#he’s in love with all three of them but can’t love himself

[chloryn]

eddie munson is chronically insane. and i’m talking chronically insane enough to decide one day in his sophomore year, he was going to fuck steve harrington. no matter what it took.

and when eddie realizes he can’t just do that, he gets creative. he starts watching steve, following him home in his van, watching steve’s routine meticulously.

three years later, he would finally have enough information and a perfect opportunity. he would befriend mike first, pulling him in the direction of the dnd club, making this a win/win for eddie.

then sweet, sweet dustin. who loves steve. worships him.

and that’s it, that’s his in.

and after three years of fucking his hand sloppily, cumming with steve’s name on the tip of his tongue. he would finally be that close.

dustin would introduce them, and eddie would be dramatic. pulling out stop after stop, making sure to list all the heinous things steve did to him during his reign of crown prince.

he would spend time at the video store frequently. renting movies he knew steve would watch with him.

he’d bring steve snacks, telling him he knew how hard it must’ve been to work all day in such a small store.

he’d bribe steve with a joint, the catch being he’d have to smoke it at the trailer.

and through his perseverance, eddie would get his wish one night. after drunk kisses and sloppy confessions, a smug grin crossing his face.

eddie pulled out the sealed bottle of lube from his nightstand, drizzling it on his fingers. warming it up. he’d stretch steve so slowly, savoring every noise and movement he made.

he’d slide in so smoothly. and he’d last all of 60 seconds.

but he had done it. and he wouldn’t be able to stop. he’d keep doing it for months. and he’d would get so much better.

he’d keep steve there for hours in his bed, ungodly hours while he had the trailer to himself.

and once that settled, he would propose to have proper dates with steve. he’d bring him flowers, and sing him love songs.

because he had fucked him, but now he had to have him.

steve said yes every time of course, oblivious to the way eddie was eating him up.

tldr; stalker eddie and his oblivious boyfriend

[norizzsainz]

🌶️ NFY : BACK TO SQUARE ONE

[ carlos sainz x singer!fem!reader ] [ wc ] 0.9k

[ summary ] carlos' and y/n's breakup comes as a surprise to many of their friends. no one ever thought the couple would ever break up, but alas, y/n was always ready to do whatever was best for the love of her life — even if it meant breaking up with him.

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━━━━ MARCH 08, 2024 : AIRPORT, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

everything was happening too quickly for you to process anything at all.

an hour ago, you had just released your international tour dates for your concerts.

half an hour later, you find out that carlos has appendicitis and needs immediate surgery for it.

an hour after that, you get a call from charles asking you to fly down to saudi arabia because everyone was being denied permission to visit carlos.

“wait, what? why do you need me to come if no one is allowed to visit him?”

“because carlos is still under anesthesia and can’t make choices for himself. they won’t let anyone but his guardian meet him. and you are his guardian, y/n. remember?”

thankfully, you were already in abu dhabi for a promo event, which meant you were only three hours away from where carlos was.

i just need to be in and out. i won’t stay long. you told yourself, swearing that you wouldn’t spend any extra time there. i will go, remove myself as his guardian, and come back; that’s all.

on your way over, you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, finding everything amusing.

so much for breaking up and trying to be strangers.

━━━━ MARCH 08, 2024 : HOSPITAL, SAUDI ARABIA

as you walked through the halls, the urgency of the situation seemed more real, causing you to quicken your steps.

carlos was hurt. he exerted himself while he was hurt. why would he push himself so much like this?

charles was right behind you, matching your fast pace as you rushed to the vip lounge of the hospital.

“carlos sainz,” you told the front desk. “i am his guardian, y/n l/n.”

the woman politely smiled, nodding. “come with me, miss l/n. he’s out of surgery now. i will take you to go see him.” she stood from her seat, attempting to guide you to his room.

”i just, uh, i’m here to sign the papers. to provide permission for his family to see him,” you quickly said.

“oh.” the receptionist’s smile fell, looking confused. “so, you will not be seeing the patient?”

charles noted the change in the woman’s tone. “she will! she just wants to make sure his family can also see him‌,” he intervened, giving you a look.

“great! you can sign these papers here and we can go see the patient.”

you threw a wide-eyed look at charles as you signed the papers; the brunet avoiding eye-contact with you.

“thank you.” you smiled at the receptionist as you handed over the papers.

charles offered a slight smile as the receptionist guided you towards carlos’ room, wordlessly apologizing for the situation he put you in.

you winced as you noticed your ex-boyfriend’s family standing outside his room, just wanting to bury yourself in the ground.

you turned towards his mother, feeling bad. “i’m seriously sorry, mama.” you bit your lip when the name slipped out, not noticing how the elder woman’s smile widened at your words.

reyes waved off your apology, smiling widely. “you don’t have to apologise. it’s not like you knew about this.” you sighed as you heard her assuring words.

“it’s been months so i thought he must’ve removed me as his guardian.” you winced, noting the way sainz sr glared at you.

“what are we waiting for now? i need to see my son.” sainz sr tapped his foot, arms crossed as he raised his brows at you.

you didn't waste time in opening the door for your ex’s family, letting them go through.

just as you tried to step away, charles pushed you inside, ushering you forward before closing the door behind him.

“what the hell are you doing?” you whisper-yelled, brows furrowed. “let me leave! this is not what you promised!”

before charles could reason his actions, you froze as you heard your name being called by a very familiar voice.

“mi amor? what are you doing over there?” carlos' words were slurred, the anesthesia still wearing off him. “come here, please.”

you stared at your feet, trying to play it off. you were in a dangerous territory right now, with every moment being difficult for you.

ana pulled on your arm, dragging you towards her brother. your gaze widened as you made eye-contact with your ex.

“h-hello. hi.”

“carina.” carlos gave you a woozy smile, a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. “i'm very happy to see you, amor.”

you nodded in a rush. “i need to go now, though. i'm busy,” you stammered, noting the way sainz sr continued to glare at you.

“like, right now?”

“yes, right now, carlos.”

your mind was running wild at what sainz sr was thinking of this interaction that you couldn't properly look at carlos.

because if you did, you would've definitely seen it coming.

without a warning, carlos pulled on your arm, bringing your face closer to him.

and just like that, without a warning, he placed his lips upon yours, taking you by surprise.

you jerked your head away as soon as you processed what was happening, slapping your hands over your mouth.

“i swear that wasn't—i didn't…” you tried to explain yourself to your ex's family who looked just as surprised.

“that anesthesia must be strong as fuck,” ana commented in awe. “i wonder if i can get some of that, too.”

you were a stuttering mess as you tried to explain yourself, just opting to run out of the room after saying your goodbyes.

“i'll just leave. bye, mr sainz. bye, mama. bye, ana. fuck you, charles.”

you sprinted out the door before anyone could say anything, not stopping until you were outside the hospital.

no one had run after you and you were thankful for that, because the last thing you wanted was to talk about what had just happened.

so much for thinking i was doing well and moving on. now i'm back to square one. fuck.

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[silveredspoons]

Where Is Your Boy Tonight?

SUMMARY: Art loved Tashi. Art would do anything for Tashi. That includes leaving you alone on your birthday because she needed him. Luckily for you, you have his best friend and a bottle of champagne stashed under your dorm bed.

Patrick Zweig x Reader

3.6k

WARNINGS: P in V Sex, Fingering, Infidelity, Cheating, MDNI

You knew when you started dating Art Donaldson that you weren’t going to be his number one. Hell, you weren’t even top three, but you thought that he could at least spend one night pretending that you were somewhat important to him. That’s harsh. He did love you, just not as much as he loved Tashi, or Tennis or even Patrick.

That’s how you found yourself alone on your birthday, slightly tipsy from the drinks you had previously at the bar with your friends (drinks that Art was meant to attend but had never showed up to). You were trying to wrangle the heels strapped to your feet off and toss them across your single dorm room, but maybe it was the alcohol, or more likely the fury of being abandoned on your fucking birthday, but the tiny buckles would not budge. You could only let out a frustrated groan and throw yourself backwards on your single bed, giving up on the removal of your clothes.

You really shouldn’t be as mad you as you were, you had full expectations that something would come up that would distract Art. It was more maddening that he hadn’t even acknowledge you today at all, no happy birthday message, no sorry I can’t make it text, not even flowers delivered to your door. A better woman would probably leave him, realise that being fourth in someone’s life isn’t what they deserve and move on with their life. You were not a better woman, not yet at least, you were still young. Still making mistakes and choosing to stay with a guy who doesn’t truly love you.

You weren’t desperate. There were good things about being with Art as well, like when you guys would fuck in his dorm, and he’d hold your face in his hands and brush the hair off of your face and kiss your forehead. Or, when he would surprise you after class with coffee, a snack and the kindest eyes you had ever seen. He was kind when he wanted to be, and he gave you affection that you hadn’t received before. It was just frustrating that, that affection was only available to you when he couldn’t have Tashi. All she would have to do is look in his direction and he’d go running over to her, you could only assume that she was the one who had stolen his attention today. Usually, you could forgive her for it, it’s not her fault that your boyfriend was in love with her, but surely, she could have given you just this one day.

It was during this pity party you heard the knock on your door. Hard, quick and loud you could tell who it was before even opening the decorated door. You couldn’t help but let a small smile creep up on your face and you rolled yourself off of your bed and stumbled to answer the knocking that had yet to stop.

“You know most people text when they’re coming over” you smiled as you pulled the door open, Patrick's smug face staring back at you from where he leaned against the door frame.

“And where is the fun in that? It’s supposed to be a surprise.” You didn’t even get the chance to properly respond before Patrick had snagged you into his arms and held you close. You were sure that you smelt of vodka (which you had licked off your body by a stranger earlier that night in a wild moment of freedom) but that was nothing compared to the smell of beer radiating off of Patrick.

You groaned as you tried to escape his hold. It wasn’t unusual for you and Patrick to find yourselves alone together, despite both of you dating others it wasn’t unseen by the two of you how they usually left the two of you to talk. Which is probably why you had a tipsy Patrick at your door.

“Where are the wonder twins?” You questioned, once finally free from his grip. Patrick snorted as he threw himself onto your bed, leaving you to shut the door behind him and crawl into the small available space he had left on the bed.

“Talking tennis of course. Apparently, it’s very important that they spend the rest of the night going over Art’s new life as a lap dog.” You snorted in turn at Patrick's cruel remark, you wouldn’t usually laugh at him teasing Art but tonight you were pissed and didn’t really care about his feelings.

“I see, and that means you are shunned to the doghouse?” You joked. Patrick rolled his eyes, and he moved his body over to allow you more space on the bed, which you took greedily. The two of you laid next to each other, you bare knee brushing against his thigh as his head was laid next to your chest. You rested on your arm to look down at him and couldn’t help but frown at the crestfallen look he had on his face. You had chosen to be fourth in Art’s life, Patrick didn’t. Without thinking you reached your unoccupied hand down to his face to brush the slightly damp curls out of his face.

“Wanna drink?” You asked, quick to change the subject away from the neglect the two of you had faced.

“God yes.” Patrick moaned and you laughed before you reached down under you bed and grabbed the bottle of champagne that had been stashed there this morning. A gift from a friend, the card still attached to the neck of the bottle. It wasn’t expensive of course, which college student can afford good champagne? But it would get the job done.

“Happy birthday, hope this helps you get screwed?” Patrick read out, clutching the card that came with the bottle, eyebrows raised as he looked up at you. You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your chest, and you snatched it from his hands and thrown it across the room. The joke your friend had written quickly becoming unfunny when coming from Patrick’s mouth.

“When was your birthday?” Patrick questioned as you moved on to opening the bottle, hands clasped around the neck and thumbs pushing the cork to loosen it. You looked into his eyes and felt the blush only grow higher as you realised his eyes were trained on your hands. Hands that held the bottle much like you would hold a certain appendage. You looked away, eyes trained onto the alarm clock on your bed side table, bright red number reading ten past midnight.

“’About ten minutes ago” you muttered, hand gripping the top of the cork and pulling it off with a flourish. You barely had a chance to react the bubbles overflowing over the top before Patrick's lips were wrapped around the opening and sucking down the spillage. You shivered as you watched his tongue dart around the neck of the bottle, briefly touching your fingers before he pulled away in shock.

“Wait what? It’s your birthday?” Patrick moved into a sitting up position on the bed, joining you. There was no space between the two of you, legs tangled up together as you passed the bottle to him. He took a small swig before pressing it back into your hands. Once freed from the bottle he dropped his hands onto your thighs, bare due to the fact your mini dress had ridden up and now sat high on your legs, barely covering your lace clad ass.

“Was. It’s over now.” You replied bitterly taking a large gulp of the warm champagne. Maybe if you were sober, you would realise what position you were currently in with your boyfriend’s best friend, maybe if you were a better woman, you would remove yourself from his grip and ask him to leave. But you were not a better woman, you were angry and tipsy and all you wanted was to feel those hands all over your body.

“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating still? Where’s Art to give you a birthday treat?” Patrick's hands wandered further up your legs as he questioned you. He knew he was pushing the boundaries of what friends should be doing but he couldn’t help it. His best friend and girlfriend had kicked him out of Art’s dorm and left him to fend for himself. And how was he supposed to resist you when you had looked like that, strappy heels digging into the bed next to him, mascara smudged from where you had rubbed your eyes, lace panties peeking through the gaps of legs.

“Like you said, the lap dogs busy.” You held the bottle up to Patrick's lips and couldn’t not ogle as he let you tip it further back, forcing him to take more of the champagne. The bottle was only about halfway drunk, but you were sure that it was providing more than enough courage for the both of you. You pulled the bottle away from his lips, now glistening from the liquid and bent backwards to place it on the floor of your bedroom. Chest on display for Patrick’s gaze.

You righted yourself on the bed once more, your body now pressed against Patrick’s. It was a bad idea, to be here with him right now. But Art was with Tashi, and the way Patrick was looking at you as if you were the most divine being on the planet was enough for you to close the gap between the two of you and press your lips on his. It wasn’t even a full second before Patrick’s hands gripped your hips tight and pushed his lips onto yours in return. It was messy, you tasted of cheap alcohol and he of smokes. Your tongues both danced with each other’s, licking the backs of teeth, sliding against wetted lips. Your hands gripped his curls, and you tugged without thought, holding him in your embrace. Patrick’s moan did not go unnoticed by you, and you let the smirk spread across your face and you pushed him down on the bed.

It was a short-lived act of dominance though before Patrick pulled away with teeth pulling your lip, taking your body in his hands he flipped you around without much effort. You let out a surprised squeak as you back smacked lightly onto your bed, without even a moment’s notice you felt Patrick grip your wrists in his large hand and hold them above your head.

You were so unused to this forcefulness, with Art everything was more delicate, more worshiping. Usually, it would be you who took charge, whispering dirty things into his ear as you gripped his cock, teasing him for at least an hour before he even got to touch you. Patrick was so the opposite of this, taking your body in his hands as if he owned you, as if you were his to use as he wished.

“God your boyfriend is an idiot for missing out on this” Patrick whispered in your ear as he leaned down to kiss along your neck. You were ashamed of the heat that rose to your core at the mention of Art. You tried to buck your hips into Patrick’s, but he only smirked as he moved them away, clearly not eager to give you the satisfaction of his cock just yet.

“You like that? Thinking about Art as I mark you?” You could only nod as Patrick sucked a dark spot into the side of your neck, you knew you would be unable to hide that under a turtleneck and the thought drove you wild as you imagined Art’s reaction.

