#i swear to GOD i’m not making it up it was such an interesting article to read as well like the cars universe got really well fleshed out

[mabbbish]

does anyone know that artist that does interactive storytelling and publishes really well written fake articles for her artworks. like one of the articles is set in the pixar cars universe and the reporter is interviewing lightning mcqueen about his response to someone bringing the confederate flag to one of his races. jjust wondering.

[anti-gravity-insanity]

Ok, podcast website, I desperately seek advice on a podcast I can start listening to!

-nonfiction/informational is good as long as there is not a ton of banter (big hater of banter when it’s just like guys who are supposed to be teaching you something). fictional/story based stuff also works!

-bonus points if there is some sort of transcript I can follow along with cause my ass is Audio Impaired

- podcastable interests I guess?: medicine, magick, Hellenism, animals/bio, punk rock, horror, gay shit hell yeah, comics, art, film, uhhhhhh anything crazy weird or creepy

-I got through like a season of welcome to nightvale and it was pretty good, I got further in the magnus archives but it got boring when they stopped just being monster of the week type dealio and I don’t wanna have to relisten to it all again rn (in the future perhaps)

[sturniozo]

Savage Love Part Ten

Matt Sturniolo x reader Mafia AU

masterlist

“What happened at work, dollface?” He asked me.

“I… I kinda… got fired.” I mumble.

“Why?” He asks as his hand caresses my cheek.

���There was something my editor wanted me to do and I told him I couldn’t and-“

“Did he try to sleep with you?” Matt asks sternly. “I swear to god I’ll-“

“What? No it was an article I didn’t want to do.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to do the article and he said without that article I contribute nothing of substance to the paper so he fired me…”

Matt kisses my forehead and wraps his arms around me. “What was the piece about?” He asks as he nuzzles his face against my hair.

I bite my lip. I can’t tell him the article was about him, he’d think our whole relationship is a lie. “He wanted me to do an exposure piece. I just don’t feel comfortable ruining people for no good reason. I think there’s a difference between exposing actual bad people and just plain outing people’s personal lives.”

Matt kisses my head once again. “I bet you were the best writer they had. That papers gonna go to shit now. No one will read it anymore.”

I laugh softly and cuddle closer to him. “My pieces barely made it into that paper anyways.”

“I’ll find you a better paper to work at, okay babydoll?”

“You don’t need to find me a job Matt, I can do that myself.”

“I’d rather you have a job you can work from home from though, that way I can keep an eye on you.”

“Matt, no offense, but that was creepy.” I turn to him and laugh softly. My smile fades when I see the serious look on Matt’s face.

“I’d just prefer it if I knew where you were and that you were safe.” Matt shrugs and kisses my temple again. “I have some things to take care of here in a bit baby, so I’m gonna order you some lunch.”

“What do you have to take care of?” I ask. I bite my lip as I realize I don’t need to ask these questions for my job anymore. I just want to know him.

Matt sighs. “There’s a shipment coming in from Italy and I need to make sure they brought everything I paid for so that I can distribute it to my consumers.”

I blink. “What’s the shipment of?”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m sorry dollface but that’s need to know.” He kisses my head. “Let’s order you food now.” He pulls out his phone to order food online.

“It’ll be here soon. I have to go babydoll, I have to be at the airport in an hour.” Matt gets up from the couch. “Make sure you eat. And feel free to explore and look around. You’re gonna be here for a little while you might as well get used to the place.” Matt gives me a quick kiss on the lips before leaving.

I sit on the couch for a minute pondering what to do. I hear Matt’s car leave and I shrink back against the couch. It feels so uncomfortable to be alone is his big home. I look around the living room. Behind the couch is one of multiple pool tables in the house, and near the corner of the room is a poker table.

The tv is huge, like one from a theater. It sits above a beautiful mantel that looks like hand chiseled stone. The beautiful creation had carved roses and thorn filled vines that line the edges.

I must have been admiring the mantel for a long time since I hear the doorbell ring. It catches me off guard and I flinch and my leg slips off the couch.

I get up and head towards the front door. I open it to see a delivery man holding a bag.

“Delivery for Sturniolo?” He says and I nod. He hands me the bag and the receipt before turning around and leaving without a word.

I close the door and go to the dining room to set the bag of food down in the table. The interaction itself was weird, not like any one I’ve had with a delivery man. I look at the receipt to see what Matt had ordered and see the special instruction.

‘Don’t mess with the girl.’

I roll my eyes and set the receipt down on the table.

After eating a bit of the lunch I decided to walk around. I’m mostly curious what I could find. Even though I’m not on the piece about him anymore I’m still interested to know if he really is the Mafia boss or if this is all just misconstrued information.

I walk up the stairs and through the hallway. Most of the doors have been locked, the only one I’m able to get into is Matt’s bedroom. So I start there.

I have already seen most there is to see in Matt’s bedroom. But the door that leads to his office is still unseen by my eyes. I turn the knob, a little surprised it isn’t locked. I open the door just a bit and bite my lip.

Should I be doing this? Would Matt know? I swallow the saliva building up in my mouth from nerves and I enter the office. I turn in the light to see everything, but there’s almost nothing to see. Just a desk and a seat. There’s no papers or a computer, do extra storage drawers, no decorations of any kind. Just a desk and a chair.

The desk and chair looks like the ones you’d think your rich uncle would have. Beautiful maroon wood desk and a matching color leather desk chair.

I go to close the door when something catches my eye. Something under the desk. I walk closer and look under the desk and pick up the small metal key. I look around for a lock of some sort, something that the key must open.

Why would this be in the floor? I look through the drawers of the desk, all of them empty, except when I get to the bottom one. I open it and a gun slides around the drawer from the force of me opening it. I gasp slightly and immediately close the drawer.

I stand up and look around. Where did the key go? And where did it come from? There’s no way he just left it on the floor, is there? And why would he have an empty office with nothing but a gun?

Maybe Emma was right, I was being naive, and I shouldn’t have trusted Matt. Things do add up to him being in the Mafia.

But that’s not how you gather information, you can’t start with your conclusion and work backwards to prove it. No, I need proof of it.

But I don’t need proof anymore. I keep forgetting I stopped with that piece. I turn around and look over the walls. I trace my fingers over the wallpaper until I feel a dent in the wall covered by the wallpaper.

I take a breath. I can’t cut through the paper, Matt will notice and know I snooped. I bite my lip and trace along the dent, just to get an idea of how big the dent it.

I trace it up above my head and then back down to the floor. It seemed to be the outline of a door. Maybe that’s what the key unlocked?

But why would the key be on the floor? And why would the door be covered with the wallpaper? I shake my head. I shouldn’t do this. I set the key back down under the desk where I found it and leave the office, shutting the light off behind me.

I sit on the bed still unsure what to do. After a moment of thinking I walk out of his bedroom and walk along the hallway to where his office wall would be. I go to open a door that should lead to the room next to his office, but it’s locked.

I immediately go back through his bedroom and to his office, grabbing the key and going back out to the door. I take a deep breath before I slip the key into the lock.

I turn the key and the lock click. I turn the knob and open the door. The room is dark so I reach around the wall feeling for a light switch. When I finally find it I flick it on, and gasp at what I see.

I quickly close the door behind me and run down the hall and down the stairs. I rush to the front door and open it, just in time to see a car pull up. My breath hitches and I shut the door, hoping whoever it was didn’t see me.

I go back to the living room but remember how I left the room. I quickly go back up the stairs and go back to the room, shut off the light, then close and lock the door. I run to put the key back under his desk where I found it. By the time I’m leaving Matt’s bedroom I hear the front door open.

From upstairs I can hear the sound of two guys talking to each other, sounding like they’re bickering. My feet stay planted in place in Matt’s bedroom, unable to move.

Neither voice sounds like Matt’s which makes my heart race in my chest. I swallow the saliva building up in my mouth and slowly creep tears the door of the bedroom. I hear the guys make their way up the stairs and I see their faces.

They look just like Matt. Then I remember Matt telling me he was a triplet and lived with his brothers when we were on a date once.

I step backwards and the floor creaks. The guys stop talking and I stand paralyzed in fear. Do they know I’m here? Did Matt tell them anything?

My questions are answered when I hear one of them say “I bet it’s that girl Matt’s been with.” And then the footsteps get closer to the door. I sit down on the bed, now unable to stand as the anxiety builds up inside me. The door opens and I see the two guys fully.

They really do look almost just like Matt. I stare up at them and my heart races. “Matt said you’d be here.” One of them says. “I’m Chris, this is Nick,” he nods his head towards the other guy “we’re Matt’s brothers. You must be y/n then?”

I nod slowly.

“Matt’s told us about you. He said you’re staying here while he has your place checked for- ow!”

Nick interrupts Chris by kicking his leg. “Dude,” Nick motions to me. He mouths something to Chris and Chris seems to have a moment of realization.

“Just make yourself at home and… Nick and I will be in the living room if you need anything.” Chris says before leaving.

I let out a breath and stare at the ground. How am I supposed to leave with those two here? And how am I supposed to stay after what was in that room?

Tags: @stargirlsturniololover @sturniolobessed @eyelessdemon00 @sturnioloenthusiast @sturniolopookie @urmommysbathroom @qwertytit @whatever1021 @chrisfavoritepepsi @stramboli4life @sturniolosreads @timmyscomputer @iloveneilperry @chrisloyalgf @xxsadlovexx @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @nickmillersn1gf

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Six

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes. 

A/N: this is my magnum opus. please don’t hate me. 

Word count: 8.5k

Chapter Six

As much as you tried to be normal about it all, it was impossible for you not to innately freak out. You slept on yours and Roy’s confrontation for the remainder of the weekend, and when Monday rolled around, you thought about pulling a sickie and not going into work.

Maybe it was just you, but when you felt embarrassed about something of your own doing, you didn’t want to see anyone. Especially not the person who’d seen you embarrass yourself the entire fucking time, in the form of Roy fucking Kent. It was exposing, and made you feel overly vulnerable, on top of still being internally pissed off that he’d gone into this knowing that he was never interested in reading what you’d written. All of it mixed up into a cake that only made you feel sick, so you did the most rational thing that any embarrassed person would do– isolated yourself.

You stayed in your office all week, with the door closed. When you left each day, you made sure you were the last to leave, double checking the corridors for stray players, coaches and Roy himself. In the mornings, you walked a different route to work, one that didn’t follow the main roads around yours and Roy’s part of Richmond. You didn’t want to be walking along and see his Jeep round a corner, only to have to stand there like a twat and catch his eye through the windshield.

“Does a simple misunderstanding really need to get to this level of discomfort?” Rebecca said, over one of your rare but appreciated lunches. She’d lightened up even more after the Everton game, which was a nice side effect.

You crunched down on a mouthful of salad, chewing sullenly. You’d been on edge for days. “I don’t know,” you let out. “Probably not. But I still can’t make myself get over it. I feel fucking awful, I mean— he just said yes to get me off his back, didn’t he?”

Rebecca shrugged. “No one can know with Kent. I don’t think he did it for that reason, though. You said the interview went well?”

“Well, I thought it did, I don’t bloody know. Either way, I’m not submitting the article now.”

Rebecca looked at you with raised eyebrows. “It’s up to you, I know, but if it were up to me, I’d still submit the damn thing.”

“Yeah, well it’s not.” You stuffed another forkful of salad in your gob. You’d heard the same thing from your mother a few days prior, and were debating telling Keeley the next time you saw her, but nothing would sway you with this.

You’d messed up, and you felt mortified that you’d made Roy open up when he wasn’t even interested in reading what you had to say. You were in a position where you were definitely going to take his side into account, even if it meant a standstill for you.

Rebecca’s face softened. She leant closer to you on the sofa, and placed a gentle hand on your arm. “So, you pissed off a footballer. He’ll get over it, and by God, what you’ve written cannot be as bad as any tabloid drivel that’s been written about him before. It’ll be fine in time, you just need to stop beating yourself up about this, alright?”

You sighed through your nose, swallowing the food in your mouth painfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I still can’t make myself face him just yet, though.”

“Why?” Rebecca asked, and the way she was looking at you made you want to open up.

Oh, because I have an immense crush on him that I can’t shake, and I cannot stand the thought that I’ve annoyed him in any capacity.

“It’s nothing,” you said, but it was an obvious lie. Rebecca widened her gaze further, noticing something there. You let out a pent up breath. “It’s my problem. I’ll sort it soon, but I just— I don’t want to crowd him more, especially after last week. I’m being fucking stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid to want to make someone feel comfortable. That’s a good trait to have,” she said, squeezing your arm. “Just don’t let it ruin you further when it doesn’t need to.” She smiled at you softly, and you smiled back. “What happened to the girl that chased Roy down for those player profiles in the first week, hm?” she added, trying to lighten the mood. It only made you feel worse, weirdly enough.

“I got to know him,” you said, trying to keep the hurt off your face. “Properly, I mean. I got to know him properly.”

Rebecca’s face perked up with alarming speed. “Oh?” she asked, assumptively.

You waved her off immediately. “Not like that,” you said, but it was clear that both of you knew you were fibbing. Rebecca’s smile only grew. “Not like that.” You reiterated, trying to get yourself across harshly, but it only made it more apparent:

You fucking liked Roy Kent. It was clear to fucking see, and he probably knew it himself, too. That made it all the worse, and embarrassment crept onto your ears immediately.

You shoved another full fork of salad in your mouth, and Rebecca scoffed to herself, amused. The two of you finished your lunch together, with her playfulness counteracting your idiocy. How many more times were you going to make yourself feel childish?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I get it,” she said. “He’s grumpy, and mean, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who doesn’t want to fix a grey, stormcloud of a man.” She smiled at you sincerely. “Your secret is safe with me.” She winked, and you scoffed so abruptly that an olive from your plate launched itself across her office.

It felt good to have another woman around. You liked it.

You had the weekend to yourself, and stayed in for the sake of self care. You’d face Roy sometime next week, but had to psych yourself up first to deal with it. He’d been training non-stop anyway, with the first threats of relegation for AFC Richmond appearing, despite their win against Everton the week before. It just wasn’t enough to keep them in a stable position, not when the season was over halfway done.

You wanted to call Keeley, but stopped yourself when you remembered she was on a weekend away with some sponsors, getting treated and talking business. You were thankful that you weren’t in her shoes. You knew nothing about PR, nor did you have her same sense of style and immediately approachable personality.

You messaged Sam a few times, just to talk about your latest shared book. He was as sweet over text as he was in person, and even invited you out with the guys on Saturday night— you were tempted, but declined for the sake of stressing yourself out too much. You had a full-on few weeks and wanted to be chipper for the days ahead; you had an assignment due imminently, and your aversion to Roy at the moment was proving difficult to manage work and your personal life at the same time.

You needed to snap out of it. Rebecca was right— it was eating up your time and energy. And as much as you were picturing it badly, you knew that Roy probably didn’t care nearly as much as you did. Embracing your mistakes was all part of learning.

That’s the mindset you adopted when you entered the Dogtrack on Monday morning, just over a week after the team’s win at Everton. You smiled at your colleagues and chatted to them in the cafe in the morning like normal, before you went about your daily routine. You popped your head around the manager’s office a bit later on, and discussed your weekend with Ted, Beard and Nate, before all the players started arriving for training. They sent you smiles and hellos in greeting, and Sam told you about the messy night he’d had on Saturday. All was normal, until Roy stepped into the locker room.

When he caught your eye, the air stilled. The guys around you silenced like school children, and you fought the urge to fake an emergency so you could leave. Roy scanned the room bluntly, before he strolled towards his cubby and dropped his bag on the bench. You sent Sam an awkward smile, before you turned to the Richmond Captain.

He peered down at you for a second, before looking away without a word. “How was your weekend?” you asked, trying to keep things light. Roy didn’t like small talk, but this would have to do.

He growled in response, but you were determined to get something– anything– out of the gruff man before you. He’d noticed your overly avoidant behaviour for one, and you only had yourself to blame for that. “Roy,” you tried again, shooting him a small smile when he peered at you once more.

“You talking to me again, are you?” he replied, and a jolt of electricity ran through your limbs.

The energy in the locker room stalled, as the guys descended into absolute silence at Roy’s response. You felt their stares on your back, and you fucking hated it. You doubted they knew what was up, but had probably had to deal with some weird energy from Roy over the past few days.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, holding your ground. “Are you okay with that?” You raised your brows at him questioningly, strongly, and he reciprocated with a quick scan of your face.

All his prior angst faded away with your simple retort. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” he said, and you felt your chest relax instantly. “I took Phoebe to the zoo on Saturday. Two lions were going at it in the enclosure and I had to tell her they were wrestling.”

