#tugs old jones

[bigg-city-riders-au]

Wait ok so like I was just thinking… idk if you take one shots or anything. But imagine how scary star tugs could be when they HUNGRY. Like imagine being a worker trying to get out of port and you gotta figure out how avoid ALL the tugs 😨

Sure thing! This was a blast writing this! Tw for violence and some blood. One-shot under the cut.

You're making you way out of the port, trying to find your way by weaving through the maze of buildings late at night with nothing but your flashlight. The night air is cold, and harsh. It's wintertime here, and the tugs are showing signs of restlessness. They're getting hungry and desperate. They might not have eaten enough to last through the winter, so they're likely desperate for anything they can snatch. Even the Star Tugs seem to be becoming more aggressive. Not a good sign. That means you'll have to avoid not just the Zed-Stacks, but the Star Tugs as well.

You know you have to get close to the water to find your way out of the port. That's where most of the lights are. Lights had been put in place after the curse was cast to keep the Zed-Stacks at bay, but it seems the lights won't help much considering how desperate they seem to be. With luck, they might be far away from you when you're close to the water. You take your chances, and cautiously make your way towards the ocean waters.

You whip around as you hear something disturbing the water behind you, only to see nothing. You may not be alone here. You whip around again as you hear a deep guttural growl at the other side of you. Maybe your luck has ran out tonight. You immediately take off running as your pursuers give chase. You hear a feral snarl as you hear the wooden docks crunch from the sheer power from something much bigger than you. You then know just who was pursuing you, two tugs.

You weave between the buildings, causing one of the tugs to curse at losing you. You recognized that voice from anywhere. Ten Cents was one of your pursuers. You hide behind a building and wait to see who else is pursuing you. You spot the smallest Star Switcher, Sunshine searching for you. His forked tongue slithers from his lips and flicks, as if he's tasting the air, seeing if he can detect you. You're a bit close to him, within reach of him. You don't want to wander farther from home and possibly put yourself in more danger. You'd rather be close to the Star Docks than to be near the Zero Docks. Now that would have been a death sentence.

You take your chances and dart out from your hiding place. Sunshine whips and hisses. He tries to snatch you, only for him to barely miss you. You can feel the wind from his claws just barely missing you. You shake it off and keep running, not daring to look behind you to see if they're still chasing you. It was a few minutes before the port once again grew quiet. You stop and rest for a few moments. You know you can't run all the way home.

After a few moments, you dare to peek around the corner, only to see nothing. It's quiet.. too quiet. You cautiously make your way out from your hiding spot, looking around as you get ready to run again. You hear the water being disturbed in the distance. You know the sound of you running will draw the tug or tugs closer to you. You have to go slow to prevent getting the tug's attention. You keep glancing out in the distance, the port is almost pitch black. You're on high alert, keeping your breathing as quiet as possible. You know the tugs have a sharp sense of hearing, and can easily track you down just by the sound of your breathing if you're not careful.

You hear the movement closer this time.. much closer this time. It's a much bigger tug by the sound of it. This one might be the reason Ten Cents and Sunshine stopped pursuing you so suddenly, meaning this one was not to be messed with, so it wasn't OJ or Hercules. You haven't seen Big Mac and Warrior at all. You listen closely, seeing if you can figure out exactly where the tug is. Without warning, an anchor-like claw slams down next to you as the tug emerges from the darkness. It was Big Mac no doubt. His eyes have a ravenous and blood-thirsty glint in them as he towers over you. He bares his fangs as venom oozes from them and corrodes the concrete beneath your feet. You immediately take off running when you hear another growl not too far from you, just on the other side of you.

Big Mac suddenly stops, glaring towards the darkness. You feel the air become tense as you see an anchor-like claw gently land beside you, as if block Big Mac from reaching you. You look up to see Warrior, who is glaring daggers at Big Mac. Big Mac looks at you, seemingly tempted, but not wanting to risk injury fighting against his brother. Big Mac's tow line lashes to and fro in agitation as Warrior snarls, baring his fangs as he flexes his other claw, as if to threaten to attack if Big Mac ever thought about trying to reach for you.

Big Mac glances between you and his brother a few times before he reluctantly backs down, retreating. You look up at Warrior in shock as he looks down at you in relief, relieved he didn't have to fight his brother. He carefully reaches for you and fear takes the wheel and you book it. You can't trust Warrior either. It could be a stunt to gain your trust.

You run as fast and far as you can. You have to slow to a stop or collapse after a while of running. You have to sit and rest after running so far and fast. You're breathing heavily and shaking from both exhaustion and fear. You freeze as you hear you a deep guttural growl from the darkness once more. Except this time, you can't pinpoint exactly where the sound is coming from. It sounds like it's all around you. You look around wildly as you try and figure out where the sound is coming from. You immediately spring up as another anchor-like claw reaches for you from the darkness. You take off running, slower this time. You hope the tug will decide you're not worth the energy.

Judging by the sound, which is surprisingly soft, you can tell who it is easily. OJ, or Old Jones as he's known to be. You know he's slower than some of the others, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous than the others. Seems he's figured out how to be silent when stalking prey. You're not a bit surprised honestly. He's always been one to find ways around different problems.

You can see the port start to open up as you get closer to home. You're almost in the clear. You push yourself for the last leg of your run. You can make it. Just a little bit further and you'll be home safe. Your hopes are quickly dashed as you feel the anchor-like claws of a tug wrap around your middle and lift you up high off the ground.

You scream and kick as an attempt to break free of the strong grip of the tug. The tug lifts you up to his eye level, and you squint to see exactly who it is. Top Hat looks you up and down, head raised as he growls softly deep in his chest like a cat. You look into his eyes as he bares his massive fangs. You're looking death right in the face. Top Hat opens his jaws as venom pours from him fangs, ready to give the killing bite.

Suddenly, within the blink of an eye another tug delivers a powerful blow to the side of Top Hat's face, the sharp claws creating deep wounds on his cheek. Top Hat screeches and immediately drops you. You scream as you plummet, landing on his deck with a thud. The impact knocks the wind out of you as you gasp for air. Top Hat whips around to face his attacker, none other than Warrior. Seems he's truly trying to help you get away from his fellow fleetmates.

To Hat snarls as he delivers a blow in return. Warrior roars in pain before snapping his powerful jaws at Top Hat's anchor-like claws, barely missing by mere centimeters. Top Hat winced a bit at the sound but he too lets out a roar, as if to challenge Warrior.

Warrior narrows his eyes and smoke billows from his smoke stack, as if to snort like a dragon. Warrior looks Top Hat up and down as if he's thinking of something. He doesn't want you to get hurt in the crossfire, but knows he Top Hat won't give you up so easily. Warrior back away a bit, seemingly retreating. Top Hat smiles a wolfish and triumphant grin. His fangs glisten in the moonlight. Seems he's won and your heart sinks. You give Warrior a pleading look. Little do you know what Warrior has planned.

Top Hat reaches for you and you brace, expecting the worst. Warrior then charges at full speed, ramming into Top Hat's side, making the railway tug hit the docks, hard, and pining him against the concrete. Top Hat's screech is cut short as the breath is knocked out of him. He gasps for breath and almost tries to reach you one more time, only for Warrior to snatch you instead. Warrior snarls as he snaps his jaws at the railway tug, making Top Hat flinch a little.

Warrior growls softly and carefully looks you over for wounds, chuffing softly. He looks at Top Hat before moves further away from him, deeper into the port. Warrior gently places you on his bow. He purrs softly as you immediately run and cling to him. You tremble as you take some time to regain your strength. You sigh in relief.

Warrior freezes as he hears something, and sniffs the air. He quickly grows pale. Hercules slinks from the darkness, a bit of a ways away, but still too close for comfort. Hercules sniffs the air. Seems he hasn't spotted you yet. Warrior is quick to gently pick you up with his anchor-like claws and place you under his hat to mask you scent. He makes a decision right then and there that he needs to keep you safe for the night.

Warrior slinks deep into the port, away from the other tugs before he stops and lifts his hat and gently grabs you with anchor-like claws. He lowers you to his eye level and gives a kind smile, careful to hide his fangs.

"I hope you don't mind me keeping you safe for the night. I don't think you'll be able to make it back home in one piece." Warrior keeps his voice at a low and gentle volume and tone. You think for a moment and nod. Sure you won't make it home tonight, but you'd rather be safe than to risk being snatched by another tug that doesn't have such friendly intentions.

Warrior holds you close for a moment before he gently places you under his hat. "Don't worry about breakfast either when you get up in the morning. I'll make sure you're fed and everything. Just relax, and get some sleep. I'll protect you, I promise.."

And with that, you slowly fall asleep to Warrior's soft purring, knowing you're perfectly safe and sound.. Perhaps you've even found a new friend too.

[cillyscribbles]

the problem with "only liking that which you find for yourself" is that sometimes you find yourself a brick wall, and there is absolutely no frat boy cat shenanigans you have that can impress said wall. tugger might actually need to start reading shakespeare or something.

[merakiui]

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea. 

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.” 

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

[ama0310]

Silver Springs (S.R)

Character: Spencer Reid

Requested: No

Type: Angst

Summary: A chance encounter during a murder investigation forces Spencer to confront his past when he comes face-to-face with Y/N, his ex-girlfriend and new victim, rekindling old feelings and tensions.

AN: It's basically Daisy Jones & the Six meets Criminal Minds type of vibe.

"Another day, another case."

Spencer Reid had grown accustomed to the relentless pace of his work with the BAU. Evil, it seemed, never took a day off.

This explained why he now found himself en route to interview the latest victim, accompanied by Morgan.

Four murders in two weeks, and the body count showed no signs of slowing. All signs pointed to a disturbing connection within the music industry. The first two victims were singers, their vocal cords savagely ripped out. The third, a guitarist, had his hands severed. The most recent victim, a band manager, had his eyes gouged out in a grotesque display of violence.

As they walked briskly down the bustling Nashville street, Morgan voiced his frustration. "I can't wrap my head around why each murder was so different. It's like we're dealing with a completely new MO each time."

Reid's brilliant mind was already piecing together the puzzle. "Actually, there's a twisted logic to it," he explained, his words tumbling out rapidly. "Each mutilation corresponds to the victim's role in the industry. Singers silenced, a guitarist robbed of his ability to play, and a manager blinded, unable to oversee his clients. The unsub is targeting what makes each victim valuable in their profession."

"Do we know who we're meeting?" Reid inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Morgan nodded, consulting the notes from their technical analyst, Penelope Garcia. "Her stage name is Y/S/N, twenty-six years old. She's the lead singer of a band called The Springs. The band's manager reported an attempted abduction last night. She fits our victim profile perfectly: female, location in Nashville, related to a band. This is our first witness, Reid. She could be our key to catching this guy."

As they entered the recording studio, a frazzled assistant greeted them. "Hi, I'm Cary, the manager's assistant. Thank you so much for coming! Jason has been a nervous wreck. Please, follow me."

Morgan took the lead, his FBI credentials at the ready. "I'm Agent Morgan, and this is Dr. Reid. We need to speak with Y/S/N as soon as possible."

Cary nodded, guiding them towards a red door. With each step, the muffled sound of music grew louder, and a hauntingly beautiful voice became clearer.

"The band is actually recording their latest song right now," Cary explained in a hushed tone. "You'll need to be quiet, but the manager will brief you further."

As they approached the studio, the lyrics washed over them:

Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me

A chill ran up Reid's spine. Something about that voice tugged at his memory, but before he could place it, he collided with Morgan's back.

A man stood before them, his face etched with worry. "Thank you for coming. I'm Jason, the band's manager. I wanted to take her straight to the police station, but she insisted on—" His eyes widened in recognition. "Spencer?"

Reid froze, suddenly face-to-face with a ghost from his past. "Uh, hi?" he managed, his usual social awkwardness winning again. How does one greet their ex-girlfriend's best friend after years of silence?

Morgan, sensing the tension, stepped between them. "I'm Agent Morgan, and this is Dr. Reid. We're here to speak with Y/S/N."

Jason's eyes darted between the two agents, his expression hardening. "Actually, I'd prefer if he wasn't here," he said, gesturing to Reid. "No offense, but I don't think it's wise for either of you to cross paths again."

Morgan, though confused by the unexpected connection, maintained his professional demeanor. "With all due respect, Dr. Reid and I work as a team. We both need to speak with Y/S/N to conduct a thorough investigation."

As the two men argued, Reid's gaze drifted to the recording booth. Through the glass, he caught sight of the band, and his breath caught in his throat. There, at the microphone, stood a face he thought he'd never see again—a face that to this day still haunts his most amazing dreams. 

I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you Give me just a chance

The lyrics pierced through Spencer Reid's carefully constructed walls, flooding his mind with memories he'd long tried to suppress. He was transported back to a time when life held more than just case files and criminal profiles—a time when he had someone to come home to, when he felt truly free rather than trapped within the labyrinth of his own brilliant mind. A time when he and Y/N L/N couldn't imagine a life without each other.

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

Despite his best efforts, Spencer's heart threatened to burst from his chest, yearning to reunite with its other half. For that was what Y/N had been—his perfect complement. They had met when she was seventeen and he was nineteen, initially friends until, two years later, they could no longer deny the intensity of their feelings.

Their love had been a force of nature—intense, pure, raw, and undeniably real. Until life's cruel realities came knocking at their door.

Y/N was a free spirit, driven by her passion for music. She'd twirl until dizzy, her long hair a wild tangle, singing until her voice grew hoarse. Music moved her in a way nothing else could.

Meanwhile, Spencer was on the cusp of graduating from the FBI Academy, with whispers of a fast-track position in the prestigious Behavioral Analysis Unit. Two paths diverging, leading to an impossible choice.

He did what he thought he had to do, breaking things off for both their sakes. He had run the probabilities, analyzed every scenario, and a happy outcome seemed frustratingly out of reach. They wanted different things, or so he had convinced himself.

That fateful night was seared into his memory. Y/N was about to leave for New York to meet with a record label—an opportunity that Jason, her best friend and now manager, had excitedly relayed during their date. Spencer saw the yearning in her eyes, the spark of a dream about to be realized. And so, he made the agonizing decision to end things.

Her tears, her desperate pleas, her hands clutching at him as he walked away—it all haunted him still.

Was I just a fool?

I'll follow you down 'till the sound of my voice will haunt you

Spencer watched, transfixed, as Y/N sang in the recording booth. She swayed to the rhythm, smiling at her bandmates, lost in the music. Everything about her still captivated him. Their relationship had been a bittersweet dream he never wanted to wake from.

Give me just a chance

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you

He stood rooted to the spot, oblivious to Derek's hand on his shoulder or the sudden silence as the band stopped playing. Then, Y/N turned towards the glass, and their eyes met for the first time in years. The world seemed to stop spinning.

Her gaze flicked to Jason, her expression morphing into a glare as she mouthed, "What the fuck?" The spell broken, she grabbed her bag and bolted through the back door.

Everyone sprang into action. Jason was the first to follow, with Derek close behind. Spencer remained frozen until his partner turned him around.

"Look, I don't know what history you have here," Derek said, his voice laced with concern and confusion, "but we have a job to do. If you can't handle this, go wait in the car. If you can, let's move." He pressed the car keys into Spencer's hand before chasing after Jason.

Against his better judgment, Spencer followed. A selfish part of him needed to be near her, even if it meant causing more chaos.

As he approached, he heard Y/N's voice, sharp with anger and pain. "I don't give a fuck if he's the president of the goddamn country. I'm not speaking to him. So you can either throw them out or let me leave."

Spencer rounded the corner to see Y/N already in her car, engine running, poised to flee.

"Look, Miss," Derek began, his voice firm but empathetic, "we can't let you go. You're the only survivor of this serial killer. If you don't talk to us, more people will die. Is that something you can live with?"

Jason, his arm still through the car window, pleaded with his client. "Come on, Y/N. You and I both know they're here to help. Let's get this over with, and then we can get you out of state within hours. This is for your safety and the safety of others."

Y/N's gaze flickered between her manager, the new agent, and Spencer, who was approaching hesitantly. With a heavy sigh and her heart in her throat, she turned off the ignition and moved to open the door, forcing Jason to step back.

"Get me a whiskey and a glass of milk," she demanded, grabbing her purse and striding back into the building without a glance at the agents.

Jason turned to Derek, his expression grave. "I strongly advise against having him there," he said, nodding towards Spencer. "As you can see, it won't end well if he's present."

Derek, still loyal to his partner, bristled at the suggestion. "And I advise you not to tell an FBI agent how to do his job. We've got it from here." He turned to Spencer, concern evident in his eyes. "Is he right? Should I listen to him?"

"No. I'm fine," Spencer insisted, though his tense posture suggested otherwise.

"And what about her?" Derek pressed, before noticing Carly, the assistant, anxiously tapping her foot nearby.

"She's in room 24, waiting for you," Carly informed them, pointing towards a door. "Um... good luck!"

As they entered the room, they found Y/N and Jason in the midst of a heated discussion.

"Everything alright?" Derek intervened, causing Y/N to roll her eyes dramatically.

"Yup, everything's perfect!" Jason's forced cheerfulness was palpable. "You guys can have a seat. I'll be right outside." He looked at Y/N sternly. "Be good. And tell them everything, please."

"Yes, Dad," Y/N replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she took a sip of whiskey. Once Jason left, she glanced between Derek and Spencer. "Well, are you going to sit down, or are we having a stand-up interview?"

Derek motioned for Spencer to sit beside him, both agents studying the woman before them. Y/N held a cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, while a glass of milk sat on the side table—an odd combination that spoke volumes about her state of mind.

"I'm Agent Morgan, and I believe you know Dr. Reid," Derek began cautiously. "We just have a few questions about what happened to you yesterday."

Y/N took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling slowly before tapping it on the ashtray. "And what exactly do you want to know, Agent?"

Spencer cleared his throat, drawing her attention. "Jason mentioned you survived a failed abduction. Can you walk us through what happened?"

Y/N tilted her head, her gaze fixed on Spencer with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably. "We finished recording one of our songs yesterday, and the band wanted to go out for drinks. I was still hungover from the night before, so I decided to sit that one out." She took a gulp of whiskey, chasing it with milk in a bizarre ritual. "I stayed in the studio for a few hours, just writing. Around three a.m., I decided to head back to my hotel. I'd parked two blocks away, and as I approached, I noticed someone loitering near the parking lot entrance."

"Did you engage with him?" Derek interjected, earning an eye roll from Y/N.

"I'm not fucking stupid," she snapped. "I walked past as quickly as possible. He tried to talk to me, but I ignored him. Guess he didn't appreciate that, because the next thing I knew, he was behind me, trying to force a plastic bag over my head."

The room fell silent as the gravity of her words sank in. Spencer leaned forward, his analytical mind already piecing together the details. "Can you describe the attacker? Any distinguishing features, voice, or mannerisms?"

Y/N's eyes locked with Spencer's, a flicker of their shared past evident in her gaze before she quickly looked away. "He was tall, probably six feet or so. Muscular build. I didn't get a good look at his face, but his voice..." She paused, taking another drag of her cigarette. "His voice was deep, with a slight Southern drawl. Not local, though. Maybe Texas or Oklahoma."

Derek nodded, jotting down notes. "How did you manage to escape?"

They could see Y/N physically reliving the traumatic experience, her leg bouncing with increasing anxiety. The calm facade she had maintained began to crack under the weight of her memories.

"Hey, it's okay," Derek said softly, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Take your time."

For a moment, Y/N seemed to relax, but just as quickly, her emotional walls snapped back into place. She crushed out her cigarette and downed the rest of her whiskey in one swift motion.

"I'd heard about the murders before," she began, her voice steadier than her trembling hands. "Even before that, I always carried a pocket knife and pepper spray. Call it paranoia or just good sense in this industry." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "I managed to scratch his left arm before kicking him. When he loosened his grip, I turned and pepper-sprayed him. Then I just... ran. Got to my car and drove straight hotel. That's when I called Jason."

Derek leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And you didn't think to call the police?"

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger. "I wanted to forget about it," she snapped. "I was planning to leave anyway. Sometimes denial feels safer than facing reality."

"Yet you still came in to record a song right after that?" Spencer's quiet question drew her attention, earning him a look that was equal parts resentment and something harder to define.

"I have a job," Y/N replied, her tone clipped as she turned back to Derek. "We have an album coming out soon, and we needed to finish recording. We love working in Nashville, so yes, I wanted to get it over with and then leave. Music... it's always been my escape."

Spencer cleared his throat, treading carefully. "Can you describe anything else about him? Any details you remember?"