“Please” You begged, pulling your leg up his back trying to drag Patrick closer to you. You tried to give your best pleading eyes as you begged again, unsure of what you were even after. Patrick's smug laugh only further irritated you but you request was granted as his spare hand reached up to cup your breast. His hands pulled down the thin straps of your dress, fingers flicking your nipples and you shuddered in pleasure as his lips soon joined. You threw your head back against your baby pink pillows and managed to pull a hand out of Patrick’s grip allowing you to thread your hands into his dark curls and pull him closer to your chest.

“Fuck me” You moaned and your felt Patrick smirk against your soft skin.

“I’m trying.”

You rolled your eyes and lightly smacked him upon the head earning a laugh out of the boy on top of you. You felt Patrick's body retreat from your own as he lent back to take in the sight of you. The straps of your dress had now fallen down completely, your breasts on display and purpled from his adventures. His fingers danced at the hem of dress, slowly pushing it up to reveal the lace red panties you had worn for Art, Patrick’s eyes darkened at the sight as if knowing these were worn for his best friend. Your hands pushed at the hem of his shirt a silent plea for him to take it off, which he gladly obliged, throwing it somewhere in the corner of your room.

You allowed yourself the chance to ogle at Patrick’s chest, the trail of hair that went down past his pants made you flush, and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting your hands reach out and play with the dark curls. Patrick shivered under touch, and it was your chance to smirk at his pleasure. You raked your nails down the sides of his stomach towards back, hands slipping under his pants and gripping his ass over his boxers. Patrick moaned as his body fell back towards yours and you pressed your lips into his neck and up to his ear, teeth pulling at the lobe as your hands continued to explore his body.

Before you knew it Patrick was digging his clothed dick into your heat, hand tangled in your hair as you turned your head towards his, mouths meeting in a messy make out. Your moans filled the room, and you felt your eyes roll back as Patrick’s hand found the top of your underwear, fingers pulling at the elastic band and letting it smack into your skin. It was without warning before his hand was shoved under the lace, between your legs and finger gliding up your already wet slit before he placed two fingers around your clit. He allowed them to tease the bud lightly, making you whine in desperation, before he pressed down and began rubbing circles into it. It was rough and clumsy, and you could tell that while Art would do this to get you off, for your pleasure this was all for Patrick’s. Just the beginning to the pleasure he wished to seek from you.

“I need you inside of me. Please fuck me.” You beg as Patrick’s finger dipped into your hole, they were thicker than Arts as well, though not as long, but the stretch was heavenly. The pace was fast and unforgiving, leaving you breathless as he pushed it further into you.

“What would Art do?” Patrick asked, lips pressing into your neck again, adding a second finger into your hole. You moaned at the mention of Arts name and your breath hitched as you felt his fingers curl up and press into the right spot.

“Could he make you moan like this huh? Bet he regrets leaving you here to fend for yourself, where anyone could have you.” Patrick's words only spurred you on as you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your fingers dug into his back as breathy whines left your lips.

“Only you can do this, only moaning like this for you.” You managed to sputter out, which only seemed to spur Patrick on more, pace speeding up as if he knew you were about to come. In a few well positioned strokes and dirty words about how unfortunate Art was to be missing out on your moans you felt yourself coming on his fingers, a high-pitched moan that would leave your neighbours covering their ears left your throat as you pressed your breasts into Patrick’s chest. You felt yourself coming down as Patrick slowly fucked you with his fingers, before pulling them out and holding them to your lips. It was without a thought in the world that you wrapped your lips around his fingers, tongue pressing in between them as you sucked on them. You held eye contact with Patrick and felt the way his hips pressed down into yours.

“Fuck you are such a dirty slut” Patrick whispered, and you were shocked by the way the words went straight to your core. He pulled his fingers out from your mouth, letting them drag down your lips and face, wiping the spit onto your chest. You felt dirty and used in the best way possible, something Art had never done before.

“I need to fuck you.” Patrick stated, hands reaching down to his own pants, undoing them and pulling them down enough to pull his cock out. You could feel your mouth drop as you took in the sight in front of you. Art wasn’t small by any means, always filling you up, making you feel like you couldn’t take more, but Patrick was big. While the same length as Art’s the girth was almost double.

“I think you might break me with that” You joked, and Patrick smirked as he pulled your panties down your legs. You blindly reached into your bedside table before finding a condom and tossing it to Patrick. He only winked at you as he tore open the foil packet and rolled the latex down his cock, pumping it a few times to get him prepared.

“Turn over” Patrick demanded, and you did so without complaint. Your dress was now scrunched up to your waist, with your tits on full display. Patrick’s hand went straight into your hair, pressing your top half down further into the mattress as his other hand took his cock and began teasing you along your slit.

“Are you just gonna play with it or fuck me like a man?” You questioned but the words were cut off as Patrick inserted his full length into your hole in one thrust. Your mouth fell open as Patrick began a harsh pace, his dick forcing you open in a way you had never experienced before. You felt a smack on your ass before Patrick gripped it within his hand, using it to pull your body on and off his cock.

You tried to form some sort of wording, to tell him how good it felt but all you managed were short whines and a few fucks as his hips slammed into yours. You couldn’t help but get wetter as you heard him moan from behind you, it was like listening to a tennis match only this time you weren’t bored out of your mind.

“Fuck just like that, you’re so big oh my god” You managed to mutter as Patrick pulled your body back up, your back now pressed against his chest. You could feel the sweat between your bodies and your head lolled to the side as he pressed his fingers back into your mouth, his tongue licking the side of your neck while his spare hand reached down to rub fast circles into your clit.

“How’s the princess liking her birthday present huh?” Patrick asked, as he groaned into your ear, you could only nod and moan, your hands gripping his arms as you let the pleasure take over your body. You couldn’t seem to focus on anything he said anymore as his cock slammed into you over and over again, ripping any breaths out of you,

“You wanna come again?” Patrick teased, fingers speeding up on your clit and you nodded moaned.

“Please, please make me cum” You begged, and Patrick grunted into your ear, picking up his pace. You let your body go limp as he fucked you like a toy, tears now gathered at the corners of your eyes. Patrick noticed and without hesitation licked your face of the tears that had fallen down, his spit covered your faced and with that you felt the band inside you snap and you were coming again.

Patrick let you ride out your high before he was pushing your face back into the bed, his hands now gripping your hips and fucking into you as if you were some sort of flesh light as he chased his own high. It was only a few moments before he was moaning into your ear and filling up the condom.

The two of you stayed like that for a minute, sweaty chest pressed into your back, with kisses peppering your shoulder. His hand came up to brush the hair out of your face as you twisted your neck to the side so you could kiss him, his cock softening inside of you. With slow movement Patrick removed himself from you and slid of the condom tying it in a not and chucking into the small bin you hid under your desk. You rolled yourself over as he came to lay down next to you once again, you allowed yourself to be pulled into his arms and you laid your head onto his chest. Your fingers danced across his skin as he rubbed your arm, silence over taking the room. As if the weight of what the two of you had just done finally settled.

“We can’t tell Art.” You spoke. The words hung in the air, neither of you wanting to push the topic further.

“Or Tashi.” Patrick replied and you look up at him only to find him staring at you.

“It was just a one-time thing between friends. A birthday present.” You reasoned and Patrick snorted, you couldn’t help but let yourself giggle at the absurdity of it all too.

“Pretty fucking good birthday present.”

A/N: So I watched Challengers and of course I was fucking hooked. I am honestly an Art girly but we all know that that man is obsessed with Tashi so I do not stand a chance (also he is fictional). So instead here is some sex with Patrick. I have never written smut before so I am very sorry if it is bad and clunky, its hard to write about sex without it sounding kinda cringe I wont lie. Also I haven't edited this but need to get it out there.

[bychaes]

“i miss u.” ft. skz

스트레이 키즈 OT8 fem reader wc three hundred eighty-four genre idol au, established relationship, bullet point fic cw/tw mention(s) of kissing not proofread ! ( emi's library ) ✩ - synopsis: things that bf!skz do in a long-distance relationship while on tour

bang chan

the kind of bf that comes up with loads of romantic ideas and write them down so he won’t forget about them

writes love songs about u when he misses you

sends a cover of the song with him singing and playing the piano

“im gonna kiss u so much when i get home”

lee minho

one word: CARINGGG

daily reminders to eat/sleep well

asks you to send pics of soonie doongie dori for him

“where are my four babies? i miss them so much (you’re one of them, that’s why its four)”

seo changbin

THE ultimate cutie bf

daily selcas with the usual cheek poke

texts you any opportunity he has because he just misses you that much

“the sky is here pretty but not as pretty as u, you know”

hwang hyunjin

misses you so much he becomes impossibly clingy and whiny

being the artist that he is he will personally sketch your portrait and keep it with him when he’s away from u

puts u as his both his homescreen and lockscreen

“send me a selfie please… just one…..”

han jisung

also becomes extremely clingy when he misses u but is embarrassed

brings that second bottle of your go-to perfume when he goes on tour

misses u so much he sprays your familiar scent on his clothing

“btw, pls don’t ask where your other bottle of perfume went…”

lee felix

the kind of bf that misses you vv much but not show it openly bc he’s the shy type

uses that extra bottle of your hairwash he bought without u knowing when he misses u a bit too much

like my boy does not care if his hair smells like u he just misses your scent

kim seungmin

would go out for a day at every city/stop on the tour just to see if there is stuff u like

also can’t choose between multiple items so he buys them all

wraps them all up and surprises u when he gets home

“if you’re going to complain about how much money i spend on you, i’ll gladly take these for myself!!”

yang jeongin

would actually think of you more than himself

therefore; daily bubble selcas

would act all nonchalant but actually misses u hella much inside

“you’re lucky i’m thoughtful”

a/n: skz version of “i miss u” !! here is the enhypen version - thanku all so much for support on my first work !! enjoyy

taglist: none atm ! fill out the form to be added

@bychaes. do not plagiarize in any way, shape, or form.

[driftingvoid-155]

Love the idea that the longer Mike is undead, the more ‘human’ things he forgets.

He never was that great of a cook but after years of not eating, he no longer remembers even the most basic principles for cooking. He forgets to grease a pan. He doesn’t remember how to best cut up vegetables for what he’s trying to make. Did this food go in the oven or was it made on stovetop? Did it matter? Did ketchup need to go in the fridge or not? How long did it take for milk to expire? How much did people even need to eat? Was it three times a day? More? Less? It’s things he thinks he remembers but when faced with doing them, realizes he doesn’t.

He forgets what it’s like to feel short of breath. He doesn’t need to breath so why would his body ever demand air again? He can’t for the life of him recall what that tightness felt like or the feeling of his chest burning after running.

Blinking. Though he doesn’t have eyes, he has eyelids. But what use are they when he no longer has eyes to keep from getting dry?

Smell. Most his senses took a hit after Ennard left him but his sense of smell was one thing that was gone for good. Both a blessing for he couldn’t smell himself, the awful stench of death he knew he gave off, but a curse as he no longer could recall what flowers smelled like. What the air of spring carried. What about rain? He knew he used to love the smell of rain but now all it brings is a dampness that clings to his already aching bones.

In that same boat, touch. His nerves were fried, decayed away to the point that the only things that did hurt were the things deep inside his skin where a few were still functional. He forgets the way some fabrics used to irritate his skin. How his nails biting into his skin actually used to bite, leaving behind a sharp sense of pain to bring him out of his thoughts instead of just a dull throbbing. When someone brushing a hand over his skin was actually a sensation instead of something he didn’t even acknowledge because to him, it wasn’t even there. Warmth and cold are nothing but emotions now, the latter something he felt much more than the former. Everything felt numbed to him and he forgets how those alive feel, experience, so much more than him.

Sleep is another thing becoming more and more foreign to him. He can’t remember the last time he fell into true unconscious. He used to try and sleep, pretend at the very least, but the longer time went on, the more he gave up. His ‘sleep’ now including closing his eyes, feeling the sense of sleep but yet still aware of everything going on around him. Perhaps that’s why he agreed to Henry’s plan. So he could feel that true darkness he longed for once again. He’s so tired and he hasn’t slept in so long.

[boothillssugarmomma]

Fake It Til You Make It

(Atsumu Miya x Fem!Reader)

cw-: Suggestive jokes at times, fluff all the way, mutual pining, fake!marriage trope, suggestive scene

🎀 authorsnote: THIS ONE IS HELLA LONG SO I HAD TO SPLIT IT UP INTO THREE PARTS ☝️😀...took so much time to edit and fix too...English was not Englishing...

please don't steal my work!

Pt 2: Fake It Til You Make It

Taglist🎀Haikyuu Masterlist🎀Other Lists🎀

 Atsumu takes a deep breath as he opens the door to his apartment. "Hey…my love…" He smirks, he takes a pause before sighing. “What do ya think…too much? This has to be believable…"

He stares at you as you take your headphones off, glaring at him with a playful gaze.

Atsumu and you are definitely not married, you're not even dating. But a few weeks ago…he blabbed about his perfect wife to his old teammates to make them jealous. So, after realizing he fucked himself over, he begged you to help him out. As his best friend, and roommate, you naturally said yes (he begged for hours). 

"Excuse me?" You hum 

“You heard meeee." He whines, walking over to the couch and laying on it, looking up at you in amusement. “Honey” He emphasizes, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Would it kill you to not make a sassy remark?”

"Do I seriously have to pretend to be your wife at the party tonight?" You sigh before flipping through the magazine you were reading. He knows this isn't ideal for you as you hate lying…and he knew he'd have to pay you back ten fold for this. "You could always just tell the truth!" You groan before the magazine shuts.

“I told you…” He sighs dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “It’ll be fine! Just pretend to be the best wife. One who dotes on her husband and never says a word back.” Wincing as you bonk him on the head.

"Uh huh..." Atsumu can feel the heat of a glare on his head. 

“And.” He adds, taking his arm from his face and opening one eye to look at you. He raises a brow. “Try to seem at least a little bit happy to be with your dear husband yours truly, Atsumu-chan!”

"I'll do my best..." You roll your eyes. Glancing over at the ticking clock hanging above the front door, it reads as six o clock…almost time for the party.

“I hope so…” He says, sitting up and leaning forward a bit. His smile turns a little more serious. “You do know what happens if we can’t pull it off tonight, right?”

"No...what happens." 

Atsumus face looks utterly disgusted and betrayed as a gasp fills your ears.

“My entire team makes fun of me.” He pouts before looking away. “Then again, they already do. They’ll just be more obnoxious about it.”

"That's true they'll never let you live it down..." You tsk your tongue. Laying back more on the couch to stretch without a care in the world. 

“Exactly!” He emphasizes. “I will be ridiculed by everyone even my old teammates and rival teams! I won’t have peace in my own home!” Atsumu pouts, looking up at you innocently. “You wouldn’t want me to suffer that… right?”

Taking a minute to answer, your eyes glare daggers into his before you sigh, dropping your head and shaking it. "No I guess not..." 

“So, all you need to do is pretend to like me!” He says with a huff. “Act like I’m everything you could ever want in a man. Even though you don't have to pretend." He sniffs and sighs. "I already know I am…” Giving you a sly wink before stretching out onto the couch. 

 Rolling your eyes, you sit forward and nudge him with your foot. "Yeah ok..." 

“That’s the spirit!” Your stupid stupid friend hums, laying back down on the couch. “So, go change into something cute...” He says, waving a hand in the air. “It can’t hurt to sell it, right?”

"Ouch!" You smack his arm and gasp. "You don't think this is cute?" Whining as you get up, your sweatpants practically hanging off while your tanktop is particularly tight. 

