#maybe this is more just a note for myself. write the fucking moments grey.

[soulofapatrick]

Bleeding Hearts - Jasper Hale x Reader

Summary: Jasper finds you on the floor crying and bleeding and patches you up which leads to feelings being admitted

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: blood; cut otherwise fluff and a little angst

Notes: DW I’m still gonna be writing TLOU stories too

Y/N’s POV

I didn’t wanna go back to mine, the place feeling to cramped and closed off which I know would add to all the pent up frustration I’m currently feeling. It’s why I’ve ended up at the Cullen’s house, needing to be somewhere no one will judge me and hey maybe Jasper can use if freaky emotional control on me so I can stop feeling like I want to slam someones head into a table or scream. This week has been non-stop and I just need a fucking break, shoulders tense and heart racing as I let myself in, knowing they’ve got the fridge stocked for me to help myself to anything I want. 

I drop my rucksack with a hard thump, kicking my shoes off and throwing my jacket in the general direction of my bag before heading towards the fridge. I’m moving around the kitchen island too quickly as I feel my elbow connect with the  beautiful glass jar there and just watch it go crashing to the ground, realising a few expletives, “Ahhh! Fucking shitting fuck!” 

The sound of shattering glass grates against my ears as my frustration is turning into overstimulation, the frustration reaching a breaking point that I can’t deal with it anymore. The tears are welling up in my eyes as I sink to my knees to clean up the mess before any of the Cullens get home and see me in this state. It’s like I’m fighting a losing battle and everything is just falling apart around me, the frustration is just so overwhelming and I’m struggling to stop the tears as they stream down my cheeks rather embarrassingly. The Cullens don’t like to leave me home alone after what happened to Bella and Laurent when Bella was human. 

“Y/N?” My head flies up at the sound of a familiar southern drawl to see Jasper standing in the doorway. His usually golden eyes are a bright, almost glowing shade of red and his gaze is intense as they focus on my hands while his jaw pops audibly as if he’s trying to restrain himself. My hands are bleeding, the pain only registering with me as I see the fresh blood dripping down my palms and onto the floors, adding to the mess I’ve made with the jar. The frustration turns into hopelessness as I can’t even clean up without causing more problems, the world conspiring against me and hey, maybe Jasper could lose control and kill me. It’d be the least of my problems at the moment, “Leave the glass, I’ll clear it up. Let’s get you bandaged up.”

The honey blond vampire is swallowing thickly, as if swallowing his urge to give into the bloodlust, before he’s approaching me. He crosses the room in a few quick, human paced, steps to lean down and help me to my feet with his icy hand on my forearm. He’s leading me upstairs and down the very familiar hallway, past my room to the room at the end which is his. I don’t think I’ve actually been in his room in the year I’ve been friends with the Cullens. 

The walls are a soft grey colour, making me think back to him and Emmett running upstairs one day with cans of grey paint a few months into me knowing them all, and there’s a few painting on the walls. There’s photos around the room from different centuries he’s lived through. If I was in a better mood I think I would have laughed at it and teased him as it’s such an odd sense of humour and I like it. He also has a bed which surprises me as they’ve vampires, they don’t sleep. It’s large and comfortable with high quality linens and pillows, a cozy blanket draped at the foot of the bed and a few fuzzy pillows. He’s pushing me onto the bed, making me sit on the edge while he disappears to do whatever, I don’t mind as it gives me time to really take in every detail of his room. 

There’s a vintage dresser, looking like it has been carefully maintained and it just makes me think about how weird it must be to watch the world you were born into develop and change while you… you stay the same. It must be so scary and lonely, watching everything you knew change with only you knowing what it once was. 

Jasper’s returning, med kit in hand and I can feel my heart rate embarrassingly begin to race at the sight of him and I know he hears it as he’s got a small smile on his lips. He doesn’t say a word though, sitting next to me and raising an eyebrow as if to tell me to hold my hands out. I do just that, marvelling at how gentle and careful his touch is. His hands are cold and smooth against mine, the contract between us noticeable and somewhat soothing. 

Despite the stinging pain of the cuts the sensations of his touch is almost comforting and if find myself relaxing under his care. I can feel his fingers brushing against mine and there’s an undertone to intimacy in the way he tends to me. His touch almost hypnotic that I get lost in it, the tension almost palpable and I know he definitely feels it as he’s able to read emotions. I should be embarrassed about Jasper always being able to know exactly how I feel but right now I couldn’t care less because even without vampire abilities I can tell it’s reciprocated and the moment is a gentle one, just between us. 

He’s breaking the tension, southern drawl filled with heat and concern, “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s got you all worked up?” His eyes are fixed on mine, the red having disappeared so they’re that breathtaking golden colour again, like the colour of a sunset on a hot day. The concern in his tone is genuine and I think my heart jumps into my throat when he leans closer to me. 

“I-I really don’t know.” I reply softly, feeling stupid that I got so worked up over something that I don’t even know what it was. He’s leaning even closer, icy hands sliding up my shoulders around my shoulders as he pulls me into a hug that draws a sound of surprise from me. His embrace is warm and full of comfort despite how naturally icy cold his body is as it’s pressed to mine. The scent of the vanilla shampoo he uses on his wavy blond hair and the rich and musky scent that is just Jasper, makes me almost dizzy. 

Being so close to a vampire like this I feel completely safe and secure. His nose is buried in the crook of my neck and his cool breath against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Vampires have no need to breath but it just seems a force of habit for the Cullens as they’ve integrated themselves into mortal society. I know how hard this must be for him, controlling his bloodlust being so close to my jugular but I don’t feel scared in any way. The moment feels intimate and special, feeling an embarrassing surge of romantic attraction towards him as I want to stay in his arms forever. 

The small smile I feel against my neck lets me know he can sense my emotions and a gasp is ripped from my throat when those cold lips press to my neck before he’s pulling back. Those golden eyes have darkened a little, full of unmistakable desire and passion. My heart is trying to break through my ribcage when he moves his hands to my cheeks, pulling me forwards until those same lips are soft against mine. I’m caught off guard as I never though Jasper would actually make a move, given his reputation for not being able to control his lust of human blood yet, making the kiss somewhat overwhelming. 

The kiss is oh so gentle and calculated as if he’s holding back so he doesn’t hurt me, thumbs stroking my cheeks softly as my own fly to his chest, feeling the coolness of his skin and the hard muscles beneath his shirt. My whole body feels electrified, tingling with anticipation and a satisfaction that I’ve not felt kissing other boys. His lips are surprisingly soft and cool against mine, mouth opening slightly so he can slide his tongue over my bottom lip. I’m parting them for him, our tongues meeting and the passion intensifying in a flood of warmth and I’m sure if Jasper knows he’s using his powers or not as we lose ourselves in the moment. 

Hands move from my cheeks, one to grip my waist almost painfully and the other tangling in my hair as he tilts my head back to deepen the kiss even more. I’m pressing against his chest lightly and he loosens his grip on my hair so I pull back enough to gasp for air and he’s chuckles low and rich, southern drawl strong and going straight between my legs, “Sorry doll, I forgot you need to breathe.” 

“Jasper.” His name slips from my lips in a whine and his eyes darken even more, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He’s yanking me forwards again, lips crushing against mine and I’m melting into his embrace as I can feel how careful he’s being with me despite how much sexual tension and want there is between us. He’s shifting his body over me, the hands in my hair and on my back are laying me down. 

My body feels so alive with the comfortable weight of him above me as he moves his lips down my neck and sucking gentle hickeys into the skin. His lips trailing down my neck is a new sensation that has my hips raising and searching for some form of friction, drawing a low sound from him. It’s amazing, being able to finally express all these feelings I’ve had kept hidden for so long, letting his feel the love and want for him. My fingers running through his surprisingly soft hair, pulling him closer to me, wanting Jasper to be the only thing on my mind. 

Suddenly, a low sound escapes my lips and Jasper’s replying with a small laugh as his hand in my hair moves to cover my mouth as he whispers, “They’re back darlin’.” 

“Jazz,” I can’t stop the whine as he breaks away from me, letting me catch my breath and regain my composure before we go down and greet the rest of the Cullens. I feel so empty and longing and I don’t care if everyone hears with their vampire hearing when I grip the front of Jasper’s shirt and yank. It catches him off guard, a surprised sound rumbling in his throat as he tumbles on top of me again, arms catching himself before he hurts me, “Jazz.” 

“I know sweet girl, I know,” He coos softly, fingers brushing the stray strands away from my face, his gaze so loving it steals the air from my lungs and I’m flushing hot, “Come on, we gotta go talk to them.” 

“They can hear us.” I protest quietly and he’s chuckling fondly again, head falling to my shoulder. 

“There is glass and blood on the floor.” Jasper reminds me and I groan in protest but let him move away, watching him as he’s now standing beside the bed. His tall and lean figure towering over me and I should be scared but all I feel content. He runs a hand through his tousled blond hair, causing it to fall into a charmingly disheveled way across his forehead. His golden eyes are filled with tenderness and concern as he gazes down at me, taking in my flushed and flustered appearance, chiseled jaw set in a determined expression, as if he's ready to protect me from anything that might cause me harm. Despite his vampire nature, there is an undeniable warmth and humanity in his features that make you feel safe and loved.

He reaches down and helps me to my feet, placing a soft kiss to my forehead before holding my face in his hands and looking me in the eyes promising me he will always look out for me no matter what. A sense of comfort washes over me as he wraps me in a strong embrace that has me knows he means every single word and no matter what any of his family says he will always stay by my side. 

[randombush3]

But She’s A Stranger

florence pugh x footballer!reader

summary: originally titled ‘saved’, because that’s what you and this blonde woman seem to be doing for each other

words: 10048

warnings: none (😮)

notes: okay i know i said no more football fics, but i couldn’t help myself. i really couldn’t and you’re going to have to deal with that!

a few of my fav things about writing this include having to check flo’s instagram to see what hairstyle she’s had at what time, creating multiple timelines of club transfers to keep things consistent, and learning catalan! i speak spanish and quite a bit of french so it could have been worse. i also don’t explicitly say this (i think) but the reader played for wolfsburg when she was in germany.

January is fucking freezing. The wind is biting and it rains a lot, clouds lingering, having had to hide for Christmas. The days are grey and dark, trainings are hard, and you’re miserable about being stuck in England after spending a week in Cuba.

You walk down Portobello Road simply because your sister forced you to watch that Hugh Grant rom-com and you’ve got a bit of time before you need to get back to St. Albans. After exploring most of the main road, you stray into a side street, and then another… and another. Until you’re slightly lost (very lost) and in need of food.

Florence Pugh is having a peaceful cup of coffee to make her feel like she’s had a productive day.

Her head snaps to the door when the bell chimes. People don’t often come in here. You sort-of-stumble inside, first looking as if you’re going to walk right out, then settling.

While she is sitting at her usual table (the one in the corner, always with a tulip in the vase), you are aimlessly flitting from seat to seat, deciding on whether this place is worth your precious time. Something about the confusion in your eyes draws Flo in, try as she might to remain incognito. “It’s good,” is all she says, barely looking up from her book, not wanting to have the safety of anonymity stripped away. You glance at the pale blue ceramic mug sitting on her table, and walk to the counter.

“Please could I have whatever she has,” you tell the barista, who takes a moment to understand what you’ve said and then nods with a smug smile. She had been hoping someone would have a little coffee romance in her café.

“Would you like that to go?”

You check your watch.

Hòstia.

Maybe you got carried away on your adventure.

It’s 3.47pm.

Jonas requested everyone meet for team bowling at four, expecting most of you to have been eating lunch together anyway (as that usually happens on Saturdays with the Arsenal women’s football team). Even if you weren’t known to be the most punctual on the squad, getting to St. Albans for that time when it’s 3.47pm now is impossible.

You smile nervously at the woman serving you, and Flo is now intrigued as to why such a beautiful woman looks so terrified.

“Yeah, to go would be great, thanks.” She nods and you are left waiting there, foot tapping, time ticking, nowhere interesting to look other than into those green eyes peering at you from the other side of the room. “Could you… Could you make it quickly, please?”

Flo snorts.

Someone’s just invaded her little sanctuary and then told the barista to hurry up, and she can’t help but find the awkwardness fucking attractive. Like you’re some action in a tranquil day, a rain cloud in a blue sky.

Zach is going to be listening to a very long rant about this later.

It strikes her that you seem different to anyone else she has ever met, though she can barely say to have met you. The way you carry yourself with an air of importance but a dash of humility, the way an accent she can’t place curls around your words, the way you frown at your phone as you furiously type away text after text at the object of your frustration.

The way your eyes meet hers when you realise you’re being stared at.

Before she can defend herself, give you some bullshit about the wall behind you, the barista hands you your coffee. “Thank you,” you say, smiling, though it feels a little ingenuine considering the speed the words tumble out.

As you switch your phone off and reach out to the machine in front of you, the barista grimaces. “Our card machine is broken, sorry. It’s cash only.”

Well she didn’t mention that before.

You gave your last bits of cash to Jordan, having lost some stupid bet about how many of her shots you could save. She said you’d keep a clean sheet; you were humble and said she’d get one past you.

“Merda,” you mutter. Looking up at the barista, you reply, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t have any cash on me,” a little panicked and ready to risk it all by dashing out of the shop.

You and the barista exchange a helpless look. She needs the money, but you don’t have it. It’s frankly super awkward, and makes Flo squirm in her seat. She really has to put a stop to this, she can’t bear to watch you and the barista be struck dumb any longer.

She stands and walks over to you, “here,” handing the barista a fiver and trying her best to ignore how your jaw goes slack. Have you recognised her?

(No, you’re just wondering how it’s possible to be this attracted to a stranger.)

(Like, this is one of those moments when you truly are no better than a man.)

“Oh!” you exclaim, finding words again. “You don’t—”

“It’s okay,” she says calmly, though she feels anything but. You have eyes that seem to pierce through her. “You can just buy me—”

But whatever smooth remark she is about to make is plucked from her tongue and swallowed by an aggressively abnormal ringtone. It’s a new experience to be shut down by a duck quacking, and an unwelcome one too.

You grimace once again, finding that this supposedly simple detour has caused more chaos than £5.00 coffee is worth. The caller in question is Beth Mead, recently granted close-friend status after she found you mid panic attack in the gym having been overwhelmed by the watt bike, having to constantly use your third language, and the fact that Ona was being a little standoffish the last time you spoke (you were being dramatic — she hung up on you in favour of going clubbing with her own team). Beth won’t tell you this, but Jonas realised you were struggling in London at the start of the season and asked her to keep an eye on you.

Keeping an eye on you has, apparently, turned her into your mother.

“Where are you?” is what she greets you with, her annoyance drowning out the faint sounds of a bowling alley in the background. “You can’t skip mandatory team bonding.” After a pause, the woman on the other end of the line seems to soften. “Are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you sigh, glancing at the stranger who you are now in debt to. She’s retreated back to her table, accepting defeat, allowing the universe to quell her potential one-night-stand or more. “I’m in Notting Hill. I got distracted by a café, but I’ll be on my way shortly.”

“You’ll be here in an hour, then,” says Beth, unimpressed. “I’m telling Jonas that you got lost, it’ll save you a lecture.”

“Thank you.” You’re grateful for Beth. “I’ll call a taxi now.”

Florence looks at you dumbly. You spare her a concerned look, but then realise she may have been… No, that’s absurd.

“Thank you,” you say once more, this time directed at the blonde, the curve of your lips undeniably attractive and the glint in your eye even more so. Flo nods curtly, attempting to save face, and then forces her eyes back onto Dune. It’s far less interesting than that entire interaction, but what can she do?

The door of the café shuts with a little click, the bell chiming once more, but Flo refuses to watch you leave. That’s creepy, she tells herself.

In truth, as you get into the taxi pulled up outside, you glance back at her, wondering who she is. Why does she look familiar?

You’re seconds away from figuring it out, having a right old lesbian ponder in the car, when Beth pops her head through the abruptly opened car door. “Hola,” she tries, “estas aqui, finalmente.”

“Sí, estoy aqui,” you reply, grinning. She realises your smile might be slightly mocking, pride replaced with slight frustration. “You tried. I’m sure you will improve.”

“It’s not fair if I’m trying to make you more comfortable and you keep talking to me in English,” she groans, but you wave her off.

“I’m grateful, but I need to practice my English.” The pretty blonde woman is worth the struggle. Not that you’re going to talk to her anytime soon. Because you don’t have her number. Or know her name. So really this is all a fantasy, and you’re being a little wistful and probably very horny. Thinking about it, the last time you slept with someone was at least two months ago, and even then it wasn’t the most mind-blowing night of your life. It’s not like the pretty blonde woman is your soulmate.

- - -

She becomes a dream for about a month, something that maybe happened but has become somewhat a fantasy.

As usual, your mother nags you about needing to date someone every time you call her, but unlike previous times where you find it easy to protest and defend your independence (loneliness), you understand what she means.

It’s so fucking stupid that you’re obsessed with a stranger, but it’s the truth.

How embarrassing.

On the 27th February, you forgo playing against Liverpool in favour of attending a big fundraiser for a mental health charity; an event your brother has strongly encouraged you to go to.

You realise why when you get there.

The banner adorning the entrance to the venue clearly states who tonight’s host is: Tomàs L/n. There is the same picture of him plastered around the place; chest puffed out proudly, his Barcelona kit underneath a blazer. No wonder he was so mysterious about this thing. His lack of warning means you actually have to do little interviews, wondering if anyone really cares what you have to say.

“How do you feel about your brother’s recent increase in his involvement with this charity?” a reporter asks you, mic held to your face as if you have an opinion on this.

“I think it’s good,” you reply vaguely. “It’s good to support something you are passionate about.” You can’t say anything else because you haven’t been briefed by his (admittedly over-bearing) publicist.

“You’re missing a match for this, despite playing time being hard to get for goalkeepers. Is family more important to you than your career — seeing as you need the minutes to be selected for the upcoming Euros?”

An odd question, but okay.

Minutes are difficult, but you’ve been first choice all season. The Euros squad will be finalised in early June, though your agent is confident in your selection. “I think that supporting my family should always come first.” You smile. You’re on camera. “And it is a good cause.”

There’s a surge of movement behind you, shuffling and shouting, clamouring for attention. Cameras begin to flash excessively, and before you can turn around, your brother is beside you.

“Hi,” he greets the reporter, grinning with sparkling teeth and a glint in his eye. “Could I borrow her, thanks!” He places a hand on your shoulder and steers you further into the crowd until you reach a corner that isn’t deserted enough to draw attention to the two of you. It being towards the back of the venue makes it somewhere that feels less exposed than the edges nearing the press

“Fuck you,” you hiss in Catalan, happy to switch back to something natural now that you’re alone. “You’re such a dickhead.” He came all the way from Spain to host this event, but you suspect this isn’t the actual reason for his trip.

“Am not,” comes his indignant reply. You scoff, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous ensemble. “Oh, you don’t like the suit? Cèlia said the same. Dolce&Gabbana sent it.”

“Yeah, well, your wife and I are right. It’s awful.” It’s very… loud. Crimson with golden roses. “I’m getting a headache just looking at you.”

“No,” he waves off with a smirk, “that’s from hitting your head against the goalpost.”

“You saw that?” you ask, scrunching your nose up at the memory. You had saved the ball at the price of a few brain cells, luckily scraping a pass in the concussion test you were forced to sit through.

“I’ve started watching your games more,” he admits earnestly. “Barça want you back, you know. You could come home.”

So this is why he’s here.

“To not be played at all?” you retort, walls going right up.

“They’d be crazy to not put you in goal now, and it’s good to play with the national team in the league. That’s easier if you’re actually in the country.” National camps have been going just fine. “I mean, haven’t you had enough of hiding abroad?”

You think about it for a moment. “Not really, no.” An indignant scoff follows, and then, “I have been back, you know. I flew to Barcelona that one time — and then I got the train from there to Madrid.” Plus, your old teammates (and national teammates) go on enough holidays for you to scrape by nervously in Ibiza and Mallorca, and relax in countries further away.

“Y/n, she left the country four years ago. You couldn’t possibly run into her.”

“My chances of that are even smaller in England,” you state firmly. You spent three years in Germany and she still managed to find you twice, conveniently appearing in her stupid, American law firm’s Munich office.. Away from mainland Europe is a safer bet, surely. “Maybe you could copy me and transfer to Arsenal, just like you copied me when I got into the Barcelona academy.”

- - -

Florence hates events held by footballers.

She rarely goes, and doesn’t if avoidable, but the cause is a good one and her publicist wants the media to paint her as a passive advocate for mental health awareness. Nothing too abrasive, but a quiet reminder of her support. It’s quite clever, really.

Sulking in the corner, she sips her martini with a scowl, watching the crowd wearily. The invitees are not her type of people and most seem to have cleared out Dolce&Gabbana’s SALE rack. The guy in front of her is the perfect example, golden roses sprawling across the back of his crimson blazer.

Internally, she rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. This is unbelievable and won’t get interesting until the auction in two hours.

The man in front of her steps to the side slightly, revealing that he hasn’t been talking to himself but rather to someone who looks strangely familiar.

Your eyes meet hers and there’s a moment where you both go into mild panic mode. The recognition in your stare quickly turns into desperation as your mouth moves rapidly to reply to your brother’s opinions. Florence doesn’t understand the conversation at all, but realises she’s being asked for help.

The confidence people see in her usually isn’t real, but she squares her shoulders and walks up to you and the man.

“There you are!” She’s an actress for a reason. “I was just about to get another drink — I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

Your brother’s eyes narrow.

She slips an arm around your waist, hiding any shock about your muscular form, pretending she knows your name. You lean into her.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Flo has half a mind to send him a glare, but you do it for her. “Tomàs, no hi tonaré.”

The venom in your tone does something to Flo’s blood pressure. It’s sort of… sexy.

“What was that about?” she asks once you’re by the bar, snapping you out of a moody trance.

“My brother?” Your brother is Tomàs L/n. Interesting. (If Flo knew the first thing about the football world, she’d have realised who you were by now, but she doesn’t and so you remain nameless.) “He was being stupid. It doesn’t matter now. Thank you for saving me.”

She finds that she would’ve done it again in a heartbeat, which is a little weird considering she doesn’t know who you are. Flo secretly decides to chalk that one down to having just gotten out of a long-term relationship and needing someone to latch onto.

“No problem,” she replies with a smile. “I believe you owe me a drink…”

You smile. “Two martinis, please.” The bartender nods, looking exasperated by the demands of the overflowing bar.

“That’s my favourite,” Flo says — sort of whispers — as she bashfully looks away. The faint blush creeping up her neck and cheeks is hidden well enough by the blue lighting of the place. “How was your coffee?”

For a moment, you look at her blankly and her heart drops with embarrassment. Then, you let out a little laugh.

“I didn’t drink it. It spilled all over me in the taxi!”

“All that stress for nothing, huh?”

Not nothing, you think, but you’re not brave enough to tell her that. “I was recently introduced to Café Nero, and that tastes the most—”

“No!” Flo explains, pressing her hand to her heart. “That’s unacceptable.” You shake your head, laughing more, and she wants nothing but to hear it on repeat for the rest of her life.

“British coffee is unacceptable,” you answer, rolling your eyes. “But I found this place called Reinetta the other day. Very Spanish, very brilliant.”

“Are you from Spain?”

What a genius.

Your incredulous look quickly goes when you realise she’s serious.

“Yeah!” She notices how your smile grows wider but your eyes become a little haunted. “Hablo español,” you say with a smirk, sending her a superfluous wink.

And, if the bartender hadn’t interrupted by serving you your drinks, you would be well aware of how red she goes.

She takes a sip, groaning in appreciation. “This is a good—” She turns around suddenly, squinting at the woman waving at her in the crowd looking furious. “Fuck, I can’t believe I forgot. I’ve got to go.” You catch sight of the person she’s looking at; a stern-faced publicist wading her way through the mass of people to get to her client. In a last ditch attempt of actually getting to know you, she throws out, “you should totally show me this Spanish coffee place,” and rushes off to meet her publicist.

You stand stock-still. Stunned. Oh, that definitely gave you goosebumps.

The rest of your evening is mostly passive aggressive. With hardly anyone else to talk to, you end up hovering in whatever conversation circle your brother is in.

At the soonest possible moment, you leave and join the late-night recovery dinner at Beth’s house, earning wolf-whistles from everyone as you bundle through the door in your formal attire. Beth tells you to change almost immediately, throwing you a t-shirt and jog pants. “Recovery is all about wearing pyjamas,” she says, matter-of-fact. “And eating.”

“What have you made?”

She gives you a wry grin. “Come find out.”

The girls are sitting around her table, eagerly awaiting your arrival so they can tuck in. Jordan, Katie, Jen, Steph, and (surprisingly) Viv are all eyeing the food like starving wolves would look at a herd of sheep. It smells good and familiar and like Beth has kidnapped your abuela and chained her to a paella pan…?

You seem to fill with energy at the sight of the dish, and Katie announces she’s done being patient, spooning a hefty portion onto her plate and prompting Steph to do the same. They begin eating while you remain a little taken aback.

Beth nudges you. “I called Less and practically begged her to give me Ona’s number last week, sending her a text once I got it — to which your friend took bloody ages to reply. And then she was very difficult about when she could FaceTime, so when we eventually could I ended up making a mini version of her paella and memorising the recipe.” Her rambling is nervous. “But I sent her a picture of this one and she said it looked delicious.”

“Déu n’hi do, it looks delicious,” you agree, sitting down as quickly as possible and piling some onto your plate. Mouth now full, you continue, “it tastes like my mother’s cooking! It’s great, Beth, really.”

“She can cook,” Katie proclaims proudly, directing her statement at Viv; you think, for a moment, that she is going to list all of her positive qualities. Your eyes narrow and Beth shoots you a look that says ‘later’. “Y/n, can you cook?”

You almost choke on a prawn. “I can make pesto pasta. That’s it.”

Jen’s jaw drops. “You’ve only been eating pesto pasta this season?!” she asks, sounding scared.

“Yes, because I chose a club without Ona.” At Wolfsburg, you didn’t live on your own. Here you do. “I don’t mind. But Beth might have to make this weekly.”

“Absolutely not. This drained me more than any game of football ever could.” Beth motions at everyone to keep on eating, feeling accomplished that the meal is good. “Katie scored twice today.”

“Did you now?” She nods her head very proudly. “I bet I could’ve scored today.”

The laughter turns into silence as you eat contently, something that is broken when Jen goes, “where were you?”

The thought of having to talk about it causes you to grip your fork tighter, earning Beth’s hand on your shoulder. “Some charity event, right?” she replies for you. “Tomàs hosted it.”

“He came from Spain?”

“Yes,” you answer, and the girls hear how badly you don’t want to talk about this.