Y/N's gaze softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at Spencer. "I think he was wearing a blue sweater, but I'm not certain." She paused, her brow furrowing in concentration. "What I do remember clearly is his smell. It was... odd. Like scented candles, the kind you'd find at Bath & Body Works. It was strangely out of place, but unmistakable."

Derek nodded, jotting down notes. "Alright, thank you for your time, Y/N. Here's our contact information if you remember anything else or need assistance." He stood, extending his hand, which Y/N shook briefly. As he walked to the door, he noticed Spencer hadn't moved. "Spencer?"

Spencer glanced between Derek and Y/N, who was now staring at him intently. "Give me a second," he said quietly. "I'll meet you at the car."

Derek hesitated, giving Spencer a questioning look. The younger agent's eyes pleaded for understanding, for a moment alone with the woman who had once meant everything to him. With a slight nod, Derek acquiesced and left the room.

As the door closed, the air grew thick with unspoken words and years of regret. Spencer and Y/N sat in tense silence, neither quite ready to bridge the chasm between them.

Finally, Spencer spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y/N, I... I'm sorry. For everything. I know it doesn't change anything, but I need you to know that."

Y/N's carefully constructed mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of the pain she'd been carrying for years. "Why now, Spencer? After all this time?"

"Because I never stopped caring," he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "And seeing you in danger..." He couldn't even finish that sentence. "Please, promise me you'll be careful. 

Y/N studied him for a long moment, conflict evident in her eyes so she does what she does best. Ignore it.  "Congratulations are in order, Mr. FBI," Y/N said sardonically, reaching for another cigarette. The acrid smell of tobacco filled the air, a scent that brought back a flood of memories for Spencer.

"Smoking causes about 90% of all lung cancer deaths," he recited, unable to stop himself. "More women die from lung cancer each year than from breast cancer." It was an old argument, one they'd had countless times before.

Y/N took a long, deliberate drag, exhaling slowly as if to challenge his statistics. "We're all meant to die one day, Spence," she said, her voice tinged with a familiar fatalism. "I always told you that."

Indeed, she had. It was her motto, her way of justifying living life to the fullest, consequences be damned.

"I thought you quit," Spencer said softly, his eyes fixed on the glowing ember of her cigarette. "When did you start again?"

"A few months after my twentieth birthday," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. "The record label signed us, and suddenly we went from doing a few covers a week to churning out originals every month. Needed a stress reliever."

Spencer studied her, noting the way she avoided his eyes. There was more to the story, he was certain. "Y/N/N," he said gently, using the old nickname that once came so easily to his lips, "are you okay?"

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Why would you assume I'm not?"

"Well," Spencer began, slipping into his analytical mode, "you drank that whiskey rather quickly. Your eyes are bloodshot, and you're flushed—signs of prolonged alcohol consumption. The fact that you're willing to record and drive in this state suggests it's become a habit. And then there's the cigarette addiction. So, naturally, I'm concerned about your well-being."

Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken words and years of separation. Y/N broke first, standing abruptly and grabbing her purse. "I've told you what you needed to know," she said, her voice brittle. "I have to leave. Hopefully, Jason's already arranged my flight out of here."

As she turned to go, Spencer's hand shot out, catching her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through both of them—a spark of electricity, familiar yet now terrifyingly foreign.

Y/N's eyes traveled from his hand to his face. "Let go, Spencer," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

He couldn't. Not yet. Not when he'd finally found her again, when there was so much to explain, so much unfinished between them. But he also knew that Derek would come bursting through the door at any moment.

With reluctance, he released her wrist and pulled out a post-it note and pen from his bag. Hastily scribbling his number, he held it out to her. "Take it. Please. If you need anything—and I mean anything—call me, okay?"

Skepticism clouded Y/N's features. Did he really expect her to take his number, to even consider calling him after everything?

Seeing her hesitation, Spencer pressed on. "Look, Y/N, I know you have every reason not to trust me, to want me out of your life. But please, give me a chance to prove that I'll be there for you. We'll catch the guy who attacked you, and if you need help with anything else, anything at all, come to me. Please."

Y/N stared into his pleading eyes. A part of her recognized his sincerity, but the wounded 20-year-old inside her still ached from old betrayals.

With a resigned eye roll, she snatched the note from his hand and left without a word, leaving Spencer rooted to the spot.

As she passed a trash can in the hallway, Y/N paused, the note burning a hole in her hand. For a moment, she hovered on the brink of tossing it away. But something—sentiment, curiosity, or perhaps a stubborn refusal to let go—made her slip it into the back pocket of her jeans instead.

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

The lyrics of her song echoed in Spencer's mind as he watched her go. And in that moment, he realized with startling clarity that he didn't want to get away. Not anymore. Not ever again.

As Y/N disappeared from view, Spencer was left alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and cigarette smoke, and the weight of years of regret. He knew that solving this case was now about more than just catching a killer—it was about second chances, redemption, and the possibility of healing old wounds.

With a deep breath, he steeled himself to face Derek and the investigation ahead, all while knowing that the most challenging case of his life might just be winning back the trust of the woman he'd never stopped loving.

Author's Note: I absolutely love Silver Springs. I belt it out all the time lol. I also was obsessed with Daisy Jones & The Six when it came out. Used to read a lot of those fanfics.

Also let me know if y'all want a part 2.

Thank for reading!

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Just Friends, Chapter One:

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, mutual pining, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 34), angst??, masturbation (m))

wc: 2k

joel masterlist | series masterlist

Joel feels weak when he sees you.

That’s the best word for it. Weak. A complete lack of control—of power. Logic and reason are nothing but incoherent mumbles in the background every time you’re in the same room as him, even worse when you look into his eyes and speak his name.

He hadn’t felt this sort of tug towards someone in years, and the unfamiliar sensation of needing to simply see you at least once a day in order to function properly was beginning to consume him. He didn’t know what to do to rid himself of this infatuation, avoiding you was impossible and so was getting closer thanks to that 30-something year old patrol ranger you called your boyfriend.

He watched the two of you together as though it was his job. He watched the way you seemed to keep him at an arm’s length when the two of you were out together, always sandwiching yourself between your friends rather than beside the man you were supposed to love.

He couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you were like in private.

It couldn’t be a very passionate affair, that much he knew. Real passion wasn’t so easily concealed. It was consuming, drawing you like a magnet to your partner, burrowing beneath your skin, creating an itch to be near them—to be touching them. It couldn’t be an affair of passion.

Just now, he’s sat in his usual seat in the corner of the bar, his back pressing to the padded walls of the booth, his hand holding a crystal glass filled with whiskey, his brows drawn together, his eyes locked on the back of your head as you ordered a drink, your friend next to you. Joel wants to stand up, walk over, and offer to buy your drink right in front of him just to see the look on your face.

Would you tell him to fuck off? Or would you say yes?

The laugh you let out in response to something your boyfriend whispers into your ear stops Joel from finding out.

“God, I need a drink,” Ellie sighs as she emerges from nowhere, her backpack being shrugged onto the floor as she sits down across from Joel.

“Tough day learnin’ your ABC’s?” he quips, his tone still flat from the war jealousy was waging inside of his head.

“Ha-ha,” she replies, just as dry. She knocks her knuckles on the wooden table as she watches his eyes drift back to you, now seated at a table just five or so feet away from him—too close for his comfort. Downing his drink, he shifts his eyes back to Ellie in time to catch her chuckling at him.

“What?” he asks, tilting his head at her as though he were begging her not to read him as easily as she does.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head and laughs again before reaching over the table to swig the finger of whiskey left inside Joel’s glass.

“Hey,” he calls as he catches her mid sip, stealing the glass back. “They got rules about kids drinkin’, you know that. You itchin’ for another lecture from Maria about followin’ the rules?”

“No,” she replies. “It’s a bullshit rule anyway.”

“No, it ain’t,” he sighs as your laughter fills the room again, his chest panging causing him to physically wince. “I’m ready to go home. You comin’ or you stayin’?”

“Staying,” she says, grabbing her backpack and setting it on the table. “Have homework to finish and your sad country music being blared through the house isn’t going to help keep me focused.”

“Don’t disrespect my sad country music,” he warned playfully as he stood up with a grunt, finishing the little whiskey left in his glass in one gulp. “I’ll see ya back at home by curfew.”

“About that…” Ellie looked up at Joel with a hopeful smile. “Dina invited me over to spend the night—“

“Dina can spend the night at ours,” he argued, that protective streak of his making it’s usual appearance.

“Dina and I don’t wanna watch you drink and sing along to George Jones, dude,” she replied, frowning up at him until he broke.

“Fine. But you’re back in time for breakfast tomorrow.” Ellie grinned as she nodded at him, his eyes rolling and a chuckle escaping his chest. “Spoiled.”

As Joel starts to make his exit, he stops at the bar to deliver his empty glass and pay off his bill. That’s where you find him.

“Hey,” you start, hoping to conceal your deeply hidden crush on the older man with friendliness. Joel’s head turns to you so quickly you swear you hear his neck crack, his unreadable eyes locking on yours as though you were some sort of apparition he was almost certain wasn’t actually there. “I just wanted to come over. Say hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, choked and unprepared. Clearing his throat, he tips his head towards your table. “I saw you were with your friends, otherwise I would’a came over and said somethin’.”

“You can always come over and say something,” you assure, fighting the urge to bat your eyes at him as you give him a smile. The man whose coat you’re wearing lingers in the back of your mind as you stare at the man you’ve wanted since he arrived.

“How’s the new fence treatin’ ya?” he asks, a smile creeping onto his face as he leans a shoulder onto the bar and faces you. You think back to the weekend he spent building your white picket fence last month, free of charge. The way his arms looked in a t-shirt as he sawed away at the wood still makes you dizzy.

“Well, it’s still upright so…you must’ve done a good enough job on it,” you offer with a smirk, earning the slightest of chuckles. You always wondered why everyone seemed to think he didn’t have a sense of humor, he seemed to find you funny enough. “I, uh, also came over to invite you over to my place tomorrow evening.”

You watch as Joel’s brow lifts with interest.

“Oh yeah? You throwin’ a party or somethin’?” he asks.

“My birthday,” you shrug. “Figured I’ve gone twenty years without celebrating it, might as well.”

“That’s what this place is supposed to be about,” he says. “Doin’ normal things again.”

“Exactly,” you smile, ignoring the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when he mimicks it. “So, can I count you in?”

“Long as you got somethin’ to drink.” You laugh and nod in reassurance. “Well, I’m in, then.”

“Alright, I’ll let you escape before someone else comes up and tries to talk to you,” you offer, reaching your hand over to touch his arm. Joel looks down at the contact before meeting your eyes again, something unreadable lingering in his dark irises that makes you flustered enough to pull your hand away. “I’ll see you.”

“See ya,” he replies, quiet as he taps the counter with his knuckles before turning and walking off. Your eyes couldn’t help but lower to his fist as it hung by his side, clenching and unclenching. With a subtle but deep breath, you turn around and walk back to your table—back to your boyfriend and all of his perfection that bores you beyond belief.

“Why did you go up to him?” Josie, a friend of yours, asks as you return to your spot at the table and reach for your beer to wash down the lingering desire.

“I invited him to my party,” you replied, shrugging as you gave her a confused look. “What?”

“Babe,” your boyfriend, Will, chuckles. “He’s…old.”

“And an ass,” Josie adds. You roll your eyes at them, knowing that neither of them ever had a real conversation with Joel, making their opinion of him mute. “Did he say yes?”

“Yes,” you chuckle, amused by the shock on their faces. “We’re friends!”

“Since when?” Josie asks with a hearty laugh.

“Since always,” you reply with a shrug before continuing, “I helped show him around when he got here since I’m right across the street.” Josie looks to Will and then Will looks to you, a look of amused confusion on his handsome face. “He’s a nice guy when you get to know him.”

“Maybe, but he’s also old enough to be our father,” Will argues. You roll your eyes at the reality of the age gap between you and your secret crush, twenty-two years to be exact.

“There are only so many people our age in Jackson, honey,” you say, irritation thick in your tone. “And besides, just because he’s older means I shouldn’t be friendly to him? We’re just gonna start shunning every person in Jackson above what, fifty?”

“You know what,” Will starts, reaching his hand over to rub your back, his warm touch only making you feel colder. “You’re right. We’ll be friendly to him too. Okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, lifting your beer up to your lips, wishing more than anything that the man touching you was someone else.

Joel’s in bed, his drunk thoughts centering around you. Around the way you smiled up at him as though you had no clue that his heart was beating out of his chest. Maybe you didn’t, but how could you not notice his sweaty palms, the nervous twitch of his lips when you forced a smile onto his face?

He was sure he was going to lose it completely when your hand came to rest on his arm. He wanted to run and at the same time wanted to get closer, to feel you too. But, the falter in your smile once his eyes met yours and your hand leaving his arm so abruptly it hurt grounded him back to reality. The one in which you were a taken woman and he was a man twenty years older.

It makes him feel sick when he tries not to think about you, so he doesn’t bother as he reaches his hand over his briefs and grips his swelling girth in an attempt to soothe the throbbing ache there. He grunts as he strokes himself through the fabric, just enough to build himself up slowly.

He thinks of you. He thinks of that weekend he built your fence. He thinks about the way you looked in the sun, the green grass beneath you as you sat out on the lawn and kept him company. He thinks about your legs, bare in the summer heat, your denim shorts cut short enough to make him turn red when you rolled over to lay on your stomach.

As he rubbed his thumb over the now weeping head of his cock, he imagined what it would be like to take those shorts off of you. To lay claim to what lies underneath. He moans as he imagines the sounds he’d pull from you.

Pulling his briefs down enough that his cock was springing free, he licks his hand and grips himself at the base, another choked moan slipping free as his fist glides up and then down again, over and over.

He wonders what you’re like in bed, how you like it, if you’d let him take control or demand it for yourself. It didn’t really matter, he remembers, not when he’d never have the chance of finding out.

When he cums, he groans, his fist stroking up and down, gathering his spend to help ease the glide of his hand until he’s finally had his fill. With a sigh, he lets his head fall back against his pillow, his eyes on the ceiling fan spinning above him.

“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he curses himself.

It doesn’t work.

•

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[msbigredmachine]

Say Cheese - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

A steamy after-work rendezvous with the Tribal Chief and his princess is captured in 4K.

PAIRING: Tribal Chief!Roman Reigns x OC

Warning: SMUT

Word count: 4.9k 

Song Muse: "Sativa" by Jhene Aiko and Rae Sremmurd

————————

The audible smacking of lips and sliding of tongues was the seductive tune serenading the lovers, seemingly drowning out the actual song blaring from the speakers of the hotel suite. It started out with soft, gentle pecks, but ever so greedy, he’d taken it up a notch, kissing her more hungrily at the same time he lifted her up onto the kitchenette’s counter. That lethal tongue of his consumed the insides of her mouth, earning his deep chuckle at her needy moan as her legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close. 

“We are so bad, we should be at the party,” she giggled against his succulent lips, sneaking her hands behind the nape of his neck to tug his ponytail loose. “People are gonna notice we’re not there. ‘Specially you, Mr. Tribal Chief.”

He pulled away long enough to huff, “Well, that's on you. You’re the one who kept rubbin’ on my dick the entire ride back here, making me so hard everyone woulda seen it.” Picking up the half-drunk bottle of Cristal next to her, he took a large gulp before handing it to her. “Gon’ be boring as shit anyway. Fuck the party,” he added.

“Nah, I’d rather fuck you,” she stated, making her intentions clear, loving the way his eyes blazed at her bold statement. 

“That’s my girl.” He showed his appreciation by tongue-kissing her slowly, coaxing her to follow his lead and match his energy. She wasn’t inexperienced at all, but each time they kissed, she felt like a virgin being taught for the very first time. Emboldened by the alcohol in her system and the passionate moment, her hips rocked back and forth, grinding against his prominent erection pressing between her parted thighs that his big hands caressed so lavishly, all while their mouths sought the depths of each other’s sensual taste. 

It took Cleo Parker-Jones just three months after her main roster call-up to get Roman Reigns in her bed. It probably would have been quicker if it wasn’t for his part-time schedule and her focusing on proving herself on the blue brand. Whenever he did show up to work, they did not get too many moments alone. But each time they did, they made the absolute most of it. Flirty banter. Suggestive winks. Subtle caresses as they grew closer. Soon, she was sneaking into his locker room or his bus for intense make-out sessions that left them both breathless and hungry for more. The sparks flew between them and it was only a matter of when and not if they would seal the deal.

Of course they did, and it was glorious. The man was blessed by the dick fairy and he backed it up with incredible, toe-curling bedroom skills that challenged even her own renowned stamina and athleticism. The not-so-amicable end of her last relationship had left Cleo lonely and horny, and she knew right after having her first taste of the Tribal Chief that she wouldn’t be able to leave him alone. Luckily, the feeling was mutual, as he kept coming back for more…and more…and more…

Fast forward a rollercoaster of a year and she was now Miss Money in the Bank, Smackdown’s fastest rising star at twenty-six years old…and Roman Reigns’ sugar baby. Of course, the perks were perking…Traveling in Business Class or in his own jet, designer outfits and accessories, late-night lobster dinners in restaurants shut down just for them, phone bill and house rent paid up, luxury hotel suites like the one they were currently in, enjoying a little after-party of their own after ghosting the one downstairs. But there was nowhere else she would rather be, especially since he would be gone in the morning while Cleo wrestled around the country, missing him something fierce. She never thought she would be in this kind of relationship, but this fun, adorable, generous, criminally sexy older guy had her wondering why she’d never considered it. He took care of her, pampered her, and satisfied her every need. He made her feel like a princess and that was all she’d ever wanted in a man.

She pushed him firmly to catch her breath, lightheaded from his delicious kisses, and licked her plump and swollen lips while staring up at him. Her fingers found the buttons on his dress shirt, slowly flicking each one open to expose his smooth, bronzed, tattooed chest inch by inch, noting the way he shivered as her short acrylic nails gently scraped his skin. She couldn’t help but grin at the sight of his open shirt and his hair loose and wavy; he strongly resembled those romance novel cover models from back in the day.

“Let me down so I can suck on my favorite lollipop,” she requested.

Without hesitation, Roman picked her up off the counter and brought her down to her feet before him. Lowering down to a squat, she backed him up against the counter and relieved him of his slacks with nimble hands. Her darkened eyes leered at his erection bulging impatiently through his Nike briefs, the front stained with his arousal for her. Her fingers peeled the elastic waistband down his muscled thighs, his long, hefty dick almost slapping her in the face when she set it free.

Roman’s breathing quickened as Cleo curled her fist around the throbbing length, squeezing out the bead of precum that clung to the tip. Their hazy gazes locked as her tongue darted out to catch it, licking the underside of his cock before guiding him between her lips, coaxing a deep sigh out of the Samoan.

“Unnnh, shit, Cleo,” Leaning back against the counter for balance, he nearly knocked over his iPhone in the process. Jerkily groping for the device, he picked it up, glanced between his Home Screen and Cleo’s bobbing head, and a naughty idea came to him. Tapping his thumb on the screen to find the camera, he couldn’t hold back his moan when her image materialized through the lens, making his dick disappear in her hot mouth like a magician.

"Smile for the camera, baby, I wanna remember this..." he said.

Her big brown eyes fluttered in his direction, and he tapped the button, the snap sound capturing the image of her pouty lips sealed tight around his dick forever. He firmly gripped the back of her head, struggling to take the picture three more times as she sucked him deeper and harder.

"You can just record it," she pulled him out to say.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “For real?” 

“Yeah. Have something to remember me by when you’re away from me.”

This was new. Sure, they’d exchanged dozens of nude selfies and some raunchy solo videos, but they were yet to put any of their sexscapades on film. His train of thought evaporated when a thick string of spit fell from her lips onto his milky brown length. His vision blurred as she then swallowed him up in one go, her sucking more audible from the gathering saliva, her hands twisting determinedly around his erection. As best as he could, he hurried to select the video setting on his phone and hit Record, his fingers digging into her scalp as the vibrations from her moans almost had his knees buckling. 

“Aw man, that mouth is fuckin' goated, princess,” he encouraged, raising his phone higher to get a better shot of her working him. He loved it when she got into it like this, so nasty and with so much passion and concentration. “This what you been waitin’ for all night, huh? This big dick deep down your throat?” he taunted.