Raising his eyebrows a small smirk crawls onto his face. “Oh, it is. It really is….” His eyes slowly move up and down your body, stopping at your ass as he bites his bottom lip before looking back up, a faint red tint on his cheeks. 

The blonde clears his throat, looking away. “But, like, it’s not party material, you know?”

"True..."

“Right. So, go put on a cute sundress!” He says, waving a hand. “That’ll sell it for sure.” 

He glances over his shoulder to look out the window, his cheeks still tinted pink.

You roll your eyes before walking off to your room to change into something more party acceptable. You'd never admit it to the stupid blonde…but you were happy to play his fake wife. 

Now all he has to do is wait. He sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone boredly, before tossing his phone aside and glancing at the wall clock.

“Why does she take so long?” He mutters to himself, looking slightly annoyed. Atsumu hums as he hears clacking of heels on the hardwood floor.  "Finally took you lo-" He trails off as he sees you. 

"How do I look?" You whisper. You look gorgeous wearing a cute little halter top yellow sundress, a tiny white diner apron, paired with tights and cute black heels. (I'VE SEEN THIS DAMN OUTFIT ALL DAY AND I NEED IT)

You take notice of his eyes widening slightly as his mouth falls open, eyes eventually trailing up and down your form. A small, genuine smile forms on his lips. 

“Perfect.” He quickly stands up and steps closer, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against it. As he pulls back, the small smile turns into a cheeky smirk.

“My gorgeous wife.”

"Yeah yeah...my lovely husband..." You roll your eyes and smirk. Nudging him playfully as your eyes meet. 

He laughs quietly. “See? We’ll be fine at the party.” He releases your hand, instead substituting is for your chin, tilting it up. He raises an eyebrow with a smirk, leaning just a bit closer.

“We should probably practice the kissing a bit more, though…” He whispers, his breath fanning over her lips. “Since we’re practically newlyweds.”

You roll your eyes. "Save it for the party Atsumu..." You nudge him.

He laughs again, pulling away and throwing an arm over your shoulder. “You’re adorable…” He says, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. “But we’ll never get better if we don’t practice.” 

Glancing at the clock on the wall he hums. “It’s six fifteen…” He smirks, leading you toward the couch. “The party doesn’t start for an hour. We have plenty of time to practice…”

You hesitate as you watch his pleading face, your eyes weaken and he knows he hit your weak spot for him. "Fine...one kiss..." 

He grins. “Yeah? Then come’re and give me one!” Pulling you down onto the couch beside him. He cups your cheek almost immediately and presses his lips to your own, kissing you for a few moments before pulling back.

Atsumu's thumb gently rubs your cheek as he stares at you, a faint smirk/smile on his face. “One’s not enough…” He whispers with a small pleading tone, leaning in again he hovers over your lips. “Another, please?”

"I mean…its just practice…so its not weird..." You whisper with a gentle gulp, swallowing nerves. 

His smile widens considerably as his nose brushes against yours. “I like the sound of that…” He hums before pressing his lips to yours again. This one lingers longer than the previous one, but he once again pulls away with a teasing smile on his face, his thumb still rubbing at your cheek.

“You know, we could easily be better than the other couples at the party if we practiced more…” He says, voice barely just above a whisper.

"Oh yeah?" 

“Mhm…” The brown eyed bundle of nerves hums, his hand trailing down to rest on your hip, rubbing small circles there and holding you tight. He presses his lips to yours once more, kissing you for a few moments before moving down, lips brushing along your jaw before gently nipping at the nape of your neck. He pulls away after a moment, letting out a quiet groan, eyes closing.

“You taste so good…”

"You're a great kisser...never expected that..." You tease softly.

“Oh yeah? What did you expect?” He asks in amusement, his hand shifting from your hip up under the hem of your dress, running up along your outer thigh. He presses a kiss to the side of your jaw.

"No hickies!" You scoff as he suckles on a spot. Ignoring his previous question. 

Atsumu laughs quietly at the request. “I wasn’t planning on it…” He mumbles, obviously lying,  pressing a few more kisses to the side of your neck before stopping and pulling away slightly to look at you fully, hand still rubbing the skin of your thigh. 

He leans back into the couch cushion behind him, staring at you, a faint smirk and a look of mischief on his face. “You know, if you really want to sell it at the party, we should make it known that you’re my wife in more ways than just kissing…”

"And what do you mean by that?" You nudge him gently with your elbow. 

He gives you a knowing look, a smirk on his face as he sits back up, hand slowly moving further up the plush of your thigh, stopping just shy of your panties. “You’re a pretty smart girl…" The man murmurs, moving closer. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Brown eyes flick from yours to your rosy lips, and he slowly leans in. Instead of kissing you again however, he stops just before your lips make contact. “Let me show you…maybe?”

You nod quickly and shift to give him better access.

Without any hesitation, he closes the remaining distance, pressing his lips to yours. But…this kiss is very different from the other kisses: it’s desperate, deep, needy, and slightly sloppy. It only lasts for a few moments before he’s pulling away though, his eyes meeting yours, breathless.

“There are lots of ways to make it known…” He says, his voice hoarse with lust. “Do I need to keep showing you?” Atsumus eyes connect with yours, and you know what he's hoping…for you to say yes…and you're more than ready to give him that answer.

You pull on the collar of his shirt softly and nod. "Please..."

He leans in again, brushing his nose against yours for a moment before meeting those precious fuckin lips again. Like the previous kiss, it’s needy, hungry, and desperate. He kisses you like a man starved, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He pulls away for just a moment to catch his breath again, panting slightly. “You taste so good…” He whispers, pressing another soft kiss to your pink, swollen lips. “So good.”

Suddenly it hits you both…you're kissing. You both freeze.

Atsumu’s gaze travels down to those lips he thinks he'll never stop thinking about, taking in their plumpness and slight pink tint, before he shakes his head and looks back up to your eyes. The look of desire and love in his eyes remains, but he pushes down any other thoughts.

Right now is just to practice. Nothing more.

…But damn, he really wishes for just a moment (always) that this were real. That this wasn’t all just for show. That you really actually did love him that way.

You straighten your hair and clear your throat. "Well I think we did good…nice practice?" 

“We did…” He laughs softly, adjusting his clothes and running his fingers through his hair. His eyes flicker down to a few small blemishes on your neck, and he resists the urge to apologize again, instead nodding. “I think we’ll do great tonight!” 

He stands from the couch, his cheeks flushed. “I need a drink real quick. Do you want one?”

"U-Uh water thanks." You hum softly, trying to stop the blush from coming back to your face. 

He gives you a questioning look but doesn’t say anything, instead turning away and walking to the kitchen. He grabs one bottle of water and one bottle of beer for himself, returning with both after a moment. He hands you the water before popping open the beer and taking a sip.

“We have around thirty minutes before we leave…” He says, checking his watch before looking back up at you. “Anything you wanna do while we wait?”

"...well...I don't like your tie...so let me pick out a different one." You hum, quickly getting up and walking back to his room. 

He lets out a quiet groan, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

She’ll be the death of me…

He sighs and follows you down the hall, setting his beer on the bedside table when he reaches his room. Leaning against the wall, he watches you look over his selection of ties, arms crossed over his chest.

"Hmmm this one?" You hold one up to him to see the contrast. "Nah..." Putting it back to just find another one. 

“So picky…” He says, shaking his head with a small scoff. Despite that, he smiles softly, watching your determined look as you sift through his ties. 

He stands beside you and reaches for a tie himself, turning to you so you can see. “Maybe…this one?” He suggests, holding up a royal purple tie, leaning towards you, your faces near.

"That's not really you though..." You scoff and roll your eyes. 

He purses his lips, thinking for a moment before glancing back at his ties. He reaches past you and pulls out a gold one: very similar in color to his hair. 

“How about this one, then?” He holds it up beside his head, matching the contrast of his hair with the tie. “It accents me quite well, you see?”

"Yes!" You clap your hands and grab it from him before undoing his original tie. 

His cheeks darken slightly at the enthusiasm, but he does a good job of hiding his embarrassment. Despite that, he still smiles. Your behavior was too cute for his heart.

He steps closer so you can remove the old tie easier. He rests a hand on top of yours, steadying it as you undo it.

You place the tie in his closet before turning back to him to tie the new one. 

He raises his chin slightly to make the task easier, watching with a growing smile as your hands quickly begin to work.

If only she really were my wife…

“You’re very good at this…” He murmurs, watching you intently. “Have you tied a tie before?”

"I used to tie my dad's ties..." You smile with a small laugh. "My mom used to say I begged to learn..." 

Atsumu chuckles softly, smile widening slightly. “Really?” He hums, tilting his head slightly to give you better access. “Well, it certainly shows. I’d almost think you were a professional.”

"Professional?" You scoff in a laugh. "I don't think thats a profession dumbass…"

Atsumu’s smile widens and he chuckles again, shaking his head. “Yes, professional...” The setter teases. 

He rests a hand on your hip, pulling you closer as he looks down at you. From this angle, you looked a bit smaller then he usually saw you, but in a cute way. He almost wants to pull your cute ass into a hug.

"... you're very good at being a fake husband." You tease, poking his nose with your index finger.

“Of course I am!” He laughs, giving a self-confident smile. “I’m good at everything.” His ego shows and he raises his chin. “Even being a real husband, if I needed to be.”

"Well whoever ends up with you is lucky." You hum gently. "I hope you'll say the same for me?" You tease.

His smile falters slightly at your teasing words, and he looks at you with a conflicted look in his eyes.

Why did that bother him so much? Why did the image of you being married to someone else make his stomach twist…?

He quickly composes himself though, clearing his throat. He lets out an overconfident laugh, stepping back away from you. “Well, of course they will be! I’m great...and you are too I guess…” You hit his arm playfully.

You laugh softly and nod. "Perfect...except…" You snap your fingers and grab a hairbrush off his nightstand, leaning upward to begin fixing his messy hair.

A faint tint of red forms on his cheeks and he raises a brow, watching you work. “I’m fine, you know…” He mumbles, but he makes no attempts to stop you. In fact, he doesn’t even step away, tilting his head down for better access.

"Nope, your bangs needed fixing." You smirk and huff.

He lets out a quiet scoff, but doesn’t reply. Instead, he simply stares at you as you fix his hair. He could feel his heart beginning to beat faster as he stood here with you, watching this perfect girl fix his hair with no hesitation or shame. 

You couldn’t possibly ever be his, could you? But the way you acted around him, the way you spoke and teased him: it all made it seem so real.

As if you were really a couple… 

It was almost maddening…

But he loved it…

And he wanted you to love him…just as much as he loved you…

"Ok there!" You smile and stand back to give him a once over. 

He takes a step back and looks at himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair. He looks himself up and down before turning back to you with a smirk. 

“I look amazing!” He says, putting on a fake, overconfident tone of vanity, one hand on his hip. He holds his chin up and gives you a teasing once over as well. “Don’t I?”

"You just fucked up your hair again..." You groan and shake your head.

As he moves to reach for his hair yet again, he realizes that he actually did mess it up again, and he drops his hand with a sigh. 

“Well, now it just looks normal!” He huffs, a half-hearted shrug. He gives you a small smile though: the type of smile that’s full of fondness and appreciation…and maybe…even love. “Thank you, though, for your effort.”

Your roll your eyes and loop your arm with his, standing next to him and glancing in the mirror. "We look good together... people will believe it."  

He chuckles quietly before looking at the mirror, a genuine smile settling onto his face as he stares at the reflection. 

“I think we look very good together… as husband and wife.” Astumu lifts a hand off your arm to run a hand through his hair again once more, this time just styling it to look nice. “We’ll be perfect at the party, don’t worry.”

You nod softly and fluff your hair once more. "Ok...ready to go?" You hum

He nods in return, pulling you closer with a smile, resting his arm around your waist. The contact between you and him is intoxicating, but he pushes the thought away for another time.

“Let’s go, my love” He teases, leading you toward the door. “This party won’t know what hit them with how believable we are.”

🎀 Continued in Next Part🎀

(I will be posting Pt 2 tomorrow, ask if you want to be tagged!)

[sleepyhutcherson]

summer with the schmidts.

paring: mike schmidt x gn!reader (briefly mentioned)

summary: mike dreads the summer but deals with being outdoors knowing how much abby loves it.

tags: random headcannons that i came up with, fluff, established relationship, but reader is briefly mentioned, use of y/n, abby being mentioned, not revised, don’t think there’s anything else but let me know!

author’s note: i literally hate summer and i just know mike would too but i’m really just trying to be positive about it so i came up with these.

mike schmidt isn’t a big summer guy, let’s be honest. he prefers literally any other season, but when he catches the excitement in abby’s eyes when you mention how much fun the three of you will have, he forces himself to remain positive about it.

mike schmidt who tries to act like he isn’t excited while you all go out shopping for summer stuff. and honestly, at first he really isn’t, but when you suggest water balloons he tries to hide his excitement.

mike schmidt who always urges for abby to wear sunscreen. he definitely takes that seriously, too. he always has to tell abby something like “if you don’t put sunscreen on then we’re not going out.” in order to get her to put it on. he lowkey gets strict about it.

mike schmidt who hates how hot it is because he loves loves loves wearing hoodies. this is another reason why he dreads summer. he just feels more comfortable wearing layers, long sleeves, hoodies, etc.

mike schmidt who surprises abby with a pool. it’s not those expensive huge ones but he manages to save up some extra money to buy her one that she can have fun in.

mike schmidt who sleeps with like so many fans on. he can’t deal with the heat especially when he’s trying to sleep.

mike schmidt who goes out to sit with you while you both watch abby drawing with chalk on the driveway. the entire time you both talk, watching her with awe. eventually, you both join abby after she practically begs both of you to draw with her.

mike schmidt who is a sucker for ice pops (i’m not sure if that’s what they’re called, i know them as bolis, sorry!) and has like 10 a day. he swears they keep him from dying in the heat.

mike schmidt who will insist to hold you during the night. yes, he hates how hot it gets, but that’s why he keeps so many fans in his bedroom. he needs to hold you during the night, doesn’t matter how hot it is.

mike schmidt who suggests for you to sleep naked when you complain about how hot it is during the night. honestly, he sleeps in literally just his boxers during the summer. sometimes he’ll wear a tshirt, sometimes he won’t.

mike schmidt who will get in a bad mood due to the heat. it happens occasionally. he just can’t take it and will get angry at any little thing if he’s been in the heat too long without any water or fruit.

mike schmidt will live off fruit during the summer. literally he doesn’t know why but he has such a crave for it. he’s always chopping some up and snacking on it while you’re both outside with abby.

taglist: @cancelledkaley @stanheights-boyfriend @ploty-twist @st4r-b0ylover @laurrrelise @joshfutturman @gryffindorsblog @sofiehutch @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @helen-on-earth @fallingboba @cassiecasluciluce @maticka @jhutchissupercool

thank you for reading and for all your support <3

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Nineteen♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Nineteen Warnings: profanity Visit the first tag on this post to see all other chapters.

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Nineteen]

“I don’t get why we can’t go to her.” 

Charlie’s hands curled into rigid fists, eyes glued to the TV as Vaggie rubbed her shoulder soothingly. 

“The Vees have her now, Charlie,” Vaggie said. “We can’t just barge over to three of some of the most powerful overlords and demand them to hand over what they probably think is their property now.”

