#i can come up with plenty that i DO love from recent years! but they didn't *change my brain chemistry*

[wri0thesley]

eyes - neuvillette x reader (8.5k)

you have always known, one day, you would be married off to someone not of your choosing. but you certainly never expected it to be the iudex himself.

cw: not sfw text. explicitly chubby virgin reader, some insecurity, arranged marriage. double dick neuvillette, cunnilingus, bathing together. reader is afab but referred to with neutral pronouns.

this was a commissioned work.

There are certain standards one must follow as a child of Fontainian society; certain things that are expected of you. A certain way to speak and move and act - a set of rules that have been laid out clearly for you since the day you were born. You will know which fork to use at which mealtime. You will know the difference between what is appropriate to wear to a matinee and to an evening show. You will trust your elders to guide you, and you will be grateful for the life that they have oh-so-painstakingly laid out. 

So you are not surprised when your mother tells you that you are to be wed. 

You have even been expecting it. Since you became of a marriageable age, you have looked at all of the other children of society and wondered what kind of match your family might make. One of your own generation? Older, perhaps - more secure in their wealth and their status and position? You have even laughed about it with your friends, when you were out of earshot of all of your elders - discussing who would be the worst options, gossiping about who has had who over for tea recently. 

She’s surprisingly tight-lipped about who you’re going to wed, too. That’s not unexpected either, though it does make anxiety roil hot and sour in your gut. Plenty of children have run away from home so as not to be wed to somebody decades and decades their senior, or somebody with a reputation for cruelty - or sometimes even because the match that has been made has not taken into account a love affair unbeknownst to the elders of the family. 

You have no such love affair to romantically dash off into the sunset with; you have been a good and dutiful child your whole life. And though you do, perhaps, wish that you could know what it was like to have a love so fiery and passionate you would disobey the only life you’ve ever known . . . you have come to accept that will not be your lot in life. 

You have even worried once or twice that somebody, upon finding that they were engaged to you, might wish to run away. You have looked in the mirror and scrutinised your face, your posture, your body - a body that has fallen out of fashion recently, the beauty ideal in Fontaine being very much ‘look as much like Lady Furina as possible’. It is your body, though - and it has stood you in good stead, and the night in which you are finally to meet your betrothed your mother and your maid stand in your bedroom looking approvingly at how your gown falls over the soft peaks and curves of your hips and chest. 

All you know about this person who you are to be wedded to is that every time your family talks of them, they can barely hide the smiles on their faces and the superior lilt to their tone. Whatever match has been made for you . . . they are utterly ecstatic about it. 

“I think he’ll be more than pleased,” your mother says, tugging at a fold of fabric - she had chosen to have this dress made in pale blue, though it is not a colour that has been in your wardrobe before. A man, then; a well-placed man who makes your family giddy with excitement - a man partial to the colour blue and a spouse whose figure runs more to curves than lines. 

It is not a lot to go on. 

So you do not know what to expect, as you are brought down the stairs and into the dining room. All kinds of thoughts dance through your head; some pleasant, some . . . not so. You know that you will meekly accept what you have been given, the way you have been brought up to do - and it is not lost on you that the trajectory of tonight will perhaps influence your life for years and years to come. There is always the chance that, seeing you in person, your parent’s intended will reject you--

Your mind is churning at a hundred thoughts a minute as you step inside the dining room - but when you see who is seated at the head of the table, all of those thoughts seem to clatter to the ground at once. 

It is a wonder that your mouth does not drop open. 

In all of the time you have spent gossiping about possible matches in society, nobody has ever mentioned - even off-handedly - the possibility that the Chief Justice of Fontaine may be looking to marry. 

But there sits Monsieur Neuvillette - a little awkward, yes (he is being chattered to most insistently by your father), but straight and tall and handsome in his chair, his robes of office perfectly pressed, his face schooled carefully into a polite look of vague interest. Your mother coughs, and he looks up--

And his eyes, the colour of the evening sky or a perfect sapphire, widen just a touch. His mouth opens, the barest amount - and you swear that as his gaze sweeps over your form in your carefully chosen blue dress (a choice you are beginning to understand), he visibly swallows. 

“Ah,” he says, and he stands - walking towards you, bending and inclining his head. “It’s a pleasure to . . . finally meet you in person.” You’re still rather stunned speechless by everything that is happening - you cannot help but feel as though things are happening around you, and not to you - but as Neuvillette uses one of his gloved hands to take yours and to press a lingering kiss on your palm that makes your entire body feel as though it is on fire, you are suddenly all too aware of just what is going on. “You look radiant tonight.”

“M-Monsieur,” you say in return, and you sweep what must be the clumsiest curtsey of your life. “I . . . I have to admit that this is a surprise.” 

“Not an unwelcome one,” your mother puts in before he can respond. “Of course, we’re delighted with this match, and we’re absolutely sure you’ll be delighted with them--”

“I understand,” Neuvillette says, his eyes not leaving you. “If I may be frank with you, until recently I had never thought to marry.” 

Questions rise in your throat. If he had not thought to marry, why was he doing it now? And why you, when surely he must see the upper echelons of society every single day? What had brought him to your family’s door, asking after your hand over everyone else he must have had first pick of? But these are not polite questions for the dinner table, when your mother and your father are already ushering the two of you to your seats beside one another and beaming so brightly that it hurts to look at them. 

The dinner table is a place for light, polite conversation; the last opera you saw, the weather. Neuvillette smiles into his wine glass - a glass you notice is filled with water - when you mention that it has not seemed to rain much recently. You notice him looking at you every so often, over rims of glasses and delicate bites of foods . . . but you know that you, too, cannot help but sneak a glance at the Iudex of Fontaine seated by your side. 

Your future husband! Your betrothed! The man you will spend the rest of your life with! 

As much as you may wish for a moment alone with him, you know it is not proper; so when he stands and kisses your hand again and your father takes Neuvillette into his study to hash out some further details of your impending nuptials, you swallow your disappointment and remind yourself that you will have years with Neuvillette, to learn his secrets - to discover why he has decided to take you as a spouse. 

There is little time for getting to know one another beyond the most surface of levels when a marriage has been arranged for you - there is even littler time when the man you are going to marry is one of the most powerful and busiest men in Fontaine. Even the few times you see each other as the wedding looms closer - the period your parents optimistically refer to as ‘courting’ - there is little time to get to know his heart. 

You realise, at the final fitting for your wedding clothes, that the first time you will be truly alone with the man who is to be your husband will be the night of your wedding. 

And that particular thought . . . 

You know the ways of the world. You know what will be expected of you, in order to properly consummate a marriage - you know that you will be intimate with Neuvillette for years to come. But the idea that the first time that the two of you will be able to snatch time with one another with no parents or gossip-mongers or anybody else around will also be the time in which you and he will legally become one (and you know, from experience at the Opera Epiclese, that Neuvillette is nothing if not a stickler for the law) . . . oh, it is enough to make you reconsider one last time running away from your responsibilities. 

“Mother?” You ask, your voice quiet, the night before your wedding. You have spent the entire day overseeing flowers and being asked questions, watching the cooks and the waiters bring in fine delicacies from all over Teyvat (Neuvillette had not wanted hosting duties; you get the impression that as long as the ceremony was done legally, he would be pleased enough to call you his spouse. But your parents have been preparing for this your whole life, so they had indeed wanted the spectacle of their child marrying the most powerful man in Fontaine. With no family to speak of, he had acquiesced to their desires. Your parents are in shivers of delight that Lady Furina will, too, grace the halls of your family home). “What if . . . what if I do not please him?”

You are sitting before your dressing table, in your sleeping robe, haunted by thoughts of all of the things that could go wrong whilst your mother double checks your wedding gown and the jewellery you are to wear tomorrow. She looks over at you - her face is normally hard, but as she sees the knit of your brow and the bite of your teeth into your lip, she sighs softly. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” she says, stroking your cheek. “The Iudex asked for you specifically.” You blink at her, wide-eyed, and she laughs a soft little laugh. “Don’t let it get to your head, now; they have been badgering him to marry for some time . . . but he did ask for you, out of all of the people he could have had. So take heart in that. Do you think him a foolish man?”

“No,” you shake your head, your voice a soft whisper. You suppose that Neuvillette is many things, but ‘foolish’ would not be one that would cross your mind. 

“There. You and he are going to have a happy life together.” A sly look steals over her face. “Ah . . . are you worried about the wedding night itself?”

“Mama!”

“It’s something we all go through, my dear.” She catches your chin in her hand and smiles at you, and for a moment, despite all of the times you have disliked her for the life you have been forced into . . . you are reminded that she is your mother, and she wants this to work just as much as you do. “Do not be frightened of him. Do not be overwhelmed by him. He has chosen you to be his equal, but he will not expect too much of you. I promise . . . everything is going to be fine.” She gives you a wink. “And if I were you, and were to marry a man who looked like the Chief Justice - why, I’d be positively thrilling with excitement at the thought of my wedding night!”

“Mama!” This time, your scandalised tone brings her out in peals of laughter, and she kisses the top of your head as she leaves the bedroom. The door clicks behind her. 

Your final night in your childhood room; your final night unmarried. One last slumber amongst your own silken pillows and sheets (what kind of bed, you wonder, does the Chief Justice sleep in?). 

That night, you dream of a sea that churns with a similar anxiety to the one that you feel in your own belly. 

The morning of your wedding day, it is raining. Your family fuss over it, but as you stand at your window with people running all about you, messing with your hair and rearranging your dress and having arguments about your bouquet, you cannot help but find it comforting to watch the rain fall in droplets, stopping and starting again, mirroring your own still-nervous heart. 

You think you will falter at the last hurdle, as you stand outside of the Opera Epiclese - normally a place of theatricals, but also a place of the law, and the place that the most important part of your wedding day will occur - and take a deep breath ready to start your new life. The bouquet in your hands is full of rainbow roses and romaritime flowers, bursting with colour; you are grateful to have it to hold on to, as the doors are thrown open and you walk slowly down the aisle of the theatre. 

Your eyes desperately seek out someone who will provide you an ounce of comfort in the crowd, all peering at you curiously to see the person who has finally tamed the Chief Justice. This is a spectacle as much as a wedding, you suppose; and as you see some people whisper behind their hands, you wonder if you have been found wanting. You bite your lip hard to stop yourself crying - and then, onstage, his hands clasped over his cane, your gaze finds Neuvillette himself. 

The patter of the rain on the roof of the Opera stops all at once. For a moment, you swear everything falls silent, as you and he look at each other. 

Slowly, his mouth breaks into a small, secret smile, and the buzz of whispering intensifies - but that smile is enough to steady you. To remind you he has been nothing but kind and polite. To whisper to you that perhaps this union is a thing to look forward to, and not to be feared. 

He looks as handsome as ever; his suit perfectly-pressed, his hair streaming in a neat silver white tail behind him. There are flowers that have been braided into it; and you see, as you ascend the stairs to the stage, that there are a group of Melusines sitting in the front rows with matching little bouquets of Lumidouce bells grasped in their little hands, beaming up at the Iudex. 

Lady Furina presides over the proceedings, tossing her hair and preening and holding the audience in the palm of her hand - another reminder that theatrics are more respected than the law in a land like Fontaine. But you cannot bring yourself to mind too much - not when Neuvillette’s smile is steady, his eyes trained on you the whole time. Not when, as he repeats the words in a clear voice like a ringing bell, he whispers them again as if they are only for you. Not when he takes his bare hands - ungloved, for the exchange of the rings - and holds your own, soft and round and dimpled, as he slides the ring onto your finger as if you are the most delicate thing in the world. 

When Furina - with more glee in her voice than you would have expected - announces that he may now kiss you, you feel your shoulders draw up in anxiety. The entire audience goes quiet, waiting with baited breath for this - as if it is one of the things they have been waiting for all day. Neuvillette, though, keeps his gaze on you. He acts as though there are not a thousand Fontainian citizens watching your every move - slowly, he places his arm around your waist and draws you closer to him, so close that the crowds seem to melt away and there is nobody but the two of you. 

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he murmurs into your ear, angling his head so that the crowd cannot see that he has said something that is only for the two of you (no doubt they would be baying to be privy to the marriage bed, if they thought they could get away with it) - and then, his lips brush against yours. They are cool and soft; the lightest tang of sea-salt remains on your own after he is done. The crowd roars with their approval as he steps back and bows to you, pressing his forehead to the back of your hand - and you stand there, trembling, excited and nervous and frightened and on display all at once, as your new husband takes you by the hand and gently, gently leads you back down one of the aisles of the opera, out to the waiting carriages to spirit you away from the spectacle of the opera house and into the spectacle that your parents have designed as a celebration. 

As it turns out, it is not so bad. Your parents have understood, at the very least, that the two of you will be retiring early to Neuvillette’s residence (your trunks already packed, already loaded onto a carriage to be delivered in the next few days). They have managed to rein themselves in; only invite the most important echelons of society to this celebration, despite the luxury and the excess that has been coming into the house for weeks now. 

So you bow to Lady Furina and accept her compliments with a stutter and hot cheeks, Neuvillette by your side, his steadying hand on your waist. Neuvillette expertly manages to weave around your family’s ballroom as if he has been doing it all his life - but then, remembering how much older he is than you, you suppose that he has been doing it at least as long as you have been alive. He has a remarkable way of remaining polite, yet not brokering too much room for small talk and gossip, as if he can tell that this kind of thing is not your favourite. 

You overhear, when you have been spirited away from your husband’s side for ten minutes by some of your friends, an older couple accosting Neuvillette. 

“You had all of the choice in the world,” the man says, poking Neuvillette in the centre of his chest - from the slur in his words, you think he may have partaken in a touch too much of your parent’s imported dandelion wine. “Whyever did you make this one?”

Your heart stutters in your chest; a trickle of sweat rolls down the back of your wedding gown. This is what you have been fearful of, this whole time - you being found wanting, you being seen as not good enough for Neuvillette--

But your new husband merely smiles. 

“I have eyes,” he says, mildly, and he turns away from the couple and brings an end to the conversation that you know must leave them utterly blistering. He comes to find you, instead - apologising most profusely to your friends for having to steal you away. 

You stay for as short a time as you can manage, with the congratulations and the toasts and the speeches (a Melusine or two makes a speech for Neuvillette; you much prefer their simple honesty to some of the awful gushing things that come from the mouths of connections of your parents who have never given much care to you before), with the cake being cut--

“Here,” Neuvillette murmurs, and your cheeks go hot as he feeds you a bite of his own slice from the same fork he has been using. “I must confess that this is rather too sweet for me.” 

By the time that Neuvillette begins to make his excuses, bowing and smiling and thanking his hosts and the guests, the moon is already hanging white and plump in the black velvet of the night - and as you say goodbye to your parents, your Mama gives you a wink that makes you go hot all over. 

Neuvillette’s residence is surprisingly unassuming; it is smaller than your parents house, and he does not employ half as many maids or staff. For a moment, his gaze flitters over to you, and you sense a nervousness in the air. 

“I am sorry if it is not what you were expecting,” he says, voice clipped - but you shake your head, and try and let some of the anxiety drain from your tight shoulders. 

“It’s lovely,” you say, firmly, as he helps you out of the carriage. This time, when his gloved hand - he has chosen to put his gloves back on, his wedding ring glinting over the black satin - touches your waist, you gasp. The frisson of promise that runs through the touch makes you feel dizzy with possibility. Neuvillette looks at you with those dark sapphire eyes of his, and murmurs;

“I apologise if you’re nervous. I have no wish to . . . make you do anything you don’t want to. I am more than willing to wait-- the law does not require we consummate directly on our wedding night, and if you are frightened--”

A drop of rain lands on your cheek. 

“No,” you breathe out, all in a rush, surprised to find it falling from your lips as you say it. But then you think of his lingering kiss, of the way he shut down that couple at the wedding reception, of that private smile he had given you to soothe your fears as you walked down the aisle, and you’re even more surprised to find that you mean it. “Not at all. I-- I am nervous, but . . .”

He gives you another soft, gentle smile that makes your heart feel ready to burst out of your chest. The raindrop you had felt has no companions; simply a freak occurrence in the weather. 

“I must admit,” he murmurs, as he helps you towards his front door. “I am very pleased to hear that. I hope you won’t find it remiss of me to admit that I have been . . . rather looking forward to it.”

Your cheeks go hot again. The idea of Neuvillette, imagining you like that, even waiting for it . . . it is hard not to find it at once flattering and embarrassing. Neuvillette opens the door for you, but as you go to step inside--

“Ah, just a moment--” He leans his cane against the front door, and reaches for you. “I’m aware there’s a custom about bringing one’s new spouse over the threshold, and I would hate to break tradition--”

“You don’t have to,” you say, stuttering on the words. “I’m not light--”

But Neuvillette has already reached for you, already wrapped a surprisingly strong arm about your waist - and before you know it, as if he hasn’t needed to exert any energy at all, you have been pulled into his hold, held like a princess being rescued by a knight. 

You look up at him, and he looks down at you, his smile soft once more. 

“You feel perfectly light in my arms,” he tells you, as he steps over the threshold with you and gently places you down as softly and carefully as he had picked you up. You were not expecting the strength from him - he wears his robes of office, of course, and he certainly has the height, but there’s a kind of willowiness about him that does not exactly betray him being able to do such a thing. 

(If he can do that, a wicked little voice in your head whispers, imagine what else he could do to you - how easily he could manipulate you in a more intimate moment--)

It’s almost as if he can read your mind. He laughs a clear, silvery laugh like the rushing of a river. 

“Shall I show you to our bedchambers?” He asks you. “I’m sure you’ll want to get all of your finery off soon; it looks rather heavy. If you are not opposed . . . perhaps we may bathe together?”

Your heart, beating double time in your chest. Neuvillette’s eyes, cool and calm. The way your blood seems to sing in your veins. You smile back at him. 

“I would like that very much.”

Neuvillette’s house may not be as extravagant as expected, but the bathroom more than makes up for it - and most of all, the bathtub set into the floor, as wide as a swimming pool. He sees your look of surprise and laughs, sounding for once a little embarrassed.

“I enjoy being able to relax in water - natural water most of all,” he tells you, “but it would be rather . . . scandalous, if an ordinary citizen were to find me unexpectedly. This is my compromise. One of my vices, you may say.”

As vices go, it is a tame one, and you look at the bathtub - already full of clear water, so you can see the mosaic tiles on the bottom (the tub itself is stepped, so one can simply sit and relax at one end or perhaps even use the other end to swim a few strokes). 

“I loved to swim when I was little,” you say, wistfully. “As I got older, my parents thought the idea of me wearing my swim clothes too often was improper, but . . .”