Cleo blinked up at him with her long lashes, her naughty smile stretched by his girth. He looked so hot, bare-chested, staring down at her with his hair falling over his face. She could tell he was close already, the veins in his dick seemed to spring to life and thicken in her hand. With every suck, she made sure to moan around his big beautiful cock and let her tongue slurp all over it for extra stimulation. Her goal was to drain him, to wring him dry and make him lose his sanity. 

But not just yet.

Abruptly, she pulled away, sliding him out of her mouth with an audible pop as she said, “Okay, my feet hurt, I ain’t Megan Thee Stallion.” She raised her arms, gesturing for him to pull her back up.

Roman fought back a whine as his cock twitched pitifully from the sudden absence of her oral attention. Her annoyingly sexy smirk told him she was screwing with him again like she liked to, but he kept it to himself, inwardly promising to get his lick back. With shaking hands, he stopped filming and helped her stand up, watching her wobble a little in her high heels. 

Her lilac-colored nails wrapped around the neck of the Cristal bottle as she picked it up for a sip, and poked out her tongue to let the drink drip from it. It was bait, and Roman seized it with a needy growl, lapping up the alcohol with his tongue and making a messy transfer from her mouth onto his. God, he had the tastiest kisses, even coupled with the bittersweet flavor of champagne. When he pawed at the obscenely low neckline of her dress and his mouth latched on to her hardened, bare nipple, her heart thrummed excitedly in her chest as that familiar feeling of desire bloomed within her. 

“This dress is sexy as fuck, princess, but I want it off,” he demanded.

“You can take it off me, Daddy. Let’s go to the bathroom first. And bring your phone with you.” She took him by the hand and led him like a little boy across the large suite. Roman’s mouth watered as he watched her curvy hips sway from side to side as she walked. The things this girl did to him. It’s been a long time since he felt this way about any woman, since he’d been this happy and excited to be with someone. Initially, he felt like a dirty old man taking advantage of the beautiful, bright-eyed young starlet. But that reasoning was short-lived as Cleopatra proved from the jump to be more mature, more well-rounded and more in control than she liked to let on. He liked that a lot about his princess.

The backlit mirror in the fancy bathroom stretched over two sinks, the perfect backdrop for the sinfulness that was about to transpire. With a sultry smile, Cleo bent over one sink and pulled her dress up to her waist, exposing her black g-string nestled between her bountiful round globes. Using two fingers, she parted her folds and circled them gently over her labia, never taking her eyes off her big bad lover man, his phone recording her every move even though his eyes were glued to her soaking wet folds. With her slippery fingers, she rubbed her pussy before bringing them to her mouth to suck them like a pacifier, her moan low and sultry from her own taste.

"Mmm. Come closer, Daddy, I want you," she purred.

As he did, she took his phone and propped it up against the mirror in front of her, leaving the video running. His hulking form towered over her, his body molded into hers, his aching erection straining against her backside. His tongue darted out between his lips as his hands roamed her body. His expansive paws caressed her curves and the fleshy mounds of her ass, his thumb brushing over the phoenix tattoo just above her right buttock. Cleo loved that this Adonis of a man never seemed able to keep his hands off of her. Having done some work on her body, naturally and surgically, she hoped the change would take her places. Never did she think that said place would be in the arms of the face of the WWE. Her career progression, along with his constant attention, was validation that her investment was paying off.

"Look at the camera while I eat this pussy, baby," he instructed. He had the bottle of Cristal in his other hand, and he turned it over and poured the liquid all over her ass, drenching her already damp panties. She watched as he disappeared behind her, and a hiss slipped from her lips as she felt his mouth on her ass, kissing and biting softly. The feel of his long fingers squeezing her cheeks as he licked the champagne off her skin was incredible. He rolled her panties down to meet her stilettos and ran his hands up and down her smooth, toned legs, widening them to expose her wet, glistening pussy from behind. Her stomach fluttered and her loins clenched as he left a trail of big, wet kisses on her inner thighs.

"Your pussy is so pretty, baby girl. Just like you."

He started suckling her folds, using that godly tongue of his to split them apart and lap at her opening. The faster and deeper he moved his tongue, the louder Cleo moaned, all while doing her best to focus on the camera like he wanted. Fuck, his lips were so soft, his tongue warm and fat and heavenly as they worked together to devour her aching cunt.

The Tribal Chief reached around her front, slipping one hand between her thighs. Ignoring the throbbing of his cock reacting to her throaty moans, he pushed his middle fingers inside of her and pumped, reveling in the panting, whimpering mess he'd turned her into. She reached behind her to grab the back of his head, only for him to shove her hand away and slap her ass in warning. Cleo groaned loudly as his finger plunged deeper, nudging that sweet little spot that made her eyes roll back as the pressure built and built. She braced her hands on the sink and rode his face and fingers, grinding her hips until she couldn't anymore. She howled her pleasure as the orgasm quickly overtook her and she came in his mouth and all over his thick beard. The sensation so overwhelming that her legs nearly gave out where she stood.

"I need you to come like that on my dick," Roman murmured as he rose to his feet. Ridding himself of the rest of his clothes, he wrapped a steadying arm around her before guiding her face to his. She moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue, swiveling nastily with hers, devouring each other as though only the other could quench their thirst.

"I can't get enough of you, Cleopatra. Every time I think I'm satisfied, the hunger comes back stronger." He burrowed his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply, letting her flowery scent fill his lungs. "Everything about you makes me so hard. I need you, baby girl."

His voice and his words caressed her heated skin with the same devastating effect as his hands on her. Suddenly, her dress was too tight, too constricting, prompting her to pull it over her head with his help and throw it somewhere far away. She gasped as he immediately reached for her breasts, rolling their softness in his callused palms. Her gaze flickered from the mirror to the camera and back, catching his eye as he winked slyly at her.

She yelped a little as he smacked her hard on her behind, once on each cheek. His hand print seemingly seared into her ass, but she didn't dare say a word. As she waited for his next move, he stepped back, though she could still feel the mass of his thighs warming her backside. Suddenly, she heard the frantic, sticky sound of his hand jerking his dick. She almost melted at his expression through the mirror, his eyes clouded over, his beard glistening with her cum, his lips parted as he pleasured himself right in front of her, holding out on her. As "Sativa" played in the background, Cleo began to throb and pulsate, the anticipation getting her wetter by the second. The fact that he was making her wait sent her hormones into overdrive. Her honey dripped, rolling down her thighs.

When he was done, Roman grabbed the phone and held it right above her backside. His free hand rubbed all over her round ass before he grabbed his dick and spanked it on her ass, feeling harder and bigger than before on her skin. Reaching behind her, Cleo pulled her ass cheeks apart to help him sink inside her with one long thrust. He stroked inside her at a moderate pace, relishing in her sweet cream already streaking his dick. The mirror gave them the perfect view and eye contact. They could see each other's faces when their expressions changed, feel the shudder of their bodies when they moved and when they moaned with pleasure. Damn, what a beautiful sight, all captured on camera for their viewing pleasure.

"Ya know what? Throw that ass back for Daddy," Roman spoke roughly, his large hand clutching her waist and slowly rocking her back and forth on his cock, "This fat, sexy chocolate ass...fuck my dick with it..."

Planting her hands on the marble surface to steady herself, Cleo bit down on her lip as pushed back against him, pausing every couple of seconds to grind on him because he liked it when she did that. More heat bloomed within her loins at the satisfied groans falling from his lips, as he brought his hand down on her ass yet again. Moaning softly, she bounced faster against him, her pussy gripping him tight with each slide inside her. He felt so good, made her feel so full and so ready to explode again as her walls massaged his girth.

"Like that, baby? You want it like that, my Tribal Chief?" she spoke breathlessly, "That dick feels so good Daddy...Oooh sh-"

Roman had grabbed her left leg and lifted it onto the sink, opening her pussy up to him. He held her down and pounded her hard from behind with drunken, reckless abandon. It did something to his brain when Cleo idolized him with all these pet names; Daddy, baby, Tribal Chief; it boosted his ego and made his dick harder knowing that he was indeed in God mode. As her reward, he delivered heavy, grinding strokes right up against her g-spot that intensified her cries and had her gripping the marble surface for dear life.

"Talk to me, baby, tell me where I'm at?" he said, angling the camera to view her flushed face.

"In my stomach." She could barely speak or think straight or even stay upright, weakened from the mindblowing pleasure surging through her. She lay slumped on the sink, her eyes closed, her kiss-swollen lips parted as she enjoyed him inside her. He knew he was hitting her spot whenever her long eyelashes fluttered and her heavy breaths actually stopped for a couple of seconds, her mouth open in a silent cry. His hand then wound around her throat, yanking her body up from the sink and against him with her back to his chest. Twisting her chin towards him, he covered her mouth with a hot, sloppy kiss, coaxing her moans out of her throat and into his. Blindly putting the phone back down, his hips accelerated, drilling her pussy with added force, their slapping wet skin reverberating around the bathroom. His fingers slipped south to strum her clit, making her body tremble, on the verge of complete collapse as each wave of ecstasy grew more incredible than the last.

"D-Daddy...Roman, fuuuuck!" she stuttered, clawing helplessly at his arm around her neck, trapped between the hard surface and his hard strong grip, unable to do anything but endure the dizzying tandem offence of his cock and his hand inside her.

"I can feel you, baby, you 'bout to come, ain't cha?" he asked, a husky groan slipping from his lips as her pussy tightened around him. "Unnnh god, you feel so good. Come for me babe, I want your cum all over my dick."

Cleo's moans dissolved into broken whines as he kept pummeling into her, nudging her closer to the edge until there was no room left and she toppled over headfirst. Her body jerked once, freezing and then shaking as liquid gushed out of her and all over his and her thighs. The ecstasy was blinding, numbing with its sheer intensity. "Shiiiit!" she cried out.

"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout," Roman chuckled, letting her leg down and smacking her ass before spinning her around and lifting her to sit on the sink. His burly arms hooked beneath her knees, dragging her to the edge with his pelvis wedged against her clit. "Legs up, baby girl. Take the camera and watch Daddy fuck his pussy," he ordered.

Cleo licked her lips as she grabbed his phone, staring into the camera with unfocused eyes for a moment before directing it downwards to their naked, sweat-slick bodies. The Tribal Chief shuddered at the contrast of her pretty pink pussy against her russet skin. So fucking sexy. He rubbed his dick left and right like a windshield wiper over the fat, puffy pussy lips before patting her clit with it. "I'ma go nice and slow this time so you can feel all of me," he told her, groaning out loud as he slid in.

Chills ran down her spine as his magic dick stroked her right there, that lower sensitive part of her pussy that made potential orgasms creep in faster than usual. Roman knew exactly where that spot was, and he focused the pressure of his dick there, never stopping his onslaught.

"Shit...fuck that pussy, Daddy, fuck me, oooh yeahhh..." Cleo moaned, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of his dick beating her pussy up, testing the stretch of her walls. It felt so good that her grasp on his phone began to falter. Roman noticed, and he took it from her, extending his arm so that the camera caught the entirety of both their bodies, showing off his messy dick pumping in and out of her creamy pussy.

"Look at us, princess, look how good you take Daddy's big dick. Fuckin' beautiful," he said. She followed his gaze into the camera, honing in on his trademark smoldering lip curl that she always found so hot. Her pussy agreed, leaking just a little bit more for his benefit and hers.

With her arms braced behind her, her legs spread wide and looking right into the camera lens, Cleo watched her lover go to town on her, his dick finding the bottom of her pussy. His strong, toned hips bounced off hers, his increasingly ravenous strokes causing her walls to pulse around his girth. Searching desperately for something else to grab onto, she clutched the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down hard on hers. A clattering noise sounded, and she felt both his hands curl around her throat as he nipped at her lips, his tongue tangling with hers. When he pulled back, the light in his eyes was gone, completely blown with lust and need, and Cleo couldn't help but smile with pride. A warm thrill always rushed through her to see him like this; this huge, powerful, unflappable man losing all composure and control and losing himself in her and in the pleasure she was giving him. It was the biggest ego boost, probably a bigger achievement than anything she'd done in the ring, to know that no one else did this to him or made him feel like this.

Their foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air while he rocked into her, his dick sliding in deeper with each roll of his hips. His phone lay unattended next to them, having dropped it in the heat of passion. Even as her climax loomed, Cleo still had the wherewithal to prop the phone back up against the wall facing them, not wanting to miss the money shot of their coupling.

"I'm 'bout to come, baby," Roman rasped, his movements intensifying.

"Me too, come in my pussy Daddy, come in me," she whimpered,  her belly warming with the molten heat of an impending explosion.

Her breathless mewls propelled the snapping of his hips, his growls more uninhibited and desperate as he held her legs tighter and fucked her like an animal. Her head banged back against the mirror and her body arched into his with a keening cry, her nails digging into his biceps as her arousal crescendoed and splintered her into a hundred pieces. It felt like the music was playing directly in her brain from how hard she was coming.

"Yeah, come all over me, fuck, Cleo, I love this pussy so much. Daddy 'bout to come so hard for you, ah, mmmhhh..."

The jolt of his big frame and the thick grunt that followed gave him away. His thrusts stopped, and he held himself still inside of her, his head thrown back while he came inside the warm tunnel of her pussy, making the sexiest noises as he lost himself to unbridled pleasure. Cleo moaned with him as her body jerked from the force of his pulsing cock filling her up with his seed. She grinned lazily into the lens knowing that the entire scene was captured perfectly. As he crumpled in her arms, she left a string of kisses along his cheek and his neck, holding him close in a sudden desperate need to crawl into his skin as they descended from the incredible high together.

After the world had quieted and the room had stopped spinning, he straightened his back, kissing her before he pulled his dick out, watching his cum ooze from her pussy. She reached down to spread her pussy lips open while he picked up his phone again to get a closeup of the creampie that he created.

"Feed me our cum, Daddy," Cleo begged with her soft spoken voice. She watched as he swiped two fingers inside her and held up their joined fluids to her lips. Her mouth eagerly weaved around the digits, sucking and licking up their cum juices thoroughly, making him moan at the sexy visual.

"I've trained you well, my baby girl. You like this freaky shit just as much as I do," he teased, kissing her again as his arms wrapped around her waist. This was probably the part Cleo liked the best; the quiet after the storm, the cuddles and sweet butterfly kisses; basking in the afterglow as her love for him continued to blossom and deepen.

"You okay?" he asked, massaging her back in soothing circles as he looked at her.

"Mmm-hmm," she sighed blissfully in response.

"Mmm, that shit was fire, baby. Damn. I know that video is gonna be a masterpiece when we look back at it."

Cleo giggled in agreement, cradling his face in her hands and smoothing her thumbs over his beard, watching him visibly relax from her delicate touch. "Send it to me. I plan on having a lot of fun with it when you're not around."

"Dirty girl," he replied playfully with another sweet kiss, leaning down to help her take off her shoes. "Speaking of, what's TV like for you on Friday? It's the run-in angle from Damage Ctrl, right?"

"Yep. I'm off all through next week to sell the beatdown. Why?"

"Perfect. I'm at my place in Palm Springs for a week. Come meet me there after the show. I'll send you your flight details. Gabriel will take you to the airport and I'll come get you when you touch down. Bring a couple of bikinis and dinner dresses. You need some money for those, babe?"

Shaking her head no, she smiled the sweetest smile and hugged him. He spoiled her so much. She still had to pinch herself sometimes that this was her life. "You take such good care of me, Daddy. I lo-...I appreciate you."

If he caught the near slip-up, he didn't show it. "I appreciate you too. You should know by now that I love spending my money on you and taking care of you. So your fine ass better get used to it if you ain't."

Get used to it. She couldn't help but let her imagination run amuck at those words. Was it possible that he saw something more concrete between them? After all, they pretty much acted like boyfriend and girlfriend and most of the roster knew they were a thing. Deep down she longed for confirmation, but she also didn't want to ruin their great dynamic by overcomplicating it with an "official" label.

"Question. That video is in safe hands, right?" she changed the subject, making Roman snicker at the tinge of trepidation in her voice.

"Relax. The security on my phone is double-cheeked up," he insisted.

"You sure? Cuz I'mma smash your phone to pieces if I have to," she warned. "My folks will kill me if that video ever leaked."

Her cute little threat had him chuckling. She was so adorable. "Easy, tiger. It's safe, for mine and your eyes only. I'd never do anything to embarrass my baby girl." He stroked her chin gently, his eyes soft and filled with a warm, tingling emotion that brewed inside him only for this beautiful, exciting woman and seemed to grow stronger every day. He knew what it was, and he secretly prayed that it was not one-sided.

Their lips met once more in a gentle, sensual kiss that neither of them wanted to end. The disappointment sinking inside Cleo when he pulled away quickly vanished as he picked her up and carried her towards the shower. Again, she let him take her wherever the hell he wanted to. As long as she got to be with her Daddy, it didn't matter where they went. Sooner or later, with the right timing and persuasion, she would finally gather the courage to tell him she was in love with him.

THE END

————————

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[dixons-sunshine]

Someone To Love | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl treasured his friendship with you. You were everything to him, someone he could go to when he needed you. On his sixteenth birthday, you did something for him that made him realize that his love for you ran much deeper than he had initially thought.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre apocalypse.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word count: 1.8k.

A/n: I'm really sleep deprived, so this potentially sucks really bad. It's also not exactly like what was requested, but I went with my gut and this was born. However, I hope you like this! (Requested by @ddamm. I'm not gonna be home this weekend and won't be able to write something for your birthday, so I wrote this for you as an early birthday present!)

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Where are ya takin' me?”

“I can't tell you that. It's a surprise, Daryl.”

“Y'know I hate surprises.”

“This one you'll like, I promise. Now shut up and just follow me.”

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, a small, affectionate smile annoyingly tugging at the corners of his lips. He walked with his hands tucked into his jean pockets, carefully stepping over any logs and big rocks in his path. You were walking slightly ahead of him, a skip in your step as you lead him somewhere—to his supposed surprise or his death, he wasn't sure.

“Ya sure ya didn't jus' bring me out here to kill me?” Daryl questioned playfully, chuckling at the glare you threw his way over your shoulder. “Jus' askin', sunshine. No need to get mad. S'a valid question. Most'a those murder books ya read start in the woods, so m'jus' curious if yer takin' a page outta those characters' books.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “Believe me, if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it in the most common, boring way. I'm more creative than that.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows at you. “Should I be scared?”

“No, of course not!” you laughed and shook your head, reaching over to grab his wrist. You tugged him along behind you, taking off into a steady run.

Daryl stumbled over his feet for a moment before laughing, quickening his pace to keep up with you. “Jeez, girl! Ya dun' have to rip my damn arm off.”

You giggled. “Sorry, I was excited,” you apologized, stopping in your tracks. You turned to Daryl when he stopped next to you, releasing your grip on his arm. “We're here. Happy birthday, Dar.”

Daryl looked ahead and was surprised to be met with a small, intimate setting—a picnic basket resting on top of a blanket. You had really gone above and beyond, Daryl thought I'm surprise, trying to ignore the odd feeling of warmth that spread through his body when he looked back at you and saw an excited smile on your face.

“You said no parties, so I thought we could have a little picnic instead, just the two of us,” you explained, taking Daryl's hand in yours and leading him over to the blanket. You motioned for him to sit down, following suite and getting comfortable on the blanket you had swiped from your mom's closet.

Daryl eyed everything around him curiously. The two of you were in a part of the forest he wasn't familiar with. It was rather surprising, considering he spent most of his time either at your trailer or in the forest, so seeing that you were able to locate a spot he didn't know was rather impressive.

The movement of your hand towards the picnic basket instantly peaked his interest. He watched as you pulled out an old portable CD player that your mom had gotten you a year prior, settling it onto the blanket and fiddling with a few buttons before pressing the play button.

Daryl's eyes widened when the melody to Ozzy Osbourne's “Crazy Train” flooded the relatively quiet air. His eyes met yours and he let out a shocked noise. “Where'd ya get an Ozzy CD?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back on the palms of your hands. “Mr Jones owed my mom a favour. She finally called it in and borrowed a bunch of music for us for this.”

“Ya got other artists?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Guns 'n Roses, Dio, Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Queen—”

“Ya got Queen?” Daryl questioned in amusement. “Ya know I dun' listen to 'em.”

“And you know that I don't believe that,” you countered, sending him a teasing smirk. “I've seen you quietly sing along when I play Queen in my room. There's no hiding the truth from me, Daryl.”

“Nah, yer only seein' things. Gotta get yer eyes checked out or somethin',” Daryl replied defensively, crossing his arms over his chest in mock annoyance.

You rolled your eyes and sat upright, reaching into the picnic basket to grab a sandwich to hand to Daryl. “Whatever you say, birthday boy.”