“[name] isnt property,” Charlie seethed, then thrust a hand to Lucifer who was sitting next to her, stiff and eyes trained on the screen just like she was two seconds ago. Completely silent. “And we have me, and Dad. We’re royalty, for fuck’s sake.” She clawed at her hair. “Why can’t we just order them to-“

“We can’t risk making the hotel a target, Char,” Vaggie said tiredly. She pulled her hand away, placing it on her chest as she looked at her girlfriend imploringly. “Believe me, I want to-“ her voice cracked. She looked away. “I want to help her too. She was-“ She kept my secret. She was nice to me- they all saw me as a traitor, she probably did too, but she was still-

“[name]? The angel you guys were talking about from when you went to visit Heaven, right, toots?” Angel Dust slunk over to where the three were crowded, slipping in between Charlie and Lucifer onto the couch. His face fell when he looked at the TV. “…Val has her. Oh.”

“She’s [name],” Lucifer said bitterly. Everyone looked at him. “She’ll be- she’ll be fine.” He looked like he was trying to convince himself, face paler than it usually was. 

“Did you know her, Dad?” Charlie didn’t have the patience to sound gentle. The words she threw at him were accusing. “You know her, don’t you?”

“Why would she fall?” Angel Dust asked, ignoring Charlie and Lucifer. “What’d she do?”

“How would you know if she’ll be fine if you don’t know her?” Charlie said, ignoring Angel. “You can’t make that judgement if you don’t-“

“Maybe Heaven found out she supported us?” Vaggie wondered. “Though that’s not really a reason to kick her out.” She chewed her nails. “This doesn’t make sense. The Seraphim loved her.” She looked at Charlie. “You saw it too.”

“All I’m saying is,” Lucifer said, strained, “She’s an angel amongst sinners. Of course she’s ten times more powerful than the rest of Hell, especially the Vees. That’s how all otherworldly beings were created- angels more powerful than sinners, by a long shot.” 

“But an angel died-“

“That was an exorcist. She isn’t an exorcist.”

“How would you know?” Charlie challenged, digging into the cracks to see if her father would slip up.

“It’s quite clear she isn’t an exorcist,” he hissed. Charlie’s face fell. He sucked in a deep breath, smoothing back his hair. “I’m sorry, I just- I’m sorry.” Charlie smiled weakly. 

“It’s fine if she meant something to you,” she said softly. Everyone looked at Lucifer, who didn’t say anything, just looked back at the news flashing on the screen quickly. 

“We could just bust her out,” he murmured, and by the muscle twitching in his jaw anyone looking close enough would have known he was aching too. The simple thought of you in Hell, yet unable to find your way to him- he swallowed and tried to calm his breathing, the way his heart beat in his throat painful. 

“About that…” Angel Dust spoke up, then trailed off. Everyone looked at him. He looked sick.

“Angel?” Charlie prompted gently. He took in a shaky breath, then looked away. 

“Never mind, I- it’s fine.”

“Valentino would hurt him,” Husk said gruffly. All eyes fell on him as he came over, half-empty bottle clutched in his hand as he took another swig from it. “If he can’t take it out on us, he’ll take it out on him.”

Angel pressed his lips together in a shy yet grateful smile. Husk smiled back at him. 

“Angel, maybe we could use you to get [name] back?” Charlie suggested excitedly, but Angel Dust began looking even more sick than before. 

“Charlie, no,” Vaggie hissed. Charlie fell back, face guilty.

“Oh, right. I’m- I’m sorry.”

Angel groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, guys. Fuck, I’m useless.” His phone pinged. He pulled it out, expression worsening. “It’s Val. I’m sorry, guys,” he repeated, pocketing the device and waving remorsefully. “If I see or hear anything about [name], I’ll tell you guys when I get back.”

“Thank you, Angel,” Vaggie sighed, giving him a reassuring smile. He didn’t have the heart in it to return the expression, just slipping out the door, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. 

Charlie stared at the ground, face riddled with guilt. Lucifer looked up. There were tears in her eyes.

“Char?” He asked, scooting over to her and placing both his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Charlie repeated. She looked up. Her eyes were glistening. “What’s wrong? This is what’s wrong!” She flung her hand at the television. “[name]’s in Hell, Dad. And yeah, I barely knew her, but I don’t wish this on her.” She tried to take in a shaky breath, instead failing as a sob racked her shoulders. Tears streamed down her face. “I can’t help thinking- what if I did something while I was in Heaven?” She sank back down and put her head in her hands. “What if I’m the reason she’s down here?”

Lucifer’s throat clenched up. “You’re not,” he whispered. He guided Charlie up, cupping her face in his hands and thumbing away a tear. “You’re not the reason, Charlie.” He smiled weakly, trying not to cry too. “Believe me.”

Charlie looked at him, and some sort of understanding flowed between them because she immediately hugged him, fiercely, afterwards.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Lucifer laughed miserably. “What for?” She didn’t reply, just hugged him tighter. 

“We can see what Angel says, then we can wait till morning, a few hours after he comes back, to see if she turns up. If not, we’ll take some action-“

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, dear.”

Vaggie almost leapt a foot into the air. “AAH, FUCK!” She whirled around, fist raised, but once seeing who it was she slowly lowered it, yet didn’t uncurl her palm entirely. “What the fuck, Alastor?”

Alastor ignored her, adjusting his bow tie, then his monocle as he smiled widely. His eyes fixed onto Lucifer, who scowled. 

“It seems to be a matter of fact that I met our elusive little angel. In cannibal town, no less. It appears she’s managed to escape the clutches of the Vees.” His lip curled distastefully at the last word, yet his grin never disappeared, his eyes narrowing. “We had quite an… interesting conversation.”

Charlie shot up, and Lucifer had to take all his self-restraint to not grab Alastor by the shoulders and shake every detail out of him. 

“You saw her?” Charlie said breathlessly, eyes widening. 

“You spoke to her?” Lucifer snapped, eyes narrowing. Alastor’s grin widened beyond what was humane as he tilted his head, eyes glinting.

“Indeed. And you’re all in for quite the surprise.”

[jjsfavgirl]

Pink tulips

.・゜゜・・゜゜・． ౨ৎ ・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

.・゜゜・・゜゜・． ౨ৎ ・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Summary: JJ Maybank buying his coquette girlfriend pink tulips just because.

Warnings: pet names and very fluffy and sweet jay<3

-

JJ had scrambled up as much spare change from his pockets to buy you your favourite flowers, pink tulips.

Taking a puff of his vape, he entered the shop, the bell rung through his ears as he looked around the shop, he felt like an emo at a Taylor swift concert. He was so out of place in the bright pink, calm shop with a strong flower scent that filled his tan nose.

He looked around clueless, he’s never had a real girlfriend before he met you. He’d only had summer flings and hookups. But now he had to figure out how to be the perfect material boyfriend for his new bow-loving sweet heart girlfriend.

He bit his thin nails nervously as his beaten boots shuffled across the white wooden palled floors, his hands tucked into his dirtied cargo shorts nervously as he looked around.

Red roses. No.

Pink roses. No.

Daisies. No

“Need any help, sir?” An elderly woman approached him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, kinda.” He laughed nervously, scratching at the back of his neck while chuckling at the grey haired woman.

“Who you buying for?” She smiled at the blonde, looping around the many pots of flowers which covered the shop as JJ followed her to the front desk.

“My girlfriend, she loves pink, super girly all that stuff.” He told the woman, a wide smile stretching across his face just by telling someone about his amazing girlfriend.

“I have the perfect thing.” She grinned at the young boy, seeing how in love he was and missing her youth. He took him around the shop again and picked up a large bouquet of pink tulips.

Checking the price, he was $5 short. Shit. He thought, these were so perfect for you and he couldn’t even get them.

“Do u think they’ll work?” She asked, passing him the flowers as she walked him back to the front desk once more.

“Uh- little out of my price range.” He chuckled, politely laying the flowers in front of the woman on the marbled desk.

“I’ll cover ya honey.” She responded, opening the cash register, “you seem so in love with this girl, it’s the least I can do.”

“I can’t let you do that, I’ll just buy something else.” He replied, digging into his pockets to scruff up his change.

“Seriously, let me.”

-

And here he was, stood outside yours and JJ’s white bedroom door. Withdrawing a breathe he didn’t know he was holding in, he twisted the nob and letting himself in.

He spotted you still snuggled in the white sheets, you looked so comfy in her pink pyjama set which JJ loved.

“Baby.” He whispered, feeling guilty about waking up his sleeping beauty.

“Huh?” You muttered, lifting your face off the now dented pillow as you sat up and rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“Hello, beautiful.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb with a smile, admiring your features which were perfectly framed by the early morning sun shining through yours and JJ’s thin curtains.

“Hi handsome.” You smiled back, lashes fluttering as you adjusted to the beaming light.

“I got you something.” He smiled brightly with a kid like excitement as his hand was hiding someyhing behind his back.

“Ooo.” You perked up at his words, sitting up in bed and crossing your legs to match his kid like exterior.

He pulled out the pink tulips, his smile reaching up to his eyes. You squealed, taking the flowers off him and smelling them deeply. Cheering three small thank you, thank you, thank you. As you deeply kissed his cheek and gazed at the flowers in awe.

“You like em’?” He asked, placing a hand on your bare thigh and rubbing up and down with his thumb.

“I love them!” You smiled brightly, wrapping one arm around your boyfriend’s neck in order to press a firm kiss on his lips.

-

Enjoy guys!!!

Love you all as always🫶🏻

Ivy:)

[kydrogendragon]

Meet Ugly

Meet Ugly for Day Three of Dreamling Week

Relationship: Dream/Hob, Dream/Corinthian, Hob/Corinthian Rating: Gen Words: 1712 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

“Get out,” Dream says, his voice ice in the bedroom he’d once enjoyed.

“Baby—”

“I said, get out.”

Corin huffs and shakes his head as he slides out of the covers of their—no, now just Dream’s—bed. His skin is marred with love bites and scratches of the other man that lies there. There is anger, somewhere within Dream, but it is buried under a gut-wrenching numbness that coats his body. He knew. Somehow, Dream knew this would happen. Was happening. His late work nights, the constant pings of messages on his phone. Hell, Dream should have ended it the night Corin came back drunk with a bruise at his collarbone that Dream knows for a fact he had not placed there. Yet Corin had insisted he had.

Desire was right. He was an idiot.

And pathetic.

“You said this was your place. That you just had a roommate, not a fucking boyfriend!” the other man yells. His longer amber hair is tousled from the sex they’d clearly had (and plenty of, judging by the musky scent that fills the room). His face is marred with anger as dark brown eyes stare at Corin with contempt. “You fucking bastard. Was I just a joke to you?”

“Robby, baby—”

“No. Fuck this. Fuck you,” the man says, jumping out of the bed. Dream watches numbly as he collects his clothes from the floor. Corin walks up to him, to Dream, and places a hand on his cheek, turning his gaze towards him.

“C’mon Dreamy, you know I love you right? I was just so lonely. And you’d been so busy with your family lately. A guy has needs, you know?”

And Dream laughs. In Corin’s face. Which is clearly not what he had been expecting as the sugar-sweet smile he’d been wearing morphs into disgust. Though Dream is not laughing at Corin, no. No, he is laughing at himself. At the fact that his first thought is how clearly he hadn’t been doing enough to keep Corin around. That he should be glad that Corin seems to want to give Dream a second-chance. He laughs because even though he knows how terrible Corin’s reasoning is, he still doesn’t want to let him go. Because that would mean Dream would be alone again. And he’s not sure he would survive being alone again.

A hand grabs his arm and tugs him away from Corin’s reach. Dream’s vision shifts and suddenly he finds himself staring into honey-warm eyes and a friendly, if not sad, smile. The man is clothed again, his simple white tee askew on his shoulders, a brown leather jacket clutched in his other hand.

“Come on, let’s get out of here, yeah? Let the trash take itself out.” His voice is low, but soft on Dream’s ears and he finds himself nodding. Faintly, he can hear Corin calling out behind them as the man leads them out of Dream’s apartment and into the night.

“So,” the man—Hob—says, picking up a crisp between his oil and salt covered fingers. “Corin’s a fucking prick.”

Dream snorts into his soda. The pair had walked aimlessly, Hob stomping down the sidewalk in anger, ranting and apologizing in equal measure. Dream followed along behind. What else was there to do? He couldn’t go back to his apartment—not yet, not until he was certain Corin was out of there. And even then, he’s not sure if he’d want to go back tonight and sleep in the same bed that . . . well, that the man he walked all the way here with. Who was also hurt and betrayed by Corin’s actions. He was, perhaps, the best company Dream would find at this time.

So Dream let himself be guided into a corner fish and “chippy” as the man—Hob—insisted upon calling it. And they found solace in a corner booth tucked beside the large glass windows that faced the London streets. Rain had started to come down at some point. Dream sits, hand on his chin as he watches the droplets run down the glass, stopping and pooling before continuing their journey.

“Dream?” Hob’s voice calls out to him. He blinks, turning back to the man Corin had cheated on him with. He can’t even claim to be upset at him, as much as he wished he was. It was not Hob’s fault after all. Corin said nothing of Dream’s existence nor their relationship. And he got him away from the mess and bought him food, despite insisting he was not hungry. A truth, still, as the scent of fried fish and oil permeates the space and does nothing to quell the unease in Dream’s gut.

“Apologies, I was . . . in my own mind, I suppose.” Dream lets his hand fall against his arm that rests on the table. He sips mindlessly at his drink, wishing it was something stronger to take this night away.

“No apology needed. Especially after all this,” Hob says, gesturing around between them and the outside. “I am sorry, though. For everything. For what he did to you. How long were you two together?”

“Two years,” he whispers into his straw.

“Fuck.” Hob shakes his head. His fist clenches. “God, should have known he was a douche when he hit me up wearing fucking sunglasses at night and indoors.”

The image is a familiar one. Corin did enjoy his sunglasses. He had quite a collection of them as well and insisted that his look was never complete without them. An ugly laugh rips from Dream’s throat. Corin was a douche. How did Dream not see it?

When he looks up, wiping away the tears from his eyes, he sees Hob laughing with a smile right along with him. Dream’s breath catches in his throat. In all his time with Corin, he genuinely can’t remember the last time he’d laughed, let alone laughed with him. And yet this man has managed both within two hours of knowing each other.

There’s a traitorous beat in his chest, but does his best to push it down. He has, quite literally, just ended a relationship. He will not let himself fall for the man he was cheated on with. He can already hear Desire’s comments now if he did.

“You are right,” he says, after their laughter dies down. “Corin is a prick. And yet I am only now realizing it.” Dream frowns, looking down at his hands. There was a time when he’d forsaw himself married to Corin. A future where a gold band would be on his finger, matching the one on Corin’s and then Corin wouldn’t leave. Or, at least not as easily. Perhaps it was his eagerness to hold those he loved closed that pushed them away. Perhaps Corin felt the greedy, desperate thing that Dream was and pushed against it, but always just enough to keep Dream reaching out for more. Perhaps that is why Calliope had left when she could.

There’s a hand on his arm. Dream looks up into warm amber eyes with more compassion in them than he has seen directed towards himself in years. Perhaps ever. “Hey,” Hob says, voice gentle. “It’s hard to see other faults sometimes. Especially if you’re that close. I’m sure you wanted to see the best in him and I’ll admit, the man has his charms. Wouldn’t have gone with him if he didn’t, after all. Don’t blame yourself like I can see you trying to. It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but his.”

“You cannot be certain I did not drive him to this,” Dream says, shaking his head, but not shaking Hob’s hand off of him.

“Even if you did, he still should never have cheated. He should have ended things first.” Hob leans in with a smile. “But something tells me I was right to start with. Can’t imagine anyone being pushed away by you. More the fool him for fumbling someone like you.”

Dream blinks. “What . . . what do you mean someone like me?”