No one here knows exactly what happened, but when you abruptly transferred from Barcelona to Wolfsburg four years ago, you allegedly haven’t been back to Barcelona for longer than a day. Ona was saying to Beth the other day that with some convincing you can be persuaded to Ibiza (you’re about to be invited to two trips to the Balearic Islands), but anything on the mainland is strictly business — camps, games, the like.

Everyone has their theories, but Katie and Jenny think something happened between you and your brother. It’s not like you didn’t say outright in an interview that you have had a far better career than him despite being younger, yet he’s the one being paid €12 million a year.

“Guess what Ruesha fucking did yesterday,” Katie changes the topic.

Everyone groans.

“No one cares, Katie. Like I couldn’t care less.” Beth bites her lip to not laugh at Jen’s words. “Y/n, what’s happening in your love life? Got a girl, boy, cat?”

Feeling a bit like a deer caught in headlights, you look up from your plate. “I met a girl in a coffee shop in January. She was pretty.” You wonder how her interviews went. “I saw her today, actually. But I don’t date so—”

“You don’t date?” Steph asks, eyes widened a little.

“Yeah, because, like, it’s hard… with football.” They look at you like you’re a dog tearing apart a slipper: so unbelievably unimpressed. “Because it’s time consuming?”

In reality, you don’t date because your ex is the reason you can’t even be in mainland Europe, but they do not have to know that.

“So what’s this girl’s name and how did you go out with her if you were at an event?” Beth asks and it sounds a bit too much like a police interrogation for you to feel comfortable.

You shift your weight in your seat.

“I don’t know. She was just there.”

- - -

It’s the middle of March when you’re back in Notting Hill. With training sessions left, right, and centre, you’d been pretty much confined to St. Alban’s and Beth’s house for social activity. Today is a rare day-off, coincidentally aligning with both Manchester United’s schedule and Manchester City’s. Ona has dragged Leila, Laia, and Vicky down to London to see you.

“I can’t believe we had to come to you,” is the first thing Vicky says when you meet them at Euston.

“Wow, not even a ‘hello’,” you say back. “Come on, we’re going to a market.”

They roll their eyes. All of them. At the same time.

You wonder why you ever missed them.

Laia is the only one interested in Portobello, darting from stall to stall to another, excitedly giving you a rundown on her life while she does. Leila is hungry, and ruthlessly cuts her off.

“We get it. You felt sad for a week. I need coffee, Y/n, take me to a coffee shop.”

“It was more than sad,” Laia protests, but acquiesces to the group’s change of plans.

You lead them to the place you found in January — maybe this time you’ll actually get to try the coffee. But on the way there, Laia finds a mildly creepy clothes shop and manages to herd you inside. She flings clothes at the girls, while glaring at you for flirting with the shop assistant instead of letting the woman do her job and help.

You’re halfway to getting her number when there’s a commotion outside and the mood lighting of the shop is ruined by bright camera flashes.

For a moment, you wonder if they’re for you. People could have thought your brother was here, and the paparazzi love him.

But there’s something familiar about the voice shouting at them to back off; the rasp, the accent. Curiously, you look out of the window.

It’s her.

With brown hair?

Flo catches your eye immediately, and it doesn’t take much thinking for you to dash out of the shop to grab her hand and pull her inside.

The paparazzi have no choice but to crowd around the window, except none of their shots will turn out well once the shop assistant closes the blinds.

“Gracias,” Flo pants, out of breath.

Leila’s eyebrows shoot right up, closely followed by the rest of the girls. “Y/n, that’s Florence Pugh,” she blurts, thankfully in Spanish.

“Y/n?” Flo tries. Now she knows your name and her stomach feels settled with endearance. Your name suits you. “Thank you for saving me. I needed it.”

“I owed you,” comes your reply as you shrug.

“Y/n saves things for a living!” Ona butts in.

(Is she sabotaging you or being your wingwoman?)

There’s a tense silence, of which no one knows what to fill it with, until the shop assistant opens the blinds and informs Flo that the coast is clear. It takes that statement then to be repeated to snap you and Flo out of the mildly creepy eye contact you’re sharing, but once it does she can’t seem to look at you again.

She inhales and resets herself. “Right. I’ll be off. Things to do, people to see.”

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to feel embarrassed in front of your friends’ keen and watchful eyes. “Yes, yeah. Bye.”

“Bye, Y/n.”

With that, you let the woman you’ve been thinking about for months walk away, out of the shop, and down the street. You give yourself an internal kick for lacking the game you know you have in three other languages, but rub it better because now you know her name.

Florence Pugh. Like the actress from that creepy cult film Obi was obsessed with. And the girl from that Marvel movie.

You pause.

“The actress Florence Pugh?” Your question has Leila shoving her Wikipedia in your face. British actress, born in Oxford on 3rd January 1996. Florence Rose Pugh. Maybe you’d heard someone call her Flo before? “Oh, this is the girl I’ve been meaning to tell you about.”

“The girl with no name is Florence fucking Pugh?” Leila shrieks, hands on your shoulders, shaking you. “You know I love Marvel!”

“Sorry,” you chuckle, amused by her overreaction.

Vicky catches your eye, looking like she wants to say something.

Laia does it for her.

“You need to learn how to flirt in English, because that was atrocious.”

You glare at them both. Partly because it’s true.

“The Y/n who fucked four women in a week at the grand old age of eighteen did not just say — no, splutter — ‘yes, yeah, bye’ because she was looking at a pretty girl,” Vicky adds, smugly. “We have finally found the language barrier between Y/n and sex! Round of applause please!”

“Alright, alright,” Ona says, coming to the rescue. “Stop teasing her when she looks like a lovesick puppy.”

Fuck you too, Ona.

“Florence Pugh is practically a stranger.” You look at Leila, “we are not getting married.” You look at Vicky, “she is not being invited to dinner tonight.” You look at Laia, “she will not be upgrading your train tickets to first class.” And finally, you look at Señorita Ona Battle; the woman who has been your closest friend for years. “I am not in love.”

“I’m sure she’s in love too,” Ona says, pushing it.

“But she’s a stranger!”

Your friends are delusional because you’ve been over it in your head millions of times, clinging onto the shreds of interaction, and you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve met the woman. Florence Pugh can possibly be categorised as a celebrity crush at best. What Ona is talking about is way too serious.

- - -

Flo is certain that Ibiza is a good idea. Or so she tells herself.

And, well, Harris tells her.

He thinks she’s been in a bit of a slump since she and Zach broke up. While Flo can barely talk about it without wanting to cry, she mourns the loss in a very vocal manner to her closest friends. She misses him quite a bit.

Harris allows her a month of moaning before putting his foot down; vetoing Flo not joining them in Ibiza because she is sad. “You’re single, you’re hot, and you’re one of the most sought-after actresses and you don’t want to go on a hot-girl vacation…?” His puzzlement is almost comical when he asks. “It’s for my birthday, babe. You can’t not come.”

Her valid apprehension is quelled with the promise of lots of alcohol and sun, and so this is how she ends up on the Spanish island. Harris calls this a ‘come-back curve’ — when you let loose again after being in a long-term relationship.

It’s fun, really. The beach, the time with friends, the drinking. This is the kind of life she had coveted during her youth; the one most believe comes with the fame. When there aren’t any cameras in her face, she feels at peace with her situation.

(Is this what getting over someone feels like?)

Except for one, tiny problem.

Whenever Will drags them all to a nightclub and pumps her full of vodka, she manages to avoid the gaze of every pair of eyes looking for someone to sleep with. Usually, Flo after ten vodka shots would be on top of someone or on her way out, but the days go by and she can’t help but cockblock herself.

She racks her brains to figure out the cause, the reason, but there is nothing in it apart from the echo of your laughter and the sound of you speaking Spanish. She closes her eyes and she can picture you, clear as day, grinning right back at her. She is not okay with it.

Obviously.

Despite the idea of you throwing her off her game, she is still easily convinced to venture out to nightclubs. Leading her here.

Paraíso.

It’s sticky inside; surfaces, people, floor. And packed. Bodies pressed to other bodies, hair trapped, shouting, screaming, singing.

For an already drunk group of people, it’s perfect.

Crammed into a booth in the heart of the club, Flo and her friends do two rounds of lemon drops, the sugar going everywhere. When her nose scrunches at the bitter taste of the rind, Harris snaps a picture, says he’ll post it later.

Good, she thinks. Maybe you will see her having fun.

If one was to ask, and Flo decided not to lie, it would be revealed that she has spent every night this week making her way through articles about you. Your Instagram didn’t take long to find, nor to scroll through, but it saddens her slightly to discover how little people write about you, and how much they write about your brother.

She is dignified enough to refrain from scouring your Wikipedia page.

Funnily enough, you have been doing the same, though the material to get through is significantly more substantial. Mapi has taken to calling it your ‘bedtime reading’, prompting you to announce very loudly to every guest sitting in your family villa in Ibiza that you own the place.

Well, your dad does. (Same thing though.)

Housed in said villa are Mapi and Ingrid, Ona, Laia, Leila, Patri, and Pina. Beth, Jordan, Leah and a few of their England teammates have come along too, staying in a boutique hotel not far away; about a fifteen minute walk. The groups merged very quickly after a bottle of wine.

As you get further into the holiday, you dive deeper into Florence Pugh’s digital footprint, and everyone else is very over it.

“This obsession isn’t cute,” Patri teases, snatching your phone as you spread out on the sofa. “But Leila wanted me to let you know that Florence Pugh is in Ibiza.” Your heart clenches hard; this could be a heart attack. “Oh, and we’re all going out tonight. England girls and us lot. Ingrid is also banning Spanish in case they think we’re talking about them, Pina broke the shower on the third floor, and Laia has fed that stray cat so much that it is now curled up in her bed.”

You glare.

Many of those things are so unbelievably far from ideal.

Patri raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

In time, you wish you had and that your evening was being wasted away in jail, because this place is loud and busy and it is far from acceptable for you to go back to internet-stalking Florence Pugh around such interesting company.

The England girls have chosen a club called Paraíso, though you wouldn’t have known from the way they pronounced it. Most of them are dancing, but Beth, cheeks flushed from a few vodka sodas, has sat next to you in the booth, looking like she’s about to pour her heart out.

You turn to her. “Go on, then. Tell me about you and Viv.” And she grins like that’s the best thing she’s ever heard, launching you into a timeline of events that have you feeling disappointed in yourself about your situation.

If it all hadn’t been ruined, you could have been able to reciprocate the conversation.

It’s a bit like a knife to the stomach to be reminded of something you don’t have.

Eventually, Beth is finished, eyes shining because she is so happy with her and you are so supportive of it. She cares what you think, and is glad you approve.

“I’m going to get a drink,” you say, deciding there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make you feel better but that you can at least try. Beth nods and finds the others on the dance floor.

The bar is well staffed, and it takes all of two minutes for you to place an order of three Jägerbombs. All for you, but you hesitate to tell the bartender that.

Someone brushes your arm and your stomach drops to the floor.

“Hi,” she says, practically sparkling under the club lighting.

This is why you don’t come home. Fucking hell.

“¿Inglés?” you question, raising an eyebrow. Adela used to hate having to learn the language.

“Vivo en Nueva York en la actualidad.”

Tomàs was right. She doesn’t live in Spain anymore. So why is she here? Why is she in the last slice of your home country you can be persuaded to let loose in? Why does she have to ruin everything?

Though time feels frozen, someone else has placed their hand on your waist. You tense as you turn around, but hope Adela doesn’t see it.

When you realise it’s Florence Pugh, you are very close to running away to Australia in search of complete isolation.

“Hey, babe,” Florence drawls casually. She’s an actress, you remind yourself. Improvisation is a skill she’ll be great at. “You alright?” Her hand squeezes your waist in reassurance.

Flo’s hair is blonde again. It looks nice.

“Yeah,” you breathe, feeling a heat pulse through your body. “Just waiting on some Jägerbombs.”

Flo stands her ground. She wants to wait with you. She doesn’t want to leave you alone with the beautiful woman who’s got you on edge.

Is it wrong to feel protective over a stranger?

(Neither of you feel like such — a consequence of extreme internet-stalking on both ends.)

“¿Tu novia?” Adela asks. You smirk at the flash of jealousy in her eyes. “Pensé que estabas follando a todos a la vista como siempre.”

“No, es mi novia. ¿Tienes un problema con eso?” She shakes her head. “Bueno.”

“Sí.” She looks Flo dead in the eyes. “Adiós.”

The two of you let the silence take over, both aware of how she’s still got her hand on your waist, now with her body pressed up against yours.

“Your ex?” Flo asks, praying it doesn’t sound hopeful. There’s no way you’re not into women, right?

“Yeah,” you answer miserably.

She adjusts herself so that you’re now facing each other, but it only aids you both in feeling a little turned on. Seeing the other looking just as flustered does nothing to quell the possibility of where this night is going.

“Want to get out of here?”

She grins. You take that as a yes.

Her hands are sweaty as they cling to yours, but the club is packed now and she’d get lost if she didn’t hold on. Getting outside is like a rebirth, fresh air washing away the grime and a soft breeze cooling her down. That is until you look at her, biting your bottom lip.

“You can if you want,” she whispers as you sort of back yourselves into the alley beside the building. You place your hands firmly on her waist.

You smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And with that you close the space between you, pressing your lips against hers and a hand against the wall to support you both. She kisses back desperately, opening her mouth, clashing her teeth on yours. Her hands run up your back, wrapping around your neck.

You make out for a while, before she pulls away.

“I’ll call a taxi to my hotel.” She gives you the opportunity to text Ona.

You: no volveré esta noche

You’re about to tell your friend where the spare keys to your villa are, before Flo kisses you again, capturing your attention in order to direct you to the taxi.

From there, it’s a downhill slope of ripped clothing, walking into things, and being fucked into oblivion.

The morning comes brightly, unforgiving of any hangovers.

Her suite is really nice, but is partially destroyed by last night’s storm of a hookup. The sofa cushions litter the living area’s floor when you try to find her.

She is sitting on the sofa, hair wet, lazily watching the TV. As you laugh at the program, she snaps out of her brood.

“Do you understand what they’re saying?” you ask through your giggles. It’s a pretty crass show to have on at 10am.

“No,” she sheepishly replies. Her eyes tear from the screen to focus on you, examining your body from head to toe, resulting in a frown. “I went out and bought you something to wear.” She directs your attention to a shopping bag on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to.”

“It was nothing, really.”

You pause.

She looks beautiful. You wish you hadn’t been so drunk. Now all this will be is a one-night stand.

“I’ve got to go. I thought I texted my friend where the spare keys were but I didn't, so they've all crashed at our friends’ hotel, and they’re not happy about it.” Flo laughs, recalling giving you enough time to let everyone know of your changed plans. Maybe you were too caught up in staring at her.

“No worries,” she says easily. “I’m headed to breakfast, but feel free to use the bathroom to clean up.”

There’s a stagnant silence.

Neither of you are going to further this interaction. Alright.

It will be fine. She’s less of a stranger now, and no interview could ever inform you on what your name sounds like as she moans it over and over again.

You tell yourself this again as you approach the England girls’ hotel, bar the last bit. (Though it does remind you of the game you once had.)

Everybody is waiting for you in the small restaurant, the group practically filling the space. There are many colourful words, both in Spanish and Catalan, being muttered as you walk in.

It’s fair for them to feel irritated, and you did leave as soon as possible to allow them back in. You probably would have slept in that expensive hotel bed for the rest of the day if Pina’s seventh phone call hadn’t awoken you.

“You are unbelievable,” is the first thing Mapi says, ignoring the questioning looks from the English girls. None of them speak Spanish, though you’ve heard that Lucy is learning. “Where were you? Pina says she saw Adela as soon as we walked in, and was about to go looking for you to get you out of there.”

“Well Pina didn’t do that,” you reply, folding your arms. Clàudia looks away guiltily. “And I spoke to Adela.”

“So you have a run-in with her and you take off? As if the years haven’t made a difference? As if you’re not over her?”

You clench your fists. “No, I was with a girl.”

“Which girl?” Ona excitedly interjects. “Do we know her?”

“Yeah,” you say, but intend to give them nothing else. “I just came back from her hotel. Would you like to get back to the villa or not?”

“Y/n, you’re such a dickhead.”

Beth asks for a translation.

Before you can omit the parts you don’t want her to hear, the whole of the group is made aware of what you got up to last night. Patri skips over the background information about Adela once she catches the way you are looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be long gone by now.

The conversation evolves naturally into something more general, until everyone is gathering their things and leaving the hotel to walk to your place. With a group of fifteen, the pavement is cramped, meaning Ona and you pull ahead.

She nudges you when you go quiet for a bit.

“So…” Ona begins, smirking. “Tell me about your night.”

“My night was too scandalous for Onita to handle,” you tease, ultimately avoiding the question. Her eyes narrow and she grabs your wrist to stop you from crossing the road. “I’m not going to run away.”

“But you love running away!”

You sigh. “My night was good, Ona. Really good.”

Ona is clever enough to piece together a story in her head. Adela has a way of disrupting the flow of your life, and a certain someone is in town.

“Fucking hell, Y/n. You slept with Florence Pugh?!” she exclaims.

“Keep your voice down,” you say loudly, shaking your head as to not let the others know. “It was a one-time thing. A mistake.”

She studies your expression, realising how your regret was easily confused for sternness earlier. “You wanted it.”

“It’s a celebrity crush!”

“Not if you’ve actually met her. Then it’s just a crush.”

“You’re just a crush,” you retort. Ona bursts out laughing.

“You slept with your crush and it’s a mistake because she thinks it’s a one-night stand.” Your friend shakes her head in disbelief. “Now I remember why we stopped talking about your love life. It’s chaos!”

Technically, it’s because your love life went very dry once you reached Germany, but you laugh along with Ona because she’s right.

Your hushed Spanish is safe from the ears of the others, but when you lay your phone on the kitchen worktop in the villa, Beth notices two Instagram notifications.

@florencepugh has started following you.

And a DM.

+44 7701 923892 xx

Flo throws her phone across the room once she clicks send, and hides under the covers from a cackling huddle of her best friends.

- - -

Somehow, you are persuaded to cancel your flight to Gatwick and follow the girls to Barcelona. Now that Adela herself has told you she isn’t in your home city anymore, maybe you can visit for longer than five hours again.

When you knock on the door of your family home, you’re tackled to the ground by your mother. Though you didn’t go radio silent on them, the only time they really get to see you is when you’re playing a home game for the national team. Even then, it isn’t guaranteed.

“You’re home?” she asks, pinching your arm to see if you’re real. “My baby was driven out of the country by some stupid girl, so is this stupid girl dead or…”

“Mamá!” You frown and step past her to get inside. It smells like your little sister has found out what incense sticks are and burnt them everywhere. “I thought I’d visit before the Euros. I was in Ibiza anyway.”

“I know,” she says matter-of-factly, making your stomach turn with guilt. “Eva showed me how to work the Instagram.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you checked.”

She smiles softly and it feels like everything you have been missing has always been here.

“Of course I check to see what you’re up to. Wherever you are. Especially since you stopped calling as much.” You shake your head as if it will make it better. You’ve been busy in a new country. You assumed having Eva and Tomàs was enough to keep her hands full. She seems to read your mind. “While your brother and sister are a lot, I’ve missed you.”

You’re suddenly fighting back tears.

“I’ve missed you too, Mamá.”

She pulls you into a calmer, firmer hug. The moment is ruined when Eva comes charging down the stairs, screaming at the sight of you.

The last time you saw her in person was when the Barça academy took her team on tour to Germany last year, but she’s acting as if you’ve come back from the dead.

She alerts the attention of everyone else in the house, meaning your grandma and dad flock to the kitchen, dropping whatever they’re doing. You can hardly blame them. You must have become a myth.

Plans are quickly made to go out to the usual spot for dinner with Tomàs and his family. Your older brother has a wife and three children that you never actually see. You haven’t met his youngest because he was born just before the pandemic started (as if you’d have visited anyway).

With that, you are integrated back into your old life.

You dust off your motorbike from the garage and go on rides through your city, watching the sunset from the rooftop of your friend’s old apartment building with Eva. She tells you about how her football is going; how everyone thinks it’s odd she plays neither in goal nor as a striker.

Growing up, you were forced to save Tomàs’ incessant (but increasingly more accurate) shots, meaning you’d had a fair amount of goalkeeping experience by the time your dad put you onto the football team he coached. You played what you knew. Tomàs hated being on the same team as you, but it didn’t last long when you were scouted and put in Barça’s academy. He followed soon after.

Eva, however, decided to stay away from her older brother and sister’s constant practice. She ended up on your dad’s football team too, scouted again by Barça, her name written down like you and Tomàs had done before her. At seventeen, she might be on track to be signing for the senior team next season. You promise to get the girls round and introduce her to them.

In turn, you tell your sister about the woman you keep on running into. How her eyes looked more grey in January than they did in May. How she makes you nervous, makes you forget how to do things. How you slept together five days before you arrived home.

You have her number, and you show your little sister. She begs you to call it, but you quietly admit you’re scared. She leaves you to move at your own pace, even if she finds it painfully slow.

As the days go by, you become Eva’s chauffeur. She finds it exciting to be driven about on your motorbike, and you have nothing to do but wait for the final Euros squads to be announced.

Your little sister often has places to be. Today it’s The Museu Picasso. Apparently, she’s ‘cultured’ and ‘sophisticated’ and will be getting high as a kite before entry. Makes the experience better.

As you weave through taxis and try not to run over any tourists, a certain blonde catches your eye. She sits dejectedly on a bench with her phone held loosely in her hand. You pull over without a second thought.

“Lost?” you tease, taking off your helmet. Florence startles and almost drops her phone, before coming to her senses and recognising you.

“Very,” she sighs. “My driver cancelled and I’m stranded.”

“Need a ride? She’s getting off here anyway.” You nod to Eva, who is looking affronted by the suggestion of that.

“Jo sóc?”

“Sí, Eva.” She stares at you blankly. “Baixes de la puta moto.”

“Ah. Aquesta és ella.”

You hum in confirmation. “Ara aneu a escampar la boira.”

Flo watches the conversation trying not to blush. The Catalan might be sexier than the Spanish.

After a second of rebellion, Eva gives in and gets off the bike, thrusting her helmet into your stomach bitterly. The museum really isn’t far away — about a ten minute walk — but it’s the principle. What happened to sisterhood?

You get off as well, unsure of whether Flo knows how to get on. She does, thankfully, meaning you don’t have to fumble your way through that. Dodged a bullet there.

At first she keeps her arms loosely wrapped around you, awkwardly holding on. When you speed up, she squeezes you tighter. If she hadn’t squeezed tighter and pulled you out of thought, you’d have been pancaked by an oncoming lorry (they’re memories — it makes it worse).

“Where am I taking you?” you ask, shouting to be heard.

“Coffee!” she replies, amusement audible. “There’s this woman I like who owes me one!”

You pretend you didn’t hear her second sentence, focusing on the road in front of you instead.

Florence relaxes quickly, enjoying the way the people change from tourists to locals; the buildings become more homely and less commercial. Barcelona is beautiful. Your eyes are brighter than when she last looked in them.

The coffee shop you take her to is the one you’ve been going to for years, though the colour scheme has changed from blue to red since the last time you came. The staff are fresh-faced and young, but the manager pulls you into a hug immediately. Flo hangs back, feeling like an elephant among the mice. She doesn’t understand what you say, and takes a minute to realise you want to know her order. Even then, she’s uncomfortable with reading anything off the menu and shrugs.

The manager, Pablo, is the son of the owner, and has worked here longer than you’ve been alive. When you first sat down for a coffee fifteen years ago, exhausted from a 10k run, he gave you a free biscuit on the side. You’ve been close ever since.

Naturally he asks who Flo is. Why is she here?

You can only shrug, say she’s a friend, and deal with his unconvinced expression.

Sitting opposite her on a wobbly table starts the first conversation you have intentionally had. One not tainted by alcohol or put in place to distract from an unwanted discussion. It’s now not a failsafe or emergency, but something you want to happen. It’s weird.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I was a lot more panicked than I looked.”

You laugh. “You looked pretty panicked.”

“New city. Haven’t had a chance to get my bearings.” You wonder why she’s here. What do actresses do for fun? Would Florence go to a museum? “My flight got in yesterday, so it’s really new.”

“This is where I grew up.” She figured as such.

“I went to one of your games, you know,” she blurts. “The last one of the season. My friend was looking to invest, and I only put the pieces together once I saw you from the stands.”

“So you don’t know who Tomàs is?” She shakes her head and you look at her with horror. “Do you not like football?” you ask, eyes wide.

“Do you like musicals?”

“Touché.”

The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a smile. “French as well?”

“My talents don’t extend that far.” Innuendo settles in your words. Oh, she knows exactly where your talents lie. “In Ibiza…”

“Who was she?”

“An ex-girlfriend.” She raises her eyebrows. “The ex-girlfriend.”

“We all have one of those,” Flo says with a sly smile. “Mine got me kicked out of the school choir when I was fifteen. Yours?”

Your leg shakes anxiously. There is something so incredibly unfair about having to feel so horrible every time she’s brought up. As if she feels the same way. Your life was the one that was obliterated; the collateral damage.

Flo listens carefully when you talk about signing for Barça’s senior team and moving out. About the lifestyle you adopted from your brother; the parties and the drinking and the constant meaningless sex. And then, when you tell her that Adela seemed so mature, that she had her own place that was quiet, she actually understands. Zach felt like that. An example, a teacher. Someone who was safe and quiet and knew what they were doing.

You would sit quietly in Adela’s little flat while she did her work for her law degree, unwinding and relaxing. She’d stroke your hair and do yoga with you after rough games.

But Adela got tired of it. She was sick of always coming home to either an empty flat or you being exhausted, and she couldn’t handle how much she had to put her own life on hold because of your football. She had been offered a training contract at a big American law firm’s Spanish branch, which would require her to move to Madrid and work like a dog.

She said you were holding her back.

It was the most heartbreaking thing you ever had to do, because she gave you a choice: her or football. And you chose football. But you loved her a lot, and her leaving was like losing your favourite teddy. You became stuck in a dark place; you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Barça became concerned by your playing standard and you were replaced by another keeper. When the transfer window came, you ran off to Germany without so much as a goodbye to Barcelona and hoped to never have to run into Adela again.

“Good thing she now thinks you’ve got a super sexy, hot, famous new girlfriend,” Flo jokes when you finish, attempting to diffuse the tension.

It only adds to it.

“Did Ibiza mean anything to you?” you ask quietly, nervously. She catches your eyes and holds them, trying to make you feel better. Safer. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months,” she confesses, almost a whisper. “Before I even knew your name.”

“I should have called.”

“No, it’s okay. That was very bold of me.” She took a shot before sending it. “I’m not in Barcelona very long, but I have a hotel room and my hotel room has wine. And a—”

“Do we need a bed?” Your wink makes her cross her legs. “First, let me introduce myself, yeah? So we’re not strangers.” She nods. “I’m Y/n, and I saw you in that overpriced coffee shop in Notting Hill.” Pablo pretends to not be listening.

