#sometimes I wish I picked an easier job because no one seems to get how insane it is sometimes

[hobisexually]

x

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley are both determined to enjoy your last day together, but that doesn't mean neither of you are hurting. More than anything, he wants you to stay with him past the World Series. You wish you could reassure him that's what you want to do, too.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley's words were echoing in your ears. "What do you have in New York that you couldn't have in San Diego? Here. With me."

You couldn't answer him. There was nothing you could say, really. Instead you sat on his lap until your tears stopped and you felt like you could breathe again. Breathing was always easier around Bradley, because he seemed to be the only one who wasn't rushing you or shoving you along through deadlines and connecting flights and time zones. 

You couldn't exactly tell him you had stronger feelings for him after knowing him for nine whole days than you did for the last guy you dated for a year. And you couldn't tell him you felt lonely in your own skin sometimes, like nobody else could understand how hard it was to love your job but hate the constant demands. You couldn't tell him that feeling lessened with each passing day he was near you. 

When you finally eased away from him and kissed his lips, you tried to smile as you said, "Let's just enjoy our last day together." That was all you could offer him. That was all you could have from him in return.

Bradley closed his eyes, and said, "Sure, Ace." And you couldn't fight the urge to smooth out the crease along his forehead with your lips. You kissed him there, and he didn't stop you. There were so many things you didn't know about him, hadn't bothered to ask. And there was no reason for him to ask you either, because this was all a fling with an expiration date. But you were curious, especially after spending so much time in his home. 

You were still smoothing your fingers along the scars and lines on his face when he opened his pretty brown eyes and tried to smile at you. By the time you were on your flight to Boston on Monday morning, you'd be craving the feel of his skin and the scratch of his mustache.

"It's late," he said softly, his voice raspier than ever. Your lips were on his before you could even reason with yourself that you needed to start pulling back in self preservation. And of course he kissed you back just right with his big hands on your back. When you pulled away, there were more tears in your eyes, and you wanted so badly to hide them. But he kissed your cheeks and said, "We should try to get some sleep. I want you to have energy when you're in Boston."

You nodded and stood, and you watched him gracefully pull his big body off the cold floor. Wordlessly, he picked up your computer and took your hand, leading you back to his bedroom. He carefully plugged your computer in so it would be charged up for game seven, and he kissed your forehead. "I already brushed my teeth. I'll warm up the bed."

When you slipped into the bathroom, you had to scrub at the tear streaks on your face as more threatened to fall. You brushed your teeth and used the toilet, and then you realized you still hadn't actually booked your flight. You were swiping at your tears when you walked back into his bedroom and saw him in bed with his head on his pillow and his hands over his eyes. 

He must have heard you, because he sat up a little bit and pulled the covers back as he said, "Come on, Ace." Then he paused. "You're crying again."

You located your phone and whispered, "I still have to book my flight." You were clutching your phone to your chest as Bradley took a deep breath and patted the spot in bed next to him. You slid in, and he wrapped his arms around you, making it somehow easier and harder for you to open up the airline app and search.

Direct flight. 6:35 on Monday morning. One seat left. It seemed too fateful for you to look any further. You could be in Boston late in the afternoon and go right to TD Garden and start your research and maybe get a jump on the exclusive. You bought the ticket and then tossed your phone aside as you buried your face in Bradley's chest.

He must have seen your phone screen, because he whispered, "I can drop you off at the airport." You just nodded as he rubbed his hand up and down your arm, soothing you. "Hey, I thought we were going to enjoy our last day together."

You took a deep breath, indulging in the smell of his skin before you looked up at him. "That's what I want." Bradley looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before he turned off the lamp next to the bed.

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

You were curled up sweetly with your head on his chest, but to Bradley, it felt like there was an unmovable weight that was crushing him. Your upcoming schedule would have you flying all over the place, and he wanted to know he did everything he could to let you get some rest now. He wanted you to think back to the World Series with him and smile, not feel stress from it. 

Maybe you'd text or call him occasionally, when you could. The idea of it took some of the pain in his chest away. Just seeing a message from Ace on his phone would probably destroy and excite him equally. 

"Bradley?" you asked softly. Your voice surprised him since your breathing had finally evened out to a slow and steady rhythm. 

"Yeah, Baby?"

Your arm draped across his abs tightened around him as you said, "There are so many things I don't know about you. It's like we did this all backwards in a way, and I'm missing some little pieces of it all. I don't even know how old you are."

"I'm thirty five," he replied instantly. Then he told you when his birthday was in June. 

"I should have known you were born during baseball season," you replied with a smile in your voice. "Where are you from?"

"Virginia. And I gotta say, I like the east coast girls, Ace."

He wanted to make you laugh, wanted to try to ease your mind, but you just said, "They like you, too."

Then you asked him more about his family, but there wasn't a lot to say. And you asked him about the Navy, but there was too much for your last twenty four hours together. And he wanted to know everything about you, too. So he repeated a lot of the questions you already asked, and eventually you yawned and rolled onto your side, pulling him with you. 

Bradley knew it was time to let you get some sleep as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. This time he was almost certain your even breathing meant you were out, and he let himself relax with the back of your body nestled against the front of his. He was nearly asleep now, too, but he indulged in one last question. "Would you stay, Ace? Would you stay if you could?"

Once again he slept so soundly with you cradled in his arms, warmer and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. When he woke up, he'd barely moved, because you were facing him in his arms, still sound asleep. It was Sunday. Game seven. You'd be well and truly gone by this time tomorrow. Bradley wanted to wake you up and talk to you, hear your voice. He wanted to spend the whole day in your presence. But this was kind of perfect, too. You trusted him next to you after just a few nights together. 

He pressed his lips softly to your forehead and let you sleep as long as you needed to, and his reward when you woke up was the look of pure happiness on your face when you realized you were with him. His heart ached as he watched your expression falter just enough that he knew you realized what today meant.

"Bradley," you whispered, voice laced with sadness as you let your palm rest on his cheek before pushing your fingers back through his hair. "Bradley, I-"

But you didn't finish your sentence. You kissed him instead. You were wearing his Padres jersey and a pair of his socks, and Bradley never wanted you to stop. He wanted you to have his clothing at your disposal whenever you wanted to wear it. 

"Ace," he grunted, rolling you onto your back. You didn't let him break the kiss as you kept your hands on his cheeks and in his hair. Your thighs were spread wide for him, and you moaned softly into his mouth when he settled against your core. 

Bradley's cock was heavy and throbbing as he carefully pulled his underwear down around his thighs. Your little moans were so pretty as he devoured your mouth and caressed your opening with his tip until you were bucking up against him with a gasp. 

"I want you."

Well that was fine with Bradley, because he wanted you. And he wanted to give you everything. He wanted you to be his. So he guided himself slowly until he was deep inside you, and he let himself pretend it was already Monday and you decided to stay.

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

Bradley's arms were wrapped around you from behind, and his chin came to rest on your shoulder. "Let me make you breakfast. To say thank you for letting me eat all your food," you whispered. It was hard not to smile when you were wearing his clothing and he had you in his arms like this. 

"I'd rather make it together," he murmured softly next to your ear. "Rather spend the whole day touching you."

You closed your eyes and swallowed past the lump in your throat. This would never work, no matter how badly you wished it could. Bradley wanted to touch you all day when you were here with him, but you'd always be away. You'd be chasing exclusives and jumping through all the hoops Greg set out for you. And Bradley would grow tired of your lifestyle, crave someone easier to be with. You were already too much for him.

"Can we make breakfast together?" he asked, and you realized you and he had snuggled in bed for such a long time, you only had a few hours until you had to be at Petco Park. 

"Yeah," you replied softly. You did most of the work, and he did most of the touching, but a little while later, you and he were on the couch again with plates of eggs and bacon. 

Bradley's pretty brown eyes were on your face as you took a bite and smiled softly. "It's yummy. I like cooking with you."

He closed his eyes and balanced his plate on his knee. "We could keep doing this, Ace. We could definitely do this again." When he opened his eyes, he asked, "Maybe I could meet you in New York whenever you finally make your way back there? Or maybe you could come back here if you have a day off? I know it wouldn't be easy. I wouldn't expect it to be. When I get deployed, it's kind of the same thing. We'd understand each other that way."

"Bradley," you whispered. "That would only make things worse. We'd never see each other, and-"

"Just think about it." His voice was low and harsh, and his eyes were pleading. You didn't respond except to pick at the rest of your breakfast silently while he did the same. But as soon as his hand came to rest on your leg, he took your plate and set it aside next to the box of baseball cards you'd been looking through on his coffee table. 

"You have some rare cards," you murmured, daring to meet his eyes again. "They were your dad's?" 

You'd taken the time to ask him more about himself last night, and you kind of wished you hadn't. Bradley had answered every question you tossed at him, and you learned all about Nick and Carole Bradshaw as a result. 

"Yeah, they were my dad's. My mom gave them to me when I was ten or eleven. I've been hauling them around with me everywhere since she died."

"Hey, that's dedication," you whispered.

You ran your fingers along the edge of the box before reaching inside. As soon as your body was no longer touching his, you felt Bradley scoot a little closer and slip his hand around your waist. He found you desirable, maybe even lovely, and when he kissed your shoulder through the jersey fabric, you turned your head to kiss his lips. 

Before things could get too heated on the couch, you murmured, "I need to get a shower and start working on my article. You coming with me?"

You led him into his own bathroom where he turned on the shower and then took his time unbuttoning the jersey. Inch by inch he guided the shirt open, his fingers skimming your skin, making you whimper. "You're beautiful," he whispered, cheeks flushed and eyes on yours as he rubbed his hands along your sides and down to your butt. You shrugged out of his Padres jersey and let it fall to the floor as he kissed you. 

He backed you up against the wall, and his lips were relentless on yours as you moaned his name. When he broke the kiss, he cupped your face in his big palm. "So beautiful." Then you stepped under the spray of the shower, and you were treated to his hands and mouth on your slick body. 

This must have all been part of the long goodbye, because you let him whisper the sweetest words against your skin as you rode his fingers. And it broke your heart a little bit more when you felt his mustache on your ear. Your name was a broken cry on his lips as you used your hands on him as well. 

Your legs felt like jello as he kept you pinned against the shower wall with his body. Your hands were covered in his cum, and he was looking at you with wide eyes and gently parted lips. "Ace." He shook his head. "Baby. Please."

More than anything, you wanted to tell him that you thought you could love him. But you pushed him away from you instead. "I can't be late again today."

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

Bradley found himself right back where he had been during game one. You and he sat side by side at the narrow counter in the press box at Petco Park. As good as it felt to acknowledge that this was all familiar to him by now, he knew this was the last time for it. You were keeping your stats and typing up your article, but your gaze landed on his face frequently. Your eyes were soft yet guarded, and every time you let your hand rest on his thigh, you kissed his lips. 

He couldn't give a shit about the game. Ten days ago he was as excited as everyone else in San Diego about the Padres, but now it didn't matter. "You want something to eat? Some water?" he asked you softly, glaring at Quincy and the others every time they so much as looked at you. 

"Please," you replied, marking down another Padres home run that Bradley wasn't allowed to cheer for but didn't really want to anyway. 

"Be right back." He stood and made his way to the tables of food. He picked up a plate, but he just stared at everything before glancing back at you. Would anyone be there to make sure you ate and took breaks in Boston? Would anyone else even care? He knew your boss didn't. And he knew you would keep pushing yourself to be better no matter what. 

"Fuck," he muttered, closing his eyes against more tears. He wanted to take care of you in the stupidest ways. Check on you a few times during the day. Make sure you weren't hungry. Keep chocolate chips in his kitchen. "Fuck."

He filled a plate with food as Petco Park erupted in more loud cheers, but only you really mattered. Bradley kissed your cheek as he sat down with your food and water. 

"Padres are going to win," you murmured as you opened the bottle. "By five runs." Bradley just nodded, because even though there were still two innings left, he knew you were probably right. "Are you excited?" 

"About the game?" he asked softly as your hand came to rest on his leg. 

"Mmhmm," you hummed, taking a sip and then setting the water aside. But you looked more apprehensive than happy, and Bradley certainly didn't feel happy that the World Series was nearly over. 

"The only thing I'm excited about is spending tonight with you." 

You laced your fingers with his and occasionally scribbled down the bare minimum on your stat sheet as your head came to rest on his shoulder. Bradley drew shapes on your back through your blouse just like he had during every other game. And he kissed the top of your head just like he'd done in bed. When the Padres won seven runs to two, you set your pencil down and ran your soft hand up along his neck. And the kisses were sweet, so sweet as everyone around you started to pack up to leave. 

Bradley knew there was a race now to be the first journalist to submit a clear, concise article chronicling game seven. He could hear the others talking about it. But you just kept kissing him, kept your hands on his face and in his hair. Nobody said a word to either of you as the press box cleared out, and you were in Bradley's lap with you finally broke the kiss. 

There were tears in your eyes when he whispered, "I have some champagne in the fridge. Let me take you back home so you can submit your article, and then we can celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

Bradley shrugged and kissed your damp cheek. "Celebrate how fucking cool you are. And how much I like you."

He was happy when you laughed, and he stood with you in his arms. It was a long walk through the crowds of people celebrating. He held your hand, and you stuck by his side the whole way back to the Bronco where he opened the door for you. The desire to make tonight a sweet goodbye instead of something painful had Bradley giving you just the softest touches and kisses. He didn't want this to end. 

You sat on his lap in his kitchen and finished your article, but you weren't rushing it. Bradley kissed your neck and offered up some thoughts as he read what you wrote, and you added some of them to your piece. He held onto you like he had all of those nights in the hotel rooms, and he swallowed against his sadness. He was going to miss doing this with you, too. Just simply sitting with you while you worked your magic on your computer. 

"I think it's done," you whispered, your fingers hovering as the cursor blinked over the Submit icon. "Game seven. That's it."

Bradley nuzzled against your neck. "Send it in, Baby. It's incredible, and people can't wait to read what you wrote." As soon as you sent it, you checked your email inbox for the receipt, and Bradley's eyes caught on the fresh batch of people trying desperately to recruit you. He tightened his arms around you as he skimmed the names, and he had to force himself to say, "Let's open that champagne." 

He didn't even have flutes, but you didn't seem to mind that he poured you some in a pint glass. You tapped it against his and then took a few sips, but when you met his eyes, you set your glass on the counter. "I'll never forget you, Bradley."

