#i rly wish i could take my head off for like an hour

[1eeminho]

painful loneliness is being at least an hour from everyone u love when being sick so u have to drag ur feverish ass outside to get food and meds and then u discover its covid and realize ull have to selfisolate completely alone for at least a week lmao 🤣 im fine its chill

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[slytherinshua]

WHEN WE MEET AGAIN

genre. angst. maybe werewolf au but not rly. warnings. crying. separation. blood mention. kissing. i know very very little abt &team's storyline so this is def not accurate. pairing. k x fem!reader. wc. 945. request. no. a/n. this ending scene from firework always had my brain spinning since i first watched the mv. i wanted to make a fic out of it for the longest time. if i knew the lore more then i might know what's going on in that scene, but i just took the random inspiration i was getting from the vibes.

You opened your eyes when the moon was half an hour from being at its height. Shrugging off Taki who was sleeping on top of you and carefully stepping out of the huddled pile of the rest of the boys, you made your way over to the shoreline and waited.

It didn’t take long for him to walk up next to you. You wanted to look at him, but you kept your gaze on the water, too afraid that you’d break if you took even one look. The air was heavy and cold, and the pit in your stomach only grew as the seconds went by.

“Yudai.” You finally broke the silence with a whisper, and turned your head to look at him. You immediately wish you hadn’t. 

No, it wasn’t from the dried blood on his hands or the messy hair that made him look even more attractive than he already was. It was the wetness on his cheeks; the tears that had already escaped his eyes to slide slowly down until they hit the sand. 

“I just don’t think it’s safe anymore.” He whispered. His voice was choked up and a little raspy.

“W-we were doing fine, though. We were holding on.” You tried to argue with him, but you knew it would be of little use. The past few months had been less than ideal, especially for the younger boys. You just couldn’t think of accepting whatever Yudai was suggesting. 

“We weren’t— We aren’t. We’re not okay, Y/n. You know we’re not.” He let out a heavy sigh and brushed the tears off his cheeks. “I can’t keep asking Yuma to go on food duty. He flinches if he even sees a bug. If we keep this up, they’re all going to be traumatized. I don’t want them to live like this.”

“I know. But don’t you think it’s too extreme? Isn’t there any other way?”

“No one is going to mess with you once I’m gone. You know they’re only after me in the first place.” He reasoned. You knew he was right. He was always right— always sensible while you were selfish.

“I don’t want to go on without you.” You said, a single tear slipping out.

He looked away from you, back at the water lapping at the shore and the moon shining brightly against the sand.

“I’ll find you again. Once I get them, I’ll find you again.” He muttered. You reached for his hand weakly. You knew you shouldn’t. Any amount of contact with him would make it a million times harder for both of you, but you couldn’t stand it. You couldn’t stand being right next to him and not embracing him; not touching him in some way, providing any comfort that you could. You knew he desperately needed it.

He didn’t shake off your hand, which was what you were most afraid of. The fact that he still held you with the same warmth simultaneously made it better and so much worse. You weren’t sure how you would survive for any amount of time without him.

“What if you can’t find me again?” You whispered your worry aloud and Yudai squeezed your hand. His hand was cold despite the warmth of his love. His fingers were practically icicles and the dried blood still stuck to them didn’t help. You didn’t mind the cold or the blood. All you wanted was one last chance to hold him.

“I will find you. I promise.” He assured you, resting his forehead against yours. A tear fell from his eyes and landed on your cheek. You reached up one of your hands to cup his face.

“I’ll wait for you. Even if it takes 10 years, or 20, or 50— I’ll still be waiting.” You promised him back.

He nodded, silently agreeing that he would also wait for you. His breath was cold hitting your lips; so cold that the thought of hypothermia crossed your mind. But you knew you had no time to ask about it or to worry. You had seen him get through worse; a bit of exposure to the chill of the winter wouldn’t be the end of him.

Though his lips were cold, the kiss was warm. You hoped it warmed his body as much as it warmed yours. It spread from your heart to your stomach and up your neck to your head. You felt light as if you were floating. The dread that was weighing in your stomach for so long lessened as you thought of his promise.

This wasn’t the end. It was just a pause. He was going to find you again.

When he broke off the kiss, you knew you didn’t have much time left, so you pulled him close into your arms for your last hug. He hugged you tightly, as if you were the one disappearing and not him. And as soon as he started pulling away again you wanted to cry, or pull him back, or try to think of a better solution— anything to not watch him walking away from you.

But you stayed silent. You had already been selfish; wanting one last touch, one last hug, one last kiss. You should have let him go without the promises and without the tears. Watching him disappear before your eyes, giving you one last look before escaping into the trees was like a stab to your heart. You dropped to the sand in tears. The hurt seeped into every part of your body, an ache, a stab, a lurch; it was overpowering.

Surely, the pain would be bearable if you had only loved him less?

↳ &team taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kpoprhia,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @chiiyuuvv

[antoncore]

sorry i hope i’m not annoying but i’m bored too🤭🤭🤧

i’ve never rly paid that much attention in that way to sohee but like i imagine if u got partnered up for a project at uni and he came over to help u work on it and he was being annoying and u got mad at him for it but then he popped a boner because of u being stern with him and raising ur voice😳🤭🤭 so ofc you have to help him out and suck him off while he tangles his fingers in ur hair and whimpers so desperately it’s so cute how pathetic and whiney he gets when you fondle his balls and suck on his length!!! when he cums you’d swallow for him cuz he was so good for u<333333

but then idk i could also see sohee who u don’t really spare a second glance but then ur at a frat party together and end up in some kind of seven minutes in heaven scenario and he kinda goes a little crazy with u now that he finally has a chance to show u how bad he’s wanted u<33 like maybe he’d just give you the best head you’ve ever gotten, eating you out in someone else’s closet while you pull on his hair and muffle your moans with the back of ur hand cuz you’d never live it down if someone caught you letting him slut you out :( he’d definitely mess with u though and use his fingers, sucking harshly on ur clit and whispering nasty things to u about how ur giving it up so easy for him, he expected better from u :( and u whine about how that’s the whole point of the game is to mess around with the person ur paired with but he’s like “is cumming on my face part of it?” and ur so close u can feel the tension inside of you threatening to snap and you almost want to try to deny urself so he doesn’t get the satisfaction but he starts using his fingers again and you can’t help urself :((( after u cum, if u had any time left he’d use his tongue to clean you up and maybe even kiss u, even though you’d recoil a little, he’d hold ur jaw in place and stick his tongue in ur mouth to force you to taste urself ! and then you’d go back to the party only to find a room half an hour later so u can take his cock this time :)

not me being like.. i don’t think about him.. and then saying all this😓😓

- 🧸 anon

I AM SO DEAD😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

can imagine sohee’s little whimpers, would be so pretty!! feel like he wouldn’t even be able to speak bc he just loves the way you suck his cock. would wanna coo at him that he’s so cute like this, making him blush and squirm under you. and when he cums down your throat, he’s too shy to ask to take a picture so he keeps the mental image in his head. every time after he saw you on campus (which was multiple times a day), he’d go back to his dorm and jerk off, wishing it was your mouth wrapped around his cock again :( he wanted you so bad but was scared you’d never give him the time of day again, watching as you talked to other guys.

on the flip side, i rlly think he could be cocky too (idk why but i find the thought of him being cocky quite hot???) like he would just LOVE having you moan his name, it’s what he’s been wanting to hear for so long. he would slut you out completely, loving the way you reacted to him (you were so adorable, how could he not love it) and would love having you in front of the mirror so you could watch yourself fall apart for him. you didn’t know whether to love or hate the way he made you feel, like putty in his hands - his touch making you so weak :( you’d be cumming all over his cock and he’d want pictures to remember in his words ‘the neediest girl he’s ever fucked’. this definitely wouldn’t be the last time he had you like this, possibly leading to a situationship (bc he doesn’t want to behave like a simp - yet)

screaming, creaming over this tbh

[cherryslyce]

Enjoy the second to last HC's, bubz. Who knows... The anon to lovers pipeline sounds kinda in rn..

.

.

.

*in bed*

Reg: So. Just to clarify..You actually like me right?

MC: No, I kept a portrait that kinda hurt to have in my pocket which gave me splinters btw, around for years, got devasted by the demise, slept in said portraits room as a source of comfort, went all the way to NORWAY at the off chance something could be done for said boy in portrait, went into a creepy cave, nearly died, did a ritual, all because I can't fucking stand you.

Reg, contemplating: ..you were in my bed before marriage? 😙

MC: You kinda make me wanna drown myself.

Reg: I thought we established it's too soon for those-

.

.

.

Reg, panicked: YOU SAW VOLDEMORT IN THE CAVE?

MC, crying: YEAH HE WAS SO FUCKING UGLY.

.

.

.

Sirius: There is no fucking way.

Harry: There is definitely a way and fucking is likely involved.

Reg, unfazed: What was it you say birdie.. No bitches? 🤔

Sirius and Harry: Fuck this combo. Fuck this combo. FUCK THIS COMBO-

.

.

.

Blaire: Nah you better be fucking forreal.. FIRST YOU ANSWER MY MOM BEFORE ME, LEAVE ME TO FEND FOR OUR CHILD AND NOW YOU GOTTA SICK VICTORIAN CHILD LOOKING BOYFRIEND? I'm having a moment. Oh i'm have a serious moment.

Reg, coughs: Wrong brother to be having a moment with.

Blaire: Girl, you BETTER be joking.. 👁️_👁️

Mc: I think I'm going to pre-maturely die now. I wish you the best.

.

.

.

Kreacher: MASTER REGULUS HAS RETURNED AT LAST!

*Reg holding MC's hand*

Kreacher: WITH UH.. THE BLOOD..THE BLOOD PLEASER..?

Sirius, behind them both, disgusted: You know, I know you don't know what you're saying and you're aiming for better than blood traitor but you could have said literally anything else. Anything. God.

.

.

.

I have so many.. thoughts. feelings. headcannons. but rly, I want to say thank you first. I've had a pretty rough month and my highlight was always getting to read Second Son. Reg always was a soft spot of mine but your characterisation was probably as close to how I imagined it. When the 3rd last chapter came out? Girl, I was in a boba shop, moral supporting my friend and he thought I was delirious CUZ I WAS GIGGLING. Of course, I'm sad it's come to an end but your journey as a writer sure as hell hasn't thus I'm super excited for you new work!! I hope you're proud of the series because not only were you delivering so often, you rly made all our days when you did. I'm wishing both sides of your pillow are how you desire them to be..

All the love, beloved hc anon 💌✨

My lovely hc anon <33!!! The anon to lover pipeline is def in<333 !!!!

Regulus would definitely be up at ungodly hours just contemplating that kind of stuff (poor reader, but same Reg). Also LOL, reader was more disturbed by Voldemort's snake face than anything else (like reader definitely gets nightmares of that moment at the cave still).

Regulus and Reader would literally drive Sirius up the WALL, like they give him and James a run for their money. +++ I'm so dead LMAO, you captured Blaise's humor perfectly, that is something he would definitely say in his head while plastering on a wide grin !

BLOOD PLEASER. I LOVE that omg...Kreacher is trying to be better, but he would most definitely come up with the most absurd nicknames ever.

I'm so glad that my series has been able to lift your spirits, my dear!! And I must thank you as well because your hc's always made my days so much brighter and really helped bring the characters to life!! You are truly one of my most beloved anons on here, and I really am going to miss these messages <33! I went into this series not expecting much, but I'm so overwhelmed by the kind words I received, and I starkly remember the first ever hc message you sent me. I was just blown away that someone would take the time to do so much for the series, and I truly want to thank you <33!!

I'm excited for the journey ahead and I hope to see you around !! Wishing you a lovely day/night wherever you are !!