Daryl accepted the sandwich and took a bite from it, humming in approval at the taste. “Taste's real fuckin' good. Thanks.”

“Only the best on your birthday,” you mused, reaching into the basket to grab your own sandwich. “You deserve it. And as long as you have me around, we'll always celebrate it.”

Daryl gave you a small smile, taking another bite from his sandwich to avoid saying something that could potentially ruin the moment. As he looked at you, he couldn't help but admire you. From the beautiful colour of your eyes to the way your lips curved when you smiled, to the outfit you were wearing that day that hugged you in all the right ways. Everything about you in that particular moment was perfect, and Daryl found himself very confused at the feeling that entered his body. There was a strange knotting in his stomach when you met his eyes, and he froze at the weird sensation.

Thankfully, you started talking about some band you had discovered that snapped him from his thoughts, and Daryl pushed the strange feelings down. He wouldn't ruin a perfect moment with his best friend because of some stupid sickness he was getting. He would worry about his health later. For now, he would appreciate your company on a day that he rarely celebrated anymore.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Stay right here. I'll be right back.”

Daryl looked up at you in confusion when you got up from the blanket, the Lynard Skynyrd song that was playing in the background forgotten for the time being. “Wha' do ya mean? Where are ya goin'?”

“Just wait here. I need to go grab something I put here earlier,” you explained, turning on your heel and walking off.

“Ya sure ya ain't jus' gon' get yer gun to shoot me? I knew ya were plannin' on killin' me.”

“Very funny, Dixon.”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head, watching your retreating figure in wonder. He leaned back on the palms of his hands, humming along to the song playing. He looked around at the wildlife that looked even more beautiful in the light of the setting sun, content for the first time in a while. The day had been uneventful; he had spent most of the morning and early afternoon in your trailer watching movies while you were busy setting up the surprise for him, then he had a calm picnic with you, swapping jokes and stories, and after that, he would go back to your trailer for the night.

Daryl felt calm, and it was all because of you. All because you refused to let him spend yet another birthday on his own, cooped away in his room.

The rustling of the leaves alerted him to your presence. He looked up at you, instantly noticing the box in your hands.

“Wha's tha'?”

You sat back down on the blanket and extended the box to him, giggling when Daryl only eyed the box in suspicion instead of taking it. “Daryl, it's just a box. It can't hurt you.”

“Las' time someone handed me a wrapped box, I found a bunch'a spiders inside tha' crawled all over me,” Daryl told you, still refusing to take the box.

You shook your head and laughed lightly. “Let me guess, Merle?” When Daryl simply nodded, you continued. “I promise there aren't any bad surprises in here. Only a good one, I hope.”

Daryl hesitantly took the object from you and lowered it onto his lap, slowly starting to peel the wrapping paper away. Once the simple brown box underneath was revealed, he looked up to you, but was only met with an encouraging smile. He opened the box at a snail's pace, but once the object inside was revealed through the small opening, Daryl practically ripped the rest of the box open.

Daryl carefully picked up the object, inspecting it carefully as his eyes widened in surprise. He looked over at you again, a shocked smile on his face. “A Walkman?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a smile on your face at his obvious excitement that your best friend failed to hide. “I know you've wanted one for a while now, so I spared up some money to buy one for you. It's not new because I didn't have seventy bucks to buy a brand new one, but it works and it's not all banged up. I made you a tape as well. It's already in there.”

Daryl looked surprised. Unwillingly, a few tears started to well up in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away. There was no need for tears in a moment like that. He sent you a small, unsure smile, feeling that same strange feeling from earlier creeping up on him again.

“Thank you,” Daryl whispered, moving the Walkman around in his hands. “This is the best birthday I've ever had. S'jus'... Ya gave me somethin' I've been wantin' fer so long, even though ya didn't have to. Yer amazin'.”

Not realizing the true, deeper meaning behind his words, you leaned forward and hugged Daryl tightly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Anything for you, Dar. You know that.”

Daryl hugged you back tightly, lowering his head to rest on your shoulder. Daryl's feelings hit him with the force of a hundred freight trains—he was falling for you. He was falling for his best friend, and he didn't even realize it until that moment. The only reason he realized it was because of the gift you gave him. And it wasn't the picnic or the snacks or even the Walkman. No, it was something much deeper than that, something much more valuable to Daryl than anything else in the world.

You gave him someone he could trust. You gave him someone he could go to with his problems, someone who never judged him or belittled him for feeling emotional. You gave him someone he could love without the fear of being disappointed, someone he knew would be there for him.

You gave him you, and that was more than enough for him.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[offt0wonderland]

The Runaways

Imagine: You're a Soc, enjoying a movie at the drive-in with your friend, when the same Greasers you ran into earlier barge inside the automobile.

The Outsiders x fem OC

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: A young Soc finds herself thrown into a loop once she befriends Pony and his family.

“What did I miss in History?”

Deborah strengthened her fingers around the condensing cup, the two of us pressed closely together while the temperature gradually dropped outside the passion pit. “A load of Crock – I don’t think Mr. Jones knows what he’s talking about,” The corners of her mouth pursed, a bland giveaway that she was transported back in thought from my missed lecture. “I remember he said something about the Battle of Midway and how we were lucky to have won … but when I talked to my dad, he said that the reason we defeated the other ships was because of willpower and strength.”

“Wait, so how does that make Mr. Jones the one full of Crock?” I shifted my head closer to my friend, allowing the temple of my forehead to press against the bone of her shoulder.

Deborah soon readjusted to my movements; her head now stuck against the headrest of the driver seat to keep her eyes on the motion picture that began to play in front of our eyes. “I’m trusting my dad – who fought in the war – as opposed to the teacher who didn’t.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” The both of us briskly fell quiet after my agreement, letting the noise from Sound of Music fill the silence that lingered between us. It was a movie we’d both seen a few weeks prior, but we didn’t mind the repetition, the drive-in was something we both seemed to enjoy on our off time.

Honestly, I don’t think we’d ever get old of this place.

Well, except for the backseat bingo. Now that was revolting. It was like every automobile around us showcased couples engulfed by each other’s mouths, the film of their windows fogged up to display the sweat that radiated off their movements. I tried my best to ignore them, combine Razzles and Popcorn into my mouth as I observed Julie Andrews on screen, but the hathos was too compelling: they were sickeningly captivating.

It was like every time my irises fell onto the giant screen in front, they somehow found their way to the car next to me. In the span of three minutes, I found myself watching the older couple in nothing but a button-down and a bra. From the looks of it, they seemed to be in their mid-twenties, but by their hormones, they appeared closer to teenagers. Frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them ripped the other’s skin off with how aggressive they tugged on each other’s bodies.

It was nauseating – or more accurately, it reminded me of Charles and his consistently grabby hands. One of the many reasons we broke our steady off.

I continued to observe the people around us, noting every time they disappeared in the cushions of their seats; But for some reason, the one thing that redirected my attention was three boys coming into view. The middle Greaser had the same leather jacket I saw before, his arms wrapped around both of his friends as if he was ready to guide them to mischief. The other two seemed to follow that minuscule action, willing to put themselves in trouble to keep their delinquent acquaintance.

“Get out of the way!” And it appeared that disturbance wasn’t too far behind.

Dally pressed the end of the cancer stick between his teeth; the outline of his middle finger raised in front of the illuminated backdrop. Pony chuckled at his friend’s insult, making eye contact with the battered boy across from him in glee. And in all honesty, I probably would’ve laughed too, only all that commotion made them closer to our car. My eyes widened at that revelation, my body involuntarily shifting downwards in hopes they wouldn’t notice. But with all the other windows coated with steam, we were bound to be noticed.

Dally was the first of the group to make a reaction; his lips tugged into a smirk, the pads of his fingertips yanking the poor boys behind him in the new direction he was set in. It was the response I feared the most – he was coming over. So, I made a countermove; I bent over the edge of my seat, tugging on the locks of the automobile to create a barrier.

“Val, what are you doing?” Deborah questioned.

“Lock the doors on your side.” I said.

“What?”

“Lock the doors on your side!” But before she even had a chance, the three Greasers had found themselves inside the same confinement we were in. And I was pissed.

“Ohh, this is nice,” Dally straightened his legs, leaning his body back against the cushion of the seats as if he was already welcomed into the Socs car. “Didn’t know girls could own such nice autos.”

I turned around to face the lot of them. “What are y’all doin’?”

“Needed a place to sit, the chairs outside are somehow all taken.” Ugh, his arrogance was worse than the couple making out next to us.

“Get out of my car,” Deborah was firm. “I don’t want any grease on these girly leather seats.”

“Dal’ let’s just go.” The anxious boy who was drowned in denim finally spoke up, pulling on his friend’s arm to get him to budge – but it appeared he wasn’t going to oblige to his buddy like last time.

“Dally, I swear, I’ll grab …” The slur of words were quick to come to a halt once my eyes fell upon the boy on the right. It was like I was staring at him for the first time, witnessing the fresh scar that aligned symmetrically on his cheek and temple. And by the rounds of his black irises, I could tell he feared my statement … he feared a Soc. “Just get lost.”

Dally, of course, ignored my blatant pleas and focused on the bag of candies that glowed against the console. “Razzles, my favorite.” The Greaser reached forward, stuffing his dirty hands into the freshly opened bag of Blaze’n Blueberry.

Yup, not touching those anymore.

“Val, you know these guys?” Deborah was mortified that I even knew a name out of the bunch.

I shook my head. “Just Pony, he’s in my English class.”

Now that statement earned a gasp. My friend spun around; her eyes glazed over as she peered at the young Greaser on the left side of her automobile. “You’re in Mr. Syme’s class too?! I love that guy – like in love with that guy … Does he ever mention me? Val here won’t tell me a thing.”

“That’s because you’re going steady with Gerald.”

She waved that comment off, a sense of betrayal looming off of her – which, if I had to guess, was probably due to Gerald’s constant gawking at Cherry Valence. Pony uncomfortably shifted against the leather; unsure what words were the right ones in this situation. “Uh, I don’t think so, but maybe once.”

Deborah couldn’t help but let out a squeal from Pony’s response, the back of her hand now sharply pressed to her forehead as if she was going to faint. Dally grinned at the dramatics, finding humor in the odd conversation that was stricken up. “Y’know what, I’ll make a deal,” I swiveled my head in her direction, widening my eyes in horror. She wouldn’t dare. “If you press Mr. Syme about me, y’all can stay … but only if y’all don’t go ape.”

And she did.

Two of them nodded in unison, shuffling their weight to get comfortable in the small car they deemed necessary to infiltrate. I rolled my eyes at her ultimatum, appalled that she’d be so willing to let a group of Greasers stay in the backseat of her Mustang: But it wasn’t my auto, meaning I had no say. The five of us quickly went back to quietude, watching the flick in front of us; at least until the smell of smoke permeated the air. “Look, if y’all are going to stay, no smoking.”  

“You don’t like smoke?” Dally smirked at my statement, almost as if he had found his new weapon of choice.

“I don’t – so quit it.”

Dally grunted, leaning forward to release a cloud of smoke near my jawline. I immediately balled up my fist, ready to thrust all my power into the crook of his nose, except I held back. All I did was wave away the pollution, turning my head slightly until my skin hovered near the tip of the cigarette. “You stay, our rules.”

“I’m sick of rules,” I dragged my tongue across my lower lip, fighting every urge in me to jump the boy in the backseat. “It seems as though you are too, though.”

“What does that mean?” I spat.

“You went to the wrong side of town, and not many Socs are caught dead on our street.” Deborah gasped at Dally’s retaliation, her head snapping in my direction.

“That’s why you cut class? You were at the Grease Lot?” Her voice was raised, almost loud enough for the rest of the parked cars to hear.

I shot her a look. “If you’re going to act this way – dense – then get out of the car.”

“I’m liking this anger, maybe we can ball like the two over there.” Dally nodded over at the couple who had found themselves fully naked, the movements of their car forming a grotesque image in my brain.

“Oh bug out.”

Dally was about to retort something back, but the boy in denim put his arm out to silence him. “Dal’ leave it be.” His voice wavered slightly, like he wasn’t used to standing up to the man in the middle.

Yet, the coldness of his eyes never disappeared.

I turned my body, peering over at the tan boy who stared back. “Y’know, I like you. What’s your name?”

“Johnny Cade.”

Read the first two chapters here: The Runaways | Quotev

[ghostytoad]

* Fun n' Games *

ROTTMNT Boys x GN! Leo-esque reader who enjoys drama, making jokes, and being overall awesome

Summary: The Hamato brothers unexpectedly fall for the smug, but genuine, fun-loving reader despite their egocentric habits

Headcanons for: Casey Jones

GN! Reader; Romantic; Fluff; Mild angst || Words: 1.2k

Raph | Donnie | Leo | Mikey

Casey Jones Jr.

the moment the boy lays eyes on y/n and sees their easy-going nature, he is head over heels. the emotion practically hits him like a truck and it's all so… new?

it's something he can't initially explain and for a little while, he worries that he's dying or sick from the new york air - he will constantly check in with donnie and ask for every test under the sun to determine the cause

all he knows is that when y/n is around, his face gets hot, his knees are weak, his palms start sweating, and his heart beats wildly in his chest. being an apocalypse survivor, this adrenaline-like feeling can only be attributed to danger or shock

and as far he knows, y/n doesn't pose any danger, right? they've been like family to him and he sees so many admirable traits in them that he had once seen in his sensei (who happened to be the greatest ninja ever); he's genuinely confused by the whole thing

he might try to keep his distance until he figures out why this is happening, but he won't say no to joining y/n on little adventures. he enjoys the company and he especially appreciates how helpful they've been in getting him adjusted to life in present-day new york

"hey, why don't i come along? i'm sure you can handle yourself but i'd be happy to be there for you."

he can't help but compare a lot of what y/n does to how his sensei was in his old timeline. he doesn't mean to do it, he just misses his old mentor and y/n's presence is a familiar comfort to him. leo is great and all, but there's something special about y/n.

casey deals with some pretty major insomnia and when he finds it hard to sleep at night, the first thing he does is call up y/n. they thankfully answer every time and their voice easily manages to soothe the poor boy to sleep (he will snore LOUDLY into the phone when he falls asleep during the call)

he's constantly worried about y/n's safety and will check in on them often when they're not in the lair or at home. he's even asked donnie to make y/n their own communicator so he can keep in contact with them if they're ever in danger.

y/n is one of the first people casey jr will open up to about his rough upbringing. some things are just too painful to bring up to the hamato family, but he knows it hurts more to keep it all bottled up. he loves how accepting they are of him and how sympathetic they can be about his… shall we say, emotional fragilities.

not that he's emotionally fragile, but he sure enough has a lot to sort through and y/n gives him the courage to tackle it head-on and accept where he is and who he is now

on his first attempts at flirting with y/n, he managed to straight out admit he had a crush on them without realizing it. boy is so clueless that he doesn't realize what he's done until he sees the shock on their face

"Hey, Y/N. I, uh, have another joke for you." Casey hadn't looked up from his little joke book as he spoke, squinting as he studied the content as if he'd suddenly understand it better if he just stared at it long enough. Y/N sat lazily on a couch not too far from the boy, head buried in a copy of the latest Jupiter Jim comic book. They paused their reading only to let out a hum of acknowledgement.

"What is it this time? Chicken cross the road again or knock knock?"

"Who's there?" the boy chimed absent-mindedly.

Y/N let out a soft giggle as they set their book down.

"No, genius, you're the one that's supposed to start." They couldn't help but roll their eyes as a smirk tugged at the corner of their lips. Though progress had been slow, they'd hoped a joke book would give Casey a much needed boost considering his previous, pitiable attempts at jokes that more often than not became a moment of oversharing his tragedy. The poor boy was utterly hopeless when it came to comedy.

"Oh, right." Clearing his throat, he straightened himself as if he were getting ready to give a speech, "Okay, knock knock!"

"Who's there?"

"Candice…"

"Candice who?"

"Candice be love I'm feeling for you?"

The weight of his words were completely lost on him as Casey beamed with pride, his joke landing with no mistakes or stuttering. It was no secret that Y/N and Casey were close, but in the short period of time they'd come to know each other, Y/N had developed some deep affections for the boy. The constant struggle to keep themselves in check around him had started taking its toll. It had gotten to the point that Y/N needed to keep their yearning eyes on something- ANYTHING ELSE- when he was around to keep from visibly flustering, the ever-present blush threatening to expose their true feelings. Feigning a soft chuckle, Y/N could only hide their face deeper in the comic they were reading and hope that any flutter of emotion went totally unnoticed.

"R-Really, was that your idea of a good joke?" their attempts at a tease came off a tad more hostile than playful.

Casey responded with a chuff of his own, "Ah, yeah I guess it doesn't make sense if I already know it's true."

"Sometimes comedy takes-" the sudden impact of his words hit them all at once, caught like a deer in headlights while they froze mid-sentence. Peering over at the raven-haired boy revealed an equally shocked expression painted across his reddening face. His mouth opened only to shut itself again and again clearly trying and failing to summon the words to explain his little blunder. Y/N had him beat in regaining some semblance of composure, shaking off the bashfulness.

"Did…" their voice caught in their throat before they started again, "What exactly did you mean by… erm, by that?"

Casey's eyes darted in every direction attempting to search for an answer anywhere he could find it.

"Well, I just- It was really-" he let out a sigh and braced himself, "I'm not sure what to call this feeling but I think it's something like love. I might… maybe love you?"

"Maybe?!"

Y/N shot up from their seat, arms over their head in disbelief and their steps beginning to pace.

"Y-You can't maybe love someone! That's a pretty serious feeling!"

They stopped partway through their rapid pacing to search Casey's bewildered expression causing it to soften a bit under their close observation.

"I don't know if what I feel is exactly what you'd call love, but it... feels close enough to that. I mean... Y/N, when I look at you, my heart starts racing, my head starts spinning, everything feels light and airy. And when you're gone, all I want to do is look for you and see your smile, see the way your eyes light up, listen to your laugh."

His unfocused gaze forced itself up to meet theirs, wide with earnest affection.

"Life here's been… heh, it's confusing to say the least. And these feelings are just as confusing. And for a while I thought it was crazy. Thought I was crazy to believe I could love someone this quickly. But… It'd be so much easier for me to understand if I knew you felt the same?"

Even if this new emotion had been confusing for him, this very moment was one that made it all click in his mind. He was in love all along.

[sailor-aviator]

Fool's Fare: Prologue

Fool's Fare: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warnings: Death of parents, angst, talk of ghosts and the supernatural, Big Brother!Bradley...I think that's it?

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I couldn't help myself, so I went ahead and wrote this. I am just as interested as y'all to see where this fic goes lol As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are encouraged and appreciated! I'll be doing Drabble Sunday this weekend to celebrate my first 100 followers! So get your requests ready!! 18+ ONLY!! And you can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The ocean was a deep, terrifying swirl of forgotten pasts and harrowing mysteries. The vicious pull of the waves sending many sailors to their graves for thousands of years without mercy. No, the ocean was not kind. It was the source of life on the best of occasions and cruel and unforgiving on the worst.

Your father had been a sailor. Working for a large shipping company hauling various goods from one end of the sea to the other, he was often gone for long stretches of time. After months of being away, it was always a joyous reunion when he would return. He would swing you up in his arms, twirling you until your little giggles turned into full blown laughter. He would set you back down on your feet and greet your mother with an affectionate kiss to her temple before tugging you both into his arms.

“My best girls are always here to greet me when I get home,” he’d grin. Your mother would hum, running her hands through the beard he’d grow during his time away.

“Come inside,” she’d say, leading you both into your modest, seaside home. Your father would sit at the table as your mother fixed him a plate. He would tell her that he was more than capable of fixing his own plate, but she would wave him off and place the food gently in front of him with a kiss to the top of his head.

One day, when you were a little over four years old, your father had come home from a voyage with a scraggly looking boy who looked to be about twice your age. Your father had been dragging the boy by the scruff of his collar when you and your mother had come out to greet him. The boy had dark brown hair that had been bleached from time in the sun and steady, brown eyes that held steady as he took in the house before him.

“Found this one on the coasts of the Carolinas,” your father had said with a grin, letting go of the boy’s shirt. He stumbled forward, almost falling headfirst onto the ground. He looked back at the older man with a scowl before turning to look at the two of you.

“My, don’t you look a sight?” your mother had said with a small smile as she took the boy in. He puffed out his chest in a bid to make himself seem bigger and your mother had laughed. You took the few, small steps up to him, taking his hand in yours excitedly.

