#just needed to let it out somewhere more open than a journal

[alonsimo]

vent because i am literally this close to tears over nothing and need to let it out somewhere

called my doctor's office again today. i've been waiting for an appointment with connective tissues for five months, and an appointment with cardiology for one. the very nice lady on the phone asked if i had done a holter monitor yet like my doctor asked me to. i said no, because i was never told where when or how to get one. she put me on hold. came back, she was also bewildered. she also didn't know why it has taken a month and two phone calls to hear back about that, but she was going to get something set up today.

i got a letter yesterday with blood work results (normal, thank christ i cannot take another Thing) that said that they'd tried to reach me by phone and couldn't. i asked if she wouldn't mind reading my phone number back, because this is not the first time they've said they've tried to contact me but i've never seen anything. it was correct. there was no call record. they didn't try.

my ribs have been subluxating for five months due to a fencing injury - one popped all the way out yesterday because i dared to turn over a little weird while trying to sleep. i can't walk around the grocery store without double knee braces because my kneecaps move out of position when i walk on concrete. my pulse drops to 42 for no reason, then gets up to 175 while i'm leisurely walking around my apartment, and i've already passed out once because of it.

and now i'm panicking because if that's not bad enough to be taken at least a little seriously, then what is? when will i be sick and hurt and tired and broken enough to be worth a routine phone call over normal blood work? when will it be enough to be worth at least being told what the next step is, even if there's nothing available right now (which is fine!!! and expected!!!). when will i be enough?

and it's been 5 months and 1 month respectively. and nobody can tell me why. every time i ask, they're as confused about the lack of communication as i am. i am 20 and can honestly say i've cried about an echocardiogram because i was that relieved to get an appointment. is that normal? what even is that?

i know this is just how the fucked up american healthcare system works. i know i'm lucky to be able to afford these kinds of procedures and tests and waits while things are still manageable and i'm still under my parents' insurance. i know that i probably have switched primary care practices a long time ago.

i'm just. so tired. all the time. and i want to stop. but i also want kids some day, and i'll be damned if i make them jump through these hoops because i decided i didn't want to deal with it before giving them half of my genetics.

[luveline]

hope my boyfriend's okay request.

hi!!! can I request hurt comfort or angst with spencer reid? maybe reader is just an ordinary girl, not that smart, not that pretty, or even a college drop out (like reader from honeybody) so she is kinda insecure when spencer being kind to her or even ask her on a date?

tysm♡

"Do you want to play?" Spencer asks. 

You're flushed before you open your mouth, startled by his sudden appearance and the new haircut he sports, curls locked back behind his neck. "Sorry, I just wanted to sit down." 

"No, I'm just asking if you want to play," he says, shaking the little briefcase he holds between his fingers to emphasise the rattle of the chess pieces inside. 

You've stolen his chess table again at the park. It's how you met, how you continue to meet —you want somewhere to put your book as you read and Spencer hardly ever makes you move, he just sort of sits with you until someone is in need of an opponent. 

"I don't know how. I don't have the smarts." 

Spencer sits down opposite you, placing the briefcase against the white and black chequered tiles. "Playing chess isn't about being smart. Being good at chess takes learned skill, though. It's like learning a language. Most people can say hello and goodbye if they try, but fluency comes with practice." He smiles at you like you're lovely and pretty and someone worth explaining this too, when you're worrying It's filtering out of your head like water through a sieve. Draining, draining, gone. 

"I don't even think I could remember hello and goodbye," you say. Your attempt to smile back at him is pitiful. 

His smile ebbs. "You're sure you don't want to play? I'd go easy for you." 

You curl the cover of your paperback in your hands, deliberating. Chess is one of those games that seems never-ending. It's full of manoeuvres and techniques, openings, closings, all these learned combinations, strategy like nothing you've ever been able to comprehend. You've never wanted to learn because you know you won't be good, even if you try. 

"Okay," you say quietly. "I really won't be any good." 

Spencer shrugs and begins to retrieve the small wooden chess pieces. "I usually win anyways."

"Have you ever, um, competed? Like the grandmaster things?" 

"No, but I had a friend I competed against for a long time. We played a lot of games. He was better at winning, despite my advantage." Spencer arranges your pieces with care. "Do you need me to teach you the opening moves?" 

He explains slowly. When you need help, he gives it, and he doesn't lord it over your head. It's a little shameful seeing the difference in your intellectual capabilities displayed so clearly, and the longer the game goes on the worse you feel, even though Spencer lets you win. 

"You'll get better every game," he says, returning taken pieces to the board.  

"You want to play again?" you ask. "Come on, Spencer, that can't have been fun for you." 

"Why wouldn't it be?" 

"Because I'm a useless opponent? And I don't really have anything else going for me, either, so it must be boring." It's an awkward thing to say, self-deprecating and stilted considering you and Spencer aren't more than acquaintances. You regret it as soon as you've said it but the frustration of the situation sticks around. "I don't understand why you waste your time with me." 

"It's not wasted if it's with you." Spencer looks genuinely confused, shapely eyebrows pinching. "Is that what you really think? I like spending time with you, I don't need you to be a chess expert to find you interesting." 

"But there's nothing interesting,," you insist. 

"Of course there is…" He straightens a chess piece, gaze split between you and the board. "You don't have to say something from a journal for it to be worth saying. You know, I've had a thousand conversations this year, some of them with professors or academic experts, but," —he puts his hand, now finished with the chess pieces, over his elbow, meeting your eyes shamelessly— "the one I replay the most is from a few weeks ago, when you told me why you like to read in the park." 

"That was just small talk," you say weakly, though it hadn't felt small to you, and now you know it wasn't small for him either. 

"Then I guess I love small talk," Spencer says. "Do you want to play again? I'll teach you some good opening moves if you tell me more about you. Deal?" 

You nod hurriedly, and fail to hide a beaming smile. "Teach me the best one." 

"That's what I meant," he says. 

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello and congrats on 5K!!!!!

I was unsure if I should send in my goofy idea haha but here goes! I was just imagining, the mc and the 141 having to do a mission super early in the morning. So the mc puts on some earbuds and just listens to the most grating or strange music to help wake themselves up. I imagined this with Soap or Gaz but whoever is fine ^^

Thank you and again, congrats on 5K!!!

—How Do You Listen To That?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [It was three a.m. when you all got the call to load up, but what's the best way to wake both yourself and the Sergeant up?] ❞

It was three a.m. and already you were in full gear, bag slung over your shoulder as the C17 sat on the tarmac. Soldiers walked about, men and women loading up the plane with all manner of items your Task Force might need. You don’t mean to be rude when you walk past without more than a grunt in greeting, it’s just that you can barely keep your eyes open.

The debrief had been quick, nothing more than a few words by Price said when everyone had been called in from their barracks not fifteen minutes earlier. Off to another base somewhere in Egypt, you yawn into your elbow and try not to think about how hard it’ll be to stay awake on the fly over there. You needed to be boots on the ground right off the bat, so no time to rub at your eyes before you landed. 

Your feet thump up the ramp and you drop your bag next to Gaz, who pulls his headphones out of his ears to rest around his neck. He sends you a glance, lips pulling in a tiny smile. 

“Still with me, Love?” You send a blurry glare his way, tossing yourself down beside him into one of the uncomfortable chairs connected to the wall. 

“Remind me,” your voice grumbles as Kyle’s hand grabs the seatbelt from your side, pulling it over you and clicking you in. “Why did I join up?”

“Well,” Garrick teases, “to see my face every day, Ma’am. Can’t think of a better reason.”

“You’re lucky you’re smart, Sergeant.” Pulling the strap to cinch the seatbelt to your abdomen, you shuffle into a more comfortable position and go to rest your head on Gaz’s shoulder. 

“Is it mine or yours, then?” The man asks you, and your lips pull in thought. An arm extends around your shoulders, jostling you closer to a hard chest as you hum in approval. 

“Mine—you choose the songs to Latvia.” A phone is casually moved to your hand and you take it with a muttered ‘thank you.’

Gaz sighs, leaning his head back and putting one of the headphones into his ear—you take the other and do the same, smile pulling at your lips. Your face still burns with fatigue; eyes fluttering against the lights as Johnny, Ghost, and finally your Captain all make their way to their own seats. 

With every Op, there was a routine. 

Johnny would fiddle with all kinds of hand-held puzzles he kept in his pack or write in his journal, Simon would read, and Price would go over reports or type up mission details—the upcoming intel that you’d all need to know before the real nitty-gritty started. 

Gaz and you would listen to music. 

It was sweet, you thought. A semblance of balance and stability before the ball dropped. Being close to him always felt like that.

Absent-mindedly, you scroll through song after song as Kyle rests his eyes, itching at the back of his neck as he holds you. Finding a song that’s sure to wake you up, not even knowing the band, you can tell just by the album cover exactly what it’s going to sound like. 

Screaming, throaty wails; maybe even garbled voices that yell at a frequency so high it’ll make your ears bleed. You smirk.

Perfect.

Gaz’s relaxed demeanor is accented by a tiny smile, muscles lax and his face loose as the ramp of the C17 begins to fold in on itself before take-off. He holds you in the crook of his arm, feeling your sleepy heat and the way your face nuzzles his upper pec—you always alluded to a feeling of relaxation on days like these; when time was of the essence. In the few hours of having you against him, Kyle can finally let his mind rest—

“Bloody fucking hell!” The man calls as the grating sound of vocal bellowing strikes his ears. Gaz’s body jerks forward, snapping the headphones away from him as the rest of the men immediately look over to the scene of a horrified Sergeant and a giggling woman under his arm.

You laugh loudly, phone close to your chest and face burying itself into the panicked man’s neck. 

Gaz blinks quickly, staring down at you with parted lips as the rest of the Task Force share a knowing look. 

“Now,” he asks through a breathless exaggeration, “what did I do to deserve that?” 

“I…I’m sorry,” you giggle out, giving him a firm side hug. 

“Christ,” Kyle sighs, fake glaring down as a smile comes out over his face. “You’re trouble, Love, y’know that? Who can listen to that this early?”

You smirk in his face, cheeks hurting from how hard you smile. “It’s going to wake us up, Garrick.”

“Fuck, if that’s how you’re going to do it, I’d rather bash my damn head into a wall. Jesus.” You roll your eyes and give in, chuckling. 

“Alright, Alright—no songs that involve people screaming directly into your precious little ears, Kyle.” The man knocks his head on top of yours, a smile hidden in your hair as the voice of the pilot wafts over the cockpit. 

“...Thank Christ. ‘Bout pissed myself.”

[kairismess]

❝WRITTEN IN BETWEEN THE LINES...❞

🏐 genre: fluff ~~ ✒️ word count: 1076 💭 summary: kuroo had nothing to do one slow afternoon, until you caught his eye and... he just knew he had to get to know you. but, it seems that he's gotten to know himself better after meeting you: he officially has a thing for bookworms. chatty yet shy ones, in fact. 🍥 author's note: i need more friends like y/n / reader fr... ALSO IF Y'ALL CAUGHT THE REFERENCE ON WHICH GHIBLI MOVIE THIS IS BASED OFF, MARRY ME RN

kuroo could remember the first time he laid eyes on you, he was at the public library looking for advanced chemistry textbooks—or at least, pretending to look for a book that had word vomits of stuff he already knew very well, like the back of his hand. it was a slow afternoon, he had nothing to do since kenma and his family were out of town for the weekend, and he didn't want to stay holed up in his room doing nothing.

he had tried to fit in with everyone else there, running the tips of his slender fingers over the used and fresh spines of the books on the shelves he couldn't bother to read the section names of; to him, they were all the same, he knew most of what these books and journals had to offer. ultimately, he decided to check out the section that was most foreign to him: the fiction books section.

he saw a multitude of names, a flurry of colors that flew by his eyes as he mumbled out the titles off the books he pulled out of the shelves and from their spines. kuroo wasn't even sure what exactly he was looking for here, or what he was even supposed to be doing at the library, he just... needed somewhere to bide his time, somewhere to feel less lonely; and yet, he had felt lonelier and lonelier the more time he spent there.

on the verge of giving up, he accidentally bumped into someone about a foot shorter than him. he hurriedly apologized, seeing that the one he bumped into was... a very cute girl. "oh, i'm... really sorry, here, let me help you," he offered, helping you pick up the books that flew out of your hands when he bumped into you. you silently nodded your thanks, mumbling it out in case it came out unclear to him.

kuroo noticed that the books you were carrying were all... interesting, to say the least. "hmm, never heard of these authors before..." he thought aloud, making your head perk up slowly. you bit your lower lip, trying your hardest not to comment on that. you were an avid reader of those authors, quite passionate about their books and the genres they write, to say the least. "they're great writers..." you mumble out shyly, feeling a cold shiver down your fingers and a warm tingle down your spine; this boy was too cute, in your opinion, you couldn't keep a level head around him, at all.

when your shy little voice entered kuroo's ear, a playful smile appeared on the boy's angular face. "really? well, i don't really know much about fiction, and, uh... you seem like you knew a good amount of it to get a newbie like me started. so, care to recommend me some good writers and genres?" he asked you in a husky voice, making you even more bashful at the fact such a hot boy was asking you for book recommendations, the second thing you were most passionate about in the whole world.

your first favorite thing in the whole world, however... was getting totally engrossed in the stories you were reading. it was a one of a kind experience only you could go through, because of course, everyone had different interpretations of the texts they were reading; but you always had a fondness for discovering the rich backgrounds, symbolisms, and stories the authors wished to reach their audiences. and kuroo was more than willing to listen to you go on and on about the stories you loved, even if a shy cutie like you would take forever to open up.

for the first time in his life, the boy finally didn't feel so alone, so isolated, so out of place setting foot here in the library; he felt at peace, something he yearned for ever since he came here.

"wow, they all sound so intriguing; guess i'll have to borrow those books after you finish them." "i... already did." you mumbled, avoiding eye contact with him. he blinked his hazelnut eyes twice in disbelief. "you finished... all of them?" he asked in a soft voice, with you nodding in response. kuroo chuckled to himself, leaning closer to you. "you're impressive..." he whispered in your ear, sending shivers up your spine, good shivers, good tingles–you could tell that, somehow, he genuinely was impressed by your dedication for reading.

kuroo stayed with you until the end of the day, and when it was time for you to return all the books you borrowed, he followed up with the librarian, stating, "excuse me, may i borrow all those books afterwards? they're... very interesting, i'd like to read them. all of them," he uttered with a smile, looking at you with a glowing grin on his face.

the librarian eventually agreed, asking kuroo for his name and signing his name after yours on every book you returned, that he was soon going to borrow. "y'know what, i'll bet that i'm going to read every book here that has your name on the back of it. i probably won't be interested in any other book if i don't see your name on it, it wouldn't make me interested."

his words made your heart beat a little faster, your knees shake a bit. you fidgeted with your fingers, looking down at your shoes and the floor, as if the right thing to respond to his words were there, hidden in between the lines of where the tiles met. "but... why would you...? why me?" "because, why not? you're amazing, and i want to be a part of your world; your literary world, if you will," kuroo beamed, grinning after confessing that.

it had only been a day, but, you felt like today was a gem in the days that felt like dull, bland charcoal. today, you met a wonderful boy–a boy whose life you didn't realize you'd changed, by simply letting him in, and showing him the beauty of your mind and heart when it came to your interest in the art of words and imagination.

you'd better get used to seeing that rooster headed, teasing boy every weekend now; he has something to brag to kenma about when he'd get back from his family outing.

but the one thing to ruin kuroo's evening is this realization he had over dinner: he forgot to ask you for your number.

