#then that's something you gotta talk to your therapist about

[luvevee]

Idk maybe it's fine to accept Sada and Turo are just really shitty parents who neglected and abandoned Arven instead of pulling the shortest straws in an attempt to make them seem like they were just sad workaholics who got too caught up in their work like a bad hallmark movie

[floral-hex]

woke up at 4am feeling the weight of my life crushing me, so I’ve been sitting out in my car for the last couple of hours because I just need. to. be. somewhere else.

[neverendingford]

.

[pellucid-constellations]

Faking It

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN

a/n:​​​ This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?” 

Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?” 

Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.” 

“He was talking shit about the team!” 

“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.” 

“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown. 

In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was. 

An opportunity to see you. 

And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box. 

“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away. 

Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.” 

“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?” 

“Hey, he did.” 

“They always do.”

Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated. 

“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?” 

Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.

“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.” 

“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him. 

But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one. 

Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not. 

But, damn, were you busy right now. 

Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you. 

Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off. 

God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you. 

He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free. 

“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.” 

You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.” 

Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations? 

Never. Because you were so damn busy. 

“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.” 

You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could. 

“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?” 

“Yes.” 

Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.” 

“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.” 

Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck. 

He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo. 

“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey. 

Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.” 

You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.” 

You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three. 

“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair. 

“I don’t know. In the night.” 

“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?” 

You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.” 

“Baby—”

“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.” 

“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back. 

“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.” 

“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.” 

You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you. 

“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.

“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.” 

You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin. 

Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him. 

“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream. 

You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.” 

“I wouldn’t call it lying.” 

The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face. 

“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.” 

“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.” 

“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.” 

Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.” 

“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?” 

“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away. 

“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented. 

Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him. 

With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen. 

After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real. 

God, he loved you. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.” 

Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.

“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin. 

“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—” 

“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.” 

“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.” 

Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—” 

“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.” 

“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.” 

“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.” 

“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—” 

You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow. 

Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.

You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”

Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more. 

“Can’t help it. I love you.”

Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for. 

But he always got what he wanted in the end. 

And, more than anything, he wanted you. 

“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?” 

When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.

“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend. 

He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.” 

“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.” 

“I know what first means, baby.” 

“Good.” 

But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually. 

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket. 

You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?” 

“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”

You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.” 

“Always, baby.” 

[uncle-fruity]

Taking T didn't ruin my singing voice, and frankly I'm sick of folks panicking and ignoring the fact that cis boys go through two or three years where their voices are fluctuating and cracking and changing before they settle.

Your voice isn't ruined, it's changing.

If you want to make that transition easier, you gotta keep using it. Sing! Even if your voice cracks in goofy ways. Even if you have trouble placing your voice comfortably. It gets easier, I promise. Get a voice teacher (if you can) who has experience with vocal changes for pubescent cis boys if it's really making you anxious or if you're having a hard time controlling it.

To be clear, I'm not trying to be dismissive of people's emotions, nor am I trying to tell you about your own experience. If you feel something intensely, that's fair and valid. Respectfully, you should unpack that with a therapist or supportive peers.

However, when one of the main TERF tactics against transmascs is convincing trans guys that T makes you Worse in a Variety of Ways, and that you'll be ruining your body if you take it, I am EXTREMELY dubious of how many people online report any part of their body being ruined by T. Sounds suspiciously like TERF shit. And, yes, even Actual Trans People can play into TERF talking points. I'm begging y'all to stop the rampant fearmongering surrounding T.

So, after nearly a year being on T, I'm here to say that YES my voice cracks and YES my voice fluctuates and YES sometimes it feels like I have to relearn everything I knew about being a vocalist, but goddamn if I won't have fun figuring it all out, because I know this is just one stage of the transition I'm going through, and it's worth it.

[mellifiedprincess]

hey queens :) i do not know how i feel about this one, but i had a little urge to write something and this is what i came up with. teehee. so pls let me know your thoughts! i’m also thinking about writing a little smutty fic about mr. ethan landry, but i’m not that good at smut so we’ll see.

ethan landry x reader

Fuck Ups and Make Ups

“Why do you look so….dead?” You would usually laugh at how blunt Mindy is, but today. Today you were not in a laughing mood. You were having one of the worsts days ever.

“Unfortunately, I’m not dead yet. But! If someone wants to take me out back and shoot me, I would not oppose.” You deadpan.

You watch as Mindy and Anika’s eyes widen, and Tara just looks at you even more confused than before. “Yeah, like your pretty boy would let anyone touch a hair on your head.” Chad states while texting someone. “Seriously though, what’s going on?” He asks as he puts his phone away, letting you know you have his full attention.

“Pretty boy is what’s going on!” You exclaim, slamming your head down on the picnic table. “Huh?”

You say something else, but it’s barely coherent. “Honey, you gotta lift your head up for us to understand you.”

You lift your head up and let out a huff, bringing your knees to your chest, you hug them tight to bring some form of comfort to yourself. “He likes someone else.” If the sadness in your voice wasn’t enough, the sad look on your face was, to make Chad want to get up, find Ethan, and knock some fucking sense into him.

For months. Months, the group has been trying to push Ethan to ask you out. It was so painfully obvious that you both had feelings for one another. And yes, you could ask him out yourself, but you were just too shy. You also didn’t really believe that he could actually like you back. I mean, he was literal perfection in your eyes.

“Why do you think that? Did something happen between you two?” Anika asks, moving from her spot on the ground to sit beside you, wrapping her arms around your body.

“I saw him talking to the new girl, Kennedy, in our sociology class yesterday, and they seemed to really be hitting it off. And then today, instead of sitting beside me, like he always does, he sat by her. I tried to talk to him after class, but he said he was busy and couldn’t talk to me right now and then rushed to catch up with Kennedy.” At this point you had a few tears fall. You were heartbroken by your pretty boy.

“I saw them together too! At our coffee spot, at our table. Like, why would he do that?” You let your head fall to Anika’s shoulder, and she places a chaste kiss to your head. “Why don’t we find out right now? Cause he’s on his way over here.” But before you could turn to look, Chad jumps up to block your view, and you feel Anika push your head back down to her shoulder.

“What’s up guys? I saw your text about Y/N, is she okay?” And for a few seconds, you felt relief. Relief that he did still care. Until you heard her. “Yeah, we had to cut our date short, so Ethan could play therapist.”

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” You could hear the bite in Chads tone. “Oh! I’m Kennedy. Ethan’s told me all about you guys. You must be the condescending alpha. It’s Chad, right?” If you could have seen Ethan’s face, you would have laughed. “Wait- I never said that.” Kennedy looks up at Ethan, fluttering her eyelashes and pouts her lips. “I’m just teasing E!” E? She’s known Ethan for two days and is already calling him by E?

“Can we go now? I’m sure whatever her name is can figure her shit out without you.” Your eyes only widen more. “Ethan, I really think you should talk to Y/N first.” Chad was almost begging Ethan not to leave with Kennedy. There’s a pregnant pause, but you couldn’t see what was going on due to Chad blocking your figure.

“Y/N’s an adult, she can’t rely on me for everything.” Ethan’s words hit you right in the chest. It hurt. It hurt so bad, you couldn’t breathe. Mindy noticed the state you were in and knew you couldn’t talk to Ethan right now. “What the fuck is your problem, dude?” She says as she stands up next to Chad.

“My problem is all of you! You’re all just pissed at me because I’m with someone who’s not Y/N. For months, you have all been on my dick about my feelings for her and how i need to man up and just tell her how I feel, how I need to go ahead and ask her out before it’s too late, but have you ever thought that I don’t fucking want to?” He was digging himself into a hole. He didn’t mean that, not at all. But to you it didn’t matter. He said what he said, and you heard all of it.

“You won’t have to worry about that anymore. Because I never want to see you again.” Ethan’s face pales when he finally notices you there. The fact that he just said all of that in front of you, makes him want someone to take him out back and shoot him. “Wait! Y/N, that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”

You almost laugh, and you would have if it weren’t for the doleful feeling in your chest and the tears falling from your eyes. “Leave her alone, man. You’ve said enough.” Chad places a firm hand on Ethan’s chest, stopping him from going after you. “I hope you’re happy. Cause you just lost the person who cares most about you in this world.” Tara’s words hit Ethan hard. He knew they were true, but it still hurt nonetheless.

But there was no way he was gonna let you go, not without fighting for you.

———

It had been two weeks. Two very long, sad weeks. Ethan was a mess, and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He still texted you every morning right when he woke up, and every night before he fell asleep. And every time, you would read his message, but never responded.

He hated himself for making you cry, and the look on your face is one he would never forget.

It was also hard for your friends to see how this effected the both of you. You barely left your bed. Only really leaving for classes. The one time you did leave for something other than that, was when Tara and Chad literally dragged you out of your room for a movie night.

Mindy told you that you were better off anyway, but she didn’t know Ethan like you did. You weren’t better off, and there were so many times you almost called him. Just to hear his voice, because it was the only thing that calmed you down after one of your night terrors. They had been more frequent as of late, probably to do with the fact you didn’t have your pretty boy anymore.

But, you never called. You never responded to any of his messages either. The words he spoke all those weeks ago, hurt you more than when Amber stood over your body, thinking she had killed you after her brutal attack.

And here you are now, sitting in front of your friends, who somehow convinced you to have a study picnic with them. They’ve barely looked at their textbooks and notes, too concerned about you to pay them any attention. You haven’t spoken barely a full sentence the whole time you’ve been with them, you have bags under your eyes, and you just don’t seem as glowy as you usually do. You looked exhausted.

“Staring me down won’t make you guys any more prepared for these exams coming up.” You state, not even bothering to look up from your notes. “We’re just worried about you Y/N/N. You just aren’t acting like yourself.” Anika’s voice is soft, almost like she’s afraid she’ll scare you off. “I just haven’t been getting enough sleep. I’ll be fine once exams are over with.”

They all knew you were lying. They all knew you were still heartbroken, and they all knew how much you missed your pretty boy.

…Which is why Chad texted him and told him where you were.

Ethan was in class when he got Chads text. Usually his phone would be off, but he’s had it on everyday since your fight just in case you finally texted him back.

“You better fix things with our pretty girl, she’s not okay and I’m only doing this because we all miss seeing her smile. She’s here studying at the quad with us, don’t fuck this up again.”

Ethan was jumping from his seat the second he finished reading the text. Catching a few odd looks from the people around him, but he didn’t care. He just wanted his girl, who was never officially his girl, back.

Everything he thought he was gonna say left his mind as soon as he got to you. You looked absolutely miserable, and when your friends looked up at him, they couldn’t believe how miserable he looked too.

You held your face in your hands as tears of exhaustion fell down your cheeks. You felt like a baby. But you finally hit your breaking point, sobbing uncontrollably. You couldn’t breath and all you wanted was the comfort of Ethan’s arms around you. “Y/N/N? What do you need us to do?” Tara tried to comfort you the best she could, running her hands up and down your arms.

“Can someone please get Ethan? I just really need him right now.” At your words everyone looked up at him with a look of, ‘we will kill you if you don’t fix this.’

He almost tripped over his own feet trying to get to you as quick as possible. “I’m already here, angel.” He said softly as he kneeled down beside you. He then slowly removed your hands from your eyes, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his shoulders and shove your face into his neck.

“I’m gonna take you back to my place, okay?” Ethan could tell you’ve barely slept, and you always said you got the best sleep with him in his bed. “Okay.” You mumble out, before pulling away from the comfort of Ethan’s embrace.

———

After bidding your friends goodbye, Ethan grabs your hand in his and doesn’t let go until you’ve made it inside his dorm. His eyes follow your form as you make your way to his room, he had so much he wanted to say to you, but was afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

When you reach his room, you go straight for his closet, wanting to be out of the uncomfortable jeans and crop top. Your hands delicately run across Ethan’s shirts, missing the feeling of the material on your skin. It’s dumb, you think. How a simple piece of clothing can bring you so much comfort, all because of who it belonged to.

“Oh, here! I put your favorite t-shirt away so nothing would happen to it. I’ll be right back.” Ethan hands you the old graphic tee, before going into his adjoined bathroom. You quickly change and sit down on his bed, already feeling the tension leaving your body.

When Ethan returns, he’s also changed into comfier clothes. He’s also holding a pack of makeup wipes, that he always kept there just in case you needed them.

He sits against the headboard, eyes meeting yours before patting his lap, signaling for you to take perch in. “Come here.” He says softly, dark eyes never leaving yours. You tiredly make your way over to him, not really knowing what to expect. But he only opens the pack of make-up wipes and with a touch so soft, you barely feel it, he wipes your ruined makeup off. And even though he’s done this for you a million times before, this time feels so incredibly different.

Ethan thinks he’s somehow fucked up again, as he noticed the slight wobble of your lips, followed by tears gathering in your eyes once again. He drops the wipe, and cups your face instead. You feel the pads of his thumbs wipe your fallen tears and you can’t help but ask, “Why did you say it?”

And he just looks at you. Big brown doe eyes, staring right into your soul.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.” He gives you a sad smile, rubbing his knuckles against your cheek. “And when I realized how in love with you I actually am, I got scared. And I’m still scared, because if there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s fucking up all the good things I have in my life. It’s not an excuse for how I acted, and I wish I would have just told you how I felt instead of causing all of this. Instead of causing tears to fall down your pretty face.” You could tell by the conviction in his voice he meant every word he said.

“I just-“ He pauses and continues to look at you, waiting for you to reject him. Waiting for you to tell him it’s too late and the damage is done, and there’s no repairing it.

Instead, you lean forward and place a hand on his chest for support, before placing your lips on his.

Ethan stops breathing for a few seconds. He couldn’t believe he was finally kissing the girl of his dreams. He couldn’t believe that a fuck up like him, got someone like you. And the kiss. The kiss was just how you both imagined it would be. Slow at first, learning the others patterns, but once you figured it out, it became more heated. You could feel the others want, you could feel every ounce of love the two of you had for each other.