“Hola,” she tries valiantly. “Soy Florence. Call me Flo. Um, that’s the extent of my Spanish.”

“It was good,” you lie. She hits your arm lightly. “No, really! I’m sure you’ll learn some.”

“Oh, I did.” Her smirk is unsettling. “Dámelo más duro,” she moans, imitating you.

Your blush makes your face feel like it is on fire.

“We have got to leave this place right now, oh my god.” She gladly stands. You hand Pablo €20 because you’re not focused on how much money this will cost you. “You’ve got to never do that again. Especially not on the motorcycle. I’ll crash.”

“Yeah, I noticed how you nearly killed us earlier.” You don’t get to make a witty comeback, because she firmly plants her hands on your waist and kisses you hard.

Your heart soars.

- - -

It has taken six months for you and the mystery blonde woman to go on a date, but it’s perfect. You eat out at an Italian place, followed by a different kind of eating out later into the night.

On the 15th June the national team for the Euros is confirmed, she is at your family home, halfway through helping your mother to prepare lunch. The whole family swarm the kitchen to congratulate you on being the first choice of goalkeeper. They couldn’t be prouder.

When you kiss her in front of most of the crowd at the last game of the group stages, she has to wipe away your tears. While everyone else appreciates the effort of your clean sheet, your teammates are thankful you’ve found someone. They knew you seemed different the whole tournament.

Obviously, the quarter-finals are conflicting for Flo. She dons an England shirt, but while her friends seek out their Lionesses afterwards (famous people always think sports teams want to see them), she searches for you instead. You sob into her embrace and she knows how stressful the tournament has been for the whole squad. She supports you fully when you and fifteen other Spanish players email the Football Federation with complaints of the manager.

In September, she’s thrown into the middle of the current hottest scandal in Hollywood. You’re there for her to rant to, scream at, and talk with — even if most of the time it’s over the phone. She misses you the most when you’re away for matches, so for her to be filming in Budapest takes a toll.

Flo tells you that she loves you when you pick her up from Heathrow terminal three, something your little sister goes feral over (another Hugh Grant romcom, apparently).

You say it back without hesitating.

You say it over and over again until it’s your most commonly said phrase. The girls tease you for being obvious about when you get laid, because you can’t keep the smile off your face the next day. In truth, you grin anytime you see her.

Christmas and New Year’s with the Pughs makes you love her more, and you reflect on how far you’ve come since January. How she once didn’t know your name, but now can sort out your bills if you asked. Florence Rose Pugh means more than a Wikipedia page because you say it when you propose, and she manages to say yes in Spanish through her tears. It makes the 29th December a special day forever, and it’s still too cold in England for your liking but it’s an excuse to bury yourselves in blankets that night. And for all the nights to come.

She’s no longer a stranger but she has always been so much more than that anyway.

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @karsonromanoff

[spindrifters]

1 & 18 for the ask meme

1. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out? Would you do it again?

Well. I stopped letting myself be all freaked out and judgmental of the Alternate Universe - Slavery tag on AO3 and just wrote the fucking thing. And I'm so, so glad I did. Because yeah! Behind every fic genre there are trope-y implications and some truly bad fanworks out there! But once I realized that my intent was actually a deconstruction of the genre, it freed me up to do some of the most uncomfortable yet liberating writing of my life. Like, if you're gonna do it, just do it. Doesn't do anyone any favors to half-ass it. 10/10, highly recommend scaring the shit out of yourself.

18. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene.

On that note...

Remus doesn’t mean to do it. He doesn’t plan to. It’s happening anyway. His hand reaches out to grab Sirius’, the one that’s bleeding now where he’s been savaging it, so it’s warm olive-tan over palest white, and Sirius is so, so cold.

“Stop that,” he says, and he doesn’t really know which he’s talking about — the bleeding finger or something else, maybe both, but the way Sirius is looking up at him now makes him think that maybe he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing to himself until just now. Remus doesn’t think of himself as strong very often, but in that moment it feels as though, if he wanted, he could break Sirius clean in two.

“It’s not your fault, though,” he says, then, because this is important. “You… you do know that, right?”

“Sort of is, though.”

“Isn’t. Go around crucio-ing yourself often, do you?”

“No, but that’s not — ”

“Not your fault, then.” And Remus grips Sirius’ hand even tighter in his, the other boy’s grey eyes fixed on where they meet. “Fucking hell, Sirius, you were a kid. That’s not on you. It’s just… it’s just not.”

Children get hurt. They just do. Scraped knees and bloody noses. The fact that they’re children doesn’t exempt them from it, and so much the worse if you’re born a servant — Remus learned that very early on. Only those hurts always came from places of clearly delineated lines. Places of greed and hatred and fear and real delight in causing pain. Places of indifference, those could often be the very worst. Those hurts come from people who don’t see certain children as worthy of protection based on a fluke of birth.

Remus doesn’t have a mother. Not anymore. The only vague memories he has of her are dark, tumbling curls and someone calling him kerido in a voice he can no longer place. Otherwise, they're all more sensory than fact. Love. Safety. Home. The only hurt he associates with her was ultimately done to them both — that final violent act of separation.

Walburga Black, on the other hand, owns him. She owns him, and she considers that the right and natural way of things, so it hadn’t phased him really to know that she could also cause Sirius to bleed. But he can appreciate now, for what’s really the first time, that Walburga is also Sirius’ mother. And he can hardly reconcile the idea of a mother who causes that sort of pain.

Maybe Sirius can’t, either.

ask me about my 2022 fics in review

[breedaboyd]

20 Questions for Writers

I was told by my friend, @the-broken-quill, to do this meme. So here it is. There's a lot to get through so let's get going. And I'll stick it under a cut so people can skip past if they want.

But first, have an aesthetic Donnie gif. Courtesy of me.

How many works do you have on AO3?

As of today, I have 220. Phew.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

Oh, God, I'm scared to look... 1,515,823 words. Yikes. I wonder how many of those are 'cock'.

3. What fandoms do your write for?

Hmm... Kind of anything and everything. If you look on my fandom list, there are 187. But, at the moment, I'm mainly writing for the Sandman, Indiana Jones and other fandoms that involve Boyd Holbrook.

4. What're your top 5 fics by kudos?

Those would be: 'Keeping Up with the Madrigals' ✑ 1,606. 'Dead by Moonlight' ✑ 408. 'Various Spiderman One-Shots' ✑ 358. 'Finish Him!!' ✑ 321. 'Mirror, Mirror' ✑ 314.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to but sometimes if they're just like 'nice', there's only so many times you can respond to it. 😅😅 I try my best to though. Had a couple of people wanting to collab/commission me and on both counts they've been very weird and predatory (not you, ZEBS) so like stay safe out there, guys.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm a purveyor of smut, see, not angst but...I do like a twist ending. 'Start Fresh. Begin Again.' has angst all the way throughout but a more positive ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I try to end on a high-note so most smut fics have happy endings. Maybe 'Second Chances'? It's not a smut fic, it's just all about recovery and a little bit of falling for one another. It's very, very fluffy because Pinky deserves it.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes. I've had to leave a couple fanbases because of this. *Cough, cough* Walten Files.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oomph. Pick your poison, bud. We got vanilla stuff, oral, anal, breeding kink, toy stuff, public stuff, lactation, face-fucking, magic stuff, anatomically impossible stuff... The list literally goes on forever.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really a big crossover person because I feel like that would require a lot of world building but ZEBS and I have done a Mortal Kombat/Evil Dead crossover RP.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of? Why would you?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I believe so but I can't remember which one...

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yepski! My friend, ZEBS, and I have written quite a bit together. I've also done a little bit with an old friend, Brana, but the bulk of it is me and ZEBS.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

They're all OCs but Corinthian/Alistair, Klaber/Wolf and Cap/Theo. I've put so much time into developing them. I love them so much.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There are waaaay too many WIPs that get started and then get left behind. Go through my works and drink every time you see a work where I was too optimistic with the chapter count. You will die.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Smut, of course. Specifically, dirty talk?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

World-building and scene-setting. I'm really impatient and enjoy getting right down to business.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Obviously, I'm in favour. Wolff speaks in German and Hungarian and I frequently have to put translations in the end notes. I think it adds a little depth of character if it makes sense for said character but, if you're just doing it for the fuck of it, I feel like it takes you out of the scene.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

That would be Dorian Grey, particularly the 2009 film.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Maybe not my favourite and maybe not one, single fic because it's all different fics smushed into one but I'm really proud of myself for Boydtober this year (I'm currently putting it out day by day). I've tried to complete Kinktober 4 different times and every time I've given up and gotten down about it. This year! I've prepared and completed it and it's 120k+! I'm so excited to share it with everyone!

Whew! That was a lot. Now I'm supposed to tag a bunch of people but, honestly, I don't know that many. I'll tag @the-broken-quill but then, if you see this and you wanna do it, do it.

I'm gonna peace out with my favourite gif of my favourite cowboy.

Lookit that smile! 😘😘

[jankwritten]

the story doesn't start with the beginning or the end, the story starts with the moments that spark it. the story starts with that idea you had that made you want to sit down and write, the story starts with the moment the characters have that branches out and out, blooms into so many different choices and paths and conversations. it's okay if you don't know how to begin or how to end or even if you don't know what the story wants. just write the moments. follow them and see where they lead.

[roscgcld]

DAYDREAMING!AU || new reality

;request: rn i’m obsessed with your writing & the daydreaming!reader<33 but i also love angst so what would happen if she ended up getting really hurt protecting another student - hope that wasn’t too weird.. again, i love your writing !!

note: ahaha, i am glad that a lot of people enjoy my daydreaming!reader works; she is also one of my babies as well >< and originally i wasn't going to do this cause i had no idea on what to write - but i had managed to layout a rocky plan before i got some bursts of inspiration lol. ended up becoming too loud though ><” I am sorry for that~

pronouns: she/her

daydreaming!reader masterlist

“There is a chance that she will never wake up from this.”

Shoko gave the others in the room a concerned glance as she glanced up from her tablet, hating how silent it was besides the quiet beeping of the machines around the occupied bed. Laying in the bed was Y/N, a breathing tube carefully inserted into her mouth with the ventilator beside her being the only thing that’s keeping her oxygen levels normal. “The amount of damage she took was quite large. And even though she had managed to regulate quite a strong barrier of Curse Energy around her at all times, it wasn’t enough to brace her for the impact of her being slammed into the build.”

The mission shouldn’t have ended this way - the first and second year students were sent on a mission to deal with a few Finger Bearers that had appeared in the city due to the lack of sorcerers on duty at the time. They were under the care of a few First Grade sorcerers, all hand-picked by Yaga-sensei to ensure the safety of the kids.

However, things rarely go to plan in the jujutsu world.

Yaga-sensei sighs softly as he leans back into his seat, his eyes glancing over at his student that was clearly battling to stay alive. Guilt started to eat him from the inside out, since this was technically his fault. Sure, everyone knows that there is no way that you can go on a mission without enduring some casualties. But the fact is that this was not what he had expected for the outcome to be.. “I am going to kill them myself.”

“G-Gojo-san!” Ijichi hissed out as he glances over at the white haired shaman in the room with wide eyes, the man having been leaning against the wall opposite from the hospital bed with his arms crossed over his chest. His head was tipped forward with an almost too casual expression on his face, yet anyone can tell the barely suppressed anger that lurked underneath. An anger that was only a few moments away from exploding. “You can’t - don’t say things like that!”

“And you expect me to sit back as they failed to save the children?” Gojo asks in a loud voice, effectively squashing whatever confidence Ijichi had built up inside of him. The hand that was resting arm tightened, the veins at the back of his pale hands started to protrude out as Gojo’s anger started to show itself. “I need a good explanation on how their incompetency put our student in this state. 5 First Grades against 3 Special Grade Curses? With 7 talented students by their side and they still can’t handle it? Give me a fucking break.”

“Not everyone can be like you, Satoru.” Yaga-sensei finally mumbles out as he rests his forehead into his hand, fingers pinching at the space between his eyes tiredly. “If anything, it was my fault. I had underestimated the brains of the Finger Bearers, and because of that, all my calculations were wrong. I put retrieving the fingers over numbers. So if you want to find someone to be angry to, the blame is on me.”

The room went quiet after Yaga’s explanation, both Ijichi and Shoko sharing a caution look before casting a glance over at the blindfolded man. After a few tensed moments Gojo pushed himself off the wall and walked out of the hospital room without another word, closing the door behind him quietly; a stark contrast to his usual habit of either slamming the shoji doors too hard, or leaving it open completely.

That out of character move definitely had Shoko sighing in concern. “That idiot...I hope he’s not going to do anything stupid.” She mumbles softly before she turned back to face the young girl laying on the bed, quietly reaching over to brush her fingers through the soft strands that had fallen over Y/N sleeping face. “You better wake up soon, sweetheart...I worry that this might finally push him over the edge.”

Occupying each seat outside of the small waiting area in the infirmary were the other students; wounds bandaged, yet their anxiety was palpable in the air. They had heard what had happened, yet were sheild by the other sorcerers who had called for back-up. Last they heard of Y/N was a scream before what sounded like a building collasping. “Do you think Y/N-senpai is alright?”

Yuji was the first one who dared to break the silence, glancing up from his clenched hands before him to glance at the others. “I mean...it must have been bad, since she was charted off as soon as back up arrived.” Yuji mutters softly as he tightened his fingers together, trying to stop them from shaking. He felt awful - if only he had spared a few seconds to glance over at his senpai, maybe she wouldn’t be in the condition she’s in now. “It’s not every day you’re rushed straight to Ieiri-sensei’s office...”

“...If there is one idiot who can pull through, it’ll be her,” Maki mumbles out quietly after awhile, looking away from her kouhai to stare down at the wooden floors of the building they were in. “Even if it’s bad, she always pulls through it...there is no reason why she can’t do it this time.” She mutters softly just as a pair of footsteps came towards them, causing everyone to look up at the approaching figure. 

Gojo paused when he spotted the others, the question they wanted to ask was clear as day. And for once, Gojo wished that he was able to reassure them like he always does. For him to be able to put up the act that everything was alright, that everyone will be okay. 

But he knew that it’ll do no justice if he did. “Is she...is she alright?”

The question that fell from Yuta’s mouth was left hanging in the air for a few moments, the sliver of hope they had moments ago slowly dimming with each passing moment. Quietly Gojo slipped his hands into his pockets, his blindfolded eyes downcast; too scared to see their reactions. For once, he wished that he was not the one to break the news to the students. “Y/N-chan...might not recovery from this.”

His words sent shock waves through the students, yet he balled his fists up in his pockets to continue with what he had to say. “She hit her head too hard...and if she was not subconsciously protecting herself with Cursed Energy all the time, the impact would have caused her skull to crack in two on impact. But it still took a lot out of her person, and Shoko said that-”

The sound of a metal chair being thrown backwards echoed across the room, causing Gojo to look up just in time to see Yuta standing up with wide eyes as he hastily tried to calm his friend. “Maki, you need to calm down.” He tried to reason with the girl, who had her backed turn to the group, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket. “This isn’t your fault-” Yuta tried to reason, only to pause when Maki just silently started to walk away, leaving with no more but a loud slam of the main door that echoed down the hallway once more. 

For a few moments no one said anything else, yet the first one to move was Megumi; who turned to face his sensei. “Can we visit her?” He mumbled out quietly, to which Gojo just glanced over at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Usually people talk to someone who is in a coma. Might jolt them awake or give them encouragement to fight harder...I am sure Y/N-senpai will get lonely if no one visited her..”

“Why not?” Gojo said after a few moments of thought, giving his students what he hope was a reassuring smile as he turns a little; nodding down the hallway. “Shoko managed to stabalise her condition. Just make sure to sanatise your hands at the door.”

Quietly the group of students followed behind their silent sensei, keeping close to one another as if they were trying to give each other comfort. The walk to the room seemed too far, the door seeming to grow further and further away from them with each step. It was if it was trying to stop them from seeing the truth; yet they didn’t stop. Yet soon they found themselves standing before the smooth door; the single grey name plaque with her name written in black resting in the silver plaque holder. “Right, here we are.”

After everyone was handed a blob of hand sanitiser and had wiped it onto their skin, the small group entered after a quiet knock to the door. “Y/N-chan, I’ve returned with the others...minus one, that is.” Gojo hummed out in delight as he made his way towards the bed, a silent gesture for the others to do the same. “You know Maki-chan though. Once she finishes beating herself up, she’ll come running back. She always does~”

Quietly the others made their way into the room, eyes scanning over the beeping machines and many wires connected to the sleeping girl. “Y/N...senpai..” Nobara mumbles out in shock, her eyes resting the ventilator; not believing that a girl that was bounding about the college earlier today now needed help to do something as simple as breathing. “No way...there is...”

A warm hand rest on the top of her head, Megumi quietly giving her a form of comfort whilst his wide eyes stared at the bed before him in shock. No one dared take a step forward, like they were standing on the other side of a fragile glass bridge that was moments away from breaking. “Y/N..”

Gojo felt the hole started to eat inside of him as he watches how his students were staring at their fellow classmate in shock. Quietly he settled down in the only seat at the corner of the room, watching from the shadows at how the others will react to seeing her in such a state. The first person to snap out of it was Yuta, who quietly places a hand on Toge’s shoulders before giving it a light squeeze. “Shall we go and say hello?” 

Quietly Yuta made his way towards the bed, only to hesitate one step away from grabbing onto her hand. He stared at the frail hand, a simple IV needle carefully taped on the back of her palm for a few moments; a clear look of uncertainty on his face. Yet he took a deep breath, and with a trembling hand, carefully took Y/N’s cold hand in his. “I...Hi, Y/N...” Yuta mumbles quietly into the hospital room, voice barely heard over the constant beeping of the heart monitor. “Sorry...we took awhile to visit...and sorry that Maki isn’t here...I am sure she’ll drop by when she is ready though.”

The only response he got was the sound of the steady beep of the heart monitor, to which he just tighten his grip ever so slightly on Y/N’s unmoving hand. He could hear the soft giggle that Y/N would let out at his words, and if he felt tears welling up in his eyes as he hears her voice bouncing around inside his head.

“It’s alright, Yuta-san! I am sure you were busy before that. And I know Maki-chan will come after you leave - but you didn’t hear that secret from me~”

The silence of the hospital room made Yuta sick to the stomach, the idea that he might never hear Y/N’s voice again started to really sink in. Her usually warm and familiar touch felt cold and lifeless, causing Yuta to carefully tuck her hand underneath her hospital blanket; as if he was trying to warm it up once more. “I...I am going to go grab her favourite stuffed animal from her room. I am sure she’d love to have something of comfort whilst she’s here...if you’ll excuse me.”

Without another word Yuta just walked out of the room quietly, Yuji being the only one turning to watch his senpai leave with a look of concern. Out of everyone Yuji was definitely the one who seemed to be able to hold himself together the most, so it was no surprise when he was the one that went next. “Yo, Y/N-senpai,” Yuji greeted quietly as he walked towards the hospital bed, easily dodging all the wires and such. After all, this wasn’t his first time visiting someone he cares for in the hospital. “Can you hear me? I hope you can - or not Fushiguro might lecture me for being loud.”

The other sorcerer couldn’t even find his voice whilst Yuji continues on; his voice soft yet soothing as he looks down at his senpai with nothing more but a soft smile. “I know you’re trying your hardest go come back to us, and you’d probably tell us that we’re not the ones to blame. That you’re a big girl now, and things like this happen all the time.” Yuji continues, the only indication to his change of mood was the slight quiver that was hard to hide. Yet Yuji continued on anyway. “I hope you know we miss you...and we’re worried sick that you’re in the state you are now. But I know that you need some time to rest up, and soon you’ll be back on your feet again, right? ‘Cause..b-because that’s how you’ve always been.”

Silence enveloped the room once more, with Yuji just not sure on what else to say to her as he stared at her pale face. The other three in the room sort of just huddled together, all of them unsure of what to say to her. They weren’t the best with emotional words - beside Toge, who usually doesn’t use words at all - so asking them to keep their tone in check whilst referring to their unconscious classmate is a little too much for them.

So after awhile Yuji decided to lead them out of the hospital room, giving Gojo a parting smile before he closes the door behind him. Leaving him alone as he stared at the slumbering figure of his student as he rests his elbows on his parted knees. Quietly he rests his head in his hands, eyes closed as he tried to push back the light migraine that was coming on. He hates that it is his duty to break the news to the others - her parents, her elders. Heck, he has to give a call to Nanami and Utahime to tell them the bad news. 

If it was anything else, he wound be more than excited to blow their phones up. But this? He wishes that the duty was handed to someone else - because he himself doesn’t even believe that this was happening in the first place. 

He wishes that this was all just a terrible nightmare.

Maki quietly pushed the window open as she climbed in from the roof, the doors of halls of the infirmary long going silent; cicadas chirping away in the night sky. Maki quietly stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, eyes racking over Y/N’s sleeping form, to the amount of machines that were working by her side to make sure that she’s alive. “Hey, idiot...I’ve arrived.”

Quietly she made her way towards Y/N’s bedside, her eyes clouding over with an unreadable emotion. If she was being honest, she didn’t know how to react right now. On one hand, she was pissed - she is pissed off because she could have done something to help Y/N. Maybe if she was just faster, just a bit more aware, maybe if she was training to try harder. Maybe if she can just try harder-

A loud slap sounded across the room, Maki having pulled her hand out of her pocket to slap across her cheek hard to snap out of the spiraling thoughts. The burning sting on her cheek reminded her to return to reality before she started to trash the room out of anger, something that she and Y/N had been working on for some time now. Y/N would always say, “You should never turn to anger and violence to deal with your issues!”

Maki wonders what her reaction would be if she had saw Maki slapping herself so hard that there was a light handprint on the side of her cheek. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

With a tired sigh Maki settled down in the seat that Gojo had occupied earlier in the day, keeping her eyes on the steady heart monitor; her eyes following the spike that indicates the faint heartbeat of Y/N. “Who the hell knew that it took an entire building to really get you hurt.” Maki sigh as she tore her eyes away from the screen, looking down at her boots quietly; examining all the scuffs and scratches on marring the smooth leather. “Call me stupid, but I really thought that it’d take more than that. Remember when you had jumped out the window of the 10th floor and left with no more but a bruise? You were crying about it ‘cause you couldn’t wear dresses for about 2 weeks.”

Maki let out a tired laugh at the memory of finding Yuta trying to reassure a crying Y/N when she found the bruise on her knee; Yuta just patting her head with the most amused look on his face whilst she cried her eyes out at the idea that she can’t wear her cute dresses until it cleared up. “Imagine what will happen when you wake up from this? God, that is going to be a pain.”

A soft sigh left Maki’s lips as she glances over at the stuffed sheep that Yuta had brought from her room; along with a few more random stuffed animals that surrounded her head like a halo. This caused her to smile sadly as she rests her head on her shoulder, watching her for a few minutes without saying anything. Maki had always been bad with words and emotions; with all the things she had gone through when she was younger. Wording how she feels and emotions are not Maki’s favourite thing to deal with, since she wants to keep this badass, strong woman front she has on all the time to prove something to her elders.

“You better wake up from this, or not I am going to kick your ass.” Maki mutters after a few moments, getting up with a tired sigh before she casts her another glance at Y/N. Without missing a beat, she reaches over to brush strands of hair away from her face, warm hand resting on her head for a few moments before she places a few parting pats on her head; something she had always done when she needs to leave for a mission or a meeting outside of school. 

“‘Night, brat. Wake up soon, okay?” Maki mutters, and with a final sigh she made her way towards the window she climbed in once more, quietly shutting it behind her after she hauled herself over the railing. It was only in the dead of the night that Maki quietly lets her tears fall, biting her lip hard to stop whatever sounds that were threatening to leave her lips. 

Because at the end of the day she is stubborn, and refuses to believe that this might be her new reality.

A week had passed since the day that the others found out that Y/N had fallen into a coma of a sorts, and everyone would visit at least once just to see if there is any sight of change. That there might be a sign that she was going to wake up soon. And there were slight changes; a few days after she had been admitted she was allowed to get off the ventilator and rely on oxygen instead. But she was still in bad shape.

Nanami tries to make time to drop by to visit as well, coming over to quietly read pages of the book that he was reading. Whenever Y/N was sick, she would call Nanami over the phone and ask if the man can read to her; something about how she finds comfort in his voice that puts her at ease. And since Ieiri had encouraged them to talk to her more for stimulation, Nanami takes the time to read to her after a long day of work. It brought him some comfort as well, listening to the constant beeping of the heart monitor and the humming of the other machines around her.

Gojo would sometimes drop by as well, only to berate Nanami for his ‘boring’ book choices; and an unconscious Y/N has to endure two adults arguing about book choices and how Gojo’s titles are definitely not appropriate to even bring onto school grounds.

Besides the occasional argument, sometimes Gojo will prop his phone up against a vase of flowers that Yuji brings so that Utahime can FaceTime him; the students from the Kyoto side being able to see and talk to the slumbering Y/N. For the most part, everyone was shocked that she was in the state she was in; having never expected such a bright and talkative person can fall into such a state.

The most distraught one was definitely Todo, who had almost jumped out of his seat and make a full on dash towards Tokyo if it wasn’t for Noritoshi and Mai joining together to restrain the man, along with Principal Gakuganji threating to hold him back from their planned trip to Tokyo the following week that had him calming down.

But barely - the man is still more than ready to just up and run across the country just so he can be closer to his ‘beloved Y/N-chan’.

Every day, without fail, Toge will come into her hospital room with a new accessory to pull her hair back into; carefully brushing her hair out and applying dry shampoo so it wasn’t greasy to the touch. Once he was satisifed he’d carefully style her hair back so it didn’t get in the way of her checkups, taking his time with everything so he gets to spend more time with her. He doesn’t say much, he usually finds that doesn’t whenever he is around her; so he takes his time when he does her hair in hopes that she can feel that he is there for her.

Yuta and Megumi will find time after classes to go and visit her together, telling her about everything that had happened whilst she is asleep. Sometimes Nobara will visit as well, must for the most time she’d come alone in the evening after dinner to just rant to her about everything that she found annoying that happened over the day. Nobara usually stay until Ieiri comes to kick her out, hoping that Maki might come in as well to visit Y/N.

But Maki never does - yet everyone knows that Maki finds the time in her day to go and visit her like everyone else. However, no one dared to ask her how or when she does it. They’ve accepted that it was probably a sensitive subject to her, and that it’s off limits to ask her unless you want her to ignore you for the rest of the day. Gojo had learnt it the hard way when he had teased her, only to be thrown out the window of their classroom by an annoyed Maki.

Even his Infinity is no match for that woman’s wrath.