[hyuuukais]

-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143

pairing -> lee minho x fem reader

synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?

warnings -> general, y/n gets told she talks too much kind of, discussion abt cheating

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER THREE -> AM I IN? (partially written! wc:546)

"...and then, after telling him how much I love him, he comes out of our shared- yes, shared- bedroom with another woman! Can you believe that? I pour my heart and soul to this man, and he just steps all over it! Them? My heart and my soul, so, yeah, I guess them. Sorry, what was the question again?"

"...what do you do for work?" The guy on the right side of the couch says, arms crossed.

You blink. "Right! I'm a graphic designer for a website."

"What website?" Beomgyu leans back, arms behind his head.

"This Just In!" You say excitedly, passionate about your work. "I'm trying to move into the journalism area as well. I'd love to be able to interview some of the people we do, but my boss didn't seem very keen to the idea yet."

"How come?" The one in the middle asks.

"He says I talk too much." A sudden wave of emotion hits you. "My boyfriend says the same."

"Ex-boyfriend."

"What?"

"Your ex-boyfriend." It's the one on the right again, eyes piercing into you; you can't hold his gaze.

"Right." You clasp your hands in your lap. "Maybe I've overshared a bit to you guys. I don't even know your names-" You point at the two.

"Han," the middle one offers. "Well, Jisung, but most people call me Han."

"Minho." You still can't look at him.

"Okay. Um, so, unless you have any other questions...?"

"Yeah, actually," Minho speaks. "What's your current living situation?"

"Oh! I'm living with my best friend, Hyunjin, and his roommates. But they're all models and it can be a bit... dramatic." You laugh nervously.

"Models?" Han sits up straight, looking at his two roommates. "What are the others like?"

"There's Felix, a literal sunshine, and Yeonjun and Wooyoung. They're usually the ones causing drama." You laugh again, this time more naturally. "Wooyoung just came back from a business trip, so I'm gonna be staying in my other best friend's, NingNing, she's amazing and I love her, apartment until she comes back. She's also a model... I'm friends with a lot of models."

"Do you mind stepping out for a second?" Han says with a smile. Your stomach drops. "I just need to discuss something with my roomies here."

"Y-yeah, okay." Quickly, you pick up your bag and head to the door, only stumbling a little bit.

Of course, you press an ear to the door once outside. If they don't want you, at least you'll know before they tell you to your face. Then maybe you won't cry at the news. The thick wooden door makes it hard to hear, only picking out bits and pieces.

"Dude, her best friend is a model-"

"Han, I swear to God-"

"She does talk a lot-"

"Like you're one to talk-"

"Okay, but with the breakup? Won't she be, like, crying all the time-"

"Hey, Min just went through a breakup too, so maybe she can help him with it-"

"Shut up-"

"Back to her best friend being a fucking model-"

A loud sigh signals you should back up, taking your phone out and pretending to be busy. The door opens, Minho in front of the other two looking more tired than before you left.

"You're in."

notes -> what is with me making idols i love into shitty exs like what is with that genuinely

taglist -> @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @puppyminnnie @tfshouldidohere @kangaracha @chlodavids @whitney190 @thisisnotjacinta @borahae-reads @brooklynie @gini143 @kayleigh-28 @skz-streamer @babyphotos0325 @scallywag1299 @venusmoonxnight @naomisosoup @fertiliezedtoesw @s00buwu @realrintaro @anothershorthuman @skzstaykatsy @ilovejeongin007 @btswestan @taeriffic @ihrtlix @raehawthorne @euphoric-univers @hyperpixie @evermourning @satsuri3su @jazziwritesthings @minhwa @wyzminho @fic-for-readers

^^^ orange means i can't tag you

[persefolli]

𝐒𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 (𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲?

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖, 𝐚𝐠𝐞-𝐠𝐚𝐩, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐀/𝐧: 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“What did you tell them?!” Tonowari stormed into your pod, angry.

“What?” You looked up from your book.

“Don't bullshit me Y/n. I heard you and saw you talking with your friends.”

Your ears flattened against your skull and frowned. “I-.”

“Don't bullshit me Y/n. I heard you!” Tonowari yelled.

You let out a whimper, and let the tears spill from your eyes. “We weren't- I didn't say your name Wari! They asked if I liked anyone and I said I did!”

Tonowari’s heart panged hearing your voice crack like that. He placed his hands on his hips, huffing and internally cursing himself. “I'm sorry princess.” He kneeled down and wiped your now wet cheeks. “I shouldn't have come in yelling. Let alone accuse you of exposing us.”

You looked away from him, unable to face him.

“I made it seem like I care more about my reputation than you. And that was not my intention.” He pulled you to face him.

“I just wanted to talk about us somewhere other than my journal.”

Tonowari leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and breathing in your scent. “I'm so sorry baby.” He leaned into you and pressed a tender kiss to your lips, holding your cheek in the process. “You can talk about whatever you want, even if my name does slip out.”

You pulled your head from his cheek and let your eyes trail elsewhere, still feeling salty about the way he entered your home.

“Let me make it up to you.” He pushed you back by kissing you, planting his hips between your now spreading legs. He broke the kiss from your lips and began peppering them down your body, to the inside of your thighs.

“Wari.”

“Shhh.” He fiddled with your loincloth and pulled it off, gasping at the string of wetness that stuck to the cloth as it was pulled away. “Always so wet for me.” Tonowari continued kissing up your inner thigh until he reached your folds. He licked a stripe along your pussy, flattening it against your hole.

You threw your head back and pulled at his hair as he began his attack in your hole. Thrusting his tongue in and out of your tightening hole and groaning in the process.

“Mmm wari!” You bucked your hips, attempting to hit your clit against his nose or tongue but he held you down tight. “I'm coming baby. So spoiled.” He licked up your pussy and sucked harshly on your nub. You began trembling, letting him know you were close. He slowed his pace and began curling your clit with his tongue, torturously lapping at the nub.

Shutting your eyes tight, you turned your head away, crying out and moaning as you reached your high. Tonowari ate you through your orgasm, praising you as he did so.

He pulled away from your thighs and whined, wanting to go another round. “Cmon you know the drill.” Tonowari helped you turn over, planting your face into the mat and pulling your hips upwards towards him.

“Gentle.” You whimpered, knowing how big he was and how desperate he became once he got inside.

“It's all about you.”

Your mouth gaped open feeling his warm hand on your ass, softly squeezing and kneading the flesh. Then you felt him, poking right at your hole. You moaned, feeling him slowly push in. You gasped, feeling the painful stretch of his thick cock entering you. You reached around and pressed your hand against his pelvis at a weak attempt to hold him back.

“Move your hand.”

“S’too much!” You cried out.

Tonowari shushed you and continued massaging your skin. “You've taken it before, you can do it again pretty girl.”

“I cant!”

Tonowari leaned over so he was laying against your back. “Need daddy to help you.” He whispered into your ear.

His hand wrapped around your torso and took refuse on your clit. He slowly moved his hand in circles, rubbing his fingertips around on your bud. The pain slowly subsided and you felt the tickle of pleasure overtake you again. You softly groaned, gripping the mat under you and relishing the pleasure.

“That's it. See? Opening so wide for me.” He cooed in your ear. You felt him slowly inch deeper inside you, filling you out as you quivered beneath him. “All you needed was a little help from daddy, isn't that right?”

You nodded and blubbered into the mat. Tonowari pushed the last of his dick into you, groaning as he bottomed out in your hole. He grunted, and repositioned his hands so one was on your hip and the other gripped your ass.

Slowly, he began rocking into you, thrusting at a steady rate to get you accommodated to his size. Honestly you would never get used to how thick he was, no matter how many times the two of you fucked he always managed to make it feel like it was your first time.

He was your first, and it took a few tries to even get inside, but he trained you well, and he often praised you for ‘taking it like a big girl’

“You gotta talk to me baby.” Tonowari said through gritted teeth. He continuously thrusted into you, together ing his grip on your skin.

“Want you.” You muttered.

Tonowari pulled you up by your neck, and smashed his lips into yours, thrusting into you faster. The pauses between skin slapping became minimal, and you moved your hand down to touch your clit, blocking it from the heavy weight of its balls slapping against it.

“Almost there girl?” Tonowari wrapped his arm across your chest and squeezed you close to him. “I can feel you getting tight.” He grunted.

The two of you let out a strangled moan as you came. Tonowari released you and allowed you to fall back down onto the mat.

He reached over to grab a small cloth to clean the two of you.

You heaved, laying on your stomach with your eyes clothes feeling his hands wipe you dry.

“Come here princess.” He laid down next to you and pulled you into his chest. “Open. Your favorite.”

You sluggishly turned on your side and lifted your leg slightly, allowing him to position himself and slide into you again.

“Oh wari!” You exclaimed.

He let out a gurttle and held onto your hips, sighing once he bottomed out. “I'm so sorry princess.”

“S’okay wari.” You pressed at your stomach where Tonowari pressed into your flesh from the inside. Tonowari grabbed across your chest, squeezing your breasts firmly.

“It's not. You have the power to expose us whenever and however you want. Don't let my anger stop you.”

“I can't ruin your life like that.” You whispered.

“You're too nice for your own good.” He pressed a kiss on your cheek. “That's why I love you.”

[cuubism]

bookstore cryptid dream part 11 -- the kidnapping installment

--

“Whatever happened to that poetry book?” Hob asks one day, sitting with Dream in the living room. He’s not sure why it comes to him.

Dream looks up from his book on the history of chocolate, tilting his head in question.

“The cursed one,” Hob elaborates.

“Ah.” Dream closes his book, looking very serious now. “I locked it away, somewhere safe, suitable for books such as that.”

“Didn’t destroy it?”

“Releasing such magic can sometimes have… unintended consequences.” He shakes his head, as if remembering prior such instances. “Best to simply contain it.”

“How many books like that are out there?” Hob asks curiously. Every day, he learns some new thing about the world from Dream. And how dangerous some books can, apparently, be.

“There are a selection. They are rare. For most books, their power lies in the words themselves. No need for occult spells.”

“Huh.” Hob supposes that makes sense. “But you don’t lock those ones away?”

Dream shakes his head. “No. They can be dangerous, though.”

Hob is still wildly curious about these actually magic books. Not that he’d particularly enjoyed getting cursed, but still, he wonders if any such thing will ever cross his path again. He supposes he should hope not.

It is fascinating, though.

--

Dream is missing.

It isn’t like last time, when The Library itself had been gone. That had freaked Hob the fuck out at the time, but now, he knows what it meant — that Dream had felt The Library itself was under threat, and had locked it for safekeeping.

Now, The Library is still there. The door creaks open, unlocked, as Hob pushes on it, letting him into the tiny foyer and first winding halls of stacks. The selection changes periodically — today’s categories include HOPE & ITS DISCONTENTS, “Libraries” (rather meta, Hob thinks), Books of Emptiness (Hob takes one off the shelf out of curiosity and finds it, indeed, empty), and S P E L L S, most of which seem to be dictionaries, actually? Strange. But then, that is The Library.

This is the third day of Hob coming back to The Library in the hopes of finding Dream, and having those hopes dashed. Hope and its discontents, indeed.

Everything is in its place. But Dream is nowhere to be found. He hasn’t been coming home. His books are still on the nightstand, his cardigan forgotten on a chair in the cafe. His study is the same, too, cluttered with notes and journals, abandoned cups of coffee on desks and side tables.

It hurts Hob’s heart to look at, even more than finding The Library gone. The place feels empty without Dream there. As soon as Hob steps in the front door, he can tell Dream hasn’t returned, simply for how grey everything feels.

He hopes nothing’s happened, that Dream was just called away on some urgent errand in the middle of the day, when Hob was busy, and it’s taking him longer than expected to resolve it. Dream is criminally bad at using his phone, to the extent that Hob sometimes isn’t convinced he owns one, and might just have forgotten texting is something he can do. They’ll have to have a talk about that, because he’s giving Hob a heart attack, but still it’s the best case scenario.

But it’s the worst case scenario that’s swirling in Hob’s head.

Dream has disgruntled customers at times. He’d gotten into a fistfight with one, back when they’d first met. What if someone took their ire even further? Hell, what if the owner of that cursed poetry book came back for it?

Hob sighs, slumping into Dream’s desk chair. Even if something terrible has happened, he hasn’t the first clue how to go about finding Dream. He’s kept an eye out, while exploring The Library, for any indication of what could have happened, but to no avail. He’s well and truly starting to panic. The Library has doors everywhere. Dream could be anywhere.

His eyes land on Dream’s journals, still laid open on the desk. Normally Hob doesn’t pry into Dream’s notes. But these are dire circumstances. Hob’s going to lose it if he doesn’t do something.

He picks up the top notebook and reads the entry it’s open to:

— MG thought destroyed ack. lost 1916? JC report OAM magic picked up Sussex summoning what??

Hob groans. “Dream, could your notes be any more fucking unintelligible?” Apparently, his mind works too fast to write in full words, instead of just shorthand.

He flips through a few more pages of notes, skimming them, but not getting much. Then a few pages in, he finds a letter tucked into the journal. In someone else’s handwriting, it reads:

Dream—

You never use your goddamn fucking phone so here’s a note. You know I wouldn’t have to be so obscure if we could just use encrypted texts? Fucking luddite. Anyway. I found the damn thing. R.B. + Co. Pretty sure we’d know if they succeeded in using it so we still have time. I think I have a way in. If I retrieve can you neutralize it? AND FUCKING CALL ME WE’RE SHORT ON TIME!

—JC

In case you forgot how phones work: 020 9281 5555

Well, that’s something. The same JC from the notes? What exactly are the two of them trying to neutralize?

Hob has no idea. But at least he has a clue now.

--

Hob paces back and forth in his living room as he calls the number for “JC”, absolutely no idea who he’s going to get on the other end. But hopefully, they might know what’s happened to Dream.

“Hello?” A gruff woman’s voice answers the line.

