#missed the anniversary by a few hours but here it is!!!

[torturedpoetdean]

all i know is you're someone i have always known

hadestownatural (pt 5/?)

(watch in 4k)

[babyleostuff]

today was (not) a fairytale

fluff (+ a bit of angst) 𐙚 established relationship 𐙚 idol!mingyu x fem!reader 𐙚 wc: 1.6k

. . . mingyu forgets about your anniversary

mingyu was a busy guy, that was obvious. but one thing he was never too busy for was you. it didn’t matter if it was just a can you couldn’t open, or a spider that had to be killed - mingyu was always there for you, no questions asked. to be honest, you could call him and tell him you wanted a hug, and he’d drop whatever he was doing just so he could trap you in a bear hug for the rest of the evening. that was how whipped he was. 

and now he was late. two hours. 

at first you thought something had happened - you texted some of the boys to ask if they knew where he was, you called his mom - you even checked the latest news, worried to see any updates about a car accident. 

nothing. 

sitting at an expensive restaurant full of people by yourself was humiliating enough, but what bothered you even more was that it was supposed to be your anniversary dinner. mingyu never missed any milestones of your relationship, he even bought you small gifts on the date you had your first kiss. 

then it hit you - his location. quickly pulling your phone out of your bag, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

he was at seungcheol’s place. 

not bothering to call your boyfriend - it wasn’t like he was answering any of your calls before, so why bother - you called the oldest boy, fiddling with your napkin that you wouldn’t be probably using tonight either way. 

“hey, is everything okay?” seungcheol asked immediately. it wasn’t often that you called him, especially at such a late hour, so he figured something must have happened. 

“is mingyu with you?” you heard some shuffling in the background, and noises that sounded a lot like your boyfriend and hoshi. 

“um, yeah. you want me to pass him the phone?” you could clearly hear seungcheol’s confusion in his voice, but you weren’t in the “shitting rainbows and unicorns” mood, so you didn’t even bother with hiding your annoyance. 

“fan-fucking-tastic.” 

you couldn’t believe he actually forgot about your anniversary. you had been planning this date for such a long time now. getting a reservation at this restaurant wasn’t easy, even mingyu had to pull a few strings and flash a couple of polite smiles, so you could come here on the exact day of your milestone. you prepared matching outfits for god’s sake. how could have he forgotten? 

“tell him not to come back home tonight,” you said, and hung up the phone before seungcheol could say anything. 

you spend the whole ride home trying to keep your tears from falling. you didn’t know what was worse - sitting in a restaurant for two hours waiting for someone who was over at his friend’s house drinking soju, or that the love of your life forgot about something so important. 

the second you got inside your apartment you practically ripped off the dress you were wearing, suddenly almost disgusted by the feel of it on your skin. your shoes joined soon after, and not even five minutes after getting back home you got changed into PJs (for once not being mingyu’s shirt), and poured yourself a glass of wine. 

“happy anniversary i quess.” 

when you were about to turn off all of the lights in the living room for the night, you heard the door open and close with much more force than needed. 

“baby? baby, where ar-,” he emerged from around the corner, stopping right in front of you. you took in his form - hair tousled from the wind, his shirt from practice still on, and shoes on his feet, which never happened - mingyu never wore shoes inside the house. huh, he must’ve been in a real hurry to get here. 

“i’m so sorry, i got here as quickly as possible,” he said, a little out of breath. you had to stop the urge to laugh in his face because what the hell? 

“too bad you didn’t bother to show up where you really were supposed to be, mingyu,” you snickered, anger radiating off of you. your boyfriend knew he was in deep shit the second seungcheol shot him a worried look, and how he would make it up to you, he had no idea. 

“i know, baby-,” 

“don’t call me that. you don’t deserve it mingyu,” you pointed a finger at his chest. just then he noticed you got your nails done to match the design on his tie, and he could swear he died a little bit at that moment. “do you have any idea how humiliated i felt sitting there like an idiot, waiting for my fucking boyfriend who decided to go out with his friends on our anniversary?” 

“i called your friends, your family. i thought you got into an accident for fucks sake,” your voice cracked at the end of the sentence, as you finally felt something else than just anger. the thought of losing mingyu wasn’t something you wanted to think about on your anniversary night. “i was so excited for this, and you knew it,” you took in a shaky inhale, once again feeling the tears brimming in your eyes.  

it took everything from you not to hug mingyu, he looked so… sad, and just so defeated, and that wasn’t something you were used to seeing on your boyfriend’s face. 

“there are a thousand excuses on my mind right now, but none of them will excuse my behaviour,” he sighed, his lower lip trembling. please don't cry, please don’t cry. “i forgot,” he said, straightening his back a little. “i simply forgot, and nothing i do will make up for it.” 

tears clouded your eyes, and you couldn’t help when they started falling down your cheeks, probably ruining the makeup you put so much effort into. if you knew you’d end up crying on your anniversary night you’d use a waterproof mascara. mingyu hesitantly raised his hand, as if he was afraid you’d run away from him, but when he saw you didn’t move an inch, he started wiping off the tears of your face with a gentle swipe of his thumb, almost as if you were about to fall apart. 

“say something. no, yell at me,” he said, and put your hand against his chest. “you can even hit me,” mingyu said, pleading in his eyes. “please, just do something.” 

“i don’t want to yell at you,” you sniffled, wiping off the rest of the tears yourself. “and i definitely don’t want to hit you. i just-,” you looked at him and only then noticed the dark circles under his eyes. did his face get slimmer too? “when was the last time you slept?”

he looked a bit taken aback by your question, considering he was begging you to hit him like a second ago. “to be honest, i don’t know, but i took some naps in the practice room. that’s not import-,”  

“when was the last time you ate?” you interrupted him again. 

his eyes softened because there was no way he just stood you up on one of the most important days of the year, and you were asking him about his well being. “i don't know.” 

i don’t know. hearing those words from a person who inhaled food like a vacuum, and could never say no to a snack broke your heart. how did you not notice how exhausted he was before? 

“oh, mingyu,” you said, tearing up again. “why didn’t you tell me, i would’ve brought you some food.” 

“i know, but i didn’t want to burden you. i knew i’d be fine,” he said, voice gentle. “besides, that’s not important now. let’s talk about how big of an asshole i am,” he grabbed your face in both of his hands, tilting it more upwards. 

“how can you say it’s not important?” you murmured, nuzzling your face further into his palm. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you without food for longer than an hour.” 

“hey, i don’t eat that much,” you couldn’t help but giggle at his words, and seeing mingyu’s face lit up at your, albeit quiet, laughter, you felt the anger leaving you for good.  

maybe you were too selfish? all you lived for for the past week was the date, but in the process you managed to somehow miss how exhausted your boyfriend was. yes, he did forget, but he was so overworked lately, you couldn’t really blame him, right? and it wasn’t like you were a saint either, you missed some dates in the past too. 

“whatever you’re thinking, drop it,” he said sternly. “don’t try to make any excuses for me. i forgot, okay? it’s all my fault.” 

technically you knew you had every right to be furious at him, hell - an hour you cursed him out with every curse word you knew, but maybe it wasn't the time to think straight, and just give the light of your life a second chance. “i don’t want to fight,” you said, wrapping your hands around his wrists. “and we still have,” you looked over at the clock, “two hours before midnight. we have the wine, and i think i have a pizza in the freezer.” 

mingyu shook his head in disbelief. “there’s no way you’re real.” leaning in, he placed a peck on your cheek, filling your chest with a warm, fuzzy feeling. “you look beautiful by the way,” he whispered, and put his forehead against yours. “i’m really sorry.” 

“i know, gyu. i know,” you whispered. “and mingyu?” 

“yeah?” 

“you can call me “baby” again.”

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[daisynik7]

[F4M] You Leave a Naughty Voicemail for Your Husband While He Works Overtime [Established Relationship][Mutual Masturbation][Car Sex][Sub to Soft Dom][Breeding Kink][Mating Press][No Thoughts][Brain Empty][Just Fucking]

Read Part 1 here!

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.6k

cw: established relationship, p*rn without plot, smut –  PIV sex (cowgirl, missionary, mating press, doggy), mutual masturbation, mentions of sex toys, edging, blowjob, car sex, clitoral stimulation, spanking, some spit play, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, honey, princess, baby, good girl/boy), slight degradation kink

Summary: You record a naughty voicemail for your husband while he works overtime, leaving him yearning for more. Author’s Note: Hiya friends! Breaking my tumblr hiatus temporarily to post this. Consider this a sequel/part 2 to my other fic inspired by more NSFW audio. Someone gave me the idea to do a fic with the roles reversed, so here it is! Had a blast writing this, so I hope you enjoy! Bonus: here are some NSFW audios that inspired it (of course, they’re AugustInTheWinter): Link 1, Link 2 (reddit links, 18+). Likes, comments, and/or reblogs are always appreciated, thanks so much for reading! Header image from the manga On Doorstep (it's BL and the MC looks like Nanami, I highly recommend). MDNI banner created by @/mikeykuns.

It’s past eleven when Nanami steps out of the conference room with the rest of his colleagues, having just finished the last team meeting of the day. He was asked to work overtime to help fix any remaining issues before the end of the fiscal year, which is in a few days. Normally, he’d never agree to this, but with your wedding anniversary approaching in a month, he wants the extra income to buy you that gold chain bracelet you’ve had an eye on. 

With all his tasks complete for the day, he can finally leave. He gathers his belongings, checking his phone to see the missed call and voicemail you left him about an hour ago. She must be asleep already, he thinks, not bothering to call you back. When he gets in his car, he props his phone to the mount, ready to listen to your voicemail on Bluetooth while he drives home. He presses play as soon as he pulls out from his parking spot.

“Kento.” Your voice is hushed and breathy. “I miss you.”

Nanami clenches his jaw, already aroused by your sultry tone. He grips the steering wheel tighter, glancing at the phone screen to check the length of the voicemail: three minutes. That’s the limit before it cuts you off. And while the ride home is a mere ten, he has a feeling it will be excruciatingly long by the way this message is already playing. 

You sigh. “I miss you so much, Kento.” There’s rustling in the background; Nanami imagines that you’re turning over in bed, under the covers. What are you wearing right now? The cute flannel pajamas he bought you two years ago for Valentine’s Day? Or the lingerie set you purchased yourself to surprise him for your most recent anniversary? At this rate, for his own sanity, he’s not sure which one he prefers. 

“I can’t wait till you get home, honey. I’m so…” Your voice is heavy with lust; he can see the provocative face you’re making as you squeeze the phone to your ear, reaching between your legs to that throbbing pussy. “I’m so horny right now. I wish you were here.” If he listens closely, he can hear the squelch of fingers flicking your clit rapidly. “But since you’re not, is it okay if I touch myself?”

He’s tempted to slam on the gas and fly through the city to get to you in record time. Break all driving violations and his own personal morals to watch you play with yourself. It’s torture, sitting behind this red light, following the rules, listening to you moan into the phone, so needy and desperate for his cock. What’s worse is that you’re ovulating this week; he knows how pent up you must be from his absence tonight. Fertile and in heat, that wet sloppy cunt begging to be filled with his seed. He promised he’d make it up to you tomorrow morning, but why waste this perfectly good opportunity? Especially when you’re practically begging for it. 

“Remember how good you fucked me last night? How you pinned me down by the wrists? How tightly I squeezed my legs around you as you pumped me full of cum?” It’s all Nanami thought about when he wasn’t focused on work today. Enough to force him into the men’s room to jerk himself off, fantasizing about it. Replaying your wanton moans ringing in his ears, the way your body convulsed around him, that adorably dumb expression on your face while you were getting fucked into oblivion. Normally, he’d be ashamed of himself at how lewd he was being in a work setting, but the memory of you was too irresistible, even for him. 

He’s not usually perverse like this, but something about you drives him crazy. His hands are typically at 10-and-2, the correct position to steer the wheel. But just this once, he deems it necessary to lose his prim and proper attitude. He drops one into his lap to unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and reach down to palm his cock through his briefs. It’s enough to gain a bit of relief from this torment, at least until he’s safely home. Nanami wipes the sweat beading on his brow, accelerating too hard when the light finally switches to green, keeping his grip steady as he strokes his cock, listening intently to your voice surrounding him in the car. 

“Are you hard right now, Kento?” There’s more movement in the background, as if you’re opening and shutting a drawer. Blood rushes into his cheeks, predicting exactly what you’re about to do. “Do you like listening to me touch myself?” There’s a familiar hum now, and he visualizes the pink vibrator buzzing in your hand, the fluttering tip teasing your swollen clit. He’d do anything to teleport directly into the bedroom and have his way with you.  

“I’m so lonely in this bed without you. I’m fucking myself, thinking about you. Wishing it’s you instead of this stupid toy. Can you hear it, sweetie?”

“Yes,” he answers to no one, shoving his underwear down to release his erection, stroking himself faster with his right fist. He’s forced to stop again; how many fucking streetlights does this goddamn city need anyways?! It’s excruciating. 

“My pussy is aching for your big cock.” The buzzing intensifies; you’ve increased the setting one level, on the verge of an orgasm. Typical behavior of his obedient slut of a wife. He loves sliding his fingers inside while you press the vibrator deeper into your clit. He’s obsessed with the way you gush around him, clenching him tighter, addicted to how it tastes on his tongue when he slides those cum-coated digits into his mouth. 

“Hurry home, honey. I’m waiting for you. This pussy is already so wet for you. I’m going to use you as my sex toy tonight.”

“Fuck, I want that. I really want that,” Nanami moans in response, releasing his cock from his grasp, thighs fidgeting from arousal. 

“You love it when I use you, huh? Love it when I fuck you silly until you’re milked dry.”

He groans, bucking his hips into nothing in the seat, briefly losing control of the wheel, causing the car to swerve. “Fuck, I love it, sweetie. I love it. Please.” He’s not sure what he’s begging for. All he knows is that if he doesn’t get home soon, he’ll combust, taking the car down with him. 

“Fuck, Kento. I’m thinking about how deep you hit it from behind. Slapping my ass, treating me like a bad girl, pounding your hips into me like a fucking animal. I get so fucking cock drunk off you. Makes me want to come just talking about it.”

“Then come for me, baby,” he blurts out, fully aware he’s talking to a recording. He’s completely lost it now. 

“Ah, I’m close. I – ” you interrupt yourself with your own whimpers. Nanami listens as he cruises past the speed limit now, wiping the bead of precum at the tip of his cock with his thumb,  edging himself. It’d be a shame for him to waste his load onto his lap. He’s going to give you every fucking drop he has. Build it up so that your pussy is flooding with his hot, sticky mess. 

You whine loudly, “I’m coming, Kento. Ah, I’m coming for you.” You moan into the phone, and Nanami has to release himself to prevent from orgasming too, Then, there’s silence on your end, except for your staggered breaths and occasionally rustling of the sheets beneath you. Eventually, the voicemail ends without another word, and he assumes that you’ve fallen asleep. He smiles to himself, imagining you, his gorgeous wife, with your legs splayed out, vibrator loosely gripped, completely knocked out on the bed. 

He replays the voicemail, continuing to edge himself until he finally pulls into their driveway, opening the garage. He parks, shutting off the ignition, then searches the backseat for the box of tissues, wanting to clean up whatever mess he’s made. Before he gets the chance to, the door leading inside swings open, and it’s you, standing in the door frame in a sheer lingerie nightgown. The same one he expected you’d be wearing tonight. 

He swallows hard, cock still out, stiffer than ever, watching you step towards the driver’s side, bright face peering through the window. You glance to his lap, noticing the lewd sight. 

You tap on the glass, feigning innocence. “Kento?”

He opens the door slowly, face flushed, eyes half-lidded in a daze. “Sweetheart, please.” 

His slacks have been shoved off haphazardly down his legs, engorged cock sprung against his abdomen, precum leaking out the tip. His cheeks are pink, hair tousled, forehead dewy with sweat. You smirk at him, pleased to see that he’s listened to your voicemail. “Oh, honey. Look at you. Have you been a bad boy?” You surround him with your fingers, jerking him slowly. He twitches at your touch, sensitive and aching in your fist. 

He shakes his head, shutting his eyes closed as you stroke him. “No,” he stutters, “I’ve been very good.”

You inspect the car, realizing what he’s trying to convey to you; he hasn’t come yet. “Oh, baby,” you coo, squeezing his cock in your fist. “You’ve been very, very good. My good boy.”

He nods this time, leaning forward for a kiss. “Yes, I’m a good boy for you. I’m your good boy,” he huffs through gritted teeth. Nanami isn’t normally like this, so submissive and needy. But tonight, he has zero hesitation; he’s begging to be dominated, to be used and toyed with. 

You lick into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “Do you want your reward now? Or should we go inside first?”

He won’t last much longer, so he spits out, “Now. Please.”

You smirk, kissing him messily, tongues swirling, swapping spit while his dick pulsates in your palm. “Fuck,” he groans, rocking his hips into you. “I’m going to come if you keep – ” he chokes on his saliva, unable to finish his sentence. 

You giggle, nibbling at his ear lobe. “If I do what, baby?” You want to tease him a bit more, so you bend over his lap, kneeling on the bottom frame of the car, sinking down on him with your mouth. He throws his head back against the headrest, swearing loudly. You blow him until his cock is lubricated with your spit and he’s squirming above you, ready to burst. 

He pulls you off him abruptly, tugging you towards him. “I can’t,” he urges, completely red now, all frenzied and flustered. “Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Giggling, you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap and smooching his forehead. “Alright, honey. I tormented you enough.” You’re not wearing any panties beneath your nightgown, so when you start to rub yourself on his shaft, his eyes widen in surprise, staring at you, sputtering a mix of curses and nonsense.

You grin, kissing him softly, rocking yourself along his length. “I told you, didn’t I? This pussy is so wet for you. I’ve been prepping myself all night, thinking about you.”

“Fuck, I’m going to come. Put it in, sweetheart. Hurry.”

You guide him in you easily until he bottoms out, sitting on him without moving, licking into his mouth. His hands slide around your hips, holding you tenderly, staying still, melting into your kiss. Before you can start bouncing on him, he squeezes you, huffing, “I’m coming.” 

His dick pulsates, spurting his hot seed deep inside you. You continue to kiss him, smiling against his lips, pleased and satisfied. When he’s finished, you graze his ear. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, brows knit together, eyes shut tight. He opens one to peek at you, embarrassed. “This is your fault.” The blush on his face cascades along his neck. “You knew this would happen when you left me that voicemail.”

Laughing, you give him a smooch on his cheek. “You’re right. I was being bad tonight. Are you going to punish me for it?” You tug at his tie, loosening it on his collar, trailing his chest to unbutton his dress shirt. 

He relaxes, smirking as he slaps your ass with his palm, cupping the flesh immediately after. You whine his name at the contact, nuzzling into his neck. “Ah, Kento.”

“Bad girls deserve to be punished,” he growls, low and wicked, delivering a fresh smack to the other side. His cock is erect again inside you, stuffing you full once more. “You’re going to take this cock until I can’t get hard anymore. Understand?” He rocks you back and forth on him, thumb pressed at your clit, rubbing small circles. “Until this slutty little cunt is so full of my cum.”

You nod silently, clinging to his shoulders, body trembling with arousal. The switch in demeanor, from him begging you for sweet release to now being domineering and cocky, has you titillating for more. He chuckles, wrapping you in snug embrace, kissing the top of your head. “Look at you, darling. You’re shaking. Let’s go to the bedroom, okay princess?” And his ability to turn on this sweet charm has you softening in his arms, pliant and ready to be played with. 

Soon, you’re inside your bedroom, legs spread wide, some residual cum trickling down the inside of your thighs. He strips his remaining clothes off, cock unbelievable rigid in his fist, jerking himself off to the sight of you in your transparent lingerie, his load leaking from your slit. 