After a few more pecks, you pull away. “I’m in love with you too, E.” Ethan’s face lights up, and he just smiles at you. “Does this mean I can officially call you my girlfriend?” You giggle and nod with a smile as big as his. “Yes, pretty boy. You can call me your girlfriend.”

Ethan wraps his arms around you, and moves your body to lay down with him. Your head immediately going to his chest as you feel his fingers run through your hair. “Well I have a lot of making up to do, so to start off, let’s get you to sleep. Because I know you haven’t been sleeping like you should.” “Do I look that awful?” You ask, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

“No, sweet girl. You look beautiful. But I know you won’t go to anyone else about your night terrors, and your body language is off. Now, just close your eyes and go to sleep. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Okay.” And for a second it’s completely silent. Ethan thinking you had already fallen asleep places a kiss to your forehead and brings you closer to his chest. “I love you so much.” He whispers, finally closing his tired eyes.

“I love you too.”

[steddietogo]

Eddie finds Steve’s green sweatshirt one day after getting surprise dunked in the pool at Casa Harrington by his own sheep. It’s soft and worn like it was once Steve’s favorite thing to wear but now it lays forgotten at the back of his closet.

Eddie doesn’t think much about it, just picks it up and pulls it on. Its just him and Steve in the kitchen when he gets back. The others are arguing about which movie to put on while Steve heated up dinner for all of them like a dutiful housewife. The thought makes him laugh.

Steve turns around at the sound of his voice. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just. You pretend to get mad when the kids call you mom but here you are, being all—” He waves his hands about trying to convey his point but Steve is already distracted.

“That sweatshirt,” Steve has a frown on his face, but it’s not exactly a bad one. Eddie wonders when he learned to read Steve like that.

He gives Steve a twirl. “Do I look good in it?” Steve smiles, doesn’t deny it.

“You know, I fought my first demogorgan in it,”

“Woah,” Eddie looks down at it, feeling something akin to wonder when he smooths his palms over the fabric.

“Yeah,”

“God, Harrington,” Eddie looks up grinning. “You gotta keep a priceless artefact like this safe,” Steve rolls his eyes and goes to pull the pizza out of the oven. He’s still smiling though.

Eddie follows, then plants his butt on the counter so he can see Steve’s face. “Is that why you don’t wear it anymore?”

Steve’s cheeks puff out like a chipmunk when he sighs heavily. Eddie has the sudden urge to pinch them.

“Kinda, at first,” He doesn’t look at Eddie when he speaks. “I don’t even know why I kept it, you know? I kinda just wanted to burn every evidence of that night,”

Eddie nods and goes to gather plates for everyone. He should say it. Steve trusted him enough to share, Eddie should too right? He hasn’t said it out loud. Not to Wayne, not to the upside down scientists approved therapist. But he could tell Steve. Steve gets it. And Eddie so badly wants to talk about it, maybe cry a little. Because out of all the things that had happened, this one really breaks his heart.

Eddie startles when a hand softly presses into the small of his back. “You okay there?” Steve has his head tilted to the side to see Eddie better and this time the frown on his face spells worry.

“I can’t play my guitar,” he blurts out. And the words rush out of him all at once. “I can’t do it, I mean I get nightmares and shit, you know. And sometimes my scars hurt so much at night that I can’t even sleep. But this one really takes the cake, like, I pick her up and my heart starts racing and I can’t breath—” It’s happening again. His chest tightens to the point that he struggles to draw in a breath and his vision blurs out as his eyes fill with tears and— oh god he’s going to die in Steve’s kitchen.

“No, Eddie you’re not going to die, I promise,” says a steady voice firm enough that he almost believes it. Then warm hands pull him into an even warmer body. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, listens to Steve telling him how to breath and slowly, after a long while, the knot starts to loosen and breathing comes easier. Steve doesn’t stop running a soothing hand over his back as Eddie sags into him, suddenly winded. His fists are balled into Steve’s shirt like a scared little kid.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles when he’s gathered enough energy to start feeling embarrassed at how quickly he fell apart.

“Nothing to be sorry about, I swear, happens to the best of us,”

Eddie snorts, “Okay mom,” Steve swats at his arm. Eddie finally pulls away after a while. “Think I really needed that,”

“Hey, if you want, you can come over and trying playing over here?” Steve shrugs. “Maybe a change of location can help, I’ll even hold your hand through it,”

“How am I supposed to play if you’re holding my hand, dummy,” Eddie snarks, hiding his smile behind his hair. “But I’ll think about your offer,” There’s literally nothing to think about, what was he going to say, no? Steve’s answering look tells Eddie he knows too.

And if Eddie leans into Steve when he put his arm around Eddie in the sofa while sharing a blanket, well that’s his business.

[rreids]

hey, i was wondering if you'd be able to write smth with Spencer in a relationship with someone with bpd? it's totally okay if you're not comfy with that, but I've just been suspecting i may have it, and ppl with bpd are always portrayed so negatively in relationships. it would be just rly nice to read ur take on how Spencer would handle that and just see some positive representation! (my mental health has also been shit so it would be p comforting lol) thank u 🫶

hi love 🫶 i don't know a ton about bpd, so i hope i did this justice! i researched the diagnosis and how healthy relationships help with regulation and in what ways they do (both accounts from experts and from those who are diagnosed). and i hope you feel better soon <3 it sucks when your mind fights against you.

PROMISES • S. REID X READER

reader has bpd (written by an author without, ideally will be comforting rather than hurtful. please let me know if it is offensive in any way); gn!reader; spencer has to break a small promise but makes others; talks of therapy; teasing; fluff; ~500 words

“Hey, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers into the phone, voice a little strained. “I’m really, really sorry, but I can’t make lunch today. We’re on the way to a case in Omaha. It’s a really bad one.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.”

“You know I want to be there more than anything, right?” He’s shuffling papers in the background, and you know they’re in the middle of getting ready on the jet and that he’s still making time for you, but it still makes your mind race with worry and upset. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week. And I promise I’ll take you out as soon as we’re back.”

You frown, fiddling with the promise ring on your finger. “Will you still talk to me?”

Spencer chuckles. “I think I go insane when I go too long without hearing your voice. As long as you don’t mind calls when it’s two a.m. there, I’m calling before bed every night I have enough time.”

You sigh.

“I know, honey. When’s your next meeting with your therapist?”

“Tomorrow,” you mumble, gnawing on your lip.

“Well, you have permission to talk about how much I suck,” Spencer teases lightly. “As long as you know it’s not by choice that I’m being a bad boyfriend.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re the best boyfriend. You understand me.” He does. He’s looked into BPD extensively — he knows even more than you do, rattling off statistics, assumed causes and connections, coping methods, everything. He knows how to break you out of the spirals and to calm your impulsivities.

“You have other boyfriends?” Spencer sighs dramatically, and you laugh.

“Why would I have them? You’re more than enough.”

Spencer hums. “I am, aren’t I?” 

You groan.

“I’m messing with you,” his voice is fond and soft. “I gotta hang up, everyone’s coming and we need all our focus on this case. Message me if you need anything. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t do anything,” you know you’re exaggerating, but it’s hard to stop the words.

“I do, just nothing out of our normal,” he’s nudging you gently, reminding you to think things through before acting impulsively. “I give you permission to watch our show without me if it’ll keep you entertained.”

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll be good,” you draw it out.

Spencer snorts. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Spence.”

A beat.

“I’m not actually going to talk shit about you to my therapist, just so you know. I do talk about you though.”

And then you hang up. 

He sends you a ‘???’ and a ‘I wanted to say something still.’ right after. When you tell him to say it, he sends a ‘Do what you need to feel regulated. I don’t take it to heart, you know I don’t.’

And he doesn’t. He’s so sweet, so achingly perfect, understanding of when your moods swing, or when you feel empty, or whenever anything changes and you can’t tell why. 

And he always helps you down, kissing scars and tears and whispering praise as he gets you to feel right again.

[morallyinept]

Dress Me Up & Call Me Pretty - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Dieter gets into your make-up stash, and all carnage breaks loose.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 6.8k of depraved filth.

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶🌶🌶 "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Explicit - Established relationship/oral F receiving/M anal play/ass eating/pegging/dirty talk/come eating/playing dress up/feminisation kink/praise/sex toys/drug use/angst/Dieter being a fucking menace. 🐼

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.  

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a GIFLET... 🙄 I blame @for-a-longlongtime & @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for encouraging me, you gorgeous rascals. Inspired by the BTS pic of Pedro on SNL with make-up on from his Miss Flores skit. Plumping lipgloss idea courtesy of the absolute legend @secretelephanttattoo 🖤

Finally get to play & write something for my homeboy, D - Yay! 💋

☝🏻If this story isn't to your taste, that's cool. Just skip past it quietly. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

“...I know I messed up, but this audition, it’s a game changer. Put me forward for it. I’m ready.”

The voice on the other end of the speaker sighs heavily. 

Brown, darting and bloodshot eyes flick up to the mirror, pale bottom lip chewed on listlessly. The rings on his pointer and pinky clack against the marble surface as he rocks his hand back and forth against it, increasing in speed. 

Clack-clack-clack...

“You’ve gotta fucking get it together, Dieter. I can’t keep pulling your ass out the gutter. That stunt at the Emmys? Shit man. Fucking memes are everywhere.”

A finger swipes in the tiny mountain of white powder and is brought to pale gums. He releases with a squelchy pop. The heady feeling bottoms out in his gut too quickly. 

“I know. I-I fucked up-”

“Fucked up? Jesus, Dieter!”

“I know. I’m just… I’m feeling the pressure, you know? I can’t fucking sleep.” He scratches under his chin. That little spot that feels raw and tight. "Just need some sleep."

“You checked in with your therapist?”

He snorts and bends over the vanity growling. “That quack doesn’t know me.”

Clack-clack-clack...

There’s a long sigh. “Get yourself straight. Sleep. For a week. Then we’ll talk about work.”

“Get me the script!” He wails.

“Goodbye, Dieter.” 

He tosses his phone into the sink and tugs at his hair. His eyes find his disapproving reflection staring back at him vacuously.

The mirror never lies.

It shows us the unbidden, hideous truth that we try to deny; shows us who we really are, even if we don’t know who that person is anymore.

Who are you?

It shows you your weakness, that disgusting perverse swill that rides inside your veins and is one with you - it’s a part of you and always has been; the root of its origin undeciphered. You’ve just known it to always exist inside of you; accustomed to the customs of your vile ways.        

Who the fuck are you, Dieter Bravo?

He points at his reflection. “I see you, you… fuck! I see you.”

Dieter is seeing it once again, the way he always had when he beheld his wrung out reflection staring back at him. The sight of himself in the mirror hung over the giant basin causes a tidal wave of images to stab at his eyeballs. So much so that he feels slightly unsteady on his feet for a moment or two.

A rush of recall; the sordid details of that fucking Emmy after party in all their purest, most vivid forms, taunting him and confusing him for a relapsed second or two, where he lets them slip inside his walls.

His guard relinquishes but if for a moment, and it's a singular moment that brings unbearable consequence and destruction with it.

It brings guilt, shame; unabashed disgust. It brings that look on your face as you shake your head and storm out, cameras flashing in his face as he chases after you and peddles fraying excuses that you've heard before. 

And once those feelings fester in, they’re hard to rinse out. A cataclysmic effect that renders him incapable of anything else but mental self-flagellation; an emotional top drop strangling him until he can no longer breathe.

Tasting the smells and hearing the colours that are laid out inside his head like sleazy schematics, drowning in the cloudy dopamine. A suffocating feeling engulfs him; a fire raging through the driest desert, burning up everything until there is nothing left to destroy.

He knows his dick was probably involved, it usually is. Drugs too. Lots of drugs. But he'd arrived sober and with you glittering on his arm. He'd been doing so well, polished up.

You were right, those people that surrounded him, they weren't his friends. They were enablers. Leeches. Revellers in his misery.

But your face, your pretty, pretty face... You didn't scream, you didn't shout. You just held him whilst he sobbed. All night. God, he hadn't cried like that in... well, he can't remember.

And he couldn't sleep that night, and hasn't been able to since.

He begs internally, to make it stop.

Screaming silently not to allow him to be the spectator anymore on his last deviances, but he’s still rendered useless whilst it omits the heinous, fucked up truths about him.

Truths that should have ruined him; if it was anyone else, it would have. Game over. Hollywood says bye-bye. But instead he’s celebrated for his bawdy reputation in the industry. One janky scandal after another, racking them up like it's fucking awards season.  

He scratches the underside of his scruffy chin listlessly. He taps his cheeks, hollowing his mouth open so it sounds out of his mouth like bongo drums and does that on repeat. His fingers are buzzing, his toes feel weird. What day is it?

Dieter grips onto the sink with both hands straining to keep himself up right and gasping as though he’s been punched in the gut; his reflection is not making it easy on him at all.

You did this. You fucking did this.

He dry heaves into the sick, but nothing comes up anymore.        

Sort your shit out.

He sees it. He sees his face. The mirror never lies. It shows you your real face; the one under the professionally groomed cheekbones and ageing skin pulled crinkly round the eyes. Perhaps he should get some botox.

He decides he loathes his face, it’s hideous and he wants nothing but to claw it off and leave it bloody and scarred.

He decides that he hates being alone and left to his own perilous devices like this, and wonders why you’re not home yet. Wonders how you can always silence the nagging and twittering, even though he is less than deserving of silence.

He snorts two more powdery lines and takes a deep, shuddering breath, clears his throat as though trying to find the right baritone as the sherbet fizz rips craggy down the back of it. 