"Fuck," he gasped, setting his glass aside as well. Now your mouth tasted like the champagne as you and he slowly made your way back to his bedroom. He wanted to make it last for the rest of the night. Every button on your blouse was a privilege for him to undo. Your warm skin was soft against his rough hands. Your voice telling him you'd miss him sent the ache in his heart up into his throat. 

He was choked up by the time you were in his bed, completely naked and whispering his name. The room was mostly dark, but you were beautiful, and your voice was everything he wanted to hear. You pulled his body down on top of you, and his mouth found yours like it was a magnet.

He made love to you, fingers laced with yours, hands on the pillow above your head. Every roll of your hips soothed him and broke his heart. Every whisper of, "Bradley," left him wanting to beg you for more after this. Tomorrow and next week and next year. He wanted to stay buried inside you so your soft moans would never stop. Soft kisses to your face became more as he could taste the salt from your tears. 

"Don't cry, Ace," he whispered, dragging his lips to yours. You hiccupped softly, and he knew you were broken like he was. And he thought you felt like a better version of yourself when you were with him. He knew he was better around you. "Baby, don't cry."

"Can't help it," you replied as you nibbled on his lips. "You're just so... you're good. You make me feel good in so many ways."

When he rubbed his big hand down the length of your arm and neck to your chest, he felt your fingers in his hair. The words were right there along with the desire to say them. Would he feel better or worse if he did? Your soft hiccups turned to gentle moans as his fingers reached your clit. He knew exactly what you liked now, and he knew how to give it to you. Your hands held his body tight to yours, and his shallow thrusts grew erratic as he got close. And when you came for him, your body shivering before loosening into languid limbs and softer kisses, he pushed himself deep. For the last time. 

"Baby," he gasped, lips cascading down your neck as he came to rest on you. You held him close for so long without saying a word, he was a little afraid you weren't going to. But when you did, he kind of wished you hadn't. 

"I'll never forget you."

You slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, and Bradley took a minute to get himself cleaned up. He had to wipe his eyes as he leaned on his dresser, the ticket stub from game one hanging right in front of him. When he looked in the mirror, he looked truly miserable. When you returned from the bathroom, your face looked pinched in the darkness as you tossed your loose items into your luggage and set your tote bag next to his bedroom door. Then you slipped into his Padres jersey without a word and climbed in bed. 

When he eased himself next to you, he felt your hands on him immediately. You rolled onto your side and tugged on him until he was snuggled up behind you. When he wrapped his arms around your waist, you squeezed his hands until he wrapped them a little tighter. His lips were right at your ear as he whispered, "I'll take you to the airport. I'll drop you off. I already set an alarm."

Your response was so soft, he barely heard you say, "Okay."

But even your breathing was a little rough. Shallow, shaky breaths seemed to be the only thing either of you could handle, and Bradley tried to kiss your chin and jaw, tried to offer you comfort, but he was hurting too much. He just wanted to know what came next, and if you told him nothing, then he'd be devastated. But not knowing was worse at this point, so he forced one deep breath in and back out of his lungs. 

"Will you call me? From Boston?"

Your shallow breaths turned to a sob. "Bradley. That's not a good idea."

He held you a little tighter. Pressed his lips to your ear a little harder. Trying to live without you in his bed or at least your notifications on his phone screen just didn't seem possible at this point. "But you're everything I've been looking for, Ace."

"Bradley."

He could be good for you. He knew he could. But he didn't know what else to say as he clung to you, memorizing the way you felt and how you smelled. So he said the only thing he could. "You know how to reach me. You know where to find me."

You nodded your head against his pillow and whispered, "I know." And that was just the thing. You knew, but he didn't. He wouldn't know where you went after Boston unless you told him. He had no idea where in New York City you lived. He'd only have your phone number and your articles to read unless you wanted him to have more of you. He just wanted more of you. He wanted you to stay with him in any way you were willing to. And that's why he said it. Because it was true, and he was sure he wouldn't regret saying so.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

You didn't say another word to him. He must have fallen asleep eventually to the warmth of your body. He must have dozed soundly, calmed by your presence even though subconsciously he knew it was going to hurt again soon. But when he woke up to his alarm going off, you weren't next to him. The spot was still warm as he killed the alarm and ran his hand along the sheets where you should have been. 

"Ace," he rasped, panicking as he jumped out of bed and reached for his underwear. "Baby?" he called out as he pulled them on. He flipped the lightswitch next to his door and squinted against the intense brightness, but he noticed immediately that your bags were gone. The bathroom was empty. "Ace," he whispered as he darted into the kitchen. All he found was the mostly full bottle of champagne and the two half empty pint glasses.

He ran both hands through his hair as he paced around his kitchen and living room, tugging at the roots in frustration. His heart was beating so fast, he was sick and dizzy. He couldn't even look at the baseball card collection still out on his coffee table. Then he ran back to his bedroom and picked up his discarded phone. 

He called you, and it rang for a long time. When he got your voicemail message, he hung up and tried again. Once again it rang through. When he tried a third time, you ignored his call. Or maybe you'd turned your phone off. It went right to your voicemail. With tears in his eyes, he listened to your voice tell him that you weren't currently available to take his call, but you could leave a message for later. 

He walked back toward the door with tears in his eyes and turned the light off. As darkness surrounded him, he stumbled back to his bed. When it was time for him to leave a message, he swallowed hard, waited a few seconds and then said, "See ya, Ace."

Then he ended the call through his blurry tears and tossed his phone onto the floor as he climbed back in bed. 

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

I hurt my own feeling so much. Thanks for crying with me @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@backinwonderl4nd

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@pieceuvmind

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

[ifancyharry]

Bad habit (1)

In which YN is Harry’s daughter’s teacher, and she and Harry used to be friends in college; fluff; angst; dad!harry

Word count: 4.5k

First days of school were always chaotic, and YN, despite having been a teacher for two years of her life now, never got quite used to the tantrums little kids would throw on first days — and maybe the following week, or until they felt confident enough in the school environment that they didn’t miss their parents to the point of crying at the mere thought of them. 

September always carried with it a nostalgic feeling that YN loved, and she usually found herself thinking about warm sunny August days spent sunbathing and eating pasta salads. Her teacher salary didn’t allow much room for vacations, but YN managed to always find contentment in the premises of her hometown.

That’s what she’s thinking about when she walks through the school’s doors that Monday morning, waving at a couple of her coworkers to greet them. She usually was far more chatty, but she was feeling fidgety at the thought of meeting her new baby students, and she didn’t trust herself enough to chat with someone; who knows what she could say! 

No one truly understands YN, she’s younger than her coworkers and sometimes she feels like no one really cares about what she has to say. It’s been that way since she was a little baby, really, so she’s gotten quite used to it, and she doesn’t feel bad about it.

She often wonders if maybe there’s something wrong with the way she communicates, but her students seem to understand her rather well — as much as little kiddies can understand —, so she always crosses that thought off the list.  It doesn’t necessarily have to mean there’s something wrong with her, so she doesn’t know why sometimes she wonders if things would be a little different if she was different in the first place. 

She wishes it came a little easier, people never really seem to understand how hard it is to talk. It’s why she loves her job so much. Kids are easy to talk to, because most of the time they don’t remember conversations and they never question her on why she’s being quiet or in her mind, like most of her coworkers do. 

The bell rings at 8.30 sharp, and YN tries to put on the most heartwarming smile she knows, because she understands sometimes first days can be though. And not just for kids.

“Hi!” She coos when she sees a little girl walking in her classroom holding her mum’s hand. 

“I’m Miss YN, it’s a pleasure to meet you! What’s your name!”

The little girl hides behind her mum’s leg and YN frowns jokingly at her. 

“She’s shy… her name’s Amy” the mum says, throwing YN an apologetic look. 

“Hi, Amy! It’s okay. I understand shy.” She nods, crouching down on her legs to be at eye level with the small kid, “since you’re the first one, why don’t you choose your desk? Your mummy can help you pick it out?” 

The little girl nods her head against her mother’s jeans and YN smiles brightly at her.

With time, more kids start to come in, and YN greets all of them, trying to be as warm as possible. She talks to their parents and lets them stay with their children until they get accustomed to the classroom. Some of them already have friends, and it’s always easier for them to let go of their parents’ hands; for others, it takes a while, and YN tries to be as understanding as possible, especially with them.

When the clock strikes 9 am, only one chair is empty, and she wonders if maybe the school had mistaken the number of students who’d come in. She’s about to introduce herself to the class of small kids that are looking at her with bright eyes and shy smiles, when she hears a knock on the opened door, her body turning quickly at the sound.

She feels lightheaded as she takes in the image in front of her, and she grimaces in surprise. It’s Harry. The Harry. 

Many years have passed since the last time she saw him, but she knows she’d recognize him everywhere and in anytime.

He was three years older than her and used to hang out with her group. They attended the same creative writing class and she remembers how his knee used to brush against her thigh when he would fidget in his chair, readjusting his body as he cussed at the uncomfortableness of the wooden chairs.

She remembers how he always used to ask her for pens, sometimes for a spare sheet of paper or if he could borrow her laptop’s charger because “fuckin’ hell, — he would say, and YN would blush a little at the way he would close the space between them, reaching a hand to grab for the charger —  mine's completely gone ’n all m’work’s in there! Days worth o’work!”

He’s standing against the doorway, his body leaning against it, holding a pouty little kid on his opposite hip. 

He looks the same, a bit older, maybe, his hair less disheveled and his clothes more serious — he’s wearing grey tailored pants and a sweater vest with cherry blossom flowers on it, he lost the skinny jeans and his adored Chelsea boots, but it’s definitely still that guy she used to have a crush on all those years ago.

“YN?” Harry questions, tilting his head to the side in surprise. YN notices as the little girl in his hold buries her face in his neck, trying to hide from the attention.

“’s me, Harry! Y’remember, right? From college!” YN blushes a little at his words and tries to regain control of her body as she seems stuck to the linoleum floor. 

She’s a little taken a back at his remark; he thought she wouldn’t remember him! How would that even be possible, YN doesn’t know.

His voice hasn’t changed, it’s still the same scruffy and deep voice she used to blush upon hearing, and she remembers vaguely that one time on one of their usual hang outs, when he picked up a guitar and started singing, a little drunk on cheap beer, and she remembers wondering how his voice would sound whispering tender words in her ear…

“Of course I remember!” She smiles, trying to hide her nervousness, “of course!” She repeats, and, deep within her, she really hopes she’s coming across as cool and not as that completely shy and weird girl who used to have tons of pens and a crush on her older classmate who seemed to always steal them.

 “The world really is small, huh?” He remarks, a cheeky grin spreading across his mouth. 

“Yeah” she breaths out, smiling shyly at him, “it is.”

“Teaching, huh? I can see it” he says, nodding his head as he looks her up and down jokingly, and YN feels herself fluster under his gaze. She doesn’t understand why she still longs for his approval, but there’s something really tantalizing in the way he said ‘i can see it’, as if he was telling her a secret about herself she couldn’t wait to hear.

“And who is this?” She replies quickly, tilting her head to take a closer look at the baby on his hip, hoping to shift the conversation from her to him. If he’s bothered by the sudden change, he doesn’t show it, instead, he brings a hand to cup the little girl’s head and pats at it gently, “This is Aidi” he smiles proudly, “m’daughter”.

Oh… Oh!. YN doesn’t know why she’s so surprised by his remark. If she remembers correctly — and she does, because YN isn’t one to forget details easily — he should be around 29 now, a perfectly appropriate age to have a three, four (YN can’t be sure, she looks small but she hasn’t seen her face still) child, as much as there really could be an appropriate age to be a parent. 

Maybe, but she doesn’t like this thought and she doesn’t want to linger in it more than she needs, it’s what — or, should she say, who — comes with a child, that startles her: a partner; and at the idea of Harry being married, she feels lightheaded. It feels weird, thinking about the Harry she used to know, being married. Not that he wasn’t marriage material, he often used to say how he wanted to have a family pretty young, it’s just weird to her how his life could have gone on and there’s parts of it she wasn’t around to participate in.

She tries to scramble her brain and see if she remembers Instagram posts of her friends at his wedding, or at least an engagement dinner, but she can’t find any, but she isn’t sure if that’s because she isn’t in contact with her old friend group anymore.

“Hi, Aidi” she coos, raising her hand in a wave when the little girl raises her head from her father’s neck. “I’m YN, it’s very nice to meet you” 

Aidi has light brown hair wrapped in a beautiful braid, and YN wonders if Harry was the one that did her hair or his partner did, her eyes are unmistakably her father’s, a deep shade of green, with a little twinkle to them that makes them so unique. 

YN remembers many times where she had found herself thinking of the correct term to name the color of his eyes, if ever it existed, and she always came back empty handed. When she thought they were a deep forest green, he would look at her and they’d be a mix of green water, like the color the lake behind her grandparent’s house would turn out in the spring. Other times — YN noticed mostly at night —, they would be a dark shade of green, like the way a forest would look in the rain if she lived in a dark academia movie.

Aidi opens her pouty lips to let out a shy ‘hi’, but when YN takes a step closer to them, she snuggles closer to Harry, clutching his sweater in her small hands.

“’s the reason we’re late…” he sighs, “she’s nervous” he explains, and he lowers his head to look at his daughter’s face, the arm that’s holding her against him flexes a little and Aidi squirms in his hold, holding tighter — if possible — on his shoulders.

“It’s okay” YN smiles softly, but she isn’t talking to him, “first days can be a little though, huh?”

Aidi nods her head against her father’s neck and YN raises her eyes to meet Harry’s, and she flusters when she realizes he was already looking at her, an amused twinkle shading his gaze.

He tries to lower her down on the ground, but the little girl just squeezes his sweater tighter and kicks her legs out in protest, so Harry raises again with a sigh and Aidi resumes happily her previous position on his hip.

“Y’re bein’ irrational about this” he stresses, but YN looks at him amused, because it’s not like a little kid understands what ‘being irrational’ means.

“I’m s’sorry” he smiles nervously, shaking his head, “she’s not usually like this.”

“’s okay, you could… you could stay, for today… let her get comfortable?” YN suggests in a low voice, hoping Aidi isn’t listening to her. She doesn’t know if Harry needs to go to work, despite how much the school advises the parents to take the first day off, because children never really go willingly and always need a little push, she doesn’t know if he received the email, perhaps his wife did and didn’t let him know? YN feels silly for thinking like this. She’s usually rational about these kinds of things, and she never lets herself linger in inappropriate thoughts about her students’ parents, but he isn’t just a parent, and despite him being someone else’s Harry, there was a time where she fantasized he could be her’s. 

Fantasized is the correct term, because as I said YN is pretty rational in her daily life and even in her daily daydreaming, and she knows rather well how Harry never even spared her a thought, in college. She was just the girl that lent him pens.

