

Lando Norris

Because of multiple torments inflicted by past lovers, you were always resistant to fall head first in any relationship. Hesitant to give your heart knowing recovering was going to be the absolute worst.

Comes in, Lando. The man who broke through all your barriers, took down the walls you put around yourself and had you love struck in a matter of time.

For a moment, everything was amazing. He was the best person you could've asked for. He looked at you as if you put the stars up in the sky.

Who could've thought?

Who could've thought that the same fucking man would have you breaking down at a family event in front of everyone.

The room buzzed with conversation as you sat at the dinner table, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air.

Lando's hand found yours under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. ”Are you okay?” he whispered, concern etched in his voice.

You forced a smile, nodding faintly. ”Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping to brush off your unease. Why was everyone looking at you with such pity?

But Lando's gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. ”You know you can talk to me, right?” he said softly, squeezing your hand gently.

Before you could respond, a sudden hush fell over the room, drawing your attention to the commotion across the room. You followed Lando's gaze, your heart sinking as you saw him make eye contact with one of your cousins, their faces morphing as if they were having a whispered conversation.

”What's going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as dread coiled in the pit of your stomach.

You have seen this scene before and you did not like where this was going. Feeling overwhelmed, you got up and excused yourself from the table. Slightly glad to have Lando do the same.

This was all a confusion. You repeated in your head before standing outside the venue, away from distressed eyes and hushed gossips.

Lando's grip on your hand tightened, his expression unreadable as he turned to face you. ”I... I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice strained with emotion.

Your heart plummeted as you watched him fidget, every step feeling like a weight bearing down on your chest. ”What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling with apprehension.

Lando hesitated, his eyes darting away from yours as if unable to meet your gaze. ”I... I don't know how to say this,” he began, his voice faltering.

Just then, your cousin appeared at his side, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance. ”Y/N, we need to talk,” she said, her voice tinged with remorse.

They exchanged another glance and something in your mind stopped working.

Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, the truth hitting you like a sledgehammer to the chest. ”No...” you whispered, the word barely a breath as tears welled in your eyes.

Lando reached out to you as you took a step away from them, his voice a desperate plea. ”Please, let me explain,” he begged, his eyes brimming with regret.

But you pulled away, the sting of deceit too raw and painful to bear. ”Not you too,” you choked out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”How could you do this to me?”

There were no answers, no explanations that could erase the pain of their breach of trust. They both just watched as you started crying softly. Apparently everyone in your family knew too.

As tears welled in your eyes, Lando's pleading voice cut through the air. ”Y/N, please, just give me a chance to explain.” His hand reached out towards you, but you recoiled, his touch now feeling like a betrayal.

”Explain what?” you retorted, your voice laced with disbelief. ”That you cheated on me with my cousin?”

Lando's eyes widened in panic but instead your cousin's voice broke through the tension, filled with regret. ”Y/N, I'm so sorry. It was a mistake, it shouldn't have happened.”

Anger surged within you at her words. ”Sleeping with my fucking boyfriend was a mistake?” you shot back, incredulous at the audacity of her apology.

Lando stepped forward, his expression a mix of remorse and longing. ”I never meant to cause you any pain, Y/N. Please believe me,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your trust had shattered along with your heart. 

His voice quivered as he spoke again, desperation lacing his words. ”I love you, Y/N. I made a stupid mistake, but it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by their adultery.

”If this is love, I want no part of it,” you declared, your voice filled with anguish. Knowing deep down that you meant it.

Your cousin reached out to you, her eyes brimming with tears. ”Y/N, please, you have to understand...” But understanding felt beyond your reach, lost in a sea of pain and betrayal.

”Understand what?” you cried out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”That my own sister betrayed me with my… my boyfriend?”

Lando's plea echoed in the air, his voice thick with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N. Just give me a chance.”

But the chance had already been squandered, lost in the wreckage of their infidelity.

”You had your chance, Lando, and you blew it.” You wish you could be angry and put them to their places but your chest was hurting so much that it was almost dizzy.

You felt sick and on the verge of passing out.

”I'll do anything to make things right, Y/N. Just tell me what to do.” But there was nothing they could do to undo the damage that had been done, no words or actions that could mend the broken pieces of your heart.

They have insulted you in front of your whole family.

”There's nothing you can do to fix this, Lando. You've ruined everything,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned away, the weight of their betrayal too heavy to bear.

As you walked away, their voices faded into the background, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own heartbreak. And as you stumbled out into the night, the stars above offering no solace, you vowed never to let anyone break you again.

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now

in which a impulsive voicemail leads to some secrets being spilled.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader. warnings/tags: angst (sorry i’m incapable of being nice lol) hurt/comfort tho!! lil bit of fluff too because i AM capable of being nice, alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism (i’m literally just a girl…) spencer and reader are broken up :( but they’re still sooo in love and it’s soo obvious so it’s fine!! (also it kind of gets fixed at the end-ish. you’ll see *evil smirk*) reader cries a lot (real) spencer is a cutie (as always) spencer and reader sleep together…no like literally, not in a funny business way, some swearing, no use of y/n!!! wc: 3k a/n: hihihi!! so this is my first fan fiction i’ve wrote and completed ever (gulp) it’s also my first time publishing one (gulp) my writing could definitely be better and so could my grammar tbh but i HOPE if you choose to read you’ll enjoy…feedback is always appreciated (plsplspls) also like requests?? if anyone’s into that—id love to write more but inspo is difficult sometimes. if there’s any spelling mistakes im sorry, eye am very tired!! it’s 5am *eye twitching* okay i’m going to sleep, gootbye IF U SAW ME EDITING THIS 5 TIMES NO U DIDNT (i’m bad at tumblr ok..)