“Hi, I’m looking for…” he doesn’t actually know her name. “…J?”

“What?”

“Look, I’m looking for Dream,” Hob says in a rush. Might as well lay it all out. “I’m his boyfriend. He’s been missing for three days.” Maybe “missing” is overstating it. But maybe it’s understating it. “I found your phone number in his notes and wanted to know if you’d seen him.”

“Likely story, pal,” she says with a scoff. “Dream keeps his boyfriend out of all the occult shit. And good thing, too. I wish I could keep myself out of it. What do you really want with him?”

It’s sort of gratifying that other people in Dream’s circle are also protective of his secrets, even if it’s frustrating in the moment. But, ‘keeps him out of the occult shit’? Exactly how much ‘occult shit’ is Dream dealing with on a regular basis?

“Exactly what I said,” Hob says. “He doesn’t usually disappear like this. His notes said you two were looking for something? Something dangerous?” Did Dream go after it? Is that what happened?

“MOTHERFUCKER!” she screams, and Hob pulls the phone from his ear with a wince. “I am going to KILL HIM!”

“Don’t hang up!” Hob yells before she can do just that. “Will you come meet me? I’ll give you my own address, if it helps. You know where The Library is?”

“The Library’s got multiple doors, mate,” she says, sounding marginally calmer now.

Right. Fuck. He gives her the actual street name this time, and she says—

“Be there in a mo’. Your idiot boyfriend’s got himself in a right mess I expect. Because he’s a fucking idiot.”

Just as Hob feared, then. “Tell me about it when you get here,” he says, and then, when she’s hung up, goes to gather Dream’s journals.

--

A smart, tough-looking woman greets him at the door to the cafe, which Hob’s closed for the time being, an hour or so later. “Johanna Constantine,” she says, sticking out a hand, which Hob shakes. “So you really are the boyfriend. Huh. Hob, right?”

“Yeah.” Hob isn’t sure whether to be touched or alarmed that Dream talks about him with his random occult acquaintances.

“He has a photo of you two on his phone,” Johanna explains. “Not that he uses it, the rat bastard. God I’m going to murder him when I find him.”

“Let’s sit down,” Hob suggests. He has coffee ready, more for something to do to still his restless hands while waiting than anything.

“Right,” Johanna says, as she sits down at a table. She gratefully takes the coffee he offers. “So, I’m choosing to trust you. If you fuck me over we will have a serious problem. Okay?”

Hob raises his hands in surrender. “I literally just want to find Dream. I’m worried sick about him.”

Johanna takes a long sip of her coffee. “Right. So. My business is managing occult stuff, yeah? Exorcisms and the like. Stopping it before it hurts anyone. I’ve been trying to track down this particular book. Spell book. Dangerous stuff. What it can do—doesn’t matter. It was thought lost for ages, or destroyed—wouldn’t that have been great. But Dream and I both wanted to get it off the streets, once it popped up again. There’s no good hands for that book to be in.”

“You two friends?” Hob asks.

“Eh,” says Johanna, “sorta. Mostly work friends, I guess. I first got Dream’s help with a spell book a few years back. He’s the best one to go to for that sort of thing, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Yeah,” Hob agrees, mulling over this whole side of Dream’s business he didn’t know about. It makes sense, though. Dream, the expert on all books. Even this book, whatever it is, must ultimately belong to The Library.

“And now he’s gone after this book,” Hob guesses. “By himself.”

“I told him I would retrieve it,” Johanna says, gritting her teeth. “All I wanted was his help locking the thing away after. But no. Had to do it all himself.” She sighs.

“It must have really concerned him,” Hob says.

“It concerned me!” Johanna exclaims. “All the more reason not to go alone! Idiot.” It’s said with fondness, though.

“So, what are we going to do?” Hob asks.

“We?” says Johanna, raising an eyebrow.

“Listen, I don’t care about the book—”

“You should,” Johanna says seriously.

“—Well, I don’t. But I do care about Dream. If he’s in trouble, then I’m not just going to sit here.”

Johanna looks at him appraisingly, then nods, satisfied. “Good,” she says. “I know who has the Grimoire, so I know where he’ll most likely have gone. How good are you with a cricket bat?”

“How about a knife?” Hob says.

She startles. “Christ. Alright, then. I won’t ask, but good.”

“Just tell me where to go, and I’ll be there,” Hob says seriously, and for the first time, she gives him a smile.

“I’ve been hoping for an excuse to give Roderick Burgess a good thrashing. Guy’s a prick. Alright, Dream’s boyfriend—let’s go get the stupid librarian."

--

It’s decided Hob should be the initial decoy because, according to Johanna, “people always think I mean trouble, and you have this sort of wholesome coffee shop owner thing going on. Knife skills aside.”

Hob’s not sure if it’s a compliment or not.

“He’ll definitely think he can scam you,” Johanna adds. That one’s definitely not a compliment.

So Hob goes to an event Roderick Burgess is hosting, showing off all his antiques. He brings with him an old book from The Library, ostensibly to “sell”. Forgive me, Dream, he thinks, as he pulls Magicks of the World off the shelf. Promise I won’t let him keep it.

It’ll get him in, he hopes. It’ll get Roderick Burgess’s attention, at least enough to let Johanna slip past. The book is proper old, nearly falling apart, and while it may not be actually magic, it at least is about magic. He hopes it’s enough.

“Remember,” Johanna says, as they’re stepping up to the door, “just keep his attention. I’ll search the house to see if I can find Dream, or the Grimoire.”

“You really think he’s keeping Dream hostage in this house?” Hob asks incredulously.

Johanna snorts. “If he thinks Dream can help him decode the thing? Yeah, absolutely. I told you. Guy’s a selfish prick.”

That seemed to be putting it lightly.

Hob isn’t sure he’ll be content with being the distraction if he finds out Roderick actually has Dream captive. But he calms himself for the time being.

--

Hob absolutely hates Roderick Burgess the second he lays eyes on him.

He’s managed to corner Burgess in the sitting room of the old manor house. His book in one hand, drink in the other. The man is fucking seedy. Hob could tell immediately, even if Burgess pretended at gentility.

Hob’s already decided that Roderick does have Dream locked in a room somewhere. Call it instinct.

Roderick gives Magicks of the World a look of cool disinterest as Hob hands it to him, but it shifts to grudging surprise. “This is actually old,” he says. “Unlike the fake crap people keep trying to pawn off on me.”

“I was told you had a discerning eye,” Hob says with false admiration. “1612. Genuine article.”

“Hm. This is of some interest,” says Roderick. “Come to my office.”

Hob follows him, hoping Johanna is having some success finding Dream.

Roderick’s office is much neater than Dream’s study. it feels like the affected study of someone trying to come acrossas a studious gentleman. Hob hates it.

And there on the desk is a thick, leather-bound volume that Hob knows instantly is the book Dream and Johanna have been looking for. He isn’t sure exactly how he knows. He isn’t at all magical. But he just knows. He can feel the eerie energy of the thing.

“I’ll give you six hundred pounds for it,” Roderick says, laying Magicks on the desk.

Hob startles. That’s actually a lot of money for a single book. Sorry, Dream, he thinks.

“Where did you get it?” Roderick asks.

“Old bookshop,” Hob says. “Don’t think they knew what they had.”

“They never do,” Roderick muses.

He hands Hob six hundred pounds, cash. Hob takes it, dumbfounded.

“Tell me,” he says, pretending hesitance. “I only know how to tell the age. How to know if it’s genuine. The magic stuff—that’s beyond me. How do you make sense of it?”

“I have my sources,” says Roderick. He seems to delight in being enigmatic. “There are… certain experts. If one knows where to look.”

Certain experts. Hob grits his teeth. “You willing to share a name? I have a few books myself I’d love to get better appraised.”

“I’m keeping that to myself for now. Trade secrets, you know.” He smiles to himself, meanly. “Valuable sources, those, in this business.”

Hob decides two things. One: he can definitely take down an old man. Two: he doesn’t care if he goes to prison.

He picks up a heavy statue from the desk and, before Roderick can react, cracks him across the head with it.

Roderick drops like a stone, and Hob snatches up both Magicks and the Grimoire, and flees.

Shit. That might have been ill-advised. What if Dream isn’t in the house, and Hob just caused permanent brain damage to the one person who might know where he is? Shit.

Nothing for it now. He hurries through the halls, books under his arm. He turns a corner, then another, and where the bloody hell is he? Then—

He nearly runs directly into Johanna and Dream.

Hob thrusts the books at Johanna, and takes Dream in his arms instead, pulling him into a tight hug. Dream hugs him back, pressing his face into Hob’s neck with a soft little sound.

He looks rough. His hair is a disaster—more than usual—and he’s wearing the same clothes Hob vaguely remembers him putting on that morning several days ago, before he disappeared.

“Hey,” Hob whispers, “I was really worried about you.”

“‘m sorry,” Dream murmurs, clutching at him.

“This was extremely fucking stupid, Dream,” Johanna says, in a tone that suggests she’s said so already. There’s worry there too, though.

“Yes, point taken,” Dream says.

“I love you,” Hob murmurs against his cheek, before pulling away to look at him properly.

There’s a bruise on Dream’s cheek that makes Hob very glad he smacked Roderick upside the head with a statue. More than that, he looks a bit… haunted. Hob will have to get more details later. Right now, they need to get out of here.

“Where the fuck is Roderick?” Johanna demands.

“I might have killed him,” Hob says, not feeling very bad about it. “Not totally sure.”

“No loss,” says Johanna, holding the books tightly.

Hob keeps Dream close. Dream is looking at him in wonder. Like Hob is the last possible thing he had expected to see. Freedom itself.

Hob kisses his forehead. And then they get the fuck out of there.

--

“You should really rest, Dream,” Hob says.

Dream is currently doing something to the Grimoire. Binding the pages. He doesn’t seem willing to let it go until he’s made the thing safe.

He sighs. “In a moment.”

“Dream…”

Dream finally puts the book away in a drawer in his desk, kneels before the desk, and draws some complicated symbol on the wood. Perhaps he had done the same with the poetry book, Hob thinks.

Though Hob suspects that the Grimoire is significantly more dangerous.

Finally Dream stands. He seems… a bit listless, now, having finished with the book. Even in the soft lighting of the Library study, the awful bruise on his face is stark, a deep plum mark. He looks at Hob, hands twisting together, expression vulnerable.

Hob’s heart hurts. He hopes he did kill Roderick. But now, he holds out his hands to Dream.

Dream steps over to him, and Hob brings him into an embrace. Holds him tight. Whatever determination had kept Dream going thus far seems to evaporate, then, and he sags against Hob, trembling slightly.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” Hob murmurs against his hair.

“Yes,” Dream sighs.

He locks up the study, which Hob has never seen him do before, and then, once they’re downstairs, locks The Library’s front door as well. He leaves a sign that says, “Closed for the time being.”

Hob leads him across the street, back upstairs to his flat above the cafe, and steers him to the bathroom. He perches him on the edge of the tub as he turns on the tap and lets the hot water fill up.

Dream is still shivering a little. The poor thing is probably desperate for a bath, not to mention food, Christ.

“What did he want with you?” Hob asks, helping Dream out of his jumper. Dream winces as he pulls it off over his head, and Hob grits his teeth. “Did he hurt you?”

“He had been trying to use the Grimoire,” Dream says, as Hob kneels to help him with his slacks. “But there was a symbol he could not decode. My… approach… to try to take the book back was… not as clever as I had hoped, and I was intercepted. He demanded I translate it. When I refused…” he trails off. He’s naked now, and Hob can see a dark bruise stretching up his thigh, another working its way up his back and over his shoulder. “Well, he did not take well to being told ‘no.’”

“Bastard,” Hob swears, and Dream’s lips quirk up.

“Quite.”

Hob kisses the bruise on Dream’s thigh—if only that would do more to actually heal it—and Dream smiles faintly.

“What’s that book do anyway?” Hob asks.

“It’s meant to summon Death,” says Dream, and Hob feels a chill, like the universe itself is protesting that possibility. “I do not think it has ever been successfully used. But the magic is certainly potent enough.”

“Good thing you got it back, then,” says Hob. He helps Dream up, then supports him as he steps into the tub, sinking down into the warm water with a sigh.

Hob strips off his own clothes and follows him, slipping behind Dream and pulling him back to his chest. Dream leans his head against Hob’s shoulder.

“That was all very silly, you know,” Hob says against his cheek, arms wrapped around Dream’s middle. “I was very worried about you.”

“I am sorry,” murmurs Dream. “It was… poorly thought out.”

“Just a bit.”

“But,” says Dream, a hint of wonder in his voice, “you came to rescue me.”

Hob kisses his cheek. “Of course.”

“Hob…” starts Dream. “How may I say this… you are not exactly a rough type I would expect to be performing heists.”

“Hey, you don’t know everything about me,” Hob says indignantly. “Second, you’re a librarian, and you tried to break into the man’s damn house first. Thirdly—”

“And yet,” Dream interrupts, “you still came to help me. Roderick Burgess is a dangerous man. That was ill-advised.”

“Didn’t seem very dangerous when I smacked him in the head.”

“I am saying I appreciate it,” says Dream, with a little chuckle. “All the more so for the danger you put yourself in.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” Hob says. “I love you. Of course I came after you. Don’t be silly.”

He wishes he had gotten there sooner. He chokes up, thinking of Dream stuck in some room, uncertain of any rescue. He tucks his face into Dream’s shoulder, tears beading along his lashes. “Poor darling.”

Dream reaches up and strokes his hair. “I’d be curious to hear about your criminal past sometime,” he murmurs, which has Hob chuckling. “Did you really kill Roderick Burgess?”

“Dunno,” says Hob. “Hope so.”

“My boyfriend is more dangerous than I thought,” Dream observes, lips tugging up. He sounds quite satisfied about it, and Hob kisses the corner of his lips.

“If he comes back I’ll kill him again,” he says.

Dream shivers, leaning more heavily against him. “You’ve unlocked the two keys to my heart,” he whispers, and it’s only partly joking.

“Oh yeah?” Hob says, lips still brushing his cheek. “Violence committed on your behalf is one?”

Dream nods.

“What’s the other, then?”

Dream’s lips twitch. “Scones.”

“I’ll have to fulfill that one in a few minutes then, too,” Hob says, grinning.

“So you shall.”

“Would it make you doubly horny if I killed somebody with a scone?” Hob asks. “Or—?”

Dream turns around in his lap to kiss him, wrapping his hands around the back of Hob’s neck. Hob rocks back with the force of the kiss, leaning back against the tub. “Yes,” Dream declares, and gives Hob another peck on the lips.

“I’ll find someone to kill,” Hob promises. “You have anyone in mind?”

Dream giggles. Joy looks good on him, after everything. He tucks his nose in against Hob’s shoulder again, and Hob holds him close, runs a hand up and down over his back, careful of the bruises.

