#i’m seeing sounds and hearing colours good god

[spirallingstarcases]

not even the stars, out in space, are truly alone

peterick x binary stars x snippets of personal poetry

[infictionalwonderland]

hot physiotherapist | j.potter

SUMMARY, james has a rugby accident and has to take physiotherapy - he’s pretty down about, but all that depressions forgotten as soon as he sees you, his physiotherapist. why had he not done this sooner?

James Potter was miserable.

A very odd occurrence, although it did happen (evidently). He was pouting the whole way as Remus drove them to the physiotherapists, Sirius was giggling to himself in the backseat the whole time—Remus, ever the angel he was, tried to cheer James up by giving him complete control over the music in the car and even greeting him with his coffee order and a chocolate croissant.

James was still miserable.

“Have fun, darling boy!” Sirius chirped out the window as James got out of the car, “try not to break any bones on your way in. God forbid you need physiotherapy.”

He burst out into borderline manic cackles and fell down completely into the row of backseats, never one to wear his seatbelt as he hated being constricted—James glared with upmost venom and hatred at the backseat windows, Tarzan looking cunt.

“I hope everything goes well.” Remus’ voiced gently, shooting his boyfriend a blank stare even as he tried to stop his own amusement. “D’ya want me to fetch you any food or anything for you when you come out?”

“No. Thanks.”

Remus winced.

James was still miserable.

He trotted his way indoors, cursing inside his head at the shooting pains all up his back and his hips, with the largest pout there ever was he made his way over to the reception and told them who he was—why he was here, before behind asked to take a seat in one of the rooms where he would be joined shortly by the physiotherapist.

He sat, frowning at the large room with equipment and soft turquoise coloured walls for a short about of time and then the door opened.

And then his world stopped.

In you stepped. . your hair was tugged into a low ponytail, front strands out of the pony to frame your face. He had died, he was certain. Your skin looked so soft, the beaming white lights giving you the most heavenly glow, he was sure you were an actual angel. Your eyes gleamed beautifully, and he was lost in the exact shade of them—trying to pinpoint every little detail and speck of colour. Your lips were pulled into such a fucking lovely smile, he could’ve melted (he did melt). Even from where you stood in the door, he was greeted in the pleasant aroma of your perfume and he felt like he was floating.

Your mouth was open—oh my god he was missing an opportunity to hear your voice—wait, what had you been saying. Balls.

“Um—h—muhuh?”

Double balls.

Your beautiful smile didn’t even waver in the slightest, though, amusement weaved it’s way into your eyes and created a mesmerising pattern into your irises that he forever engraved into his memory.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Potter! My names Y/N and I’ll be your physiotherapist for the foreseeable future.” You grinned, walking closer to him, “Hopefully.”

Wha—was that flirting? No! You had said it in a normal tone, like Hi I hope I stay your physiotherapist because it is literally my job, James and I enjoy it. But—yeah, no. It was like that. You were so close to him now—so so much more beautiful up close, he didn’t think that was even humanly attainable.

“Yeah—i—I hope so too, ma’am.”

MA’AM?!

Somebody sedate me, he thought.

You didn’t seem thrown off or even slightly offended, or disgusted by him. Which was, good, really, really good.

Instead, you let out this little bubbly burst of laughter and fucking hell, James knew from that point he was gone and could never return. His eyes were probably comically wide and maybe in literal heart shapes but he could truly care less. He look at you in awe—your nose scrunched when you laughed, your eyes squinted and to James you just became even more perfect.

“Please, call me Y/N—Ma’am sounds overly American anyway—“

“Would you prefer Miss?”

I’m never leaving the house again.

You blinked.

He almost stumbled to his knees in apology though that would obviously only give you the impression he was more of a creep than you already thought he was—but—hold on. He watched, mouth falling open just slightly, as your cheeks flushed a very very pretty pink and your mouth formed into the cutest smile he’d ever seen in his entire life.

He was definitely leaving the house again, and it was going to be to come here everyday.

“Just Y/N is fine, thank you for being so considerate though.” You laughed teasingly.

“Can I be upgraded to just James?”

“Oh? You don’t want to he called miss? Or Ma’am?” You grinned at him, white teeth glistening from under your full lips, cheeks turning a faint rosy shade under the strength of your grin and a strand of hair swooping in front of your eye. He was in love. “Or, Sir maybe?”

Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

James is one hundred percent that he would’ve fallen over fast first had he been standing and he’s never been more thankful he’s not. He can feel his cheeks turn red—his face heating up to an embarrassingly tomato red state at an embarrassingly quick rate.

“Nah—Ju—Just James, please.” He huffed out, moving the material of his shirt dramatically off his chest and fanning himself. “Is—um, is it hot in here or is just you? Me! Is it just me?!”

You smile at him, adorably crinkle eyed and slightly pink cheeked, looking every bit the goddess and the angel James already knew with certainty that you were.

James Potter was, as it turns out, no longer miserable.

In fact, he can’t wait for his next appointment.

[martiniluvr]

pookie can you write bottom Dick, like I need to be on top of him driving him wild, perhaps even shoving fingers in his mouth if he gets too excited

ok anon this was a little out of my wheelhouse. but. the thought of THEE dick grayson, alias nightwing, squirming and begging made me start seeing colours that don’t exist so here I am. hope u enjoy 💋

18+ minors dni

���・・・★・・・★・・・★

dick grayson is used to being in control. being in charge of the people around him, telling them what to do, even physically dominating them occasionally—it all comes with the nightwing mantle; it’s just who he is. except to you. you get to do whatever you want to the mighty vigilante. and, god, he loves it when you use him to get yourself off.

dick is putty in your hands, and right now he’s trapped beneath you as you straddle him on the bed, lowering yourself down on his cock painfully slow while your hands use his chest as leverage. he whines and bucks his hips, his eyes begging you to give him something. you tut at him and raise yourself on your knees, letting his cock slip out of you. you thought you’d been clear: you were in charge tonight. his chest heaves as he looks up at you with needy blue eyes, his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen.

“I know—I’m sorry,” he whines, running his hands over your thighs hungrily. “I just—god, please, baby.”

“please, what? come on, use your words,” you insist, reaching between your legs to tease yourself. you notice the way his breathing hitches at the sight, and it makes you smile. you both know he could flip you over right now and fuck you however he wants, which makes your little display of power all the more arousing. he’s letting you do this, and you intend to have your fun.

“please fuck me, baby, please,” he begs, his fingers digging into your flesh desperately. you bite your lip to conceal your excitement at hearing him whine like that, and you decide to appease him, sinking back down onto his cock with a breathy moan. dick groans as your warmth envelops him, his furrowed brows relaxing once he’s finally buried inside you. you’ve been teasing him for what feels like hours, and he can’t contain the sounds he makes as you start to rock your hips.

he’s reduced to a medley of gasps and moans when you speed up, grinding your clit against his pelvis with each movement as you start to feel your orgasm building. your eyes screw shut as the knot in your belly tightens, and you hear dick’s whimpers growing louder.

“shh,” you coo, sweat trailing down your spine as you ride him harder. “I know, dickie. you feel so good inside me, baby.” you instinctively glide your fingertips over his soft lips, before slipping your ring and middle fingers in his mouth. he moans around them, sending heat pooling between your legs.

“just a little more,” you encourage him, your abdomen tightening as your other hand leaves small crescents in his skin, “just like that, hmm? make me feel good. you can do that, right, baby?” you breathe. you feel his cock twitch inside you as he nods emphatically, whining against your fingers as your hips roll on top of him. you shudder, a pleased smile on your face. you’ve got him right where you want him.

[penny00dreadful]

Before He Cheats

AO3

“Munson Home for the Recently Deceased, you stab ‘em we slab ‘em. How may I direct your call?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds before a light chuckle crackled through the speaker.

“Is that really how you answer the phone?”

Eddie smiled to himself. “Got you to laugh didn’t it?”

“Suppose.”

“Plus, no one calls the landline anymore unless they’re trying to sell something. You trying to sell me something?”

“No. No, I uh… I’m looking for an Eddie Munson?”

“Only an Eddie Munson? Only one? What a terrible fate. Well you’re in luck, my good sir. This is he. What can I do you for?”

The voice on the end of the line gave a light laugh once again but went silent almost immediately after. 

Eddie stared at the wall in his apartment, waiting for something to happen. In the quiet he could hear the guy letting out little nervous breaths before one big inhale.

“I um. I’m sorry to have to tell you like this, I’d prefer to do it face to face but I don’t know where you live and you probably wouldn’t even want me at your house afterwards and I did find you on social media but it’s not something I wanted to do in DM’s, you deserve better than that-”

“Okay, hold on, slow down.” Eddie tried to ignore the panic starting to kick around in his heart. “Is someone dead? Is someone injured?”

“No! No, Jesus, I’m sorry. I told Robin that I’d be terrible at this but I couldn’t just let it go on without saying anything-”

“You haven’t really said anything. You’re just rambling.”

“Right. Sorry. Again, blame Robin. I’m around her too much. But… okay. Do you know Rick Lipton?”

Eddie felt the panic leave him, replaced only by irritation as he sighed through his nose. “What did he do now?”

“He… um. I’m sorry to ask this but are you his partner? Like, romantic partner?”

Eddie scowled. “And if I am?”

There was movement against the line, almost as if the other guy was nodding. 

“Shit.” He muttered before picking back up in volume again. “Listen, I didn’t know. He told me he was single and I only found out because Robin lives in the same building as you and she saw him with you and asked the neighbours and they said you’d been a thing for like two years and you have to believe me if I’d known I wouldn’t have touched him, I don’t fuck around with cheaters-”

“How long?”

Eddie had expected to feel betrayal or sadness, devastation or heartbreak and they were there. 

They were just lost under a tidal wave of anger and indignation. He was even surprised at himself that he didn’t feel more caught off guard. 

Rick had never cheated before (that Eddie was aware of) but he had always had a wandering eye and a few off-colour jokes about 'going to find someone more his speed’. 

They’d never really felt all that funny.

Maybe it was because their relationship had felt dead for the last few months. 

They barely talked, they just existed around each other. The sex had all but dried up as well and whenever they did have it, it was completely impersonal. Get in, get out, move back to separate parts of the apartment if either of them even bothered to stay over. 

More often than not one of them would make a quick exit back to their home.

Eddie had been thinking a breakup was on the horizon for a while. 

But that was no excuse to cheat. 

At least have the fucking decency to end the relationship first before going out and chasing tail. 

“Um, like four or five weeks." The guy on the phone muttered, clearly ashamed. "I’m so sorry Eddie, I swear to god if I knew I would never… I have- I have proof if you need it.”

“If it’s a sex tape I don’t think I want to see it.” Eddie was trying really hard to maintain his calm and not snap through the phone. 

If what the guy was saying was true, then he was an innocent party in this.

Didn’t make it hurt any fucking less though.

Didn’t make him any less pissed.

“If- no it’s not a sex tape.” The voice sounded scandalised. “Fucking hell, do people actually do that?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, as though the guy was waiting for Eddie to continue but Eddie just let it hang in the air. He wasn’t ashamed. 

But he was definitely going to have to purge those files now.

“Okay well… It's just a photo. I posted it to my insta a week ago but he was really weird about it being up, which in hindsight makes a lot of sense, so I took it down.” He said, quiet and sad. “I can send it to you if you want.”

Eddie pursed his lips. 

“Please hold.”

He unceremoniously dropped the phone with a clatter, leaving it dangling from the cord, bouncing against the wall and probably blowing the guy’s ear out. 

Maybe in the morning Eddie would feel a little bad about that, but for now it just felt very satisfying. 

He rifled around in his bedsheets for his phone before making his way back to the landline. 

“Still there?”

“Yes. Ow, by the way.”

Eddie just shrugged, well aware the guy couldn’t see him but whatever. He wasn’t in the mood. 

“Send it on.”

Only a moment later his phone pinged with a notification and Eddie opened the photo.

Well. 

Shit. 

There was Rick, in amongst a crowd at some nightclub, plastered to the side of some pretty boy who looked like he had a regular workout routine. 

Ugh.

Eddie couldn’t handle gym bunnies, the amount they could bench or whatever was all they ever talked about. But this must be the guy on the other end of the phone. 

@King.Steve.Of.House.Hair

Rick had King Steve’s earlobe in between his teeth and from the angle of the selfie Eddie could see his hands were wandering.

It looked like some kind of Halloween night, if the teeny tiny little sailor outfit was anything to go by.

God damn.

But even so, Eddie still wanted to be sure that what he was seeing was… well. What he was seeing. 

“Steve, is it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t realise I hadn’t given you my name yet.” Steve let out a nervous laugh, like he was expecting Eddie to jump through the phone and strangle him.

Eddie was fit to strangle someone but Steve wasn’t in his crosshairs.

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me, what does Rick have tattooed on his ass?”

“Uh…” Steve paused. “He doesn’t have a tattoo on his ass? Not that I’ve seen anyway. But I can tell you he does have his taint pierced. For some fucking reason.”

Eddie gave a quiet laugh at that, despite the monumentally fucked up situation and the final cracking piece of his heart breaking away. Rick had that piercing by the time Eddie had met him. He insisted he’d gotten it because it was sexy. Eddie was pretty sure he’d just lost a bet.

Eddie was no stranger to intimate piercings himself. He had his frenum done a while back. 

That one he’d definitely done because it felt sexy.

He looked back down at his phone, idly flipping through Steve’s profile and all of his other photos. 

He probably shouldn’t be thinking about how hot Steve was, how it was juxtaposed with a soft cuteness that almost felt like it didn’t belong to someone with such broad shoulders and defined arms. 

He hated himself for thinking about Steve’s attractiveness. 

It felt wrong.

Even though he was pretty much single now.

Even if Rick didn’t know it yet. 

But fuck him. 

He’d find out.

One way or the other.

And Eddie was nothing if not a drama queen.

But he wouldn’t do anything tonight.

No tonight he would just… hurt.

And smoke.

A lot.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice came through to him. “You okay?”

Eddie swallowed, finding it a little more difficult than he expected it to be and realised he’d just been staring down at his phone in silence. 

The screen had gone black.

“Yeah.” He answered, his voice thick. “I’m fine.”

Steve hummed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Eddie laughed. It was wet and sniffly and vulnerable and horrible. “What are you gonna do from over the phone far away… wherever you are?”

“I dunno. I could just… talk to you I guess? Help you plot Rick's murder?”

Eddie laughed again, a little brighter this time. "Yeah, that could be good. But if I'm plotting murder I want to be a little more comfortable." He unlocked his phone and hit the follow button on Steve’s account. “This conversation requires lounging, not standing by the landline.”

“Oh-”

“How do you feel about a video call?”

A notification popped up on his phone, letting him know Steve had followed him back.

“A video call is fine.”

“Great.” Eddie paused. He wasn’t even sure how to end this call with the guy his boyfriend of two years had been cheating on him with and who he’d just asked if he wanted to video call so Eddie could smoke his feelings away. 

He just didn’t want to feel alone right now. 

He could have called Chrissy or one of the boys to come hang out with him but that would require explaining everything over again and he really didn’t want to do that right now. 

Before he could think much more on it Eddie said a quick “Okay bye,” and hung up.

Steve knew the story and Steve had been wronged too and maybe they could just be mad and sad together. 

He unlocked his phone again as he walked back into his bedroom and hit the video call button, not even bothering to turn his light on, leaving himself and his room shrouded in darkness. He propped his phone up on his desk, angled towards the window where he sat on the sil and started to roll, using the streetlights streaming in the window to see.

Steve picked up only a moment later and Eddie got his first good look at the guy live in action and not through a photo online.

He was sitting at what looked like a kitchen table fully lit by the overhead lights, a pair of wire framed glasses perched on his nose and his hair messy and dishevelled, like he’d been stressfully running his hands through it, which he probably had been. 

Eddie didn’t know how stressed he would be if he had to make a call to someone to tell them their long term partner had been cheating.

He was leaning forward, elbows on the table in a cosy yellow sweater with a slight worry between his eyebrows. 

He looked so soft. 

Nothing at all like the nautical sea queen look he’d been giving in those photos. He looked comfortable and gentle and a little worried.

“Eddie?”

“Mm-hm?” He hummed, bringing the joint to his mouth and lighting it up before pushing open the window a little more and exhaling out into the dark rainfall outside.

“You okay?”

He shrugged. “I will be.”

“I’m not asking about whether you will be, I‘m asking about now.”

Eddie looked over and watched Steve as Steve watched him through the screen.

“Alright, then no. I’m not okay.” He took another drag. “I’m fucking pissed. I’m sad, I’m upset, I’m hurt, I’m angry, I’m disappointed and I don’t know if all of that is directed more at him for doing this to me or me for not expecting it.”

“How were you supposed to expect it?” Steve shook his head in disbelief. “No one should have to expect to be cheated on.”

“Dunno.” Eddie shrugged, looking back out the window. “Relationship was dying anyway.”

“Okay, and? That doesn’t make cheating okay.”

“Suppose not.”

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. For my part in it.”

Eddie glanced back over, taking in the downward tilt of Steve’s mouth and his big sad eyes.

“S’not your fault. You were wronged too.”

“I guess, but…” Steve bit his lip and looked up from the screen, casting his eyes around his kitchen like something was going to pop out and answer whatever question was running through his head. 

Eddie waited. The guy had been very gracious so far and he seemed to genuinely feel bad for all the mess he’d been wrapped up in. 

“I…” Steve continued. “I know how this thing usually goes. You find out you’ve been cheated on and you still love your partner so you tend to focus all your anger towards the person they cheated with rather than the person who actually wronged you.” He looked down, fiddling with some kind of flash card on the table in front of him.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Eddie stubbed his joint out, happy enough with his current buzz. He was sufficiently mellowed, he hadn’t cried yet though that would probably come once he was in bed, but his anger had simmered down to a level where he didn’t feel like putting his fist through a wall but still angry enough to plot.

“I am, I guess.”

Eddie nodded. “This happened to you before?” 

That was probably rude. His filter malfunctioned at the best of times but when he smoked it was all but gone.

“Yeah.” Steve stared down at the cards in his hands. “My mom had to put up with my dad’s infidelity a lot. And my ex-girlfriend cheated on me a while back.” Steve paused before taking a deep breath. “Rick was actually my first attempt to get back into the dating world so…”

“So we can both be sad and angry together.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled and Eddie stood up, plucking his phone from his desk and settling it on his bedside table, switching his lamp on and throwing himself face down on his bed, probably barely visible to Steve.

“We can be sad and angry together.”

Eddie glanced up. Now that he was closer to his phone, he could better see exactly what Steve was fiddling with, he could read some of the text on the card.