“Figure I could stay” he nods, more to himself really, and YN wonders if maybe he has to inform someone that he’s not coming home right after dropping Aidi off, “really just needed to go grocery shopping, but I guess we’ll go after, huh?” 

Aidi seems to light up at the suggestion and she raises her head to look around the classroom.

“Daddy is stayin’?” She asks hopefully to YN, and when she nods her head, Aidi squirms in her dad’s hold and demands to be let down.

Harry chuckles at his daughter and throws a quick amused glance at YN when Aidi begins to tug him towards a small, baby blue, round table, where a couple of kids are coloring a drawing YN had printed out and left on the table before their arrival that morning.

Harry isn’t the only parent that stayed, and despite some of her coworkers disapproving of her method of teaching, she knows the kids had to warm up to her slowly, and if she demanded the parents off, it would be extremely difficult to get in their good graces.

She understood first days could be though, and she remembers how hard it was for her every time she started something new, a feeling that never really leaves you (not even many years later, when she no longer has first days), so she would let the parents stay as long as they could.

Of course, when she suggested Harry to stay, she only had Aidi’s best interest at heart, it wasn’t like she wanted him to stay, and perhaps talk to him, or maybe catch him looking at her with the corner of her eye when she was busy playing blocks with a baby student. It wasn’t like that at all. So why was her skin burning under his gaze for all the two hours he colored with his daughter?

…

Harry and Aidi leave around noon that day, and when Harry complains that it’s too early and he needs a couple of hours in the afternoon to work, YN reassures him quietly while Aidi is putting her little coat on, that she’ll get used to school hours and she’ll slowly but eventually want to stay longer; it’s always like that, and kids are simple beings, and pretty similar in their behaviors. 

So he leaves with a resigned sigh and a chatty baby on his hip, and YN follows them with her gaze before going back to give her attention to the little kid fussing in her lap and chatting her ear off about his holidays in the countryside during the summer.

She smiles and nods her head every once in a while, to assure him she’s listening and is interested in his story, but she can’t help but let her mind wander to the thought of seeing Harry for the first time since college. He looked so mature and put together, she feels small and silly in her choice of outfit (simple jeans and a sweater with a bunny printed on it — that the kids loved!), and she wonders wether Harry was making fun of her when he told her he saw her as a teacher. What did that mean? She doesn’t remember talking about a teaching career with him, and she certainly doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with being a teacher, at all. So, was he making fun of her? He must have been joking and she, as always, didn’t get the joke. But why did it matter? 

She doesn’t know, and she tries to think about what he possibly could’ve meant that didn’t involve making fun of her, but came up empty handed, and once again, she finds herself thinking about him the same way she did in college, with a tang bitter taste of ‘what if’s.

…

“Sorry we’re late… Someone was a little grumpy this mornin’, huh?” 

The rest of the month had gone by quickly; YN isn’t required to come in every morning — she alternates mornings with the other teacher, Miss Enya, so she doesn’t get to see Harry as often as she’d like, and when he comes to pick up Aidi in the late afternoon (he had started to pick her up a little bit later with every day that passed, claiming he could really use the extra hours to work, and he had told YN to call him if Aidi started asking about him), he greets YN with a brief wave of the hand, which is kind of awkward, both to him and to YN, but she goes with it and waves back.

Sometimes, when Aidi takes a while to get her little coat on, and she takes her time saying bye to her classmates (because she’s very much a loving kid and she can’t just leave without saying goodbye, her daddy always tells her it’s impolite!), Harry chats a bit with YN, mostly about the weather (“’s crazy, this weather! ’s so hot I think I’ll melt”)  or about Aidi, asking her if she’s been good and whether she’s getting along with the other kids, and YN is polite, always polite, she answers his questions and laughs a little at his jokes, and in a way, it feels to her like time hasn’t passed, and she’s still that girl that used to have a crush on her older friend in college.

It’s Wednesday now, September is almost over and with it the warm days, leaving place to the chilly weather sneaking on you when you’re least expecting it.

The week had been calmer than usual, kind of uneventful, really, a couple of kids got sick with the flu at the beginning of the week, and by mid week the class was almost halved, whether they really got sick or their parents were just preventing that from happening, YN didn’t know, but it was fine either way and she understood the precautions taken.

That’s why when Harry comes in that morning, a little after 9 am, YN waves his tardiness off nonchalantly, “it’s okay!” She smiles at him kindly, “most of the kids are at home with the flu, though” she pouts, looking around the room at the small group of students playing with legos on the floor.

“Oh! Sorry to hear that” He reciprocates her pout, letting his daughter on the ground and holding out her small backpack for her to take.

They watch as Aidi walks slowly to the coat hangers, hanging her backpack on the hook and then her little coat.

When she takes a seat on the table to color a cute bunny YN had printed that morning, Harry shifts his eyes to glance at YN beside him, that is still looking at his daughter lovingly.

“Tha’s a nice shirt ye’re wearin’!” He chuckles, rising his brows and pinching the fabric of her shirt between his thumb and index finger. 

YN tries to control the redness that creeps up on her cheeks when she turns her head to face him, looking down at her shirt with a printed bunny dressed up in a ghost costume, where his hand is still holding the pale yellow fabric of her shirt between his fingers.

“This is a very fancy shirt, Harry. I take bunnies very seriously” she pouts, her brows dipped. 

“Oooh,” he coos, “yeah, I remember.”

“What do you mean?” She says.

This thing with bunnies had started when YN was around five (her first stuffed animal had been a bunny and she found great comfort in Mr Carrots — that was his name), and it kind of stuck with her; whenever she had something important to do she would have a little bunny with her, whether it be a pendant on a necklace or just printed on her shirt, she’d feel comfort knowing she’d have a bunny with her.

“I remember” he repeats, “from college. You had that… that necklace, I think. Oh, and the notebooks, I remember those as well.” 

“Oh.” YN doesn’t know what else to say, and she knows she’s being awkward, of course she knows! But what is she supposed to say? He remembers probably the most intimate detail about her, and once again she is stuck asking herself, what does it mean? For him to remember? Does it have to mean something? Because it’s not like she was hiding the bunnies… she had them splattered on her shirt! 

“Yeah” he nods, eyeing her carefully. He retreats his hand quickly, almost as if the shirt had caught on fire and his fingers’d started to burn, and he clears his throat, embarrassment pumping through his body.

“I have t’go, now.” He chuckles nervously, “need t’get Aidi tha’cereal she always eats in t’morning”.

“Of course, of course” YN nods, waving a hand in front of them to dismiss him. 

He waves at her awkwardly before stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, turning back towards the door.

YN doesn’t wait for him to get out of the classroom before she turns the other way, walking towards the group of kids that are playing on the ground.

…

“‘llo?” 

“Harry? It’s YN, well the… the school” YN rambles, holding her phone between her cheek and her shoulder as she holds the thermometer against Aidi’s temple.

She’s got the little girl curled in her lap as she lulls her back and forth, trying to soothe her the best she can, because she knows from experience that the infirmary always scares kids the most; apparently when painting the school no one thought about extending the silly cartoon characters that are painted on the classroom’s walls to the infirmary as well.

“Yes, ‘f course. Wha’s wrong?”

“Aidi’s burning up… I’m taking her temperature now, I think she’s… she’s sick?” She doesn’t know why it comes out as a question, but it does, and YN curses herself in her head for being like this. She’s got told many times to be careful when calling the parents, because most of them freak out simply from seeing the school’s caller ID, so she needs to be really more considerate in the way she delivers news.

“’s okay, I’ll come get ‘er, yeah?” He says, and YN hears shuffling from the other side of the line, and she wonders if he’s putting on his coat.

He sounds calm, and she’s glad she didn’t worry him, because it’s really just a fever and there’s nothing to worry about, but Aidi is little and she’s hurting, and she’d understand if Harry had freaked out a little bit.

“Okay, yes, yes” she agrees.

“Be there in 10”, he says, and she hangs up the phone and puts it back in the back pocket of her jeans.

She wonders if Harry has notified Aidi’s mum, and for a brief minute, she ponders whether she should ask the little girl in her lap, but then she feels extremely guilty she would even take that in account, and she tosses the thought out of her head, reminding herself it’s none of her business.

“Your daddy is coming” she coos, and Aidi shifts in her lap to look up at her. 

“Miss YN, my tummy hurts” she whines, big tears pooling in her green eyes that look up at her and YN feels her heart clutch in her chest.

“I know, I know” she nods, petting her hair to help her soothe a bit, lulling her back and forth.

When the thermometer’s timer rings, YN removes it from her temple and winces when she checks the temperature.

“Just a few more minutes” YN whispers against her hair.

After what could’ve been five minutes, but felt like hours, YN sees Harry rush through the school’s infirmary, and when he spots them he raises his brows in a greeting manner.

“Hey” YN whispers to the sleepy toddler that’s curled up on her chest, “your daddy is here”

“Daddy?” Aidi mumbles in a small voice, raising her head to look up at her dad.

She knuckles at her eye and YN smiles softly at her, petting her hair once again.

“Hey” Harry sighs, crunching down on the ground to be eye level with his child, “how ye doin’, bug?” 

“Hurts” she whimpers, raising her arms to signal him she wants to be picked up.

“I know, ’s okay” he props her on his hip and starts rubbing her back soothingly, cooing soft words in her ear.

“I think she’ll be fine with some bed rest… it’s normal for kids to get sick this time of the year” YN reassures him, placing a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

“Yeah… ’s just… she’s never been sick ’n I don’ know how… she’s little” he takes a big sigh and looks at her, his panicked eyes burning in hers, and it’s only then that YN realizes he’s worried. Of course he is! And how stupid of her to think he wouldn’t be. It’s his child and she’s in pain, YN doesn’t have children of her own and she can only imagine in a certain way what could it mean.

“Harry, hey” she squeezes his shoulder with her hand, “she’s going to be fine. It’s just a fever, yeah? Just a fever”

He nods at her words, albeit unconvinced, and he tilts his head to look at his little girl that’s sleeping with her face smushed against his shoulder, her cheeks red with the warmth of the fever.

“It’s going to be fine” YN repeats.

…

New message:

from: YN

to: Harry Styles 

Hi, how are you?

Hi, Harry, how is Aidi?

Hi, how’s it going?

Hi, Harry, it’s YN. How is Aidi? How are you? :)

YN sends that last text and throws her phone on the couch next to her, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

She sighs loudly before picking up her phone again and unlocking it, the messages app opens immediately and she reads again the text she’d written, the smiley face at the end mocking her.

“Fuck!” She whines, “A fucking smiley face?! Why are you so awkward!” 

She doesn’t wait for him to answer before she gets up from the couch and heads to the kitchen to cook something for dinner.

She’s staring at her empty fridge when she hears her phone’s chime, and she hurries back to the living room, a pep in her step as she anticipates in her head what his answer could be.

from: Harry Styles

to: YN

Hi!! She’s okay now, the fever’s  gone down a bit, but she still isn’t eating :(

And I’m good btw

How r u?

She reads the text probably four times before responding, and this time she tries not to be as serious as she was in the first one.

from: YN

to: Harry Styles

I’m good too

Happy to hear that :)

Not that she isn’t eating… that sucks :’(

from: Harry Styles

to: YN

<3

YN feels her heart skip a beat.

He sent a heart. A heart!!! If she was 14 years old she’d do a little happy dance and probably think about it for the rest of the evening, but she hasn’t been 14 in a long time, and she sticks to just liking his message and locking her phone, making her way back to the kitchen to finally eat something. 

She isn’t 14 anymore, yes, but she can’t help but think about that heart for the rest of the evening.

…

Aidi comes back to school a week later, and she greets YN with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, and YN holds her tight to her chest, happy to see that she’s alright. 

YN and Harry both watch as Aidi greets her classmates, a pep in her step as she runs to them, ready to tell them all about the bad bug she caught that made her sick (as her daddy had explained).

“I’m happy to see she’s alright” YN says, smiling fondly at the sight in front of her.

“Yeah… me too” he sighs, “I wanted to thank yeh… fo’ takin’ care of ‘er”

“Harry” she chimes in, “it’s my job. You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do, though. Y’re a teacher, aren’t yeh? Not a nurse” he shrugs, smiling a cheeky grin at her.

“You do have a point” she laughs, nodding her head, “but you don’t have to thank me. I didn’t do anything special.” 

“Still” he shrugs once again, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. “We should catch up… sometime… ’s been s’long” 

“Yes” she nods swiftly, maybe a little too excitedly to not be embarrassing, “yes… I would like that”

“Fine then… I’ll text yeh, yeah?” He says, taking the keys of his car out of the pocket of his coat and playing with the keychain with his fingers, rolling it around absentmindedly.

“Have t’go now”

“Yeah” she agrees, but he’s already turned around. 

YN doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline that’s making her see things, or if maybe she’s the one that’s coming down with a fever now, and it’s making her delusional, but she swears she saw a bunny shaped keychain attached to his car keys, and she feels her heart beat loud against her chest. She really hopes she isn’t imagining things.

PLEASE let me know if you want part 2 and if you liked this!!! 💞

Read part 2 here!!

[farfromstrange]

Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff. 

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people. 

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life? 

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag. 

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t. 

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it. 

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show. 

“Smells good,” he says. 

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it. 

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him. 

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter. 

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him. 

“Fine,” I say. 

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry. 

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself. 

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink. 

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended. 

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause. 

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry. 

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself. 

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body. 

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that. 

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time. 

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t. 

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him. 

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time. 

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again. 

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him. 

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano. 

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me. 

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again. 

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life. 

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing. 

“Work?”

I nod. 

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles. 

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me. 

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better. 

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts. 

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget. 

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows. 

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.” 

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. 

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am. 

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do. 

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg. 

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him. 

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week. 

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans. 

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind. 

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it. 

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him. 

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full. 

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it. 

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy. 

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.” 

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good. 

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt. 

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for. 

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet. 

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be. 

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me. 

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says. 

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.” 

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away. 

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him. 

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.” 

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him. 

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you. 

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips. 

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms. 

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost. 

“Okay.” 

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.” 