-cherry <33

[dolciume]

okay so the reason i was upset w friends bc is bc i was rly rly rly rly insane person stressed and i told my friend eve everything abt the situation at work that i had a childs life in my hands 5 a week and i’m just a first year new para 😬 basically i was assigned to a very very very dangerous suicidal 14 year old child and i got so insane in an e-mail to 4 people that they took me off the case 😬 on friday i emailed my middle boss, my head boss, the child’s care manager, and the other para assigned to the job. i said i will not ever take this child for 10 days by myself. they wanted us to do a 2 week (10 day) rotation of just this child for 6 hours no break at all. like just me and her all week. they wanted me and 2 other adults to do this rotation schedule. in my email i was so fucking crazy and unprofessional but i wasn’t mean i just said like I CANT DO 10 DAYS IN A FUCKING ROW as calmly as i could 4 times. i also told the truth: i do not eat or sleep well anymore and i come to work with my hands shaking and sweating every single day. 5 days a week and on the weekend i agonize about going in work on monday. this child is very ill and i cannot take her case. i am cutting myself really really severely. i am drinking and doing drugs severely. i cannot live like this. i cannot care for myself none the less a suicidal child who i sincerely believe could die any day now. i believed for some time that it was God’s penance, and while i still believe that i MUST escape it.. i must be free… :,(

but even though i DID GET TRANSFERRED OFF HER CASE!!! i’ve still been crying since i know the issue is not resolved… she is still an abused child

i don’t think things will get better… i have no one to lean on or support me… i really wish i was dead

[twslug]

gonna answer all the q's of that one post i rbed like two days ago or something, answers below break if u gaf (really not groundbreaking info)

answers start here:

that i don't have to do a lot of things (both academically and in my personal life) that i don't want to do but pressure myself to do anyway. a lot of things really and truly Do Not matter

isolating myself due to anxiety or aimless frustration that i don't have an outlet for,,, big fan of Being locked in a room for hours

fav self care is skin care/workout and good music, i'm listening to my girly pop playlist post-workout (current song is toxic by nico rosberg aka britney bitch, so just envision these mentally ill answers with fergie and britney and katy perry and rihanna in the background)

most vivid memory is definitely not a visual memory, i've got some memory loss so i don't remember much of anything about my life. HOWEVER i have an echoic memory, so i really latch onto peoples' voices. i looove f1 with all the different accents and languages (lowkey linguistics hpfx) so i can have drivers narrating my thoughts. charles's voice is super imprinted on my brain because he has a very unique (imo) speech cadence and choice of wording in english, same for max (both verstappen and fewtrell), lando, and other random celebrities or youtubers or irls or characters etc etc.

would like to recieve some emotional/social support, was kind of pushed to the side because my brother is more extroverted, better at school, had asthma and ocd and several food allergies, but i was left to my own devices because i was much quieter and in the background.

have always wanted to be able to take academics into my own hands, as per the last answer, i am very quiet irl and have a hard time asking for help so i spend a lot of schooling teaching myself, so i've mastered the ability to put my head down and succeed by myself but at what cost yknow, i cant even speak to professors or other students

apathy. chronic, neverending, borderline infectious apathy. im very stubborn so if my brain has become apathetic about something then you will never get me to care about it, even if i myself want to

rly gets to me when people are mean to people i like, for an f1 example, idk i like a lot of the drivers but seeing people be blatantly mean to them (criticism and affectionate jabs are Fine) really makes me feel upset and/or almost ill, i get rly anxious for some reason like i'm the one being insulted

no i don't cry. not really (back to the playlist, family ties by baby keem just came on TURN THIS SHIT UUUPPP) anyway i dont really cry, lots of apathy, forced to be the quiet kid etc etc

have done lots of improvement on my body image and having confidence in what i say/believe, esecially in a family setting, lots of my problems are from childhood and being overly quiet/shy, so i rly struggle(d) with speaking my mind but now Nobody has anything on me, my moms dad was a county sheriff and i openly rip on cops in front of her like fuccckkk off u made me like this

was very mentally ill at the time (was also during covid, so i was really mentally unwell), and they had their own problems, ended up having a rly toxic relationship. neither of us had redeeming qualities, said some things we shouldn't have, like mutual punching bags

wish i could connect to my new roommates for this upcoming college/university semester, again: very bad at talking to people, maybe it will be better when we all live together (copium)

POLITICS TIME: i get irrationally angry at people who know nothing about the US south, i live here and it pisses me off when most political "hot takes" about american southern conservatism are boiled down to classism and/or racism, drives me fucking insane

i only like affectionate teasing if i know you rly well or the jab isnt something im insecure about, but im a bit of a hypocrite because i playfully insult people all the time, good rule of thumb i follow is just never go for appearance, all makes u look like a dick

prefer to be numb, because even though its one of the worst things to ever happen to my Cranium, i have a really easy time letting things go and not being upset over things i should probably be upset about. its kind of peaceful when u come to terms with it

talent ive overlooked/lost is ,,,,,,, i actually dont know, i think ive honed the things im really good at, i was really good at being a stage manager in school theatre (was assistant director and stage manager for les mis in 10th grade, bitches love my organizational skills), maybe i pick that up again somewhere

call me seb vettel the way i really liked dark blue in the but switched to loving bright bright #ff0000 red, like the brightest u can get... good shit... Also british racing green forever and always

my stuffed animals :-) no harm in keeping them, i suppose

well this ones easy because i dont like talking about infodumping about the innerworkings of my Psyche but here we are, i feel a bit bothersome, hence this entire post being hidden under a page break ..

LAST ONE (current song playing is dancing in the moonlight by king harvest, for those of u following along athome), i believe people think im much kinder than i think i am. if that makes sense. i know the things ive said to other people, about other people, about myself, etc, and i just feel this kind of imposter syndrome whenever people say they think im rly kind or fun to be around because i know deep down i am miserable and evil and nasty... And dont even hit me w that "bad people dont care that theyre bad so u caring makes u not bad" no no no, thats the thing, i dont care . i am Evil... ebil,,,,,, Deomn evil

[hayleylwong]

reflection 05-23

9:33pm - today i woke up at like 12:30. this was disappointing bc i was supposed to get up earlier to study for my chem midterm tm. instead i didnt study until like 4 bc i had to go sit outside and talk to people and then i went to class for like five minutes but i left to go study for chem bc i thought that was more important. i went to the schoenberg music practice rooms w my friend that can play piano to take a break from studying and omg the practice room hallway looks and sounds like a psychiatric ward like i swear all the instruments blended together and sounded like clown music and the hallway was long and the doors were all like scary w one little window in them. but i liked hearing my friend play piano. then i met my other friend at feast and ate dumplings and we got to talk i wish i could see her more often. then i went to study some more w my friend from before and we had to check like 15 lounges before we found an empty table. tn im gonna do pomodoro method so i am writing this during one of my breaks. i hope i can get through everything rn i feel like it is doable i bought yerba and celsius earlier so i am prepared for my all nighter. we will see how doable it feels as the night progresses. i am looking forward to 4:00pm tm when i can finally sleep after my midterm and hanging out w people for an hour 3 times in a row.

9:44pm - omg i called today the 21st accidentally. i just realized i cannot sleep at 4 bc of club work due at 5. ughhhh it is only the beginning of the night and i already want to sleep. i have overdone my pomodoro break by 11 minutes now. it is not a good sign.

12:10am - it was not a good sign. i have watched one and a half lectures and am two hours and twenty minutes into my current break. i went to the store and got more yerba mate but it is not working. i have seven lectures left and less than ten hours before my midterm. when am i going to shower. i now cannot sleep until 7pm tomorrow. my eczema is making me itch inside my body i am uncomfortable and everything is irritating me i cannot focus but i will. i will do it i have to otherwise idk what to do no i have to i really have to. only 19 more hours of misery.

3:54am - i have watched one hour of lecture in the last six hours. i am scared. there are other peoples review notes on the white board and i do not recognize some of the words. my friend said theyre important. no position is comfortable i am hella fidgety and my skin is freaking out. i want to shower but i do not have time. my friend is abt to go to sleep and leave me. who will keep me awake. i an beginning to do the thing i used to do where i blink weird and tense my head muscles bc i feel off. i am going to hug my boy. except i just saw his explore page and let me tell you i have never seen so many asian bikini thirst traps in my life. and i scrolled through his for you page and the same girl kept coming up. tell me why when i was scrolling through the explore he said ‘ooh a white one’ like three times. like actually wtf. have i told u guys his ex is white. my chem prof is rly grinding my gears rn. i hope i does not ever find my tumblr. i hope i can focus in the next six hours. oh no that is not enough time. no no no no no

5:16 - i actually cannot think. my head is numb. but the caffeine is finally working and i cannot sleep. i am so f ed. my head does not work. maybe i am just irritable rn. i hate everything. wtf is a nucleophile and how do u tell how strong it is. i just learned but i forget. i am going to cry.

5:26 - my friend is going to sleep soon. what am i gonna do. i was supposed to be done w lec by now and i have six left. i have four hours left before the exam. i have never been so disappointed in myself. i am sad. what am i going to do. i cant cry im too dehydrated and i dont have time for that. what is wrong w me

6:26 - how am i still on the same lecture as an hour ago. i am so miserable. was this quarter really worth it if im gonna fail this class? i wasnt even good at this quarter. but it is too late now bc if i dont go through w that i alr failed. i cant even hear anything shes saying anymore but i barely have time to watch even on 2x speed

6:50 - i am struggling. thinking abt doing anything makes me want to sob. i really really hope my club does not make us do stuff for an extra week bc i actually do not think i can. that week will be spent studying for finals. ik what to prioritize now. they should make that more clear. ughhh my brain is being attacked with words. it does not like it. i hate myself rn. i need to scream

jp updates: sam is feeling good today. he is curious whether or not he asks people for contact information weirdly and is working on changing his phrasing.

[eevyerndracaneon]

Hey, I don't mean to intrude or anything, being a stranger on the internet and all. Don't feel the need to answer this ask or anything but, I just hope you can hear me out and maybe something I say can help a bit... I've seen some of your posts today, I'm sorry you're going through the ringer. I've got a good couple of friends who deal with the very similar struggles and whatnot, so I just wanted to say pretty much what I always tell them regarding some of what you're feeling. I dunno your specific situation, and I know a lot of things are way more difficult to just outright fix than some people will say it is, so I'll keep this more general. And some of what I will say you might already know, but I feel they bear repeating. First off, your worth as a person is not tied to your ability to make money, or work a job or anything like that. You are a person, and that makes you valuable. No person or thing can ever take that from you. Second, never feel bad about wanting to interact with your friends and loved ones. Even if you're in a bad mood, I'm sure they'd love to spend time with you. Social needs are just as important as any other need, so do not feel guilty of them, and don't hole yourself up if that's not what you need right now. A friend of mine (and I do also to an extent) does this all the time and after they always reflect that it only hurt them.

Third, I'm sorry about whatever issues you're dealing with, with family or otherwise, I know how difficult that can be. There are no easy solutions, but, like, you just gotta keep carrying on, you know? Even if there's no option out today, there might be one down the road. On a lighter note, I think your art style is charming! I think you could get some commission work if that's something you wanted to do, it's less on your skill and more on confidence and a bit of luck, I think. Even if today sucks, it doesn't define you tomorrow and not all days will be like this. None of what you're going through defines you or your worth as a person. You've got this, and your friends and loved ones have your back. Keep on being you, A concerned stranger

ah right i did vent really hard on here huh, thanks for sending this out-

i've been vague overall with my posts bc im just going thru it today so some of what you've said doesn't apply but i can't fault you for it, since i didn't rly explain anything

i've tried for a few years now to have art as a job that i could maybe help pay for rent with if i ever moved out, but i just didn't get enough comms to even get to that point. u-u i'd LOVE to just draw for money but it just didn't rly work out the way i expected. maybe i'll give it another shot, i dunno (I'd have to increase my prices again for 2023....)

the house i live in rn is the one belonging to my partner's family. so i live with my partner. my boyfriend is long distance (i'm polyam if that hasn't come across with some of my posts) and i desperately wish i could live with him as well. my partner's family is amiable, but not exactly super friendly or welcoming. especially not if i was openly trans. (they have a trans daughter but refuse to treat her with respect so she cut herself out of their life years ago) my life is kinda trapped in my partner's room, in a corner, so i really don't feel like i have a home. it sucks, but at least im surviving and have a roof over my head and food to eat and warmth in the cold and cool in the heat.

you're completely right on the social front. i think a lot of us forget this. my boyfriend and a friend of mine both reached out to me an hour or so ago bc they were worried abt how i wasnt around like, at all, and i basically got the same thing from them. "its okay to be around, we can try cheering you up"

and finally the big one. i understand capitalism is trash for making us all think we need to make money to deserve life. i hate that i need to make money to be able to live on my own. luckily im not sitting here thinking im worthless solely bc i cant get a job or make money. but i need money to get a place to live in on my own, apartments need rent, houses need mortgage payments, and then food and bills and all that crap. i need a job for that to get pulled off. and i've been trying to get a job! i've been applying to places since the beginning of december! but no place has accepted me. i've gotten like three interviews. nothing else. its just really infuriating. all of my friends, even my boyfriend, are getting new opportunities, new places to live, new goals new motivations new everything. and im just kinda stuck.

today was really hard. all of these feelings welled up over the past half a year and i think just finally crushed me into the dirt today.

so its just kind of a sad day. im doing what i can now to make it better even if only by a little bit. but oof.

thank you anon for popping in and checking up on me, it means a lot <3

[rawrmeansilyindinosawr]

MY LAPTOP IS BROKEN

i yam typing this from my macbook i got from a stranger on offerup who told meh to meet him at Astoria "outside the station n tht it would b easy to 1dentify them cuz he would b wearing a orange Jumpsuit" like some HAUTE prison couture shit. he Had a thicc new yorker accent n treated it lik a drug deal, he kept looking over his shoulder n sped off once u gave him the monies. LIL DID U KNO the mf macbook would have SPANISH ACCENTS ON IT but it would work perf fine except now the shift button or camera dont work Cuz after this gala, u n one of ur best fwendz were cuddling with alcohol on tha bed and spilled it on the dam thing. u just got told yr jobs closing down cuz they gettin sued and u can't join zoom calls via camera but u just hope for tha best cuz ny unemployment takes 5evvaaa. y kant i just b a rockstar? like hot n paid for it?? Being a rockstar gf is not in tha cards for me anymore tho.