Days soon led into weeks, with slow but not so encouraging signs of improvement from the young girl. The elders of her clan and her parents had visited the college as soon as they can, and had kept tabs with every single thing that is going on with her. There was no denying the fear of her suddenly relapsing once more, and soon it will become too much for her parents to bear. The idea of keeping Y/N around, knowing that she is in so much pain, just for their selfish want of keeping her alive was a reality they want to avoid. 

The once vibrant and lively campus soon turned gloomy; the hallways of the school quiet without the familiar sound of bunny-themed slippers running across its worn-out flooring. The chime of a familiar giggle was missing in the air, along with a dreamy voice that just never seems to stop; no matter what time of the day it is. There were days where the others forget that Y/N was not there to make dinner for the night, or she wasn’t there when they want to ask her opinion about something. Her room, which once served as a sanctuary for the students who can’t sleep at night, now became too painful to even walk past on certain days.

Yet everyone tried their hardest to go on with their days, knowing that it was what Y/N wanted them to do. If they were to allow their grief to consume them whole, they knew the delicate routine they had rebuilt would crumble before them. And if there is one thing they can do to keep Y/N’s memory alive, is to live their lives to the fullest. To try and cherish each and every day, no matter how painful reality is without her by their side.

They have to try, for her sake.

It wasn’t until a month passed when Yuta had came running into the lunch hall, looking like he had seen a ghost as he tried to catch his breath. “Okkotsu-senpai?” Megumi asks in concern as he looks over at the older man, putting his tray down to try and give his panting senpai a hand. “Are you-” He asked, only to have Yuta put a hand up to stop him as he took a few deep gulps of air.

“A-Awake...Y/N...Y/N is awake.”

Within a few seconds the students were sprinting across campus, none of them believing what Yuta had said until they have see it for themselves. What is usually a 10 minute walk from the lunch hall took about four minutes with them sprinting, possibly annoying half of the cleaners of the school that they were breaking the no running rule. Yet they didn’t stop even at their annoyed outcries, the simple wooden door of the infirmary almost coming off its hinges at how hard Maki had thrown it open.

Maki was the one who pushed the hospital room door open, causing the people in the room to jump in shock. Including Y/N, who had let out a soft squeak of shock; her voice hoarse from not using it for so long. The others blinked in shock at the sight of Y/N’s bright eyes meeting theirs at the doorway, ones that blinked before she gave them the biggest smile she can muster.

“H-Hi.” Y/N mumbles softly, to which Nanami just gave her a rare smile as he gently rubs her back, Gojo smirking softly as he recorded the reactions of the others by the door. He had gotten over the shock a few moments ago. “Don’t strain yourself, Y/N-chan. Remember what Ieiri-sensei said about straining your voice.” The blonde man hummed before he turned his blue eyes over at the shocked students as well. “And that goes to you too. If you all stress her out, I am not against tossing you all out.”

Y/N made a noise and turned to try and reassure the older man, not noticing how the others were staring at her in shock. The first person to move was Maki, whose eyes look suspicious wet as she stormed into the room. “I am going to kill you.” She growled out loudly, to which Y/N jumped before she held her arms out for protection; feeling a shiver of fear go up her spine. Yet before she can make a move to stop her, Maki suddenly wrapped her up in a hug, the arms that Y/N held out to try and pacify her angry classmate freezing from the unnatural reaction from Maki.

Y/N blinks for a few moments before she smiles softly and wraps Maki up in her arms as well, gently patting her head as Maki silently wets her shoulder with her tears. “I know.” Y/N mumbles out softly before her eyes met the others, giving them a soft smile as she gently gestures to the others to enter her room. Soon there was just a huge ball of crying teenagers hugging one another on Y/N’s hospital bed; Gojo and Nanami having moved aside to give them more space for their reunion as they watched on from the other side of the room. “Should we stop them?”

“Nah, we might get murdered if we try.” Gojo said with a hum as he grins over the sound of intelligible crying, looking over at Nanami who had a ghost of a smile on his lips at the sight. “Besides, this is great content. I never had a video of Maki crying before.” Gojo admitted, to which Nanami’s smile dropped as he looked over at him in annoyance. 

“Why am I not surprised at all?”

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[greyeyedmonster-18]

They arrived back to Number 12 after another long day of attempting to check things off their wedding planning list; another long day of Sirius being immensely dissatisfied with everything the caterers or musicians or florists had to offer. Picking at every last thing, nothing getting accomplished or closer to being finalized.

"I mean that pianist would've been fine, but he was so nervous and if thats how hes going to be on our wedding day then--"

"Maybe he was nervous because you told him to stop and start over three times? And then at one point demonstrated for him?" Remus asked stepping closer to his fiance who was looking at their never-ending to do list on the kitchen table, and putting his hands on his shoulders.

"Well, he was doing it wrong." Sirius turned around at the touch looking at Remus with exasperation, "And the place setting ideas? Awful."

"Mhmm.."

"Honestly, I think I'll just do it myself," Sirius conceded pulling away from Remus to go back to the list, conjuring a quill to make a few notes, "I can do the napkins and set up the tables, so its done right. Actually, I'll do the flowers too--I think I have a book on it and we have all those peonies, you like those, right?"

Remus did like peonies.

"Baby..."

"You know what, Ill play the piano too, I think I could make it--"

"Baby, babe, Sirius," Remus put his hand ontop of his fiancee's to stop his writing, "You are the groom."

"What's your point?"

"You can't do everything yourself. Much less play the song for our walk down the aisle because we're getting married. We, the both of us, together, so I kind of need you to be there and not...directing the whole thing."

"Well, then find me someone competent who--"

"I love you, Sirius, that's the important thing--why are you being so particular about everything?" Remus hoped the question was specific enough. Because Sirius was particular about everything as is. But there was something peculiar about it now. Something off.

"I just want it to be good for you, yeah?"

"I don't need the fuss, baby, I just...need you at the end of the aisle."

"I know but--" Sirius let out a short whine, Remus bringing his hand to the side of his face.

"But?"

"It just needs to be perfect."

"It will be."

"No, because I know you would've wanted Lily at your side." Sirius confessed, grey eyes looking at a point beyond Remus' shoulder, "Its already not going to be perfect because people are missing and you're stuck with me, so the least I can do is make sure napkins are folded right and our fucking pianist knows what tempo a ballad is."

Remus looked at Sirius for several moments, hand still on his face. Because Sirius mentioned Lily not being there, and of course he was thinking about her. But what he didn't say was James won't be there.

"Love..."

"I can't do anything about....I can't. But I can absolutely figure out how to make sure our floral arrangements have your favorites in them."

Remus sighed, before pulling Sirius into him. It took a second, as it always did, but Sirius softened, his head falling into the spot where Remus' neck and shoulder met, his arms wrapping around him tightly. "Just...promise me that it'll be you at the end and not a polyjuice double or a ghost or..."

"It'll be me." Sirius said, his voice muffled by Remus' shoulder. "We should go get Harry..."

"Few more minutes."

--

in which remus concedes and lets sirius be a groom-zilla.

(in which one of sirius' regrets is not rushing into marriage because he thought they all had more time.)

[danidrabbles]

Ruined

Summary: When you see Javi receive all kinds of attention after hosting an event, you're overcome with the urge to remind him who he belongs to.

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: jealousy/possessiveness, (unprotected) p in v sex, hair pulling, dirty talk, slight dom/sub vibes, Daddy kink (only two counts ok), feelings? If I forgot anything, let me know!

Notes: I borrowed @javier-pena’s man (with permission) to bring you this one shot. Astrid, thank you for letting me imagine away in this little world you created! And for letting me write this! And for proof reading this... I hope you like the one word title I picked. (Also, it just dawned on me... is this technically... fanfiction of fanfiction?). Please read Care, Reverberate, Take, and this ask, to read more about this man and/or if you want read some spectacular writing — Astrid is so criminally good at writing him and I can only hope to reach her levels. Enjoy!

--

You want him ruined.

That’s all you could think about earlier, during the charity event - his charity event.

Not at the beginning of the evening, though.

He delivered the welcome speech, enthusing curious patrons to flip open their cheque books and donate a generous amount. He looked gorgeous in his fitted grey suit with a bow tie to match and a white dress shirt, and with his soft curls gelled back and combed into a side part. The sudden, unannounced rush of pride that flooded your body made your lips stretch into a warm, wide smile as you watched him in his element. Javi was charming, passionate, funny, gesticulating wildly as his glimmering eyes looked around the room, and there was no doubt about it that his positive, genuine attitude was the reason the event had been a smash hit.

Later, after he got off the stage, you watched him from your table, happy to let him be the social butterfly as he made small talk with some of the patrons while you sipped on your champagne. Once every few minutes, Javi’s eyes found yours, like he couldn’t help himself, and it made the pride from earlier sit low in your stomach, made it turn liquid between your legs.

It morphed into something else entirely as the event neared its end. When you watched a woman walk over. She was gorgeous, tall, and the tops of her tits bounced from the bodice of her strapless dress with each step she took. She went straight for Javi, of course, offering her hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek, touching his arm when he said something that made her laugh.

That’s when the thought came.

You weren’t jealous. That’s what you told yourself as the feeling in your gut twisted into something akin to possessive. You knew better than to be jealous - you knew Javi better than to be jealous. He was with you, only with you, as devoted to you as you were to him, and you knew that. He knew that.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t want to remind him of that every once in a while.

You just wanted to show him who he belonged to, wanted to twist your fingers into his coiffed locks, run your fingers through them until they came undone, until he looked dishevelled. You wanted his eyes on you, unable to look away, the familiar deep brown glazed over with pleasure as you—

“Ready to get out of here, baby?” Javi asked, breaking you out of your daydream to find him with his hand extended towards you and a soft expression in his face.

--

You want him ruined.

It’s still all you can think about, now, at home.

You’re getting there, though.

You watch him remove his jacket, his waistcoat, the bowtie, then steer him to the couch and unceremoniously drop yourself in his lap.

He looks so beautiful and surprised under you, and you can’t help but lean in to kiss him. Your hands, finally, find his hair, gripping where the slippery strands allow it, pulling at it with a moan. His mouth opens under yours at the gesture, and you press closer to him to deepen the kiss.

It’s not often that you charge at him like this. Usually there’s more of a mutual push and pull between the two of you, and usually it’s Javi who gives in, but it’s not always out of impatience. It’s in his nature to please, to give you everything you desire in every way imaginable. And sometimes it makes you greedy, greedy to take everything he’s offering on with both hands. But tonight it makes you want to give all of that to him. It makes you want to pour every ounce of pride, every bit of love, every drip of desire into your kiss. It makes you greedy to give.

“I’ve been dying to have you to myself all night,” you admit between the press of your lips and the nips of your teeth.

“I could tell,” Javi replies. “You looked pouty before we left, baby. You always pull that face when you want to get fucked, I recognized it from across the room.” His voice is low as his hands slide over your thighs, toying with the lacy fabric at the tops of your stockings.

You almost go slack against him at the soft touch, but letting him take control isn’t your plan for tonight, so instead, you pull away from him. Lightning quick, your hands find his to lace your fingers together, to press them into the back of the couch.

Javi cocks an eyebrow, curious eyes settled on your own as he slumps back against the cushions. It’s a rush, the clear sign of resignation, that he’ll let you lead. It makes your hips roll against his, where you feel the swell of his arousal under you, and you bite your lip to hide a smile when his mouth drops open around a groan.

“You’re going to keep your hands right. here,” you say as you guide your joined hands to your waist before untangling them and pushing his hands down, gently taking his rights to touch you anywhere but right there, “and let me do the rest, aren’t you, Javi?”

All he does is nod in response.

“Say it, baby,” you urge as you brush a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead.

“I’m going to keep my hands right here,” he says, “and let you do whatever you want.”

Another rush of endorphins hums pleasantly through your veins at his words, and you drop a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips, murmuring a Good, before getting to work on his trousers. It’s a practiced move, the pull at the leather, the slide through the buckle, the button, the zipper… and before you know it you can reach inside, wrap your hand around where he’s hard, velvet smooth. His fingers dig into you as a rough sound bubbles up from his throat at the touch when you stroke him once, twice, three times.

“You’re so hard,” you observe, feeling him throb in your palm at the words. Your head tips up to look at him, “All for me, right?”

“It is— Fuck, of course it is.” He grunts when your grip at the base of him tightens, when you hold him still so you can lean down to let a string of saliva fall onto the swollen head of his cock to ease the glide of your hand. “Always for you, only for you.”

With a satisfied sound, you release him from your grip, and the sight of his cock curved back against the fabric of his dress shirt, the tip resting just below one of the glimmering white buttons is oddly enticing. Acutely aware of your own arousal, you pull at the bunched up fabric of your dress, hoist it up to your middle until Javi’s fingers fix the fabric in place. Hooking your panties to the side, another practiced move, you shuffle closer to him, taking his cock in your free hand and rubbing the head against your clit with a joint moan from the both of you.

For a moment, you watch as you move him against you, cupping your hand around his length and rubbing yourself against him, the precome that’s oozing from him making the slide that much easier, that much better.

“Please, sweetheart, fuck me,” Javi says, the blunt ridges of his fingernails pressing tighter into your skin where he holds you as he tries to coax you into giving him more. “Need to be inside you.”

“Maybe,” you sigh. “I think you’d slide right in; can you feel how wet I am?”

Suddenly, Javi’s fingers flex against you, and then he lets go of you. His face is unreadable, the furrow of his brow not matching the look in his eyes. Your body goes rigid in anticipation, cunt fluttering against where you’re pressed up against him, because for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, that he’s gonna pull you up and slide home.

But he doesn’t.

With a shuddering sigh, he gathers up the fabric of your dress that has fallen back down, and slides it up your body until he’s once more holding you where you told him to. He gives the slightest of nods, the softest of “Sorry”s as he regains his composure.

You’re almost there, you realize, the heat of relief and arousal burning through you as you watch him settle. And just like that you decide you won’t give him any reprieve.

"Tell me,” you say, “who does this pussy belong to?" Your voice is sticky sweet despite the filthy words of the question.

“Me,” he growls immediately.

“Who?” you ask innocently, cocking your head as you begin to move yourself against him once more.

His head falls back against the couch. "Jesus Christ, baby…,” he sighs, and you can tell he knows what you want from him.

“Tell me, Javi,” you say sharply. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“To Daddy,” he relents, and your heart swells at the way he refers to himself, at the sound of his voice; the way it sounds broken, fucked out, wrecked.

"Hmm-hmm, that's right,” you nod, holding his gaze as you sit up on your knees and position him at your entrance, “all yours, Daddy." You sink down on him slowly, eyes fluttering closed as you feel every delicious inch of him, as he takes his place inside of you, until you’re really settled in his lap.

When your eyes open again, you’re finally treated to the vision from your fantasy: Javi’s eyes are at half-mast, glazed over in pleasure, his pupils blown wide with lust, and a rush of slick coats him where he’s buried deep when you realize you’ve fucked him dumb for once.

You ride him slowly, building the both of you up to something spectacular as you find his hair again, tugging sharply to keep his lidded eyes on yours through the ebb and flow of your body on top of his. The very tip of him nudges against that soft spot deep inside of you, and you circle your hips until you find it with every roll of your hips.

“You’re being so good for me, Javi” you say, and you feel him grow harder inside of you at the praise, feel him swelling with his impending release. “Such a good man, always giving me everything and now letting me give this to you.”

A strangled noise tears from Javi’s throat when you find your clit, circling the stiff bundle of nerves and clenching up around him in the process. You fall quicker than you anticipated, cling to him, fingers digging into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” you warn him, red hot desire licking its way up your spine, “I need you to come with me, okay? Need you to come inside, fill me—”

“Yes,” he rasps, hands anchored at your waist in a way that’s almost painful. You excuse the interruption as you watch him struggle to keep his eyes open, as he barely works out a, “You’re gonna make me come,” before you feel him pulse inside of you.

It’s that feeling, the feeling of him coating you in himself, marking you as his, your brain steadily provides, that pushes you over the edge. Your thighs tremble around his as you pant his name, as you contract around him while you helplessly rub your clit.

You’ve probably stained his suit beyond recovery, you think and you look down to confirm, watch him leak from you until it pools at the base of his cock. With a sigh, you slump forward, forehead knocking against Javi’s shoulder.

“Permission...,” he begins, pausing to draw another breath, “to touch you?”

When you nod against him, his hands unhook themselves from your waist to cup your jaw, pull you up until he can fit his lips to yours with a satisfied sound. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, and you mumble more praise from him, tell him how good it was, how much you love him, how you can’t wait to get the both of you cleaned up and get to bed, so you can hold him close.

You get there eventually, the sticky logistics of your trip to the bathroom, the quick shower, they’re all a forgotten haze when you find yourself curled up around his body instead of the other way around. You press yourself against his back, your cheek against his warm skin, your nose fitting between his shoulder blades while his hands rest over yours in your embrace.

You support each other, ruin each other, put each other back together again, and it’s everything you could ever want.

It’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.

--

Look at me being a “professional” writing blog; I made a form where you can sign up for my taglist! You can find it here! Thanks for reading!

[taetaespeaches]

“To me, he’s everything.”

taehyung x reader (oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 2.9K beta reader(s): @stayjimin​

a/n: Hi lovelies! Why did I decide to write sad Tae? To make us all suffer perhaps? This is about Tae going through some stuff and writing pieces of Blue & Grey (with the english lyrics bc this is early stages) and Peaches trying to provide him comfort. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :))

Waking up in the early morning, the sky was still dark making it difficult to see your surroundings. Grunting to yourself you lightly tossed underneath the comforter. Sighing, you reached out to feel the empty spot next to you, confirming your suspicions that your lover had left the bed sometime earlier in the night.

Sitting up, you focused your gaze on the dark shape of your dresser across the room as you listened closely for sounds outside the bedroom. Hearing none, you lifted yourself from the bed, a blanket in tow as you made your way out of the room.

The hallway was lit up from the glow of the living room light, and as you wrapped the blanket over your shoulders, your ears perked at the sound of Taehyung’s low timbre humming a mix of words and incoherent melody.

Stepping quietly across the floor, you listened intently to the few words you could understand. “I just wanna be happier,” rang in your ears, your heart pounding at the weight of the lyrics that came straight from your boyfriend’s mouth. Standing in the living room just feet away from where he sat on the floor, Taehyung took notice of you, his mouth opening in surprise.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, his eyes wide with guilt though you gently shook your head. “You sure?”

“Maybe your absence,” you smiled softly. He tried to return the expression, but it failed to meet his eyes. And that was the smile you’d been receiving for the past few weeks. His famous boxy grin, your favorite, was being flashed around much less in the recent days. “It’s like I can feel when you’re gone,” you told him quietly.

He didn’t respond, instead leaning back on his hands to support himself as he stared at your disheveled appearance. With a small head nod gesturing for you to go to him, you quickly and easily obliged.

You would have to be completely oblivious to not notice the man’s mood change in the past weeks; how he had more low days than high. It wasn’t the first time Tae had gone through something like this. He had a habit of pulling away and dealing with his emotions and thoughts in private, and you had learned over your several years of friendship to give him the space to work through it all before he would eventually come to you for help with whatever feelings remained.

But this bout seemed to hit him harder than in the past. And he hadn’t come to you yet.

Sitting next to him, you both stared into each other’s eyes, his darkened circles prominent on his golden skin.

“You look tired,” he noted, your eyebrows raising slightly. Sliding the banket of your shoulders, you draped it over yours and Taehyung’s laps.

“So do you,” you countered, the man’s lips curving upward just the tiniest bit as you tucked the blanket around his thighs. “Are you ever gonna share this track with me that’s been taking up so much of your time?” You questioned, playing up your jealousy of the subject of his attention.

“Are you feeling neglected, Peaches?” He teased, a glint flashing over his eyes for a quick moment that had your lungs exhaling in a brief relief.

“Of course not,” you smirked. “But like, I did wake up alone only to find you out here canoodling with this song again so,” you trailed off, Taehyung letting out a low chuckle, amused by your feigned bitterness for his newest creation.

“What was that?” He asked, your eyebrows raising in question. “Canood- what?”

“Canoodling,” you giggled lightly. He flashed you a look of confusion, a smile overtaking your features at how cute he appeared. “It means, like, cuddling,” you paused, “I think?” For the first time in a few days, Taehyung’s boxy smile overtook his face, meeting his eyes for just a brief moment. “Maybe that wasn’t the right word,” you thought aloud as Taehyung’s hand found yours, his fingers lightly squeezing yours.

Raising your hand to his lips, he left a sweet kiss to the back of it. “You’re the only one I want to canoodle with,” he assured you lightheartedly, you squinting at him skeptically.

“Well that’s just not true, I caught you cuddled up with Jungkook just last week,” you pointed out, Taehyung chuckling as he dropped his head so he looked down toward his lap. Watching him carefully, you admired the way his low laugh tumbled from his pretty lips. When he looked back toward you, his eyes widened.

“What?” He asked, taken aback by your intent stare.

Shaking your head, you turned your hand in his grasp to intertwine your fingers with his own. “What’s been going on, Dearest?” You asked him, your voice soft and quiet, gentle and concerned. He gave you a questioning expression, silently asking you to elaborate, though you both knew where the conversation was headed. “Why haven’t you been talking to me?”

The man stared at you for a moment, his eyes scanning your features, clocking the concern etched within them. Sighing, he shrugged.

“Are you ok?” You asked him, watching as he clenched his jaw, shrugging once more. “Oh, baby,” you whispered through a small pout, squeezing his hand as he took a deep breath, attempting to calm his emotions.

Leaning toward him, you wrapped your other arm around his head, holding him so his face was placed in the crook of your neck. When his body shook slightly, you let go of his hand to bring your arms around his body, cradling him against you.

Neither of you spoke for several minutes, instead simply embracing each other as you allowed Taehyung the space and comfort to feel his feelings. Eventually, he lifted his head from your neck, his face level with yours though he avoided your eyes. Lifting your hands to his face, you gently used your thumbs to wipe under his eyes before flattening your palms against his cheeks to dab the wetness from them.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t ask you sooner,” you told him, your voice soft but adamant, Taehyung’s eyes snapping to meet yours.

“Peaches, no,” he shook his head, though you cut him off with your own negation.

“No, I knew something was wrong, but I was just waiting for you to come to me,” you told him. “I should have talked to you sooner,” you insisted, one of your hands falling from his face to your lap, the other sliding down to his shoulder where you simply kept it, to show him you were there. You weren’t going anywhere.

Taking another deep breath in, Taehyung shook his head once more. Reaching for his phone, you watched as he tapped on the screen a few times before his low vocals resonated from the speaker, replaying the sounds you heard earlier that night.

The lyrics were a mix of random mumblings with stunning but sad lines of English that proved every suspicion you had of Taehyung being sad and lost.

“I’m sick and tired of everything, someone come save myself ‘cause I can’t take it anymore.”

He was crying out for help in this song; help from himself, his own mind. The man was begging for someone to come to his aid, just to lessen the pain.

“Every time I cry, every time I smile, can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and grey.”

As you watched him carefully, his gaze set on the phone in his hands as the soundwaves went up and down with his vocals, tears filled your eyes. Taehyung’s fans often took his quietness as a warning sign for how he was feeling. However, growing up alongside Taehyung, you’d witnessed the shift from an excitable young boy to a slightly less excitable grown man. You’d been there with him as his personality developed; matured.

No, his silence was never a warning sign for you. It could be quite comforting, actually. The warning sign was when his smile failed to meet his eyes. You’d seen it over the past days, weeks. Staring at him as the melody cut through the heavy air, all you could think was, why didn’t I help you, Dearest?

“I just wanna be happier, baby don’t you let me go.” The lyrics melted into sounds again before he sang melancholically, “Wish I could be stronger.” The recording cut, and Taehyung’s eyes stayed on the phone screen.

Squeezing his shoulder lightly, you dragged your hand toward the back of his neck so your fingers could sooth across his nape. “It’s beautiful,” you croaked, clearing your voice as Taehyung’s gaze shot up to meet yours, the emotion in your tone startling him. “It is,” you told him sincerely.

“Thank you,” he barely muttered, his eyes alert, his shoulders raised as if he was holding his breath.

“When you’re not ok, I’ll be your rock, you know,” you assured him, an exhale leaving his lips just before he wet them with a swipe of his tongue. “I should have addressed it sooner, but I know now,” you added with a small nod. “So lean on me.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he resisted, though you could see in his eyes he desperately wanted the shoulder you were offering to him.

“Tae,” you breathed out with a small smile. “You’re too considerate for your own good, you know that?” Scoffing in response, he licked his lips once more. “You could never burden me. I’m your partner,” you whispered, your hand moving to cradle his jaw as you spoke to him.

With a sigh, his shoulders relaxed just as he leaned into your touch, resting his chin in your hand just slightly. You could feel the weight of it, and you were thankful for it.

“I just-” his lip trembled. “I have this great life,” he mumbled as his face contorted just the tiniest bit, tears brimming his eyelid but not yet falling. “I have this dream career, partner,” he nodded to you, “home life,” he glanced to the open room. “I have great friends, all these fans,” he shook his head as a tear slid down his cheek, collecting on the flesh of your thumb. “And yet, I’m still so fucking lost,” he sighed in frustration.

Instead of speaking, you moved your hand to gently swipe under his eyes with your thumb. “I don’t know, it’s just stupid,” he directed his gaze across the room, his stare intense though he wasn’t looking at anything in particular.

Shaking your head, you leaned into his line of vision, pulling his attention to you. “It’s not stupid, baby,” you spoke softly to him. “It’s human.”

“What kind of person feels this way when they have all these great things?” He questioned, making you pull your eyebrows together in a slight glare. “I’m sitting here with a woman who loves me and cares for me and I’m crying about feeling lonely and worthless,” he admitted in frustration. “I didn’t even want to tell you about all of this because I don’t want you thinking you’re not enough for me.”

“Tae, I’m not so naïve to think I can be the savior of all your days,” you locked your gaze on his as you spoke to him. “I know you love me, but I’m just a piece of your life, I’m one source of happiness,” you shrugged while shaking your head.

“You’re more than that,” he said sternly, frustrated by your downplayed importance in his life.

“I know that, and I hope I can lessen the pain and make things easier, but I’m never going to be able to make everything ok,” you explained to him. And that was the sad truth. No matter how much you loved him, you could never take his pain away. “That’s just not how things work.” Staring at each other, he gave you a small nod of understanding. “Coming to me with this isn’t going to make me feel insufficient or like I’m not part of your happiness,” you finished, Taehyung nodding as he pulled your hand from his face and held onto it tightly.

As you looked into his gaze, you could see further sadness swirling around his orbs. His irises were the same pretty brown, but the warmth was faded. The cold emotion in them made them appear like a desaturated version of themselves, appearing as an ashen grey.

“What else are you thinking?” You prodded, gently, but insistently.

Swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, he exhaled deeply, preparing to share more of the feelings he’d been keeping contained behind his stunning features.