“Hi. This is Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m not available right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

His tinny voice cut off to make way for the signature beep of the beginning of a voicemail recording.

You could hang up now—you should hang up now, save yourself some dignity and go drown your sorrows in alcohol like a normal person instead of calling your ex-boyfriend.

You should, but your mouth was opening before your finger could reach the hang-up button, and…and it was a losing battle from the moment you clicked on Spencer’s icon.

“Uh—hi, it’s…it’s me.” You huffed out a sad laugh.

“So, um, I…I tried calling, but you didn’t answer so…” The static buzz of silence hummed through your ear, just inches from where you held your phone with a shaky grip. “maybe you’re on a case or out with friends, or someone else—“ You let the implication hang in the air—the thought of Spencer potentially being in a relationship bringing a lump to your throat.

You swallowed it down.

“I just…I just had an unbelievably shitty day, Spence.” You sniffed, wiping the moisture that had escaped from your eye with your sweater sleeve. “I know you’ve never read A Series of Unfortunate Events but I think I’d give those kids a run for their money.” You tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob.

You inhaled shakily, trying to collect yourself and remember why on earth you thought it would be a good idea to call Spencer when you’d been broken up for months. Hell, you hadn’t heard from him at all since you had parted ways—except from the odd text about returning each others’ things. It was obvious he had moved on, and here you were, filling up his voicemail with blubbering messages and making references to adolescent books.

“God, sorry about this.” You breathed out a watery chuckle. “I just…didn’t want to be alone, I guess. But that’s-um-not your problem anymore, so I’m—I’m sorry. Have a nice night.” Your voice cracked and you hung up before you could start weeping down the line. You didn’t need to look even more pathetic.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, looking down at his contact photo through blurred vision. He was smiling—not the tight, closed lip smile he gave other people, but a full, bright smile that had his dimples showing. One of your hands was wrapped loosely around his neck and the other was holding your phone just far enough away to capture both of your smiles. Your head was rested on top of his shoulder, tilted just slightly to the left so your temple was brushing against his.

It felt like looking at a vintage photograph—you knew those people and their happiness existed at some point in time, but it wasn’t tangible; you couldn’t verify it was real.

When you were with Spencer, you never doubted how real it was. All you had to was look at him across the room and he’d flash you a smile identical to the one in that photo and you’d just…know.

It felt like forever ago now that you’d been on the receiving end of that grin and it killed you. So much so that before you could consider the repercussions, you were trudging through to your kitchen and grabbing the bottle of whiskey that sat unopened in your cabinet. It had been a present—from Rossi, actually. When Spencer had first introduced you to the team, the older man had given it to you as something of a welcome gift. Of course, he couldn’t have known you weren’t much of a drinker, and since you wanted to make a good impression (and because you were sure it had cost more than all the alcohol you had consumed in your life combined) you accepted it—deciding to save it for a rainy day.

You think this qualified.

You grabbed the bottle, a glass, and padded back through to your living room, slumping onto your couch. You filled your glass up a little less than halfway before gulping it down, enjoying the burn in your throat—it was better than the constant thickness.

You poured yourself another glass before turning on the TV. You weren’t sure what was playing—it didn’t really matter anyway, your vision was already being obscured by tears again.

You thought the pounding was in your head at first—serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Only, it wasn’t, because moments later the pounding subsided and instead, your apartment door was opening, casting your pitch-black living room in a yellow glow which temporarily blinded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mind hazy—again, serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Someone was calling your name, but there was too much sensory input for you to make out who.

You certainly hoped it wasn’t a paramedic—maybe your neighbour had heard you sobbing for the last four hours and decided you needed a wellness check. Then there were hands on your face, and that had you flicking your eyes open, because you recognised those hands—impossibly soft, with a callus on his trigger finger being the only thing to mar them. Spencer.

“Spencer?” You slurred.

He sighed in exasperation (or relief) and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone, I thought…” He trailed off, worry evident in his voice.

You sat up then, trying to compose yourself even though the room was spinning. Fucking whiskey. You rubbed your eyes haphazardly, blinking until you could finally see.

You should’ve stayed bleary-eyed. Because nothing could prepare you for the way your breath hitched when you finally saw him. After months of not seeing each other, Spencer was here, sitting on your couch, and he was looking at you like you were something fragile, and—God, you needed another drink. You turned away from him, reaching for the neck of the bottle as you spoke.

“I’m fine.”

Before you could lift it up, Spencer gently pried your hand away from the bottle with his own, and then slid it across the coffee table with his other.

“You’re drunk. No more of that, please.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but he left no room to argue. You probably would’ve objected anyway, if it weren’t for the way he kept his hand clasped around yours, rubbing soothing circles into your pulse point almost absentmindedly.

You glanced up to him—to stop yourself from staring at your hand in his and how natural it felt, more than anything—but that proved to be a mistake too, because he looked just as beautiful as thirty seconds prior and it felt just as natural for him to be sitting next to you on your sofa, but it wasn’t natural anymore.

“How did you get in?”

“My key.”

“Oh.”

Right. The key that he still had because you refused to meet up with him to let him return it. He tried for weeks to contact you, but you ignored him, because getting the key back meant things were finally over. You supposed he could return it now—maybe that’s why he came in the first place.

“Why did you come?” You asked, your voice impossibly small.

“You called.” He replied—as though he was talking about something as simple as the weather. You call and I come.

You searched in his eyes for any sign of a lie, but of course, there was none. He was being completely genuine—as always. You were the awful ex-girlfriend who left concerning voicemails on his phone and had him travelling to your apartment in the middle of the night only for him to look completely okay with the situation—like there was nothing he’d rather be doing than making sure you were safe.