42nd st smells like star anise and herbs ur Dad would brew into tea and ur just trying to get to pacific trimming .. U pass by ur old sugar daddys warehouse n U give urself a ol lil chuckle cuz Ya rly did pull dat shit. Randos at tha store wanna take pix with u n ur still shy n flattered n find it hard to associate with the person on camera vs person in tha mirror, am I tha only one who feels this cognitive / bodily dissonance. ??.?

i curated this list thinkin ab the musician i met lastlast winter who wanted to show me his music, i said sure, n he played me his entire album on his guitar for just a little over an hour while telling me he could order us "the worst coke he's ever done in his life which includes suicidal ideation during the come down.' he apologized profusely afterwards n gave mediocre head. Yes , we have matched on tinder 3 more times. why do i keep swiping rite u ask. Trust me all my toxic traits are still unbenognst to me myself Ni, ok.

one good thing ab living in nyc is that when u need to cry on the subway, no one cares, No one asks u why u have bandages on ur wrists And no one asks if Yr ok after they shove ya real hard cuz they prob need 2 get somewhere real soon . I think i've learned to enjoy tha silence n the weight of what new yorkers rly mean when U catch them staring then they look down rite away. I think it means that they're showing respect tht u most likely wanna be left alone. It's an unspoken code .Band aids fall off the ankles of beautiful women, no one asks to give them tha extra one in their bag. Subway performers, singing their hearts out n expressing themselves so raw and well r ignored. i dont own headphones anymore so i Kan pay attention. i think it means something 2 show someone u listen.

WELL.

...U may hav fallen on a strangers lap on tha C train this week Cuz ur new rock platforms made ya SLIP n SLIDE but ur reminded Ur not the only fucked up one in tha head cuz a few months ago someone sat on ur lap thinking u were a got dam seat too. Subway vibes.

H3AVen was S000 fun in tha CLOUDS w bali bby n Lust sick puppie dancing on stage with yr friends n letting them wear ur pink n glittery tiara just like lindsey Lohan in mean gurls. [these days i rly wish i wuz like regina george. but just the part when she gets hit by a bus.] speaking of lindsey lohan. I SAW THEM ON A PLANET FITNESS COMMERCIAL WHILE STREAMING MI SAD LIL PEEP MIX. likeWTF. tht wuz kinda lit. TIL NXT WEEK MAYB fwendz. ty 4 reading ;3

[atheliasnotebook]

hey! how are you ?

i'd like to request something, but feel free to ignore/delete my ask if it breaks any rule or if you just don't feel like doing it.

can i ask for a kaeya and/or diluc* comforting a crying gn!reader ? to be more specific, the reader is really down and has been crying all day long. in the end they're exhausted and almost begging their body to just stop crying, only to cry even more.

i hope this isn't too vague hhh. thank you very much if you do it :) and if you don't, that's okay! i wish you a nice day/night.

*you can pick which one if you decide to do only one of them

Take Care of Me, Please

pairing: kaeya x reader, diluc x reader

note: reader is gender neutral

tags: mentioned family death (to the reader), pet name: "hun" (kaeya), pet name: "darling" (diluc)

author's note: (i love ur writing sm i cant believe i got a request from u -///- it makes me so happy i rly hope you like it it)

Something About Kaeya’s Hands…

There’s something about the way that he cups your face with both hands when you’ve been crying all day, gently wiping your tears while he puts on this somber smile. It hurts him—not nearly as much as you’re hurting, but every time he hears you sob and cry, he’s gently caressing your face with his thumbs. His hands are cold—soothing to the touch after the immense heat that you’ve built up from crying all morning.

He’s hurt too. And he wished he could have stayed with you all day, but rumors of attacks on the city call for immediate action, leaving you to your own devices most of the day. Luckily, the letter sent was an elaborate prank (more or so less an accident) from Klee in collaboration with Diona. In turn, he was able to return home to you just a little after noon—only a few hours after both of you had awoken.

Jean, prior to having him take his leave—noticed that his rather smug demeanor had disappeared.

What could be bothering him so much? she thought, before assuring Kaeya that matters about his patrol will be covered by Amber and Eula. She was so concerned when Kaeya simply told her that “it’s nothing that anybody needs to worry about” and “with a bit of live target practice, I bet I’ll be spick and span” In turn, she genuinely decided to consult albedo after ordering him to rest. And Albedo’s response was simply:

“I just think he needs a break right now. I mean, have you seen the state that ______ is in? He’s most likely just worried about them.”

Sucrose’s meek response followed:

“______ has j-just been having a hard time since this morning, I’ve heard. One of their close family members just passed away…”

Jean, after hearing their responses, became firm in her decision to send Kaeya home to supposedly rest.

Kaeya comes home to you, immediately throwing his coat on the rack and preparing a pitcher of water and two glasses to bring to the room and place on his side of the nightstand.

“Hey hun, look at me,” he whispers and cups your cheek, looking you in the eyes as he sits beside you on the bed. “It’s going to be okay—I promise.”

His hands are cold. Albeit, you shudder from his sudden touch and after the initial shock, sink into his hand to soothe your throbbing head, but in the end, you sob even more so, eventually burying your head in the crook of his neck.

“Hey—shhhh, I got you—it’s alright…” he says, rocking gently back and forth and nestling his fingers between the locks of your lush hair, just newly combed through.

“I’m here—I-I’ll be here… don’t worry, I’m not leaving, Jean has let me have the day off. and now, I’m all yours, hun.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

About Diluc’s Embrace…

His arms are so warm. As soon as he woke up, he heard quiet sobbing from the bathroom, noticing that the empty space in his bed where you were supposed to be.

“Darling…?“ Worry overwhelms his heart and he shudders before taking a deep breath. “Can… you let me in?”

You don’t unlock the door, and simply just… sit there, sobbing louder. You can hear Diluc’s breathing just hastening in a hitched cadence. "P-please?”

And it breaks your heart in two to hear him so worried. It breaks him just as much as it breaks you. Watching the door with blurry eyes, you heard gentle knocking. There are the sounds of other footsteps, the signature clacking of boots from one of the maids approaching, and immediately walking away.

“Please, ______, open the door hun…” he mumbles. And both of you sit there… in silence, for approximately 5 minutes. You can hear his sigh digging into both of your hearts. And you want to open the door—for the reason that you want to feel him warm you, for, you’ve been up since the early morning, taking walks around the winery to try and get yourself back to sleep somehow.

Diluc hears the lock unclick, seeing you shivering and sobbing, immediately taking you into a warm embrace and weaving his fingers in your hair, brushing through and kissing away your tears.

“Darling, what’s wrong—? What happened?”

You try to choke out the words through your sobs. “M-mom… s-she’s—“ and you start coughing, only crying more.

Diluc, hearing these words slip out from your lips cradles you, both of you on the floor on your knees, and having you nestled warmly in his arms.

“Darling, I’ll have the maids and workers take care of everything today, and cancel my shift at the tavern… anything you need, just say the word.”

[hottie0]

pov: your ig if spencer reid was your bf (pt 2 bc these are rly fun to make)

y/u/n = your username

Liked by alexblakee and others

y/u/n that jawline is the reason i don’t get any work done

View all 18 comments

ahotchner Do your work.

| drspencerreid Yes, sir.

| y/u/n sir yes sir 🫡

2 hours ago

Liked lukealvez and others

y/u/n can’t remember who’s wedding we went to…

View all 47 comments

emprentiss you both had an insane amount to drink so i don’t blame u

| y/u/n had a blast tho

jjareau rude.

| y/u/n happy wedding jj 🥳🥳🥳🥳

| drspencerreid I had a great time. Thank you for the open bar.

7 hours ago

Liked by derekmorgan73 and others

y/u/n squad slay moment

View all 16 comments

jjareau we ate

| emprentiss no crumbs left

ahotchner When was this taken?

| y/u/n u were busy flirting with rossi

| derekmorgan73 #powercouple

5 hours ago

Liked by alexblakee and others

y/u/n when will it be my turn

View all 18 comments

bbygrlgarcia AHH what I would do to have cute little genius babies !!!!

| y/u/n thats what i’m saying girl

drspencerreid Then let’s get to it.

| jjareau omg spencer making a dirty joke on y/n’s ig??

| y/u/n he’s come out of his shell 😍😍

2 hours ago

Liked by mattsimmsfbi and others

y/u/n if your name is aaron hotchner please scroll

View all 58 comments

📌 y/u/n glad you’re all enjoying this

derekmorgan73 PRETTY BOY GOT GAME

emprentiss this is shocking

jjareau what is GOING ON

alexblakee When is this from?

| y/u/n my first year at the bau 🤭🤭

drspencerreid I hate you for this

| y/u/n you love the attention don’t lie

6 hours ago

Liked by ahotchner and others

y/u/n shoutout derek for cutting my head off in this pic rly appreciate it buddy

View all 33 comments

derekmorgan73 you’re too gorgeous, girl i wouldve been doing the kid dirty

| drspencerreid Save it for Garcia

| y/u/n go spencer!

| derekmorgan73 ooh pretty boy packs a punch

emprentiss ew a loving relationship so gross totally not jealous

| y/u/n this is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me

4 hours ago

Liked by emprentiss and others

y/u/n i love watching you be smart

View all 11 comments

📌drspencerreid Creep

bbygrlgarcia so cute!!!!!!

ahotchner I still don’t understand why you two insist on taking photos of eachother on the job.

| y/u/n you’re too ugly to understand boss man

drspencerreid I love you more than anything in the world.

| y/u/n haha take that bitches

51 minutes ago

Liked by jjareau and others

y/u/n 🤍

View all 30 comments

emprentiss throwing up so hard rn

| y/u/n ur welcome

drspencerreid I didn’t know I could look like that.

| y/u/n you’re so sexy and hot and sexy ilysm

| emprentiss freaks

8 hours ago

Liked by bbygrlgarcia and others

y/u/n he said he knew a place

View all 23 comments

jjareau put the dogs away, spence

| y/u/n you know what they say abt big feet 😍😍

| jjareau wish i didnt 😍😍

5 hours ago

Liked by alexblakee and others

y/u/n pov spencer reid tries to seduce you

View all 45 comments

davidrossiofficial I’m traumatized.

| y/u/n ROSSI!!! YOU’RE HERE!!!

| davidrossiofficial I regret letting Penelope teach me about the internet.

| bbygrlgarcia ugh so rude

derekmorgan73 damn reid no wonder you’re a virgin

| drspencerreid Am not

| y/u/n definitely not

| emprentiss gross

7 hours ago

[nagaparadise]

This scenario just popped in my head idk why. Imagine (for whatever reason) playing hide and seek with the forest guardian. Not only does he know the forest like the back of his hand, but he can also blend in much better than you and move about rly silently, which makes both hiding and seeking a pain in the ass.

But then also imagine the way he‘d reward you if you actually did manage to find him 😌

It had been roughly an hour since you became the seeker, yet you still couldn’t find a single sign of the Forest Guardian. Whenever you were the seeker, the game would always end in an unsatisfying way, by you giving up and the Forest Guardian revealing himself, but this time, you determined to find him by yourself.

Your eyes and other senses felt more sharper than before as you scanned the forest when you slowly walked, and made sure to examine every inch behind each tree and thicket.

Then, through the vibrant green of a thick canopy of leaves and grass, you noticed something out of place. If you had walked past it without paying attention, you would’ve never noticed it, but when you properly examined it, you noticed something that could easily be mistaken for a twig...might be the end of a certain naga’s tail.

You held your breath, and stepped carefully as you slowly approached the ‘twig’, and then, when you were in a close enough range...

“I’ve...FOUND YOU!!” you yelled as you pounced on the ‘twig’, falling on your stomach as you capture it with your hands.

At first, there was complete silence. But then, you began to hear a familiar gentle laughter come from under the canopy, and the Forest Guardian emerged through the leaves. He was quick to pick you up from the ground, and bring you into a congratulatory hug, and praising you on your well deserved victory.