You scoffed so hard you almost choked, not expecting those words to fall from his mouth. “She has to learn one way or another, I guess.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want her thinking that sex is like fucking wrestling one another,” Roy said gruffly.

You shrugged. “It sort of is,” you let out hazardously.

Roy perked an eyebrow at you questioningly, an amused smile appearing on his face. “What kind of sex are you fucking having?”

Sam choked beside you abruptly, and you shot your stare onto him quickly, only to find Isaac and Colin smiling at each other like schoolboys behind him. You pointed at all of them sternly, with wide eyes. “Enough.”

Isaac clutched a hand to his chest defensively. “It’s a valid question, bruv. What kind of sex are you fucking having if it’s sort of like wrestling?”

The boys descended into childish giggles, and you turned back to Roy as you tried not to join them. You could feel your cheeks warming as you did, but you loved them all so much that you didn’t care if they were laughing at your expense. It was good to laugh at yourself once in a while.

You inhaled deeply, accepting the embarrassment only for the sake of you and Roy being okay again. He was smiling at you as you fiddled with your fingers. Not that he’d admit it, but this week had gone twelve times slower without your presence breaking apart his time. He’d got used to your impromptu locker room crashes, and the methodical way he always peered around your open door after training was done for the day.

“None,” you finally let out. “I am having no WWE level sex, sadly, because I’m not a fucking Premier League footballer.” You scanned the room and pouted at them all melodramatically, before you headed towards the locker room door with false glumness. Their giggles surrounded the entire room and it warmed your heart.

“We’ve gotta get you on some apps, or something,” Colin suggested, as you turned back to them and leaned against the doorframe.

“Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms. “Which ones?”

“Tinder?” Isaac offered, and you mimed sticking a finger down your throat.

“Please, Isaac. I’m not a fucking teenager anymore.”

“What about Bumble? It allows women to message first,” Sam said, and you furrowed your brows.

“I don’t want to talk first, ever. I’d rather a man send me a shitty pick up line that I don’t respond to than have to do that.”

“Hinge?” Bumbercatch added, and you let out a disgusted laugh.

“Oh, great! I can have three dates with some posh Richmond bloke, engage in awful fucking sex and then be ghosted the next day for no reason. That sounds thrilling.”

“There’s always Grindr,” Colin said, and the room fell silent. All eyes were on him, including your own that were squinting at him questioningly. Colin paused for a moment, like a statue. “Oh, sorry. With all this wrestling talk I forgot that you don’t actually have a dick.”

The room erupted in ooo’s while you tried and failed not to scoff to oblivion. You glanced over at Roy– there was a smile on his face, one that he was trying to hide and absolutely failing at. He shrugged his shirt off quickly, and you sucked in a painful breath, before you forced yourself to look away.

“Maybe I do,” you said bluntly, before you pointed around the room. “And none of you will ever fucking know.” You smiled at the way the boys got all bashful, before you stood up straight and beamed at them all. “Thanks for the dating advice, but I accepted my chronically single fate a long time ago.”

“That’s only because you’ve been around pretentious, uptight writers your whole life,” Zoreaux offered, and a few nods of agreement cropped up around the room. Zoreaux clapped his hands together suddenly, and you flinched in surprise. “You need to find yourself a footballer.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored their childish chants. “Over my dead fucking body,” you said, raising your hands to the sky in defeat. “And this is where the dating advice ends.” You swivelled on your heels and sent them a chaste middle finger, before you made your leave. “Goodbye!” you yelled from the corridor, and were met with one collective Bye!

Roy slipped on his football shirt after you left, and he was thrust back to two weekends before. He knew he’d fucked up with what he’d said in Liverpool, but there was something that kept him from opening up about it all– the fact he avoided everything that was written about him. Every interview, every post match press conference, every fan photo or interaction, the lot.

As much as he felt like a twat, he was also secretly relieved that you’d chosen not to submit the article. He wanted your success, certainly, but he wished you’d picked someone else. It was his fault for agreeing to it in the beginning, which was exactly why you’d got angry and upset. You were right; he’d been harsh, he’d been mean, but he hadn’t expected you to give a shit. Maybe that was more of a commentary about him than about you.

Either way, he was glad to put your week of silence behind him. Having you back in the locker room in the morning felt like coming home.

The days flew by quickly, but you still hadn’t updated Keeley about everything that had happened, and part of you didn’t want to now. She’d been so excited for you, and you didn’t want to break the news to her at all. You put the article behind you, and focused on new projects. With the days whittling down and matches being played in the blink of an eye, it wouldn’t be long until the season was up– along with your time at Richmond. It was funny to call it a year of placement, when in fact it was only nine months, to tie in with the football season.

You’d been at the club for almost six fucking months already. Christmas and the New Year had passed unceremoniously, and when you thought about it all you only freaked out more. You’d been to more matches than you could count, had written more words than you ever had in your entire life, and actually considered a bunch of footballers as your friends. But the worst thing of all– you’d held onto Roy’s jacket for close to three fucking months. He had to have noticed its absence by now, but still hadn’t approached you about it. Nor had you done the right thing by returning it, especially not after your panic in his house the month before.

That’s what you found yourself thinking about over the next few weeks. In between matches and assignment days, you’d lie awake at night and think about the fact it was all going to end. You needed Keeley to tell you to snap out of it, but had been so deprived of her company since she’d become so busy all of a sudden. As the final three months of the season loomed, you barely got more than a few minutes to spend with her at lunch. You hadn’t mentioned the article at all since the incident with Roy, but you were glad that it wasn’t hovering over you anymore like a few weeks prior.

As February ended and March began, you walked to work happily. You’d miss this immensely. Your small flat, your easy walk to Nelson Road, and everyone you got to see on a daily basis. Richmond was definitely part of your life now, and that wasn’t something you were going to forget.

You entered the stadium like normal, but there was an uncomfortable buzz in the air. You smelled it first in the form of static, the kind you get before a thunderstorm. The corridors were quiet as you walked towards your office, void of all players and your colleagues alike. You weren’t overly early, nor had some sickness ravaged through the entirety of Nelson Road, but nevertheless all was quiet.

You strolled into your office. When you switched on the light, you screamed when you were met with the burst of a confetti cannon right in your face. “You’re a fucking writer!” Keeley screamed, as you ducked down to try and protect yourself from this surprise attack. Paper crinkled in the air and all over your hair. It landed on the floor and ceased to move. Glitter covered everything.

Behind her, Sam, Ted and Nate cheered at your terror, while you tried to compute what the fuck was going on. Keeley lunged at you and encased you in a fast hug. You squeezed her back when you came back into your dimension, but confusion rattled in your brain. “Well fucking done, babe! We’re so proud of you!” she exclaimed, and you allowed yourself to accept their excitement, even if you had no clue what she was talking about.

“Ah– thank you?” you let out, alongside a subtle yaaaay that you felt was necessary, when Keeley started bouncing up and down while hugging you. You smiled at her as genuinely as possible when she pulled away.

Sam stepped forward first. “I particularly liked the paragraph where he talked about football academy. It is sweet to imagine Roy so young and less grumpy,” he said, and Ted clapped him on the back in agreement.

“Oh, absolutely, that was a banger.” Ted looked at you and grinned so hard that his moustache moved higher-up on his face. “Now, I don’t hold what Roy said about Beard and I against you, I was just glad to get a mention in this legendary article of yours.”

The smile dropped from your face immediately. You stood up quickly, and turned to Keeley quickly. “What are they talking about?” you asked, but you already knew the answer.

Keeley frowned at you. “Your article, babes,” she said, like you should know exactly what she was fucking talking about. Quickly, she shuffled in her bag and brought out today’s copy of the Independent. It was already open on the sports section, and when she hovered it before you, you stopped breathing.

Your article was on the front page. In huge, bold letters, as clear as fucking day, it read The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football). Your name was on the byline, alongside the photo you’d picked out before to be submitted alongside it.

“I– I didn’t–” you stuttered, trailing off in shock.

“I did,” Keeley said for you. “I submitted it for you, after you let me read it,” she admitted, but the look on her face showed you she was so much less excited about it now. All you saw was red at her admission, to the point where you were torn between screaming at the top of your lungs or crawling into a ball on the floor.

“Will you guys give us a minute, please?” you asked quickly, shooting a wide-eyed and panicked look at Sam, Ted and Nate.

The three of them scattered like rats, and you slammed the door behind them as soon as they were out of your office. Keeley flinched when you did, but your heart was beating too fast for you to notice. All you felt was the wobble in your fingers and pins and needles in your toes.

“What’s going on?” Keeley asked, concerned.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the article. Your words were printed right in front of you, but you’d never been so mad to see something of your own published. “Roy and I had a bad fight,” you started, but the words took so long to form in your brain from all the yells that ratted inside your skull. “He told me he had no intention of reading the article, that he’d never wanted to, and I said–” You stopped yourself from choking on your words. You caught Keeley’s eye, and chose to ignore how much yours were welling up. “I told him I wasn’t going to submit it.”

Keeley gently brought a hand to her forehead, digesting your words. She paced your office slowly, trying to find the right thing to say, but both of you knew it was useless. “I’m– fucking hell,” she said, stumbling over her thoughts. “I’m so fucking sorry.” She turned to you with glassy eyes. “I didn’t know, and I– I just wanted you to believe in yourself–”

“I know,” you said, trying to hold it together. Your anger dissipated into something else entirely, and that something else was on the brink of tears. “I know,” you repeated.

Keeley rushed forward and grabbed your wrists gently. “I’m a fucking idiot and I never should have done it,” she said quickly.

“You’re not an idiot,” you breathed out, before you peered down at the floor. “But, you never should have done it, yeah.” There was no point in beating her up– she’d done something with the intention to help you, without knowing that Roy would react this way and cause shit to hit the fan.

Never before had you gained friends so kind that they did stupid things all for your sake. In any other universe, you bet that Roy agreeing to the article had gone very well, and Keeley submitting it without you knowing had gone amazingly, but here? No. Hell fucking no. In your universe, everything you touched turned to absolute shit when it didn’t need to.

“Fuck,” you said sharply, clamping your eyes shut. A few tears fell and landed on the grey carpet of your office. “Fuck.”

“I’ll tell him,” Keeley said, panicking. “It was my fault, none of this is on you–”

“I wrote the fucking thing in the first place!” you exclaimed suddenly, and inappropriately found yourself laughing. Chuckles bobbed from your chest involuntarily, and with every burst another tear fell from your eyes. This was a mess.

Keeley squeezed your wrists reassuringly, and you forced yourself to breathe out and look at her. When you caught your eye, you sent her a soft look. As your panic subsided, you thought about the fact that she’d submitted it for you because she’d believed in you. She’d done it as a favour, as a gesture to let you know that you were good, that you had potential, to get you out of your head.

You wrapped your arms around her before you could back out. You were thankful for her, even if it had all gone tits up. Laughter trickled from your lips affectionately, and it only made her squeeze you even harder.

“Is now a good time to mention that you fucking won?” she said, her voice muffled by your shoulder.

You laughed even harder, absolutely astounded by it all. Out of hundreds of students, your article had fucking won the entire competition. “I fucking won!” you chuckled out, and the two of you swayed from side to side in each other’s embrace.

You hated not being in control. It was unsettling and made you feel erratic, like everything could fall apart if you didn’t have it all planned out beforehand. As far back as you could remember you’d had this issue; not being able to switch the fuck off. Things needed to be planned, and when they weren’t, you felt sick. Now, times that by ten and add a bunch of hyperactive footballers into the equation. It was a miracle you hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest during your six months at the club. Your masters had been fucked from the start, you’d messed up countless times during the job, and everything with the article was just the cherry on top of a shitstorm.

You sat in your empty office and stopped yourself from yelling at the ceiling above you. After Keeley had left, all your innate foundations came crashing down imminently. You wanted to go home and sleep for the remainder of your placement, but you couldn’t– not now. This mess had been reopened, and you had to clear it up again.

You knew the longer you left it, the worse it would get. Roy and the other boys were due in for training soon, and you couldn’t stand the thought of Roy seeing the article out and about before you’d had the chance to catch him up to speed. Keeley had made a massive fucking oopsie, but you didn’t hold it against her. She didn’t know about your fight, nor had she had the intention to screw things up this bad. That was always the thing, wasn’t it? Intentions were always good, but that didn’t always mean the best outcome was inevitable.

Wracking your fingers through your hair, you puffed out your cheeks with a colossal sigh. It was a waiting game, now. And as soon as you could, you’d tell Roy everything.

Roy slammed through the doors of the stadium for training. He was in no mood to be messed with, and knew that seeing your face would only make it worse. That morning, as he shut his front door, he looked down to see his face on the front page of the Independent’s sport section. Your name was beneath the heading, alongside a smiling photo. He leaned down and picked it up, scanning the title quickly–

The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football).

He growled to himself, before he crumpled the paper in his hands angrily. He stormed towards his Jeep and threw his gym bag harshly onto the passenger seat, before he headed off to Nelson Road. Everywhere he looked, the newspaper article loomed over him. His colleagues in the cafe read it over their morning cup of tea, and promptly froze when they saw him pass. This was he last thing he’d fucking wanted, and he was regretting his decision to ever say yes to you.

You’d reassured him you wouldn’t submit it, so why was it printed in the paper for everyone to fucking read?

He continued to the locker room in frustration. When he entered, the guys stopped the conversation they were having. They nodded at their Captain, before they silently turned back to their cubbies and got ready for the day ahead. Roy tried to ignore the prickling feeling of being watched. He had it whenever he went anyway, but this was tenfold. The thought of people knowing new information about him made him feel overexposed to the max.

Sam approached Roy through the silence, and shot him a sunshine smile. “Morning, Captain,” he said. Roy didn’t respond with more than a quick glance at his teammate. “So, have you seen the ar–?”

“Where is she?” Roy interrupted him suddenly. His voice was coarse and gruff, and Sam immediately recoiled when he sensed the anger seeping through Roy’s pores.

“In her office,” Sam replied, gesturing in the direction of your office innocently.

Roy didn’t stick around after that. He headed to see you as fast as he’d bombarded through the doors from the car park.

Your inbox had been blowing up all morning, along with your Twitter. You hadn’t been able to stomach reading them all yet, as you sat upon your anxiety and tried not to imagine the absolute worst when you saw Roy. Trying to reassure yourself had stopped working after the first ten minutes, and a Google search of ‘how do you un-print an article from a published newspaper?’ hadn’t provided much in the way of help.

Roy didn’t bother to knock. He rounded the door frame and took you by surprise. You sucked in a sharp breath and stood up quickly, meeting his gaze. “Roy, there’s something I need to tell you–”

“You submitted the fucking article?” he said harshly.

You frowned at him apologetically, and gently rounded your desk to stand opposite him. “You saw it,” you started, trying to settle your nerves. “I’m so sorry, Roy. It was a total accident, and it was actually Keeley who–”

“An accident? How is this a fucking accident?” he interrupted you. Upset cut through his aggression, but he was still seething. He pointed at you harshly. “You told me you weren’t going ahead with it. My face is plastered on every fucking newstand around London, and you’re saying it’s a fucking accident?”

You furrowed your brows at his outburst, not expecting him to be this angry. It was a mistake, but he was acting like you’d done this intentionally. “Roy.” You tried not to stumble over your words as rage crept up on yourself. “It was an accident. I’m sorry, but this was out of my control. Keeley submitted it without me knowing.”

Roy balled his fists. “Fuck this!” he yelled, and you took an abrupt step backwards.

“This could have been avoided if you’d just told me the truth!” you hit back with, losing all sense of composure. “If things had gone smoothly, this would have been the fucking outcome all along, and it’s obvious that you never wanted this! This is not just on me.”

“Not just on you?” Roy repeated. “Oh, of fucking course, it’s not just on you, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s always someone else's fault with you.” He raised his arms theatrically as he spoke, trying to expel his anger. “The uni cocked up your placement, I fucked up your first assignment, and now Keeley accidentally submitted an article that has my name stamped all over it.”

“You just stated facts, Roy–”

“But do you know the biggest fact of them all?” he cut over you, before he took a looming step forward. He leaned closer to you, until you could feel the air warm at how heated he was. “You did this. It was your choice to come here when you knew fuck all about the game, about us. It was your choice to write the fucking article in the first place, and it’s your fault that everything has gone tits up–”

“You fucking agreed to this!”

“I didn’t agree for you to get involved in my life!” he yelled, and you let out a colossal groan of frustration. You paced on the spot, needing to just fucking move, to dispell what you were feeling, to get it all out of your system. Roy didn’t back down. This fight, the real fight, had only been growing within both of you from the moment you first met. “I didn’t agree to you walking in here and latching on like a fucking leech, and fucking with my head, and making me feel– all this.”