“There’s a few things I know about myself,” he started, your attention fully on him as he opened his thoughts with the mysterious statement. “And that’s that I love you, I love my family, and I love being on stage with the guys in front of our fans. And this year I’ve seen how easily that part of me can be stripped away,” he nodded at his own words as your heart felt like it stilled. Because the stage was the one thing you couldn’t give him or assure him of its existence. “And it’s going to happen someday for good.”

You watched him thoughtfully as he explored his own thoughts, gathering them into words that he could speak, in hopes that you would understand.

“And I guess-” he shrugged. “Who’s left without that part of me?”

Without thinking over your response, you answered him with two words. “Kim Taehyung.” His eyes held your own as you cocked your head at him. “He’s left.”

“But who is he?” He asked, his fragile tone making him sound small.

Who is Kim Taehyung? You could fill book after book answering that question, as he was everything.

A small smile curved on your lips as you thought about who Kim Taehyung was to you. “I can’t tell you who he is to you,” you began, locking your eyes with his before you allowed your orbs to drag across his features, appreciating the man, drinking him in. “But to me, he’s everything.”

And at that simple statement, as you stared at your boyfriend’s lips, you noticed the way they just slightly quirked upward before he corrected the expression, remaining serious and self-doubting.

“You know the guy on stage is incredible,” you continued. “V is special and he’s amazing, but this guy right here,” you nodded to him, “sitting in his pajamas, expressing his fears and concerns,” you grinned. “He’s the most brilliant person I’ve ever known.” You watched as his jaw tightened, an obvious sign of the emotion that was bubbling within him.

“You glow, Taehyung. With and without V,” you told him sincerely, your voice becoming shaky as your own emotions made themselves present. ��And I don’t mean to downplay that piece of you because he is you and he’s amazing and he’s helped you grow and become this incredible human being, but I just hope you know that with or without that part of yourself, you’re still a masterpiece,” you ranted, in a race to beat the incoming tears. “I hope you can look at yourself one day and see what I see. If only you could spend one day in my shoes and see yourself how I see you.”

The man’s body trembled as he brought a hand to his face, shielding it from you as he cried.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you shook your head, pulling his hand from his eyes. “Don’t hide from me.”

Taking a shaky breath, letting it out with a quiver of his pout, you smiled at him. “That boy who approached me on the street when we were kids wasn’t V. That was Kim Taehyung. The man who makes me toast with jam in the mornings isn’t V. That’s Kim Taehyung. The friend who’s been my shoulder to lean on and cry on all these years, the lover who supports me and believes in me, that’s all Kim Taehyung.”

With tears trickling down your face, mimicking Taehyung’s own emotions, you giggled at the pout on his lips that made him look like a younger version of himself.

“What?” He questioned, a small smile spreading on his lips, almost rectangular but not quite.

“You look like you’re seventeen,” you grinned, sitting up on your knees and inching towards him so you hovered above him, Taehyung’s youthful, tearful gaze looking up at you.

“I can’t fix this, and I can’t make you feel complete, and I can’t take away your concern for the future,” you told him with a small frown. “But I can be here to hold your hand and assure you that you’re going to be ok, whether you believe it right now or not. It’s ok to feel this way, I just don’t want you to feel like you have no one if you’re not on a stage,” you leaned toward him, pushing his dark wavy fringe out of his face to leave a sweet kiss to his forehead. Wrapping your arms around his head, you held his face against your chest as you left another kiss to his hair.

“You have people who love you, but most importantly, you have Kim Taehyung. And he’s my favorite person,” you smiled as you mumbled against his hair. The man hugged around your waist, holding you even closer to him. “I think you’re going to learn to love him,” you whispered through your grin. “He’s pretty fucking lovable.”

[anythingforspence]

the capstone - chapter one

Summary: Reader is a semester away from getting her masters in Psychology and duringher last semester she has to complete her capstone, or passion project if you will. This year, the professors decided that each student will be personally mentored by a psycologyst in distinct fields. When Y/N meets hers, she can’t decide whether she is lucky or if it will be a long 5 months.

Pairing: Female reader x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.8 k

Chapter warning: harsh language, sexy talk, no smut yet

A/N: omg tysm for all of the love on the teaser post. i hope i dont dissapoint.

Although I’m wide awake, I let my alarm clock keep beeping and beeping and beeping as I stare up at the white ceiling of my cheap studio apartment. My neighbor woke me up bright and early this morning by doing what sounded like lugging a dead body throughout his apartment. I lifted my head slightly just to slam it back against my bed, whining about being awake at 5:30 am. I’m probably just nervous. I have to complete this passion project for my psychology class by being mentored by a famous psychologist and write a paper about their career and their wisdom I guess. I have a meeting with my mentor today and I don’t know what to expect. My professor kept the identity of our mentors a secret. For the “excitement” and whatnot.

With a sigh, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and bend over to switch off the alarm. Resting my elbows on my knees, I run my hands down my face, basically prepping myself for the fact that I have to stand up soon. The moment I stand, I stretch all throughout my body, ending with my hands high above my head, stretching into the ceiling. My mouth getting ready to yawn when a bang was heard next door, like a book being chucked against the wall ajoined with my neighbors apartment causing me to yelp. I’m pretty sure I heard a chuckle in response to my scream. I glared at the wall, thinking of all the ways I could storm in there and punch my neighbor. I had two choices. I could storm in there and do all the things I wish I could do, or I could mind my business and get ready for the day.

Rolling my eyes I decided to just get ready. I still wanted payback, however, I blasted Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now by The Smiths as I head into the showe. I grab brown trousers, a white button up, and a sage green set of lace undergarments. Not that anyone would see them, unfortunately there has been a drought of sorts in my pants. I just wear them for the aesthetic. Getting undressed, I put on my favorite playlist with all of the songs that make me feel like I’m the main character in an indie film. I heard a light tapping at my door, like some wanted my attention but at the same time wished I never paid attention to them. I decided to ignore it and step under the stream of water in my shower.

Once I was all finished with my shower, I stepped out into my foggy bathroom. Singing along to Bug Collector by Haley Heynderickx, I start drying off and slip on my outfit for the day. I keep my hair in a towel to help it dry some so I don’t have to use any heat on my hair. For my makeup I decided to go for a red lip, neutral blush, mascara, and brows today. Something simple and professional. I let my hair out of the towel and brush it out, not doing too much to it. Blowing myself a kiss in the mirror, I grab my purse and wrap my student ID around my neck, letting it fall next to the golden flower chained to my neck.When I open the door, I laugh in shock at the note my neighbor left for me.“nice taste in music”

I felt something against my leg and knew exactly who it was. “Hi, Payton,” I sweetly spoke to the Sphynx cat at my feet. I named her Payton even though she’s not technically mine and just wanders through the apartment complex. I bend down to give her scratches at her neck. “How’s my cutie patootie. Did you see the asshole who left this not?” She just tilted her head more into my hand, telling me to keep on scratching. “Guess not.” I stand back up and check the time on my watch, “Shit”. I had five minutes to get there.

-----

A bell rang as I entered the coffee shop I was supposed to meet my mentor at, of course with my favorite mask on. My eyes scan the place a little before I walk up to the counter to order my favorite drink. “Hi can I just get a 16 ounce Earl Grey, please?” The barista said something along the lines of yes of course and how my total was 2.16. “Alrighty, thank you.” It didn’t take too long for it to be done. They weren’t very busy and it’s just a tea bag and hot water.

“Excuse me, are you Y/F/N Y/L/N?” 

Woah. His voice sent a tingle down my spine. Probably just because I haven’t had much human contact or the fact that I haven’t been laid in a while but, my god, what I would give for him to say my name again. But that was nothing compared to what I saw when I turned around. I’m just glad I was wearing a mask so he didn’t the way my lips parted when my eyes met his. He had curly brown hair and he dressed like an old man, doesn’t sound like much but for me, that’s everything. Oh my gosh, and he had nerdy little cute glasses? When I realized I was staring I averted my eyes and started blushing.

“Um, yes, hi, that’s my name. I’m so sorry, but what’s your name?” The tremor in my voice made me want to just drop dead. I’m a woman of science but if the Earth knew how to open up and swallow people, now would be the time to prove it.

“Oh hi. I’m Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m your psychology mentor. Did your professor not tell you?” He seemed so confused, oh my god he’s so cute.

“Oh. Oh my God I’m so sorry! My professor didn’t let us know who was mentoring us, just in case we did prior research or something. I’m sorry. But yes um I’m Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” I kept on rambling, looking anywhere but his eyes. Unfortunately, it made me look like I was checking him out. Oh fuck.

Chuckling a bit, he goes, “Oh no your fine. No need to apalogize. It’s a pleasure to meet you miss Y/N.” Not going to lie, the way he said my name sent tingles to my pussy. Oh my god what is wrong with me! I can’t be thinking these things about the person who is going to mentor me! Stop being so horny.

I started to blush and I cleared my throat and gestured towards the window. “Um, should we go sit out there?”

“Oh yes of course. Please after you,” he said, his hand finding the small of my back, hitching my breath and making me nervously mess with the rings on my fingers. We sat at the iron tables outside of the coffee shop, he pulled my chair open for me, finally his hands off of me. I felt like I could breathe again but at the same time I felt sad, empty. He took off his mask to take a sip of what he was drinking and holy shit. He had some scruff and his lips just looked so inviting. I wanted to distract from the silence that was biting at me. “So, uh, what do you do?” My voice trailing off, making everything so much heavier with awkwardness and the sexual tension that was just coming from me.

“What do you mean what do I do?” Fuck. I looked so stupid of course he does something in pschology. That’s the whole reason you’re here.

“W-well, um, like what specific area do you work in?”

“I do criminal profiling with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.” My eyebrows bunch together in confusion. What does that have to do with psychology? Almost as if he’s reading my mind he continues, “We psycho analyze crime scenes, victims, bodies to understand why a criminal would do what they did, which helps us to understand the type of person they are, their background, and it leads us to the criminal, or unsub.”

“Wow that’s actually really cool. But, like, how does that all work?”

“Tell me, Y/N, when was the last time you had sex?” I didn’t say anything. I was so shocked. First off, how inappropriate, but also how did he know? “When I first walked in, you kept on looking me up and down as if you’ve never seen a man before. You keep fidgeting with your rings. Usually new jewelry makes people fidget but the stains on your fingers suggest you wear rings frequently which means you're nervous. Also ever since I’ve taken my mask offyou haven’t stopped staring at my lips. So, sweet girl, tell me when was the last time you were satisfied?”

I just sat there, gapping at him like a fish out of water. What was I supposed to say? Why thank you for asking, although the last time I’ve had sex was a year ago but the last time I’ve orgasmed has been longer? Before I could come up with an answer he got a phone call. Someone named Morgan needed him or something. Whatever it was, it seemed urgent.“Sorry our meeting got cut short, Y/N. Very important FBI business came up. Here is my card, has my name, email and phone number. I recommend calling me because I don’t usually check my emails or my texts. Your professor already gave me your contact information so I know how to find you. I am very excited for the upcoming months.”

“Oh- uh, thank you,” I whispered, still shocked. He grabs my hand so that he can hand me my card since I haven’t moved a muscle. 

“Oh and Y/N?” My head wips up at him and I let out a “hmm?” that could be mistaken for a moan. “Green is a nice color on you.” Confused, I looked down to see my button up shirt had popped open, letting my green covered tits be seen by the world. Eyes blown open, I immediately cover myself and say a thank you that sounded so embarrassing because my voice cracked. He just chucked and told me he would contact me soon. Before he left, I could’ve sworn he looked at me as if I was a sexy hollywood actress or something. But I brushed it off. Maybe he was concerned for me. After all, I had my tits out and made it obvious that I was desperately horny. God these five months will be awful if I keep thinking about Dr. Reid as a sex partner than a mentor. Then again the concept of having sex with your mentor can be hot. Nope. No. I should stop there.

[thotinshield]

Danny’s Bagginshield Fic Recs (2021)

I haven’t done a fic rec in literal years, and I keep meaning to, but then I... don’t. This is a massive list - so I will put it under a read more to save your dashes.

Modern AUs

A Remover of Obstacles by MistakenMagic

"Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."

(Note: This fic deals with a lot of mental health stuff, panic attacks, etc, so please please mind the tags.)

By Request by HildyJ

As a musician, Thorin's life can be summed up in tempos. For instance, the concerto he's perfoming on Friday is Allegro - quick and bright, followed by Andantino - slightly slow, and then back to Allegro again.

On the other hand, his relationship with his cute neighbour? Larghissimo - very, very slow.

Stepping Stones by misplacedkisses

It feels like it's fate Thorin's trying to resist, his destiny, his bloodline.

Fresh out of inpatient, Thorin's struck with the urge and maybe it's fate (or therapy) that has him stumbling into a late-night cafe instead. It may be the start of a new life.

Write Me Down Easy by lucyraebrown

Bilbo Baggins, a simple man with a wish for something more than his life teaching high school English, is obsessed with a famous author by the pen-name Oakenshield. Although he knows the future is dim for his chances of finding out about the man behind his favorite book, it's reassuring to know someone has the same thoughts about the world.

Fix-its 

I'll Die to Care for You by thehufflepuffhobbit

His gaze landed on Mahal's eyes once more. "You did your best, Thorin." It was tempting to look away; he wanted to deny that with everything he had. It certainly didn't feel as though falling into Gold Sickness and then dying was doing his best. Mahal smirked, as though he knew Thorin's desire to contradict him, and pinched his cheek before walking over to a table. "Aye, I didn't think you would believe me. I'm not lying, it certainly could have gone better. More according to my plan, but I know you really did try."

"Your plan?" He didn't know if he should ask, really. Knowing that his Maker had set a course for him, he didn't want to think about the ways he had done everything wrong. There were too many examples of mistakes in his long life, too many opportunities that he had missed that had probably been planned for him from the beginning.

Or:

Mahal feels like Thorin fucked up his legacy and gives him a do over.

Roses of Iron by Porphyrios

Two years after Bilbo returned from his adventures, he's made his peace with being back in the Shire. He still wonders what might have happened if things were different, but figures all that is behind him now. A mysterious visitor turns out to be someone he never thought he'd see again, and he's shocked by the news he hears.

Beside Myself by bliboboggins

"What are you doing? Just who do you think you are?" Startled, Bilbo turned around slowly. And there, in a familiar patchwork dressing gown, brandishing a fire poker wildly about, was... Bilbo.

i wouldn't have danced like that with any but you by Percyjacksonfan3

Thorin has survived the Battle of the Five Armies but his relationship with Bilbo is uncertain and precarious, especially in the newly reclaimed kingdom of Erebor. With Kíli set to marry Tauriel, and the Dwarves of Erebor still holding prejudice against outside races, Thorin must choose between his nephew's happiness or his own.

Though he believes sending Bilbo back to the Shire is for the good of everyone, he and the rest of Erebor are thrown into turmoil when 5 years later his nephews secretly plot to bring Bilbo back. Coming face-to-face with Bilbo again makes it impossible for Thorin to stay apart from him any longer- but is Bilbo still willing to be with Thorin once more after he broke both of their hearts?

A Matter of Payment by heartshapeddog

"And Thorin rose from the little table, keeping Bilbo’s fingers crushed gently in his own, and went down to his knee before him. Bilbo was struck with the likelihood that no creature greater than a farm-dog had lowered its head before a Hobbit since the birth of Eä until this very moment. He looked down, fascinated, at the crown of Thorin’s head, bare of royal circlet, and felt at once humbled and strong.

“I swear it,” Thorin said, and Bilbo thought of the vows from Elven history, of the type which followed the oathkeeper to the ends of Arda as a deep and binding magic. Then, he took Bilbo’s knuckles up to his lips. The rasp of his beard and his soft mouth were shocking in their immediacy and contrast. Bilbo could not help his racing heart."

Feet that Wander Have Gone by WednesdaysDaughter

“Run away with me.”

Bilbo turns to see who would say such a cowardly thing only to realize it was his own traitorous mouth which has run away with his heart: They’re already down the mountain and past Mirkwood by the time he realizes no one has objected.

“What a delightful solution my dear boy,” says Gandalf who looks to the east where the eagles are skimming the horizon.

Other AUs

between synapses and circuits by MistakenMagic

Different diagnostic results slowly trickled through and Thorin swiped them all to different corners of the screen depending on their relevance and evidence of abnormality. He paused when a particular chart appeared and smiled to himself.

“What?” Bilbo murmured, sounding genuinely worried.

“Your heterochromia,” Thorin explained, meeting Bilbo’s green and blue gaze. “The irregular algorithm that causes it has been running for almost half a century.”

“Most mechatronics offer to fix it for me,” Bilbo said, looking away, seeming suddenly self-conscious.

“Then they’re idiots.”

(Note: I just love MistakenMagic’s works. That’s all. This one is good and she writes angst so so well.)

past one hundred thousand miles (feeling very still) by childishinquiry

Commander Thorin Oakenshield is the leader of the first Mars mission, Project Golden Eagle, with twelve crewmen. Back on Earth, Specialist Bilbo Baggins is their communications specialist. Making history is easy; it's much harder to deal with falling in love with the person on the other end of the signal.

Hallowbit by batherik

As simple pawn shop owner in the human world, Bilbo isn’t all that thrilled to find himself lost in Thorin’s magical undead kingdom. Lured there by an old man dressed in grey, who turned out to be a wizard, Bilbo is charged with doing a job no one wants to do: fetch the King’s head from the corn maze. The King often loses his head when his temper boils over.

In the House of a Skinchanger by Bardic

Thorin and Company have finally reached a safe house after a few crazy weeks on the road. After three days of goblins, orcs, and a massive bear that's chased them into the home of one of Gandalf's acquaintances the Company is quite exhausted and quite tired of surprises. Unfortunately for them, or fortunately there is another staying there.

Master Baggins is not who the Company expected to find, especially when he claims to be one of the only outsiders Durin allowed a title and a rank to. Although that's the least surprising thing about him.

Thorin makes some discoveries and has some observations.

Basically an AU where Bilbo is a skinchanger and the Company meet him at Beorn's on accident.

It Runs In The Family by Imagined

At first, Bilbo is very glad to hear of the new alliance between Erebor and the Shire. He is even more excited when he learns that some of his family members are coming to the Lonely Mountain to discuss the details.

That is, until the dwarves (and Thorin, who is decidedly not and never shall be his) start getting along a little too well with one of his more adventurous cousins, and Bilbo starts doubting about his place.

[frankiekatt]

My Ghost (Part 1)

Characters: Denki Kaminari 

Notes: Ghost AUs fuel my soul so I had to write one myself. This will be a 3 part series!

Warnings: Mentions of death!

Words: 4K

Synopsis: Denki knew deep down any outcome would just lead to disaster and sorrow. After all, he was a dead man who never aged and who could never leave this house. And you - you were the complete opposite. You were a living, breathing girl with your whole life ahead of you.

Being alone in a brand new house with all its creaks and groans was definitely not your idea of a perfect summer. If you had gotten a choice in the matter, you would have gladly followed your two best friends to Costa Rica, or went vacationing with your father to Greece, or visited your grandmother in Hong Kong. Anything but being stuck home alone in a brand new house that didn’t even have all of your furniture in it yet. 

But sadly, your mother had finally decided to get married to her long-time boyfriend, and the two of them had made the exciting decision to honeymoon in America all summer. Which meant that you would be cat-sitting for your new step-father’s tabby, Charles, in the new family house. All summer. All by yourself. 

The house that your mother and new step-father had moved the three of you into was a two-story brick building with 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, and a small library on the second floor. The real estate agent that had sold your family the house had explained that no one had lived in this house for over 30 years, due to a death taking place in the upstairs attic, which creeped you out a bit, but your parents were quick to put down a down-payment on the house due to the unusually low price. 

Now, for the next three months, this house would be a constant for you. That, and the black and grey tabby you were now responsible for. 

Though, there was one more thing that would be in your presence for the remainder of the summer. You were not yet aware of the blonde boy’s presence in your house, but he was very aware of yours. 

The very first day you and your family had moved in, Denki was completely smitten with you. He hadn’t seen a girl in this house that wasn’t over the age of 45 and trying to sell this place in well over 30 years. And definitely not a girl this cute. 

He watched you explore the house, following behind you as you went from room to room, admiring the paintings his mother had hung on the walls years ago or inspecting the oak cabinets in the kitchen with a curious look in your pretty eyes. 

Denki adored you. He watched every night as you and your two parents unpacked boxes in every room. He watched every night as you decorated your room - which was once his - with posters and drawings and hung up your clothes in the small closet on the right side of your room. On the third day, while you were downstairs with your mother, Denki decided to look through all the clothes you had hung up the night before. Most of the articles of clothing were sweaters and hoodies with a couple dresses and skirts here and there. 

That’s how you dressed normally, Denki observed. Always in a hoodie or sweater with shorts or jeans. Denki thought it was odd at first, as it was the beginning of June and the sun was scorching. But the more Denki watched you, the more he found you absolutely adorable. 

Denki hadn’t felt the touch of another human being since the day he died in his attic, and seeing you walk around his house each day, bundled up in big hoodies and sweaters, made him want to touch you more than anything. You just looked so soft. On the fourth night, after you had already gone to bed, Denki decided he was going to touch you. Just a little, just on your cheek. Nothing too creepy or too serious to wake you up.

You looked so pretty when you were sleeping. Your eyes were closed, which meant they couldn’t hold that annoyed look you seemed to perpetually have whenever your parents would talk about leaving for the summer. Your brows were rested, no longer drawn together in irritation. You looked completely and utterly peaceful. 

Denki reached out towards your face, hand shaking like a leaf. He hadn’t touched another human in so long, and here you were, right in front of him, unconscious, vulnerable, smooth and soft. Denki had forgotten what human flesh felt like, so when he brushed the back of his fingers against your cold cheek, he almost jumped away. 

Almost.

You felt like spring to him; growth, new beginnings, blossoming, life. You felt like everything Denki had been longing for for over thirty years - hell, even before then. He had only touched you with two fingers, and he already felt like fate had pulled him into its eventful little game. It was frightening to him, how many emotions were drifting in and out of his chest all at once. 

He didn’t know you. The only thing he knew about you was your name and he only learned that four days ago. And yet, he here was, standing in his - your- bedroom, watching you sleep, falling in love with everything about you. 

You stirred slightly at his touch, which made Denki jerk away. He quickly made himself invisible to the human eye once more and stepped away from your bedside before your eyes opened slowly. 

Your room was unusually chilly. You got cold fairly easily, so you often kept the temperature of your room higher than normal, but now it felt like someone had left your window open during a frigid winter night. Sitting up, you pulled the large red hooding off the side of your headboard and slipped it over your t-shirt. Why is it so fucking cold?

Your bedside clock read 3:33am, which meant you only had a couple hours until your mother and step-father left for their 7am flight. Soon, you would be all alone in this house, in a new town, with no one to keep you company other than the fluffy grey cat that was currently sleeping at the foot of your bed. You were now wide awake and freezing cold, so you saw no point in trying to fall back asleep for a measly few hours, so you decided to explore the one room in this house you hadn’t quite gotten to see yet; the library.

The library was exactly as the real estate agent had said it was; completely untouched since the last family moved out. It was a small room, filled with one desk in the center, and two wide bookshelves attached to each wall. There were papers and notebooks littering the mahogany desk, as well as envelopes and wax stamps. The room smelt of dust and pine and was colder than your bedroom had been a couple minutes ago. Still, you ventured into the dark room, stopping by the large desk to turn on the small lamp that sat at its edge. 

Light filled the room, showing off the rows upon rows of books that decorated the large brown bookshelves. Some books were very old, such as ‘Epic of Gilgamesh’, and some were not so old, such as a couple of Louis Duncan novels. Some of the books, as you saw, you had read, and most of them you had not. You spotted one of your favorite novels on the south wall bookshelf, and shuffled towards it to look over the dusty cover. Before you could grab the spine of the book, however, something caught your eye. 

Something very human-like, and it was definitely not one of your parents. 

He was only visible for half a second before he seemed to just cease to exist before your eyes. In that half a second though, you were apple to make out spiky blond hair, and piercing yellow eyes that were staring directly at you. 

A scream rose in your throat, but you were able to choke it down before it could escape and wake everyone up. There was no one else in the room but you. You whipped your head around, scanning every corner of the room for the blonde boy who had just been right by your side moments ago, gazing at you. But there was nothing. No mysterious boy in the library, or out in the hall. Maybe the lack of a full night’s rest had you seeing things. Yes, that had to be it. 

But Denki knew the truth. He had gotten distracted by you for not even a second, and had managed to make himself visible to you. He knew the second your eyes had widened in fear, that you had spotted him. Denki’s heart leaped out of his chest as he quickly made himself invisible and backed away from you. You were now looking around frantically, terror written all over your face. In the midst of back away from you quietly, Denki accidentally bumped into the large wooden desk, sending papers flying to the floor. 

The sound of a thud and the fact that papers were now drifting downwards as if someone had picked up a stack and threw them on the floor had you second guessing if you were just imagining things. 

No fucking way, you thought. You weren’t exactly a non-believer of the supernatural, but you had never in your life imagined that you would encounter anything non-human. The thought of it almost made you laugh as you stood frozen in fear. This was just ridiculous. Okay, so maybe you had thought you had seen a boy standing next to you and the next second he was gone, and maybe something made a loud noise and a stack of papers coincidentally fell to the floor. That did not mean that there was a ghost or a demon or some kind of invisible man in your house. Did it?

Denki decided to let you know it did, in fact, mean that. Making himself invisible to the human eye for four days straight had drained him of almost all of his energy, and you had already seen him and heard him twice. So, fuck it. 

The scream that you had been keeping bay for the last 60 seconds had finally decided to rip free. There was the blonde boy again - standing right in front of you. A minute ago, he had been more translucent and blurry, but now you could see him clearly. This thing you were seeing was a tall blonde boy with yellow eyes, wearing all black. He was cute. But he was also someone who could disappear and reappear in a matter of seconds, and that was not what normal cute boys do. 

You were screaming and backing yourself up against the wall, trying desperately to make yourself as small as possible so this magical invisible blonde boy would leave you alone.

“No! Shh! Stop, it’s okay, everything is okay! Please stop screaming!” 

The fact that the blonde boy was now speaking to you, made you even more afraid. You inhaled deeply, preparing to let out another scream, hoping one of your parents would wake up and come save you, but the blonde boy lurched forward and clamped a hand down on your mouth before you could make another sound. 

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please don’t scream. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”

His golden eyes were boring into yours, begging you to stay quiet. The urge to scream slowly dissipated as you realized this boy’s body was pressed against yours - this incredibly cute boy was pressing himself against you. 

“I’m gonna take my hand away, okay?” The boy whispered. His eyes were just as wide as yours. 

You nodded slowly at him, which prompted the blonde boy to let his hand slip away from your lips, inch by inch. Once your mouth was completely free, Denki took a step back to allow you to catch your breath. 

“Alright, so, you probably have some questions.” He chuckled nervously. 