“Stevie.” Eddie sat up, moving closer to the phone and unable to stop the smirk running over his face. Steve’s eyes snapped up towards him. “Did you write out flash cards for when you called me?”

Steve’s eyes widened before he unceremoniously swept all the cards off the table in front of him, his cheeks turning a terrific shade of red and he leaned his face on his hand, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. 

“No.”

It was adorable. Incredibly dorky and adorable.

Eddie laughed, full on braying belly laughs, collapsing backwards onto his bed. When he peeked back up to look at his phone through his giggles, Steve’s face was somehow even redder. 

“Oh my god.” Eddie breathed. “That’s darling.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no. It’s really very sweet.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Steve rolled his eyes but was still smiling, still had a blush lighting up his cheeks.

Eddie settled himself back against his headboard. “Actually, listen, let me ask you something.”

“Okay?”

“Does Rick know? Does he know that you know? Or that you told me?”

“No.” Steve answered, finally relaxing his fake nonchalance into real relaxation, folding his hands on the table and propping his chin up on them. “I figured if anyone had the right to rip his balls off it would be you.”

Eddie nodded. 

That he could understand. 

“I get that, but there’ll be no ball ripping from where I stand. No, I want to hit him where it hurts.”

“Woulda hurt me plenty.”

“Oh, I’m sure. But the only thing Rick loves more than his own balls is his car.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, he’s like, obsessed with that thing. It’s weird. It’s not even that nice of a car.”

“I’d love to say he has bad taste but considering he picked the both of us, I’m pretty sure his tastes are actually immaculate.”

“Just his decisions are bad.”

“Exactly.”

“Well.” Steve sighed. “I’d love to help any way I can. I hate that I was involved in this, in what he did to you.”

“To us, Stevie. To us.”

“Right, so what’s the plan then?”

“When are you due to see him next?”

Eddie pulled his van into the parking lot of the bar. It was halfway across town and a place that he never frequented if he could help it. Rick liked it though, always had. Eddie just liked other places around town more.

But it could be cute, he supposed. A small little country and sports type place that had a rainbow flag behind the bar and a small number of regulars who, according to Steve, wouldn’t do anything unless you got between them and their drink. 

He knew that Steve was inside with Rick, playing up the flirty angle and acting tipsier than he actually was to put him at ease.

Steve had mentioned one of his signature moves involved pool, bending over the table and wiggling a little bit to keep the attention on him. Pulling out a little pout whenever he missed a shot or asking for help to line up his cue.

Eddie would be more upset by the fact that he was missing the sight of it if he didn't know he'd have the opportunity to see it himself at some point in the future.

They had talked for so long that first night, long enough that the sun was starting to come up by the time they'd both dragged themselves away from their phones to sleep.

They’d talked about their families, their friends, what they were doing in life right now as opposed to what they had hoped they would be doing when they were teenagers. They talked about their school selves and their dating lives and as the conversation wore on Eddie found himself thinking again and again about how long it had been since it had felt so easy to talk to someone like that.

It had been a very long time since Rick had put any effort into getting to know him as he grew through their two years together, like he expected Eddie to stay the same person as he was at the start of the relationship.

After that first night where they’d figured out their master plan, he and Steve had just… kept talking. Throughout the rest of the week up until tonight, they were in almost constant contact, only really taking a break to sleep and work.

Eddie felt connected to Steve and in some roundabout way he was thankful to Rick for bringing him into his life.

He’d even met Robin in passing one day, living two floors below him, holding the door open for him as he tried to wrestle with grocery bags. 

She was so weird. He kind of loved her the second she opened her mouth. Honest, but with the sharpest tongue he’d ever met on a person. 

She had knocked on his apartment door later that evening to tell him Steve was calling over to visit and asking if he wanted to come around to meet him. 

Steve had apparently delegated the asking to her because he was too nervous to do it himself.

Again, adorable.

Steve was somehow even sweeter and even saltier in person than he was over the phone and Eddie tried hard, he tried really hard not to look too much or let his fucking horomones run away with him but Jesus. H. Christ it was difficult. 

The sweetness of his soft sweaters and polos, his gentle smiles and understanding words matched with his salty mean girl attitude that would slip out every so often and the bitchiest of eye rolls that made Eddie’s heart jump.

Eddie was also trying to feel bad about what was happening but honestly, he was losing reasons to care that much.

He hadn’t texted or called Rick once in the last week and Rick himself had never reached out which all at once made Eddie realise he was the primary communicator in the relationship and it hadn’t been reciprocated in a long, long time. 

Adding onto that was the knowledge that Rick was still fucking cheating on him and was in regular contact with Steve left Eddie only half heartedly feeling bad.

He and Steve would go over the screenshots of the conversation together every night and every night Eddie found it harder and harder to hang up the phone.

He was pretty sure Steve was feeling the same way. 

They kept just catching each other staring. Or smiling or, pulling back from touching too much and he was almost sure that as soon as Rick was out of the picture for the both of them, something was going to blossom.

Even now, with Steve inside, flirting up a storm with Eddie’s ex-boyfriend who didn’t know he was an ex yet, they would be ending the night together. 

Robin was waiting back at her apartment with an alibi ready if Eddie needed it though he suspected he wouldn’t.

Neither he nor Rick had a great track record with the police and it would be more trouble than it was worth to get them involved.

Speaking of, Eddie spotted Rick’s car, some souped up four wheel drive monstrosity of small dick syndrome sitting in the shadows and away from the cameras of the bar where Steve had convinced him to park with a suggestion of something happening in those shadows later on. 

He hopped out of his van and threw open the back doors, grabbing his bag of goodies before sidling around Rick’s car to wait.

When the chords of some Shania Twain number started to leak through the walls, the signal he’d been waiting for, the sound loud enough to drown out what Eddie would be doing, he dropped his bag to the floor.

Curling his keys into his fingers and with almost a skip in his step Eddie began to carve a stripe through the immaculate and expensive paint work. Working his way around to the drivers side, he lifted the key up before bringing it back down.

With a little bit of sickening glee, he hacked the word CHEATER into the side of the car, the side that would be immediately visible from the bar door and the side Rick would have to see every time he wanted to get in and get out of the driver's seat.

At least until he paid a bomb to get it fixed.

Eddie had connections in this town. Working as a mechanic here for years would do wonderful things to extend this pain. 

Rick knew fuck all about cars. 

Tucking his keys back into his pocket, he sidled back around to his duffel bag, unzipping it and pulling out his Stanley blade.

Unsheathing it, he gripped it tight in his hand and punched it down into the nearest tyre, listening with satisfaction as the thing slowly deflated before moving onto the other three.

A second Shania song had started up. 

He could hear Steve crooning out from inside, getting louder and Eddie knew he was running out of time. 

He pulled Steve’s baseball bat from the duffle and gave it a little twirl, the same one he’d seen Steve do when he’d first handed it off and he had tried so hard not to be attracted to it. 

He’d failed miserably. 

Maybe Eddie could deal with a gym bunny if that gym bunny was Steve.

With an almighty swing, he brought the bat down, shattering one of the headlights with an almighty crash that wasn’t quite drowned out by the karaoke inside.

Rearing back Eddie swung again, smashing the other headlight and while the music didn’t cut off, he could clearly hear Steve inside calling out for Rick to “Wait!”

Okay, only a few seconds left.

Pulling the bat back and letting the anger and betrayal and indignation flow through him, he brought the bat down hard into the windshield where it embedded itself, the spider cracks of the tempered glass making the thing practically opaque.

The bat was fucking stuck.

Eddie knew that if he was able to pull hard enough he would be able to release the whole windshield from the car but he didn’t even have the strength in him to budge the bat.

“What the fuck?!”

Eddie slowly released his hands from the bat and turned, looking at Rick standing in the doorway of the bar, his mouth hanging wide open in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. Steve was standing just behind him, with one hand over Rick’s chest.

To anyone else it would look like a comforting gesture, maybe. A show of support. 

But Eddie could tell the hand was there to hold Rick back if he decided to lunge. 

Both Steve and Rick dragged their gaze over the flat tyres, the word carved into the side, the bat stuck in the windshield.

“Hey sweetheart.” Eddie called across the distance, feeling comfortable enough to turn his back to pick up his bag, trusting Steve to at least shout if Rick was about to tackle him.

“Eddie,” Rick breathed, still open-mouthed somehow. “What in the god damned hell has gotten into you?!”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and held his hand out.

Steve patted Rick twice on the chest and stepped out from behind him. 

Rick watched him walk away looking even more bewildered than before.

With one hand Steve took Eddie’s and with the other he grabbed the bat, wiggling it a few times before pulling it free. 

They broke apart as they reached Eddie’s van, Steve climbing into the passenger seat and Eddie throwing his bag in the back before starting up the van from his position in the driver's seat.

He leaned over Steve to shout out of the window, “Have a nice life, asshole!”

As the van tore out of the lot, Steve stretched both hands out of the window, two middle fingers extended until Rick, still frozen on the spot, was out of sight.

When he pulled himself back inside, Eddie saw him glance his way, a huge grin on his face.

Eddie had a smile to match, whooping into the night as they sped down the road.

AO3

@geekymagicalpotato

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for her magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation.

[starryylies]

Hear me out now… ghost has a voodoo doll of you and he uses it to tease you in meetings and when you’re home and he’s at base😻

BEING SIMONS OBEDIENT LIL’ DOLL

Ongggg I love you and I love this ask so muchhhhhh ongggggg and I know I say this in every ask but sorry for replying late 😭

my finals start on Wednesday and these days I’m just clearing out my drafts for my recent posts in so sorry 😭😭

That’s like a plot from the webtoon I love (act like you love me, it’s soooooooo good)

goin to a shady ‘spiritual’ market with you was the last in his wish list buy when you were sooo insistent on buying crystals and quartz he just couldn’t say no :((

It was a chance meeting really you were just going home when you saw,

A shop in the corner of the market adorned with beautiful gems and red coloured leaves, it had no banner but the mysterious aura of the shop lured you in

Going inside you guys found an old lady selling dolls and you just couldn’t stop to look at one of them.

A doll that looked exactly like you

The skin colour, the hair, shape of your eyes.

it was exactly you.

Well a mini you,

While paying the lady told simon to keep the doll safe

He nodded along not thinking too much of it

That day When you and Simon were sleeping he accidentally slept on the doll which led to you feeling squished a suffocated

Waking Simon up with the sound of you choking

He quickly got up to see what’s wrong and the minute he got up from the doll you were fine

And You noticed that

You felt crazy ar first for believing that.

But proving it to Simon was hard,

he didn’t believe it until you made Him tug the dolls arm through which he noticed the pain caused on the exact spot

god he felt crazy too but he believed you

And the thing is your horny mind came up with a crazier idea-

An idea that stated that he has the consent to control you through the doll for when he’s gone for deployments and when he needs to go to the base

And what’s more insane is that he agreed.

So this crazy arrangement really ended up being a success

Whenever si went out he would take the doll with him, he would purposely use the doll to his advantage to tease you just slightly

The slight brush on your tits during your lecture?

That’s Simon

The sudden touches on your sensitive spots?

That’s Simon too

God he loved teasing you.

Especiallyyyy when you’re at home,

Telling you to wait and be a good girl till he comes back.

On one particular day,

He had been at the base all day to train the new recruits and you were at home and bored :(

Out of nowhere you felt a sudden caress and pinch on your nipples with your clit being rubbed in circles simultaneously.

It felt sooo good,

until it stopped.

You felt so frustrated.

You had to cum :((

So how could you not touch yourself :(

But before you could start you felt a restrain on your hands.

You couldn’t reach your hands further than your waist now

Just then you a got a message from Simon

An image of you, well mini you it’s hands tied around it’s waist

And a small text saying, “told you to wait princess, be a good girl f’ me”

That sly bastard

Really, visiting that store was a blessing curse in disguise.

But maybe giving Simon indirect control to your body wasn’t half as bad especially for those days when he felt generous :)

[mountainsandmayhem]

Happy Easter, Joel Miller

18+

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joel’s secret sweet tooth inspires a little Easter surprise.

CW: 18+, MDNI. Food play. Praise. Oral (f! Receiving), Established relationship.

AN: this is absolutely not edited or proof read. Just enjoy it, ok! Haha.

Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but Joel Miller LOVES chocolate. He has secret stashes of chocolate hidden around the house and in his work truck.

Easter brings his favourite chocolates - mini eggs. The candy coating crunches and then you get to that delicious milk chocolate middle.

“God damn, I love you.” He says to a handful of mini eggs the Saturday night of Easter weekend. And that’s enough to spark a surprise for tomorrow.

Sunday afternoon, Joel heads off to do his usual routine. He likes to wash his work truck and stop at the store for waters and Gatorade for his crew cooler. In the 40-ish minutes he’s gone you race to melt some chocolate and then make a trail of small foil wrapped eggs to the kitchen.

You strip down to just a pastel coloured thong and climb up onto the table. You place more eggs around you and then when you hear his truck pulling onto the driveway, you drizzle warm melted chocolate along your body.

A line up one thigh, a curved line from one hip to your ribs in the other side. Drips along the swell of your breasts. As he opens the door you lay back on the table and wait.

“I’m back, babe.” He calls as he toes off his boots. “Oh, chocolates!”

He sounds like a little kid and you giggle quietly at how fucking cute this broad and grumpy man can be sometimes.

“What’s going on here babe?”

You laugh and yell, “follow the trail. There’s a delicious surprise at the end.”

You hear him padding along the hardwood floor. Your body breaks out in goosebumps as you wait excitedly, chocolate covered nipples turning into stiff peaks. As he comes around the corner he sees you. His eyes go wide, mouth dropping before a devious grin crosses his face.

“Oh fuck. You look….fuck…” rendering him speechless is your favourite thing to do. You bite your bottom lip while smiling up at him from the table.

“Hungry?” You say mischievously.

Joel’s gaze goes from awe to pure lust as he stalks over to the table, planting his strong hands beside you and leaning his face close to the chocolate across your stomach.

He practically growls, “Fucking starving, babygirl,” before laying a long, warm lick across your stomach. He laps up all the chocolate, twirling his tongue and kissing until it’s clean. You’re writhing under him as he moves to the chocolate along your arm.

“Mmm, so sweet and soft.” He hums before moving to the melted deliciousness that’s coating your hard nipples.

“I think you’re enjoying yourself,” he says through kisses down your heaving chest.

“Please, Joel,” you moan, your hand going to rub your clit over your thong.

Joel grabs your wrist to stop you. “Not yet, baby. Gotta get you all clean first,” he sucks one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue to clean it. Your back arches, a sign that you want more. “You’re so amazing.”

Once it’s clean he rolls your wet nipple between his thumb and forefinger and moves his soft lips to your other nipple. He suckles on that one gently while pinching and pulling the other.

“Oh god, that feels so good, Joel.” That familiar fire starts in your belly and you start to wonder if you could cum from just him teasing your nipples.

He bites down gently, pinching the other with equal pressure and you cry out in the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. After letting go he peppers your breasts with feather light kisses.

“I need you, Joel. Please,” you whine, canting your hips towards the air.

He walks to the head of the table and sits in his chair. His voice comes out like dark molasses as he says, “Slide down to me, baby.”

You prop yourself onto your elbows and shimmy down the table to him. He sits back, eyes watching the wet spot that’s soaked through your light thong.

“She’s needy,” he says deeply.

You slid until your ass is right at the edge of the table, him between your legs. He has chocolate on his beard and corners of his lips and you fight the urge to lick it off.

“I’m going to clean off this thigh. And then slide that sexy little underwear to the slide and give your beautiful puffy pussy what she needs.”

You nod and chant ‘yes please’ like it’s a church prayer. He uses his teeth and tongue to clean your thigh and the second it’s clean he pulls your panties to the side roughly, you make eye contact for a brief second, his eyes practically obsidian with lust before he dives in.

Immediately sucking your needy clit into his mouth, the rough tip of his tongue flicking it passionately.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry.

He releases your soft skin with a pop. “Already?” He smirky cockily, three fingers now teasing your entrance.

“Please Joel.” Your voice is a needy whine as your body jerks and twitches under his attention.

“Ok, my love. Stay still for me. Let me get my fingers in,” his voice is calm and commanding. You slow your breathing and let your knees fall open further as he works his thick fingertips in. “That’s it. Good girl. Make room for me.”

“Oh shit. More. Please. More.” You close your eyes and get lost in him and the euphoric state he’s putting you in.

“There she goes,” he says as his fingers push all the way in. He curls them forward and you feel it immediately, your orgasm right on the edge. He sucks your sensitive bud back into his mouth and you’re done for. Pleasure ripples through you as he pumps his fingers and flicks at your clit.

Between licks he mumbles praise into the velvety skin of your pussy. “Good girl. So beautiful. That’s it.”

As you come down from your high he slides his fingers out of you and then stands up, lifting you into his arms and walking to the bedroom as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Happy Easter, Joel Miller,” you whisper into his neck.

==========================

Taglist:

@rainstorms-library @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag @pimosworld @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @jessthebaker @pedroswife69 @javierpena-inatacvest @pedroshotwifey @mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @syd-djarin @untamedheart81

[wrenwreads]

a glass... or two!

sick of seeing his little brother and their best-friend just simply ogle at each other, peter decides to take matters into his own hands.

request for @edmundpevensielover : EDMUND PEVENSIE X READER

LOTS OF FLUFF AND ED AND READER HIDE THEIR FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER MAYBE SHE (READER) GETS TRICKED BY PETER (AT THE PEVENSIES' CHRISTMAS PARTY) TO DRINK AND SHE (READER) GETS DRUNK AND MAKES OUT WITH EDMUND AND THEY PRETEND IT DIDN'T HAPPEN AND SUSAN CATCHES THEM MAKING OUT AGAIN.

pairing/s: edmund pevensie x fem!reader

warning/s: mentions of alcohol and reader being drunk a bit tipsy

genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers (or is it?)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this has been in my requests for god knows how long, i do apologise for only getting to it now. i did change it up a bit from what anon originally requested, hope that's okay!

How do you make two obviously in love individuals realise their feelings for each other when the said two individuals are also too oblivious for their own good?

That was the same question Peter had going on in his head.

It has been too long.

Way too long since his little brother — Edmund, admitted he has feelings for Y/N — someone he has grown close to over the years, who also happens to be Edmund’s best friend since forever. Also including the fact that same Y/N did the exact same thing Edmund did, only a week later.

Some would say that Peter is in a huff. Jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he walks down the halls of the castle towards the library. A bit too niche of a topic for him to be in a huff about — but he's only human after all, and only wants happiness for the two. Gratefully, as a king, he can hide the reason behind his frustration by blaming his duties — claiming they were starting to get too much. People seem to buy it, except for two. 