“I will think of something,” Dream promises.

Hob kisses his temple, and resolves to keep a closer eye on his boyfriend’s supernatural activities in the future.

And to buy Johanna Constantine a drink some time, too.

[joeybsversion]

Strangers

Joe Burrow x Reader

You and Joe try to work things out

“Dear Me,” you scribbled into your journal, humming along to the soft music at the coffee shop. “He’s leaving for the NFL, you still have one more year of college. Let him go. He will find bigger and better things than you. Let him find a nice girl he can bring to games. There will be someone he can be happy with. Yes, he’s sweet, and caring, and handsome, but he is also grown up.” You set your pen down, taking a sip of your coffee, hoping it would help the lump in your throat disappear.

The door of the coffee shop quietly swung open. You glanced up, as you always did out of curiosity. You know what they say, curiosity kills the cat. At that exact moment, you were the cat. Joe walked in, with confidence, in a jacket you had gotten him a few months ago. He smiled at strangers around him, and then gave you the same smile. That’s when you realized, you were now a stranger to him.

You quickly flung the front cover of your leather journal shut, stuffed your pen into your purse, and did anything to make yourself look busy. Two hands quickly met the top of the table you were sitting at.

“Hey.” Joe cleared his throat.

“Oh, hey.” You looked down, doing your best to make sure he couldn’t see the tears that had formed in your eyes as you wrote about him just moments earlier.

“Writing?” He asked, pulling out the chair across from you and taking a seat.

“Studying.” You lied.

You sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Both of you searching for the right words to say. You hadn’t seen Joe in nearly 3 months now. And it had been some of the most emotionally draining 3 months of your life. Neither of you really officially ended things, but you both knew. “Goodbye.” “I love you.” “I’m sorry.” “Good luck.”

“Can we talk?” Joe croaked out.

“I don’t think there’s really much to say.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached over and grabbed your hands. “Please, just give me a minute. I need closure.”

You hated that word. Somewhere in the back of your brain, you hoped he would promise you a future and things would go back to the way they were. But here he was, confirming that things were officially over.

“It’s been 76 days. I’ve spent every single one thinking about you.” He brushed his thumb across the top of your hand as he spoke. “I thought I knew what I wanted. Becoming an NFL quarterback. Being the most popular, most liked person in the room. I thought those things would make me happy. And they did….temporarily. But you,” he paused, clearing his throat, “You’re the only thing that could make me happy forever.”

You choked out a little half laugh, half sob. “Please don’t say stuff like that. We both know it’s not true.” You shook your head.

“Please don’t play the victim and act like I’m the bad guy.” Joe scoffed, the tone in his voice quickly changing. “Don’t forget, you’re the one that said things weren’t going to work.”

“What was I supposed to say when you said you were leaving?” You pulled your hands away from his. “Don’t leave? I love you?” You questioned.

He shrugged and let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. Okay? But I thought you’d say something.”

“I’m sorry.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, the anger in his voice was making you nervous.

“Do you want to try again?” He asks barely loud enough for you to hear him.

You can’t answer, your throat is too thick with emotion.

“If you want me to beg, I will. If you want me to jump through flaming hoops, then bring them on. I’ll spend every waking hour I have until I have to report to training camp proving to you how badly I want you.” He looked away, blinking back a few tears.

You felt your own lips start to tremble. His words are painful and beautiful at the same time.

“Every word is the truth. I want you back. I can’t imagine starting this new journey without you.” He said. “I fucked up letting you go. I still love you.”

You swallow a sip of coffee, hoping the caffeine will fill you with the right words to say. “Even though I have another year of College left?”

He smiles. “My rookie year is going to be chaotic, and busy. It’ll be better for both of us if you’re busy too, dontcha think?”

He makes a fair point.

“We can make it work. I know we can. The question is, do you want to try again?” He pauses. “Do you want me?”

You can see the fear that you might reject him in his eyes. His hands are trembling on the table. His breathes are shallow and quick. The one thing he is confident about though, is wanting to make things work with you.

“I want you.”

[charliedawn]

What if the slashers kept a journal ?

Bo was taking care of one of the employees' car—which had a flat tire—when you decided it was the perfect time to do a round check of all the bedrooms. All of the slashers had to keep a journal and you thought it would be alright to just give it a quick look to see their progress.

However, Bo's journal seemed very well hidden and then, you found out that his desk was slightly off-centred. It was by palming haphazardly the underneath of his desk that you found the journal—hidden inside a secret compartment he had surely crafted himself.

"You clever clock.", you whistled admiratively with a proud smile. You then opened it and frowned as you noticed that the first page was blank...and the second...and the third. Why was it empty ?!

"Can I help ya ?"

You were surprised to hear Bo's voice behind you and quickly turned around. He eyed the journal in your hands and looked up at you before blinking several times. He seemed to catch up quickly on what you were doing by how guilty you looked.

"Anythin' interesting in there, nurse?"

However, instead of replying, you threw the journal on the bed scurried off of the room as quickly as you had entered it. As soon as the door was locked, he smiled and walked to his desk. He checked that his real journal was still there—hidden underneath some mechanical engineering book—and smiled when he realized it was...

He chuckled knowingly.

"Noisy lil' darlin'."

In Vincent's journal, there were merely animal pics and various unreadable scribbles. You couldn't possibly read the things written, so you focused on the photographs and smiled at the various subjects...until you arrived to the last days' entries. Now, you knew Vincent to be easily obsessed. He had once followed a bird for hours—only to draw a sketch of it. However, you had never seen him get obsessed over an actual human being—until today.

There were only photographs of you.

You. Eating.

You. Talking.

You...Sleeping.

Oh...You blushed and promptly closed the journal before hiding it back underneath his pillow. However, when you turned around—you fell face to face with Vincent.

He looked successively between you and his pillow and finally, it clicked. He tried stop say something—but by then, you were already gone. You had snuck past him. He stood still for a second or two before re-opening the diary. He gently stroke the last photograph he had taken of you—smiling at him.

It was his best one yet...

Sex jokes. So many sex jokes. You thought that man would take the time to write profound meaningful things ? Ah ! Joke's on you.

However, he smiled when he saw you reading his diary. He stayed there for a moment before creeping his way in and surprising you by suddenly pulling your head back.

"Haven't you heard the expression curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart ?", he asked with a threatening grin and you shrugged.

"Haven't you heard bastards usually get cooked ?", you shot back.

At this point, you didn't give a toss that he had caught you—with the amount of garbage you had read. His whole brain needed to be purged in holy water.

"It doesn't make any sense.", he snarled and you offered him a sweet smile before taking a lighter on the table.

"Yes. It means let me go, Krueger...before I burn you somewhere that REALLY hurts.", you his in-between meaningfully—but it didn't seen to be efficient. It only spurred him on as he closed the door with his foot.

"Hmm...Nah. Don't think I will."

No need to say...Freddy got more than one additional burn that day.

Brahms was so discreet—you didn't notice when he approached you from behind. He glanced at what page you were on and realized it was a part when he described you.

Curious. Nice. Beautiful...

You smiled at the compliments, but realized that he had missed the point of the exercise. It was to focus on himself and reach deep. However, Brahms didn't like people reading his secrets.

His chest heaved heavily and in a matter of seconds, your back was against the door and he had removed his mask. You wanted to read all about his secrets ? He would make you sing yours.

Jason mostly wrote random words he learned. He couldn't make full sentences yet—but he mostly tried to write words and various emotions or actions of the day.

Cutting. Eating. Cooking.

He didn't like making sentences—so he usually only writes down random words. He described people he met, places he went to and his feelings.

You smiled.

He might be the only one who had listened to you and tried to fill their journal with what they felt. You flipped quickly through the different entries until you reached the final one. You were then pleasantly surprised by finding a few sentences. But that pleasant feeling quickly disappeared when you read.

'Hello, mommy. I have friends now. I think you would like them. And I...I met someone. I think you'd like them too. They like us. They take care of us. I miss you. But I...I think I'll be alright.'

You let out a few tears as you imagined Jason writing those words. He had learned so much and you weren't afraid to say that you were proud of him. And you were sure his mother would be too if she could see him.

Michael could smell you. He knew you had been in his room and every single thing you touched. The scent lingered on his diary and on one page in particular—one he didn't think was that important.

It was a photograph. A photograph of all the slashers reunited on Christmas. It was also the only day Carrie and Sadako were allowed in the facility.

Jason had taken that photograph before giving it to Michael as a present. He is completely forgotten about it, but smiled faintly at the realization that you had chosen this page in particular made it special.

He sighed before sitting on his bed and closing the journal. He looked out at the garden where you were helping Freddy with the bad weed.

You looked so...perfect. And that made you precious in Michael's mind—but also dangerous. He had this urge to protect you clashing with the need to kill you. It was exhausting to keep that last urge at bay, and he was afraid of what he might do if you were to ever know about his feelings...But, he wasn't worried.

You would never feel the same...right ?

Jack writes down everything—and I mean everything. He can fill an entire book about his day. He also has a big memory and can remember the tiniest of details.

That was the reason why you had decided to read his entries—in case he would have written something you had missed.

What you found inside made your eyes widen.

He had studied them all. And it wasn't just moments. It was fully-detailed portraits. Physical. Mental. Psychological...He had recorded ever trait, every change...And not only about the slashers or the other patients.

But the staff as well. And of course, you. You learnt that he had memorized everything to you taste of cake and the type of clothes you wore for every occasion. It was impressive—but also rather worrying.

"Well well...Wasn't expecting any visitors."

You turned around swiftly add found him standing there with a smug look on his face. He didn't seem to mind you reading his journal. He simply tilted his head with a knowing smirk and you let the journal fall to the floor before slowly backing away.

"I was just..." His eyes didn't leave yours before he stepped out of the way.

"Here you go, nurse. You can go."

You eyed the door suspiciously. Could you...really ? But, you didn't want to stay and ask—so you walked out. Jack's eyes followed you until you were out of view before smiling and picking his journal back up.

New entry: Nurse Y/N doesn't seem to be very happy about being the studied subject for once...

Pennywise hadn't written anything. You were partly disappointed, but not that surprised. Pennywise didn't like sharing—and that was even with himself. He was complicated and he refused to acknowledge his own feelings.

But, that was okay.

You closed the diary and looked at Pennywise who was sitting in his favorite rocking chair and was staring ahead at things you couldn't fathom.

Maybe were there ghosts of his past ? You didn't know. Maybe would he open up some day. But, you'd wait until then.

They ran. They all ran. And I chased after them. Their little hearts pounded loudly in their chests as I trapped them. Their wide eyes fixed on me.

You had mainly a lot of notes on his time when he had to face the Losers' club. Penny was oddly specific on the gore details of his past kills. But, you needed to understand him—so you digged dipper.

You read everything—everything until you found something truly important.

I'm losing my memory...Pennywise says it's normal. But, I can't even remember who I was before. What was my name ? I think I was a clown...But, I don't know anymore. I think I had a daughter. But, I don't remember her name.

Penny was...losing his memory ? You looked up and saw him playing with the other younger slashers in the garden. He was smiling and carelessly chasing after them. But, what if...there was more to him than you had initially thought ?

Ghostface had refused to show his face to anyone. You had simply wanted to get to know him better. You knew that searching though his personal entries for answers wasn't really nurse-worthy...But, he refused to open up. However, before you could read as much as a few words—he had grabbed the diary from your hands and pressed his knife against your throat.

"Now now...nursy. Spying ? That's not very ethical of you.", he teased and you closed your eyes.

He seemed pissed by the way his voice became slightly more high-pitched and you knew that you should be afraid—but something else crossed your mind.

"What is you favorite scary movie ?", you muttered and Ghostface tilted his head quizzically.

"...What ?"

You slowly turned around to face him fully and he didn't stop you.

"That is the question you ask to all the patients. The question you always ask to everyone you meet. Are you...", you looked up—even though you couldn't really judge his reaction. "...searching for someone ?"

Ghostface stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before clenching his fists.

"Leave. Now.", he uttered in a quiet whisper and you didn't dare defy him—as you knew by the way he had suddenly tensed up that you weren't welcome anymore.

The moment you were out, he slammed the door and locked the door before removing his mask and throwing it to the ground angrily. He was was conflicted. He was ashamed that you had succeeded in seeing right through him so quickly. And, he couldn't tell you—not yet. He opened his diary and sighed. He couldn't tell you that the answer he was searching for was Psychose. 1960. His father's favorite scary movie.

It was the only information he had—that and that he was a patient in St Louis. He looked up at the ceiling and suddenly threw the diary in the fire heating up the room.

No one would know. He wouldn't risk it.

[i-cant-sing]

Everyone asking about the Royal Gay au meanwhile I'm just gremlining in the corner waiting for anything related to Re8:TRP bc I don wanna ask about it and potentially annoy you

Hmm, okay I've got a particular scenario in my mind:

Okay, imagine post re8, when Ethan forgot about saving reader, died, then came back to life with realisation that he forgot about you, so he "saves" you but you're too pissed at him (rightfully) and tell him that as soon you get out of the village, you're moving out because you can't be around him and Mia since Rose will always be a priority for them and you can't risk losing more of your sanity and self respect.

To which Ethan says "Oh... request denied😃" and then proceeds to kidnap you and take you home, where Mia has started to realise how important you are to the smooth functioning of this dysfunctional family and agrees with Ethan about keeping you locked up in your room.

They both think that you're just acting this way because you're "a little jealous" of the attention they've been giving to Rose. And you're being "totally unreasonable" because Rose is a baby, she needs them more than you do.

It never even occurs to them that you hate them because of all the abuse they've subjected you to all these years.

They don't understand why you're being so rebellious right now? Throwing away the food they cook for you, refusing to eat anything, screaming at them to let you go, trying to break the chains around your feet.

When will this "phase" of yours end?

Mia thinks it'd be rather better if they gave you silent treatment and ignored you and your basic human needs- yeah, that'll teach you to not bite the hand that feeds you.

Ethan on the other hand, doesn't agree with that (mostly because he's incapable of ignoring you now that he's become a yandere). He thinks you just need to remember all the good times. So he goes to the store to look through some very old boxes to find your old journals. He remembers seeing you writing in them as a kid, and if memory serves him right, you still used to write in them.

Pulling out the dusty old box with your name on it, he picked out a journal and began flipping through them.

-

Hours later, Mia entered the house, only to find Ethan in the store room, absolutely bawling his eyes out.

"Ethan? Hun? What's wrong? Is Rose okay?" Mia asked, immeadiately crouching down to hold him.

Ethan just hugged hia wife, crying into her shoulder. "S-she hates us, Mia."

"What?"

"She hates us! Y/n hates us!" Ethan cried out, pointing at all the journals. Picking one up, Mia began reading them.