Without meeting his gaze, you pushed yourself off the wall and nodded. Uh, yeah I have questions. Why are you in my house? How are you in my house? What exactly are you?

“Well,” he started slowly, “My name’s Denki. I, um, I used to live here.”

“Live here? So, what, you're mad I’m in your house or something and you’ve come to magically take it back or something?”

He shook his head and focused his gaze on his feet. “No, that’s not it. I kind of still live here, just not by my choice.”

What the blonde boy - Denki - said, seemed to ignite a memory in the back of your mind. The real estate agent had told you and your family that there had been a death in the house over 30 years ago - a boy who got electrocuted in the attic. The fact that Denki could make himself visible and invisible at will, clicked everything into place. 

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Y-your d-dead.” Your hands were now trembling. 

Denki looked up at that moment. His eyes were sad and bleak, which almost made you feel bad for stating the obvious. 

“That’s right,” Denki lamented. “I’m dead.”

* * *

You spent the next three and a half hours cautiously speaking to Denki, processing the fact that you were conversing with a ghost in the creepy library of your new home. 

Denki explained to you that he had died on November 11th, 1989, in the attic of this house when he attempted to set up a couple extension cords for his tv he liked to play video games on during a storm, and ended up electrocuting himself. Denki didn’t seem too  upset describing the day he died to you, but he did start to shed tears when he choked out how he had to watch his parents fall apart in the halls of this house over his death. He cried as he remembered how they finalized the divorce a year after his death, and put the house up for sale. Denki weeped when he looked back on the day when his eternal loneliness began. When his parents left him in this big, cold house all alone. Dead and lonely. 

Once he was finished telling his story, he quickly wiped his tears away and smiled as brightly as he could at you, trying to hide his sorrow. “So,” he drawled. “What about you? What’s your story?”

You felt silly, sitting on the floor of the library, telling a dead boy the story of how your parents split when you were 12 due to an affair your mother was having with her now-husband, and how your dad decided to travel the world instead of wallowing in his heart break. You told Denki that living with your mother and her new boyfriend who had ruined your parents’ marriage was hard at first, but gradually became easier the more you realized what a nice guy your mother’s now-husband was. He was awkward around you, but always polite, and he seemed to be infatuated with your mother. Though you hated to admit it, you saw love between your mother and her boyfriend that you never saw between your mother and your father. 

Denki reached out to hold your hands in his when your voice began to waver when speaking of your mother and father. It was a hard topic to talk about for you, but Denki’s cool hands gave you comfort. 

You both shared stories of your childhoods, your favorite memories, what you both were like when you were younger. As 6 ‘o cock rolled around, you had forgotten that you were chatting and laughing with the ghost of an 18 year old boy. It was a strangely nice feeling. You had just discovered that ghosts were real, and now you were making friends with one. Denki was nice and funny and his infectious laugh had managed to pull a smile from you numerous times throughout the three hours you sat talking to him about anything and everything. 

While Denki was rattling on about his favorite foods and how much he missed eating them, a thought popped into your head. “Denki,” you started, “have you been watching us for the past four days?”

Denki blinked at you before grinning and nodding furiously. “Yep! The way you dance while folding laundry is super cute by the way!” His favorite thing to do at night was watching you blast music from your phone and dance around your room while folding fresh laundry. 

A slight blush coated your cheeks. “So, did you...see everything I did then?”

Oh. That.

Denki instantly knew what you were referring to. On the third night of staying in your new house, you had waited till both of your parents had gone to bed before locking your bedroom door and slipping into bed. Denki had been sitting in your computer chair at that time, leisurely watching you go about your room for the past half hour. The moment you had fallen into your bed though, made Denki shoot to his feet with a tomato red face. 

You had slipped your delicate hand into the waistband of your night shorts. It had been several weeks since you had had a chance to release any of your stress in any type of form, and tonight you were alone, horny, and frustrated. Your small fingers were now stuffed inside your cunt, moving in and out in an attempt to relieve yourself, and Denki was unable to look away. He knew he shouldn’t be watching this - watching you - but he couldn’t make himself leave, couldn’t make himself respect your privacy. 

You looked so helpless and so cute sprawled out on your bed, hand moving around in your shorts, your wet lips letting out soft little mewls. Denki felt utterly disgusting as he slipped his own hand into the waistband of his jeans to knead himself at the sight of you. He wanted more than anything to make himself known to you, to touch you, to tell you he had practically fallen in love with you the first time he saw you and you should let him pleasure you instead. 

Denki had to settle for fucking his fist to the sound of your moans, unfortunately. He could almost imagine how wet and tight and how good you would feel around him. He hoped someday soon, he would get to be the one forcing moans out of your mouth instead of your own fingers. He hoped soon, he would be able to kiss your neck as he fucked into you, reaching his high. He really, really hoped that he would be able to release inside you, stuffing you full of his cum, of his passion, of his love.

Denki’s face flushed at your revelation. He had just revealed himself to you, and had managed to get you to stay and talk to him for hours - he did not want to ruin it by admitting to violating your privacy in the worst way possible. 

“I know you watched me that night,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I-I think I heard you. H-heard you moaning.”

Denki didn’t think his face could reach a higher temperature. He wanted to say something - anything - but was completely stuck watching you stutter and blush, his own mouth glued shut. 

“I thought I was just imagining it, that I was fantasizing about something like that. But I wasn’t, was I? It was you in my room that night. Watching me.”

Your voice wasn’t the least bit defensive, nor was there any trace of accusation on your face. Shouldn’t you be angry at him? Shouldn’t you be yelling at him in embarrassment? Calling him a pervert?

But you weren’t. You looked flustered for sure, but not like you felt violated in any way. In fact, the thought of Denki watching you touching yourself - touching himself at the sight of you - made you feel good. Denki was extremely attractive to you, and it was thrilling to know that he thought the same of you.

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N.” This was humiliating. What if you never wanted to talk to him again because of this? What would he do then? “I never meant to do that sort of thing! I j-just, I don’t know, you looked so pretty and I had already come to like you so much that I just-”

Watching Denki fumble with his words in an effort to not upset you was almost laughable. You didn’t want nor need an apology from him. You liked that he had watched you. That he had touched himself to you.

That’s why you were now kissing him. He had begun to stutter and raise his voice so much that the only way you saw fit to quiet him was to press your lips against his. His lips were smooth and full and cold to the touch just like his hands were. Your sudden intrusion shocked Denki so much that he almost forgot to kiss you back. He hadn’t kissed anyone since he was 12 years old, and even then, the girl who kissed him was only acting on a dare and had laughed in his face before running away after taking his first kiss. Now, he had you pressed against him, your lips dancing upon his in the gentlest way possible. 

When he began to reciprocate the kiss, Denki could have sworn he saw ‘the light’ everyone talked about seeing when they died. It was beautiful and warm and exciting and it was all you. You slipped an arm around his neck to tug him closer and deepen the kiss, which incited a soft groan from Denki’s throat. Breathing had become a distant memory for the both of you; all that mattered in that moment was claiming each other’s lips. 

“Y/N,” your mother called from downstairs. You both jumped away from each other at your mother’s voice, panting heavily, lips swollen. 

“What, mom?” Why did she have to be awake now? 

“We’re leaving in a few minutes, sweetie! Please come down here!”

For fucks sake. You knew you should go down there and bid her farewell. She would be gone for three months, after all. But Denki’s presence made everything else in your life seem so small. You had only just met him, only kissed him once, and now it felt like he was invading your mind and making a permanent home in your brain.  “Alright! I’m coming!”

You turned back towards Denki who had a goofy grin on his face. “So you do like me back?”

You scoffed, letting your hair fall in front of your face to hide the redness that was blossoming across it. “Shut up. You’re just kind of cute. That’s all” A complete lie. 

Denki leaned forward and took your chin in his hand, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Well,” he said, “I like you. And I want to do that again, if that’s okay?”

A slight smile found its way on your lips. You were about to take him up on his offer before your mother shouted back up at you to hurry down. Denki smiled at you and said, “Go, before she comes up here and catches you making out with a ghost.”

Tearing yourself away from him was surprisingly hard. You felt compelled to stay with Denki like that, centimeters apart, lingering in your own little bubble. But he was right. Your mother was starting to sound agitated. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Denki nodded at you encouragingly, and watched as you rushed out of the room and down the stairs. His smile quickly fell from his lips once you were gone. 

You had kissed him. And he had kissed you back. Denki wasn’t sure what this meant, but he was secretly hoping it would continue. 

Though, even with that hope, Denki knew deep down any outcome would just lead to disaster and sorrow. After all, he was a dead man who never aged and who could never leave this house. And you - you were the complete opposite. You were a living, breathing girl with your whole life ahead of you.

[lordkambe]

i’m so so so happy requests are open because i’ve been wanting to request this ever since i found your blog !!! may i request fukuzawa with a breeding & daddy kink? your fukuzawa writings are my favorite writings in the whole world!

oh !! this is the person who requested the fukuzawa breeding kink drabble, i thought my req was too vague so i thought maybe he had a hard day at work and he needs to relieve some stress ?? also include heavy degradation if you can !! sorry for being too difficult!!! 

🎠  character, fandom, type of reader: fukuzawa yukichi, bungou stray dogs, woman reader

🎠   genre, rating: nsfw, 18+ only.

🎠   themes, triggers: explicit descriptions, dominant themes, heavy degradation, humiliation, breeding kink, daddy kink

🎠   author’s note: hey ! thanks for sending in the specifics, it really helped me out a lot ! no need to apologize ~ i hope you enjoy this smutty little number. it really just... gets the point lol. 

with your hands placed firmly on his chest fukuzawa placed kisses tenderly across your neck and exposed chest. his kisses were fervent and fueled with greater intentions. when he paid attention to your lips he ensured to slip his tongue into your mouth and when he parted a string of saliva connected the two of you as one. you laid there on the bed completely at his disposal. he had removed most of your clothing aside from the lace panties you decided to tease him with. fukuzawa’s length was hard between your legs. you felt it throb underneath the fabric of his briefs. you opened your legs wider to feel more and more of him.

“is that how badly do you want it?” he asked you through gritted teeth. despite how eager fukuzawa was he never wasted time on foreplay. he enjoyed watching you squirm underneath him. the kitten like sounds that left your lips; your eyes struggling to remain open as he teased you further and further. he lowered himself enough for your breasts to press against his chest. he whispered in your ear, “use your words kitten, tell me how badly you want me to fuck you.”

you licked your lips. “i want it so bad daddy, please.” you moaned into his mouth. your fingers tangled into his grey hair and you looked at his lust-filled expression. only moments ago he explained the overwhelming amount of stress he was dealing with at work. the presence of the guild and the nuisance of the port mafia were beginning to irritate him. in order for fukuzawa to earn some relief you decided to tease him and it was only fated that you’d end up underneath not only him but his command.

fukuzawa lifted himself from your body and removed his briefs to reveal his hardened cock. you clenched your jaw in anticipation. you yearned for his impressive length to enter inside of you. fukuzawa’s eyes observed your body laying on the bed waiting, begging for him to devour. he kept his eyes fixated on your closed entrance where a visible wet spot had formed. “what a vulgar body you have kitten. you’re already soaking from teasing alone.” with two fingers he touched the wet spot. the feeling of his touch made you bring your knees up. you opened your legs wider, “please fukuzawa,”

“have you forgotten how to address me?” he questioned you with a bit of offense in his voice. “address me correctly and tell me how hungry you are for me. explain to me how badly you want me inside of you like the lewd fucking whore you are.” the words he said ripped through his mouth. you saw his chest huff and puff and his cock twitch. the ultimate power he reigned over you turned him on and you felt yourself grow even wetter.

“the wet spot in your panties spread.” fukuzawa noted with his finger still pressed firmly on your clothed clit. “do you like when i yell at you? when daddy tells you how much of a lewd body you have?” you swallowed harshly, “i love it when you fill me up daddy. i love the feeling of you inside of me.”

fukuzawa leaned in close to you once more. he placed a kiss on your lips, a gentle one. when he parted he replaced his lips with his index finger. “how sweet of you to say kitten, i think i should reward you.” you nodded your head quickly. your eager response made fukuzawa chuckle. “ah, that’s what i thought. how much of a slut are you y/n?” the older gentleman pulled both your legs in order for your body to come closer with his. he traced the tip of cock on the entrance of your folds. immediately you heard the sound of wetness fukuzawa didn’t hesitate to mention it. “do you hear that? i haven’t put myself inside of you and you already sound so wet.”

with a grunt fukuzawa placed his entire length inside of you. considering how wet you were he didn’t need to push into you slowly. your pussy welcomed him in without any trouble and the second he began to thrust you clenched around him. his thrusting picked up speed and as it did a trail of low moans left fukuzawa’s lips. his moans melted with yours, that were much louder and pronounced. he kept hitting the place that brought you the most pleasure and the sounds that were leaving your mouth were involuntary.

fukuzawa grabbed both your thighs and opened your legs wider. “look at my cock going inside of you.” mustering up enough strength to lift your head you looked at his cock drilling in and out of your entrance. your juices were combining with his and the sloshing sound of your pussy mixed with your skin slapping against his; made you fall further down the path of euphoria.

“you said you like it when you feel my cock inside of you, huh?” he used his thumb to rub circles around your clit. “how about i cum inside of you and fill you up with my cum.” he leaned in forward and your lips crashed into his. you moaned into his mouth and he simply chuckled. “look at that face. you like it that much huh? you --- you want me to fill up your pussy with my cum and make you  pregnant?” you threw your head back and sobbed at the intense pleasure fukuzawa was treating you with.

“yes!” you cried out in response, “yes daddy please -- fill me up.” fukuzawa grunted his hips were crashing into yours at such an intense speed. you felt his dick twitch inside of you as it always did when he was reaching his peak. “fucking whore.” he moaned out. the sight of fukuzawa experiencing as much pleasure as you did encouraged you to move your hips as well. you watched as his own body twitched and dropped forward. his hands gripped the sheets underneath you, “fuck” he whined out.

he was close and as were you. “cum inside me daddy, fill me up.” you encouraged. “whore” he said again in response. “you fucking whore, fucking cumslut.” in a state of pleasurable delirium you could only agree to his degradation. feeling yourself get closer and closer to your peak you wrapped your legs around fukuzawa’s waist. with the feeling of his cock full inside of you, you tangled your fingers into his hair and moaned out in pleasure. the moan only increased in volume when fukuzawa finally came inside of you.

the spurts of cum shooting into the deepest parts of you made you shudder in euphoria. your body twitched underneath his and even after the two of you came, you held one another. “you feel so good.” fukuzawa mumbled into the crook of your neck. “you take me so well.” he then added. “who does this body belong to? hm, who’s pussy is this?”

you held fukuzawa tighter. “yours daddy. it’s all yours.”

[writer-ish]

Hello there! 🙂 Could you please do number 10 from the "Touching" prompts, for Mason and the Detective please? 😊 Thanks!!

prompt: spooning at night pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 2.4k | rating: T cw: panic attack, mention of trauma (book 1 related) author note: write a prompt less than 2k words challenge? failed. thank you @silma-words for the prompt! hope you like it. ☾☾ touching prompts 

It had started with a light pattering of rain against the window panes.

Light rain is okay. Grace can handle light rain.

She doesn’t love it - especially not at night - but if it’s not torrential, if there’s no lightning or thunder, she can usually force herself to drink some tea, grab a book, and ignore it before falling into a restless sleep.

Light rain is okay.

The problem arises when, halfway through reading the same page for the fifth time, her tea already cold and missing only a sip or two, the rain picks up.

She gets up and pulls her curtains together tightly, but it doesn’t help. Even if she can’t see it, she can still hear it, the heavy slap of rain against the windows, steadily increasing in its ferocity.

Her hands begin to feel clammy and her breathing picks up.

You’re being so stupid, she tells herself, even as she feels deafened by the pounding of her own heart.

This visceral response to thunderstorms - rain, she reminds herself, it's just rain for now - is yet another fun side effect that has lingered since her encounter with Murphy all those months ago.

She tries not to dwell on those moments - the ones where she was certain she was going to die, the ones where she was dying - where the rain pounding on the roof of the warehouse, thunder splitting the sky, was the only discernible sound amidst the chaos.

But at home, alone, with only the rain and a tepid, useless cup of tea to keep her company, it’s difficult to think of anything else.

She paces a bit. Tries to get ready for bed. Lies down on top of the covers, hugging one of her decorative pillows close - the one that has a soft pink fabric designed to look like flower petals all over it, the one Mason hates probably the most - and the entire time the rain beats harder and harder against the few window panes in her small apartment until she feels like the glass might shatter from the force of it.

Her breath is coming in short, quick gasps now and no matter what she does, she can't get her heartrate to slow down. A numbness has begun to spread from her hands upward.

Am I having a heart attack? she wonders, semi-hysterically. Her chest feels tight, painfully so, but she can't tell if it's because of her breathing or not. The scar on her neck tingles sharply and her pulse feels like it might actually burst out from that spot.

At that moment, a clap of thunder reverberates through her walls.

Grace lets out a short scream and the pain in her chest intensifies.

Thunderstorms have been bad for her before, but never this bad.

Oh shit oh fuck, she thinks, it is a fucking heart attack. I'm having a fucking heart attack. Shit shit shit.

Her hands have gone completely cold, the tingling numbness persistent and all-consuming.

She staggers out of bed, black spots flashing in front of her eyes as her breathing worsens, all intakes and almost no exhales, while her sense of dread increases.

I'm going to die, she realizes in dawning horror. I'm going to die here, alone.

The thought is untenable. A collection of faces flashes before her eyes—Tina, her mom, Nate, the rest of Unit Bravo, Mason, Mason, Mason—

She staggers to her nightstand and grabs her phone, pressing the contact for the most recent number she'd called.

He answers on the first ring. “Hey, Gracie, we were just—“

“Nate,” she wheezes out, a sob caught in her throat.

She hears a clatter on the other end, maybe the sound of someone standing up abruptly. There’s a ruckus—voices clamouring.

“Gracie, what’s wrong?” Nate’s voice is urgent, inflected with a ribbon of steel that she barely registers as unusual. “Where are you?”

The voices behind him are getting louder.

“What’s happening?”

“What’s she saying?”

“What the fuck—”

“I’m—home,” she rasps, her heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of her chest. The room is spinning. “I don’t know—what—” What’s happening to me, she completes the thought in her mind, her ability to speak slowly dwindling.

“Something’s wrong with Grace,” she can hear Nate say to whoever he’s with. “I don’t think there's anyone else there, but something has happened—no, Mason, just wait—”

The phone clatters to the ground from Grace's numb fingers and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly as she sinks to the floor. The sound of Nate's voice coming from the receiver feels far away now. She's experiencing an odd sensation, like she's floating above her body, witnessing what's going on down below, and she wonders if that means she's dead.

Minutes pass, and suddenly there's a massive commotion at her front door. She startles, her whole body jerking in horror as she imagines the thunder and lightning from outside entering her home.

A dark figure suddenly appears in her bedroom doorway and swoops towards her and she lets out a pained gasp, her throat unable to emit anything louder than that.

"It's me," the figure says, its voice gruff and familiar, and she's so relieved she almost sobs. "It's me, sweetheart."

She feels herself being lifted up easily, gently, and cradled tight against a recognizable chest. Her heartrate decelerates ever so slightly, though her breathing is still ragged and short.

Mason carries her back to her bed, placing her down gently. His hair and his clothes are wet and the cold feel of his sleeve, the drops of water on her neck and arms, help as she settles.

She briefly registers the way he flings her pillows until each one smacks against the wall in a satisfying thwack of dismissal. When he goes to remove his other hand from her, she grips his arms tighter.

"No—" she wheezes, feeling the tears in her eyes spill over belatedly onto her cheeks.

"Hang on," he responds hoarsely, disentangling himself as he runs his hands over her arms, torso, legs, "I'm just checking you for—"

She shakes her head. "It's not that. I'm—okay." Not injured, she means, though she can't convey that to him because she can't control her breaths.

Her lungs begin to ache with the effort, her body trembling, although the overwhelming sense of dread, the certainty that this was the end, that has faded.

"Hey, hey, hey." He places his hand on her upper chest, his palm large and warm, a steady and comforting presence. "Just breathe."

She shakes her head, gulping air, the tears coming faster now. "Can't… can't."

"Hey." He leans forward looking at her intently and a sense of calm begins to permeate her body, starting from her head and working her way down. Her lungs expand fully for the first time in what feels like hours and she's able to release the entire breath in a motion that's not entirely shaky.

She grips his damp forearm tightly, his hand still resting on her chest as she takes a few other deep breaths. The feeling she had before, the lack of control, the fear, slowly fades until it's just a whisper of discomfort behind her eyes. Even the rain feels distant now; maybe it's passing.

"Is she okay?"

A new voice comes from the doorway, deep and resonant. Grace recognizes it immediately, even in her haze.

“Nate?” she asks, hoarsely.

“Yeah. Nate.” There's something odd in Mason's tone and Grace's eyes snap to his face. He's looking away, his expression indiscernible, but his thumb still strokes the bare skin under her collarbone gently.

Turning to the other agent in the doorway, he says, "She's okay. Tell the others. I got this."

Nate nods briefly, catching Grace's eyes with a warm smile, before turning and leaving the room. She can hear muffled conversation in the other room before the front door opens and then closes again.

She looks back at Mason. "You all came?"

He shrugs. "You called."

Her eyes well up again, her emotions too close to the surface to properly withstand the news that the entirety of Unit Bravo all came rushing to her at the first sign of any trouble.

Mason tsks, bringing his hand up to the base of her neck and applying the barest of pressure before removing it completely.

"Stop."

She closes her eyes and nods, lips quavering only slightly. She brings the heels of her hands up to her eyes and grinds them in, willing the emotions back as she continues to take deep, bracing breaths, in and out.

"What happened?" Mason asks softly after a moment.

Grace, heels of her hands still in her eye sockets, shrugs.

"I'm an idiot?" she offers, voice slightly watery.

He's silent and she can't even see his expression to determine whether or not he agrees.

The silence stretches and she recognizes that he's giving her time to sort through her feelings. Taking a few more deep breaths, she removes her hands from her eyes and looks at him, blinking until he's no longer blurry. He's sitting on the edge of her bed, one hand braced in the soft, quilted duvet, the other resting on his black jeans. His long sleeve tee is the same familiar deep red it usually is, his top buttons undone as though he'd dressed hastily. The crystal he always wears seems to glow with its own preternatural light, coming from within.

"It's the rain," she says finally, softly. "I can't…" She takes a deep breath. "I have a hard time when it's stormy out, ever since everything that happened with Murphy."

Mason stares at her assessingly, eyes narrowed in a grumpy concern that was so characteristic of him she wanted to cry again.

"It's probably rained over a dozen times since then," he says eventually, eyes still narrowed, the silver-grey highlighted by a thin sliver of moonlight peeking in through the blinds she hadn't managed to close all the way.

She nods, understanding what he's getting at. "I…have always found it difficult. But I can manage it by myself, usually." She sighs shakily. "This time was…different."

"Why?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe the news about the trappers. Maybe just stress, I—"

"No," he interrupts her, waving away her words. "Why do you manage it by yourself?"

"I—" She looks at him in surprise, unable to form an answer. Because I always have? Because I don't know how else to manage things? Because I don't want to bother you, when we haven't even defined what we are. Instead of saying any of that, she simply shrugs.

"Call Nate sooner next time." He gets up and stretches and her eyes are immediately drawn to the band of freckled, umber skin that is revealed as his shirt rides up. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Wait—" She looks at him perplexed. "You're not—staying?" His other words register suddenly. "And why would I call Nate?"

He shrugs, hands in his pockets as he looks down, a dark lock of hair tumbling over his eye.

Understanding dawns slowly. Nate had been the person she'd called when she'd been in the midst of—whatever that was.

She'd called him because he'd been at the top of her call list.

He was at the top of her call list, because earlier that day she'd had a research question and she'd called him to chat for a bit.

Nate is easy to talk to on the phone. Nate is easy to talk to, period.

Her and Mason, on the other hand—

Her and Mason communicate mainly in their silences.

Through touch, through knowing glances, through all the things they don't need to say. A quirk of an eyebrow or a smirk is all it takes sometimes for understanding to pass between them.

Phone calls aren't really in their repertoire. Grace isn't even sure he knows how to text.

She reaches out suddenly, grasping his hand, warm and rough between hers.

"Stay," she says quietly. "I want you here."

Not Nate, she clarifies in a way that she hopes he understands, her lips pressing together apologetically.

He narrows a glance at her, his expression softening almost unwillingly and in small increments.

With a quiet sigh, he allows her to pull him closer. She kneels on the bed and he looks down at her, hands cradling her jaw and his thumbs stroking her cheeks. He draws them over her eyelids, traces the sensitive skin under eyes, passes them gently over her lips.

“No more storms alone, got it?”

She nods. “I promise.” She places her hand over his heart and looks up at him.

He nods as well, briefly, understanding passing through them once more in the silence, as his eyes take in the room before meeting hers again.

"Let's get you to bed, yeah?"

She nods, suddenly feeling how overwhelmingly tired she actually is. Her whole body sags, sapped of whatever frenetic energy was fueling it before. Despite her exhaustion, she still takes note of how he made a bed reference with no innuendo whatsoever. Simply the soft, gruff tone she's come to understand as his concern.

Still, she can't help but joke, if only to ease the awkward-borne tension of their poorly defined relationship: "Sorry if I'm not up for the usual—"

"Shut it." He cuts her off swiftly, pinching her chin with his forefinger and middle finger gently. "I'm not in the mood for your nonsense."

She leans back to look up at him indignantly, only to feel her ire fade away as she sees the teasing smirk on his lips.

"Only sleeping," he confirms. "Come on."

He throws back her covers and she snuggles under, watching as he removes his boots and jeans before joining her.

Immediately, he yanks her towards him, the curve of her back and her bottom fitting perfectly into the concave line of his chest and thighs. She feels the hair on his legs tickling the backs of hers and she tucks her cold feet between his ankles.

He hisses at the feeling and she laughs softly, already yawning. She clutches his hand in hers and brings his arm, wrapped around her stomach, higher up her chest until she's cradling it against her, his knuckles skimming her chin. He smells clean, like soap and fresh tobacco, and it's a smell that is so uniquely Mason she can't help but sigh contentedly.

She feels him kiss the top of her head. "Sleep."

His low command puts her even more at ease as she feels herself sinking deeper into slumber.

The rain still patters against the window, picking up again in its intensity.

She snuggles deeper into Mason's embrace, revelling in the warmth of his skin and the comfort and security of his arms.

The storm doesn't bother her again that night.

*

☾ feel free to send me a prompt

tags: @utterlyinevitable , @ethansramsey , @otherworldlypresents , @aworldoffandoms , @raleighcarrera , @ejunkiet , @starrystarrytrouble , @terrm9 , @openheartthot , @octobereighth , @campsearchlight , @coldshrugs , @kelseaaa , @homeformyheart , @intothestrawberryjar , @magebastard , @kodysteach (if you don’t want to be tagged for twc, mason x detective, and/or prompts, please let me know!)