All this.

Your heart pounded within your chest as his words spilled onto the carpet. This wasn’t just about the article, you realised. This was more. This was the jacket on the peg by your door, and all of the another times, and all of the smiles and jokes and texts that had been rattling between you both for the past six months.

“Oh, I see,” you said, lowering your voice. There was an energy that buzzed between your gazes, one that told you now was a good time to rip off the fucking bandaid, even if it meant the end. “This isn’t just about the article, is it?”

Roy breathed heavily opposite you, his chest rose and fell erratically. His fists were balled at his sides, but his face softened almost imperceptibly. You noticed it. You noticed every look that Roy sent your way. That was why this entire problem had begun.

Him, him, him, him, him.

“Why won’t you let me in?” you caved. “Or fucking anyone.”

“This is fucking stupid—”

“What’s stupid is that you cannot fucking stand when people give an actual shit about you.” You stepped towards him strongly, trying to convey everything you felt within your words. “You do it with the guys, with Ted, and you fucking do it with me.”

“This isn’t a fucking therapy session. I don’t need a fucking uni student to psychoanalyse my thoughts and feelings and all that other bullshit,” Roy said lowly, like a warning.

“Why have you never mentioned the jacket?” you asked suddenly.

Roy’s eyes widened. He stilled. “What?”

“The jacket. The one you leant me after the charity ball. I’ve had it for months, yet you haven’t mentioned anything.” Roy’s thoughts short-circuited. “Not once have you asked for it back, or collected it, or fucking anything.”

“At least I didn’t chicken out while trying to return it,” Roy said harshly. You held your breath. “I saw you shove it in your bag at my house, after the interview.”

You fought the urge to be sick. You weren’t expecting a full read through of yours and Roy’s relationship when you entered the Dogtrack today. You weren’t expecting to be so fucking mad at him, madder than you’d been about anything else in your life.

“I didn’t want this to end,” you admitted calmly, despite the butterflies tearing holes in your gut. “Is that why you never picked it up, hm? Because you didn’t want to admit to yourself that you actually give a shit about someone else?” You kept your eyes on his, flicking back and forth between them as you tried to hold it together. There was a finality to your feelings, and you feared you were approaching the end of their tether. You weren’t one to stick around if you knew you weren’t wanted. Roy had made himself perfectly fucking clear to you. “That’s why you agreed to the article, isn’t it? An attempt to give a shit, but you got scared when you realised people will know you just that little bit better from it. That’s why you’re raging and whining and looking at me like that, and ignoring all the other shit you’re feeling just because it’s easy, and what you’re used to.” The words spilled from your mouth like water. “That’s not how I do things, Roy. I bother, and I care, and I give a shit. And–” you stopped to let out an upset chuckle. Your eyes welled. “I can’t believe I thought we were actually close, when the truth is…” You forced yourself to keep your gaze steady. His eyes inhaled you. “I hardly know you, Roy. And you won’t let me try to, not properly, or on paper, or in the fucking article, even.”

Roy’s brain had stopped thinking coherently as soon as you’d started talking. You were right, you were always fucking right, but he would never let you know that. Not after this, not with the way you were looking at him so desperately, in pleading, baring your feelings out in the fucking open to try and get him to understand. His anger was real, but it wasn’t about you– it was about himself, but that’s just not how Roy Kent worked.

He was mean, he was angry, he was harsh. He didn’t let anyone stomp all over him on the pitch, or in life. Anyone who entered his life and tried to scale the tall walls he’d built around himself was nothing more than a threat. It was unsustainable, and had only brought pain in the past. It explained his string of finished relationships and friendships, and why he was still unsettled at the age of thirty-five.

“I’m sorry about the article,” you said softly. “But, I’m not sorry about everything else. Whether or not you get over it– that’s on you.” You shrugged, before you frowned at the floor. Tears disrupted your vision. You felt defeated, almost.

As the anger disappeared from his shoulders, Roy nodded at you in understanding. There was nothing else to say.

You let out a shaky breath as you looked up, and you decided that time was up. “I have work to do,” you said, as a signifier that this conversation– confrontation, fight, admittal, whatever the fuck you’d just had to endure– was over.

Roy hardly spoke for the rest of the day. Not during training, or during the team’s pep talk before their next match that Saturday. When he drove home, he felt odd in his house alone. All he could fathom to think about was you. Your words, the way you so easily revealed all and told him to grow up. He was overly used to people backing down when he got angry, but you hadn’t let him. You fought back, and had such determination to put him in his place.

It was a refreshing change of pace.

Roy noticed your absence at the game that weekend. The owner’s box was void of your energetic support. Out of a crowd of ten thousand, he could easily pick out your voice above all else– not only for the fact that you yelled like an opera singer, but because he listened out for you, in truth. When the crowd went wild at an excellent tackle of his, his signature chant roared from the stands.

He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where. Roy Kent. Roy Kent.

When your voice hadn’t rang out next to all the rest, he glanced up at the owner’s box to find your seat empty. It threw him off his game for the remainder of the match.

The weekend after, you also didn’t attend. Your presence was sporadic after the fight, and Roy found himself enduring the sharp sting of butterflies in his gut whenever he so much as glanced at you in the hallway, or caught sight of you in your office during his workouts. Guilt was not an emotion that Roy often felt, but it had taken over his entire body. It was a slap in the face when you’d laid everything out perfectly, and absolutely judged him correctly. Whether it was projecting, or just being fucking stupid, his anger about the article stemmed from something much bigger. You saw straight through him, and that was what terrified him.

Word of your fight had spread across the team. He knew as soon as the guys started looking at him differently– with pity. They were careful not to step on his toes, and muttered to each other when he left the room. Your visits to the team were still clockwork, but it was clear to see there was something painful whenever you caught Roy’s eye. You’d smile, you’d say hello, and that would be that. He was surprised that you acknowledged him at all, and had been certain that you’d restart your silent treatment from before, but you were bigger than that. If anything, he wished you’d ignore him, since every stare you gave sent a shockwave of guilt through him.

When you failed to turn up for the third game in a row, Roy bottled it on the pitch. He played poorly, and was overly distracted to play decently. He kicked his boots off from frustration when entering the locker room afterwards, and they smacked against the wall of cubbies loudly. Behind him, Sam and Isaac looked at each other knowingly.

Isaac was the first to step in. “Roy,” he said calmly.

“I get it, I played like fucking shit and lost us the win. I fucking get it,” Roy said quickly, trying to get this over and done with.

“Nah, bruv.” Isaac gently grabbed his shoulder, turning him around to face the rest of the team. “This isn’t about the game.”

“She has never missed this many games before,” Sam said, and the team all shared sullen looks. “We get why that would throw you off, but now it is time to do something about it.”

The team nodded in agreement. “Did you read the article at all?” Isaac asked.

Roy frowned. “Why would I? It’s nothing I haven’t read before.”

Sam moved to stand next to Isaac. They looked at each other quickly, and shared a soft kind of look. Isaac turned back to Roy, and squeezed his shoulder. “Just read it, bruv. Seriously.”

“It is not like the others,” Sam added.

When Roy got home that evening, he opened the top drawer of the side table by his front door. It was full of old post and discarded papers, just stuff that didn’t have a place anywhere else. He’d shoved the copy of the Independent in there after the fight. He hadn’t wanted to throw it away for some odd reason. From the drawer, he picked out the newspaper and clutched in tightly. He got himself a whiskey from the kitchen, and sat at his dining table, before opening it up to the sports section.

His face stared back at him judgingly. Donned in his Richmond shirt with his foot on the ball, there was a steely look that had been captured in time on his face. He remembered that day– the first game of the season, where they’d been fucking battered. Beneath it was the article, in all its glory. The words loomed on the page almost scarily, but Roy told himself to get over it.

He inhaled deeply, and then started to read.

The Roy Kent Effect (and what it can do to a person who knows nothing about football)

The first fact I came to realise, working at AFC Richmond, was that Roy Kent is a legend. He was only nine when he was scouted for Sunderland, and he grew up loving the greats– Robbie Fowler, Paul Ince, Gary Neville– but his favourite footballer falls to his namesake; Roy Keane. ‘He didn’t take crap from anyone,’ Roy tells me, over a beer in his Richmond house. It’s full of sports memorabilia, trophies, awards, shirts, that I’m sure any fan of the beautiful game would whimper at. For me, however, it goes straight over my head.

It’s impossible not to feel the gravitas of being in Roy Kent’s home, but I feel it’s wasted on someone like me. I wouldn’t consider myself a football fan, but having been AFC Richmond’s appointed social placement for three months, it is a world that I’m desperately trying to enlighten myself on. Roy knows that, which is probably the only reason he’s let me grill him about his past, despite his very public opinion on the press.

Roy looks nostalgic when he thinks of his initial training. ‘You’ll never know how cool I felt when I was twelve, going to a football academy with the likes of world class players. My life was laid out as soon as I signed on the dotted line, and from the age of fifteen it was obvious I was going to be signed at Chelsea,’ he recounts like it was yesterday.

‘Chelsea. I think I know that team,’ I say, and all it does is make me seem more stupid. Roy shows me he doesn’t mind when a smile appears on his objectively grumpy face, and it eggs me on to try and make the footballer laugh as much as I possibly can throughout this interview. Having been at Richmond for almost half a season now, I know that the boys work hard. Making them laugh is part of my job description, just to break apart the obvious stress they all feel about the rest of the season.

Lasso’s reign is something new that none of them were expecting, and Roy’s face sours slightly when I mention his name. ‘You know Ted just as well as I do, you tell me what you think is going to happen?’ Roy says, and I comically mime locking my lips and throwing away the key. It’s best not to let people who know nothing about this game comment on what could happen at the end of the line.

From his start at seventeen, Roy Kent was a Chelsea staple. He donned that bright blue until his thirty-third birthday, which is when he made the decision to leave. He headed to AFC Richmond soon after. Even though I know nothing, I’m curious to know why he made such a career altering decision– going from the top, to the literal bottom. AFC Richmond haven’t got higher than 18th place in the Premier League in six years. It was practically moving to an alien nation.

‘I’d been at Chelsea for more than a decade,’ Roy starts, and I can’t help but notice the tension on his jaw, covered by his signature beard. ‘It had become routine, my life. The guys were stellar, and the management. Everything was the same, except me.’

‘You mean… your ability?’ Roy nods almost severely, and it’s easy to understand what he’s getting at. It’s then that I get up and grab us another beer. Roy makes it very easy to feel at home, despite someone prodding into parts of his life that he hasn’t spoken about publicly very often. He speaks highly of his sister, and his niece. Family is a large part of what makes him the man he is, one that drags him away from football when he needs to be reminded of other things that make life beautiful– not just the game.

Since arriving at Richmond, I’ve heard a phrase within the walls of the Dogtrack; the Roy Kent Effect. His teammates say it when they nail a play in training. Lasso and Beard say it when Roy makes things easier for their NFL suited brains to understand. His hamstrings say it when he withstands another sports massage from the club physio.

The Roy Kent Effect is a household name at AFC Richmond, only becoming so alongside Roy’s arrival at the club two years prior. When I mention it to him, Roy leans back in his chair and smiles. Yes, he can smile! ‘They’re good lads, the Richmond lot. I see myself in a lot of them. Obisanya, McAdoo, they all work so hard. It’s an honour to be their Captain, but I don’t steer the ship on my own.’

‘I don’t think that’s what the Roy Kent Effect means. It’s not about you leading them.’ I say, and this is the only time I’ve ever felt smart when it comes to football, especially next to the likes of Roy.

Roy leans forward. He likes to show people when he’s listening to them. It only elevates the notion that he knows there’s always something for him to learn. ‘The Roy Kent Effect isn’t anything you do, it’s simply having you around. You’ve been a role model, a leader, a staple of the game, for more than ten years. There’s admiration there, and that’s what they want to show you. That’s why they perform, and overachieve, and kick the ball like their life depends on it. It’s for them to show you how much you mean to the sport.’

He sits with my words silently, as I juggle with the panic I feel at making Roy Kent speechless for once. This will never happen to me again.

It’s only then that I realise the Roy Kent Effect has hit me, too. It’s why I annoyed him for this interview. It’s why I research, why I show up for work everyday, despite knowing very little in the grand scheme. When I learn something new, Roy’s the first person I tell at the club. I fit it into conversation, but he always notices. The other’s are often amazed when I reveal I know a fact, or understand the sport more, but Roy doesn’t make a big deal of it. It’s another reason why I don’t stop. He pushes me, the same way he Captains his team, directs his managers, and plays the damn game– with thought, with care, putting one foot in front of the other, like he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t keep this up.

‘One day I’ll wake up, and without knowing, it’ll be the last day that I ever play football,’ he says, later on. Roy has changed our beers to whiskey. ‘From your perspective, you think football is just a game. But, it’s not for me. It’s my whole life.’

We talk about the possibility of what lies beyond the sport, of what is out there for Roy after his inevitable retirement, but he doesn’t seem to understand that there is more that lies beyond. It’s impossible not to take it to heart. I spend the latter half of the interview trying to slot my feet into his shoes, and I still won’t ever know how it feels to be Roy Kent. Even Roy doesn’t know, which makes me strike off every tabloid photo, pundit quote and incel tweet that’s ever been shared about the Richmond Captain.

He is often described as blunt, harsh, mean, angry, and all of those traits are definitely true. But, the man that sits before me, after welcoming me into his home, his world, his life, is so much more than than. This is the Roy Kent Effect in full force, and I, amongst thousands of others, will not take it lightly when he leaves football behind for good.

“Fuuuuck,” Roy breathed out slowly. The butterflies in his stomach had disappeared.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes​ @20th-centu-fairy-girl​ @royalestrellas​ @weakmoony-stuff​ @ironmanmagnetfridge​ @lemonpiegurll​ @hellomagicalsouls​ @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld​ @old-enough-to-know-better73​ @djarindroid​ @afraidofshrimp​ @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses​ @sogoodtoheritsvicious​ @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke​ @onceuponaoneshot​ @jamieolivia27​ @dadbodfanatic-x​ @kelp-dreaming​ @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist​ @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming​ @toomany24s​ @kashee-h​ @infinetlyforgotten​ @secretnook​ @cluelesslilsharkie​ @callmecasey81​ @deepdarkvelvet​ @twiceinabluemoon​ @cardeegans​ @golden-hoax​

[weirwoodforest]

I’m almost halfway through with Bessel van der Kolk’s well-known book on trauma, The Body Keep The Score (Apple Books tells me I’m 42% done) and I’m taking a break from it for a bit and just wanted to write down some of my thoughts. I don’t really talk much about my own experiences here, just some of my thoughts on the book so far, but TW and CW for trauma (obviously), SA, CSA, child ab*se, inc*st, and mention of animal testing.

- I guess for every 1 (one) “nice” animal test, there are 4534858943834 horrific and unethical tests lol 🫠 (the “nice” test is scientists found out that the rat moms who lick their babies more in the 12 hours after their birth make their babies braver and cause them to have an overall better life experiences than rat moms who don’t lick their babies as much. Idk, I’m not a rodent person but I did think that was cute)

- On the subject of tests, I thought the test that van der Kolk and his colleagues did of the amount of women who had survived inc*st and had an autoimmune disease was so interesting. As an SA survivor myself, I know how we can tend to hate our bodies after the ab*se… I can only imagine that that hatred for your body is tenfold with inc*st. It makes sense that their body starts attacking itself then… I’m summarizing heavily but I thought it was a very interesting study. (Also the recent article by Sarah Zhang about people finding out they were the product of inc*st via ancestry sites is… I don’t really have words. The statistic that AT LEAST 1 out of 7000 people are born from close-relative inc*st is mind boggling. In my home town with a population of 192,366 people, that would be AT LEAST 27 people whose parents were parent and child, sibling and siblings, etc etc. I think about where I grew up, the shopping centers, the parks… that is a lot of people. Unfortunately it seems inc*st is a lot more common than we think, as van der Kolk points out…)

- I know hindsight is 20/20 and I’m in 2024 reading a book published in 2014 that details many cases and studies stretching back to the 70s but man… the lack of insight on childhood trauma these doctors had blows my mind. When van der Kolk talks about being at the Boston mental health center for kids and none of the doctors were interested in trauma but just slapped on labels like ODD, ADHD, etc and just pumped these kids full of medication I was just… wow. (And I say this as someone who is medicated for ADHD, I’m not trying to disparage medication). Of course van der Kolk and his colleagues found out all these kids had suffered horrific trauma. Also, the two and half year old he talked about being labeled as “oppositional” when the doctors later observed his mom actively neglecting him… god. Yeah!! Of COURSE that has nothing to do with his behavior /sarcasm. Also kids younger than 5 being prescribed seroquel is so ??? to me.