You couldn’t help the way tears sprung to your eyes or your lip began to tremble as you lolled your head back onto the couch, pulling your gaze away from his.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You liked to consider yourself to be a strong person. You had been through things in your life that were objectively worse than your breakup with Spencer, but something about the gentleness of his tone and the way he had let one of his many (past) petnames for you slip had your throat tightening and you ducked your head into your one hand—the other still seized by Spencer’s—to try and muffle a sob.

“Hey,” He trailed his hand that was wrapped around yours up your arm, all the way to your shoulder blade before lightly guiding you towards him. You don’t have enough energy in you to fight his magnetic pull, so you shuffle over until you can bury your head into his shirt. You inhale his scent; vanilla, neroli, and so him it makes you ache.

Stopping your tears is futile—you’d know, they’d barely ceased all night—so you just let them fall, seeping into Spencer’s tie as he rubs one hand softly up and down your back, the other cradling the crown of your head.

His breathing is quiet and slow—the exact opposite of yours—and you try to imitate it—forcing air into your lungs. When your sobbing has turned to shaky breathing and the occasional sniffle, he speaks up.

“Do you want to talk?”

Talk about what? About what had happened today—what had led you to calling him? Talk about how for the last few months, he had been the only person you had wanted to call?

“No.” You hated how pitiful you sounded.

“Okay.”

Spencer didn’t say anything else for a minute—your synchronised breathing being the only thing to stop the room from falling into dead silence.

“You need to rehydrate.” He murmured, smoothing down your hair.

You hummed into him, in no hurry to unwrap yourself from his body. You probably wouldn’t get to be this close to him again, after all.

He moved both of his hands to your biceps, pulling you back slightly so you could look at him. He knitted his brows together in a silent plea which had you rolling your eyes petulantly, your lashes still damp from tears.

“Fine.” You peeled yourself off of him, pushing yourself into a standing position. Horrible mistake. You were still incredibly drunk, turns out, and everything was spinning a little bit and come to think of it, you were also nauseous and—

“Careful, lovely.” Spencer placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, keeping you upright.

and—actually, you were fine now.

He stood too, moving his hand just slightly over to your waist so he could guide you to the kitchen. When he knew you could stand upright—even if you were relying mostly on the counter behind you—he grabbed a glass from your cabinet, moving around effortlessly to pour you some water. The sight was so domestic you almost wanted to cry again. Maybe in some alternate timeline, where you and him could’ve worked, this would be an every day thing—minus the drunk sobbing part, of course.

He handed you the glass of water, watching as you took a few sips. He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head slowly.

“Whole thing, please.”

You let out an exasperated (affectionate) sigh and gulped the rest of it down, setting it on the counter behind you.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

You smirked, trailing your gaze down his body. He was still in his work clothes which, at the very least, meant he wasn’t on a date before he came here. He always changed before dates—well, for you, anyway. You wondered if he had been on any dates since the breakup—you certainly hadn’t. It had been long enough now that it wouldn’t be weird for you to start seeing other people—but you didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you’d ever want to, to be completely honest.

The more you thought about it, the more the whole thing seemed stupid. You didn’t want anyone else, you wanted Spencer. You had tried to get over him but if tonight was any indication—it clearly wasn’t working. You can’t even remember why you broke up in the first place—it all seemed so insignificant now. No amount of pain you had ever experienced in your relationship had come close to that of living without him.

You met his eyes once more and it was like he could see the question brewing. He tried to stop you, calling your name in a quiet warning, but you ignored him.

“Why did we break up?”

He frowned, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with his tongue in that maddening way he did.

“I—you know why—“

“No, but I don’t! I know things were difficult sometimes but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It worked—we worked.” Your eyes were stinging again.

Spencer pressed his index and middle finger into his eye, furrowing his brows.

“I know, I know we worked, angel—but you were sad all the time, remember? I was gone so often and it wasn’t good for you.” His true emotions were indecipherable but his tone was soft, and you wished you could be as calm about this as him. Did he just not care as much as you did?

“But It’s—It’s worse now—“ You choked out, tears falling freely now. “I was sad when you were gone, but you always came back—you don’t come back anymore.”

Spencer removed his hand from his face, flexing it at his side like he was uncertain what to do with himself before taking a stride towards you. He brought a hand to your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes delicately—like you were made of porcelain.

“Listen, sweetheart—alcohol affects your ability to regulate your emotions and I know right now it might feel worse but that doesn’t mean it always—“

“Spencer, stop! It’s not the fucking alcohol, I miss you! I miss you all of the time! Even—even when I’m having a good day—I still want you—and especially when I—when I have a bad day—“ You choked out through heaving breaths.

“Breathe.” He urges, cupping your cheek. And you’re so, so angry, and sad, and tired that you have no choice but to shut up and listen to him. When you’ve adequately calmed down, he moves his hand to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think we should talk about this tonight but I—“ You open your mouth to protest.

“I promise we can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober—if you still want to.”

Your lip trembles of its own volition and you frown.

“Of course I want to.”

“Okay,”

“Okay.”

He gives your eyes a final wipe before he’s—rather unexpectedly—pulling you into a hug. You all but melt into him, your head finding its home in his sternum and your arms wrapping around his middle. He tilts his head down, kissing the top of your head—and you’re certain you can’t let this go again. You will chain him down before Spencer leaves this apartment again.

Everything is wordless from there—mostly because you’re so, so exhausted that even talking seems like too difficult a task. Spencer helps you find something more comfortable to change into and you pull out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of plaid pyjama pants you had kept here for him. I guess your keeping them ‘just in case you needed them in the future’ had come in handy, after all.