The conversation with his agent leaves him ruminating further in the dark of the unhinged; ebbing paranoia starts to gnaw at him and he knows he has to calm down; somewhere in the static fuzz, he knows he should probably calm the fuck down. Regain his composure, even with a head full of luminescent bubbles that make his cortex feel uncomfortably numb. 

His fingers blindly selects a tool from the pot of brushes on the sink; he takes the fuzziest one with the biggest head and retreats into the bedroom, a lost boy, running its silken fibres up and down his cheek.

The gentle stroke of the compacted hairs feels like a tender touch, comforting, grounding him as he breathes in and lets the make-up brush, that you use to coat your cheeks in pretty fuschia colours, soothe him for a few seconds. 

And that’s when Dieter has an idea; cracking open his skull like a lightning bolt. Dashing back to the bathroom as though he’s shit all down the inside of his harem pants; the adrenaline, the rush floods down the veins in his triad inked arms as he scatters the brushes across the vanity clumsily and cackles wildly. 

The same rush he gets when he’s about to paint a new, heinous masterpiece. Only this time the canvas will be his own face. 

Layer by layer, he conceals the signs of his turmoil, the long, binge worn-in trenches under his eyes. As if he could mask and tame the chaos with every stroke. The eyeliner is meticulously applied, despite the visible shake in his fingers, although two more lines of coke will sort that out, give him sharpened focus, if but for a few minutes. 

The act of shaping his eyes allows Dieter to momentarily escape the storm inside his mind, even if he doesn’t take the opportunity to bask in its sloshy puddles. 

He looks back at his reflection and sees not the paranoid, reclusive and somewhat maniacal man he’s become, but an esteemed, Oscar-worthy actor who can transform into another character, if but for a while. 

And it stuns him, not his handiwork, although he’s quite in awe of it - he’s always been expressive with a brush - but the fact that he’s forgotten that he’s this person rather than the catatonic failure being held together with strained, thread-like seams. 

That he, too, could be… pretty. 

But Dieter knows this is only a temporary reprieve, another coping mechanism before the turbulent thoughts blow in again to rattle his tired skeleton. But for now, it’s enough to roll with, to revel in the ignorant bliss.

And it’s having a profound effect on his body as things start to tingle back to life again; fingers, nipples, cock… Pieces of him coming alive that have felt so anaesthetised for so long.

Staring at his lips, he frowns at their bareness. Rummaging through your make-up bag in a road to Damascus dash, he audibly growls when he can’t find it, the finishing touch.

He ends up tipping it all in the sink, burying his phone that has been incessantly pinging for days, as he searches for his coveted prize frantically with gnarled claws. 

“Fuck!” He paces out of the bathroom; a renegade hand partaking in the regular tug and twists at the curly hair on his nape. He pulls open the dresser drawers and rifles around.

No, not in there either. 

The bedside table shows no hint of the final piece that will complete the look.  

Sighing and feeling his fingertips throb, Dieter stops stomping when he spies it, taunting him on the side of the sink where it had always been.

Come here, big boy…

He pulls the cap off and twists up the bottom to reveal the velvet bullet, shaped down to a flat nubbin by your copious wear. He sniffs it; it even smells of you. The lipstick is a pretty, deep rosy pink.

He runs it over his lips and rolls them together. Blotting it with his fingers, a few soft taps like he’s seen you do a thousand times before; he puckers and licks around his teeth. He loves this colour on you, his favourite.

Loves that it leaves the markings of you all down his chest and around his cock. 

Dieter reaches into the front of his pants and adjusts the heavy weight of his dick in the throes of hardening and tenting them out. He gives himself a squeeze and the groan that escapes him sounds so alien.

He leans forward and kisses the mirror, leaving a print of his lips, and smirks.

"Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard. I'd fuck me so hard..." Dieter recites Jame Gumb imitating his accent, and snickers at his reflection.

He paints on a sticky glaze of gloss over the top of his lips, then retreats into the bedroom, back to the dresser drawers where he pulls out your silk and lace in abundance and laughs maniacally as he repeats the quote.

"I'd fuck me so hard..."

When you reach the bedroom, the carnage stops you in your tracks. For a moment, it looks as though there's been a robbery.

What the...?

There are clothes everywhere, on the floor; your delicates and unmentionables. Outfits strewn over the bed, sequins and suede crumpled on the chair like deflated ghosts.

The closet doors are wide open and you can hear the muffled sounds of him from somewhere amongst the throes of it. Garbled curses and strung out laughter that echoes.

“D?” You call as you place your purse down.

“Yeah!” He calls as you make your way towards the closet door, but he bounds out, wrapping his green gown tight around his waist.

He looks at you, hair dishevelled, but you stop in your tracks.

You smile, slowly and wide, as he stares at you like he’s just woken up.

“Babe.” He acknowledges, blinking widely and fast.

“Damn, you have good taste. That colour is gorgeous on you.” You say, zoning in on his lips.

“What?” He questions with a twinkly void in his eyes. He baulks then remembers his face is caked full of make-up.

“Oh. Yeah?” He blushes.

More scritching at the underside of his chin commences and he frowns at the foundation now embedded under his nails.

You smile softly. “Yeah. But let me fix your eyes. Come here. Got a little smudge there.” You say as he follows you over to the vanity like a loyal puppy and sits himself down, proverbial tail wagging crazily.

You smirk, noticing his legs are swathed in a black, nylon sheen under the flaps of his corduroy gown.

“Nearly fucking blinded myself putting that shit on. Don't know how you do that everyday.” He nods to the eyeliner that you pick up.

“Masochist,” you smirk. You dab at his eye corner, redraw the line and smile. “There. Perfect.”

He blinks a couple of times, as though there’s something in his eye. Or perhaps he’s having a stroke.

“You look…” You swallow as you can’t find the words.

“Do I look pretty? Do you want to have sex with me?” He puts to you, and it’s like he just whispered it directly to your clit. He stares up at you with perfectly lined, brown doe eyes.

Sucking in a breath you query “is this for a role, or…?”

“No.” Dieter shakes his head standing and his gown falls open. You see he’s wearing black stockings with lace tops, held up by suspenders. And your black, lace thong.

“D. Is that my thong?” You ask, bewildered and bemused, as he turns back to you.

“My thong now.” He simmers at you.

“Oh my God. Don't do this to me.” You say feeling the heat ignite your cheeks.

It suddenly feels very hot and stuffy in the bedroom as you take him in. Sweat makes itself known on the back of your neck and you feel damp between your legs. Your inherent need for him grows fangs and wants to sink itself into the meat of his thigh and suck deeply until you grow fat and full and fall off.

“I'm not doing anything, baby.” Dieter remarks, twiddling his curly tufts around his finger.

“Fuck, D. You're fucking hot like this.”

“Yeah I am.” He says twirling, and twirling a bit more vigorously, until you stop him.

You take his head in your hands and peer at his blown out pupils. “Are you high?” You question, eyeing him with a dipped frown.

“Maybe. It's irrelevant.” He shrugs and shakes out of your grip. You’re too good to him, and he knows it.

He is completely fucking unworthy of this, of you. Look at you; you’re stunning there in your effortless grace and the way you behold him like he shits out gold nuggets, even when he’s fucked up - again.

You’re a fucking Goddess, and the no good, piece of shit needs to worship at your feet and beg for your forgiveness for his latest relapse. He can’t look at you, he can’t look at himself.

He wraps his robe around his belly again.

This was stupid. Pathetic. Why does this fucking foundation itch so much? It’s your eyes, it’s as though he’s tumbling through tunnel vision, hurtling straight at your damn eyes. Stop looking at me.

But you pull him to you, wanting to get your hands on him. Wanting to reassure him and quell those shakes that rattle him. Wanting to scrape those scabbied layers off of him and bathe until the skin feels soft once more.

But he’s making it very difficult to concentrate on any kind of admonishment right now.

Right now, you just want to lick him all over.

You take his hands and his gown flaps open again. His little tummy paunch rests softly on top of the silk elastic of the suspender belt and you run your finger along the width of it. His cock barely fits inside your thong, and you’re trying not to dribble as you stare down at it.

Thick and swollen and hard. And thick... fuck.

“I like this.” You pant.

“Yeah? How much?”

“A lot.” You nod to him slowly as you look up at him. That clit of yours thunders like it’s kicking crazily at a locked door to get out. You clench, squeezing your thighs together and try to stifle your moan.

But he hears it. And he fucking runs with it.

“Am I your good girl?” Dieter pouts and flutters his clumpy mascara eyelashes at you.

“Oh-ho.” You whine, shaking your head and punching your fist against his bare chest gently.

Yeah, he went there.

You know exactly what he wants, how he wants to play this out. He's playing the part, and you're his partner in scene. So you give it to him.

“Yeah. You're such a good girl, D. So fucking pretty for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you make yourself all pretty just for me?”

He nods. "You like it?"

“Look at those blow-job lips… Jesus.” Your thumb pulls on his sticky, cerise bottom lip before he sucks it fully into his mouth and eye fucks you darkly the whole time he does it.

“What do you want?” He whispers coyly as your thumb pops out.

“I wanna ruin your make-up.” You husk.

“Fuck.” He says, giddy. "Do it."

“Wait here.” You say, scurrying over to the closet and disappearing inside.

“The strap on!” He calls.

Your head pokes around the door like a Meerkat sniffing out danger. “Yeah?”

He nods enthusiastically with serious eyes. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, you’re such a fucking cock slut.” You call back excitedly and giggle as you rummage around in the drawers in the closet. The drawers that are chock full of an arsenal of sexual weaponry. Dildos, plugs, vibes… Everything you can think of, and then some.

“It feels so silky and nice. I can't stop touching it.” He groans as he watches you step into the bedroom again with the harness and dildo dangling from your hand.

You pull down your jeans and step out of them, kicking them away in haste, and he bites his lip beholding you.

You're too much and not enough.

“Touching your little pussy?” You observe him running his hands over the silk of the suspenders and the stockings. He fiddles with the tiny bow on the thong.

“Yeah. My pussy feels real nice.”

“Show me how you touch it, Dieter.” You tempt.

He sits back on the chair, legs open, manky gown falling off his thighs. His hand cups over his cock that’s grotesquely hard. Thick, swelling and the head as flush and pink as his lips.

Poking out the top of the thong, it’s so small to hold him all in fully, and there’s a little sheen on his belly just below his slot machine button, that glimmers sticky at you where he’s leaking.

Your throat runs immediately dry because all the fluid in your body is pooling in your cunt right now and dripping into your panties. Fuck...

You watch him pump that hefty cock of his over the lace. You can hear him breathing hard and moaning with unrestrained pleasure as he goes. He hisses, you watch mesmerised and unable to look away, trying not to drool in the process.

He says your name and you feel it all over your body as it fires in your core.

“Mmhm, mmhm, fuck… feels so good.” Dieter purrs as he strokes up and down his thick length, taking the time to rub the pre-cum slick around his head.

You watch keenly as the insides of his thighs jerk each time he does it.

“Come here, pretty girl,” you coo sitting on the end of bed and tapping the space beside you.

“You want to do scissors with me?” He smirks.

“Fuck, D!” You groan.

You run your hand through his fluffy, messy hair as he reaches you. No matter how well put together he can look - and it’s rare - his hair always resembles a chaotic mess that you love tugging on.

You yank him forward by it, eliciting hisses from him. Those plush, pink coated lips of his are puffed out as you twist his cocoa hair tightly inside your fingers. He coos, enjoying your fuss.

“You feeling a little out of sorts, baby?” You whisper to him, kissing his crown as he kneels between your parted legs.

You know, you always know when he needs you. But never asks.

He sits back on his heels and doesn’t look at you, his hands wringing, fidgeting. The obvious signs that say he’s not ready to talk about it yet. He scratches under his jaw, in a patch that is soothed as he digs his nails into it again. You take his hands and he hangs his head.

“D.” You prompt. “Tell me what you need right now.”

Why do you do that? I hurt you, and will continue to hurt you, and yet you still want to take care of me...

You smile at him, plugging in and powering up the sun, and it tears at something inside of him.

Dieter leans forward, planting soft smooches up the inside of your thigh and leaving wet, lipstick kiss prints.

“This.” His nose presses into your crotch. He flicks his tongue out and up the front of your panties. “I want to taste that pussy, baby.”

“Yeah, you wanna lick my cunt, pretty girl?”

“Mmhm,” he says, his fingers now tugging your panties aside eagerly as those brown eyes lance at you for permission, for approval. His brain is yammering away twenty to the dozen.

Pussy-pussy-pussy-pussy-pussy-

“Eat it, Dieter.” You groan.

He runs his nose up your slit inhaling in deep and humming out in satisfaction at your scent. He slides his long fingers up underneath your panties and pushes them to one side to reveal your soaking lips glistening at him.

He leans in, eyes still looking up at you in their droopy, tired haze, and runs his tongue against you.

You feel that wet muscle weave inside your folds and begin to lap you up like he’s starving.

He listens to them; those whimpers around his fingers as he slides them into your mouth as he tongues you, and the way you look at him; you trust him, you adore him, and it fractures him and leaves wounds opening up all over his body as he bleeds out, bleeds for you.

He reaches down and slides his other fingers inside your pussy as he slurps hungrily around your clit; so wet and so fucking tight.

Dieter watches every time you come; really studies your face and the sounds you make from his fingers fapping hard inside your cunt, bringing you to the edge, and instead of holding you back or denying you, he lets you fly. It's the best part. It's like fucking Icarus, man. He always flies too close. He wants to see your psychedelic colours and bask in their vividness as they blind him. Feel your corona melt his face.

He feels you tighten and constrict around his fingers, hilted to the silver bands at his knuckles, your slick soaking all over the metal. He knows this is real, not a spaced out trip. Knows that he makes you feel these things for him. Even when he feels like utter shit.