- van der Kolk’s criticism of the DSM was really eye-opening and like… I understand that yeah, maybe Developmental Trauma Disorder does appear somewhat niche, but kids and adults like myself with high “adverse childhood experiences” scores would benefit greatly from a diagnosis and treatment that is catered to their specific needs. I’ve been diagnosed and treated for PTSD and at times it does feel so broad. My PTSD is not the same as someone who experienced something like Hurricane Katrina or the Fukushima Disaster or someone who went to war. People kind of swear by the DSM and feel comforted by it, but after reading the criticism of it I honestly have become very critical of it myself.

I think… for now that’s it. There’s a lot of the book that I’ve read so far that I’m still ruminating over in my head, so I’m sure I will come back with more Thoughts… but for now, I’ll leave it here.

(Also if you’re interested, I have a digital copy I can send mutuals.)

[3416]

i know this is a 3416 blog mainly but god your thoughts on 9188 are so so valid! i havent been watching leafs hockey for super long but the two of them and their dynamics have absolutely bewitched me. they’re truly, truly such opposites, but at the same time they have this synergy. it’s almost as if at the core of it all, they’re made of the exact same components, but the parts are just joined differently.

their leaf-to-leaf episode was so compelling to watch. seeing johnny all expressive and animated (by his standards at least) in willy’s presence and seeing willy basking in it and enjoying every second of it fundamentally changed me. i haven’t been in a writing mood for a while, but the minute i get that itch i swear i’m going to write them the 100k slow burn soulmate au they deserve.

I LOVE THE LEAFS PLS..... i know i mostly post about 1634 bc those are MY GUYS and i will die for them first and foremost but. i have a soft spot for all the core leafs and a lot of the rookies and rotating cast of characters....... but you're so correct that willy/jt is such a combo that like. should not make sense at all but they've ?? been partnered up for years now on a line repeatedly and they have such a fondness for each other that's undeniable, fr. i think john's someone who is so used to a regimented way of being and willy is so...... not bothered in that way, lol. like in some ways, obviously you can't become a pro athlete WITHOUT being like that with your health and exercise but the way they go about their lives is so different while having very similar goals... and it's interesting bc i just think back to a couple articles last year from the athletic where they were dissecting jt and how he's not a hockey robot... and willy was jsut amused by His Way of being. like he just thinks he's funny. and then also said he sits back and let's jt pick the wine.... CUT TO the article about the swedes where willy is the little unofficial 'captain' of the group... no doubt picking up some of those bossier leadership qualities from jt to pick the restaurants and food for the swedes during their little get togethers. like it's so cute to think about unlikely pairs like that finding chemistry with each other and being amused by the way each other just EXIST because it's so bafflingly different 😭. anyway here's one of my fav pics of all time to end this

[hahahahblahblahblah]

Me Maquet & I

I love a small, thick, paperback book. Small like the end of my thumb to the tip of my middle finger if I spread them as far apart as I can. I can already feel the pervert - he calls himself a psychologist - ogling through my window, thinking to himself: “From the end of his thumb to the tip of his middle finger? That’s how most adolescent men measure their penises!” The pervert himself has a stalker - she calls herself a healer - she wants to add: “There’s something to be said about the fact that this mode of measurement concludes, for this man, at the ideal 'perfectly large' for penises, and 'small enough' for literature."

Personally, I like them because they fit in my hand and feel nice. They’re cheap and I treat them poorly. A lot of reissued classic literature, usually abridged, like Bantam or Penguin Classics a few decades back, is what I’m talking about. I have this awful habit of pressing my thumb on the page I’m currently reading against the side of my knuckle on the back cover and bending it all the way back, cranking it like a notebook should. I end up tearing the spine in two.

I have a copy of “The Count of Monte Cristo” I’m staring at right now that went through this. The book splits at the worst part of the story.

By this point, the Count’s whole revenge plan is set in motion and the story is playing out with a masterful pace. Then, for, like, seven chapters, you have to hear about Valentine and Villefort and whatever.

“The Count of Monte Cristo” by Alexandre Dumas. Nice. My copy has one page dedicated for the author’s background. They mention in passing that he, “alongside frequent collaborator” Auguste Maquet, wrote a clump of some of Dumas’ most notable work together. Maquet would outline the beats of the plot - Make the skeleton.

Dumas would write from there - He got all the credit. He’d pay Maquet. I’m sure Maquet was OK with the arrangement. Eventually he wasn’t. He sued Dumas for higher pay and a by-line. This is what the court said:

“Dumas without Maquet would have been Dumas: what would Maquet have been without Dumas?”

I pulled this from Wikipedia, they pulled it from The Guardian:

“Many devotes of Dumas claim that ‘Maquet was merely a dogsbody whose capacity for hard work was his greatest talent.’”

Horrible. I’d rather be admonished eyeshot by the dumbass law than be the butt-end of shit-talk by some assholes.

There’s two images on Maquet’s Wikipedia page. One is a sketch, one is his tomb. He has three sections: His biography, his legacy, and his output. I swear to God, I counted, there are only three sentences in the entire article where the word “Dumas” does not appear. In fact, in this very word processor I’m using right now, “Dumas” passes the spellcheck but “Maquet” gets the little red squiggly line.

Now, we are in “The Age of the Loser.” I wanna’ take Maquet and drag him to our team. “He’s one of us!” Except he got paid for work.

No, I’m like the book itself. Torn in the middle. “I’m at the boring part of the book. Of my story.” Except my story was never interesting to begin with. If anything, November was the worst month of my life. So I’m peaking.

I’m like the shelf the book is sitting on. Except the shelf has utility. I do have utility, to be fair. Of course I do. I have utility the same way most educated Coastal adults do: Like a janitor who cleans up his own vomit who vomits and cleans up his own vomit who vomits and cleans up his own vomit.

But this is not a pity party! Actually, a party where no one shows up is much better than a tree that falls where no one can hear it. Humans have a way. They’ll find that tree and joke about there being one less tree to raze to the dirt. Humans will always find the tree. No one is reading my Tumblr - It's 2023. Happy 2023. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

I think it would've been funny if Mary was on a solo hunt and met Claire, with her curly blonde hair and big blue eyes and tough attitude and wearing a shirt she stole from dean that dean stole from john, and Mary's like 'oh. interesting. I'm a grandmother. nightmare scenario.' and this is post the bmol reveal so Dean is fully not talking to her and she thinks he didn't tell her he has a daughter because he didn't trust her so she decides to get in Claire's good graces. 1) because her granddaughter seems to have the impulse control of an irritated bull and she definitely shouldn't be hunting alone and 2) she gave Claire a fake last name so she wouldn't figure out their relation so by the time Dean figures out they've met Claire can help sweeten him up so Mary can fix things with him. Claire meanwhile is annoyed that this random woman keeps following her around but she's already resigned to the fact she attracts parental figures like a magnet.

so they're a VERY chaotic hunting team for awhile. Mary also keeps trying to needle out details about Claire's life- she figures she might blow her cover if she asks too much about her father, so she asks a lot about Claire's mother but she's very cagey about the topic. then one day Claire let's Mary use her phone for something and she notices the background is a pic of her and Cas and Claire doesn't wanna get into the whole angel thing with this woman who won't get out of her car so she's like 'oh yeah that's my dad'. and Mary's IMMEDIATELY just like oh God oh fuck I almost got my son in law killed no wonder Dean hates me. she's fully spiralling about her kids not trusting her so much they're hiding an entire family from her. even BEFORE they knew about the brits Dean didn't tell her?? she spends all night on google taking like those dumb 'am I homophobic??' quizzes to see if she said or did anything to make him uncomfortable and she literally goes to a library and prints out articles about how to support your gay child. turns into one of those hardcore gay rights moms over night. Claire just thinks Mary's doing this because she's figured out Claire's a lesbian and she finds it sweet.

Dean eventually starts responding to Mary's texts again and Mary just wants to tell Dean she knows everything so they can Properly make up and move forward but all the parenting books she's been reading insist that she needs to let him come to her with this. she starts dropping hints though, like 'oh I'm working with this hunter named Claire', thinking he'll take the bait and tell her he's Claire's father but he's just like 'tell that criminal she has 32 hours to return my ivory grip gun or else I'm actually filing a police report against her' and Mary's not in any place to critique parenting styles but she's like 😬 and tells Claire who's like 'tell him they'll never take me alive' and Mary ends up in the middle of dumb banter between these two while Claire's driving but neither of them will admit they're father and daughter and it's driving her INSANE. she just wants to be trusted!!

skdhdj Claire has a p.o. box and one day they stopped by and there was a head of a stuffed unicorn in there as a godfather parody, and Claire calls Dean like 'THAT WAS ALEX'S!!' and Mary hears him cursing over the other line and after they hang up she asks who Alex is and Claire's like 'oh my sister' and Mary's like. YOUR WHAT.

then all the shit with the brainwashing and apocalypse world goes down and by the time she's back in the bunker she's SO over waiting she just wants as normal a family dynamic as she can possibly get so she makes a big show of like getting Dean alone and she has a whole apology speech AND a gay rights speech that she had kids from a local lgbt community group proof read and edit for her. and Dean king of the closet is like thanks! but what the Fuck. and people are fully walking into the library now Sam has popcorn and Mary's like listen sweetheart I know I haven't given you a lot of reasons to trust me but at the very least you could have mentioned I'm a grandmother, I mean the resemblance is uncanny- and Dean's like 'shit you met Ben? is he okay?' and she's like. WHO?? WHAT? HOW MANY CHILDREN ARE YOU HIDING. And he's like well Emma's dead ('WHAT') so who else could you POSSIBLY be talking about?? And Mary's like 'Claire!! obviously Claire!!' and Claire, who's on the other side of the room yells 'EW?!' in a put on offended tone and Dean's like 'no she's Cas' brat?!' and Mary's like. 'well she's not a nephilim like Jack! I know you and Cas are together Dean-' and Dean and Cas are like. um. what drew you to that conclusion. pay no attention to the fact we're blushing and now refusing to make eye contact with each other we Swear we are only simply platonic friends we are NOT in a romantic relationship. and then Jack and Claire are both like 'WHAT YOU AREN'T?!?!' and the night is lost to many many confusing confrontations. this post got away from me.

[ptergwen]

Yk that one scene from the kissing booth where Elle doesn’t have any school pants that fit so she has to wear her old really short skirt to school with Finn, her best friend, how about y/n has to do the same with HER best friend Peter Parker

got your back

w/c: 1.3k

warnings: swearing, suggestiveness, and flash needs to get smacked

a/n: i got ur message about the name thing lmfhjsksj and thank you for sending this in!! i changed it up a little but i hope that’s alright cuz i love how it turned out :) pls enjoy <3

-

“oh my god, this is terrible. literally everyone’s worst nightmare come true,” you mumble to peter, gripping the subway pole tight in both hands. he’s standing on the other side of it so you’re facing each other. he looks you up and down with a crooked smile. “relax, y/n. it’s not that bad!”

peter’s gaze fixes on your bare legs. you’d woken up late this morning, so you threw on whatever you could find first in your closet. one article of clothing happened to be a mini skirt from freshman year that your senior body has seriously outgrown.

you were already out the door when you realized, peter gawking at you as you met him outside your building.

it was a good kind of gawking, for the record. he’s definitely into the skimpy style you’re unintentionally rocking, but he’ll never admit it. that would be creepy.

plus, friends don’t drool over each other in broad daylight. he’s certain he’d be breaking some sort of bestie code.

peter gives you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “trust me, you’re not the only kid in the history of midtown who’s had a wardrobe malfunction.” your eyes widen at his understatement. “wardrobe malfunction? peter, my whole ass is out!”

“jesus, y/n/n. don’t announce that,” he chuckles, wrapping a protective arm around your middle. pouting, you bury your face in peter’s sweater clad chest. you feel safe here. peter squeezes you closer, the subway jittering to a stop.

you hoped you’d never have to get off.

“let’s hit it, promiscuous girl,” peter teases and receives a groan from you. your words are muffled. “shut up. i’m not going in there, and you can’t make me.” he presses his lips together, resting his forehead against your scalp. “listen… no one’s gonna care, okay? if they do, i’ll handle them.”

you back away from peter’s chest at last. he slowly lifts his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his doe eyes lock with yours. the subway doors finally fly open.

“okay, okay. i’m going,” you sigh.

peter knowingly offers you a hand, which you gladly take. he threads his fingers through yours, his sleeve covering your intertwined hands. the two of you then trek onto the platform and down the stairs to school.

“girls get dress-coded just for showing their shoulders. i wonder what my sentence is gonna be,” you snort, following beside peter to the main entrance of midtown. “misogyny starts young,” peter agrees. “principal morita is usually chill, though. i actually heard he-“

the story is cut off by someone whistling at you. it’s none other than flash thompson and his posse, who shamelessly check you out as you walk by. peter’s blood instantly boils.

“y/l/n’s got body-ody-ody. who knew?” flash shouts out, his equally annoying friends cackling along. “sheesh, perfect way to kick off the day. i love breakfast and a view.”

his catcalling draws the attention of the other students around you. you’re soon being pointed at and whispered about from all four corners. you completely freeze, unable to process the words of reassurance peter whispers in your ear.

what happened to no one caring?

flash has the audacity to strut right up to you. everybody watches the exchange. “hey, save me a slice of that cake for later,” he mocks.

you’d normally fight back, put him in his place, but you’re so humiliated that you don’t have it in you to engage. luckily, peter is more than capable enough for the both of you. he’ll handle it, as promised.

“shut the fuck up, flash. she’s not interested. no one is,” peter spits, his jaw clenched. those are words you hadn’t expected to leave his mouth. “take the loss and get out of here,” he concludes. flash rolls his eyes. “she could speak for herself, last time i checked.”

beyond fed up, peter drops your hand and steps toward flash. he gets in his face and lowers his voice.

“i could knock you out with just a punch, last time i checked,” peter threatens. he never resorts to physical violence, but he’s willing to make an exception for you. “unless you’d like to earn another dislocated jaw… i’d walk away, buddy.”

flash gulps, vividly remembering his and peter’s incident on the bus ride to prague. that time was an accident. this time wouldn’t be.

“shit, fine. just… back up, man,” he weakly gets out. peter obliges with a sugary sweet smile. flash scrambles back over to his entourage, shooting you a glare on the way. your mouth fallen agape, you rejoin peter and grab his arm.

the entire courtyard has their eyes on you two.

“uh, nothing to see here! carry on, folks!” you awkwardly laugh. peter is still fuming, steam practically coming out of his ears.

people gradually return to their own conversations, although they’re now about you and your outfit choice.

you drag peter away from the scene and begin heading into school. “what the hell, peter? are you trying to get both of us expelled?” you scold. peter exhales hot air from his nose, you leading him inside. “no, of course not. i…”

he pauses, taking your trembling hands in his. you’re a bit freaked out from flash’s crude remarks, and understandably so.

“i couldn’t let him talk to you like that, y/n. i’m sorry if i made things any worse,” peter apologizes, sincerely. “i just want you to know i got your back, alright? always.” he frowns when he feels you start to shake. “woah, you okay?”

you plaster on a grin, brushing his concern off. “better than ever. um, we should get to class,” you change the subject. “maybe we’ll be early for once.”

peter doesn’t buy the act for a second. he’s not pressing, though. today is going to be rough, and your experience so far proves it. he won’t add to your stress.

“yeah, good call” peter affirms. “after you.” he gestures in the direction of your first period class. “and they say chivalry is dead,” you tut, peter wiggling his eyebrows.

you make one last effort to tug down your skirt as much as possible, the fear of being written up very prominent in your mind. peter gets an idea he wishes he’d thought of earlier.

“wait, i want you to have this,” he prefaces, checking the area before slipping his arms out of his sweater. you quickly move to cover him. “pete, what are you doing?”

as if he isn’t stripping in the middle of the hallway, he casually pulls the light blue material over his head. you’re relieved that he ends up to be wearing a flannel underneath.

peter stays behind you and wraps his sweater around your waist. “it’s not much, but it should help a little bit. keep you warm, at the very least,” he explains while tying it so that your whole ass isn’t out, as you’d gracefully put it.

“you’re a lifesaver, pete. thank you so much,” you giggle, a genuine giggle as you admire his handiwork. “thanks for standing up to flash for me, too. that was wild. dude nearly pissed himself on the spot.” peter playfully clicks his tongue. “he did not. i wasn’t that scary, was i?”

you turn to look at him for emphasis. “uh, you totally were! by the way, was that the first time you’ve ever cussed?” color painting his cheeks, peter scratches the back of his neck. “i guess so. never had a reason to until then.”

he’s suddenly tackled into a hug from you, your arms slung around his neck as you lay a big kiss on his cheek. he hugs you back by your waist with an eye-crinkling grin, careful not to mess up the sweater. a smile overtaking your features, you place your hands on either of peter’s cheeks. he kisses your palm softly.