“Peter, are you alright? You’ve been sighing like a mad man since you sat down.”

Lucy’s question only had the young king sighing again, not missing the way Lucy and Susan shared a glance before him.

“It’s those two,” he answers, nodding towards the two figures who had seemed to tuck themselves against each other under one of the castle’s big library shelves.

Both Lucy and Susan follow Peter’s gaze, faux fatigue lacing their shoulders as they watch Y/N and Edmund share fond looks to each other as they immerse into a novel. Y/N was holding the book, conveniently keeping it up between the two of them to read. Edmund had himself stood as support for the young girl who had relaxingly rested upon his chest, his arm behind her — flat against the surface to keep his weight on, allowing both of them to stay upright.

It would be a moment for couples — only if they were one.

“Who do you think will confess first?” Lucy loudly wondered. Although, not too loud to pop the bubble Edmund and Y/N had themselves in. Peter hummed, suddenly alert as if he wasn’t just huffing a few minutes ago. His sisters looked at him, eyes waiting for him to say something.

“What? Isn’t it obvious? I’m sure Y/N will say something first.”

Susan silently scoffs, mouth opening as if someone had just offended her. “Don’t think so lowly of Edmund, would you? I know it’s going to be him.”

“Ed, do you know what colours Peter’s planning for this year?” the young woman asks as she welcomes herself into Edmund’s bedroom. Upon hearing no answer and only the sounds of water running, she assumes he’s still busy giving himself a wash. Thinking he’ll be taking a while, she sits on the four-poster — fussing herself around as she gets comfortable, crossing her legs underneath herself. Relaxing in her seat, she opens the book she had on her hold — continuing where she had left off.

Getting herself lost in the plot, she fails to realise the sound of water stopping nor the fact that Edmund had come out of the washroom and had asked a question himself. It was only when the mattress beneath her dipped did she look up from her page, seeing Edmund looking fresh — wet hair dripping all over his sheets. “You’re not laying down with wet hair, are you?” Y/N asks, eyes narrowing at the sly smile growing on Edmund’s face. “No.” he simply answered, further provoking her as he slowly ascends on to his pillows.

Y/N only sighs, rolling her eyes as she stands up from her position to grab the stray towel the boy had half-mindedly discarded. “Come on,” she says, tapping his thigh lightly, “this way you won’t be waking up tomorrow, complaining about a mind-blowing head ache you have.”

Edmund scoffs at her dramatics, swinging his legs off to the edge of the bed. Y/N settles herself between his thighs, hands under the towel as she carefully dries Edmund’s hair.

He sighs, eyes closing and his hands making its way to her waist. He keeps them there, finding himself getting drowsy at the feeling of Y/N’s fingers through his hair and the soft humming she emits. “I like it when you dry my hair for me,” he whispers, eyes still closed. Y/N laughs softly, giving his hair once last swipe before putting the towel aside. Combing the strands lightly, she finishes her routine with a soft kiss to his head. “I know you do.”

“You’ve really outdone yourself this year, Pete! The party’s amazing!”

Peter laughs, amused at the unnecessary volume Y/N spoke. “I can hear you perfectly you know. No need to shout,” he teases, laughing again at the pout forming on her lips. “Do you know where Edmund went?! I’ve been looking for him all night, I have something to say to him!”

His eyes widen at the girl’s question. Could this finally be it?

As if on cue, Edmund presents himself — although a bit tipsy himself, not as much as Y/N is though. “What’s going on?”

“Ed!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around Edmund’s torso. The boy manages to catch himself from falling, giggling to himself as he too reciprocates the hug. “Oh dear, how many have you had?”

Y/N removed herself from Edmund, hands on her hips as she appears to be deep in thought. Edmund looks at his brother for an answer, only that Peter remains silent. Raising his arms halfway up in the air feigning innocence. She suddenly gasps in her place, quickly spinning around to face Peter. “You gave me two! And then… I think I grabbed another two. And maybe… Idunnoanymore, Ithink…” her words began slurring into each other, earning a chuckle from both brothers. Edmund feels himself slowly sobering up at her antics, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. “It’s bed time, don’t you think?”

“No… nonono, notyet—”

Peter remains silent from where he had stood himself, not before moving a little further away from where the pair were standing. He watches as Edmund remains calm, a dopy smile on his face as he dotes on you and your blabbing. He mentally pats himself on the back, triumph enveloping him as he hopes his initial plan of getting you together (finally) happens.

“Come on, my love, just a few more steps…” Edmund encourages, guiding his very drunk girlfriend back to his bedroom in one piece.

One day he’ll get Peter’s head for this.

As soon as the door opens — Y/N escapes Edmund’s grasp, almost catapulting herself onto the bed. She relaxes herself, taking a few deep breaths in before sitting back up. “Do you think… they know?” she hiccups, eyes barely open to look at Edmund.

Edmund feels his heart swell at the sight, his eyes giving nothing but love as he slowly helps Y/N get ready for bed. “I don’t think so,” he begins, wiping a damp wash cloth over her face – a hand gingerly placed under her chin to keep her from swaying. “But I do think Peter wants us to quicken up a bit, be together officially. Maybe that’s why he gave you too many to drink.”

She lets out a small huff, a pout on her lips. “But we already are together, Ed. It’s not our fault they remain oblivious.”

“I know, my love. What about we tell them tomorrow? How does that sound? Surprise them during breakfast, hm?”

Y/N laughs, a sound never failing to sound like music to Edmund’s ears. “That’s… good…” yawns break her words apart. Edmund slowly guides her to lay down, ensuring his actions are not too sudden for her to suddenly feel nauseous. “Let’s go to bed then, now, shall we?”

Not even finished with his sentence and Y/N’s were already closed, hands tugging onto the blankets to snuggle herself in further. Edmund smiles, standing up from where he perched onto the edge of the bed to now get himself ready. Right as he enters the washroom, a question is suddenly asked.

 “Ed, are you even drunk?”

He just laughs, not having the heart yet to tell you that he had caught on to Peter’s game very early on to the night. Not that he can for your soft snores had followed your question aright after.

thank you so much for reading until the end! as always, leave your thoughts/comments - i love reading them. constructive criticism is appreciated! •.˚⚘ ⋆.*.ゞ

[poeticpascal]

Trouble (Pedro Pascal x Rockstar!Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: Pedro had never heard of (Y/N) (L/N) before his latest appearance on The Graham Norton Show. By the end, his assistant wishes it had stayed that way, and he wonders how it took him so long to find her.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of drug abuse (now recovered), allusions to but no specific mention of an overdose.

A/n: I am very nervous to post this! I've never written a fic about an actor like this before, so depending on how this one does lol, you may be able to expect more from me like this. Please let me know what you think, and don't forget my requests are open!

“And he used red this time! We were getting so worried that he wasn’t interested in all 3 primary colours-”

Pedro sighs, glancing towards the door to see if his assistant was coming back yet. No sign.

He turns back to the old lady who’s been talking now for what - 4 hours? 5? It felt like it. She was sweet, and he didn’t want to be rude, but god if he had to spend one more minute hearing about her grandson’s latest finger painting-

“So sorry I took so long! We’ll have to get going Pedro - your next interview is in 10.”

His assistant - Alicia - burst back into the room and Pedro was sure he could feel his eyes well in relief. He takes the lady’s hand, shaking it and giving her a warm smile. “Mrs Alderman, I’d love to hear all about Harvey, but I’ve gotta go. It was lovely to meet you!”

She smiles in understanding and clasps her own hand on top of his. “It was lovely to meet you too, Peter!”

Alicia snorts behind him, and Pedro gives up with a final, defeated smile before heading out of the cafe and back towards his car. He’d only wanted to nip in for a second, to grab coffee and a pastry, but then Alicia got a phone call, and Mrs Alderman started talking to him in the queue, and by the time they left his goddamn coffee had gone cold.

They clamber inside, Alicia pushing a few files onto the backseat as Pedro stares. “I almost died, you know,” he quips, half muffled as he takes a bite of his croissant. He hums at the taste, light and buttery; maybe it had been worth it.

Alicia rolls her eyes, used to his antics by now. “I was on the phone to the BBC. They’ve confirmed who you’ll be on The Graham Norton Show with.”

“They have? Who?” 

He generally felt nervous going on the big chat shows, especially with how in demand he'd been recently. But Graham had been so warm, especially for his first time on the show, that when they asked him to come back he'd accepted without hesitation.

And really, he was quite looking forward to it.

Alicia doesn't seem quite as excited though. She flips open her notepad, littered with delicate but hasty scribbles of various projects and dates, and begins to read out the names.

“Robert Downey Jr, he’s promoting Oppenheimer.”

“I'm gonna meet Iron Man?” Now he was nervous.

“Kate McKinnon. She's in the Barbie movie, I think.”

“Amazing.” He'd always wanted to meet her.

“And…” she sighs. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

“Who?” No seriously, who?

Alicia snaps her head up to look at him. Surely he didn’t not know who she was? “(Y/N) (L/N)? The singer?”

Pedro just shakes his head, unbothered. “Nah, never heard of her. She any good?”

“No, Pedro, that’s the point.” He cocks an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue as she looks back and forth between him and her notes. “She’s a publicist’s worst nightmare. She’s the lead singer of this band, The Heartbreakers, they’re huge. Like, Taylor Swift-huge. But if Taylor Swift did heavy metal.”

“And why don't we like her?” he asks.

“Because she’s trouble. She’s had big drug problems, she argues with everyone, she goes on stage and pulls all these crazy stunts. She’s always in the news, Pedro.”

He can’t help but think she sounds like fun.

“Can’t be that bad, right? If she’s that famous?”

Alicia shakes her head, “she's famous, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. People love you right now, Pedro. I’m just concerned that if you’re seen to be… friendly with her, people will raise their eyebrows. It won’t look good.

He thinks for a second. It really wasn’t in his nature, this whole PR thing. He liked meeting new people, and listening to them, and connecting. Maybe not Mrs Alderman - and now he's thinking about that nightmare again - but, for the most part, yes; Pedro liked people.

And not giving someone a chance because of his public image didn’t feel right.

Alicia sees the cogs turning in his brain, so she flips the pad closed, giving him her full attention now. “I know it’s strange, but I mean it. It’s not a hole you want to get dragged into. Her fandom is huge, the media's obsessed with her, parents hate that their kids listen to her and kids love to piss off their parents by listening to her. I’m going to speak to them about getting you sat on the opposite end of the couch... I just want to make sure you’re not linked with her. Trust me.”

With that, he nods his head. He does trust her - at the end of the day, he didn’t even know who this (Y/N) person was. So what if he didn’t speak to her much on the show?

—------

“WHAT?!”

He had to pull the phone away as Bella’s near-screech pierced his ears. They yell again, something along the lines of “are you serious? Pedro, are you serious?!”

“Yes I’m serious, what’s the big-”

“Oh my god I can’t believe it! You’re going to meet (Y/N) (L/N)! Will you mention her to me? I saw her tweet once that she watched the show and oh my god I need her to follow me on Instagram-”

“Wait, Bella, wait,” Pedro rubs his thumb and forefinger between his brows, not exactly thrilled that what was supposed to be a call to calm his nerves the night before the show was now filled with so much rowdiness. “I don’t even know who she is! You listen to her?”

They gasp, and he just knew they were pulling a dramatic, jaw-dropped face on the other end of the line. “Come on man, I know you’re not the hippest guy around but you have to know who she is!”

He giggles, throwing his hands in the air. “‘Fraid not, Bella. I’ve no clue. I do know i’m not supposed to talk to her though.”

Now there was a real gasp, not the purposefully dramatic kind. “What? Pedro, you can’t not talk to her. You have to. She’s the coolest person, like, ever.”

Pedro scoffs, “what about me?”

“When you get sleeve tattoos and banned from performing at the VMAs, you might get considered dude.”

“She was banned from the VMAs?”

You know that feeling, when someone tells you not to do something, and you don’t want to do anything else?

Yeah, that.

“I’ll send you the link, it was so cool. She said she’ll be allowed back next year anyway 'cos they need her to stay relevant.” He giggles again at that, and yeah, he couldn’t deny his intrigue.

“So that’s why you like her? She's all rebellious and stuff?” Pedro chews on his thumb as he asks, the anxiety of tomorrow not quite forgotten, but listening intently as Bella rants on.

“Nah, I mean she is controversial, but I just think she’s amazing. She acts all tough and rock 'n' roll, but she's really great deep down. I went to see her band once a couple of years ago, and this girl fainted so she stopped the whole show to make sure she got water and was okay. She’s just misunderstood, man.”

“Is it true she’s a drug addict?” He's not sure why he felt the need to ask. Why he cared. Maybe it was just to build a better picture, or maybe because Bella loves her so much, and he cares about their interests. Maybe, he had a sort of… concern, for her. For this enigma.

They knew each other well, and Bella could sense Pedro’s interest. More than anything, they were just excited to tell him about their favourite singer. “She used to be, it was crazy. She’d go on stage high and everything, people really hated her then. But she’s been sober now for, like, a year? She talks about it a lot. This is what I mean dude - everyone remembers all those shitty things but I think she’s so strong.”

He hums in agreement, thinking back to Alicia’s warning a few days earlier.

“Do you think it’d be bad? If I talked to her?”

It was Bella taking a moment’s pause, now. “I mean… Alicia’s not wrong. She’s not exactly got the cleanest image a celebrity’s ever had. I guess it’s up to you to decide what matters most.”

It was quite profound really, and Pedro was reminded of just how mature they were for their age.

“The most important thing is that you give her my instagram handle.”

And just like that, the moment’s gone. He laughs, shaking his head and muttering “you’re a dick”, before falling into conversation about other things. He fully intended to look up (Y/N) (L/N) before he fell asleep, but the hours went by quick and soon enough he'd drifted off, phone in hand and tomorrow's nerves dispelled for now.

—------

Maybe this whole Graham Norton thing was a bad idea.

Pedro was tired.

It had been a long flight to London, a long drive from the airport to his hotel. And a long, long wait at the studio before they even thought about getting filming started.

He’d been in hair and makeup for a good while, and according to Alicia, it would still be another two hour’s wait until they got him sat on the big red couch.

Yeah, he was tired.

He steps out, the muddied skies of London painting a grey-cast shadow on his face, the frosty winds hitting his skin. It was nice. Different. Much harsher than the LA sun he was used to.

He looks around; it’s just him there in the car park, leant against the windowsill and letting his eyes drift shut. It’s peaceful, and if it weren’t for the rushing of the motorway that ran just beside him, he’d almost feel alone.

“Mind if I join?”

He jolts awake, startled out of his near-tranquility, facing the woman who’d crept outside through the same doors he did. She was casually dressed, far more so than the BBC staff he’d seen today; she must be a temp, or an intern or something. A heavy black hoodie swallows her frame, and he wished he had a similar one as his ice-cold breath fell into the air. His eyes draw upwards, and he thinks to himself just how pretty she is. (Y/H/C) hair is bundled in her hood, loose strands blowing messily in the wind. She has no makeup on, so he can see greyish bags hung under her eyes, her lips stained pink, a soft blush blooming over her cheeks from the frosty air. There’s a roughness to her, something harsh, and it makes her so utterly alluring.

“Yeah- yes, of course. Of course.” He offers a smile, and she smiles back, and his heart races.

He shuffles to the left, unsure of why he’s making room for her on the windowsill; they’re outside, he’s a stranger. There’s a bench not far from the door, perfectly fit for her to sit on. And yet she follows his movements, and leans against the porcelain outline of the large window, searching for something in her pockets.

“D'you smoke?” She produces a pack of cigarettes, and digs out a lighter from her back jean pocket. Pedro watches as she slips one of them between her lips, covering the end with delicate hands as she lights it, revelling in the taste and taking a long drag. He notices then her long black nails, perfectly painted and delicately holding the cigarette in place, elegant and weapon-like at the same time.

There’s a nonchalance to everything she does, and it’s enticing. She doesn’t look at him when she asks, or when she expels the smoke from her lungs, keeping her eyes set forward and undoubtedly feeling the weight of Pedro’s on her face.

He forgets he’s supposed to answer.

“Er, no, thank you. I’m being good.” He offers her a smile, forced as he tries to remember his own whereabouts, too entranced by the beauty and the charisma that fell from this woman in droves.

The two are silent for a little while, he can’t be too sure how long. He smells the smoke from beside him, sees the wisps drawl from her tongue and into the cool air, and for someone who considered himself rather charming, he couldn’t for the life of him think of something to say.

He doesn’t have to.

“What're you doing out here, then?”

And this time she is looking at him. They’re sat close, and his eyes meet hers with ease, warm and welcoming. He feels a little more comfortable now, like she’s a friend; her warmness makes it hard to feel anything other than at peace.

He smiles, bashful. “I’m working.”

“Working?”

He looks down at his shoes, rubbing them against one another. It was always a strange conversation to have, explaining who he was to people who didn’t know. It felt like showing off a little; more than anything, he didn’t want to make a big deal of it.

“Yeah, I, uh… on the show.”

She giggles, and it sounds so sweet that his tummy heats up. “I’m only kidding. I know who you are. The Last Of Us, right?”

There’s a sincerity to her tone, nothing like this thick, false charm people try to use when they know he’s famous. It didn’t feel like she wanted anything from him in that moment. He nods, looking back up at her and his breath hitches when they immediately lock eyes again. Her lips are turned into a sly smile, cheeky almost, and he can’t help but grin back.

“I liked that show,” she says before taking another long drag.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. Makes this fuckin’ huge press tour worth it.”

She laughs. Not the quiet giggle she gave him before, but a proper laugh, one that makes her eyes brighter and her nose scrunch up. Pedro laughs too, caught up in her, and when their chuckles die down they relax into a comfortable silence for a few moments before he turns to her again and asks, “how about you? Are you on the production team?”

She ponders her answer. It’s the first time - in the 10 minutes since they’d met - that she’d seemed to falter. Like she was unsure. “Yeah, you could say that.”

He didn’t push it. Maybe his fame was a problem. Did she feel overwhelmed? Or judged? He didn’t know - but a twang of sadness settled in his gut, and he wondered what to say next.

She recovers quickly, though. Stands back up a little straighter, puts the butt of her cigarette out against the wall, and faces him once again. “You seem nervous."

Pedro chuckles, nervously. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only when you scuff your shoes within an inch of their life and readjust your glasses every 10 seconds.”

“And here I thought I hid it well.” Cocking an eyebrow, the woman looks at him knowingly and tilts her head, encouraging him to go on.

“I always get nervous before these things... it feels worse this time, though. I just know Robert Downey Jr is gonna think I’m so weird, and then there’s this other lady I gotta avoid-”

“Who?”