“Congratulations, (Y/N)! I knew you could do it!” the Forest Guardian praised you again and again in between kisses that he pressed to the side of your head. “I have doubt that it must have been quite arduous to find me...for that, I think you deserve a reward...”

His eyes glimmer in a way that you’re easily capable of reading his mind. “I won’t say no to that...I am a little exhausted though...do you mind if my reward is something where I can...lay back and relax?”

You give him a cheeky grin, and he responds in kind. “Anything you wish, my love. However, first thing’s first...Your clothing got a little dirty when you pounced on me...I believe I should take care to rid you of those clothes first...” he says as he slides a hand under your clothing, and gently strokes your skin with his fingertips.

“I think that’s a very good idea...” you agree as you help him fiddle with the edges of your clothes before taking them off, and enjoy your long, well-deserved reward.

[weasleylangs]

swipe right / f.w

Summary: Finding your best friend and your biggest crush on Tinder is always awkward.  Pairing: Muggle!Fred Weasley x Muggle!Fem!Reader Warnings: Discussions of sex, language, alcohol, food/drink mention.  Word Count: 6.9k (this is the longest thing i’ve ever written)

AUTHORS NOTE / hiiiii... this is my first fic in SO long but thank you for waiting for me!!! a huge thank you to my lovely rosie @spacexcowgirl for inspiring this fic and also listening to me ramble on about it for hours on end as i was writing it and for also beta reading it guys this fic rly wouldnt exist if it wasnt for rose so.........

/ also, george’s girlfriend in the fic is named ‘em’ and she has no physical description besides also using she/her pronouns. i’m trying this out so even people who aren’t (primarily) fred simps can self insert in this fic!!!

taglist / @amourtentiaa​ @weelittleweasley​ @lumos-barnes​​ @lumosandnoxwriting​​ @loveboyhalo​​ @harrysweasleys​​ @freds-slut​​ @rcwenaclaw​​ @barneswidow​ @fandomhideout​​​

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

Y/N stared at her screen, the Tinder profile of Fred Weasley staring right back at her, teasing her ominously. She eventually decides to lock her phone to avoid the familiar and unwelcomed feelings rising in her throat. The last thing she ever expected to see during her mindless swiping at 1am was her best friend’s Tinder profile. 

She knows it’s hypocritical to feel this way but she’s also not stupid. She and Fred both have had their fair share of dates and hookups thanks to dating apps- they’re in the twenties and single after all. But she can’t shake how weird she feels finding Fred. Like she’s stumbled across something private.

Y/N unlocks her phone again, curiosity eventually making her cave after staring at her ceiling blankly for way too long. 

‘Pros: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that's a good thing). Cons: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that’s a bad thing).’

It’s a short and simple bio, much like her own but she has to stifle a choked laugh. She and George’s girlfriend have said these to both the twins and she feels a sense of accomplishment that she can’t explain. Almost like Fred thinking of her while he sets up his dating profile means something. 

She hesitates a moment, debating between swiping left and never thinking about Fred and dating profiles ever again and swiping right just to see what happens. Y/N’s definitely making it a bigger issue than it has to be, which is why she doesn’t realise when George’s girlfriend and her roommate suddenly appears in her doorway holding chocolate.

“Em, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow?” She questions and the girl in the doorway shrugs, making her way into the room and sitting down without an invitation.

“I can vaguely hear you monologuing next door,” she laughs as she breaks a line of chocolate off the bar and hands it to Y/N. She groans, in her moment of panic she completely forgot about the fact it’s late and their bedroom walls are paper-thin. “All I heard was something about Fred and the word fuck. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” she winks and Y/N cringes, Em’s usual 15-year-old boy humour shining through as she pops the piece of chocolate in her mouth. 

“You’re hilarious,” Y/N says rolling her eyes but she can’t deny the fondness that’s there for her best friend. “No, you’re not interrupting anything, rather the opposite actually, look.” She passes her unlocked phone to Em and Y/N wishes she could have captured the shocked look on Em's face.

“Fred has a fucking active Tinder?” She’s quickly swiping through his profile and she hates to admit he has good pictures, but when she gets to his bio she snorts and rolls her eyes. “That’s something you say, Y/N.” 

Y/N feels her face go red at Em’s comment. She’s acknowledged this already but when someone else says it she feels like she isn’t being as far fetched as she’s convinced herself. While she outright refuses to acknowledge her feelings for Fred to anyone who isn’t herself, she knows Em knows without having to tell her. Call it best friend instinct, ‘dating-his-twin-brother’ instinct, whatever she pleases, which is why when there’s a mischievous glint in Em’s eyes, Y/N immediately is reaching for her phone. “No.”

Em whines, rolling onto her back. “Why not, you’re so boring!” 

“I am not swiping right on Frederick fucking Weasley.” She feels her face becoming warmer as she says it. Em gives her a look as if to say ‘I believe you’ with a glint in her eye that makes Y/N know she doesn’t. “I’m just never going to open the app again!”

Em rolls her eyes but the fond smile on her face is unmistakable. “And do what, love?” 

Y/N falters for a second before shrugging. “Not perceive his profile. It’ll be gone into the abyss of people who live in London and I’ll never think about it again.” She’s smiling, thinking she’s concocted the most perfect plan.

-----

It wasn’t the most perfect plan, for when Y/N is hanging out with Fred two days later she’s faced yet again with the ‘Tinder Predicament’ as dubbed by Em. Fred and Y/N are sitting in their favourite park, the new spring weather of London on their skin as they soak up the friendly sun rays after a harsh winter. Y/N is laying on her stomach, the book open but she’s barely reading as she pretends to listen to Fred ramble on about only God knows what. 

It’s 11am, not too early for the park to be empty but busy enough that other people are turning up, mostly couples. Y/N tunes Fred out, quickly getting lost in her own thoughts. Do other people think we’re a couple? she thinks to herself. She knows if Em could read her mind she’d say yes and Y/N is quick to push the thought out of her mind. 

Everything is interrupted when her phone lights up with a ‘You’ve got a new match!’ notification and before she can hide it from prying eyes, Fred’s wolf-whistling. 

“You’ve got dating apps, do ya, Y/L/N?” he teases and Y/N wants the Earth to swallow her up, she can’t think of a worse situation to be in. 

“Yeah, don’t you?” The second the words leave her mouth she regrets them. Fred’s smirking at her, a signature smirk of his he only does when she knows he’s up to something. Unfortunately for her, she is on the receiving end of that something.

“Something along the lines of ‘looking for a golden retriever boy?’. Ring any bells, darling?” Y/N feels her blood drain from her body and Fred releases a laugh that can only be described as a full-body chortle. “You know I have one, darling. Besides, you popped up last night. I already knew.” 

Y/N groans. This shouldn’t be as embarrassing as it feels but it’s Fred and knowing Fred has seen her dating profile was low on her wishes for this week, or for her entire life for that matter. 

“Did you at least swipe right on me?” 

It’s said with a teasing manner, falling right out of Y/N’s mouth before she can stop it. Her curiosity always gets the best of her and she wants to kick herself for it. But she doesn’t even notice Fred’s slight falter, the red tint kissing his cheeks and emphasising the freckles across his face at the comment. “You’ll have to swipe right on me to find out.” 

She can’t tell if he’s joking. But Fred is always joking. So she laughs and pushes him slightly, “If I come across your Tinder profile, I’m reporting it.” 

“It would be a blessing from the universe for you to come across my dating profile. I’m sure you’d appreciate my bio.” 

“Let me guess. ‘6’3 if it matters’?” Fred scowls looking down at her and she knows she looks way too proud for that comment but she doesn’t care and after a few seconds, Fred doesn’t care either. He starts to feel a small shred of jealousy from knowing Y/N has a Tinder profile, but he swallows it, tabling it for later when he isn’t with her.

“Why do you have the app?” He blurts out, annoyed at himself for letting it slip out. “Just… Curious, y’know?” He adds on when he notices Y/N looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t really want to know, but the words are out there and the cute scrunch of Y/N’s nose as she thinks of an answer almost makes it worth it.

“Male validation, mostly,” she laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck when she hears Fred laugh along with her. “I don’t know, Freddie.” She says, exasperatedly. “I barely use it. What about you?”

“Sex, if I’m honest.” Now it’s his turn to awkwardly laugh because he knows he answered that way too quickly and a little too honest for his own comfort. Y/N’s been his best friend for years, probably knows him best besides George but she didn’t really need to know he uses his Tinder profile to hook up with people. 

When Y/N doesn’t respond immediately, Fred takes it badly. He knows she would never judge him, not about anything and especially not this, but his thoughts get the best of him and sometimes he can’t help it. He has no idea Y/N is in her own head, jealous other girls get to hold Fred at a distance closer than she ever will. 

He clears his throat and checks his phone to see no notifications besides a direct message from Lee Jordan. He knows George isn’t expecting him home- cursing his brother when he remembers George demanded the flat to himself (and in turn, also Em) today for a few hours. “Hey, uh. I’ve gotta go. Emergency with George apparently.” 

He knows he shouldn’t have lied, it’s not even a good lie but it was the first thing he thought of. He notices Y/N’s eyebrows furrow before she shrugs, nodding before closing her book. “That’s okay, I was getting tired anyway. I might pop back to my flat for a nap.” 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Fred asks and his chest feels warm when Y/N meets his face with a smile. 

“Of course, Freddie.” 

She watches Fred leave, her thoughts getting the best of her. She knows for a fact there is no ‘George emergency’- she knows George is with Em probably being sick and in love and she’s sure Fred knows this too. The realisation Fred made an excuse to not spend time with her hits her like a truck, her mind frantically searching for what she could’ve possibly done to upset her best friend. 

“Fuck,” she whispers to herself, the second she realises.

-----

To: Em > if you come home tonight dont mind me being drunk x 

Y/N sends the text as she stands in the kitchen, pouring herself her second glass of wine before it has even hit 6pm. On her way home, she stopped by the liquor store, picked up her favourite wine and decided to drink away the anxieties of upsetting Fred.

From: Em > ill be home. ill pick up chinese on the way. save me some wine!!! x

She smiles down at her phone, knowing Em would always be there without even realising it. She sits down on their couch and turns on the television- old reruns of early 2000s sitcoms playing on almost every channel. 

It’s 20 minutes late when Em turns up. She’s nursing the Chinese food as if it’s a child as she tries to unlock the front door without dropping the food or her bottle of wine. She smiles proudly at Y/N the second she gets in, putting the food on the table before she grabs her own wine glass. 

“What happened today?” 

Y/N is caught off guard but she shouldn’t be shocked. She doesn’t usually drink and when she does, it’s very rarely without Em. “Nothing’s wrong!” she says, skulling the rest of her wine when Em gives her a knowing look.

“You were with Fred today and now you’re sad drinking. What happened?” Usually, she loves when Em is her all-knowing best friend, but right now she wishes she’d shut up. 

“Nothing happened!” She’s adamant to not say too much. She knows it’s probably all in her head, that she and Fred will be fine in a few days but when Em gives her one more knowing look, she breaks. “Okay, fine. I think I upset him today.” 

Em’s confused, to say the least. Fred, for as long as she has known him, has never been upset with Y/N- even on accident. She has the tall redhead wrapped around her finger. “How?” she questions, because she truly can’t think of a single thing that Y/N could do to hurt him. 

Em places Y/N’s food in front of her when she starts speaking. “We were talking about Tinder- don’t give me that look he saw a notification and it came up and he asked why I had it. I said I don’t know and when I asked him, he said he uses it for sex,” Y/N says softly, pouring herself another glass of wine before continuing. “I didn’t say anything when he said that, because… Well… You know why.” 

Em does know. She knew the second she became Y/N’s roommate their first year of University that she had feelings for Fred and she knew immediately Fred liked her too but Y/N’s never believed her. “You think he got upset you didn’t say anything about sex?” 

“I think he thinks I was being judgemental.” Em sighs at Y/N’s response. She loves both her best friends- they’re her favourite people besides George but she knows they can be idiots. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the forks against their Chinese containers before Em grab’s Y/N’s phone, unlocking it.

“Well if Fred’s using Tinder for sex, so should you!” she says matter-of-factly and when Y/N groans from the kitchen sink, Em speaks again. “It’s true! He likes you but won’t tell you, you like him but won’t tell anyone! Who’s a good meaningless shag going to hurt?” 

That’s how they end up in Em’s bed, cuddling under the duvet with ice cream and Y/N’s Tinder profile open on her phone. “You’re so fucking picky, holy shit,” Em says when Y/N scrunches her nose up at the sixth consecutive guy. “It’s a shag, not a hand in marriage, love.”