Hob’s face flushes as he takes back the hand that rested on Dream and pushes through the basket of crisps. Dream does not think about how much it hurts to lose that touch.

“Well,” Hob starts, pointedly not meeting Dream’s eye. “Someone like you. You look like you could have walked of the runway. And . . . and you’ve a nice laugh. And you seem genuinely worried about if this whole thing was your fault and I just—” Hob finally looks up. His jaw works as he does some sort of mental debate before sighing. “Christ, well, may as well try.” He clears his throat and lets the crisp in hand fall back into the tray.

“Listen, I know this is going to sound absolutely insane given the situation, but I won’t lie when I say that the first thought I had when you walked into the bedroom was ‘holy fuck, I should have seduced the roommate instead’ because you look like an angel sent from heaven on high. You’re absolutely breath-takingly beautiful and your voice, even when angry, was like a drug to me. Pretty sure you were plucked straight from my fantasies. And I know that we barely know each other, but it feels like I could talk to you forever. And I’m not saying this to try to, you know, ‘seduce the roommate’ or . . . ex-boyfriend, as it were, but because it feels like you don’t know just how amazing you are.”

Dream swallows against the knot in his throat. “As you said, you hardly know me . . . I am. Cruel. And volatile with my emotions. And I do not do . . . well. With jealousy. Or loneliness, though perhaps it would be best if I stay alone.”

“Nonsense. No one should be alone.” Hob says it with such conviction that Dream finds it hard to argue against him. He shakes his head.

“Perhaps.”

Hob taps his fingers against the table top as he eyes Dream with a funny expression. “Again—might sound crazy—but would you want to come back to my place? Don’t have to do anything but talk but . . . I doubt you want to go back to your place, right?”

He is right. It is crazy. And yet . . .

“Okay.”

Hob grins.

“Okay!”

[morerawerbreath]

EVEN MORE Fictional Men Ranked Least to Most Likely to Eat Pussy

Pleased to say that since the positive reception of Part 1, I have had way more people than I would have ever imagined in my inbox asking me to weigh in on various other fictional men!!! If this is my legacy on tumblr.edu so be it

Corrections to Part 1 first: Many feel that Mr Rochester was unjustly assessed:

Thank you scholars for your input, I am listening and learning!!!!

Without further ado:

9. Ashley Wilkes — Gone With the Wind

No. no. you guys. Beau was born via immaculate conception as far as i’m concerned but if i HAVE to get more specific I’d say Ashley and Melanie do nothing except missionary. I know he’s devoted to her but that doesn’t necessarily translate to eros and being in touch with the body!! Holy wet blanket purity complex. Even if he and Scarlett ever managed to get a room together and she asked him point blank to go down on her he would start shaking like a wet lapdog and leave the room.

8. Jay Gatsby — The Great Gatsby

I HATE that you all made me think about this. Gatsby has no relationship with real bodies. I think he would cast Daisy’s pussy in wax and put it on his wall. He would buy her whatever sex toy she wanted. He might even watch her use them. But there are way way WAY too many weird repressed currents for this to happen.

7. Andrei Bolkonsky — War and Peace

Andrei isn’t thinking about pussy, Andrei is thinking about Napoleon I. He might be inclined to take a woman in a manly fashion once in a while but she’s definitely not a real person to him and odds are he’s thinking about military maneuvers and his horse while it’s happening. Oral sex does not once cross his mind.

6. Pierre Bezukhov — War and Peace

Pierre is ranked in the middle because I honestly can’t decide. On the one hand I get huge fedora m’lady reddit vibes from him but on the other hand his reading is extensive, he’s thoughtful, and he’s lowkey devoted to Natasha without ever really asking for recognition?? On the other other hand if he was into going down on women maybe Hélène would hate his guts less, but on the OTHER other other hand she seems like a women with a lot of internalized misogyny who might simp shame him for trying to eat her out so maybe it's not his fault? Despite initial awkwardness I think he and Natasha might be able to figure this out and if he had weird freemason-y ideas about sex (? not sure what these would be but I bet they exist) she would probably tell him to stop being a freak and they’d get on with it (i hope)

5. Colonel Brandon — Sense and Sensibility

If Colonel Brandon was with a different woman I would have doubts, or guess that he probably has affectionate/polite but perhaps not very x-rated sex. (Can he give himself over to true carnal abandonment? I don’t know.) HOWEVER, Marianne is so DEEPLY erotic and so obviously deserves/needs to have someone go down on her every day — he knows this and he loves her and he will do whatever she needs to be happy, so!!!

4. Captain Wentworth — Persuasion

Frederick undoubtedly would go down on Anne but would she let him?!? Would she be able to allow herself to be the sole object of attention and devotion? For him to stare at her fully between the legs with the lights on? I feel like she could get there eventually but it might take a few years. He would be patient and not rush her and probably be good at it when it finally happened!

3. Henry Tilney — Northanger Abbey

Henry would give the sweetest long-term-relationship/Sunday morning head to Catherine. Probably the kissing your stomach and your thighs before predictably doing exactly what you like thing. He would say something funny when he has to stop to fish a pube out of his mouth. He’s comfy, he’s relaxed, he nails it — Catherine giggles and everyone goes home happy

2. D’Artagnan — The Three Musketeers

Absolutely 100% will this guy eat pussy. He may not know exactly what he’s doing but by god, the will is there. Constance might have to give him some pointers but this is a man who will look at you with moony eyes and take the fucking note. Probably sloppy at first but would ask to practice every day until he can make someone come in 30 seconds. Then he would brag to his mates about it.

Henry Crawford — Mansfield Park

Henry fucks. If he lived today he would have a tiktok account for fingering techniques. if mirrors on the ceiling were a thing in 1810 he would have one. he’s a player and everyone knows it but it’s almost worth fucking him to see if it’s as good as he claims it is. not only would he eat pussy but he would hold your hips down and wouldn’t let you move until you come. he has 4 different kinds of lube. like, it’s trashy but respect the game i guess.

Bonus: Mary Crawford — Mansfield Park

Mary can shoot a single look across the sitting room at girls who think they're straight and they'll suddenly have an overwhelming urge to have sleepovers with her. She'd be like "it's okay, we're just experimenting darling" and then satisfy them sexually in a way they never will be again. I don't know what's in the water where Mary and Henry grew up but jesus christ. She has everything that Henry has PLUS staying power.

Part 1 here!

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CHAMPAGNE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, suicidal ideation

Read after the cut

-

“Hannibal’s hosting a soirée tonight,” you say to Will as you stand lining your eyes with a black pencil before your bedroom mirror. “Did you know about it?”

Will sits in a nearby chair, looking at you from behind his glasses. Having come fresh from a lecture he has not quite shaken off the mask with which he conducts public business, working through a measure of whiskey clutched in one restless hand with an eagerness to cut through to comfort again.

You think of method actors unable to ease out of an accent learned and feel a tail of ice switch your shoulder blades.

This man you'd once thought a victim struck down and made wary of society. Now you see in this slow adjustment of self that while this is not entirely untrue, Will dresses himself in shying gestures so as to keep the world at a purposeful length from him.

You wonder if his spectacles are fitted with prescription lenses, or if they’re formed of ordinary glass. Perhaps his Virginian hermitage is equally constructed, as much to discourage him from seeking dangerous connections as to ward unexpected company from his doorstep.

This man suspires for touch, for love; through each exchange you sense the pull of it, and the ground-heel stubbornness of his restraint.

“Hannibal’s been organising some kind of event for weeks,” Will says, abruptly. “He does this, now and then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask, pausing in your work to glance at his reflection.

Will laughs shortly, the sound scoured rough with scorn.

“It’s not really my scene. Champagne and social climbers— I’d rather stay home with my dogs.”

You envision Will in a sea of wriggling animals, the iron fortification of his false self come down in open laughter, and you see something in this obscure pretender to like beyond superficial things.

“I wish you were coming,” you say, and again Will laughs aloud.

“Don’t kiss my ass.”

“I’m serious. I need you. Hannibal says he wants me to go downstairs for a couple of hours tonight.”

“And what did you say?” asks Will, watching you finish the adornment of cosmetics with the interest of having never before witnessed the process in motion.

“I said, ‘no thanks, Dad,'" you admit. "But here I am, getting ready to go anyway. I figured I’ve pissed Hannibal off too much lately to turn him down. Did he tell you what I did?”

"He didn’t go into the details. All he said was that you stepped out of line, and that he had to do something about it.”

He sets his whiskey glass on the floor, an act that would likely have your older jailer cringing in pernickety affront.

“You insist on butting heads with Hannibal,” Will continues, “even when you don’t like where you end up. Or maybe you do.”

You whirl round, brandishing an indignant hand in his direction.

“I do not!”

Will takes off his glasses, his gaze beneath both cynical and toying. You recall his fingers investigating your arousal post-spanking and look away again, itching beneath three tiers of lavender and ebony lace.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” says Will. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Yeah, well,” you retort. “I’ll bet you’ve done that already. If you can get inside the Lover’s head then mine shouldn’t be a problem.”

Moth like, Will’s eyelids flutter towards the window’s fading light.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Still haven’t cracked the case?”

“Not yet. The investigation into the factories and the vendors using them is going way too slowly to be viable. Jack thinks the dolls were purchased years ago, likely under a false name. We can’t rely on that to find the killer. He planned this more than a decade in advance.

“At this point he’s either waiting for the perfect chance to abduct his true target or he’s lingering to enjoy the thought of her being afraid. It could be both. He’s a cruel lover.”

Will blinks, and his brows close together in a frown.

“You’re changing the subject, Little One.”

You jolt to hear the moniker in full, and now with an accusatory edge.

Twitching, you say, “Yeah, I am. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“Hannibal doesn’t think so.”

Shoving your makeup bag aside you round on Will again, unimpressed. There is something of his old jealousy under the amusement, the stirring of a sleeping and cantankerous god. His attraction to you still does not change that he seethes to think of you and Hannibal alone together, of the nights he and his friend had once committed only to the other.

Will ultimately relishes that you were degraded, a consolation in his displeasure.

He brings his chair towards you, eager to chase the conversation further with his proximity.

“Hannibal knows it’s embarrassing,” you say. “That’s kind of the point. You’re both so smug about this.”

Will reaches out to pull you gently into his lap.

“Maybe just a little," he says, and you squirm against him, suppressing the silt of disgust in learning to win him this way, for wanting the affirmation of his desire upright against you.

Will adjusts you to straddle his thigh instead, a knowing participant in your game.

You turn on his knee, putting your arms about his neck to look into his face, close enough to see your silhouette in the rock pools of blown pupils.

“Will,” you say. “Do you think Hannibal loves me?”

Will starts, all the humour absenting itself from him at once.

“Do you want him to?” he asks, quite incredulous.

You dither over your answer, which is no longer as distinct as it once was. Hannibal’s adoration is a statement of lasting security, yet to be the darling of a man willing to orchestrate a killing in the name of therapy is a thought like venom in the blood; should you concede you too will die in all but physical form.

Aloud, you only say, “I could ask you the same thing, Daddy. What if Hannibal felt that way about you? Would you like it?”

Before Will can confirm, deny, or deflect with some pithy comment your bedroom door opens, and the moment is knocked through like a stoned pane of glass.

“Sorry to be abrupt,” says Hannibal, mildly. “Staff will be arriving soon to help prepare for my guests. If you’re not staying, Will, then you may wish to make yourself scarce.”

The younger man rises from his seat with a haste that surely does not go unnoticed by the other.

“Sure,” says Will. “I’ve got papers to grade, anyway. I’ll try and make the time to visit tomorrow.”

Your captors exchange glances, Hannibal with his usual, unshielded ardour, Will with a curiosity that, in other circumstances, might amuse you. Somehow, in all of this, he had not consciously entertained a belief in Hannibal’s attraction to him.

Now, through your question, he considers it, but says nothing, taking leave of you both with his opinion on the matter an enigma.

*

Like an enchantress at her oriel you observe as the workforce arrives, shaking rain off their umbrellas at the front door. Some hours later the vision is repeated with the expensive and largely beautiful attendees of Hannibal’s party, some glancing up at the house and nudging one another as they notice you above.

You feel a lurch of anxiety to think that you are expected to go among them, to smile with saccharine manners and pretend to them that you’re no more than a patient to the venerated Dr Lecter.

All this, surrounded by canapés and flowing drinks that will tease and taunt with scents and flavour— your stomach bellows in anticipation of it, for though you’ve eaten it is, as ever, not enough.

It seems a fickle thing to find yourself so oppressed while living with a man that has offered to help you maim and slaughter another, and yet between the horrors of illness and this it is satiation that you fear the most.

Still, you fear Hannibal also, this creature in his costume of human flesh and pleasantries.

That he has not spoken of Leland or Amy in two days only underpins the intelligence of his evil, a thing that he can fold away into himself just as he likes. You’ve continued your act as daughter-wife only in that to display your horror of him openly will mark you as not of his ilk but as prey, a delicacy procured from the forest.

Thus, with effort you brush the pounding of your heart and the agony of the cane under the rug of memory and watch the glittering people under a marquee of rain clouds until they’ve all entered, leaving the night empty again.

You listen with one cheek to the floorboards to the clink of glasses and droning conversation below, the instruments of hired musicians at their haunting work.

Surely you will not meld easily with such company as seethes beneath, even gowned as you are in grey silk and lace from a fashion house few can afford. Your mouth will open, and you will reveal yourself clumsy-tongued and unsuited to their guild.

The terror of it has quite gnawed you through by the time Hannibal ascends from the soirée to collect you.

“Are you ready to meet my guests, Little One?” he asks, taking your clammy hand with its nails bitten down to their ends.

“Not really,” you mumble. “Not sure I’m one of them.”

Hannibal lifts your arm to kiss your inner wrist where a vein strums with lurching adrenaline.

“You’re beginning to resemble Will in your attitudes,” he says, his voice a vibration on your skin. “But I disagree. My friends and acquaintances will find you as charming as I do.”

There is an implicit and unworded warning not to embarrass him in the compliment, a flash in the peat dark of his eyes. Gulping thickly, you fasten yourself to Hannibal’s side as you take the stairs, poised to wince under the observation of the many gathered below.

Hannibal’s house is made a palace by their decoration, men in crisp suits and women in forests of jewellery stepping from room to room, their chatter like another kind of music. Servers go about with trays of extravagant food and champagne, and in one corner a band plays a rendition of some famous classical piece whose name you don’t recall.

Overwhelmed, you glance back up the stairwell, ushered on by Hannibal’s hand upon your arm.

“I understand your reservations,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the presence of so many people at once.”

Yet is not the quantity that perturbs you, but the agony of inevitable comparison. You feel like some vast and bloated airship amidst the slenderness of so many of Hannibal’s peers. Placing a hand across your stomach you attempt an awkward smile as you’re introduced to each guest the doctor approaches, thinking of the front door—surely locked, now, or guarded—through which you’d take flight, had you the chance.

A familiar voice anchors you amidst your desperate thoughts.

“Well, now, look who it is.”

Turning, you gasp with delight.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jack,” you say, going eagerly forth to shake his outstretched hand. “I like your suit.”

Jack grins, holding out the arms of his jacket in a playful gesture.

“Why, thank you. I’ll have to tell Bella you said so. She bought it for me a few years back.”

Hannibal subtly brings you closer to his side, keen to intercept in case, as before, you attempt to communicate your struggle to Agent Crawford.

“Bella has excellent taste,” he says. “In suits, and in her companions.”

“You know she does, Doctor,” says Jack, and turns to peer into the crowd. “Hold on a moment. I’ve just seen Chilton over there. I’ll be back.”