“My name is y/n,” you chirped up at him. “What’s yours?”

The boy studied you with pursed lips.

“Bradley,” he muttered. Your father had let out a booming laugh, causing Bradley to jump.

“That’s the first answer we’ve been able to get out of him since we caught him rifling through our supplies on the ship!” he guffawed. “C’mon now, boy. Let’s go get us some supper.”

And so your family had taken in Bradley Bradshaw as one of your own, and he settled in fairly quickly amongst the rest of you. He would help your mother out with different chores around the house, and when your father was home, he would take you and Bradley down by the docks to teach you the ways of sailing.

“You want to tie it like this, sweetheart,” he’d say to you as he guided your hands on how to move the rope. “It’s one of the most important knots a sailor needs to know. It’s called the ‘bowline.’”

“Like this?” Bradley had asked, holding up his own rope for your father to inspect.

“Atta boy, Rooster!” your father had laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. Bradley had earned the nickname not too long after he had joined your little family. Your father had just gotten back from another transporting job. He had been woken from his sleep by sounds coming from the kitchen. When he had stumbled into the room, he had seen Bradley already working on feeding the fire for the day.

“The sun isn’t even up yet, Bradley,” your father had laughed as the boy shrunk in on himself. “I doubt even the rooster is awake! Looks like you’re gunnin’ for his job.”

And the name had stuck.

Now, Bradley was more confident in his place within your family. Now, Bradley was much taller and his form was filling out thanks to the many hours spent doing the heavy lifting around your home.

“Keep this up,” your father started, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips, “and maybe I’ll take you with me on a job here soon.”

Bradley’s face lit up. “Do you mean it?”

“Let’s see, you're about, what, sixteen now?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradley nodded, a smile etched onto his face. Your father nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, you should be ready here soon.”

You looked down at the rope in your hands with a frown. “I’ll never get this. Why do I even have to learn this?”

“Because, my little minnow,” your father smiled, “it’s an important skill to know and have.”

“But Mama says that women aren’t even allowed on ships,” you muttered. Your father smoothed the hair out of your face with a thoughtful hum.

“It’s true, women were once considered bad luck to have on ships, and many men still consider them to be so,” he began. “But times are changing, and maybe one day soon you’ll get to set sail with us.”

“Really?” you asked him, eyes filled with hope. He laughed and nodded, turning to look at Bradley.

“C’mon you two. Let’s go see what Mother’s been cooking.”

The three of you trudged up the hill to your home where your mother was already standing outside to greet you. Greeting her with a tender kiss, your father ushed you and Bradley into the house.

When supper was finished and the table had been cleared, you all gathered around the small fireplace. Your father sat in his favorite chair while Bradley and your mother took up the other two. You sat by your fathers feet, resting your head against his knee. The smell from your father’s pipe permeated the room and left you with a sense of fond familiarity as he slowly stroked your hair.

“Papa,” you said, “will you tell us a story?”

“And what kind of story would you like to hear, little minnow?”

“An adventure!” Bradley had grinned. You shook your head.

“No,” you argued. “A ghost story.”

“Ghosts aren’t real, y/n,” the older boy scoffed. Your father hummed with a low chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be so sure o’ that, Rooster,” he smiled. Bradley fixed him with an incredulous look.

“Surely you can’t be serious?”

“As the dead, lad,” your father said solemnly, rubbing the bowl of his pipe. “Ghosts walk amongst the living, as real as you or I. Some even sail the seas, waiting for the day Davy Jones lets them pass into the great beyond.”

“What does Davy Jones even have to do with the dead,” Bradley huffed. Your father arched an eyebrow at him.

“He has everything to do with the dead at sea, Bradley,” he replied softly. “Davy Jones is a powerful man. Not quite human, not quite god. He’s as cruel and unforgiving as the sea, and some even think he was born from the waves that beat against the rocks by the shore. They say his very will controls the tides, and any man foolish enough to invoke his wrath is met with a gruesome fate.”

“Those are just superstitions,” Bradley countered with a scowl.

“You’re free to believe that,” your father began, “but you’d be a fool to. No sailor with a lick of sense is going to take that chance. Davy Jones will come for us all.”

“Why does Davy Jones stay at sea, Papa?” you chirped.

“No one is quite sure,” your father mused. “Perhaps he’s searching for treasure.”

“Would you ever go looking for treasure?” you questioned. Your father smiled.

“I’ve already found my treasure,” he said, casting a fond smile to your mother, who blushed under his gaze.

“Have you ever seen Davy Jones?” you prodded with wide eyes. Your father chuckled, patting your head in reassurance.

“No, little minnow. But those who have are few and far in between. Davy Jones isn’t in the business of letting witnesses stay alive.”

“That’s enough, Maverick,” your mother had chided. Your father had the good sense to look sheepish. Maverick was a name your father had earned during his time at sea, and your mother only called him that when she was cross. Usually, she called him by his given name; Peter or Pete.

“My apologies, Penny, my dear,” he said. Looking back down at you, he offered a smile. “Alright, y/n, it’s time for bed. You too, Bradley. I need you up bright and early tomorrow morning.”

You and Bradley bid your mother goodnight as your father followed you down the hall. When you had crawled under your blanket, he had made sure to tuck you in tight.

“I didn’t scare you too bad, did I, little minnow?” he asked. You shook your head vehemently.

“No, Papa. But, what if you meet Davy Jones one day?”

“That won’t be for a good, long while, sweetheart,” he said with a smile. You nodded, resting your head back down onto your pillow. Your father leaned over to peck your forehead before standing to walk out the door.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said. You smiled.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

A good, long while was not long enough in the end. It was six years later when you got the news that your father’s ship had gone down in a storm off the coast of the Caribbean. Your mother had been beside herself, crying all hours of the day as you and Bradley did your best to stay strong for her sake.

Bradley had caught you crying by the fireplace one night after you thought everyone had gone to bed. He sat next to you, and pulled you to his side as you cried into his shoulder.

“I miss him so much,” you sobbed.

“I know,” he said softly. “I do too.”

“He should be here.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair,” you cried. “We didn’t even get to bury him.”

“I know, Guppy,” he sighed, hugging you tighter. Bradley wasn’t very good with words, and he sure as hell wasn’t good with emotions. “But he wouldn’t want us to dwell on this, you know that.”

“I know,” you sniffled, rubbing at your eyes. “He always loved the sea.”

“He loved being here, too,” Bradley countered. You looked up to see his own eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Your mother had followed your father not long after. She had stopped eating and barely took a sip when you begged her to drink some water. She would stay perched by the window in the bedroom she once shared with your father, just staring out at the sea as if willing him to return. It had ended up being a fever that had taken her one early, autumn morning. It was your turn to be inconsolable as you once again found yourself buried into Bradley’s shoulder as he held you tightly. You buried your mother on the hill that overlooked the sea, forever waiting for your father to return home.

You and Bradley had stayed by her grave until the sun began to set.

The following days were filled with familiar motions and quiet sobs hidden behind closed doors long after the stars began to shine in the night sky. One night, you had set a bowl of stew in front of Bradley after he had come home from working at the docks. The two of you sat in silence for a few more minutes before Bradley pulled you to your feet. You went to say something, but he motioned for you to be quiet as he pulled you through the front door and out of the house.

“Where are we going?” you hissed quietly.

“Just trust me,” he shot back, dragging you down to the beach. The cool sand rubbed against the soles of your feet as you followed him, and he stopped you when you both were standing at the edge of the water. The water felt like ice as it licked aginst your ankles, and you felt a shudder run up your spine.

“There!” he called out, gesturing towards the open sea. You looked, but saw nothing but the white caps of waves.

“I don’t see anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. Bradley offered you a smile.

“That’s because you aren’t looking hard enough,” he murmured. He bent down, pointing his finger so that it was directly in your line of sight. “There, do you see it now?”

You squinted your eyes, trying to see what it was he was looking at. “Rooster, I don’t-”

“I see them,” he interrupted you, smiling confidantly. You fixed him with a puzzled look. “I see Mav and Penny just over there past the waves.”

Your heart stopped and hot tears licked at your eyes as you looked back at the churning waters. It was then that you saw what Bradley had been talking about. You saw your mother and your father with smiles on their faces, staring at each other with adoration clear as day on their faces. You wiped the tears away from your eyes as you looked back to see them waving at you. You huffed a laugh and smiled back at them with a wave of your own.

“Looks like Davy Jones let Mav come back for his treasure,” Bradley said. You threw yourself into his arms, holding him tightly.

“Thank you, Bradley.”

The sea could be cold and cruel, but you had the strength to weather the storm.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

And I Know It's Sad, But This Is What I Think About

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 4

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

6.2k words

Warnings: Language, brief mentions of alcohol, spoilers for The Great Gatsby

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Thank you as always to @agentstarkid for being the best and reading all my silly love stories💕

After my third Richmond game, April and I found ourselves once again having dinner with the Greyhounds at Ola’s. This time, Roy Kent and I sat with some of the players, who I was pleased to watch flirt with April; my beautiful assistant and best friend deserved the attention of hot, rich athletes, I decided.

While flirting with professional soccer players seemed to come easy to April, it felt like Roy and I were still figuring out how to flirt with each other. We sat close enough that our shoulders were touching, I flashed him plenty of coy smiles, and he made a point to whisper in my ear every now and then- although it was usually something like “Can I fucking leave now?” But still, if we were going to convince people that this was real, we’d probably have to step things up soon.

I remembered something Keeley had texted me the day before- we needed another date, and soon.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” I murmured, loud enough for only Kent to hear.

He grunted and shifted in his seat. “Why?” After I simply narrowed my eyes at him, he sighed. “Keeley texted you too, hmm?” He sighed, shoveling another bite into his mouth. “What were you thinking?”

I thought for a moment, trying to avoid something simple like dinner, where we’d have to talk to each other and act like two people who were interested in each other. “Want to go on a picnic? We could bring a couple of books. Wouldn’t have to say a word to each other.”

Roy blinked, clearly processing what I’d just said; I could practically hear gears whirring before he finally spoke. “Sounds fucking perfect.”

Satisfied that I’d done my part, I turned my attention back to my delicious meal; if I got nothing else out of this fake relationship, at least I’d be well-fed for the next few months.

“Hey there!” Keeley Jones plopped down on my other side, smiling broadly at me.

Suddenly very aware of the eyes of the team on me, the way they’d been the night I “met” Keeley the first time I visited Ola’s, I returned her smile with one of my own, going so far as to playfully bump her shoulder with mine.

“Thank you again for inviting us to sit with you and Rebecca,” I gushed, and I really meant it; if I was going to be hanging out at Nelson Road, it was nice to do so in a comfortable suite with champagne in my hand. “It was actually really fun.”

Keeley’s smile widened; it was warm and friendly and genuine, making it obvious why everyone seemed to adore her. “I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself! We’ll have to get you a Kent kit now, eh? I’ve got an old one you could have if you like.”

I swore Roy stiffened next to me. “That’s alright,” I assured her. “I think April was going to order one for me to wear to their next game.” I turned to Roy with a shrug. “Gotta look the part, right?”

Roy mumbled something about getting another beer and stood, pausing only to briefly touch my shoulder; I ignored how warm his touch was. Once he was gone, I turned my attention back to Keeley, whose eyes were following Roy with something that looked a lot like pity.

“How’re you two getting on?” she asked in a low voice, scooching closer.

The only response that felt right was a shrug. “It’s fine,” I murmured. “Definitely working on getting used to each other. Going from complete strangers to dating is… a unique way of getting to know someone.” She seemed to be waiting for me to continue, so I added, “We’re going on a picnic tomorrow. I told him we could bring a couple books, that way we don’t have to just stare at each other the whole time.”

The corner of Keeley’s mouth tugged upwards knowingly. “Now that is a perfect idea,” she said, eyes shifting back to Roy as he approached, beer in hand. “Absolutely perfect.”

~

“How’s here?”

Roy grunted in response and dropped the picnic basket to the ground. Ten minutes felt like far too long to look for the “perfect” picnic spot, but Keeley had been kind of specific; it needed to be a public enough spot that they would be seen, but secluded enough that it didn’t look like they were trying to be seen.

He was beginning to wish they’d just gone to the pub again; at least then he could have a pint.

Instead, he helped spread out the blanket they’d brought with them and opened up the picnic basket, the one Keeley had dropped off at his house early that morning and that his date- when the fuck would he have to start saying girlfriend?- had loaded with lunch and snacks. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of food she’d packed. Probably something trendy and vegan-y. Was she a vegan? Roy didn’t fucking know. But she was young and trendy and pretty and-

“Here.” She shoved something wrapped in white paper into his hands. “Should we eat first?”

Roy gingerly unwrapped the bundle, immediately recognizing its contents. “Is this a fucking kebab?”

She shrugged, already chomping on a bite of her own kebab. “Yeah. That a problem?”

Ignoring the annoyance in her voice, Roy took a bite; fuck, he’d know that flavor anywhere. “Where’d you get this?”

“That kebab place you like.” Her tone was casual, as if it didn’t matter. “I asked Keeley what you like, she sent me the address.” After eating another bite, she shrugged. “The owner asked me to bring in a headshot next time, said he’d give me free kebabs for life.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Roy’s grip tightened on his kebab; he ate there at least once a week and still was never given so much as a discount. But she goes in once and gets kebabs for life? Fucking hell. Well, at least he’d get to take advantage for the next few months. Maybe he would benefit from this charade after all.

Still munching on her kebab, she reached into the bag she’d brought and pulled out a book, settling herself into a comfortable position before opening it. Roy took the hint and grabbed his own book out of the picnic basket, a murder mystery his sister had given him for his birthday. He glanced up over the top of his book to get a glimpse of what she was reading.

“The Great Gatsby?” he asked, raising his thick eyebrows.

She nodded, her gaze still on her book. “It’s my favorite,” she said simply. After a moment, her eyes flickered up to meet Roy’s. “I try to read it every year.”

Not sure why he was still talking, Roy sat up a little straighter. “Every year? I mean, yeah, it’s a fucking good book, but why would you read it every fucking year?”

“It’s… familiar.” She set the book down, now fully looking at Roy. “Everyone is desperate to be at Gatsby’s parties, to be surrounded by his wealth and glamor, to drink his booze and enjoy his hospitality.” She frowned, eyes flittering back to the book. “But then only a handful of people attend his funeral. Once the party is over, no one cares about him anymore.” She looked back at Roy. “That’s going to be me, isn’t it?”

Roy was speechless. Something about the softness in her eyes was so familiar, almost like looking in a mirror. That’s going to be me, isn’t it? How many times had Roy mumbled something just as cynical and broken? How many people- reporters, women, friends, even family- had stopped calling once he slowed down? How many more once he stepped off the field for the last time? In her eyes Roy could see the same dejection and fear of loneliness that had nestled itself inside Roy’s chest these last few years. It was something hard to explain, something one could only understand if they’d felt it deep in their souls. And it seemed to be something they both shared.

But instead of admitting to understanding how she felt and allowing her to glimpse behind his scowls and hard expressions, Roy simply shifted on the blanket and bit off his lunch. “Fucking hell. Are you always some fucking tortured poet, sunshine?”

Her face faltered for only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Roy to want to kick himself for ruining the moment. She quickly recovered, picking her book back up and burying herself back into Jay Gatsby’s empty affluence. “Read your fucking book, Kent,” she mumbled, flipping a page absently. “There’s a photographer in those bushes.”

Sure enough, when Roy glanced around out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the familiar sight of a camera lens.

~

“So, how’s it going with Roy Kent?”

Lanie looked perky as we sat in her office. My guard was immediately up; a perky publicist was never a good sign, I’d learned. It usually meant they had something rotten to tell you.

Anticipating whatever it was, I slouched into my seat, ready to narrow my eyes or scowl at a moment’s notice. “It’s fine,” I mumbled. “Keeley Jones said our picnic date got a lot of positive attention, and she said the Greyhounds’ viewership has skyrocketed since I started attending matches. So, it looks like we’re doing our jobs pretty well. Is my press looking good?”

Lanie nodded, eyes on her phone. “Good, good,” she said absently, as if she wasn’t really listening.

“Lanie?” I called.

She looked back up at me. “Well, with the Roy Kent stuff, you’ve got plenty of attention, and it looks like people are excited to see you in a new relationship, especially with someone who looks like him.” She ignored the way I wrinkled my nose. “But, uh, this morning I got wind of something that might take a little attention away from you and Roy.” She handed me her phone with a grimace.

The photo was kind of blurry, but I knew the two figures immediately. Everett- my most recent ex- nuzzling close to Cameron, the woman who had once called herself my best friend until she found out that a boyfriend of hers hit on me. Even though I had clearly rebuffed him and told Cam right away, she very publicly ended our friendship and even more publicly accused me of trying to steal her man. And now, irony of ironies, there she was, attached to my ex-boyfriend like the leech Lanie had always warned me she was.

“Lovely,” I finally snorted, gingerly handing the phone back to Lanie. “Do we think it’s real or just for attention? I know Cam’s new show starts filming soon.”

Lanie rolled her eyes. “Please, they’re not clever enough to pull off something calculated. If anything, he’s trying to make you jealous and she’s trying to get revenge on you. Idiots.” She sighed and dropped her phone onto the coffee table. “But, of course, your name’s being dragged into it. The phrase ‘love triangle’ has been trending on Twitter all morning.”

“Gross.”

“Agreed.” Lanie rolled her neck, something she often did when she was stressed. “I’ve been on the phone with Keeley this morning, and we both agree it’s time to step things up with you and Roy. Go public, make things official. Attend an event together that’s not a Richmond dinner.”

How much further could I slouch before I ended up lying down on the couch? “What event did you guys have in mind?”

“Your annual fabulous karaoke party!”

Keeley Jones strutted into the office with Roy right behind her. She greeted Lanie and I each with friendly hugs and kisses on cheeks; Roy, on the other hand, opted for short nods to each of us. Lanie stood and motioned for Roy to take her seat beside me; we shuffled awkwardly to ensure our knees wouldn’t bump.

Once we were all settled, I turned to Keeley, who now stood next to Lanie. “My karaoke party?” I echoed, feeling my stomach churn.

The “party” was the main fundraiser I threw every year for my nonprofit back home; it was near and dear to my heart, incredibly personal, and my favorite night of the year.

And now I’d have to share it with Roy Kent.

Sensing my unease, Lanie smiled at me, one of her reassuring smiles, the kind she always had for me after a bad bit of press. “It’ll be great publicity,” she pointed out. “You’ll probably raise even more than you did last year. Can you imagine how many people will register for the livestream? Especially if he sings,” she added, pointing at Roy.

“Sing?” the manager practically spat. “I have to sing at this party?”

With a sigh that even I knew was overdramatic, I turned to look at him, taking in his scowl and furrowed brow. “It’s a karaoke party,” I explained slowly, remembering how condescending he’d been the very first time we’d spoken in front of the elevator at Keeley’s office. “People pay a pretty penny for a ticket, there’s a paid livestream of all the singing, and I always release a new song, with all the proceeds going to my nonprofit. It’s… kind of a big deal.”

When Roy frowned, I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he processed this new information. After a moment of silence, he opened his mouth. “You should invite some of the guys. They’d definitely fucking sing.”

Keeley bounced happily at Roy’s suggestion. “That would be perfect! And it would really show the two of you becoming part of each other’s worlds too.” She quickly tapped at her phone, somehow lighting up even brighter. “And it’s a bye week for them!” She shot me a wink. “Looks like the universe is really lining things up for us, hmm?”

All I could do was smile weakly, my mind spinning from learning about my ex-boyfriend and ex-friend becoming an item and finding out that I’d have to spend my favorite night of the year with a man who had barely glanced at me since that night we played darts together. I made up my mind to ask Lanie if my reputation really needed this much help or if she, as usual, was overreacting. Just as soon as Roy and Keeley left, I decided. Surely, with the numbers my upcoming tour sales was doing, along with the amount of people already signed up for the fundraiser’s livestream, and with all this social media attention, could dating a former soccer star turned grumpy coach really help that much?

“Oi, sunshine, your place or mine?”

Sunshine. Roy’s gruff use of the name he’d mumbled during our picnic had me snapping back to attention, out of my planned objections to my publicist. I stared at Roy blankly, trying to imagine what in the hell I’d missed that had him prompting what I thought he might be prompting- especially in front of his ex-girlfriend.