“They don’t do it for me!” Y/N is avoiding the elephant in the room- that she’s comparing every guy that pops up to Fred. “I have to be attracted to them for this meaningless shag you’re preaching about… See, he’s cute!” His name’s Cormac, he’s 21 so only a few years younger than Y/N and he’s not bad looking. 

“He looks like a douchebag!” Em exclaims and Y/N groans. 

“You told me to stop being picky!” 

“Stop being picky doesn’t mean saying yes to the first conventionally attractive guy we see!” Em exclaims as she swipes left on poor Cormac. Y/N gets up to pour herself and Em one more glass of wine each and she hears Em starting giggling to herself when the new profile shows up, hiding the phone from Y/N’s eyes when she walks over. Without even questioning Y/N, Em swipes right and immediately she starts howling laughing. 

‘New Match!’ the screen reads and Y/N feels her breath hitch when snatches the phone from Em’s hands and she sees who she matched with.

Fred, 24. 2km away.

“I remembered after dinner, you said he told you to swipe right to see what he did,” Em says proudly, and Y/N regrets even mentioning it to Em offhandedly. Y/N’s eyes are transfixed on the tiny screen. There’s no way he seriously swiped right, she’s sure it’s only a joke- people jokingly match with their friends all the time. “So here you go, Freddie swiped right on my lil Y/N/N.” 

Y/N shakes her head at this. “I’m sure he only did it as a joke. People do that when they find their friends on Tinder all the time!” she says, sitting back down on the bed and cuddling up next to Em. “You were telling me to swipe right on him last night, after all.” 

Em looks at Y/N and sighs, clearly sensing how uncomfortable Y/N is feeling right now from the confrontation of her feelings for Fred. “I was telling you to swipe right because I know you’re in love with him,” she says softly, not missing the way Y/N’s eyes soften at the mention of her feelings for Fred. “I’m sorry if I’d known-”

“Don’t apologise! I’m just going to ignore the fact we matched,” she says softly, unlocking her phone and immediately exiting from Fred’s profile. The tension from a few moments ago quickly dissipates as Y/N receives another match, this time from a boy named Neville who Y/N knows is friends with Fred’s little brother. 

“When did you swipe on Nev?” Em asks and Y/N shrugs. She knows she probably did it to be funny, like what she thinks Fred’s done to her, but the more she thinks about it, Neville isn’t a bad match. He’s nice, friendly and now he’s in his twenties, he isn’t bad looking either.  

“Nev’s sweet. If he asked me out I’d say yes.” She says. She isn’t lying- there’s been times she’s considered going on dates to avoid her feelings for Fred, to get over him once and for all but whenever it gets to that point, she chickens out. “I know you want a meaningless shag, but I think maybe a date would be a good idea. You know?”

Em nods, pulling Y/N closer to cuddle her and suddenly feeling bad about preaching for meaningless sex. “Maybe you’re more of a date before shagging kind of girl, and that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

-----

Em’s fast asleep and Y/N’s overthinking next to her when she gets a message from a match. Y/N rolls her eyes when she sees the time reads 2am; knowing whoever's messaging at this time is just looking for a booty call but she opens the notification nonetheless.

From: Fred > i can be a golden retriever boy :) 

She smiles at the message, Fred’s presence always does that to her. She never expected him to message her on tinder considering she’s convinced it was just a joke swipe right, but this is probably just a joking message too. She checks his bio is still the same Aries joke before quickly replying.  

To: Fred > good thing im a big aries fan then ;)  > how tall are you though? im sure youre well aware it matters

She hopes Fred laughs at her messages because making Fred laugh is her favourite pastime. The three dots signalling Fred’s typing pops up and her heart starts to race.

From: Fred

> im 7’5 if its that important :/ 

She giggles and when doesn’t know how to reply after that, she exits out of their messages, but it’s not like she has to keep a conversation with Fred going. She’s trying to think of a funny message to send Fred when she gets another message; this time from Neville.

From: Neville > hi Y/N! i hope this isnt a weird time to message you, i just finished grading some work. i was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime this week? we were kind of friends at school, after all, and it’ll be nice to catch up :) 

The message from Neville is sweet, and she almost feels guilty reading it. Attached is his number and everything and Y/N feels her throat closing up. She would feel terrible going on a date with Neville despite what she claimed earlier, knowing her heart currently belongs to Fred. 

But Fred’s lack of interest in her is eating at her as much as her own feelings for him do, and she knows she deserves better than to sit around and wait for him any longer. If Em was awake the date would already be confirmed, she knows that much so she decides to say yes to Neville, to at least put herself out there. She can imagine the little Devil version of Em dancing on her shoulder as she begins to type out a reply to Neville.

She doesn’t even think to look at who it’s being sent to before clicking send. But by then it’s too late- she doesn’t even know how she ended up back in Fred’s messages but now she wants to roll up into a ball and die.

To: Fred > hi neville! id love to grab dinner one day, here’s my number and we can organise it tomorrow because im going to bed now! x

She’s staring at the message for so long she doesn’t even notice the ‘???’ she gets back from Fred. She quickly copies and pastes the message to the right recipient this time before plugging in her phone and rolling over to sleep.

Em’s slight snoring lulls her to sleep, thoughts of Fred filling her mind before she passes out for the night. What she doesn’t know is that while she falls asleep, Fred lays awake, staring at his ceiling. Contemplating the knowledge he has knowing Y/N’s potentially organising a date with one of  his little brother’s best friends. 

-----

Fred hates this feeling; this feeling of jealousy in his stomach that’s threatening to spill out of his throat. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about Y/N accidentally messaging him about a date with another person all morning and he knows George is getting annoyed with him. 

“Why are you being such a prat this morning?” George had asked when Fred scowled at his brother for simply standing in the kitchen. Fred had huffed as a reply, grabbing the milk for his tea before sitting down at their table to munch on his toast.

“Not being a prat,” he says, words muffled by the food in his mouth and George gives him a disgusted look before taking a bite of his own toast. “Do you remember Neville Longbottom?” 

George nods, of course, he knows Neville. “Ron’s friend? Super nice bloke. Think him and Hannah Abbott just broke up, why?” 

Fred shrugs, he’s almost positive it’s the same Neville now. “Think Y/N’s going on a date with him, that’s all.” When George raises his eyebrows, Fred speaks again, “Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going on a date with a prat.”

“Wanted to know who she is going on a date with in general, more like it,” George mutters under his breath. He knows Fred better than he knows anybody, better than he knows his girlfriend and almost better than he knows himself. “You sure you’re not jealous?”

Fred squints at George. “Why would I be jealous?” Fred stands and makes his way to the kitchen to wash up his dishes and he almost drops them in the sink when George speaks again.

“Because you’re in love with Y/N?” He says it so casually Fred almost chokes on air. He’s never thought about himself and Y/N in that way. Sure they like to cuddle when they’re drunk and they spend every waking moment together but he’s not in love with Y/N.

Is he?

“What makes you say that?” Fred asks quietly, hoping to hide the red blush forming on his cheeks. George might be his best friend and twin brother but he knows he would never live it down admitting he has feelings for Y/N. 

“You two are worse than Em and I, and we’re actually dating,” George speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When Em first met Y/N, she asked how long you and she had been together for, mate.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Fred says a little too quickly. 

“I’m sure it doesn’t, Freddie,” George smirks as he speaks, getting up to wash his dishes now. Fred stands in the kitchen, nursing his cup of tea as he contemplates George’s words. Sure, he always knew he had some kind of feelings for his best friend, but being in love was another whole ordeal. It means wanting long term commitment, probably a house together, maybe marriage, perhaps kids if Y/N wanted them and the longer Fred sits with these in his mind, he quickly realises he does want all that and even more with Y/N. He’s probably wanted it with her for a while and he just hasn’t ever realised.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, low enough for George not to hear but when Fred doesn’t have a rebuttal to George’s words he knows he’s accidentally sent Fred into an existential crisis. 

“Look, Fred. If Y/N going on a date bothers you, you need to tell her.” George knows he’s about to cross some lines that he promised himself he would never cross but it’s getting dire in his eyes. “Y/N likes you and deep down you know you like her too, even if you’re oblivious. She deserves to know and if you’re too much of a chicken to admit it to her, then you don’t get to be bothered about her going on a date with Neville Longbottom.” 

Fred huffs. He knows George is right, but he can’t help but feel like he truly noticed too late. He swiped right on her on Tinder hoping she would swipe right back and they could go from there. But he knows Y/N only swiped right to see if he had done it first, that she only swiped right out of curiosity and right now, Fred is cursing the app under his breath. 

“Well, fine, yes I like Y/N, but I can’t just stop her from going on a date. That’s controlling and mean.” Fred states and George just sighs. “I’ll talk to her after her date, if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

George stares at him. “Since when are you mister Que sera, sera, Freddie?” Fred shrugs, not understanding the reference George made. “Since when are you just letting it happen?” George translates when he notices the blank stare on Fred’s face.

“Since right now. I don’t want to come off controlling to Y/N.” Fred says. In actuality, even though he knows George would never lie to him, he’s scared. Y/N is his best friend and the last thing he ever wants to do is ruin his closest friendship all because of some jealousy. 

“Okay fine, but if she gets a boyfriend, I’m sorry mate,” George says and he knows putting the threat of losing Y/N romantically on the line is harsh, but it’s what he has to do. He’s watched the pair pine for each other for years and he’s sure this is the last straw. 

“We’re going out with the lads in a few days, by the way! Maybe you can stop moping enough for a shag!” George calls out and Fred flips him the finger as he walks off to his bedroom. 

-----

Y/N and Neville decide on getting dinner together three days later. It’s a Friday so neither of them has to worry about work or coursework the next day, which is perfect. Neville tells Y/N about his favourite Italian restaurant right near Old Street subway station in Shoreditch, so that’s where the pair decide to meet. 

It’s rather busy when Y/N gets to the station. Neville has apologised profusely for still being fifteen minutes away but she reassures him it’s fine and that she’ll meet him outside the station so they can walk to the restaurant together. 

Y/N’s on her phone, texting Em and telling her she’s safe when she feels a presence next to her. She tenses up quickly but she soon relaxes when she looks at the person next to her and realises it’s Fred. 

“Hi,” she says, smiling. She hasn’t seen him since the day in the park, but they’ve texted and called so she’s sure everything is fine. “What are you doing all the way on this side of London?” 

Fred smiles and shoves his hands in his jeans pocket before replying, “Grabbing a drink with the lads tonight, love. What about you?” His tone is casual and Y/N has to stop herself from checking him out. He’s dressed in a nice dress shirt, it’s orange and on anyone else, it would clash with his hair but Fred somehow manages to pull it off. He’s got a black jacket over the top of his shirt, alongside black jeans that show off his long and muscular legs on and his outfit is paired off with a pair of boots on his feet. 

He’s not making it easy to get over him, that’s for sure. 

“I’ve got a date,” she’s shy when she says it, looking away from Fred and then back down at her phone. The time reads 6:47pm and Neville’s train will be getting in any second now. She’s trying to get over Fred and the last thing she needs is Fred lingering when said date turns up. 

“Ah yes, with Neville, if I remember correctly,” Fred’s teasing and Y/N has to force a laugh out. She blocked out the fact she’d accidentally messaged him instead of Neville and was hoping he would forget as well. But this is Fred she was talking about, and Fred never lets up a chance to tease Y/N for something.

“Yeah, Neville Longbottom,” she says and she catches the look of recognition that flashes across Fred’s face. “He was friends with your brother in school.” 

Fred nods in acknowledgement while he can’t decide whether or not he’s happy with the confirmation that he was right. He’s sad and jealous, that much is obvious, but he’s a little happy. Happy that even though Y/N is going on a date with someone who isn’t himself, it’s someone he knows would treat her like she deserves. 

“Neville’s a good guy, I’m happy for you,” he forces out and Y/N smiles up at Fred and he wants to sink into the Earth. The smile on her face is one he wants to be the cause for forever. “I should get going, tell Nev hello for me!”

He pulls Y/N into a quick hug, presses a quick kiss absentmindedly on the top of her head before letting her go and crossing the street and making his way to the bar he’s meeting Lee, George, Harry and Ron at. 

Y/N watches him leave, dumbfounded. The kiss on the top of her head is nothing less than usual; Fred’s always been touchy with her but now it feels weird. All she wants is to call out to Fred and demand the redhead take her on a date instead. 

But before Y/N can do anything drastic, she hears Neville call out her name and she turns around quickly. He’s just as sweet and cute as she remembers and even if she wishes Fred was the boy she was on a date with, Neville is someone she would be friends with above anything. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long!” He says when he reaches her, kissing her cheek as Y/N pulls him into a hug. His presence is comforting and he smells like cinnamon and Y/N feels herself instantly relax.