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

[leqonsluv3r]

funeral

—your boyfriend leon supports you after you start your new job, a drabble

masterlist taglist

an: this is so self indulgent because i just started my new job. i needed to write this though, to get it out of my system and to stay somewhat active. imagine whatever leon you desire, used re2 for aesthetic purposes <33

you were tired.

so very tired after your first day. you just wanted to crawl under the sheets and let your cramping legs wither away.

you kept running through the day with images encompassing your mind, like snapshots of the day passing through a slideshow. you had been up since 5:30 am, it was now 4:30 pm and you had just gotten home from your shift.

you were beat, worn out and just wanted to wither underneath the sheets. to just relax and not move a singular muscle. even reading, your favorite pastime, sounded tedious and the idea made your head throb.

serving senior citizens, the breakfast and lunch shift. it was rewarding but grueling, so tiring and your back ached. the coworker that you shadowed just smiled, saying; “you’ll get used to it after a while.” and you hoped, you really fucking did.

because how you would do this five days out of the week, you had no idea. you had no clue. you knew that you needed the money, that you needed the stability even though leon, your boyfriend, lived with you.

you had been financially unstable as a kid, could count on both hands how many times you’ve had to move. because rent was just too much for your single mother, or the neighbors picked a fight, or your moms terrible ex boyfriend knew you & your mothers current address.

that was enough to push you to work yourself to the bone, even leon, saying that it wasn’t a good idea. and he was a cop, he had been for two years. he’d seen shit, worked himself overtime. and if they didn’t live together, they’d never see each other. hence, them living in a one bedroom apartment together.

but if leon was telling her to slow down, to take it easy, you knew it was going to be tough. it was going to take all of you to have the life you dreamed of. going back to school in august, seemed like a pipe dream after your first day at your new job.

because how would you ever have time?

and you feared this, you feared the loss of the future that was so close in your reach but…just not within shot of your fingertips.

but you were grateful for leon, for him and just…how he made things so much better. he just loved you, supported you and knew how stubborn you were to prove yourself, despite the reassurances that you would be fine. that things would just work out, he had been in the trenches too once, as a child, he had made it out.

but you couldn’t compare your childhood to his, it was awful in different ways, it wasn’t worse. wasn’t something that could be measured. it just was. it was the past though. and you were desperate to prove yourself to leon, to your kid self deep inside of you and to the others that have told you that you wouldn’t, couldn’t do it.

because you could. and you would.

just to prove them all wrong.

you were beat.

only your second shift shadowing someone and you were a goner, your back was killing you and your feet ached. you wish you could just win the lottery sometimes so you didn’t have to work yourself to the bone just for some money.

leon was helpful, he rubbed your feet, massaged your back and pressed kisses everywhere he needed to. he was supporting you, the thought and idea alone made you want to cry. because you didn’t feel appreciated, no one had showed it up until this point. but leon had, he’d cheered you on despite his skepticism of you taking on a larger workload. 

you loved him so much, so much that it hurt.

and that was maybe all worth it in some sense, to have him to come home too. it made things easier, made you feel cherished and loved, even considered in the sense that he knew what you were sacrificing.

what he sacrificed everyday he went to work and put on his uniform.

you couldn’t imagine a world without leon, in any timeline, any universe he didn’t exist, was an unlucky one. a very unfortunate one. one that you never wanted to be a part of.

in the weeks that followed as you continued your new job, he just kept saying sweet things, buying you flowers and books from your TBR list and cheering you on. “your doing great, baby. i’m so fucking proud of you.” or “i’m so grateful for you, your so appreciated.” or your personal favorite, “i love you so much, beautiful. so strong, so kind and sweet.”

and that was enough, it was enough.

even though your hands were dry from washing copious amounts of dishes, your back hurt from standing for so long or your feet were killing you, or your mind was swirled with exhaustion. it pushed you, it made you want to push forward, it was hard. but with leon loving and supporting you, holding your hand and kissing your exhaustion and stress away…it was enough.

you didn’t think that without him you would’ve made it this far, that you would’ve pushed past the boundaries that you did. but you were thankful for him, for everything he did for you.

you wouldn’t be able to push forward alone, you’d likely fall. and leon would be there to catch you…

every.

single.

time.

an: this isn’t the update i promised, i know. but i just needed to write something. to deal with this change in my life and what better way to do that then with writing something about leon??? but anyways, pls like, reblog and interact with my masterlist linked at the beginning. let me know if you wanna join my taglist (also linked). i’ll have a oneshot up soon, pinky promise. i love you all, kisses. xx

[theinheriteddutchess]

Dream Of A Girl

Part 2

Summary: Lee continues to pick his girl up from work

Warnings: things are heating up a little, touching, kissing, Lee being eager

18+, minors DNI, the usual

Word count: 2949

Notes: I love this story!! I really really do! Please let me know if you enjoy it too 💕

Series masterlist

Previous part

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The next day you finished work on time and looked around outside. Your eyes felt tired because you hadn't slept well. Thoughts kept running through your head, and no matter how much you tried to settle you just couldn't. You knew Sheriff Bodecker was going to pick you up today, and you were worried about what you were going to say to his questions. What you needed to ask him. Maybe you should just talk about his job. Your mother did that with your father. And then he asked her what she did that day, even if the answer was always the same. But they seemed happy together, so it was obviously working for them.

His car was waiting for you a few meters away and you Walked towards it. He opened it from the inside again and you took a seat. 

He smiled at you and you awkwardly smiled back. 

“You had a good day?”

“No.”

He seemed surprised, but recovered quickly. “ Oh? Anything you want to share?”

“No.”

He tsk’d. “Alright, I know when to back off.”

Back off what? You started sweating a bit, he looked…a bit annoyed? You should ask him about this day, right? That was a good start. 

“Did you? Have a good day?”

He turned to look at you again, with a smile again. “I did. Nothing beats knowing you have a pretty girl waiting for you.”

Did he meet someone since yesterday? He told you he was alone then. 

“That's nice,” you told him. 

“I meant you,” he clarified.

You started sweating some more. “I.. I -”

He chuckled. “No one ever told you you were pretty before?”

You shook your head. No. Maybe only your parents. But that was it. 

“They're so blind,” he murmured softly. “Well, their loss.”

It stayed quiet, you didn't know how to respond. Should you compliment him back?

“You want to hear about my day, sweetheart?” he finished the silence. 

You shrugged. “Okay.”

And so he started taking about the crimes he prevented, the paperwork that was never ending, how he was looking to get re-elected.

“That would be easier with a wife by my side.” He glanced at you, while you kept your eyes firmly pointed straight ahead of you. “I hope I have that soon.”

You nodded. You gave up hope a long time ago, but you understood for other people it was a normal thing to do. 

“You ever dream of marrying? Finding someone who give you his bite and a few pups to look after?”

“Not anymore,” you lowered your voice, too ashamed to admit. 

“Why not?”

“No one wants to. With me.” You said, feeling anxiety course through you. 

“Hey, hey, don't worry. I can smell your distress from here. Hold up.” He pulled over to park the car to the side and turned to you. He reached out his hand but you flinched, so it froze in the air until he lowered it by his side. 

“It's okay, sweetheart, we're just talking. It's just me. You're safe, right?”

You nodded. He was the sheriff. He would protect you. But he couldn't protect you from your fears and feelings. 

“So why did you get all scared, honey? Can you tell me?”

“Not scared,” you said, trembling. “Just not…I don't like talking about it.”

“But if you don't talk about it, I can't help you.”

Your eyes shifted, trying to look at something calm, something neutral. “You can't help.”

“Try it. Maybe I can." He watched you the whole time and you wished he didn't. “Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone you don't know as well. I'm not going to judge you. People tell me all sorts of things. I witnessed even more. No matter what you tell me, it won't surprise me, alright?”

You thought about it. And there was a suspicion he wasn't going to let go so easily anyway. You sighed. 

“I'm not like the rest. They don't like me. They don't want me. So…I know I'm going to be alone. It's alright. I've accepted it. My parents want me, it's enough.”

 “I like you.”

You looked at him quickly, surprised. “You don't know me.”

“I know you enough. I know your parents, they love you. I can tell. They're good parents. You're polite, you're smart and hard working, you never get into any trouble. And you seem very sweet.”

You felt a little warm with every word he said. It was too much. You brushed imaginary wrinkles out of your dress that didn't exist, just to be able to do something. 

“You're so pretty. And your smell…” he groaned. 

You felt heat shot through you. That was…it wasn't proper was it? You don't talk about smell. You.. kept it to yourself. Until you.. you mated. Why was he telling you this? 

He leaned in a little. Sniffing. “You smell so good.” 

His head was too near you, and you were trapped in the car, surrounded by his smell. 

And it wasn't.. bad. He smelled nice even. But he shouldn't. He didn't have to be this near. 

“Everytime you're near me, and I get a whiff of you, it feels right, ya know? Feels like home.”

You blinked. It did? You did? 

“I just want to bring you flowers, and take you out. Maybe to the movies.”

“Too crowded, too much noise,” you piped up.

He chuckled. “Then for milkshakes, or a walk. Anything you'd like. I'll treat you so well. You'd want for nothing.”

You breathed him in. When you did, you felt less nervous. His scent making you feel something you hadn't before. You didn't understand why it did that. 

“You'd like that sweetheart? Me taking you out? Showing you how good you are? You'd be making me so proud if you’d let me. Being around such a pretty girl.”

He talked like it was an honor. Like you were a price he wanted to show off. Like others would be jealous. You wanted to laugh. It would be the opposite. People would talk about him. Wonder why he'd show you interest. That he could do better.

“I don't…. I've never, I mean, you can't.”

“Why not? Are you telling me no?” His jaw tightened and he looked a little colder.

“You can do better than me. You're the sheriff. I'm not.. I'm not good.” You whispered, tears pricking in your eyes, having to confess that.

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” He moved nearer, almost touching you. “How could I not like you? You're always kind to everyone, I see you're great with kids, they love you, you’d make such a good momma.”

You felt warm all over. It was burning you from the inside. 

“With your pretty dresses, always looking so good, so beautiful. You should see yourself when the sun shines and your hair lights up. Beautiful. I’d be so proud walking beside you, knowing I'm your man.”

His finger touched the fabric of your dress and your eyes followed it as it rubbed softly against it. 

“They would all look at us, and they'd see what a great wife you would make. You’d be good for me right?”

The way his voice lowered made you want to agree. You struggled to keep it inside. His hand moved to your leg, warmth seeping through your dress and you trembled again.

“I know you'd be such a good girl. And I would be good for you too. I would spoil you. Anything you'd want. I would treat you real nice. Give you kisses whenever you wanted.” He sounded drunk. Like the men in your office at the end of the day sometimes. His voice felt like it was seeping into your bones, like you couldn't move. 

“Fuck it.” He murmured, he put his hands on your jaw to turn you toward him and before you knew it, he pressed his lips against yours. 

A thrill went through you. You wanted to struggle. You didn't like to be touched. But he was being gentle, and he smelled even better now, thick syrup, fresh lemon, spicy cinnamon…all the good things. His mouth was full and he moved it gently against yours. You didn't know what to do, but he didn't seem to mind. He let out a noise in the back of his mouth like he was in pain. 

You were burning up. You felt so warm. 

He pulled away shortly after, eyeing you carefully. Your eyes locked on his this time, like you couldn't even think to look away.

“Your first kiss?” He guessed. And you nodded. 

“That's a real honor, sweetheart. I feel very happy to be your first.”

You looked down quickly, too overwhelmed to keep looking at him. You wanted to touch your mouth. Let your fingers touch the flesh and memorize the feeling of his lips on yours. 

“You liked it?”

You hesitated, then nodded.

His scent thickened, heavy in the air, delicious. 

“Good. Because I might just kiss you again.”

Oh God, you pressed your hands to your heart, it felt like it was beating out of your chest. He was going to kiss you again, maybe. And you didn't think you'd mind. 

You laid awake that night, again, thinking over and over about that kiss. His scent was on you. Your mother widened her eyes when you stepped inside, but one look at you and she kept quiet, even if you thought she wanted to ask about it. Maybe she knew it was too soon. Maybe she feared you would get overwhelmed. Or perhaps she knew you wanted to keep it to yourself a little longer. 

“Go freshen up before your father gets home,” she simply told you, and her hand carefully touched your shoulder briefly, like she wanted to fuss over you. 

You were disappointed to remove his smell off you. But your father would want to know whose it was. And you didn't know what to say if he questioned you. The sheriff talked about dating, but he hadn't asked you out. You didn't know how serious he had been. Maybe you should ask him next time you saw him? 

You could still remember what he smelled like later, in your bed, and you felt yourself heat up again thinking about it. 

His mouth and his eyes. He was an attractive man. And he called you pretty! 

Squeaky noises came out of your throat and you couldn't help it. It was all too much. But it was good. You hoped. You thought. 

-

He picked you up again, and asked if you wanted to go for milkshakes, but you shook your head. You had started to get a headache. The office was especially loud that day and you felt the noise still throbbing in your head.

You pressed your hands against the side of your face, trying to squeeze out the pain until you felt him grab your wrists and remove them.

You wanted to pull away, but he wouldn't let you. He pulled you against him, ignored your struggling and shushed you. 

“Hey, hey! Sweetheart. It's okay. Shh, just smell me…here, come on.”

He pushed your face into the crook of his neck, right where his gland was. As soon as your nose was pressed against it, you sagged a little. His scent enveloping you completely. A whine escaped you. 

“That's it. Feels better right? you don't have to do anything, or think of anything but now. You're safe. Just relax.”

And you did, taking big whiffs of his scent, eyes closed, trying to relax. 

“You're being a good girl aren't you? Letting me take care of you like this.” You heard his voice murmur in your ear, felt the rumbling in his chest. Your hands gripping his shirt, not caring if you wrinkled it. “It feels mighty fine having you trust me to help you. You're making me feel real good sweetheart.”

No one had ever spoken to you like this. Like you were worthy. Like you mattered. Like they cared. You made him feel good? You made the most pathetic noise.

“I know. It's a lot. But you're doing so well. You like my scent sweetheart?”

You nodded. You did. You liked it a lot. You could stay here forever, blocking out the rest of the world. 

“I'm so pleased, sweetheart. I like yours too…will you let me scent you as well? I've been thinking about it all night. I would love to carry you with me. It will make the lonely nights better.. You can do that for me right?”

You nodded, mumbling something unintelligible, but he seemed to understand. He pushed your face up, gently, his hands holding your head up as he stared into your eyes, while you tried to focus but felt too dazed to manage, until he pushed his face into your neck. 

His nose against your gland made your shiver. It was like your mind stopped functioning. You felt the most pathetic whine bubbling up your throat, but you held onto his shirt for dear life, afraid to fall if you let go. 

His mouth…he moved it over your skin, something wet moved over that special spot and you spasmed.

He pulled back in surprise and watched you carefully. One you stopped trembling, and his face came into focus, he looked…you couldn't place how he looked. 