“You’re a fucking slut for getting me worked up like this,” he grunts, hovering over you, tapping the tip of his dick on your swollen clit. “I edged myself the entire drive, saving all this cum for you.”

You bite your lip, holding back the guttural, animalistic moan escaping from within your throat. His confession has you quaking, eager to be filled even more to the brim with his seed, eager to be bred. You can blame it on the fact that you’re currently in heat, or that you’re just this much in love with your husband that you can’t think of anything else you want more in this moment than to be connected with him. You grip the sheets below you, fanning your thighs impatiently, waiting for his cock. “Breed me, honey. Fuck all your cum inside me. I want all of it, every single drop. Hurry.”

Oh how quickly do the roles reverse. 

He slides his cock inside you, his own cum coating it as he pulls out slightly, observing the lewd scene. “Look at how full you are, and it’s still not enough. Such a greedy cum slut.” He spits a frothy wad of his saliva onto your clit, smearing it with his thumb. “You’re going to come on this cock before I give you anything. Got it?”

You nod, closing your eyes, turning your head to the side, losing yourself to the pleasure rippling through your body as he pounds into your pussy, the sensation so intense it resonates all the way down to your toes. He’s so mean, so unlike his usual doting self when he’s in this mood, and you can’t help but succumb to it. He tips your chin back towards him. “Look at it,” he demands. You open your eyes, his expression wild, fucking you faster, his thumb working your clit ruthlessly. “Watch me fuck this messy cunt.” He grips you behind the legs, hoisting you so that your knees are towards your chest, holding you into a mating press. Unable to contain it any longer, you moan loudly, grabbing at your own ankles to keep yourself spread wide for him as he thrusts in and out of you relentlessly. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart? To be fucked and pounded by me instead of that silly toy. To use me and milk me dry of every last drop. You asked for this. This is what you get for being so fucking naughty.” He rests one of your legs onto his shoulder, turning to smooch the side of your knee, sucking on your skin. 

You continue to moan his name until it’s reduced into a blubber of incoherent cries as you’re pushed over the edge, reaching your climax. “That’s it, come on my cock, princess. That’s a good girl.” Still, he doesn’t ease up; in fact, he fucks you harder, spurred by your orgasm, intent on chasing another. “Just keep taking it, okay beautiful? I know you can do it.” He pounds you into the mattress, the bed creaking noisily beneath you with each solid thrust, perspiration dripping from his body onto yours. You’re no longer thinking clearly; everything is in a haze, blissful and euphoric, only your husband on your brain. He’s fucked all other thoughts out of you. Has you obsessed with his cock, hungry for his cum, keen on him to breed your fertile womb.

“Fuck, Kento, right there! Right there!” you cry out, grasping his hair between your fingers, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. 

“Right there, huh?” he teases, slowing his pace to thrust deep into your G-spot, nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Always taking me so fucking deep.” He grabs your wrist, placing your hand at your clit. “Touch yourself while I fuck you. Squirt on my cock like a good little slut.”

You obey him, flicking your sensitive bud with your middle finger while he watches intently, another orgasm fast approaching. You twitch around him, pleasure overtaking your entire body, sending a rush of ecstasy that has you seeing stars. 

Of course, it still isn’t enough for him. Not after what you put him through earlier. “Turn over,” he mutters, pulling out, cum spilling onto the sheets. “You know what to do.”

He’s right; it’s second nature to you now, to throw your ass back and fuck yourself with his cock. All he has to do is kneel behind you with his hard dick out while you swallow him whole, pumping it in and out of your pussy. It doesn’t matter how pliant you feel, or how fucked out you are, tongue lolling out of your mouth, drool leaking from the sides of your lips. You know exactly what to do to get what you want out of him. 

You can feign innocence all you want, pretend to be shocked when he manhandles you like a fucking rag doll, slamming his hips into you, wet slaps bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. Shrieking when he presses his rough fingers to your swollen clit. Burying your face into the pillow, muffling your shameless moans and shrieks of, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” This is what you intended when you spread your legs earlier, phone in your hand, ready to leave that filthy voicemail for him, knowing he’d listen on his way home. Knowing he’d save all his cum for you because you’re ovulating, and he wants more than anything to get you pregnant. Knowing he’d want to fuck you into a frenzy regardless, always desperate to empty his load inside you. It’s what you want because you know he wants it too. That’s what makes it even better, knowing your husband is as feral for you as you are for him. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he whispers, voice wavering.

Craning your neck to face him, you murmur, “Want to see you.”

He smiles, pulling out, your pussy fluttering around the emptiness, already eager to be filled again. “I want to see you too, my love.” He flips you over, pushing your knees towards your ears into a deeper mating press, kissing you sweetly on the lips. You wrap your arms around him, whining his name into his ear as he fucks you rough, the bed frame precariously shifting with each plunge of his cock. 

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he groans, cock twitching and spurting every hot pulse inside you. “Take all of my cum, sweetheart. All of it,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you. I love you so much.”

When he finishes, he lowers your legs slowly, rolling beside you to cradle you in his arms. You nestle into his chest, listening to his steadying heartbeat. “Are you okay, sweetie?” he asks, massaging small circles into your back.

You nod against him, remaining silent, too drained to even respond with words. He lets you rest like this for a moment before hopping off the bed, stepping into the bathroom, rummaging through the cupboards. Shortly after, he returns to you with a container of baby wipes in hand and a glass of water in the other. 

You’re a mess down there, sleek, wet, and gushing with slick. He kneels beside you, wiping your forehead first from sweat. You peer up at him, smiling, cupping his cheek. “Thank you,” you mouth to him. With another, he cleans your hands, then your legs, always glancing at you to make sure you’re still doing fine. You’re truly grateful for having a spouse as attentive and as caring as your husband, who, despite his typically stoic disposition, always dotes on you so sweetly. 

Done cleaning you up, he traces the outline of your lips with his thumb, saying, “Drink water, honey.”

You grumble at him, pretending to be asleep. He chuckles, leaning in closer for a kiss. “And go pee.”

You peek at him with one eye open, nuzzling your nose to his. “Okay, fine. But after you hold me for one more minute.”

He smiles, sliding his arms around you. “Anything you want, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

[desperate-gay]

You’re Not Sorry

Alexia Putellas x fem!reader

A flute of champagne sits in your hand as your eyes drift down to the screen of your empty notifications. You let out a deep sigh and try to shove all of your negative feelings to the back of your head, seeing that your new art collection is going to be revealed to the museum.

Having worked on these paintings for over a year, you would think your girlfriend would finally make an effort to show up at one of your events, but just like the other times, she leaves you stranded. Just last night you had asked her repeatedly if she’d be able to accompany and support you for this massive milestone, and she assured you she wouldn’t miss it for the world. But to Alexia, the world is just another inconvenience.

There are several artists along with many investors, businessmen, and entrepreneurs roaming around the museum, waiting for the time your new projects are revealed. You stand alone in your skin-fitted maroon dress with the earrings Alexia bought for you on your first anniversary.

After waiting several more minutes, you realize your girlfriend isn’t showing up. It hurts you more than you’d like to admit, knowing you are constantly attending her games, red carpets, and photoshoots, but the times you want her to join you, she doesn’t even bother to send you a text.

Your co-worker waves you over to the podium where your covered artwork hangs behind it, signaling that it’s your time to speak. You quickly down the rest of the alcohol remaining in your glass before taking a few deep breaths and plastering a fake smile to enthuse everyone you’re about to speak to.

Once the night is over and you make it into your car, tears build up in your eyes as your lip trembles. You rest your head on your steering wheel while your body wracks in sops, letting out all of your pent-up anger and sadness at your girlfriend.

She has slowly been tearing down your self-esteem with every event and date she misses. It makes you think that maybe she doesn’t want to be with someone who isn’t a world-known athlete or someone who isn’t as beautiful as the movie stars she sees all the time. Alexia treats you like a trophy she puts in the back of her shelves, allowing it to collect all the dust for her.

The worst part is that your paintings are about her. About your journey throughout your guy’s relationship. You had spent countless hours working on all of them in your studio and never letting Alexia see them despite her protests which is the main reason you thought she’d show up.

Maybe she just pretended to be interested to keep you around longer. Several thoughts are running through your mind as you lift your head and look at yourself through the car mirror. Mascara smudges can be seen under your puffy eyes and your plump lips from the hard sobs.

You sniffle before wiping the tears off of your face and start the car. Your whole drive to your girlfriend’s house was filled with questions about what you’re going to do next. Deep inside you know you can’t continue being with someone who doesn’t support you like you support them, but you also know how in love you still are with her.

The lights inside the house can be seen on, showing you that Alexia is in fact home. Turning your car off, you sit back and realize what you’re about to do. You’re about to break up with the love of your life because you’re just not the love of hers.

The clicks of your heels on the hard pavement mock you for what’s going to come. The jingle of your keys alarms you in warning of what you’re about to lose. Then the bell of Nala’s collar reminds you that you won’t ever step foot in this place again.

“Amor? What are you doing here, I thought you had some, thing to be at?” Alexia asks from the couch, not even looking away from the game on the TV.

“Do you even remember what that thing was?”

Your jaw clenches in anger at the Catalan’s selfishness, realizing she didn’t even care enough to remember what she missed. Nala stays huddled near you, almost sensing your mood and trying to help out.

“Am I supposed to?” She yet again stays focused on the screen, meaning she doesn’t see how dressed up you are or how red your eyes look.

You laugh in disbelief which causes Alexia’s head to snap towards you. She can hear the malicious undertone of it, causing her eyebrows to furrow at your uncharacteristic behavior.

“You’re telling me you don’t even remember what tonight was? You knew it was something, but you didn’t bother remembering what?” You seethe, standing up straighter with your arms crossed over your chest.

You can practically see Alexia’s gears turning in her head, either trying to figure out what the event was or why you’re all of a sudden being cold towards her. When she sees that you have been crying, she quickly stands up and makes her way over to you, but when she tries to reach you, you step away before she can touch you.

“Amor, what’s wrong? Were you crying?”

“Like you care, Alexia.” You snap, turning around so you don’t have to face her, knowing that she’ll look like a kicked puppy.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Her tone becoming more aggravated by the second at your icy demeanor.

When you turn back around a few tears are lingering on your cheeks but you don’t seem to care. You want Alexia to own up to her actions after completely neglecting you for what feels like the hundredth time.

“It means that you can’t even remember your girlfriend’s opening night at the museum. You didn’t even care to text or anything. I thought that maybe you’d finally come with me to one of my work events, but I now see it’s too underclass for you to be seen there. To be seen with me.” The anger in your voice falters when it cracks from you trying everything not to cry in front of her at the moment.

Alexia remains silent with a look of despair on her face after coming to the realization of what today was. She knew that this was important to you and you had begged her several times to come and she didn’t need much convincing, but now she left you high and dry.

“Lo siento-”

“Don’t give me that sorry bullshit anymore, Alexia. I am tired of you apologizing and apologizing for not showing up but not making any effort to fix it. Sorry means nothing if you continue to do the things you’re sorry for.” You say, cutting off the ruse you have gotten too used to which makes the blonde look down at her hands.

Silence consumes the air between you two as you both stand across each other. You’re both only a few feet apart but it feels like you’re miles away from each other. There was once a time you two could be on separate continents but you’d still be just as close as if you two were in the same room. That time has been gone for quite a long time.

“Alexia-“

“Please stop calling me Alexia. I’m Ale or baby or anything else.” The Catalan pleads, looking up at you in desperation, knowing where this conversation is leading.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” You whisper as it’s now your turn to look at your hands that pick at the other’s nails.

“What?”

You don’t think you have heard that much emotion in Alexia’s voice ever. She sounds like she was just told her whole family was murdered.

Alexia knows she hasn’t been the best girlfriend in a while, always standing you up on dates, continuously busy with football, and just ignoring your presence. She wasn’t even sure if she realized at the time that you were sleeping at your own place which is extremely rare ever since you’ve been with her. She just hasn’t realized how far it has pushed you.

“I’m breaking up with you, Alexia. I can’t be with someone who isn’t there for me like I am for them.” You state strongly, not wanting to lose your willpower from the girl showing you more attention than she has the past few days.

“No, no, no, no. I’m sorry, bebe. Please give me a chance to make this right, to show you how much you mean to me. Please don’t leave.” Alexia reaches and grasps your hand as tears run down her face. Now that it dawns on her that she may lose you, she tears down the floodgates.

“It’s too late.” You murmur, removing your hand from her tight hold as she continues to plead for you.

Your chest feels incredibly heavy realizing what you’re leaving behind right now. A home you thought you’d grow a family in with the person you wanted that family with.

“Don’t call me because I won’t answer. Goodbye, Ale.” You press a kiss to her cheeks before moving to the front door. With one final look at the blonde, you turn around and leave without a stop.

Some thoughts are meant to remain just thoughts.

[helluvapoison]

hey! saw your blog n thought u were like super fuckin cool- so yk can I request a vox x wife!teader and vox accidentally forget their anniversary? it's fine if jot, have a good day/night!!

Vox x Reader

Sitting in Hell’s Kitchen, the finest restaurant of Pride Ring, staring at an empty chair across from you, you decide to find out for yourself just where the fuck your husband is today of all days

• Vox was zipping through cables and wires all over the house to look for you. He checked your favorite spots first but, to his chagrin, you weren’t there

• The money making, signature smile he always wore began slipping on one side when his phone buzzed to life, your icon taking over his screen

• “Darling! I just got home,” Irritation had his voice glitching, “Where are you?”

• “Hm. Late night?” You asked, pettily avoiding the question

• “I-? Yeah, yes,” He sighed, slipping back into work mode for a minute, “Back to back meetings and I had to reshoot yesterday's episode because—“ Minute over, “Wait, that doesn’t matter! What matters is I wanted to come home to my darling partner and you’re nowhere to be found! Where are you!?”

• “Oh me? I went out for a bite to eat. An hour ago. There should be a notification somewhere in your planner, why don’t you check it.”

• Vox huffs and rolls his eyes. He pulls the phone away from his face and quickly swipes through today’s agenda. Anything regarding you is always his top priority—

• x/xx/xxxx: congratulations! today is your anniversary! you have a reservation at 8pm!

• “Fuck.”

• “Mhm.”

• Your phone goes silent. Only half of a second passes before your husband materializes from the wires at the front desk. The panicked expression on his screen is almost enough to satisfy the tornado of emotions inside you. Of course he recognizes there’s people around and there’s an image to project so he gathers himself all too quickly

• His steps over are hurried and clumsy. He presses a kiss to your cheek that buzzes softly on your skin as he sits down, taking your hands into his own in case you decide to leave. Or throw your wine at him. Or both. “Happy Anniversary, darling!”

• Your brow quirks, unimpressed and irate

• “I know it seems like I did, but I didn’t forget. Look I planned this dinner—“

• “That you were late to.”

• “And I have your present right here! Look! I made it months ago just for this.”

• A part of you expects a new phone or watch that hasn’t hit the market yet. Instead Vox pulls out a thin screen from behind his back (Somehow. You’ve learned not to question how he does that) and forces it into your hands

• It scanned your fingerprints the minute you touched it and bloomed to life. For a few seconds it showed you and Vox closer to when you first met, slowly and silently moving as you both laughed. Then it faded and brought a new image of when Vox poured coffee in Val’s lap because he was staring at you. You couldn’t help but snort at that one despite trying very hard not

• “It’s an electronic picture frame,” Vox explained excitedly, “Only this one scans and recognizes your favorite memories. I, uh, already put mine in there for you.” His eyes dart away for a moment, a light blush making his screen glow slightly, “Don’t let anyone else see this.”

• You’re really torn now and he can clearly see it. As a businessman he wants to go in for the final kill, but as your husband he wants to reassure you

• “I didn’t forget, not really. I knew I was missing something all day. I’ll clear my calendar next year— or tomorrow! We can redo the whole day just you and me!”

• You purse your lips together and tilt your head at him with narrowed eyes. Something you did right before you forgave him. “No work at all? No taking calls from Val or Vel? Not even watching yourself on tv?”

• “Let me take care of everything! No one will bother us for an entire 24 hours. Just me and you, my dear. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

• You give him a final skeptical look before your gaze drops to the picture frame with significantly more fondness. You inevitably give in with a sigh, “Fine.”

• Vox is standing up and bringing you with him, his claw on your lower back to guide you out of the restaurant, “Excellent! You won’t regret it baby, I’ll make it our best anniversary yet.”

• To the host at the front his smile doesn’t waver but his voice drops to an octave that leaves no room for arguments, “We’ll be back here tomorrow, same time but we’ll take the table by the window instead. You can put that under Vox. Thanks.”

• “Vox, what are you doing!?“ You whisper loudly in disbelief

• He doesn’t stop, continuing to push you out and onto the sidewalk where a VoxTech limo already awaits. Suddenly his hands are on your shoulders. His eyes meet yours and they’re devoid of the facade he puts on for everyone else

• “When something goes wrong at VoxTech, I have to scrap the plans and start all over to get it right. And I want to do this right for you. I’m going to fix everything, my dear. One hour and I’ll meet you back home with all your favorites.” Despite the tv-ready tone, Vox’s words are coated in sincerity that has you inclined to believe him

• You allow him to help you into the limo, “I don’t need it perfect, y’know. I just need you there.”

• “And I will be! You’ll get both; myself and perfection. Don’t I always say you deserve it all?” Vox kisses the back of your hand before closing the door. He stands there with a smile and waves until you’re out of sight

• He keeps his word, he’s at home with you 45 minutes later. He brings dinner, dessert and wine, all your favorites, and a few extra presents

• The 24 workless hours begin as soon as he walks through the door. He turns off his phone and puts himself on “do not disturb”

• All he needs is you and you’re right here. Happily sitting in his lap while he feeds you cake, your favorite movie in the background. The sound of your laughter or wine glasses clinking together is a far better sound than his ringtone

• (He’ll need a new assistant when he returns to work… and someone to repair that window on the 13th floor. That’s probably why he has 237 notifications from Velvette and Valentino when he turns his phone on after your anniversary do-over)

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ OMG YOU’RE SO SWEET!!!! please enjoy!

[livwritesstuff]

Steve comes home from a few hours of running errands with his and Eddie’s one-year-old daughter Moe to find Eddie pitching an absolute fit to his beleaguered book agent Paul over the phone.

Given how Eddie’s third book is about three months away from its release date, Steve has a pretty decent idea what the fit might be over.

The dreaded book tour.

Look – Steve doesn’t like it either. He didn’t like it back in ‘95 when Eddie’s first book came out. He didn’t like it in ‘99 with the second one either. He definitely won’t like it this time around, especially now with Moe in the picture. He actually likes having his partner around, believe it or not (and, if he’s honest, there’s still some baggage surrounding work-related travel and his parents’ relationship that he’s still trying to shake).

Still, he knows it’s a necessary evil of Eddie’s success and they’ll all survive it.

That’s Steve’s perspective anyways, even if Eddie doesn’t share it with him.

Eddie looks over as Steve drops a few bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter.

“Hang on, Paul – Steve just got back from absconding with my daughter,” Eddie says, and then he pulls the phone away from his ear, “Don’t put her down for a nap yet.”

Steve only shakes his head.

“Sorry, Paul,” he says, not raising his voice quite enough for Paul to actually hear him (Eddie hears him though, and that’s what matters) as he continues on his way up the stairs to get Moe ready for her nap (he’ll drag out the process as long as he can for Eddie’s sake – he’s not a total monster).

In the end, Eddie’s phone call ends no more than five minutes later.

“So what’s the damage?” Steve asks when Eddie makes his way into Moe’s room.

“Five weeks,” Eddie grumbles as he pulls Moe out of Steve’s arms. He presses a kiss to her chubby cheek and then adds, “Stops goddamn nation-wide.”

“Maybe stop writing so good and you wouldn’t have this issue,” Steve points out.

“Shut up – I’m not gonna do it. Paul can drop me, see if I care.”