“Not too long!” She replies as she begins walking towards the restaurant with Neville. During Spring, the cold weather still returns at night so their hands are shoved inside their jacket pockets to keep warm but they’re walking closely together. “I ran into Fred just before, so he kept me company.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Neville says as he grabs the door to the restaurant, “can’t have a pretty girl waiting outside a subway station alone.” Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at his comment. 

They’re quickly seated and wine is ordered. They’ve been placed in a booth right near the window, where they’re able to watch the City of London go by. “How’s teaching going?” Y/N asks when she remembers Neville recently graduated and got an immediate job offer at the Agriculture department at a college in Surrey. 

“It’s going well! I specifically teach the floriculture courses so I love it, of course,” Neville’s smile couldn’t get any wider. Y/N specifically remembers his constant fascination with plants and flowers in school and she couldn’t be happier for him to be doing what he so clearly loves, “What about you?” 

“Being hammered by my postgrad coursework,” she says, laughing and taking a sip of her wine. “My job at the bookstore near my flat doesn’t suck but I definitely don’t work as much as I used to, unfortunately.” Neville raises his glass, almost to say I’ll drink to that when the waiter comes over to take their order.

Dinner goes quickly, conversation flows easily between the two and soon enough the bill arrives and Neville grabs the cheque before Y/N can even say anything. “You can grab it next time.” 

Y/N falters at this. She knows she should say something to Neville; that this has been nice but there won’t be a second date. She’s too caught up in her panic and she’s beginning to curse Fred Weasley under her breath when Neville gently places his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the restaurant. 

“Are you okay?” Neville asks when they get outside. He noticed the tensed look on Y/N’s face the second they got outside and when she nods and sighs he takes it as a sign to stop walking.

“This has been nice, Nev,” she starts and she feels terrible even though she knows it’s better, to be honest. “But I don’t think I’m-”

“Ready for a relationship?” Neville finishes for her, and he’s not condescending when he says it. He could tell even before dinner was finished that she probably felt that way and he doesn’t mind. “I don’t think I am either. But this was fun, was it not?” 

Y/N nods, smiling as the anxieties of hurting Neville wash away. “It was fun!” she says, “I hope we can do it again. Even as friends?” 

He nods back, a warm smile gracing his cheeks. “Of course.”

They walk back to the station together, promises of seeing each other again soon leaves their mouths as they walk to their respective platforms. 

From: Neville  > thanks for tonight. i forgot to mention, please tell me when you’re home safe!

She smiles down at the text, shooting Neville a reply of reassurance that she will before opening her messages with Em to let her know she’s on her way home. She’s jumping through her apps, Snapchat that she only uses for filters, Facebook she only uses to check the ‘Dogspotting’ group until she lands on Instagram. 

She sees a story from George and when she opens it, she immediately regrets it. It’s their friendship group, that much she expected but she sees a girl sitting next to Fred nursing what looks like a Gin and Tonic and Y/N feels sick. 

She immediately closes the app, pretending she didn’t see it. She has no right to be upset over this but it plagues her thoughts for the entire subway trip home.

That’s when she decides she’s going to demand answers from Fred. She doesn’t know how, or when or if she’ll even do it without Em forcing her to, but she knows she deserves better. That she doesn’t deserve to hang on the end of every touch, every word of Fred’s in hopes he’ll hold her closer than arm's length while she desperately wants more. 

-----

The next night, Fred’s laying on his couch in an uncomfortable position searching Netflix at 10pm when he hears a knock at the front door. He knows it isn’t George, or any member of his family for that matter and any normal person would ring before coming over this late at night. So when Fred gets up and looks through his peephole to ensure he’s not about to be murdered, he’s shocked to see an angry-looking Y/N.  

He opens the door and she’s immediately inside, pushing past Fred’s body and when she turns around, she has the most determined look on her face he’s ever seen. 

“I’m annoyed at you.” Fred’s taken aback, he tries to think back at their interaction the evening before, trying to piece together anything that would annoy Y/N but he’s coming up blank.

“What did I do?” He wearily asks and when Y/N purses her lips together and looks like she’s about to cry Fred has to resist the urge to apologise without knowing what he needs to apologise for.

“I’m annoyed at you because,” she pauses and takes a shaky breath, “I’m annoyed because I went on a date last night. I went on a date with the loveliest man I’ve ever met. And I spent the whole fucking time wishing I was on a date with you. And I’ve spent all of today debating coming over here and telling you that so I drank half of Em’s bottle of wine for some liquid courage and here I fucking am!” 

That’s the last thing Fred was expecting to come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Well, that’s not-” 

“I’m not finished.” She stares at Fred and he immediately shuts up. 

“I’ve been in love with you for years and it’s not fair on me anymore, Freddie.” Her voice is shaking like she needs to get everything out as soon as possible. “I need to know if you feel anything for me, even in the slightest, because if I need to move on, I’m begging you to be honest with me.” 

Fred feels his heartbreak at how sweet, how broken, how defeated Y/N looked standing in front of him right now. He can see the need for an honest answer swimming in Y/N’s eyes and he’s never felt braver to admit his feelings than he does right now.

“I’m an idiot,” Y/N scoffs but lets him continue, “because I didn’t realise how fucking in love with you I am until I almost lost you. I thought…” he pauses, looking for the right words and when his eyes meet Y/N’s, there’s a softness there that wasn’t there previously. “I thought what we had was normal; the cuddling, the constant need to be with each other, the constant subtle touches. But George knocked some sense into me.” Y/N lets out a breath as she laughs, of course, it was George’s doing.

“I’m in love with you, and I think I have been since we were 17. So I’m so fucking sorry, for ever letting you think you meant any less to me, my love.” 

Y/N’s eyes are overflowing with tears at his words and Fred panics for a second before he sees the biggest and most loving smile overtake Y/N’s face. “Fucking hell, you big dummy.” 

She crosses the room, quicker than she’s ever moved before and pulls Fred’s 6’3 frame into her arms. She feels Fred pull her away, only slightly, so he can look down into her eyes and cup her cheek with his hand. His thumb is providing comfort as it strokes across her cheek and wiping away any stray tears. 

She cups the outside of his hand with her own and brings her face to the side to kiss his palm. This is the closest the two have ever been and both their hearts feel like they could beat out of their chests at any moment. It’s the adrenaline from this moment that causes Fred to blurt out his next question, without any hesitation.

“Can I please kiss you before I die?” 

Y/N laughs as she looks up at Fred. She doesn’t even give him an answer, she just pulls the tall boy down before locking their lips together. They’ve both kissed plenty of people, had many first kisses whether it be with first dates or partners but they can both agree this is the best kiss either of them has ever experienced. 

Y/N is pouring everything she can into the kiss, knowing she will never get tired of the taste of caramel that she will forever associate with kissing the love of her life. She presses her lips harder against his, her tongue running along Fred’s chapped lips asking for more before he opens his mouth to massage his tongue with hers. 

Fred decides to be a tease, pulling back slightly before capturing her lips again and biting her bottom lip slightly. This action pulls a moan from Y/N’s throat, soft enough that Fred almost misses it but he can’t help but smirk into the kiss. He wants nothing more than to kiss Y/N for the rest of his life, but eventually, he has to pull away to catch his breath and the whine that leaves Y/N’s mouth might be the cutest sound he’s ever heard in his life. 

“I hope to God you know I’m never letting you kiss anyone else ever again, holy shit,” she says, cheeks flushed red and when she looks at Fred she thinks she’s fallen even further in love with him. His hair’s messy, thanks to her running her hands through it and his lips are slightly swollen. She thinks this might be the most beautiful she’s ever seen Fred in her life and if this is how gorgeous he looks after a few minutes of kissing, she’s secretly anticipating how gorgeous he’s going to look laying in her bed, naked. 

Fred smiles dopily down at her, “Don’t worry darling, I never want to be with someone who isn’t you ever again.”

[mxthtea]

hiiii i hope ur open for reqs, imagine baal x reader where baal got jealous bcs the reader kept playing with their cat/dogs/any other pets so baal just suddenly hugs the reader or suddenly lying on top of reader's thighs:3 also, i rly love ur writings!! aaa theyre so cute <3333 also remember to drink enough water!!!

aww ty anon!! that menas a lot to me aaa <3333 remember to take care of yourself as well !! <33

inspired by the 6 shibas i have in my teapot (and the amount will continue to grow)

baal x gn!reader warnings: jealousy (mild but still warning), written before baal's release, grammar + spelling mistakes, lowercase writing, tell me if i forgot any. description: you pet many shiba inside the castle, baal demands attention as well. word count: 479

"who's a good puppy? who's the greatest puppy ever? you are! my baby!" you cooed at the shiba.

baal watched from a corner as you continued a pet one of the many shibas. she adored the breed, at some point she did, but this wasn't helping with it. the shiba flopped onto its stomach as you enthusiastically scratched at its tummy and cooed at it.

"my baby boy! i love you so so so so much!"

the archon continued to send silent glares at the puppy as it stood back up. you watched the dog give a happy bark and start to trot off to play with its other friends.

"aww there goes my baby boy…"

"it has other friends to play with, and didn't you pet the other five dogs here as well?" baal asked.

"they do need their fair share of attention… we should take them on walks together soon."

that would be a lot of dogs to manage, which wouldn't really be good for you. six shibas that have bundles of energy together would result in you being pulled around like a ragdoll. who knows what could happen with that. "instead, why don't we just sleep?" baal said.

"now? so early? you don't usually sleep this early though, and neither do i either."

the archon didn't answer as she started to walk away. a knowing look was shown on your face for a split second before following after baal into your guys' shared room. the sky was dark and the candles lit the room as best they could at that time. the moon shown into the window, showing how uncharacteristically it was for the both of you to fall asleep at this hour.

you sat onto the bed and kicked your feet up onto it, baal following you and sitting beside you as well. in a, not really, brave moment, baal laid her head into your lap. "hm? baal?"

no reply… well, alright then.

baal felt the tie in her braid be taken off as you thread your fingers through her hair. it was pleasing sensation and let baal fall to a moment of vulnerability for just a bit. "i love you baal," you cooed.

"i love you as well," baal replied.

"hmm… maybe we should get someone to babysit the dogs more."

"and why do you think that?"

"to spend more time with you of course! maybe they can walk all the shibas in my stead then."

"do as you wish."

the brief sound of shuffling as heard as baal turned around to wrap her arms around your middle. you leaned further against the headboard of the bed as you continued to run your fingers through her purple hair.

the moon slowly started to rise up further into the sky, just as you started to doze off with baal in your lap. just for tonight.

[ninyard]

part two of the stefan/andrew au PLEASE

WELP this might not be the part two people wanted but here’s what I wanted so~ enjoy!

(Part 1 ? is here)

((this got rly long so I had to stop but if u want a third part lmk 🥺👉👈))

Neil made his first mistake by not bolting the opposite way when Coach Hernandez told him he had visitors. An Exy racquet to the chest and a single glance at those bright hazel eyes turned Neils entire world sideways in seconds. This couldn’t be happening. Neil almost couldn’t hold back the ‘Andrew?’ that wished to escape his lips. Of course, this wasn’t Stefan’s Andrew, but Neil knew that already. Life had turned Andrew Minyard into a man of manufactured emotions, a life of violence and misled decisions landing him on Coach Wymack’s pity party guest list that was the Foxes’ lineup. Andrew didn’t flinch looking at Neil, and Neil begged the universe to have erased the memory of Stefan from Andrew mind. He hung around a motel, for Christ’s sake, how many other people would he have met before and after Stefan? Neil Josten looked totally different, with puberty, hair dye and new contact lenses on his side.

The second mistake he made was not realising Kevin Day was going to be around. If Andrew wasn’t dangerous enough, Kevin was even more so. Neil couldn’t believe his eyes the moment he looked closely at the teams lineup from the previous year. Kevin Day would have forgotten Nathaniel Wesninski, he was sure of it, but to look across to a picture of the teams goalkeeper and seeing the short blond boy he met in California? It was a sure sign for Neil to stay the hell away from South Carolina.

Neil’s biggest mistake was deciding to push his luck and take a plane there to sign with the Foxes. He was signing a death wish; but he didn’t care anymore. He was a dead man walking, living off stolen hours. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up with him. His mother was dead, god, his mom, Mary Hatford, the woman who taught him how to be. It wasn’t just like Debby, who died leaving Toronto, or Alice, who died leaving London, or Judy who died on the train between Germany and Prague. This was permanent, and Neil didn’t think he could run for much longer.

Andrew didn’t say anything during their meeting, in which he had plenty of opportunities to at least look like he recognised Neil, or the features of Stefan still left on his face. Kevin didn’t say anything either, and his words made it clear he didn’t remember Nathaniel, either. Neil was walking a thing line between life and death, with Stefan on one shoulder and Nathaniel on the other, waiting to tip him over, to expose the truth, to leave him buried like his mother.