“Did you just..?”

You blinked owlishly. What? 

“Oh God, okay, it's okay baby. You did so good,” he quickly told you, but he sounded off. He looked tense. 

Maybe you made him mad.

“Nature’s calling, honey, I'll be right back okay. You watch the car for me.”

He practically ran out of the car and went into the nearest shop. You sat there, stunned. Had you done something wrong? But what he did felt really good. It felt like you got lifted out of your body and pulled back in. Like an elastic snapping back into place. 

You didn't know what happened, but he didn't seem to like it. You hung your head, hiding your face in shame. He was angry. You were sure of it. You didn't know what you were going to say when he came back. 

Maybe he didn't want you to be in the car once he got back? But he had told you to watch it for him. So you stayed. 

It took a while before he returned. His cheeks were rosy and he had a smile around his mouth. Maybe things were okay? Maybe he really did need to use the bathroom? 

He stepped inside again and smiled at you. “There we go. Sorry. Sometimes you can't hold it, can you?”

You nodded, hesitant.

“Aaw, sweetheart, are you shy? You don't have to, I liked it.”

Liked it? You didn't know what it was, but he wasn't mad that it happened? 

You gave him a glance, to see how he was looking and he seemed relaxed and good natured. He licked his lips. 

“Can I get a kiss, sweetheart? I've been thinking about it all day.” He stared at you expectantly. 

You pondered, but you had liked it yesterday, and you were relieved he wasn't angry, so you nodded. 

“Come on then, kiss me,” he said teasingly. 

Oh. You moved over to him, unsure if how to do this, but just decided to press your lips against his. Upclose he smelled very intense. His scent thicker than before, so you gasped. When you did that, his tongue was suddenly in your mouth, and his hands moved against your face holding you in place. 

It was wet. And weird. But his smell was so overpowering that it wasn't the worst. His tongue tried to coax yours into moving as well but you didn't know how. You just let him move and tried to move as well.

You had expected to hate it. The kissing, the touching. But it didn't feel bad. You liked it. He felt nice, he smelled nice. He said nice things. He made your body float, like you were in the water. Weightless. 

His hands stroked your cheeks, moved to your neck, and suddenly pressed on your gland. You moaned and sagged into his chest. 

“God, look at you. You're feeling real nice, aren't you, sweetheart? I am going to be a gentleman, though, and bring you back so you can be a good girl to your mommy and daddy. No need to rush. But who knew you'd be so responsive? I thought I was going to have to try harder, but it turns out you're just as affected by me as I am about you huh?”

You couldn't do much more than run your nose on his neck, so close to his gland again. 

He sighed. “I’ve kept you long enough, don't want your parents to worry. I want them to like me, show them I've got good intentions. Can't do that when you're coming back all ruffled. Come on sweetheart, back in your seat you go.” He moved you carefully as you blinked at him.

“It's alright, just some space, honey, we need to both calm down a little, huh? I still need to drive, and you have to fix your hair. I might've messed it up a little. You look good though,” he smiled tenderly at you. 

You touched your hair. He was right, it had come out of its pins, you tried to make it presentable again. 

“I would really like to take you out in the weekend, would you like that? Maybe we could take a walk in the park, or go for ice cream.”

“I, I like ice cream,” you admitted.

He smiled happily, “Then ice cream it is.”

Next part

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

hello, if the requests are still open and you’re feeling up to it, may I request for reader who is a power lifter? how would the 141 men+alejandro+konig act like when they encounter someone who is deceptively strong?

power lifters are not that heavily built like body builders are so they can easily look and appear weak in comparison until they lift heavy weights that even the buff men find difficult too. so i imagine reader suddenly lifting them while injured or whatnot and they are just like 🤯

here, let me show you one. https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS8xKVNF1/

thank you and this hopefully gets picked. 🥰

Powerlifters are actually insane I wish I could be like them

The 141 + Alejandro + König reacting to a powerlifter

Price

He tries not to underestimate you since you work in the task force you kinda have to be really fucking good at your job to get in

But sometimes he finds himself thinking that the job isn’t for you, especially when you don’t seem to have the same muscle mass as the others

However, you prove him wrong/surprise him because looks aren’t everything

Especially when you manage to pick him up with the added weight of his tactical vest

He could be injured in a particularly embarrassing spot like he twisted his ankle (he’s a little old for on the field fighting) or getting shot in the thigh

And you’ll just easily pick him up in the least embarrassing way you can

It surprises him so much that it changes his entire view on you

Ghost

Like Price he tends to underestimate you because it looks like you lack in muscles

He’s not really worried that you won’t get the job done but he definitely thinks you could be better

Hate to say it but he has a lot of biases about appearance, making him someone who will think someone is weak because they’re not that muscular

But you prove him wrong and gain his respect

He got injured and stubborn refused to be taken care of until you forcible picked him up

He was shocked and since then he checks himself on his biases

Soap

He likes to push peoples buttons mainly to get people to see their potential

Especially when he think that they might not be as strong as he is

He knows your good at your job because you work with him but he doesn’t particularly think your that strong

So he teases you, tells you that you can’t lift that much and that you should do it more so you can beat peoples asses easier

But he was proven wrong when you decided you had enough and picked it him without any trouble

He still pushed people to see their potential but he knows now not to judge people by their appearance

Gaz

He’s not exactly hugely built so he kinda gets it when people underestimate him but he also tends to not think about it if that makes sense

He knows you’re strong but he doesn’t think you’re like super strong

He often steps in to help you out because while he knows you could handle some of it he doesn’t want you to strain yourself not knowing that you’re pretty strong on your own

He’s accident prone so when he inevitably gets injured from falling out of a helicopter you’re there or pick him up

Literally

He’s very surprised that you can carry him plus the weight of his tactical vest but now he knows that you’re strong

(He also feels like he needs to get as strong as you now. He admires the fuck out of you)

Alejandro

He’s not super judgmental

He knows your strong he’s worked with you for a while to know that you can handle yourself and can carry some heavy object without issue

But sometimes he might joke about the fact that you’re not super buff which isn’t really an issue

It’s just light teasing

However he’s surprised when you pick him up with ease after Rudy dared you to

Since then he asks you to carry/pick up stuff that’s heavy just so he can watch you with amazement

König

It doesn’t matter how strong he thinks someone is, he’s a big guy he’s not expecting people to pick him up

He’s also really strong and relies on his size to help with that so he’s a little cocky

There are pros and cons to his size and his strength is both of those

He doesn’t think you’re weak because you not as big as him because there’s not many people he knows who is

But he doesn’t think you’re as strong as him

Until you somehow manage to pick him up and carry him

~~(It may have awoken something in him)~~

Since then he’s always advocating for you and your strength

[fxchild]

The Switch

Miles Fairchild x fem!reader

Chapter nine: Make you stay.

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

Miles pov

I think it's been one- no. Two weeks, since Y/n had that.. encounter? It's not like we had sex or anything but I definitely didn't expect to make out on her bed until Flora came banging on her door complaining about a nightmare, while Y/n forced me to hide under her damn bed on the cold floor for half an hour while she made sure Flora went to sleep and didn't bother us again. I was kinda glad we got interrupted if I'm being honest. Even though Y/n pounced on me like a lion to a gazelle, she seemed pretty nervous whenever I kissed her too hard or if I touched her leg. Believe it or not things have been even more awkward than before when we were constantly nipping at each other and now I'm starting to miss the fighting more than the dry tension in the room.

Anyways, I've got about fourteen days to make things less awkward and for her to stay with us for the summer. I heard her talking on the phone a few days back, thinking about taking up a different job in California. Her teacher recommended it or some shit, get into a better college. She's not going to Harvard I know that for sure.

Something that's been pissing me off is that Quint has been messing with her head so now she sleeps with the door off and the lamp lights on. I asked him to lay off but it's not doing much. I've been trying to sneak in to make sure he's not fucking with her in her sleep or anything. She's only sixteen like me after all, he shouldn't be messing with kids our age, especially the ones I want to stay.

Uhm, another thing is that I've been out of it for a day or two. Like my throat is pretty dry and I've had a wicked headache. I swear to god if I wake up tomorrow with a cold I'm gonna be pissed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your pov

It's been about two weeks since Miles and I had that half-assed hookup. Ever since then it's been so awkward. We can't even speak to each other now for more than two sentences before getting freaked out and forgetting what we were talking about. I mean, it's easier to focus on Flora and her work, but at the same time it's boring without being able to pick a fight with Miles. I miss our back and forth bickering because at least it kept us talking and occupied. I have fifteen days before I go back home for the summer, I really wanted to stay but I've gotten more job offerings in new places and I want to go out and explore. Plus, spending the summer in some creepy ass house, with a boy who can't even be in the same room as me for five minutes doesn't seem like the ideal summer. I feel bad for leaving Flora, and I guess Miles because they are all alone with Ms. Grose, who is lucky if she can live another four years. But I need to put myself first, that's what's important. I just wish Miles would talk to me before I leave, because even though we snap at each other, he's been growing on me. I'm not saying I like his stuck up asshole personality but I see how he is with Flora and I sometimes wish he could be able to open up to me like that.

This morning I woke up to the sound of projectile vomiting. I figured it was coming from Flora's room since she ate a lot of chocolate last night. I ran to her room to check on her to find her still asleep in her bed. Then I realized that the puking and groaning was coming from Miles room. I debated on leaving him there to take care of himself since he thinks he's grown and can take care of himself but then I remembered the time I was drunk. The way he drove me home at 2am and stayed outside my door all night in case I felt sick again. I walked into his room and knocked on his closed bathroom door.

"Miles, it's just me. I'm gonna come in okay?" I say as I hear him groan and spit into the toilet. I open the door to see his face almost glued to the toilet bowl, gasping and throwing up. I sit next to him and rub his back, grabbing a few sheets of toilet paper so he can wipe his mouth when he's done. "Get it all out, that's it.." I whisper to him as he continues to gag.

When he finishes he grabs the toilet paper from my hand and wipes his mouth, flushing the toilet. I let him sit on the floor with his back pressed against the wall for a moment as I grab a washcloth, drenching it in cold water. I put it on the back of his neck as he tries to stand up. He walks over to me where I'm putting toothpaste on his toothbrush and handing it to him.

"Make sure to brush your tongue too." I put the cap back on his toothpaste. "I'm gonna get you a new shirt, there's a little bit of puke on it." I point to the spot on his shirt. I walk out of his room and open his closet, looking for an old shirt in the piles on the floor. Miles walks back into the room and curls up on his mattress with his washcloth in his hands. I didn't even realize he came back into the room until he spoke up and groaned.

"Jesus it's fucking freezing in here.." I turned around to see him shirtless, breathing heavily and laying down. I grab a random green shirt and walk over to his mattress.

"No Miles, sit up you have to let your stomach settle for a bit." I prop his pillows against the wall and help him sit up a bit. I let him put his new shirt on and pulled the covers up to his waist. I felt his forehead and winced at his temperature. "Miles, you're really hot." I sighed and bit my bottom lip trying to think of how to take care of him.

He let out a chuckle and wrapped a hand over his stomach. "I'm hot? Thanks.." I frown at him since this isn't something to be joking about. "Not funny." I say with pursed lips and put the washcloth on his forehead.

"I'm gonna go to the store to get you some medicine. Flora used it the last time she was sick. Do you want me to pick you up something?" I put my hands on my hips and waited for his response.

He sat there for a second to think, "Am I even allowed to eat anything? Like I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to eat when you're sick." He tilted his head, squinting his eyes.

"You're allowed to eat Miles but only if you feel up for it. I can pick you up some grits, or popsicles? Do you sound up for that when you get your appetite back?" I rub the back of my neck, giving him a sympathetic look.

"I'm not hungry..I-I don't care okay? I'll be fine by tomorrow." He shakes his head and waves his hand in the air.

"Okay, well I'm still going to the store because I'm not putting up with your whining later. I'll be back in an hour okay?" I shrug and ruffle his hair lightly before trying to smack my hands away.

I brush my teeth, grab my keys and put on some slippers. I head out to the car to start for the store.

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

Miles pov

She couldn't have taken any fucking longer to get back from the store could she? I'm sitting in my bed, trying my best for an hour to hold my stomach until she comes back but it's getting too painful. I ran to the bathroom throwing up nothing but stomach acid. I was panting and almost crying from the pain, it felt like my stomach was twisting. Y/n hears me gagging and rushes into the bathroom to rub my back and hold back my hair. When I'm done, there's tears in my eyes from the pain and she gives me this stupid sad look like she feels sorry for me or some dumb shit. I sit on my bathroom counter as she hands me my toothbrush again. She opens up a small can of Gingerale and puts it on my nightstand.

"You don't have to drink it now, but if your stomach feels funny again try some. It works trust me." She smiles and feels my forehead again to see if my fever had gone down a little. I sit there under the covers with my head against the wall as Y/n sits at the end of my mattress reading a book.

"What's that?" I say weakly, motioning to the book. I catch her attention and she smiles. "A book?" She giggles trying to be funny or something.

"Yeah, no shit." I chuckle and she gives me an unamused look. So apparently I'm not allowed to be funny anymore I guess. "What's it about?"

"It's about a prince trying to find his princess through a dream. It's really cute." She gets up to sit next to me on the mattress, showing me the blurb.

"Oh.. fantasy?" I mutter out as a question.

"Yeah, I like fantasy. You don't?" She tilts her head to look at me, tabbing her book before closing it. I shrug, "I mean, it's not bad but I just can't ever get into it."

"Well maybe that's because you haven't read a good one." She smirks, and for a second I feel like we aren't talking about books. I shook my head and stayed silent for a few minutes.

"You know, I usually get sick in the summer." I give her a side glance. I lied, I never get sick. This was the first time in probably a year and a half I've gotten sick. "I mean, who's gonna get me a cold washcloth and rub my back when I'm throwing up?" I smirk at her slightly.

"Ms. Grose?" She jokes and I roll my eyes.

"Be serious Y/n. She's so old I think she's gonna kick the bucket any day now. And when she does that, who's gonna help me take care of Flora? I don't have any parents you know." I sit up more and turn to face her, putting my hands in my lap.

She sighs and turns to face me. "Who said I was leaving?" She gives me a confused look.

"Y/n I heard you on the phone. I mean California seems nice, but is that what you really want?" I give her a dead eyed look and raise a brow.

She studies my face letting out a deep breath, "Miles, you don't even like having me around. We fight all the time, why do you want me around?" She shakes her head and leans back a little bit.