“You’d care.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump.

“Yeah, I’d care,” he mutters, and then he shakes his head, “It’s entirely unfair that he’d expect me to leave home for over a month when he knows I have a little baby at home. I’m not doing it. She’ll be a whole teenager when I come back, Stevie.”

Steve looks at him, “It’s five weeks, love. She’ll probably still be the same shoe size.”

“I’ll miss our anniversary.”

“No, you won’t. It’s not ‘til the month after.”

“Okay, who’s side are you on here?”

“Paul’s, obviously.”

Eddie’s jaw drops as he feigns an affronted expression.

“I cannot believe that my beloved, my betrothed–”

“Betrothed?”

“–would side with my traitorous agent over–” 

“Ed, Paul was pretty forgiving when you slowed down writing for six months for the foster training stuff,” Steve points out (and it’s a point that actually manages to stop Eddie’s tirade – an impressive feat, he’s well aware), “And then he was really forgiving when you stopped completely for almost a year when Moe was born. Wasn’t this book supposed to come out, like, over a year ago? I feel like the least you can do is put up with a book tour given everything you’ve put him through.”

Eddie only blinks at him a moment – clearly trying to fathom any kind of counter-argument and coming up empty.

“Damn you,” he mutters.

“Can’t believe you used to be the guy who wanted to be a rockstar and go on year-long world tours,” Steve laughs, “Now you can’t even handle a month of the continental United States.”

“Watch your mouth, Harrington. Hey – maybe you and Moe can come and be the world’s cutest groupies.”

“We’ll see.”

[msdoodlesposts]

Part 1

(Slight blood and language)

Mrs. Rich!Player x DogDay!Rich

September 12 1992

Three years before the hour of joy.

-

“Richie?” You muttered lightly still between the realms of being awake and sleep, though you were starting to wake up more when you moved your hand and didn’t feel the warm body of your husband Rich, You blinked your eyes a few times to get the sleep out before turning over and turn the lamp on,

Rich came out of the bathroom at the same time, dressed in his work blues and you couldn’t help but make a face.

“Your supposed to be off today”

“I know Angel” Rich spoke as he came over making sure his shirt look presentable “I got a call, a surprise load came in and the night crew needs a manager”

You crossed your arms lightly “can’t they get someone else to watch over them?” You asked, You been waiting a whole year to celebrate your first wedding anniversary and may have bother Rich a bit to always make sure he had that day off.

“It will only be for a few hours, when you wake up, I’ll be here with breakfast and those donuts from Randy’s you like so much” Rich spoke smiling softly, leaning down giving you a gentle kiss on the lips then on the forehead before turning off the lamp next to you.

“You get some sleep angle and I’ll see you soon”

***

Present day.

13 years after Richard was killed, 10 years after everyone went missing.

-

“How the fuck were these things even approved!” You couldn’t help but yell annoyed as you shot another flare when a small unicorn and chicken plushy started craving you way. Like what was cute about blank eyes and big grinning smiles that would be like nightmare fuel!

You sigh and gently rubbed your eyes to try and get them from being blurry having not slept in about what a day if you could remember correctly.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you heard more of those tiny animal squeaks as they came closer again. You could understand why Ollie found this place terrifying but to you it was starting to get annoying with all of the critters. You saw the wires you been fallowing lead to a button and you hope that

It would open it a door thus leading to a exist.

Ok so you were half right it did lead you somewhere, when you went down the stairs beyond the door and into a indoor swimming pool(they seriously had one?) You fallowed another pair of doors into something that definitely didn’t look like a child’s place, your eyes gazed over the cell block area, a frown appearing on your lips as you remembered this was where Catnap-Theo was kept.

You took in a deep breath and slowly walked in, looking around as you went and frown as the inside of the cells, your nose twitching, smelling blood.

You walked by a door and almost jump out of your skin when you heard a voice spoke, a familiar voice.

“You…Your Poppy’s Angel”

You glance that way, eyes widening slowly as they looked over what appeared to be half of a Dogday costume, but knowing this place it was anything but that.

Your nose twitch a bit at the smell of blood coming from what was left of the Dog’s lower half.

“Come to save us” The costume wheeze a bit “nothing left to save, not here…”

You frown upon hearing that and step a bit closer, eyes trailing over the mix of belts holding the character up.

“Your in catnap’s home,Angel”

And there it was again, the nagging feeling in the back of your head, it been years since someone had called your Angel, the last one to do so was Rich…

You slowly felt your face stiffen and eyes slowly widening in horror a bit.

You could be wrong you really wish you were wrong but from the evidence you seen here and the videos you saw everything was singing a different tune.

You didn’t have a open casket for Rich’s funeral nore did you ever saw his body, you were only told that it was best for you to not see it, to remember Rich the way he was.

Your mind wander franticly trying to remember the last few days before Rich’s death.

You remember being excited about your anniversary, double checking with Rich to make sure he gotten the day off even though he had assured you a millions time that he had.

You made dinner reservations for that day and you had went over to the calendar to write it down so neither of you could forget.

You remember seeing in red pen ‘PlayCare interview’ written the day before Rich’s death.

Oh sweet god.

You made a noise and step back away from the cell before bending over and promptly lost your lunch.

You tried to take in a few deep breaths only to end up coughing a bit.

“Listen to me,you need to get out-“

“Say that again”

His head move a bit, blank eyes covered by ears, now looking annoyingly (you pretty sure he was annoyed cause you were having a bit of a crisis during his speech). “You need to leave” he spoke again, emphasize on the word leave.

You took in a deep breath and rubbed your temples “Trust me I’ve been trying since the moment I got here, I…I need you to say Angel again” you spoke, a bit embarrassed upon the request, but you did have to make sure.

You heard him wheeze again, you were sure it was a chuckle,he looked at you annoyed(this time you were sure).

“Angel”

You recognize that tone, the same tone Rich would you when you stared to get on his annoyed side.

“Rich?”

Dogday’s eyes widen (as much as they could since their eyes were already big )

And saw a peice of fabric start to move bring him, wagging like a tail.

“Angel?” He ask softly.

You took in a deep breath.

“Fuck”

(Hope you enjoy part 1, it might be a two or three parter)

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

know me the way you know your childhood scars, like breathing; i wasn't running but if i was i'm glad it was to you.

tz11 x reader: a small town, a fresh start, a shared heart.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling, thigh-riding (this is newish), dirty talk (if you're new, welcome!), mentions of previous relationship being awful, i know i'm forgetting stuff but all my typical things. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: my favorites - i think jd6 getting traded was exactly what i needed in order to write a tz11 character who is actually a nice guy. i call that the best-friend-getting-a-new-best-friend-who-is-named-cam-york effect. anyways, this is long as hell (14k, anyone?), because i have recently been absolutely so over law school guys. i just want a guy who likes to get his hands dirty and actually has friends. too much to ask? okay. obviously, i got so insanely carried away here, as you will be able to tell. we've got about a million side characters, some of which you will recognize, some of which you will not, because i made them up (tell me why i'm so into the matt/bridget dynamic. could write about just them. maybe i will). you guys know that there will be plot holes and dialogue issues and the likes, but you love me anyways, and i love you for that. tz11 should enjoy this, because i know he will inevitably be back in my bad graces soon enough. next up is someone new (!) because i miss when people used to write about tyson jost left and right. hm, what else? tell me what you think, what you'd like to see. my one year anniversary since my first post is feb. 2 (i actually can't believe how fast it went by, and i'm so grateful for you for sticking with me). so, so much love to you and your snakes. go canucks. until next time.

this was probably a terrible idea, you thought, with your suitcases beside you, your head in your hands at the foot of the bed that would be yours for the foreseeable future. one bed of several at a local inn - local to this town, at least, not local to you.

no, you thought, jittery with unknowing and chance and uncertainty, none of this was familiar to you. not this town in the middle of nowhere, hundreds and hundreds of miles from your hometown, your university. not any of the few people you had interacted with, not the uber driver, the inn keeper, the housekeeping staff.

not one part of this place, this experience, not one part was familiar. but that's what you'd wanted, wasn't it? that was the whole point?

you'd wanted to find yourself, wanted to prove that you could take care of yourself, exist on your own, thrive outside of the bubble that was university.

you wanted a fresh start, away from ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend, their betrayal still fresh, a wound scabbing over on your heart. you wanted to breathe deeply and not worry about who was watching you exhale - a place where nobody knew you, where nobody could whisper about the girl whose boyfriend was cheating on her with her best friend. for three years. she's so stupid, how could she not have noticed?

well, here, you decided, that's what you would get. a humble job as a diner waitress lined up to start tomorrow, a booked room with no check-out date, not a laugh you'd recognize for miles and miles.

this is what you'd wanted, you told yourself, now, loneliness settling in your mouth the way the powder on sour candy does. this is what you have.

completely exhausted from travel and emotional havoc, you passed out that night amidst dreams of fresh starts and trees too tall to see you behind them.

such a lovely image did not last nearly an hour into the next morning, the first day of your new job, just a block or so from the inn you were staying at.

this was part of the reason you had chosen this place for your self-discovery journey, after all - the urgent hiring, competitive wage, amazingly low price for room and board.

you had worked in your university's coffee shop for a year or two to help pay your tuition, so, honestly, how different could it be?

very different, you realized, almost immediately. they were hiring urgently for a reason, which meant there was practically nobody there to train you. one of the line cooks, of all people, just threw you an apron and a name tag to wear over your uniform-compliant black skirt and shirt, mumbled something about a welcome, enunciated something louder about table three needing service.

and so your self-proclaimed new life began completely unceremoniously, with a name-tag that misspelled your name, the smell of waffles and western omelets permeating the air like some grandmother's perfume in an old living room.

at the very least, the business made the time pass quickly, as you paced from table to table, only pausing briefly to introduce yourself to the line, the host, the several curious patrons who asked about you.

"new girl," some impossibly old man husked, "they not have hot coffee where you're from?" he grimaced as he took another sip. "cold as a winter's -"

"okay, that's enough," his companion said, a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair chopped short. she gave you a sympathetic look, like you two were sharing some inside joke. you liked her immediately. "he's had about twelve cups already. don't mind him."

you felt your mouth tick up in a smile for what might have been the first time this morning as you introduced yourself to her, and her father, who you learned everyone affectionately called "old man peters." you learned that the young woman's name was bridget, and she insisted on giving you her number, in case you had any questions, or wanted to get together, or needed anything at all.

your day was already looking up, you thought, as you lifted your sulking ponytail from you back, loose strands curling at the nape of your neck, around your ears. bridget and old man peters bid you goodbye, and then the young host, a boy who stuttered so much over his name that you still didn't quite know what it was, sheepishly alerted you that he had seated a group at the booth in your section.

your flipped to a new page in your notepad as you walked back to the booth, your gaze quickly being tugged up by a drawl-ish voice blurting out "dibs! i call dibs!"

such as exclamation was followed by several groans and one "not fair, you're the only one facing the door."

your brow was slightly scrunched in confusion when you stood at the head of the group's table, four pairs of eyes faced to you in a way that made you feel like a politician about to give a speech.

you cleared your throat, not quite looking anyone in the face. "good morning," you said, "can i get you guys started with some drinks?"

you looked up from your notepad, clicking your pen against the surface of it, taking in the table of - well, you weren't really sure. construction workers, maybe? craftsmen? the four of them had on heavy canvas-like jackets, worn and worked in, highlighter-bright shirts underneath, callused hands that your observant eyes took note of immediately. they were young, too, probably about your age, which made you blush, only a little. these were not the kind of guys you had met in college, the kind who you would have taken a class on freud with, the kind who thought everything with a woman's hand around it was a phallic symbol.

"just coffee," one of them said, short. he tacked on a please when one of his friends smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

you motioned with your pen around the whole table. "for everyone?" you asked, but the question stumbled out of your mouth when your eyes caught on the last of the four, the one on the bench on the right, closest to you.

that sharp face, high cheekbones and cut jaw, should have been so serious, you thought, like some kind of statue, the kind your art history friends would have fawned over in a museum you didn't really want to go to. he should have been so serious, angular like that, but he was anything but. mirth danced in his eyes, so bright they almost sparkled. his full mouth was fixed in a sort of perpetual smirk, so ready to laugh that he was already halfway there. he had the lines around his eyes that told you his full smile would tear you in two.

you were probably staring at him, you realized, flushing deeper as his smirk broke free into something wider, all over his face.

"see, guys," he spoke, that goofy drawl you had noticed on your way over, nothing like the pretentious academics who spoke in circles. he leaned back in the booth. "doesn't matter that i called dibs. she likes me best anyways."

your face scrunched up in some combination of disbelief and hidden delight. "wait," you began, "when i was walking over here, when you said something about dibs," you fixed him with what you hoped was a glare, "you were calling dibs on me?"

he shrugged off his jacket, drawing attention to his wide shoulders, arms thick even through his bright long sleeve. you snapped your gaze back to his eyes, which shimmered, telling you that you'd been caught. "what's the big deal?"

you scoffed, blew a stray curl from your eye line. "you don't call dibs on people," you said.

"yeah, trevor," one of his friends teased, "what's wrong with you?"

"where to begin?" one of the others said, almost lost in thought.

"c'mon, sugar," trevor said, tilting his head, "'s a compliment, yeah?" his gaze rolled down your frame, almost gelatinous, meeting your eyes again reluctantly. "only 'cause you're so pretty, hm?"

you rolled your eyes, fixed your gaze on the one across from him, the one who looked the least engaged. "but, trevor," you whined, stretching out his name like salt-water taffy, "what if i wanted-" you paused, looked down at the blonde just below you.

"matt," he said, practically bored. you nodded your thanks.

"what if i wanted matt?"

his posture grew even more relaxed as he shifted his knees wider under the table. "oh, what if, sugar?" he mused, his eyes so expressive, never off of you for a moment.

"she's gonna spit in your coffee," matt said.

"how about we cut out the middle man and she just spits in my mouth?" he chirped, smirk so telling it made you flush pink.

you mumbled something about decorum before walking away in a flurry of annoyance and excitement. you couldn't really tell the difference, you realized, as you gave the poor host a pot of coffee and asked him kindly to drop it off at the back booth.

you were not something to be called dibs on, that was for sure, and you were here to find yourself, not anyone else, certainly not some guy. even if some guy had soft-looking hair and a witty mouth. even then.

you took a stabilizing breath and got back to work, noting that the back booth only got coffee, only stayed for about twenty minutes before making to leave, heavy jackets loud as they shrugged them back on.

three of the guys called out their thanks and headed out, leaving only a standing trevor there when you approached to settle their bill. thumbing through his wallet, he grinned down at you when you finally stood in front of him again.

he was taller than you thought, you realized, as he now stood at full height. you had to crane your neck slightly to look him fully in the face.

"thought you'd be shorter," you said, honestly, hoping to knock him down a peg, however mean that might have been. but of course he only smirked.

"get that a lot," he drawled, selecting a bill, putting his wallet back in his pocket with hands you had to force yourself not to stare at. "been told 've got the personality of a short guy in the body of a tall one."

you shook your head. of course someone had told him that.

you couldn't really ruminate on that, though, as he stuck the twenty in the front pocket of your apron, as well as something with a slight weight to it, urging an angry pink to the tops of your ears, the feeling of his wide hand warm, so close to you.

you peered up at him, sucked on your teeth as he pulled out his hand slowly, that ever-present smirk almost faltering at your gaze.

"thanks for the service, sugar," he said, and you probably imagined the way the end of his words sounded strained. "see you around, yeah?"

you didn't break eye contact, only let yourself smile back at him before turning and getting back to work, letting the push and pull of waitressing lull you into a rhythm during which it was practically impossible to think too heavily about bright eyes and broad shoulders.

by the end of your shift, you had been officially tired out. you were sure your hair reeked of coffee, and your ankles ached from standing all day.

going to empty your apron, however, right before you left, your hand settled on the bill from earlier, but also several wrapped butterscotch candies. your face contorted as you stared at them, wondering why trevor had put them there.

exhaustion won over curiosity though, as you thanked everyone for your first day and walked the short block back to the inn.

this won't be that bad, you were thinking to yourself as you walked up the stairs. you already had the phone number of a maybe-friend, after all, and as far as jobs went, this one could be a lot worse. good money, good way to meet new people, maybe even something pretty to look at -

as if summoned by your thoughts, when you turned out of the staircase to your hallway, there trevor was, standing on a ladder, looking into the ceiling, some box of tools on the floor.

you narrowed your eyes, bag suddenly feeling heavy on your shoulder. the presence of a new figure drew his gaze to you, and you had to scold your heart, the way it beat like a teenager at the way he looked at you, then. you didn't know him, after all, and you weren't here for anything romantic.

"you followin' me, sugar?" he asked, stepped down from the ladder, making his way over to you. his voice was slow and tired, from whatever he had done that day. you were shocked at the fact that you wanted to know what that was. his gaze shone as he gently took your bag from your shoulder and slugged it onto his own, fell into step beside you. you let him. "tell me you're following me."

you rolled your eyes, but the small smile on your face wasn't going anywhere. "this is where i'm staying," you explained, "so, if anything, you're following me."

you stopped in front of your door, leaned back against it, suddenly in no rush to lock yourself behind it, alone. not when he was on this side of the door, looking like this.

almost weary with hard work, but not weary enough to sour him, just enough to make his movements and expressions slightly slower, lazier, more indulgent, like they were drenched in chocolate ganache. not when he was here, looking at you like this, like you were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

after years at some preppy, pretentious university, at which ingenuity was the most valuable currency, one you felt you lacked so disgustingly, was it really too surprising that you softened under his gaze? that you wanted to stay in it, just a little bit longer?

"sugar?" he asked, head tilted, and you realized he had been talking.

"sorry, what?" you asked, your voice soft like sponge cake, willing your eyes to focus, your mind to focus harder.

he didn't tease you too badly, though, only let his smile grow sharper with a smirk. "i said that 'm sorry if i hurt your feelings with the dibs stuff," he said, and you were almost confused at his apology. you weren't even upset, and when was the last time someone had apologized to you so quickly after doing something?

your memory cut hazily to your ex, somehow trying to convince you it had been your fault that he cheated on you, that it was something you were lacking that had inevitably led him to do that. you practically shivered, then internally scolded yourself for comparing trevor, whom you had met today, you reminded yourself, to your ex-boyfriend.

"'s fine," you said, waving him off, your back softening further into the door. "didn't really hurt my feelings."

his eyes flashed. "didn't really or didn't, sugar?" he asked, searching your face.

you swallowed, acutely aware of his attention, how it slid down your nose, your cheeks, your jaw, slow and thick as sludge. "didn't."

he gave a nod. "'m sorry anyway," he said, and it came out low. "if you really want to go for matt, i won't stop you."

and part of you wanted to blurt out i don't want matt!

but it was your first day in this place, and honestly, you were still kind of hung up on his apology, and the way it sounded from his chapped lips, and you knew to correct him would be exactly what he wanted.

so you just said "thank you," and were shocked at how gentle it sounded.

"jesus christ, distracted, are we, trev?" the voice of the young inn-keeper called from the end of the hallway. he seemed awfully chipper as he approached, hands in his pockets. "i came up to check on your progress," he said, "or lack thereof, i guess." he looked between the two of you. "now i see who's stolen your attention."

"i'm on my legally-required fifteen minute break," trevor said, half-smiling, turning back to you. "sugar, you know my brother, griff?"

you nodded, suddenly clocking the subtle ways their appearances drew from each other. trevor was taller, griff had a wider face, bigger features. but they had the same eyes, same strong nose, mirroring grins. "he owns my room," you said, dumbly, tiredly.

griff only smiled. "she's had a long day, trev, leave her be."

trevor searched your face again, seemed to find all the proof he needed - your heavy eyelids, drooping shoulders. he gently handed your bag back to you. "i'll see you tomorrow, sugar," he said, as soft as you'd heard him. so soft it startled you. "sweet dreams."