She was abrupt, quickly apologising for interrupting him. He didn’t mind. “She’s like this... musician? I think. I’m sure you’ll know who she is. I’m awful at keeping up with whatever the kids are doing now. (Y/N)- (Y/N) something.”

There was a pause, awkwardly long. “My assistant says I gotta stay away from her” her continues, feeling a need to fill the gap. “Just doesn’t feel right to me, you know? To judge someone like that before you’ve even met them?”

He watches as she nods her head, deep in thought. She meets his eyes and nods again, faster, showing to him now that she agrees. She understands. He’s not quite sure how she understands, but he believes her; she didn’t strike him as the dishonest sort.

Pedro’s phone vibrates in his pocket, startling them both and they share another soft laugh. He grabs it, seeing Alicia's text flash on the screen - You’ve got a meeting with the producers to go over filming. 10 minutes. Ah shit.

“Everything okay?” There’s concern in her voice, and Pedro wonders if she knows he has to go. If she’s just as disappointed as he is.

“Yeah, yeah. I just - I gotta go.”

She’s definitely disappointed. He knows because her bright eyes fall the same way his did.

He’d never quite felt like this; like a magnet was drawing him to someone and like it would hurt in his soul to let her go. It occurred to him then, he didn’t even know her name, and he’d be damned if he was going to crawl back into the world of PR and publicity stunts and rehearsed answers without finding it out.

“It was nice to meet you. I don’t know if you- you want to get a coffee? Or something? After filming?”

The same harsh edge she had when they met, the one that had slipped and softened as they talked, seemed to have crept back as a once-sweet smile became that sly, cautious smirk. He couldn’t quite understand what she was thinking, what the cogs that so clearly turned in her mind were churning up, but he knew he didn’t care as long as he got to see her again.

“I’d like that.” Pedro sighs in relief, smiling again and sticking out an ice-bitten hand. “I’m Pedro.”

She giggles, offering her own hand and he stalled at the feeling of her fingers wrapped around his own. “I know.” She retorts, and he laughs, and just when she opens her mouth to tell him her own name-

“Pedro! We gotta go!”

Alicia shoves the door open, not even looking up from her phone which was presumably inundated with countless emails and phone calls, and Pedro sighs before looking desperately into the still nameless women’s eyes. She just smiles, dropping his hand and digging hers into her pockets. “Go on. I'll catch you later.”

He nods, swallowing and offering a small, regretful smile before pushing himself off the wall and following Alicia back inside. She huffs at him, speeding back off down the corridor and muttering something along the lines of “these goddamn producers”. He looks back a final time, to where the woman still sits in the windowsill. She waves, and he grins, unable to hide the childlike excitement her little gesture gave him before waving back and letting the door shut behind him.

—------

“We’ve got a fantastic show for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get some guests on!”

Pedro hears the roar of the audience, only a single wall between them and him as he waits to hear his name. He looks around the room; Robert and Kate are stood with him, chatting away at something he’d stopped listening to a little while ago. He felt better now he’d met them - they were lovely, so down to earth and genuinely happy to chat to him and hear what he had to say. It made him less nervous, and you might even say he was looking forward to this now.

There was no sign of her though. The singer - (Y/N). Alicia had scoffed, “typical,” just 10 minutes earlier, when there had been no sign. And she still wasn’t here.

“We’ve got the newly Emmy-nominated actor, best known for his amazing roles in The Mandalorian and HBO’s The Last Of us,” the audience’s roars got louder, “Mr. Pedro Pascal!”

It’s time.

He pulls his suit jacket a little tighter around himself, laying his palm flat against the bottom of his chest. With the other hand, he waves, smiling brightly at the crowd who cheered him on. Graham greets him, pulling him in for a hug and welcoming him back, before pointing him towards the end of the couch. Pedro gives the audience a final wave, mouthing ‘thank you’s and trying to express his gratitude for the love that filled the room.

Kate and Robert came next, shaking his hand and ‘introducing’ themselves again, despite the fact he’d already met them an hour earlier. A producer runs up to Graham, whispering something in his ear before darting off in the other direction. Graham rolls his eyes playfully, turning towards the audience and announcing, “we’ve got a late one!” The audience laugh, and Graham just organises his cue cards as producers usedthe extra time to prepare the camera angles and get the lighting right.

Graham looks at the couch, smiling with a wink. “Don’t worry - she’ll be here in a minute.”

“Is this (Y/N) again?” Robert asks, grinning.

“You’ve met her?” Pedro jumps in, falling into small talk among the four of them.

“A couple of times now yeah,” Robert replies. “I think she’s great, really funny. She's just… not the most put together person.”

They laugh, and Kate recounts her own story of having to wait on some celebrity or another, entertaining the crowd.

Graham parts from the conversation after around 10 minutes, holding a finger to his ear piece and nodding at whatever he was being told from the other end of the line. He stands up, smiling wide and turning to the audience, “she’s here! We have our rockstar ready.”

Cheers immediately erupt, and Graham turns to the guests to check they’re all ready to carry on with the show. Pedro nods, anticipation building as he spots Alicia from the corner of his eye, keeping watch.

“And don’t worry everyone, we’ll cut that little intermission out!” The room laughs. “Now I’m very glad introduce our last, but certainly not least, guest of the night. She’s the lead singer of Grammy-nominated band The Heartbreakers, she’s one of the most famous women in the world right now, and she’s only a tad terrifying. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome - (Y/N) (L/N)!

The audience becomes the loudest they’ve been all night, standing and yelling as the final guest takes the stage, and -

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It’s her. The woman from outside, the one he’d been thinking about all afternoon. The one whose name he never learned. 

She looks different; she looks like the woman he’d been warned about. She looks dangerous. Where a black hoodie had hung from her shoulders, a black lace dress now clung to her figure and he could see the tattoos that littered her sleeveless arms. The bags under her eyes were gone, as was the pink on her cheeks; her skin was painted, perfected, sculpted with darker shades and glowing radiantly. Her lips were black and glossy, so neatly done that she almost looked like a doll. Thick eyeliner carried a smoky shadow across her eyelid and beyond, drowning the same (Y/E/C) eyes he’d memorised in black.

She was ethereal.

And she was his one, single instruction for the night. Don’t get involved in her.

She waves at the audience, smirking in the same sly way she’d done to him earlier; he saw more clearly that they were the same now. She has the same charm, same charisma, same allure and yet she seems all the more potent now as she strides across the stage in 6 inch heels and pulls Graham into a tight hug, like old friends. She whispers something in his ear, and he throws his head back with a laugh before she saunters to the couch, where the three guests stand up to greet her. She and Kate introduce one another with a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile, before she gives Robert another tight hug and they share a word that Pedro can hear now. “I have to stay here an extra 10 minutes ‘cos of you” Robert quips, causing (Y/N) to pull back and look at him with a cocked brow.

“You know I’m worth it, Downey.”

With that, she turns to face Pedro, and his breath hitches the same way it did when they’d first met. Her grin falters slightly, and there it is again; that honesty. She almost seemed like she was putting on a show, with her slow saunter and cheeky remarks, but there was nothing false about the way she wrapped her arms around him and looked into his eyes.

“My name’s (Y/N).”

He just laughs. He can’t help it. She makes him feel giddy. “I know.”

The audience’s applause dies down, and (Y/N) takes her spot as the star guest, and the first on the couch closest the Graham. He talks between them and the crowd, commenting on what a great line up they had today, despite certain delays, which has the audience howling again. (Y/N) laughs with them, shaking her head and pretending to cover her face with her hand, before looking up at Graham and saying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I got held up!”

“Well you have to tell us what happened,” Graham retorts, and they banter as (Y/N) recounts getting stuck in the backstage toilets. She has everyone wrapped around her finger, listening to everything she says and laughing at her jokes, and Pedro can’t find himself believing the warnings Alicia had given him. 

He remembers Bella, and how much praise they had for her, and he gets it. He sees what they see.

“Well you’re here now, that’s all that matters. We actually haven’t seen you for a while!” 

(Y/N) nods, her demeanour becoming slightly more serious. “No, it’s been a strange few months.” 

Graham continues, “the last time you were on the show was 2021. And obviously as most of us here know, you've had quite a difficult time since then, right? Tell me how you’ve been.”

She takes a sharp breath, and Pedro could’ve sworn she glanced up at him before she answers. “Well, yeah. I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone that I was struggling with addiction for… most of my career, really.”

“‘No surprise’?” - Graham interjects - “you used to get high on stage!” It seemed judgemental, but it quickly became clear that he and (Y/N) had that sort of friendship, the kind where you can talk to one another so blatantly. She purses her lips at him, and he giggles, which makes her break the feigned offence and giggle too. 

“Look, man, that’s rock and roll.” The room laughs again. “No but seriously, yeah, it just got worse and worse until… well, you know what happened. it was hard. But I’ve gotten clean, I haven’t touched that shit in what, 8 months?” The crowd launch into cheers and applause, echoed by Graham and the other guests. Pedro could see how much it meant to her, how she tried to keep a stoic appearance despite the tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. She mouths a thank you, and he longs to skip right past Robert and Kate to be by her side, to hold her. She recovers quickly, something Pedro notes she seems to do a lot; cover her moments of weakness as soon as they start. Instead she sits up straighter and jokes, “I think everyone’s worried I’m gonna be boring now, without the drugs.”

Graham laughs, “I mean, you are known for being one of the more controversial artists out there.”

“If anything, I think being high slowed me down. I’m just gonna get worse, now.”

“Oh god, don’t say that,” Graham jokes, “you’re going on tour again soon, I’m not sure we can handle it.”

The audience cheer even louder at the mention of the tour, making (Y/N)’s smile grow wider. “Yep, new album, new tour. It’s all happening.”

Graham turns to Pedro suddenly, as if remembering he had three other guests to rope into the conversation. “Do you listen to this sort of music, Pedro? The Heartbreakers?”

And, shit. Pedro can feel Alicia’s eyes burning into him from off-stage, and he recalls her warnings about this very situation.

Don’t make friends with her

Don’t give the media something to talk about

Don’t ruin your reputation

And yet, her voice got quieter and quieter in his head, as the sound of (Y/N)’s laugh and the pierce of her eyes became all he could think about. The decision was pretty easy to make, really.

“I actually hadn’t heard of them, until today.” Graham chuckles at his reply. “But I think I’ll have to start listening.”

The crowd cheer, and the pair lock eyes for what could’ve only been a few seconds, but felt like so much longer. She tries to fight the way the corners of her mouth pull upwards, white teeth poking through painted black lips, but when she sees him smiling back at her she lets them go and drowns in the butterflies she’s so unused to feeling.

God, he was in so much trouble.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

”Who’s this then?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know, and only to hear the excitement in Jamie’s voice as he tells her all about Roy Kent.

She’s a City girl through and through and it is a little jarring to see different colours up on her wall, but that’s what being a parent is all about, isn’t it? Loving someone enough to love what they love, even if it turns out to be the captain of bloody Chelsea. 

--- 

Posters come and go, there are girls and footballers and other girls and other footballers and then others still, but Roy Kent stays where he is, slap bang in the middle and staring right at her with those weirdly intense eyes whenever she gets in the room to hoover.

Needs to relax a bit, that one, she thinks, more than once. For all the pictures and clips Jamie has shown her, she’s never seen Kent smile. Plays like a god, though, one of those vengeful ones, so she guesses she can see the attraction.

---

It’s obvious that Jamie’s not happy, and she’s not either, what with having him move down all the way to London to play for AFC Richmond of all teams. Still, she supposed a loan make sense, get him more minutes and bit of experience.

“Didn’t Roy Kent move there after he quit Chelsea?” she asks, and is pleased with the way Jamie’s eyes light up a little at that. “You’ll get to play together now.”

---

“He’s a nasty bastard. Right fucking bitter about not being as good as he was, yeah?”

She doesn’t hear much more about Roy Kent after that, not for another year or so. Doesn’t hear much from Jamie at all, really, not even after he returns to Manchester. When he does stop by – for Christmas, for her birthday – he talks about just about anything but football. Doesn’t mention fighting Kent on the pitch, doesn’t say a word about calling him a knob on national television.

Doesn’t take the poster down either, though, she notices when he’s gone.

---

“Jamie Tartt is a muppet and I hope he dies of the incurable condition of being a little bitch,” Roy Kent says and she’s already halfway out the sofa when Simon’s hand on her arm holds her back.

“If Jamie wants it down he’ll take it down,” her husband tells her.

---

She sees her son crouching, defeated, on Wembley grass, and her heart breaks for him. Two days later he’s outside her door and in her arms and he’s talking like he hasn’t talked to her since he was loaned to Richmond and her heart breaks for him all over again.

She can’t wish she had never gotten with his wanker of a father, for how can she, when she got Jamie out if? Still, there’s no stopping her from wishing James falls down a sewer and drowns in shit, gagging on it as he goes.

“And I’m just standing there, like I couldn’t move or something, right, but then Roy walks over and I though he was going to fucking punch me, but he just hugged me, like really tight, and I fucking bawled my eyes out. Dead embarrassing, it was, but… made me feel safe, too. Made me think of you.”

She stops flipping the poster off, after that

---

“So Roy offered to train me, special,” Jamie says, and she thinks it sounds a bit like torture personally, the things Kent is apparently having him do in the middle of the bloody night, but Jamie’s nothing but enthusiasm and barely contained pride so she’s happy for him.

---

She knows that other parents might have been surprised to see their son befriend and then bring home people whose pictures he still has on his wall, but their sons are not Jamie, are they?

Roy Kent proves far less domineering than she might have suspected. Doesn’t shout once, is polite about Simon’s baking, and tells her he loves her before he leaves. Definitively has some issues, but seems a nice enough lad for all of that.

--- 

Simon drives them down to London for Jamie’s 26:th birtday and it’s only the third time she’s ever been to his Richmond home. As she exits the car, Roy Kent exits Jamie’s front door and pauses at the sight of her.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s a bit endearing, the way he sounds unsure, like he doesn’t know what to make of her or how to act around her.

No need for any of that, though.

“There he is,” she exclaims, adding, “I’m going to hug you now,” before doing just that.

His body is solid and hard and held so fucking stiff, but after just a moment – surprisingly quickly, really – he relaxes into the embrace, like maybe it’s one he’s been wanting for a very long time. He holds her tight and she lets him and she can see what Jamie means about him being a great hugger.  

Eventually, she gently pulls back a little, so she can smile up at him as she says, “Thank you.”

Off his furrowed brow, she continues, “For what you’ve done for our Jamie. I know it’s meant a lot to him, you training him and being his friend and everything.” 

“Oh. Jamie’s told you about that, has he?”

And she must raise her eyebrows at that, kindly but incredulously. “Of course he has, love. Never shuts up about you, does he?”

As it turns out, Roy Kent does know how to smile after all.

[lady-eris]

Hi! I was wondering if you could make a Dbz android17, Goku, Vegeta, Gohan and trunks with a reader who’s exactly like misturi from demon slayer ( I’m not sure if I wrote it correctly)

my idiot self almost deleted the ask XD i was so excited to write this I almost deleted it, i didn't know if you meant personality, or stength and eating or anything else, but i basically decided to do it where the reader has there looks, but the personality and the abilities of Mitsuri

Tw/Notes?: slight description of fighting, profanities, mostly They/them pronouns, Trunks one is feminine hinted

Android 17

His foot was placed on a rock, watching as the poachers down below. They always seemed to bother him. "Again? surely the beating from last time would make them realise" He rolled his eyes, before hearing a voice. It seemed like a shout? His eyes narrowed as he scanned the men below, nothing. His audio picked up a sound from above and quickly looked up.

"Kya!" the voice shouted, jumping from the air and then posing as they landed on the ground. He almost sweat dropped, until he saw the men one bye one drop like fly's. Now just who are they? thought Android 17 it wasn't everyday you saw an average human defeat a bunch of poacher's with what seemed to be ribbon sword.

"you bitch!" one of the poachers wore as they raised their guns, before firing at them. But before the bullet could hit Android 17 quickly deflected it, and knocked the poacher out at the same time. it was child play.

"are you alright?/Will you be my boyfriend?" Android 17 paused, looking up at the taller person. They were strange, but a good strange.

Vegeta

He tsked as he looked up. He had been in a battle, and had almost had his head ripped from his spine. Almost, Just before the attack he felt arms curl around him, as the person carrying him jumped in the air. He opened his eyes, ready to shout at them feeling his pride damaged, only to quickly close them again. a bare chest/exposed. The person holding them had there chest/breast exposed. was the person holding him some harlot?!

But before he could say anything, they began to do an head twirling amount of somersaults and twists as they tried to avoid the attacks. Before landing on the ground. The dirt underneath them coming undone as they did this.

He was speechless (his ego being broken) as he was placed gently on the ground. "Don't worry! I can defeat him!" Vegeta watched them going back to fighting. were they royalty? surely they must of they were as beautiful as a god/goddess, and it seemed like they were trained by the highest of warriors.

he had been too distracted, and had only now come in to terms that they had just beaten the villain. That was HIS fight.

"woman! who are you?! and how dare you steal my fight!" Vegeta shouted, pushing himself up.

Son Goku

Goku sat on the chair (that was quite uncomfortable) as he stuffed his face with food, ordering more and more. The other people looked over in amazement. How could he eat so much? surely it should be impossible to eat that much without being sick, right? WRONG! for Goku was not like them!

"Wow! you eat a lot just like me!" An overly enthusiastic voice stated. "huh?" Goku asked, as he saw someone other then a server come over to talk to him. "can i sit down please?" Goku swallowed the rest of his food before nodding. "Yeah sure!" he stated, and they sat down with a large grin. He looked them over noticing, that they wore colourful clothing, with decorative design on it.

"OH! these look good! so do these! and these too! I'm (y/n) by the way!" They cheerfully said, calling the waitress over who then took there order.

"My nmaes Swon Gokuw" Goku said, speaking with his mouth full. "You have a lovely name Goku! i have a question for you!" Goku swallowed his food, as he waited for them to continue. "go on"

"Would you like to be my husband?"

Gohan

"can I sit here?" Gohan looked up from his spot, seeing someone with (main hair colour) and (secondary hair colour). "Oh! uh sure! Sorry give me a moment please!" He said, as he removed his bags from the chair besides him. They giggled taking the seat next to him.

"thank you!" they grinned, as they took their pen out. it was a pink colour, which had (Image) designs printed on it. Gohan watched from the corner of his eyes, as they stuck the tongue out from the corner of their lips, making there notes look cute. Everything about her was so cute.

"so what's your name? I'm (y/n)!" They asked, as they turned around placing the pen next to their notebook putting their hand out to shake his. He looked up, grabbing their hand and shaking it.

"I'm Gohan!"