"Come on, Flora will miss you. She'll be upset that you aren't coming back. I mean she really loves you, fuck, she wants you to be her mother! She needs you, Y/n- I-I need you okay? I can't even take care of myself while I'm sick and you expect me to take care of myself, a whole property and a little girl? I mean, jesus, what do I have to do to make you stay?" I spurt out quickly, motioning my hands everywhere with dramatic tones.

She smiles for a moment and grabs my hand, "You just did." She gives me a sincere look, like we finally came to an agreement. I let out a relieved sigh I didn't even know I was holding and she giggled. "Why do we fight so much? Everything would be so much easier if we just listened to each other, you know?" She asks even though she sounds like she already knows her own reason.

"I think you know why I do it.." I look at my red candles I caught her staring at one day in particular when she first came into my room.

She looked at the candles then back at my eyes. "Because you don't know how to treat people?" She barely whispered out. She looked into my eyes for a moment before speaking once more. "I only pick fights with you cause I think you're kinda cute." She admits, leaning back again.

I raise a brow, "You think I'm cute?" I chuckle and she let's go of my hand, she's trying to bite back a smile.

"Yeah, you're cute. So what?" She smirks and we stare at each other. I think we were both waiting for one of us to do something, anything. But no one moved or spoke. After a moment of my silence she got up and put the covers back over my waist. "You should get some rest, it's not good to stay up when you're delirious." She gave me a dejected look and turned off my lamp.

"I'm not delirious." I grab her wrist gently and assure her.

"You're sick, Miles." She gives me a stern tone, and eyes me down to let go of her wrist.

"I know what I'm saying, Y/n." I gulp and give her the smallest smile I could muster and let go of her wrist, laying back into the pillows. She slides a hand on my forehead and it goes into my curls. She kissed my forehead and walked to the door.

"Get some sleep, call me if you need anything okay?" She gave me a sad smile and walked out of the room.

Now she was just confusing me because did she just reject me without either of us talking about dating? I don't think I asked her out but I think I wanted to. I want to I really do, but how the hell am I supposed to do that when she can't take me seriously? I better get over this damn sickness soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi hi! It's fxchild back again with another chapter! Sorry if this is bad I had to rewrite it THREE times because it kept god damn deleting. This took me 2 hours and 15 minutes to write (I timed it yes) so hopefully you enjoyed it. Plsplspls if you did not see my other post to put some requests in because this will be one of the last chapters until Mr. Fairchild finishes his story. I literally do not care what you ask me to write as long as it's not acc insane. If my requests don't work PLEASE dm me I will answer because no one texts me like ever ! Anyways, I love you guys so so much 💕 thank you for continuing to motivate me to write.

-fxchild

[h2llish]

vil rambles cuz im still sick

listen, everyone who literally views vil as this arrogant asshole who likes looking at himself in the mirror every morning has got to be some of the most blind idiots i've ever seen. his insecurities have played out right in front of us?? he is literally so insecure it's blaringly obvious???

it pisses me off watching people completely mischaracterize him as some harsh, insincere character who would bully and pick at someone's insecurities like a fucking prick.

those who genuinely see and regard vil properly as the type of person who has so many insecurities and stresses from living as an actor/model/etc, have honestly earned my respect. his character is interesting and having him mischaracterized as less peeves me.

i don't like to compare trauma, even in characters. trauma is different and revealed in every person differently.

and yes, vil has trauma. living life under spotlight and having his entire life on screen for everyone to see, is his trauma. while he may enjoy his line of work, and has a very supportive father in his corner, that does not make it any easier for someone who grew up under expectations and ridicule since the moment he started walking.

vil's insecurities stem from his roles in movies; he's been casted and sought out for the role of a villain even when he only ever wished to play the hero. since he first played the villain role as a child, bullying the hero (neige) he was automatically perceived as a villain outside of the role as well. and while he may not seem all that bothered, i think it does get to him. to constantly be casted as a villain because he "fits that role so well", and then to have people see him as a villain outside of it can be dehumanizing and painful ━ hence, his insecurities.

a lot of people fail to realize that the life of a celebrity isn't all its chalked up to be. they're human too, they have insecurities and flaws, parts of themselves they don't want others to see. and i think vil does a good job at presenting that.

his overblot revealed that sometimes our insecurities build up and spill over and we may do things we regret. in this case, paired with magic, it was an attempt on a rival's life.

unlike leona or maybe azul, he does regret his actions. he admits his wrongs and that he let his insecurities lead him down a path that could've been disastrous had it not been for rook and everyone else.

i understand that his confidence can be misleading; "if he's so insecure why is so confident?" because idiots, a person with insecurities can also have confidence. while vil is insecure about his stand in beauty, he's also confident in his looks. his insecurities about his looks come from his one-sided rivalry with neige. neige receives more compliments and views and offers, so that comes back to vil and he views himself inferior.

a lot of people seem to think he hates neige. but he doesn't, even he has admitted that he's only jealous. he holds a lot of respect for neige. he knows about neige's tough childhood, and he knows how hard he works, but he does not pity him for it all the same. his feelings for neige have only been jealousy brought on by the views of fans and media, and believe it or not, jealousy is not hate.

vil is genuinely a decent person. after his overblot he continues to thank those that helped in stopping him, and then proceeds to take responsibility for being the reason they were all so tired during the competition. he even takes his own money to offer to everyone after he broke his promise to split the earnings when they won. he also isn't upset with rook for voting for the winning team; he respects that he was able to do so without feeling much guilt. (while i still want to fight his ass. fuck you, you damn peacock spitting mf /affectionate). and then proceeds to give his money to the mc so they can fix up the dorm.

i understand his first impression wasn't great. even i thought i'd hate him, but after getting to know him, i saw that my opinion on him was stupid; understandable at first, sure, but false.

he's strict, yeah, but he means well. he just wants everyone to be healthy, and that includes routine and taking care of your body. it may seem a bit obsessive, but it's his way of caring for those around him, even if it isn't how, you like it or how you'd prefer to be cared for.

i think what i like about vil, is that he genuinely tries to make things right. unlike those before him, he wishes to apologize for the trouble he caused and wants to avoid having his jealousy take ahold of him so strongly again.

and addressing those that seem to think he would attack a person's insecurities, you're wrong. i doubt he'd try to hurt a person by pointing out their own insecurities when he himself has insecurities. he knows what it's like to have your insecurities take hold of you and consume your thoughts, why would he do that to another person? if he does find himself saying something that might be an insecurity for another person, i don't think he'd do so on purpose. he probably intended to help, but in the process hurt them. i just don't believe he'd want to hurt someone by rubbing their insecurities in their face.

overall, he's not a bad person or some asshole who would hurt someone on purpose. he's confident but insecure, and he's strict but means well. stop regarding him so wrongly please, it's actually fucking annoying.

[fushiglow]

If JJK characters were in Non- Curse world, what would their job be if not become Jujutsu Sorcerer (in your opinion)? Why? Please pick your top 5 fav characters...

I love you for asking this, anon ♥ It's an opportunity to wax lyrical about something I've given a great deal of thought! These are my instinctive answers, although I could make arguments for a number of other professions for each of them depending on the life choices they made in this hypothetical non-curse world — but we don't need to get into that! So, here I go (in no particular order):

Yūta is an emergency paediatric surgeon

When he was young, he made the decision to become a trauma surgeon after losing his childhood friend in a car accident. He spent some time in hospital as a child and he knows what a scary place it can be for children, so he always does his best to make his patients smile when he's checking in on their progress.

He's brilliant at what he does — a once in a generation talent — but that doesn't mean he can save everyone. It's heartbreaking work on a good day, but when he's been at work for approaching 30 hours and he feels like he wants out, he looks at the photo of Rika in his locker and finds the strength to go on.

Kenjaku is a performer

If the average Japanese human enjoys at least 80 rotations around the sun, why waste them by playing the same role every time? That's Kenjaku's outlook on life — which is why they chose to go into acting. However, they quickly became bored by other people's narrow view of the world, dissatisfied by the limits of everyone else's imagination.

Nowadays, Kenjaku marches to the beat of their own drum in a one-person show. There are more than ten roles available, all of them played by Kenjaku — who is also the writer, producer, and director. Critics can't decide whether it's madness or sheer brilliance.

Megumi is a vet

He's grumpy with humans, especially if they're irresponsible pet owners. However, he's soft as anything with the animals, and his regular clients trust him implicitly with their beloved furry family members — because it's obvious how much they love him.

Megumi is really good at his job, but he's guilty of taking his work home with him and finds it difficult not to get emotionally attached to the animals he's treating, even after years in the profession. Although he'd never hesitate to make difficult decisions, the unique ethical dilemmas his job presents take a toll on his wellbeing — especially when human cruelty or indifference come into play.

Suguru is a school teacher

Teaching is neither recognised nor appreciated by most people. However, although Suguru had the brains to follow his friends into their highly respected fields, he couldn't imagine anything more rewarding than doing his part to ensure that the next generation have an easier time of things than he did at the same age.

He tries to be the person he needed when he was at school: a pillar of support for struggling children who have no one else on their side. Unfortunately, the school system seems determined to hurt the very children it's supposed to support, and some of the parents go out of their way to undermine any positive developments he makes with their child — not to mention the terrible pay and working conditions!

Satoru is a physicist

But he could have done anything he put his mind to. In fact, that's the only thing Satoru ever really found difficult in life: choosing one path to follow. Sometimes, he wishes he'd become a musician or a historian or an athlete, but in the end, nothing captured his imagination quite like the limitless bounds of the universe.

He's younger than most of his peers in the field, and his revolutionary ideas (alongside his casual disregard for traditional academic hierarchies) get him in trouble more often than not. However, he's a certified genius, and popular with the media, too. He's doing a lot to improve the image of physicists among the general public — which translates to more funding for research. That keeps them out of his hair, most of the time at least!

-

These are too obvious, but I thought I'd mention them anyway:

Yūji is a firefighter who remembers the names and faces of every single person he couldn't save.

Shōko is a pathologist who devotes herself to improving the diagnosis and treatment of disease, often at the expense of her own health and wellbeing.

Because they're *also* huge nerds, I imagine Sukuna and Yuki as physicists in slightly different fields to Gojō:*

Yuki is a brilliant mind, but she doesn't live up to her potential because she hates the oppressive nature of academia. In fact, she vocally criticises it and goes out of her way to undermine it, to the chagrin of all the old stuffy professors who try to discredit her at every opportunity.

Sukuna, like Gojō, is a genius who's fascinated by what he doesn't know, shaking up the field with his cutting edge (lol) ideas. I like to imagine the pair of them getting into heated arguments at conferences, though they both have enormous (albeit grudging) respect for each other.

*As long as Sukuna is, you know, ~normal~ in this hypothetical non-curse world. Otherwise, he'd be a chef that moonlights as a sadistic serial killer lol.

-

Thank you for the extremely fun question, I had the time of my life! I hope you enjoy my answers ♥

[energysynergymatrix]

Ok I bit the bullet and made an Ososan OC and his full name is Len Kanemaru.

He's the so-called perfect guy, pretty boy barista type turned up to 11, who might as well have manifested from thin air, who has genuine fanboys and fangirls, and most of the Matsunos want him fucking dead. He's oblivious to both of these aspects of the public opinion and seems kind of empty headed for the most part. He is also struggling just as badly as them but literally no one would believe him if he told them.

He also wants to kiss the oldest DESPITE the fact that his brothers are so jealous of him for being so perfect. Shenanigans ensue.

If you want a more detailed write up about him read the cut.

OK SO . Len is a guy trying his best to pretend to be an adult despite wanting to be anything but it. Unlike the Matsunos who dont pretend to be an adult and are anything but it, Len is trying to push through adult life while wanting to return to childhood when things were easier.

Sure he has a job as barista, but he's poor with money, spending it like he's still a teenager, struggles to maintain contact with people he’s befriended outside of work, DESPITE thinking people hating him is the end of the world, and surprisingly, still lives with his parents.

The thing is that he's REALLY good at pretending to have it all together. He has quite a few fanboys and fangirls and is often described as a prince. (It’s because of his charmingly good customer service skills that is his only real social experience post highschool.) But, despite being in his mid twenties, hes kind of poorly equipped socially and is unable to pick this up, despite it being clear to literally everyone.

(Like he thinks he’s being bad at pretending to be a well put together adult, and then turns around and can handle rush pretty well understaffed, not make any mistakes, and still keep a pleasant demeanor that his admirers swoon over. Anytime someone does act like a fan trying to get his love it’s met with confusion and just. “Huh.” more than anything. He doesn’t even reject them because he doesn’t realize so many people are in love with him)

This includes quite a few Matsunos who are jealous of him for being so popular (and admittedly kind of cool), find his princely yet oblivious attitude almost annoying, and somewhat creepy because of how much he knows about them from highschool. And those who aren't irritated by him are relatively apathetic towards him.

The only reason theyre so aware of him is the fact that he and Todomatsu worked at the same cafe before the latter quit. It was after he quit that Len properly met the sextuplets, having a chance encounter with the boys sometime after. Todomatsu was already irritated by him, by again, seeing above, but also because he already seemed intimately familiar with Totty during his highschool years.

It's like they had a whole classmate just manifest into being while skipping the "actually go to class together" part.

(They did actually go to school together but literally no one knew he existed during then. Not to their fault though, Len was basically that one vine that's like "I can't I have so much to do tomorrow" *fucks around on the keyboard. Because of that Len ended up being bad with people by the time he graduated and was ushered into the work force by his parents. As a result he can't really keep friends, often times contact dying off on accident. A lot of the time spent working is him TRYING his best to maintain relationships as an adult but it never really works out. Deep down Len wishes he could redo highschool, so he could not only get this skills but also find some memories that he so clearly missed out on. Because he willingly opted out of making those therefore other people don’t remember him. As far as he knows he hasn’t really had a friend since middle school.)

But like after the two and Totty's brothers encountered each other in public a whole bomb got dropped and nothing was the same.

Despite generally not liking him the Matsunos keep him around, mostly due to Totty's insistence saying they can use him (so they cant kill him yet!) but because Len is kind of bad with people in general outside of having a fandom (that, again, came with his customer service skills), and the Matsunos are the Matsunos, this never ever goes well.

Despite this and how much shenanigans the Matsunos end up dragging him into, he considers them friends since its the closest relationship he's maintained outside of his house. On top of that, he almost admires them for being NEETs. He's kind of ashamed of it, because he knows they have to be an adult, but because he's struggling so much as an adult, he wants nothing more than to be like them. He wants to stop being an adult and return to highschool.