I hate mom. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her-

The words continued for several pages, before moving onto Ethan.

Dad- I never thought I'd hate him, but I hate him even more than mom. How could he- how could he ignore my croes for help? Am I that unimportant to them? Or just unlovable?

I hate dad, I hate him so much.

I wish he was dead. Wish they were both dead.

Mia's mouth fell open, completely in disbelief that you would say something like that. And more than one time. In fact, several of your notebooks were just filled with words of hatred for your parents.

Ethan went out for a walk, telling Mia he just cant be around all of this right now, asking her to get rid of all the journals for him. Mia just nods, her mind somewhere else.

-

While Ethan is taking a walk in the park, wondering how to change your mind about him and Mia, his wife has decided to take a different strategy to make you regret those words.

Currently, your head is being held under water as Mia flushed the toilet bowl once again.

You gasped for her air as she yanked your head up again. "You un-fucking-grateful brat! How fucking dare you wish death upon your own parents?! I'm gonna make you wish you were dead-!" She screamed as she pushed your head back in the water.

"MIA!" Ethan yelled, pulling his wife off you, as you came up, coughing up the water that got in your lungs. "What the fuck?!"

-

You're wrapped up in a towel, sitting in your room, a chain still around your foot, as you hear Ethan and Mia arguing downstairs.

Arguing over their "parental strategies" for you.

Arguing over you.

You smiled a little. You never imagined they'd ever take the time to argue or even talk about you.

And all it took was your sanity.

I just know this how they be arguing:

Mia: What the hell, Ethan?! You said you wanted to try the "good cop. Bad cop."thing!

Ethan:

Mia:

Ethan:

Mia:

Ethan: YEAH! "GOOD COP- BAD COP" NOT "GOOD COP-HOMICIDAL COP" MIA!

Mia, voice breaking because no.1 manipulator: wow, I can't believe you're saying I'm the "bad cop". Is that what you think of me?

[rhondafromhr]

Lautity shippers I’m working on something for you!!

Not done yet but I wanted to share this snippet of what I have so far <3

(Also content warning: it’s pretty brief but it does deal with homophobia/internalized homophobia)

Summary: When Solomon decides raising her grades isn’t enough to get her phone back and demands Stephanie round out her extracurriculars, she maliciously complies by joining Grace in her anti-homecoming campaign. After all, yelling at her classmates about spunk and trying to get their dance canceled won’t be very good for his precious public image. Grace is glad to have the extra help, but gets more than she bargained for when she starts to develop feelings for Stephanie.

Stephanie’s hands are twitching. Somewhere out there, somebody is certainly posting the worst, most horrendous take known to man on Twitter at this very moment and here she is without her phone, powerless to do anything about it. It’s such bullshit. Her dad said that if she raised her grades to a C average, she could have it back, but at the last minute he decided that wasn’t enough and demanded she start rounding out her currently lackluster list of extracurriculars. In her opinion, spitting cold hard facts and spicy hot takes online totally counts (it’s basically journalism if you think about it), but he emphatically disagreed. She has to do something she can actually put on a college application, which means smoke club is off the table. To make matters worse, she made the mistake of complaining to Stacy and Brenda about her predicament and they’ve decided she just has to join cheer.

“Seriously, just try the new cheer with us and see how you like it! I mean you’re pretty, you’re popular, why aren’t you a cheerleader already?” says Brenda.

“Uh, doesn’t it also require, like, dance skills and athleticism and enthusiasm?” Steph says with a skeptical look.

“Oh, you can learn all that stuff,” Stacy says cheerfully.

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but isn’t it too late to join?” Stephanie replies, increasingly desperate for some way to end this conversation.

“Technically, yeah, but I’m captain! I’m sure I can talk coach into making an exception for you,” Brenda says “seriously, just give it a try and tell us you don’t absolutely love it!”

“Do I really need to try it to tell you I don’t absolutely love it? I’ve never tried, like, squeezing lemon juice into an open wound, either, but I’m pretty confident I don’t like that.”

They both purse their lips in confusion, pausing just long enough for her salvation to arrive - fittingly enough, in the form of Grace. Honestly, the least she can do is help Stephanie out of this jam. Her inability to butt out and let people cheat on tests in peace is the reason Stephanie’s even in this situation in the first place. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she almost made them all complicit in manslaughter with that stupid prank. If Pete dove to catch Max even a fraction of a second later, she doesn’t want to think about what would’ve happened. Then again, Max’s brush with death seems to have humbled him and he’s at least been trying to be less of an asshole, so she supposes she has to give Grace credit for making Hatchetfield High a more tolerable place to be. Besides that, whether she likes it or not, they’re running in the same circles now. Steph’s been spending more time with Pete and Pete hangs out with Ruth and Richie, who hang out with Grace, so they’re stuck together, at least at lunch. To make things even weirder, Max has been joining them and those four have been letting him.

“Hey! Grace!” Stephanie calls with uncharacteristic enthusiasm as Grace rounds the corner, her “Homec*mming: don’t dance with temptation!” sign held high.

“Hi, Stephanie,” she says, eyeing her suspiciously “I assume you haven’t changed your mind about allowing that excuse for sin and debauchery to happen?”

“I, uh, you know what? Yes I have,” says Stephanie. Surprise flashes across Grace’s face before she hands over the pink glitter gel pen attached to her clipboard so Stephanie can sign. There’s something so strangely charming about the fact that she uses a freaking glitter gel pen of all things for this.

“Actually,” Stephanie says as she puts down her signature with a flourish “I was wondering if you needed any help with your campaign.”

It’s brilliant. She can fulfill her father’s extracurricular requirement and simultaneously make him regret ever asking her to do it. He’s constantly hounding her about not doing anything to smear his public image and hurt his chances of reelection. Joining Grace in going around school harassing all of her peers and telling them they’re going to hell for supporting homecoming is going to reflect very, very poorly on him. Not to mention how pissed off everyone will be if they actually succeed in canceling the dance. They won’t, but a girl can dream. What’s more, the Chasitys are fairly powerful members of the community and crossing them by suddenly ditching their daughter when she promised to help her is also going to make him look bad. It’s a lose-lose situation for her father and, therefore, win-win for her. See, she is pretty damn smart, no matter what he says.

Grace eyes her suspiciously. “You want to help? You? Why the sudden change of heart?”

Shit, how is she going to explain it? There’s no way Grace is going to believe she suddenly saw the light and became a prude overnight.

“I, just, uh, realized I wasn’t being very open-minded to your worldview. Think of it as a gesture of goodwill. Besides, we’re friends, right? Comrades. Classmates. Nighthawks. And Nighthawks gotta stick together, so if canceling the dance is really all that important to you, then what the hell- heck! I mean heck! I’ll help you out.”

“Well, it has been pretty lonely trying to do it all by myself,” Grace admits, “alright, I guess you can join.”

Stacy and Brenda have been watching this play out, periodically turning to each other to exchange bewildered looks. They only become more confused when Stephanie asks them to sign the petition, too. Brenda shrugs and accepts the pen, writing down her name in perfectly neat cursive. She’s stoked for the homecoming game and pep rally, but she couldn’t care less about the dance right now. It’s been two weeks since Max almost died or whatever and promised to stop bossing everybody around, meaning there’s nothing stopping Kyle from asking her out. So why hasn’t he? She’s been watching grand, romantic hoco proposals at lunch every single day and slowly losing hope that he has one planned for her. Stacy immediately follows suit. Steph and Brenda signed, so she’s obviously going to. She doesn’t want to be the odd one out.

“Wow, three signatures! That’s more than I’ve gotten the entire time I’ve been doing this! Steph, you’re incredible!” The way Grace’s face lights up is almost endearing and Stephanie has to admit that it’s nice to get some praise and recognition for once.

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Steph replies with a faint, mischievous smirk.

Before they part ways to head to their next class, Stephanie finds herself agreeing to go to Grace’s after school. Apparently, if she’s serious about this, she needs her own sign to carry around.

“It’ll be fun, Steph,” Grace insists “think of it like arts and crafts!”

“My favorite,” Stephanie says flatly as they load Grace’s pink Schwinn into the backseat of her car.

It turns out that the Chasity household is all the way across town. Grace must be surprisingly athletic if she makes that commute on her bike twice a day. It sits in a cul de sac lined with near-identical two-story houses, complete with perfectly maintained green lawns and white picket fences. It’s exactly how Stephanie would have pictured it. At least it is until they go upstairs to Grace’s bedroom and she sees that the door’s been removed from his hinges.

“I know open floor plans are trendy right now, but this seems like overkill,” she says “why do you just, like, straight up not have a bedroom door?”

“Oh, I’m not allowed to,” Grace says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world “my parents are worried I might get up to some inappropriate activities unsupervised.”

“Inappropriate? You?” Steph says “what, are they afraid you’re gonna stay up until eight forty-five instead of eight thirty doing bible study?”

The joke is lost on Grace.

“No, Steph, really bad stuff! Like…” she pauses and looks around as if to make sure they’re alone, then lowers her voice to a whisper “…reading lewd magazines or touching myself.”

This explains a lot about Grace. Despite herself, Stephanie can’t help but feel bad for her. Along with that comes a slight, unexpected sense of kinship. She knows a thing or two about overly controlling parents. Sure, Solomon ignores her ninety percent of the time, but the ten percent he doesn’t, he’s always on her ass about something she should be doing or shouldn’t be doing or needs to be doing differently.

Grace’s small bedroom is immaculately clean and organized. It consists of a twin-sized bed in the corner with a pastel pink and blue quilt, a small desk and a largely empty bookshelf lined with only a small handful of church-approved reading material. Stephanie’s eyes are drawn to the figure of Jesus on the crucifix hanging on the door.

“What’s with the sweater?” she asks “is that some kind of obscure biblical reference I don’t get?”

“Oh, no,” Grace replies “I just knitted that for him ‘cause I think he needs to cover up. I get that he died for our sins, but he doesn’t need to have his nips out to do it.”

Stephanie stifles a laugh as they settle down on the floor with their posterboard and Grace’s impressive collection of colorful markers and get to work on her sign. To make things more interesting, she challenges herself to come up with the worst possible slogan and get Grace to approve it.

��Oh, I’ve got it,” she says, snapping her fingers “how about ‘homecoming? More like hell going.’”

“I like that,” says Grace “it really gets the point across. You’re pretty smart, Steph.” If her eyes water at that, it’s just allergies. Despite the cleanliness of the room, Grace must have forgotten to dust it recently. Yeah. That’s it.

Stephanie doesn’t get much sleep that night. With no Twitter fights to distract her, she simply stares at the ceiling until two in the morning thinking about the surprising amount of fun she had hanging out with Grace today and the glance she got into Grace’s home life that awakened a new sense of sympathy for the school snitch. Given how ludicrously strict the Chasitys seem to be, her existence is probably totally devoid of typical teenage mischief. She probably hasn’t so much as snuck out for a late-night convenience store run. It’ll take some convincing, but maybe Steph can change that.

God, who is she? Why is she lying here actually thinking about willingly spending time with Grace? The lack of screen time must be messing with her head. She always thought getting off of that cesspool of an app would improve her brain function, but apparently not. She needs her phone back, pronto. She just has to survive the next couple weeks first.

The second she wakes up, Stephanie realizes she’s going to fall asleep in class without the help of caffeine. She stops off at that singing coffee shop and gets her usual, a black americano with seven shots. She’s not sure they’re even legally allowed to serve that much caffeine in one drink, but they always indulge her. Being the mayor’s daughter does have its perks. On a whim, she decides to get an herbal peach tea for Grace. She double checks that it’s caffeine free and watches the barista vigilantly to make sure she doesn’t spit in it as it’s rumored they sometimes do here. It’s not like she wants to, but they agreed to touch base before class and it would be rude not to bring her anything. Solomon may be a shitty dad, but he raised her to have manners, damnit.

Grace is waiting for her on the steps in front of the school and accepts the tea almost cautiously, tentatively taking a sip once Stephanie reassures her that it doesn’t contain what she refers to as a gateway drug. Stephanie actually googled it once to try and prove her wrong and learned that caffeine is, in fact, technically a drug, even if she still doesn’t believe it’s a slippery slope to smoking “the devil’s lettuce” like Grace insists it is. No wonder she gets headaches when she doesn’t drink her seven shot americano. Huh, Grace might almost have a point.

“Oh, that’s really good,” she says brightly “I usually just drink plain hot water, but this is way better. I think it might be my new favorite. Thanks, Steph!”

Stephanie decides not to wonder why she’s so pleased that Grace liked it or why her heart flutters a little at the thought that it’s Grace’s new favorite. Maybe it’ll become her go-to order and she’ll think of Stephanie every time she drinks it.

“Alright, we’ve got like ten minutes before classes start, let’s get this show on the road,” Steph says. She sets her sights on a couple nerds climbing up the steps, engaged in a conversation about some TV show about a time traveling doctor.

“Hey,” she says “Rita! TJ!”

“It’s, uh, it’s Reese and PJ,” the one with the pigtails and the glasses says nervously. They both look a little terrified of her, which makes sense. She does run with the jocks and cheerleaders who were probably picking on them until recently.

“Right,” she says, trying to emulate her father’s constituent charming smile “say, you don’t want your tax dollars funding a school-sanctioned fuckfest, do you?”

“Steph! Language,” Grace scolds her.

“Uh,” Reese replies, clearly distressed and confused.

“We’re high schoolers,” says PJ, equally uncertain “I mean, I have, like, a part-time job at the bookstore, so I guess I’m technically a taxpayer? Look, is this some new type of bullying? Because it’s making me really uncomfortable, I’d honestly rather you just gave me a swirly and got it over with.”

“PJ!” Reese says “speak for yourself! I don’t want a swirly. I’ll take the weird experimental bullying.”

“Oh, perish the thought! It’s not bullying. We’re out here trying to save souls,” Stephanie says dramatically “as a wise woman once said, homecoming is just an excuse to dry hump in the gym. We can’t allow that such depravity and debauchery to take place. Not at our school. Sign this petition to keep the hallways free of sin and the gym floor free of spunk.” She’s actually having a blast hamming it up like this. Maybe she should look into drama club. She turns to look at Grace, who’s positively beaming and giving her two thumbs up.

“If we, uh, if we sign your petition, will you leave us alone?” PJ asks, shrinking back from Stephanie and hiding behind Reese.

“Deal,” Steph says, already handing her the glitter gel pen. She and Reese hastily sign and book it to get away from her.

It gets better from there. She catches Brad Callahan in the hallway and harasses him to sign, too. When he refuses on the grounds that Sarah Peterson agreed to go with him and they’re “totally going to get to third base”, she gets to channel her inner Grace and tell him he’s going to burn in hell. If there is an afterlife similar to what’s posited in the bible, she honestly does believe he will, but for entirely different reasons.