“you’re a real one, peter parker.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

she’s got a way | rockstar!bucky

pairing: rockstar!bucky x popstar!reader

warnings: 18+, enemies to lovers, sexual themes, toxic behaviour, swearing, mentions of miscarriage, drug usage

masterlist (false god)

she's got a way about her, i don't know what it is but I know that I can't live without her ...

Y/N was sat in front of her piano, viciously scribbling and changing words and notes, her voice memo already too long to even send to her producer as she attempted to even slightly translate what was going on. Her mind was rushing through any sort of sentence and writing it down in what had to be a mix between a love, breakup and revenge track. She didn’t even know anymore, she didn’t know what she was doing but she kept on doing it. Writing and composing had gotten her freed from Bucky Barnes once and it surely could be done again. 

      - You threw your arms around my neck, back when I deserved it. - she mumbled to herself only to sight and hit the keys harshly. No, it wasn’t sounding right, it didn’t make any sense. 

She took in a deep breathe, closing her eyes for a minute before her fingers returned to gliding across the piano, trying to find the perfect melody, the right vehicle to express what she was feeling.

     - I hate those voices telling me I’m not in love .... - she was interrupted by a knock on her door. Great, just when the song was about to make sense. 

She turned off her voice memo, sending it over to her producer through email before making it to the door. As she leaned up to the peep hole, she realised the very subject of what she was trying to write had decided to interrupt her. How did he even manage to get past the security in the lobby? Yet again, he was personable and charming when he wanted to be. Besides, rumours said he slept with half of New York so maybe he had slept with her security or one of her neighbours. Whatever the reason was didn’t matter, what mattered is that he was outside her door. She unlocked her door, opening it with an upset look on her face.

      - Don’t be so excited to see me. - he said sarcastically, moving in to kiss her cheek which took her by surprise. - I brought you food. 

     - I said I didn’t want to have lunch with you, Bucky. 

     - No, you said “goodbye Bucky” which is not a flat out no. Besides, you always forget to eat lunch. It’s not healthy, sweets.  

     - Says the person on a cocaine and alcohol diet. - she let him in, fully aware she still hadn’t taken the key from behind her flower pot and he would probably let himself in if she didn’t. 

     - You think so low of me, sweets. Hurts my feelings. - he put a white takeaway bag on her side table. - I saw your Vanity Fair article. 

     - I thought you didn’t read magazines. 

     - Usually I don’t but when you’re in lingerie in the front cover ... What can I say? It triggers my interest. - he sat down on her couch, his head slightly leaned towards his shoulder, with a pulling smirk. - The whole world saw it. 

She stared at him from where she had been standing, sighing and joining him the couch. It seemed no matter what she did Bucky would not give up, not that he was ever know to give up. 

     - What did you get? - she peaked over to the food on the side table.

     - Your favourite. - he winked, placing one of the white takeaway box on top of her legs. - Food from the place I used to work at.

     - I thought you hated that place.

     - And I do but not when I’m the costumer. - he handed her plastic cutlery with the same sort of nonchalance he used to back when the two would eat leftovers from the restaurant’s specials. 

It was almost as if time remained still and nothing had changed, even if he looked different. Bucky did look different, he was significantly skinnier than when they dated, covered in tattoos and piercings, with longer hair but his eyes. His eyes were still the same, the still baby blues that crinkle when he smiles. She almost forget how upset she was at him. Almost. 

     - Read you’re gonna work with Maxwell. - he commented. 

     - Yeah. - she shrugged, looking down at her food container. - He’s a good producer. 

     - He’s a dick. 

     - Bucky ...

     - No, he is. - he interrupted her. - Whatever you do he’s gonna want 50%. Writing credits, scoring credits, even if he does nothing. It’s a terrible decision. 

     - Are you trying to give me advice?

     - Yes, I’ve been doing this for longer than you have. I know the industry and I know who the scumbags are. 

     - Takes one to know one. - she interrupted him before he could say anything else. 

     - That’s neither here or there, Y/N. I don’t want you to be taken advantage of or made a fool. You’re protective of your songs. 

     - We are not the same artist and I don’t want your advice. 

     - Can you just listen to me? 

     - No! - she got up, walking to her kitchen, her hand on the side of her head as she attempted to calm down. - God, I don’t need your protection or your advice. I’ve done just fine without you!

     - I know but this is the big labels and it’s different shit, princess. - he followed after her. - Last thing I want to see you become is an industry plant.

     - What? Like you?

Bucky’s words got stuck in the back of his throat as he stared at her. He knew she didn’t mean to be overly cruel, but he also knew that deep down she was right. Maybe he wasn’t an industry plant but he and his band hadn’t put out anything new. He couldn’t find a reason why. 

     - I’m ... I’m just trying to protect you. - he attempted to calm the will to start a full blown argument. 

     - I have a whole ironclad team of lawyers and publicists that can do a better job than you ever did. 

     - How long are you gonna hold that over me?

     - YOU LEFT ME, BUCKY! - she yelled out, her heart beating faster and hands shaking as what felt like the world had been lifted from her shoulders. - You moved out and you didn’t even have the decency of telling me. You’re a fucking coward. 

      - That has nothing to do with what we were just talking about. - he attempted to remain cool headed. He didn’t like being called a coward, he wasn’t a coward. 

       - So you didn’t care for me back then but you care now?

       - Y/N. - he warned, her name almost foreign. He barely referred to her by her name, even when they had just met each other. 

       - You didn’t care about me when I was your girlfriend and you care now? - her voice lowered, but her eyes didn’t leave his. - What makes you think you have any say in my life, Bucky? You can barely handle your own. 

Bucky was out of there, the door hitting the ledge with a bang as he made his way outside her apartment building as fast as he could. He knew she was stubborn, he knew she didn’t like him, but he’d known her to take advice from people she liked less. He’d been screwed up enough times to know who to trust in the industry and she was still as naive as they came. He knew that because he’d been as naive as she was, he didn’t even had the right to his very first song. In all honesty, the masters should belong to her, she wrote the music while he had just penned the lyrics; yet that was stored in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to revisit it. 

The meeting with the band had been almost as catastrophic as speaking to her had been and while he would’ve enjoyed to even figure out what was going on, he was much too locked in his mind of his to care about anything else. Girls didn’t get him riled up, they didn’t upset him; yet he was used to be the one in the position of power, to be the dominant one. With Y/N, things were different. They’d met when both held as much fame as the next person and she knew whatever parts of his personality he’d stored away. She had a way, she had a particular way of making his head spin, of making him angry and taking him to the full spectrum of emotion. There was a reason why he didn’t like to think about her, a reason why he had pretended she didn’t exist and when her existence became to loud in his mind ... well, he drowned it out. This time was no different. 

The music roared from the club speakers as he yelled out words which couldn’t even classify as such, his mind drunk and silent off any thoughts but the strobing lights around him. If his mind was loud then he’d do whatever it takes to silence them; alcohol, cocaine, pills, ecstasy, whatever it took. It was a cocktail of things that had him constantly threading between euphoric state of mindlessness and his end; but Bucky was fine ending like this. He was fine ending with no memories or guilt in his brain, he couldn’t live with them. He’d rather be like this, high off his mind, drunk enough not to feel pain and sat in the middle of girls whose name he wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

His eyes met the strobing lights of the ceiling, the balloons falling on the dance floor and popping through shoes and heels but the sound couldn’t be heard over the beat of a song he could vaguely recognise. 

      - Bucky! - someone pulled on his arm. - What the fuck?!

      - VAL! - he yelled out with a smile on his face. - What are you doing here?

      - I’m a club promotor, it’s my fucking job. Some of us do it.

      - No, no, no, that’s not what I meant. 

      - You fought with Y/N?! - the two were yelling at the point, the voices barely cutting through the music. - I told you ...

      - You’re such a hypocrite, Val. Didn’t you fight with your boyfriend all the time? - she couldn’t make out if he meant his words to hurt, mostly because he was laughing and smiling like an idiot. 

      - Look at the state of you! This is why she doesn’t wanna see you.

      - I think she just doesn’t want her little good girl image to be ruined but I know ... I know what she does in the bedroom.

      - You’re a fucking asshole. You know what? Good on her for losing that baby because you’ve been a fucking lousy father. 

In a snap of fingers, that euphoric feeling seemed to fade as he mumbled a string of stunned “what?” and a feeling of dread settled on Val’s stomach. The music which once was overwhelming his mind was now only booming echoes as he tried to make a logical thought out of his shattered brain. All he could think about was his phone. His phone, he needed his phone to call Y/N, he needed to call her. 

He moved through the crowd, bumping into people and pushing them out of the way to get to the table. His friends and the girls pleas fell on deaf ears as he searched for his phone. Through blurry vision, he could barely make up her name on his phone and when he did, all he could hear was a string of missed and failed calls. He cried out her name like a wounded animal, pressing his thumb on the phone countless times and moving through the crowd until he fell to the ground, his phone flying across the room as he stared at those bright strobe lights.

taglist: @prettywhenicry4 @bubblespeare @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @silkeiy @rowanthomasknapp @smallestsnarkestgirl @broco8 @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @cosmicevans​ @davten74                  

[hualianff]

(Omegaverse)

Sad Lianlian visiting HX’s apartment because HX’s scent and presence gives him comfort. When he enters, HX is vacuuming and said the omega should make himself comfortable.

Which includes heading to the pantry for their shared favorite snacks of hellopandas and getting a sweatshirt with HX’s soothing scent to wear.

However, a particularly enticing scent wafts from the dirty hamper in the laundry room. Lianlian pokes his head in and searches for the article of clothing-

If XL were in a clearer mindset, he would realize the huge sweatshirt he holds in his small hands doesn’t seem to be the color HX wears (maroon) nor does it completely smell like HX.

But it makes XL’s stomach flip with satisfaction so he wastes no time in shrugging off his own sweater and drowning himself in the oversized sweatshirt. (Sweater-paws!)

HX senses immediately that the sweatshirt XL wears is HIS NEW ROOMMATE’S (who hates others wearing his clothes) and tries to get XL to change-

But XL will probably have another breakdown if HX rips away the pleasantly-scented sweatshirt from the omega, and HX would never do that to his Lianlian.

Cue HC coming back, in a pissy mood because of some unreasonable clients. He smells HX’s normal cinnamon scent along with a sweeter scent that is probably an omega. Maybe that Shi Qingyuan?

And then HC enters the living room and sees a new face wearing one of his nicest sweatshirt, small form swallowed by the fabric.

A bubbling sensation simmers in HC’s gut.

HC: “He Xuan, who is he and why is he wearing my sweatshirt?”

HX: “His name is Xie Lian, and I swear to god if you disrespect him-“

XL: “it’s MY sweatshirt, actually !” 😤

HC and HX: ???

XL: “yeah, it might look similar to one of yours, but a friend gifted it to me for my birthday last month. it’s the second time I’m wearing is so the scent might be off….” 👉👈

HX, internally: “Noooooo”

HC, leaning against the entryway, slightly amused: “uh huh, and did your friend purposefully buy you a sweatshirt three sizes too big or were they out of stock of your actual size??”

XL squeaks, then buries himself further into the couch.

XL: “y-yeah, this was the only size available. it’s perfect for me…very warm and comforting-“ 🥺

XL unconsciously inhales deeply from the collar.

HC’s nose flares instinctively, his scent slightly jumping with interest.

HX wants to die.

HC: “I see.”

He walks forward, then sits down on XL’s other side on the couch.

HC: “Well, Xie Lian, you can call this one San Lang. I’m He Xuan’s new roommate. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other a lot in the future.”

XL’s eyes widen as the full force of cardamom and jasmine scent - the same one saturating the maroon sweatshirt - hits his nose.

XL’s body sinks even further into the couch, leaning towards the new alpha. He doesn’t see the way HX gawks over at him in disbelief.

XL, a little dazed: “yeah, me too” 😇

XL leaves soon after, taking the sweatshirt with him. After all, he keeps insisting it’s HIS.

Later, HC will find a discarded sweater on the ground of the laundry room.

He brings the clothing up to his nose, breathing in the creamy, peach scent.

HC can’t help but smirk.

He’ll definitely be seeing XL more often.

[mercur1e]

Saw your Father’s Day post and I knew I had to ask for it:

Dilf!Jean x Teacher!Black reader fic

I’ll let you pick whether it’s sfw or nsfw, I just need some Jean content rn😌

YES OML

Contains: Modern AU, female anatomy but no pronouns

Jean has had his eye on you for a while now. You're his kid's teacher, he know he shouldn't be feeling this way. But he can't help it. You're so kind and beautiful. You're great with the kids, and always patient with them. And god, your smile. That pretty, pretty smile. When he dropped Julia off at the first day of school, you had smiled and introduced yourself. Nothing unusual, it's just common courtesy. So why was he acting like a teenager in love all over again? He brushed it off thinking it was just because he hasn't dated in a while. Ever since his divorce he hasn't really been interested in dating.

Everytime Jean would pick up his child he made small talk with you. About his daughter, about your jobs, anything that would get you to talk to him. Jean would subtly compliment you, telling you that you look pretty or that a color looks good on you. Hell, he pointed out when you changed your hair up for a day, even if it wasnt anything major. Every once in a while he would lightly flirt with you, questioning how you're single and asking if you have a s/o. You'd always reply that you haven't been interested in anyone around here.

And it wasn't one sided, no. You'd glance at him when (you thought) he wasn't looking, looking as handsome as ever. His slicked back hair and style would make anyone swoon. A million dollar smile, great personality, and he was a good father? You wanted to be with him, you really did. But as a teacher you know you shouldn't. But the school year is almost out, you wish he would make a move.

Today was just like any other day, Jean came to pick up his kid and he was making small talk with you. Talking to you about your plans for the summer, and where you would like to go. Meanwhile Jean was was worrying about how to ask you out. "Do I just say it? Do I slip it in? Shit. Fuck it I'll just say it."

As you were talking about your summer plans, Jean interrupted you. "I..I was wondering if I can take you out on a date? If not I'm sorry that-"

"I've been waiting for you to say that." A smile forms on your lips. "I thought I'd become a corspe before you asked me out!" You poke in a joking manner.

Jean chuckled at you. "Well how about as an apology for making you wait so long, I take you out to dinner tonight?" He says while smiling at you. God, he's got a nice smile.

"I would love that. Is 7 o'clock good for you?" You ask Jean while writing your number on a slip of paper and handing it to him.

"Works for me. It won't be hard finding a babysitter for Julia for the night. I'll see you then sweetheart."

The rest of the school day went by fast. Happy to be home, you search through you closet to find something to wear. After digging in your closet you found your perfect outfit. Putting it on and standing infront the mirror you looked damn good in it. Going into the bathroom to finish up your hair and getting the look you wanted, you were almost done. Now you just had to find the right fragrance and any other additions. And with that, you were ready for your date. Hearing a knock on your door, you go to answer it.

You're met with Jean, looking as handsome as ever. He has on a dress shirt with some slacks, paired with a nice watch and shoes. Eyeing you up and down, he shoots you a smirk.

"You look amazing."

"And you look handsome, which is a shocker for you." You play, he knows he looks even on his worst days.

Jean guffawed at your comment. "Uh huh, like I don't notice you checking me out almost everyday at school."

Locking your door behind you, you two begin walking towards his car. "Guess I'm not as sneaky as I thought."

"Nope, you're shit and trying to be sneaky."

"Oh shut up!" You giggled as you slapped his arm lightly. He opens the car door for you and you get in.

"So, where are we going?" You ask once he gets in the car.

"It's a surprise, but I think you'll like it when we get there."

As he was driving, you two talked and joked together. It wasn't a very long ride, maybe about 15-20 minutes until you arrived to the destination. It was a popular steakhouse that had recently opened up, and it wasn't cheap either.

"I've always wanted to go here, I've heard good things about this place." Looking around the parking lot, you could tell it wasn't a super busy night but they had business, that's good.

"Me too. I've heard good things about the place and its owned by a local chef." Holding out his hand to you, you take it as you're getting out of the car. To his pleasant surprise, you hold on to his hand until you two are seated at the table he reserved. The rest of the date went wonderfully, you both thoroughly enjoyed dinner and had fun getting to know each other more. And of course taking playful jabs at each other and eating dessert.

Pulling up in front of your house, Jean helps you out the car and walks you to your front door.

"I really enjoyed tonight, I loved every bit of it. Thank you for treating me to dinner."