You can’t fake it when you’re this open, this vulnerable before him. He inhales you, he needs you. He lets you dissolve on his tongue. Needs you more than the nose powder, more than the glittering lights, more than the fans chanting his name and his face blown up on billboards.

You’re his fucking drug and he’s hopelessly addicted to feeling you flood through his veins.

The pointed tip of his tongue probes and flicks wildly against your clit, and you die. He grabs a hold of your waist, hoisting you up and back further onto the bed where he tugs your panties aside further and delves into your cunt with a heated fervour.

You watch, gasping, as that perfectly pink lipstick smears wet and sticky across his mouth and cheeks as he goes to town on you like he’s starved.

“So fucking good, baby. Just like that!” You gasp feeling dizzy and unbearably hot.

Amidst the heat of his lapping, you start to feel a subtle, yet almost electric feeling that radiates on your lips and clit. It’s like a cascade of tiny, pinprick vibrations; invigorating and soothing at the same time.

Tingles, leaving a pleasantly cooling sensation around his wet tongue.

“Mmm, you’re wearing the plumping lipgloss, aren’t you?” You smile as the tingles increase over your clit, pulling tight and localised; you start clenching internally as you feel it deliciously sharp and aching as that nub pulses whilst he teases and strokes it with his tongue.

“Mmhm,” he confirms with his mouth full of you.

“Good choice.” You groan. “Yeah, D…”

Your fingers rake through his crown, tugging his face closer into your centre where you start to grind. Snuffles of his nasally breaths are felt on your mound; his tongue diving deeper and you feel the thickness of his fingers sliding into you, immediately stroking at the fleshy spot where he knows to coax your orgasm out of hiding and into his waiting mouth. The beads on his wrist jangle and clack as he faps hard, finger fucking you into oblivion.

“Mmm, oh God, D…” You groan and writhe. “Just like that, pretty girl. You’re gonna make me come.” You pant glancing down at him and that darned lipstick is everywhere, all across his lips, peppering his scruff pink and smeared across your cunt and thighs.

“Oh fuck! Yes!” You caterwaul, your body tensing and pulling tight as you start to unwind and flood his mouth.

Drinking you down, he licks long and fat stripes up your pussy. He sucks on your plumpy clit and smirks as you catch your breath; your thighs clamp hard around his face from the overstimulation.

“On your hands and knees, pretty girl.” You instruct and he grins.

The gown comes off, flying through the air, to reveal him bare chested, clad only in your suspender belt and stockings, and that damned thong with his cock spilling out of it.

Bending over on all fours and presenting that ass up to you, Dieter groans as you grab his cheeks and bite into them.

“Yeah!” He growls as he feels your teeth indenting the skin. You slap his ass a few times, watching the fat of it jiggle; sharp, quick stings from your palm as he moans and stretches out like a cat pushing his rump closer to your face.

You part his cheeks, unhooking the black line of the thong riding deep up in that crack. Holding it to the side, you slide your tongue all over that pink, puckered urchin that's waiting for you.

“Oh, baby!” He groans.

You reach between his legs with one of your hands; his butt cheek closing against the side of your nose when you let go, and stroke his rigid cock as you lick and tease his hole.

You spit, lathering him up, and the wet clicks of your tongue flickering around his rim are filling the room obscenely.

Your tongue pushes in, delving into his ass deeper as you fuck him with it, and he whines and bucks. You pump his cock, feeling your hand sticky from his silky fluids, and his balls are full and swollen as you grope and pull on them gently. It makes his head feel all fizzy, like a soda pop all shook up, and he could burst and spew out at any second from the carnage your tongue causes as you push it deeper into his ass.

“Fuck!” He grizzles, his head hanging low like it's snapped off his vertebrae.

“You love it, look at you. I wanna watch you get fucked in this pretty little hole, D. Take pictures. So everyone can see what a cock hungry, little slut you are.” You say.

“Fuck baby, yeah.” He growls.

“Let everyone see you get ruined.”

“Ruin me, baby. Please.” Dieter grunts.

"Stretch you out and watch you gape for me."

"Fuck!"

You reach for the strap on and begin buckling it in around you as you carry on feasting. You take off your top and bra in between licking and sucking around his hole.

Once it’s on and secure, you tap his ass. He turns as you stand, and you jut the dildo towards his mouth.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth.” You praise as he sucks on the end of it.

You stroke through his hair, and run your thumb across the lipstick smeared around his mouth. Shiny, sticky with the gloss and your cunt slick. He's a mess and it delights you.

Your hands clutch his head; the length of your rubber cock inside his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. Whining for it, able to take it in deep and getting a little too enthused for it that he chokes a little here and there.

“You like sucking cock, don’t you, pretty girl?” You cajole.

“Mmhm.” He nods with his mouth full, taking the dildo in as deep as he can to the back of his throat. It's impressive that he can deep throat so well.

“You wanna fuck this, hmm?”

“I do.” He gasps as he takes a breath. Strings of crystalised saliva pulling from his lips.

“Get the lube.”

He scrambles towards the bedside table and yanks open the draw so hard, the whole thing comes out and crashes on the floor. Grinning, Dieter tosses the bottle up at you and you squeeze it out over the dildo.

“Bend over, let me see that ass again.”

Dieter eagerly presents once more, and glances over his broad, tan shoulder at you. His sultry eyes are expectant, wanting - needing.

“Ready baby, deep breath…” You chime jauntily squeezing his cheeks.

His face scrunches, that initial pinch felt as the large, globular head of the dildo breaks through, but you can feel him instantly relaxing against it and welcoming you in.

You slide the dildo into him gently, slowly. All the way until you reach the hilt.

“You take it so well, pretty girl. That feel good?” You stroke and pat his butt.

“So good, baby. Fuck!” He groans. "Oh God, you're so deep."

"Your sluttly little hole can take it." You move your hips forward steadily, easing the dildo’s thickness in and out of him.

You watch as his ass indeed takes it; the lube helping to glide it in effortlessly as it squelches and bubbles around his rim.

“Nice and deep, D. God, you should see this right now. See how your ass just takes my cock.”

“Feels so fucking good.” He gurgles, trying not to dribble on the sheets.

“My big, fat cock filling you up, hmm?”

“Yeah. Fuck me."

His little breathless pants echo around the tincture and colour of his voice, barely able to come through as he breathes out through it all. “Oh my God, oh my God…” Dieter trails off.

“That’s it baby, take my cock.” You whisper at the sight of him doing just that. “So, so pretty.”

You work the dildo in and out as you reach underneath again and pump his dick up and down; squeezing and applying the right pressure as he fucks into your fist.

You still for a moment, just enjoying him pushing back and twerking on the end of you like some mad evangelist for anal. Marvelling at how his hips flex and his back arches and sinks like a cat as he works and fucks hinself on the end of your cock.

He flashes you an enigmatic grin over his shoulder again.

"Good girl," you praise.

You grip tighter around his cock and start to pump him in rhythm with your increasing thrusts into his ass.

“Oh you’re so hard, you like that don’t you?” You whine. “Look at my pretty girl taking this cock so well.”

You let go of his dick and press into his thighs as you lift yourself up a little and begin to fuck his ass harder and faster.

“Oh shit, baby!” Dieter whines. “Yeah, fuck my ass!”

He takes it, somewhat cross-eyed, as you go harder and deeper inside him. You see his large hands claw into fists around the sheets. He grits his teeth so hard the cords in his neck pop out.

He’s close. You always know. Those little telltale signs of an imminent climax when he starts to strain and tense before biting down his lip and panting wildly like a dog trapped in a hot car, reveal themselves like clues to solve an orgasmic mystery.

But just as he’s there, just as his eyes are rolling into the back of his head in sweet delusion, is when you pull out.

It’s the perfect, sweetly sinful moment to destroy him.

Dieter’s head immediately snaps round at you. “What the fuck?!”

You smirk and slap his ass.

“Please…” He whines. He tries to back his ass back on it as you step out of his reach.

You shake your head and then plunge back in. You do it again, and again. And a-fucking-gain.

It goes on for quite some time; the agony, the prevention - the acute thwarting of his pleasure. Leaving him on the edge of never, that peak where his body can’t unwind or uncoil or release fully.

You throw him up to that height, but don’t allow him to fall back down.

His body responds in all the right ways each time - the clenching, the jittery spasms; the gasping and incoherent babbling as it builds, and each time he thinks this will be it - that you’ll show mercy and let him fly free.

But then you snatch it all away from him; robbing him of his hedonism with a wicked smirk creeping across your mouth like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

Dieter growls out - and somewhat close to damn tears too through glistening, black lined eyes - when you pull out of his ass again and let go of his dick, just when he is on the cusp.

Keeping him balanced on the edge precariously for the final time.

"Baby, you're fucking killing me, please." Dieter whines.

You slather his butt and your dildo in more lube; you can see it dripping shiny down his crack and onto his balls. You slide back up into that puckered hole of his ass, taking him by surprise, forcing your way in this time - no pleasant warnings or easing him in.

“Going to destory this hole, D.” You growl, grinning as you grab a hold of his ass cheeks like he does yours, and you fuck the shit out of that ass of his.

You watch as the shiny dildo plunges in deeper each time as you draw back. “This ass is mine!" Tiny squirts of lube are felt pelting your thighs.

Dieter grunts away crazily, face pressed down into the pillow, covering it in foundation and eyeliner as it sweats off of his face. His body struggles to stay upright and you adjust your position.

You sit over his ass; the dildo plundering in so deep. Your hands rest on the back of his stacked shoulders, and go hard on him like riding a bronco.

“Fuck!” He mouths into the pillow. His cock rubs against the duvet deliciously.

“Look at you taking my dick,” you snarl in his ear full of awe. You lick across his cheek, over that little wondrous scruff, and then suck on his ear lobe, tasting the metal from his hoop.

“Such a good little cock slut for me, aren’t you D?” You tease.

Dieter groans out, his eyes crane to look at you. Jaw slack and nodding. You push your fingers inside of his mouth and you can feel him tonguing them as he pants with his ass chock full of your girthy strap on.

He mewls as your fingers slip out of his mouth all shiny from his saliva.

“Can I sit on it?” He asks and the request takes you both by surprise.

“You wanna sit on this cock?” You ask him, your thrusts slowing down.

“Please.” His voice is so tiny, like he can’t believe he is actually begging for it.

His dick brushes against the dildo as he manoeuvres upright to face you, and it makes him gasp and smile in delight. You clamp your hand around them both and jerk them slowly for a moment or two, bewildered by how he reacts to it with his mouth open in a small 'o' and glassy eyes smeared with mascara.

It’s so fucking hot, the state of his face; it’s a fucking mess, a pink cloud around his mouth and panda eyes, and your cunt is literally throbbing at it.

“Fuck…” Dieter curses as he throws his head back enjoying the sensation. It may be silicone or whatever, but crushed and rubbing against his own cock, it feels so damn good.

“You like that?” You put to him and he looks down at you nodding and placing his hand over yours as you both start frotting together.

He slips his fingers on his other hand into your cunt; ringed thumb stroking on your clit and bringing you close.

You’re both watching and panting together, all the perverted, lusty visions of it flooding your senses. You imagine him doing this with another guy - with another real cock - and it turns you the fuck on. You wonder for a moment if he’s thinking the same thing. You want to see that. You want to watch.

You make a mental note to discuss it with him at a later date. Your clit pulses in response to it, like it’s been zapped as he strokes against your spot expertly, and you squeal as you come over his fingers.

He sucks them and groans deliciously.

“Sit on it like you wanted, pretty girl,” You say, laying back on the bed.

Dieter kneels, straddling over you, as he lowers himself down slowly onto the dildo; whining out as it begins to fill him up again.

You can see him taking his time, being hesitant as he fucks the tip mostly. Sitting tentatively on the top so he can control the depth.

“Take it all in, D.” You instruct him boldly. You push down on his hips and he takes more of it in. His nylon covered thighs buckle and shudder, his massive hands grip onto your stomach for a moment and you can feel his fingers prodding at you sharply.

“Fuck all of that dick!” You order him and you buck up, the dildo going further into his ass and making him cry out.

You start to fuck him and he pushes back against you each time, taking it deeper and starting to whine and groan with sexy, gruff melodies again.

He sits backwards, his hands behind him and gripping around your thighs. His own cock slapping across your stomach and his as he bounces up and down on that dildo jammed into his ass that feels so fucking good.

Dieter starts rolling his hips around on it and almost passes out.

"Fuck..." he growls, eyes rolling back again.

“You're such a hungry cock slut, Dieter… that's it, ride it. Look at you, you can't get enough. Stretched all around my cock. Do you love it?”

“I fucking love it, baby.” He pants, sweat beading down his temples; his suprasternal notch shiny.

“Tell me you love my cock, pretty girl.”

“I love your cock. Ahh yeah… fuucccck!” He’s there again, so close. You can see it.

“Come all over my tits, D. Come on, you slut. Do it.”

“Fuuh-uuuckkkk!” His balls lurch and surge and you can feel him stiffen and tense in his body before he cries out through delicious grunts and strangled curses.

His toes are stretched out and he’s cricking against it; holding onto the pleasure for as long as he can until he eventually bursts all over your chest.

He sighs deeply as he releases; a geyser of pearly deliciousness spurting upwards and splashing onto your skin and nipples.

“Good girl.” You praise. “You gonna lick it up, like a good girl for me? There we go. Get it all.”

He runs his tongue all over your skin, licking and getting all of it. He then leans into you, kissing you and slipping his salt soaked tongue into your mouth so you can taste him too.

“Mmm,” he whines as he tries to control his breathing, cheeks as pink as his smeared lipsticked lips.

Dieter flops forward fully onto you, his weight crushing. The dildo slides out of his ass with a wet pop, and you both stay like that for a few minutes as you wrap your arms around him and kiss the top of his damp crown, over and over affectionately.

“You okay? Feel a bit better?” You whisper to him tentatively, the hair on his head tickles your lips as you speak into it.