“Have fun letting the devil lick your skin clean off with his sandpaper tongue,” she calls after him. God, that was cathartic.

By the end of the week, half the school is thoroughly annoyed by her and Grace’s proselytizing and the other half have, by some miracle, actually agreed to sign that damn petition. Every day, she comes up with another excuse (reason. They’re valid reasons) to hang out with Grace after school. They have to make new flyers to hand out. They have to make pamphlets to educate people on the safety hazard of bodily fluids on the gym floor. Now that they’re getting serious traction, they have to discuss how to bring the petition to the principal and then, potentially, the school board.

It was only a matter of time before Solomon caught wind of all this and confronted her. She gets home from drafting their proposal for principal Blim to find him waiting up for her in the living room, a scowl on his face. It gives her slight deja vu for the day her precious smartphone was taken from her.

“Well, if it isn’t my October surprise.”

“Oh, hi, Dad. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she says mockingly.

“Don’t get cute with me,” he says “care to explain why I’m getting phone calls from your school about you trying to cancel the homecoming dance and yelling at your classmates about ‘spunk’?”

“You were the one who told me to round out my extracurriculars,” she replies with a smug grin “I’m helping Grace Chasity with her campaign. Haven’t you heard? Homecoming is just a disgusting excuse to dry hump in the gym.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Stephanie, I meant a real extracurricular. Volleyball! German club! Yearbook! Anything but whatever the hell this is!”

“What’s the big deal?” she says “you were so worried what people would think of my nocturnal activities when that rumor started going around and now it’s not an issue anymore. Everyone knows I’m strictly anti-sex.”

“Well, you’re going to knock it off this instant if you don’t want me to smash your phone with a hammer for real.”

“Okay. Done,” she says, pausing for effect before grinning evilly and adding, “oh, you know what. I just thought of something. The Chasitys are a pretty big deal in the community, huh? Pretty important in the church. They’re not going to be too happy with me if I ditch their daughter and leave her out to dry when I promised I’d help her, are they?”

Solomon throws his hands up and lets out an exasperated groan.

“You’re killing me, Stephanie!” he says “you’re killing me with what you’re doing!”

“If only, Dad. If only,” she says quietly, still smirking as he retreats to his study.

Grace climbs out of bed and stretches, feeling slightly groggy from sleeping in an extra half hour. Steph’s giving her a ride today, meaning she didn’t have to get up quite so early to give herself time to bike to school. She usually doesn’t mind it - she likes getting the fresh air and the way it quiets her usually racing mind - but it’s pouring rain today and she’d much rather be inside a warm, dry car. Steph’s company doesn’t hurt, either. She knows their relationship is strictly business, but she’s been having fun with Steph and she’s starting to think of her as an actual friend. She wonders if Steph feels the same way. She’s never had many friends before, so it’s hard to tell. She gets dressed, brushes her teeth, washes her face and even puts on some of that moisturizer Steph gave her to try when she complained about her dry skin. She goes downstairs and toasts up two blueberry bagels, spreading cream cheese onto them and placing one neatly into a Tupperware container for Steph. She always oversleeps and misses breakfast, so Grace has been trying to bring her something reasonably nutritious every day. It’s the least she can do with how much Steph has helped her recently.

Stephanie pulls up in front of her house and she climbs into the car, immediately relaxed by the feeling of the heat blasting and the sound of soft jazz playing on the stereo.

“I like the music,” Grace comments.

“Yeah, I thought it’d fit the cozy rainy day vibes,” says Steph.

“It is cozy,” Grace agrees.

“So, two hundred signatures, huh?” Steph says “did you ever think you’d get that far?”

“No,” says Grace “not in my wildest dreams. I never could have done it on my own. I’m nowhere near as convincing as you. If you can believe it, a lot of people say I come on a little strong.”

“What? No way!” Stephanie says in a lighthearted, teasing manner. “Maybe you do, but that’s not always a bad thing,” she adds after a moment with a rare fond, sincere smile.

The heat must be turned up a little too high, because Grace can feel her face flushing. They arrive at school and as Stephanie reaches into the backseat to grab her bag, Grace wonders what it would be like to lean in and kiss her. How soft her lips would be and whether she’d taste bitter from all that coffee she slams. Oh, heck. Oh, no.

She shoves that thought deep down into the recesses of her mind where it belongs. She tells Steph they should divide and conquer instead of sticking together today, claiming it’s because they’re running out of time and they need to cover as much ground as possible. She isn’t sure, but she could swear Steph looks a little sad. Despite her efforts, her mind keeps wandering back to that moment in the car as she traverses the hallway trying to collect more signatures at lunch. She’d give anything for some kind of distraction right now. Well, ask and you shall receive, as they say. Max approaches and, as usual, he brightens up when he sees her.

“Hey, Grace,” he says cheerfully, absolutely enraptured by her “what are you doin’?”

“Hi, Max,” she says absently, too wrapped up in her current crisis to scold him for leering at her like that “getting the dance canceled, same as usual.”

“Where are you headed? Maybe I could, uh, carry your books for you? If you want. No pressure. Or we could just walk together,” he says with a bright, hopeful smile.

“Max, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, we’re way too young for that! Besides, if you don’t change your ways, you’re already hellbound. You don’t need to make things worse for yourself by associating with a sinner like me.”

Max furrows his brow in genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re, like, the biggest prude in school.”

She feels tears pricking at her eyes. “That’s really sweet of you to say, Max, but you don’t understand. I think I like someone. Like, like-like them.”

“Is it me?” he asks, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. She gives him an incredulous look.

“No,” she says. His face falls slightly, but there’s no time to dwell on his disappointment now. Who the hell is this guy, anyway? He’s going to kick his ass- wait, no. No, he’s not. Grace is her own person and she’s allowed to go out with whoever she wants. It’s not this mystery dude’s fault if she likes him and not Max.

“That’s the thing,” she continues, “that someone’s a girl, too!”

The tears flow freely now and she begins to sob quietly. Max’s eyes go wide and he freezes up like a deer in headlights. He has no idea how to handle this. Until recently, he made people cry on a near daily basis, usually deliberately. Getting them to stop crying, on the other hand, is uncharted territory.

“Aw, Grace, c’mon, don’t cry,” he starts. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t do much. “I’ll sign your petition! I’ll make everybody sign your petition! How’s that sound? No homecoming! No spunk on the gym floor!” When she doesn’t even respond to that, he knows it’s serious. “Lots of people like girls. I like girls! Who doesn’t? They’re great.”

She sniffles. “Yeah, b-but you’re a boy. You’re supposed to!”

He pauses. “Well, I don’t bring it up a lot, but I like guys, too. See, you’re not alone. We’re, like, uh, what’s the phrase? Like two peas in a pod,” he says, trying to sound gentle and reassuring, which is also uncharted territory for him. She pauses and looks at him for a second.

“Oh, gosh,” she says and starts bawling even harder. He winces and realizes he’s in way over his head. It’s time to message Ruth and Richie for backup.

Grace is crying, plz help

He receives a string of incredibly graphic threats and knife emojis from both of them in response and adds, I swear I didn’t do it!! At least not on purpose!!

Yeah well there’s a difference between intent and impact bitch. Smh have you already forgotten the anti bullying assembly??? Richie replies but yeah meet us in the AV classroom, it’s empty rn

He leads Grace there and Ruth and Richie await them. She sniffles and takes a seat. Ruth hands her a water bottle and Richie gives her a small pack of tissues. He always carries some around to dab the sweat from his forehead. It’s not like they’re very useful for him, anyway. They usually end up disintegrating from becoming so soaked.

“You wanna tell us what’s wrong, Grace?” Richie asks.

She tugs at the sleeve of Max’s letterman, looking at him with red, puffy eyes. His chest tightens. It’s hard to see her like this, so sad and scared and drained. His face forms a puzzled expression as he tries to figure out what she’s trying to communicate until he finally realizes.

“Oh,” he says “you want me to tell ‘em?” She nods, still dabbing at her eyes with the tissues. “She’s sad ‘cause she likes a girl. But there’s nothing wrong with that, right? Who doesn’t like girls?”

“Uh, me,” says Richie.

“Oh, right, sorry, Richie,” Max corrects himself, looking a little sheepish.

“Preach!” says Ruth, raising her hand to high five Max. He enthusiastically returns it. “If girls loving girls is wrong, then I don’t want to be right! See, Grace, you’re not alone. You’re just like me. Two peas in a pod!”

Grace buries her face in her hands and starts bawling again.

He looks at Ruth and Richie with slight indignation.

“See,” he says “it’s not so easy, is it?” His point made, he turns to watch Grace helplessly. Grace, who was the mastermind behind the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him, even if he did later find out that it was an admittedly well deserved revenge prank. Grace, who didn’t have to be his friend and probably shouldn’t even be giving him the time of day after the way he treated her, but still does anyway. Grace, who’s usually so opinionated and snarky and passionate, always fired up about something and never shy about it, regardless of what other people think.

He’s been learning to accept that he can’t control every little thing. That trying to have power over everything and everybody was deeply unhealthy and all it really accomplished apart from a fleeting power trip was making everybody miserable and secretly resentful of him. It’s hard letting go, but it’s also been liberating. The powerlessness he feels right now is crushing, though. There’s nothing freeing about it. He can’t stand sitting here watching his friend break down because she thinks that some fundamental part of herself is wrong. He wants to fight the people who made her feel this way, but he suspects that particular list is too extensive for him to work his way through. What good would it do now, anyway? Maybe it’s finally time to take the advice of the exhausted, overworked second grade teacher who was definitely not paid enough to put up with all of his shit and use his words instead of hitting. Better late than never, as they say.

“Grace,” he says gently, not even sure where he’s going with this, but unable to stand the silence anymore “we’re, uh, we’re here for you, alright? It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! No it’s not,” she cries in a strained, hoarse voice “even if it’s true that there’s nothing wrong with liking girls, my parents sure don’t think so! What’s gonna happen to me if they find out? They’ll probably make me go live at abstinence camp with the Jerries for the rest of my life!”

“Well, we’re eighteen, right?” says Ruth “they can’t make you.”

“And if they try, you’ll just come live with me instead,” says Richie “uncle Paul would be more than cool with it. He loves you. He says you’re a good influence because you don’t let me blow off my homework to watch anime and you make me go to bed before three in the morning.”

“Well, you need your eight hours,” she says with a soft and sincere, but tired smile “thanks, guys. That does make me feel a little better.” She tentatively pulls Richie into a hug, not caring about the stench or how damp he is. Ruth, of course, eagerly joins in, not about to miss the opportunity for human contact. Max stays put and looks at them with hesitation, not sure if they want him to join.

“What are you doing, Max?” says Grace “get in here.” Well, that answers his question. He still holds back, watching Ruth and Richie for their reactions.

“It’s only fair,” says Richie with a smirk “you did make her cry.” He scowls, but there’s no real malice behind it. He comes over and wraps his arms around them tight.

With Grace sufficiently cheered up, there’s still one question on everyone’s minds.

“So, who’s the lucky lady?” says Ruth “wait, it’s not me, is it?”

“What? No,” she says, her signature snark finally making a comeback.

“It’s okay, Ruth. I got shot down, too,” says Max “two peas in a pod!” They high five again.

“It’s Steph,” she finally admits.

“Makes sense,” says Richie “she is waifu material.” Ruth nods in agreement.

“Waifu material?” Max asks, furrowing his brow in confusion again. Richie places a hand on each of his shoulders and looks at him with an intense, solemn expression.

“I have much to teach you,” he says “come over after football practice, we’re watching all the classics. We’ll start you off with Ouran, I feel like it’s pretty approachable for a beginner.”

Ruth grabs his arm. “What? No fair, I still haven’t gotten to show him Star Wars. Come over to mine, Max, we’re watching the prequels.”

“The prequels, Ruth? Seriously? As if subjecting him to the trilogy isn’t bad enough.”

“Well, what do you know, you won’t even sit through one episode of Clone Wars with me!”

As they continue to bicker, a warmth blooms in his chest. They actually want to spend time with him to the point of arguing over who gets to. They want to be around him when they don’t have to. They like him. They’re not just sticking around out of fear. They trust him enough to invite him into their homes. To ask him to share in the nerdy interests he used to make fun of them for. He smiles softly and pulls them into another hug.

“We can do both,” he says.

“Ugh, fine,” Richie huffs, but a reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Hey, Grace, you want to join us?” Max asks “oh, we should invite Steph and Pete, too!”

“Oh, I appreciate the invite, but I have my bible study group tonight.” That much is true. She is supposed to meet up with Mary, Gabe and Noah later to study scripture. She’s not sure she can face them after her realization today, but if she skips, her parents are sure to hear about it. Besides that, the alternative of joining them for their movie night and facing Peter is only slightly less daunting. It’s obvious that he like-likes Steph, too. She’s worried it’s going to make things awkward between them. What if Steph likes her and not Peter and he ends up getting hurt? What if Steph likes Peter and not Grace and she has to watch them hold hands and make eyes at each other and stuff down her heartbreak and pretend she never wanted any of those things?

[bumblebeehug]

Here's a prompt:

Lucy falling asleep somewhere (desk? Couch? the floor?) and Natsu carrying her to bed

The days inbetween

Ao3

***

Lucy’s days were never alike. She didn’t have a set scheme for when she ate breakfast, when she went to work, when she came back home or when she fell asleep. Her work as a mage meant unreliable hours, and with her team it could also mean quite unreliable pay. Often she could be away for a few days, sometimes weeks, and at the end all their reward money would go to repair any damages caused by them. Well, caused by Natsu, Gray, Erza and even Wendy, more often than Lucy.

This way of living wasn’t very sustainable. Everyone in the guild knew how futile Team Natsu’s missions turned out, and though Lucy would love to tell herself that money didn’t matter, her friends and her team mattered more. She couldn’t argue with facts – she had to pay the rent and have money for groceries. So, when weeks went by without any jobs – be it because people needed time to heal, or someone going on another job with other people, Lucy had the opportunity to earn some pocket money through journalism. She quit the job for good after working there for a year, but thankfully they told her that she always was welcome to work extra there. 

Mostly that entailed editing other journalists' pieces, keeping the office neat or buying coffee as a temporary assistant. It gave her a moderate sum of money and didn’t require her to be around for an extended amount of time – it was flexible work. Other times, however, she knew she had a week or two off, and those times she could do proper journalistic work. Since she was one of the few mages that worked journalistically in Magnolia, she could take on stories that required the reporter to go into more dangerous situations. 