"So Gohan, do you wanna go on a date with me?"

Trunks

Trunks screamed as he fell to the floor, his head looking up as that's all he could do his body was badly damaged, sore and bruised. He could only open one eye, as he watched what the villain was going to do.

"You bully! how could you harm someone as cute as him?" A voice shrieked, as suddenly the villain screamed, his arm being sliced off. Trunk's eyes widened as someone appeared in front of him. They were much taller then him, and had defined muscles. His face quickly blushed.

"Pink and green stripes" He muttered looking down. He had accidentally been flashed by the one in front of him. His face felt hot, but the sound of slashing brought him back into reality. They were in a battle, and he was watching the person in front of him fight better then he ever could.;

"i think I've got my first crush" They muttered, there cheeks blushing.

[inoreuct]

thinking about mermaid sanji and sailor zoro,,,

the sky is cloudless, the sun’s glimmering off the calm water, the crew’s relaxing on the deck as they’re sailing through a clear patch of ocean; by all accounts, it’s a perfect day. luffy hasn’t gotten them into another shenanigan as of yet and zoro’s chilling up in the crow’s nest, half asleep and lethargic with the heat— and then he swears he hears laughter. and it isn’t coming from the ship.

he’s up on his feet immediately and squinting against the glaring light, wondering for a second if he’s seeing a mirage or a trick of the heat shimmer, because they’re sailing by a large, flat rock.

a rock with merfolk on it.

zoro’s shimmying down the mast in record time, ropes lashing around him as his boots hit the deck and he tries not to look like he’s running to the taffrail to catch a better look. (look, he’s curious, alright? merfolk aren’t a total myth, but they aren’t a common sight either.)

(that, and he feels oddly like someone has cast out a fish hook and it’s lodged behind his sternum, tugging him forward and forward until his hands are pressed palm-flat to the railing and he’s leaning over the edge.)

he hears that laugh again, rich and bright, wide eyes snapping to the mer who made it. golden waves shimmer over a leanly muscled shoulder, curling around a sharp jaw to reveal the mer’s pale, slender throat as they tip an oyster back into their mouth. leaning back on his hands — zoro is rather sure he is a he now, as a deep, smooth voice fills his ears, though he’s had enough tongue-lashings from nami to know not to assume — and tossing his hair back affords zoro a glimpse of a beautiful smile and bright blue eyes, blue as the goddamn sky. or maybe the sea. or perhaps the bioluminescent algae that had speckled the walls of this one cave that he’d been to ages ago—

he’s getting sidetracked. some sound must escape him, because suddenly a gaze so keen he feels his skin prickle is on him and he gulps involuntarily. and then for some reason, he opens his mouth. “are you a siren?”

the man’s curly brows narrow in irritation. “are you dead yet?” he snarks, casting zoro a flat stare and sighing in annoyance when zoro just stares back blankly. “no, I’m not a damn siren. lucky for you, we happen to be their… less bloodthirsty cousins.”

“less bloodthirsty meaning…?”

he shares a bored, bemused look with the woman on her elbows beside him, a mer with the richest purple colouring zoro’s seen in his life and a one-shoulder top made of shiny black kelp. “meaning we wouldn’t drag you down to the depths and feast on your carcass, but keep running your mouth and I might just change my mind.”

the mer’s tail is folded elegantly to the side as he lounges, fan-like tail fin trailing in the water, turning his body so that he can look at zoro properly as he tips back another oyster like it’s his god-given right. a tiny voice at the back of zoro’s mind whispers that this isn’t a good idea, whatever this is. it goes ignored. flaxen hair flutters in a slight breeze, sticking to the man’s milky skin in darker spirals where the tips are wet, and zoro’s breath catches as he watches the mer smile with teeth that are just erring on the side of too sharp.

the words register all at once and zoro lurches back, away from the railing, away from golden curls and blue eyes and pale skin. “what did you do,” he grits, resisting the urge to press the heel of his hand into his chest where it suddenly aches.

the mer shrugs. “nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“what’s the matter, sailor? feeling charmed?” that laugh, again, and zoro feels his heart throb. he watches the other man cock his head, studying another oyster in his hand, tilting the shell back and forth as he sucks on his teeth. “we can’t thrall,” he says finally, posture slackening with a sigh and a pout that seems to say what a shame as he picks up a knife and spins it deftly, shucking the shell open with a neat flick of his wrist. “only sirens can do that. whatever you’re feeling, whatever it may be, hasn’t been borne of any influence of mine.”

the oyster goes down and somehow, that sentence makes zoro feel even worse. it’s like he’s had the air punched out of him; he’s rooted, eyes wide, breathing hard as the mer makes a noise of pleasant surprise and pulls a pearl from his mouth, shimmering between his elegant fingers under the sun.

(zoro doesn’t know it yet, but he’s doomed. he was doomed from the start.)

*

back under the ocean, sanji has a crisis. he doesn’t see humans. he doesn’t meet humans. he and robin had just gone up to enjoy the sunshine and then this— this— brute swings by, with his stupid green hair and his three earrings and his obscenely grimy used-to-be-white shirt— sanji is fuming and he doesn’t know why. swimming laps back and forth across his cave isn’t helping either.

"might you possibly have something to get off your mind?" robin asks lightly, the pages of her book drifting in the water.

sanji does an about-turn and holds in a screech with all his might, forcing himself to relax with an exhale. "i'm just fine, my dear. peachy keen."

"you're making grooves in the floor."

"i'm redecorating."

he rolls the pearl from earlier between his fingers, squeezing it tight until his hand aches. "are you a siren, he asks," he mutters mutinously, fins fluttering as he throws himself onto a seaweed bed with a scowl. "how could a human be so stupid? if we were sirens he'd have been a waterlogged ball of moss on the sea floor by that point— and that hair. he looks like— like—"

"algae?" robin supplies helpfully.

"algae! sentient plant life, that's what he is, a kelp bed. water lettuce. duckweed, even." oh, he's so mad. that marimo pisses him off. the whole lot of them had sailed away, good riddance, because sanji never wants to see any of them ever again. they probably all smelled horrid anyway.

*

the merman's been following them.

the crow's nest is zoro's territory for a reason; he's the crew's lookout, and he's damn good at his job. for the past few days he's been seeing flashes of a broad tail fin and twists of golden hair. (he very firmly tells himself that he's not just seeing what he wants to see, because one, he might have one remaining eye but his eyesight is still as sharp as he keeps his cutlass, thank you very much. and two, why the hell would he want to see that merman? he isn't about to win any awards for his own manners but that guy had been stuck up and prissy and just rude. he's only been allowed to tag along this far because he hasn't presented himself as an outright threat. zoro doesn't want to see him. nuh-uh.)

(zoro sees things in his dreams, too. ocean eyes and a sly smile. a pale torso, knife in hand and teeth too sharp. he reaches out to see if the other man's hair feels as soft as it looks and he always wakes before he finds out.)

rum doesn't help to loosen the tension that settles against his spine at night, like he's waiting for something. he doesn't know what. anticipation, maybe, would be a better word— but that has a slight positive connotation, and— no. this man might not be a siren, but zoro’s enough of a sailor to know that it sure as hell doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.

he can't afford to go off chasing pretty mermen when he has a crew to protect.

*

the ship docks for a few days at a barren island. sanji swims laps around the sandy coast and pretends that the thought of his the sailor being beyond his reach doesn't make an anxious itch ripple beneath his scales.

*

water splashes against the side of the boat, and zoro's at the railing in an instant whether he wants to be or not.

“hello, marimo.”

the merman treads water leisurely, golden hair swirling about his shoulders and gleaming in the faint lantern light. it's early enough after sunset that the stars aren't out yet and it's dark as hell. zoro squints.

a laugh echoes in his ears, light and melodious. already familiar. zoro tries to be mad about that. “a little more to your left, moron.”

“well, i can’t very well fuckin’ see, can i?” he scoffs, and bites back a gasp when the water starts glowing, what the fuck. his stupid heart stutters when he sees him, lit up with gentle blues and yellows from below, flickering with the push and pull of the tide and sweeps of that powerful tail. "hey."

"hello," the mer hums again, lashes long and wet enough that they catch the wavering light. "gonna tell me your name, sailor?"

zoro almost lets it slip. almost. but he bites his tongue as he feels a chill run up the back of his neck; sure enough, a glance over his shoulder confirms that nami is glaring at him. don't do anything stupid, her gaze says, and he turns away with a shudder. their navigator is a threat in her own right. "no."

"okay. marimo it is."

"you— that is insulting," he hisses, because it is. he is roronoa zoro. he came from nothing and made a life for himself out of it. he's one of the best swordsmen on the damn seas and he's part of the best crew he's ever known, and he's been reduced to, what? a floating ball of moss?

"it's accurate," the other man corrects with a smirk. "unless you tell me what else to call you."

zoro fumes, fingertips digging into the taffrail. he's sure his nails are gouging scratches in the wood. "no."

"marimo."

"shut up."

"mosshead."

"shut up!"

"algae-brained, kelp-haired, water cabbage-headed—"

"zoro!"

the mer finally stops, lashes fluttering as something passes over his face.

"my name," he ekes out, "is zoro." nami swears somewhere behind him.

the merman's lips part around the syllables of the word, before he draws in a breath and grins, smug. "okay, marimo."

"wh—?!" zoro throws his hands up in exasperation, scofffing. "you bastard!"

"i asked for your name. never said i would use it."

"you're a piece of shit, blondie."

"call me that again and i'll show you how hard i can bite," the mer sneers with all his teeth on show, blue eyes lit up furious, turning away as he prepares to dive and—

"wait!" zoro yells before he can stop himself, and he curses under his breath. ah, fuck it. already got one foot in it anyway. "what's your name?"

"...oh, darling," the mer sighs, half-amused and airy, his voice slipping away. "you're gonna have to work a little harder for that."

it feels like hours later when zoro steps back with a shaky sigh. the merman reminds him of a strong brandy he’d had what feels like lifetimes ago, burnt caramel and warm sugar and smoke with enough hidden bite to take you by surprise, to sink its teeth into you three shots down. enough to intoxicate if you weren’t careful.

he yelps when nami slaps him across the back of the head, faking a lunge at her with bared teeth even as he rubs a hand over his aching scalp with a huff. her nagging about being more careful barely registers. his hair's getting long; maybe he needs a trim.

(that little voice in the back of his head is wary. hesitant. but now it's asking what if.)

*

the ship docks again. this island is teeming with life, thriving, lush with rich green foliage and thick forestation— and beautiful women who all seem to find zoro the height of masculine appeal, apparently. sanji curls himself into a nook in the coral reef and lets his fins trail in the water, the corner of his mouth ticking up a little when a baby clownfish comes to nibble curiously at his fingertip. he's not sulking. he's not. that would be fucking embarrassing for so many reasons and he refuses to think about even one of them.

it's the first time that he starts to feel a little stupid. it had been all fun and games, in the beginning when he'd upped and left on a whim; curiosity and intrigue and the good old urge to stick his fingers in all the cracks this human had until sanji understood every part of him, laid out in the sand like the skeleton of a great sea beast.

but now he's so far away from home, aimlessly following a ship— no, not even a ship. following one person on a ship for no real reason at all.

the clownfish ducks beneath his hand, and sanji cups it carefully in his palm. "you're lucky you don't have to deal with romance yet," he tells it sagely before gently shooing it out of his hiding spot. the water above ripples. it's dark again; the crew must have returned to their boat for the night. sanji sighs and unfurls his tail.

it honestly seems like blind optimism at this point, but he really hopes he's not being played for a fool.

zoro's there when he surfaces, peering over the railing and backlit by the lanterns. sanji focuses and brings out his bioluminescence until the little cove they're in is filled with coloured light. "marimo."

"swirly brow," zoro greets in return.

sanji raises one said swirly eyebrow. "that's new."

"i've got more. blondie, of course. curly head. fishboy—"

"fishboy?!" he squawks, enraged. "fuck you!"

"you wish."

"more like the ladies did," sanji scoffs, and immediately wants to try drowning himself.

zoro frowns. "the hell you talking 'bout, curls?"

the burst of bitterness at the back of his throat is just enough to take him by surprise and loosen his tongue. "they were hanging off your arm like—" mm. nope. he's not gonna go there.

the swordsman's eyes widen like he's just realised something, and sanji does not like that at all. "you're jealous."

"no."

"you are!"

"fuck you," he spits, gills flaring. "i am not." he has no reason to be jealous. they are nothing. this— there is nothing between them.

zoro just grins. "catch."

a white thing drops downwards and sanji darts forward on instinct to let it fall into his cupped palms. "what, s'this supposed to be a present for me, marimo?"

"it's— yeah."

he opens his mouth to reply, before he realises what exactly it is he's holding.

the water lotus fills his hands, its soft white petals edged in pale pink, velvety against his fingertips. something catches in his throat and he dips beneath the water to submerge his gills, carefully holding the flower aloft. his heart squeezes.

the waves lap at the bridge of his nose, hiding half his face as he watches zoro rub at the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy. zoro isn't shy. sanji knows this much. he is loud and unabashed and unashamed with everything, with how he lives, with how he talks, with how he loves his crew and everything they entail.

but he looks almost— he's blushing, just a little, red across the tips of his ears as his gaze darts away, looking very much like he's mad at himself. "nami said it means strength and resilience, or something." the breath he huffs is harsh as he scratches at his nape. "i don't know, it's stupid, curly, i just—"

"sanji."

"what?"

"sanji. my name."

sanji doesn't want to know what he looks like as he rises out of the water to cup the flower to his collar. dumb, probably. rightfully so, because all of this is a very dumb decision and it's probably going to end in shambles with his heart broken into pieces in the silt but zoro— he looks up, floating on his back, and zoro's already looking at him with something that could be wonder, if sanji dared to name it.

"where did you get this?" he murmurs, tail fin creating large ripples as he swims a circle, holding the lotus like it's fragile.

"there was a pond full of them on the island. thought you'd like it."

"you don't know what i like." it comes out breathy. his hair melts against his shoulders as he tries to push himself closer, closer, across the space between them, like a fool. "you don't even know me."

and yet, he startles back when zoro jumps the railing, splashing feet-first into the water boots and all and shaking his head like a dog when he resurfaces. sanji shrieks and shields the lotus with his body, everything else momentarily forgotten as he whacks zoro with his tail just hard enough to send the sailor back underwater with a sputtered laugh. "you fucking brute!"

"i want to."

"that made no sense—"

"i don't know you, but i want to." zoro treads closer, and sanji's light ripples off his skin. his eyes are grey. warm granite and the inside of an oyster shell. "will you let me?"

sanji wants. there is nothing between them, but he wants there to be. he wants so hard it hurts. it feels like he's holding his heart in his hands and not a flower. it's the only way to explain how he's suddenly aching, hollow, in the face of something that isn't even a goddamn confession but feels too much like one. there is a flower in his hands and he wants.

“why?”

“dunno.” he gets a shrug, blunt and earnest as ever even as zoro’s mouth twists up at the edge. “maybe i’m charmed.”

he swallows hard, his mouth dry, and he doesn't want to say it but he has to. "if this is some sick thing about me being a mer—"

"wh—? no!" zoro blurts, and he looks so fucking horrified at that moment that it settles something in sanji's stomach instantly. "god, fuck, no. no. it's not like that. i swear on my life."

there are reasons why merfolk don't interact with humans. sanji grew up with the stories. he's seen the skeletons on the sea floor, mangled with the hunting tools of man, incomplete remains of his kin tossed away to their deaths, unable to swim or save themselves— still a better fate than the ones who never returned. the ocean is gentle after the burn of her salt; her waves are familiar, and her children are raised in their push and pull. captivity, at the hands of men for whatever reason, is never so kind.

he inhales sharply as callused hands cup his.

"i'm sorry," zoro says softly, rushed and maybe a little desperate, throat bobbing as his eyes dart across sanji's face. "i'm sorry. i didn't think of that at all."

"good," he finds himself replying as he looks down. "that means it didn't cross your mind."

a muscle ticks in zoro's jaw. "that's fucking sick, curls."

"i know." sanji's tone is matter-of-fact. "but it's what we have to deal with, sometimes." he deflates with a soft huff at the expression on the other man's face, looking away. "if you start saying shit like i'll protect you or whatever, i'm gonna smack you. i can handle myself."

zoro sighs through his nose, slowly, and his hands tighten around sanji's. "i know you can. i've watched you hunt. doesn't mean i can't be mad about it."

his eyebrows go up. "you saw me hunting?"

"mhm," the swordsman hums. "you're strong. fast. resourceful, too."

sanji preens. he knows he is, knows he’s one of, if not the best, but hearing it from zoro is another thing entirely.

"...also, my captain's been begging me to get you to fish for us because we're all crap at it."

that startles a laugh out of him, and he smiles so wide so quick that his cheeks ache. "that can be negotiated."

up this close, it's easy to see that zoro's hair is shorter than it was before, shorn short at the back and blunt enough that it just had to be freshly cut. the possibility of it being for him does something funny to his chest. the dark green strands are spiky, sticking up everywhere now that they're wet, and sanji wants so badly to touch.

he looks down at the flower in their hands, and he doesn't.

"this can't survive in saltwater," he murmurs instead, carefully putting his lotus into zoro's scarred palms. "take care of it for me."

he watches zoro trudge back to shore, one hand with the flower held above his head. he yells, "it better still be alive the next time i come check, marimo!" and he doesn't bother waiting for an answer. he knows zoro heard him.

sanji's gonna play this slow. he's gonna play this smart. and if zoro fucks up, well— he’s on friendly terms with a particular shiver of great whites.

*

zoro does not, in fact, fuck up. but now he’s constantly being given shit about his pretty merman boyfriend and as much as he pretends he hates it, he really doesn’t. luffy takes one look and declares that sanji’s crew now, zoro, you can’t hog him! dinners are now seafood more often then not, mussels and clams and all sorts of fish, even lobster when sanji finds out it’s nami’s birthday, and franky engineers some sort of transportable bathtub to get him on board.

(sanji brings robin around and franky falls all over himself making transportable bathtub 2.0, but that’s not the point.)

*

“bioluminescence, right? am i saying that right?” zoro asks, spinning this way and that as he tries to get a good look at sanji’s glowing tail under the water, eyes wide.

“mhm.” the mer lifts his tail fin out of the water, pulling himself closer so zoro can hold both of them up seeing as the pool they’re in is shallow enough to stand in. zoro’s hands twitch around nervously until sanji reaches out and grabs his wrist, pressing his palm flat to wet scales, and his chest aches at the look on zoro’s face.

the cave they’re in is small enough for every little sound to echo. sanji’s tail drips rhythmically, punctuated by the staggered breath zoro sucks in as he hauls sanji closer with an arm low over his stomach. careful fingers trace over the glowing patterns on his tail, fading upwards into his torso, and zoro slides a palm flat against sanji’s spine to lift him up as he presses their foreheads together.