He nods and reaches up for your face and strokes your cheek with his knuckles.

“Yeah.” he replies, satiated. “Fuck. That was-”

“I know.” You giggle utterly beside yourself. “Your make-up’s ruined.”

You kiss his fingertips and cuddle him tighter, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you do, the stickiness of his sweat squelches between you both and sounds like you just let rip ungraciously.

He snorts, his shoulders heaving against your chest, and you giggle into his hair.

He places a few lingering kisses on your clavicle. “We're doing that again. And I'm keeping these.” He says, flicking the elastic of your thong against his hips. “You hungry? I'm fucking hungry.” He croons, looking at you.

“I could eat.” You agree.

“Waffles? Or no, no, no, wait… Ramen. Fuck. Yeah. Then some waffles. Some of those peppery chicken things… you know with the Haberno sauce?” His eyes are still blown and you peer into him carefully.

He stops yammering and tries to look away, but you kiss him again, pulling him back to you. You sigh, as his head rests sweaty against yours, so close that it looks like he only has one, twitchy eye.

“You know this fuck up loves you, right?” He murmurs in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard peep out of him.

“Never doubted it.”

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He mumbles. Dieter presses a kiss to your cheek and gets up.

“D?”

“Yeah, yeah?” He reaches for his gown crumpled on the floor.

“Go flush it.” You nudge. “All of it. We’ll start over again, okay?”

He sighs. He doesn’t deserve you. You, and your soft eyes staring back into him encouragingly, with misplaced love and forgiveness that you force him to confront.

He wants to do it, wants to be better for you. He wants to be as pretty for you as you are for him. He’s tired of disappointing you, even if you never show it each time he falls back into the muddy, cold gutter. You always reach in to pull him out. How do you do that?

Padding to the bathroom, he pulls the thong out of his ass; a dishevelled, chaotic mess with a ladder running the length of the left stocking down the back of his calf, and you smile as you unbuckle the strap on.

Moments later, you hear the toilet flush in the bathroom.

“Good girl!” You praise, and you hear Dieter chortling wildly.

Dieter catches sight of his face smeared in the mirror. The mirror never lies, no matter how much your dress yourself up and call yourself pretty.

Sniffing in deeply, tasting some flavour of of a mild clarity, he reaches for a cotton pad and begins clearing the smeared make-up off of his face. Slowly revealing his features back to him with each swipe of the pad. New skin, a new man.

He smiles at himself, blushing.

You’re not afraid to be lost with him. To indulge him and be unabashed. And Dieter knows that eventually, you’ll help him find his way back to himself again.

Because you always reach in to pull him out of that muddy, cold gutter. And he loves you so fucking much for it.

Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter On Discord Lovelies: @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @maggiemayhemnj @trulybetty @for-a-longlongtime @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @undercoverpena @gemmahale @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @linzels-blog @sin-djarin @beboldbebravethings @legendary-pink-dot @laurfilijames @ladybess-a03

(If you want to be removed, that's cool.)

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

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[specialagentlokitty]

Hannibal x teen!reader - i would notice

Hi 👋, i absolutely loved your Hannibal lecter fic so I was wondering if you could do a Hannibal × teen reader with angst or where he maybe saves them from someone or from themselves? If not that's totally fine. - Anon💜

TW: mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts and neglectful parents

Therapy.

According to everybody that was the solution to everything, all your problems would be solved if you just sat in a room with a stranger supposedly telling them everything about you.

Things you didn’t want anybody else to know.

You didn’t want to attend your sessions, but your parents were paying a lot of money for you to see this therapist, so you went to your sessions.

Though you never really said much, which was something Hannibal picked up on.

“Sometimes I do have to wonder why it is you insist on coming to your sessions if you’re just going to sit here to do homework instead.”

You shrugged a little bit, looking up from where you were sat on the floor.

“I’ve gotta do it somewhere, plus my parents pay for these sessions, it’ll be a waste of money I guess.”

“Do you not think you need it?”

“Everybody has problems I just don’t see the point in talking about it, it won’t change anything.”

“It could make it easier for you.”

You shrugged again and stood up, bringing a work book over to his desk and set it down.

Hannibal took the book so he could look at it while you dragged a chair over to sit next to him while he read through your work.

“Have you finished everything else?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s just this. I don’t really get it so I thought I’d leave it until last.”

Hannibal nodded his head, taking one of his many notebooks, and he found one with your name on it and opened it.

Over the sessions he had become used to you using the time for your homework, asking him yo help you with whatever it was you didn’t understand.

It actually helped him learn a lot about you, about your possible home life since you didn’t seem interested in talking about whatever problems you were having.

Hannibal explained the problem to you, and he gave you a brief demonstration on how to solve it before giving you the notebook so you could try it for yourself.

“How is school going? Are you still having problems with some of the other students?”

“A little, but I think I solved most of them.”

He hummed a little bit, slowly nodding his head.

“How did you manage that? Did you take my advance and ignore them?”

“Nope.”

You grinned a little bit at your therapist and went back to your homework.

“Shoved a whole bunch of shaving cream and feathers into their lockers.”

“You do realise retaliation in such a way could could make this a lot more complicated for you. They could also possibly get you into trouble as well.”

“Maybe yeah I guess.”

“What did your parents have to say?”

“The usual nothing.”

Hannibal wrote that down in another notebook and he studied you for a moment.

Usually it was obvious why people were in therapy, usually he knew before they came to the sessions or they would have told him by now but you didn’t.

He was having to rely on everything he saw, everything you did and the very few things that you had said.

Your sessions were routine, going the same way nearly all of the of the time.

So he began to notice the change in your behaviour as time went on, it was slight, only tiny changes but he noticed.

You didn’t bring your homework anymore, you would just tell him about your day, the changes in your clothing, you seemed more withdrawn.

Then you began to miss sessions, the first he didn’t think about it, the second he was a little suspicious but when it came to the third and forth he knew there was something more.

So, when he opened his door to see that you weren’t sat in the waiting room he sighed, making his way to the phone to dial your number.

He waited as it rang, and eventually it rang off into voicemail.

Hannibal went through all his files until he found yours and he grabbed his keys and jacket as he left the office.

You were usually the last appointment of the day since you liked to hang around and just spend time with him, which he never added extra costs for.

Making his way to your listed address, Hannibal looked at the large house, very expensive looking and extremely well kept.

He parked in the drive and made his way to the door, knocking a few times, waiting.

The door was opened and you blinked a few times, stepping aside and gestured to the house so you could let him in.

“What brings you by doctor lector?” You asked.

You closed the door.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

Hannibal handed you his jacket so you could hang it up next to yours by the door, and you led him through to the kitchen where you were before he knocked.

He watched as you carried on cooking your dinner.

“I didn’t know you were coming but you can still have some of you want.”

“No, I’m alright. But thank you. I’m actually here because you haven’t attended your sessions for the past three weeks.”

You nodded your head, setting the spoon down, and you sat on a bar stool.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting to cancel them. I know you have a policy about cancelling and whatever the fee is for not cancelling my parents can cover it.”

“That’s not why I’m here (Y/N), I’m not here about fees for cancelling.”

You seemed a little confused.

“I’m here because it isn’t like you to not turn up to your sessions, I am also aware that you haven’t been attending school recently.”

“How’d you know?”

“I called them.”

“Are you even legally allowed to do that? Can they even tell you that information?”

You were defensive.

You weren’t happy that he had called your school and you were looking for a reason to pin something on him, anything.

“I work rather closely with the FBI, I asked for favour as this behaviour is concerning.”

You nodded your head, going back to whatever your were making and you set it all aside before sitting down on the stool again.

Hannibal was stood on the other side of the counter, flicking through the recipe pages that you had left laying around.

“Can I cancel my sessions?”

Hannibal glanced up at you.

“You can, but I’d still very much like to check up on you at least once or twice a week.”

“Why? I won’t be your patient anymore.”

“Because I know you’re harming yourself, I would like to understand why. What makes you think you need to do that to yourself?”

You froze, and you tugged at your sleeves a little bit, pulling them even further.

“I’ve know for a while, I was hoping you would bring up the subject but you seem to have no interest in talking about what you’re going through.”

Hannibal walked to your cooker, and he took over making your dinner for you while you just sat there staring at the counter.

“What’s the point, it won’t change anything.”

“It can help, but people can’t help you if you won’t let them (Y/N), in order to be helped you must be willing to accept the hand that is offered to you.”

“I can’t be helped.”

You pushed yourself away from the counter you were sat at and left the kitchen, making your way into the lounge instead where you just sat down.

You turned on the TV, putting on some random show and you kicked your feet up on the table.

Hannibal followed you, setting your plate on the dining table, and he walked over, tapping your feet away from the table.

“You can be helped, nobody is beyond help.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not, now come eat and we can discuss whatever it is you’re going through.”

You didn’t bother to argue, you went to eat your dinner while Hannibal left you to eat in peace.

He came back and he set a few tubs down on the table in front of you.

“All of these are prescribed to patients who suffer from depression. How long have you been taking your medication for?” He asked.

“About a year or two, I don’t know.”

He hummed, nodding his head.

“How long have you not been taking them?”

You glanced up.

“You have been filling out your scripts, but you have a whole collection of unopened bottles.”

“About half a year I guess… I don’t know…”

“Do you plan on doing anything with those bottles?”

“No.”

“So I can take them away from you and only leave the one you’re supposed to have?”

You nodded your head.

You didn’t have any use for the old ones that you never took, you just kept filling in the scripts to keep everybody happy.

That wasn’t how you wanted to go out.

No.

You had thought about this night after night after night, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Are you here alone often?”

“My parents work a lot, they’re usually away most of the year.”

He nodded his head, taking your mostly empty plate away when you pushed it away from you.

You followed the therapist to your kitchen, climbing back up on the bar stool as you looked at him.

“Can I take a look at your arm, I would like to ensue that you don’t need any further medical attention.”

You moved your arm closer to yourself.

“Alright, that’s okay. You don’t need to show me, but I do need to know if you’re taking care to prevent infection.”

“Yeah, I know about all that stuff.”

“Good, now since you refuse to come to our sessions I will come here. A few times a week to ensure that you’re taking care of yourself.”

He did.

He kept coming by, he would talk to you, try encourage you to open up to him.

The one thing he noticed is how lonely the house seemed to be, the lack of family photos, the lack of friends around to the lack calls from your parents.

Hannibal arrived at your house like always, the first thing he noticed this time was that there was two other cars in the driveway.

Making his way up to the door he knocked, and a man answered.

“Hello, is (Y/N) home.”

“Who are you?” The man asked.

“My apologies, I’m doctor lector, their therapist. (Y/N) didn’t want to come to the office anymore so we’ve been continuing sessions here, I assume you are their father?”

“Yes, and I don’t know where they are. Look, I’m busy, go check their room or something I have meeting.”

Your dad left the door open and Hannibal walked in, making his way up the stairs to your room and he knocked on the door.

When you didn’t respond he knocked again.

“I’m opening the door.” He announced.

He pushed your door open and looked around to see that you weren’t there either.

Sighing, he made his way back to his car and tried to call your phone once more, but you never picked up.

He decided to head back to the office, deciding that he’d try and find you again tomorrow.

Hannibal didn’t know about your hideouts, where you liked to go or even have a slight idea on where you would go.

And that’s where he found you, sitting in the waiting room, and he walked over, crouching down in the front of you.

“I’ve been trying to find you.” He said gently.

You looked up, and you sniffled a little bit.

“Why do my own parents hate me…?” You asked.

Your voice cracked, and you leant back, tilting your head back to try and fight the tears that were burning your eyes.

“Let’s talk inside.”

He stood up, opening his door and you walked inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Hannibal sat in the chair in front of you, offering you a few tissues which you took.

“What makes you think your parents hate you?”

“They’ve been home for two days… haven’t even spoken to me… haven’t even looked at me… it’s like I don’t exist…”

He nodded his head.

“I.. I.. it’s like if I died they wouldn’t even care… you know? They wouldn’t even notice…”

That was enough to catch his attention.

“Do you think about dying?”

“Sometimes… I know nobody would really notice.. life would carry on…”

“That’s not true.”

You looked up at him.

“I would certainly notice, life would be very different without you in it.”

You scoffed a little bit.

“You have to say that, it’s your job.”

“If you recall you left my services, it’s not my job to say that.”

Hannibal smiled slightly at you.

“I say it because I mean it, I do worry for you, I would notice your absence if you were to die, which is why I have to ask if you plan on acting upon this urge you have.”

“Sometimes but I.. I just can’t… you know?”

He nodded his head.

“I will admit this is rather concerning, I do have to wonder if for your own safety I have you placed in psychiatric care for a few days.”

“No! Please don’t…”

Hannibal thought for a moment, wondering what to do.

“If that’s the case then perhaps we can think of something else, in order to ensure your safety and a plan to help you through these feelings and urges that you are having.”

You nodded, agreeing with this.

The first step was for you to tell him everything you had been avoiding telling anybody this whole time, then he would come up with a care plan for you to help with your recovery and show you that you were important to this world

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Okay I just watch digital circus because of your post and it was a blast and I love the character and the idea of a scenario came to me

Caine, Pomni, Jax, Ragatha, with an actor reader who loves to play into the adventures and play NPCs to set up the immersion maybe even write up some ideas for Adventures to make things more fun

Anyways have a great day night whatever and thanks for the fun writings

Thank you! Hope I did your ask justice!

Caine, Pomni, Jax and Ragatha x Reader who makes NPCs and writes

Caine

★ He really appreciates your help! It's hard work making up games for everyone to play while taking into account everyone's preferences. No matter how much you protest, he will use each and every idea you come up with.

★ Caine sets up a little studio for you to work in. It's filled with paper, multiple typewriterband all sorts of art supplies. Maybe some clay for you to build some models of a character you want to create?