So, that was exactly what she had been doing for the last six days. She had been allowed to write a story covering mage-less crime in the centre of Magnolia, and had gathered all the information she currently required. Since she wasn’t working with the others in the office, she could manage her hours however she wanted, which meant that she, at 11:30pm on a Sunday night, was sprawled across her living room floor, papers and notes from interviews and police reports surrounding her, trying to make an informed yet catchy summary of her conclusion. She wanted to finish this before the editorial office opened tomorrow, at 6am. If she only knew how to elegantly wrap this story up. She already had three titles, a dozen photos for the editors to choose from, and she had just the right number of characters so that there’d be space for photos, undertitles, fact boxes and more.

All this work had her absolutely exhausted. She usually didn’t drink coffee due to her dislike of the taste, but despite this, she had already had six cups of coffee in total, just in the last twelve hours. The initial caffeine kick had helped her speed through this project, but now she was feeling the consequences – a major caffeine dip. Her movements felt sluggish, her eyesight was getting worse by the minute, and she didn’t manage to form a single thought. It wasn’t even that late, compared to when she usually finished her articles, but she truly messed up by drinking all that coffee.

Lucy reluctantly lied down on her side. She told herself she just made herself comfortable to read through her article from the beginning, but she knew she was lying to herself. If she didn’t sleep now there was no way she’d be able to make it to the office tomorrow morning - she probably wouldn’t even be able to wake up until 11am. So, she decided not to beat herself up over allowing her heavy eyelids to close for a while. And she didn’t feel bad for crinkling some of her workpapers as she made herself comfortable on the rug. She didn’t even worry about saving energy by turning off the lights in the kitchen – just this once she let herself indulge in not doing things properly.

***

When Natsu opened the front door he was surprised to see the lights on. It certainly made it easier for him to navigate around the shoes in the hallway, but he couldn’t help but feel curious. Was Lucy still awake? She couldn’t be, she told her just yesterday she had to go to her extra job early Monday morning – it wouldn’t make sense for her to be awake at 2am.

He slowly made his way around the apartment, trying to piece together what was going on. As soon as he turned the corner he got his answer. Two metres away, Lucy lay curled up on the rug just by the couch. She had made quite a mess, papers and notepads acting as tripping hazards through the entire room. He practically had to go through an obstacle course just to reach her.

Lucy looked peaceful where she slept, and hadn’t he known better he’d think she was comfortable on the rug. Her eyes moved around quite a bit under her eyelids, so he suspected she was dreaming about something. Hopefully only good dreams. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was having a nightmare – after all, they had been through a lot in their lives, and some things weren’t easily forgotten. Natsu knew that from experience.

He quickly decided that she couldn’t keep sleeping there. She would definitely be mad at herself for not going to sleep properly if she woke up with pains, plus, Natsu had come here to sleep in bed with her, not to imitate the way they slept when they were out camping on missions. They could do that any other time, but there was no way that he would pass on the opportunity to spend the night in her bed. He never slept quite as good anywhere else – it had to be Lucy’s bed, with her in it.

Carefully he took her in his arms, making sure not to shake her around too much, in case she woke up. Luckily she only stirred a little, grabbing Natsu’s neck and drawing him close into a hug. Natsu swiftly put his arm under her legs and stood up, proud to have successfully picked her up, even getting rewarded with a hug. Lucy had managed to nuzzle her face into the crook between Natsu’s neck and shoulder, and Natsu felt his entire soul yearn for a cuddle in bed, so he could reciprocate.

Making sure to be light on his feet, he managed to snuck into the bedroom without stepping on her important papers. He almost slipped on a pencil, but quickly regained his balance. As soon as he got away from the mess he hurried to the bed, moving the comforter and placing down Lucy in one movement. Then he undressed, knowing that Lucy hated it when he touched her bed in his outside clothes, and joined her.

Natsu’s heart was full as he laid beside her. He took her in his arms, wrapped them around her waist and took a deep breath, full of the scent of Lucy and the shampoo she loves. She truly fit in his arms perfectly, lying flesh against his body as he spooned her. Natsu couldn’t remember if they always had been able to cuddle this comfortably, or if there had been a time where his arms would fall asleep or she’d toss around to find a comfortable spot. He wouldn’t be surprised however if they actually were made for each other.

Any other day, Lucy would have woken up and given him a lecture on how friends weren’t allowed to use emergency keys for anything other than an actual emergency. She’d tell him off, try to make him sleep on the couch “where friends belonged” and nag him for not taking a shower before bed. Today, however, Natsu thanked the heavens for her part time job. It may be the reason Lucy’s unavailable a lot of the time, despite them being on breaks from missions, but it was also the reason she didn’t wake up today, earning him some extra cuddle time, filled with the softness and warmth of her body.

Before he fell asleep himself, he managed to kiss Lucy just below her ear, almost on her jaw. Once in a while he allowed himself to indulge in the love he felt for her, or else he knew he would go crazy. One more soft peck, and then he joined her in the world of dreams.

Lucy’s days were never alike. She didn’t have a set scheme for when she ate breakfast, when she went to work, when she came back home or when she fell asleep. Her work as a mage meant unreliable hours, and with her team it could also mean quite unreliable pay. Often she could be away for a few days, sometimes weeks, and at the end all their reward money would go to repair any damages caused by them. Well, caused by Natsu, Gray, Erza and even Wendy, more often than Lucy.

This way of living wasn’t very sustainable. Everyone in the guild knew how futile Team Natsu’s missions turned out, and though Lucy would love to tell herself that money didn’t matter, her friends and her team mattered more. She couldn’t argue with facts – she had to pay the rent and have money for groceries. So, when weeks went by without any jobs – be it because people needed time to heal, or someone going on another job with other people, Lucy had the opportunity to earn some pocket money through journalism. She quit the job for good after working there for a year, but thankfully they told her that she always was welcome to work extra there. 

Mostly that entailed editing other journalists' pieces, keeping the office neat or buying coffee as a temporary assistant. It gave her a moderate sum of money and didn’t require her to be around for an extended amount of time – it was flexible work. Other times, however, she knew she had a week or two off, and those times she could do proper journalistic work. Since she was one of the few mages that worked journalistically in Magnolia, she could take on stories that required the reporter to go into more dangerous situations. 

So, that was exactly what she had been doing for the last six days. She had been allowed to write a story covering mage-less crime in the centre of magnolia, and had gathered all the information she currently required. Since she wasn’t working with the others in the office, she could manage her hours however she wanted, which meant that she, at 11:30pm on a Sunday night, was sprawled across her living room floor, papers and notes from interviews and police reports surrounding her, trying to make an informed yet catchy summary of her conclusion. She wanted to finish this before the editorial office opened tomorrow, at 6am. If she only knew how to elegantly wrap this story up. She already had three titles, a dozen photos for the editors to choose from, and she had just the right number of characters so that there’d be space for photos, undertitles, fact boxes and more.

All this work had her absolutely exhausted. She usually didn’t drink coffee due to her dislike of the taste, but despite this, she had already had six cups of coffee in total, just in the last twelve hours. The initial caffeine kick had helped her speed through this project, but now she was feeling the consequences – a major caffeine dip. Her movements felt sluggish, her eyesight was getting worse by the minute, and she didn’t manage to form a single thought. It wasn’t even that late, compared to when she usually finished her articles, but she truly messed up by drinking all that coffee.

Lucy reluctantly lied down on her side. She told herself she just made herself comfortable to read through her article from the beginning, but she knew she was lying to herself. If she didn’t sleep now there was no way she’d be able to make it to the office tomorrow morning - she probably wouldn’t even be able to wake up until 11am. So, she decided not to beat herself up over allowing her heavy eyelids to close for a while. And she didn’t feel bad for crinkling some of her workpapers as she made herself comfortable on the rug. She didn’t even worry about saving energy by turning off the lights in the kitchen – just this once she let herself indulge in not doing things properly.

***

When Natsu opened the front door he was surprised to see the lights on. It certainly made it easier for him to navigate around the shoes in the hallway, but he couldn’t help but feel curious. Was Lucy still awake? She couldn’t be, she told her just yesterday she had to go to her extra job early Monday morning – it wouldn’t make sense for her to be awake at 2am.

He slowly made his way around the apartment, trying to piece together what was going on. As soon as he turned the corner he got his answer. Two metres away, Lucy lay curled up on the rug just by the couch. She had made quite a mess, papers and notepads acting as tripping hazards through the entire room. He practically had to go through an obstacle course just to reach her.

Lucy looked peaceful where she slept, and hadn’t he known better he’d think she was comfortable on the rug. Her eyes moved around quite a bit under her eyelids, so he suspected she was dreaming about something. Hopefully only good dreams. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was having a nightmare – after all, they had been through a lot in their lives, and some things weren’t easily forgotten. Natsu knew that from experience.

He quickly decided that she couldn’t keep sleeping there. She would definitely be mad at herself for not going to sleep properly if she woke up with pains, plus, Natsu had come here to sleep in bed with her, not to imitate the way they slept when they were out camping on missions. They could do that any other time, but there was no way that he would pass on the opportunity to spend the night in her bed. He never slept quite as good anywhere else – it had to be Lucy’s bed, with her in it.

Carefully he took her in his arms, making sure not to shake her around too much, in case she woke up. Luckily she only stirred a little, grabbing Natsu’s neck and drawing him close into a hug. Natsu swiftly put his arm under her legs and stood up, proud to have successfully picked her up, even getting rewarded with a hug. Lucy had managed to nuzzle her face into the crook between Natsu’s neck and shoulder, and Natsu felt his entire soul yearn for a cuddle in bed, so he could reciprocate.

Making sure to be light on his feet, he managed to snuck into the bedroom without stepping on her important papers. He almost slipped on a pencil, but quickly regained his balance. As soon as he got away from the mess he hurried to the bed, moving the comforter and placing down Lucy in one movement. Then he undressed, knowing that Lucy hated it when he touched her bed in his outside clothes, and joined her.

Natsu’s heart was full as he laid beside her. He took her in his arms, wrapped them around her waist and took a deep breath, full of the scent of Lucy and the shampoo she loves. She truly fit in his arms perfectly, lying flush against his body as he spooned her. Natsu couldn’t remember if they always had been able to cuddle this comfortably, or if there had been a time where his arms would fall asleep or she’d toss around to find a comfortable spot. He wouldn’t be surprised however if they actually were made for each other.

Any other day, Lucy would have woken up and given him a lecture on how friends weren’t allowed to use emergency keys for anything other than an actual emergency. She’d tell him off, try to make him sleep on the couch “where friends belonged” and nag him for not taking a shower before bed. Today, however, Natsu thanked the heavens for her part time job. It may be the reason Lucy’s unavailable a lot of the time, despite them being on breaks from missions, but it was also the reason she didn’t wake up today, earning him some extra cuddle time, filled with the softness and warmth of her body.

Before he fell asleep himself, he managed to kiss Lucy just below her ear, almost on her jaw. Once in a while he allowed himself to indulge in the love he felt for her, or else he knew he would go crazy. One more soft peck, and then he joined her in the world of dreams.

[blackoutspoetry]

Lowkey obsessed with the idea that Soap and Ghost have been pining after each other shortly after meeting in 2019 and that MWII takes place JUST after they accidentally let their guard down and kissed. Like, nothing serious, but its awkward between them and Soap hasn't even seen Ghost's face. Its all a huge mess and Ghost's best shot at dealing with it is trying to avoid Soap, and Soap is being overly enthusiastic, trying to initiate conversations, touch, anything to get Ghost to communicate with him.

They manage to go a week after the kiss without really speaking to each other unless absolutely necessary, but then there's the whole thing with Hassan, and when Shepherd informs Ghost he and Soap will be leading the mission, he can't help but mutter "fucking hell" as he notices Soap approaching with a massive smile on his face, just KNOWING he won't be able to dodge this one.

They manage to keep things professional there, but Ghost can tell Soap's trying so hard to get his attention.

He still has strong feelings for Soap. They may have been drunk at the time of the kiss, at some sort of personal celebration of Gaz, but he doesn't regret it at all. It is, however, very awkward now, even if he doesn't want to talk about it.

On their way over to Las Almas, he figures they should clear the air and rip the band aid off.

He begins just as they're about to land, "listen, about the other night..." but Soap stops him. His journal is open in his lap and he scrawls a note along the bottom of the page, tearing it out and handing it over to Ghost just as they're landing and have no time to keep talking.

Don't sweat it, sunshine

And if THAT doesn't make Ghost's heart flatline on the spot... he's just thankful Soap can't see his furious blush as they're walking up to the waiting man.

"Alejandro!"

"Sergeant MacTavish!"

"Call me Soap."

He then turns to face Ghost. "Laswell says they call you Ghost."

Ghost can see the look on Soap's face, knowing very well what he'd just written on that note and what he was about to say–

"Actually, I think he prefers–"

"That'll do!"

And later, in the Alone mission, their professional resolve falters a bit, knowing they'd need to draw on their personal relationship to get through the ordeal. Their usual flirtatious personalities come back, any cover up getting really thin.

"Oh, so you do like me?"

"I like you alive."

Soap doesn't even try to hide it when they're reunited with Rodolfo, making his intentions very clear, with "that's why I love the Ghost," and later when Rodolfo asks about calling him Johnny, "nah, only Ghost can pull that off."

When Ghost takes off the mask, he doesn't care about the rest. He looks only at Johnny, this was for Johnny and only for him. He watches his face his reaction. It feels like something far more than what it looked.

And they 100% made out after they get back from "killing" Graves and Johnny tells him how pretty he is while they're sitting together somewhere private.

They go out for drinks with the rest of the 141 later that night, sure that the rest of the team will be able to see something between them, but they manage to keep it secret...

...for now

[immajustvibehere]

Rainy Days

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female Reader

oneshot: fluff

Summary: A rainy day in Horseshoe Overlook. When you arrive at Arthur's tent soaked to the skin, he can't help but offer his place for you to stay.

find my masterlist here :)

2000 words, 10 minutes reading time

It had been raining all day in Horseshoe Overlook and people in camp just sat intheir tents, building small barriers so the water wouldn't completely sodden the soil on which their tents stood on. Some had to worry about the fabric soaking through, others, like Dutch and Arthur didn't have such problems. You had your own little tent that frankly started to feel very moist. Your gaze wandered around, scanning what people were doing and if there was an opportunity for a better shelter somewhere else.

Karen and Tilly were talking quietly while Mary-Beth was reading a book. John's tent was closed and probably hid him, Abigail and Jack from curious looks. Strauss was doing some calculations in a little book, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Micah was in Dutch's tent, talking to the man with the slick black hair while Molly was pouting on the bed. Then there was Arthur. You knew, as soon as your eyes fell upon him, that you won't go on to wonder what anyone else was doing, because you could stare at him all day. He sat at his table, slightly bend over his journal, scribbling away. You certainly had a soft spot for this man. Not that you'd ever admit it.