“Well,” Neuvillette says, placing his hands upon your hips with only the lightest of pressure as if he is still too afraid to touch you too much. “You are welcome to use this bathroom for swimming whenever you wish. It is not quite the same, of course, but I want nothing more than you to be happy here. What’s mine is yours now, sweet one.”

It’s the first pet name he has used for you, and it makes your mouth go dry. Slowly, you turn towards him. You are about to be naked together, you suppose - even if you are going to bathe before anything more intimate happens - so you ought to be braver. You reach for his face, palms warm on his cheeks - and though his eyes flash in surprise, he gladly leans in to let you kiss him. 

This time, you let the kiss linger for longer; this private moment in the sanctity of a home that is to be shared between you. He sighs into your mouth and pulls you closer himself, so as you cradle his face his palms rest upon the ample curve of your hip. His teeth tug, almost shyly, at your bottom lip - and you feel your lashes flutter, your heart give an answering skip in your chest. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and you part your lips, allowing him to take you as he wants - but even this ‘taking’ is done slowly, carefully, like a man who wishes to savour you. 

You pull back, your breath coming in soft little gasps - Neuvillette’s eyes are half-lidded, but it does not stop him smiling at you, putting you at ease. 

“We ought to disrobe,” he tells you, kindly - and he gently motions for you to turn, so that he may work at the difficult laces and hooks of your bridal outfit. You feel a little shy, as the fabric pools around your ankles, and you are left bare - but then he is turning you around, and in his eyes you see something that must be close to worship. 

“I am a man who says what I mean,” he tells you, tilting your chin upward toward him. “I have not spared your ego, little one - everything I see before me is . . .” He shakes his head, letting loose a ragged breath, more undone than you’ve seen him before. “More than I could ever have asked for.” One gloved finger trails across your lips, tracing a patch from the corner of your mouth down to your throat, your collarbone - reaching behind you to unclip your undergarments, so they fall to the ground with your gown. “You’re truly the loveliest creature.” 

“I--”

He shakes his head, smiling still. 

“Perhaps in my choice of a spouse,” he murmurs, “I let my own desires overtake me a touch . . . but ah, if you could see yourself the way I see you--”

You hesitantly hook your thumbs into your underwear and stand before him, naked completely - and you win, for your bravery, another ragged breath. 

“I must warn you,” Neuvillette murmurs, as he reaches for his own collar and begins to unbutton, to untie, to work the trappings of his own outfit off of himself. “You may be . . . surprised.”

“By what?” You feel brave enough to give him a little smile, though your heart is still beating faster than you’ve ever felt it. “Am I to discover you have been hiding extra limbs?”

Neuvillette’s gaze does not falter. 

“Something like that,” he agrees, mildly, as he slips his shirt and coat from his shoulders. His skin is milky pale in the moonlight streaming in from a window set high in the wall, his hair glimmering silver. He takes your breath away. 

Who would have thought you would ever find yourself in this position with the Chief Justice of Fontaine? 

He unbuttons his placket slowly - and as he carefully works down the fabric of his trousers, you realise exactly what it was he was warning you about. 

“I hope I do not disappoint you,” he says, as your mouth falls open at the sight of his cocks; resting one atop another, both half-swollen already. Your mouth goes dry at the thought of your wedding night, still to come. “I assure you, I know exactly what to do with them.” 

“I--I didn’t mean to--!” Your voice comes out a little panicked - but then, Neuvillette lets out a soft huff of laughter. 

“It’s quite alright,” he tells you. “But I will reiterate; I will not hurt you. You are . . . more than welcome to touch. But if we do not get in soon, I fear the water will have gone cold.” 

Neuvillette helps you into the bath, surprisingly unashamed of his own nakedness. At the press of his body against yours as he helps you down the steps inlaid into the tub, you feel his cocks jump against you, the wet smear of something against the dip of your back - but then, Neuvillette is lowering himself into the water beside you and letting loose a sigh of pure bliss that sends a coil of heat spiralling to between your thighs. 

You have never partaken in the gossip that surrounds Neuvillette, about his pointed ears or his inhumanly lovely face or his age - you would never have expected what he is hiding in his trousers. But as you sit beside your new husband, you cannot help but feel as though it makes perfect sense - a man like him could not be ordinary. And you trust him when he tells you he will not hurt you; when he says he knows what he’s doing, you think of all of the time he has on you and you have to suppress a shiver of desire for what he may have to teach you. 

He touches you, as the two of you bathe together. Lets his fingers massage the shampoo into your hair, lets his hands slide the washcloth over the contours of your body until you can barely breathe for the hot trails of fire that he leaves in his wake. You do not think he means to inflame you so - but then, he allows you to do the same thing to him, and he shudders and leans back into your touch, a soft noise almost like a purr falling from the back of his throat, and he realises exactly what bathing together is doing to you both. 

Still. The two of you linger there; touching one another. Getting to know one another’s bodies without any fear, for beneath the water all is muffled and calm. His fingers learn the shape of your nipples when he pinches them, how they pucker and harden beneath him. His palms learn the weight of your breasts, heavy and ample in his hands. His mouth learns the taste of your shoulders, as he drops hot, wet kisses across the span of them, the nape of your neck. And in return you feel the silkiness of his hair, the softness of his skin, the feel of his corded muscle beneath his deceptively slender frame. 

By the time the two of you are wrapped in fluffy towels the colour of an early morning sky, you are both hot with want. Neuvillette’s twin cocks seem to pulse with his desire; you can no longer tell if you are slick and wet from the bath or from the space between your thighs. You shyly look at one another through lowered lashes, though, as the wedding night and all it entails comes closer and closer and closer. 

“It’s a beautiful night,” you say to him, when the two of you have finally entered the bedroom. Neuvillette’s window is open a crack, enough so that the lacy curtains flutter in the light night-time breeze. “You would hardly think it’s been raining on and off all day.”

“Mmm,” Neuvillette agrees, as you feel him come up behind you. He slowly takes your hands, encouraging you to drop the towel; and then you stand before him, naked again, but with something far more than a bath in your future. He leans in and presses a kiss to the sensitive place where your neck and shoulder meet, just barely grazing it with surprisingly sharp teeth. “I should not wonder if it doesn’t rain again for some time.”

Neuvillette leads you to the bed, his hand firmly around yours. He is unerringly gentle and patient with you, as he urges you to sit upon the bedcovers - and your breath catches when you do as he asks, and instead of joining you he sinks onto his knees. You have never thought to imagine the Chief Justice kneeling before you, and the sight of it makes you buzz all over in anticipation. He smiles at your unsurety - and leans in, pressing a kiss to your knee, gently urging you to spread your thighs for him. His gloves are stripped away, but his wedding ring gleams on his finger as his fingers sink into the soft, full skin of your thigh. 

He leans in, pressing another kiss to the side of your knee. Higher, higher, higher he trails them - and his breath fans cool against your heated core, and your fingers clench into the bedsheets in surprise at what he might be about to do. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs to you, his cheek pressing silky against your skin, as he suckles a love-bite into the part where your leg meets your pelvis. “I merely want to ensure you’re adequately prepared.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you say, breathless, hot, embarrassed and needy all at once. This is an act of such intimacy, you do not know how to parse the thought of the Iudex doing it to you - but he gives you a smile that is not without a hint of fang, the wickedest look you have seen upon his face so far, and he reaches between the two of you to use his thumb to pull apart the lips of your sex so you are revealed to him. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “But I want to, sweet one. And . . . looking at how wet you are for me, I daresay you want me to do so too.”

“M-Monsieur--”

“Neuvillette,” he murmurs, and he presses a kiss directly onto your sex, slick and wet with your own excitement, his nose brushing across the swollen nub of your clit. “Use my name.”

“Neuvillette--” It comes out rather thin and reedy, but Neuvillette does not seem to notice - instead, he seems rather preoccupied by what lies between your thighs. Your fingers tighten when you feel his tongue slide across you, gathering your slick upon the tip. There’s a strange quality to it, almost as if it is longer and firmer than a human tongue ought to be - and as he flickers his tip over your clit, again and again and again, and you shudder from the sensations he draws forth . . . you wonder if, too, his tongue is forked--

Thoughts quickly dissipate from your head when there is a man knelt between your thighs, though, and it is no different for you. The wondering is quickly chased away by the hungry way that Neuvillette laps at you, like a man who has been parched for water for months. 

Through it, he urges you to part your thighs as wide as you can, so that he can more thoroughly attack you with his tongue - and with every stroke, with every suck and lick and groan of him against you, you feel a knot tighten in your stomach in a way you have never experienced. It is like his mouth is a match, setting fire to your core - despite how you can feel wetness dripping down you, onto his bedcovers, surely soaking his chin and his lips. 

He does something with his tongue - a twirl, a flourish - and his name comes spilling out of your lips like a prayer, and the idea that he may at some point stop using his mouth on you flashes across your synapses like a tragedy. Without realising you’re doing it, you move one hand to grip his silvery hair, to keep him anchored against you - you realise, too, that it is not merely his name spilling out of you like an overturned wineglass. Pleas and whimpers and begging have joined the fray, and you would ordinarily cringe at being thought so wanting. But with Neuvillette’s mouth, with the promise of what he is trying to wring from you--

Shame seems unimportant compared to the way he shudders at your hand in his hair, the way his tongue intensifies flicking against your clit. 

He pulls back, breathing heavy, mouth glittering with your slick. 

“I’m going to put a finger inside you,” he tells you, and you are grateful that he too sounds a little breathless. You cannot imagine just how embarrassing it would be to be the only one falling apart. 

“I want . . . you,” you say, not without a touch of petulance, and Neuvillette lets out a hoarse little laugh. Still kneeling before you, he reaches up to touch your warmed face - his thumb, too, glitters with your arousal from the way he had held you open. You cannot bring yourself to care when he softly smears it across your bottom lip like an offering, and he lets out a shuddering groan at the sight of your tongue swiping it off. 

“I want you,” he says. “Oh, you have no idea how much I want you. But I will not hurt you, sweet one. Let me prepare you.”

It feels very much like him; this way of taking charge, his firm words. This time, his hand curves up your inner thigh, and your breath catches as his finger slides between the valley of your sex, wetting itself in your slick and his saliva. Your toes curl into his plush carpet as he nudges your clit with his fingertip, as a soft noise of surprise escapes your mouth and he chuckles. 

He slides one finger inside of you with no resistance at all. His earlier ministrations have seen to that. It’s a strange sensation, to have something inside that is not one of your own fingers (rather smaller, rather shorter than his) - but it is hardly unwelcome. You whisper out his name, your eyes closing, and Neuvillette makes a gentle noise of encouragement. 

“That’s right,” he murmurs to you, as he slowly begins to pump his finger in and out of you. “You’re doing so well - you’re taking it beautifully. I’m going to put a second one in--”

He does exactly as he says, and the hand still knit in his hair tugs at the silvery strands a little harder. It is not that it is painful, but simply that it is a stretch you are unused to - and one, too, that you know will continue to intensify. 

You feel a strange, cool shock at the entrance to your sex - and you chance a glance down and realise it is his wedding ring, pressing against you. The sight and the knowledge makes you shudder, and Neuvillette huffs out a noise of want in return. 

You think of the cocks, straining beneath the vee of Neuvillette’s pelvis. You cannot see them now, but from the way they had looked when the two of you were just bathing, you feel certain they must be swollen stiff and hard, waiting for their own chance (and too, from the spots of colour on Neuvillette’s cheeks, the way his words have a strange, dry edge to them when he speaks). How will he put those inside of you? One at a time? Both at once? 

“What are you thinking about?” Neuvillette asks, raising his gaze to meet your own, a smile tugging at the corners of the lips. “You suddenly tightened around me.” 

“I--!” Your cheeks go hot, embarrassment making warmth seep down your back. Neuvillette laughs. 

“No need to keep secrets,” he murmurs, slowly establishing another rhythm, a slow pump of his two fingers inside of you, scissoring slightly to open you up. “We are married now, sweet one. We can share everything. Mmm . . . let me see. Were you imagining my fingers to be my cock?”

“Neuvillette--” Your voice is a weak little protest, and you avert your gaze shyly even as you force the words out. “I was . . . will you put them both inside of me?” Your gaze slips over his face again, nervous to see his reaction - his eyes widen in surprise, but it is not at all a look of anger. 

“Not tonight,” he tells you, and he smiles again. “I fear it may be too much for you. Ah, but if that’s what you want . . . my dear, I know you’d feel exquisite.” 

His fingers, pumping in and out, curling inside of you. His words, velvet-draped and deep - the look of concentration on his face, insistent on nothing more than drawing pleasure forward from you. You feel the hot tension inside of you reach a breaking point - a pot, ready to bubble over. 

“I must confess,” he breathes, leaning in, breath hitting your sex hot and close. “I was worried you might be afraid. I’m terribly glad to know what an effect the idea has on you.”

As he finishes the sentence, he lets his tongue drag out one slow, final lap of your clit - and it is just enough to push you over the final edge. The bubbling pot within you reaches boiling point - and the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt, like molten heat, suffuses you entirely. Your head falls back. A noise of sheer enjoyment falls wanton from your lips - your thighs and your hips and your entire body trembles and shakes in the pleasure, and you feel your sex pulsating and throbbing around the two of Neuvillette’s fingers that are inside of you. 

“Lovely,” Neuvillette murmurs, watching you in awe, his fingers slowing down as he lets you ride out the waves of your orgasm. “Oh, you’re . . . exquisite.”

“Neuvillette,” you say, collapsing back onto the bed, your breath coming in harsh pants. “I was afraid, at first. But I don’t think I could be. Not knowing what you’re like now. Not anymore.”

“Sweet thing.” Neuvillette stands. He steps forward and you see him again - his cocks are indeed straining, silvery precome dripping from the dual tips and smeared over the flat planes of his stomach. “You have no idea what you do to me. May I . . . ?” 

He does not need to ask. You think you would grant him whatever he asked for - you cannot imagine Neuvillette overstepping your boundaries, when he has been so sweet and so careful and so guiding for as long as you’ve known him, even knowing he could do whatever he wanted to you and nobody would blame him. But it warms your heart that he asks even so. 

“Please do,” you breathe, and you spread your thighs wider to accommodate him on the bed. 

His hands scoop under your hips, his palms firm on your ass as he moves you higher up the bed, ensuring that your head and shoulders are propped up with a mound of pillows. Even with his cocks practically twitching, he prioritises you before himself, and you cannot resist another show of appreciation, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. 

He groans into your mouth, the movement clearly welcome - but when he mouths at you now, he is far messier than he has been before, his teeth just a little more present. You think he must be losing some of his control, and as his cocks nudge against your inner thighs, you are proved correct. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against your lips, pulling back just far enough to be able to speak. “I cannot hold myself back a moment longer--”

“Please, Neuvillette,” you whisper, fingers still in his hair. 

His lower cock nudges against your sex, the ring of muscle that will grant him entrance - and as he opens you up, his second cock rubs over the swollen over-sensitive nub of your clit and you whine. 

He covers your whine with another kiss. He eases into you, moment by moment, inch by inch - you have nothing to compare it to, but you think from the slow tempo he goes at and the way his gaze keeps flicking over you, checking you’re alright, he must be larger than average. 

But he has prepared you well. The stretch is an ache, but a pleasant one - it does not send painful shockwaves all through you. Your thighs wrap around his hips, pulling him as close as you can manage, and Neuvillette sighs. 

“Will you kiss me again?” He murmurs, so softly you almost do not hear him. The request makes your heart feel like bursting in your chest - the soft way he looks at you, his unwillingness to pull away from you, his desire to be as close to you as he can even when he is buried inside of you. 

You do. Arms wrap around his shoulders. His hands find purchase on your hips. His mouth and yours dance against one another - his tongue learning yours as if he is learning a new language. 

He fucks you like that. 

He is not rough with you, that first night; he does not, as you have heard so many new husbands do, take you and have you and ignore what you might want. Neuvillette cherishes you. 

The slow rock of his hips, indulgent in their rhythm. The way he kisses you. He is chasing his own release, but he does not feel any need to fuck into you with abandon. At least not yet. 

But time ticks on. The two of you seem to meld into one entity, and the kissing and the fucking grows sharper at the edges. You feel that Neuvillette is hovering on something, his expression almost desperate, as he rearranges the angle of his hips and the speed of his thrusts. 

“Please,” he whispers, broken-voiced. “I’m close--”

You let go of him and he lets out a noise of distress at the lack of contact, a noise that makes you shiver with the idea of how much power you may one day have over him. But instead of anything else, one of your hands darts between you, to take a firm grip on his second cock. Neuvillette hisses through his teeth at your hand, hot and firm. 

You do not know what you’re doing, not really, but that does not seem to bother Neuvillette as he increases the speed of his hips. In fact, he does most of the work - fucking his lower cock inside of you, hot and deep and wet, and fucking the cock atop it into your fist. You manage to work out a kind of twisting motion that makes him growl in the back of his throat--

It’s a fascinating noise, really. It makes you think of him as an animal, something feral and possessive - and you wonder what, later on, you may learn about him--

But then your name is falling from his lips like a prayer, and his cock is twitching inside of you and in your grip, and your back arches at the same time as he leans forward and sinks his teeth into your shoulder--

(Almost like a claiming bite. Almost like a mark to say that you are his). 

And both of you come, together, in great waves and pants and gasps of breath. His come paints your fist and the round softness of your stomach at the same time as it paints inside of you, your body once more pulsating around his cock as if it never wants to let you go. 

Like a tide on the shore; like a moon rising high over the lakes of Fontaine. Neuvillette lets himself lay atop of you, his head against your heart, his breath coming in great heaves. 

You do not need to think this time; you simply lift your unsoiled hand and begin to stroke the silver of his hair in slow, careful motions. From the back of his throat again comes that noise, something like a purr and something like a chirrup. His eyes close contentedly. 

“Neuvillette?” You whisper into the darkness, and your husband makes a soft ‘mm?’ of response. “You really . . . could have had anyone. Why did you choose me?”

“Hmm, sweet one?” He lifts his head from your chest and looks down at you like you have asked him why the sky is blue. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I certainly did have my pick . . . I perhaps wouldn’t have chosen to marry if Lady Furina hadn’t been so insistent, but I was lucky enough to be able to choose anybody I wanted. And I had seen you.” He shakes his head, a huff of laughter falling from his mouth. “Like I said - I do have eyes.”

Your cheeks feel hot. The thought of being coveted by Monsieur Neuvillette, when you had worried about your body and your match and your future so often it felt like second nature--

“Oh dear,” he says, looking down at the two of you - at the sweat-slicked hair, at the come drying on your inner thigh. “I fear we’ll need to have another bath before bed.” 