As he wades through the throng you gaze after him, yearning to give chase. He, of all men present, you trust entirely with your safety, myopic though he is to the evil around him.

Steering you in the other direction, Hannibal says, “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to my guests independently. It’s important for you to develop confidence in your social abilities.”

You start violently at the suggestion. To be left alone at this event is a risk that shrieks of Hannibal's deiform arrogance; they know, these guests, of your madness, the sympathetic injury that may well twist you against your caregiver.

The staff, too, are likely prepared, told you’ll lie to them or feign hysterics so as to be led away from this place by any that would believe in your performance.

Should you betray your attacker you would find yourself amongst enemies, yet it does not cross your mind even to attempt it.

For the first time you find Hannibal an ally: he has always regarded your weight with a neutral disinterest that even your disorder cannot twist into derision. The women that eye you up and down, however, reinforce that you are a failing thing to be judged, and so you read into even the most innocuous look a malice.

“Can’t I stay with you?” you ask tremulously. “I barely know anyone here.”

A little smile graces Hannibal’s lips, and he leans in to speak softly at your ear.

“We mustn’t provoke any more speculation about us through unorthodox proximity. Miss Lounds is likely no longer alone in thinking us lovers. For now we must suggest that we are not.”

“But—"

“Hush,” says Hannibal. “Be a good girl and do this for me.”

You think acutely of his mouth upon your cunt earlier that morning, taking you fresh from the shower against the bathroom wall as you’d bitten your fist against weak and hopeless cries. He had not hurt you, not threatened, merely knelt and pushed your leg over his shoulder, relying on your startled fear to keep you pliant.

He’d made you come with sensation like the taste of sparks, a sudden, pulling burst around him. You’d taken it like a morsel from his fingertips; a gift from him, making things up to you after your whipping, so that you can never think him only cruel.

This pressure now upon you to be grown: it is not mean for meanness’ sake. He desires evidence that you are capable of bearing his secrets without lapsing into betrayal, for only then will you be worthy of his love.

“Okay,” you say, at last, and Hannibal lets you go off in your silver dress like a piece of loose smoke whipped away by the wind.

You watch him through the crowd—sleekly handsome, and effortlessly entertaining—in defeat. He has worked to make you dependent on him, but you are ashamed of the success with which he’s so quickly achieved that very goal.

A woman attempts to speak to you, a gallery owner of the eccentric, elderly type; a young man, a scholar, comes at the other side of you with a question you don’t quite hear. Bewildered, you utter what vague answers you can summon at a whim and excuse yourself, cupping a hand at your eyes to blinker yourself against a passing tray of confections.

The lights, the noise, the bodies that press about you like a rising flock of pigeons disturbed on some night street— overcome by panic, you find yourself up against the stupid urge to weep.

Another server edges by you with a battalion of golden champagne glasses on a teetering plate. Thinking of the warmth of Will’s Irish coffees you take a glass in hand and look at it, paused only by the immediate calculation of figures wrapped about your brain like a band.

Seventy calories on top of the four hundred from this morning, then the three hundred of what you ate of dinner, the one hundred and eighty in fresh juice—

Guilty as a murderer you sip the champagne to its end, ducking out of Hannibal’s view as you take a second measure from another member of his staff. The day is already ruined beyond salvaging, you reason; whatever calories you drink no longer count.

As with the whiskey you feel yourself warm, adrift from the cutting mouth of your perpetual nerves. The vast rooms soften, taking on the glazed appearance of a gala in a dream. By the time you sneak your fourth glass it is almost easy to return a hundred curious smiles, to answer shallow questions with equal shallowness.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful house. Yes, I’m doing much better now that I’m here. Yes, Dr Lecter is awfully kind. Oh, Will’s really a great guy once you get to know him.”

Gradually you see the guests accept you as they might a quaint exotic pet, certainly not their equal, but pleasant enough to understand their host’s affection for. That he, the saint they fawn over, has forced his mouth upon your soaking cunt that very morning makes you laugh now that you’re drunk enough.

Such idiots this man pulls about him, art curators, literary critics, the blood of old money, all equally duped as you never were, not once. These friends of his know only a character he plays, fanatics following a myth.

In this, at least, you are superior, the child Antichrist groomed by devilish fathers for a coronation in evil.

Caught between this grim lucidity and a certain gloating you stumble into a red-headed woman in a Verdigris gown like copper made lovely by deep water. Muttering an embarrassed apology you turn away, stayed only by her small hand at your elbow.

“Well, hi,” she says. “I didn’t think Hannibal would let you out for this. I heard he keeps you under lock and key. I’m Freddie Lounds, by the way.”

Stupid with drink, you attempt to gather yourself in the face of this revelation.

“I know you!” you cry. “I’ve read your stuff. Some of it, anyway. And yeah, I was surprised he let me come, too.”

Your eyes meet Freddie’s, searching for the same thing she hopes of yours: an understanding between you. The union of a shared opinion.

“I take it you’re not thrilled to be under his care,” she says in a lowered voice. “I have my own professional opinions about Hannibal and Will Graham, and I’m not the only one. That’s partly the reason I came. I had a hunch I’d find some answers here.”

In bilious regret of the champagne you list against a nearby wall for support.

“Answers? What do you mean?”

Freddie leans in conspiratorially, blocking you from Hannibal’s sight should he glance in your direction.

“Not long ago I received an anonymous email from someone claiming to know you,” says Freddie. “They were hoping to secure an interview to set the record straight regarding a recent article published on the Tattle Crime website. I never turn down potential information, so I said I’d do it, but they never responded.”

She pauses, alert to the change in your expression.

“Last night a young woman was abducted in the same way all of the Lover’s victims were taken. My research seems to point to her being an old school friend of yours. I was wondering if you’d heard anything about her disappearance.”

Horror bowls you down as though from the uppermost step of a spiral staircase.

“What... what happened?” you stammer. “Please, I need to know.”

Freddie's eyes—the clever blue of a Collie bitch—cup your face in their keen hold.

“The victim was abducted from her home after opening her door to someone at around 11pm,” she says. “There was a struggle— furniture was overturned, and police say it’s likely the kidnapper sustained some kind of injury, although no blood was found at the scene. I imagine Will Graham performed one of his infamous recreations to figure that out.”

The room seems to rotate around you like hell’s carousel, sickening, searing.

“The victim,” you say. “What was her name?”

You know before Freddie speaks her answer, have known it from the moment you’d placed your hand upon Hannibal’s telephone, as though fate itself by psychic puppetry had directed your hand.

“It’s Amy Glass,” says Freddie, and she makes a hunting gesture, as though searching for an invisible notepad. “So can you confirm that she’s a friend of yours?”

Shaking your head, you jerk away from the wall, swerving out from under Freddie’s arm as she reaches out to you, her face almost soft with concern. She calls you back to her, but you are already striding across the room to the beast in his mortal attire, deaf to all but him.

“Hannibal!” you shrill above the music. “Hannibal, I need to talk to you!”

People turn, startled and intrigued, anticipating a spectacle, the lunatic girl in full bloom.

Hannibal glances about, rapidly assessing the danger you threaten. An emotional scene could sully his reputation, an indelible stain on his house.

Addressing you by name, he says, “What’s wrong? Has someone upset you?”

“Yes,” you say, through gritted teeth. “You.”

Hannibal’s eyes shift, finally interpreting the length of rage and terrified abjection unreeling within you.

“Come with me, then,” he says, quickly. “Let’s discuss this upstairs.”

Your mouth opens, and you imagine instigating a scandal, screaming of the abuse and other foulness invoked upon you.

Then you think again of flesh and killing and nod your head coldly, allowing Hannibal to guide you to your bedroom with a murmured excuse to his guests.

Once alone, he sits you down on the bed, his tight jaw easing as he feels the violence with which you shake at his light touch.

“Tell me what happened,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

Your fists squeeze as one in your lap.

“Amy is missing. Freddie Lounds told me. What did you do to my friend? Where did you take her?”

Hannibal’s visage changes subtly, the humanity in it retreating to reveal that other self, the stag of putrid dreams.

“I didn’t take Amy,” he says, flatly. “I assume Freddie informed you of the details of her abduction. Amy injured her attacker, and I don’t bear the mark. You saw nothing upon me this morning.”

Indeed you had not; his nude body, knelt between your legs, had been as fresh parchment, white and clear, but still he is no innocent.

“You must have told the Lover about her,” you insist. “Left some sign for him somewhere. You did this. I know you did. You did this to punish me, or to see how I’d react. Well, congrats, Dad. This is it. I hate you.”

Your breath rips in and out of your lungs like the proboscis of some terrible drill, and as you lean into Hannibal’s face you see your own spittle jump the air in the force of your emotion.

“If you let her die I’ll starve myself,” you say. “I’ll go on hunger strike. You can do anything you want to me, I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself.”

“I won’t let you,” says Hannibal, calmly.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll make you regret what you did.”

He shifts back from you a fraction, and you comprehend in that subtle motion that he believes it.

“You care so strongly for this old friend, then,” he says, simply.

“Yes. You feel the same way about Will. If Amy gets hurt or dies because of me— I couldn’t handle it. I can’t. I can’t. You know what the Lover does to people. How could you send her there? How could you do this?”

Your voice wavers, threatening sobs, and you curse yourself for your fragility, the little girl you cannot help but be. Hannibal finds a handkerchief and touches it to your face, his previous compassion returning, and with dismay you accept that while your anger will not move him entreating him as your father will.

“If you ever want me to trust you and your way of living then bring her back, Daddy,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy. Please. Please.”

Hannibal's head turns aside, examining you with a renewed interest.

“You believe me to be such a God as to be capable of this.”

“Yes. You can do anything you want to. You can help her. I know you can. If you don’t you’ll ruin everything you want with me and Will. This is all I’ll think about when I see your face.”

Your jailer doesn’t answer, only reaches out to take your sweat-damp dress down from your shoulders. On a repulsed and foolish instinct you slap his hands from you.

“I can do it myself.”

Hannibal snatches hold of your wrists, and for a moment you see him consider violence, his eyes blackly wild, like Will’s, as though absorbing his lover’s approach.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, at last, and he lets your hands fall, unharmed, into your lap. “Please stay in your room until my guests leave tonight. I wouldn’t like you to upset them or yourself any further.”

“What about Amy?” you ask. “Are you going to find her?”

Without answering Hannibal turns to re-join the party, pausing in the doorway to impart his final direction.

“Please don’t mention what has transpired to Will. He doesn’t know that you and Amy are still so closely connected, and so it should remain. Obey me and you’ll receive no punishment for disturbing the festivities. The fault lies with me for allowing you to encounter Freddie Lounds while unattended, after all.”

You want to scream after him, tear at his carefully ironed shirt collar and rend from him an answer to your request. But he only leaves you alone behind your locked door with thoughts of Amy cut apart to fit the body of a doll. Defiled, as you've frequently been.

[tgmsunmontue]

Can't buy me love 1/3

Hangster, Explicit, ~16k (complete, posting chapter/day)

(Part of the Top Gun AU Bingo - squares for Ranch, Single parent, Billionaire, and semi power-balance).

Summary: Jake doesn't need help around the ranch, but he's not going to turn down cheap able-bodied labor either. He's not stupid. The fact that Bradley knows nothing about ranching doesn't exactly help his case, but he's a fast learner.

---------

                Jake had had plans. He’d planned to get out of Texas and away from his family, as loving and supportive as they are… None of his plans had come to fruition.

                None of his plans had included getting his high school girlfriend pregnant.

                None of his plans had included becoming a single parent when his girlfriend then died in a freak accident when their baby was only a few months old.

                None of his plans had included never leaving the state of Texas.

                None of his plans had included studying agriculture, business and keeping up to date with stock bloodlines.

                None of his plans had included raising a young girl in Texas for fifteen years.

                None of his plans had included being single at thirty-three and with no-one he’d consider having something serious with.

                And yet here he is, and while he finds himself lonely in the evenings, he can visit his parents’ house, or any of his siblings. He can go into town and see some of his friends. Find someone to scratch the particular carnal itch he gets sometimes when he isn’t tired from working all day.

                Despite all of that he wouldn’t change his life. Ashley is amazing and delights him every day, even when she swings between terrifying and annoying.

                So his plans had changed, but he’d made new ones and maybe put his dreams on a shelf. He can get them down, dust them off, and look at them later.

…            …            …

                He sees her leading a horse out of the stables, knows it’s not late enough for her to have done all her chores if she also had homework, but she’s already got a horse saddled up for riding.

                “Ashley! You done your homework?” he calls out, jogging a little to reach her so she can’t pretend to not hear him and simply ride off.

                “Ugh. Yes dad, of course I have. I did it in study period. Anyway, I’m just going to grandmas to help in the garden.”

                “Oh, okay. You’re a good girl. Ride carefully.”

                “Always do!”

                He watches until he can’t really make her out, knows she’ll be well in sight of his mom’s kitchen window now, that while she’s between his house and his parents’ place she’s the safest she can be.

…            …            …

                He’s not expecting anyone, so his eyes narrow when he sees the tell-tale cloud of dust indicating a car is headed toward him. It gives him time to wipe his hands, to just place himself in a slightly more defensible spot than out in the wide open space of the yard. A dusty beaten-up truck comes to a slow stop, engine switched off and then a man is getting out, alone and he looks harmless. Jake doesn’t shift, looks can be deceiving.

                “Hello, can I help you?”

                “Hi. The woman, Michelle, at the diner in town, said you might be looking for workers?”

                Jake runs his eyes up and down his body, and he’s in t-shirt and jeans, but clean and tidy, clearly not worn on a ranch doing hard labor.

                “What’s your name?”

                “Bradley Mitchell.”

                “Jake Seresin” Jake offers, holding his hand out. “Ever ridden a horse?”

                “Nope.”

                “Ever roped or dealt with cattle before?”

                “Nope.”

                “Ever stepped foot on a working ranch before today?”

                “Nope.”

                Jake raises an eyebrow and bites back the comment about not expecting a greenhorn that’s his age, especially not one that is wanting to work on a ranch.

                “How about you tell me what skills you do have,” Jake offers, because maybe the guy will surprise him.

                “I have a degree in mechanical engineering. I’m good at fixing things that are broken. I can follow instructions, am able bodied and am keen to learn. And I don’t need paying until you feel I’m worth paying.”

                Jake raises an eyebrow at that, because that’s one hell of a bargaining chip he just put on the table. Not that they’re hurting for money at all, but free labor is still free labor. However it also raises a couple of red flags, because people aren’t usually willing to go unpaid if they have nothing to hide.

                “You got any ID on you?”

                Bradley pulls out a driver’s license, one for California, and it definitely shows his name as Bradley Mitchell. Hmm. So not hiding that at least. And he’s a couple of years older than Jake. The guy in the photo looks healthier than the one standing in front of him, but he’s not going to judge. He rubs at his face, not really sure, because it’s not like they’re in desperate need for help either. But he does need some help, there’s always work to be done and never enough time or hands to do it all. He pulls out his phone and takes a quick photo of both sides of the license before handing it back to him.

                “You’ll get room and board and a small allowance a week, then after a month we can talk a weekly pay rate if you feel like sticking around. Earlier if I think you’re worth it.”

                “Sounds fair,” Bradley agrees easily. Too easily.

                Jake just hums and shows him to the bunkhouse.