“beautiful,” he breathes, reverent. the reflections from the water dance off his wet skin, and his eyes are mother-of-pearl.

sanji wants to touch, and so he does. he winds his fingers into zoro’s hair and pulls him down and kisses him, tastes salt and rum and the promise of blood when his teeth catch and zoro doesn’t shy from the bite. for the first time in a long time he is safe enough to let himself drift; his tail drapes itself over zoro’s side like a elaborate feather fan, and he giggles at the mental comparison.

he feels zoro smile at his laughter. feels calluses and gentle hands as zoro carries him back out to sea. tastes love when zoro pulls him in for one last kiss before saying goodbye for the night.

*

it starts with more flowers. then jewellery, intricate metalwork that would be hard to come by under the sea, fishnet cords and crystal pendants and pretty trinket rings, then daggers, silver hairpins with edges sharp enough to slice bone and a particularly beautiful watered-steel knife in a sheath of butter-soft leather. sanji cannot help but feel like he’s being courted, which makes no sense, because zoro knows nothing about merfolk courting traditions.

and then they talk as zoro braids shells into his hair the way perona taught him to (“you didn’t tell me you had a sister?!” “she just never came up!” “what do you mean she just never came up, marimo, what the fuck! this is important?!”) and sanji finds out zoro talked to robin about it, the sneaky bastard.

a tail doesn’t stop him from tackling zoro to the sand to kiss the crap out of him, braids unfinished and hair wound through zoro’s fingers. his heart feels fit to burst when zoro turns to ensure he takes the brunt of the fall because they both know how much sanji hates getting sand stuck in his scales.

*

the first time sanji gets hurt, zoro goes rather frantic.

it’s barely a scratch, just a slice near the base of his tail courtesy of a rock he hadn’t been able to avoid while hunting, but zoro bodily hauls him back to the ship between bouts of very concerned yelling and yanks off the black bandana always on his arm, scrubs it clean in hot water for good measure before wrapping up his wound, all while making sure no parts of sanji were drying out in the tub.

“marimo, i am fine,” sanji stresses for the twentieth time, shifting up to cup zoro’s face and sighing in resignation as zoro just shakes his head again.

“i don’t care,” the swordsman announces, throwing his hands up like deal with it. “i don’t care. no more hunting until this is completely healed.”

“it is a scratch. a scratch.”

“i don’t give a shit. you’re staying with me for the next few days.”

sanji groans and grumbles and bitches about it, and when zoro bickers right back it just riles him up even more.

(he stays put. he lets zoro scoop him into his lap with unnecessary care. he leans into the kisses zoro presses to his temple and he feels like crying because he is grateful. always.)

*

slavers attack the ship. sanji may not be a siren, but that does not mean he isn’t dangerous. he has his tail, and his knives, and his love for his crew. this is his crew.

he drags those slavers into the ocean and drowns them one by one.

*

now, sanji’s friend ivankov is a literal sea witch— so when they toss sanji an amulet and a wink on his birthday, sanji already knows it’s gonna be good.

the amulet gives him fucking legs.

only while he wears it, of course, but when he stumbles out of the surf like a newborn fawn zoro nearly chokes in shock. they spend the day falling over each other laughing as sanji tries to walk. he eats shit more times than he can counts and gets enough sand in his mouth for a lifetime.

later, there is a blanket beneath them and the moon above them and the endless ocean, shimmering under the light as zoro gathers his hair out of his face and kisses him so softly it hurts.

“beautiful,” zoro breathes. he preaches it like the truth. swears it like a promise.

their hands fit, calluses against calluses as zoro thumbs over the tiny patch of scales on sanji’s wrist, iridescent yellow-blue. their fingers lace in a motion they’ve done hundreds of times and still it never feels different than the first.

sanji lays back, and all he sees are stars.

[inkdrinkerworld]

something like ms.honey 2

cw: fluff, a bit of angst, mention of haley, flashback scene, friends to lovers, hotch being emotionally constipated

“I can’t do it,” you mutter on the phone and your friend sighs. 

“You most definitely can, don’t chicken out.” 

You really can’t, you cannot go on this date. It’ll be a waste of time and a waste of money. 

What you’d rather be doing is spending the day with your grumpy neighbour and his energetic eight year old who loves all things sweet just like you. 

Except, you’ve not seen them in five days. 

Aaron’s more than likely away on a case, and Jack’s with Jessica, but there’s not been a single text and you can feel dread setting it. 

You want to reach out, but that feels like more than an admission of worry and you’re not sure if you want to delve into what else it could be.

It’s a little mind numbing the way the Hotchner’s have wormed their way into every routine you have and now that they’re not part of it, it feels like something is missing. 

“I think I’m just gonna stay in and do class prep.” there’s a finality in your voice that makes your friend sigh. 

“Alright, just,” she takes a breath, “crack a bottle of red.”

You hang up after that, rifling through your cabinets for your craft stuff.

You’re teaching the kids about shapes and slightly about fractions, but you wanted it to be fun- so it required a sacrifice to your Saturday night. 

Construction paper in varying colours and Youtube tutorials were how you spent about three hours before your phone rang. 

Sighing, you slide ‘answer’ without even looking at the screen. 

“Hello?” there’s no answer on the line, just a crackle and a pop. 

“Hello?” you pull the phone away from your ear and see ‘AH.’ Frowning, you say a little frustratedly, “Aaron?” 

“It’s Jack,” there’s lots of whispering and you get nervous. “Daddy’s downstairs.”

“Are you okay, J?” you find yourself asking, standing and reaching for your keys. 

“Daddy’s friends from work are here.” you take a peek out your kitchen window, but see no cars at their house.

“Where baby?” your heart is hammering in your chest. 

“My old house, there was a problem.” 

“Can you get your dad on the phone?” you ask, ready to get in your car and over to Jack and Aaron. 

“I’m supposed to be sleeping,” he admits shyly and you laugh. “I miss you.” he says and you feel your heart swell. 

“I miss you too Jack,” god you wish you could hug his little body. “Is everything okay?” 

Jack sighs, “It was my mom’s birthday two days ago,” your heart breaks for Jack and Aaron.

Jack had told you about his mom’s funeral when he was over the last time Aaron had been away.

“Daddy was sad, and today Uncle Rossi came over because he made a mistake.” 

“It’s all good now though?” you ask and Jack says a little, ‘yeah,’ but he sounds sad. “Do you want me to stay on the phone till you fall asleep?” 

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. 

“Can we do a video?” he asks and you switch over immediately, finding Jack’s face smushed to his pillow. 

“You look so cozy,” you tell him and he smiles, a little blush taking over his face. “What story do you want?” you have a couple of his favourites still at the house. 

“Jungle book again, please.” 

You read only a couple chapters of the book before Jack falls asleep, the phone falling to the bed so you’re staring at the ceiling but you don’t mind it. 

You’re cleaning up your coffee table when you hear Jack’s door open. 

“Y/n?” It’s the first sign of trouble when Aaron says your name like that. 

You’re not sure what the trouble could be, but you know it’s unsettling and it makes your skin crawl just slightly. 

You curse yourself internally at that thought. 

Aaron doesn’t have to call you ‘sweetheart’ every time, friends usually go by first names too. 

“Hey,” you say, and there’s a sort of awkward silence that fills the space. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for him to keep the phone, he sounded so sad and fell asleep.” Aaron just shakes his head. 

“It’s fine Y/n, it’s been a tough week for him.” it grates on your nerves the way he’s determined to only call you your name, but you nod as Aaron speaks, packing your crafts into your sticker folder and sliding it into your tote bag. 

There’s something weird with him. 

“Jack said you’d been sad.” you mumble before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, sorry.”

Aaron laughs and shakes his head. “He likes you,” he says and you smile bashfully. “But yeah, I was. I’m better now though, swear.” 

You eye him skeptically, but nod anyway. 

“Rossi says I’ve made a mistake.” Aaron says unexpectedly. Your eyebrows knit as you wait for him to continue, “Coming back to the house.”

Aaron doesn’t know why he’s saying all this, truly. It’s frightening the way he opens up to you without even thinking. 

He wants to add, ‘and being away from you,’ but you cut him off before the words can slip from his lips.

“Do you think it is?” regardless of what his answer is, you’re planning on keeping your face neutral. 

“I’m not sure, it’s done some good, but I think mostly it’s made Jack emotional.” 

You can see the struggle plain on his face. He’s at war with himself, but you’re not sure why exactly. 

“Do what feels right for the two of you.” you say softly and he nods.

Seeing him and hearing that he wants to possibly stay at the house reminds you that they’d never been permanent, no matter what you had thought. 

It bubbles an anger that’s really embarrassment and it makes you feel gross, makes you feel wrong. 

Wrong for letting them into your routines, wrong for getting so used to them being in your space, wrong for your friendship turning into a crush. 

“I gotta go,” you say and Aaron nods. He can tell something’s wrong, but prying seems wrong. 

Everything seems wrong now. 

“Goodnight Y/n.” 

“Goodnight.” 

-

You go another week without the Hotchners but this time they’re home. In their house right across the street. 

Jack still waves at you from inside their gates, but he doesn’t come over and you hardly see Aaron. 

There’s something odd and it’s eating away at you. You hate the limbo of not knowing what’s going on, but you knew it was bound to happen after that phone call. 

You give Jack his ‘something sweet’ every week though, still giving him double the regular batch even if Aaron isn’t talking to you. 

Your week has been mostly the same routine, wake up, go to school, teach the kids. 

Except today. 

Everything’s been turned on its head since the moment you woke up.  

You’re late. And you’re never late, not even five minutes. 

Your alarm didn’t go off, and now you’re about to be an hour late for school because you haven’t had breakfast or showered yet. 

The only good thing is that you called in the moment you got up and let the school know you’d be late. Other than that? It’s been a shit show. 

As you step out the door, you see Aaron hovering by your gate. 

You’re only slightly disturbed by his presence, especially the beard he’s grown. “Is something wrong?” you ask as you lock your door. 

“You’re still here.�� he’s got an almost relieved tone to his voice. 

“I’m late,” you explain softly and he nods, stepping back as you open your gate. “Are you sure nothings wrong?” 

Aaron never grows a beard, and he never comes over in the morning even when you were talking. 

Sure you being late is uncharacteristic, but it doesn’t warrant a visit from him- especially after all this time.

“You haven’t called me ‘Aaron’ in almost two weeks.” he grimaces after the words leave him like he wasn’t supposed to say anything. 

“You haven’t spoken to me in almost two weeks.” you counter as you reach your car. “I’m not doing this right now, you have your reasons fine whatever. I have to get to work.” 

You’ve never been this cursory with him ever, and it stings, but Aaron nods. 

Your day doesn’t brighten much from there. The kids are all a bit restless and teaching fractions doesn’t go as smoothly as you’d have liked, but they’re understanding the differences a lot better now. 

You don’t force it on them after lunch though. 

Instead, you let them go over their writing and reading and help them make crafts till the last bell. 

Aaron’s outside waiting for you and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

Sure you missed him, but like this, he’s two steps away from making your bad day worse. 

“Come pick up Jack with me? He hasn’t seen me for the day.” you want to ask why, but you don’t want to be reinvited into their lives like this. 

“Aaron,” you want to tell him no. You want to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone, to pretend you don’t exist because it was so easy for him over the last two weeks. 

But there’s something about the way his shoulders drop and relax as you say his name that has you caving. Something about that Aaron Hotchner smile, that’s not even a smile that wins you over. 

“Fine.” 

He knows using Jack to force the two of you together is wrong, but after Rossi and Reid grilling him, he wants to make amends. 

“You stopped speaking to her?” David is livid. He knows exactly why Aaron had stopped speaking to you but he hates that he’s allowed his worry to rule him again. 

“Hotch, she was nice.” Spencer chimes and Aaron rolls his eyes and sucks at his teeth. 

“None of you have met her!” he hisses and Spencer shrugs. 

“Jack talks,” is all Reid says and David nods. 

“Yeah, the kid’s practically in love with her. He even shared some of that chocolate babka she made for you, she’s got a good hand for it.” Rossi says and Aaron smiles despite it all. 

Rossi wants to tease him, but the smile has something sad about it.

“That’s why it can’t go on Dave, she’s someone to lose now.” 

David and Spencer sigh and lean forward at the round table.

“And you pushing her away is what? Keeping him from losing her? It’s premature even for you, Hotch.” Rossi’s words are weighted, but it’s Spencer that gets to him. 

“Jack’s going to lose her twice, once as his friend and then again as his neighbour. When she realizes you’re done with whatever it is you had, she’s going to leave Jack alone to avoid you.” 

There’s an implied, ‘and it’ll be your fault,’ that Spencer politely refuses to add verbally. 

The words had been swimming around his head all week but he didn’t know how to approach you about it to apologise. 

“Did you drive here?” you ask as you reach your car, looking up at Aaron to see him shake his head. 

“No, um, Spencer dropped me off.” you nod though you have no clue who this ‘Spencer’ is. 

“Get in,” you mutter, sliding into the front seat and starting the car.

The ride is mostly silent and uncomfortable. 

It’s stifling that the two of you are this silent but clearly have something to say. 

It’s causing a stress knot at the back of your neck now that you think about it. 

“Can you just say whatever it is you want to? The tension is ridiculous.” you murmur, eyes darting between Aaron and the road. 

He feels gross all over at the way you’ve dismissed him even while speaking to him- but Aaron knows he’s deserved this. 

“I’m sorry.” he starts and you frown. “For being distant, and for not coming over. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” he says softly, almost like he’s ashamed of his actions. 

“That’s not why I was upset,” you reply, pulling into the parking lot of Jack’s school. “You stopped being my friend. You put distance between us when you went back to your old house, and I didn’t know why. Then when you came home you couldn’t even look at me and say, ‘We can’t be friends anymore’ you just shut me out.” 

There’s a long silence in the car as Aaron tries to pick his next few words and you feel like you probably should’ve never said anything to begin with. 

“We’ll talk later,” he says as the children start rushing out. 

You stay in the car while Aaron gets Jack and sigh. Your forehead is pressed against the steering wheel when the back door opens and a rowdy Jack pushes his face up to yours. 

“Y/n!” he screams, and you giggle despite yourself. 

“Inside voice Jack,” Aaron corrects softly and Jack nods, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“How was your day?” you ask as you pull out, content to give Jack all your attention if it means that you can avoid whatever is going on between you and his dad. 

“Can I come over?” Jack asks as you pull into the familiar road. “Dad?” he prompts when neither of you answer. 

Aaron only looks at you. 

“Uh yeah babe, but me and your dad have to talk, that okay?” Jack nods, unbuckling his seatbelt as you get out. 

“C’mon J,” you call, opening the door and letting him race in.

You set up the tv for him, ‘Little Einsteins’ playing as he sings along. You place a bottled water and a plate of cookies on the coffee table for him too, before turning to Aaron who’s leaning on your kitchen’s arch. 

You stare at him from the other side of the archway, waiting for him to speak. 

“I couldn’t,” he starts and you cross your arms. “I don’t do well with loss, it’s hard to let people in since Haley died- Jack’s mom.” 

God you wish you weren’t so emotional. You can feel tears pricking your eyes just at the mention of Jack’s mom.

“I don’t like putting him in a position where he can lose people. He wasn’t supposed to befriend you, neither of us were,” you nod. “but we did and it started to feel too good being around you.” 

You want to stop him, but Aaron bulldozes you and continues, “Things go wrong quickly when they start to feel good. There’s risks that come with being involved with any agent.” 

“I don’t think someone would attack me because we were friends Aaron,” you try to joke but he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even do his little eyebrow quirk and it makes you nervous. 

“Maybe not, but I didn’t want to take the chance. Anything could go wrong.”

“Anything could go wrong in friendships that don’t involve agents.” is your counter.

You push off the archway when your brain catches up, “Wait, did you say, ‘didn’t’?” you’re closing the distance between you. 

He smiles a little then, only the tip of his smile going up but you see it. 

“A couple friends told me I was being premature, in putting distance between us. They also reminded me I was more than capable of keeping people safe.” 

You can’t help but smile, “And?”

Aaron’s not off the hook, that much he can tell. 

He can also tell that you’re giving in. 

“And, I wanted to stop being an ass and I really really missed coming over.” 

You shake your head, “What if I didn’t want us to be friends again?” 

Aaron pauses for a moment, it’s long and pregnant and it makes you nibble on your lip when you catch onto what he’s thinking, but then he gives you a proper smile this time, “Then I’d go ask Jack to convince you to give us another shot with you.” 

“Oh that’s mean,” you mumble and Aaron nods, the toes of your shoes touching now. 

“Alright, fine, since you’ve really pulled my leg, I’ll be your friend again Aaron Hotchner.” you say dramatically and he laughs. 

“Good, because I really did miss you. More than Jack.” he whispers the last part and you scoff. 

“Oh that’s not true, Jack called me.” you say and Aaron’s eyebrows knit together. 

“After we came back?” he asks softly and you nod. 

“Three times a week from the landline.” The boy in question comes running into the kitchen, an empty plate of cookies in his hand. 

“Thanks Y/n,” you take the plate from him, and as soon as his hands are empty he hugs your legs. “Missed you.” he says and you ruffle his hair. 

Aaron feels his heart break at the fact that his son had missed you so much, he called you on the house phone. Reid was right, he’d have made Jack lose you twice. He almost did. 

“C’mon babe,” you lift Jack to your hip, “Let’s choose something to bake for tomorrow.” 

Aaron watches as you go for your cookbook, sitting Jack on the countertop as you both flip through the desserts section. 

-

You all fall into your regular routine after a couple weeks, Jack coming over on a Friday for his ‘something sweet’ and to give you all the details of his week. 

Aaron never stays long these days, hard cases that’s mainly long hours but he pops in every night just before you go to bed. 

Like tonight, Jack’s still with you, not awake but asleep in your lap, and Aaron knocks on your door. 

“Shit,” you mumble, lifting Jack’s head and placing it on a cushion.

“Y/n,” he whines and you pout, kissing his head before jogging off to the door. 

“You have to get your own keys,” you say to Aaron, finding him in just his suit shirt, tie and jacket gone. “He fell asleep.” 

Aaron shakes his head as he steps in, noticing both you and Jack in your pyjamas as he flicks your locks. 

“It’s not even eight thirty, what did you get up to?” 

You don’t say a word, but gesture to the coffee table and then to the kitchen. 

The coffee table is covered in paper dinosaurs, all in varying colours and species, and the kitchen has multiple tupperware bowls, some with food and others with sweets. 