“And you won’t mind if I join you?”

He chuckles. 

“Why,” he says. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

[septembersghost]

what addictive stardust does baz put in his movies

[ginevrapng]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE your chubby reader fics. I was thinking maybe marauders era Remus lupin, maybe he has a crush on chubby reader but she’s oblivious bc she thinks he could never like her? Keeps giving her little gifts almost trying to court her

it's charms and remus lupin is staring longingly at you, all in vain of course, at least that's what he's come to believe. he's fancied you for months and he's tried everything over the past few months to get you to notice but you never have, so all he can do is take these small moments to admire you afar and in peace.

in the recent months you noticed a change with him, you'd say you're not really friends and consider yourself more acquaintances, but he's been making more of an effort to talk to you. you figure he's heard about what happened with that ravenclaw who insulted you in front of your whole house and took some pity on you. remus had no knowledge of this event and if he had the marauders would have made him their number one target.

remus is starting to feel at his wits end, he's asked to study with you which now happens every week, he smiles at you in the hallways and talks to you in between classes, he even gave you a book he thought you'd like and buys you sweets from honeydukes. he feels like he's running out of options. a couple weeks ago he asked you to go to hogsmeade together and you turned him down saying that he should go with his friends and not be stuck with you, "i'm not going to be stuck with you, i want to go with you that's why i asked." remus' eyebrows furrow slightly, trying to get you to understand that he wants you to come.

"thank you remus, you're so kind but don't worry about me, you should be with your friends." you tell him and he feels like shouting at you and telling you off sometimes because how can you be so clueless to his feelings but to you you've never even considered the possibility that remus might have feelings for you. in your eyes how could he, you're just some chubby girl and remus is extremely out of your league so why would he ever be interested in you? he's smart and kind and friendly and attractive, he's really endearing. you like knowing that remus doesn't like talking to a lot of people and that he can become awkward, you like it because he chooses to speak to you and that always makes you feel warm inside, he truly is amazing, and truly out of your league. little did you know that remus thinks the same of you, you're sweet and pretty and cute and you look so soft. he dreams about holding your plush body in his arms while you talk together for hours and sneaking you into his dorm.

remus is studying, this time without you and he's lost track of time, he's looking at the words but not taking anything in, instead just thinking about you. his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of james pulling out a chair and sitting next to him. "where's your girlfriend moony?" james grins at him.

"she's not my girlfriend," remus sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand smoothing out the crinkles.

james' grin falters understanding that pain, he had the same pain with lily before they became a couple. "do you wanna talk about it mate?"

remus pulls his head back and looks up to the ceiling, "no, but i- it's j-just, she never believes me and takes me seriously. she constantly thinks i'm being her friend no matter what i say," remus says sounding slightly frustrated.

"i'm sure that's not true, maybe you're not making it obvious enough. it's clear that she likes you back, she always smiles when you answer questions in class and looks at you when you're not looking."

"prongs that isn't helping one bit, if she likes me back why won't she get that i like her too. i've made it plenty obvious, last week everyone was talking about that celestial ball that happens every few years and i said that i would want to go with her, i literally told her i'd want to go with the prettiest girl in school, you."

james starts laughing, "i thought she was meant to be clever moony."

"don't say that, she is, cleverer than you. she's just... oblivious."

"who's oblivious?" remus turns his head to see you standing there with the textbook that you've borrowed of him under your arm.

"you," james replies automatically grinning, remus glares at him, i'm going to kill him later. james slaps his hands on his knees and gets up, "i'll be off, catch you lovebirds later," he grins and walks off.

"piss off," remus says considering throwing something at him as he walks away.

you sit down where james was sitting but move your chair closer towards remus. "james really is ridiculous, you deserve much better than me," you say casually with a smile and go to open your book to the correct page.

remus frowns as he hears the self-depreciation in your tone, because what do you mean, if anything it's the other way. you look up at him when he doesn't reply and you see the frown on his face. "remus are you okay?" you ask concerned, hopefully james didn't make him feel uncomfortable by calling you both lovebirds.

"you really are oblivious," he mutters.

"huh?"

he shakes his head and places his hand over yours on the table, stroking your hand with his thumb, you look shocked at the action but remus just turns back to his book knowing that he'll be able to concentrate now with you next to him.

i'm so glad you like my chubby reader fics!!! i had so much fun with this!!

reader who doesn't think people will like them because they have low self esteem and doesn't think highly of their body + remus who loves them and their body like it's second nature, like it's the same as breathing ahhhh, it's sooo good

[cordeliawhohung]

OMG i just saw your !MafiaGhost on how they met but can you do how !MafiaJohnPrice met with the reader? (if you haven't already and have the time of course. 😊💕.)

mafia!John Price x fem!Reader

John Price has always walked a different path in life than people like you. And yet, despite your status, he learns that the two of you are more alike than he thought. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

mafia!141 masterlist

warnings: vague mentions of death and violence, infidelity, crude language, hurt/comfort, unhealthy relationship dynamics

wc: 4.3k

an: sorry this took me a bit to answer! as you can see i got carried away. also, as we're headed into the new year, i'd just like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who's been supporting my works! i recently hit 1k followers, and i cannot thank you guys enough for your lovely comments <3 i hope you all enjoy :)

“You see that girl right there? You stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.” 

Those were the first words John’s father ever said about you. He used one long, crooked finger to point you out in the crowd of other students who mingled about the room with their parents. Everyone had gathered in the school gymnasium for the science fair where all Year 8 students had projects and posters set up on rickety fold tables. Voices echoed endlessly off of the hard floor and walls that it was almost overwhelming.

Really, he didn’t agree with his father about you being trouble. You were plenty kind, and well liked by students and teachers alike due to your kindness and intellect. A proper student, one that everyone else in the school strived to be. There were times where your words bit harder than most would have liked, but John just saw that as you telling things the way they were. He liked that about you. Admired you, even. But then he saw the real reason why his father said those words. 

The man who accompanied you oozed authority and power, both in his stance and the way he walked. People regarded him like he was the King of England himself both in how they spoke to him and stepped around him like he could part a crowd with just a single glance. Most importantly, this man was your father, and he donned a uniform fit for only the chief of police himself. His father never liked police officers very much. They always made things difficult when it came to running the family business. 

It wasn’t until Year 11 that he actually talked to you. Or, more like you talked to him. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat the two of you together in the small, double seated desks that laid in perfect lines around the entirety of the room. He learned that you liked to doodle in the corner of your paper during lectures, and had a tendency to tap your pencil against the desk while taking exams. He liked the way your eyebrows knitted together in concentration, and how soft your voice was when whispering answers to the table next to you. 

He didn’t have time to think about you often, not that he should have. John Price was unfortunate enough to come from a family that had a long line of brutal patriarchs that often conditioned equally as cruel heirs. Once he turned sixteen he was forced to go along with his father during his work escapades where he very quickly learned how to clean up bodies without dirtying himself. He often showed up at school with various cuts and bruises, and with heavy bags under his eyes. Balancing the life of a killer and a student was tiring work. 

“Red color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.” 

It took John a moment to realize you were talking to him, and even then he still didn’t fully believe it until he looked over and saw you staring at him. You were leaned forward over your desk with your hand lazily propping up your head while you waited for him to answer. His pencil halted in its dance across his work as he brought his full attention your way. 

“Color corrector?” he repeated. 

“Yeah, you know. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for… very dark circles,” you said, tilting your head at him. “I’ve got some in my bag, if you’d like. Though, you’d have to find your own shade of foundation.” 

Your bluntness and slight humor towards the shiner on his eye had him chuckling, which only made the smile on your face grow into a smirk. 

“You sound like an expert,” he noticed. 

“I am,” you quipped before grinning. Carefully, you reached a hand up to the collar of your uniform and pulled down, exposing the side of your neck and some of your collar bone. There were several, small and faint hickies that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you pointing them out. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.” 

John liked your humor. And maybe there was something a little comforting knowing that someone like you was getting into trouble, too. Albeit, significantly less violent trouble than him, but that was for the best anyway. Maybe it gave him hope that someone like you and someone like him could actually have something in common. That he could resemble something that was normal.

A few years passed, and John began to drift from you bit by bit. You ended up graduating at the top of the class which earned you several offers from the most prestigious schools across the country, and it was all anyone talked about. Great things awaited you with opportunities to see distant lands, meet new people, and live a good and honest life. 

As for John, his father died when he was twenty-three. Murdered, to be exact, and in a manner eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, and ruthless, his fathers existence had been snuffed out by a single bullet where his blood stained the pillow that covered his face. 

The torch had been passed down, and its handle was still bloody. 

Over the years he grew rigid and battle hardened in the business of violence. He earned plenty of scars, and built upon his fathers empire until it was twice as big and infinitely more dangerous. It was the only thing his father had ever managed to teach him; how to be dangerous. Everyone who once thought the Price’s were people to fuck with learned very quickly that the new Don had nothing to lose but his own life; one that he didn’t care all too much about. 

The only thing he held close to him was the ghosts of his past, which was why he found himself standing in line at the florist’s shop. Even while running a quick errand, his phone vibrated in his pocket non-stop from merciless amounts of emails flooding his inbox. Mostly updates about certain events within the family that he attempted to lazily check as the woman in front of him spoke sweetly to the shopkeeper. Her voice was so soft, so comforting, so… familiar?

He didn’t realize it was you in front of him until you turned to leave with a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. Even after all those years he could recognize the features of your face like it was second nature. The shopkeeper spoke to him and asked him what she could do to help him, but her words didn’t even register in his mind. His feet moved on their own accord, and your name slipped out of his lips before he could do anything to stop it. 

Once you turned around to face him he found that the air had been knocked completely out of his lungs. It had been years since he had seen you, and you had changed so much; grown into your features, and turned into a beautiful woman that left him speechless. However, you didn’t regard him with the same dreamy gaze; instead, you stood there and stared at him as you awkwardly adjusted the flowers in your arms. 

“Yes?” you asked tensely. 

You didn’t recognize him. Of course, it made sense. He had grown significantly taller, his facial hair was full and thick, and for once he wasn’t sporting a shiner. His clothes were also significantly nicer, as he seemed to have grown fond of business casual as of late. If anything, your confusion was more humorous than anything else because he should have seen it coming. 

“John, John Price,” he said as if he was introducing himself for the first time. 

There was something about the way your eyes lit up at his name that had him feeling warmer than he had in a long while. A precious grin broke out on your lips as you took a step closer to him and laughed in the way someone does when they’ve figured out the answer to a riddle, and it was too contagious for John to not chuckle with you. 

“I didn’t recognize you!” you exclaimed, still giggling. “God, it’s been years! Staying out of trouble, I hope?” 

“Getting in just enough to keep things interesting,” he countered. 

It was like no time had passed at all. You were still that star pupil that you were all those years ago, and he could still hear your pencil tapping on your desk clear as day. It felt unreal. 

“What’s the occasion?” he then asked, gesturing to the flowers you held. 

“Oh,” you said, as if surprised. “Well, it’s, uhm, the anniversary of my dad’s passing.” 

The chief of police? Your father? That man who always held himself so powerfully had been shoved into the cold, unforgiving earth? When he was a kid that man had always seemed indestructible. Then again, so did every other adult when you’re at that age. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t heard,” he quickly apologized. 

Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, you still smiled. “It’s alright. Was a while ago now, anyway. But, uh, what about you?” you asked, gesturing towards him and his empty arms. 

“Mum’s birthday,” he answered simply. 

His response made you smile something small and bittersweet. “How sweet of you. I bet she’ll love them.” 

“Yes, they’ll make for good decoration.” 

Something settled between the two of you; something that had never been there before. Not while you were children; not when you grew up together. Whatever it was, it was unfamiliar, and much too suffocating, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to welcome it or not. 

“Well, I ought to get going,” you excused politely. “Got a few more errands to run. But it was really good seeing you again, John.” 

This was the part where he should have said goodbye. Wished you farewell just for you to vanish and most likely never see him again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, and instead he found his hand diving into his pocket before he could stop it. He grabbed a pen and stole one of the shop's business cards off of the counter where he quickly scribbled down something in the negative space before holding it out for you to take. 

“Here. I’m certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there,” he assured you. 

To his surprise, you took the card without hesitation where your eyes quickly scanned his rushed handwriting while you thanked him. As you held the card in front of you, something caught John’s attention. There was a metallic glint on your finger, one so bright that it nearly blinded him, and he realized you wore a large, gaudy ring. It was something given to you in poor taste, surely. Something that attempted to steal the spotlight of your beauty rather than compliment it. 

“Did you get married?” he asked in what he told himself was curiosity. 

You paused for a moment as you glanced at the ring on your finger. With such a large and obnoxious gem on a thin band, he was surprised it hadn’t snapped off. 

“Oh, not yet. Just engaged,” you said in an odd tone. As if you couldn’t stand to look at the ring any longer, you shoved the card into your pocket before smiling at him. “Thank you, again.” 

He tried to forget about you after that. Tried to forget about that ring on your finger and the way your voice changed when you mentioned your engagement. But it was so easy to worry about you; to care about you. Even after all those years you were still just as sweet and well spoken, but he was still John Price. Now the Don of the most lethal mafia in the country, he shouldn’t have been around anyone like you. You were the chief of police’s daughter, the girl who graduated top of his class in school and went to university; trouble. Nothing but trouble. 

So he kept to his own work. Ran his club on the south end of the city, washed the blood out of his shirt, and spent his nights sipping brandy that was too expensive and well crafted for a man like him. But then he thought about the dress that you’d wear, how you would do your hair, what song you’d want to have your first dance to… it was moments like that when he was glad that he had given you his number rather than the other way around. He was even more glad that you hadn’t made an effort to reach out to him. It was better that way.

“You alright, boss?” 

Those three words tore John right out of his thoughts and slammed him right back down to earth. Back to the thundering bass that shook the walls around him in the nightclub, back to real life and the man who sat at the desk in front of him, typing away on the computer. 

“Tired,” John replied simply. 

“You’re always tired,” the man countered. He paused his typing at the computer and ran a hand over his hair, which he had styled into a slightly grown out mohawk. “Even then you never space out this bad.” 

Whatever Soap, his electronics specialist, was trying to get at, John certainly wasn’t in the mood for it. Sighing, he leaned back further in his seat while he stared at the man with a tense expression. “Do you have the intel or not?” 

A small chuckle came from the corner of the office where another man sat, seemingly bored as he typed away on his phone. “Way to piss the man off.”

“Aye, I’ll turn that phone of yours into a fancy brick if you don’t watch your tone, Garrick.” 

The two men chuckled at each other’s teasing just in time for John’s own phone to go off. Not expecting a call, John ripped the device out of his pocket and stared at the unrecognized caller ID with his thumb hovering over the decline button. But he hesitated. It had been months since he had given you his number, and yet a small part of him worried you might have been on the other line. 

When he stood from his chair, it caught the other two men in the room off guard, but they stayed silent as they watched John accept the call and raise the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” he answered. 

All he got in response was a sob. 

By the time John had found you, all of your tears had run dry and a brutal fury filled the empty space. It wasn’t terribly late at night, but it was plenty dark enough that the park you had run off to looked eerie and uninviting in the dim halogen lights. Knees bouncing with anxiety, you sat on a park bench and bit into your bottom lip as you watched John approach from the street. 

For as much effort as he put into looking calm on the outside, it did absolutely nothing to settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing you cry, hearing you beg for him to come get you scared him more than he cared to admit. Really, he was rather proud of himself for keeping as level headed as he did, even after he saw the tear stains on your cheeks. 

It didn’t take long to coax what happened out of you, in fact, it nearly erupted out of you. That fiance of yours had proved to be less honest than he liked to paint himself as, and as the two of you sat on that park bench in the middle of the night you gave him every excruciating detail. How he had been acting strange for a few months, how he used to show you off and then suddenly wanted to keep you locked away. A part of you knew what was really happening, and yet you told yourself you were crazy until you had walked in on your fiance fucking his mistress in your shared bed. 

“Four fucking years, John,” you said, trying not to grit your teeth too hard that they cracked. “Four years of being with this man just for him to do that? He moved me into his flat, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me. I have nothing. I don’t have my own place, I hardly have my own money, I was an idiot and gave up everything because he asked me to and I was stupid enough to believe him.” 

By that point in your rant your knees were bouncing so fast your entire body vibrated. Terrified you’d disintegrate in front of him, John reached a careful hand out and brushed it against your shoulder. Though you didn’t say anything about it, or even look at him differently, your muscles seemed to relax some. 

“I could’ve been great,” you continued as your voice began to break. “I was able to go to any school in this country, I got my degree, I could’ve kept at work and been… something. And I didn’t need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I could’ve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them.  I would’ve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But I wasn’t. I’m not, and that fucking hurts because I know I’m worth so much more than this.”

More tears fell from your eyes after that, and it didn’t take much prompting from John before you crumbled against his side. When was the last time someone had held you like that? Wrapped their arms around you and held you close? When was the last time someone comforted you and actually meant it and not just in some sort of twisted expectation of devotion? Something in you told you that you should have felt shame for blatantly sobbing on a man in such a public space at an hour like that. Another part of you didn’t really care. 

It took a lot of convincing to get you to stay at his place. Eyes refusing to look at him when you gave him excuse after excuse, it was obvious that you didn’t want to burden him anymore than you already had. So you told him you could stay with your mom, or even get a hotel if that wouldn’t work, but John simply wouldn’t hear it. 

Eventually you were in the living room of his house. An actual house. Not an apartment or flat in the city, but something kind and quaint in the higher end of town. He had a real lawn and backyard that was perfectly manicured, and everything on the inside of the house was much too perfect and clean. It was something straight out of the catalogs you’d see in magazines or on HGTV.

First order of business was a shower, and though it felt strange changing into John’s clothes, you would have done anything to wipe the stench of your cheating fiance off of you. And maybe it was because of the spite that boiled inside of you, but you found that you liked the way John’s clothes smelled significantly more than you ever liked your ex’s. Second was getting you food, and though you had told John you weren’t hungry, the scent of his buffalo chicken was too good to pass up. 

It was near midnight by the time you went to bed, and John had made sure everything was set up for you in the guest room before he meandered back down to the kitchen to clean up. There was still plenty of work that needed to be finished that night back with the boys. He took comfort in knowing that you’d be safe in his house, at least, and well out of reach of that terrible excuse of a man. 

When John finished cleaning things up in the kitchen, it took him a moment to notice the incessant buzzing sound that plagued the room. Like rattling glass, it made his ears quiver just listening to it, and he quickly scavenged the countertops until he found your phone resting on the island in the center of the room. Flashing lights illuminated the screen as your ex’s caller ID and photo popped up. He caught the tail end of the call, and the screen faded back to your lock screen where it claimed to have received 27 missed calls, as well as 84 unread text messages. 