[ifeellikeameowster]

Raise Hell - Creativitwins and Darkside!Roman Fic

Fic Summary: After a brooding session in his room after the events of SVS2, Roman decides Fuck It! and visits his brother Remus' room. As the two brothers reconnect, Roman ends up making a startling decision.

Warnings: Roman Angst, Self Loathing, Self Deprecating, Darkside!Roman, Gore, Violence, Weapons, Sexual Innuendos (Basically Remus just being Remus)

Pairings: None!

Wordcount: 7k+ (almost 8k)

Author's Note:

I started writing this fic immediately after SVS2 so it's canon complacent until after that, where it branches off into this AU! This was before both Flirting With Social Anxiety and Working Through Intrusive Thoughts came out, so please just consider this an alternate "What If?" scenario! (Also this just goes to show you how much I procrastinate when it comes to writing whoops lol.)

Roman sat curled up on his bed. Sitting in the same position that he had been for the past two days or so. He couldn't exactly recall how long he had been there holed up in his room, actually.

The only thing he could recall was the disappointed looks on their faces, their harsh words whether intentional or not, and the feeling of his whole world seemingly crumbling down around him. It was all too much too soon, and after his outburst he had sunken into a numb state of suspension. Waiting to feel anything other than anger, grief, and disappointment. All three of which were mainly pointed dangerously at his own self like a bunch of daggers repeatedly striking where they knew it would hurt most.

Patton had stopped by shortly after he had first sunk out, yes. But Roman could hardly hear what the fatherly side was saying to him over the ringing in his ears and his own rapid heartbeat constantly reminding him it had been recently struck through. Something about everything being okay, he thinks? Yet how could Patton have said that when absolutely nothing was okay right now? In fact, he doubted anything could be okay ever again. Not after…well, after he had apparently messed up again.

It was starting to become a habit now, all of these stupid mistakes. And how could such a perfect prince as him make such mistakes? He was supposed to be a paragon of perfection! An idol for all aspiring heroes alike! The pinnacle of heroism and all that is good in the world! Instead he was just...just wrong. Always wrong. Always wrong no matter who's side he took or who he believed in or what he said or didn't say. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

But if he wasn't a perfect prince...if he wasn't a hero...if he wasn't right...then what exactly was he? What was left? Well, nothing, really. He had put all of his eggs in one basket and now the littlest breeze had apparently sent it toppling over.

Wait a minute...If he had nothing left, then that meant he had nothing left to lose, right? Which meant all of his old restrictions on himself, all of his walking the fine line and all of him staying on the right side of the fence- All of it was meaningless. It was doing nothing, just like him.

He slowly unfurled his body from it's curled up position and turned his gaze towards the closet on the far side of his room. The door was dingier compared to the rest of the elegant and ornately designed bedroom. Scratch marks marred its greyed, wooden surface and a sign was tapped loosely and half-hazardly to the middle. "Danger: Nightmare Zone. Keep out!" It read in bright red lettering.

"Keep out, huh...I must have been really mad when I wrote that." Roman glanced down to his hands, which he had clenched. "But now I'm just empty...so what's the use in obeying a stupid sign that I put up there myself?" He unfisted his hands and looked back to the imposing closet door. "What could be more dangerous in there than staying here and stewing in my own thoughts?"

He slowly stood up, his legs tingling from being in one position for far too long. He made his way over to the closet door. Slowly. Cautiously. Glancing over his shoulder as if someone was going to walk in on him at any moment. As his hand grasped the handle, he felt himself gulp. Did he really want to do this?

"…"

Well, what else was there to do?

He pushed the door open and stepped into the closet full of old clothes. All of his new princely adornments were actually being stored in a mahogany wardrobe beside his nightstand. These clothes were...they belonged to...Well, someone who didn't exist. At least not anymore. He pushed his way through dusty and moth-bitten clothes as if he was pushing through the undergrowth of a dense jungle. As he neared his destination, the place grew darker and smelled more and more of mold.

He finally arrived at another door. This one was more well kept than the last, with golden trimmings and an intricate door handle. He took a deep breath to steal his nerves before pushing it open.

He stepped out into another bedroom. This one had moss in the corners, cobwebs on the ceiling, and ivy climbing it's walls. Even still, it was much tidier than he had been expecting. It gave off more of a wild feeling rather than a dirty one. Just as he was about to take another step to inspect further, there was a mace in his face.

He hadn't even flinched back, he was so tired and dazed. Roman sucked in a nervous breath and looked to the wielder of the weapon.

Remus was standing frozen in place, his face flickering between emotions. Eyes twitching. It appeared like he had intended to knock him out again...just like last time in the living room...but something must have made him pause.

"You've been crying." He hissed, less of a question and more of an accusation.

Roman blinked, confused, before reaching up to poke the skin underneath his eyes. Sure enough, it was puffy. He bet if he looked in a mirror they'd be red-rimmed as well. But he didn't even want to see his own face right now. He huffed out in irritation. "So what if I have?"

Remus' face flickered once more before settling into a firm stare as he slowly lowered his morning star mace away from Roman's head. He was being oddly still and slow in his motions, and the difference between this and his usual rambunctiousness was making Roman's skin crawl with nerves. "Why?"

"Why?" Roman repeated after him, bristling, "Why do you even care why?"

Remus blinked, seeming to come out of his previous mood. "You tell me Prince Smarmy! You came into my turf." He rested his mace behind his shoulders and started rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots.

"I…" Roman's gaze fell to the ground. "I don't know. It's just the last place I could go, I guess?" He shrugged before waving a dramatic arm, "But if you don't want me here either, then just say it to my face!"

Remus tilted his head curiously before leaning forward "Oh, I can do way better than that, brohide." And with that, he snapped his fingers and the room flipped upside down.

Roman gasped as they fell through the air. The room seemed to twist and morph around them. Until finally, he had landed roughly on his own fluffy white floor rug. Remus, however, had fallen through the fancy canopy of his bed. Tearing a large hole through it and landing in a heap on the covers.

"Hey, my bed!" He shouted, offended beyond belief.

"Oh tough titty." Remus chastised as he picked up a golden laced, red silk pillow. He started plucking at it's loose threads. "I bet you have a ton of those ugly tent things."

"They're called canopies, you uncultured swine!"

Roman got up in a huff and dusted off and straightened his rumpled clothes. He sent a glare over to Remus as he did so. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?~" He sing-songed annoyingly back.

"Teleport us in such an unruly manner!"

"Hmmm…" He flopped over on to his back and started doing snow angel motions. "Why'd you go in my room?~Huh? Huh?"

"Wha- I- I asked you first!"

"I asked you second!!" He rolled over on the bed to grin up at Roman, still clutching the poor, abused pillow.

"Ugh, fine!" Roman threw his hands up in the air and moved to grab his vanity chair. He pulled it over to sit in front of the bed. "I just didn't want to be in my own room right now, okay??"

Remus frowned with pursed lips and sat up, scooching forward on the bed. "But it's your room, numbnuts."

"Well maybe I don't want to be near me right now…Um, wait. That doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"Probably not! But-" He cupped a hand over his mouth and loudly whispered conspiratorially, "I can rip your head off your body and throw it to the side for you so you're not close to it anymore?"

"No that's...That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Fucking party pooper!" Remus threw his hands up then abandoned the pillow he had been holding to riffle curiously through the rest. "Do you not keep a dagger under your pillow??"

"What? No, of course not! Who would do that?"

"Me, duh! For security reasons, bitch boy."

"Well I'm obviously more sensible than that. I keep swords under the bed like a sane person."

"Wait, really?!" Remus threw himself over the side of the bed to look underneath it. "Holy shit, nice!" He rustled through them for a moment before grabbing a sleek black flamberge by it's blade and pulling it up. "I'm keeping this!"

"I would protest that but you've already gotten your filthy blood all over it and that sword is a particular bitch to clean."

"Sibling souvenir!" Proclaimed Remus as he stabbed it into his stomach for safe keeping.

"What on earth are you doing? Why would you stab yourself??"

"To make sure it doesn't go anywhere! Oh, and to test it's stabby powers."

"You know in hindsight, I shouldn't have even asked."

"Speaking of askings of questions-ing, why did you visit my room of all places? Needed to get rid of some trash? Because I'm taking if you're offering. I could always use more decorations!"

"Remus, you rat bastard, I saw that your room was cleaner than you let people believe it to be. If you did take any of my trash you'd probably organize it into the proper bins and everything."

Remus gasped and put an offended hand over his chest. "How dare you! My room is perfectly and gloriously trashy and stinky, just like me."

"Mhmm, sure it is."

A shuriken flew past the side of his head and embedded itself right in the face of one of his many Disney posters.

"Just answer my question!!"

"Okay, okay jeez!" Roman raised his hands placatingly before dropping them to grip at his knees nervously. "I, well, I didn't want to be alone anymore…"

"And? You couldn't just visit the other lamo light bitches in the living-dead room?"

"They, um." He sighed before looking over at his posters. Prince Charming smiled brightly back at him, even with a weapon digging into his forehead. "They don't want to be around me. They don't want me. Not anymore. If they ever did. They have him, after all. Both of them."

"Him. Them. Stop playing the pronoun game already and get fucking on with it!"

"He has Janus now! Thomas chose Janus! Patton chose Janus! They chose Janus! They both chose Janus...over me…" Roman blurted out. The words were spilling out now, unstoppable. He sniffled as he felt the tears threatening to fall once more as well. He didn't even realize he had any left to cry. "I chose Thomas. Thomas chose Patton. Patton chose Janus. No one ever chooses me! No one ever takes my side!"

"Apparently, I'm always the one in the wrong..." He ran his shaky hands over his cheeks, desperately trying to push any tears that appeared away. To keep them from falling anymore. Hadn't he cried enough? "I was wrong about Virgil. I was wrong with how I talked to Logan. I was wrong about the breakup. I was wrong about the wedding. Now I was wrong about Deceit- no, Janus- ugh...Everything I do is wrong!"

He lowered his hands again to dig his fingers back into his knees. Roman drew in another shaky breath, trying to calm himself after the outburst. He glanced nervously up at Remus to gauge his reaction to his brother's crazed rambles.

Remus had leaned forward to hear him better over his sobs and shaky voice, almost tipping over the edge of the bed. He had his nails digging into Roman's comforter, and Roman was afraid he was about to rip holes into it. He already had a canopy to replace after all, he didn't want to have to replace that as well! They stared at each other in tense silence for a few moments more, one at a loss on what to say next and the other trying to process the onslaught of new information. Finally, Remus let go of the comforter, slid off the bed, and sat on the floor in front of him with his legs splayed out.

"So what you're saying is...wait, Jan Jan the Banana Man actually told you his name?"

"Well, he more so told Thomas and Patton it and...I just happened to be there too?"

"Huh. Never thought he'd tell anyone else. Well, not after Virgil…was Virgil there?"

"No. Unfortunately Virgil wasn't there to back me up. If he would have even taken my side at all...And Logan was...there in textbox spirit?"

"What'd nerd-a-lerd say?"

"He…well, I wasn't really paying much attention to- I was panicking okay! But I heard enough." He looked to the side, feeling shame well up in himself again. "Enough to know that he was taking his side, just like everyone else."

He heard a mumbled "Damn pronoun name again-" before Remus clapped his hands together with a loud boom that echoed through the large room. "Okay! And I can't believe I'm saying this but- tell me the whole story. Top dick to bottom butt."

"Ew." Roman wrinkled his nose up in disgust.

"Just tell me already!!" Annnddd another shuriken whizzed past his head. This time it embedded itself in his dresser. He hoped it hadn't cracked the wood too much...

Thus Roman spun the entire tale, starting at Janus' first appearance and ending with the absolute fiasco between the callback and the wedding that had occurred a couple of days ago...or had it been several? Time had muddied itself in his reclusion. He would take several breaks in his storytelling to go off on self-deprecating tangents that sounded an awful lot like dramatic monologues from some tragic play. More often than not these tangents were cut short by Remus, who would hurry them along with crude nicknames and threats to get back to the main story.

Somehow during this storytelling process both of the brothers had ended up splayed out side by side on top of Roman's fluffy white floor rug. As if they were kids gossiping on the floor at a sleepover. Remus had busied his hands by pulling out locks of the fur from the rug while Roman's own hands gesticulated wildly with the ups and downs of his tale. As he neared the end of the story, Roman curled up to lay on his side so he could face Remus and see his reaction.

"...and then I decided to go to your room. Because I had nowhere else to go. I didn't want to stay in my room with my own thoughts any longer...but I didn't want to see any of the other sides, either."

Remus was laying on his stomach, fiddling with the rug and swaying his feet in the air. At hearing the last bit, his feet fell back down to rest on the floor. "...But you wanted to see me?" His voice was the softest Roman had ever heard him speak. It was incredulous and almost...hopeful.

"I-I don't know. I-" Roman diverted his eyes across the room, sweeping over the damage done by them earlier and eventually landing on the dingy and scratched up closet door. He stared at it for a moment in thought before looking back over to Remus. "Do you ever…Ever miss sharing a bedroom?" He murmured.

Remus wrinkled his nose and glared at him, likely upset that he had dodged the question. "Not really. Your taste in stuff is far too Gucci-Gucci-bougie for me."

"No, not that!" Roman dismissed with a wave of his hand, " Not the furniture or anything like that. Just the…the feel of someone else being there too? Knowing that someone else is always there? Someone who's kind of like you but not really? Someone you can talk to when you have no one else?" Roman ran his fingers through his hair in distress. "Does that make any sense???"

Remus was still glaring at him, but now his eyebrows twitched with an unseen emotion. "Being brothers?" He hissed.

"What?"

Remus reached over to grab Roman's shoulders and shake him silly. "What you're describing. Is being brothers. What I wanted to be. What you didn't let us be. What you rejected. Shoved into the darkest corner. Placed under a Do Not Enter sign-"

"I'm sorry, okay! I didn't mean it!"

Remus paused in his shaking, several emotions flashing across his face. "Didn't mean it?"

"I know I-" Roman placed his hands over Remus' on his shoulders but didn't push him away and lowered his head in shame. "I acted rashly and perhaps a tad extreme to our new circumstances at the time. But it was for what I thought was the best. I only ever wanted to serve Thomas. I only ever wanted to please them. I never thought- I-" He looked sincerely back up into his brother's eyes. "I never thought about what that would mean for you. What that would do to you. What that would do to us. And for that, I'm sorry."

Remus loosened his grip but didn't let go entirely, staring intensely and attentively at Roman.

"I never actually wanted to push you away. I was just doing so because I thought- Well, okay admittedly I wasn't thinking much at all really but-" His eyes briefly flickered back to the closet door "I didn't want to become a dark side too! I didn't want to not be able to see Thomas. Or to be rejected by the others. I-" He laughed then. A dry, helpless laugh. He shifted to put his head in his hands. "But I guess that happened anyway, didn't it? What sick irony, huh? Maybe it's what I deserve… Maybe it's karmic retribution…"

"..."

"I shoved you away... And now they're shoving me away! I lost a brother so I could keep everyone and everything else in my life but now- now I've lost that, too- Now I have nothing. Now I am no-"

Remus tightened his grip on Roman's shoulders again and pulled him towards himself. He ended up knocking their heads together in the process-

"Ow! What the hell are you-"

-of wrapping his arms around Roman and hugging him to himself.

"You-You're hugging me?"

"You didn't lose a brother…" Remus pouted, as if he was a petulant toddler, "I've always been right fucking here if you'd open your stupid eyes for once."

Roman let out a shuddering breath, feeling an entirely new type of tear prickling at the corners of his eyes. He buried his head in Remus' shoulder and gripped onto the back of hid brother's clothes as if he was his last lifeline. He probably was.

Sure the hug was the most uncomfortable one he'd ever had, what with the hilt of the sword in Remus' stomach poking him in his own and his forehead still ringing with the pain from where Remus banged them together, but somehow it was still nice. It still felt like...home.

"...But I thought you hated me?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"You're always calling me names and hitting me with stuff!"

He felt Remus shrug. "You do the same thing."

"You do it first!"

"Eh- that's just what siblings do~~"

"With medieval weapons?!"

"Says the guy with a stash of swords under his bed!~" Remus sing-songed teasingly.

"Oh like you have room to talk- You said you keep daggers under your pillow!"

"Shouldn't everyone? You should keep some under yours too, Mr Whiny Prissy Pants!"

"And there's the name calling again."

"Hey now, you know it's the older siblings job to pick on the younger-"

"But I'm the older sibling! I manifested my form first!"

"Eh, semantics-schmantics! Same diff!"

"You're completely unreasonable!"

"And you're too stuck up!"

Roman let out a growl and smacked a hand over Remus' face, pushing him away and breaking up the hug. Remus let out a huff and reached over to slap the back of Roman's head in retaliation. This caused them to descend into a full on slap fight, looking like a slapstick scene straight out of a comedy movie.

They roughhoused like this, like a pair of bickering elementary schoolers, until they eventually tired themselves out and flipped gracelessly back onto the floor. They both stared at the ceiling for a few silent seconds before bursting out into fits of crazed laughter.

"That was the worst hug ever! Hahaha!"

"Hey! I don't have much practice! Heeheehee!"

"Haha! We must look like a couple of insane people lying here!"

"Haha! I knooowww~~ You're room is sooo trashed!~Heehee!"

"Hey! You're the one that trashed it! Hahaha!"

"Well you're the one who invited me here brozilla! Hahahoo!"

"You're the one that brought us here! Hahaheh! I wanted to be in your room! Heh!"

Their laughter eventually died down. But just as Roman was about to drift off into sleep from his position lying on the floor, he heard Remus ask, "Do you still want to go to my room?"

Roman blinked his eyes open. He sat up and looked forlornly around his own bedroom. The thought of staying here seemed lonely, now that he'd finally reunited and reconciled with his brother. And the pictures and posters adorning the walls just reminded him of past memories that only hurt to think about right now. "......Yeah. Yes, actually." He turned to Remus, who had also sat back up, " I know, I know it sounds crazy but-"

"I like crazy!" Remus grinned and raised his fingers in preparation to snap, causing Roman to have a flashback to the previous time he did it.

"Wait! Don't turn the room upside down again! We can just sink through the floor like we normally-"

"Sink through the floor? Okay, if you say so!" His grin widened maniacally and he snapped his fingers.

The floor started to shift and cave in on itself, causing Roman's furniture to all move closer to the center. A hole slowly opened under where the brothers had been sitting that pulled them down into it. Roman screamed as they were both sucked into the abyss.

His scream ended abruptly as he was flung up into Remus' room, the hole now acting as a geyser of sorts. Roman landed in an unruly manner and was knocked out of breath while Remus landed swiftly on his knee before rolling up into a standing position.

"Home, Smelly Home!" He proudly declared with his hands on his hips, either unaware of or uncaring towards his brother's struggle to get up from the floor.

"Shouldn't have opened my big mouth..." Mumbled Roman as he dusted his clothes off and tried to straighten his appearance, only for his work to be completely undone when Remus yanked him into his side and rustled his hair with his elbow. "Hey! Stop that! Do you have any idea how long it takes to do my hair?"

"Eh, it was already messed up anyways." Remus slapped Roman's shoulder, "Now come on slowpoke, I'm gonna give you the grand tour!" Remus then ran off further into his room, causing Roman to have to chase after him in order to keep up.

Remus showed him his bedroom first, which had a mirrored layout to Roman's, but the furniture was darker and more rustic. The decorations looked more like something out of a haunted mansion than a grand palace, like Roman's did. Remus then stopped by his weapons closet, where he finally removed the flamberge sword from his stomach and tossed it haphazardly inside. From what Roman could make out before Remus had shut the door again was that the room looked bigger on the inside than the title 'closet' would suggest. Remus then pointed out a few more small areas of note before eventually leading Roman to the back door.

Every side's room had a front door- where the other sides could enter their room, and a backdoor- where each side could go out of their room and into their own personal section of the mindscape. Most sides referred to it as their 'backyard', of sorts.

Roman followed Remus out of his backdoor and onto a balcony overlooking a dark, twisted forest. The balcony itself was the same design as Roman's own balcony but was made up of black marble instead of white. There were a few cracks here and there, yet it was overall fairly stable. English Ivy crept along the rails and crawled down the side of the castle. There were no stairs in sight, unlike with his own balcony, leading Roman to wonder whether Remus would take the time to climb down the Ivy or simply jump off of the railing in order to enter his backyard.

Remus spread his arms out in a grand gesture before spinning around to sit backwards on the railing, facing Roman. "So, what do ya' think? Badass digs, right?"

Roman, lost in thought and not expecting the question, blurted out the first thing to cross his mind. "We have similar balconies."

Remus raised an amused brow. "No shit, Sher-cock. We're in the same castle. Same castle, same floor plan. Duh."

"Wait, the same castle…?"

Remus shrugged, leaning far enough back on the railing to have Roman worry about him falling over the side of it, "It split when we did. We still share a room and space... it's just-" He waved around a hand dismissively. "Halved, now."

"Ah...so that's the reason we can visit each other without going through our front doors…" Roman walked up to lean forwards on the railing, right beside Remus. "Wonder why I didn't question that sooner?" He rested his chin in his hand with a sigh. "All this time, we were even in the same castle...the same area of the mindscape...and I never- I never even bothered to visit-"

Remus, who had grown bored of the conversation and had started to pick his nose, interrupted Roman's spiral by flicking boogers at him. "Hey now, none of that. You did enough moping back in your own room, you cry baby.*

"Ugh! Ew!" Roman sputtered indignantly and pulled out a doily to wipe his face. "You're disgusting." He huffed.

Remus stuck his tongue out at him and laughed. "If you start saying sad shit again, I'll give you a wet willy." He then leaned towards Roman and started wiggling his fingers menacingly.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me, bitch!"

"Well, if you do that, then I'll- Then I'll shove you off of the balcony!"

Remus faked a scandalized gasp and placed a hand over his chest while the other draped across his forehead. "You'd murder your own dearest brother?!"

"It wouldn't kill you, you overdramatic oaf, sides can't die!"

"You're calling me overdramatic?" Remus abandoned the pose to lean forward with a knowing grin. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

"Oh shut up." Roman pushed Remus away, before turning around to sit beside him atop the railing.

Remus' eyes widened. "My goody two shoes brother is sitting precariously on a railing? Since when? Is it opposite day? "

"What do you mean? I do dangerous stuff all the time!"

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Roman gestured wildly, "I slay the dragons! I defeat the monsters! I save the people! I...fight the bad guys…" Roman deflated as his hands fell beside him to lock the rail in a death grip. "But I guess I failed at all of that, huh? So much for being a goody two shoes…"

Remus hummed in thought, nails tapping against the black marble. His legs swayed back and forth as they both looked up at the night sky above them in companionable silence. Roman eventually let out a forlorn sigh and relaxed his grip on the railing. Suddenly, Remus let out a loud gasp and clapped his hands together, startling Roman who in turn almost tipped over the edge of the balcony.

"I have the best idea!"

"Oh no, you're planning something. That can never be good."

" No, no! Really, really! Listen, listen!" Remus smacked Roman's arm and shoulder excitedly in-between each word.

"Okay, okay! Just stop!" Roman slapped Remus' hands away. "Tell me then brother, what is it?"

Remus beamed and jumped to stand back on the balcony. "Okay so, you're saying that the other sides are shutting you out, right? And that they made you feel like a stinky doodoo head?"

"Gee, thanks for reminding me. Totally helps me feel better." Roman grimaced with a sarcastic thumbs up as Remus paced back and forth.

"Right! So, they're starting to treat you like a villain. And J-Anus as a good guy?"

"I- I guess? That's like the bare essentials of what happened...I mean, that's what it seems like--Ugh, just what are you getting at?!"

Remus stopped pacing to spin towards Roman and spread his hands out. "So why not just be a villain?"

"......what?"

"Join the dark sides with me!" Remus then awkwardly faked a modeling pose. "We have great fashion! And weapons! Lots of weapons!"

Roman scoffed. "I know, I saw your weapons closet." He slid off the railing to stand in front of his brother. "But what makes you think I'd want to be a villain?"

"Well, they made you feel fucking awful, right?" Remus leaned forward with a menacing grin, "So why not give them a little hell in return?"

"What, as in revenge?! I'm supposed to be a purveyor of justice!"

Remus shrugged and started circling Roman. "Where's the justice in always shutting you out? Of always telling you that everything you do is wrong? Of splitting us apart?" He stopped to put his hands on Roman's shoulders again. "Aren't you tired of trying to be a good guy all the time? Don't you just want to let loose and raise a little hell?"

Roman bit his lip and wrung his hands together. He looked down at his feet as his brother's words rang through his head. Where was the justice in that? He had always tried to do the right thing before. To be the good guy. To be the hero. But no one ever appreciated his efforts. Instead they always, always focused only on his mistakes.

The other sides' voices chimed off in his head.

"Roman, you can't do that." "Shut up Roman." "That was wrong, Roman." "Stop being so dramatic, Roman."

He pushed those invading voices furiously away and tried to reorganize his thoughts.

Him, joining the dark sides? Could it even be done? A light side had never switched over to the dark side before... Well, unless you counted the original Creativity and their split. Where a part of that Creativity had...had been pushed to the dark sides and…

Roman's eyes widened in realization as he looked back up at his brother. "You too." He breathed out.

Remus squinted his eyes and scrunched his nose at him. "Hah?"

"Always being shut out. Always being told everything you do is wrong. Being forced to split apart." Roman grabbed the hands that were on his shoulders to move them down and squeeze them reassuringly. "You experienced all of that too. Even more than I did…Don't you want to raise hell too?"

Roman grinned in a very in unprincely manner and released Remus' hands. He swept his arms aside in a grand motion. "Let's raise hell together, brother. What do you say?"

Remus stared at him blankly for a moment before breaking out into a shit eating grin of his own. "Hell yeah! Hell mother fucking yeah!" He jumped up and down excitedly and clapped his hands. "Oh! We're gonna have so much fun! Those butt holes have no idea what's coming."

Roman chuckled fondly at his brother's enthusiasm. He felt lighter than he had in years. Free of responsibility. Free of expectations. Free of limitations. Free to do whatever he wanted. Speaking of which…

"You mentioned fashion earlier, didn't you?" Roman pulled at the hem of his shirt in thought before smirking up at Remus. "I believe for me to officially join the dark sides, a makeover may be in order."

Remus nodded and grabbed his brother's hand to drag him back inside, chanting, "Makeover time! Makeover time!" The entire way while pumping his fist victoriously into the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, in Thomas' living room.

"-and a part of taking care of yourself is to not self-deprecate." Janus was explaining, standing next to Logan.

"Yeah, you've gotta compliment yourself sometimes, Thomas!" Patton added happily.