"Of course." Jean replies, secretly hoping you'd you'd kiss him.

You two sat in silence for a few minutes until you looked him in the eye. His eyes were shining, hoping that you'd make a move. Finally, you broke the silence.

"Can I kiss you-" You didn't even finish your sentence before his lips landed on yours. He pulled back though, the kiss ending as quick as it started. You kissed him again. And again, until it turned into a full blown makeout session. "Do you want to go inside?" You asked once you finally caught your breath. Jean nodded at you, eyes now clouded with need. Opening your door, you barely have time to register what happened. Jean's got you pressed against your door, lips back on yours. Running your hands through his hair you let his tongue roam your mouth. He sucks on your tongue while trying to take your clothes off. "Mm, not here, my bedroom." While hurrying towards your bedroom, articles of clothing litter your hallway as you both rush to take off your clothes. After you get into the bedroom Jean motions for you to lay on the bed.

Laying between your legs, he leaves kisses on your navel and thighs, avoiding where you need him the most. Taking a long finger and swiping up your slit, he feels just how wet you are for him.

"Fuck, I've been waiting to do this for so long."

You hum in agreement. "Me too, I've wanted you for so long"

Licking a stripe up your pussy, you shiver under him. He kitten licks your clit before sticking a long finger into you. Your vagina clenches around the digit, adjusting to it after a minute.

"Another" you mewl, wanting more of him. He listens, putting his index finger in. He moves his fingers in a scissoring motion, loving the way you feel around him. His fingers are coated with your juices, creating a wet sound every time he thrusted them into you. Sucking on your clit, you moan and twitch under him. He speeds his fingers up, and starts sucking at your clit more harshly.

"Ah! Ah! M' gonna cum!"

"That's right, come for me baby. Cum all over my fingers."

Your body shivers from your orgasm as your hole convulses around Jean's fingers, creaming around him. He takes his fingers out of you, and you whine at the loss. He takes his fingers up to his mouth and sucks on them.

"You tatse so good baby. So good for me. Can't wait to have you screaming for me."

He looks so hot like this. Hair disheveled and out of place, lust filled eyes just waiting to devour you. He takes his dick and strokes it a few times before pushing your legs against your chest. He lines himself up at your entrance, and slowly pushes in. It stings at first, he's so big. You already feel full, before you look down and see that you've only taken half of him. Jean slowly eases the rest of himself into you, before he's finally buried to the hilt. You swear you can feel him in your throat.

"Y-you can move baby, I can take it."

Jean smirks at you. "You sure?"

"Mhm..keep going."

Once Jean knew you were okay he started roughly thrusting into you. Leaning down to suck at your nipples, your hand grabbed at his hair. Tugging lightly at it, you wrangled a low groan out of the man above you. He can tell you're close because your moans are getting louder and he can feel you tightening around his dick.

"You gonna cum for me baby? Want me to fill you up?"

"Mm Mhm!"

"Say it."

"Cum in my Jean, please!"

He smirked. "Anything you want baby."

Slamming his hips into you, Jean's abusing your poor g-spot at this point. He flips you over so you're face down ass up and you can tell he's close too by the way his dick is twitching inside of you.

"Fuck! Fuck! I'm cummimg, I'm cumming-"

"That's it baby, come all over me."

Jean doesn't let up even after you've come. Your overstimulated pussy fills the room with sloppy noises. Jean gives a few more rough thrusts before coming inside of you. You both simultaneously groan out, you feel even fuller than before. He pulls out of you, feeling a sense of pride as he watches some of his cum drip out of your pussy.

Rolling over onto your back, you gaze up at Jean. A fucked out grin makes its way onto your face. Jean smiles back down at you before he lays down onto your chest.

"Is it selfish if I say I don't want this to end?" He mumbles in between the valley of your breats.

"Mm no. Because I don't want it to end either. I really like you Jean, I mean it." Your hand runs through his hair, its original style long gone.

"I really like you too, you think we could make something outta this? Maybe even a relationship?"

You giggle. "Is this your way of asking me to be your s/o?"

"Yeah...pretty shitty way huh?" Jean let's out a small laugh.

"Hmm yes, but I accept. I'll be your s/o."

"Guess it's not stupid if it works hm?" Jean leans up to plant a kiss against your lips.

"Oh shut up you!"

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE THIS DONE YESTERDAY BUT I FEEL ASLEEP! Anyways I hoped you liked it! Thank you for requesting and feedback is appreciated!! Have a good day! <33

This is my original work. Do not steal, repost, or copy my works. All works on this belong to @c00chi

[thefanficmonster]

A Little Childish

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF

Summary: Corpse and Y/N go to visit Y/N’s parents for New Year’s. Corpse was promised good food, good company and A LOT of snow. Needless to say, the place didn’t disappoint - quite the contrary actually, it exceeded any and all expectations he had.

Requested by @waterflowersposts Hi there! Sorry for how long it took for this fic to be written :( I hope the final result makes up for the long wait! I also thought it would be appropriate to post it during the holiday season, so I hope you don’t mind. Hope you enjoy the read and I’m looking forward to hearing your feedback and any more requests you may have. Stay safe! Happy Holidays! Love, Vy ❤

I watch as Corpse is basically floating from one room into another in our shared apartment as he’s throwing random articles of clothing in his open suitcase. I have already packed my bags, knowing full well what the appropriate attire is for where we’re going.

I look away from my laptop when Corpse comes in for maybe the sixtieth time today, this time carrying a white tee causing me to chuckle. “Corpse, I know it’s very trademark for you, but the only way you’ll be wearing that when we get there is under a sweater for some extra warmth. I’m not looking forward to having my boyfriend freeze in my parent’s house.”

He smiles, looking at the shirt in his hands, and shakes his head, “Fine, guess I’ll do without it for a week or two.” He throws it in our room, not even bothering to check where it’ll land before he comes to sit down next to me on the couch, “Keep in mind, you have set my expectations pretty high up there. If I am not waist deep in snow the second we step off the plane, I’ll be disappointed.”

I give him a side glance, a smirk playing on my lips. Must say, taking on challenges you know you’re gonna win is the ultimate high-and-mighty feeling. “Honey, you’ve got a big snowstorm coming.”

                                                               *  *  *

All throughout our trip - I’m talking the drive to the airport AND the flight over - I have kept my eyes glued to Corpse, observing as his eyes sparkled more and more with each foot we got closer to our destination. He has told me the most snow he has seen was less than an inch and I immediately felt it was my duty to change that by introducing him to the magic of Canada - my home. My parents own a getaway cottage in the mountains of Calgary where we used to go every holiday season. My earliest memory is playing in the thigh-deep snow with my older sister and crying whenever our parents had to drag us back inside. 

The West Coast of the US was a rather odd surrounding for me, having grown up surrounded by snowy mountains, experiencing Christmas with no snow whatsoever was a true let down and underwhelming feeling. Since Corpse and I started dating about a month after Christmas time last year this will be our first time spending the holidays together and Corpse was more than enthusiastic to visit Canada when I mentioned how much I enjoyed my winters there. We couldn’t go for Christmas, but we’ll be there for New Year’s Eve and the first two weeks of 2021 and I am really excited. I have been dying to see my family that has actually expanded since the last time I visited - my sister has had yet another baby, making her and her husband parents of three very energetic toddlers. The six year old twins - Ashley and Alex - and the three year old Andrew. Or, as I like to call them: The 3 As.

I have warned Corpse about them like seven times despite the fact that he’s already familiar with their energy, convincing him that if that’s more than he can handle we’ve still got time to cancel the trip. He didn’t bat an eye though, each time telling me not to worry and focus my attention on reliving the moments I’ve missed so greatly instead of making sure he was having a good time.

“If you’re there...“ he said, “I’ll sure as hell be having a good time.“

One step out of the airport and he’s already mesmerized. His eyes are shiny reflecting the glow of the snow all around. It’s gonna be funny to see his reaction when he witnesses the real deal - the snow in the mountains. This compared to that is a pathetic excuse.

“I know it’s not waist-high, but that’s because they shovel it and melt it.“ He is looking around, not paying much mind to my words. The utter amazement and disbelief on his face just makes me want to wrap my arms around him and kiss him. He’s simply adorable! I see fragments of the child in him swimming up to the surface in the form of temptation - temptation every kid feels when they see snow: Dive in and lose track of time. “Wait till we get to the cottage.“

This manages to catch his attention, “You weren’t kidding.“

I laugh at my precious kiddy boyfriend. “Whoa there, Corpsie. If your mind is already blown, I’m worried about how you’ll react to the real deal.“ 

I have a feeling I know exactly how he’ll react cause I react similarly - I set the child in me free. After all, no parent can tell you to stop playing and go inside when you are a 23-year-old.

                                                             *  *  *

Walking up to the cottage from the cable-car station has to be the first time I’ve breathed with my lungs’ full capacity in the last five years. The sharp cold air screams ‘home’ to me like nothing else ever did. I am still surprised as to how my sister prefers summer. My family jokes I’m a winter wolf in disguise and I think they’re right. I do like to roll around in the snow much like a wolf. No judgement! Having a few extra years added to my age doesn’t change everything.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.“ If I could take a shot every time Corpse has repeated this phrase I’d be dead due to liver failure. He is absolutely stunned. And I’m pretty sure he hasn’t blinked at all. Who am I to talk - I haven’t either. These mountains keep getting prettier and prettier, I swear. Taking my eyes off them would be a crime.

“Told you. I wish we made a bet, I could’ve made some easy money.“ I tease him, gently bumping my elbow against his as we walk up the trail.

“I’m glad I didn’t propose such a thing. That would’ve been fucking stupid of me.“ Judging by the tone of his voice, he is not really present in this conversation, so I decide not to let it go on any longer.

Not that I could’ve done differently, seeing as how barely three seconds latter I see three smiling faces coming at me at max speed.

Oh boy.

“Auntie Y/N!“ Ashley and Alex arrive first of course, wrapping their arms tightly around my waist. Little Andrew stumbles his way to me as quickly as a three year old possibly could.

Without wasting a second, I put my bags down and crouch so I can hug them properly. “Hi my babies! I haven’t seen you in so long.” Their hugging strength surprises me and warms my heart at the same time. The twins pull away, leaving room for the little duckling in a jacket two times his size and weight. “Hi Andrew! I nice to meet you! I’m auntie Y/N. Mommy and daddy have told you about me, haven’t they? If not I’ll kick their asses.”

“Y/N, I swear, I’ll tell Amy you’re teaching her kids swears at a very early age.“ Corpse says teasingly, stealing the attention from all four of us.

“She curses like a sailor, these kids probably know more swear words than I do.“ Ash and Alex run straight out of my grasp and to Corpse, proceeding to hug him around the waist as they did with me. They met Corpse when my sister and her husband Finn visited me back in the summer. They immediately fell in love with him. I specifically remember Alex telling me I have a ‘really cool boyfriend‘ and he only uses the word ‘cool‘ when he really likes something or someone. Corpse was honorably declared cool by Alex and that still warms my heart till this day.

“Hi guys, long time no see!“ He too crouches down to hug the little demons that immediately cling to him like koalas.

I scoop up the bundle of clothes with a face and stand up, balancing him on my hip. “Let’s attempt to get inside, shall we?” With my unoccupied arm I grab the handle of my suitcase.

Corpse nods and follows my lead, picking up the bags he also left in the snow. Ash and Alex bolt it back to the house while we struggle to follow, lowkey embarrassed by the pace we’re walking with.

Andrew struggles against me, reaching out towards Corpse. I look at them both apologetically. “You’ll meet Corpse when we get inside, darling. Chill out.”

“Y/N!“ My sister’s voice steals my attention. She emerges from the house, followed by the twins, a huge smile on her face. Her eyes land on Andrew who has calmed down is now resting his head on my shoulder sleepily, “Oh I’m so sorry about them, Y/N. I didn’t know they would charge at you the second you stepped foot on the property.“

Amy motions for me to give her her son but I hand her my suitcase instead. When she takes it I use my now freed arm to hug her as tightly as I possibly can with one arm and while balancing a baby on my chest. “It’s ok! I couldn’t have dreamed of a better welcoming.” I release, giving her a big smile.

She loses interest in me and goes to hug Corpse, taking a bag from him as well before giving him a hug. “Oh my God, Corpse, it feels like it’s been forever. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Happy to see you too, Amy.“ My sister has never liked a single guy I’ve dated. EVER. Corpse is the only one she warmed up to and that’s a huge deal to me. Corpse’s happiness when I told him that was something I’d pay to have filmed just so I can watch it every time I’m feeling down.

“Let’s get you both inside, you must be freez-“ She cuts herself off, rolling her eyes at me, “Of course, you’re not.“

I laugh and blow her a kiss as we keep carrying onward.

“Um, guys?“ Corpse’s voice makes me pause and turn around. He’s still standing in the same spot, looking- unsettled, I guess you could call it.

“What’s wrong?“ I walk over to him, taking his hand in mine.

His hand automatically gives mine a reassuring squeeze, “Nothing really, it’s just that...I’m meeting your parents for the first time and-...What if they don’t like me?”

I open my mouth to go off and start stating the obvious that they indeed won’t like him. They will LOVE him. It’s impossible not to love this man! But my sister beats me to it when it comes to stating the facts.

“Look, Corpse, they already love you. Heck, sometimes I feel like they have known Finn and you longer than they have known Y/N and I! They speak so highly of you and haven’t even met you - that should tell you more than enough about how they see you.“ She waves her hand towards the cottage, “Now walk in there and blow them away.“

Honestly, I’m glad Amy beat me to it. I couldn’t have said it better myself. 

And just like that, hand in hand, Andrew still in my other arm, we walk in.

                                                             *  *  *

Corpse is officially the main attraction, stealing the spotlight from Amy, Finn and I - something the three of us are incredibly thankful for. Amy was right with every word she said - my parents are absolutely in love with Corpse. Luckily for Finn and Amy, the 3 As are all over him as well. Especially Andrew. The second someone sets him down he just waddles his way over to Corpse who picks him up and settles him in his lap while he answers my parents’ questions. 

When the kids were finally talked into taking a nap, Corpse and I snuck out to have a little walk in the snow and, of course, take some pictures. I made it my personal goal to make as many artsy and aesthetic photos of him as possible. His favorite - a hand only pic of him holding a snowball - was my idea and I think I have never felt prouder of myself.

“I am definitely posting this one.“ He says, turning the phone so I can see the screen. I give it a quick glance, thinking he’s talking about the hand pic but do a double take when I realize it’s a picture of me that he has taken without my knowledge.

I actually look rather decent, so I give him a green light in the form of a big thumbs up, “As long as you post the hand one too.”

“Hey, Y/N!“ We look back at the house which isn’t far from where we are right now. Amy is hugging the jacket tightly around herself as she approaches us with fast steps. “You know where we haven’t been in like forever?“

I raise an eyebrow and shake my head as I rack through my brain trying to dig up what she’s referring to. It could literally be any place on this mountain!

“Hello! The Waterless Lake? Ring any bells?“

Oh...it sure does.

Brief explanation: it is a huge circular dip in the ground which fills with water when the snow melts and becomes a lake but empties by the time winter comes back around. That being said, when the snow is still not melted, it’s an absolute wonderland to play in. I suddenly remember all the barrel-rolling Amy and I did there as kids and feel really nostalgic.

“Oh God, yes! I miss that place!“ I say, snapping out of my reminiscing trance. “Let’s go while it’s still light enough.”

“Finn is making dinner right now, or trying to at least.“ She rolls her eyes, turning to Corpse, “But it’d be our pleasure if you tagged along, Corpse.“

Corpse shakes his head, “I’ll politely decline. You ladies can reminisce and chat in peace, while I’ll be helping Finn in the kitchen.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips before excusing himself, “Have fun!”

“You too!“ We call back to him in unison.

Amy gives me an amazed, wide-eyed look, “He can cook?”

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, smirking, “Oh, you have no idea.”

She laughs, linking arms with me as we begin walking our way to the Waterless Lake. The place probably has a different name or no name at all, but we named it that as kids and never told our parents where it was. It’s our spot, and it is very surprising Amy offered Corpse to accompany us there.

“Sis, you are very lucky. I hope you know that.“ She tightens the hold on my arm with hers, pulling us closer together.

“I tell myself that every time I look at him, Aims. I am fully aware.“ I say dreamily, recalling all the times I’ve spent with Corpse. Almost one full year and I could never imagine that year, nor the upcoming ones, without him.

                                                                *  *  *

Upon returning, we’re met with the most wholesome scene I have ever seen - Corpse and Finn are making snowmen with the 3 As. It seems like they’ve been at it for a while, considering there is an army of snowmen of different designs, shapes and sizes all at different spots throughout the perimeter of the clearing in front of the house.