Where the fuck are you?

Answer your fucking phone.

Baby please.

Answer me.

Stop being a fucking bitch.

Goddamn skank.

Come on, honey it means nothing.

Are you seriously making this a big deal?

Come home before I drag you home.

I’m not fucking around.

You’re pissing me off. 

Before leaving the house to head back to the nightclub, John swiped up your phone and hid it in his pocket, along with that god awful ring you didn’t care to wear anymore. 

In the morning you woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours with clothes that didn’t fit you, yet you had never felt so comfortable in your entire life. It had been a long while since you last felt like you belonged; since you felt comfortable in your own skin. Still, you couldn’t stay there forever and you forced yourself up off of the mattress as you snuck your way to the living room. You were greeted by several large boxes that sat stacked neatly in the furthest corner of the room, and once again John was in the kitchen making food. He still wore the same clothes he had the night before, and they looked terribly disheveled, yet he still continued on anyway. 

“Mornin’,” he greeted as he looked up from his pan where several eggs sizzled away. “Sleep alright?” 

Still groggy, you approached the island where you lazily leaned against it. “Yeah. Looks like you didn’t get any, though.” 

John chuckled, something tired yet still hearty at the same time. “Perceptive.” 

“Always have been.” 

John quickly finished up the eggs and began to dish out the food onto plates. While you waited, your fingers lazily ran over the counter top where they collided with your phone, and it took everything in you to hold back a sigh. Looking down at it, you pressed the home button where the screen lit up, expecting to see several messages from your ex, and yet there was nothing. You stood there perplexed and wondered if the man had really let you just run away from him, until you noticed something else missing. 

“Have you seen my ring?” you questioned as John slid a plate of food your way. 

“Your ex took it back,” John answered simply. He stood on the other side of the island for a moment before he turned around and started cleaning up the mess of ingredients and dishes that littered the counter. “I also managed to retrieve all your personal items. They’re stacked in the living room when you’re ready to look through them.” 

Mouth open in surprise, you glanced back into the living room and eyed the stack of boxes before looking back at John with a raised eyebrow. “How… how’d you manage all that?” 

Perhaps he should have hesitated before answering. Thought of something to say other than the truth. Instead, John didn’t miss a beat in answering you as he continued cleaning. 

“He sent you a few messages last night and I saw his name pop up on your phone. Didn’t realize you were engaged to the mayor’s son,” he explained. “I have some contacts who were able to get me an audience with him. I figured it would be easier for me to grab your items than you doing it yourself. Save you the trouble, at least. He shouldn’t be bugging you again.” 

For the longest time, you didn’t know what to say. There were a few glaringly obvious holes in his explanation, namely why there weren’t any notifications on your phone. If he had only glanced at it, they would have still been there, and yet they had been cleared. Then there was the fact your ex was too self centered to ever have an audience with anyone he didn’t actively seek out. Perhaps even stranger, you weren’t at all surprised. Maybe you were a little taken aback at everything he had done for you, but not at the methods he used to get it done. Because you had known John’s secret from the very beginning. After all, you had been the chief’s daughter. 

“John,” you said, voice soft and even. 

Drying his hands off on a small towel, he turned around to finally face you where he was surprised to find you smiling. And god, you were stunning, so much so that all he could do was stand there and wait for you to continue. 

“I’m glad I ran into you at the flower shop,” you finished. “Thank you. For everything.” 

It wasn’t what he expected you to say, and still he mimicked your smile, although it was much more tired than yours had been. Life was strange. Nothing had ever gone as planned in John’s life, and yet there was you. Through all the years and the shit and the struggles, you had found your way back into his life, and for some strange reason, he found himself hoping you’d stick around this time, no matter how much trouble you caused. 

“Any time, darling.” 

don't let me in with no intention to keep me jesus christ, don't be kind to me honey, don't feed me, i will come back

[martiniblues]

girls like girls, like boys do ; ellie williams

pairing bff!ellie williams x female!reader

synopsis you and ellie have been bestfriends for all of your teenage years. while you bounced around from boy to boy, ellie was left to pine over you alone. little did she know that, all along, the only person you wanted was her.

genre slight violence (blood, fighting, arguments), mentions of weed and alcohol, homophobia both internal and harassment, lots of fluff, loosely based off of the girls like girls music video by hayley kiyoko!

wc 3.9k (i got carried away)

“come on, ellie stop being a hog!” you reached for the glassy object resting between your best friend's legs. her hands wrapped around the base tightly despite her intoxicated state, making your fight even more difficult.

the two of you sat perched on your bathroom counter, your smooth legs lying across ellie’s jean-clad knees. her typical jean and opened short-sleeve button-up combo paled in comparison to your short floral skirt and white top. many couldn’t believe how close you and ellie were. her being known as the “school’s lesbian” and you being known as the "all-star cheerleading captain” didn’t put the two of you in the same crowds at all, but you couldn’t imagine your life without her there to constantly annoy you. as she was doing now.

“i’m not a hog! just don’t want you to get too fucked up.” her head lolled to the side, looking at you through an intoxicated gaze. her freckled cheeks grew flushed under the low lights of the bathroom while her eyes continued to sparkle as they always did, just now tinted red and droopy.

“says the one who can hardly keep her head up.” you argued before finally grasping the colorful bong in between your manicured fingers. to your surprise, ellie didn’t snap back, only igniting her purple lighter and helping you pull.

ellie couldn’t help but eye you as your glossed lips kissed the top, your pretty lashes brushing against the tops of your cheeks as you closed your eyes contently. you could feel her eyes practically burning holes into your head, opening one eye to peek at her as you pulled away to inhale completely.

ellie noticed the smile pulled on your closed lips before she realized you had caught her completely checking you out. “something bothering you, els?” you questioned as you blew the smoke out from between your lips.

she looked away to stare at your patterned shower curtain. the same one the two of you sat against most nights you spent together doing the same things you were doing now.

ellie had liked you for a long time. she couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t completely enamored by you; whether it was platonic or not, she always loved you. maybe it was the way you two had been spending more time together or the fact you decided to be alone with her than at your party that made her heart lurch in her throat and beg to escape in the form of a confession, but something had shifted.

you two had smoked together plenty of times, but recently her stomach erupted into butterflies at the somewhat “kiss” you two exchanged while sharing joints or passing your bong between the two of you.

you two had changed in front of each other all the time, but recently she couldn’t help but turn and dip her head when she saw you reach for the hem of your blouse to change into your pajamas. even more so when you insisted on wearing one of her lousy band tees instead of your own since hers were “so much more comfy."

“els? what’s up?” your soft hand met the smooth skin of her wrist, breaking her from her daydream. “o-oh… it’s nothing. just dazed out, i guess.” she pulled away to scratch the back of her neck sheepishly, breaking the contact between you two.

you furrowed your brows in confusion. ellie had never been this awkward with you, especially when she’s high. sure, she wasn’t the most poetic with her words, but you never felt awkward with her. ever.

you observed her as her eyes scattered across your bathroom, beginning to grow embarrassed and worried about what was going on in her mind that you couldn’t quite seem to read at the moment.

you had never cared how ellie perceived you, knowing she liked you no matter what. recently, though, you cared a lot about how ellie saw you. when you’d get ready, you'd think about what ellie liked. remembering she always complimented when you wore skirts, those are what you reached for that week and tonight. you wanted her to think of you as you did of her.

you couldn’t help the uproar of thoughts that spun around your head like a curse, screaming to be spoken. “you wanna go back out there? dina should be here by now, and we should greet her.” you hopped off the counter, turning to face ellie, who still sat in place.

she finally averted her gaze to you at the sound of your voice, her eyes visibly softening as they connected with yours. “you… you look really pretty tonight.” she stuttered slightly, trying her best not to break eye contact. it was always so hard for her to look at you without melting into a puddle beneath her feet.

you blushed, instantly taken aback by her words. you leaned forward, placing both hands on the granite countertop beside ellie’s leg. “you look really pretty too, els.” you looked up at her slightly, the counter having given her height she didn’t have when she stood next to you.

you don’t know if it was all your feelings towards ellie or the weed in your system that led you to be so bold in the moment, but she just made it so hard.

you had many boyfriends in the past. all of them falling lower and lower onto your “tier of dickheads” (ellie’s nickname for every one that broke your heart) as they came and went.

you had grown up with the idea that you had to date boys. it’s all you saw, and it’s all you've ever known. you knew gay people existed, but you never mentioned them as much as you knew the consequences. many people in your town grew up the same way as you did, believing being straight was “normal” or even “acceptable” for someone to be.

you knew you should have liked it when your boyfriend kissed you, but you just couldn’t. kissing and touching just seemed to be a requirement in the realm of dating. sure, some of them were nice, but you liked to just be able to hang out without their tongue shoved down your throat just because you were their girlfriend.

when you met ellie and found out she was gay, your view of her didn’t change; she was still ellie. most people stuck up their noses at you or called you “crazy” but you wouldn’t trade their fake tans and cheep perfume for ellie any day.

to your own defense, it wasn’t ellie who made you realize you liked girls. you had always found girls pretty—prettier than your friends ever expressed. you always found yourself staring at the victoria secret ads in the mall for far too long just because they were "pretty".

even if ellie wasn’t the girl who made you realize you liked girls, she was definitely the girl you liked.

“i see her as more than a friend,” you continued to tell yourself as you began to doubt yourself in the late hours of the night. the internalized homophobia ate you alive at any chance you get to have alone, but in this moment with her in the bathroom, all the doubts faded into knowing. you knew how you felt.

you don’t know how long you and ellie stared at each other or when the two of you began to slowly lean in, but a loud bang on the door interrupted the peaceful moment.

“dude, hurry up! this bitch is about to puke!” you shoved your bong into the cabinet beneath the sink before opening the door to reveal two of your classmates clearly drunk beyond repair.

“oh my god, okay, okay!” you yelled at the barely recognizable faces as you reached behind yourself to grab ellie’s hand and pull her out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

ellie held onto your hand tightly as you weaved between sweaty bodies and crowded groups amongst your home. thankfully, everyone was too drunk or high to even notice you and ellie holding hands and walking so closely.

you felt a tug on your wrist as you rounded an empty corner nestled between your kitchen and the front door. you turned to see ellie smiling at you softly. “where are we going?” she asked as you dropped her hand. a faint pout appeared on her lips.

“honestly,” you began as you leaned against the wall to stare ahead at her. “i have no idea. i just wanted to get away from that bathroom before i got puke on my skirt.” you huffed, annoyed that you and ellie’s quiet moment had to be interrupted by someone who couldn’t handle their drinks.

ellie laughed at your words, turning her body so she leaned next to you against the wall. “of course your only concern is if your clothes get dirty.” she laughed, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

you looked down at her with fake shock. ellie always liked to pick at your very feminine actions. curling your hair, doing your makeup, tying bows in your hair—she liked to tease you for these things even if she watched in complete awe as you did them.

“you know i don’t mean it; c'mere, i'm all alone down here.” her cold hand wrapped around the skin of your calf, urging you to sit next to her. you had to swallow the scream, which threatened to spill from her hand practically burning into your soul.

you sat down, knees bumping softly, to end up resting against another. maybe it was the weed in your system, but every sense was enhanced by a thousand. the rough fabric of her jeans against your exposed skin made your body ignite with goosebumps. her toned arm brushing against yours made your chest light on fire.

“how would you feel if someone puked on your clothes?” you argued in an attempt to cool yourself down. anything to distract yourself from the overwhelming feelings churning in your stomach.

“this isn’t about me, princess.” she nudged you with her shoulder, making your body fall over slightly. you sat up and pushed her roughly, but her body hardly budged, causing a smirk to appear on her lips once again.

“you’re such a dick,” you scoffed, turning your back towards her as if you’re a toddler getting denied a toy from the store. ellie laughed at your childish antics, reaching out to grab your shoulder and make you turn around, but you just shrugged her off.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. please forgive me.” she begged, moving closer to try and face you again. even if you were pretending, ellie hated when you were mad at her (fake or not) more than anything.

you could see her auburn hair from the corner of your eye, causing you to turn your head slightly to side-eye her. "mhmm," you hummed before looking away again.

without another word, ellie grabbed your shoulder tightly and pulled herself away, so she now sat beside you. leaving you nowhere else to look but at her, which, evidently, was more than a difficult task.

“are you really upset with me?” even with the low lighting, you could still see the genuine concern in her eyes. you were shocked by her, only able to shake your head “no” with a small smile creeping onto your lips.

strands of her short hair hung perfectly messy in her face as they fell from her small knot on the back of her head. her lips looked softer than any sweater blanket that ever touched your body, and her hand on your shoulder felt warmer than the most perfect summer day.

you couldn’t take it anymore. you didn’t want to just look at her and imagine doing all the things you wanted to anymore. you needed them to happen before you exploded into nothing but ellie-shaped confetti.

“ellie-“

“y/n-“

you both flushed at the silliness of it all. here, the two of you sat completely infatuated with each other, cheeks pink and eyes in the shape of hearts, but still doubted if the other felt the same.

“can i kiss you?” ellie asked smoothly, catching you off guard at how easily it fell from her lips. ellie instantly panicked at the shocked expression on your face. she immediately scooted away and began apologizing. “i’m sorry… i-i don’t even know why i asked.”

“ellie,” you tried to calm her down as she began frantically searching for a way to ease the situation. you couldn’t watch her make a mess of herself over something you wanted her so badly to do.

“ellie.” you reached out and grabbed her face softly with one hand while the other came to rest on her knee. her face fell from concern to an unreadable expression. a mix between content and confusion.

you leaned in slowly, watching as her eyes quickly looked all over your face, trying to understand if this was real life or just a figment of her intoxicated imagination.

your nose bumped against hers, making you look into her eyes. “can i kiss you?” you exhaled, anxiously awaiting her reply. “please…” she breathed before you placed your lips softly against hers.

there was hardly any movement aside from both of your chests expanding and shrinking from letting go of held breaths and breathing in bigger and better ones as your lips connected. it was soft and short, ending before either of you could make another move.

“i really like you, ellie,” you confessed as your lips parted with a soft smack. “i’ve never liked someone like this before.” you continued, searching her eyes for a reply that she failed to give.

it’s like a switch flipped at your words. ellie reached up to hold the back of your head with her free hand, letting out a quick “thank god” before smashing her lips against yours.

this time, the kiss was heavy and felt less like a trial and more like a confession. her lips moved eagerly against yours, but they were not messy in the slightest. your hand pushed further up her cheek, leaving your thumb to brush against the freckles that littered her skin as the rest of your fingers knotted into her soft strands.

her hand, which lay beneath yours, maneuvered so that your fingers were interlocked tightly, squeezing ever so slightly to try and add emphasis to her feelings towards you.

you squeezed back, making her smile against your lips before tilting her head to kiss you deeper than before.

“what the fuck?” a deep voice pulled you and ellie apart quickly, making you stand up and face the group of people who now looked at you and ellie with mixed faces. most were shocked, while others held a look of disgust, especially the one in the front, which belonged to none other than your most recent ex-boyfriend.

“oh, so we broke up, and now you’re gay?” he gestures his arm out to ellie, who now stands behind you. more people flocked towards the commotion, making you and ellie the center of attention.

“that’s not…” you tried to argue, but you couldn’t think of something to say that could ease the situation. “what? no wonder you were always such a tease,” he began, walking and stalking towards you. his face grew increasingly red with anger.

“always leading me on and leaving me to fix my shit myself because you wanted to get with a homo? you wanna fuck her like a fucking fa-“ his words were cut off as ellie swung at his chiseled face, making you jump and cover your mouth to avoid screaming.

he stumbled at ellie’s force and grabbed his cheek, which began to turn pink with irritation from ellie’s blow. “oh wow, now you have your little girlfriend to defend you.” he laughed darkly as he looked between you and ellie with pure venom in his gaze.

before ellie or you could form a rebuttal, he swung at her face, resulting in an eruption of “oohs” from the crowd of people observing all around.

“ellie!” you screamed, attempting to help her as an arm wrapped around your shoulders, restricting you. your head turned to reveal dina behind you, preventing your attempted move.

“what are you doing?” you yelled at her as your ex and ellie began hitting each other over and over.

“don’t, just don’t. let’s get out of here.” she spoke into your ear as you watched and pulled on her arms, which held you firmly.

“ellie stop! please stop! someone make it stop!” you continued to scream as you watched the fight increase in severity as the seconds went by.

you didn’t want to watch, but you couldn’t look away. with every swing he made, ellie made three, which filled you with some sort of relief before he did just as many hits back.

you clawed at dina’s arms, not caring if you hurt her, as you watched ellie get hurt by someone you claimed to even like. it made you want to puke.

“you think you can take her from me?” your ex growled as he swung at ellie, which she thankfully dodged. she laughed, wiping her bloodied knuckles on her white undershirt. “didn’t have to take what was already mine.” she sneered back, punching him once more directly in the nose.

you couldn’t help but gasp at her words. if it were any other situation, you would feel flattered, but in the moment, all you felt was fear. that had to have struck a nerve.

“you think you’re so funny, huh?” he muttered as blood trickled from his nose and into his mouth, painting his teeth red. “i mean, she sure thinks so.” ellie tried to bite back the nasty comment, but she was so completely enraged that he could even think to speak of you the way he did.

more shouts and whistles erupted from the crowd, ultimately showing their approval of ellie’s comment, even if they didn’t side with her entirely or even at all.

this just fueled his anger more, making him push ellie to the floor and punch her with much more force than he originally had. the sight made you grow silent in fear. you wanted to scream, but the pure shock in your veins rendered you mute.

your fight against dina’s arms only grew as you watched ellie face and body get repeatedly hit. “stop, please fucking stop.” you finally yelled as more and more people cheered and hollered without a care.

with one last tug, you finally freed yourself from dina’s grip and lurched towards the boy who continued to swing on ellie. you were never one with muscles, but some sort of strength took over you as you pulled his body off of ellie and into the wall.

you hit his stupid face over and over, so consumed with anger that you failed to notice dina rush to ellie’s side and pull her up. you couldn’t focus on anything but hurting this boy just as much as he had hurt you, and that included ellie.

you didn’t know how many hits you got or when the crowd began to disperse, but a firm grip on your waist removed you from the boy and planted you on the ground.

“come on, man, let’s get out of here!” a deep voice rang in your head, along with many other loud voices chanting to leave. your vision was blurry with tears, unable to make out any sort of movement, and all you could hear was a dull ring muffling the multitude of shouting voices.

all you felt were the cool tiles on the kitchen floor beneath your thighs and the hard wall behind your head before you felt a familiar hand grab your face.