★ You're NPCs are always great and often end up being a hit with the others. By that I mean the gang tolerates them more than his NPCs. You manage to give them more personally than he could have ever given.

★ If you somehow get Zooble to join in the fun he will congratulate you for doing a good job. His hat is off to you, you did something he thought was impossible. Now only if you could get Zooble to stop trying to swear...

★ I know the NPCs don't have any ai but Gooseworx confirmed that Bubble is a much simpler AI created by Caine. Therefore, he can theoretically make one of your characters come to life.

Pomni

★ At first she thought that the characters you make were real people. Once you told her that they were nothing but glorified puppets she had to question the sentience of everyone she's met so far.

★ You gotta make this girl a therapist. Aside from that it doesn't take her long to start asking questions about why you like to make different characters and stories.

★ She's not as creative as you, doesn't really understand the appeal of creating something like you do. The most she can do is come up with a few names.

★ Despite knowing that they aren't real people, Pomni still apologizes to the NPCs. It's force of habit. Maybe you could add some dialogue for if/when someone apologizes for something?

★ If we're being completely honest, she doesn't really like any of the NPCs. It just feels wrong when she needs to talk to them for something. It's like speaking to one of those robotic pre-recorded messages over the phone.

Jax

★ He's extra mean to the NPCs you make, just because he can. He knows that they can't get offended or upset but he doesn't care. They will be getting pushed into the mud.

★ When you decide to scrap an old character he gladly helps. The moment you say you need to get rid of it he's reaching for the nearest baseball bat. No need to worry about cleaning up 👍

Jax when the NPC starts to annoy him

★ Jax thinks it's funny when you get upset over him being mean to a NPC because you've grown attached to some of them.

★After that he asks you what you plan to make next. Can you blame him for being curious? Jax wants to know what you're planning before anyone else. Don't worry, he can keep a secret.

★ As a "joke" he told you to try and make a NPC that Caine would need to heavily censor. Just to see what the ringmaster would do. Whatever you made that day was thrown into the cellar.

Ragatha

★ She likes to watch you make different characters for certain situations. Caine wants to set up a fishing adventure? Best believe you are making an NPC who's a fisherman to set up the immersion.

★ You might overwork yourself while trying to come up with a game for everyone to play. Ragatha sometimes needs to step in to tell you to take a break. There's no use overworking yourself, go take a break!

★ She really wants everyone to have fun with the adventures you put together. There's no doubt that she loves them. Also she's the first person to yell at Jax for being mean to the NPCs.

[booppooo]

ok so hear me out.. abby and/or ellie sexting or having phone sex?

Over The Phone.

Abby Anderson & Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader Headcannons

AN: ANON...I love you.

Warnings: sexting obvi, talk of nudes, crude language, text lingo?, modern AU ofc

-

Abby

Okay so the community has established that Abby is a personal trainer, paramedic, or physical therapist right?

I'm going with physical therapist - stick with me

Our girl is big and burly and so beautifully handsome

She's been helping a basketball player who recently busted her knee, and the athlete has been trying to put the moves on Abby

Abby isn't having it: "Hey, listen, I have a wife - you have to stop this. Our relationship is professional, nothing more."

And Abby is texting you about this on her break

Abby: I haven't been asked out in so long I almost didn't know what to say

You: I'm surprised more people don't ask you out, you're quite the catch

Abby: Oh, is that right?

You: Ofc it is...especially in bed ;)

Abby: Stop it, I'm at work.

You: Technically you're on break...

There's like a five minute pause and you thought maybe she had to rush off back to work. Oh, how you were wrong.

Abby: What would you do if I came home early?

You: What for?

Abby: To fuck you dumb? Why else?

You: Are you sexting me right now?!!

Abby: Yeah, go with it

You: Yes ma'am.

Abby: Goddamn - I could tear you apart right now

You: You know where I am baby, I'm always ready for you

Abby: Are you now? Show me.

Cue you sending some scrumptious nudes.

You: Are you sure you can't come home early? I want you so bad it hurts :(

Abby: I wish I could sweetheart. When I do get home I'll make up for it, trust me.

You: How you do plan to make it up? ;)

Abby: With seven inches of silicone

You: omg...go back to work

-

Ellie

We all know Ellie is a hard ass, she doesn't beat around the bush either

I think we've also decided she's a tattoo artist

And that's where it starts - you text her about an appointment to get another tat...but it quickly becomes more

You: *1 image attached* think you can do something like this on my arm?

Ellie: totally, when can you come in?

You: Anytime really, I don't have a time preference

Ellie: how's 12 sound? i'll get you smthin to eat too

You: You'd do that for meee?

Ellie: duh, gotta keep my fav girl fed

You: Ellie...are you flirting with me?

Ellie: no, if I were flirting with you, you could tell

You: Okay, prove it

Ellie: you'll see when you get here and there's only food for you

You: Uhhh you lost me

Ellie: why would I need anything to eat when I have you?

You: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST SAID THAT

Ellie: sure you can

You: Dude...

Ellie: *daddy

You: STOP IT

Ellie: you sure? you didn't come yet

You: This is getting ridiculous

Ellie: get your head out of the gutter i'm talking about showing up for the appt

You: Seriously?!

Ellie: no, just teasing you

Ellie: i will give you head tho

You: ELLIE.

[louloulemons-posts]

Congrats! 🩷

Can I ask for Eddie Munson with 16. prompt “i don’t want them! i want you!”?

thank youuu! 🫶🏻

1k celebration prompts list

16 : ‘i don’t want them, i want you!’

W/Eddie Munson

a/n : have you guys seen the pic of joe with pedro pascal i can’t breathe!!!!

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

you’d had feelings for him for a while now, how couldn’t you?

he was sweet, funny, kind, beautiful inside and out - he was just eddie.

but he liked her. and that made perfect sense. chrissy was beautiful too.

she was charismatic, and outgoing. the best cheerleader this school had seen in years. half of the boys in your class were in love with her - hell even some of the girls.

you couldn’t even be mad at him, or her, because it just made sense.

you picked at your nails as you stood by your locker, spotting the blonde haired girl walk past with her friend, a huge grin on her face.

sighing you dropped your head back against the metal, this was gonna be a long day - thank god it was friday.

“hey,” a voice said, making you jump.

looking up you met eddies eyes, “hi.”

“you good?” he asked.

“mhm, yeah. just half asleep still.”

a loud laugh echoed down the hall, making you and eddie turn your heads. chrissy and her friends were giggling away.

you saw the boys cheeks become rosy, a small smile reaching his lips.

“i gotta get to class, i’ll see you later,” you said, quickly walking away.

the boy was confused, “but we have the same class?” he said to himself.

“in trouble with the wife?” gareth said from besides him. “i don’t know what’s going on,” eddie said.

“you will, you’re just being stupid right now.”

“what else is new?”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“you’re avoiding him. very mature.”

“hello to you too gareth, nice to see you. yeah having a great day thanks.”

“yeah yeah whatever. so when are you gonna tell him?”

“tell who what?” this made the boy cock his brow at you. “what?”

“eddie. you’re in love with him.”

“am not.”

“we’ve been friends since the first grade, you can’t lie to me. you love him. what’s the big deal.”

“he’s in love with chrissy.”

gareth snorted, “oh yeah.” you glared at the boy, “it’s not funny.”

“it is, a bit. you’re silly sometimes you know, you should just talk to him.”

“i’d rather not. now have good weekend, i’ll see you monday.”

“mhm, see you.”

you walked away from the boy. not looking back, just wanting to lie on your bed and mope.

“hey!” a voice called. god.

“hi,” you said.

“so you’ve been busy today huh?”

“not really.”

“oh.”

“did you need something eddie?”

“wanted to see if you wanted a ride home.”

“i’m good, i need the walk.”

“oh. okay then. i’ll call you later?”

“sure, bye.”

“bye?”

gareth appeared - again. putting a hand on his shoulder, “that was maybe one of the most tragic things i’ve ever seen.”

“what’s going on?”

“you’re still haven’t figured that out?”

“figure what out?” this caused gareth to groan.

“do you like chrissy?”

“cunningham? no, she’s a good client but nah she’s not my type.”

“and your type is?”

“well … uh i-”

“y/n. yes i know i know. and her type is you. but she sees you looking at your favourite client and feels awful about herself. feeling all blue, and then doesn’t want to be around you to stop those horrible feelings - and everyone’s best bud gareth gets it in the neck.”

“i- what?”

“she. likes. you.”

“well shit.” the pair stood there in silence.

“go after her then.”

“oh yeah right. thanks man. i owe you one!” eddie said jogging over to his van. “i should become a therapist,” gareth said.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“hey!”

jesus this was the third time today.

“eddie.”

“can you get in the van?”

“why?”

“we should talk.”

“about?”

“just stuff, come on i’ll buy you a shake.”

you sighed, nodding slightly before hopping into the van, not looking up to meet eddies gaze.

“so-”he began, but you cut him off, “buy me a shake and then we can talk.”

he smiled, nodding his head. “okay i can do that.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

you were sat across the table from each other, drinking shakes, not really speaking or looking at each other - more so you than eddie.

the bell above the door rang, signalling someone coming in. a familiar voice made you want to burst into tears. “oh hey eddie!”

“chrissy. hi.”

“how are you?”

“i’m good, you?”

“great yeah.”

“oh hey, y/n right?”

“uh yeah, hi,” you said, looking up.

“well i’ll get out of your guys’ way,” the blonde said, but you pushed yourself up from the table. “no need, i’m just going. thanks for the shake eddie.”

“hang on a sec-” he said, but you were out of there.

“relationship issues?” chrissy said.

“what?”

“they’re your partner right?”

“no?”

“oh, well i just assumed, well you’re like one of the most loved relationships in the schools. or you will be when you ask them out.”

“thank you!” he said, rushing out of the diner, to catch up with you.

“y/n wait!”

“i’m busy eddie.”

“will you please just wait a sec.”

“you should go back to chrissy.”

“what are you talking about?”

“you’re dating right?”

“what? no!”

“well you should ask her out.”

“why?”

“cause you clearly like her.”

“oh my god, can you just stop walking.”

“no i’ve gotta go home,” you didn’t want to stop, didn’t want him to see your red eyes.

“for fuck sake, y/n i don’t want them i want you!” he shouted, holding your hand so you were stuck in place.

“what?” you said quietly.

“i like you! i love you god dammit.”

“love me?”

“yes!”

“why didn’t you tell me?” you said, spinning to face him.

“i didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

“well i do!”

“good.”

“great.”

“i’m gonna kiss you now.”

he did just that, cupping your cheeks and smashing your lips to his. it was soft but intense, butterflies swarming your stomach.

“i love you, not chrissy. and i’d really like to take you out, if you’d let me?”

“i’d like that.”

[intoanotherworld23]

Blissful Therapy Session

Pairing: Reader x Pedro Pascal

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY DNI, those whole thing is pure smut and sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swear words

Summary: This is a session with your therapist that you will never forget

HEARTS, REBLOGS, AND COMMENTS are greatly appreciated and praised! If you wish to be added to the Pedro Pascal tag list please let me know its always open! Thank you guys so much! Love you all!! XOXO

Check out my other works on my Hall Of Hunks

"Fuck you look so good right now." His words encouraging to you as his lips started moving down your neck sucking on the flesh. "So fucking good."

The tiny hair prickles of his mustache brushing against your skin tickling you making you giggle. Making him smile against your collarbone trying not to chuckle himself.

His large hands felt so warm against your skin. Your body was melting into his sensual touch so perfectly it was almost scary. You have never felt like this with anyone ever before.

The fabric of the leather couch kept sticking to your skin having to lift up your hips so you didn’t accidentally rip your skin. Although you really weren’t paying that much attention to the couch, and focusing more on Pedro’s cock.

“I knew you would be a good girl for me.” Whispering little praises in your ear.

"God I love your cock." Humming around his lips as he drilled himself deeper inside of you.

It was wrong what the two of you were doing. He was your therapist and he could lose his license if he got caught. You were vulnerable and haven't gotten laid in a long time, and he was a willing participant.

There was something about Pedro that had your thighs always clenching together. So many nights you were knuckle deep inside yourself imagining what he was doing to you right now. Never did you think he would make the first move on you. It was almost like you were dreaming.

"Come on sweetheart don't lose focus on me now." A dark voice bringing your back to reality feeling the tip of his cock slowly entering you again. "Gotta fuck that damage out of you."

"Oh god Pedro don't stop." Raking your nails down his back as he leaned on his hands on either side of your head. "Shit right there right there."

"God damn you are so fuckin tight." Groaning through clenched teeth as he concentrated on not cumming too early.

Looking up at his soft head or hair tempting you to reach up and pull on it. His once chocolate brown eyes now darkened with lust and desire. Whimpers leaving your mouth every time he thrusted into you.

"Nobody fuck this pussy good enough for you sweetheart." To be honest he was completely awed how tight you were, and felt shocked that nobody made you feel good. "If you were mine I'd  worship that wet little pussy of yours everyday."

Pedro leaned his head down kissing along your collarbone getting to the tops of your breasts a wet tongue brushing your bouncing breasts. Attaching his mouth to your nipple sucking on the nub until you felt a slight sting.

Feeling your back scraping against the leather couch. Sweat dripping down your back making you slide back and forth. Legs wrapping around his waist giving him an all new angle. His eyes moving to your face to watch your reactions.

Pedro has never been more turned on from just watching you. To know how much he was satisfying you was enough for him. It was like his dreams and fantasies were coming true.

"Fuck so good taking my cock like you are." Immediately your eyes moving down watching as he disappeared inside of you mouth open in amazement.

"Oh god." Your head falling back as you arched your back feeling him all the way in your stomach.

"This pussy is mine sweetheart." Growling as he leaned forward his mouth right by your ear his possessiveness had you moaning. "All mine to play with to fuck to taste."