As you washed your face, Spencer snuck through to the kitchen, refilling your water and grabbing two aspirin in a not-so-subtle attempt to help the inevitable hangover you were going to have in the morning.

You caught him placing them on your bedside table and mock gasped.

“Trying to drug me in my sleep so you can make a run for it in the night?”

He grinned lazily—exhaustion creeping up on him as well.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled, flopping yourself onto your bed rather ungraciously. Spencer looked at you like you were something fascinating before biting his lip, clearly deep in thought.

“What?” You let out a self-effacing little chuckle.

“I was just…wondering…if you’d like me to sleep on the couch?”

You probably should’ve been more careful in your facial expressions considering you were still broken up but your thoughts about that offer were obvious.

“No, stay.” Stay in your bed, in your apartment—stay anywhere that was close to you.

Maybe you were coming on a little too strong.

“Unless you want to, I mean—“

“No, no—I’ll stay.” Forever, preferably.

He walked around to the other side of your bed—as he had done so many times before—and sat down, pulling the covers over his legs. You mirrored his movements before flicking your bedside lamp out, turning to face him.

You were a little thankful you were so out of it, because this had the potential to be very awkward otherwise. Spencer shuffled down so that he was at eye level with you, turning to face you as well.

You just stared for a moment, committing him to memory. The moonlight had a way of highlighting all the high points of his face, and the twinkle in his eyes, and—God, you were so glad the moon existed and that Spencer was in your bed that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Spencer laughed along with you, even though he had no idea what was so funny.

“Nothing. You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

“Scared you’ll be gone when I wake up—like I made it all up.”

Spencer’s smile faded then, and he looked at you with something that seemed so much like the one thing you had been willing yourself to stop doing the whole time that you’d been broken up, that it almost took your breath away.

“I won’t. I promised, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So there’s nothing to worry about. Now get some sleep, lovely.”

You smiled, feeling Spencer’s hand inching towards yours. He intertwined them and gave yours a squeeze.

“Just in case you make a run for it in the night.”

You chuckled, your eyelids fluttering shut. Yeah, you could make it work.

part two!

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (4)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan wants to clear things up about the night out and his mystery companion, and the reader gets another surprise in LA. Will the two finally have their first date or will something get in the way once more?

Ewan's publicist Donna has never had any issue with her client before. Always present and accounted for, on time for whatever interview, photoshoot or audition he has booked for the day.

But she hasn't been able to get a hold of him in the past two days, which is worrying her to no end, because he is set to meet with a major casting director in New York some time in the coming week.

Donna may have a clue as to why. It's only been two days as well since the pub incident, when The Sun ran a story speculating on Ewan's lovelife - the exact kind of thing he's always been trying to avoid.

It had taken a life of its own, with fans taking it upon themselves to track down every clue of the girl on the internet. Her instagram. Her relation to the cast - apparently she is a cousin of Luke and Elliott. Even the marketing agency where she works. Louise, a 26-year old graphic designer, admittedly harbours a crush on Ewan, and when she heard that her cousins were hanging out with him at a pub nearby, she almost immediately invited herself and her friends over.

But that's all, according to Ewan. After talking to Luke, memories of the night came rushing back to him.

Stumbling out in the alley to send you that voice message. Rejoining the boys to see that they've got new company. Being introduced to Louise, with Tom joking that he should be careful with the missus. Wouldn't want her - you - to think that he's flirting with anyone else.

Even though that's exactly what happened. Not the flirting, per se. Not from Ewan's side, at least. Louise had been brazen with admiration, barely leaving his side the rest of the night. Asking him a bunch of probing questions he had neither the interest nor the patience to answer.

They had all thought the pub was safe from prying eyes. No one approached them for anything, not even a single look of recognition followed by the question, “Are you that guy from House of the Dragon?” Unfortunately, it only takes one rat for a headline to surface. Ewan Mitchell’s mystery girl has been the talk of the fandom and Donna has been trying hard to quell the rumours. 

Such is the nasty nature of the business, as she knows Ewan has quickly learned.

She dials him again, and to her surprise, the call actually patches through.

Her client's throaty voice is heard on the other line, "Hey, Donna, sorry if I've missed your calls."

"It's alright, it's alright, Ewan," Donna stammers. "Just glad to hear from you. Where are you? I've managed to do some damage control about those rumours and - "

"Oh, I'm in LA. I just landed about an hour ago," Ewan responds casually, not mirroring the stress in Donna's tone. Has he gotten over the fuss so easily?

"LA? You know your meeting is not till next week, right? And it's in New York. It's very, very important that you don't miss it, Ewan."

"And I won't," Ewan affirms, laughing dryly to console his worried publicist. "I just need to see about something over here."

Someone, he thinks. He's got his priorities straight.

"Work-related?" Donna asks, curious.

"Uhhhm," Ewan dithers, but decides against telling her about you. Not just yet. "Just visiting a friend. I'll stay here for a while then fly out to New York, don't worry."

"Okay, just keep in touch, alright? I'll send more details about the meeting soon."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Donna."

"Talk soon, Ewan. Take care of yourself."

Donna feels a huge sense of relief wash over her when the call ends, knowing the whereabouts of one of her biggest clients. But why LA? Perhaps Ewan just needed some time off after the flurry of annoying headlines put out in the UK.

Or maybe he's visiting with a friend? Who is stateside right now? Fabien's filming in Philly. The rest of the boys are still in England. But then...

Her thoughts land on the one thing - the one person - that would make him fly out on such short notice. Without giving thought to anything else, especially after the speculation on his romantic life.