“y/n are you okay? god, please tell me you’re okay.” ellie’s voice fell into your ears clearly, her soft thumb coming up to wipe the tears that began to spill from your eyes. you couldn’t form any words; you just reached out to grab her as tightly as you could.

feeling her skin on yours felt like a breath of fresh air, drowning out all your doubts knowing she was here and with you.

“i’m so sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.” you cried into her shirt, bunching some of her flannel into your bloody fist as you clawed at her back while you sobbed. “it’s not your fault.” ellie pulled your face back to look at you.

with your eyes finally coming into focus, you took in the multiple cuts and bruises scattered across her pretty face. her lip had a large gash on the side, along with her temple and cheek.

“don’t worry, he looks a whole lot worse.” she joked, trying to ease your visible worry. you laughed at her ability to joke at a time like this.

she wasn’t far off when she said you thought she was funny…

you grazed her wounds softly, not wanting to hurt her even more than she already was. "well, that’s good. i’d have to chase after him again if he weren’t,” you teased, your hand coming down to interlock with hers, which rested on your thigh.

you sat in silence, not knowing what to say. your house sounded a lot quieter; the only sound were voices coming in from outside and the humming of cars driving off.

“didn’t know you had that strength in you, pretty girl. where was all that when we were helping joel move boxes huh?” ellie joked yet again, making you roll your eyes.

“shut up.” you groaned before kissing her, doing your best to not hurt the cut on her lip. she kissed you back as if the cut were nonexistent, grabbing your waist under your battered shirt to pull you closer to her.

your knees came to rest on either side of one of her legs, letting yourself hover above her as you disconnected your lips from hers. this time, she just looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

“so… should we make his words come true?” you questioned her, toying with one of the buttons on her shirt. ellie looked at you quizzically, unsure of what you were implying.

you just grabbed her face for what felt like the thousandth time and kissed her quickly. “you’re so fucking cute.” you giggled at her, still confused. she grabbed your wrist, “trying” to pull your hands off her face.

“do you want to be my girlfriend?” you asked, ridded of any anxieties or doubts. she instantly erupted into giggles, pulling you into her and hugging you as tight as she could without bothering her hurt side.

“to think i had this whole plan to ask you out, and here you are asking me if i want to be your girlfriend after i just fought for your love.” ellie joked, rubbing your sides firmly as you pulled away and looked at her with nothing but shock.

“a plan? now you have to tell me, els.” you tilted your head to peer at her through squinted lids. she just shook her head and grazed one of her hands up your back to rest behind your head and rake through your hair.

“maybe tomorrow..." she drawled before connecting your lips once again, a content sigh leaving both of your lips in satisfaction.

“yeah, the explanation can wait.” you breathed, locking your lips with hers again.

notes first ellie and tlou fic AHHHH!!! i’ve wanted to write some ellie works for a long time but just haven’t had any inspo until recent hehe so here that. sorry it’s so long and not my best work, i just love this song w her and my ellie obsession has hit an all time High recently lol. anyway i hope you enjoyed!!<33

[woooyeahbaby]

Who Says ‘I Love You’ First - AOT drabbles

warnings: probably ooc eren because i imagine him kinda differently from canon 😭 sorry, that’s really it, just fluff? maaaybe ooc jean. gender neutral reader i think? lmk if i said something that wasn’t gn, i’ll fix it asap

characters: eren, jean, armin, levi

Eren

you. i mean, we all saw how he never confessed to mikasa, right? sorry, but you’re not special.

of course, he wants you to know he loves you, so he’ll show actions of love, but never outright says he loves you. he has it planned out, down to the exact wording, he has it memorized, even. however, he can never spit it out. so you have to take the reigns.

at the point you confess, you’ve realized he won’t be saying it any time soon. it’s been a year of you two being together, so it’s pretty obvious.

you’ll be perhaps on a walk with him, not necessarily a destination. you could even be on a boring patrol. it’s quiet, trees blowing in the wind, and the soft chirps of birds. you look at eren, and him feeling your eyes on him, looks back. you feel confident enough.

“i love you, eren.” you give a soft smile, trying to hide how nervous you felt about saying that. you start to overthink slightly, wondering if he never said it simply because he really just didn’t feel like that.

“i..” eren’s eyes are wide with shock, but he doesn’t look offended, no. his cheeks are slightly red, a smile forms on his lips, and his body visibly tenses. “i.. love you too.”

it seemed like it was difficult for him to say that, but other than returning to overthinking it, you realized he was definitely just scared. you smile back at him, then reach for his hand. he grabs yours, squeezing a little tighter than usual. it was only because he was giddy and trying not to show it.

Jean

he does! only because he says it quite early. only about two months into dating. it doesn’t really bother you how early it was, since he made it very obvious he wasn’t lying or anything. he’s always very caring and gentle with you, such a softie when it comes to you.

it wasn’t just words that showed you he loves you, he’d always pamper you the best he could. he’d share his food with you, no matter how hungry. he’d wipe blood from your face with his thumb. plenty of acts and gestures to show his love before he announced it.

let’s set this.. beginning of season three. in the cabin and cleaning up together, perhaps helping him wash dishes. jean sees you working hard, and his heart throbs. he loves seeing you focused.

“hey,” he says to catch your attention. “i love you.” he sounds slightly nervous, his voice cracking ever so slightly. of course he made eye contact with you to deepen the feeling.

“i love you too, jean. where’d that come from?” you laugh softly, feeling your face heat up as you continue to wash dishes.

“i just felt like telling you. felt like a good time.” he smirks as he grabs a cloth to dry a plate you’ve set down.

Armin

surprisingly, he does. but it was an accident. let’s say five months into dating, at the cabin in season three.

armin had been having a hard time recently, poor guy was so stressed and anxious with absolutely everything. so one day, while he’s cleaning up for captain levi in the cabin, you approach him with something behind your back.

he sets his broom aside, raising an eyebrow as he sees your hands behind your back.

“y/n? what do you have?” armin asks curiously, a small yet playful smile on his face.

“just a gift.” you smile back as you suddenly show him what the gift was; a book about everything beyond the walls.

his eyes absolutely light up and his smile grows ten times bigger. he grabs the book from your hands excitedly, then wraps his arms around you.

“oh, y/n! i love you! where did you get this?!” armin nearly shouts, his voice cracking all over the place. he doesn’t even realize what he said until a few seconds later.

“o-oh, i um.. sorry…” his eyes are wide as he backs from the hug, his face red.

“it’s okay, armin. i love you too.” you laugh softly. “i just happened to find it.”

you decide not to dwell on it, seeing how embarrassed he got. you found it adorable.

Levi

you do. he’s far too shy to tell you, but you still have all of his heart. six months into dating. you’re enjoying a cup of tea, alone with him.

you’re holding a conversation with him, something many of the scouts find difficult. but, seeing as you’re literally dating him, you find it easy. especially when he’s content with his tea. even if the conversation was dull and simple, you both felt love in each other’s gazes.

it was like he was staring at an angel when he looked at you, you could see in his eyes and expression that the only thing he cared about in the moment was you. part of you wondered why he never voiced it, though. so.. why shouldn’t you? maybe that’ll get it out of him.

“i love you, levi.” you say once the previous conversation ends, and he seems slightly taken aback. his jaw drops slightly, and you hear a soft gasp.

once he catches his physical reaction, he clears his throat. “ahem, sorry. that um.. caught me off guard. i love you too, y/n. very much.” he returns to his loving expression instead of his shocked one as he speaks.

“it’s alright, it was out of nowhere. i only expected you to be surprised.” you smile, reaching across the table to hold his hand.

levi takes your hand, soothingly rubbing his thumb across the back of it just how he knows you like it. “it was sweet, nonetheless.”

did you like this? my requests are open! please check out my pinned post about requests if you’d like me to write something for you :)

[cutecherrygirl]

Felix - Love you Goodbye

Warnings: Angst, smut.

Summary: The year is 2020, and Skz is going through hard times. This causes the members to start overworking themselves and go through waves of stress. Your boyfriend Felix is persistent but you can see everything is starting to take a toll on him. Scared of becoming a burden, and also wanting Felix to be able to give his full focus on the group you decide to end things. Before that happens though, Felix wants just one more night with you.

You and Felix have been together for a year. To be honest, you both have never been happier. Felix had never felt so much love from one source alone. Being together was like something out of movie scenes, that is until recently. These past couple of weeks have been more than hectic. Hyunjin went to Hiatus ,while skz were trying to figure out how to perform Cover is Du4 without Hyunjin.

You’ve attempted to help in any way you possibly could. You would bring lunch and dinner over to the boys dorms when you had time, and when horrid rumors about the members started to suffice you would try to be there emotionally for them as best as you could. There were also plenty of nights where none of you would get any sleep thanks to due dates or practice. You truly tried your best, but you were only one person. You could see how not only exhausted Felix was, but all of the members. 

Even though everything was rigid, they continued to work hard. You felt bad, only being able to watch from afar. That’s when you started to think, how hard it must be for Felix to try to juggle a relationship & his work. He shouldn’t have to worry about not being able to make time for you then feel bad because of his career. You also had just received a job offer in a different country. You knew first hand that with both of your already crazy schedules, a long distance relationship would not be possible.

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling. You had to carry out the toughest decision of your life. You had to do it. It would be harder later than now. Still though, you laid in bed, deep in though. Is this really where it’s going to end? Just like that? The situation didn’t seem real to you. Suddenly your thoughts are interrupted by your phone ringing. It’s now or never. You gulped and answered the phone.

"Hey Lixie..."

“Baby…” Felix whined from the other side of the line. You couldn’t help but smile. “Yes bub?” He was so cute. “I miss you. Come see your cute Chicken boyfriend.” Felix spoke with a sweet tone. You giggled. “I’ll be there in 10.” With that you hung up the phone. You sat up from your bed, realizing the reality that was about to hit you both. You rushed and grabbed your car keys, heading out.

“Hello there, my sweetie.” Felix greeted you at his room door. He pecked your lips, smiling afterwards. You looked down, allowing your thoughts from earlier to eat you up. Felix noticed something was off and looked down at you. “Are you okay baby?” He asked, concern clear in his voice. Your eyes looked up to meet his own. “Felix we need to break up.” Your words lingered in the air. The room was suddenly silent, your breathing being the only thing audible. Felix was looking towards the ground, unable to say anything. “What are you talking about? Is it me? Was it something I did? Y/n I promise I can-'' You stopped his babbling, “No Felix, it’s nothing you did.” Your voice started to become shaky and your vision blurry. You took his hands in yours and he held on tight. “I’m moving out of the country, I got a job offer. It just wouldn’t work. And you should be able to focus on Skz.”

You smiled as you continued, trying to hold back tears. “Plus, I don’t doubt Skz will conquer success.” It was the truth, they were the strongest group of people you’ve ever met. You had every bit of faith in them. “But it’s not fair to the both of us if we can only hold each other back. It’ll be better if we both just ended things here.” There was no doubt Felix’s heart was breaking at this very moment. But he understood your every word. You were right. He couldn’t argue with that.

“Where are you going?” He asked trying to focus on the more positive. “If I tell you that, you’d just end up at my doorstep.” You forced a smile at your remark. “So? I love you Y/n.” Felix couldn’t contain his tears anymore. He grabbed your waist, pulling you into his embrace. Felix held on tightly, letting his cries become vocal as he sobbed into the crook of your neck. “I love you too.” You joined him in woe. You caressed his back, trying to sooth him by any means. Felix lifted your chin up with his fingers. He planted a soft tender kiss. But even that couldn’t stop the tears. The kiss became more sloppy but longing at the same time, the taste of your salty tears mixed in added additional wetness. You suddenly pulled away, looking him in the eyes.

“Stay with me… one last night.” Felix requested. How could you deny him? Tonight would be the last of each other, why not spend it in pure sensual love?

You nodded in response and once again Felix’s lips met yours. This time it was more passionate, more heated, but still full of heartbreak. Felix’s hands began crawling up your shirt, rubbing small circles into your bare waist. His touch was something you had never gotten used too, goosebumps spread all over. His tongue slipped into your mouth, twirling around with yours. After being like this for a good minute, the heat became too much for Felix. He pulled away, a tiny string of saliva pulling between you. He lifted up your shirt.

His lips rushed to kissing your exposed skin. He was sucking, licking, biting all over your neck and collarbones, while unclamping your bra. Your breathing became heavy. You couldn’t help but moan softly as Felix found your sweet spot. It was a good thing some members were gone for a family visit, & the rest of the members were out of the dorms.

Once Felix got your bra off he picked you up and laid you on his bed. He hovered over you kissing you again. 

You were still his for the time being. You tugged at his shirt, usually he would smirk at your eagerness, but he just bit his lip trying to refrain from a look of bitterness. He pulled his shirt over his head. You sat up and began kissing his upper body, small sweet pecks. Felix sighed at the feeling. Everything was hot but his mind kept going back to the fact this would be the last he would be able to feel your lips all over him like this. Felix grew frustrated and pushed you back down into the bed.

He pulled your jeans off with haste, you gasped at his swift motions. He went down and kissed your hardened nipples. He grinded down on your heat while his tongue swirled around your breast. “Felix..” You moaned his name, letting him take over every inch of you. “What baby? Tell me what you want.” His voice was breathy, trying to mask the shakiness. You grinded up into him, creating heated tension. You moaned again, “Felix, I want…” You trailed off. You pulled Felix’s face down, you bit his ear softly, a moan escaping his plump lips. “No. I need you.” You stated. With those words, he unbuckled his pants, stripping off the last remaining clothing. 

Before he could move further you grasped his member in your hand. Felix sucked in his breath quickly. You bent over leaving wet kisses up and down his shaft. Felix closed his eyes as you took him in your mouth. He loved when you sucked him off. “Just like that baby.” He exhaled. You detached your mouth and smiled up at his scrunched up expression. His hair already clung to his sweaty face. Oh, how you were going to miss him. Felix went back to hovering over you and slipped off your panties. You let out a shaky breath, remembering for the hundredth time that this was the last time.

It’s like you were both connected, because Felix felt it too. He looked down, making direct eye contact. His eyes held nothing but both, love and melancholy. “I love you so much.” He said, You smiled sadly at him, too scared to respond to anything, scared because this was becoming real. Felix aligned himself with your entrance and slowly pushed in. You moaned loudly. Felix kissed you passionately. Once he felt you adjust he slowly pumped in & out at a slow pace. Even though you were lost in the euphoria of the moment your heart continued to ache. Felix made love to you slowly and lovingly. He made sure that you could feel his love for you, even as his chest felt like it was being ripped open. “Felix..”

You moaned his name, gripping his hair. He grunted lowly. He quickened his pace. “You feel so good Y/n. Keep moaning my name baby.” He was engulfed in these hot flames of arousal and despair. He clung onto your body because this was the last time he’d be able to hold you this close again. You shut your eyes, a single tear rolling down as you moaned. You kissed Felix’s shoulder, relishing in the feeling of him inside you. The thought alone was enough to send you over the edge. Your body shuddered as you came undone around him.

Pretty soon you felt his movement become unsteady and sloppy. With a few more thrust he pulled out, letting out low moans as his hot liquid released on your lower stomach. Your heavy breathing was the only thing audible in the room now. Once Felix calmed down he grabbed a towel and cleaned you up. He laid beside you pulling your body close to him. He pecked your temple and closed his eyes. He knew yours remained on him but he ignored your gaze on purpose. He didn’t want to come to terms with the reality in front of him. He didn’t want to let you go.

He didn’t want to hear you speak a word because he would fall apart all over again. Maybe if he just held you close & shut his eyes all of this would’ve been a bad dream. He’d wake you up to the smell of pancakes, you’d strut into the kitchen with his shirt on, and he’d be able to see your beautiful smile once again.

Serenity had taken its course as you engulfed yourself in the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. You closed your eyes and fell into a slumber by the boy you who would soon become a memory.

Your eyes fluttered open. Your first instinct was to look towards the window. The color of the morning was a taint greyish blue. Meaning, the sun hadn’t come out yet. Your head turned towards Felix’s sleeping body. His blonde hair was sticking up in all sorts of places, his lips swollen were puffy, and the duvet outlined the silhouette of his body beautifully. You smiled, mentally snapping a picture of his state in your head. You pecked his forehead tenderly. The feeling of overwhelming heartbreak returning. You stood up gathering your things and putting your clothes back on. You grabbed your keys and turned the doorknob to leave. You looked back at Jimin one last time and frowned. The tears formed in your eyes but you hastily walked out, leaving before you could turn back and do something stupid.

A couple hours later, when the sun was peeking through the windows Felix slowly opened his eyes. He smiled remembering the events of last night. He turned to look at your sleeping body but he was met with emptiness. And there was his cruel reality. The loneliness had hit him like a ton of bricks. His heart clenched in his chest and the tears built up in his eyes again. Could you really be gone? For good? Forever?

Felix looked around the room in panic looking for any piece of you. Suddenly your existence itself felt like a dream. A dream that was never true. A dream that was disappearing from his memory. To his dismay, not a trace of you was found. It was like you were never there. Felix wept aloud, his hand gripping his chest tightly. The pain was too much to bear. He fell to his knees as the tears ran down his face nonstop. His worst nightmare had come true. This really was the end.

🩵🩵🩵🩵

[montrealmadison]

in your palace warm, mighty king

okay i’ve recently found myself on angel tree tiktok. if you’re unfamiliar with the concept, basically, some stores will put out a tree around the holidays with gift tags for anonymous local kids, and people coming in to do their own shopping can take a tag off the tree and buy kids gifts off their wishlists for the store to pass off to them. (the linked video shows it in action!)

anyway this got me thinking about jack zimmermann at the beginning of his career. he has been fabulously wealthy and privileged for his whole life, but he’s only recently started earning a massive salary of his own and has no real idea of what to spend it on. he’s comfortable. he has a car and a nice apartment and an engagement ring hidden somewhere in said apartment. he knows he should probably donate to a worthwhile cause, but he hasn’t figured out what.

one day, though, bitty’s visiting for the weekend and comes to the store with him, and right there in the entryway, he just… stops. jack doesn’t notice and consequently almost runs him over with the cart.

“you alright? careful, eh?”

bitty does not respond, because he’s looking at the tree.

“bud?”

jack follows his gaze. it really doesn’t look like much. it’s fake, unlit, and has seen better days if the way it’s a little flattened on one side is anything to go by. there is an equally squashed-looking stuffed snowman sat on the floor next to it. it’s the kind of thing your eyes slide over easily, hurrying from one place to another. blink and you’ll miss it.

bitty isn’t blinking.