"Fuck yes it's all yours." Whining as your hands reached out beside you gripping on the leather your nails digging into the fabric. "Mmm god you fuck me so good."

"Can feel you squeezing my cock so deliciously." Sharply thrusting into you making you deliberately clench around him as your hands gripped his thighs. "God I should have done this sooner."

His eyes moved to your chest watching as your breasts bounced, and a drop of sweat falling down to your chest. The room smelled like sweat and sex and it had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"Wanna hear you moan my name while you take my cock baby." His hand grabbed your chin making you look into his eyes. "Watch that pretty mouth say my name."

"Pedro." Crying out his name in the throes of ecstasy making him wear a shit eating grin he was loving the power he had over you. "I'm gonna cum."

"Oh no sweetheart you're not cumming just yet." Hands grabbing your body turning you around on your hands and knees ass up in the air. "Not until I say so."

Hands gripping onto your ass squeezing your cheeks as he thrusted back inside of you. Both of you groaning as he started to move your head tossing back and forth with this new angle.

His pelvis pushing against your ass every time he drilled himself inside you. Your cheeks jiggling his skin smacking on yours the sound making your cheeks heat up. Feeling your arousal slowly sliding down your inner thigh.

"You're a damaged little girl aren't you." He wasn't asking you a question more like making a statement his eyes watching your body writhing under him. "So fucking damaged."

Feeling his hands move up and down your back as you felt your hips bouncing back against him. Licking his lips as he watched you lose complete control, and he was loving it.

Pedro felt like he was taking advantage of you, and felt bad but the way you were moaning his name changed his thoughts. There was something about you that he had to have, and he couldn't believe he had you right now.

For months he's listened to you complain and talk about your love life. He was becoming more invested in you the more sessions you had with him. Fantasizing all the things he could do with you if you were him.

Some people would say he's taking advantage of your vulnerability, but if anything you made the first move. This was something the both of you clearly wanted.

"Pedro I'm gonna cum." Crying out as you felt your pussy clenching around him and that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach you knew you weren't going to last long. "Oh god please Pedro."

"Cum for me sweetheart." Whispering into your ear as his body leaned forward his chest pressed to your back.

Your orgasm felt like such a sweet release as your hands gripped the arm rest in front of you. Pumping his load inside of you both of you breathing heavily as you tried to get your mind straight. His cock twitching as you squeezed around him again. Both of you drenched in sweat the liquid cooling your body off from a brief second.

Still in disbelief that you just had ravenous sex with your therapist. Completely unexpected and something you never thought would take place. Now you were just hoping that all your sessions would be like this from now on.

"That was amazing." You stated out of breath making him chuckle as you turned your body on your back as Pedro stood up.

"That's only the beginning sweetheart." He winked at you making you smile as you laid there on the couch still naked.

After a few minutes of silence his phone started going off. Quickly putting on his underwear he grabbed his phone and talked to whoever was on the other line. Awkwardly sitting there now wondering if you should just leave or wait for him.

Now thinking that he was starting to regret what just took place. You wouldn’t blame him though since he would probably lose his license if he got caught, and he wouldn’t be able to find a job anywhere else.

Standing up you grabbed your clothes and started to put them on. Feeling ashamed that this was probably a one time thing, and things could become uncomfortable now.

"Thanks bye." He said as he hung up the phone and looked to you with a suspicious smirk. "Well looks like my next appointment won't be coming."

"Really?" Squeaking out as he stood in front of you pulling your body into his placing your hands on his chest.

"But I know someone who will be coming." A hand coming down hard on your ass making you squeal.

——————————————

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989 @sullyosully

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @marchai @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

[starzshopoflove]

But did he ever make you cry? (Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x Reader)

Notes: fem reader! sfw, literally just me projecting onto reader, best friend Soap! Pining!! Hurt/comfort! I'll make this a series if you guys like it (WC: 1.7)

(Pov first person in italics) 

God when is this gonna be fucking over 

I’ve been here for what? 4 hours? He just keeps going on and on and on about his ex and “How crazy she was”. When was the last time he asked me something, feels like I'm sitting here for decoration. If he wanted to talk about another girl he could have found a therapist or something, Jesus.

This might be up there in the top 10 worst dates, maybe after that freak who got up in my ear after coffee asking if I wanted to go back to his place. Am I cursed?? What is it about me and attracting these absolute losers? 

Its been a while since you’ve gone out a bit rough around the edges since your last breakup. Sure the relationship wasn't that serious but it still bothered you that he left because “You weren't putting out enough” after he said it was fine that you wanted to take things slow. You got your hopes up a bit too high after this guy (absolute fuckin DWEEB) in your lecture asked if you could grab dinner together. You just wasted a solid 2 hours picking out a cute little skirt and doing your makeup checking twice to make sure you looked nothing less then too the 9’s. 

And then he shows up in a baggy pair of khaki joggers and hoodie, y'know after he said “Get pretty I’ll take you somewhere nice”. Oh but of course he just “accidentally” forgot the reservations but that's fine he knows a great place nearby. The great place being a diner in the middle of a highway rest with fluorescent lights that flickered too often with a weird smell in the air. 

His table manners were practically non-existent smacking his lips when he chewed, sucking on his fingers and getting ketchup on his face. That sight alone made you put down your fork that barely poked at your clearly reheat mush they insisted was a pasta dish. Oh and he wouldn’t stop fucking talking, honestly you were starting to question how it was possible he hadnt choked on his food when he spoke. 

You need to get out now. Any Longer at this table and your dignity might start slipping away. He yapped on about whatever as you tuned it out, nodding your head like you cared slowly tucking your phone back into your purse and pulling it onto your shoulder. You were already drawing up a game plan in your head, bathroom, call your roommate, tell her to come get you and block his number. Perfectly full proof. 

“You mind if I slip out for a moment? I gotta head to the bathroom, won't be long promise.” 

You slapped on a fake smile as he shot you a nod with a sleezy grin, all your senses pulled you back into reality as you felt disgust pool in your gut at the sight of him noticing more off putting things about the longer you looked. You platforms clicked as you pattered off into the one stall bathroom, you stood up straight inside not wanting to lean on the wall when you noticed the dried piss stains and mysterious gunk smeared on it.

It was suffocating, every second of it. The smell, The lights, the noise and of course him. You felt insulted, was this really the kind of place you deserved to be taken out too? You don't get to be wined and dined every now and then do you? Even after you spend days in class or at work and heaving your bones to the campus library to study for the hundreds of tests your professors insist on giving you. 

You let out a sigh of contempt digging through your purse shoving the ugly rearing head of disappointment back as you pulled out your phone. Scrolling through the contact list to find your roommates number chewing on your thumbnail as you brought your phone up to your ear letting it ring, feeling your heart pound further the longer the phone rang. You but down hard once you heard the automated message trill, a heavy sigh leaving your chest as you slumped against the wall of your stall running a hand through your hair. 

What the fuck am I gonna do, I can’t stay here any longer or i’m not gonna be held responsible for whatever happens to him if he brings up how much he loves blondes again.

You swallowed your pride unlocking your phone again scrolling up your contact list hoping he wouldn’t be too mad at having to save you from this god awful excuse for a date as you eyes settled on his number 

“Johnny 🧼” 

You thumb pressed down on the number bringing your shakey hand back up to your ear, the pressure that was just annoying you got heavier on your chest the longer you thought about having to stay here with him. You might burst into tears if you had to stay another hour and listen to this loser describe how much he likes girls that are the exact opposite of you basically holding you hostage to listen on this “date” 

The ringing stopped when a sigh on the other end of the line broke the silence 

“Ello?” 

You felt the pressure on your chest bubble and pop once you heard his voice, your own cracking a little as you spoke up. Yeah it was embarrassing to cry over the phone but it would be more embarrassing to sit there and finish the date with red eyes. 

“Johnny,, please tell me your not busy right now” 

“Can’t be busy when yer asleep” 

Your voice was shaky which chilled his nerves with worry, you don’t call him at night unless it was an emergency and with the way you sounded all he could do was think the worst 

“What’s wrong bonnie”

It was more of a hushed gentle voice than any annoyance you anticipated, he couldn’t see it but you were already bleary eyed and pouting over the line. 

You sat down closing the toilet lid as another shakey sigh let you while the seat creaked under you. You felt you words choke up in your throat pressing heavy on your sternum. You wanted to explain yourself, tell him how horrible your date went, how you felt stupid for going out with him, and how sorry you are for bothering him at night knowing he just got back from a mission only a few days ago.

“Talk to me bonnie, can’t help if you dinnae tell me” 

“Can you come get me, ‘m sorry” 

Barely a whisper over the phone, Johnny was already imagining the worst when you asked him that. You could hear him shuffling around the room already pressing his phone between his shoulder and ear. In his head you were already kidnapped locked away in some cellar ready to be shipped away, when you were just sniffling and tearing up in a shitty diner bathroom. 

“You ok? nbody hurtin you?” 

You could hear him tugging his heavy boots on, finally letting out a breath you were suffocating to hold knowing you’d finally get out of here 

“No ‘m just not having a good time please, i’ll tell you when your here.” 

Johnny looked down hearing his phone ping with the location hushing your sniffling through the line as he opened up the map shutting his front door and quickly sliding into his pick up. 

__________________________________

The wait felt like forever, it wasn’t of course you watched the clock religiously. 8 minutes, Johnny sped across town in 8 minutes for you, probably breaking a few laws he’d wave away once he got here. 

He walked into the diner seeing it empty, your date no where to be seen while he took in the atmosphere. It was disgusting, and all he could think about was how you got here and why you would ever be here heavily sighing as he paced over knocking on the bathroom door leaning slightly against the door as he waited for your response or even just a sound. 

“Steamin Jesus,, lovie you in here?” 

He could hear shuffling on the other side as you opened the door up looking up at him with a pouted face and flushed face trying to hold back any noise or tears not wanting to cry in front of him. His hand slowly went to the small of your back gently rubbing and guiding you away from the loo. 

“What you doin out ‘ere alone bunny?” 

His voice was low as he mumbled down to you softly, face screwed and eyebrows furrowed while he peered down at you spinning your head around the small dinner seeing your abandoned table and spotting a napkin with writing on it. 

You moved over to the table reading the napkins silently 

“Tif called, had a good time with you, sorry this didn’t work out!”

He left. He asked you out and left you abandoned in the middle of a dinner after trying to feed you shitty food. He asked you out and thought it was fine to treat you like this. This was the straw that broke your back crumpling the napkin under your hand as you pressed your palms on the table hanging your head, you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough what’s the worst some crying can do. 

Johnny watching you crumble felt like a punch to his gut knocking all the air out of his lungs, He moves your hand off the napkin reading it and turning his head to you. Your hands already found your face hiding your shame as you stifled your sobs and swallowed thickly at the fat tears pouring down your face. He could be angry later when he finally got his hands on who ever hurt you 

He pulled your hands off your face, wrapping you in his arms one hand on the small of your back, another petting at your hair, hushing you softly as you slid your hands up to cling at his shirt burying your face into his chest shaking and heaving as you tried not to be loud. He petted at your hair, rocking you gently holding you close tucking your head under his chin as he slowly turned back to sit down in the booth tugging you down to his lap letting you curl up in on him again letting you cry to him as he coo’d to you 

“Shh poor darling girl, talk to me bonnie, breath ts ok ‘m here for ye” 

[shootingstarwritings]

Wrestling with Heartache

Part 1/2

Kyle McCarthy fell madly in love at a time most college students did—in the middle of a hellish studying session for a class he despised. “Gotta make sure we get everything right…” he muttered to himself after chugging another full cup of ice cold coffee.

“Keep it together, Kyle,” said the young man right next to him. Kyle scowled but nodded. He looked over and wondered how a man so clearly drowning in exhaustion could still appear so beautiful.

His name was Michael Hayworth, top of the lightweight division. Despite it being his first semester on the team, he went undefeated in every meet. 'No doubt due to his disarming eyes,' thought Kyle. Once more, he got lost in those hazel whirlpools--

“Uh, Kyle? You still awake, buddy?” Michael said, still smiling as he handed Kyle another mug of coffee. “Here, this one’s still hot. It’ll wake you up. Just a half hour more and we should get some sleep.”

“O-Oh… uh, th-thank you.”

The following semester, Kyle applied to be a student manager for the wrestling team. After a tough interviewing period with coach Klaus Reynolds; a burly, no-nonsense man; Kyle spent more of his time with Michael despite sharing far fewer classes.

“Glad to see you got the job,” said Michael after a particularly sweaty day of practice. Just about the whole team was winded and groaning. The heat and dry air made their sweaty singlets stick uncomfortably close to their tight and toned bodies. However, even with the feast for the eyes that lied before him, Kyle’s gaze was still drawn to Michael and his radiant smile. “You’re the reliable kind, Kyle. Know you’ll do great!”

‘You’re wonderful, Michael,’ thought Kyle as he gathered up the used singlets and towels that the team had used the day before. Michael was truly one of a kind, and that only drove Kyle to possess such a man as he. Of course, Michael didn’t show much interested in a lanky and awkward guy like Kyle. Based on the dating app profile Kyle had found, Michael enjoyed bigger and heftier men.

‘Standing by Michael’s side,’ Kyle thought to himself, ‘would simply have to do.’

And it did… for a time. With each passing session, Kyle’s adoration and infatuation grew and grew. And with such a burning love came a frigid envy. The camaraderie that the wrestling team had with each other was something that Kyle was thankful for, but also deeply territorial towards. Each passing glance, loving touch, and accidental caress ignited heart pound with vitriolic and violent passion.