The first night Neil slept - or more so lay on the couch in silence for hours, brain filled with noise and regret - in David’s apartment, he couldn’t stop thinking about Andrew. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kid with white-blond hair and a toothy smile, who ran his fingers so gently over Stefan’s skin, like he would break if Andrew dared get any closer. He couldn’t stop thinking about the playground, and the motel, and the kisses… and the punches, the kicks, the pulling of hair, the slaps across the face with yells to accompany them. Before Neil knew it he was stuck with his face hovering over the toilet bowl, his stomach threatening to burst at any moment. After a minute of gagging and spitting into the water, Neil washed his face and headed towards the balcony that David told him to smoke on if he needed to. This was one of those needing to moments.

Weeks went by without any indication he was going to be caught. Kevin looked at him like a stupid amateur, which was good for Nathaniel’s sake, but for Neil? Neil, who fought like his life depended on the racquet in his hands? Neil, who ran like his father was hot on his heels every single time he set off down the court? It hurt him to be insulted so often, but Kevin was leagues above him when he played. Neil was never going to be good enough. Andrew avoided him as much as possible. Nicky told him that was just how Andrew was; if you brought him no benefit, or if you made him bored, he would put you on a high shelf and never look at you again. By the way Andrew only spoke to Neil when Neil stood up to Kevin, Neil thought it was obvious that Andrew didn’t recognise him.

And then came the invite to Columbia.

“Get rid of the contacts, by the way.” Nicky had brushed off the realisation like it was nothing. It sounded like ‘you have something in your teeth’ but felt like a screaming siren above Neil’s head. It felt like a punch to the gut, like a gun to his head. “Andrew’s decision. And brown, Neil? You’re so predictable and boring it’s adorable.” He’d left a bag of clothes with Neil.

When Neil looked at his blue eyes, he felt too many feelings he couldn’t describe, or name. He felt like he was looking at his father. He felt like he was looking into the mirror like he had the last time he was Nathaniel. The last time he was in Baltimore. He’d cycled through the catalogue of contacts during his time on the run, but never once went back to blue. They were the icy eyes of a murderer, not the eyes of quiet, boring Neil. But at least they weren’t green. Neil was worried about Kevin recognising him by his eyes, but it was going to be dark out by the time they left. Neil would just have to stay in the dark around Kevin, and hope he got too drunk to notice, too drunk to remember.

When Andrew’s group came to pick Neil up, there was a change in dynamic Neil hadn’t seen before. Instead of Nicky being the middle man in their conversations, or Kevin being the reason to talk, Andrew was taking charge of their night. Neil’s heart raced every time he looked into his eyes. Every time he heard that voice it told him to run, the same voice as before, only deeper, emotionless. Neil couldn’t imagine this Andrew crying. Neil couldn’t imagine this Andrew being open, about his sexuality, or his feelings. If he didn’t look almost the same only older, he would probably doubt this was even the same Andrew.

“Oh! Oh, now, that’s interesting!” Andrew had commented as Neil left his dorm room. Nicky, Aaron and Kevin had walked ahead of the two of them. When they’d disappeared around the corner into the elevator down, Andrew turned and grabbed Neil’s face to inspect it. “What a change, hmm? Blue to brown is a bit drastic for fashion, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never liked my eyes,” Neil spoke through the fingers that rested over his lips. “I’ve worn them brown most my life.” Andrew tutted as Neil spoke, but left that thought there. His features were angry, like Neil had insulted him, but he S miled like he’d been talking to his best friend. He placed a cigarette between his lips as they joined the others in the elevator.

Before long, they were walking through the doors of Eden’s Twilight, music pumping and swirling through the air, vibrating their bodies as they walked. Andrew motioned for Neil to follow him to the bar once they’d found a table.

“Shots on me.” He’d come down from his manic high, waiting for his dust adrenaline to kick in. His smile was gone, but his tone and way of speaking was still the same. “What do you drink?”

“I don’t,” Neil answered, having to yell over the music.

“Sure you do.” Andrew waved him off. “I’m being polite. What do you drink?” He asked again, as the bartender came over.

“A coke for me.” Neil told the man behind the bar before he could ask Andrew. “Just a little ice.”

“See, now, Pinocchio, when someone offers you a gift you say thank you and accept it.” Andrew turned towards the man. “Roland. This is Neil. He’s a newbie.”

“I hear you,” Roland nodded, already placing shot glasses on the tray he’d put on the bar. “My choice, with dash for the new kid.” He poured a clear spirit into eight shot glasses, and used the fountain tap to fill a larger glass with cola. Andrew passed cash over and waved off his change as a tip. Before Neil knew it he was heading through the crowd, Andrew balancing the tray on one hand held high above his head. They reached the table and nothing has spilled, and before Neil knew it, the shot glasses were stacked in a tower on the tray as Neil nursed his coke.

“You don’t drink.” Andrew turned to Neil after watching the others take to the dance floor, coming up on their high, dusting when they couldn’t be seen. “Why?”

“Hate the taste, mostly.” That would be the truth if ‘taste’ actually meant ‘feeling of being out of control of my body’. He shrugged at Andrew’s dissatisfaction with that answer.

“You come to university and you don’t drink?” Andrew scoffed. “Do you smoke?” Neil shook his head. He’d tried an edible by accident once in some cafe in Europe, and got so paranoid they had to move on that night. He swore he saw his dad staring in the windows in the red-light district, a blunt between his lips, a smile made of murder wrapped around it.

“Not for me.” Neil took a sip from the cold coke. “Hard to find when it’s not legal and I hate the cops. Takes too much effort to roll.” Neil lied, like he knew what he was talking about, but he just remembered watching people in the cities he went to, everywhere having their local stoners, the folks who sat in the parks without a care in the world.

“You don’t drink, you don’t smoke, you won’t dust.” Andrew rattled off the options. “Is it molly you’d prefer?” And when Neil shook his head again: “Psychedelics? Benzos?”

“I’m just not interested.” Neil looked into his glass, focusing on the ice. If he kept looking at Andrew he felt like he would crack. “Don’t we get tested before games anyway? What’s the point?” Andrew didn’t answer before he heading back up the bar. Neil didn’t follow this time. When he came back, there was ten shot glasses on the table. Again, eight filled with an unnamed spirit that burned Neil’s nose and twisted his stomach. The other two were cola.

“I’d hate for the new boy to feel left out.” Aaron, Nicky and Kevin had arrived back to the table for their shots. Andrew handed Neil one of his glasses. Neil knocked it back when the others did. It was ordinary coke, no surprises, no weird tastes, no reason for Neil to believe Andrew would have given him a shot of alcohol instead. That was, until he clinked glasses with the others and swallowed the second shot in a quick movement. He felt the alcohol burn his throat. It warmed his chest, but the familiar feeling wasn’t what worried him. It was the taste of salt on his tongue when he hadn’t licked any before hand. He quickly excused himself from the table and left for the bathroom.

Andrew had drugged him. He didn’t know why, but all he knew was the crackers were already coursing through his veins with deadly adrenaline. He was sure his racing heart wasn’t helping. It didn’t help, either, when Nicky reached the stairs before he did, and pulled him in for a salty, dusty kiss. Neil pushed him off as discreetly as he could.

“Nothing?” Nicky complained as he Neil bounced up the sticky stairs two steps at a time. Neil was sure he heard him say something about Neil being too hot to be straight, but the roaring anxiety in his ears was enough to drown it out. He locked himself in a stall and tried to best to throw up. He hadn’t eaten before he’d left, and he hadn’t drank anything other than he soda, so his attempts were fairly futile. A knock at the door interrupted him, and when he answered with a quick ‘occupied!’ He heard the door unlocking from the outside. Andrew pushed his way into the cramped stall and shut the door behind him. Before Neil could even begin to object Andrew had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, Neil struggling to keep his balance with the toilet in the way.

“You don’t like the taste of alcohol or you’re afraid of losing control? Telling your truths?” Andrew’s drug induced smile had returned with mischief and malice. “Let’s see how this does!” His voice was low as he spoke, with an enthusiasm to his words that made Neil sweat. When he went to protest, Andrew covered his mouth with his free hand.

“Shut up,” He clicked his tongue. “You have spent your entire extended stay here lying to me and lying to poor, gullible Coach. I see the way you look at Kevin, too. Either you’re lying about not swinging or there’s something deeper to that intimidation.” Neil tried to get out a ‘I don’t swing.’ Before Andrew shushed him again. “Don’t keep lying, newbie! One last chance at honesty.” He lifted his hand no more than an inch from Neil’s mouth. Neil was sweating, his hands shaky, his mind turning into fog, desperate to cling to any sort of euphoria it could find. When it’s search came up empty, it filled his stomach, his head, his hands, his feet, with anxious buzzing instead. He couldn’t ignore the nauseating feelings the drugs brought with them.

“I don’t swing,” Neil stood his ground. “I don’t.” Andrew brought his hand up to Neils hair and yanked him down to his level, hard. He kept an inescapable grip in his curls as their faces almost touched.

“Still don’t know?” Andrew pouted in fake-pity. “Ten years later and you still don’t know?” Neil’s stomach would’ve fallen from his body if it’s got the chance. His heart would’ve went with it when Andrew continued. “There better be a good reason for Neil existing, Stefan, and I can’t wait to hear it.”

“What?” He tried, but it was no use. His voice failed him, cracking as the futile attempts at lying left his lips. “I don’t know what-“

“Shut up.” Andrew repeated. His grip not relaxing. Neil was worried he was pulling his hair from the root, but that was probably the least of his worries. Probably. “Do not lie to me again.” Neil searched his eyes for a sliver of doubt. A tiny, tiny possibility that he might think he was wrong. It wasn’t there. He’d been caught.

“Andrew.” He wrapped his hands around Andrew’s wrist, the one hovering over his head, muscles tense from the grip on his head. “Can we talk without ripping my fucking hair out?”

Before Neil could react, Andrew had let go of his hair, but in doing so, had swung his head with full force into the side walls of the stall. His balance finally failed him, but Andrew caught him by the neck of the black turtleneck he’d been gifted. He heard a few stitches pop, but it didn’t matter. The sudden movements turned Neil’s stomach with a violent wave, and he gagged hard, his stomach threatening to come out his mouth. He leaned over to spit into the toilet and bared his teeth at Andrew, breathing heavily through them.

“So he lives,” Andrew smiled, his pupils blown, a white-knuckled hold on Stefan-Neil’s collar. Neil was afraid he was going to pass out. His body was on fire, his mind screaming like an emergency broadcast alarm. “Tell me you didn’t know, oh humour me! I’d hate to think you’re stupid enough to come here still in possession of the memory from there.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Neil didn’t break eye contact.

“So you ARE that stupid!” Andrew pushed him back, letting go of his top. Neil tried to assess his escape routes, but it was no use. He couldn’t get out of this. “I remembered little Stefan the second Kevin showed me your file. I didn’t think it would be you, surely it couldn’t be, but our little visit to fuckport, Arizona couldn’t lie to me like you did. So is it Neil, or is it Stefan?”

“Neither.” He spat out the honesty, worried if he waited, another lie would take it’s place. “But you can call me Neil.”

“Oh, no, no!” Andrew grabbed him by the neck, holding his jaw in a way that could become a choke very quickly. “Maybe I’ll stick with Stefan. You don’t get a say. You know, I thought mommy killed you.” A knife twisted in Neil’s gut.

“She’s dead.” Neil tried to breath through his unwanted come-up. “That’s the only reason I’m here. Because she wasn’t alive to stop me.”

“Did you do it?” He held Neils face like the world would end if he let go. He held even tighter when Neil tried to pull away.

“No.” That was all he said. He thought about continuing, considering the fact he was a dead man already. But he stopped himself. How could he say it was his dad without saying he was the mafias right-hand-murderer? Was he wasting his time lying?

“Didn’t think you did.” Andrew laughed, barely even blinking as he intimidated Neil. “No balls then, no balls now.”

“I was twelve.” He spat through crushed cheeks. “We were kids.”

“Old enough to be a liar.” Andrew let go of Neil’s face with a forceful push and turned to open the stall door. “You’re going to lead us outside. If you deviate or try to run I’ll kill you. I will kill you.” So Neil did just that. He led the way in silence, down the stairs and towards the exit. When Nicky stopped and excitedly asked where they were going, Neil looked back to Andrew who waved his pack of cigarettes, a smile on his face, no essence of a lie present. Neil just kept walking, kept his head down, and tried to ignore the pain on the side of his head. When they reached the outside of the club, the brisk air biting their exposed skin, Neil turned to the first man he saw, a club-goer at the top of the queue, and swung a punch up. Andrew noticed the second his hands left his sides, balled up with a plan. The man threw a hefty punch back, shouting intimidations, knocking Neil’s short frame to the ground. As quick as humanly possible, Andrew had hoisted him up, wrapped his arms around his back and twisted his wrist in such a way that a single jolt would break it. He held him in that position with one hand, putting all his strength into keeping Neil still.