"Y/N!", you jumped at Mr. Pearsons's voice. All of a sudden, he stood in front of your tent, a thick blanket wrapped around him and a small pot in his hand which he lowered in front of your feet. "What is it?!", you asked confusedly. "Could you deliver dinner to some folks? I covered most of the camp, only Dutch and Arthur left but I think I feel water running down my back. It's not a lot to ask for", without saying much more, he ran off, not giving you the slightest chance to refuse.

Displeased, you grabbed your blanket, realizing it was already damp. You'll just go in your clothes and when you return, you'll wrap yourself in the blanket. That was the logical way. Pot in one hand, you took big steps towards Dutch's tent. You were soaked after two seconds in the open air. Still, you concentrated on not slipping or spilling the stew you were carrying.

"Ah, finally! Something to distract myself from your boy's jabbering", Molly greeted you at the tent. This got Dutch's attention who stood up and took out some plates: "Thank you for the delivery, y/n. I assume Pearson was too lazy to do it himself." Dutch chuckled kindly. "He was already soaked and figured I needed a bath or something", you smiled. Nobody had asked you in, so you waited in the rain for everyone to fill their plates. You caught Micah's gaze who was checking you up and down, savoring what the wet clothes that stuck to your body revealed. "Enjoy your meal"; you said and tried to sound kind, though you were starting to get cold. They thanked you and you went off to go to Arthur.

"Arthur!", you greeted even before you were at the entrance of his tent. He stood up in anticipation of you appearing and here you were - soaked to the bone. "Jesus", Arthur mumbled, "come in girl!" A nasty gust had just lashed half a gallon of rain in your face, so you were more than grateful for the invitation. "Have ya eaten yet?", Arthur asked while he scooped stew on his plate. "No...Pearson just told me to deliver it to you...", you sighed, "guess I'm going back to my tent and out of these clothes." You turned your head to check if your tent was still holding up. When you froze, Arthur directed his look in the same direction. Your tent was flapping in the wind with only one tent peg holding it to the ground. You let your head droop. "Great."

Arthur cleared his throat and offered: "Ya can stay here if ya like." He said this in such an unbothered manner, you almost felt embarrassed when you blushed. But now, even he stumbled over his own words: "I mean...I think I got some...spare clothes lying around if ya want. Ya really shouldn't stay in yours for much longer...might catch a cold." He went to his chest and rummaged through a pile of clothes. He threw a red shirt - which looked like it had been made out of a warmer and thicker material (and you were grateful for that, because you were freezing) - onto his cot. Then some pants followed. "Not sure if those'er my pants. Found them on my pile one day but they're bit too small, so they might fit ya better", Arthur stood up, satisfied with the clothes he picked.

Then you stared at each other for a couple of seconds, as if you both knew what came next, but neither of you knew how to act appropriately. Arthur was first to regain control over his expression. He was flustered: "Right erm..." He awkwardly closed the flaps of his tent, so that the little lantern on his table was the main source of light. "Imma turn around...", he promised and sat down on his chair, his stew on the table in front of him. You tried really hard to suppress a sheepish grin and quickly started to wiggle out of your wet clothes, putting on the ones Arthur had prepared for you. The shirt was too big, but by far the most comfortable you had ever worn.

"Done", you announced when you had put on the pants and hung up your wet clothes. "M'okay...", Arthur cleared his throat again and started to fill up another plate of stew for you. When he handed it to you, his cheeks were flushed. "Thank you", you took the plate of the still hot food gratefully. You gaze fell on his table, where his stew was untouched. There was his journal, a pencil peaked out of some pages, the lantern and then there was a mirror. He probably used it for shaving, but you realized that it's positioned perfectly to...he didn't peek when you undressed, did he?

You felt your cheeks burn up and sat down on his cot, stew in hand. A cheeky smile marked your face. Arthur wouldn't be the kind of man who does such a thing, would he? And yet...He sat down on his stool again.

"How have ya been holding up? Ya like this place?", Arthur attempted to start a conversation. "Yeah, it's okay. The weather has been weird the last couple of days...", you answered, not really thinking about what you were even talking about. Your thoughts still lingered on the mirror. "Better than the snowstorm up in them mountains", he replied with a shrug. You finally focused your attention on the man in front of you. He was watching you attentively, it's very likely that he had noticed your absentmindedness.

"True", you smiled, "What've you been up to? You've already been to Valentine, haven't you?" What followed was an interesting dialogue between you two. Arthur told you about his visits to Valentine and Emerald Ranch, the stealing and hunting he had done with Hosea. You, in turn, filled him in on the camp's gossip and little accidents, like Uncle spilling coffee all over Lenny's map or Jake annoying the shit out of John. The talk continued minutes after you both had finished your dinner. With the hot plate out of your hands, cold started to creep back into them. Right after Arthur had given you a detailed description of how he and Javier found John in the mountains, you remarked: "Jeez it's getting cold. I almost feel like we're back there."

"What?", Arthur laughed and looked at you. You extended your right hand towards Arthur, who hesitated a second before he took it in his big hand. His hand was unbelievably warm and you let out a sigh of relief when some of his warmth spread to your body. "You're freezing girl", Arthur commented. "Really?", you answered sarcastically. Without letting go of your hand, he stood up and reached for his winter coat.

"Here, slip that on", he dropped his coat onto your lap. To put on the coat, you'd have to let go of his hand. However, Arthur made no attempt to encourage you to let go. His warm thumb rested caringly on the back of your hand. Very slowly and unwillingly, you pulled your hand back and slipped on Arthur's coat. The smell of pine trees, campfire and cigarette smoke reached your nostrils as you turned up the coat's collar.

Arthur observed every one of your moves, smiling slightly at your content expression as you settled into his way too big coat. "Up for a game of dominoes?", he asked. "Sure", you answered while your arms were still busy finding their way through the sleeves. Arthur readjusted the table so you'd be able to reach it from your spot on his bed. You had no idea where he got the dominoes from, you thought the camp only owned one set.

You played round after round, neither of you displaying a phenomenal winning streak. With the rain still pouring, but you cozily wrapped in Arthur's coat and shirt, you started to grow tired. Occasionally you found the energy to brush a strand of wet hair out of your face. Whenever Arthur cursed when he didn't have a fitting tile, he did so in a low and soothing voice. Besides the rain, Arthur's voice and the wooden tiles being places on the table, it was very silent. You yawned a couple of times. The outlaw could only smile at your attempt of denying your weariness. You later thought that he must have done it deliberately, but after he had won a round he said: "Wait a second. I want to paint over some of 'em dots. I can barely see if that's a four or five." And he took his time doing that.

You leaned back and let your head almost entirely disappear behind the collar. You blinked and suddenly your eyes wouldn't open anymore. After a few seconds, you forced yourself awake, mumbling: "I'm sorry, I think I should-" Arthur's hand was on your shoulder, crushing every effort of you to get up (though you had barely tried). "It's okay, ya can rest here", he assured you. "But-", you had to protest. There was only one cot, it was getting late and if you slept here, where would Arthur rest tonight? In the twinkling of an eye - or better - a very slow and tired blink on your side, Arthur's hand was now caressing your cheek. He was barely touching you, but the warmth of his skin tickled your cheek.

"Just lie down, there's enough space for two", you barely noticed his soft smile and you surely didn't question if it was the right thing to do; sleep next to Arthur. You had just turned up at his tent, soaked and he hadn't only offered you his clothes, but also talked to you and gave you a place to stay when your tent had been made uninhabitable. And now you'd take up space on his cot. Nevertheless, your fatigue was too overwhelming. The second you had lied down, pressed tightly against the waggon so there was some space left on the cot, you had passed out. Arthur's hand still rested on your cheek when you fell asleep, you felt his touch even after your consciousness had faded. The last thought that fleetingly crossed your mind was; that maybe, if you were really lucky, he might like you back just enough.

[dailyreverie]

Poe + “I know we said no presents this year but…”

Love the way you write fluff ❤️❤️❤️

The first Noel Life Day

A/N: First of all, merry christmas if you are celebrating today!! I wish you all a wonderful holiday season full of joy and cheer!! Second, thank you so so much for sending a request! I hope you like it!!

☃️ December Writing Challenge! 🎄

Day 8: “I know we said no presents this year but…”

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Word Count: 875 words

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption

[gif by @reylo-solo]

With a dinner cooked by the two of you, the roaring fire in the chimney, and a few candles lighting up the room, you had more than enough to cozy up and enjoy; just you and Poe, that was the plan since the beginning, only him and you and the celebration of the happy life you were creating together. Moving out from the base was harder than expected, even after finding a place, your small house still needed some improvements, which may have required a bit more of an investment than you had thought of; but that was not a stopper to celebrate the Holidays, and you were not one to let Life Day go by without a proper celebration.

It was simple, homey, and intimate, exactly as you wanted it to be. No crowds or rushing somewhere, and more important: no gifts. You both agreed to it weeks before, promising that you don’t need gifts this year, that being there was more than enough gift for both.

After the most delicious dinner and almost a full bottle of wine, when you were happily talking and laughing in the comfort of your dinner table, Poe suddenly took a deep breath and stood up. “I hope you don’t get mad but I couldn’t resist myself…” Standing up he walked towards the living room shelf, opening one of the drawers that he knew for a fact you never open - the one with old mission journals that you promised you would never look at again -, and with the biggest smile he walked towards you, a small velvet bag hanging from his fingers.

“Oh my- Poe, sweetheart…” your heart swelled with love for Poe and his stupidly kind heart, just as your eyes began to fill with tears. “We said-”

“I know, I know we said no presents this year, but it is the first year we are on our own place, finally out of that mess.” His hand stretched over the table, inviting yours to join him there. He squeezed it when you did, his eyes smiling brightly at you all the while. “I wanted you to remember it.”

Sometimes, when you looked at Poe, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. When you opened the bag your air snook out from your lungs, a gasp forming as you saw its content: a charm. The very same one you saw on that storefront at some planet you were at for a mission, the one you saw and said how beautiful it was. I’ll give it to you when we get our place, Poe had said then, when you were just shyly a few months in your relationship.”You remembered” You choked up with emotion, looking at the charm and remembering all you went through just to get to this place, this point in your lives in which you could, at last, have a moment in peace, one to just be happy and don’t worry about the next morning.

“I never forgot.” Poe squeezed your hand, giving you a look and a tiny smile that took your breath away. He stood up again, walking to stand behind you and removing the chain that hung around your neck and toying with it behind your back. “And, it goes right… here.” The chain dropped down your collarbones again where your fingers reached it, just to see the charm hanging next to his ring, right next to your heart. Poe kissed your cheek and your jaw before going back to his seat, a bright smile shining with the light of the fire.

“Well, this is ridiculous now…” You laughed at yourself, blinking back the tears, walking into the kitchen and coming back with a gift bag. “...I got you something too.” Handing the gift to Poe he joined your laugh, standing up and discarding the bag on the table just to be able to hug you tightly, rocking side to side to the rhythm of the song coming from BB-8.

“You were not supposed to get me anything.” He whispered, still not letting you go.

“Well, neither did you, you dummy, I wanted to surprise you” Your reply made Poe chuckle, clearly thinking the same thing about his gift. What all the no-gift deal was about you have no idea, because once Poe’s lips find yours you know you will always, no matter what, do all you can do to make him as happy as he is in that moment - and you know he will do the same too.

“I already had the gift, before we made that promise.” You confessed after a while, once the song finished.

Poe takes a step back, not letting go of your waist. “Me too.” He laughed. “Let’s promise not to be so damn stupid the next time.”

“That’s a promise I can keep.” You kissed him again, sealing the deal.

“Agreed,” Poe spoke against your lips. “Happy Life Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Life Day, my love.” You get a little bit lost in the way he’s looking at you, in how his eyes are shining and his lips have this relaxed smile on them. You love him like that, gifts or not, happy and calm in between your arms, all for yourself on that cold night.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it!

[snakegorl212006]

Mystery shop

I really do my best to adapt to this change in living which includes taking care of the property and the wild animals that just happen to want a snack. I also understand why I have to live this way. It’s explainable. But the doors opening and closing constantly in Heartslabyul, running noises in Scarabia, music playing in Pomefiore, the increase of shadowy figures in Diasomnia, items getting rearrange or missing in Savanaclaw, the locked door in Octavinelle keeps rattling everytime i walk pass, even that dang life size doll keeps moving around in Ignihyde. Other than grim who’s been promoted to somewhat of a house cat, I live alone. Completely alone. I sighed into my desk chair as I relaxed my fried brain. I would call Crowley but he probably would think I’m going insane and that it might be the isolation of this place. Maybe I just need to leave and go out somewhere. There is a town away from the manor. It’s around a 30-40 minute walk which isn't too bad as long as I don't go into a shopping spree. After getting dressed in some comfortable wear, I began my walk down to the town and made sure I locked the gate behind me. It was a peaceful walk. There were a lot of people in the main street, almost looking like a large shopping district. I began walking around enjoying the stores until I spotted one that caught my interest. Sam’s Mystery shop. It was a cool yet creepy looking shop that seemed out of place due to the other brightly colored shops. But many people are going in and out of it so I assume it’s probably for aesthetics. I entered the shop to be greeted by weird trophies and collectables and had relatively normal items like milk and eggs. “Welcome Little Imp, what may you be looking for today” A male voice spoke from the side of me. There was a male with dark skin with black twist with a few purple in his hair. He has an apron with some bones and a hand in it which looks cool “oh I’m just browsing” I replied “let me know if you need assistance little imp” he said. I nodded and began looking around more. While looking around, I spotted a crystal basket. There are tiny crystals of a multitude of colors and sizes. “You know, they say that these magic crystals ward off ghost” a voice spoke next to me. It was the shop worker “ghost?” i replied and he nods “where are my manners? I'm sam. You must be the new Imp that moved to that cures property” Sam introduced “Nice to meet you” I replied “the pleasure is mine. I have to meet the brave soul who bought that land” Sam replied “anyway, the main house is made from these crystals which were embedded in the structure to prevent evil from seeping through” Sam informed “why would anyone put these in the house” I asked “well i amit, that old bird should’ve done that a long time ago. It would save us a lot of newspapers..… but surely you know of the unexplained activity” Sam stated and I just nod “give me one second. Let me give you something” Sam said as he left for the back. After a little while he came back with a journal and a necklace “here take these, on the house” He said “whats the journal for” i asked “You’re going to write down each and every ghost on that property and report back to me. You make sure you wear that necklace everytime you leave the main house or they’ll start to make permanent attachments.” sam suggest “oh and i recommend you wear it outside the property too” sam adds and I put the necklace on “why is that” I asked and he ushered me to come close and her whispered “the only reason why I knew you lived in that place is because there was someone following you the whole time.that someone has been dead for a long time but now he’s standing and watching you from afar”