“Oh dear Lord.“ Amy mumbles, “I had a feeling this would happen.“

The five snowman-builders don’t even acknowledge our presence when we approach them. Ashley and Alex are running around with Finn, looking for sticks to use as the snowmen’s limbs while Corpse is helping Andrew gather as much snow as possible for the body.

I don’t realize there’s a huge smile on my face up until the point I’m trying to say something. Nothing comes out, though. My words are being muffled by all the overwhelming emotions that have taken over - collapsing my senses. 

With a roll of her eyes, my sister opens the front door, taking a step into the house. The second the door opens, however, I get a whiff of the delicious smell coming from inside. Best guess, and probably the right one - this is Corpse’s doing. 

If I wasn’t already hungry, I sure as hell am now and I’m in no mood to be in that delicious food’s proximity without attacking it. 

“Come on, guys! Dinner time! Get your butts inside!“ I call out to them from the doorway.

Corpse turns to look at me with the sneakiest smirk I have ever seen. He narrows his eyes at me, “You have done the very thing you despise!”

It takes me approximately three seconds to connect the dots and scrunch up my face, picking up all the snow I can an forming it in a snow ball, throwing it at Corpse. Growing up doing this exact thing has given me great aim, therefore I hit Corpse square in the chest.

“Oh you’re so in for it now.“ He laughs, picking up snow to form his own snowball.

“Snowball fight!“ Ashley yells, ditching the sticks to make a snowball for herself.

“Oh no...“ I poke my head in the hallway just as a snowball hits my upper arm, “Aims, I need your help!“ 

Before Amy can respond, I run to take cover behind the nearest snowman that, luckily for me happens to be one of the larger ones. I hear Amy call out my name when she exits the house, followed by a surprised yelp from her when three snowballs hit her. “You are all dead!”

While she is fighting blood and fire (well, water really), I am making ammunition for us both to use. I’m on my eleventh snowball when snow showers me from above as though it has fallen from a tree branch.

“Hiding, I see.“ I am still in shock, hair and upper body covered in snow, when I hear Corpse’s taunting voice.

My vengeance instinct kicks in having me grab two snowballs and turn to throw them at him. To my dismay, he’s faster then me and doesn’t allow me to even get my arm at an angle where I could throw properly. Instead, he turns me back around and picks me up with ease, one arm wrapped around my waist, another grabbing two of my prepared snowballs from the ground.

“Let’s show them who the bosses are.“ I see him wink at me from the corner of my eye and it takes me little to no time to catch onto what he’s insinuating.

In short, with joined forces, we took out the opposite team in no time - like a true couple 😉

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Work of Art [Spencer Reid x fem! Reader]

Find my masterlist here. Requests are Open.

Taglist is open, you can find the form here.

Requested: Yes l No

A/N: this is just an unnecessary smutty follow up to Tattooed Heart.

CW: tattooes, tattooed reader, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, swearing, confident baby! Spencer.

Plot: Now Spencer knows you are interested in him, he has to get a glimpse of every single one of those tattoos. Especially the ones you keep hidden from the rest of the world.

Part One | Part Three

WC: 1.3K

—————————————————————

Spencer was usually shy when it came to women but seeing those tattoos on the backs of your thighs had driven him wild.

So he did as you said and asked you out to dinner, only one thing on his mind the whole night.

He walked you home and when you stopped outside of your building he knew it was now or never.

He placed his slightly shaking hands on your hips and came close to your ear before whispering “I want half of your heart on either side of my face.”

That was all it took. You knew exactly what he meant.

You took hold of his hand and led him upstairs.

No sooner the door of your apartment closed behind you, his lips were on yours, his hips pushing you back against the door.

You’d never seen this side of Spencer before. He was always so awkward and timid but right now he was hungry and desperate and you loved it.

Without breaking the kiss you led him to the bedroom and you laid down while he climbed on top of you.

“I want to see them all.” He ran his fingers over the ink on the tops of your thighs. “And I mean all.”

“Guess you’ll have to find them.” You smirked at him and it made him hiss.

He fumbled with the hem of your dress, feeling more nervous than he wanted you to know. You noticed his shaky hands though.

You arched your back so he could slowly pull the fabric up your body and over your head, revealing you were only wearing panties underneath.

Spencer stared down at you in complete awe.

On top of what he’d been able to see with your dress on, he now noticed the tattoo between your breasts trailed underneath them, cupping them a way a bra would, he thought. You also had a large rib piece on your left side.

He looked back up to meet your eyes that were sparkling in mischief.

“You’ve missed one.” You smirked again.

Spencer swallowed, chewing his lip as he looked down at the only item of clothing you still wore.

He looked back at you and you gave him an encouraging look.

He took a few deep breaths before hooking his fingers in the sides of your panties and slowly peeling them from your body.

Hidden from sight in your pubic region, until now was the final tattoo. A bright red set of lipstick slicked lips.

“Good god.” He moaned as he spoke. “What are you doing to me?”

You reached up and pulled him close by his tie so you could kiss him. You carefully slid his glasses off his face and placed them on the bedside table.

“I think it’s only fair, now that you’ve seen all of me, that I get to see all of you too Reid.”

He nodded, his nerves returning now it was time for him to undress.

He pushed himself up from the bed and stood next to it, toying with his tie.

You watched as he undressed slowly. First his tie, then his shirt, then his slacks until he was left in his boxers, hard and straining at the fabric.

You eyed him hungrily, begging him with your eyes to remove that final article of clothing.

He took a deep breath and pulled them down, tossing them in a pile with the rest of his clothes.

“Get over here.” you smiled at him, inviting him back onto the bed.

He climbed back on top of you, looking you up and down.

“You are an absolute masterpiece.” he ran his fingers over the ink on your arms. “I want to touch them all, kiss them all.”

“Please,” you nodded, giving him complete access and control.

He lifted your left hand and started kissing your wrist where the tattoos started and worked his way up to your shoulder while caressing your skin with his fingers.

He moved his lips to your right shoulder and worked down your arm.

His kisses and his touches were so tender it sent goosebumps flaring on your skin. Your whole body was tingling. When he moved his focus to your chest, you couldn’t help but moan.

His lips kiss the tattoo between your breasts while his fingers toyed with your nipples. You started writhing on the bed beneath him, your toes curling. His lips got lower, ensuring to kiss along the ink under each of your breasts, all the while he caressed you with his hands.

“Jesus Spence,” you mumbled, chewing on your lip. “That feels wonderful.”

“I’m just getting started.” he spoke into your skin.

Goosebumps flared on your skin again when he directed his lips and hands to your rib tattoo, and your fingers found their way into his thick hair.

He repeated his movements on your legs, lifting each one so he could kiss each half a heart on the backs of your thighs.

Once he was done on your legs he looked back at the tattoo on your pubic region. He had been looking forward to that one the most.

He made eye contact with you, his eyes dark and blown out wide as he bowed his head towards your final tattoo.

You held your breath, your hands dropping to your sides and screwing up the sheets.

When his lips connected with your tattooed lips you let out a ragged breath.

He was so close to your core you felt dizzy. You wanted nothing more than for him to be between your legs.

He spent more time on this tattoo than the others, really working his lips on the skin to really build up the heat between your legs.

“Spence,” you panted a little. “For the love of god, please.”

He smiled to himself, amazed he had this effect on you. He trailed his hands down your thighs, parting your legs a little, and his lips started getting lower until he found your clit and lapped his tongue over it.

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly, your legs spasming at the sensation.

He continued to lick, suck and kiss between your legs, lapping up every little bit of you.

You were writhing on the bed, your toes curling at the feeling of his glorious mouth.

He worked you right to the edge before he stopped, pulling back at making you whine.

He chuckled, moving back up the bed and placing your thighs on his shoulders.

“I told you I wanted half of your heart on either side of my face.” He smiled darkly, pressing the head of his dick at your entrance.

“Please god just fuck me Spencer, I beg of you.” you gripped his biceps. Your words made him shudder.

He couldn’t wait any longer to have you and he thrust into you with force, making you both moan viscerally.

He gripped your thighs tightly in his hands as he pounded in and out of you, eliciting the most wonderful noises from your lips.

You ran your nails over his chest, leaving light marks behind in your wake. Spencer placed kisses on your inner thighs, diving deeper inside of you and making you scream when he found your g-spot.

“Oh fuck Spence, that’s it right there.” tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as he focused his thrusts in the same position over and over bringing you to your orgasm quicker than you’d ever reached it before.

You clenched around him, digging your nails into the flesh of his chest as you came, mumbling his name.

He felt extremely proud of himself and after a few more forceful thrusts he was coming undone too, spilling himself inside of you, profanities falling from his open mouth.

He didn’t move for a few minutes after he came, trying to catch his breath before he pulled out and fell to the bed next to you. He rolled on his side and leant on his elbow so he could look at you properly.

He let his fingers trail over the ink between your breasts making you sign happily.

“You’re a goddamn work of art.” he spoke softly, placing a kiss on your temple.

You smiled sleepily, looking up at him.

“You’re not so bad yourself Spence.”

—————————————————————

Taglist -

All ships & genres -

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain @ptrs-prkrs @sexy-dumpster-fire @takeyourleap-of-faith

SR x reader all genres -

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[moldisgoodforyou]

on my mom's grave

wordcount: 3.7k

warnings: n/a

______

“How drunk do you think we’re going to get tonight?” Sophie asked, tipping back the last of a lemon White Claw as the two of them got ready for the night in her room.

“Dunno. I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

She paused, glancing back at him. “Do you not want to go?”

He shook his head and took the can from her, disappointed to realize there was nothing left. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m cool. Probably just won’t drink.”

“Is this about the phone call with your dad earlier?”

Rafe sighed, gritting his teeth. “It’s not - I’m fine, Soph.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him over, trying to get a read on his body language. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” After Rafe tugged his shirt over his head, ready much faster than Sophie, he paced around the room for a few seconds before speaking up. "Hey, so...Sarah's getting presented at the annual deb ball in spring."

Sophie seemed unbothered, turning her back to him as she wrestled her way into a crop top to get ready for the night. "Those are still a thing? Cool, so you're going home for it?" She paused, glancing over at him in his polo. "Undo another button."

He did so, then rocked back on his heels with his hands in his pockets, trying to figure out what to say next.

She slowly turned back to him, realizing he was still tense across his shoulders. "What?"

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign he was nervous and Sophie wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Yeah...my dad wanted you to come home for it too."

"What? Ward? Why?"

"He, kinda, uh, wants you to be presented too?"

She just laughed, turning back to the mirror with her brow furrowed in slight concentration as she applied another coat of mascara. "Okay. Sure." But when he didn't elaborate, she turned back to him again, lips pursed. "Cameron. Tell me you told him no."

"...I didn't not not tell him no."

"Rafe."

He cracked under her stare. "I'm sorry, okay! Look, it's easy, all you have to do is throw on a pretty white dress and gloves -"

"A dress that costs thousands of dollars -"

"Hundreds, but - I'll cover you, obviously -"

"No." She turned back to the mirror, shaking her head. "Fuck no. I'm not going."

"Sophie." He nearly begged, stepping closer and running his hand through his hair. "Baby. C'mon."

"Don't call me that. No. I don’t fit into that part of your world.”

"Not even for me?" He pleaded, giving her a half-hearted grin. He ignored her last sentence, knowing any argument he had for her point would be dismissed in two seconds. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important, you know that."

She turned back to him with crossed arms, fixing him with a glare. "Do I know that?"

"Soph."

"Don't, Rafe." She warned, holding one hand out, but he stepped closer anyways.

"Angel. Please. For me." He forced a smile, tried cracking a joke. "I really don't want to have to call him up and get read the riot act."

She furrowed her brow and Rafe reached out and smoothed out the lines in between her eyebrows before he could stop himself, making her soften just a little. "If I were to say yes. What would I have to do?"

"Just wear the dress, attend a dinner, party the night before and party that night." He paused, thinking. "And stay at my house for the weekend. Be civil to my dad.” At her eyeroll, he fixed her with a more serious gaze. “Meet my grandparents. Hang with my sisters. C'mon, Wheezie adores you."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. She thinks you're cool. Sarah too, but she’s less likely to admit it." He kissed her forehead, hands going to her waist. "Please?"

"It's that important?"

"I swear. On my mom's grave."

Sophie frowned immediately, reaching up to fix his hair. "That's not necessary."

"You'll do it?"

"...Yes." When he made a small fist pump, she fixed him with a glare. "Only because I love you."

“I'll go down on you every night for the next two weeks -”

She rolled her eyes at his promise, shoving lightly at his chest. "You basically already do that anyways, Rafe -”

"Okay, fine, I'll tie you up, something, anything, god, thank you, Soph. You don't know how big of a favor this is. I mean it." He sighed in relief, the tension draining from his body.

She ignored him, turning back to the mirror to apply lip gloss, carefully smearing the wand across her lips. “Why does he want me to do this? I don’t understand.”

“Is that the sticky stuff? I hate that stuff, it gets all over me when we’re kissing -” He started, then quickly shut his mouth as she flipped him off without looking. “Uh, ‘to integrate you into our society.’ Direct quote.”

“Oh god.” She groaned, setting the lip gloss aside after applying it, then started searching through her jewelry case. “So I’m gonna have to be on my best kook behavior?”

He snorted. “Sophie Flint, a kook. Not likely.”

“Watch it.” She pointed a warning finger in his face. “You don’t see anything weird with this? Your dad hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Rose does.”

“That’s not true either.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, challenging him.

He shrugged, relenting with a sigh. “You’re not her favorite person, no, but neither am I.”

“You think this was more her idea? For Sarah to do it too?”

“Nah, actually, pretty sure it was my grandparents’ idea. Probably Granddad. My mom went through all this, so…”

She turned her back to him and gathered her hair, offering the clasp of her gold chain to him. “Your mom was a debutante?” She questioned with interest.

_______

Rafe rarely ever talked about his mom - Sophie had only found out how she died from a newspaper article in the online archives, and hadn’t wanted to bring it up since. All she knew was that Mrs. Cameron had passed away in a car accident when Rafe was fourteen.

Both Sophie and Rafe’s schools shared a building, despite them going to private academies, and overlapped for certain advanced placement classes. In freshman year, they were together for AP chemistry, with Sophie sitting proudly at the front of the class while Rafe sat in the back with a group of his friends, often cracking jokes at inappropriate times or throwing wads of paper at each other. Freshman year Sophie was the epitome of stuck-up - she resorted to insults instead of making friends and kept to herself, terrified someone might find out that she was on scholarship and wasn’t truly meant to be there.

The day after the car accident, Rafe was unusually quiet. Sophie hadn’t heard the news yet, it was barely second period and she wasn’t looped into the trail of gossip like the rest of the girls at Greenville. They were partnered for an experiment that day - Rafe had groaned when he heard Sophie’s name after his from the teacher, and Sophie barely suppressed a roll of her eyes. She took charge right away, getting all the supplies and set up their work station without even addressing him. After a few minutes, she slid the small glass of solution to Rafe, raising her eyebrows. “You can do the work too, you know.”

He was completely spaced out, only glancing up when she said something. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, lifting a beaker and extending it to him. “Yeah. I know. Just drop in 10 milliliters of the solution, it’s not hard.”

Rafe sighed as he rested his elbows on the edge of the table, rubbing his temples. “Look, can you just do it?”

She finally took note of the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders were slumped, but misinterpreted it all. She smirked, taking on a taunting tone. “What, you’re still drunk from last night or something?”

He gritted his jaw, his entire body growing tense, and tugged at the collar of his polo. “Fuck off, Flint. Not in the mood today.”

She recoiled immediately, setting the beaker down with a little too much force. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t be a fucking bitch.” He spit back, standing abruptly. She winced as the stool squeaked across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention - as if they hadn’t had it already. Kelce stepped over and went to grab Rafe’s arm, possibly pull him away, but Rafe just wrenched his arm out of his grip. “I’m fine.” He growled, storming out of the classroom without looking back.

After a few moments of stunned silence, with Sophie on the verge of shocked tears, their teacher cleared her throat and redirected everyone’s attention, pointing one of the girls over to join Sophie instead. Molly made her way over, occupying Rafe’s seat in the space across from her. “Poor Rafe,” she murmured.

Sophie frowned, pulling her jacket tighter across her chest like a shield of armor. “Poor Rafe? What?”

Molly nodded, lowering her voice a little. “Yeah, you didn’t hear? I’m surprised he’s at school, honestly.”

“I didn’t...what happened?”

“Oh.” Molly frowned. “Um. You know that winding road, the one that goes downhill toward the ballet studio?”