Ewan's never been one to share about personal affairs, not even to his close-knit team, but no matter how reclusive he is, no one can deny the way he looks at you. The way he lights up when you're brought up in conversation. The number of times he had excused himself from their meetings to make a call, standing in the corner with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Oh, Donna knows now just who he is in LA for.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Like inevitable spectres haunting someone of his profession, Ewan noticed the papparazzi snapping away as he arrived in LA.

He told no one he would be coming, so it must be an automatic thing in the city. The photogs are always scurrying in the periphery, ready to catch anyone of note, no matter the degree of fame or notoriety.

If you were keeping up with such news, you would know he is in the city.

But according to your assistant Clara, who was kind enough to inform him of your schedule, you are still finishing up on another day of rehearsals for your upcoming rom-com. Ewan checked in the same hotel as you, planning to seek you out as soon as you arrive back from work.

He hasn't spoken to you since the voicemail, and since those false news broke out. Not that he can blame you - wouldn't anyone be suspicious of a drunken confession made by a guy who was allegedly in the company of another girl?

He hates it, being subject to all of this. This nonsense that is keeping you from him, not even worth any consequence.

But he will deal with the blows. As long as he sets things right with you. As long he gets you in the end.

He settles in his suite, getting ready to meet with you once more. He showers, shaves, tousles his hair. He even checks whether he smells decent after all of that - once, twice, and another time. Being nervous to stand in front of a crowd is one thing; it's a whole other conundrum for him finally see you again.

Maybe the crowds are more manageable, and it baffles him to realise so. He can put on a persona, be the actor, and disappear inside himself as the cameras flash bright enough for him to disassociate.

But not with you. He wants to show you everything that he is, who he truly is, and it scares him. There is no team to help him get ready now. It's all him, just Ewan.

Clad in his trusty black jeans and a comfortable hoodie of the same dark colour, he looks in the mirror one last time after receiving a text from Clara that you've arrived at the hotel about half an hour ago.

He contemplates opening the bottle of bourbon from the minibar and taking a shot of liquid courage - something to help him get his explanation ready. Just so he wouldn't stammer in front of you.

Just so you he can make you see, without any error or trace of doubt, that he meant every word in that voicemail, no matter how embarrassing it might have sounded.

He decides against it, imagining the wrinkling of your nose as you catch a whiff of the alcohol. It's cute when you do it, and he adores it so dearly, but he knows that it isn't the right moment.

He rights himself, rolls his shoulders, and he's out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Jacob trails you inside your hotel suite, laughing at some shared remark about the scenes you rehearsed for the day.

They were emotionally demanding and even after tossing around ideas for hours, the two of you were unable to achieve a satisfying approach to the scenes.

Which is why he had proposed practicing well into the evening, and you found yourselves heading back to your suite together. He has his own house in LA, but your hotel just happened to be closer to the rehearsal studio.

"Care for a drink?" you asked him.

"Why the hell not?" he immediately assents in that easy, Aussie drawl. "We might need it for this shite."

You laugh in agreement, "Indeed. I've got some canned gin and tonics if that's alright.. or beer... or whiskey... " you trail off as you study the contents of your fridge.

"G and t, please, mate," he settles down on the couch, legs stretching in front of him. "We were so unproductive today. I just could not get that line right."

"Tell me about it." You hand him his drink, and he clinks it with yours with a mumbled cheers. "It was me who can't land the right tone," you say. "I mean, is my character supposed to be confused in that moment? Or angry? Or sad?"

"Or all of 'em." he shrugs. "Tricky, isn't it?"

You hurriedly fetch your script from a table, getting right down to it. "So for the first scene in the third act..."

Moments later, with cans of gin and tonic discarded on the coffee table, you and Jacob sit with legs crossed on the couch facing each other. Scripts in hand, you go through the lines over and over, with only seemingly minor tweaks each time. To an actor though, even just the slightest change of pitch or expression makes all the difference.

"Is that better? I think we almost got it," you say after a read-through.

"Yeah, so much better," he grins, holding his hand up for a high-five. Just as your hands smack in the air, another sound echoes faintly from the door.

"Someone's knocking?" Jacob asks. "You expecting anybody? Room service or anything?"

"No," you shake your head, trying to think of whether your assistant or publicist said anything about dropping by. "Maybe it's just housekeeping?"

"I'll get it," Jacob states, already padding his way to the door.

A beat later, you hear Jacob loudly exclaim, "Ewan, mate! It's good to see you!"

Ewan? A shiver runs up your spine. Craning your neck to get a view of a doorway, you catch sight of him, half-obscured by Jacob's tall frame.

Confused, surprised, and feeling some other emotion you can't pinpoint, you head over to greet him.

"How are you doing?" Jacob greets, shaking Ewan's hand, oblivious to the poorly hidden distaste in his eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Ewan finds himself asking Jacob, a bit rudely, just as you ask him the same.

"What are you doing here?" you mirror his question at the exact same time.

"Oh!" Jacob breathes out a laugh, "Well, I'll go first. We were just practicing lines."

"In her room? Isn't it a bit late for rehearsal? I thought you're supposed to be off work." Ewan asks, and it sounds like an accusation. He starts to feel all kinds of uneasy - were the twins right about life imitating art?

You narrow your eyes at him. "We decided to continue running lines after rehearsal. There's a scene we can't get right. It's quite tricky - "

"Just the two of you? Alone, here?" Ewan tilts his head, gesturing towards the room like it's some forbidden place.

Jacob shakes his head, smile steady on his lips. If he's caught on to how Ewan must be feeling, he doesn't let it affect him. He gives you a look, as if to check your reaction, and you give him a reassuring shrug.