"goodnight," you said to both of them, shutting the door behind you. sleep came easily that night, again, with dreams less so of hiding behind trees and more so of rough hands and laughing eyes.

you were surprised, pleasantly so, at how quickly you fell into a routine in your new home. surprised at how quickly you let yourself call this place that.

maybe it was the way that bridget wasn't just being polite when she had given you her phone number, as she had quickly set up dates to show you all her favorite hiking spots around. your weekly hikes with her became a highlight as she told you more about the town, about her young daughter, about book club, about anything and everything. she was so kind with you that you found yourself so comfortable confiding in her. it felt so easy calling her a friend.

maybe it was the way the town seemed to accept you as one of their own so quickly and genuinely. the line cooks flirted with you in the way only line cooks do (in ways that would not be acceptable outside of a kitchen). they made you food to take home, kept you from starving. the host, harry, began to trust you enough that he asked for your help on homework. the regulars began to recognize you, know your name, ask how you were doing. griff checked in on you, asked if anything was wrong with the room, said you should feel free to use his kitchen anytime (as your room was the simplest kind, and didn't have any cooking appliances). you began to know the names of the streets, the stores, the store owners. your fresh start was starting to feel like just that - a start.

or maybe it was that same group of guys who came in every morning, at the same time, who ordered only coffee and then left in a flush of waves and heavy jackets and called-out salutations. you learned that the one with the curly hair, alex, was the quietest, probably the smartest. his closest friend, cole, was the shorter one, who had the loudest laugh. and matt was warming up to you, you thought. the more you made fun of trevor, the more he seemed to like you.

it was that same group, every day, who came in loudly and left louder, who had paint and dirt smudged on their shirts, their hands. who drank coffee like it was water. who laughed like it was easy as breathing, and maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

and, of course, there was trevor, who, the more you got to know him, the more trouble he became. every day, his "good morning, sugar," would reverberate through your chest, and you would drop a pot of coffee at their table, ask how they were doing, listen for their answers.

some comments about how old man peters' roof is caving in, and he should have told them about it probably a year ago, or about how the police chief's plumbing is fucked, or about how they were going over to fix bridget's sink that day. and, if it was the last one, matt would flush, which would make your eyes widen, would make you pepper him with questions about his crush.

and then, at some point during their morning break, trevor would ask something about you, about how you were, about the way you were wearing your hair, the shoes you were wearing, the book you had been reading the week before. and then, as he left, without fail, he would slip a bill and several butterscotch candies into your apron pocket, each time his hand growing heavier, more significant as it settled so close to you.

it didn't particularly help your small crush that you saw him everywhere. he was always fixing something - in the diner, at the inn, in the park downtown. you couldn't escape him and his deft hands, his working mind, his strong frame and easy laugh and addictive smile.

he was everywhere, so of course he would be here, at the grocery store, after your shift one day. you were roaming the isles, looking for a specific kind of vinegar, your basket hoisted up onto your hip, when a low whistle made you turn. you were met with that lazy smirk, your favorite one of his, the nighttime one, the tired one. he approached you, his work boots heavy on the ground.

"you followin' me, trevor?" you asked, repeating what become something of an inside joke between the two of you.

"maybe," he said, looking down at you, shimmering eyes framed by long lashes. "do you want me to be following you, sugar?"

you hummed, noncommittal, some harmony between the fluorescent lights above, the whir of the fridges the next isle over. you turned back to the shelving, resumed your survey of the contents. "your brother offered his kitchen for me to use while he's out tonight," you said, not looking at him.

"did he?" trevor mused, an almost undetectable bite in his tone.

you nodded, eyes alight with excitement. "been eating pancakes and chicken noodle soup for weeks now," you said, referring to what the line cooks sent you home with. "swear my mouth's watering just thinking about something different." you ran a thumb along your bottom lip, as if checking for spit.

if you had been looking at trevor, you would have see his shallow swallow, the way his eyes tracked your movement, how his gaze hung from your mouth like lacy ribbon. he cleared his throat.

you finally located the vinegar you wanted, on the very top shelf. pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, you reached the tips of your fingers for the bottle, only just out of reach.

trevor only chuckled as he grabbed the bottle easily, took the basket from your hip and into his own hand, dropping the vinegar into it.

"i can carry that, you know," you said, suddenly wishing you had something to do with your hands.

"i know," he said, smug.

you rolled your eyes, huffed a thank you, anyways.

"so, what're you making?" he asked as you led him from aisle to aisle, loading your basket with ingredients.

you explained to him how, in college, this one salad had been your absolute favorite to make when you needed something that made you feel good. something about the combination of arugula, kale, chickpeas, sweet potato, whatever other vegetables you had on hand, sometimes chicken, if you were feeling fancy, something about the simple dressing of oil and vinegar - it was perfect. no meal left you feeling as good as this one did.

and it was how you had made it entirely on your own, too - it wasn't some fancy steak dinner your ex had buttered you up with after a fight, it wasn't boxed brownies shared with your old best friend the night before you found out - no, this was all you.

when you looked back at trevor, there was something molten in his gaze. "sounds amazing," he said, low, like he didn't want anyone else to hear.

you tilted your head, let your smile slant across you face, scrunched up your nose, teasing. "would you want to join me for dinner, trevor?"

his face split into a grin. "i would," he said, "i would want to, please."

and so you found yourself fumbling around someone else's kitchen with an audience, washing kale and peeling sweet potatoes with fingers that twitched towards the figure across the counter, practically irritated that they weren't touching him.

you scolded your hands to behave, which became easier as the night went on, as conversation flowed like cranberry juice, the flavor of it lingering in your mouth just the same.

he might ask you about how the diner was going, to which you would look around as if to make sure no one was there. his eyes would flash. you would miss this.

"harry's been making some real progress in precalc," you would say from behind your hand, speaking of the host, whom you had come to view very fondly. "and you didn't hear it from me, but i think he's going to ask his friend jason to the school dance next weekend."

you would be flushed with excitement and pride, and trevor wouldn't be able to get much beyond that, honestly, the way it lit you up from the inside out.

but then he would clear his throat, and lean forward on his hands, and tell you that if harry needed help asking jason to the dance, he knew exactly the best crew for the job.

"don't tell me you're talking about your rag-tag group of misfits," you would say, cocking a brow as you dressed the kale and arugula.

and he would feign offense, place a broad hand over his heart. "i'll have you know that this group of misfits went 16/16 in high school dance invitations," he would say. "all four of us, all four years."

you might roll your eyes. "real band of heartbreakers, were you?" you would say.

and laughter would shine behind his eyes like christmas tree lights behind store windows, and he would stretch his arms above his head, lazily, comfortably. "'course not," he would say, his voice the sort of raspy that comes with stretching, "only alex."

and this would pull a real laugh from you, as you tossed everything together, the kind of laugh that rung in his ears, that made him pleasantly dizzy.

as the night passed on, time moving altogether too fast and the kind of slow that oozes, you would learn about how he grew up in this town, how he went to trade school, how he had had the same friends his entire life. you would ask questions about if he ever felt the desire to leave (not really), how he got into manual labor (he never really felt like he was that good at anything else), what his family was like (close, but not overbearingly so).

and, in turn, between bites and sips and laughs, you would tell him about how you grew up (humbly), what school was like (hard, but rewarding), how you ended up here (cheap housing, good job, close community). and maybe you would actually tell him about the ultimate betrayal you had faced before you left, why that made you want to be somewhere, anywhere else, somewhere where you had no choice but to make a life entirely for yourself.

at the mention of your ex his jaw might clench, his mouth twitching ever so slightly. he would mutter something about nonsense, and you would smile.

he would ask questions about your family (just your dad and you), your favorite parts of your life here (hikes with bridget, homework sessions with harry, bickering with old man peters).

and he would pout, at that, his bottom lip looking so positively delicious it stole your breath. "'m not your favorite, sugar?" he would plead, joking.

maybe you would really look in his eyes, then, find something hot, tilt your head. "you wanna be?" you would ask, breathier than you intended.

and he would smirk, somehow flipping the dynamic on its head entirely with only a single expression. "you know i do, sugar," he would tell you, low and so loaded you would blush.

it might scare you how easily you let him in, how quickly you were warming up to him. his pretty face might scare you, because pretty faces had hurt you before. there had been no one prettier than your old best friend, after all, and look how that turned out.

so, when the night grew viscous, and the meal was long over, the dishes done, a portion for griff packed up in tubberware on the counter, when he walked you upstairs to your room, both of your steps slow, reluctant, when his gaze lingered on your lips and the smell of him grew distracting, the height of him all-consuming, even then, even though you wanted to, you didn't kiss him. you only bid him a gentle goodnight.

"thank you for tonight," he would say, instead, looping his arms around your neck, hugging you close to his chest. this was so much worse, you thought, as you breathed him in, wrapped your own arms around him and squeezed. the way he held you like he was afraid what would happen if he let go. his hair so messy and his tone so genuine it almost hurt. "sweet dreams, sugar," he said into your hair before pulling away.

even though, that night, you might have dreamed about how his rough hands might feel as they held your soft cheek, how his chapped lips might slot against your glossed mouth. even if you woke up, that next morning, practically sweating. not the sweetest of dreams.

today was your day off. you had plans later with bridget, but you decided to book a haircut and blowout at the salon downtown, since you had the whole morning to yourself. the salon was one place you hadn't been in, yet, and you hadn't had a haircut in months, so you figured now was a good a time as any.

the bell above the door rang when you stepped inside, but no one seemed to notice over the shrill thrum of hair dryers, sinks, and the steady stream of gossip that you appeared to have walked in on.

"she told me her trevor went on a date, julia," one of the stylists said seriously, her eyes expressive as she sectioned her client's head of long curls. "won't stop rambling on and on about her, she says."

your heart jumped in your chest at trevor's name, sunk accordingly. he had been on a date? you weren't sure why you had assumed you were the only girl in his life at the moment, but it stung, nonetheless. you pulled at a thread on your long sleeve, eyes down.

you can't be upset, you told yourself, don't you dare be disappointed-

"oh, honey, how long you been waiting?" one of the stylists called out, making her way over to you and the front desk. "swear you have to throw somethin' at one of us when you come in or we'll never stop talking." she had such an easy way of speaking, a comfortable posture, a genuine face.

"sorry," you said, looking around, still recovering from what you'd overhead.

she just waved you off with a smile. "it's us motormouths who should be apologizing," she said before introducing herself as ginger. "now, what name is your appointment under?"

you told ginger your name, and as soon as you did, her eyes sailed up to meet yours again, wide and bright. she snapped her fingers, getting the room's attention. "you're the doll who stole our baby trevor's heart!"

you blushed furiously, felt the words in your mouth twist and tangle like a toddler's hair. "me? no, that can't be right," you said. there's no way last night counted as a date, you thought. there's no way he's talking about me.

the other stylist just squealed as you were led to a chair. "of course it's you! look at her, julia," she said to the woman in her chair, practically elated, "what a treasure!"

your blush wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

"that boy's been talkin' to 's mama 'bout you, honey," julia said from her chair, her expression knowing. "he's just about smitten, she says."

"and a mother always knows," ginger said, emphasizing her words with hairbrush gestures.

so you spent your appointment getting a couple inches off, hearing about the trouble trevor used to get in when he was younger (apparently alex used to be the biggest troublemaker, though), hearing about how trevor just went around fixing whatever anyone needed fixing.

"swear that sweet boy wouldn't charge a dime if this town'd let him," ginger said as she worked long layers into your hair, "we have to sneak payment into his pockets, and even then he tries to give it back!"

your cheeks burned, your heart heavy with affection as she blew out your hair, leaving it soft and smooth. you paid, said goodbye for about ten minutes, found out just how hard it was to escape salon conversation.

"now go show off for our baby, honey!" someone called out the door after you, making you laugh. you guessed that all the stereotypes about small town hair salons were true.

you went on your weekly hike with bridget, who gave you that understated grin when she saw you. "looking good," she said, bumping her shoulder into yours. "trev doesn't stand a chance."

you rolled your eyes. "didn't get my hair cut for him."

she laughed. "i know," she responded, "but all anyone can talk about this morning is your date last night."

you couldn't help but scoff good-naturedly. "i can't believe people already know about this," you said, "it was literally last night, and it wasn't even a date."

she waved you off. "nobody cares about the logistics. even my girl was moping to me about it. she's got a little crush on her skating instructor."

"trevor teaches your daughter how to skate?" you asked, having never heard of this.

she nodded. "he's the highlight of her week," she said, her eyes soft, picturing her daughter's unabashed smile.

"get in line," you mumbled, covering your face with your hands.

why was everyone so intent on revealing adorable information about trevor to you today? didn't they know he already took up enough of your daily headspace?

"can't somebody tell me he hates animals, or something? or that he's really pretentious about art? or that he has, like, some weird fetish?"

bridget laughed. "sorry, babe," she said, "he's the town's sweetheart."

you were still reeling with all of this information when you got back to the inn, your face rosy from the outside chill, your body pleasantly awake from your walk.

you began up the stairs, humming to yourself, ready to collapse onto your bed, maybe catch up on some reading.

"you followin' me, sugar?"

you looked up, immediately, feeling your pulse in your neck, in your teeth.

there he was, of course, there he was, painting the railing in the stairwell, the sharp smell of paint faint in the air.

all dirtied up from the day, that slouch that only appeared in the late afternoon, that crinkly smile, all of it made him almost too good to be real.

"maybe," you said, like second nature now, after all those times before, his face forcing a tiny smile from your mouth.

you stood just in front of him now, held your breath as he reached up, twirled a strand of your hair around a finger. he let out a low whistle you felt in your stomach.

"lookin' awful pretty tonight," he said, not much more than a whisper as he thumbed the soft ends of your freshly-cut hair.

his words settled like thick caramel on your tongue. "thank you," you mustered, your mind spinning with all of the wonderful things you had heard about him, today.

he bent down to one knee in front of you as you collected your thoughts. "um, what are you doing?" you said, strained, dumb.

he looked up at you through those girlish lashes, smirk heavy on his perfect face. he tugged your foot closer to him. "shoe's untied," he said, gesturing to your sneaker. "may i?"

you blinked at him before nodding, because what alternate universe was this? you tried to imagine any other man you'd known willingly getting on the floor for you, just to tie your shoe. you couldn't.

he tightened your laces with nimble hands.

you cleared your throat. "heard something funny today from the ladies at the salon," you told him, trying to focus on something other than his proximity.

he hummed. "nothin' good, i'll bet," he mused, "ginger loves a good story."

"it was a good story," you said, reveled in the way his expression softened, giving you the courage to press on. he began to tie a double knot. "'bout how you're tellin' your mom we went on a date."

he pulled the bow tight, looked up a you for a second, a guilty, childish grin on his face, caught red-handed. you extended a hand to him, helped him back to his feet.

"oh, yeah," he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall, easy, comfortable. "like how you asked me to dinner, and then cooked for me, and how it 100% was a date-"

you laughed, shook your head. "it was not!" you said, "i never said it was a date!"

he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "call it wishful thinking, then, sugar."

and you couldn't focus too much on what he meant by that, so you just shook your head again. "you're too much," you said, wanting it to come out teasing, but instead there was a breathy sort of desperation behind it.

"yeah?" he asked, that smirk present as ever. you had grown so close to him without realizing it, now just a step away. him leaning back against the wall, you right in front of him, looking up at him.

you nodded, swallowed, your blood hot, your skin prickly, alive.

his eyes fixed you in place, teasing. "too much for you, sugar? can't take it?"

you bit your lip to stop any sound from escaping you, because everything seemed entirely too loud, then. you could hear your heartbeat, you swore you could hear his, the radiator could have been screaming at you. you didn't dare think about just how much you wanted to take.

to stop yourself from doing something much more serious, you simply reached your hand forward, swiped at a spot of paint on his face with your thumb.

your touch against his brow bone felt like an exhale, like melting wax. you could feel his warm breath on your hand as you pulled it back, but then he was looking at you, like that, like you were so, so special, like he would have doused his face in paint just to have your hands wipe it all away, and were you imagining the way his gaze grew fiery?

"trev! old man peters says his sink's still leaking!"

griff's voice rattled down the stairwell, smothering the flames in your eyes, if only just. just enough to break the spell, to pull away, to tell him you'd see him tomorrow for his coffee break, for his hungry gaze to follow you up the stairs until you were out of sight.

and so the routine continued, more butterscotch candies slipped into aprons, more pestering his friends, more slyly asking bridget what she thought about matt (she was deflecting, you'd observed, delighted). more helping with homework and reading in bed and cooking and snapping at old man peters to stop leaving his watch behind.

more stolen touches and longing glances and sideways smiles, backwards hats and work gloves stuffed in pockets, damp hair sticking to your neck, the hem of your skirt brushing against your thigh. more flame and softness and sweetness drenching your frame as he said hello, and goodbye, and sweet dreams, and anything else. that coil inside of you twisted tighter and tighter as you wondered what exactly was holding you back, what exactly you were waiting for.

one day, after work, there was a knock at your door. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit disappointed when you opened it.

"you coming?" griff said, "town hall meeting starts in 5."

you scrunched up your nose. "town hall? what, is it required?"

he smiled, kind. "no, but they're usually a good time," he said, "and trevor's going to be there."

you had your jacket in your hand already. "he's not the reason i'm coming," you said, following him out the door and down the street.

"i won't tell anyone," was all griff replied, his smile understanding and gentle.

you had never been to a town hall meeting before. you'd guessed that the closest thing you could imagine was a student government meeting, which you'd been a part of in college.

this seemed much more laid back, though, taking place in the middle school gymnasium. it looked like almost everyone from town was here. you noticed old man peters, sitting with bridget, her daughter buzzing around from person to person. the salon ladies were talking to pretty much everybody. there was harry, sitting next to his mom. you approached bridget as griff went up to talk to the fire chief, one of his close friends.

soon enough, the meeting began, the first issue on the docket being the prospect of a stoplight on the intersection of drysdale avenue and york street.

bridget yawned, "same issue every meeting," she whispered to you. "always divided down the middle." this time was no different, you observed, the parents in the crowd seemed completely for the stoplight, the older crowd significantly against.

"next issue, a write in from the community, quote," the representative began, reading from notecards, "should the implementation of the 'dibs' rule be observed seriously, unquote." he cleared his throat, looked up to the crowd. "thoughts?"

you stifled an embarrassed laugh, held your face in your hands as bridget rubbed soothing circles in your back. "is this actually a real-life discussion topic?" you asked, incredulous.

"just let them have their fun," she whispered in a way that made her smile evident.

"i think 'dibs' is outdated and juvenile," a woman said, "sets a bad example for the kids."

the man up front was taking notes.

"i think it's cute," bridget piped up from her chair.

"me, too!" her daughter giggled, jumping into her lap.

"alright, i've got two for cute, one for bad influence," the man said, "anyone else?"

"i think it's lame," a very matt-like voice said, gruff, short.

"one for lame," the scribe said aloud.

"well, i think you're lame," that goofy drawl called out, making you pull your head up, look around until you spotted him, near the front. he was swatting matt on the back of the head. "and i learned it from alex, so take it up with him."

his curly-haired friend hid a smirk. "it's a high school move," he explained to the crowd, before turning to face trevor. "we haven't done it in years."

"until now," trevor amended, "but you guys understand. you've seen her. you've talked to her."

ginger put her hand over her heart as if swooning.

someone coughed. your face was burning up. bridget nudged you gently.

"she's here, trev," griff said, to which the fire chief let out a hearty laugh.

"really?" he turned to face the crowd, his voice excited, hopeful, searching. "where are you, sugar?"

you raised your hand, of all things, immediately wanted to smack yourself. "hey," you said, mousy.

"hey," he parroted, mocking, but of course not maliciously. his smile broke you apart.

and then you were having a conversation with several rows of people in chairs between you, on a gymnasium floor.