…            …            …

                He rings the sheriff and asks her to do a check on a Bradley Mitchell from California, says he’s bringing him on to live on the ranch so just wants to keep his family safe and he knows it’s calling in a favor but he also has Ashley to consider and it still feels like the bare minimum, and he should still ask to do a reference check, but people can lie so easily, can be bought so easily, that he’d rather just watch and make his own judgement call. He sends through the photos he took, knows it’ll probably take a day or two, that she has more important things to do than run a background check, but it’ll happen. Just to be safe he asks his mom to keep Ashley at her place.

…            …            …

                The next morning he heads out to the bunkhouse earlier than usual, not needing to get Ashley to school, which gives him more time. He introduces Bradley to the other three cowhands, explains with a dry expression that Bradley has zero experience so will be shadowing Jake so he can learn some basics. And Jake stresses that he means the basics, which gets a few sniggers from the others but, well, without the ability to ride a horse or deal with cattle he is pretty useless. However there are jobs he can assist Jake with, that free up one of the others, so it does work out. He sends the others out, gives them a list of jobs and they leave with tips of their hats, Mikey giving his shoulder a shove and a muttered good luck under his breath.

                “So, you ever collected eggs before?”

                The look Bradley gives him is dry, like he clearly thinks Jake is an idiot for asking given their conversation the day before and Jake gives him a conceding look, gesture for him to follow him out to the coop.

                “Okay. So you gotta be careful the shell is hardened. Too fresh and the shell will be warm and you picking it up will just crack the entire thing. Okay? If the chickens are still sitting sometimes it’s best to just leave them and come back later. If they’re broody then they won’t move, and some will give you hell if you even try.”

                “Okay. I didn’t understand half of that.”

                Jake laughs and then walks him through it all, actually shows him how to collect the eggs. Decides to leave them all in the bunkhouse kitchen despite it usually being split fifty-fifty with his own house; he doesn’t want to take Bradley there, he is still a stranger.

                He starts doing some of the two-man jobs or tricky ones which just become so much simpler when there is another pair of steady hands. They re-fence all of one side of two paddocks, and he’s pleased to note that Bradley is indeed able bodied and able to follow instructions. He asks for clarification when he doesn’t understand something, rather than assuming or guessing and Jake appreciates it, because it means they’re doing the job once, the right way, the first time. That level of maturity is a benefit then, not afraid to ask questions and appear clueless in the face of new tasks. Jake definitely prefers it over some cocky kid who thinks he knows everything and then fucks up, wasting time and resources.

                Despite his tidy fingernails and soft-looking hands he doesn’t shy away from any of the jobs that Jake has him help with. Seems equally content mucking out the stables as he is using a post-hole augur, makes observations about fence placements, and land features, which tells Jake he’s probably well versed in some theory of land use, if never exposed to the physical and practical side of it. He arranges for Ashley to stay at his parents again and rings Mandy and learns that the check has come back clear, except for one parking ticket in San Francisco. Okay. So not a serial killer. Or at least not that has a trail of bodies attached to him. If there is anything it’ll be white-collar crime, because Jake’s still suspicious as hell.

                He doesn’t think of himself as overly protective, but he is careful. The fact that he’s taken Bradley on with just a simple background check, no references… other than checking he wasn’t a wanted criminal. He doesn’t get bad vibes from him, just… he’s hiding something and Jake’s not going to go prying, because every man is entitled to his privacy. Except he also has a responsibility to keep his child and family safe, so he doesn’t blame himself if he’s a little more watchful of Bradley than he is of his other workers.

…            …            …

                He has to relax his guard eventually though, Ashley getting impatient about getting back to her own bedroom and she gives him the stink eye when she is dropped home by his dad the next evening, her horse in a trailer because it’s after dark and he won’t let her ride when it’s dark. He invites his dad down to the bunkhouse to meet Bradley. His dad has always been a good judge of character and is even tempered, he’d like his opinion. The other cowhands greet his dad with friendly backslaps and greetings, introduce Bradley themselves and Jake just shrugs, excuses himself to go back to the house and check on Ashley and apologize probably.

                He’s right on the money, he does have to apologize and promise she’s allowed a sleepover that coming weekend. He also makes pancakes with fruit for dinner, a more silent apology for being overprotective. He knows she can look after herself, has ensured she knows how to use a gun, some basic self-defense. But he knows he’ll never forgive himself if something happens to her that he could have somehow prevented. All the other workers are men he’s known for over ten years. He went to high school with Mikey. Having someone new, someone he doesn’t know, makes him feel a little uneasy.

                His dad turns up two hours later, wide smile in place and he’s nodding his head, clearly impressed by whatever conversation he’s had with Bradley.

                “Leave him with me, I can show him a few things.”

                “Thanks dad.”

                It will help, if he’s able to get out with the others and drive the cattle, two teams of two working much more effectively, even if Mikey and his dogs work seamlessly as a team all by themselves. His dad worked this ranch for years before Jake took over most of the day-to-day running. He can leave a list of jobs that his dad can do and show Bradley, jobs he wouldn’t generally ask his dad to do now, not with him getting on in years, but he is capable of teaching and knowledgeable in what needs to be done, so getting him to help with Bradley just makes sense.

                The next day goes quickly, working with the others and he wants to keep checking in on his dad, who had collected Bradley that morning. He’s glad Ashley is at school, doesn’t need his attention split three ways rather than focusing on the tasks at hand; two ways is bad enough, but he can’t help it. Not until he knows Bradley Mitchell better and gets a feel of his character. He’s washing up when his dad finds him, Ashley doing her homework at the table.

                “He’s a fast learner. Knows some weird things, but sometimes oddly useful. He came up and looked at my old truck you know, got the engine turning over but said he’d need a couple new parts to get it running properly.”

                “Huh. Okay then,” Jake says, because so far everything is working out. “And what feeling did you get off him?”

                “That he likes to be useful. And that he’s…” his dad lets out a long sigh. “Lonely? No. Isolated maybe? He’s not sad or upset, but there’s something.”

                Jake nods, because yeah, he’d got that feeling too. He’s just not sure what to do about it.

…            …            …

                While Bradley clearly can’t ride a horse or herd cattle he can cook, something the others appreciate when they come back to the bunkroom kitchen in the evening and there is a stew bubbling away with what looks like bread rolls rising in a dish, ready to be slid into the oven.

                “You can cook.”

                “I can. Didn’t think of listing it amongst my skills when I introduced myself.”

                “Well, it’ll endear you to the others a lot more if it tastes as good as it smells. They’ll put up with a lot if they’re getting fed well.”

…            …            …

                “Ashley! Are you wearing makeup?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Where did you get makeup from? When did you get makeup?” Jake asks, and his daughter is sixteen, he knows she isn’t too young for it, but it makes her look so much older and his heart can’t handle this, seeing his little girl, looking so much like her mother, getting ready to leave the house for school.

                “Grandma took me. Plus she took me for some lessons, said what she knew wouldn’t be suitable for my skin tone. Kathryn and PJ are still allowed to come over tomorrow right?”

                “Yeah. Of course,” Jake says, because apology sleepover. Right.

…            …            …

                He finishes for the day and he goes in search of Bradley. His dad had called him, left a message telling him he’d sent Bradley back on a horse of all things, which is a small miracle considering a week ago the man couldn’t ride. But also his dad had suggested that Bradley might need help getting off the horse, so he has to go and check to ensure Bradley isn’t lying somewhere injured. He heads to the stable first and Jake finds him immediately, all in one piece and apparently uninjured, leaning against the fence and watching Ashley ride in the arena doing basic jumps.

                “Afternoon.”

                “Afternoon,” Bradley greets back, but he keeps watching Ashley and Jake tries to not let that bother him. “She’s good…”

                “You can barely tell the front end of a horse from the back, you can’t tell if she’s good or not.”

                “Hmm. Touche. Except your dad’s been giving me riding lessons the last few days. Then this afternoon he said I could ride back here, or walk the horse with a lead. I rode, but I then had to get her help to get off the horse.”

                Jake snorts, he’s glad Ashley was there to help, because he can imagine the damage Bradley could have caused if he’d tried to dismount without help when he’s not used to riding, but he’d been trying to keep them separated.

                “How’s the body holding up?”

                “I have muscles I didn’t even know existed. I think your dad has been limiting it so I don’t become completely useless,” Bradley says with a quiet laugh and Jake would put money on his dad doing exactly that.

                “You’ll get used to it.”

                “So everyone keeps telling me,” Bradley says quietly. “She seems like a good kid. Happy,” Bradley says, and his dad’s words come back to him from a few days ago. Isolated. He wants to dig a little now. Also he wants to head off any questions about how young he is to have a sixteen year old.

                “My god-father has a step-daughter the same age, she reminds me of her…”

                “What’s her name?”

                “Huh? Oh. Amelia. And my god-father is Pete and his wife is Penny… anything else you want to know?”

                “Well, I figure you’re either running or hiding from something. Just don’t want you to bring any trouble to our door…”

                “I feel like I’ve been running my whole life. I guess I’m trying out the staying in one place for a bit…” Bradley says, and his eyes are still on Ashley as she rides around the arena and Jake sucks in a breath, needs to be upfront because he gains nothing by beating around the subject.

                “Well, I’m a little protective, so maybe don’t spend too much time watching her okay? Might give me the wrong idea.”

                Bradley surprises him then by laughing and coughing in an awkward combination that leaves him almost choking, head shaking when Jake offers to slap him on the back.

                “Sorry, sorry… just… no. So many levels of no. She’s a kid. Young enough to be my kid, and also I’m… I’m gay. So I’m not ever going to be, uh, interested, even if she were ten years older…”

                It’s like he’s braced himself for a punch and Jake wonders how many times he’s maybe been hit for just blurting it out like that.

                “Gay people exist in Texas.”

                “Do they? Could have fooled me.”

                “Bisexual people too. You’re fine,” Jake says, looking away, because he doesn’t come-out to many people, let alone strangers he’s known less than a week, even if they miss it as an actual acknowledgement of his own sexuality. However if Bradley hangs around long enough he’ll likely hear about him anyway, he’s definitely a favorite subject of conversation.

                “Okay… good to know thanks. Also I won’t bring any trouble to your door. I’m not in any trouble. The only people looking for me are my family. And I’m not an asshole, they know I’m alive. Just not where I am exactly. I just… need a break. And you’re good to be cautious. You don’t know me.”

                Jake nods, wonders what has maybe happened that he can just walk away from his family, job and life and walk onto a ranch in the middle of nowhere Texas and hide away from the world.

…            …            …

                “You okay baby?” Jake asks, watching as Ashley taps a pen against her bottom lip.

                “Yeah, this calculus is kicking my butt though.”

                “Yeah, I can’t help with that sorry. You want me to see about getting a tutor or something?”

                “No, I’ll ask Mr Mallory and see if he can explain it again. I’ve almost got it, but there’s just like… something I’m missing.”

                “Okay, well you let me know. I’m just going to go and lock up.”

                He heads out to double check the gates, stops by the bunk house and it’s not late by any stretch, he knows the others have headed into town to blow off some steam, which just leaves Bradley Mitchell at the kitchen table, long legs stretched out, reading a book, quietly drinking a cup of something that doesn’t smell like coffee at all. Probably some type of tea.

                “Evening again,” Bradley greets, clearly relaxed and not bothered by Jake suddenly appearing.

                “You said you had a degree in mechanical engineering.”

                “Yeah.”

                “You do calculus?”

                Bradley nods slowly, clearly unsure where Jake is taking this exactly.

                “Ashley is working through some problems, if you have some time over the weekend I’d appreciate it if you could maybe have a look.”

                “Yeah, of course. Got nothing but time. What jobs have you got lined up for me this weekend?”

                “Oh, you don’t have to work weekends.”

                “Jake. I don’t mind. I enjoy it.”

                Jake pauses and then shrugs.

                “You can join me for a few hours. I don’t do as much, like to spend my time with Ashley, riding or doing some catchup on the admin. But you’re right, animals don’t care about days of the week.”

                “Great. I’ll see you after breakfast then.”

                Jake nods, knows a dismissal when he hears one.

…            …            …

                When he gets up the next morning he can see Bradley already out and about, collecting eggs, horses released to pasture. As he watches Bradley stops and tilts his head back, facing the rising sun like he’s soaking it up and he looks calm and at peace, however Jake suspects he is anything but. Nevertheless he does seem to like it here and Jake feels more relaxed about him being around. He has breakfast, leaving Ashley to sleep in because he knows she’s going to have a late night with the sleepover and her friends being here. Also trying to wake her up is a battle he is not picking to have today. He leaves her a note and heads out, mind already on the little odd jobs that he and Bradley can get done.

                The day passes quickly, Bradley helping him pull some of the dead branches down and using the chainsaw to reduce it to moveable and usable pieces for firewood. They move some of the cattle, fix a couple of lines of fence, scrub out some troughs. He’s easy to be around, doesn’t try and fill the silence between them with meaningless chatter and Jake appreciates it, despite his burning curiosity. They head back for lunch and Jake says he’s finished working for the day, but he’ll do some riding that afternoon if Bradley wants the practice. He concedes he definitely needs it.

                They split for lunch and he spends some time with Ashley, talking about school and her upcoming tests. He goes and does the admin, pays bills for feed and veterinarian services, materials and other costs. The accounts are all nice and healthy and in good shape, he’s got nothing to worry about, which is a good thing, he can save all his worry for Ashley and her future. Not that she doesn’t have a significant college fund, her mother’s college fund going to her and her mother’s side of the family all topping it up for years. She’ll have her choice of places.

                Of course when he finds him later he’s sitting side-by-side with Ashley, a textbook held in his hands and he’s pointing at something and talking. Ashley is nodding, scrunches her face in disgust and Bradley laughs, shakes his head, pokes at the book again. Then her face lights up, like she’s suddenly got it and his heart swells and he gets closer, can hear what they’re saying.

                “Thank you so much. I just wasn’t getting it. You explained it way better than Mr Mallory.”

                “What was the issue?” Jake asks.

                “Application of separation of variables,” Bradley states, and Ashley nods and Jake can do nothing but nod and smile, his own calculus at high school so long behind him it’s a hazy memory at best.

                “So much easier to understand now. That’s all my homework done now dad! Which means I can ride until my friends get here.”

                “You still have your chores.”

                “Nope! They’ve already been done. Bradley did them already.”

                “I didn’t realize they were her jobs on the weekends. Ashley, you let me know if you have any more questions. Happy to help.”

                “Thanks Bradley! Tomorrow I can teach you how to get off a horse properly.”

                The look on Bradley’s face is self-deprecating and Jake would tell Ashley off for being rude, but he thinks she legitimately wants to help Bradley with something he can’t do so he just does his best to hide a smile, glad that clearly Bradley doesn’t have an easily bruised ego.

                “Sorry about the whole chores thing, didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

                “It’s fine, I should have told you. Totally slipped my mind to be honest. As long as they get done, I don’t care. She’s a good kid, she still went and checked. Thanks for helping her with the math.”

                “Any time. Was good to do something different with the brain.”

                “You’re welcome to come for dinner. The girls will be making pizza.”

                “Oh, thank you, but I have been to one teenage girl sleepover and I ended up with braided hair, glittery gel nails and a facemask which I am certain is used for torture by the military. Never again.”

                “I bet your skin felt amazing afterwards though,” Jake says, lips twitching in amusement.

                “I can neither confirm nor deny. I will leave you to your evening.”

…            …            …

                Jake’s mom insists on coming to spend the night for the sleepover, like he can’t handle four teenage girls. He’s just going to let them have free reign in the kitchen and hope for the best. However he is glad of his mom’s presence when Angelique is the mom in question to drop the other four girls off. All of the moms and dads of Ashley’s friends are at least ten years older than him, which isn’t that much and definitely doesn’t stop any of them making a pass at him, men and women both, married and divorced. He’s learnt to be very careful about who he is anything more than passingly polite with, lest they take it the wrong way. Angelique is one of the still-married and pushy as hell types and he’s glad he can leave his mom to the negotiating and instructions, doesn’t need to have her running her fingers over his arm as she asks him if he needs any help.