Ewan does not overlook this exchange. He clenches his jaw, irate from the assumptions popping up in his mind. Before he forgets his manners, he says, "Excuse me, I just... wasn't expecting... I just wanted to speak to you."

"I didn't even know you were in LA," you say, before moving aside to usher him in. "But I'm glad you are, of course. Come join us - "

He nods, making his way to the seating area, where he spies the discarded cans of alcohol and dog-eared scripts. Maybe he should have taken that bloody shot after all.

He laughs joylessly to himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you guys. I just flew in today, and I must have been exhausted from the flight."

"Hey, no worries, mate," Jacob says. "You know what, I'll be on my way. Give you time to catch up and all." He picks up his own tattered script then gives you a kiss on the cheek, bidding you with a, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, sweetheart."

If looks could kill, and if his dear mother hadn't raised him right, he would have incinerated Jacob in that moment.

He is snapped out of his thoughts when Jacob claps him on the shoulder, "Great to see you again, mate. Have a good night, eh?"

Ewan knows he's being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with two friends and co-stars spending some time alone to rehearse. Besides, last he heard, you were adamant that you and Jacob are just friends.

So why is he being so irrational? Why does the idea of you spending more time than necessary with Jacob, possibly falling for him, bother him so much?

Ewan realises that this is what jealousy must feel like.

He's had career envy before. Another actor landing a role he vied for. Someone else getting the praise he deserves.

But nothing like this. It's petty and possessive.

He wants you to just be his.

You stand in front of him once more after you walk Jacob out of the suite.

"Hey," you say, smiling weakly.

"Hi, darling."

Both of you want to do more. Say more. Usually you would greet each other with a hug and a kiss on a cheek, his hands lingering on your forearms even after you pull away, but the air is thick with tension.

You look at him with those bright, expecting eyes of yours, and Ewan just wants to cave in and make a sloppy confession. But not after that voicemail, no. He's determined to do this right. Words not slurred, head clear.

"So I got your voicemail," you finally say, smiling coyly. "That was... something."

"Hmm," he can't help but mirror your smile, as always. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I understand," you continue, taking a step closer, "if you were drunk. We all say things when we're off it that we maybe don't mean - "

"But darling, I meant every word," he says, way too quickly.

You laugh, the sound of it erasing whatever apprehension remained in him. "Do you even remember what you said?"

"I do," he counters, moving even closer to you. Another step and he'd be able to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him. "At least, some of - no - most of it."

"Oh yeah?" you ask cheekily, aided by the effect of gin. He still has your heart racing, but a part of you now knows that the feeling is mutual. "What did you say again?"

He sees that glint in your eye, and it causes him to smirk. "Why don't I make it simple for you, darling?" He closes the distance, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

"Okay," you swallow, getting lost in his blues.

"I missed you." He kisses your cheek. "I like you. A lot." He kisses the other. "And I, uh, I would like to take you on a date."

His eyes meet yours. His voice is steady, but you notice some nervousness in his gaze. How the tables have turned. You make Ewan Mitchell's heart go awry.

"Please, darling?" he timidly adds, the sentiment so sweet you want to blurt out yes immediately. Before you can, he's already leaned back, an explanation rushing out of his lips, "And... I'm not sure but you must have seen those headlines? They're not true, I swear. We were out drinking and - "

"I know, Ewan." You cut him off with a hand pressed gently on his chest but he keeps going.

" - some other people joined us. One of them being - "

"Luke and Elliott's cousin. I know. Elliott called and told me everything."

"Oh. He called you?" A huge sense of relief washes over him, better than any comfort he might have found in a shot or three of bourbon.

"Mhmm, he called me yesterday. So, you know, you didn't really have to fly out. I was about to call you eventually."

He smiles bashfully, eyes cast down as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Damn it, Elliott, you brilliant lad. He reminds himself to treat Elliott to a pint the next time he sees him.

"I still wanted to see you," Ewan maintains, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you're immediately enveloped by the familiar comfort of his scent. Surprisingly without the staple hint of cigarette smoke, due to his frantic scrubbing after the flight.

"I'm happy you're here," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest. "And no offence to Louise or anything, but she needs to learn some boundaries with my - "

Ewan looks down at you fondly, squeezing your arms to prompt your next words, "Yeah, darling? Your what?"

"My - " you attempt to bury your face in his hoodie, but he keeps your gaze with a hand cupping your jaw. So you end up saving yourself with " - my Aemond."

"Hmm," he hums, lips curling, and it's so very Aemond of him it makes you feel warm all over. "Your Aemond.Your Ewan. I'm all yours, love."

The whole thing couldn't have gone any better, all things considered, and Ewan feels content to have gotten over his first brush with the rumour mill. What matters is right in front of him, and you know the truth.

"Are you staying in this hotel? How did you even know I was here?" You take his hand, guiding him over to the couch.

"Clara," is all Ewan says by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you, Clara," you declare. Ewan shuffles closer to you and rests his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your forehead again. The gesture is already becoming instinctive, providing the both of you with a sense of ease.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?" you respond absentmindedly, fingers toying with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Is that a yes?"

You exhale deeply. As if it wasn't clear enough already. "What do you think, handsome?"

"I don't know, angel. You tell me," he counters cheekily, his fingers playing with your hair as you playfully glare at him.

"What if I say no, baby?"

"Then I'll have to work hard to change your mind, princess."

"And how would you do that, honey?"

His gaze darkens, and something flashes across his blue eyes as he whispers intensely, "Use your imagination, bunny."

"Ri-right," you bite your lip, then shake your head to snap out of it. "We'll have to draw the line at bunny."

He laughs at your flustered state, pleased by the effect he has on you. "What's wrong with bunny?"

That elicits a groan out of you, but you smile anyway. "I already said yes, Ewan. Quit it with the bunny."