It's why he takes to Osomatsu so much, since he seems most open about how shitty he is and how much he doesnt want to grow up. Like weirdly enough, his man-child behavior is what makes Len likes him so much. Sure he also has a big heart and loves his family, and Len can acknowledge Oso’s best aspects, but it’s the worst parts of him that loves.

And that admiration for having his character laid out flat and embracing his childishness despite his age and situation, how he practically will just grow up when he wants to rather than when he has to (unlike Len), makes the perfect man fall for the loser guy.

The more he hangs around the Matsunos the more they encourage him to tap into his evil side, and may end up making him worse, but for now he's Mr Perfect and most of them hate him for that. He doesn't get the message though so he's just kind of hanging around them for now.

Anyways he and Osomatsu are literally I'm Glad You're Evil Too to me . And also look at these sketches of him .

[shigayokagayama]

I think one of my only nit picks about Mob Psycho is I do wish there was a moment Mob voiced his opinion on Teru. I feel like the story does a good job at getting across how he feels about Ritsu and Reigen but not really him?

Like, i wouldn’t consider them super close or anything. And I feel like you can def gather an idea of how Mob feels about him (generally a good friend who’s also very helpful, perhaps even a similar “admiration” he has to Ritsu where Ritsu has a lot going for him academic wise and Teru is someone popular with girls and has a confident attitude) but I guess I just wanted a little more of his own thoughts? I’m not sure how to put it but I think about how in the guidebook he has a lot to say of Ritsu and Reigen but for Teru he’s like “he has a good fashion sense”

Obviously a big part of Mob’s character is he doesn’t speak his own opinion a lot and the story hides his direct thoughts a lot and it makes him interesting as the story asks you to try to understand him and what he’s thinking and who he is.

But there’s a layer to their relationship that I thought was really interesting and I guess I wish it came to light more?

Both are important to their respective development being the first psychics either have met. Their relationship is focused on the idea of strength but also a wake up call to living in reality. Teru has to accept living a life with more then his psychic powers despite hating that part of himself and Mob has to accept that he can’t just suppress his psychic powers forever and that they’ll always be a part of him no matter how much he hates it.

I think there’s something super compelling about someone seeing you at your lowest or what you see as your worst or perhaps they bring out the worst in you but your relationship with that person. And sometimes its easier to do that with people youre not super close to because showing your flaws to the people you hold really dear to you is hard and you’re so scared of disappointing them. I get reminded of that idea

I do think it’s there it’s just subtle and I love subtle! I think Teru himself is a subtle character in a lot of ways.

I wanted to know someone else’s thoughts on this though or what they think of their dynamic cause it’s on my mind sometimes sugwusbwj

oh i totally agree with you their relationship kind of fascinates me. i believe i remember reading an interview where one said that if mob wanted advice for stuff dealing with his powers he'd probably go to teru but dont quote me on that bc i dont actually remember where that comes from.

im so glad we got confirmation that they still hang out afterwards and just seem to both be physically incapable of making the first move ("you should invite me to hang out more" INVITE HIM YOURSELF TERU!!! MY GOD.) because the ending of the manga left it sorta ambiguous and the idea of teru drifting apart from the singular friend who he has an actual emotional connection with has been haunting me since i first finished the manga. like, i know he does hang out with the awakening lab kids and presumably teru and the spirits and such gang sometimes, but those are all people whove only known the teru that is working on bettering himself and considering how adverse teru seems to the idea of getting help (see him rushing into every situation on his own and getting his ass kicked) i cant imagine any of their conversations would ever turn to the problems hes had in the past and the problems hes currently dealing with. i mean, reigen only knows about terus parents because he was in the room when teru explained his situation to mob.

[blainesebastian]

long distance (ccg universe)

words: 1,704 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request): austin’s about to leave for about a month for something and you’re feeling a little emotional about it even though you totally support him and get a little weepy about it and just basically him reassuring you before he leaves  notes: all the austin butler love bumped me into 3k+ followers-- so thank you everyone xoxo appreciate every single one of you!  notes2: this is part of the ‘coffee cart girl’ universe but can be read alone. masterlist on my sidebar! :)  warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff

Regardless of how strong the foundation is between you and Austin, how much you’ve been through in your relationship, you’re never quite ready for a bigger separation. You’ve done smaller things—he’s a busy man, you know that, kinda comes with the entire package deal of dating an actor. One week here or there where he’s just completely unavailable, only able to check in with you via Facetime or phone calls in a hotel room. You know better than to get upset at this point, keeping so many emotions to yourself, because the last thing you want to do is upset Austin because that’s all it ever ends up doing. You support him, of course, but you don’t want him feeling guilty by association.

Regardless, weeks are easier to get through than a month—that’s what you’re dealing with today, coming to grips that Austin is getting on a plane and leaving for another country, almost like a tour of interviews, events, parties…all without you. It’s not like he hasn’t invited you, he has, you just…can’t picture leaving home for that long span of time, even though you’re hoping it’ll go fast. With everything going on with the filming of your script, you want to be on set, present, there to see the entire thing unfold. Austin completely understands that and wishes he could be there for you instead of packing to leave.

Sitting on his bed cross-legged, you watch him load up a suitcase, carefully folding clothes, shoes and fancier outfits into layers. He’s quiet and you already know that means he’s got a lot on his mind, your eyes traveling along the lines of his body, up to the soft pinch between his eyebrows and the soft curls of his dirty blonde hair.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles like that.” You tease and you seem to snap his attention away from his thoughts. He blinks at you before a ghost of a smile appears on his lips, “Worrying?”

“I don’t like leavin’ you.” Austin says, standing at his full height to survey what he has left to put in his suitcase.

“Well that’s good because otherwise that might be a red flag,” You pick up a pair of socks to toss at him and he annoyingly catches them before letting them drop into his suitcase.

“With everythin’ you got going on with the script and movie, all the hard work you’re puttin’ in,” He shakes his head, zipping up his luggage. You don’t think he’s done with it exactly but it looks like he doesn’t want to work on it anymore, pushing it off the bed until it hits the floor with a thunk. “I wanted to be here for all that.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, attempting to be strong about this because he does not need to see you all weepy. He’s already touch-n-go with the whole situation anyways and there’s really no decision about it, he has to go, it’s part of his job. Just like you have to stay to oversee what’s developing for you. Just the way the universe works sometimes and you definitely don’t want to sound like you’re somehow ungrateful, especially when it comes to the opportunities you have to turn your written work into something real.

Would it be even better if Austin was here? Of course. But this is long from being over…and he’ll be back before you know it. Right?

You watch him crawl into bed and lie down on his stomach in front of you, propping himself up onto his elbows. His fingers play with a hole in your jeans at the knee and you can’t help but lean down and press your nose and lips into his hair. There’s a soft kiss there, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, skin.

You’re not gonna cry, you can be strong about this—you repeat the words over and over in your head like a mantra.

“You know better than anyone how much goes into filming something,” You say quietly, pulling back a little, “You won’t miss too much. I’m sorry I can’t come with you.”

Austin shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your knee, which is so weird but intimate that it makes you chuckle. Picking up your hand, you run it through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp a little.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to shake away the sensation, “I mean, you’re gonna be so busy anyways—fancy parties, tux events, meeting new people, talking about exciting projects—gonna forget all about everythin’ I’m doing here.”

“Don’t say that,” Austin tips his head up to look at you, eyes so blue and gentle, “I know you’re kiddin’ but…I can hear it in your tone, you’re worried I actually might.”

You sometimes forget how well he actually knows you, how he can pick up on those small things. It’s something that means a lot to you that he does, he never lets your emotions slip between the cracks, the communication in your relationship is so strong.

It’s why you know that…even if you need reminders, or even if it’s scary, that this long-distance thing is gonna end up okay.

“Well,” You muse, playing with one of his curls, “It’s gonna be hard to forget about me anyways because I’m gonna like—Facetime you every day,” You tease, though not too far from the truth, “That squirrel that visits on your balcony all the time? Gonna make sure I call you for that.”

Austin grins, leaning up off the bed to move a bit towards you, “Oh all the time?” He raises his eyebrows, “Like—what about when we’re gettin’ in the shower, how bout that?” He asks, playfully attempting to lift the bottom of your shirt up.

You smack his hand away but it’s impossible to stop him from laying on you, a series of giggles leaving your lips as he maps his body along yours, pressing you down into the mattress.

“I suppose something like that could be arranged.” You shrug, “We’ll see.”

He cuts off your last word with a kiss. There’s nothing else to do but count down time on a calendar.

--

For the most part, you’ve had your general concerns and freak-outs in private, and both you and Austin have talked through a lot to prepare for him leaving. You trust him, you’re not worried about that or the distance or the fact that it’ll be difficult but you’ll find time to talk to one another at least once a day. It’s not any of that. It’s…the missing him part that keeps sneaking up on you.

And you were doing a great job managing those feelings until you pulled up to the airport to drop Austin off.

Richard, Austin’s bodyguard that he’s had for a while now through different projects, is set to meet him right inside before security. So you’ve got a few minutes left to yourselves as you slide out of the car and help him organize his suitcases onto the sidewalk outside the glass doors he has to walk through. You might have offered to go in with him but…honestly the extra time doesn’t mean it’s any less hard, you still have to separate, and you’re not in the mood to put up with any fans that might recognize him.

“Well uh,” You clear your throat, wringing your hands together in front of yourself, “See you soon?” Because you can’t get the word goodbye out from underneath your tongue.

He smiles a little but you can tell he’s having trouble too, voice a bit of a thicker drawl as he says, “Yeah, it’ll fly by—alright? Be back here before you know it.”

God, you clamp down on your tongue between your teeth so hard so you don’t start crying and yet the ugliest sound comes out of your mouth. So fucking embarrassing because all you wanted to do is stay strong for him and now you’re doing this?

“Oh babe,” Austin laughs gently, not at you but definitely in empathy, “C’mere, stop.”

“Oh my god,” You sniffle, covering your face with one of your hands as Austin wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. His one hand threads through your hair as the other traces circles into your back, “I swore I was not gonna do this—just leave me on the sidewalk, go to your flight.”

He smirks, pressing a long kiss to your hairline, “It’s okay,” He murmurs, “We’re gonna be fine, alright?”

“It’s not that,” You shake your head, glancing up at him.

Austin looks at you a long moment, nodding, his hands cupping both of your cheeks and wiping away tear tracks with his thumbs. “I already miss you too.” Because of course he knows, your heart fluttering to hear he feels the exact same way.

There are a few moments where he just holds you, keeps you close, threads his fingers through your hair and removes as many tears as he can from your cheeks. There are many kisses shared, as many as you can before he eventually takes a step back. The heat from his touch lingers.

“Hey,” Austin says as he picks up one of his bags, “Don’t be fallin’ in love with anyone bringing you coffee on set, alright?”

A genuine laugh leaves your lips, “I’ll try my best so that doesn’t happen.”

Austin winks at you, picking up his other bag before taking a soft breath. There’s this lingering, he doesn’t want to go, and he leans forward to kiss you one more time. “I love you.”

You share a soft smile, “I love you too.” Before he turns to walk into the airport.

You stand there for a long few moments, watching him disappear, waiting even longer to will your body to move. Sniffling, you wipe your face before getting back into your car, squeezing the steering wheel before nodding. There’s a soft smile tugging the corners of your mouth as you think about Austin and straighten your shoulders—

The emotions might be hard, strong, sometimes painful, but you know that’s what is going to make him coming home and back to you that much sweeter.

--

Thanks for reading!! :)

[on-maars]

be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun

Eight months since I haven’t written a single word. It’s not exactly what I had in mind but it felt good to at least try and write again. Hope you’ll like it.

It’s not hard for Buck to skip on breakfast, is the thing. He goes back to the quiet of his loft and tries to pretend that the entire day somehow didn’t happen. He cleans the place, washes the dishes, puts a load on, reads a book, anything to clutter his mind with as much information as he can. That way maybe he can forget these words that keep being played over and over again in his head like a broken disk.

You live your whole life doing everything you’re supposed to do. Marriage, kids, big house, nice cars, weekends at the shore.

Until one day work stops. Everything finally comes into focus. Not sure what you’re looking at. What was the point of any of it?

What’s the point of any of it?

Buck wishes he’d know. He wished they had more time. More time to save Lev, more time to talk. Maybe then he could’ve asked him. Maybe then he could’ve asked him what it meant, to be happy. Asked him what it was like. What it was like for him.

And Buck is not stupid. He knows there’s no such thing as a universal recipe for happiness. People are not magically in on a big secret and spend the rest of their lives as happy as they can be.

That’s not how it works, and Buck knows that.

He just wishes he would have figured it out by now, is all. Figured what it meant for him. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? He spent his entire life trying to search for it, desperately clinging to anything that somehow bears a resemblance to it. Clinging to it like he would to a life-rapt in the middle of the ocean.

He hasn’t gotten any help. Not from his parents, the very people who were supposed to make it easier for him, who were supposed to help him navigate life a bit better. Maddie helped. She tried to, as best as she could. But then she left. She left and suddenly Buck was like a little kid again. A little kid with many, many questions, and no answers.

And sometimes – well sometimes life can seem like a big, monstrous thing when you’re just a kid.

But he’s here now. He got his sister back. He’s doing a job he’s passionate about, surrounded by people he loves and who loves him just as much. He should be happy, is the thing. He’s gotten everything he ever wanted. A place he can call home. A loving family. Somewhere safe, where he can dig his roots deep, where he finally feels like he belongs. He should thrive.

So why is there still some part of him that feels like he’s being left out on some big classified secret everyone around him managed to get their hands on except for him?

Buck lets himself fall on his chair, his laundry long forgotten in a basket at his feet. The quiet comfort of his loft now feels like an agonizing torture drowning him in his own thoughts.

And that’s how Eddie finds him.

Because of course he came.

It seems to be a pattern of his lately, coming right when Buck needs him to. Almost like he can somehow sense it. Even at a distance.

Even far.

Even so.

Eddie lets himself in, steals a chair from the kitchen and takes a seat next to Buck, waiting. Always waiting. Never pushing.

Buck loves him.

“I thought- I thought you were going to get breakfast with Chim?”

“I did that.” Eddie says, his eyes always so gentle. “That was two hours ago, bud.”

Buck figures that it might. He’s lost all notion of time ever since that call. It’s a thing that happens quite often when he loses someone. It’s like being a spectator of your own life, like watching a movie in fast forward or in slow motion. Sometimes even both at the same time, if that means something.

Maybe it doesn’t. That’s just how it feels like to him, sometimes.

“Where’s- Where’s Chris?”

“At school?” Eddie watches him with raised eyebrows, concern clear on his face.” It’s only Friday, Buck.”