                She does eventually leave, his mom an expert at making it clear she does not need to stay and is in fact, not welcome to stay. The sleepover goes flawlessly, in that he’s back in Ashley’s good graces, makes them all pancakes for breakfast and then arranges to take them all to church, where they’ll be collected by their parents; two girls going with his mom and two with him and Ashley. He isn’t particularly religious, but he does like the sense of community, when they discuss at the end how some people need help with hay baling, or others with harvesting, or branding and he’s always willing to help out. While he’s been the subject of their gossip more often than not, they’ve also been the first to help him or his family.

                He’s back at the ranch by lunch, leaving Ashley with his mom so she can continue to socialize and be dropped home later. He can use the excuse of needing to get back to the chores, although he suspects that Bradley has likely already taken care of some of the more critical ones. Sure enough the horse feed has all been topped up, their stalls mucked out and the horses themselves out in the pasture where Jake had let them out earlier that morning. He finds Bradley in the kitchen, and he’s just wearing jeans and t-shirt, but is barefoot and is kneading what he assumes is bread dough. Everyone else has the day off, and he should have told Bradley he didn’t expect him to do anything.

                “Where did everyone disappear to this morning?” Bradley asks and Jake stares.

                “It’s Sunday…”

                “Yeah. And?” Bradley asks, as if it’s a standard day of the week and clearly for him it is, not like how it’s ingrained for Jake as the day he goes to church. A look of realization comes over his face. “Oh. Everyone goes to church?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Huh.”

                “Sorry, didn’t think to see if you wanted to come. You’re welcome to come along next week if you want. If you want to be the center of attention and have a bunch of people talk about you behind your back that is.”

                “Why do you go if they do that?”

                “Oh. That happens regardless of whether I go to church or not,” Jake states, because it does. He got used to it when he was the seventeen year old father of a new baby, and then the looks had become slightly pitying when Jessica had died. Then they’d continued to watch him, and the looks had turned approving and respectful. He knows he’s proven a lot of people wrong, and he knows he has his parents to thank for their unwavering support.

                “Yeah, I get that.”

                “Anyway, I just wanted to say I don’t expect you to work every day, you’re entitled to days off.” Bradley’s grinning at him and Jake rolls his eyes. “I’m aware I’m not currently paying you anything, and you could decide to just… walk out the gate if you wanted to. But don’t go thinking you need to work yourself to the bone for me or anything.”

                He catches a brief something in the look Bradley gives him and he doesn’t even have time to parse it before Bradley’s laughing.

                “I might make a couple of phone calls home, let them know I’m okay. Once I’ve got this bread rising anyway.”

                Jake just nods, says he’ll leave him to it, because Bradley had mentioned family, and of course he is staying in touch with them. He has a life away from here, one he will likely return to once he’s gotten the break he said he wanted.

…            …            …

                Another week ticks by, the routine becomes settled again, Bradley’s presence still not standard, he asks far too many questions for anyone to be able to just ignore him, but he has found multiple ways to make himself useful, playing to his strengths. He’s become an infinitely better rider, Ashley taking him out every time she rides herself, and it surprises him that he trusts Bradley with her. Although when he learns Bradley has been talking to her about all the places he’s visited it makes Jake wonder if he’s making it up simply to make Ashley’s wanderlust greater, or whether he is as well travelled as he talks.

                He catches him talking on the phone one evening, his voice soft and he’s reassuring someone, asking them about school and he suspects it’s maybe the person Bradley had mentioned, his step-father’s god-daughter or something? He can’t remember, but the fact that Bradley is talking to her tells him it’s someone important to him. He walks away, not wanting to eavesdrop any more than he already has, but it makes something else in him settle, that Bradley isn’t as footloose and fancy free as he’d first thought. That he does have roots and people he cares about, even if he’s away from them right now.

                Another week slips by, and he realizes that the month trial is coming to an end. While Bradley isn’t an experienced ranch hand by any stretch of the imagination, not worth the money Jake is paying Mikey, he definitely makes himself busy and useful enough that Jake needs to consider paying him more than the tiny stipend he’s been leaving in an envelope for him every week. He finds him out riding, following Ashley’s directions and she’s trying to convince him to try a jump, which he is adamant about not trying.

                “Hey dad.”

                “Hey honey. How’s your favorite student coming along?”

                “He’s stubborn! And he won’t take any risks. Just keeps playing it safe…”

                “He’s also old and terrified about falling from a height and breaking a limb!” Bradley calls out, clearly having heard Ashley slandering his good name. Jake laughs.

                “You want to show him how it’s done dad?”

                Jake gives Bradley a look, there’s a flash of amused challenge and he feels a sudden flash of desire to look good in front of his kid and Bradley licking in his gut.

                “Yeah, why not. Come here and let me have a turn.”

                He watches as Bradley swings himself off, clearly more comfortable with that now and Jake immediately adjusts the stirrups before swinging himself up into the saddle, encouraging Chester into a gentle canter. There are jumps set up, clearly Ashley has been riding, her own horse loves jumping, whereas Chester is a steady and dependable work horse, able to jump when coaxed into it and given a firm hand, but the simple bars Ashley had laid on the ground for Bradley to apparently jump over wouldn’t have even made Chester blink. Getting used to a horse jumping is a learned skill though, and he’s glad Bradley at least is willing to speak up about his own limits. Jake never competed in any rodeo events growing up, but he still knows the mechanics of how they all work and he knows he can’t do anything on Chester that is more complicated than letting him just run and jump and hanging on for the ride. He clicks his tongue, jerks his head toward the gate and Ashley swings it open.

                “I’m going to take him for a quick run. I’ll be right back.”

                He lets out the reins then, leans forward and just urges Chester into a full gallop. It’s been a while since he’s just ridden fast for the sheer fun of it and he lets out a whoop of joy, glad that Chester doesn’t spook easily. It’s exhilarating and he makes a wide circle, doesn’t want to end up a long way away on a horse that’s run out of steam. When he comes back into the arena, he can feel the coiled energy and attention of Chester now focused and he heads into a loop, plotting out a route to take the lower jumps, because he does agree with Bradley, he also doesn’t want to fall and break a limb, even if it’s far less likely for him then it would be for Bradley. He completes the circuit and comes to a stop beside them, adrenaline buzzing through him and he jumps off, rubbing his hands over Chester’s neck in comfort and appreciation.

                “Damn that felt good.”

                “I can see where Ashley gets it from. That was amazing.”

                “Thanks.”

                There’s something in Bradley’s gaze and it’s been a while since Jake has had that directed at him, especially from someone who isn’t married, ten to fifteen years older, never had it directed toward him when he’s at home…

                Desire.

                Blatant open attraction.

                He licks his lips and Bradley’s eyes flick down, following the motion.

                Oh.

                God he really needs to get laid. And not with Bradley. Because he is Bradley’s… boss. Even if he’s not exactly paying him yet. He will be. Paying him that is. And not for anything else.

                Shit.

                He turns away, busies himself with Ashley, talking about her schoolwork, and putting the horses away and the moment, if it had even been a moment, slips away and Bradley is simply leading Chester back toward the stables, no longer looking at Jake.

(This is complete, posting a chapter a day)

CHAPTER TWO

[faustandfurious]

Master and Commander liveblog: Chapters 1-2

Apparently the Locatelli C major quartet that kicks off the entire series isn’t even a real piece of music??? Locatelli exists, but his C major quartet sure doesn’t

I’d honestly forgotten how young they both are at the beginning of the story

I love that the first interaction between these two is Aubrey being excited about music and Maturin being a bit of an asshole. Truly excellent golden retriever/black cat character dynamic

Aubrey’s first impression of Maturin is extremely funny in light of everything that is to come: “The ill-looking son of a bitch, to give himself such airs”

Honestly my only frame of reference for money in this time period is Mr. Darcy with his ten thousand a year, so Jack making 5 pounds 12 shillings per month really puts that amount of money into perspective

Implication that Jack Aubrey slept with Molly Harte?

“I am to be found any morning at Joselito’s coffee-house” Maturin being broke and hanging out in coffee shops is a vibe

“the velvet softness of the April night, and the choir of nightingales in the orange-trees, and the host of stars hanging so low as almost to touch the palms” I’m absolutely in love with these small snippets of atmospheric writing

Teniente (Spanish) = lieutenant

I’ll have to pay more attention to the dates this time around, to keep track of the progression of time and the historical events. Anyway, we have our first time point: 1st April, 1800 - Jack Aubrey is made captain, though he receives the news later the same month

I won’t go into all the naval terminology here, because I don’t actually think that you need to understand every single word in order to get the overall gist of what is happening on the ship, but I’ll try to make some notes every now and then

First-rate = Royal Navy term for the largest warships

“May I propose a cup of chocolate, or coffee?” AUBREY/MATURIN COFFEE SHOP AU

These two being nerds about music gives me so much life

Boccherini (which I’ve actually played on violin at one point)

Upupa epops

Maturin remarking on Aubrey wearing only one epaulette and asking if he has forgotten the other one, and Aubrey saying that he’ll put them both on by and by, because you’re only allowed two epaulettes with at least three years seniority as a captain. Stephen knows jack shit about naval ranks

Well, Captain Harte is a piece of shit

Mr. Baldick really said “there’s too much buggery on board” and Jack is like “I don’t want people to be hanged for being gay”

And here comes the naval terminology

“It’s the price that has to be paid” I don’t know why Jack reflecting on the way his new role as captain sets him apart from the rest of the crew, hits so hard, but it does

Stephen being a language nerd <3

Meanwhile Jack gets putain (whore) and patois (nonstandard language) mixed up

“looking at Stephen Maturin with candid affection”

Stephen does math in Catalan because of course

Phthisis = pulmonary tuberculosis, apparently

“‘Surgeons are excellent fellows,’ said Stephen Maturin with a touch of acerbity” average internist describing surgeons tbh

“and when I told you, some time ago, that I had not eaten so well for a great while, I did not speak figuratively” Stephen Maturin poor little meow-meow confirmed

For the ominous way James Dillon is mentioned by Stephen here, I can’t actually remember from my first readthrough what that was all about

“‘Christ,’ he said at last. ‘Another day.’” Stephen continues to be a mood

The way Stephen thinks Jack sailed without him, as if he would ever do that

First appearance of nickname “Goldilocks”

Jack giving Stephen money in a way which leaves his pride intact is such a sweet moment <3

[bullet-prooflove]

4000 Followers: Barcelona - Matthew Keller x Reader

Tagging: @rosielou94 d @kmc1989@toheavenwmydrms@noxytopy

Companion piece to:

5 Times - Keller almost tells you he loves you.

Three Minutes - It takes three minutes for Matt Keller to lose his humanity.

Transactional - In the wake of your injury, you leave Keller a Dear John letter.

It takes a couple of months for Matt to track you down. You’ve rented an apartment in Barcelona, near the town centre because your working a legal gig for the Picasso Museum. Your business has been flourishing in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve bounced from Frankfurt, Vienna, Milian and now to here. Matt’s always been a few steps behind you, he’s missed you by twelve hours back in Italy.

Matt has never done this before. He doesn’t chase after women, he’s usually the one that does the leaving. The fact he wants to follow you, it speaks volumes.

When you enter the apartment he’s sitting on your couch flicking through a Spanish fashion magazine, his brow furrowed. He sets it down on the coffee table as you close the door behind you.

"I'm not giving you security details for the museum." You tell him drifting towards your desk to check your laptop. To your surprise it looks untouched.  

"You know that's not why I'm here." He says as he raises to his feet and approaches the desk. His fingertips caress the tiny terracotta dog perched on the corner. It’s new, an unusual piece, not expensive but he knows it’s a sign, one that you’re planning to stay for a while.

“No I don’t.” You say distractedly as you close your laptop. “Because you don’t give me a reason behind anything you do, why you leave, why you stay, why you turn up in my place in Barcelona. I get nothing from you Matt.”

“Avery…” He says softly, his palm coming to rest upon yours and you pull away because his touch, it always leads to the same damn thing. “You know how fucked up I am.”

“Yea,” You tell him meeting his gaze. “It’s a good excuse to hide behind when shit gets too real isn’t it?”

This right here, this is why he loves you. You see through all of his bullshit, you call him on it. You are the first person who has ever bothered to scratch beneath the surface of his psyche. The only one that sees him.

“Avery.” He whispers, catching your hand. He squeezes it lightly and your fingers twitch underneath his touch. You don’t have much mobility in it anymore, Woodford saw to that. “Please just let me show you.”

“We’ve played this game before and we both know where it leads.” You say as you draw away, your hand slipping from his. It feels like a knife plunging into his chest but he gets it, your protecting yourself because he is not a safe bet, he never has been.

You watch as he removes his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans before he takes out a ticket stub and places it on the desk beside you.

“This is from the night we went to that art show in MOMA, you were wearing that dress, the blue one with the white flowers.” He murmurs as his hands come to rest on your hips. You tip your head up to look at him and for a moment he allows himself to hope, he prays that this is the time he can finally get the words out. “I remember because…”

…that was the day I fell in love with you.

But the words they just won’t leave his lips, they die in his throat as he cradles your face between his hands, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. He realises in that moment that it’s never going to happen. Those words they’re associated with so many terrible things in his life. There’s no pleasure in them, no joy, there’s just anguish and grief.

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear sweetheart but I promise you I feel it.” Matt whispers against your lips. “I feel it with every fibre of my being."

“You should go.”  You tell him, your palm coming to rest upon his chest before you push him away lightly. “You’re just going to break my heart all over again.”

You twist away from him then, because your eyes are stinging and you don’t want him to see that weakness in you.

“Avery.” He rasps and sigh as you turn back towards him.

“Matt look…” You trail off because the last thing you expect to see is Matthew Keller on one knee in front of you, a little black box in his hand.

You recognise the ring, Alexandrite with an accent marquise cut, set between two diamond leaf clusters in a rose gold band. You’d been devastated when you’d had to sell it to pay Matt’s legal bills but you’d owed him, because he’d killed a man for you, saved you from something worse than death.

There’s a lot of history attached to that ring. It had been taken from your family in the late 1930s along with the rest of their belongings before they’d been shipped off to a concentration camp in Germany. Out of the four family members that went in only one came out, your Grandmother. That ring was the only memory she had had of her own family. It had been the first thing that you and Matt stolen together. It had been residing in a collection of stolen Jewish artwork, along with other Nazi memorabilia. The other shit that man had had in his collection…

You’d burned that place to the fucking ground afterwards.

“I hate shit like this.” Matt had told you after you’d deposited the three stolen pieces of artwork you’d managed to rescue inside Peter Burke’s porch. He’d find it in the morning, get it back to the place it belonged to.

“All she wanted is to see this ring one more time before she died.” You’d told him as you sat in the passenger seat of his car, looking at the circlet inside the tiny black box. “They took everything from her.”

“We did a good thing here tonight.” He’d told you as he’d walked you to your door that evening. “Consider this one on me.”

You’d taken him to bed for the first time that night.

And now he’s on one knee in front of you, with your Grandmother’s ring.

“I might not be able to say it.” He tells you, his eyes meeting yours. “But sweetheart trust me when I say I feel it.”

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[withinthismindofmine]

Something about this photo gives me a few thoughts.

Pillow princess

Series bicycle

Falling for 3 unobtainable men