"Alright, beautiful," he relents, making you lean even closer against him.

The haze of gin after a long work day starts to subside and the rush of emotion is coming back to you. You find yourself gazing at Ewan in mild disbelief, in awe that he just confessed that he wants you.

Feeling antsy, you stand and pace around the room. You start tidying things, putting your scattered knick-knacks back in your handbag. If you sit with him any longer, you just might end up hurrying things through and jump his bones already, kiss him the next time he does that hmm.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No," he says smoothly. "I just need you." The words make you stop in your tracks. He still sits in the same position, looking at you with that undeniable desire in his eyes.

"Uhhhm," your mouth feels dry all of the sudden. Nothing his tongue past your lips can't fix, your intrusive thoughts barge right in. "So... the... the media rollout's still going on isn't it? Should we check and see?" You take your laptop and plop back down next to him. He doesn't miss a beat and cuddles against you once more, wrapping his arm around your tense frame.

"I think so, darling." The media rollout is how the interviews and promotional material filmed by the cast is being released gradually, on a weekly basis, after each new episode comes out.

A simple search on Youtube confirms it, and the first thing that popped up is the Where is The Lie? video you did for Elle.

It was slated for just Tom, Phia, and Ewan but your Blackwood character became such a fan-favourite that they asked you to join in. Not to mention the frenzy you and Ewan caused online with the initial interviews you did together.

"Shall we watch this?" Ewan offers, solely for the intent of seeing you in the video.

You click on it, and for the next 8 minutes or so, all you can take note of are the signs that had clearly already been there. The fans were on to something when they claimed that you and Ewan are a really good ship.

The video starts with a clip of Phia hitting her head on the overhead lamp when she stands, prompting her to uncontrollably giggle along with you and Tom. Ewan, being the exception, is beside himself with worry, and he appears to instinctively reach for your hand as you sit beside him.

"Huh," Ewan smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Tom is the first to be put on the hot seat, and he slowly recites the three statements he prepared. "Ewan, pay attention," Tom blurts out when he notices that Ewan kept sneaking glances at you. "Sure, I'm locked in," Ewan says right back, as you and Phia share a look.

"What were you looking at?" you ask playfully, poking him in the side. "You seem plenty distracted there."

He snorts at himself in the video, when he ends up smiling as he caught your eye. "It was your fault. You were distracting me."

"I was not!" you exclaim. "I thought you were just being competitive then."

Phia is next to have a go. She tells you of a Wifi repellent necklace, a wrestling career, and saving a squirrel from a drainpipe. "The Wifi thing sounds like something Ewan would have," Tom jokes. "Oh sure," you concur, "except that he'd actually keep it so he can watch films." Ewan smiles at your acute observation.

"I'd also keep it to stalk your Instagram," Ewan mumbles from beside you. "And you know, just stalk you in general."

"I'm sure you do, Mitchell," you respond casually, but your face warms up anyhow.

It's Ewan's turn, and as he sits on the hot seat, you see Tom and Phia casting a look at each other then at the two of you, a secret message shared between them. "I bet she will know the answer right away," Phia says. "Yeah, how do we know the two of you didn't conspire together?" Tom asks. "Are you kidding me, you guys?" you laugh at them, thinking how silly they were being, not knowing then that they were definitely on to something.

"Darling, you have to know this," Ewan tells you specifically as you all try to guess the answer. "Oh, darling!" Tom mouths to Phia, dramatically flipping nonexistent long hair over his shoulder. Phia laughs at his antics, before nudging you and saying, "Which one is it? Which is the lie? I trust you." You respond, "Why me? You two should know this too!"

"Because I wasn't trying to date them, my love," Ewan says, smiling at the screen.

"Oh, come on now." You crane your neck up to press a soft kiss against his cheek before turning your attention back to the video. So you don't notice the switch in Ewan's breathing. The jumps in his heartbeart. The way he subtly clears his throat to deal with his flustered state.

The video comes to a close after your turn and even at the very end, Ewan can be seen admiring you as you give the closing remarks with Phia.

Admiring you, as he does in the moment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says, when you turn to look at him.

"Thank you," you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

Some time passes with the two of you catching up, talking about your upcoming projects, his big meeting in New York - all the while his fingers trace patterns on your exposed skin, his arm wrapped around you snugly.

"Have you been keeping up with the show?" he asks.

"The last episode I saw fully was... the second one? I got pretty busy after that. How about you?"

"Oh," he looks down in thought, piquing your curiosity, "so you didn't get to see the third episode yet then?"

"No, not yet," you shake your head, "but I've seen some stuff here and there."

He hums again and he wants to ask, have you seen his stuff? There are around a dozen or so potential jokes at play here. He has an inkling to tell you to watch the episode so you can see just what you're in for. So you can see him and all he has to offer. He'd also fumble through a justification, as he had done in some interview, about the new studio they had filmed in being cold as a fridge freezer.

What to say? What to say? He picks at some lint on his jeans, smirking to himself.

"Yeah," you eventually giggle at his obvious hesitation. "I've only seen some of the episode. But what I've seen... is enough to make me jealous of Madame Sylvie."

He stiffens, throat suddenly dry, but one look at your smile does away with his concerns.

He soon finds himself laughing, a muffled, "Oh, darling," whispered lovingly against your hair.

"That was very brave of you, Ewan," you express sincerely.

"Thank you, love."

"So... just how cold was it in there?"

Your shared, unrestrained laughter echo throughout the room.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Your first date was meant to happen the following night, but such is the nature of the job that Ewan's schedule gets moved up all of a sudden.