“lord, i haven’t seen one of these in years,” he says. his voice is soft. he still isn’t looking at jack. “do you know what it is?”

jack doesn’t, so bitty explains. and when they inch closer, jack sees that all the ornaments he thought were plain paper before are actually printed with ages, shoe sizes, requests for warm coats and toys and cute jeans and deodorant. here and there is a specific wish—a bluetooth speaker. a particular board game. one kid, age eight, is fervently hoping for a bike.

and—okay. here’s the thing. they’ve been together for more than a year, and bitty is pretty willing to go along with jack’s desire to spoil him. but although he’s so open and accepting when jack wants to kiss him, or cook dinner for a change, or lay him out on their bed and make him feel good—he will always, always get uncomfortable where significant amounts of money are involved. it was the subject of the one and only fight that sent them to bed still heated. the fundamental difference between their upbringings is the hardest for them to grasp: jack has never known a life without plenty. and bitty—

“i think my parents put me on one,” bitty says. “the year we moved back to madison, after—”

the closet looms between them, black and yawning.

“well. you know. coach had to leave a good job in lawrenceville. took us a while to get back on our feet, i think. and that year, they couldn’t—i mean, i heard them talking at night about how we might not be able to make christmas work, when they thought i couldn’t hear them. but i still wrote my letter to santa, and there were a couple presents when i woke up christmas morning, so.” he scuffs one shoe on the industrial carpet. “maybe an angel sent ‘em.”

the words make something sizzle down jack’s spine and settle low in his gut. he steps forward, reaches out, turns over the nearest tag.

boy, age 11. shoe size: 8. wishlist: sneakers, earbuds, basketball, patriots merch, chapter books. loves fantasy and mythology.

once upon a time, jack spent three months in a rehab center designed specifically for the privacy needs of celebrity clients. his parents footed the bill, had the windows on all their cars tinted for him to hide behind when he got out. at the same time, thousands of miles away, bitty sat at the top of the stairs in his parents’ house and listened to them wonder if they could afford to keep the magic of christmas alive another year.

people are stepping around them to get out of the cold, now, their eyes skipping right over the tree and the boys in front of it. once upon a time, strangers on the street picked apart jack’s overdose like a piece of tabloid gossip. strangers on the street made sure a thirteen-year-old kid had something to unwrap with his family on christmas morning.

“bits?”

bitty sniffles, swipes at one eye with the sleeve of his sweater. “yeah?”

jack lifts the tag gently off its branch, catches bitty’s gaze. bitty’s intake of breath is so sharp it’s audible over the music playing overhead. do you see what i see?

“what do you think? wanna go get us another cart?”

[rhoorl]

Turbulence | Part One

Pairing: Frankie x reader

Word Count: 3.6k

AO3 Link

Summary: Your fear of flying is quelled when a handsome stranger sits next to you.

Warnings: Fear of flying, mention of a helicopter crash, and turbulence. Mention of CBD use, allusion to a bad past relationship. If there’s something else I need to add here let me know!

A/N: I took some liberties with some of the aviation stuff for the sake of the story. Aside from Delta Landscaping, this is my first time writing a solo Frankie piece, so I'm a little nervous!

"What time do you land?"

"Well, assuming I take off on time, we should land around 4:30. By the time I get off the plane and go to baggage claim and everything it will be like 5 at the earliest. But seriously, I don't mind waiting until you're done with work. Take your time."

"Ok, sweetie. I talked with Jeff and he said I could leave a few minutes early today…I have to say, I love having a millennial as a boss!"

I can't help but roll my eyes when Mom talks like this. Jeff treats her like a human being rather than a cog in the corporate wheel. Honestly, it makes me sad to think about the shit she had to deal with as a working mom when I was younger and the bosses who were less than flexible. I still remember the day I was throwing up at the nurse's office when I was in middle school and her boss wouldn't let her leave because she hadn't requested time off in advance.

"Well, that's nice of Jeff, but honestly I can wait. I'll probably need to hit up the airport bar to deal with the stress of the flight."

"I know you hate flying sweetheart, but luckily it's short. You’ll be here before you know it."

"Yeah, well…I made it to my gate so I'm going to sit here for a bit before we board. I love you."

"Love you too sweetie. Text me when you land!"

Moving to Atlanta was a big step in my career, but it also unfortunately meant I traveled more for work since I was so close to a major airport. I used to be fine with flying when I was little, but ever since that one flight when I was in college I've developed a lot of anxiety around it. I was flying back home when I experienced the worst turbulence of my life. I can still vividly remember coming out of my seat, the seatbelt was the only reason I didn't fly up to the ceiling unlike a few people a couple of rows in front of me. People were filming it, others were trying to frantically call their loved ones, convinced we weren’t going to land safely. 

Needless to say, the event was traumatizing and it took me years to fly again. The only reason I do it is because of work - I prefer to drive whenever I can. Unfortunately, this trip was a bit of an exception since I was flying down for my cousin’s wedding. I had an 8 a.m. meeting on Monday, so it was too tight of a window to drive down, thus forcing me to fly.

Because I traveled so much, I started experimenting with various methods to calm my nerves. I recently started dabbling with CBD and it seemed to be working. I had a bit of a ritual when it came to flying. I would arrive at the airport early with plenty of time to check any bags and make it to my gate. I’d buy a SmartWater from one of the shops and grab a People magazine to page through. I’d then take some of my gummies so that they would take their intended effect while I was in the air.

I already had collected my water and magazine and started rifling through my bag to find my gummies. They weren’t in the normal place I packed them, so I started checking a few more pockets.

"Shit," I sighed. 

I was in such a rush to get out of the door this morning, I must have left them on my kitchen counter. Knowing that I didn’t have them and I was without my safety net made the anxiety sweep over me like a wave. I suddenly felt helpless and was trying to not panic, despite the fact that I could feel my pulse quicken.

"Is everything okay?"

I look up and see a man looking at me, his big chocolate brown eyes fixed on me, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"Uh, yeah…actually no…I'm not the best flyer."

I feel so silly admitting that to anyone, I’m a grown-ass woman who has traveled enough to earn Silver Medallion status on Delta for fuck’s sake. I also feel silly admitting a flaw of mine to a guy like this. If someone asked me to describe my type it’s him. Although he was sitting, he seemed rather tall, with broad shoulders, the kindest eyes, an earnest smile, and the most beautiful curls poking out of his blue baseball cap. On top of his obvious good looks, he also seemed really sweet and intuitive, a combination I rarely encounter.

"Flying is actually safer than driving a car, you know." 

"I've heard that, still doesn't help."

"You headed to Tampa?" He nodded over to the gate.

"Yeah, I am."

"Me too," he smiled. "I'm Frankie."

Okay, his smile was adorable too. And the way his eyes crinkled. I need to snap out of it, this guy is just being nice, but I still give him my name and shake his hand.

"Look, ah, I don't mean to be forward or anything, but if you want to sit together…I'm a pilot, so I'd be happy to uh, talk you through it. The turbulence that is."

His eyes flit from my eyes to my lips and back. 

I can't tell if it's my imagination or I’m projecting, but I feel like he’s flirting with me…it’s been so long, I honestly forgot what it was like but fuck it, let’s see where this goes.

"Really? You fly planes?"

"Oh ah, well, I actually fly helicopters but I went to flight school and know the general gist of it."

"Oh wow, helicopters. I can't say I've ever been in one of those before. That seems scarier than a plane."

"Not when I'm the one flying," he winked as he rubbed his thumb along his lower lip, leaning forward, resting his forearm on his knee.

Yup, he's definitely flirting with me. This may be a better distraction than any gummy could provide me.

“So ah, what boarding group do you have?”

He pulled out a paper ticket, which was so endearing. “Hmm, looks like I’m in B, B10. Do you fly Southwest a lot? I hardly ever do and it seems stressful,” he laughed.

“No, I typically fly Delta for work. But when I go home I fly Southwest, the flight times are better. I’m in A…A34.”

“Oh fancy. You should save me a seat,” he smirked. “Try going for a row over the wings. You'll like it more, it's where you find the smoothest ride.” 

I know he didn’t mean anything by that last phrase but my mind resides in the gutter most of the time, and with a hot guy flirting with me it’s even worse. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be boarding flight 3519 with service to Tampa out of gate C21 here shortly. At this time, I’d like to ask all guests in boarding group A to please line up in numerical order.”

“Well, looks like that’s my cue. I’ll hopefully see you in there?” 

“Yeah sounds good,” he gave me a smile as I got up. He thought he was being coy, but I caught the way his eyes trailed down my body as I gathered my things.

Boarding was uneventful and as I stepped foot on the plane I did my customary glance into the cockpit to see the pilots. I don’t know what I think I’m accomplishing by doing this, but it gives me some peace of mind to see who has my life in their hands for the next hour or so. I remember what Frankie told me and I head for the middle of the plane, opting for the exit row. I found an empty row that had only two seats so I decided to take it and see what happens. I lay my backpack in the seat next to me hoping it would deter someone from taking it.

I watch more and more people board. The exit rows were popular, only a couple of seats remained open, the one next to me included. I was trying not to get my hopes up, but the thought of sitting next to a handsome stranger, who apparently knew his shit about planes and flying, seemed like a great way to spend the flight.

His hat was the first thing I saw as he turned the corner to board the plane. My eyes found him and he gave me a nod and a smile and I felt butterflies in my stomach. He was getting closer and closer to my row, not taking his eyes off of me. 

“Excuse me, is someone sitting there sweetheart?” 

I look up and see what I can only describe as a total sleazeball leering at me.

“Um, I-”

“Oh honey, there you are! Hey man, sorry I was hoping I could sit with my wife, she’s terrified of flying. I was a dumbass and didn’t check in on time so we weren’t able to get our boarding numbers close together. Hey baby,” Frankie nodded at me, giving the man a look that was equal parts friendly and threatening.

“Sure man, yeah.” The man seemed annoyed but kept on walking back.

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it,” Frankie bent down to give me a kiss on the cheek to keep the rouse up. I felt my face getting hot, my cheeks had to be turning all sorts of colors from embarrassment. “Sorry about that, I just didn’t think he’d be the best seatmate,” he whispered as he sat down and put his seatbelt on.

“Well I appreciate it, that guy gave me the creeps.”

“I’m sure your uh boyfriend probably wouldn’t be too keen on a random guy giving you a kiss on the cheek,” he smirked.

“Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend…or anyone. I…I’m single.”

Why the fuck am I being so awkward right now?

“Ah, I see. Sorry, when you were on the phone out there I heard you say I love you, so I just figured…”

“That was my mom,” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, I’m in my mid-30’s and I call my mom before I get on a plane.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Hell, if my mom was still alive I’d probably do the same thing,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The rest of the plane boarded and the flight attendants checked the cabin. As the plane pushed back from the gate I double-checked to make sure my phone was in airplane mode. 

“Hello from the flight deck, we’ve been cleared for departure. Once we get in the air, we’ll share more about the weather in Tampa. But in the meantime please sit back, relax, and enjoy your one hour and 25-minute flight down to Tampa.”

I checked the weather forecast this morning and it looked like the typical Florida afternoon storms were going to pop up. The thought of flying during a storm made my anxiety ratchet up, so I started to self-soothe by rubbing my palms up and down my thighs.

“Hey, you alright?” Frankie whispers over to me.

“Uh, yeah…I mean, no. No. I’m not fine. There’s weather down in Tampa, why didn’t he mention that, it’s probably going to mean a bumpy ride, why wouldn’t he warn us about it beforehand-”

“Hey, hey,” Frankie grabbed my hand. “Shh, it’s ok. He’s probably waiting to get the latest from air traffic control and other planes en route. It’ll be fine, I promise. Just breathe. Does taking off make you nervous?”

I was finding it hard to talk, so I just nodded.

“Ok, I get it, take off can be scary. Just keep holding my hand. Squeeze it as hard as you need to, I promise it won’t hurt. Just keep breathing. Do you have any water?”

“Y-yea, in my bag.”

“I’ll grab it for you. I see it, I’m gonna let go of your hand real quick to grab it, okay?” I nod. “Ok, here you go,” he unscrews the bottle and hands it to me, returning his hold on my hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth along the back of my hand.

I take a long drink and do some deep breathing. I have to admit that it’s pretty comforting to not be alone and have someone next to me, holding my hand. My ex used to always make fun of my fear of flying, saying I had to grow up. By this point in the flight he would have either had his AirPods in or he’d be faking that he was asleep.

The plane comes to a stop at the end of the runway and then starts its acceleration. For some reason, I always tried to visualize a gymnast running down toward the vault to try and track the plane’s journey down the runway. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, I feel Frankie’s hand tighten around mine.

“You’re doing great, we’re almost in the sky. Hard part is almost over.”

Just like that, I feel the plane lift off the ground, my stomach dropping a bit at the change. Frankie’s firm grasp doesn’t falter, in fact, I feel him bring his other hand to my knee, rubbing circles as I keep my eyes clenched shut as the plane continues its ascent. He continued to talk to me, explaining the different gears and engines, and telling me what certain sounds meant.

It’s hard to keep track of how much time passes, but eventually, I hear a ding and open my eyes to see the fasten seatbelt sign turned off. The flight attendant comes on and tells everyone that we reached our cruising altitude and that we can use any large approved electronic devices. 

“I’m sorry, I feel like I probably am cutting off the circulation in your hand,” I laugh as Frankie brings his other hand back to rest in his lap. 

“Oh it’s really fine, I don’t mind.”

I reluctantly let go of my grip and he retracts his hand, taking his hat off to run his fingers through his hair before returning the cap to the top of his head. In the brief moment he was sans hat I clocked the luscious curls he was hiding and thought about how it would feel like to run my fingers through his hair.

“Thank you, by the way. You’ve been so sweet this whole time. Don’t feel like you have to babysit me.”

“It’s ok. I’m good with talking if you want to, but I won’t be offended if you want to throw on music or a movie or something.” 

Now he was the one who appeared nervous, which was pretty cute. 

I turn my body so I’m facing him, “it’s such a short flight, I’d hate to start a movie and not finish it. We can talk, I think that would be nice.”

“Yea?” His face lit up.

We spent the next almost hour talking about all sorts of things. He told me that he used to be in the military, and he has three friends who he served with that he still keeps in contact with. It sounded like Santiago was his best friend in the group, but he spoke fondly of the other two men as well, I think they are brothers. 

I told him about my family in Tampa and how I grew up there. He’s lived there for a few years now, he fills me in on some of the new restaurants that have popped up that he likes. I learned that he was actually on a connecting flight, he started his day flying from Dallas to Atlanta. He was in Texas visiting family – he has an older sister who has two children. It was so cute hearing him talk about his niece and nephew. He even showed me a few photos on his phone from his trip.

It also helped that the flight was smooth, there was hardly a bump. I couldn’t believe what an amazing trip this had been from the unlikely encounter with Frankie who turned out to be a super nice and very single man. 

I check my watch and see there is about half an hour left. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, from the flight deck, we’re going to ask our flight attendants to clean the cabin and prepare it for landing a bit sooner so they can take their seats. We’re expecting a few bumps as we make our descent into the Tampa Bay area. Right now, winds are out of the north at 18 miles per hour, with gusts up to 30 miles an hour. There are some showers in the area, but it looks like a lot of the severe weather is south of us at the moment. We’ll have you on the ground in about half an hour. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for arrival.”

As soon as I heard the captain say that the flight attendants were going to need to take their seats sooner than normal, I didn’t hear the rest of his message. I immediately started to panic, flashing back to the turbulence I experienced all of those years ago.

“Hey, it’s going to be ok. I know it may feel like the captain is losing control of the plane, but I promise you turbulence doesn’t cause crashes…I should know.”

“W-what do you mean, you should know?” 

Frankie’s hand immediately comes back to mine. “I…uh, I’ve crashed before.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t scary if you were the one flying.”

The bumps were starting to pick up, and I instinctively squeezed my eyes shut, hoping time would speed up so  I could get safely on the ground. 

“Ah, well…there were some…extenuating circumstances, it wasn’t entirely my fault. Well, actually it was my fault as the pilot I should have known better but …it doesn’t matter. I’m here, right?”

“I know you’re trying to be comforting, but talking about a helicopter crash while we’re experiencing severe turbulence is kind of the opposite of what I need right now.”

“Right, sorry. And uh…not to minimize it, but we’re actually experiencing light turbulence right now.”

I opened my eyes slightly to glare at him, but I couldn’t be mad at him, he was trying to help calm me down and he was giving me these sweet puppy dog eyes.

“Sorry, I…uh…the pilot mentioned the winds. As we descend the wind is one of the reasons we feel the bumps. He’s actually been flying pretty well so far, so I know it will be fine, okay?” He squeezed my hand.

“Mhmm, yeah, sure whatever you say, captain.”

“Just keep breathing, you’re doing great. Only,” he checked his watch, “only about 20 more minutes and we’ll be on the ground.”

“Fuck. Twenty minutes?”

“I’m going to try and distract you, ok? Tell me about this wedding, what are you wearing?”

I opened my eyes enough to give him a narrow sarcastic glare. “You’re really taking advantage of me at my most vulnerable to ask what I’m going to be wearing?”

“I…uh…sorry, I-”

“I’m kidding Frankie,” how I managed to crack a joke amid the continued bumps is a testament to how safe I felt with this man. “I’m not in the bridal party or anything, so I got to pick my own dress. They’re getting married at the aquarium so I picked a blue dress. The color reminds me of the ocean.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s beautiful. What else.”

I continued giving him all of the minute details of the wedding including the drama between my aunts and why it was such a pain in the ass for my cousin to do the seating chart for the reception. I didn’t even realize we were slowly making our descent to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught trees and buildings coming into view.

“Holy shit, we’re almost there.”

“We are, you’re doing amazing. Just a little longer.”

I laid my head back against the headrest and took some more deep breaths, my hand still enveloped in Frankie’s.

The wheels touch down and I let out an exhale and turn to Frankie.

“I honestly can’t thank you enough for this. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”

“Well, I’m glad I was here then.” As he smiled at me and I felt a wave of sadness come over me, knowing that our time together was coming to an end.

“So, ah, is Santiago coming to pick you up?”

“That was the plan, but who knows with him, I actually should check my phone to see.” He pulls out his phone from his pocket, takes it off airplane mode, and waits for any messages or missed calls to flood in.

I take that cue to check my phone as well. I shoot off a text to Mom letting her know I landed safely.

Frankie shakes his head as he reads through messages on his phone. 

“Everything ok?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, he’s going to be a little late but it’s all good.”