“He gets crazy on tequila!” Andrew laughed, shaking his head as he took out his wallet and pulled out a fifty note. He threw it at the guy as compensation, his friends holding him back from beating Neil’s vulnerable, ballsy ass. He continued yelling as Andrew hauled him away. He grunted in pain as he refused to loosen his grip on Neil’s wrists. He walked him around the back of the club, to an empty, barely lit parking lot. He threw him to the ground so quickly he didn’t have time to stop his fall.

“Every moment I spend around you, you prove you’re much fucking dumber than I thought.” Andrew spat down, then crouching down to Neil’s level, balancing on the tops of his feet. Neil cradled his head, arms wrapped around the nape of his neck. He was sure he had a concussion. He could barely open his eyes through the pulsing blood rushing through his head, but forced himself to, to look up at Andrew’s smiling face.

“What happened?” Spit dripped down his chin, blood slowly trickling from the busted lip he’d earned himself. “What happened to that Andrew?” Andrew froze for half a second, and Neil noticed. “The Andrew who cried because he was gay? The kid who actually fucking cared about anything?”

“Oh, you are treading thin fucking ice for someone who doesn’t know how to swim.” Andrew tilted his head. “Mention another precious memory and I won’t hesitate to actually break your wrist next time.”

“Why?” He spat blood at Andrew’s feet. “Afraid somebody might remember what you’re actually like when you’re not pretending to be a sociopath?” Andrew opened his mouth at the challenge, a smile creeping up one side of his face. “Are you afraid to actually have someone around you know anything about you? I’m a threat. That’s all you care about.” He continued. “What, do you think I’ll use it against you? You’ve been treating me like shit since we met. If I was going to stab you in the back I’d have done it already, asshole.”

“Since we met, again.” He corrected the most irrelevant part of Neils sentiment.

“Let me go now and I’ll move on. You won’t ever see me again.” Neil bargained. Andrew’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. “This time I’ll get a chance to say goodbye.”

“No,” Andrew stopped him. “You don’t get to arrive in to my life like a tornado and disappear. You don’t get to dig your own grave and push me into it.” He bent down to get closer to Neils shaking face. “You’re going to tell me exactly what happened first. Tell me what she did to you.”

“No.” Neil strained. “I moved on. You were dangerous. You almost got me killed.”

“Boohoo, do you hear my tiny violin, liar?” Andrew grabbed a hold of his hair again. Neil let out a cry of pain, trying to pry Andrew’s fingers from his scalp. “Talk. Talk or I will get you killed.”

“My father is a very dangerous man. He’s murdered more people than there are days in a year.” Neil wiped the blood from his lips. It stung as he did so, but it didn’t matter. He took out a small stack of IDs from his wallet and threw them across to Andrew. For a second, anyone would’ve thought they were real, but closer inspection killed that thought. Andrew was holding a driver’s license belonging to Chris Angle, 21, from New York. A European passport card signed by George Debois from Paris. A gym membership from Seattle, an employee pass from Toronto, two more drivers licenses from cities across the globe. All the names were different, but they didn’t belong to different people. They all had pictures of Neil on them. Some he had long hair, short hair, an unfortunate buzz-cut. He wore a beard in some, the baby face of a teenager in others. “You aren’t the only one I’ve lied to. Don’t think you’re special.” Andrew snapped the IDs with angry force. Neil took a deep breath, knowing the last memories of his mother were buried in the face of Christopher Hart, snapped in half, just like that. He continued searching through his wallet. Deep into the card pockets of the tattered leather. He didn’t look up when he heard Andrew drop the scraps of his identities on the ground. Neil found what he was looking for and threw it again, across the space separating them, it clattering by his feet. “If my mom found that she’d have killed me herself. We ran so she could protect me. I made that so much harder on her by meeting you.” Andrew inspected the card he’d been thrown. An under-eye twitch and a slow inhale accompanied his realisation. “You want to hate me for what she made me do, fine, but it was inevitable. You were never going to be the reason that made us stay.”

Neil had given Andrew something he couldn’t bare to part with. His old wallet stayed buried deep, deep in his belongings, so well hidden his mother hadn’t even known it existed. He usually kept his current IDs on his person, and never in a wallet. It was a ticking time bomb, but Neil needed something. He needed a reason to feel, and if that was the memory of the good day his mom had had when they finally showered after weeks of baby wipes and deodorant, it was something to hold on to. Neil had to stay grounded in some sort of reality. He was on the run, sure, but the people he met, the things he’d done? They were real. It hurt to see those memories snapped on the ground like trash, but Andrew didn’t snap the memory he held in his hands.

Andrew held the library card of Stefan Montgomery. It had a faded black and white photo on it, scratched out with time. He had begged the librarian to let him have the card without taking a picture, but she had insisted it was necessary so people didn’t have more than one. In the photo was a scared little boy, a gash on his cheek, with crispy curls and a skinny face. Neil remembered walking to the library when he couldn’t find Andrew, taking out books to help him learn any of the languages he needed to know. The library in Oakland taught him about the history of Spain, and the culture in France. There was something about Stefan that Neil didn’t want to forget. He’d kept that library card safe as if it were a lifeline, like he knew it would come in handy some day.

And then Andrew threw it across the empty parking lot like a frisbee.

“She didn’t see anything.” Neil tried, as if it would help. “We left because I made a friend. Not because… you know.”

“I was not your friend.” Andrew stood up and put a cigarette between his teeth. He lit it, one puff, two puff, three puffs until it burned red. “I was never your friend.”

“You were.” Neil struggled to stand up and join him. “Don’t lie to a liar.”

“You remember it wrong!” He took a short drag and flicked ash as he spoke. “You were a toy to play with when there was nothing else to do.”

“You could’ve went home.” Neil took the cigarette from Andrew’s fingers. “But hey, I wasn’t the only one who needed to escape heavy hands, right?” He pulled the smoke into his lungs and breathed out before flicking the barely smoked cigarette away. “You were my friend. You had Stefan killed because I cared about you when Stefan wasn’t supposed to care about anybody.”

“Be quiet.” Andrew pulled another cigarette from the packet and squared up to Neil who was standing so close he could feel Andrew’s breath hot on his face. “You didn’t care.”

“Are you listening?” Neil spat again, the heat of the cigarette having hurt his cracked lips. “We left because of you. Because I let you in, and I’m sorry you were collateral damage in our war against the world but fuck, we didn’t have a choice. Do you think I wanted to leave? I was going to leave you a note, but she wouldn’t leave my side until we were in another city and Stefan was just another name in the pile. Fuck you if you don’t want to believe that. I don’t owe you an explanation but you’ve got one anyway. Tell me to leave and I’ll go. Tell me you understand and I’ll go, Andrew.”

“I waited for you.” Andrew exhaled honestly through cigarette smoke. “Every day! The fourth day I tried knocking on the door of your motel room. Fifth day a random couple opened the door and I knew you weren’t coming back. Why should I give you another chance, hmm? When you so easily could run away before, who’s to say you won’t do it again?”

“I’m not asking for another chance,” Neil head was pounding. He felt like he could pass out, his ears ringing and body jittery. “I don’t know, maybe I’m asking you to remember what I meant to you.” Andrew pursed his lips at that. He was struggling to keep his composure, like the memory of before was chipping away slowly at this version of Andrew. He was holding himself together with twitches and small fidgets.

“I hate you.” He said, coldly. He had lit his cigarette and smoked through half of it before speaking again. Neil just stood, suddenly thinking about if Kevin were to find the IDs scattered on the floor. He didn’t even think he could lie to Nicky about that. He would pick them up in a moment, but he couldn’t afford to lose Andrew’s interest in the conversation. If Neil got distracted now he could ruin every chance he possible had at reconciling some sort of relationship with Andrew.

“I hate what the world has turned you into.” Andrew snorted a laugh at Neil’s dramatics.

“Oh, you are a pipe bomb.” Andrew started to walk away, but when Neil grabbed his arm to stop him, in a quicker movement he had twisted Neil’s arm in some sort of self defence move that hurt. “You don’t have a right to touch me anymore. Keep your lying hands to yourself or I’ll break every one of your fingers.” He didn’t let go immediately.

“Do you miss it?” Neil searched Andrew’s eyes for something, anything. “Being vulnerable? Being comforted instead of being alone, blaming the world for your problems?” Before Neil could even think to keep going, Andrew had used his free hand to manoeuvre a knife from his arm bands and hold it up to Neil’s face.

“I dare you to keep pushing.” His words were casual, but a threat nonetheless. “Stop trying to control a life you left. I won’t be a scratching post for your mommy issues, runaway.”

“What did Jakub do to you?” Neil brought a memory out from the depths. As soon as the name left his lips, Andrew’s entire body hardened and his eyes turned to glass. He slashed a cut into Neil’s cheekbone without hesitation and proceeded to let go of his arm and jam a thumb into the fresh wound. “Why did you spend your childhood alone in a playground?” Neil spoke through gritted teeth.

“If you want to keep your fantasy alive I advise you to really shut up now.” Andrew pushed him backwards, a final squeeze in the gash as he did so. Even more blood dripped down his face. Andrew wiped his hands in his pants and picked up the ignored cigarette he’d dropped in the altercation. “You are going in circles. This is your last warning.”

“My mom nearly broke half the bones in my body trying to get rid of the memory of you.” Neil took his spot back up so close to Andrews face he could practically see every one of the pores in his face. He still had freckles scattered across his face, his skin soft, with faint acne scars here and there across his cheeks. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You should have.” Andrew threw his cigarette at Neil. “Make your choice. Run like you’re used to.” He looked him up and down one more time and turned on his feet back towards the club. Neil didn’t follow. He started to pick up the remnants of his past and he felt his nose ache in psychosomatic pain, remembering a nose-breaking punch his mother threw when Neil dared asked if they could stay. He spat again, still trying to get the salty taste out of his mouth. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the shards of plastic evidence of who he used to. After picking them all up he had to stop, and sit down. He was afraid he was having a panic attack, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the drugs still ravishing his system, or if it was because of Andrew. Maybe it was both. It probably was. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken the truth if he wasn’t high, but God, if he were sober it would’ve been so much easier to run. High Neil was emotional Neil, empathetic Neil, hurt Neil. He’d only had the experience of being really, genuinely high a few times, and every single time just reminded him how much he hated the feeling of being out of control. Of his nerves, his feelings, every fibre in his being misfiring and doing the opposite to what he wanted. His brain was begging him to feel the chemicals it was pumping out, but all it did was amplifying the aching feeling in his chest. He let out a noise that didn’t quite resemble a cry, or a sigh, or a grunt. It was a noise born from pain, a mixture of anxiety and heartbreak, maybe. He wasn’t sure what that felt like. Maybe this was it.

He tried to steady his breath and he stumbled across the empty lot. The booming bass from the music at Eden’s practically shook the ground as he walked, at least, it sure felt like it did. He stumbled as he reached down to pick up the library card so carelessly thrown away. It hurt him even more looking at Stefan, feeling this pang in his stomach that wished things could’ve been different. He didn’t think he liked Andrew like that, and being on the same team was just the destruction of a childhood crush. Neil tried to come up with excuses in his head to how Andrew felt, but it was obvious he had thrown Stefan into the bad memories pile a long, long time ago. Neil showing up again just ripped through Andrew’s closure, and knowing he had feelings beneath what he showed, he was probably hurting too. It didn’t seem like it, but maybe he was. Neil had put the ID away, and looked around. He had no real idea where he was, or how to get home. Before he knew it, he was sprinting away from the club, going nowhere, going anywhere but there. His head wasn’t in a place to decide that he should stay. He’s worth it. His heart raced at the thought of Andrew’s face, looking down at the long unused library card. He’s worth it. Neil couldn’t look back. He was wondering what Andrew was telling the others, and if they would believe him. He wondered if he’d told Nicky about Neil’s Idontknow sexuality, and that’s why Nicky thought it okay to kiss him. But he didn’t feel anything with Nicky. He didn’t look at anyone in the way he looked at Andrew. He ran and ran and ran until he’d sweat out the drugs, until his head was more focused on trying to breathe than it was on Andrew, and his mom. It took a while, and he was lost when he stopped. Unfamiliar streets, him a stranger in someone else’s hometown. Maybe that made things worse. This feeling was too familiar. Lost, lost, lost. Sometimes lost became familiar, became home. He didn’t think he could be un-lost again.

-

Part 3