"you're the only one with the dibs curse on you," he said, "so what's your take on it? should we abolish the practice for good? is it outdated?"

you swallowed, were looking only at him as the scribe sat at the front, pen at the ready. "well," you began, "it works, from what i can tell." his smile put you together again. "so it can't be that outdated."

his eyes shone, only for you. "you heard her," he said, "case closed."

"are we actually still talking about this?" old man peters asked, to bridget, but much too loudly.

the rest of the meeting passed, absolutely delivering on laughs and nonsense, as promised.

"last thing before we go," the man said, "does everyone have a ride to the away game tomorrow?"

you leaned over to bridget. "what's that?"

"the rec hockey team is away this weekend," she whispered.

"rec hockey?" you said, confused, "like kids?"

she shook her head. "like kids, yes, but not kids."

"sugar, do you have a ride?" trevor's voice rang clear against the mumbled chatter of the room.

you looked up, met his eyes again. "uh, i don't think i'm going?" you said.

there was a collective gasp, followed by silence. your eyes widened. "babe," bridget whisper-screamed at you. "everyone goes."

you cleared your throat, realizing your grave error. "well, then i don't have a ride."

"you can ride with me, honey," ginger said, sweetly, with a warning in her eye.

"trevor has to go super early since he's playing," bridget whispered from next to you. you nodded, signaling that you had heard her.

"thank you!" you called out.

rides were sorted, the meeting ended, everyone saying their goodbyes, folding chairs scraping against the waxy floor. trevor and his friends caught up with you and bridget on your way out.

trevor slung a heavy arm around your shoulders that you couldn't help but lean into. he smelled like sawdust and something citrusy. "i didn't know you played hockey," you said, looking up at him curiously, not letting yourself ruminate on how good he felt slotted against your side.

he shrugged.

bridget scoffed. "he's good, too," she said, "i hate to pump his tires, but only the best teacher for my baby girl." she pressed a kiss to the cheek of her smiley daughter, whom she had hoisted up onto her hip. "all of them play," she said, a vague gesture to the group. "lit it up in high school."

"not all of them are as good, though," trevor said, which caused some annoyed groans.

"what about heartbreaker alex, over here?" you teased.

"heartbreaker alex has grown up since junior year," alex said, soft spoken. "and it's not my fault my hair looks like this."

the shortest friend of the group, cole, the one with the loudest laugh, whom you had come to rely upon for book recommendations, put a hand in line with his brow bone, as if blocking out the sun to search for something.

"what are you doing?" alex asked.

"oh, me?" cole said, "just looking for all the girls you must be getting, since you've still got all that hair."

alex rolled his eyes, the group laughed.

"what about you, matt?" you asked as trevor held open the door, all of you stepping out into the night air. "i've heard the team's got a perfect record for dance invites. any high school stories?"

matt didn't say anything for a second, but bridget laughed. "you're really telling people that, trev, as if i didn't ask him freshman year?" she nodded towards matt, who was actually blushing, you thought, but the dark made it hard to tell. "was a tough sell, eh? he was so quiet when i asked i thought he pretending that i wasn't there."

"oh, we remember," cole said, tone alight with understanding. "funny how we grow up, but so much stays the sa-" he blew out a breath when matt elbowed him in the gut.

you smiled to yourself. "i'll see all of you tomorrow, for the game, then?" you said, the inn now steps away.

goodbyes rang out, and you made to remove yourself from trevor's embrace, but he only spun you back into his chest, pulling you close, his arms now wrapped around your back, your nose against his breastbone. you breathed in, melted into him, squeezed him back.

"did you mean it?" he said, soft, so only you would hear him.

you mumbled your confusion into his chest.

"when you said it was working? did you mean it?"

your heart jumped, his words so vulnerable you couldn't look at him. "i meant it," you whispered into his bright shirt. "you're working on me, trevor." you felt his lips brush against your hair, featherlight, before he let you go.

"sweet dreams, sugar," he said, and you walked back to your room with wobbly legs and an overactive heart.

the following day, ginger graciously gave you a ride to the next town over. she, of course, chatted you up the entire time, which you welcomed.

"i know i must be super late to the party here," you said, carefully, picking at your nails, "but what's the story behind bridget and matt?"

ginger tsked. "we're a bad influence on you, honey," she said, taking a right. "you're gonna be a big mouth like me in no time."

you laughed. "it's only 'cause matt's so obvious about it," you told her, "they've known each other forever, and i learned yesterday that she asked him to their freshman dance." you trailed off, hoping that ginger would take your cue.

she nodded, smiled fondly. "our bridget was always such a spitfire," she said, "always going for what she wanted. smart as a whip, too, but you know that."

you nodded. you did.

"and she could have had anyone, but she wanted our matthew, and he wasn't a sight for sore eyes then, like he is now."

is matt good-looking? you'd thought to yourself. you surely hadn't noticed. perhaps you were distracted. perhaps your gaze always wandered.

"but bridget marched right up, asked him to the dance, and the poor boy was so stunned it took him a full minute to say yes." she shook her head, lost in the memory.

"did they ever date, like for real?" you asked, enraptured.

she frowned. "no, i don't think so, at least. bridget was always bouncing around flings, trying out guys for a few weeks, then cuttin' 'em loose." her smile grew wistful. "then she had her darling girl, middle of senior year. dad booked it, never looked back. don't think she's been with anyone since."

you frowned, too, hating the thought of someone abandoning your friend, as lovely and wonderful as she was. what a privilege it would be to be a part of her family.

"and matt?" you asked, as the car pulled into the parking lot. you ran your palms up and down your jeans.

ginger whistled. "that boy's been starry-eyed over her since grade five," she said, "but me and the girls aren't surprised he thinks he doesn't have a shot. his self-esteem's never been the highest, not like the rest of 'em."

"not like cole, who swears he could land a plane, if it came around to it?" you said, grinning.

ginger laughed. "exactly. and not like alex, who was never without a girlfriend, and not like your trevor, who's never needed anyone to tell him how great he is."

you sucked on your teeth. "but we do, anyways," you reminded her.

"that we do, honey," she finished, putting the car in park. "let's go cheer on those knuckleheads, shall we?"

the rink was colder than you thought it would be. the walls were practically made of aluminum foil. you wrapped your arms around yourself, blew out a foggy breath, followed ginger to the away section, absolutely packed with everyone you recognized.

as you settled into the stands, your eyes immediately searched for trevor.

"he's number 11," bridget said, coming to stand next to you.

you rolled your eyes. "and what number is matt?"

she shoved you, playfully, but when spoke, it was bashful. "12," she said. "cole's 22 and alex is 39. police chief is 8, fireman spence is the goalie, and griff is the ref."

you furrowed your brow. "isn't that a conflict of interest?" you asked.

she huffed in a laugh. "if anything, it's a disadvantage for us."

the game started, and you realized very early on that maybe trevor hadn't been lying when he said not all of them are as good. he practically flew around the ice, graceful, mesmerizing. and it was obvious that he wasn't looking to show off, either, that he was just playing to have fun, and if he really wanted to, he could run the scoresheet up into oblivion.

you could feel bridget smile beside you. "yeah," she sighed. "it's pretty crazy."

"he could play professionally," you breathed.

she shrugged. "he's happy," she said simply.

cole scored twice, the other team clawed their way back in. griff threw alex in the box for boarding, which old man peters, even with his granddaughter in his lap, would not let go, keeping a one-man ref, you suck! chant going long after the power play was over.

"does he know it's griff?" you asked bridget.

"of course he does," she said. "he'll buy him a beer after this."

such was small town life, you supposed.

in the end, fireman spence made some crucial saves, keeping it tied late into the third. with about a minute left, trevor made an unreal, practically magical pass to matt, who finished it off in a one-timer that sunk into the back of the net.

the crowd erupted. you and bridget jumped up and down, holding each other as the goal horn sounded.

the team went through the line in celebration, then skating by the away section before the next face off.

trevor blew you a kiss. you shook your head at him, but couldn't wipe the smile off of your face.

the game ended in a win, and the town migrated over to the local bar. you busied yourself with harry's mom, telling her that no, she had nothing to worry about, yes, harry was quiet, but he was kind as anything, and that was most important.

everyone cheered when the team walked in. you clapped along with them, feeling a smile tug at your lips as soon as your eyes locked on trevor.

his eyes found yours immediately, that lazy grin following as he squeezed past people to get to you.

you met him halfway, a hazy neon light over your heads, making color dance in his eyes like starlight. his long hair was damp, curly at the ends in a way that made you want to reach up and tug at them.

"speechless, eh, sug?" he teased, shrugging one shoulder with exaggerated arrogance. "i know, my play tends to evoke that reaction from people. i-"

you scrunched your mouth to the side, smacked him lightly in the chest. "god forbid i try to think of something nice to say to you," you said, smiling. you made to pull you hand back, but his warm, wide palm came up to cover it, holding it against his chest.

you exhaled, looked up at him, unsure.

"what was your favorite part?" he asked, those shining eyes careful. "did you like cole's between-the-legs? or maybe my last assist?" he winked. "always a crowd favorite."

suddenly confidence welled up inside of you, a vault. but we tell him anyways, you had said. that we do.

tell him, the overhead lights whispered.

"when you blew me a kiss," you said, reaching your free hand up to cup his jaw, textured under your touch from his five-o'clock-shadow. "that was my favorite part."

flame crept into his gaze abruptly, suddenly, shockingly. he settled his other hand on your hip, pulled you closer to him, his grip making your breath catch. "was it?" there was a roughness to his voice that felt tangible.

you nodded slowly, speaking to his mouth. you weren't scared. you weren't running. you weren't stalling. your skin was humming, your blood felt hot. he was so perfect against you, his hand over yours somehow the most intimate touch you could remember.

he ducked his head to yours, just a breath away, so you could see the gold in his eyes. "let me do you one better," he rasped, waiting for your single nod before finally crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that felt like early sunrises, slow and meaningful and only the beginning.

you pushed up onto your tiptoes, looped both of your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, closer, as he kept one hand on your hip, the other grasping the back of your neck, keeping you from collapsing into him.

kissing your ex had felt almost robotic, scientific, stiff in an endearing way at best, stiff in an awkward way in reality.

there was nothing stiff about this, nothing scientific about him. this was all feeling, all malleable, all calloused hands and chapped lips. he kissed like someone who had to work for it, like someone who didn't have to prove anything to you but wanted to, anyways.

just that was enough for you to sigh against him, the fact that there were other people around the only thing stifling your soft moan.

he smiled into your mouth, like a low-spoken secret between the two of you. "taste like butterscotch," he mumbled against your lips, pulling away only just enough to make sure his words didn't disappear unheard down your throat, almost drowsily. "you like those candies i give you, sugar?"

your chest rose and fell against his. the low music in the background roared in your ears, the neon light making him look like some stained glass thing worth kneeling for. "like 'em because you leave 'em for me," you said, your fingertips tracing the top of his spine.

his eyes shimmered. "can i tell you something?"

you nodded.

he hummed, gave a guilty sort of smile. "gave 'em to you because i didn't like the taste of 'em," he started, smirk growing wider. "and i wanted to convince myself to hold off on kissin' you. not to rush you, you know."

you understood, and your swollen lips quirked at the story, but your eyes flashed with something like hurt. "you don't like the way i taste, trevor?" even if it was his own doing, you suddenly wanted to brush your teeth.

"that's the thing." he ran a steady thumb along your hairline. "think my plan backfired, 'cause butterscotch's my new favorite flavor." his thumb reached your chin, tilting it up to his mouth again. "can't get enough of it," he murmured, a man possessed, barely audible as he kissed you again, this time with a softness that cut like a dagger.

you swore your head was still spinning the next day. what was supposed to be just another shift at the diner quickly turned into a flurry of questions, of neighbors looking for a side of gossip with their french toast, of line cooks swearing there was something different about you.

it was hard to answer anyone, to do anything, honestly, when it felt like you were floating, like your head was far, far away, up in the clouds.

harry gave you a fist bump when he saw you. old man peters told you in a stern tone that public bars were no place for fornication, to which an ecstatic bridget patted his shoulder and reminded him that it was only a (sort of) innocent kiss.

she pulled all the details out of you, lit up as you flushed and stumbled over your memories.

the police chief made some joke about that boy being a bad influence when you accidentally brought him whole milk instead of soy milk for his coffee.

ginger and the girls were like some insatiable beast that only let you be when you reminded them that if they kept you much longer, the diner would go hungry.

of course, your heart instinctively fluttered when that tell-tale gust of loud laughter burst through the door, along with the drag of heavy work boots, the shuffling of canvas outerwear, the shoving of gloves into back pockets.

you made your way to the table with their regular pot of coffee, met trevor's dancing gaze almost sheepishly.

"morning, guys," you said, smiling at all of them.

they chimed their chorus of good mornings, pouring their coffee into mugs themselves, as they always insisted on.

"so, what's new?" cole asked, his head resting on his fists. "probably nothing, right?"

alex and matt hid their laughs.

you rolled your eyes, smiled nonetheless. trevor had a hat on, today, making his hair curl out from the bottom of the brim. you tucked a curling lock behind his ear, ran your nails soothingly along the hair at the nape of his neck.

anyone watching would have seen the way his gaze melted like milk chocolate, how his shoulders softened, his posture relaxing completely into your small touch.

he looked up at you, eyes so soaked in affection it spilled down his face like mascara-stained tears. "i missed you," he said.

his friends groaned, as if they'd heard this a million times. suddenly, with a blush, you had a guess as to what his morning had been like. perhaps he had been just as distracted as you.

"i missed you, too," you said, because it was the truth.

"he almost dropped a crate on my foot this morning," matt said, bitterly.

you put a hand over your heart. "how tragic." you looked up, making eye contact with your friend across the diner. "hey, bridge! matt almost hurt his foot this morning. has science found a cure for that, yet?"

she huffed a laugh as she approached, shook her head at matt when she stood in front of the table. she held the back of her hand to his forehead, as if checking for a fever. "are you sure you're okay, sweet boy? this sounds serious," she joked.

matt had paled. trevor pulled you into his lap and you hid your laugh in his collarbone.

"'m fine," matt bit out, to which bridget smiled.

"thank god, that was close," she said. her gaze wandered, landed on something out the window. she squinted. "did somebody dig up some of the flowers outside?" she asked.

"dig?" alex mused, "maybe rip is a better word, eh, trev?"

"right. almost forgot." trevor held you in his lap with one hand, reached the other to the side. suddenly several flowers were being held in front of you, thin, spidery roots still intact. "sugar, will you go to the valentine's day skate with me?"

you smiled, wide and toothy, touched one hand to his face as the other grasped the humble, earthy bouquet. "of course i will, handsome," you said, "what's the valentine's day skate?"

"pta event, tomorrow," bridget said, looking on with interest. "whole town shows up."

"this town shows up for everything," you replied.

she smiled fondly. "heart-shaped balloons and fruit punch and ice skates. what's not to love?"

you turned your neck to look back up at trevor. "'m honored to have been on the receiving end of one of your famous invitations," you teased, "even if it's not for a dance." his delight rumbled into your shoulders, the back of your thighs, firm and warm.

cole yawned, stretched. "duty calls, fellas," he said, making to get up.

you reluctantly pushed up from trevor's lap, quickly pouring his untouched mug into a to-go cup. the team filed out with their typical string of thank yous and goodbyes, matt's extra glance at bridget met with a returning smile.

then it was you and trevor, as the morning break always ended, like clockwork, like a bedtime story that was comforting in its predictability. he tucked a bill in your apron, several candies, the weight of them alone making you smile.

"did i tell you how pretty you look today?" he told you.

"no," you mused, your hands clasped behind your back, shifting on your feet.

he hummed. "so pretty, sugar, never been so nervous to ask someone out," he admitted, that smug smile lazy across his face.

you tilted your head. "don't be nervous," you told him. "you're the easiest yes i've ever had."

at your words he ducked his wide shoulders down to you, flipped his hat backwards on his head so as not to impede you in any way, kissed you with a rough palm on your soft face, your hands still behind your back as you met him up on your toes.

a different kiss, one so lovely, still, soft and beautiful, drenched in daylight.

would your head ever stop spinning, when it came to him? would you ever come down from the clouds, again? even if you did, would there not be cumulus tufts in your hair, wisps of cirrus in your lashes?

he was proving it difficult, especially that next day, the fourteenth of february.

you had the morning to yourself, existing slowly and methodically, reading and running errands, finally starting to get ready for your date in the late afternoon.

before you knew it, there was a knock at your door, just as you had swung your jacket on. you swung it open to find him leaning against the doorframe, the picture of ease, shoulders drooping the way they always did after a working morning.

"ready to go?" you asked, making to close the door behind you before pressing up on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. he caught your face in a hand before you could, though, steering your lips towards his mouth instead. you laughed against his lips. "greedy," you taunted, pulling away, letting yourself lean into his warm side.

"got no idea, sugar," he admitted, voice twinged with a day of speaking. you walked together to the high school ice skating rink, only a few minutes away, the brisk february air biting at your nose, your ears. you caught up on the morning, what book you had finished, how annoying ginger's husband was being about the state of his rain gutters.

when you entered the rink, finally, pushing forward the old doors, you couldn't help but smile, and trevor couldn't help but watch you.

everyone was here, of course they were. balloons hung from the top of the glass, streamers decorating every archway and spare inch. a massive table of themed refreshments was just next to the bleachers.

it looked like something out a ninety's film, mixed with the unique small town charm and wintery love you had come to know so personally.

you and trevor quickly got your skates on, all lingering touches and knowing smiles, and headed for the ice.

you were shaky at first, but his hands were so tight on yours, you knew there wasn't a chance he would let you fall. he spun you around the rink easily, twirling you like a ballroom dance floor, ever the show-off, anything to make you laugh.

"hey, harry!" you called out, at one point, noticing your host-friend helping a taller, skinner kid his age onto the ice. he waved, his eyes glittery in a way you recognized. is that jason? you mouthed. harry nodded, smiled shyly. you gave him an impressed thumbs up, trevor whistled.

you asked trevor how he got into hockey, watched how his mind waltzed behind his eyes when he talked about outdoor rinks with his friends in elementary school, how even piled-on scarves and hats and puffer jackets didn't stop that flying feeling.

significance would gather in your stomach, butterflies morphing into something much more serious, the kind of flame you'd find in a living room fireplace, in the hearts of teenage lovers.

you skated by cole, scooping up the snow he had made with quick starts and stops, and alex, whose neck was becoming the new home of said snow.

alex grunted, immediately breaking into stride to catch a fleeing cole, whose bright and clear laugh echoed under the roof like church bells.

the fire and police departments had started a relay race, ginger and her girls had formed a circle close to the hot chocolate.

old man peters held his sleeping granddaughter in his lap, bouncing his knee gently, both of their smiles blissful.

trevor's hand found your far hip, pulling you into his warm side. you sighed, looked up at him as you let your fingers trace along his jaw.

"touchy today, sugar, hm?" he said into your hair, a rumble to his tone that told you he liked it.

you hummed, nodded. "you just look so..." you trailed off, in thought, thinking about what, exactly, you meant to say. he looked what? practically edible? like an ocean you wanted to drown in?

how could you tell him you'd been avoiding looking at his hands, for fear you'd blurt something out about wanting them around your neck?

you just swallowed, cleared your throat. his smirk was a flash of teeth.

"you feelin' okay?" he cooed. "should i take you home?"

you found yourself nodding, even though you hadn't been at the rink for long.