Once the bigshot casting director in New York found out that Ewan is already stateside, he requested that the meeting be held at the earliest possible opportunity.

He calls you while you are in rehearsals, profusely apologizing and promising to fly back to LA in the next two days, right after his meeting is all sorted.

"It's okay, Ewan," you reassure him, genuinely understanding. "I will see you when you come back. Good luck, I know you're going to smash it, whatever opportunity this is!"

"Thank you, darling," he says, already wanting to have you back in his arms already, mentally kicking himself for not kissing you when he had about a hundred chances to do so. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond, blushing silly with the phone pressed to your ear. "But it'll only be two days."

"Hmm, doesn't matter. I need to take you on our bloody date, darling. I've already taken so damn long."

"Don't worry," you say, "I've already seen you way more than I should before the first date."

"Wha - " a protest forms on his lips, but he gets your point right away. "Oh. Clever, darling."

"I know."

"But I'm planning to give you something that's just for you. That the whole world won't ever be privy to."

You swallow hard, your very being heating up at his insinuation. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mitchell."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Bonus chapter!

Nocturnal file 🤫

💌 next chapter

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The cast's Where is The Lie? video is an actual thing! I hope yous got the reference!

Notice how the two nerve-wrecked shites didn't have their first proper kiss yet??? Will they ever?? 😩😩😩

Taglist is officially closed for this one. Please bookmark this series or the masterlist (or follow my page) to keep up with updates <3

I can't even overstate how mad all the love for this series has been! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys - suggestions, comments, complaints are always welcome!

See you in part five! (preview: something will happen in NY that might cause Ewan to question things!)

[peachesofteal]

Cool Girl

Ghoap x female reader / 18+ / masterlist

Your hand is shaking again.

It’s a defense mechanism or something, you think. Some physical manifestation of your anxiety. Something psychological, you’re sure of it.

It’s the only thing you’re sure of, if you’re being honest.

You stalk home as fast as you can, scowl affixed to your face like it’s been cemented there, seeping deep into your frown lines, etching them like a chisel on marble.

The walk sobers you. Brings you back to rational sense, little by little.

You shouldn’t have called them. You’re so dumb. You’re asking for trouble.

But is it so bad, to want to cause an emotional reaction? To want them to be as miserable as you?

It’s pathetic. A way to seek validation. A mistake.

One you’re sure you’re going to pay for.

Your front door is unlocked.

The door pushes open nearly on its own, and your eyes struggle to adjust in the pitch black of your hallway. No light from the street spills from the living room, which means the drapes have been drawn closed.

Your heart leaps into your ears, pounding between your temples at a frenzied pace.

It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s probably them.

What if it’s not? Do you have a weapon? A way to defend yourself? You find your pepper spray in your bag, readying it between trembling fingers.

“Hello?” You call.

Nothing.

“Hello… if you’re in my flat, you better-“ a firm hand grips back of your neck, like a viper assaulting its prey, and you scream.

“It’s me.” Simon murmurs into your hair, touching over your pulse. “Jus’ me.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” you twist out of his grip, fumbling for the lights.

When they flick on, you blink a few times to adjust.

He’s a sight for sore eyes in joggers, a black sweatshirt, black hat.

His eyes burn. They scald you, roving from top to toe, his mouth sealed in a scowl. “Have a nice night, sweetheart?”

You gulp. “I- I did.”

“Thought you were clever with that phone call?”

“I… I didn’t think-“

“You didn’t.” He cuts you off, and then points to living room. “Go sit on the couch.” Your hand trembles against your chest, and you hang your head.

Got the attention you wanted?

“Where’s Johnny?” You whisper as he takes the seat next to you, massive shoulders turning so he can peer downwards.

“Decided this was better to handle on my own.” Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest.

“Oh.” Simon takes a deep breath, eyeing your shaking hand, and then shakes his head. You can’t read it, can’t ever read him, and you wait with breath frozen in your lungs, wait for him to say something, anything.

But what comes next, is not what you expected.

“Johnny’s in love with you.” You jerk back, eyebrows raised into your hairline.

“No.” Your voice trembles. “No, this… this is casual.”

“It is.” Simon’s lips press flat. “The girl at the hotel, she was a job. Had nothin’ to do with our… personal lives. She was a loose end to tie up when we got back. It was convenient, that she lived in our city.” Your mind tumbles and falls, your sense dives off a cliff.

Johnny’s in love with you.

“I don’t understand… you, after-“

“I let you believe it.” He says simply, looking down his nose at you. He’s never looked so cold. “At first, I wanted to explain, to correct it, for his sake, but… the opportunity was too good. So I told Johnny that you reminded me of our arrangement. That you agreed, that you always said you didn’t want a relationship. The situation at the bar with your date,” he smiles self indulgently “that was just for fun. Would’ve fucked ya right up against that door for the whole bar to see if you let us. Split that pretty pussy open on my cock and watch you gag on Johnny’s, but you still wanted to be a brat,” he rolls his eyes, “it was all a distraction I built for him.”

Alarm bells blare inside your skull, Johnny’s words from the other day when he brought the flowers repeating over and over.

“Ye think ye saw us with another woman, or on a date, but-“

“Ye agreed. Ye always said ye didnae want a relationship.”

“No- no. He… he came here, he made it sound-“

Simon studies you. “He’s explosive, sometimes. Doesn’t handle his emotions well, gets all twisted up. I think when he came over here, he wanted you to tell him you wanted more,” he sighs, rubs his chin. “He’s so out of sorts over it all, poor boy.”

“Why? Why didn’t you… why didn’t you tell him the truth? Or me?” His lips curl into a sneer.

“Because Johnny is mine. I might share his body with you, sweet girl, but I won’t share his heart.”