“She was zoning out,” Lanie quickly explained as she threw an M&M at me, her usual way of bringing me back to attention. “We want you two to have a sleepover,” she said loudly, as if she was repeating herself- which she probably was. “Something simple and domestic. Something you can post on your socials so continue this little soft launch. Something to help make things believable.”  

Roy nodded. “Keeley says just being seen in public isn’t enough to make it seem real. We’ve got to really sell this shit.” He scowled at me. “So, your place or mine?”

Okay, so that made a lot more sense than what I’d feared he was asking me. “My place,” I said, clearing my throat. “You can come over to my place.”

~

Roy let out a low growl as he pulled up to the front gate of the address on his phone. He quickly punched in the gate code she’d sent him, relieved he didn’t have to call her to let him in, and drove up the short driveway.

Her house wasn’t what he’d imagined; with the money he- and the rest of the world- knew she was worth, Roy’d figured she lived in a fucking castle or some modern monstrosity. Instead, he walked in the moonlight to the door of a sweet two-story house, blinking as he read the doormat that declared “There’s no place like home”. He heaved his duffel bag over his shoulder and sharply knocked on the door, sucking his breath between his teeth. Another step in this weird, weird fucking situation he found himself in.

When the door opened, Roy instinctively took a step back, forcing himself to look her in the eye. She nodded curtly to him, gesturing for him to enter the house. “Kent,” was her simple greeting.

He returned the curt reception with a grunt of his own and followed her inside and into her sitting room, marveling at how the house did not match his expectations. He’d figured it would be something like Keeley’s place, all bright and pink and stylish with fluffy pillows everywhere. But everything was simple and cozy, and there were a lot more photos than he expected. Her family, he assumed, as his eyes lingered on a photo of her with a couple of pre-teen kids. In one corner was a piano, one he figured she used a lot, and one wall was completely covered with a bookshelf, which housed a large and clearly well-used library. It reminded Roy a bit of his own place if he was being honest. Simple, homey, and probably a refuge from a life lived in the public eye.

Before he could ask about the framed drawing that was clearly done by a child around Pheobe’s age, something brushed against Roy’s leg. “What the fuck?” he bellowed, looking down to see a cat staring back up at him.

“That’s Sydney,” his host explained, picking up the animal. “Syd, say hi to Roy.” She kissed the top of the cat’s head. “Apparently we need to get used to him,” she stage-whispered into the cat’s fur.

Roy snorted as he focused his gaze on the cat. He could almost appreciate the sarcasm in her voice- almost. Instead, he gestured to his duffel bag. “Where can I set this down? Are you sticking me in the backyard, or do I have to sleep in my car?”

With something resembling a smirk on her lips, she set the cat down and once again beckoned for Roy to follow her. “I’ve got a guest room,” she assured him as she led him down the hall. She let Roy enter the room alone, choosing to linger in the hallway and watch him drop his bag to the floor. She cleared her throat as the cat- Sydney- caught up with them. “I ordered a pizza,” she mumbled, shifting her weight. “We could, I don’t fucking know, watch a movie or something until, well...”

Right. Fucking sleepover. “Yeah, sounds fine,” Roy muttered, staring at the cat. He’d probably spend most of his night looking at the animal, he realized. “I’m just gonna… throw on some fucking sweats. If that’s alright.”

She nodded, her cool demeanor reappearing. “Do your thing,” she said airily. “Let me know if you need anything.” After giving Roy a firm, businesslike nod, she was gone.

With a shake of his head, Roy quickly threw on some sweats and a t-shirt, trying not to put too much thought into what the evening ahead held. Was this really necessary? Did the other fake couples Keeley knew- which she assured him was quite a few- have to go to such lengths? Knowing Keeley, she was probably just trying to push Roy’s buttons, see how far she could take this shit before Roy snapped.

But again, he was trying to prove to her that he was willing to go above and beyond for her. Anything for Keeley, he reminded himself as he trudged back into the sitting room.

He plopped himself down on the couch, where Sydney the Cat was already perched and watching Roy with narrowed cat eyes. Jamie had once compared Roy to a cat during a team dinner, he remembered. Not very social, easy to annoy, but incredibly loyal and affectionate once they decided to let someone in. Keeley had found the comparison hilarious and proceeded to call Roy “Fluffy” for the rest of the night. He chuckled to himself at the memory; he should send Keeley a picture of Sydney and let her know he remembered the joke. He always remembered Keeley’s jokes.

As he reached for his mobile, a voice came from the direction of what he assumed was the kitchen. “You eat pepperoni, right? I forgot to ask.”

The most glamorous popstar in the world strolled back into the sitting room holding a cardboard box in her hands with two bottles of beer balanced on top. Instead of her usual dresses or fashionable outfits Roy and the rest of the world was used to seeing her in, she wore a particularly tiny pair of sleep shorts and a Greyhounds sweatshirt- the one Roy had seen her wear to their matches lately.

Roy wasn’t blind. He knew she was a stunning woman, whether she was on an album cover or, apparently, in her pyjamas. And if he’d bothered to give the matter even two seconds of thought, he would’ve noted that he rather liked her figure, especially when she looked so comfortable and domestic. But Roy couldn’t think about that. Not when he heard Keeley’s name come out of her mouth.

“Keeley said to make sure we both post on our socials,” she was saying, either missing or ignoring the way Roy’s eyes lingered for a moment too long on her bare legs. “Why I couldn’t just send you something to post is beyond me.” She set the pizza down on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch, a respectable distance from Roy’s spot. “Like, is you coming over really, truly necessary?”

Roy snorted and made himself busy with a beer. “I was thinking the same thing,” he admitted. “But Keeley’s always got a method to her fucking madness. You learn to just fucking go with it.” Deciding he needed to look at something that wasn’t the way she was stretching out comfortably on her couch, Roy stood abruptly and meandered over to her bookshelf. “You read a lot?” he said, scanning her collection more closely now.

“When I can,” came her breezy answer. “I’d love to say I’ve read everything on that shelf, but that’s mostly a collection of books I want to read.”

“Maybe we can do more reading dates.” Roy didn’t know what the fuck made him say that; it just slipped out as he stared at a particularly worn copy of The Bell Jar. When he glanced over his shoulder, he was surprised to see a smile on her face.

She shrugged and sipped her own beer. “Sure, Kent. Sounds good.”

Ignoring whatever feeling was forming in his chest, Roy returned to the shelf, recognizing some names and finding himself curious about others. Finally, he spotted a stack of games on the bottom shelf. He noted that there were about four versions of the same game. “You like Scrabble?” he blurted out, desperate to put distance between himself and his picnic suggestion.

“Love it,” she laughed. “When my parents came to the States from Mexico, they were each pretty young and worked really hard to learn English. They wanted to make sure all of their kids were fluent in English, so in our house we were always reading and playing games like Scrabble.” Her smile became a smirk. “My youngest brother refuses to play with me anymore because I kind of win a lot.”

The competitive streak that made Roy a football legend started to bubble up in his chest. “That so?” He picked up one of the boxes and brought it over to the coffee table. “Let’s see, then.”

~

“You can’t put that word!” I cackled, throwing my head back when I saw the word Roy was putting on the board.

Roy smirked and put the ‘C’ down with finality. “I absolutely fucking can. And I did so…” He shrugged. “Gimme my points, sunshine.”

After updating Roy’s score, I snapped a photo of the board. “That’s going on Instagram,” I warned him with a smirk. I quickly shared the picture and put my phone down, trusting that Lanie would text me later about the post blowing up.

We finished one game, then another, and started a third. We didn’t talk much, but it didn’t feel as awkward as those first few dinners with the Greyhounds. Sydney laid close to Roy, clearly already used to him, and I couldn’t deny the warm feeling in my chest when I saw him absently stroke her fur between turns. Maybe we’ll be friends, I thought fondly as I put down the tiles for my latest turn. Real, actual friends.

“Calamitous?” Roy read, wrinkling his nose. “What the fuck is calamitous? Is that even a word?”

I smirked and sipped my beer. “It absolutely is!” I stood and strolled over to my bookshelf, returning with the Scrabble dictionary my sister had given me a couple years ago. “Look it up.”

After shooting me a suspicious look, Roy flipped through the book; his scowl told me he had indeed found calamitous.

“It’s a good word,” I said as I sat back down. “One of my favorites. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to put it in a song.”

His gaze turned thoughtful as he stared at his letter tiles. “You written anything lately?” Before I could answer, he opened his mouth again. “You said something about a song for your fundraiser thing. It’s a new one, right?”

I nodded, squirming a bit as I thought about the song, one I’d been pouring a lot of myself into. “Yeah. I always release a new song after the party.” My eyes fell so Sydney, curled up close to Roy. “Want to hear a bit?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

His almost silly answer was enough to get me to my feet and retrieving my guitar from the extra room I often worked in. When I came back, Roy sat up straight, his gaze trained on my guitar as I settled on the couch.

“It’s called ‘Nothing New’,” I explained as I began to strum my guitar. “Here’s the chorus.”

Lord, what will become of me

Once I've lost my novelty?

I've had too much to drink tonight

And I know it's sad, but this is what I think about

And I wake up in the middle of the night

It's like I can feel time moving

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?

And will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

When I finally looked at Roy, his mouth was agape, and he was blinking rapidly.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered. “That’s good. That’s really fucking good.” He shook his head. “Reminds me of that shit you said the other day, about Gatsby and funerals and all that.” He sighed, a heavy, sad sound, and his voice was almost impossible to hear. “Fucking reminds me of me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that; I vaguely knew the story of Roy’s injury, the one that ended his career, and Dani had said something about it taking a while for Roy to find his way back to Richmond after his retirement. But I didn’t think Roy was the kind of person who liked to talk about anything, let alone what was probably the worst time in his life. So instead, I watched him stare stonily at my silent guitar, not saying a word when he stood abruptly, something I was quickly getting used to seeing.

“I should fucking sleep,” he mumbled, taking care to grab a couple of empty bottles. “Gotta be out of here early for training. Thanks for the pizza. And the beer.” He nodded to my guitar. “And the song.” After nudging Sydney gently with his foot, Roy turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen; I didn’t move from my spot until I heard the guest room door shut with finality.

~

~

Roy sighed as he sat down in front of the assembled reporters, all waiting to pounce on him after a hard-earned Greyhound victory. As always, Keeley stood in the back of the room, an encouraging smile on her face, the kind of smile that always gave Roy the strength to tackle what was probably his least favorite part of the job.

He answered several questions about the match- probably one of their best of the season, if he was being honest with himself- before the topic he was dreading finally reared its head.

“Coach Kent,” some wanker from a publication Roy couldn’t be bothered to remember called out, “care to say anything about the rumors concerning your latest fling?”

Instinctively, Roy bared his teeth and squared his shoulders before leaning forward, ready to growl out, “No.” However, a raised eyebrow from Keeley had him taking a deep breath; she’d trained him for this, he reminded himself. He knew what he was supposed to say. “We’re just… spending time together,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s been… nice, getting to know each other.” When he looked at Keeley, she was giving him a big thumbs up; it was enough to have him continue. “She’s different than I expected,” he added, nodding more to himself than anyone else.

“How’d you two meet?”

He coughed into his hand; he knew how to answer this, too. “She’s good friends with Dani Rojas,” he explained, wondering if it sounded as rehearsed as it felt. “So, she came to a match and then came out with the team afterwards. We danced a little, and then she gave me her phone number.” Again, Keeley smiled encouragingly. “It’s been kind of fucking cool, having her at our matches. She’s really embraced the Richmond way.” That last bit was something Keeley had come up with; normally, Roy would think it sounded incredibly lame and positively cheesy. But, since Keeley was the mastermind, he didn’t complain one bit.

Another reporter spoke up. “Will you be at her upcoming fundraiser? The karaoke party is legendary.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Roy answered with what he hoped was a good-natured smirk. “Get enough drinks in me, I might even fucking sing.” For a brief moment, the chuckles that filled the room reminded Roy of how this room sounded when Ted was there; he hadn’t realized he actually missed that sound.

“Have you heard her new song?” The voice was hopeful, as if Roy was about to give everyone a big scoop, let the sports reporters have something the gossip columnists would kill for.

For the first time since the press conference began, Roy’s smile was real. “I’ve heard a little,” he admitted. “And I won’t tell you a fucking thing, except that it’s fucking brilliant.”

Roy maneuvered around a few more questions- Would she be attending more Richmond matches?  (“Hopefully.”) Would Roy be going to any of the shows during her upcoming tour. (“We’ll see.”) Who won their Scrabble tournament? (“No fucking comment.”)- before he was finally set free. He and Keeley reconvened in his office, making sure no one else was around before assessing how Roy’s first official acknowledgement of the “relationship” had gone.

“You did a great job,” Keeley assured him from her perch on the edge of his desk, a spot she’d taken countless times. “Might be the most charming I’ve ever seen you at a presser, Roy. Looks like she’s really rubbing off on you.” Her wink had Roy’s insides squirming. “Did you really hear the song already?”

“Yeah,” Roy mumbled, slouching in his seat. “She played some for me the other night, during our sleepover.” He surprised even himself by not rolling his eyes at the word sleepover. “It’s fucking sad,” he continued, completely unprompted. “But really beautiful. Nothing like the fluffy stuff you hear on the radio.”

Keeley gently tossed a stray paperclip at Roy. “Oi, I like her fluffy stuff! And so does Phoebe, I might add.” Her smile widened. “Your niece wants to know when you’re introducing her to your girlfriend, by the way. It’s all she talked about at our last Pheebs and Keels Day.”

Roy shook his head. “Oh no,” he scoffed, folding his arms. “Not fucking happening. Last thing I need is for her to get attached. Look what happened with-”

Fuck.

The smile disappeared from Keeley’s face. “Right,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, might not be the best idea, eh?” After a moment, she perked up again, reigniting the energy in the room. “Have you two kissed yet?”

“What the fuck Keeley?” Roy hissed, looking around the obviously empty office; she’d sure recovered quickly from the awkward moment he’d caused.

She shrugged, clearly unfazed. “You’re officially together and are starting to go out in public as a couple. It’ll look funny if you don’t start being affectionate soon. I figured maybe you two’d gotten it out of the way already, so your first kiss isn’t in front of the cameras."

Shit. Roy hadn’t even started to think about how they’d act now that things were “official”. Had she?

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Roy mumbled, wondering why he was blushing so furiously. “I’m a forty-year-old man, Keeley. I know how to kiss a woman.”

“Yeah, but she’s not just any woman,” Keeley pointed out as she stood. “Just something to think about.” She paused, studying Roy’s face carefully. “You really did do a good job in there, Roy. I almost believed you for a second, smiling and blushing as you gushed about that gorgeous girl.” Her smile returned, completely full of mischief. “Anything you want to share?”

Roy narrowed his eyes at his ex and threw the paper clip she’d tossed at him earlier. “Fuck off, Keeley,” was all he managed before the giggling blonde strutted out of the office. He looked down at his phone to check where the guys would be going after the match; after all, he was expected to be there with-

“Hey there!”

Roy looked up at the sound of Keeley’s cheery voice. His “girlfriend” came into view, smiling tightly at Keeley as they squeezed by each other through the doorway. The popstar saluted as she entered the office.

“Hey, Kent,” she hummed, pausing by the door and leaning against the frame. “I was thinking, want to ride to the restaurant together?”

He heard what she said. He knew he had. But the only thing he could focus on was her mouth, the same mouth that had left lipstick marks on his cheek and had formed a smile when she won two Scrabble games in a row. The same mouth he’d have to kiss soon. He’d kissed plenty of women; hell, he’d more than kissed plenty of women. And those were kisses he’d actually meant.

So why the fuck did his palms feel sweaty at the thought of fake-kissing this woman?

“Kent? Kent?”

Oh fucking hell, she’d caught him staring.

Roy cleared his throat and stood up, pocketing his mobile. “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as they walked out of the office. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fucking fine.” Roy’s hand balled into a fist at his side as he fought the urge to clear his throat again.

“Okay then.” They walked silently down the hall, looking nothing at all like a couple in love. Finally, she bumped him with her shoulder. “Saw your press conference,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

Roy nodded, wondering if his face looked as warm as it felt. “What’d you think?”

When he glanced at her, she was staring straight ahead- and smiling. “You told them you liked the song.” Her voice could only be described as pleased.

“Well, yeah,” Roy mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s the truth. It’s… it’s really fucking good. I can’t wait to hear the rest.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Finally, she looked at him, her face serious now. “Hey, there’s some reporters hanging around outside. D’you think we should hold hands or something?”

Roy’s eyes flickered down to her outstretched hand before returning to her face; she gazed at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

“Probably a good idea,” he murmured. With that, he took her hand in his, giving it a small squeeze as they walked out of the Dog Track.

He kept her hand in his as they walked through the parking lot; while his eyes stayed trained on his giant black car, she smiled sweetly at the couple of reporters who called their names and even offered a small wave in their direction. Roy held her door open and helped her climb inside, closing the door once she was settled. Once he was in the driver’s seat, he resisted the urge to grab her hand; old habit from dating Keeley, he told himself.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why his hand felt so cold without her fingers intertwined with his.

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[pfctipper]

[ tipsy ] hilldane for the kiss prompt? 👉🏻👈🏻

ohh ty so much for this one! i haven't written hilldane before but i adore them <3

[ tipsy ] for a drunken kiss

Andy looks different, in Melbourne.

Mostly, Eddie thinks, staring at him through unfocused eyes, it’s that he’s clean.

Without the dirt and sand of Guadalcanal smeared across his face Eddie can see the faint blond stubble on his jaw, the lighter flecks in his hair appearing and disappearing as they weave between the warm light of the streetlamps. His soiled combat fatigues have been discarded for his service uniform, slightly disarrayed this late in the evening, sleeves rolled up on his forearms but the silver bars on the jacket slung over his shoulder still gleaming brightly.

It still feels strange for Eddie to look down at himself and see his own there, and he lifts a hand to touch it almost without realizing, the movement of his hand unsteady.

Andy had touched it, too. Not when they’d pinned it on – that had been Eddie’s old company commander, a weary-faced old breed who had clapped him on the shoulder afterwards and said the boys will miss you, son in a way that had made something twist in Eddie’s stomach – but that night, when he’d caught him by the sleeve of his jacket to half tug him off the barstool he’d been sitting on and then pressed his palm to Eddie’s lapel.

‘This is my lieutenant,’ he’d said, smiling with what Eddie thought almost looked like pride in the dim light of the bar, head ducked down to say it half into Eddie’s ear, and the pretty girl he hadn’t noticed on Andy’s arm had laughed and tipped her head up so Andy could turn the smile to her and kiss her again, one hand on her waist and the other still resting on Eddie’s lapel.

Now, when he stumbles on the tram lines, not watching where he’s treading, Andy catches him around the waist and smiles in that way that’s broad but soft all at once, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

His fingers tighten in Eddie’s jacket when Eddie takes a longer step up on to the sidewalk, and Eddie hesitates for a moment before he puts his arm around Andy’s broad shoulders. It feels nice, having Andy tucked against him the same way the girl had been tucked into Andy as they’d left the bar, before Andy had kissed her on the cheek and held her hand to help her up on to the tram.

‘You coulda gone with her,’ Eddie says, suddenly, the words coming out a little slurred, and then, belatedly, ‘Sir.’

Andy does laugh then, head turned so it’s half-against Eddie’s neck. ‘Maybe,’ he says, only there’s an ease to it that Eddie knows means yes. ‘But after I went to all that effort to get you?’

Eddie stumbles again, only this time there aren’t any tram lines beneath his feet to trip him up, just the warmth of Andy’s breath against his neck. They’ve turned down an alleyway – nowhere near their billet, and nowhere Eddie recognizes at all, to the point he wouldn’t be sure they were still in Melbourne if it wasn’t for the faint screeching of a tramcar somewhere in the distance – and Andy catches him with his other hand now, too, pressing him back into the brick with a palm pressed flat over his lieutenant’s bar.

‘Y’didn’t have to go to any trouble, sir,’ Eddie says, after a beat, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t need to say it any louder; he can’t see Andy’s face without the light from the streetlamps, but he can feel the stubble he hadn’t noticed before against his own jaw, and he isn't sure Andy is listening, anyway.

‘Lieutenant Jones,’ Andy says, the way the Australians say it, lef-tenant Jones, and then he presses his mouth to Eddie's even as they're both still laughing, mouth tasting like rum and warmer even than the hot summer air around them, and hand still covering his lapel.

[noforkingclue]

Hi, I hope you are having a great day today. I was just wondering if I could please request an Indiana jones x reader where they are betrayed by a mutual friend/ co worker and use the betrayal dialogue prompt "Next time think twice before you trust someone so completely." "Oh believe me, I will."