"yeah?" he mocked, taunting, his hand on your hip suddenly firm, burning.

bridget's laugh cut through the sizzling air like a stream of cold hose water. you both turned to look at where she now sat, having obviously fallen onto the ice. she peered up at matt through her blonde bangs. "some teacher you are," she laughed, "i knew trev was the right choice for my girl's lessons."

matt shook his head, a barely-there smile on his thin lips. he offered her a hand, steadily helped her to her feet, an almost undetectable shake in his breathing as bridget grabbed onto his forearm for extra stability. "alright, smart ass," he mused, "no help for you, then."

he made to drop her hands, to leave her on her own, but she latched onto him tighter. "yeah right," she said, "you're not going anywhere, sweet boy."

cole's laugh sparkled at matt's flush.

you and trevor were already on the way out, bidding your short goodbyes, half-assed excuses about not feeling well given and taken with knowing eye-rolls.

he walked you back to the inn, up the stairs, his hands on you ever-so-distracting, his voice a careless rasp, your heart beating heavy in your chest.

you finally made it to your closed door, your back against it as he looked down at you with that heated gaze, his frame boxing you in.

"well, get some rest, sugar," he said, slowly, smiling. "since you're not feeling well." he twirled a strand of your hair around a finger.

you sputtered. "what? trevor-"

his eyes widened in mock-surprise. "oh, is there something you want?" he asked.

you clutched at his shirt with your fist, pulled. "please."

"please, what, sugar?" he asked, so smug you wanted to punch him. "gotta tell me what you want, hm?"

"you," you whined, but that wasn't enough.

"oh, is that it?" he drawled, ducking his head down to you, so close, but not close enough, not even a little.

you worked your jaw, so frustrated. "just," you tried, "just please, touch me, trevor, i just wanna feel you."

he smiled, held the side of your face in his palm. "am touchin' you, sugar," he said, "tellin' me this isn't enough?"

you ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek, groaned at his feigned confusion. "shut up," you breathed, his mouth an inch from yours.

"make me," he bit back, and then you were kissing him. you swore your lips would be charred, later, as if in proof. you reached a hand behind you, twisted open your door, while the other rooted in his hair, tugged him inside your room as he moaned against your lips.

one of his hands grasped the back of your neck, the other a bruising grip in your side, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees felt the blunt edge of the bed.

you barely registered as he reached under you, flipped you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips as he sat down on the comforter, far too caught up in this kiss, somehow still so different from ones you has shared before. so charged you felt the air might combust at any second, that, despite his relentless repairs, there was no way this inn could withstand the way he was kissing you, now. surely, the roof would cave in under the weight of your want, water would sear straight through the pressurized pipes.

he smiled against your mouth when you started to rock your hips back and forth across his lap, just so desperate for something, anything.

your exhales came out short, little pants as you reveled in the little friction you were getting against his firm thigh, covered in his heavy work pants, nothing close to what you really wanted, but something, at least.

mercifully, he moved your clothes aside, rocked you more forcefully, making the sensation practically blissful. you dropped your heavy head to his neck, moaned into it.

"oh, sugar," he cooed, and you squeezed your eyes shut. "so greedy for it, hm?"

you nodded into his neck, the tough texture combined with the heavy weight of his thigh catching you in just the right spot, urging a whimper from your throat.

"makin' a mess of me, yeah? could cum just from my thigh?" he said, almost like he felt sorry for you, but you could hear the smile in his voice. you bit down gently on the space between his neck and shoulder, your small retaliation, smiled at his groan.

you slowed your rhythm, picked your head up, let your chest rise and fall as you looked at him in the face, searched his eyes.

his face was slightly flushed, his eyes only just a bit glassy, but he looked at you like you were a wonder, like some divine power had made her way into his lap.

you pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, loved the way you could feel his smile crinkle and widen under your lips.

"please, trevor," you whispered, your touch so soft around his neck. "please just give me what i want."

you shifted on his lap until you felt him, hard and hot and heavy underneath you. his voice came out with a strain. "anything, sugar," he told you, "just tell me."

you lifted your hips up, could feel how wet you were, could tell you had probably left a trace of yourself on his pants. "wanna cum on your cock, trevor," you breathed, couldn't help your sly grin when he immediately began to tug his clothes aside. "please, please let me. i know i'm so greedy-"

he was nodding like he understood as he angled your hips up higher, shifted you so that you sat right above him as he pumped himself up and down, once, twice, so obviously ready for you. "you are, sugar," he said, so eager it almost sounded like a whine, "but i'll give you anything you want, swear it." his hands found your hips. "just promise you'll only be greedy for me, hm?"

you sank down onto him with a nodded promise, bit your lip at the slow, scorching pressure, the pleasant stretch that pulled at your middle, that you felt in your toes. you blinked, trying to get used to the sensation, trying to muffle the groan in your mouth.

"fuck," he moaned, his fingers clutching at the flesh of your hips like you might float away if he let go, "all the way, sugar, 'atta girl." you huffed a short breath when he was all the way in.

words felt far away, suspended in bubbles that whirled around your head.

"speechless, eh?" he teased, and you had a sense of deja vu. "don't worry, sugar. common re-"

and you could have growled at him for alluding to the fact that other girls had felt this, that there were other people in the world who knew what this felt like, so you fitted a delicate hand over his mouth and rolled your hips up and back on him until he was the speechless one, moans falling from his mouth, his brow pinched in pleasure.

"don't worry," you breathed, your mouth an inch from his ear. "common reaction."

you began to move your hips up and down faster as the stretch gave way to something dizzyingly good, as he began to thrust back up into you. so hard and fast, but he held you like something precious. his rhythm built until your mouth fell open, until sweat shone on the high points of his face, until time melted away, until you were reminded of what you'd mistaken him for when you'd first seen him, all that time ago - some ancient sculpture. a work of art.

he cursed as your clit caught on his pubic bone, the friction so overwhelming, and you clenched down on him. "give it to me, sugar," he said, but the strain in his voice made it sound like a plea. "fuck, let me hear you, yeah?" his tone grew gentle. "been wantin' to hear you for so long."

you tightened around him further at his small admission, let your nails rake down his neck, probably a little too hard. he grunted, thrusted harder, shifted you closer to him.

you moaned his name at the new angle, one you felt in the tips of your ears, your hairline, your tongue.

you were so close, so impossibly almost there. "please make me cum," you whined, "please, need you so bad." your exhale was practically pained as you ran your fingers over the red marks on his neck your nails had left. "don't i deserve it, baby?"

he grunted, and it was different. you felt his stomach and thighs clench, his hips sputter as his head spun with the fact that you'd gone right to begging him, skipped the asking part. he pressed his hand to your lower stomach, let his thumb catch against your clit, sending you over the edge in moments. "'course you deserve it, sugar," he rasped, gravelly, in your ear as you rode out your high, his thrusts growing wild. "been so good."

you clenched down on him, forcing his own orgasm, fast and all-consuming, the smell of him everywhere, mixed with your perfume. your exhales were warm and heavy, transparent clouds that settled on the floor of your room, making it every bit the dreamland it had become in your mind.

he held you so close to him as he pulled you to his chest, leaned you both back on your bed. you stared up at the ceiling.

about time, one of the tiles whispered, holding a crisp fiver.

couldn't have waited another week? the losing tile muttered bitterly.

you smiled as his rough hand found your face, tilted it towards him. he was smiling. your stomach fluttered as you felt your own mouth pull wider.

"what?" he asked, his voice rough, drowsy with use.

you shook your head. "nothing," you said, "just you." your eyes crinkled under the weight of your happiness. "i'm callin' dibs on you."

his eyes lit up as he pulled you in for another kiss, slow and overflowing with meaning. he hummed. "butterscotch," he whispered against your mouth. "my favorite."

fin.

[levilxvr]

aot characters finding out you and levi are together

ft: eren, armin, mikasa, erwin, hange

cw: fluff, slightly suggestive

eren

you’re with eren, cleaning one of the rooms at headquarters as part of the daily schedule. This sucks, you’re thinking as you aggressively move the mop back and forth on the wooden floor. there’s barely even a speck of dirt here but levi insists that every single room has to be deep cleaned every two days.

“ow, my legs hurt.” you mumbled subconsciously while mopping. it’s been three hours and your losing touch with reality due to the exhaustion and boredom of scrubbing out a room that’s barely filthy.

“why? you been up to something?” he smirks. You roll your eyes at his childish humour, immediately understanding what he meant.

“it’s not like that.”

“then why’re you blushing?”

“…”

“is this about captain levi?” you nearly choke on your own saliva when he says his name. and coincidentally, levi happened to be walking right through the doorway just as he said it. His eyebrows are raised, glancing between you and eren before he confirms it.

“indeed it is.” he responds for you, ruffling your hair as his other hand does a quick sweep of the underside of the table.

“not bad, im satisfied.” He leaves the room smiling and an awkward silence follows.

“knew it!”

armin

Levi’s in the office alone with armin, who’s explaining the details about possible hot spots for titan activity. There’s a map of shiganshina sprawled out on the table, both of them are leaning over it while discussing when you walk into the office to get more ink from levi’s desk drawer. You stroll by the two of them and levi tenses when he feels your body brush against his back.

“don’t mind me just getting something,” you casually rummage through his drawers and fish out the little glass pot.

Just as you’re leaving you make sure to walk past the captain again, planting a small kiss on his soft cheek before continuing on your way out without saying anything. He’s blushing like crazy, grey eyes wide as he freezes. damn it, when will you ever stop teasing him around the other cadets?

“c- captain?” the poor guy was so confused. since when were you and him a thing?

“pretend you never saw that,” he takes a deep breath, averting the conversation back to the titans. Armin is smart, and he knows how to read the room. so they continue with their little discussion until it’s time to leave for training again.

“how long?” he asks quietly as they’re walking out of the office.

“few months. keep it between us.”

“you have my word.”

mikasa

you’re in levi’s office, sitting on his desk with his hands on both sides of your waist. He’s kissing you slowly, smiling against your lips as his tongue slips into you and brushes against yours. The room is dim, the only light coming from a single oil lamp, heightening the romantic atmosphere as his hands begin exploring your body. He’s peeling off your jacket, folding it nicely on the side as he relishes in the feeling of your fingers trailing through his hair.

Meanwhile mikasa is walking down the hallway with a document for him to sign. Of course, you both miss the small knock on the door since you’re busy with each other. She opens the door so silently neither of you notice her presence, but when she sees you on his table, the captain standing in front of you..

oh.

She kinda just stands there with no emotion on her face, blinks once and closes the door. So that’s what it’s like to be in love. she makes her way down the opposite side of the hall, pulling her scarf up to cover her cheeks as she feels them heating up.

hange

“four eyes,”

hange’s lab door slams open and they nearly drop the sample theyre holding with tweezers.

“got any gift ideas for relationship anniversaries?”

they freeze and drops the tweezers. “wait, is this about you and y/n? oooh- did you guys finally make things official?!”

“answer my question, shitty glasses.” levi rubs the bridge of his nose. He knew this was gonna happen, but he was too desperate to care. your two month anniversary was tomorrow and he had absolutely no idea what to get for you. but he wanted to give you something. anything.

“tell me how long this has been going on for first.”

“two months.”

hange starts squealing and he stands there, completely unamused, waiting for them to calm down and get a legitimate answer. Last month he picked you some flowers from the area outside the walls on your expedition, giving it to you as a little bouquet. Unfortunately they weren’t in season right now so..

“alright, well, do you have any ideas?

“if i did i wouldn’t be here.”

hange digs through the drawer and hands him a sparkly seashell. it has a cute blueish hue with crystals lining the edge. He looks at it in awe. they must’ve brought it back from the seaside when they were there earlier on.

“write her a sweet little letter to go with it. and have fun!” they wink and he wished there was a hole for him to bury into. Still, he takes the little seashell and leaves, crafting a heartfelt note in his head as he walks down the corridor.

“took him long enough.” hange whispers, overjoyed that he finally got the guts to confess to you.

erwin

“you’ve been acting suspicious lately.”

levi was standing in the doorway of erwin’s office, leaning on the frame with raised eyebrows. “how so?”

“don’t think i didn’t notice you ditched your dish duty after dinner last night.” erwin knows he loves cleaning. so why would he just disappear and leave hange to do everything? And with the way they were grumbling about it, he had to find out what’s going on.

levi rolls his eyes. the truth is, after dinner last night he escaped to his room with you so he could kiss you in peace- then you got carried away and he forgot to go back to the kitchen.

“come on, levi. tell me what’s going on.”

“fine, if you must know, I went to spend time with y/n.”

“oh?” now there’s a silly grin plastered on erwin’s face and he straightens up in his chair. His voice has gone a pitch higher as well, and it took levi everything not to walk up to him and smack that smile off his face. this is why he hates telling people you’re together- he’s never gonna escape the teasing that’ll follow him for months.

“got a problem?”

“no, not at all.”

erwin had an inkling that something’s been going on between the two of you for the longest time. and he’s not mad or anything. honestly, he’s just happy that after all this time, levi finally has someone to lean on.

[bluemari23]

don't wanna cry || choi seungcheol

summary: you had been ignored and neglected again, on the night of your soul bond anniversary. you were tired and felt defeated. and it took just that for your soulmate to snap out of his funk and remind you of why you were soulmates.

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: soulmates, soul bonds, soulmarks, angst, major angst

warnings: reader feels neglected, mentions of past issues, minor mention of death, cheol messes up bad and tries to fix it

word count: 1.5k

masterlist

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

It had been the fourth time the boys had run through the dance, Hoshi demanding they get it perfect once before leaving for the night. This specific dance had been trouble for some of the boys, different sections needing tweaking before Hoshi would give the okay. 

You were supposed to be going out to dinner with your soulmate; it was the anniversary of when you met and your soulbond kicked in. Seungcheol said he made a reservation at your favorite restaurant, and to dress nice. But when time passed, and it got closer to the time you were supposed to be ready and he still wasn’t home, you got worried. 

So, you got ready and went to the company, and found your soulmate and his band still practicing. 

“Oh goodness, baby! I didn’t even realize. I’m so sorry. I can’t leave until we get this dance right.” Seungcheol had run up to you, your outfit earning you a few teasing whistles from the boys and them earning a scowl from their leader. 

You sighed inside, knowing how dedicated your soulmate was to his group, but you couldn’t help the neglect you had been feeling lately. Tour season was coming up, and Seungcheol was just coming off from an injury. You knew he felt compelled to do his best for his group and for carat’s but sometimes you felt like you didn’t fit into the fold.

“It’s okay, Cheol. I’ll wait.” And you did, you sat in one of the chairs off to the side and watched as they practiced the choreography again and again. 

Time passed and you missed your reservation, you realized as you looked at your phone, checking the time. Your home screen a picture of you and Cheol, a big smile on your face as he pressed a messy kiss to your cheek. It was from your first date, a couple months after you found each other and his name appeared on your forearm in gold. 

You knew that Seungcheol was an idol, but you still couldn’t help but to feel selfish for wanting to be a part of his life; wanting him to spend time with you instead of staying up, for him to come home and instead falling asleep after midnight. You wanted him to make an effort to spend time with you instead of you staying around and waiting for him. 

You were soulmates but you felt more like a roommate. 

“Hey Cheolie, I think I’m gonna head back home.” You finally gave up; it was a little after ten pm and your reservation was scheduled for six pm. You had been here for hours and he hadn’t even glanced your way.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I—I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” Seungcheol said the words he said every time, and you wanted to nod along to his words like every time, smiling softly at his empty promises, but you didn’t have the energy to this time. 

“I uhm, think I might go spend the weekend at my friend’s. She’s been wanting to uhm catch up. Don’t wait up.” You couldn’t help but sound defeated, not even giving your soulmate a smile as you spoke. You were tired. 

“Goodbye boys!” You yelled out looking past Seungcheol and waved goodbye to the boys before leaving, not acknowledging him. 

You couldn’t hide the tears you felt falling as you wondered if soulmates always ended up together. 

-*-*-

Seungcheol felt stunned, your actions and expressions making him wonder what happened. He noticed the tired expression on your face and how defeated you sounded and it had him wondering what he did. 

“Hey, is Y/n okay?” Joshua walked up to him as Hoshi called a break, obviously knowing something was going on. 

“I—I don’t know?” Seungcheol was confused, his eyes still watching the door you just walked out of. 

“Well, when was the last time you two talked?” Seungcheol’s mind tried coming up with any recent moment of just the two of you, but he couldn’t and Joshua could tell. 

“Cheol, do you remember what you planned tonight?” He asked again and grew a little annoyed at how clueless his leader was when he didn’t answer.

“Look, I understand that you want to jump right back into everything, but that doesn’t mean you neglect your soulmate. Tonight was your soul anniversary and instead of spending it with your soulmate, who was dressed so nice and pretty for you, she had to sit and watch us practice for five hours.” Joshua laid it down for him. 

Seungcheol couldn’t believe how bad he let things get. You had been through a lot this year, you both have. You lost your mom only a couple months back, right before his ACL tear, and you took care of him through the surgery and recovery. You had to travel home alone for the funeral because he was advised not to fly. You had done so much for him and he couldn’t even give you the time of day recently? 

What kind of soulmate was he? 

He knew he needed to make it up to you, and change. He needed to show you how much he loved and appreciated you. He needed to show you why you were meant to be together. He needed to be treating you like a goddess that needed worshipping.

He looked down at his watch and back up to Joshua before running out of the room, hoping to catch you at the apartment before you left. 

And he had just barely made it, opening the door to see you picking up your dufflebag. 

“Baby! Please wait.” He shut the door behind him, locking it for good measure. 

You couldn’t look him in the eye, not wanting to in case you accepted his blank words again. You couldn’t keep doing that to yourself. 

“Y/n, please. I know I have been an ass lately. I’ve been such a bad soulmate to you.” You weren’t expecting his words and looked up at him, shocked. 

“I’ve been neglecting the most important person in the world to me, and it stops now. I didn’t realize what I was doing, I just… I just grew too complacent knowing you would always be there. I pushed myself wanting to be better for carats and I ignored who I should really be pushing myself to be better for.” 

You both had tears in your eyes now. Seungcheol kept stepping forward until he was right in front of you, your bag now on the floor as he held your hands in his, holding them to his chest. 

“I love you so much and sometimes I don’t know how to show it.” You opened your mouth to speak but he shook his head. 

“No, please, I—I will do better, I will treat you like the princess you are. I can’t lose you.” You could see something changed in the way he looks at you. How he holds you. He hasn’t held you like this in a while. 

“I—one last chance, Cheol. I—I can’t keep going and just hope you look at me once when you get home. I need you to make me a priority too, Cheol. I can’t keep wondering if you truly want me or not.” You finally tell him how you feel, trying not to hold back once you see the tears start falling down his cheeks. 

“You thought I didn’t want you?” He was heartbroken. He didn’t realize he had let things get this bad. His own soulmate thought he didn’t want her. 

His hands moved up to hold and caress your cheeks, taking a couple of seconds before he surged forward, capturing your lips in his. The taste of your salty tears on his tongue as he pulled back. 

“Of course I want you. I will always want you.” He pulled you into his arms, unable to hold back now. 

“I’m never going to let you go. You’re stuck with me forever and I will spend that forever worshipping you and never letting you go without knowing I want you and love you.” You let out a sob at his words, not knowing how much you needed this moment, his touch and reassurance. 

“Now, you sit down and keep looking like your beautiful self, and I’m going to make us an amazing dinner, with candles and rose petals and everything.” Seungcheol made himself busy, knowing how much you believe that actions speak louder than words. 

You had gone through a flurry of emotions tonight but couldn’t help but to still love the sight of you goofy and sometimes slow, soulmate as he begins to season the steak you had in the fridge, your favorite vegetable to the side as moves around the kitchen.

Relationships were always about communication, but sometimes actions truly did speak louder than words. 

[honeybleed]

“then so be it” ⋆ red haired shanks

content & warnings: female reader, she/her pronouns, black-coded reader, conflict angst, fluff

author’s note: opla shanks is sexy, tbh so is animanga shanks 😹 so u can imagine which ever

word count: 1.5k

He means well.

That’s what you believe, and when he does things that chip away at that thought, it's what you say aloud.