“Right. I knew that.”

“You want to come pick him up with me this afternoon?” Eddie asks him then and well – Buck has to smile.

There’s nothing a little bit of Chris time can’t fix. Eddie had told him that a few years ago after a bad call, and back then Buck had been too scared to answer that yeah, that’s actually not far from the truth at all.

Because Chris is – Well Chris is everything, isn’t he? That boy makes everything better.

“Yeah.” Buck smiles bashfully. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Eddie smiles, elbowing him playfully.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie asks, his expression open and warm, like he cares.

And Buck’s smart enough to believe that Eddie does – in fact – care. That he has for a long time. But the question he asks himself is not whether Eddie cares now, it’s whether he will care always.

Living a life like Buck has, it only makes sense to wait for the other shoe to drop, to wait for someone to finally pull the rug from under his feet.

“It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about me.” Buck shrugs it off.

“Yeah that’s too late for that, bud.” Eddie says, poking him on the shoulders. “So humor me, okay?”

And how can he say no to him? He’s never been able to, really. But there’s something about him. There’s something about that new version of him. The Eddie post-therapy. There’s a calm aura that surrounds him, an aura that Buck can’t help but feel drawn to.

That Eddie looks happy. At ease. Everything that he’s been trying so hard to figure out.

And Buck – Well Buck’s never really been immune to that man’s charms to begin with, hasn’t he?

And it’s not going to start now.

“I just – I still don’t have a couch, Eddie.” Buck says, because it’s easier to talk in metaphors than to just put it all out there for everyone to see.

It’s safer.

Besides, there’s nothing Eddie can’t get.

He always seems to see right through him, no matter how messy Buck’s brain might be. So really it doesn’t seem to be so out of reach to think that maybe Eddie will see right through this metaphor, too.

“Why?” Eddie simply asks, diving into that metaphor headfirst.

“I don’t know.” Buck admits. “I’m afraid to get a new one. And Bobby told me about this idea – in AA – that you take inventory of your life in the hope that maybe -someday – you might feel at ease. So I thought – I thought that maybe I didn’t need one in the end. And I have this chair, you know? I felt like maybe this was enough. I felt like maybe this was enough, for now.”

“And it isn’t?”

“No.” Buck answers, shrugging his shoulders like it’s no big deal. “I don’t see how I can be at ease with everything that's been going on, lately.” He adds, and it’s like these words slip out of his mouth of their own accord.

“What do you mean?” Eddie says, and here are these eyes again, filled with something soft, and earnest. Something that makes Buck feel seen.

“Things are alright now.” Buck gives Eddie a small smile, hoping that it might be enough to downplay the importance of what he’s about to say.

Because they don’t talk about it. It’s been months now. Nearly a year. Not that Buck is counting the days (he is), and yet this moment is still stuck in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Sometimes, Buck’s afraid it might choke him.

“But for the while there.” He continues. “For the while there, they weren’t. You got shot, and I know – I know we don’t talk about it. But not talking about it doesn’t make it go away, Eddie. Because you did. Get shot. And I watched it happen. And then Maddie left. Chimney, too. And everybody kept going like nothing happened but I can’t do that.” He takes a breath, and adds. “Not anymore. And I know things are okay now, but sometimes I’m just here waiting for… For-”

“For the other shoe to drop?” Eddie asks, his gaze steady on Buck’s. And his tone doesn’t seem questioning, but final. Something that doesn’t await an answer.

Buck still nods, and lets out an awkward chuckle as his eyes drop to the ground again.

“I guess – I guess Lev’s death reminded me of it all, you know?” He says. “Does that make sense?”

It’s Eddie’s turn to nod, his body leaning a bit more towards Buck until their knees touch. One of his hands lands softly on Buck’s thigh. It grounds him.

Buck stays quiet for a moment – there’s still quite a lot that’s on his mind – but for now he feels like maybe that’s enough.

Besides, it also gives Eddie the time to process what’s just been said. It’s a lot to digest, after all. But it was inevitable – Buck know that.

He keeps his gaze down, until his eyes fall on Eddie’s hand. The one that’s still on his thigh. He only hesitates a few seconds before lowering his own and linking their fingers together. Eddie squeezes his hand and Buck squeezes back. In his head, it means it’s okay, I know it’s a lot, take your time.

“I’ve never really thanked you.” Eddie eventually says after a few minutes – and it’s so far from what Buck expected to hear that he doesn’t really have time to say anything before Eddie continues.

“For what you did for me these past few months. I know it was a lot. But you were here anyway.” Eddie laughs in disbelief. “For me. And for Christopher.”

“I wanted to.” Buck tells him almost immediately, in a kind of tone that doesn’t really allow Eddie to delve any further.

“Oh I know.” Eddie smiles knowingly, looking at him with teary eyes. “Still. Thank y-”

“You don’t need to thank me for any of that.” Buck snaps, impatient. “You needed help. And I’m here for you. Always.” He adds, his voice unwavering.

“So let me be here for you now, alright?” Eddie offers, holding Buck’s wrist like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“It just seems like a lot.” Buck says.

“Then we’ll take it step by step, okay?” Eddie answers, bringing his other hand to Buck’s neck.

“I don’t know what the first step would be.”

Eddie smiles softly. “Letting me say I’m sorry.” He starts, and Buck wants to intervene but Eddie doesn’t let him the time to do so, raising his hand in mid-air.

“You’re right.” He says. “We never talked about it. Because I wasn’t ready. And once I was all better and healed, everybody just moved on so I thought – I thought maybe I could do that too. But I should’ve known better.” Eddie says. “And when it all came crashing down again, you were there to pick up the pieces.”

“That’s not what -”

“But it happened to you, too.” Eddie cuts him off and Buck –

Well Buck finally feels like he can breathe a bit better. Having that confirmation from Eddie that he’s allowed to grieve, that he’s allowed to mourn too and to heal – it fills him with a relief he never knew he needed. He lets out a shaky breath and can’t stop the few tears from streaming down his cheeks. Eddie cradles his jaw with his right hand, letting his thumb wipe the tears from his face.

“It happened to me, too.” Buck repeats, with a shaking voice.

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked about it.” Eddie apologizes yet another time. “But we’re gonna try and be better at this whole communication thing from now on, yeah? I’m gonna try and be better.”

“Frank really did a number on you, huh?” Buck teases him, desperately trying to lighten up the mood.

And it works. For a second, it does. Eddie laughs and taps him on the shoulder. “Shut up.” He says.

“You’re allowed to ask for help, you know? Stop trying to figure out everything on your own just because you feel like your problems ain’t big enough. I’m right there. Me and Chris. We’re right there. And we’re not going anywhere. Okay?” He asks, cupping his cheeks with his hands.

“Okay.” Buck nods, shakily. “Okay.”

“We’re staying put.” Eddie adds, like he knows Buck needs to hear it twice.

“You’re staying put.” He repeats, and a small smile breaks in on his face. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“And well -” Eddie adds, hesitant, like it’s forbidden territory. “We have a couch.”

And this – This dangerously sounds like what Buck’s been wanting to hear for months. Hell, for years even, if Buck’s being honest with himself. But there’s just no way Eddie means it like that. Because that thing Buck wants to hear is too important, too precious and fragile, and so he decides not to hear it.

“Well I – I know but I’m not going to just take it from you guys.” He says weakly. “That seems a bit counter-productive you know -”

“Buck.” Eddie laughs, and his voice’s never been more fond. “You’re not hearing me. We have a couch.”

“I mean yeah I think we pretty much established that alrea-”

“Jesus Christ, you’re not going to make it easy for me, are you?” Eddie cuts him off, his hands still cupping his cheeks. “Buck.”

“Yeah?” Buck says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Look at me.”

“I’d rather not.” He whispers, keeping his eyes down.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Evan.”

And there’s something about his name coming from Eddie’s mouth. Something about the way Eddie makes it sound. It’s soft, and gentle. And Buck can’t not look up. He’s only human, after all.

“C’mon now that’s not fai-”

“I love you.” Eddie says before Buck gets the chance to look down again. And here there are. These three words. Between Eddie’s lips, they sound like the most beautiful thing in the world. Buck’s not sure what he did to deserve them. But he’s sure as hell not going to complain. “I’m in love with you. Have been for a while. So let’s try and be happy together, yeah?”

Buck tears up a bit at these words. He’s been waiting to hear these things for so long and now that he has them, he’s overwhelmed by how much they mean to him.

He sniffles and rests his forehead against Eddie’s. “No offense to the Eddie pre-therapy because I loved him just as much but he doesn’t hold a candle to you.” He says, and Eddie laughs. “I love you so much.” He adds. “You and Chris. You make me the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Against Eddie’s lips, he lets out a breath that’s a mix between a laugh and a sob.

And then, they’re both laughing and crying at the same time until Eddie takes the matter into his own hands and presses their lips together, kissing him so gently it only makes Buck cry a bit harder.

“Just to be clear, though.” Buck says against Eddie’s lips. “I’m never sleeping on your couch ever again, right?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Buck.”

And Buck –

Well Buck can only comply happily.

[findlayccarter]

High Tide - Kick and Prance (Runner)

Dir: @rossrjohnston Prod: @kat.tweedie DoP & Edit: Eathan Currie Talent & Choreo: @hannah_collins01 Location: @mellerstainhouseandgardens MD: @alexportersmith-blog

Now that Ethan has finished the edit for the their mini passion project film I thought I'd talk about the experience of working on the shoot with them.

I got an opportunity to work with High Tide quite last minute, but I was keen to get involved because I thought it would be good to learn from a company that do a mix of commercial and art films. Also I wanted to meet Ethan, who I think it primarily a cinematographer but also does editing. Something I'd be keen to do in the future, because as much as I love editing, I like the pressure/stress of being on set and having to act on impulse sometimes. Ethan also told me that they work with Davinchi most of the time, which was reassuring to hear.

It was a 6am call time which was a shock to the system and I didn't know what we were doing until we were on the car ride down to the borders. Ethan and Alex had wanted to create something like this for a while and it worked with needing some music based work to show on a show reel - as well as working and showing off a location:

Mellerstain House is a stately home around 8 miles north of Kelso in the Borders, Scotland. It is currently the home of George Baillie-Hamilton, 14th Earl of Haddington, and is designated as a historical monument.

It was a truly stunning house and the weather was perfect creating a-lot of light beams through the windows and meaning that my job as runner was very limited in terms of doing any fill lighting etc. A lot of the work I did was just fetching and carrying stuff and helping in any small way as possible like holding the camera. The camera, weighed a ton and really made the URSA handheld setups look pathetic.

There wasn't a lot of technical aspects that I was able to pick up on, however here's a list of things that I noticed there: -

The gimbal setup seemed like a bit of a nightmare even for someone who was used to it - definitely need to have play around with one in the future.

Ross (director) and Ethan (DOP) clearly had worked alot together so there was good chemistry. But I noticed that there was alot of problems that occurred that would be resolved very quickly. I think it showed how much they had planned it out and both had a very similar and clear mindset of what to get.

Lenses - the lens was fairly wide the whole time, I want to say it was a 25. There was very few lens changes, I think there was only one and it was only for a shot of Ross being the other tourist.

Producing - Kat was great and really organised the whole day. Even though there was a time constraint and it wasn't completely stress feel, they did not seem like they were stressed at all. The whole shoot was under control with well managed breaks and other commitments in between.

Wireless monitor - I wish the screen academy had these, the setup for it was so much easier and it made the playback and reviewing so much faster. I've learned to hate plugging BNC cables in.

Overall it was a great experience seeing everyone work, and the whole setup of High Tide was something that was very appealing to me. A small but varied group of people who worked together seamlessly and worked on projects that they all enjoyed and on top of that get paid for. To me it really seemed like the perfect job to be in. I hope that they reach out again and I have the opportunity to work with them.

[ofknowlcdge]

Arden | Age Dependent | Non-binary | Snake Shifter | Companion

Arden could be in their 20s/30s - over 100, depending on when you meet them. They also don't mind if you call them Arden or Hallow.

"They don't like snakes much do they?"

Arden doesn't technically come from the modern world, more like the past who even knows when anymore. They lost track of the number of years.

Arden grew up like most humans do, year by year though it was obvious to them and even their human parents they weren't the same as their parents. They shared their blood with his parents but anything else was just different.

They aged slower than humans should, while most were teens. Arden was nowhere close.

They really didn't give them the attention, unlike the nanny or the one wild creature did. But then it wasn't so wild and was more of a non-human who thought it should look after this child. Not like their parents ever cared once they figured they weren't human. Arden was just left to wonder without anyone looking out for them.

Arden really has no idea about a lot of things, what they learned they learned by watching, while their parents tell them that they're a disappointment they don't care what their parents say anyway.

"All I asked for was not to get almost killed on one adventure, Doctor."

While they grew slower it also made it seem like they were immortal with how they've lived through to the modern world, managing just fine. A night job, a flat that's their own and no parents they've had to suffer for a long time. they're doing fine, just fine.

However, they still get looks and sometimes when they find out about them glare and tell them their unwelcome. They get it wherever they go. It doesn't matter where they go anyway.

They're trying to live normally.

They're also not really immortal, they can die like humans. Though maybe they also tend to try to be careful or know how to tend to their own wounds. But so far they're doing fine.

"Not screamed at like I was a damned disease."

The First time Arden met their Doctor, their version anyway, what they didn't expect was to be thrown into whatever adventure by just walking into the wrong room/place and suddenly involved. Mind you they didn't think they would be picked up by the Doctor to go on more adventures, but here they are.

Still going, it's chaos, and they love it. Just wish it wasn't at the expense of almost dying often or being screamed at because of being a snake sometimes.

You'd think they would get over that, wouldn't you? Being a snake.

It's not like they can do anything about that issue or any other that seems to bother whoever it is when it comes to them. Still more often than not it's fine, just the times that that happens really seems to be a bit annoying.

"Tell your husband to stop moping please, I can suffer so much from that madman."

Now they can't say they remember completely how either they or the Doctor got the other timelord on board and to adventure with them, what a damn miracle on the Doctor's part.

But it more or less happened with dragging and screaming.

But it's safe to say the Master is stuck with them now, and the Doctor is sort of pleased. They wish sometimes he didn't pick the Master up, and saying he's just a 'friend' is not convincing them that the Doctor might as well say husband, they tend to act like a married couple.

Fight like one too.

It's easier for them to either be out of the room asleep or not, or wrapped around the Doctor because they do like being in snake form a lot. It's just when they shout it really does hurt Arden's ears, so they try to be out of the room more.