I hope you have a great weekend

Of course anon!

Hope you like the fic :)

Title: Trust

Prompt list

You struggled against your bonds and let out a frustrated sound when they wouldn’t budge. You had no idea where you were, that fucking bastard had blindfolded you as well. You stiffened when you heard the door to the room slam open. Ok he was angry, best not to piss him off too much. You had seen first hand that he wasn’t above shooting those he once thought of as friends.

The two of you had teamed up with an old colleague of Indy’s. Truth be told you never fully trusted him. However, Indy was insistent. He said that he was an expert and the two of you needed him, so you pushed your doubts aside. Now you knew you should’ve gone with your gut instinct. It’s like they said- hindsight is one hundred percent accurate.

The blindfold was suddenly ripped off your face and you blinked at the sudden assault of brightness. You blinked rapidly as your eyes got used to the light. You were expecting to be shot however to your relief you looked up into a familiar face.

“Infdgy?” you tried to say, although the gag was still in your mouth

Indy’s lips twitched at the muffled noise and you gave him an unimpressed look. He hooked a finger around the gag and pulled it down. You adjusted your jaw, getting used to having it free again. He cupped your cheeks and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I thought you were dead,” you said weakly, “I saw you get shot.”

“It takes a lot more than one bullet to put me down, darlin’.”

Usually you would’ve snapped back at the nickname but you were too relieved that Indy was alive to care. You could see bandages under Indy’s shirt. You tried to raise your hand but swore when you forgot your hands were still tied.

“Do you mind?” you asked as you tugged on them

“Right, yeah, ‘course.”

Indy didn’t move, still studying your face. He ran his thumbs over your cheeks and you gave him an unimpressed look.

“Now!”

Your sharp tone seemed to snap Indy out of his thoughts. He pulled out a knife and freed you from your bonds. You rubbed your wrists, wincing at the cuts. Indy took your hands in his and grimaced when he saw the cuts.

“Next time,” you said, “think twice before you trust someone so completely.”

Indy winced slightly at your words and replied,

“Oh believe me, I will.”

You glanced up at him and Indy locked gazes with you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tightly against him. You closed your eyes and rested your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. There was a moment back there when you believed that you would never hear that sound again.

“I’m sorry.”

You glanced up at Indy’s words. Indy looked down at you and pressed a kiss against your forehead. You leant into the soft touch and he said softly,

“I never should’ve let you out of my sight.”

“You were shot.”

“And you could’ve been killed.”

This time Indy pressed a kiss against your lips. It was brief but you could feel the underlying want in it. Indy remained close, lips still brushing against yours. You tried to press another kiss against them but he pulled away teasingly.

“Let’s catch this bastard,” he said, “then we can continue this after.”

[lemonsprite]

Hiii :))

I don’t know if your request are open but I’d like to ask for an Indiana jones x male reader, angst then fluff with some kissing at the end.

Totally okay if you don’t, don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ

Have a good day/night ^_−☆

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 || 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐌!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: he can’t seem to say “I love you.” :[

Word count: 1.7K

A/N: OMG YES PLEASE!!!! This fic is just my Cup of tea!! And thank you for requesting! ><

Warnings: internalized homophobia (common for the time)

Indiana stared at his reflection in the mirror, his single blade razor gliding across his jaw, cutting at his stubble that’d be steadily growing over the past month. He angled his face from left to right, inspecting his shave job as his hand ran across his chin, feeling for any stray hairs.

“Indy.” You called from the bath tub, the water splashing slightly as you laid your head on the cold marble, looking up at him. “Join me in the bath will you? The waters nice and warm.”

The man in front of you swallowed thickly, cleaning his razor with a spare rag as he stared at you from the reflection in the mirror.

“I have to go to class.” He muttered, putting his shaving kit away.

“It’s 6 am…” you said aloud, staring at him concernedly, knowing where this conversation would probably go.

“You know… early bird lectures… and all that…” he excused, buttoning his shirt back up and checking his hair before turning for the door.

“You know what to do.” He said sharply before leaving the bathroom, the wooden door clicking shut signaling his departure. Leaving you alone in Indiana's bathroom.

You sighed, it’s not like this was the first time this’d happened. Looking at your knees poking out of the soapy water before laying your head on them, running your hands through the sudsy mixture forlornly.

Indiana had been like this for awhile and no one could blame him, he was a well known member of society, strong, smart, and with infinite connections in the world of archeology. If anyone were to find out he was dating you, a boy- he’d be ruined.

That knowledge still didn’t comfort the ache in your heart however in fact it only really made it worse.

You glanced at the edge of the tub, looking over Indiana's body wash, shampoo, and conditioner before grabbing the tubs plug and pulling, watching the water drain.

Slowly you rose, grabbing a near by towel and drying off your skin pruny from all the water.

The towel smelled like Indiana, a deep musky sent like the cologne he wears everyday and the old books he surrounds himself in.

Burying your face into it you sigh sadly once more. It hurt… a lot.

Just the other day you had cooked Indiana an elaborate home meal, you’d slaved in the kitchen for hours and when Indy had finally gotten back from work and sat down at the table he didn’t say a word.

A pit had formed in your stomach, getting the sense that he felt ashamed to be your lover.

That night you’d told him you loved him yet got nothing in return. Indiana had nodded curtly, stood back up, pecked you on the cheek and took the paper to go read in his bedroom.

You’d felt your heart shatter and at this point you don’t know why you still keep coming back to him. He’d broken your heart time and time again yet whenever he called you late at night you couldn’t help but knock once more on his door.

You looked yourself up and down in the bathroom mirror, shaking slightly from the cold. Your towel wrapped loosely around your waist.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

You couldn’t give yourself a proper answer, instead you walked out of Indiana's master bathroom and into his bedroom, noticing he had washed, folded, and ironed your clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the edge of his mattress.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you grabbed your garments and began to dress, taking your time as you watched the sun slowly rise through the blinds in the house's windows.

“What’s going on with you Dr. Jones?” Asked Indiana's colleague and friend Marcus Brody, nonchalantly flipping to the next page in the morning paper. “You’ve seemed more and more antsy these past few days.”

Indy sighed, taking off his glasses and wipping them with the hemline of his shirt. “Can’t talk about it.”

“Oh ho.” Smiled the man, not even looking up from his paper as he continued. “I know that look with you Indiana. Trouble with love?”

Indiana grunted in annoyance, fixing his glasses once more on his nose bridge.

“Have you tried talking to her? Women pride themselves on their communication you know.”

Indiana was silent, looking out the window of his classroom as he drummed his fingers against the table anxiously.

It was uncommon for Indiana to act like this, you always somehow managed to ruffle his feathers, making him act in ways he didn’t know were possible. Just thinking about it caused his face to go red from embarrassment.

The last few weeks for Indiana had been nothing but trouble. Every time he vows to quite you he can’t stop his hand from instinctively grabbing the phone and dialing your house number. It was bad- and Indy knew it.

People these days didn’t react to kindly to two men in love. That is if you can call it love. Indiana would do anything to wake up every morning to your face sleeping peacefully next to his, to have your bare chest pressed against his, the thumping of your heart beneath your skin reminding him that you are alive.

He knew realistically that it was a pipe dream, that a happily ever after with you both was impossible but he’d take what he could get and if that ment sneaking you through his window late at night like school kids then that’s what he’d do.

Indiana felt selfish for treating you in such a way. He knew it hurt you for him to act so distant instead of loving but he couldn’t give you up and he wouldn’t- he liked you to damn much, you made his heart flutter in a way Marion never did.

The other day when you’d told him you loved him it took everything within Indiana to swallow his bite of food and walk away, knowing that it would do more damage than good for the both of you if he were to respond.

Marcus hummed thoughtfully as he crossed his ankles, leaning back in one of Indiana's office chairs. “On the other hand if it’s that one boy your having troubles with you could always tell him how you truly feel.”

Indiana choked on his coffee, his eyes going wide in shock as he stared at Marcus coughing from the hot drink that’d gone down the wrong way.

“W-what?” He coughed.

“(Y/n) that one boy you are ever so keen about.” Marcus replied dismissively, waving a hand in the air. “I saw how you both looked at each other at the office Christmas party. He was your plus one if I remember correctly.”

Indiana stared at him in disbelieving silence, the coffee spill from earlier staining his white button up.

“Relax Dr. Jones.” Marcus said with a smile, finally glancing up from his paper. “It’s a progressive time, I’m happy for you both though I did not realize you swung that way.”

Indiana sputtered, lifting up a hand to protest but nothing came out of his open mouth, his brain short circuiting.

“I-“ he started, forcing his mouth to say anything. “I don’t know what to do…” he finally admitted, hanging his head in defeat.”

“In my professional opinion Dr. Jones.” Lectured Marcus, kicking his feet up on Indiana's office desk. “Tell him how you feel- poor blokes been through enough of this ‘will they, won’t they,’ nonsense.”

Indiana didn’t reply, instead he took another shaky sip of his coffee, and stared at the window, whacking Marcus’s legs with a rolled up newspaper to get them off his desk.

It was raining. Hard. Water pelted at the windows of your house and according to the radio it was supposed to start hailing ice the size of apples. You swallowed in discomfort, taking another sip of your tea as you watched out the window.

There was a knock at the door and you got up from your seat, placing the mug in your hands on a nearby coaster and straightening your tie as you made your way to the door.

‘Who in their right mind would be knocking at your door in weather like this?’

You threw the door open to reveal a very wet and very sad looking Indiana Jones, his hand raised in the middle of knocking once more. That would explain it.

“Indy?” You asked concernedly, almost as if you couldn’t believe he was standing in front of you. “What are you doing in the rain, why didn’t you drive?”

Before you could ask anymore questions, Indiana pulled his hat from his head and clutched it to his chest, looking you deep in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, his hair sticking to his forehead and his white button up clinging to his chest from the rain. “I love you, I really should’ve said it sooner.” And before you could utter a response back to him, Indy had scooped you into his arms, smashing his face against yours in a not so gentle kiss, his hand still clutching his hat cradled your neck while his other kept a sturdy grip on your waist making sure you wouldn’t fall from your knees going week.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized once more, the whisper of his words getting lost in your kiss and tickling your lips.

“I love you.” He admitted again, gently leaning forward to place a kiss on the corner of your lips.

“I love you.” He chanted over and over, covering you face in kisses, the stubble he’d so painstaking gotten rid of this morning returning to tickle your skin.

“You stared at him wide eyed, the rain starting to soak your clothes as your face went pink.

“C-come in why don’t you?” You asked, moving out of the way for Indiana to enter your small apartment.

“Please (y/n).” Indiana begged, grabbing your hands once he was standing on your welcome mat, his soaking wet clothes dirtying the floor around him. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Indiana.” You sighed, your eyes going soft as you pushed his wet bangs from his forehead. “It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t.” Indiana responded quickly, bringing your knuckles to his lips to press a kiss against the skin. “I shouldn’t have been so cold I- I was an idiot.”

You shook your head with a sad smile, looking at him in this state made your heart thump painfully against your rib cage.

“I’ll let you make it up for me tonight.” You smiled teasingly, grabbing Indiana by the hands. “First let’s warm you up, I’ll draw you a bath.”

Indiana smiled and squeezed your hand in reassurance, his thumb running lovingly over your knuckles.

Would you believe me if I said I rushed another fics ending TT.

Sorry if I haven’t finished many requests yet! My computers been glitching and I’m trying to recover my old writings (drafts of reqs) but it’s been so so hard :/

anyways I’m in France rn and on a horribly long bus ride so I decided to crank this one out on my phone! Sorry for any spelling mistakes!

[chvoswxtch]

What about a jessica Jones fic in which it's both their first same sex relationship, maybe first relationship ever for reader, and she only wants jess to take her v card

nonnie,

thank you so much for requesting my baby jess. I hope you love this. 💜

also totally optional, but this was heavily inspired by the song everything by kehlani!

warning: contains explicit sexual content (minors please dni), swearing, and mentions of alcohol word count 4.4k

first time.

Jessica wasn’t sure exactly what it was about you that made her fall head so hard for you in the first place. 

Maybe it was the fact that you were always kind and patient with her, even when she was being a raging bitch. The first time the two of you met, you had shown up at her apartment/office asking to interview her for an article at your paper about powered people, and since she had a negative track record with the press, and was also incredibly hungover, she’d slammed the door right in your face. 

To her surprise, and absolute horror, she ran into you about a week later at your paper, needing to ask you questions about an article that you’d written previously that was linked to a case of hers. When she recognized your face, she was certain that you were going to show her the exact same “hospitality” that she had shown you.

But to her astonishment, you simply smiled and invited her into your office, offering her everything that she needed and more to help with her case. 

Later that night when Jessica’s curiosity got the better of her, she started digging into you. She was shocked to find that you’d actually written a few articles about her already, and that you came to her defense in every single one of them. Jessica’s shoulders deflated as she sank back into her chair, tossing back another fourth of bourbon while feeling like a complete asshole for slamming her door in your face, and feeling exceptionally unworthy of the kindness you had shown her. The following morning, she was waiting for you in your office, offering an apology in the form of coffee and an exclusive interview. 

Maybe it was because you always treated her like a person. You never treated Jessica any differently because of what she could do. You never spoke about her like she was a freak of nature. You never asked her for any favors, and she practically had to fight you to allow her to carry something heavy for you. 

Jessica Jones wasn’t very good at making friends. She would be the first to admit that. Mainly because she wasn’t exactly “personable” most of the time, but also because a lot of people that sought her out did it for something in return. Half of her life people wanted to get close to her just because her sister was Trish Walker. Once her true identity was revealed, people wanted to use her strength or her name for personal gain. 

But you never wanted anything from Jessica. You just wanted her.

Maybe it was the way you smiled every time you saw her, even if her face was twisted up in a mirror of her sour mood. Maybe it was the way you gently grabbed her shoulders to get her to slow down, encouraging her to take deep breaths with you, reminding her that she won’t be able to focus until she’s calm. Maybe it was the way your fingers delicately touched her skin when you patched her up, as if you could hurt her, while apologizing profusely with every swipe of an alcohol pad and careful stitch.

Jessica couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made her fall in love with you, but she knew the exact day she realized it. 

You had slept over after helping her work a case late into the night, which wasn’t unusual, and she had awoken to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and your amazing cooking. She didn’t think she even had anything in her fridge except three day old take out and cheap beer, but somehow you made a breakfast miracle happen. A tired smile tugged at the corner of her mouth knowing you probably swiped some ingredients from Malcolm.

She mumbled something grumpy and incoherent when you greeted her with your chipper morning attitude and a radiant smile, plopping down into one of the chairs at the table. When you came over to place a plate and a cup of coffee in front of her, Jessica grabbed onto your wrist gently to pull you in closer, and without thinking in her sleepy state, she pressed a quick kiss to your lips. It was a full sixty seconds before Jessica realized what she did, and then she was suddenly wide awake. Turning her head slowly to look up at you, she found that you were already staring at her with widened eyes, and her brain was completely empty except for an ongoing string of expletives. 

“I…don’t…know why I did that.”

Jessica watched as your shoulders visibly sank, and the flame of bewilderment in your eyes slowly fizzled into a crestfallen ember. 

“You…you don’t?”

As she stared up at you trying to craft an excuse, an epiphany abruptly slammed into her chest like a freight train.

You were in her kitchen, moving around like it belonged to you, in one of her ratty old t-shirts, using a chip clip to put your messy hair up with tendrils perfectly framing your face, and Jessica wanted to spend every Saturday morning like this. 

Suddenly everything seemed to click into place. The bashful smiles when she caught you staring at her. The excited nerves in the pit of her stomach when she knew she was gonna see you. The timid way you held onto her arm when you walked the streets of New York together at night. The excuses she came up with for just one more drink so she didn’t have to go home alone yet. The commitment you showed to proving yourself to her. The warmth she felt whenever you were around.

Jessica Jones was in love with you. 

Leaning back in the chair, her tongue quickly swept along her bottom lip as she stared up at you in complete awe.

“I am such a fucking idiot.”

“What?”

“You’ve been right here, in front of my goddamn face, this entire time, and I didn’t see you.”

“Jess, what are you-“

Swiftly standing up from her chair, Jessica grabbed onto the back of your neck and pulled you in for a soft kiss, causing a quiet gasp to catch in your throat. When she pulled back, Jessica was delighted to see that your cheeks were flushed with scarlet, and her lips split into an excited smile.

“Don’t make plans Friday night.”

“O-Okay?”

“I’m taking you on a date.”

Your hand that was holding onto Jessica’s wrist suddenly tightened, and your eyes grew in wonder as you stared up at her.

“You…you are?”

“That alright with you?”

“I…um…y-yeah. I mean, yes.”

Despite her usual confidence, Jessica was an absolute nervous fucking wreck the night of your first date. She couldn’t remember the last time she even went on a first date that wasn’t at a bar, or that she gave a shit about. She changed clothes four times, and begrudgingly borrowed a few things from Trish’s closet since she was taking you somewhere nice. Trish and Malcolm both attempted to give her a pep talk as they helped her get ready, but that only made her more nervous, and they wouldn’t let her drink to dull her nerves since they were worried she’d be plastered by the time she was supposed to pick you up.

After she knocked on your door, her eyes suddenly widened and she cursed under her breath realizing that she hadn’t brought you flowers. Was she supposed to bring you flowers? Did you even like flowers? How the fuck does this work?

Her inner rambling was cut off the second you opened the door, and for a second, all the noise in her head seemed to go silent. You were in a simple deep purple satin dress that hugged your body perfectly, and Jessica quickly forgot all about dinner. She had never seen you in a dress like that before. A timid smile stretched over your lips as you looked at her and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I…wasn’t sure where we were going. Is…is this too much?”

“No! No you…you look…hot. Fuck, sorry. I meant…beautiful. You…look beautiful.”

The second the two of you reached the restaurant, all of the nerves Jessica felt from earlier came flooding back. Not even ten minutes into the date, she gripped the wine glass so hard in her hand that it shattered, and her eyes widened as you gasped loudly.

“Oh fuck-”

“Jess, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s fine-”

“It’s not fine, you’re bleeding-”

“It’s not a big deal, I got it.”

Jessica pulled her hand away from your grasp, taking one of the fancy white napkins to wrap around her hand to stop the light bleeding as she looked over at you with a tight lipped smile.

“So-”

“Jessica, you can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding. You probably need stitches. We need to go-”

“No, no I’m not ruining this date because of a little blood-”

“Jessica-”

“I’m fine.”

Jessica’s voice came out a little harsher than she intended it to, and the irritation she felt evaporated as she watched the way you sank back into your chair, looking anywhere but at her. Letting out a deep exhale through her nose, she mumbled a quiet fuck before reaching over with her uninjured hand for one of yours.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…I’m just…look I’ve never done this before-”

“Gone to an Italian restaurant?”

Jessica pursed her lips at the sarcastic tone of your voice, looking around the entire restaurant with slightly narrowed eyes before looking back at you with a quirk of her brow.

“Actually, yeah. I don’t remember the last time I went to an Italian place that didn’t serve two dollar greasy pizza and had meatball specials on Thursdays.”

When she noticed the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, she let out a breath of relief and stretched her hand out further, wiggling her fingers towards you. Rolling your eyes playfully, you slipped your hand into Jessica’s, looking over at her when she gave it a gentle squeeze.

“What I was trying to say was that I’ve never done this. This is…the first nice date I’ve ever been on. It’s the first nice date I’ve ever wanted to go on. And…I’m sorry for being so…I just really want this to go well. I don’t wanna fuck it up. And I feel like I already have-”

“You haven’t.”

Jessica stared over at you in adoration, enjoying the feeling of your thumb carefully stroking over the back of her hand. The gentle tone of your voice and the reassurance in your eyes tugged at her heartstrings, and her lips pulled delicately into a defeated smile.

“I broke a glass. I’m bleeding, and I was a dick.”

“Still not the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

Jessica closed her eyes for a moment as a dry laugh echoed in her chest.

“Jess, I appreciate you going through all the trouble to try to make tonight special. But…it already is. I don’t…I don’t need all of this. You could’ve taken me to the hot dog stand at the corner of your street and I would’ve been thrilled. Actually, a pretzel sounds really good right now.”

Jessica’s brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead as she looked over at you, giving you a pointed look as a smirk covered your lips.

“You’re fucking joking. I bring you to the nicest Italian place in the city, per Trish, and you want a pretzel.”