You feel silly. because when you try and face reality with the way Shanks disrespects you, you hear a voice in the back of your head pull up that same excuse.

Descending a path of overthinking never helps you. All it does is make you panic and question your sanity.

You’d been in a long-term relationship with the notorious Red Haired Shanks, captain of the aptly named Red Haired Pirates and it was never going to be a walk in the park.

He drops by when he can to your home island, even if it irritates his crew members but he can easily pacify them by making a detour to the local tavern and having some alone time with you for a few nights before he's off heading to whatever journey to god knows where.

You reminisce on how you two met.

Your village had always been under an oppressive tyrant's rule but it was lifted thanks to Red Haired pirates. Now your home was back to normal and free.

Apparently, that’s what Emperors of the Sea could just do.

It was slightly embarrassing for you to admit to Shanks later on that you had fallen for him the moment you saw him. How cliché.

But as soon as you had given him the green light for him to pursue you, he made sure everybody knew you were his.

*

"Jeez, what's with you Captain? You look like shit." Lucky commented after Shanks had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last few days.

"Always can count on you for honesty, can't I buddy?" Shanks chuckled as he straightened his posture slightly.

"You and the missus on bad terms or what?" Beckman questioned as he leaned his elbows against the bar and tilted his head back.

"How’d you know, you sneaky bastard?"

"Written all over your face. What's the damage?"

"Stood her up." Shanks said, thumping his head on the counter.

"For how long?"

"Waiter said the sweet thing had been sitting there for two hours. Christ, I’ve never fucked up this bad."

"Damn, you missed your anniversary cos you were out drinking with us?"

"I’m a dirtbag." Shanks groaned, still wallowing in his guilt.

There was a slight commotion and clamouring of other pirates at the front of the tavern, Lucky turned his head to see what all the noise was about.

"Oooooweeeee!"

"Smokin' hot!"

Lucky’s eyes immediately widened when he realized who it was.

"Uh Cap, you're gonna wanna see this."

"I don't wanna look at some random broads, Lucky. I’m already in the doghouse and all I can think of is my beloved-"

"She’s right there!" Lucky exclaimed.

Shanks pulled a face and squinted his eyes at the absurdity of the suggestion you were even here.

"Quit pullin' my leg Lucky. You ain’t funny."

"I’m dead serious, Cap! Look!"

Shanks did a spit take when he saw none other than his girlfriend, stood at the entrance with three other gorgeous women.

All in the most showy, dressy attire you could think of.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Yasopp questioned.

It was common knowledge that you stuck on your island. And never left.

There was countless men fawning over the four women, but you in particular since you were sporting a “Come and get me look”

You strut your way towards the bar where Shanks and Lucky were sat. Deliberately swinging your hips, running your fingers through your hair and licking your teeth which only seemed to drive the men more wild.

Countless offers to pay for your drink as they mobbed around you.

Shanks however, was not particularly impressed by the series of events currently unfolding in front of him.

"How are you even here right now?" He questioned, elbow propped against the bar.

"I’m sorry darling, have we met somewhere before?" You asked, in a saccharinely sweet tone as you looked at him through your eyelashes.

The Red Haired pirates burst into absolute hysterics, banging tables, spilling drinks and jeering.

"SHE GOT YOU GOOD SHANKS!"

He simply smirked and turned his head to face his raucous crew members.

If you wanted to get your own back, then so be it. It wasn't like he didn't deserve it.

*

"If that bastard thinks he can CAST ME to the side he's got another thing coming." You fumed, as you ransacked through your closet while your best friend Max sat on the ottoman in your bedroom, cackling.

"You two really are made for each other." She remarked as she puffed out the smoke from her cigarette. "I’ve never seen a man who can fire you up that easily."

"I told you no smoking in my house idiot, go to the window before you make the whole place smell gross."

"Fine." She said, as she got up begrudgingly.

She didn't put up a fight since anybody who knew you and was granted access into your abode knew it was pristine.

"I’m gonna look for the sluttiest dress I own."

"And what?"

"Give him some of his own medicine." You hissed. "He getting way too comfortable. He thinks just because I let him do whatever he can neglect me."

"I don't think he's neglecting you." She replied. "You and I both know he's crazy about you, and that your relationship was never going to be like a normal one what with him being one of the four emperors of the sea."

"I don't need rationality at the moment, Max!" You screeched.

*

He dragged you outside of the tavern and turned to face you.

Shanks never got angry. But when he did, it was spine chilling and it took everything in you not to scuttle away like a scared critter.

You were inebriated, struggling to stand upright.

"I let you have your lil payback but why are you dancing with other men in front of my face?" He questioned as he furrowed his brows together.

"Oh, now you care."

"Y/N, don't be silly! When have I not cared? Is this about the anniversary?"

You struggled to come up with an answer on the spot.

"There’s more to it than that Shanks, and you know it! Yeah, that anniversary date meant a lot to me but you blow me off all the time. And don't use your job crap because a good chunk of your time is spent partying it up and drinking with your buddies!"

"I am only doing what you asked." Shanks sighed, anger dissipating away. "I asked you to come with me, does that ring any bells? And you said no. I try to visit you when I can."

"What? So its just all my fault? Yeah I wanted to stay home cos I have a life outside of you!”

"I know." Shanks said, defeatedly.

You swallowed thickly as you felt a lump form in your throat and tears prickle at your waterline.

"I don't know why I insisted...on being with you." You began, unable to face him. "You told me so, huh Shanks?" You said with a wry chuckle as he gazed at you.

"I didn't say that to be a smart ass. I love you. So much. With every fibre of my being." He said, as he moved closer to cup the side of your face with one hand.

He could be romantic when he wanted but he liked to get under your skin, as he grabbed hold of your jaw and smooshed your cheeks together, making your lips pout.

“Shanks, you’re not funny…!” You barked, sounding ridiculous as you struggled to pull out of his grip.

He let go and chuckled.

“I’m sorry, baby. You’re easy to tease.” He scoffed, then pulled you right against his chest.

"You’re making it worse." You murmured as you felt yourself crumble internally as he rubbed your back gently and kissed the top of your head.

"Then so be it.”

“…Shanks.”

You leaned up to brush your lips against his but he was unreceptive.

“I wouldn’t feel right, baby.” He said gently with a smile, pulling away from the kiss. “You’re drunk. Let’s get you to bed.”

“But…I came with my friends.”

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. We’ll drop them home. I’ll let you sleep it off too.” He said, reassuringly as the two of you began to walk back to the tavern.

Soon enough, you rested in the bed of captain’s cabin’s of the Red Force. Mind drifting off to sleep.

He knew you well, despite barely being around. He was a smart guy, despite it all.

He knew you were a sleepy drunk.

“I’m lowdown and no good for an angel like you. But, I’ll do my best to make it up to you.” He murmured as he sat on the edge of the bed, taking your hand in his and running his thumb across the hollow of your knuckles.

You were half asleep and bleary eyed, but his gentle tone and rocking of the ship was enough to lull you back to sleep.

“I mean it.”

You squeezed his hand gently, making him smile. He then pressed his lips against the crown of your head and made his way out.

author’s note: ty if u read dis far im publishing dis late af so sawry if there’s any mistakes

[section-chief-prentiss]

Love Story

Summary: You and Emily both propose on the same day during your vacation. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader

Word Count: 1986

Ao3 

You closed your eyes, letting the salty ocean air fill your lungs. One arm rested on the balcony railing outside the hotel room you shared with your girlfriend, Emily, who was fast asleep inside.

In the two years you’d been with Emily, this was the first vacation you’d taken together, and you couldn’t resist the idea of watching the sunrise at least once on this trip.

So you’d dragged yourself out of bed, still in your pajamas, and stood at the edge of your balcony, waiting for the initial whispers of sunrise to appear. Emily had never been an early riser, so you knew better than to wake her. 

When you opened your eyes, you could faintly spot, where the sky kissed the ocean, hints of orange and yellow. You were so mesmerized by the sight that you didn’t hear your love walking up behind you until she spoke. 

“Hey, you,” Emily said, wrapping her arms around your torso and setting her head on your shoulder. “What on Earth are you doing awake at this hour?”

You giggled. “I wanted to watch the sunrise. You can go back inside; I’ll come back to bed after.”

Emily nestled deeper against your shoulder and hummed. “I’m okay right here.”

As profilers with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, time off wasn’t easy to come by—especially for two of you at a time. 

Fortunately, the team’s caseload lightened up in time for you to take a week off, right around your second anniversary, and with it being January and miserable in DC, your destination was an easy choice—Hawaii.

Emily, ever the world traveler, knew of an amazing resort on the beach in Oahu, so you left the planning in her hands.

You had your own agenda for this trip. And today was the day.

As the sun rose higher, yellows and oranges won their battle against the dark blue sky, making way for light blues and pinks. 

The air was humid, and getting warmer with the sunrise, but you had never felt so content. 

“It’s beautiful,” Emily murmured. You nodded in agreement.

You knew after three months of dating that Emily was the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. But you only got one chance at a proposal with your dream girl, so planning proved to be more difficult than anticipated. And while you considered your BAU team your family, you knew that if you told any of them, the secret would be out within an hour. So confiding in them was, unfortunately, not an option. 

As soon as the trip was booked, you knew this was your opportunity. Buying the ring was easy; you’d both known what you wanted and had openly discussed it almost the entire time you’d been together. Hiding the ring was harder—you had to move it every few days in case Emily decided to snoop. 

She always had a sense for secrets and sniffing them out. 

You blamed yourself for falling in love with a profiler.

“What do you want to do today?” Emily unwrapped her arms from you, and as soon as her touch was gone, you missed it. She took her place next to you, leaning against the balcony railing. 

With vacations being so rare for you both, you’d decided together that you didn’t want to plan too much and overbook yourselves. Instead, you made a few dinner reservations and left it at that. 

“Seems like a good day for the beach,” you said, nodding at the so-far empty beach below you. It wouldn’t be that way for long, you knew. But you weren’t in a hurry. 

“Whatever you want,” Emily smiled. “But first… back to bed?” 

You took your girlfriend’s hand with a smile of your own. “Whatever you want.”

***

Some time later, you and Emily were perched in lounge chairs on the beach. At first, you weren’t sure if you remembered how to relax, but laying back on a chaise in your favorite swimsuit next to your favorite person in the world—you remembered.

Your only request when Emily planned this trip was that one of your dinner reservations was on your second night. The first night you knew you’d be too tired from the travel, but you wanted to propose at the beginning of your trip so you could spend the rest of your time off celebrating. 

But the more time you spent on the beach, the more you started to look at your phone, wondering how early was too early to start getting ready. You wanted to look nice but not so nice that you’d make Emily suspicious, and finding that balance wasn’t going to be a short endeavor.

You opened your mouth to ask what time your reservation was—even though you’d engrained the time in your memory—when Emily spoke up first.

“We should head back soon if we want to make our reservation,” she paused. “If that’s alright.”

“Is it that time already?” you asked, forcing nonchalance in your voice. To aid in your ruse, you glanced at your phone for the tenth time in the last half hour. “Yeah, let’s head back.”

You tossed your towel around your waist and headed back to the room in a comfortable silence. 

Your hair took longer than Emily’s to style, so you mutually agreed to let you shower first—fighting the urge to ask Emily to just shower with you, but you couldn’t afford the time you would lose—and took the time to run through what you wanted to say when you proposed. 

Your reservation was early enough that you hoped to walk back on the beach during sunset, and that’s when you would get on one knee and ask her to be your wife.

It would be perfect; you were confident. 

***

You paused in front of the full-length mirror, appraising yourself. Your hair was curled and half-up—the beach was windy earlier, and you didn’t want to be eating your hair when you proposed. Your makeup was light, and you’d decided on a black romper. You’d packed a few sun dresses just in case, but you didn’t want to flash anyone when you got on one knee.

How did people do this? Your palms sweat just thinking about what was coming.

Across your body, you had a simple black bag, just big enough for your phone, wallet, and ring case. 

As soon as you’d dressed, you’d thrown the bag over your shoulder and kept it close. The last thing you needed was Emily throwing her phone in your purse—something she often did, as she didn’t usually like to carry her own bag—and stumbling across the ring box. 

But when your beautiful girlfriend stepped out of the bathroom—her raven hair curled and bangs perfectly styled, dressed in a skin-tight red dress that took your breath away—she had a similar black cross-body slung over her own shoulder.

In hindsight, that should’ve been the first clue of many. But you were too preoccupied with your own secret to pick up on hers. 

“Stunning,” you breathed, leaning forward to kiss your love.

“I know you are,” her mouth smiling against your own, “but how do I look?”

You giggled, heart bursting. It took all of your willpower to not take out the ring box right then and get this whole thing over with.

But she deserved a proposal more special than one in a hotel room, so you bit your tongue.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded. “Ready when you are.”

You laced your fingers through hers and followed her out of the room and through the hotel’s doors.

“I thought we’d walk, take the scenic route, since we have some time,” Emily said. “The beach will take us right to the restaurant.”

Your heart skipped a beat. If you took the beach on the way there, would she think twice about you requesting the same on the way home?

No, you thought. What she’ll find weird is if you say no right now.

So you swallowed your panic and pressed a smile across your features. “Whatever you want, love.”

She squeezed your hand and took the lead. 

“Are you having a nice time?” Emily asked. You weren’t sure if you were just projecting your feelings onto her, but did she sound… nervous?

“I could stay here forever,” you answered. “I don’t know how we can go back to winter in DC after this.”

“You’ll be ready to get back to work by the time vacation is over,” she said with a wink. “I know you too well.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you sang. “I think I could stay here forever with you and be perfectly happy.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You opened your mouth to suggest honeymooning here, but caught yourself before you gave yourself away completely. 

Instead, you turned to stare out at the water. “It’s a beautiful view.” 

Your walking slowed before coming to a halt, both of you admiring the crashing waves lapping not far from your feet. 

“It is,” she said.

You turned to find her eyes boring into yours and flushed. 

“The two years I’ve spent with you have been the happiest of my life,” Emily said with a sincerity that stilled you. “I never knew I could love somebody this much until I met you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. Emily released your hand, and you contemplated reaching for your purse. Was this the moment you’d been waiting for?

“I feel the same way,” you said, fighting the lump in your throat.

“I’m not always the most eloquent with words,” she admitted, patting at a stray tear in her eye. You chuckled, thinking of the times she couldn’t place what she wanted to say and started mumbling in other languages until she figured it out. “But I need you to know that you’re my everything. My love, mi amor, mon amour, amore mio, moya lyubov…”

She trailed off, reaching into her cross-body and pulled out something she concealed in her hands. You frowned.

“I know you love it when I speak French,” she said with a mischievous grin, kneeling down before you, on two knees instead of one, due to the dress she wore. “So, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, veux-tu m'épouser?” 

You froze. You knew what that sentence meant—it was one you’d looked up online and practiced relentlessly in the mirror to get your pronunciation just right for your proposal, as you knew French was her favorite language.

When you didn’t answer, she translated, “Will you marry me?”

Tears poured from your eyes. When you opened your mouth to answer, a laugh bubbled up instead. 

Now it was Emily’s turn to frown. “Love?”

Once you started, it was impossible to stop. You fell to your own knees in front of her, laughing and crying in equal measure. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, but you held up a hand.

“You had to beat me to the punch, didn’t you?”

“I don’t understand…” she said.

You reached into your bag, procuring your ring box, clearing the tears from your face with your free hand. The rest of your speech was moot now, but you couldn’t let the French you learned go to waste. 

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, je t'aime de tout mon cœur, et pour toujours. Veux-tu m'épouser?” 

Emily gaped, glancing from you and the ring in your hand to the ring in hers. In the blink of an eye, her own face was covered with tears.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Me too,” you whispered.

You exchanged rings, not even taking a moment to admire the fact that, of course, she got you the exact ring you wanted, before throwing your arms around your fiancee and pressing your lips to hers.

When you finally pulled away, you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face.

“We’re not making our dinner reservation, are we?”

“God, I hope not,” she breathed before pulling you in again. 

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[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Mrs Hollywood

Pairing: Scarlett Johansson x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not always easy to date a Hollywood star

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. Also, this is a fluff little thing, enjoy

“Babe,” you whined as your girlfriend pulled away from the hug you had locked her in.

“I know, I know,” she soothed you with her gentle tone and a sweet smile as you finally mastered the courage to look at her. Scarlett had that look on her face - the one that meant she was just as unhappy as you were but she would put on a strong façade - and it made you sigh loudly. “I will be back in a month,” Scarlett reminded you.

“And then you will be home for a week and you will be gone again,” you complained although you knew you had no right to.

You kind of signed up for that when you started dating one of the best Hollywood actresses. Scarlett had a crazy agenda and you knew that from the start. When you two first started dating you would do FaceTime together while having a meal at different parts of the planet, but you made it work. She was in town every time she could catch a break from filming or doing her press tours, and she had offered to fly you to meet her more than once. It worked - very well, if the fact that you just celebrated your two years anniversary just a few weeks prior.

Now, however, you couldn’t help but miss her like crazy. She spent three months in Europe shooting her new Marvel movie, now she would be gone for another month to work on something else, and then she would have to travel again to attend premiers, awards and interviews all around the globe. You didn’t blame her for that, obviously, because her job was one of the things that she loved the most in the world, though you knew you had the right to whine about it every once in a while.

Like right now, when she was saying goodbye to you at the house you shared - when she was around - before taking a plane to whatever her next destination was.

“I promise I will make it up to you,” Scarlett whispered as her lips brushed against her cheek.

“Fine,” you sighed. “You better.”

“I promise,” Scarlett repeated, this time holding your hands between her palms and bringing you down for a kiss. “I love you, okay?”

“Not as much as I love you, Mrs Hollywood,” you joked, earning an eye roll from her which made you chuckle softly.

[...]

“You’re late,” you declared once you noticed your girlfriend walking toward you with large steps.

Scarlett's cheeks were a bit red and she was out of breath, which made you believe she had rushed there to meet you at the steps of the restaurant. “I know!” She said and stopped right in front of you, letting go of her dress, that she had been holding, and raising her hand to run through her hair to smooth it down. “There was no parking spot nearby, my driver had to park two blocks away,” she explained. “And my flight got delayed.”

Even if you were a bit annoyed, you still knew it wasn’t her fault that the flight was late. Could she have come back before to avoid all of this or told you she couldn’t have joined you? Yes. But Scarlett was there, she was making an effort, and you had missed her deeply, so she wasn’t going to let that get in the way. You sighed and pulled her in for a hug and a gentle peck on her lips so her lipstick wouldn’t smudge all around, then you held her hands to stop her from fussing about her clothes again.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said with an earnest smile. “I missed you.”

All tension seemed to escape her body - her shoulders dropped, her hands stopped moving so much - and Scarlett nodded slowly. “I missed you too, my love. I hope I’m not that late.”

“Well, just an hour and a half,” you teased her as you both moved to the restaurant door. “I was kind of tired of waiting for you outside, so I sat down with my friends and I already ate. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Scarlett dismissed your words quickly.

You both walked inside the restaurant and she started doing an amazing job of ignoring all the looks that people threw at her. It wasn’t too crowded, the restaurant was small and not at all as fancy as she was used to, and people didn’t seem to be ashamed of ogling at her as she had just grown another head. Even if it did bother you that people would act as if having Scarlett Johansson inside a restaurant was insane, Scarlett was a pro at just keep walking and pretend nothing was going on around her.

“You didn’t have to go outside to wait for me,” she kept talking, letting you lead her to a table in the back where your old friends from college were sitting.

Those dinners with your friends were a common occurrence and you would all bring your partners since everyone got along great, but Scarlett couldn’t usually be a part of it. She was so glad that she could make it this time, though, even if she was late for it. “Of course I had to,” you argued, throwing a smile over your shoulder at her. “I missed you and I didn’t want to wait another minute to see you again.”