“Well, my ride is going to be a little late too. Wanna grab a drink? I owe you for putting up with me this whole time.”

He smiles at me and takes my hand again, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but it was honestly not a bother at all. You helped me get through the flight too. And, yeah, I’ll take you up on that drink.”

A/N: The idea for this popped up because I took a few plane rides this summer, with some turbulence on a couple of them. Hopefully, I did Frankie proud on this one...what do you think happens next?

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Rhys Darby has ‘not an ounce of scaredness’ about son’s band dreams

NZ actor Rhys Darby and his musician son Finn interview each other. VIDEO CREDIT: David White/Stuff

Rhys Darby is proudly listing career moments - but they’re not his own.

He’s recalling watching his son Finn’s band, Great Big Cow, “absolutely rock” iconic LA venue Troubadour to sold-out crowds.

As a parent, “you worry about a bit of nepotism,” he admits.

“Are we just ‘yay, our boys!’ when really they’re dreadful?”

But, he says, the band’s indie folk rock is “brilliant”, and keeps getting better. And, he insists, people are paying attention.

“We’re shocked as parents a little bit,” he jokes.

The band, Rhys and I are nestled between a Street Fighter arcade game and a pinball machine, in a dark corner of Auckland’s Whammy Bar. The US-based teen band has been sound-checking for their first international show.

Rhys has donned weathered jeans and a plaid jacket - approved by Finn. His son is wearing Dad’s socks for the night. While Rhys talks, Finn pulls faces and shares quiet in-jokes with his band mates. There are plenty of laughs.

Finn, Paolo Pesce, Will Angarola and Wyatt Nash originally played together in a school jazz combo, and went on to form Great Big Cow in 2022.

Rhys Darby, left, watches his son Finn’s band dreams without “an ounce of scaredness”. DAVID WHITE/STUFF

Now, Rhys insists, they have a growing fanbase. Some of whom “[do] that thing where you dance really closely … Moshing”. He points to my notebook.

“Put down there that I did know what moshing is.”

Sure, Rhys Darby - one of New Zealand’s most well-known comedy exports - helped the band get bums on seats and lock in bigger venues, but they were also recently featured on LA public radio station KCRW’s Young Creators Project, can be found on Spotify and their mainstay is house parties.

“I think because I'm a bigger deal [in NZ], it might have been a little different. In LA, no-one really gives a shit about who I am,” he laughs, looking over at Finn who’s patiently had his hand raised while Dad spoke.

There are people and groups in LA that have helped the band too, says Finn, and he’s not sure those opportunities would have happened back in NZ.

“I would have got you on bFM for sure,” Rhys quips back.

He looks on at Finn’s creative path with, “not an ounce of scaredness”.

“Obviously as a child I had many different dreams, but at the base of everything was art and performance,” he says, describing his younger self as a “dreamer” who wanted to entertain.

Rhys Darby with son Finn before Great Big Cow played Auckland’s Whammy Bar. DAVID WHITE/STUFF

“When it comes to [my kids], I see different ambitions, but they have the artistic talent - I’m completely open to whatever they want to do. I’ll always be there for them.”

Where New Zealand has a bit of a reputation for tall poppy syndrome and an air of negativity, LA is hugely positive, says Rhys - especially for fostering young talent.

And it was in LA, at a house party, that Finn recalls being caught up in the “electric energy” of playing live.

“The whole audience was moving. And I think two people got lifted up above the crowd and surfed around above the crowd,” he says.

Finn’s not the only Darby putting in some work while in Aotearoa. Following Rhys’s joint 50th celebration with wife Rosie, he’ll be returning to the local stage, performing his Rhys Darby 25 Years stand-up show at Waiheke Island’s Wild Estate on April 3.

It encompasses the best bits from his previous shows, but performing it at Waiheke is “just another excuse to put on a show, really”, and to show his US mates another part of Auckland.

Rhys Darby, following a stint in the army and then university, kicked off his career with stand-up, before becoming a household name with an impressive TV and film CV, including Flight of the Conchords, Yes Man, The Boat that Rocked and Our Flag Means Death.

As for whether he still loves stand-up, “love is a strong word”, he laughs.

“I still enjoy it. But it's it's less of a thrill than it used to be.”

What he’s really loving is throwing himself into acting, and challenging himself with more dramatic roles - different to the very physical, crazy “shenanigans on stage”, requiring more focus for the comedian and “not just being a silly bugger”.

Plus, he’s 50 now.

“It’s much easier to do the stuff where I'm just sitting down,” he laughs.

Still, there’s no denying he’s been part of a movement that threw New Zealand comedy into the wider world, and he speaks proudly about his own work, but also that of other Kiwis such as filmmaker Taika Waititi and actor Rose Matafeo.

It’s a type of comedy, he says, that “has a signature” and can’t be copied.

Rhys Darby and son Finn at Auckland’s Whammy Bar. DAVID WHITE/STUFF

“I think it’s that positivity thing, which is ironic coming from a place with tall poppy syndrome. We don’t like each other but you guys love us, eh?”

It’s one of the reasons Darby is still living in LA, “still waving the flag [and] not changing my accent”.

And while Darby’s big break may have been the role of band manager Murray, when it comes to Great Big Cow he and Rosie “don’t want to be helicopter parents too much”.

“We're there when they have a question.”

And while Rhys says he can’t talk about any of his own projects, Finn interrupts with a quiet word about vague plans for a comedy musical theatre show featuring Rhys and the band.

Looking back at his own career, the highlight was breaking into the US market - name-dropping X Files and Our Flag Means Death as highlights.

“What's next? It's all peaks and troughs,” he says - mentioning Hollywood is turning to AI, but “thankfully, there's no one that can do a better robot impression than me”.

Still, the changing industry is worrying.

“People are losing their jobs, and AI is having a lot to do with it,” he says - dropping the quips and gags for a moment.

“After the strikes, I know, it's taken a while to get the industry back on its feet, but I'm hoping that it will get there,” he says.

“But it is worrying. It's really worrying the moment.”

Source: Stuff NZ

[ggggggfft]

Have you ever helped detransition someone before, if not outright forced their detransition?

That depends on your definition of “forced.” I would say I have coerced girls into detransitioning, but the ones I’ve toyed with have always wanted to be stripped of their faux masculinity in the most humiliating ways. I give them plenty of opportunities to walk away. To say no and try to abandon this particular kink. But they always - Always come crawling back telling me how drippy are for transphobic porn. How they need Daddy to fuck their little girly pussy and turn them straight. They can’t help it. Craving dominate male seed and obeying their biological urge to reproduce is literally hardwired into their smaller brains. They will always be female first and fakeboys second.

My first experience with detransing was with my ftm girlfriend of several years. He was a she when we first met and started dating and when he finally worked up the courage to transition he only did so socially. I continued fucking his soft, womanly body and playing with his massive tits like nothing had changed, because aside from a few key words and a new name, there was nothing different about her. We were still having straight sex with my cock buried deep inside her slutty testosterone free pussy. She still loved to have her nipples teased and played with and it made her so wet. She was still fertile and could get pregnant at any time. She wasn’t on birth control.

After about two years of being out and still no HRT we began to play with her gender in the bedroom. She liked when I told her to take it like a girl. That I was raping her like a girl. That she would be a good girl for Daddy’s cock and let me use her pussy. In her mind, it was all pretend, playing into her fantasies of being a femboy. For me it was the perfect way to subconsciously train her to enjoy her body as it was. For her to come to terms with her birth sex and accept her womanhood. To go back to being my girlfriend. We broke up and to this day she is still going by he/him pronouns, but she has had no surgeries and while she did recently start hormone therapy she is taking the lowest dose possible. She has a very cute little mustache and gets misgendered every day by strangers, coworkers, and even supportive family members who are fully aware she is trans and has been for years.

We fuck now and then and when we do she asks me to fuck her cunt instead of her ass and get her pregnant. She calls her clitoris her babydick or even her boyclit and the last time we fucked I was testing the waters and called it her clitoris and she said nothing in her defense. Every time I pull her pants off she’s wearing panties and she will “cross dress” if I tell her too. I’ve never come out and told her about my fetish but I feel like part of her must know or at least suspect the truth, and yet she still can’t keep her legs closed around me. She’s my long term project and I hope as her biological clock starts counting down she finally cracks and gives in to what she obviously needs.

What really kicked off my hunt for fakeboys was a girl here on tumblr. I liked her blog description, she was 18, and she had reblogged so many posts begging for transphobic asks and rape threats. I sent her what I now think was a pretty mid dm describing how I’d fix her if she was my daughter and I found her blog. She responded by sending me pics of her shaved teen pussy and begging for more filth. I was hooked after that. She’s now fully addicted to misogyny and incest porn. She’s my good little zoomer slut who I can always hit up for pussy inspections or to make her drink her own piss. She fully accepts that she is a woman in mind, body, and soul, but we agree she should continue hormone treatment because it makes her even more horny and depraved.

She has gone out in a wig and breast forms and dresses in public for me and will sit in cafes with her legs spread and her big red cherry and drooling slick cunt on display for the world to see. She’s terrified of being clocked and actually hate crimed every time, but she just makes such a convincing cis girl that nobody ever notices. As soon as she gets home she gets on cam with me and rubs her clitoris while thanking me for showing her what a dumb tranny she is. I have her crouch in front of the camera and finger herself until she squirts onto her gym clothes for tomorrow. I have her chant that she is not a man. She will never be a man. She is her cunt and cunts are slaves to cock. I have her endlessly repeat that she wants to be a girl because girls are stupid and inferior and get to be dumb, brainless cumrags eating ass and getting fisted all day long while she jackhammers a dildo into her sweaty cunt.

She started out wanting to be misgendered and feminized, but I’m proud to say I broke her. If it doesn’t involve detrans and misogyny, she can’t get off any more. We’ve discussed it and if we were to move in together, with her coming to a new city in a new state where nobody knows her she would definitely detrans for real.

Right now I’m working on a girl who hasn’t come to terms with the reality of her desires. She is also a filthy sex slave but she insists on using those annoying he/they pronouns. She’s entertained the idea of becoming my good girl all the way, but is still reluctant. I get so turned on watching her try to resist her desires but knowing it’s futile in the end. if I want her to be a girl, she will be a girl. End of story.

Last night I had a great session with another ftm who started out being unsure and using he/him, but by 4 in the morning I had her telling me how she wanted my big fat cock to fuck a baby into her in front of her family. How she wants her dad to see his grandson being made. She fell completely in love with her vagina and the pleasure it can bring real men by the end of the night.

I’m waiting to sniff out the perfect gold-star tomboy faildyke to forcibly detrans. I want her to be defiant and tough and mean as hell so that when she’s a fucked out set of holes who only lives to worship men and get pregnant and give birth and has an IQ of 50 and giant plastic tits that victory will feel all the more glorious.

There are others but this post is already so long. If you’d like to make it longer, you can always dm me or send anons if you’re nervous. I love knowing there’s a shy girl behind the screen somewhere frantically rubbing her clit to these asks.

[pinkeoni]

...but what was Will really saying in the van?

This a post a year after the fact, when post people have already said what needs to be said, but you know what!! This is my blog and I can say whatever I want.

Will talking about himself and using El as a guise is pretty obvious. The handful of people who say that it really was from El are few and far between. El doesn't gaf about DnD, she's not even in the painting, and she even told Mike herself that she didn't know what Will was making.

Whether or not Mike actually believed Will's lie is something that I'm personally on the fence about, but I'm not talking about him today! There are plenty of great Mike posts about this if you want a Mike analysis.

The cinematography supports this as well. At the start of the scene, Will is established on the left side of the frame, and Mike is on the right. When Will tells Mike that El commissioned the painting, we get a shot of the mirror where they swap places.

The switching of frame placement suggests that something is off, and mirrors in film can be used to show deception. The shot supports the idea that Will is not being fully truthful, which is backed up by what we already know. Each mirror shot is also prompted by a shot of Jonathan, suggesting that this is always from his point of view. We also know that he was able to see through Will's lie, so that supports this idea.

But we don't get the entire monologue from this angle, because really Will isn't entirely lying, he's just lying about whose feelings it really is.

It's no secret that the painting is an expression of Will's love for his friends, but also his romantic feelings for Mike. The positioning of the painting itself as a phallus (take a shot every time I've said "phallus" in a recent analysis) displays this in the visual language of the show along with the written one.

I think that gender and the use of pronouns is important here. Will states the entire monologue using "she" and "her" and places El in the place of himself. So what he's essentially saying "My sexuality is a wonderful thing that can bring both of us joy, but only if comes from a girl." In context Mike seems specifically anxious about El so Will is reassuring him from that angle, but it also stands that Will doesn't see his sexuality and feelings as good enough to cure an ailing Mike.

There was scriptgate and the infamous "I hate who I am" line which everyone remembers where they were for, but when the scripts were said to be fake, this line seemed to no longer hold any weight within the fandom and was widely disregarded. He loves himself, actually!

But legitimacy of the script aside, does this line still ring true? Even if it were real, a unspoken internal dialogue in an action line doesn't matter unless the show actually expresses it. So do they?

After all Will said it himself, "you make [me] feel like [I'm] not a mistake at all. Like [I'm] better for being different." So that must be how he feels, right? And yet—

—he doesn't really look like someone proud of his sexuality, does he?

I find the idea that Will doesn't suffer from any internalized homophobia rather absurd. It's definitely informed by external homophobia, but it would be different if Will fought back, but instead we see time and time again Will turning his pain inward. "Zombie Boy" leads to "It just makes me feel like more of a freak." and "It's not my fault you don't like girls" leads to the destruction of Castle Byers. I know that that line is informed by Mike's internal projection and might not be intended to be homophobic, although the statement still is homophobic despite intent. If Will knows he is gay and just heard that from his friend, of course he's going to take it that way. We see a little bit of Will standing up for himself, although this usually results in Will apologizing or not accepting apologies from others even when he deserves it. The bedroom scene in Dear Billy is a big step forward because not only does Mike apologize and assert that Will wasn't in the wrong, but Will actually listens.

It is true that Will accepts that he is gay and doesn't seem to fight it, although as others have pointed out, this doesn't necessarily mean that Will is necessarily proud of who he is. The van scene is just another example of Will taking that external pain and forcing it inward. There is likely to be consequences resulting from his lie that affects all three of them, but Will has decided to go a route that (he believes) will benefit Mike and El and only cause himself pain.

Look at this way. Let's say that Will hadn't lied about the painting being from El, that he was totally honest about the painting coming from him, but Mike didn't understand it as a romantic gesture. Not only would this not really make sense, and require Mike to be a level of oblivious on an absurd level, but it would also communicate something completely different. The new meaning would be this: Will is proud of his sexuality and able to take ownership of it, and the trouble comes from Mike not understanding. The conflict is now completely external.

I've seen debate on whether or not Mike really did understand what Will was saying although I think that's beside the point. If Mike did understand that Will was talking about himself, then this was not communicated to Will. The above scenario leads the conflict to be solely relieved by Mike finally understanding, and while there is surely to still be an external conflict between Will and Mike, Will's conflict of sexuality remains to be internal. Even if Mike did tell Will that he knew it was from him, this wouldn't necessarily solve Will's problem. The remedy to Will's internal conflict can only come from himself, by being able to proudly put his name to his painting.

[catpriciousmarjara]

Tell me: Is He Gay or In a Sherwani?

Imposition of western norms in fandom analysis of Asian characters

With the rising popularity of Indian cinema sparked by the recent success of RRR on international platforms as well as the easy availability of multiple streaming services, in addition to the appearance of South Asian characters in prominent roles in western, particularly US media, I've begun to see some concerning 'analysis' posts online. So I thought I'd address something I found common in most of these takes.

Guys, characterizing your blorbos as queer is great and all, love it, but you're making a fundamental mistake by making their clothing choices the foundation for your queer headcanons, especially when it comes to male characters. Do not apply existing western cultural ideas regarding male clothing onto South Asian characters and their dressing please.

The vast majority of the clothes being used by people in various online spaces as 'evidence' of a character being queer(gay or bi mostly) are just normal Indian clothing for men, like daily wear. A top being pink or a character's wardrobe being mostly pastel means absolutely nothing...cos Indian clothing tends to be colourful in general and the tendency to ascribe colours masculine and feminine qualities is considerably less in the subcontinent. I'm not saying it doesn't exist, but generally not a concern.

There's also this pervasive idea that colourful clothing = flamboyance = queer and that itself is something many people have already pointed as a deeply flawed way of thinking and a stereotype. Furthermore, even if you do lean into the archetype of queer men being flamboyant, subscribing to the 'stereotypes exist for a reason don't they?' school of thought perhaps, there's also the fact that ideas of what is considered flamboyant change dramatically across different cultures. What is 'flamboyant' for someone might just be normal for others. Like maybe pink or purple or yellow might be considered too much, unmanly, emasculating etc in the US or something but they're just perfectly normal colours for men to wear in many, many cultures.

It's the 'Is he Gay or European?' principle. Did you characterize this Indian character (or any South Asian character really) as queer because of their canonical behaviour and portrayal, or did you just see their clothing and decide they're queer because being well groomed and having a colourful wardrobe is a character trait you exclusively ascribe to being queer?

Like guys, I like Chaipunk like the rest of you, but if you consider Pavitr queer just because his costume is a lot fancier than the others' (An actual take I've seen multiple times) without taking into account his cultural background....¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Let me make this clear, I don't think people need a ten page analysis to imagine their fave as queer. Headcanoning a character as queer can have any reason ranging from 'I said so and so it is' to 'this is my light character analysis that makes a masters thesis look shabby' and they're all valid and an integral part of the fandom experience. What I am annoyed at are these so-called 'well-researched' theories that did not make the slightest effort to look into South Asian culture and simply transposed their western bias onto Indian media and confidently make flat out wrong judgements and mislead other people. Clothing based sexual identity determinism is the least of it. That I can at least understand through the lens of a habitual process built through years of analyzing crumbs of queer representation available only through queer coded characters and symbolism such as clothing choices being the only way to see an aspect of yourself portrayed in an aggressively heteronormative media ecosystem. I do that too, because media is tragically heteronormative everywhere. But the rest? Its just straight up misinformation and misrepresentation touted as truth.

Its the same with relationships between men. There are plenty of cultures where skinship between men is not unusual and dynamics and nuances tend to be vastly different from western representations of male friendships. In xianxia and wuxia fandoms you can see this same problem in a different font when outsiders, most often the western side of the fandom, try to apply their own standards and morals onto the original work and try to interpret it through a lens it was never supposed to be interpreted through in the first place, except maybe for comparative analysis. This practice itself isn't a major problem, its natural for people to apply what is familiar to them to try and understand something new. But when this is also accompanied by them foisting their personal interpretation and analysis as the 'correct' one and trying to impose it on the fandom as a whole, it escalates into a powder keg situation as you can imagine.