“Passion is a flame. It can provide or engulf,” Kyle’s roommate, a man at least a decade his senior, said. Though his hands were busy with the night’s meal, his ears were always free for friends. Armed with the patience of a monk and the shaggy hair of a hippie, Namba was a university student who applied late into the education system and studied to become a therapist. His enormous hair, rare for a man of his lineage, hid his eyes and gave him a unique appeared. Those that spoke with him often revealed far more than they intended, for they were able to speak to Namba without any judging eyes to put them on edge.

At least, that was Kyle’s hypothesis. For him, the lack of eye-contact with Namba made it easy for him to speak his mind. Long and awkward discussions about sexuality, lust, and just dirty talk were easy with the nonchalant Namba, who lived with a laissez-faire attitude.

“Please, continue,” said Namba, gesturing to Kyle. “I am curious to learn about your heartaches,” he continued without a hint of sarcasm.

“Wish I was a bit more like the other wrestling team members,” said Kyle as he washed the leftover dishes and arranged the utensils. Managing the equipment of the team was easy with a multi-tasking mind like his. He often joked that his hands had their own brains, but all three of them disagreed too much to make him a genius.

“So your wish is to be someone else?” said Namba as he set down a large pot of… something on the small kitchen table. Whatever it was, it smelled good.

“Hmm, I suppose. Michael’s so close to other members—especially guys like Nicholas or Zack. Oh man, now that guy." Kyle was about to go on a rant on the stoic man, but Namba warned him about tangents.

"Right, right," said Kyle, getting back on topic. "When me and the other team members talk, it’s nice. We get along fine. But it reeks of platonic interactions. Meanwhile, it always feels like the team members’ touching and groping each other, even when they play it off like jokes, last a little too much time.”

“Perhaps your passion is clouding your judgment? Or do you think it’s focusing your sight on the true enemy?”

“Calling them ‘enemies’ is a bit much… ‘Rivals’ is a bit more appropriate. We still get along.” Aside from the icy Zack and perhaps the stern and stoic coach Reynolds, Kyle could not recall any particularly bad interactions with the other team members. They thanked Kyle for doing work and approached him with friendly attitudes. It wasn’t bad at all, but somehow still disappointingly saccharine. Kyle wasn’t friends with any of the wrestling team members; they were merely coworkers. He could shoot the breeze, but not his shot. “If they were my enemies while I did their laundry and managed their stuff, then…”

“You’d be like those Victorian era heroines who secretly plotted the death of her lord while starching his clothes.”

“...A morbid comparison, but yes.”

“Well, my dear bed companion—“

“Please just use ‘roommate’ or ‘friend.’”

“—I have the solution to all our problems. Please, dine with me. A full stomach will calm your nerves.” Kyle shrugged and ate quickly. Eating from stress wasn’t anything new for him. He had gained a few pounds after entering university, and sadly most of it was not from muscle despite his semi-frequent visits to the gym.

“Dunno if I can have a ‘solution’ to this problem. Maybe I can work out some more,” said Kyle. He flexed a thin arm, grimacing as he saw the lack of real muscle. It had become far less flabby, but his genes and metabolism really let him down. At most, he could probably develop the body of a twunk if he went five days a week.

“That would be the preferred way, but younglings like you aren’t the type to wait around—and neither am I. It’s why I created this concoction.” Grinning, Namba gestured for Kyle to follow. The two left their dishes in the sink and made their way towards their next door neighbors. Often populated by a pair of twins and a friend, it seemed like the only one home at the time was Tim McDonald.

He was about Michael’s age, but had the personality of a man twice that. His round eyes comfortably slotted into a sour scowl or sneer. The trend continued as he answered the door to Namba’s loud and obnoxious knocking. “What?” he said, eyes narrowed as they peered back and forth between Michael and Namba.

Michael had never seen Tim crack a smile all semester. Most of the time, Tim shot one or two word responses and preferred to mind his own business. From what Michael had gathered, Tim was a business major with major ADHD. He wasn’t flunking, but it was clear that the time spent keeping his head above the academic waters soured his personality.

“Do you mind if we borrow some sugar?” asked Namba. “We have guests over and I forgot to purchase some more. My nan refuses to drink her tea without at least three sugar cubes’ worth.” Tim rolled his eyes, muttered something about old men, and slipped inside to look. While Tim’s back was turned, Namba stepped inside and snuck up behind him.

“Wha—“ Kyle began to say before Namba turned around and placed a finger over his lips before winking. He then bent his knees and jumped onto Tim.

Instead of an impact, Namba’s lithe yet hairy body sunk into Tim’s huskier frame. Tim let out a choked cry, back arching as a whole man slipped inside of him. He grabbed onto the kitchen counter, body convulsing as a few changes began to appear. His short, blond hair turned a shade darker and a big shaggier. Bangs that were usually combed back grew and covered his eyes much like Namba’s.

After a few moments of struggling, Tim let out a large, relaxed sigh. “Mmm, worked like a charm.” Spinning on the ball of his foot, Tim grinned and pointed at himself. “And that’s exactly the kind of gift you can do now, kiddo.”

“I… wha…?”

“It’s me, Namba!” he said. He slipped off Tim's shift and began to pose. "Mmm... this youthful body feels so much easier to move in that my own!"

After a bit of panic and a few questions, Namba detailed his plan to Kyle.

~o~

Three days. That was how long the concoction would remain in both of their systems. After that, they would need to prepare new broth. “Is this not what you wanted? To grow close to that man? Well, for a while at least, you can.” The effect of the concoction would allow one to ‘merge’ their soul with another body for a limit of 72 hours. No more. “It’s a small reprieve, but I believe you deserve it after such hard work. Perhaps it’ll even give you clues as to how to naturally grow closer to Michael with your own charm. Charm that you do possess, despite your protests.”

“But,” Kyle had asked, “What do you get out of it? You said this would solve a problem you had as well.”

“Ah, you see… I have little money to spare, and I ended getting a bit too invested at the slots and borrow some money from friends, so…”

“You’re worse than the freshmen.” Kyle had told him.

‘Becoming someone else,’ thought Kyle as he made his way to the laundry room. It was another Friday night, and he had been unable to decide on what to do with the gift Namba had granted. ‘Michael…? No. The coach? Maybe…?’

All Kyle wanted was to be close to Michael, if only for a day. Taking over one of the other wrestlers was the way to do so, but finding and isolating one of them would be the hard part.

However, luck would soon turn for Kyle as he made his way to the laundry room, the singlets and jockstraps of the team in tow. In the room, wearing only a pair of white briefs and little else, was a member of the wrestling team. Zackary Kuvaev. Tall, imposing, and often wearing a scowl on his stone-like face. When Kyle into the room, Zackary merely grunted in acknowledgement while glaring down at one of the laundry machines.

“Um, hello, Zack. Uh… run out of clothes…?”

“Roommates. Prank. Last clothes stained.” Only rarely did Zack’s voice and face betray much emotion. The only time that occurred was often when Michael wrapped an arm around the stoic Zack’s shoulders and…

Michael…

Zack continued to glare at the machine, not paying the slightest bit of attention towards Kyle. ‘He’ll regret that.‘ Kyle held no real malice towards Zack, but the envy and territorial rush of emotions in his chest overruled any sense of guilt he might’ve had.

Hesitation thrown to the wind, Kyle broke into a sprint and dived into Zack’s back. The older wrestler let out a startled gasp as another man suddenly fought him for dominance over his own body. No words were spoken, only shouts and groans as Zack collapsed onto his knees, clutching and clawing at his chest. “AHH…! Ahh…! AAAHHH!” Small patches began to sprout throughout his formerly smooth body, particularly around the arms, chest, legs, and armpits. His sharp and stoic face turned the slightest bit softer and rounder. Hawk-like eyes began kinder and his scowl became a look of pure wonder.

“It really did work…” muttered Kyle as he looked down at his beefy arms and masculine hands. The difference truly should’ve been just a few pounds of muscle, but the sheer energy and strength that coursed through his body was borderline euphoric. “Oh wow!” Kyle stood up on his toes and marveled at how graceful the movement felt. He paraded around the room, admiring each swing of his arms and his powerful gaits. Never Kyle’s life did he believe that his glutes could be so powerful.

 “Everytime he touches me, I feel electricity course my body. He’s wonderful. He’s divine. And I will make him mine.” Plunging smooth yet muscular arm into the laundry hamper, Kyle dug around until he found the singlet labeled Michael. With a madman’s grin, Kyle forced Zack to say, “Until then, I’ll have to satisfy myself with just this.”

It was a few size too small, but Kyle appreciated the singlet squeezing into his well-built body. He flexed and let out an involuntary moan. Zack’s cock, freely leaking, stained Michael’s singlet even further. “It smells just like him,” said Kyle. He squeezed and rubbed against the rubbery fabric, muttering Michael’s name the whole time. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Your scent, your smile, your slightly crooked grin, the kind way you speak, the way you move… oh…!” Just the thought of approaching Michael in such a performance drove Kyle’s mind to the peak of insanity. And also forcing Zack to do it all? Acting as a cum dumpster for the two of them? “OH…! Nnngh…. AAAARRRRGHHH!”

Kyle let out a guttural groan using Zack’s voice as his cock pumped load after load into Michael’s used singlet. Kyle could’ve sworn he saw white as the torrents of cum burst from Zack’s abused dick. His knees, already sweating and wobbly, gave out on him as he collapsed onto a messy, white-stained pile. His fingers, toes, and thighs continued to twitch as he rode the last of the climax. “Haahh...Haaaahhh…!”

Once Zack’s breathing was under control, Kyle stood back up and stretched. “That was… amazing…!” Kyle flexed Zack’s muscular arm again, still surprised at his control over him. “All right, let’s get this done!” He said, wearing a grin that Zack would never be caught dead showing off.

While nowhere near as intense as the masturbation, using another body while getting errands done felt erotic as well. Kyle bounced through the room, enjoying the way his body would gently sway with each movement.

Not too long after he finished doing the laundry, he received a response from Michael. “Finished chilling with some friends at the rec center. Just relaxing in my room rn. U?”

Cock already erect, Kyle told Michael that he was free to hang out. It took a few minutes, but Michael replied with a, “Sure! :D”

“Fuck yes!” Kyle cried out, pumping his fist high into the air as soon as he saw the message. He rushed through the campus, running full-sprint with Zack’s powerful legs as he made his way to Zack’s room to drop off the remain clothes.

Once he arrived, he quickly dressed Zack’s body in clothes more suited for the night air, but he also made sure to wear a jock-strap underneath. From what Kyle could gleam from Zack’s memory, he knew that Zack and Michael had fooled around on more than one occasion.

There was a streak of envy that rushed through Kyle’s heart, but he quickly reasoned that his ability would mean that Michael could belong to him.

Him and only him…

“Hey, nice to see ya,” said Michael. He wore a loose wifebeater and a pair of shorts that seemed so easy to tear off. Kyle put on a restrained smile and nodded. “Well, c’mon in! I swear, you act like such a robot sometimes,” Michael said as he pulled Zack inside, chuckling the whole time. Kyle could’ve sworn he had the smile of a cherub as he spoke. On and on, they chatted while sitting around in Michael’s empty apartment. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but…

Just being by Michael’s side, somehow for that night it satiated Kyle. They spent the night together playing video games, drinking some cheap beer Michael had in his fridge, and enjoying some bad Adult Swim shows. Throughout the night, Kyle intended to make moves on Michael and make him his own. And yet, some part of him was unable to commit. Even as the clock grew closer to 2:00 in the morning, Kyle was hardly able to do more than a simple flirt.

‘This isn’t how I figured it would go,’ Kyle thought to himself while Michael used the bathroom. His fantasies of pining Michael to the wall with Zack’s impressive physique evaporated into little more than idle dreams. Every time he would even think about making a move, some part of him withdrew. Was a fear of showing affection? Was Zack’s body doing something to him? And yet, when he stared into Michael’s charming smiles or soft chuckles, Kyle felt his heart flutter once more.

Then why? More than anything, Kyle wanted to love Michael, but…

“Hmm? Anyone I’m interested in?” Michael echoed. Just before the night wrapped up, Kyle, hoping that his desperation wasn’t quite so obvious, asked Michael once he left the restroom. A few beers went a long way to loosen the tongue. Kyle himself was fully well aware of that.

“Um… well, I kinda prefer older men,” began Michael. Grinning, he said, “Someone like Coach Reynolds, actually. Don’t tell anyone, though!” he chuckled like a schoolgirl gossiping about her friends. “He’s really hot. Someone like him—oh man, a thick and tough man like him is the best.”

‘Ah, so that was it.’

“How come you’re suddenly so interested?”

“No reason. Good luck on your love conquests., friend”

Michael chuckled again before turning over and lying down on the couch. “Good luck to you too…” he said. The sleepiness was audible in his voice. So he was that type of drinker. Kyle could feel his chest grow heavy as he felt a sudden urge to protect him. With just a bit of alcohol, anyone could take advantage of poor Michael. He really needed to remain straight and make sure that nobody laid a finger on his friend.

Kyle shook his head. Where had those thoughts come from? It was as if someone had turned a valve and allowed a flood of emotions and memories to fill Zack’s head. Were these… Zack’s inner thoughts? It made a certain amount of sense. Somehow, the thoughts didn’t “sound” like Kyle’s inner narrator—whatever that meant. He couldn’t explain, but it was a distinction that he could make.

“You’re too defenseless,” said Kyle. With slight hesitation, he placed a hand on Michael’s bare arm, and lightly rubbed it. It was only a slight touch, something that Zack had most likely experience many times over, but it was enough. Just for tonight, it was enough for Kyle.

“Your love. I hope it comes true.” Since starting university, Kyle had wished for someone to utter those words for him. At the very least, he could pretend that it was truly Zack giving his support.

“It’s… It’s not going… anywhere…” muttered Michael. Soon after, his gentle snoring felt heavy on Kyle’s borrowed ears.

‘Don’t be sure about that, Michael.’