Scarlett smiled and tugged at your hand gently to make you stop walking. You did just that and got pulled against her body, instantly closing your eyes when you felt her hand cupping your cheek to pull in for a kiss. That kiss alone was enough to make you forget about the fifteen minutes you spent standing outside waiting for her after receiving a text saying she was on the way. Honestly, there were very little things that a kiss from Scarlett couldn’t make you forget.

“Come on, Mrs Hollywood,” you said once you pulled away, smiling gladly at her. “Stop making people wait for you.”

[...]

“Excuse me, are you Scarlett Johansson?”

And, just like that, you knew you had lost your girlfriend. As soon as someone recognized her, it was over. You two were standing in line at a coffee shop waiting to place your order after having a walk around the park, but now your girlfriend was surrounded by people trying to snap a picture with her or trying to get her to sign something for them. Scarlett, as usual, wasn’t rude and made sure to talk with everyone, although you knew she wasn’t that comfortable taking pictures and talking to people when she was wearing sweatpants and when she was all sweaty and tired.

Her fans tended to ignore you, which was fine by you. Every once in a while, a parent that had no idea why their kids were freaking out over her would step to the side and chat with you, but you were usually left alone to figure out what to do until your girlfriend was able to untangle herself from the circle that would certainly form around her. That day, though, you had nothing else to do but keep walking down the line while scrolling down your phone. You answered some texts, looked over social media to make sure no one had announced to the world where Scarlett was - since it could be very unsafe - , and ordered both of your coffees and some donuts to go. You had talked about sitting at a table inside to enjoy breakfast, but you knew it wouldn’t happen now.

Once the nice girl behind the counter gave you the order, you turned around to see if your girlfriend was already freed. There were still a couple of fans around her and she was chatting with a little girl that seemed to be telling her that she dressed up as Black Widow for Halloween. You knew it would take a few more minutes for her to talk with everyone, so you leaned against the concrete column at the corner and kept looking at your phone to make sure everything was fine.

You must have gotten distracted because you only noticed that Scarlett was done when she touched your arm to get your attention. Your eyes snapped at her, quickly noticing the sad and apologetic smile on her lips. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t mention it,” you said with a smile of your own, pocketing your phone and moving to take her hand into yours so you could start walking home. “I’m starting to get used to it.”

“Really?” Scarlett asked and you were happy to see that her smile became lighter.

“Yeah. Maybe I was the right choice to date Mrs Hollywood,” you joked and chuckled when she rolled her eyes at you. You leaned in to peck her cheek, feeling your heart twice its size inside your chest when she placed a hand just above your breast.

“I have to agree with that,” she said. “I think I got the best girlfriend from the batch.”

“Yes, they don’t make more like me. I was the last one.”

“I’m lucky to have found you before anyone else, then,” Scarlett affirmed and, this time, there was a little blush in your cheeks. She laughed when she noticed it and started to walk a bit faster down the street. “Come on, before our coffee goes cold.”

[...]

“What’s this?” You asked when you felt soft hands coming from behind you to close your eyes. You stopped typing since you couldn’t see anymore, but didn’t push your chair back since you knew your girlfriend was standing behind it.

“I have a surprise for you,” Scarlett explained, sending a shiver down your body when you felt her hot breath hitting the side of your neck.

“Oh,” you sang happily. “I love surprises. Where is it?”

Scarlett moved her hands so there was only one in front of your eyes. You heard movements, something that sounded like a paper sliding on your keyboard, and, before you could ask again, the hand was gone from your face and you were able to see again. You noticed it very fast - the piece of paper on your desk - but it took you a few seconds to understand what it meant. You almost felt sadness taking over you thinking that your girlfriend would go away again before you noticed it was two place tickets and not just one.

“What?” You asked as you picked it up. You could see words, dates and letters, but you couldn’t make sense of any of that in that moment.

“Well,” Scarlett started to explain, walking around you and gently turning your chair to the side so she could sit on your lap. She threw her arms around your neck and your hands instinctively found her waist and thigh. “Since I have a break from work, I thought we might enjoy this time to travel together somewhere. Just you and me, and maybe some margaritas,” she added in the end with a grin.

You looked from her to the tickets you left on top of your keyboard, then back at her with your eyes bulging in surprise when you registered what she said. “Wait, what? You have a break?!”

Scarlett nodded, barely able to hide her gigantic smile now. “I do. I know I haven’t been the most available girlfriend ever, and I’m sorry about that. I managed to clean my schedule for a few months. I mean, I still have some interviews and other things, but I can do them from here so I won’t have to travel. So, what do you say? Do we have plans or not?”

“Babe, I would go to the end of the Earth with you,” you declared, incapable of hiding how happy you were feeling at that moment. Scarlett smiled brightly and your lips met in a loving kiss. “Turns out, it was totally worth it standing in line for Mrs Hollywood,” you said between kisses, but Scarlett barely paused to laugh before kissing you again.

And you were fine with it.

[butdaddyilovehim-hs]

Tolerate It

Inspired by 'Tolerate It' by Taylor Swift :)

"I know my love should be celebrated... but you tolerate it."

Quite frankly, Y/N isn’t sure how much longer she can take this. It’s the second time this week Harry hasn’t been home for dinner and it’s only Wednesday. Y/N is normally fine looking after baby Elle by herself, she knows Harry has important things to do and people to meet and deals to close its just… lately he’s been different. More withdrawn, constantly at work and seemingly finding less and less time to spend with his wife and 6 month old daughter. That morning he had left in a whirlwind, pressing a quick, barely there kiss to her cheek before promising to be home for dinner at 7. 

Y/N swirls what’s left in her wine glass as she glances over at the clock that reads 9:14. He’d be out for a while yet, she knew. Sighing, she puts his plate in the fridge, washing the dishes before getting ready for bed, popping into check on Elle. She smiles softly at the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest as she sleeps, leaning down and kissing her head then moving away from the crib and towards her own bedroom. It’s Y/N and Harry’s shared room but Y/N can’t remember the last time she actually woke up to Harry still in the room. Or the last time she fell asleep with him beside her. 

Y/N intends to wait up for her husband but when her eyes flutter closed she can’t seem to stop them. They open after what only feels like minutes later when the bed dips on Harry’s side. She blinks sleepily, watching him slide into bed and prop himself up against the pillows, reading with his head low. She shuffles, catching his attention and when he meets her gaze, she smiles tiredly up at him.

“Hey. Thought you were going to be home for dinner?”

“Things got busy. Ate at the office.” He turns his attention back to the book he’s reading and Y/N’s smile droops. 

“You could have called. I waited for you.”

Harry scoffs at her confession, rolling his eyes. 

“Y/N I don’t have time to give you a call every time I’m going to be a bit late coming home. Get off my case, it’s fucking annoying.” His voice rises slightly in volume as he gets frustrated, but not loud enough to wake Elle in the next room. 

“I’m not trying to be annoying H. I’m just saying that I missed you today and as your wife it would just be nice if you could let me know.” Y/N sighs, rolling over, her back to him as she tries to go back to sleep. Her breath hitches as she feels Harry come closer to her, kissing her shoulder before burying his face in her neck. 

“Sorry my love, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just really caught up lately.”

“I know you are.” Y/N tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as he sponges kisses on her neck, shoulders and then slowly down her arm. 

“Tomorrow. Take Elle to my mum’s and I’ll be home around 5. Let’s make it a date night, just us.” At this, Y/N turns to face him, a small grin on her face. 

“Yeah? Just us?”

“Just us bub. Promise I’ll be home in time and I’m all yours.”

~

Y/N believes him. So, she does what Harry says. Take’s Elle over to Anne’s around midday, the older woman over the moon to spend some extra time with her granddaughter. Around 2, her best friend makes a surprise visit to the house, finding Y/N slaving away in the kitchen.

“Are you cooking for 12?” Lucy laughs as Y/N rushes around putting finishing touches on what seems to be a ten course meal.

“No… just Harry and I. But I’m making all his favourites. I want tonight to be special for us. He’s been so busy with work lately.”

“What are you wearing?” Lucy smirks at Y/N who simply blushes.

“It’s on the bed.” She says referring to the lacy white lingerie set that Harry had bought her for their first anniversary. Lucy wolf whistles, causing Y/N to turn even redder.

“Lucky husband, that Harry of yours. Now hurry up and finish so we can have a glass of wine before he gets here and I have to go.”

Y/N grabs a bottle and the two women sit and chat for a few hours before Y/N realises it’s 10 to 5 and she needs to go and change. She kicks Lucy out as politely as possible before getting ready and waiting for Harry. 

The clock ticks over to 5:00pm. Then 5:01pm. Then 5:20pm. 

At 5:30pm, she calls. His phone is off. 

At 6:00pm, she finishes a second bottle of wine, and then she calls again. His phone is still off. 

At 6:17pm, Lucy sends her a link to an article and Y/N feels the sudden urge to throw up. Because the article is about Harry and the headline reads: Trouble in Paradise? Styles and Co CEO Harry Styles seen partying on a yacht with ex Kendall Jenner, just months after celebrating his third wedding anniversary and welcoming daughter Elle Styles. 

The photos are incriminating. Kendall’s face in his neck, his hands around her waist. Kendall getting into a cab, leading Harry behind her.

Lucy calls. Y/N doesn’t answer.

At 8:15pm, Y/N picks herself up off the floor, goes upstairs, grabs a bag throws essential things inside for her and Elle and gets her keys. 

That’s when the door opens and her husband walks, stumbles, through the front door. 

“Sorry I’m late. Something smells good.” Harry’s words have a slight slur to them, she knows he’s been drinking but she can’t bring herself to care. He steps closer and she wrinkles her nose. 

“You smell like her.” Y/N comments, willing herself not to cry. 

“Who? Kendall?” Harry is suddenly ten times more alert, worry evident on his face.  

“Nothing happened Y/N.” “Sure didn’t look like nothing. In fact the photos were… quite something.”

“Love… I don’t- I put her in a cab and she went home. It was supposed to be a quick meeting and then it turned into a yacht event and I know you wanted me home earlier but I-”

“This isn’t about me wanting you home earlier Harry. I wanted this night for us. Because we’re drifting apart and I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“You’re being dramatic, I’ve just been busy.”

“You’ve been “busy” for 4 months Harry. Are you not in love with me anymore?” Y/N’s voice trembles but she holds his gaze. Harry feels his heart drop into the floor.

“…What?”

“Tell me it’s all in my head. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Y/N calm down. You’re acting insane, of course I love you.”

“Harry, you make me feel annoying when all I want is for you to love me back as much as I love you! You just sit there and you… you just tolerate me. And I don’t deserve that. I sit here in this stupid mansion you bought for us with our daughter who probably doesn’t even know that you’re her father because you’re never around. I just sit here and I wait with Elle. For you to come home to me, for you to tell me you need me as much as I need you. And I don’t think I can do it anymore.” She pushes past him to the garage and he grabs her wrist gently. “Y/N. Baby where are you going?”

“Bit late for the pet names H. Don’t you think?” She scoffs. 

“I need space. Come find Elle and I if you think you’re going to be able to show up for us, because I don’t feel the need to explain to our daughter why she doesn’t have a fucking dad.”

Harry steps back, looking at her helplessly as her words cut him deep.

“Bye Harry.”

Read Part II here

Tags:

@lukesaprince @harryspirate @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @lilyrmason12 @styleslover-1994 @stylesfever @kathb59 @indierockgirrl @bxbyysstuff @gills-lounge

[wutheringmights]

After I finished reading The Epic of Gilgamesh today, I entered a fugue state where I sat down and read the entirety of Alanna: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce.

On the record, I have had a lifelong love and adoration for Pierce's Tortall books. I first read the Song of the Lioness quartet when I was 11, and they rewrote my brain. I love them so much. I reread them and the other Tortall books on a semi-frequent schedule.

It's been a while since I reread any of the Alanna books, if only because my sister took our shared copies when she moved out. I've been meaning to buy my own set for a long while now but haven't been able to justify the purchase. The other week, I just so happened to find the first two volumes at my local indie bookstore. I bought them immediately, as well as ordered the third and fourth book. (And discovered that the store owner knows me by name-- when I went to pick up my order, she saw me and said, Hi Frankie! I got your books over here.) (I may be spending too much money there.)

So I have been in a bit of an emotional rut these past few weeks. Work sucks. Life stinks. The temptation to run off to Tortall and curl up in the fantasy story that captivated me as a kid has never been stronger.

Ergo, I ran off to read the first book as soon as I could.

If you're looking for any critique of this book, series, or Tortall in general, I will never give it. Sure, it's problematic and dated, and in many ways imperfect, but someone else can list out all of its issues. They're all perfect to me.

Anyway, the book. I should say something about this book in particular.

One thing I appreciate about Pierce's writing is how she handles school settings in fantasy. Learning and training is so mundane. All of her heroines have to work hard and put in extra hours of study in order to improve, much less keep up with their peers. It's so normal that it circles around to being weirdly refreshing.

Also, there is still no other fantasy author who handles period talk and birth control the way Pierce does. We make fun of the trope of fantasy birth control nowadays, but I rarely see it presented as it is here: as a part of normal puberty lessons and given long before sex is in the girl's radar. And even today with the glut of YA fantasy stories out there, I still have yet to see menstruation be portrayed as frequently or as bluntly as Pierce writes it.

There was a period of time publishers really tried to push the Tortall books as straight YA, which doesn't work for that reason alone. You gotta market them to middle schoolers. They're the ones just starting puberty talks, and getting scenes like this is so good for their brains.

Moving on: I fucking love these characters. Alanna was an icon of brash, temperamental heroines that have shaped my taste to this day. I love how even in the first book, Jon is kinda shitty. I adore George Cooper. Talk about a taste maker the way this man sets a standard.

I just can't be coherent when it comes to any Tortall books. I have no thoughts. Head empty. I am going to binge the rest of this series as quickly as I can before my library book comes in. Then normal book content will resume.

Before I go, I need to talk about the book covers.

Growing up, my sister and I had these covers:

Which, god. I love them. The black is striking. The art is incredible. Alanna looks so good. They were the perfect pocket-size too. I was going to buy the same edition for my copies, but instead I got the 40th anniversary reprints:

Not bad at all! These books have had some seriously bad covers, and these look great! Very anime, which will appeal to the 11 year olds who need to have their socks rocked by this series.

But, man. I really miss those black covers. One day I will splurge and buy a second set of them just so that I can stare at the art.

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

A/N: been gone for a hot minute due to personal circumstances but just wanted to drop a lil something (that anyone who watches Doctor Who will be able to tell I started writing a BIT ago given the references here lol) to let you guys know I’m still kickin it <3

warnings: slight hint at an age gap but nothing specific

A Smile

You can imagine the rest of the team would be floored to hear that Spencer has actually exchanged texts with you on a multitude of occasions, outside of professional settings. Numbers were swapped on your first day, naturally, and to begin with you only dared text Spencer if you had absolutely no other choice (if another member of the team could text him, you’d busy yourself to ensure they would, rather than ask you, to save you the embarrassment). But, ever since the first occasion that you texted Spencer a random question out of hours - regarding trivia you definitely hadn’t spent a concerning amount of time deciding on before you sent it to him - you have formed a bond that’s unspoken beyond typed words.

You: so, are you looking forward to the 60th Anniversary? :P

As you hit send, you roll onto your bed, grinning giddily down at your phone. In no more than a few seconds, your screen tells you that your beloved genius is already typing back to you, and within a minute, you receive the paragraph you’d anticipated.

Spencer: Absolutely. The revival of Russel T. Davies’ era, coupled with the return of Murray Gold’s legendary scores, are sure to ignite the spark of nostalgia that the show has been missing for some time. In particular, I am looking forward to seeing how Russel will format this new regeneration of the Doctor, and how many references to his predecessors will decorate the anniversary episodes, especially. I take it you are excited for the anniversary episodes, too, hence the question?

His formality and enthusiasm being conveyed in a way that is so distinctly Spencer, even over text, is enough to have you giggling. You know by now that if you ask something about one of Spencer’s interests, whether it be facts, statistics, generalized trivia, questions, literature, Star Trek or, in this case, Doctor Who, there is no way he can downplay his excitement.

You: knew it! :D and yeah, I'm super excited!!

Mostly, you are thrilled by the thought of discussing the episodes at great length with Spencer for weeks after they’ve aired, but you keep that safely in the subtext of your conversation.

Spencer: Of course you knew. Perhaps we could share a live commentary on the anniversary episodes, if we’re not otherwise engaged with a case?

Only Spencer Reid can make your heart stop with a suggestion like that. Before you can consider any consequences, you are frantically typing back to him.

You: I’d love that! will the commentary be by text or call?

He is typing the moment your message reaches him, his ability to read at what you consider to be the speed of light making for a wonderfully speedy texting partner in every conversation you have.

Spencer: Either is fine, but if we aren’t away on a case, I must admit the idea of experiencing the episodes together in person would be most preferable. It eradicates the risk of our viewings not being synced up or our call connection potentially spoiling the immersion. What do you think?

And just like that, he’s stopped your heart again. In fact, you truly have to consider whether Spencer Reid has figured out a means of reaching through his phone to yours, to snatch your heart right out of your chest. As though he hadn’t already stolen it on the day you met.

You: I think you’re right, like always, Doctor Reid :P

That’s a rational reply, you think. Not too eager. Not the resounding ‘yes’ that every fiber of your being is screaming. In the chess game that is how-to-text-Spencer-Reid, you have marked yourself as the queen. He’d tell you that’s not how chess works, but he’d probably also agree.

Spencer: I’m far from right “always”, but I very much appreciate that you think so.

You’re about to reply, when another text appears on your screen.

Spencer: (:

Doctor Spencer Reid has double-texted you. And, not only that, he’s sent you a smiley face. This is unprecedented. Your jaw drops.

You: omg you did not just send that

Honestly, your life is flashing before your eyes as you lie on your bed. Is this the power of your influence? Could you truly indoctrinate older men into sending emojis? Could this really be you?

Spencer: I most certainly did. I’ll even do it again.

Spencer: (:

He had to send it as a separate text. He couldn’t just add the smiley face to the end of his original message. No, of course he couldn’t.

You: omg who are you!!

You’re laughing now. Actually, properly laughing at the ridiculousness of this situation. Wait until Penelope hears about this.

Spencer: I don’t think these suit me very much, but they are fun. What about this one - 🙂

This is going too far. You’ve played God. You’ve flown too close to the sun. You’ve created a monster in the form of Spencer Reid using emojis while still being so formal. Still, you can’t deny that this is perhaps the funniest conversation you have ever had, with anyone, specifically because it perfectly demonstrates the unique humor shared between the two of you.

You: woah! careful! don’t push it, genius!!

And, in response to that, Spencer Reid is left with a philosophical question he has never before pondered: how does one convey sincere laughter via text? This reply takes him the longest, because he has to consider it very carefully. He wants it to indicate how funny he did find your message, and does find you, in general. He wants it to be obvious in its intent and impossible to misunderstand. So, after four minutes, you receive a text that has you laughing so hard you very nearly fall off of your bed.

Spencer: Haha.

Sometimes, that’s simply how your text conversations with Spencer end. While he does, generally, prefer a more traditional ending in the form of a goodnight text (that he actually makes the effort to sign off with a “- Spencer x”, like it’s a handwritten letter), he enjoys the nuances of an open end, on the basis it means a conversation with you doesn’t have to end. Only has to pause, temporarily, until one of you picks it back up again. There is something poetic, Spencer thinks, to the notion of you being his constant both in metaphor and literally in a text conversation that isn’t formally closed. That door is left open to you, much like the door to his heart is.

And that night, he closes his eyes with a smile on his face at the thought of you, everything you are, everything you make him feel. Everything that makes you, you, and how that makes you everything to him.

A text could never truly convey the heaven that you bring to him by existing, but just like proposing plans to watch Doctor Who with you, it’s a good place to start.