Sophie didn’t, she didn’t even have a clue - the ballet studio was on the entire opposite side of the island from where she lived, the height of Figure 8, and she hadn’t ever had a reason to even venture that way. “Yeah? What does that have to do with Rafe?”

“Um, well, it was pouring last night, and his mom was driving down that road. I heard she lost control of the car and wrecked it. There was, like, a drunk driver that swerved into her lane, but she tried to avoid him and hit a tree.” Molly told her, careful on the details.

“I’m pretty sure the Camerons can replace a car.” Sophie replied, not wanting Molly to confirm where she thought she was going with the story. She dug her nails into the skin of her thigh anyways, feeling anxiety bubble up in her chest.

Molly shook her head, slowly. “Mrs. Cameron died, Sophie.”

Her heart dropped and she bit the inside of her cheek, hard. “Oh.”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the sirens last night, I saw like eight police cars last night headed toward his house. I heard Sarah was in the car too, I think -”

“Is Sarah okay?” She couldn’t concentrate on anything but her ears ringing, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Oh, yeah, I think so. But god, how awful, right? The funeral is next weekend, Ward Cameron told my dad this morning. Is your family going?”

“Um...I don’t know.” Sophie glanced toward the door, hoping to god he would come back through the door and Molly would confess that it was all a joke, that she hadn’t just started something with Rafe on that day of all days.

________

Rafe nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course she was. I think she really enjoyed it, actually, she’d always tell Sarah when she was little about how pretty she would look in the dress, how important it was to learn the right etiquette and -” He cut himself off, realizing he was sharing too much, and deftly fastened the clasp before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting her step away. “All that.”

“Huh.”

He smiled to himself, thinking about how his mom would let little Sarah play dress up in her old ballgown with gloves that went up to her armpits, wobbling around in high heels twice the size of her feet. His mom would tell Rafe he’d have to watch out for Sarah with her escort, keep him in line, and that when he was in college he’d be presenting a girl as well. But he was nine and didn’t think of girls in that way quite yet, so he always scowled and left the room.

“It’s kind of cool, I think. The tradition of it all.”

“The ball? Have you been?” She caught his eye in the mirror as she adjusted her top, not wanting to push for too much information before he’d shut down altogether.

“No...I was gonna present Brooklyn at the one here in Columbus, sophomore year’s normally when the girl gets presented, but. Yeah. No, I meant, it’s kind of cool that you’ll be doing something my mom did.” He rubbed the back of his neck, meeting her gaze for a moment then looked away.

“Yeah?”

“She would have liked you. I know it.”

Sophie perked up a little, cocking her head. “You really mean it?”

“Yeah. She would have liked that you have an attitude with me.” He grinned when she turned back around and took his hand, tugging him over to sit on the bed next to her. “She was always saying I needed to find someone to match my energy, keep me in check. I wish she could have met you.”

“I did meet her. Once.”

He perked up, cocking his head. “You did?”

“Yeah, I served her when I was working at the restaurant at the country club once, I was only fourteen. I remember she made some comment about me being too young to work and I told her I liked it. Then she asked my name, and I remember she seemed like she knew already when I told her.” Sophie nodded. “She was really nice, left way too big of a tip and wrote my name on the bill. I always thought that was funny.”

Of course she knew, Rafe thought as he smiled to himself. She knew, because Rafe had come home and complained about a girl getting on his nerves every single week since seventh grade. She knew, when the complaints turned to “why won’t just be nice to me” and his mom had quipped that Sophie probably liked him - he had scoffed and walked away. She knew, because his mom had come home from the country club and told him Sophie Flint was a much nicer girl than Rafe painted her to be, and Rafe had immediately turned bright red and been embarrassed that his mom sought her out.

“I like that.” She leaned into him, taking his hand to play with his rings. “Will your grandparents be there? At the ball?”

“Oh, yeah. They sit on the board, I’m pretty sure, it’s this gigantic charity event. I’ll introduce you, but don’t worry, they’re chill. Nothing like my dad.” He adjusted himself so she was comfortable, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, treading carefully. “I thought your dad grew up on the Cut.”

“He did. But my mom, no way. Kook through and through. That’s, uh, where a lot of my trust is from. After she died, um. She wanted to be sure me and Sarah were set.” He shrugged, ears turning red as he felt his throat getting tight.

Sophie frowned, feeling him closing off, and leaned closer to hug him, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff whenever, Rafe? I’d like to hear more about your mom. She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She was.” He nodded, settling his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thanks, Soph. This is a really big deal to me, that you’ll go. I know it’s not your scene.”

“Love you.” She murmured. “You’d better buy me a pretty dress.”

He laughed, leaning back just enough to tip up her chin with one finger and kiss her. “You’ll be the best looking one there. I swear.”

“Oh, I already knew that.”

“Okay, okay, big head -”

She swatted his arm, laughing as she ducked out from under him. “Watch it, or I won’t go -”

“I was kidding!” He exclaimed, wrestling with her for a moment before grabbing both her hands and pinning them above her head.

Sophie sucked in a breath, caught off guard. “We are going to be late.”

“We’re already late.” He pointed out, taking a moment to realize the lack of innocence in the position, then slowly smirked. “We could be later. They’re not gonna miss us.”

“Rafe.”

“Sophie.”

“No.”

“You’re positive?”

She just gave him a look, staring him dead in the eyes and willing herself not to react when he leaned down with a grin and kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Please?”

“Fine. The ball or sex right now. You choose.” She raised her eyebrows, arching her back a little on purpose, pressing her hips up against his.

“That’s not fair.” He frowned, immediately shifting his hips away and moving so both his knees were on either side of her instead. “This is blackmail.”

“Your choice.” She reminded him, biting her lip for good measure.

He faltered, sitting back on her thighs and letting go of her wrists. “Soph, it’s - it’s for my mom. I swear. Not for my dad, Rose, anyone else.”

Sophie dropped the teasing act right away, propping herself up on her elbows. “Right, right, sorry. I won’t push it.”

“It’s alright.” He climbed off her, standing, and offered his hands. “Five bucks James makes some joke about us being late because we were having sex.”

“I’m not taking you up on that.” She rolled her eyes, accepting his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Love you long time, Cameron.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you too, favorite girl.”

“What do the dresses look like?”

“Uh...white?” Rafe shrugged, tugging on her hand to get her to follow him downstairs. “I dunno. When we go home for Thanksgiving I’ll book you an appointment to get fitted, I think it’s at some bridal shop on the mainland.”

“Sounds expensive.” She muttered, shaking her head.

“It’s…yeah. It’s not cheap.” He admitted, then shrugged as she followed him out the door, starting their walk toward the bars. “I’ll take care of it though. All of it. By the way, have you booked your flight home for Thanksgiving yet?”

“Um...no. I was going to look this week, it’s probably too late now though.”

“Hm.”

“Hm? Why, are you going home?”

Rafe nodded, not looking her in the eye. “Taking the plane.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“The plane...that no one else will be on...and it’s kinda ridiculous for you to waste money and carbon emissions on a separate flight…” He tried convincing her, a small smile playing on his lips as she rolled her eyes.

“You need to learn how carbon emissions work if you’re going to use that as an argument with me.”

“So that’s a no to sex on the plane?”

Sophie stopped in her tracks, confused. “That wasn’t - Rafe, what?”

“You, me, alone on the plane. Sorry, was I not clear enough?”

“I didn’t even say yes -”

“Oh, so you’re going to leave me all by myself on our one-year anniversary -”

She raised her eyebrows, challenging him. “When’s our anniversary, Rafe?”

He raised his back, stopping on the sidewalk to face her. “On my terms or yours? Because if we’re going with mine, it’s Halloween -”

“No, I had to ask you to be my boyfriend, it’s November 18th -”

“That is such an arbitrary thing, Sophie -”

“Hey! Stop stealing my vocabulary.” She interjected, pushing at his chest. “It’s the 18th, because I had to ask you out.”

“Okay. Whatever story makes you happy.” He shrugged, laughing when she shoved at him again. “Come on the plane with me.”

“...Fine. Only because I don’t want to miss our class reunion party on Wednesday night, I’m pretty sure some people still don’t believe we’re together.”

Rafe laughed loud at that, looping his arm around her shoulders and started walking again. “Pretty sure Topper still thinks it’s all an elaborate lie.”

“Does he know that we nearly hooked up in his room last winter break?”

“No.” He grinned. “Are you forgetting that you had to sprint into his bathroom right when I was about to kiss you because of some tequila thing you had?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re remembering wrong. That was sophomore year, before we were dating, I barely drank last year...you almost kissed me?”

“What? No, I think...remember, we were arguing over something, then you whispered in my ear to go up to his room and left. I went up a couple minutes later.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to make a move, Brooklyn and I were together then.”

Sophie scowled at the mention of Brooklyn. “I must have been hammered, I don’t remember any of this.”

“You wanted me.” He smirked, trailing his fingers along her collarbone. “One might say desperate.”

“No, no. All I remember is waking up in Topper’s bed feeling like shit, I had some crewneck on from your academy.” She ignored the blush creeping up her neck.

“How do you think you got there and got the sweatshirt?” He frowned. “I took care of you, Sophie. You really don’t remember?”

“I think I blacked out.” She confessed, shaking her head. “You took care of me?”

“Of course I did. Plus, I thought I was about to get some, I would have done anything for you.” He grinned, laughing when she shoved his shoulder. “Really thought that was the night I’d finally win you over.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame Sarah for her heavy pour that night.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I really wish I remembered that.”

“I wish you remembered too. Maybe you would have given me a chance before then instead of setting me up with Julia.”

“I - no! She asked to be set up with you, no, I did not instigate that at all.” She defended herself straightaway, cheeks flushing pink. “She said if I wasn’t going to make a move, then she was going to.”

“Sure. Whatever you believe.” He teased, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they arrived at the bar. “Hey, Soph.”

She rolled her eyes, going to get in the winding line outside until he tugged her wrist back, pulling her to his chest. “What?”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

Sophie softened, smiling as she rose up on her toes to kiss him. “Of course, baby. I’ve got your back.”

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46 @outerbankies

[starshipsofstarlord]

Wild Thing 

This is a second part, find part one here

Pairing | James Cook x reader

Summary | the aftermath of that night not only has Cook feeling immensely heartbroken, but also furious. And you, the one that caused all that pain, are the whom he is intent of directing his feelings towards. This time however, he is not to make himself so vulnerable.

Warnings | angst, swearing, mentions of sex, shaming for sex (everyone is free to do what they want sexually and to their bodies), sex addiction.

Requested ☑️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

A fire burned in his chest, the flames reaching his face and causing a red hue to interpret the presentation of his milky skin. It was anger; he had been furious with you that night. broken by the shattering of his heart. It made him feel worthless, the way that you had just left with another bloke, abandoning him to satisfy the pity of his friends.

But you had returned to college, after your little suspension, and that amused and mischievous smile on your face riled him completely. Before if you wore it, he would want nothing more than to follow you into the nearest dark corner, and do unspeakable, yet brag worthy things with you.

However, he found himself not willing to give himself so easily away to you again. For you would do nothing more than discard him, and bend him to fulfil your insatiable lust during school hours. He knew that it wasn’t your best moment; there was shit tons of alcohol involved in your bloodstream, as there was his, but nevertheless, he saw your true colours, and had decided from then on out, that he had decided that he did not like them.

“Don’t worry about it mate, just ignore her.” Freddie was admittedly worried about his friend, albeit if he could easily annoy him and get under his skin. But nobody deserved such ignorant and hurtful treatment, after all, Freddie knew far too well of how that all felt. His relationship wit Effy was promptly messy, but he could not help but be enticed by the danger that she radiated.

“Yeah.” Cook shook his head, trying to convince himself to cool down, and listen to Freddie. “I, uh - I’ll meet you after class. Gonna go out and have a smoke, then, who fucking knows.” And thus, he walked away from his friend, heading towards the back doors that permitted him some fresh air.

Inside made him feel trapped, as though he were in a room again, surveying how you threw yourself at that stranger, willingly allowing him to grope you as you returned the favour. And then you left him, after he had made himself vulnerable to all eyes after opening up his heart.

That had been a grave mistake on his part, it was dumb idea for him to have thought of himself as anything more than another one of your toys, that you happened to throw away after one game, like a spoilt, and vindictive brat.

Everyone knew what you were like, Cook thought he had seen past the exterior that you flashed off, envisioning something deeper within you. But in the end, the only deep insight that a part of him ever had in you, was when his cock had been pounding in your pussy, that had swallowed god knows how many other dicks.

He breathed a breathy sigh, holding back his tears as he grew determined to stay strong through all that was happening. To his friends, he was the man. There was no soft side to him, and there sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be a girl that was able to break down his walls so easily.

You had made him feel weak, something he never wanted to experience again. And so he pulled out his box of cigarettes, wrapping his palm around the front so that he could light it without the wind dismissing his wishes, as you previously had done. He watched the fire balance on the end of the bud, but with a gust of wind, it disappeared, making him huff.

Nervously, you watched James from behind him, biting your lips as you silently closed the door. “Fucks sake!” He half yelled into the autumn day, throwing his useless lighter to the ground, finding it to be out of fuel, and no longer igniting the end of his fag.

“You need a light?” Your voice rang through his head like a painful echo, his shoulders wincing. He refused to turn, for he knew that taking one glimpse at your inducing face would break him all over again, and so he remained directing his eyes the opposite way, gulping before opening his gob.

“The fuck d’you want?” He spat out, shooting a droplet of saliva upon the concrete as he mindlessly dragged his shoes along the gravel. His tone made you shrink, though you continued closer, until you handed him the black encased lighter, unsurprised by how he roughly snatched it out of your hand.

He took a puff once he had brought fire to the end of his cigarette, refraining from turning from the side. “I’m a bitch.” You sighed, tugging your jacket closer around yourself, as the wind swept through your hair. Admitting you felt terrible would be a mistake, it would only set Cook off again, and that was the last thing you wanted. To make amends was your goal.

“Yeah, you are.” He agreed, carelessly throwing the s lighter sideways towards you, smirking as he heard you fumble to catch it. “Can’t even be polite about someone telling you that they care about you, all because you don’t care about yourself. You think of yourself as a rag doll that can be thrown around until the person playing with you makes you cum.”

Staring at the ground, you breathed through your nose as you really allowed the words to sink in. He wasn’t entirely wrong, pleasure was a distraction, an escape from the reality that you were forced to live in.

“I deserve that.” You nodded, finally feeling your heart stop as he turned to look at you. To say you looked different was an understatement, he hadn’t realised earlier since he was trying his utmost to avoid you, but you were dressed in baggy articles, and void of any traces of makeup. And you looked partially hungover, karma was a right bitch.

“You don’t deserve nothing.” He took another inhale of the toxins within the cigarette, trying to keep Freddie’s sense in his mind, though it was difficult to ignore you when you had sought him out to talk rather than a quick and mind fucking shag.

“Maybe.” You breathed steadily, shoving your hands in your pockets as your hidden fingers played with the lighter that he had returned. “But I messed up, and I know you understand that, because you push people away too Cook. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, I mean, I woke up in that guy’s bed, ‘n all i could think about was you. I’ve never been so stupid.”

“Speaking to me right now is pretty stupid of you.” He retorted, releasing a tension filled scoff. “Tell me y/n did you fuck that guy? Did you allow him to run his nasty hands all over your body, did you shove his cock inside of you, using him like you use everyone?”

“You already know that answer to that.” You replied, for sure not proud of yourself. “I have a problem, I think. There’s something fucked up inside of me Cookie, and I can never say no to someone that wants to do me.” Your hands grasped the air, as tears spilled from your eyes. “I think I need help.”

“What problem y/n/n?” Cook dug in deeper, needing more of an answer. It wasn’t enjoyable to see you cry, it made his veins turn to acid, burning him from the inside out, but this was the first instance that you had been so open with him.

“I think I’m a sex addict.” The words weighed heavy on your tongue, making them feel more real as you spoke them. “The doctor said he needs to do a couple more assessments then we’ll know for sure, but I really am fucked; in both ways. I can’t stop fucking, and I’m fucked up. I’m unable to commit to anybody because of this, but that doesn’t mean that in this sickness in my mind doesn’t leave room for me to leave room about it...”

“Fuck.” James dropped his cigarette, allowing you to fall into pieces within his arms. “We’ll get through this, I’ll help you, yeah?” He stroked your hair, making you bite your lip, inwardly pushing away the dirty thoughts that sparked within your head.

“I can’t ask that of you.” Your whimpered, finally feeling safe yet pained in the worst way whilst in his embrace.

“You don’t have to ask me. I’m here.” You gulped at his words, deep down knowing that you would get again fuck up, and he would not remain by your side for the long run. If he did, then he’d be insane.