Again, not saying that western parts of fandoms are the root of all evil or anything like that, gods know how toxic netizens can be. But in this specific situation, where people try to impose western ideals on to non-western content and assumes the universalism of their own principles and value systems? Indeed an issue to be addressed.

[heliads]

I recently re-read the hunger games trilogy, so can you write a katniss fic with a fem!reader being secretly haymitch's daughter?? nothing much, just the two of them spending time together, hunting or spending some quality time together, ignoring the capitol, the world and individual problems to enjoy the hours they have together

please let me write for thg i love this request

masterlist

It is a terrible thing to be a Victor. Most people only look surface level, choosing to focus on the gilded trappings and gaudy praise the Capitol heaps upon you. Beneath the facade, living with the memories of what you’ve done is far harder than finding a way to burn through all the money they give you for killing twenty-three other children while all the world watches on. The price of blood was always worse than the price of gold, anyway.

You’ve seen this once before already. The Capitol does its best to stay up to date on every little detail of their lovely Victors’ lives, but when Haymitch Abernathy had his first child, he did everything in his power to ensure that no one would ever find out. That infant would live in someone else’s home, kept out of sight of the cameras and the Arena alike, and she would grow up to be you.

It wasn’t the worst of lives. It kind of was. No one can pick their place in life when they first come into the world, obviously. Otherwise, we’d all be living up in the Capitol and no one would be down here, choking on coal dust, waiting for their bones to turn ash so their body can be burned to heat the homes of the rich and prosperous a million miles away from them.

Haymitch watched out for you as best he could. He sent your foster parents money when he remembered it, always a little out of schedule, a touch too much to cover up for the fact that he forgot the last time around. He started remembering as you got older, though. He stopped feeling ashamed of you and started feeling ashamed of himself.

You see him a lot, although the frequency of your meetings always picks up around the time of the Games. He needs it as a reminder that not everything about him always leads to death and ruin. Once in a blue moon, Haymitch Abernathy is responsible for something good. Something, someone, like you.

There’s a schedule to the Games, one that isn’t known or enforced by the Peacekeepers, and it goes like this:  first there is the before, and then there is the after. Prior to the start of the Hunger Games ceremonies, Haymitch will be over at your place. You’ll talk a lot. Both of you will do your best to keep the conversations light. Remember when you were a kid, crawling around all the time? How you used to laugh like crazy whenever it snowed?

Then he’ll get dragged off by the Capitol to go mentor two kids until they die, and then you reach the second phase of the schedule, the after. Haymitch will hole up in his estate in the Victor’s Village, the only occupied house there, the only living being around because he couldn’t save a single person other than himself, and you will find him because no one else will. It’s quiet most of the time. He doesn’t want to think about anything at all, and certainly not the additional two kids who placed their faith in him just for him to let them down again.

After a while, he’ll manage to claw his way out of it, and then you’ll have the better part of a year before the cycle repeats. You’ve had plenty of time to grow used to this pattern, and you’ve perfected it like a pastime. The right words to say get easier to remember when you say them every year. And now, as a reward for getting it right, you get to repeat the process with Katniss Everdeen.

You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s not. Truth be told, it’s easier spending time with Katniss than anyone else, even right after her first Games when everything is bloody and terrible. You could see yourself doing this again next year, and the next one, and the next. You don’t think you would mind it. Not at all.

Perhaps that’s why Haymitch set this up in the first place. Maybe he knew it would be okay. Or maybe he was just so ridiculously pleased that he managed to save not one tribute but two that he was only thinking about prolonging Katniss’ survival. The reasons don’t always matter. What happened, happened, and secretly you’re glad of it now.

Katniss had been locked in a death spiral of nightmares and bad memories. It soon became clear that she would lose herself to it if someone didn’t intervene, so someone did. Haymitch took Katniss by the shoulders, shook her a little and told her to get it together, and pointed her to you. You knew what it was like to befriend someone who wanted to shut out the world, who couldn’t sleep without nightmares and couldn’t talk without thinking that someone was watching. You could understand Katniss better than anyone, and Haymitch knew it. Daughters are such wonderful pawns to play, aren’t they?

Again, a cruel way to put it, but this is the truth nonetheless. It’s what Katniss suspected the first time you visited her house, and the second, but after a couple of weeks passed and it grew obvious that you weren’t giving up on her without a fight, she begrudgingly let you in. The two of you had been observing each other for years now, the consequence of there only being so many girls your age in a small town in District Twelve, but things accelerated rapidly after the Games.

You’ll never be entirely certain why. Katniss doesn’t let people in, and she threw up her walls tenfold after she partook in the Hunger Games, unable to discern if someone was talking to her because they wanted to or if they wanted to kill her. She even started growing distant from Gale, because Gale didn’t understand her completely, not anymore. Not like you did.

Over the course of the summer, Katniss’ icy demeanor started to melt. She is hesitant and cautious, but she still smiles at your offhand jokes, always a little surprised, like she can’t believe she’s having this good of a time either. The two of you start meeting up in the forest surrounding District Twelve where no one can see you, where it’s just the two of you and the blissful sunlight waving through endless flurries of leaves above your heads.

And, not according to plan, you realize that you’re starting to fall for her. Katniss is like no one you’ve ever met before, even your dad. You knew how to operate around Haymitch, but Katniss doesn’t require an assembly guide or how-to explanation. You just know her. It is as easy as that.

After realizing such a thing as that, how could you not begin to love her? You can steal your dad’s drinks and get properly sloshed on them, but it’ll never match the tipsiness you feel when you look at her; when she laughs at one of your jokes, always reluctant at first but more easily as she gets more used to you. It makes you want to try again and again, and so you do. Katniss listens every time. She says she likes to hear you.

Instead of running away, you decide to embrace the feeling. You head to the woods more and more often, although never at the risk of the Peacekeepers’ attention. Katniss never tells you when she’s going out, nor do you mention when you’re out here, but the two of you have a habit of finding each other nonetheless. You turn around and there she is, emerging from a stand of trees; she crosses a bank at the same time as you; you climb a tree to get a better vantage point of the forest and you’re instantly drawn to the sight of her doing the same across a clearing. Katniss makes sense.

If you squint your eyes just right, you can make your entire world double. The hazy afterimages of present day will swim before you, a hair out of line but still there, still two instead of one. For example, right now, walking through the woods beyond District Twelve, it’s as if you can see two exact images of the current moment instead of only one.

On one version of this day a few years ago, when you hide away from the world in the forbidden greenery past your district’s limits, you come across Katniss Everdeen and you hide from her, too. You do not know her. Not well, at least. You see her and pretend otherwise. She does the same. She heard your footsteps first and thought herself visited by a deer instead of a girl. Her finger tensed on her bowstring, but she released it the second your face finally came into view. Katniss could not kill a person.

Would not. Katniss can kill a person, as it turns out, she can outlive twenty-two tributes through various purposes and keep one other alive, then do it again, but she does not know that yet. All Katniss knows in this past moment, this one half of a fractured memory, is that she will not kill you, and that is true today, too.

On the other version, the one that happens today, you do not run from Katniss, you go to her. That is the whole purpose of risking the Peacekeepers’ wrath by ducking under the fence to escape to the forest. The wilderness means Katniss, and Katniss means you’ll be able to spend another day relatively free from the concerns of a girl from District Twelve who has increasingly little between herself and the violence of not having enough.

Katniss doesn’t turn when you approach, but you can hear the quiet smile in her voice when she admonishes you, “You’re going to scare away all my game.”

You chuckle. “No, no. I’m drawing them out of the bush so you can shoot them. It’s teamwork.”

“If it were teamwork,” she argues, “you would also have a bow.”

You lift a shoulder. “I would never dare steal your favorite weapon. I want you to feel important.”

This does make her laugh. Almost indignantly, yes, but still a laugh. Still a win for you. She manages to nab a few birds before setting her bow down for the morning. The two of you sit side by side in the tall grass, a cool breeze blowing upon your faces, bringing with it the tender tangy scent of the forest.

Usually, neither of you have ever suffered from awkwardness when you’re out here. You could spend hours out here, not saying a word, and it would be just as fulfilling as if you’d spoken the entire time. Today, though, there’s something stuck on the tip of your tongue, a truth that refuses to go unsaid no matter how you fight it.

At last, you give in and, keeping your eyes resolutely ahead, you tell her what’s on your mind. “I’m glad you’re with me, Katniss.”

You can see Katniss frowning out of the corner of your eyes. “Where else would I be?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. You could have heard me coming and avoided me the second I stepped into the forest. Probably would have caught more, too.”

Katniss shakes her head doubtfully. “No, we’re good. This is good.”

She sets her jaw determinedly, like this settles everything. It does, in a way. It gives you the courage to continue. “I’m glad to hear it. I like spending time with you.” A pause. “I like you.”

Katniss’ brow knits. “Why would you like me?” Genuinely confused, she adds on, “I’ve done terrible things, Y/N.”

“We’re all terrible,” you whisper back softly.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been in the Games. You haven’t.”

This is true. No matter how much time you spend with Haymitch or Katniss, nor how many stories you hear about the Hunger Games, it will never be the same as actually taking part in them yourself. With all luck, you never will. Both Haymitch and Katniss would fight to keep you out of them, and then to keep you alive, should that happen, but the possibility shrinks with every year as you get older.

“I still want you,” you tell her. More the empty forest air; you can’t quite say this to her face, not yet. The fear of rejection after everything is too great a burden to bear.

When you do risk a glance over at her, though, Katniss doesn’t look affronted. Instead, she looks more at peace than you’ve ever seen her. Slowly, carefully, her face upturned to catch the morning sun, Katniss smiles again. You’re not even sure that she’s aware of doing it. It is simply the only way she can process that this, you wanting her, would make her happier than anything else.

And, sitting here in the forest, surrounded by a million memories of all that you have done together, a thousand hopes of all that you have yet to do, you look over at Katniss and you know. You know that she loves you. You know that she can’t say it, not yet, not until she’s certain that you love her as much as she loves you.

She will tell you, though. In time. Perhaps it’ll happen another day out here past the confines of District Twelve, in a space that has always been safe to the two of you and will thus protect her from the fallout of confessing to a friend. Perhaps she’ll tell you while you’re asleep next to her, to avoid a response, or perhaps she’ll tell you while you’re pretending to be asleep, so she knows you’re heard and you don’t have to tell her anything.

Or, maybe she’ll just say it now, unspoken but still startlingly loud, audible in every glance your way, every faint smile she never bothers to hide. That, you think, would be enough.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

Deja Vu ~ Russell Adler x Female Reader

{Author's Note} This was inspired by @alypink's recent Adler render where he's leaning against a muscle car AND HOO BOY that put tons of thoughts in my head about a younger Adler before he heads off to Vietnam. Reader in this story dated him before he went off to war and they got together again after the events of the Cold War game. I probably got some timeline stuff wrong but I did my research and tried to keep it consistent lol. A horrendous sinus infection has given me a short break from school as I start some medications to clear it up so that means more time for writing! Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this! I've got plenty of ideas for a younger Adler x reader series so expect more in the future! And let me know if you'd like to be removed or added to the tag list🫶🏻 I don't know if I managed to include everyone that I wanted to so please let me know! AND YES I'm using a Robert Redford gif because they're basically the same person in my eyes LOL {Tag List} @littlemissclandestine @alypink @mctvsh @adlerboi @deadbranch @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @ghostlythots @glitterypirateduck

Russell Adler x Female Reader

❌Content Warning: none❌

~ ~ ~

1965

“When are you leaving again?” 

Adler sends you a glance through dark shades as you pass him a bucket full of water. He takes it easily, hefting it with little issue while you had struggled to lift it only moments ago. 

“In a month,” he responds and splashes the bucket’s contents across the windshield of his car. “Higher ups are gettin’ worried about the increased communist presence in Vietnam so they’re sending in some troops. I’ll be going on behalf of the CIA to do some recon and see if we can figure out what’s happening over there.”

You knew that already. He’d told you half a dozen times before but he answered you anyway. He knew how worried you were about the threat of impending war, especially when he was being sent into the midst of it with little choice to refuse. 

All you can manage is a nod as you focus on sponging down the window opposite him. He notices your silence and rounds the car, drying his palms on his already damp tank top. 

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly as he grasps your chin and guides your face to look at him. You blink back tears and he wipes away the few that manage to escape with gentle thumbs. 

“Just gotta make sure the Soviets aren’t meddling in things,” he continues. “It shouldn’t take long.”

You nod as he caresses the curves of your cheeks. “I just want you to be careful.” 

And come back alive, you think to yourself. Come back to me. 

He leans to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “I will. Promise.”

His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, one that makes you smile and clears the mist from your eyes. 

“Now, help me finish cleaning this thing before Sims gets here. He needs to see this baby in all her glory.”

You laugh, feeling your heart lighten as Russ turns up the radio. He bobs his head to The Beach Boys song flowing through the speakers and you promise yourself to commit this moment to memory. The glint of his shades in the sunlight, the shimmer of golden hair as he pushes it off his forehead, the movement of his arms and back as he leans over the hood of his car. The image is imprinted in your mind’s eye for years to come.

~ ~ ~

1982

Adler has changed, though your memories of him have not. He’s still stubborn as a mule with an envy-inducing sense of style and a love for muscle cars. He’s older now, quieter and less open, scarred both physically and mentally after his time in Vietnam. His most recent escapade involved a former Soviet agent who he refuses to talk about so you don’t push the topic. You’re just happy he’s come back to you.

“You gonna keep staring or help me clean this thing?” Russ says with a slight smile. His shades reflect the sun the same way they did all those years ago and you hurry to his side, upping the radio’s volume on the way.

Russ likes to talk about cars and so you let him, enjoying the sound of his voice as he guides you through the inner workings of the machinery before you. He's gentle and careful with his movements, and you notice the serenity in his features. It was one of the few times he was able to relax, a brief moment where he didn't carry the world on his shoulders. You know he's not perfect, far from it, but he deserves this temporary peace and you're thankful that you're present to enjoy it with him.

“Do you know that I love you?” you ask suddenly. The comment makes Russ pause in his work, gaze lifting to yours as he straightens.

"That so?"

You giggle. "You're supposed to say it back, you know," you tease, fully aware of his tendency to play coy with this sort of thing.

He brushes stray strands of hair from your face, the pads of his fingers delicately tracing your features. He was hesitant to touch you these days, fearing you'd be disgusted by his calloused hands, but you made it a point to remind him that such things were a sign that he had survived and kept his promise to you, even if it had taken longer than either of you had anticipated.

"I love you, too," he murmurs, his voice a low whisper, as if he were afraid to release the phrase into the world where it could be taken from him.

You grin and lean to press a kiss to his scarred cheek, hearing his contented sigh as his arms settle around your waist. You promise to commit this moment to memory, just as you had countless times before, adding it to the complicated collection of images and sensations that made up Russell Adler.

[honeyedmiller]

Hiiiii

I love your writing. I was wondering can you please write a pedro×reader when they realize that they're pregnant and it's just so sudden and unexpected and shock them both?

aww tysm, and yes omg. Pedro would be the sweetest dad ever 🥺

warnings: mentions of nausea and getting sick, unexpected pregnancy, little bit of angst, fluff. no use of y/n.

word count: <1k

“I don’t feel so good again.” You groan, slowly getting up from bed. Pedro watched you worriedly as you scurried to the bathroom to puke out all of the contents in your stomach, again.

You’d been feeling really nauseated and fatigued the past few weeks, and Pedro was getting really concerned about your well-being.

You felt him rub your back gently as he held your hair back, comforting you through your illness.

“Maybe it’s time we go to the doctors, honey. I’m getting really worried about you.” His voice is soft, full of concern.

You nod your head in agreement, tired of feeling like this nearly twenty-four seven now.

So, the next morning, Pedro took you to a private clinic near his house.

“Good morning Mr. Pascal, Mrs. Pascal,” The doctor said, and you blushed at the assumed last name. It made you blush even harder that Pedro didn’t even try to correct the doctor. “What brings you in today?”

“I’ve been feeling really ill recently. I’m constantly nauseated and so exhausted. I thought it was stress from work but I don’t get like this usually when it becomes tough-going.”

The doctor nodded at what you were telling him, and he hummed. “Have you taken any pregnancy tests lately?”

And just as fast as the color rushed to your face, it drained. “No.” You say meekly, looking over at Pedro who looked just as stunned.

You both tried to be so careful… there’s no way you could be pregnant. Right? Right?

“Well, let’s not be too hasty. Let’s run some tests but I will have you take the pregnancy test just to be sure.” The doctor said, and you nodded.

You proceeded to do a series of tests, but the doctor quickly came back with the shocking news.

“It seems you actually are pregnant, ma’am.” He confirmed, showing you the test results in black ink. You couldn’t believe it.

“But I– I don’t understand. I just had my period a few weeks ago.”

“That could’ve actually been implantation bleeding. I’ll give you two a couple of minutes before I get a sonographer in here to do an ultrasound on you, okay? Congratulations.” He smiled at you both, exiting the room.

It seemed like ages that both of you sat in silence before an overwhelming sense of panic surged over you, and you started to cry.

“I’m so sorry.” You kept muttering, covering your face with your hands. Pedro immediately pried your hands from your face as he embraced you tightly, kissing your head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, honey. It takes two to make a baby, right? I have every much responsibility in this, too.”

“But, what are we going to do? You have filming coming up soon, I have my job… we’ve only been together for a year, Pedro. This is–”

“Sh sh, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” He cooed, rocking you back and forth slowly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? You can quit your job. I make plenty for the both of us. You can come with me to Vancouver, if that’s something you wanted to do. I’m in this with you every step of the way, baby.”

You cried in his arms for a bit before the sonographer came into the room, rolling in the ultrasound equipment.

She smiled sympathetically at the two of you before instructing you to lay back and lift up your shirt.

“The gel is going to be a bit cold. My apologies.” She says before squirting some onto you, taking the wand and moving it around. You could see a tiny figure in the darkness of what you presumed was your uterus.

“There’s baby,” The sonographer said with a soft smile, pointing to various parts of the body. “Looks like you’re about six weeks along.” She concludes, taking snapshots of the screen.

“Little baby Pascal.” Pedro whispered, looking at the screen and then down at you. His grip on your hand got tighter as he brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it.

The more you both stared at the screen in wonder, the more you both fell in love with your little creation. You knew it wouldn’t be easy with your hectic lives, but if you were to do this with anyone, you were so glad it was with Pedro.