“You’re weak sweetheart,” he chuckles and you shrug.

“He’s nice, and we had fun. Jack pays in compliments and kisses, what’s better than that?” Aaron sits where you had been, raising Jack’s head so it lays in his lap, and pats his free side.

“You shouldn’t be working on crafts on the weekend,” Aaron whispers but you frown. “You should be relaxing.” 

You suck at your teeth, “We did relax! We made dinner together and we baked brownies and then we made dinosaurs.”

He just nods, but Aaron wishes he had the time to actually let you relax.

He wishes that he could have a weekend off to take you and Jack someplace where you don’t have to entertain. 

There’s a contemplative look on his face that makes his eyebrows scrunch together and his lips purse - you don’t like it even a little bit. 

“You’re being weird Aaron.” you say as you reach and smooth the wrinkles in his eyebrows. 

“I’ve never been weird,” you giggle softly but don’t say anything and it makes Aaron shake his head. “I’m thinking.” 

You pull back from him, “Aaron, please, don’t hurt yourself.” he pushes at your shoulder when you laugh. 

“Something serious?” you ask, standing and moving to the kitchen. 

Aaron’s about to call out to you when he spots you walking back with a bowl of food and a fork. 

“It could be,” he says and he takes the things from you. You flick through the shows, settling on something easy as he eats. 

“Are you gonna tell me?” he shakes his head, crunching on a carrot. 

“Nah, not yet.” you huff but say nothing, content to just watch your show till Aaron’s ready to leave. 

Except, you fall asleep in his lap as well, and he can’t move. He doesn’t mind, not a bit but he does shift a little so he can lay down too with you and Jack on him. 

“Fucking perfect.” 

-

The next week is fast, the term is winding down for thanksgiving and then Christmas break. 

The kids have been good at the fractions and the shapes, a real change from the last couple of weeks and it makes you feel a teacher’s pride that’s ridiculous. 

“You guys are so smart!” you praise as you watch the class name each of the fractions with ease. 

Now they’re all eagerly telling you their plans for Thanksgiving, and what their parents are going to be making while you’re in circle time. 

“Miss Y/n?” Ben raises his hand as you walk around the room. 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you do for Thanksgiving?” the class all nod at his question and you smile. 

“Uh, well my family and I never really celebrated it. We did the big lunch and dinner for Christmas.”

Another hand goes up and you point to the girl, Lyn, “Will you be alone then?” 

They all know you’re not from Virginia. 

“Maybe, or maybe I’ll spend it with my neighbours.” you haven’t really spoken of it with Aaron and Jack, but if you have to spend it alone it won’t be as bad as it used to be. 

“I hope you do,” Lyn says and you smile. 

“Thank you Lyn.” 

On your drive home, you think about Thanksgiving and what you’ll do for it, but everything feels too much. It feels weird thinking about doing something when you usually do nothing. 

“Y/n!” Jack’s waiting outside your door with Aaron, who has to hold his son’s hand so he doesn’t run over to the car. 

“Jack,” you greet and he tugs on your fingers. “What’s wrong baby?” 

Aaron comes down to take your keys from you.

“We’re going out,” Aaron says and you frown. 

“Where?” you ask and Jack beams. 

“Our favourite!” Jack giggles madly and you shake your head. 

“Never been.” you say and Aaron smiles. He unlocks your door and watches you and Jack go in before getting in himself. 

“That’s even better. We’ll wait for you. It’s not formal. Reservation is for 7.” 

Aaron can tell you want to say something, but you don’t. You just make your way to your staircase. 

“Y/n, can I have more cookies?” Jack asks and you nod to Aaron. 

“If your dad says it’s okay before dinner.” 

You don’t stick around to hear whether or not Aaron allows him. 

You come back down and Aaron sees you first. Without his conscious consent his belly fills with butterflies and his nerves frazzle. 

You’re in a long, blue and orange skirt and a white t-shirt.

Your hair’s been let down, ringlets of loose curls hanging down your back, your glasses replaced with another pair that matches better. 

“I’m ready,” you say, watching Jack and Aaron share a cookie as you grab your purse. 

“Leave it.” Aaron says softly, offering you a cookie in turn. “You look beautiful.” he compliments and you smile as you pluck the cookie from his hands. 

“So pretty,” Jack says as he touches the colours on your skirt. “Like a princess or a fairy!” 

“You’re both flirts,” is the only thing you can say, trying to tamper your embarrassment from their attention. 

Dinner is easy, conversation mostly abstract. 

“What about if you combined the two, a brownie and a cake,” Jack says as they bring dessert out. Aaron had the good sense to get everyone their own hot brownie with ice cream. “A crownie!” he names it excitedly and you giggle. 

“We could try babe,” you say and Jack nods, leaning forward and licking the vanilla ice cream on his brownie. 

“It’s hot so don’t touch the pan.” you say and he nods. He’s been beside you all evening, much to Aaron’s amusement yet he can’t help the way he notices Jack has been wanting you more and more. 

It’s painfully obvious now how much his son had missed you, and for a moment he feels a sharp stab of dad guilt right to his gut. 

“Aaron, your ice cream is gonna melt and then me and Jack are gonna have your entire plate.” you threaten, Aaron’s eyes widening as he notices the chocolate stains around his son’s mouth and the nearly gone brownie. 

“Yeah dad, eat up or pay up.” 

Your laugh is loud at the little Hotchner’s threat. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Aaron says, digging into his brownie before you and Jack team up against him. He still manages to save about half the brownie for the ride home. 

The bill comes and you reach for it when Aaron shakes his head. 

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” It's cruel of him to say it so sweetly and reverently as he fishes his card out of his wallet. 

It makes you stumble, and allows him the advantage of paying without another complaint. 

Jack knocks out about twenty minutes into the drive back to your house, and from the quiet that surrounds the car you’re tired too. 

“You can sleep y’know,” Aaron says as he glances over at you. 

You shake your head, defiant, “And leave you up by yourself? Don’t think so.” 

He keeps you talking for a little while, before glancing at you and finding your cheek tucked to your shoulder, and your eyes dropping closed. 

“Sleep, sweetheart.” he says softly, hand reaching for your cheek. 

“Don’t want you to be bored,” you slur and he chuckles. 

“Won’t be, promise.” your eyes don’t stay open long after that, certainly not when Aaron keeps stroking your face. 

The drive lasts another half hour, you and Jack out like lights. 

When he pulls up to your house he grabs your keys from the cup holder. 

Aaron’s meticulous as he opens the door and clears the couch so there’s space to place Jack. 

The little boy doesn’t rouse, Aaron having perfected the art of transporting a sleeping toddler over the years. 

He comes back for you, unbuckling your seatbelt and stroking your arm.

“We’re home sweetheart,” he whispers, watching you turn to where his voice is coming from. “Want me to carry you?” he’s gonna do it unless you say ‘no.’ 

“I can walk,” you’re groggy, but he moves to let you hop out of the SUV on your own. 

Aaron stays behind you though, hand on your back as you walk inside. You stretch and yawn when you’re inside and Aaron smiles. 

“Want some tea?” you ask and he shakes his head, he watches you make yours though. 

“Thanks for dinner, Aaron.” you say as you hold your mug, taking a scalding sip that makes you hiss. 

“Don’t do that,” he says and you frown. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks and you brighten. 

Aaron never has the weekends off. Ever. 

“You didn’t say you had the weekend off!” you all but scream and he laughs, reaching for your mug as you rush around to his side of the kitchen island. 

“I have the day off,” he amends and you nod, sitting halfway in his lap till he tugs you up properly. 

“And you want me to spend it with you and Jack?” he nods, handing over the tea when you’re comfortable. 

You don’t think hard about his hand falling to your waist to keep you still as he answers you. 

“Mhm, Jack wants to go to a book fair.” he elaborates and you nod. “Are you free?”

“So free! But I have to be back in time to go to the farmer’s market.” 

Aaron nods, lodging his chin on your shoulder as you sip the tea. He can do with a day of just you and Jack and nothing else. 

[misstycloud]

Not-so-serious ask but more offff how would stalker! Yan react to seeing reader singing very vulgar/sexual songs? They do the dance moves and say every.single.word. Absolutely no shame in them.

(Songs like: “slut me out”- NLE choppa) thank you for your time!💖

Oh, god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god!

The stalker covered their mouth with their hand to stop them from gasping out loud. They couldn’t have you hear them.

If you did, you’d notice them sitting in that tree you never liked right outside your window. It destroyed the view, you thought. Not that there was much to see anyway.

They had planned out their evening perfectly, go to your house, climb the tree as they’ve done so many times and snap a couple photos. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just a normal night for them, really. What they hadn’t expected was to see you through your living room window, singing a not-so censored song.

Inside your home, you repeated the lyrics of the song perfectly. You knew it like the back of your hand. “Ayy, rip off my shirt if you love me.” while singing, your body seems to have a mind of its own, throwing your arms out and stepping to the beat.

With shaky hands, your stalker lifted the camera up and pressed the button, a click emenating from it. The way you swayed your hips, and the way you told them to rip your shirt off. Oh, they could just die at the spot!

“(Y/n)~” they groaned your name and placed their palm over their heart; feeling how it vigoursly slammed against his ribs.

“Spit in my face when you fuck me.”

“I could never do that to you, my dear!” the stalker cried, “you’re too good for me, but if you want you can spit on me.” they said even though you had no way of hearing them.

“Play with my gooch, while you suck me~”

“Yes, I’d love to!”

“Eat the dick like you was ugly”

“Ah, I’m so terribly ugly compared to you!” a shamefully red blush dusted they’d cheeks because of your vulgar words, though there were not directed at them.

“Why you being so weird to me?”

The watcher froze up in the tree, together with all the green leaves as company. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just that…I like you so, so much…!”

You continued the song, unknowing of the dark shadow looming right outside your window, who had perfect sight of you and every single thing you did. You kept going, but they themselves appeared to be stuck on that line.

“I can’t help it! I like-no- love you! I love you. So, so, so, so much, you have no idea!”

It was the truth, they really couldn’t love anything or anyone as much as you. You were their entire world. Nothing mattered compared to you. You were their sun, the thing that brought colour and light to their otherwise bleak world.

That’s why they acted in a way most would consider…odd.

The things they acted upon wasn’t exactly what the majority of couples did. Normal couples don’t jot down their partner’s whole schedule. Normal couples don’t follow each other around constantly, without any concern for the hour. Normal couples don’t collect every single piece that had touched their partner’s body in any sort of way.

And normal couples definitely don’t print out photos of the other to cover their entire wall.

But it was all in the sake of love! Nothing harmful about that, surely it is all alright. Who could deny a young citizen with their entire life ahead of them a chance of loving something else other than their phone.

The stalker’s heart continued to thump loudly in their chest, making their ears drum at the feeling. They had taken all the pictures they needed for tonight and settled to listen. You had now gotten to the end of the song.

“Slut me out!”

Thump

“Slut me out!”

Thump

“Slut!-“

They leaned forward to get a better view of you since you’d began moving back in your home, making it somewhat harder to see you clearly.

“Slut!-“

They didn’t hear the crack sounding under them.

“Slut!-“

It was too late, disaster was inevitable.

“Me!-“

After another cracking noise, they glanced down to discover the branch breaking under their weight.

“-out!”

‘Crack!’

You jumped at the sound and quickly ran to turn off the music. You approached the windows and looked outside, but there was not a single would out there.

Only a tree with a broken branch.

[sebsxphia]

bobby burns.

robert ‘bob’ floyd x reader.

￫ description: you try some of bob’s, ma’s alcohol one night.

￫ c/w: alcohol, implications to sex, other than that it’s all fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ a/n: this is for @callsign-phoenix 1k celly here! a huge congratulations to you again my love! your writing is absolutely incredible and i’m so honored you asked me to participate. you deserve each and every one and more! <3

You turned your head to the sight of Bob coming out onto his Ma’s front porch. The screen door squeaks on it’s hinges and he’s got a thick, woolen throw draped around his shoulders. You can hear the clinking of two smaller glasses, together combined with the larger bottle of his Ma’s questionable alcohol she brewed herself.

“Here you are, darlin’.” Bob’s drawl was thicker as he kicked the front door shut behind with the heel of his boot. Somehow, coming back home to see his family really brought out the Southern in him, but you weren’t complaining. His voice sounded like it was laced thick with honey and in the fair few mornings you’d spent here, it sent a pool of heat in between your thighs when he wished you a good morning.

“What does she call this again?” You reach out from under your throw that’s draped around your shoulders as you sit on the porch swing to take the glasses from Bob.

“Ma’s Malicious Mixer.” Bob scoops his throw under his legs to tuck it neatly around him so he can huddle next to you comfortably. You throw him a questionable gaze.

“Mixer? Isn’t it like, eighty percent spirit?”

Bob raises his eyebrows in response and huffs out a chuckle.

“She likes it strong.” He shrugs it off like it’s nothing.

He pops the cork from the bottle with a satisfying sound and pours yourself and him two even shots in the miniature glasses. He places the bottle down onto the porch floor and takes his glass from your hand. You clink them together and he holds your gaze with a sweet smile.

“To us, m’ love.”

“To us, my dear Bobby.”

You throw your heads back in sequence and shot the liquor. It hits in the first millisecond and both of your faces contort into disgust, as you try and bear the vibrant taste. Bob’s face has settled back to normal, with a squint and twitch in his eyes, before the after wave hits the back of your throat like a fireball.

“Oh my god! Bobby! It burns!” You spit out in between gagging sounds from yourself. He cannot help but fall into a fit of laughter, but keeping it hushed as to not wake the rest of his family, who are currently sleeping peacefully upstairs in his family’s ranch house.

Bob brings one hand to your back to rub it soothingly through the thick throw. “You good, darlin’?” He’s still wearing a smug little grin on his face and you can’t help but choke out a laugh with him, at the pure absurdity of sweet Bobby’s Ma, making a concoction so deadly.

You throw him a thumbs up and rest back against his hand, moving it to drape around your shoulder and pull you in close, so you can huddle against his chest. You blow out a couple more streams of air as the fiery come down fades. Bob presses a soft kiss to the side of your temple, and you feel his chest rise and fall in a deep sigh. It’s not a frustated sigh, no. It’s a sigh of complete and utter ease.

“My family love you, y’ know. Ma was just tellin’ me before she went to bed.” Bob spoke up and you turned your head upwards to meet his gaze again.

“Really?”

He rested his hand on your cheek and rubbed his thumb across the small baby hairs that rested there. “Really.” He confirmed with pride and ever adoring love swelling in his chest. “She did want me to tell you however, the booze was a tiny, lil’ test, and I can confirm, you passed wi’ flyin’ colours.”

You gave him a small slap to the chest at his statement. “Bobby! It feels like it burned my esophagus off!”

Bob’s smile didn’t falter as he proudly declared with a slight cock in his head and a hum, “Yes, but! You’re part of the family now.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words. You were so head over heels in love with your dear Bob and you wanted to make this work so badly. Meeting his family was the biggest anxiety you had had since day one, but knowing that you were now fully accepted, it made every worry in your body disappear.

You could really see yourself with him forever and with the way you shotted back that deadly alcohol, Bob could too.

taglist: @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2

[nfr-girly]

Little Hope - Bradley Bradshaw x reader (Part 3)

a/n: this one’s a little longer, not sure wether to make part 4 the last part or part 5, but hope you like it! x

part 1 part 2

Hope had settled in nicely to pre-school. She had made a good amount of friends and Bradley’s nerves were completely gone upon seeing how happy she was.

Every now and then Bradley and Y/N would talk, usually either about Hope, or the Navy. Bradley cherished the few minutes they spent talking, as he knew he would never be able to go any further with them.

Y/N knew it was unprofessional to have a crush on a parent, she had tried to get over her little crush on him, but every time he walked in she could feel herself fall even more.

Your POV

As im sorting out my classroom, a few of my students, including Hope, colour as they wait for their parents. Today Hopes uncle, technically family friend, is picking her up today. So I didn’t glam up as much as I usually did..

“Mavvy!! Hope runs up to the man, who I assume is Maverick, and hugs him.

“Hey kiddo!! Listen you and me have got a fun day planned, me and Penny are gonna get you some ice cream, then we’ll take you to the beach. That sound good?”

“uhuh” she nodded

I walk over to maverick and shake his hand

“Hi I’m Hopes teacher, you must be Maverick?”

“Yeah well my real names Pete but thats my call sign, everyone calls me it. Nice to meet you” he says shaking my hand back.

“I’ll just go grab Hopes things for you!” I walk over to Hopes peg, before I hear some whispering

“Hey kid, is she the one your dad’s always talking about?”

I pause in my steps. The one your dads always talking about? He wasn’t talking about me? Right?

“Yep, daddy was right Miss L/N is very pretty. I think he has a crush on her.” Hope whispers that last part a lot quieter, but I still hear it.

“Well I think you need to start playing Cupid”

Hope gasps in excitement. Redness fills my cheeks as I try to comprehend the conversation I unintentionally eavesdropped in.

I realise I’ve been stood at the peg for way too long, and quickly grab her things and walk over.

“Here’s hopes things, are you doing anything nice this weekend?” I bend down to hopes height so she doesn’t have to look up.

“Yep, my dad and uncle mavvy are taking me to the beach, they’re going to play football.”

“Well that sounds like a lot of fun!”

“You know Y/N if you’d like you can come to watch! It’s mostly boys but there is a woman named natasha. I’m sure you guys would get along.”

“Yes please miss L/N please come!!” Hope jumps up and down in excitement

I pick myself back up and think. Would it be weird to go? I am Hopes teacher after all. But I suppose I couldn’t miss out on such a generous invitation.

“Okay sure! Which area of the beach is it? I’ll get an uber there” I ask

“Oh no we can pick you up. What’s your address?”

I gave him my address and we specified I meet them outside my apartment at 9.

“Thanks so much again for the invitation. I’ll see you then. Bye hope!” I wave at them as they walk towards their car. Did I make a mistake? Probably. Did I care? No.

The next day: Saturday

I’m deciding what to wear to the beach. I can’t put on much revealing. Hopes gonna be there, so will Bradley. I decide to go with shorts, and a short sleeve top.

I get a text from maverick that they’re outside. I can only assume Bradley’s there in the car with them. God what is he doesn’t know I’m coming? He’ll be so weirded out by me. What am I doing??

Bradley’s POV

Maverick comes to a stop next to an apartment building, I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“Hey why are we stopping?”

“To pick up miss L/N” Hope yells out before Pete can get a word in. But my heart stops.

What did she mean we’re here to pick up Y/N?

“Wait what? Pete what’s she talking about?” I started to get annoyed, but also worried. Pete knew about my stupid crush on Y/N. I didn’t think he’d do something about it though.