Thomas scratched the back of his head nervously. "I don't know guys... isn't that a little…"

"Conceited?" Virgil cut in, glaring over at Janus' before looking back to Thomas. "What if we end up doing that out loud in front of others? What if people think we're stuck up?"

"Well, it's better than always thinking so negatively of himself." Janus spat out.

"Janus has a point, Virgil. It's been proven that constant self-deprecating behavior can have a wide range of negative effects on one's psyche and mental health." Logan chinned in while adjusting his glasses. "Which could also lead to eventual negative effects on one's physical health, including-"

"Well, I mean yeah!-" Virgil rushed to interrupt, "He shouldn't think too badly of himself...but he shouldn't think too highly of himself, either!" He uncrossed his arms and gestured towards the empty space where Roman usually stood. "I mean, what if Thomas ends up as stuck up as Princy here, huh? What would you do then-"

"Wait-" Thomas interrupted him, "Where is Roman? Has anyone seen him lately?"

The sides fell silent as they all looked curiously towards the empty spot.

"I haven't seen him since Janus joined us... Patton, didn't you check up on him or something?"

"Well, yeah! Of course I did kiddo!" Patton nodded then pouted, "He didn't seem to want to talk to me though…"

"Has anyone actually talked to Roman in a while? Where is he?"

The sides gave Thomas varying degrees of shrugs and noncommittal answers in response.

Thomas sighed, "Really, guys?" He then looked towards the corner again and called out, "Roman! Are you there? Are you listening? If so, come on up! You should join us!"

They waited in awkward silence for a while for Roman to appear, or to at least respond to Thomas' call...until they heard a deep chuckle emanating from behind the tv.

"Join you? Nope! Not possible~"

Hands crept out from behind the tv, grabbing onto the wall, causing everyone in the room to immediately be alert. They remembered the last time they saw hands there...this couldn't be good! Something was wrong! Sure enough, Remus slowly emerged, climbing up the wall as if he was a lizard. He then twisted his head around, causing Patton to almost faint from fear. Thomas, meanwhile, backed away as far as he could without falling over the couch.

"I'm afraid he's already joined someone else!~"

Remus jumped off of the wall to land in Roman's designated spot. His head and body shifted back to their original positions and he grinned at the others with his arms spread out. Now, the others could see that along with his usual attire, he also donned a crooked and cracked silver crown atop his head. His purplish eyeshadow was gone, instead replaced with a messily applied sparkly silver eyeshadow. Some of the glitter from it fell down the sides of his face to freckle his cheeks as well. The wide grin of his lips was painted in a deep green lipstick.

"Me!"

"Remus…?" Janus breathed out, confused.

"I didn't call for you! I called for Roman!" Thomas shouted once he had regained his composure from witnessing such a horrifying sight.

Virgil bristled and stood up from where he had been leaning against the stairs. "Where is he? What did you do with him?" He bared his teeth at Remus as if he was an agitated guard dog.

Remus put his hands on his hips and threw his head back with a laugh. "What did I do to him?" He leaned forward with a smirk. "What did you do to him? Huh?"

"Wha-what do you mean? W-we didn't do anything..." Stammered out Patton.

"Also, did he change his makeup?" Muttered Thomas, "It actually looks kinda good…"

"Focus on the main issue here, dudes!" Virgil snapped his fingers at them both before turning back to Remus. "Okay, whatever. It doesn't matter wherever you put him, just give him back!"

Remus chuckled and stepped to the side, "You hear that, dear brother? Sounds like they're ready for you to come out!~"

At that, the tv seemed to flicker to life. A colorful error screen appeared and started to crackle and fizz. As the glow from the tv lit up the room, the rest of the room started to glitch along with it.

The sides glanced around nervously, fear creeping into their bones once more.

"What's going on? What's happening to the room?!" Thomas panicked.

Logan placed a hand on his chin. "These types of spatial effects seeming to happen in Thomas' physical living room instead of just inside the mindscape...could it be?"

"No…" Gasped Janus, "No, it can't be!"

"Oh but it can!~" Announced another voice from inside the tv.

Hands reached out from inside the error screen to grasp the sides of the tv. A form slowly climbed out of the tv and stepped into the living room.

"......Roman? What on earth are you wearing?!" Virgil waved a hand incredulously at his new get up.

Roman, now fully standing beside Remus in his usual spot, smirked at Virgil and flicked his cape. "It's called fashion, Midnight Query."

Roman's usual outfit was now black in all of the areas it used to be white. On top of that, he wore a red velvet cape with a white and black spotted fur trim. On his shoulder laid a skull where the cape connected and clasped shut. His upper eyelid was decorated in sparkly gold eyeshadow and thick black eyeliner which spread out into a cat-eye look. His smirk donned blood red lipstick and a crown identical to Remus' was atop his head, except his crown was golden and not crooked or cracked at all. He looked like he had stepped right out of a fairytale…but as an evil king instead of a noble prince.

"Perhaps you should try it sometime, Dark and Dreary. It might make you look less…" Roman made a point of looking Virgil up and down before waving his hand at him with a scowl, "Drab."

"Roman! Where have you been? I missed you. Your makeup looks great!" Patton rambled ecstatically.

"Missed me?" He sneered, "Ha! I bet you all didn't even realize that I was gone." Roman then looked down to check his meticulously manicured nails with a bored expression.

"Of course we did! That's why I called you!" Insisted Thomas.

Roman tsked and shook his head. "Oh Thomas, Thomas. Always the peacemaker." He moved the hand he had been checking to flip his cape over his shoulder. "But I'm not here to make peace. We're here to raise hell. Isn't that right, brother?"

In response, Remus summoned a pitch black flamberge sword and stabbed the blade into the ground. "Hell yeah we are!"

The area of the floor that he smashed cracked open to reveal an eerie green and yellow glow. Small shadow hands emerged as little demons started crawling through the cracks.

Roman summoned a longsword with a ruby embedded in its hilt and slashed at the wall. Red and orange flames burst forth from the rip as even more shadow demons started to join them.

The glitching of the room from the tv screen grew at an alarming rate, some of the glitches covering entire pieces of furniture.

"What on earth is happening!?" Thomas screamed, gesturing wildly at, well, everything.

"Roman, you need to stop this now!" Virgil growled, slipping into his Tempest Tongue.

"Yeah kiddo," chuckled Patton nervously as he tried to wrestle his hoodie away from a demon that was currently trying to steal it. "Isn't this a tad bit extreme?"

Roman laughed darkly, raising his sword into a shrug. "And why should I?"

Remus rested his elbow on Roman's shoulder, "We haven't even begun to have our fun yet!"

Janus narrowed his eyes at Remus, "Remus, this is not what I meant when I said-"

"Blah blah blah!" Remus mimed a mouth with his hand. "That's all you are, anacon-don't. All talk, no action!"

"What's going on?! Why isn't anyone answering me?!"

"Well, Thomas, it appears that Roman and Remus have initiated-" Logan started only to get interrupted by Virgil.

"They started Daymare Mode!" Virgil shouted as he angrily threw a demon that had been crawling on him into the wall, knocking it out instantly.

"Daymare Mode? What's Daymare Mode?!"

"It's a combination of Daydream Mode and Nightmare Mode." Janus explained while shaking a demon off of his hat with a sneer, "It's a state Creativity can only achieve when it's whole…"

"So, what? They can affect the real world now that they're working together?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Thomas." Chastised Logan, "You're technically just hallucinating-"

"I'm hallucinating?!"

"Yes, that is what I just said."

A demon tugged at Logan's pant leg only to be sent running away in fear by a well-placed harsh glare.

Patton, finally having gotten his hoodie free, tied it back around his shoulders and clapped his hands. "Okay, you two! That's enough. I'm not sure what's gotten into you today, but-"

"Oh no, no, no." Roman waved a finger at him, "I'm afraid we're not going to be listening to you anymore, padre."

"We've got our own plans, Daddy DingDong!"

"Oh yeah?" Hissed Janus, "And what exactly are those?"

"You can't do them, whatever they are!" Virgil yelled out as he stomped on another demon's tail, sending it hopping away in pain. "We won't let you. I won't let you!"

Remus and Roman exchanged amused glances before turning back to the others.

"You don't have to let us do anything," Roman hummed, "We're the kings. We shall do whatever we want." He waved a dismissive hand.

"Hear ye, Hear ye! The Twin Kings of Creativity!" Hollered Remus, as both twins raised their swords triumphantly in the air, "We take no shit and kick some ass!"

"To us!" Roman high fived Remus' hand, then turned to grin menacingly at the others, "And now, time for you to go to hell."

"To hell?!" Thomas gasped, looking desperately back and forth at the other sides.

Logan's eyes widened, having figured out what they were planning to do. "Roman, if I'm correct- and I always am- then I'd advise against-"

"Too late, Deuce Banner!" Remus shouted triumphantly as he and Roman clashed their weapons together. The sound from the clang resonated in all of their heads, making their vision blurry.

Thomas gripped the sides of his head, trying to get the ringing to stop hurting his ears. His head felt like it was splitting open. And then, there was nothing. Just a fade to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thomas gasped for air as he woke up. Wait, woke up? Had it all been a dream? Thank god-!

"Well, well, well. It's about damn time." Drawled Roman.

"We thought you were never gonna come to!" Laughed Remus.

Thomas jumped up in surprise from where he'd been laying on the floor, only to immediately regret moving so harshly as he felt his head swim. "Ow ow ow." He gripped his forehead and peered around, "What-"

"Welcome, welcome!" Roman proclaimed as he spread his arms out in a grand gesture. "To the Kingdom of Creativity."

Thomas looked up to see Roman and Remus sitting side by side on twin thrones, one gold with red cushions and one silver with green cushions. Roman sat up straight with impeccable posture and one leg crossed over the other. Remus lay sideways across his throne, kicking his feet and tossing what appeared to be a grenade up and down as if it was a baseball.

"...What? Where am I?"

"We just told you." Scoffed Roman, "You're in the Kingdom of Creativity." At Thomas' confused frown, he continued, "You're in our room, Thomas."

"Your room?" Thomas looked around at the ornate throne room. "It doesn't look like my living room, like the others' did."

"That's cause we're not as boring as the other sides." Sighed Roman, "We have much more pizazz." He gestured at the room around them. "We did some redecorating recently, actually. What do you think, hmm?"

The throne room was mainly black, with silver and gold furniture giving the darkness a stark contrast. Banners of their two symbols hung on opposite sides of the room in correspondence with each side's throne. Overall it gave off a majestic yet eerie feel.

"It's- Um." Thomas finally stood up from his position on the floor and glanced around nervously. "It's certainly something. But um, where are the others…?"

He had long since noticed that it was just him and the twins in this room. The others had seemingly vanished into thin air. Their continued disappearance was making him more and more uneasy as each second ticked by.

Remus huffed and casually threw the grenade over his shoulder and out a window, causing an explosion to be heard outside. "What's wrong Thomathy, our room not up to snuff with the others? You prefer Daddyo's and Scene-Kid's rooms? Huh?"

"What? No!" Thomas raised his hands placatingly, not wanting to anger the two currently volatile sides, "You're room is fine! It's great! It's just they were here and now they're not here and I was just wondering-"

"They're off on their own adventure right now, Thomas." Roman butted in. He leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "That doesn't matter, though. What matters right now is us. Don't you want to stay here with us, Thomas? We can show you around the castle~!"

"Um- No, that's fine... No thank you." Thomas smiled as his voice shook. "I'm sorry, I can't stay here... I need to find the others."

Roman's pleased smile immediately fell into a scowl, "Fine, then. You want to see the others so badly?" He stood up from his throne and gestured for his brother to do the same. "Then why don't you just join them already!"

The both summoned their new weapons again, causing Thomas to start to panic. "Wait! Don't! Not again!"

"Too late, Thomas. You should have accepted our gracious offer."

"We could've had so much fun together!" Chirped Remus.

"And we will! You're just not ready yet, it seems." Roman sighed with a disappointed frown, "Now, for the time being~"

"Have fun in hell instead!~" The twins chimed in unison as they clashed their swords together for a second time.

The clanging rang in Thomas' already aching head as everything fell into the blackness once more.

[itsadamcole]

bet pt. 2

fem!reader x adam cole

Reader and Adam come face to face after six months apart at Survivor Series ... “please, forgive me”

word count: 3.4k+

warnings: smut, angst, a lil bit fluffy

— hey hey, here’s part 2 of the short adam cole series .... on a side note, i’ve really been in the holiday spirit so i’ve started writing some christmas / fluffmas imagines ... the first two are scheduled to be posted december 1st and 2nd —

masterlist || part 1 || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

Survivor Series. The day you've been dreading for six months since you left Adam.

Six months ago, you walked out on the best and the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Six months ago, you lost a piece of yourself and turned to sleeping with your best friend, Tyler Breeze, just to fill that void.

But it's not filled. It'll never be filled. So you stopped about a month ago, and Tyler now has a girlfriend so nothing's weird between you two.

You've never gone back to Adam. It's taken everything in you to stay away from him. You've barely spoken to him in six months, but since he's NXT Champion and you're Raw Women's Champion, you both have matches at Survivor Series.

You sit in your dressing room, scared to leave. Scared to run into Adam or one of the Undisputed Era boys. It's your worst nightmare.

"Y/N! You're on in five minutes!" someone calls through your door.

Sighing, you get up and grab your title, throwing it over your shoulder. With your anxiety rising, you leave the room.

You don't know what you'll do if you see Adam. It's been so long and he's probably moved on. You haven't, but you've tried.

Once backstage, you stretch out. Your opponents, Smackdown Women's Champion Sasha Banks and NXT Women's Champion Io Shirai, into the small room.

"Hey, girlie," Sasha says. "You have an audience in catering."

You sigh and say, "If it's Adam then I don't care."

Sasha says, "Y/N, come on. I've told you before. That man is head over heels for you. Maybe the beginning was a lie or a bet or whatever it was but he truly loved you. I saw it. We all did."

Your music hits and you say, "I can't talk about this right now, Sasha. I have a match to focus on."

You make your entrance, forcing a smile onto your face as you step into the ring.

****

Adam's POV

She looks beautiful in her dark red gear. It's my favorite ring gear that she owns. It sparkles but is dark at the same time. Definitely her two personalities mixing together.

I miss her like hell. I haven't been able to move on from her. It's been six months and I'm still infatuated with her. I love her. I've loved her for so long. It pains me to see her. Rumor has it that she's seeing her friend, Tyler.

I stand in catering to watch her as the match begins. My match is next and I know they'll call me back any minute and I'll come face-to-face with her when she walks through those curtains.

She's distracted by something. Her footing is off and she's not selling moves like she usually does. Maybe Sasha told her she saw me in catering. I told her I was going to watch Y/N here on the TV.

"Yo, Cole," Kyle says, clapping me on the back. "Your match with Drew and Roman is next. Let's head backstage."

I say, "Yeah, okay." I leave the TV and walk backstage with Kyle, Roddy, and Bobby.

We get backstage and I see there is a TV. I watch it.

Roderick says, "Talk to her after your match. I know that you've been wanting to talk to her."

I sigh and say, "She doesn't want to talk to me. She doesn't even want to see me, Roddy. There's no point."

Bobby says, "You should still try instead of sulking."

I look over at Bobby and say, "She left me, Bobby. If she wanted to talk to me then she would have already." I'm starting to get heated.

Kyle says, "Adam, bro, calm down."

"You want me to calm down? Seriously?" I say, my voice rising. "You three are the reason I'm in this mess. You three came up with the bet and I accepted it because I was drunk and secretly was crushing on Y/N. I never should have accepted it because I fell in love with her and now she's fucking gone! I can't live without her, and the only reason I'm still in this damn company is because of the title around my waist. There's nothing else for me here because she's gone!"

What I didn't know was that Y/N's match ended and she came through the curtains in the backstage area with Sasha and Io. The guys were all looking behind me and that's when I realized she was standing right behind me, listening to every word.

****

Your POV

As you walk backstage, you can hear someone shouting.

"... I was drunk and secretly was crushing on Y/N. I never should have accepted it because I fell in love with her and now she's fucking gone! I can't live without her, and the only reason I'm still in this damn company is because of the title around my waist. There's nothing else for me here because she's gone!"

The voice is Adam's. He's shouting at the guys. You've never once heard him raise his voice at anyone, not unless it was important or serious.

You stand backstage with Sasha when Adam turns around and he sees you. His title is secured around his waist and he's wearing his black and gold gear with his Undisputed Era t-shirt.

There's nothing else for me here because she's gone. Those words stuck with you. If it wasn't for that title around his waist, he probably would have left WWE and gone to work with Ring of Honor again or maybe even AEW.

Drew McIntyre and Roman Reigns come backstage at this moment. The tension between everyone in the room is thick. Drew and Roman realize this and ask to make their entrances first.

Right before Adam makes his entrance, you rush out of the backstage room. Sasha right on your heels.

Tears have started running down your cheeks. You get to your locker room and throw your title on the couch.

Your win tonight means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that you won. Your happiness was swept away when you heard Adam ranting to the guys about you. Six months later and he's still trying to defend his lies.

He'd have left WWE if it wasn't for that title he's managed to hold for two and a half years. It's the only reason he's still in WWE.

You start to throw things around the locker room. You're upset, you're angry, and most of all, you're frustrated. Even after finding out about the bet and after he lied to get you to sleep with him, you still love him. Six months later you still love him. After everything, you'd go back to him.

Sasha grabs your wrists and says, "Y/N. Y/N, stop it. Please. Before you hurt yourself or break something super expensive."

You look at your best friend and cry, "Why do I still love him even after he lied to me? Why would I drop everything and go back to him if he asked me to? Why would I take him back?"

"Because deep down you know that he never lied to you," Sasha says. "You know that he actually loves you and it wasn't for some stupid bet he made with his friends. Love is crazy and makes us do crazy things."

You sniff and wipe away your tears. "Can we get out of here? I don't want to be here when his match is done because I know he'll want to come looking for me," you ask.

Sasha nods and says, "Of course. Get changed and we'll head back to the hotel."

You nod and change out of your ring gear and into your street clothes. You let Sasha borrow some extra clothes you had so the two of you can leave as soon as you're changed.

****

Back in the safety of your hotel room, you order room service and watch Grey's Anatomy on Netflix as you lay in bed.

There's a knock on your door at around midnight. You think it's Sasha coming to return the clothes she borrowed earlier so you answer the door.

It's not Sasha at your door. It's Adam Cole.

"What?" you ask. "It's late."

Adam says, "I looked for you after my match. I wanted to talk about what you heard."

You say, "I don't blame you for wanting to leave WWE since I left. I'd want to do the same thing if I was you."

He says, "I tried to leave the company. A few weeks after you left, I went to Regal and Triple H to get them to let me go. I was ready to drop my title just to leave the company but they convinced me to stay."

You look at Adam as he talks. This is going to be a long conversation so once he's done talking, you say, "Come inside, Adam. We can keep talking inside." You move to the side and he walks inside.

Closing the door, Adam says, "I get why you left. I lied to you a few times at the start but within two weeks, I called off the bet."

"Adam," you say.

He shakes his head and he says, "Let me explain."

You sit on the bed and look at him. "So explain," you say.

Adam walks and stands in front of you. He says, "The night of the bet, the four of us got drunk. We drank a lot and we started talking about relationships. I mentioned to them that I had a little thing for you and that's when Bobby came up with the bet. He said that there was no way that I'd be able to get you into bed. Kyle and Roddy joined his side. I accepted the bet because I was drunk and liked you for some time. I was the only single guy in the Undisputed Era. But, like the dumbass I am, I took it a step further and started a relationship. Two weeks after the relationship started, I completely called off the bet because you meant so much more to me than a stupid bet."

You say, "Being drunk doesn't excuse you from accepting it. It won't work on me."

He says, "I'm not done yet. After the bet ended, I told myself that I'd never tell you about it because of this happening with us. You getting mad and leaving. I'd never choose my career over you because I know in the long run, you'd always be there for me. Wrestling is something I'll do until I'm fifty or so but there's nothing for me after that until I met you. Then I messed everything up. You're even seeing someone else right now so I don't expect you to come back to me."

You sit and listen to every word. Once he's done talking, you say something. "I'm not seeing anyone right now. I've been single for the past six months, But if I asked you to retire right now, you'd do it?" you ask, testing him.

Adam nods and says, "Yes, I would. You mean more to me than a bet or than wrestling. I love you, even after all this time. Please, forgive me."

You sigh, "I have forgiven you, Adam. For the most part. I just can't forget what happened and what you said to me that day. You lied to me just to get me in bed. You lied to start a relationship with me. All you had to do was say, 'hey, Y/N. I like you and I'd like to take you out on a date' because I would have said yes. I liked you for so long, Adam. All you had to do ask me out."

He looks down at you and he says, "You don't have to forget because we can both grow from what happened. I'm a dumbass, I know. I was just nervous and in a way, the bet made me talk to you. I just want to make it up to you, Y/N. Let me make it up to you. Let me take you on that date. A real first date."

You look up at Adam and say, "I don't know. I don't fully trust you, Adam."

Adam tucks a piece of loose hair behind your ear and he says, "I can make it up to you, Y/N. Let me at least try. I've learned from this and I want to show you that I've learned from this."

Your heart pounds in your chest as he touches you for the first time in six months. Without knowing it, you lean into his touch and close your eyes.

His hands rest on your cheeks for a second before he pulls you up so you're standing in front of him. You look up at Adam. "I'll think about it," you say, finally reply to what he said.

You feel Adam's hands leave your cheeks and slide to your waist. He pulls you closer to him. You're eye level with his chest before you look up at him with your eyes, meeting his pretty blue orbs.

"Can I start right now?" Adam asks as he starts to lean into you. You grab a fistful of his shirt, not knowing if you should back away or not.

Your lips brush against Adam's and you say, "I still need some time."

His lips move down to your neck and you gasp softly, tilting your head back a bit. Adam mumbles, "I need to make it up to you, Y/N." He starts to kiss your neck gently. Your hands slide into his hair as he picks you up by your thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist.

Sighing as he kisses your neck, you give in and say, "God, make it up to me, Adam. Make it up to me all night if you want to. I need you."

You look down at Adam and he looks up at you, pulling away from your neck. He kisses you hungrily. Your lips move feverishly against his, both of you letting out soft moans into the kiss.

He lays you down on the bed and hovers over you, not breaking the kiss. He grinds his bulge against your clothed core. You moan into the kiss, reaching down and pulling Adam's shirt up over his head. That breaks the kiss momentarily but your lips connect again like magnets right after.

The passionate kiss becomes more intense when Adam slips his tongue into your mouth. His fingers dip into the waistband of your sweatpants, rubbing you slightly over your panties. You moan against his lips.

Adam's hands run up your body, slipping under the shirt you're wearing. He pushes up the shirt until his hands are on your breasts, massaging them. You gasp and moan, pulling back from the kiss. You lift your arms above your head so Adam can pull off your shirt. You never put on a bra when you got changed earlier.

He pushes up your shirt, kissing and sucking on your breasts. Your eyes close and you smile.

"You're so beautiful," Adam mumbles against the sensitive skin on your breasts. "I am so in love with you."

You sigh, "Less talking, Cole. More fucking."

Adam smirks and says, "With pleasure."

Within seconds, both your pants and Adam's pants are off with both your underwear. Adam hovers on top of you between your legs.

His lips are on yours, moving feverishly against yours. Your hands are on Adam's back, holding him close to you.

The tip of Adam's erect member runs through your wet folds, making you moan into the passionate kiss.

"Adam, baby," you mumble against his lips. "If you don't stop teasing me instead of fucking me, I'll walk out the door. I swear to God-" You're interrupted by Adam thrusting hard into you, making you cry out in pain and pleasure. Your fingernails dig into his back.

He has a smirk on his lips and says, "You were saying?"

You stare up at him and move your hips so he's completely inside of you. "You gonna do something or are you just gonna lay there?" you ask.

Adam positions himself above you so he thrusts into you. Slowly but deeply. His hips are already flush against yours as he pushes your legs up so they rest against his arms.

He's kissing your neck as he thrusts his hips into you. Every few seconds, his thrusts get faster and harder. Your fingers slide down his back, definitely leaving scratch marks.

The room is filled with your moans and the sound of skin slapping together. A layer of sweat has appeared on both your bodies. It's a little warm in the room.

Your moans get louder the harder he moves. Your hands eventually make their way into his hair, gripping it a little bit as he moves.

Adam lets out soft groans as he thrusts harder and deeper into you than he ever has. You throw your head back and pant, "God, I love you so much. I love this so much."

He smiles and starts to kiss your neck. His thumb rubs your very sensitive clit, making you almost scream out his name. "Fuck, Adam. Just like that," you cry out.

The bed begins to creak and hit the wall a bit when Adam picks up speed again. Your legs begin to shake and your walls clench around Adam.

Adam realizes how close you are and he says in your ear, "Come for me, baby. I want you to come around me like you always do."

You don't wait anymore. You release around Adam, crying out his name. He pulls out right before he comes, releasing his seed all over your core and stomach. His fingers help you ride out your high.

Adam collapses beside you, grabbing his shirt and wiping you down. You pant and stare up at the ceiling.

You think about the day you left and you close your eyes.

Maybe you overreacted a little bit by leaving. You never heard the whole story, until today. You never let him fully explain.

You let out a sigh and ask, "Do you really love me? Even after six months apart?" Your eyes open and you look over at Adam.

Adam looks over at you and says, "I was ready to love you forever. Of course I love you after six months apart."

"Do you have any other secrets you need to tell me?" you ask.

He shakes his head and says, "I'm a completely open book to you now. No more secrets, I promise."

You lean over and press a lingering kiss to his lips. After a few seconds, you answer the question he asked you six months ago right before you walked out the door.

"Then yes," you say, not pulling back very far from the kiss.

He tilts his head and asks, "Yes, what?"

You smile and say, "I'm answering the question you asked me six months ago before I left. Yes."

Adam thinks for a second before he finally gets it. He smiles wide and puts his hands on your cheeks, pulling you down for another kiss. You giggle against his lips.

He rolls onto you then gets off the bed. He fetches his jeans, pulling something out. "I've carried this with me everyday for six months, hoping that one day you'll accept it," Adam says, coming back to the bed.

In his hand is the same velvet black box that he held out to you six months ago and inside, the same diamond oval engagement ring he presented to you.

You smile as he pulls out the ring, sliding it onto your left ring finger.

Adam lightly kisses you and says, "That's my promise that I will not keep another secret from you, unless it's a secret to surprise you in a good way."

You giggle and look at your ex-boyfriend turned fiancé before you say, "The guys and Sasha will be so confused when I show up with a ring on my finger."

"Let's worry about that tomorrow," Adam says. "I still have a lot to make up for and it might take all night."

And with that, you spend all night having the best make up sex with Adam. You don't fall asleep until the sun has begun to rise.