“Listen, you and me both know you aren’t gonna do shit about your feelings for that girl. So me and Hope decided to invite her to the game. She’s only watching and on the plus side she could watch Hope.”

“What and you didn’t even ask me first?” I ask, starting to get frustrated

“You can act mad, but are you gonna pretend that you aren’t thrilled about actually being able to talk to her for more than 5 seconds?”

Despite my frustration. That shut me up quick.

“She’s here!!” I hear Hope squeal out. I turn my head to the right and see her. Oh my god..

“I’ll go help her with her bags” Pete says before getting out.

I would protest to do it myself, but I’m caught in a trance and I can’t get out. Was it possible for any woman to be that beautiful?

She had decided to wear shorts with a top. Did she know how cute she looked? I snap out of my trance when I realise she has just gotten into the car.

I turn my head to look at her and she looked at me. No words were spoke yet we said so much. She smiled at me before smiling at hope

“Hello Hope how are you doing?” She asked

“I’m okay, you look really pretty miss L/N”

“Aw thank you very much, you look pretty too, I love your bow”

Hope giggled and y/n smiled and then turned to me

“Hey Bradley, how are you?” She asked

I take a moment to conjure up my thoughts, not processing what she had just asked me, being too fixated on her

“Oh uh- yeah sorry I’m great thanks, y-you look great by the way” I immediately regret asking that and internally slapped myself

Her cheeks go red for a moment before responding

“Oh- thank you um, you don’t look too bad yourself” she smiles, suddenly becoming shy

“Okay we ready to hit the road?” Pete asks putting his seatbelt on

We all nod and he starts driving. God. What am I going to do?

————————————————————————

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@leahnicole1219

@itsdesiree86

[qvrcll]

a love like this

summary: the love shared between you and ellie blossoms, thuds, weakens and throbs. but never once does it die.

warnings: angst (comfort), nsfw implied in some parts, vomit mentioned, violence / alcohol / blood mentioned

a/n: had my playlist on blast whilst writing this and im 110% i rushed the end but god i love writing like this and for ellie too! enjoy :-)

Imagine Ellie fessing up the courage to confess to you; awkward, toothy and flimsy lipped, she cups her heart in her hands when she treads over the threshold of your home with nothing other than a circuitous smile twitching against her lips when another person greets her.

She preferred to be doing anything other than attending parties; Dina knew it, curtesy of their conversation a few weeks prior that hued just how much Ellie preferred the smell of coffee coloured journal pages, guitar strings, twines threaded without the heat and vigour of sweaty bodies, alcohol and the unbearable thought of returning home (“Really, Ellie, just come. You’ll have fun, I promise!”)(“I really, won’t, I promise. I’ll make it up to you… just… please?”)(“…Fine.”)

But this one was different, it always has been.

You were hosting it.

She offers a tight lipped smile to passing bodies, lets their denim and cargo and rough edged apparel scratch her fingers as she squeezes past them — (“Ellie, good to see you man!”)(“Hey, how you doing?”)

And maybe she’s in for some peace, a moment of respite. A room with windows and furniture as creaky and awkward as her. Her guitar, resting mothballed under her elbows when she rasps a breath.

And it’s different, like it always has been.

She starts to think of you — the reason for her arrival, her prior approval of even being here, in her sombre flannel and coarse converse sneakers. Your breathy laugh, the stint of your smile. It makes her heart jitter, makes her flatline and hit a curb, makes her think and think and think, until she’s not functioning manually and relying on muscle memory to guide her through the wooden walls of your house.

And it’s loud, hot and utterly chaotic — some rooms carry the smell of weed, others sex, some smell of love and others of quiet aptitude. But Ellie doesn’t stop for a greeting or invitation, not even a small gaze. She keeps at her pace, wandering like her feet had carried her a purpose all along.

It’s stupid.

I should’ve stayed home.

Why did I—

“Ellie!”

Her body is putty in seconds, molten and uncaring in their attempt to remain careless. Suddenly, she’s embarrassed, full of the emotion as she swings around and — god, have you ever looked at her with so sweet of a gaze before? It makes her throat bleed with desiccation, her hands clammy when they weren’t meant to be, clamouring for ground. But they’re disappointed and she’s anxious, swallowing harshly as she tries to remain idyllic.

“Hey, cool party,” she pauses, nearly bites her tongue whole for the absurdity of the comment, but continues when you puff a smile so large it makes her melt from the inside, “couldn’t have missed it for the life of me.”

You offer a laugh, tapping a hand against her arm in friendly fashion; it registers as a cautionary tale to the auburn haired girl, who compresses with vigour and eyeballs your palm for where it lay, splayed against her upper arm like it could burn her any moment. Her brain, however, is as quick as her and she shifts her eyes back to your own, overstrung with her ability to blotch your friendliness towards her.

God, Ellie, get it together.

“I’m so glad you came, Ellie, seriously,” she hears your voice break into blocks over the music, waning like crystal over pumice as her ears blur the line between rigour and words — but her heart is breathing, beating, creating new sounds and jitters as you press into her like you’ve known this antsy, scratchy emotion of longing as long as she has, trapped in your chest like leps. A jar of moths, disgusting and upsettingly real.

But Ellie’s brain hums a thought of conviction — get a grip.

She shifts, forcing herself to null her warmth against your touch, forcing the feeling to be as dense as the alcohol you’re nursing in your other hand, the walls that surround her as she flicks her gaze from your face to your nose, to your lips, to her shoes… but you’re light and feathery and the demiurge to all her sufferings — so she quickly begins to hate herself again, for the blush has only worsened.

She hopes you can barely see it.

And so the night progresses. You sway from person to person, but Ellie picks up on your decision to hover close to her — intentional or not, she’s brimming with crusted hope, melted itch and pinning as she tries to cram her crush on you in a box, and mentally sit on it, burn it, compile it in the deepest recesses of her mind.

But your touch, your eyes, the swing of your body and the flit of your air is like the poetry she scribbles on the forefront of her journal, like the endless lines divided into her sketches. And your words are constant, the music she creates and hitches with breaths so shallow, it begins to exhaust her.

And it becomes so real, in the moment almost everyone is filtered out of your house at midnight (except for her, sitting on the couch with a cup of juice, sodden and fresh with ripe feelings) that she’s loved you like she was your heart. And it hurts, worsens, when you take a seat beside her, materialising into the object of all her desires and travails.

“Some party that was,” your lips curl into a deviant smile, back sinking into the pillows like you need a rest. Ellie offers back a scoff, light and airy in tone. Still, she supposes this could be a million times worse — she has you, still. Hers or not, she has you.

“I enjoyed it,” a sip of her juice, “better than most other parties. So, that’s that.”

“Is that a compliment, Miss Williams?” you bite a smile, enjoying the look of faux repulsion that overwhelms her features.

“I don’t know, is it?” She asks, noting the dangerous plummet in her stomach when you rest your head on your hands, allowing your knees to bump against each other. Ellie swallows, and she hopes the action melts into the ebbing lights strewn all over the place, misplaced in the shadows you two are tucked into, bathed in the humming music that makes it way over — Slowdive, she recognises.

You perk up, craning your neck and slotting it atop her shoulder, stifling a giggle as she goes stock like cardboard underneath you — “I’d say a lot of what you do mean a lot of different things, but hey…”

Ellie is gutted. You have her wrapped around your finger.

“Example being?” She asks, her voice reverberating to you like waves against a crested coast — you alleviate your gaze, trying to read her again, trying to pry her eyes for malcontent or maybe a lapse in judgement, and Ellie has never seen you this unsure. This backtracked, this molten, and some part of her aches you feel it too, that numbing pain of loving someone to the point of insanity.

And then, your voice is like a lifeline.

“Like how you look at me.”

Her heart flatlines. Hits a curb.

“L-Like what?” She stutters, trying to find substantiality in your words, your tone, the way your eyes flicker to find hers — have you ever been afraid like this? Have you ever hesitated like this? Have you ever stared at her like this, clamouring against your insides like you’d burst?

But still, you smile, shift your gaze to the corner of the room. When Ellie reaches it, she spots discarded bottles of alcohol, piles of playing cards, a random shoe splayed against the table — it should make her laugh, but the silence is making her sick.

“Like you want to kiss me.”

Before Ellie can stomach the comment, your mouth opens again, and shuts and she noticed the sheen of sweat against your brow — “God, I don’t know why I said that. I just — I don’t know. I wish you would — maybe you don’t even want to and—“

“I do. I wanna kiss you.”

Ellie is short and sweet in all the right places and the meaning never leaves her words. She smiles when she sees you cracked with relief, burst with colour as your pinkie interlocks with hers so delicately, she might even have imagined it. But your skin is so real, so warm, it reminds her, again and again.

“Then kiss me” you murmur and Ellie flows forward, meeting you halfway with a small sigh and a heart so full it could be shared. And it’s so funny, how you sigh and lick back at her, exploring parts she’s afraid for anyone but you to see, flourishing against the curl of your fingers, the scrape of your tongue like she’s soaring.

She’s been yours for so long. She just hadn’t known you’d been hers too.

Thank god she had come to the party.

It’s different after Joel dies — she spits venom, bites her bullets and scratches against maps. Seattle, Santa Barbara. An aquarium, a camp ground, two rifles, a shot gun.

Everything is automatic when she’s dripping in blood.

She doesn’t love you any less — when she’s curled into herself, alone and beaten in a make-shift bed, she thinks of her limits, and yours too. Of pearly white picket fences, a farm so full it came lined out of a book. A home, walls papery light with paint, a ring. Dinner. Laughter, hugs, warm kisses. Swollen nights with air so hot, it suffocated her — but god, it’s you beneath her, swallowing her for what she is. Smiling at her, whispering I love you, and it’s you.

Those nights, with dreams as vivid as those, end with her pacing her room in worry. And then, immediately, a detour for your room.

And she’s red-rimmed, defeated and painted in exhaustion when you open the door — the hunt for Abby had done a number on her and as much as you’d usher her out of it, make her promise to never pick up a gun, the thought it easier said than done. And it makes you dampen with grief, how this girl you’d loved so fully had reverted to a cold body you’d hold to smooth out and clean the bruises and cuts, so she’d slit the neck of another without a thought.

Still, she’s here.

“Ellie?” You rasp, rubbing your eyes as the girl ripens in your vision. She’s ill with grief and it’s apparent in her shoulders, when she thuds into your room hesitantly and envelops you into a tight hug in the darkness. You blink, eyebrows creasing with worry, as you hold her body over the threshold.

“Ellie—“

“I’m sorry.”

The words seem so quiet and cracked around the edges, it makes your throat hurt. Makes your eyes dampen and hurt a little at the creases, and reminds you that she’s struggling against her skin too.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, guiding her back with a little step. She stifles, like she’s keeping a hold on her tears with nimble hands and craggily arms, keeping a tab on them so roughly it messes up the sewing she’s so meticulously crafted. The smell of ardour and the sting of her violence, all washing down with her tears and her fears and your warm, grounding arms.

But still, she bites her lip, professes herself to look up — “no, it’s not okay—I should—“

She’s silenced immediately when your lips take over.

She’s kissed you before, in living rooms and heated parties. At gatherings and staple lookouts. In the corner of horse stables and on that living room table neither of you love. On that couch, under the fluorescent light. And through tears, salt, scratches against her back as she worked her fingers within you, smirking against your numb lips as she had curled within you again with no vouch for relief.

But this had been different — there was no difficulty with kissing you, as it had always been. Her lips were chapped and rough and she felt awful, but you moved against her like she was made of porcelain.

How can you love me like this?

How can you kiss this broken thing?

How can I live knowing you pick up the pieces I break myself?

“Ellie—“ she hadn’t even noticed when she had begun to cry, just had known that her chest constricted with a pain so billowing, it touched, “Ellie, look at me. Look at me, please.”

She lifts her gaze, eyes red and black where they weren’t supposed to be.

“I love you. And I always have. And I will be here when you need me. Whenever you need me. God, Ellie, I just need you to come home to me,” you stifle a cough, aim to gain ground to comfort her. But it just breaks you, as you clamber against her hold and sink into her arms. It’s a funny thing, a broken thing holding something unbearably broken, but Ellie’s throat is jammed dry with nothing but small whimpers, as she holds you like air. Like relief. Like the small thought of ‘at-least I have this—have you.’

And the night washes away with grief, with glory, with your arms caging her so tightly it wanes the thought of his bloody, cracked skull away. The screams null and Ellie lets the two of you have this, this moment of peace when neither of you are aware, tangled into one another where neither of you know of the people she’d kill tomorrow, gutting them inside out for answers unspoken.

Maybe she didn’t have to know.

Loving you was enough.

But of course it wasn’t easy.

Ellie stumbles in the red-lit room when Abby, with her tight lipped anger and muscle, holds a blade to your neck.

Ellie’s head blares with the colour red, of signs screaming no, of memories where you had held her poor, beating heart in the palm of your hand.

Memories of you strewn against her bed, messy and angular with love seeping against your skin. Of your fingers and your hair. Of your eyes and that crook in your neck she’d seat her chin in forever.

Of the night you’d kissed her, 12 A.M., brown leather couch as she drifted away her fears. And the raw, smitten, scary, devotional way she had loved you, lord, the way she loved you.

“No—No, please. Please, leave her—“ she chokes, gambling with fate as she watches Abby press the blade against your skin, a tight red line forming. The image of you lifeless, spat in blood, crosses her mind and she nearly vomits against the cold, hard floor. But when Abby releases you, spitting some word about getting the hell out of here, Ellie crawls on her bones and skin to hold you against her.

She had known fear, again, that night. She had almost known loss for a second time.

After the ordeal, the two of you gather yourselves and settle into a routine on a farm house. Tommy arrives, breaking the cycle, turning Ellie against her convictions again, and it makes you scared of the day she’d leave.

Until you catch her red handed, bag in her hand, almost leaving without a word.

“Ellie? What are you doing?” you’re perplexed, heart aching with an impossibly large feeling, biting you completely. Ellie is cold, gaze vacant as she fights against your hands, your touch, crumbles your advances as you tell her to stop and come back to bed. To forget this. To remember you.

“I have to finish it,” she says, and the words come out with difficulty. You see the picture of vengeance in her but you don’t care — you curse, turn your back against her, cry into your fist as she huffs.

Why can’t you hug me?

Why can’t you come back to bed?

Why can’t we just tend to sheep in the morning?

The words are hitched in your throat, swallowed unknowingly by your tears as the threat of her abandonment becomes all too real — you question her, interrogate her. She answers, spits back. (“You were just going to leave without a word?!”)(“It’s not easy for me.”)

Eventually, the door shuts with a thud and you bite into your hand, knowing she’s left already. You read the clock, the blurry numbers of the early morning making it all worse — it all doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t seem real. Ellie’s gone, reworked your importance in her life, thrown away those memories like augmented fragments into the dirt, crushed it under a boot.

That day, you pack pack your heart away into that place.

And when Ellie treks to find Abby, to finish it, she feels regret. She feels it when she catches Abby, chokes her in the salty membrane of the sea, when she closes her eyes. Struggles against her breathing as she remembers you.

That night on the couch, a vibrant memory. Your kisses against the corner of her mouth, your hand trailing up the expanse of her back just beneath her shirt, the way your legs lingered on hers in the early morning hours. Your laughter and the stretch of your smile and you and you and you.

And she lets go — “just take him.”

The trek back home is bloodier and more bruised. She stumbles against grass and cries into her hand pathetically. She knows you like the back her hand — but she’s gone too far now. There was nothing you could’ve done to make her stay and it made her sick with spit, with vomit. She curses, biting her tongue when familiar buckwheat brushes her skin and she knows she’s home.

She threads carefully, taking that familiar route back. It’s been some time, but the smell of the place is familiar. The chickens, the sheep, the broom, the table, the fence — all sodden with memories and love. As she ambles up the steps, she crumbles against the door, her hand trembling.

Her body buzzed with nerves and a familiar feeling of sickness so deep it drowned her, until the door creaked open and you stood there, eyes wide in horror at her arrival.

You thought you’d gone mad.

She purses her lips, bites them when you near her with out-stretched hands, and then gasps when you slam a hand into her side, fall into her as you fight her to the floor.

“What the fuck, Ellie!” you screech, balancing against one knee as you force yourself to hate her. Your face is wrinkled with grief, with aimless pain, it makes Ellie scramble for something to hold onto, to press into the floor as though it would let her sink into the wooden surface as a whole — but your rage, your anger, bleeds into her as she silently chokes, weeps.

Your words are fuelled by rage, anger, but never hate. You both barely notice, even after you’d quietened to catch your breath. And a few seconds pass, where you quickly thrust your palm to calm the onslaught of tears, the strength of your heaves as you cried from between her lap. Ellie stiffens and then melts with wracking sobs, trying to calm down for your sake, tentatively touching your hands to reveal your grief for what it was, to her.

But when you open your eyes, they’re caught with the excess blood against her. The image of her new self, dragged back from the hell she sought and rejected, becomes too real — the jaunting splice of skin against her hip, the cut on her cheek, the blood against her brow, the missing chunk of fingers. Her pain, her defeat, becomes too mellow for you to swallow, and before either of you know, you gather her up in your arms so swiftly it knocks the air out of her.

And it makes Ellie weep, hard and raw, into that familiar crook of your neck, where you pick her up amongst other things.

“I’m so sorry—you were right I shouldn’t—“

“Ellie.”

She gazes up, as you scrub against her back later in the shower, gaze rubbed raw with forgiveness.

“Do you remember what I said to you on that couch at my party?”

She ponders, scratchy, wracked with tears as she chuckles lightly.

“That I looked like I wanted to kiss you?”

You nod, lathering soap against the suds of dirt. Cleanse her. Let her shine anew.

“I still think that, even after all these years, And that’s enough for me,” you grin softly, kissing the soft skin of her shoulders, holding her as she breaks against you, “You’re enough for me.”

This was enough.

You were enough for her.

But she wasn’t sure if she was enough for you.

“I wish I could give you more,” she bites the words, holding you like you’d disappear. You towel dry her hair, seat her in bed and turn off the lights, glancing into her eyes and rinsing them for vigour as you tucked a stray hair behind her ear, shifted the blanket to gain better access to hold her gingerly around her wounds.

“You want to give me more?” your words are hot on her lips, as her fingers graze your hips, “just give me yourself. I stayed in this god forsaken house because I loved you through the hurt — just let me love you,” you cradle the words, let your heart spew out in the cold open.

And Ellie shadows it with her own calloused palm, shaky, but genuine. Real. Awkward but registered in her conviction as she nods, presses her mouth again yours to reconcile the hurt, knowing she’d have this and you, evermore, even as time ambled on.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.