“What I want is to take care of your hand, which is still bleeding, and then continue our date. I don’t care where, as long as it’s with you.”

After a little more convincing from you, and an agreement to order dessert to go, Jessica took you to the stand at the corner of her street to get two hot pretzels before taking you up to her apartment so that you could tend to her hand. The longer the night went on, the more Jessica’s nerves dissipated completely, and by the time midnight stretched over the sky, Jessica decided she was craving something else.

In a matter of minutes, Jessica went from timidly kissing your lips to having you pinned beneath her on her bed as her hands frantically searched for the hem of your dress. She attached her lips to your neck, reveling in the little noises you made and the hushed whispered of her name as her hand slipped beneath your dress to part your thighs. A sharp gasp flew past your lips, and you suddenly reached down to grab onto her wrist.

“Jess, wait.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Jessica pulled back to gaze down at you, cradling your face in her hand as she lightly brushed her thumb across your cheek. Her brows pulled together in puzzlement noting the flush of rose that covered your cheeks and the nervous glint in your eyes.

“What is it?”

“I…um…I’ve never…done this before.”

Jessica’s lips pulled into a tiny smile, leaning in to brush her nose against yours as she chuckled softly.

“Me neither, baby. But I think we can figure it out together.”

“No…Jess I mean…like…ever.”

Tilting her head to the side slightly in confusion, Jessica searched your eyes for a hint as to what you were talking about, pursing her lips in a slight pout when you closed your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

“I’m a virgin.”

Jessica blinked slowly a few times, watching as you slowly opened your eyes to peer up at her. Her lips parted slightly as she searched for the right words to say, her brows alternating between rising up her forehead in surprise and also knitting together in the center of her forehead in disbelief.

“So…not just…when it comes to…this…but…like…everything?”

Giving a slight nod of your head, you both stared at each other silently for what felt like hours. 

“Uh…you…waiting for marriage or-”

“No, it’s not…it’s not like that. I just…God this is so embarrassing.”

Jessica grabbed onto your waist when you went to move, taking one of your hands to press a soft kiss to each of your knuckles as she smiled softly.

“Hey, hey. Don’t be embarrassed. Okay, I’m not making fun of you. I’m just…trying to…understand. That’s all.”

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you lightly shrugged your shoulders as you spoke quietly.

“I just…I wanted it to be special. I wanted it to be with the right person, and to mean something. I wanted to be in love.”

Jessica ran her fingers through your hair slowly as she listened, staring back into your eyes when she caught your gaze.

“And I wanted to feel that the person I had my first time with loved me back.”

Jessica’s lips parted slightly at your words, and she felt that familiar warmth blooming in her chest she always felt when you were around. It was a warmth she thought she would never feel again after she lost her family. A warmth she never thought she could feel again. There were transient embers she felt around Trish and Malcolm, but nothing nowhere even near the blaze she felt with you. 

The love she felt for you.

As her tongue darted out to quickly wet her lips, she held your face in her hand delicately as she looked down at you with a tender smile.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, or aren’t ready for. We can take this at whatever pace you want. But just so you and I are on the same page, I do love you Y/N. You are the first person I’ve ever actually fallen in love with, and I thought it would be so much fucking scarier than this, but you make it so…easy. I…feel really goddamn lucky that you picked me. I want you to know that.”

Jessica hummed in content against your lips when you reached up to grab onto the back of her neck to pull her down for a kiss. She moved her hand up to gently grasp onto your waist, keeping her kisses light as she attempted to move from her spot between your legs. Your other hand grasped at her shoulder as you broke the kiss, and her nerves flared up once again seeing the glossy sheen that covered your eyes.

“I love you, Jessica. I’ve always loved you.”

That one quiet confession had her heart swelling inside her ribcage, filling up the void that had kept her hollow for so many years, and after spending a majority of her life looking up at the stars searching for answers, she felt like she could see every single one of them twinkling in your eyes.

Kissing your lips made her feel weightless and untouchable, like she was a kid all over again, at the highest peak of the ferris wheel with her mom. It conjured every ounce of happiness that lingered in her subconscious, every blissful memory she possessed, and flooded her bloodstream with pure ecstasy. 

This. This was that feeling she had been searching for. The thing that she thought would come when she stepped into the spotlight as a “hero”. The thing she waited to fill her when she saved someone or when she did something good. She tricked herself into believing it was a sense of purpose, or maybe acceptance she was after, but it was love. But not the artificial kind that resulted from her altered DNA, or the kind that eventually sprouted through adoption or living down the hall from her and constantly being dragged into her shit.

The real kind. The pure, unwavering, unfiltered, every-stupid-fucking-love-song-makes-sense and every-breathtaking-sunsent-reminds-me-of-you kind.

“Jess?”

“Hm?”

“Please make love to me.”

Jessica gazed down at you, carefully analyzing your face as her thumb slowly traced over your bottom lip.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want this. Please.”

Jessica made sure that you were comfortable with every layer of clothing she removed, allowing you to remove a piece of hers in return in a delicate trade off. Her touch was light and gentle as her fingertips grazed along every inch of your soft skin, focusing her lips on your neck to start, paying close attention to the spots that were the most sensitive and the ones that drew the most delectable noises out of you.

Her lips trailed down the column of your neck to your chest, exploring the valley between your breasts as her hand once again parted your thighs, using two fingers to collect some of your wetness to help her easily glide her fingers in tight-knit circles over your clit. Sucking one of your perky nipples into her mouth, she bit down on it gently as she slipped her first digit past your tight walls to distract you from the stretch, flicking her tongue repeatedly over the sensitive bud and tenderly grazing her teeth over it.

“How’s that feel, baby? Good?”

“So…so good, Jess.”

“You want more?”

“Please.”

Jessica took her time shuffling down the bed until she was laying in between your hips, teasing you with featherlight kisses along your inner thighs before you were begging her to touch you again. She hummed in appreciation when she licked a broad stripe up your soaked folds, eyes closing at the sweet taste you had to offer, wrapping her plump lips around your swollen clit to suck softly. She carefully slipped another finger into you and moaned against your core at the cry of her name you let out. The throbbing between her own thighs was getting almost unbearable, but this was about you.

She alternated between suckling softly at your clit and teasing it with her tongue while her fingers slowly stretched your walls with light scissoring motions. A proud smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth when the pads of her fingertips brushed along that spongy tissue in your depths that had you bucking your hips against her face, and she continued to stroke her fingers along it in a ‘come hither’ motion, her attention on your clit becoming more urgent and fervent the louder you moaned. 

“Jess…I…I’m…oh-”

A breathless gasp cut off your warning, and as your thighs seized up around her head and your hips rocked upwards hazardously, Jessica quickly removed her fingers and flattened her tongue against your cunt to capture the flow of your first orgasm of the night. 

Licking her lips in satisfaction, she swiftly moved to straddle your hips, her green eyes wild with a newfound hunger you had awoken in her that only you could satiate. She gently dug her fingertips into the soft flesh of your thigh to steady her own desire, waiting for you to come down from you high just so she could bring you to another one even further up.

“You okay, baby?”

“I’m…fucking perfect.”

Jessica’s full lips split into a dazzling grin as she gazed down at you, lightly caressing your cheek with her palm.

“Yes you are.”

“Um…just…give me a second, and I can-”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“Jess, I wanna make you feel good too.”

“This is about you, baby. And trust me, making you feel good makes me feel really goddamn good.”

Staring up at Jessica, your lips parted slightly at the lust in her eyes, and you allowed yours to drink her naked body in fully as she sat above you. You had seen Jessica in nothing more than a bra and underwear before, but seeing her like this, so bare and vulnerable, felt so intimate. She was even more beautiful than you imagined. As your eyes traveled lower, a soft gasp flew past your parted lips seeing the way her pussy glistened as she sat on your hips with her thighs spread. Curiosity got the best of you, and as you reached out to explore, her hand swiftly caught your wrist causing you to whine.

“Jess, I wanna touch you too.”

“You can touch me later, pretty girl. Right now I wanna give you what you asked for. Can I do that?”

“Please.”

Jessica turned her body slightly sideways to drape one of her legs over your hips, and pulled one of your legs up to wrap around her waist, angling your bodies perfectly so that her cunt made contact with yours. As she gave an experimental movement of her hips, both of you hissed in pleasure at the contact of her clit grazing over yours, and you stared up at Jessica in awe as her mouth fell open.

“Oh, fuck.”

She gripped onto your hip tightly, being careful to mind her own strength as she started to rock her hips slowly against yours. It took every ounce of self control to maintain a steady, gentle pace when all she really wanted to do was fuck you through the floor down to the goddamn lobby. She didn’t think sex had ever felt this good and she wasn’t sure if it was being in love that made it feel different, or if it was just you, but she knew for a fact she would never be able to get enough now that she’d had a taste.

“Jess, more…please…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes…yes…I want more.”

Jessica bent over slightly so that she could lean down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, moaning softly into your mouth as the new angle allowed her to rub against you even better. She wrapped her slender fingers around the base of your throat to have something to ground herself, staring deeply into your eyes with parted lips as she moved her hips faster, and grinded down against you harder. Your eyes were blown wide open with exhilaration and your mouth hung open, allowing staggered moans of pleasure and praises of Jessica’s name to fill her bedroom. 

She could feel that crest rising within herself, and she desperately wanted you to meet her at the edge of that cliff so that you could jump off together.

“You gonna come for me again, pretty girl?”

“Yes…God, yes…”

“Then come. Let me feel you, baby. Let go with me. Come on, you can do it. That’s…that’s it…just like…oh, just like that, fuck-”

Jessica squeezed her eyes shut when she felt that band within her snap, quickly letting go of your throat to reach out and grab onto the headboard, feeling the wood splinter under the force of her strength as a loud moan of your name ripped from her chest. She continued to fuck you roughly as cacophonous sounds of your intermixed cries of pleasure echoed throughout her apartment, moving her hips swiftly to help you ride out your second wave, and collapsing on top of your chest once the both of you were entirely spent.

Nuzzling her face into your neck, she hummed softly when she felt your fingers delicately moving through her dark hair, cradling onto the back of her neck as a soft giggle ruptured the silence.

“Wow.”

Jessica chuckled as she reluctantly pulled back so that she could see your face, arching one of her dark brows as she grinned down at you.

“Not bad for your first time.”

“I had a good teacher.”

Jessica felt like she was up in the fucking clouds as she gazed at you in pure adoration, bringing her hand up to gently cup your face as she pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Thank you for letting me be your first, and trusting me.”

“Thank you for being my first, and…well…for all of that.”

A rosy blush dusted over your cheeks as a shy smile covered your lips, and Jessica smirked as she leaned in to nuzzle her nose against yours.

“Anything for you.”

Letting out a sigh of complete content, you gazed up into Jessica’s eyes as you tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I love you, Jessica Jones.”

Jessica fought the lump that threatened to form in her throat and the tears that began to build in the corners of her eyes, pulling her mouth into a tender smile as her heart expanded to fill the entirety of her ribcage.

“I love you, Y/N Y/L/N.”

tags: @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[cassius-casim]

Despite My Despair:Chapter 1

Tommy Shelby / Autistic male reader

Word count:3182

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Warning this chapter will contain : graphic descriptions of sensory overload ,a hint of sexism and racism ( literally only one sentence)

This fic is as historically accurate as possible , please consult the author’s notes if there is any confusion or for your own curiosity.

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Fuck.My.Life.

Out of all the days I could have had, why did I have to have this one ?

Walking along the dreary road with each step, the volcano of emotions inside me slowly moved up with the increasing threat of erupting as I pondered back to what happened earlier.

“Why did you have to provoke him!?”

“ It's your job to de-escalate the situation!”

“How could you be this useless !?”

Once I finally approach my home the familiar horseshoe on the door greets me. Despite my inner turmoil , i open the door carefully,not wanting to start something that would only cause regret .Lumbering over to the tiny kitchen. Putting my now torn coat on the back of the chair lowering myself onto it as i slowly my burrowed my into my hands, releasing puffs of angry breath.

“Are you alright Cassius?”

Looking up, Polly stood in the entryway, hands on hips with her face clouded with concern .

“I'm fine Pol , just had a shit day.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Yes , please.”

“Alright let me get some snacks , something tells me we're going to need the energy.”

Minutes pass as we set the table with biscuits and drinks . When we are done Polly turns over to me :

“So, gonna tell me what’s been bothering you?”

“Basically I was doing my job. The train arrived at the station as usual. I was pulling out a gentleman's bag to be passed on, until I felt a tug on my coat. It was the owner of the bag. The gentleman had only just gone and accused me of stealing it from the steward. When I tried to reason with him saying I was the steward and it was my job , he wouldn't believe me . So when I tried to get the station mistress involved , he pulled me back. Pulled me back so hard my coat ripped as a result it ripped. Eventually the station mistress did get involved afterwards, but now I have to pay for a new coat which is now going to come out of my wages this week. Because apparently according to my boss it was my fault it got ripped.” I felt bad for telling Polly a diluted version of the ordeal, but she wouldn't have let the issue go if she knew the truth . As Polly digests what I just said I think back to what had actually happened:

( 1 hour earlier )

I waited outside Mr Wakefield's office , the old rigidity bench I sat on creaked at the slightest bit of weight on it with my coat draped over my arm , around me the walls were covered in a frog like green paint with bits of paper layered across it . The sound of heels hitting the ground pulled me away from reading what was over there stood Ms.Jameson who wore a professional cyan garb with a matching jacket and shirt , with her fair hair styled in mid length curls and possessed an air of elegance out of place here .

“ Cassius ? Mr Wakefield is ready to see you now .”

I got up from my chair , as I walked towards my bosses’ office the walls became less cluttered the more I walked. When I finally reached his office I was greeted by his fine wooden door adorned with “Andrew Wakefield Head of Birmingham Railways”.

I knocked on the door tentatively which i heard a annoyed “Come in”

I opened the door to see a portly man with thinning black hair and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth .

“ Yes, Sir, you wanted to see me ?”

“ Yeah . I did . I heard about the incident that happened today . Care to explain why you couldn't handle it yourself ?”

“ Well Sir , the customer became violent to the point he tore a part of my uniform as you can see here.” I say I held up my torn coat .

“ So you had to involve poor Mrs Jones because you couldn't handle it yourself?”

“ I mean that is part of her job.”

“Cassius , your job is to handle it, her job is to manage the entire bloody station. Why couldn't you solve it yourself?"

“ Because he started yelling at me and got so close to me I thought he was going to hurt me. How was I meant to solve it?”

“ So you're telling me that my own steward can't do his bloody job cause customer was mean to you !? And you had to drag a woman into this !?” Red started to creep onto his face . I feel a stab of pain . I look down to see him gripping arm so hard his nails are piercing my skin.

“ HOW CAN YOU BE SO FUCKING STUPID!?”Blood starts to trickle down my arms .

“IT'S YOUR JOB TO DE-ESCALATE THE SITUATION YOU FEEBLE MINDED CRETIN !”

“ I BET YOU EVEN PROVOKED HIM DIDN'T YOU?”

“ …we-”

“ DON'T YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME ! BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKING BEHAVIOR , YOUR REPLACEMENT COAT IS COMING OUT OF YOUR NEXT WAGES. NOW ,GET .THE .FUCK . OUT OF MY OFFICE !” He bellows while launching me out of his office leaving me to have the air knocked out of me by the concrete floor.

Coming back to the present, Polly stared at mid-space, contemplating.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Well…I don't know . I love my job but I hate how I am treated for things I can't help.”

“So why not tell , Tommy ? I bet you would be treated better after your boss has one meeting with him.”

“Because Tommy has enough on his plate as it is and I don't want to add to his stress. After all, he's only now started to let himself heal.” And if Tommy meets Mr Wakefield he might actually kill him and I am NOT going to lose this job as I might get sent off to the colonies .

“Well it sounds like to me you need a distraction.”

“Yeah…THAT would be great.”

“Alright let's relax for a bit before we'll go.”

[ 15 minutes later ]

“Cassius, you ready to go?” Polly asked me as she passed over the last of the biscuits. The fury I once felt now subsided and I could now focus on the tea that I was having . Teatime, like Polly, was important and a break from the chaos outside. She's practically my mother as they both had to take turns to take care of me after me and the Shelby siblings growing up, which is how we grew so close over the years . She was draped in a loose navy blue dress, and a light brown belt cinched around her waist, which was a nice contrast to the grimy bricks .

“I'm not sure ,won't it be too noisy at this time, Pol?” As I reclined back in the wooden chair on the table was strewn with refreshments.

“It's going to be a quiet night .The loudest person there will be Arthur. Plus,Tommy will be there.” She said, knowing I would never turn down any opportunity to see Tommy,especially since I hadn't been able to spend time with him for the past couple of days since he's been swamped with work

“Okay , give me 5 minutes to get ready !” I yelled as I shot up the chair so fast it nearly fell over and raced upstairs to get changed .

“But you look fine !” Polly said exasperated but somewhat amused.

“I want to look amazing when I see Tommy !” I reply as I start to get change in me and Tommy's room which definitely wasn't made for 2 people as it has cramped space and a single bed , although the room wasn't the best looking with its warm yellow wallpaper and the decorations were a strange mix of mismatched mementos the Shelbys collected over the years like horseshoes and a ship hook which came from the boat they used to live in.

When I put on my outfit, I gaze into the mirror to see if it looks alright. Said outfit in question was a navy blue striped shirt which was a good contrast to my light brown skin, light gray trousers with suspenders, as I gave my black hair a quick brush to make it look acceptable . As I adjusted my matching striped pre tied bowtie (which I'm glad no one can make fun of me for ) , when I went back downstairs again on the way down I put on my coat well it's actually Tommy's since I can't wear my torn one , which is woolen charcoal gray , and turned to Polly at the door . Who changed into a ruby red dress with a translucent v neck and puffed up sleeves, and she styled her hair into a somewhat messy side braid .

We linked arms as we went out the door ,walking in sync, talking about whatever, and if Polly had any visions recently . As we approach the Garrison, its dark wood exterior, which at first looks like all the other buildings around, but the warm lights from inside, presents a tempting invitation to those approaching.

When we finally enter the Garrison, we are greeted by its warm, welcoming atmosphere , which contrasts the cold, dreary mood from outside. Its lights highlight all the mahogany furniture and present a relaxed environment . As Polly goes off to talk to Harry , I look around the pub, trying to find where Tommy is . He's looking infuriatingly handsome wearing a white shirt with a detachable collar with black stripes paired with a dark gray woolen waistcoat and black trousers , with his coat hung over his chair which makes his baby blue eyes stand out . Trust Tommy Shelby to look breathtakingly handsome without even trying. We've been together since the war ended, and at the beginning, it was tough . Tommy returned from The Great War; he came back haunted by the horrors of war, the memories of which would attack him at the most unexpected times . It wasn't as bad as it was back then, but a part of me does wonder if he has never left the war, except this one was a one in his mind that has changed him and if there is no way to help him from this torment.

Yet despite this , I try my best to support him with whatever I can whether that is to comfort him after he suffers from the horrors of his mind , create an environment where he feels safe whenever we are alone and make sure he knows he is not alone and can talk about it when he is ready . Whilst he would never get better , but then again, like my condition, this is something I hope he can learn to live with without it cutting him from the inside.

I see him talking with John who is donning a black striped jacket with matching waistcoat and a white shirt with collar like Tommy and a chocolate brown tie and Arthur ,who is adorning a woolen gray coat and waistcoat with a white shirt and the same collar as his brothers which he added a splash of colour with a red tie, to talking about something in the betting shop looking carefree, which he has been like with his family recently.

“ Princely, what are you doing over there ? Come over here !” Tommy said teasingly with a lopsided grin.

I walked over to him to sit on his lap and wrap my arms around him while nuzzling his soft neck.He brings his calloused hands to rub circles in my hair , as he does this i feel all the nerves evaporate from me as I listen to the familiar rhythm of his heart.

“How are you doing, Tomcat?”

“I'm doing great love , for once I didn't want to strangle someone.”

After he says that, he furrows his brows and looks at me concerned:

“Princely, are you alright? What happened to your coat?”

“ Oh I left it at home. I must've picked up yours by accident .”

“ Well, let me take it off of you then it's too hot to wear that in here if that's okay with you.” I nod as I shrug off the coat to give it to him , as he puts it on top of his own coat with one hand so he wouldn't have to move .

“So is there anything else I can do for you?”

“If it's no bother , can you get me a Vimto cordial with water plus some ice in it if you can ?”

“Sure , no problem, I was going to refill my glass anyway. I'll be back in a bit .”

When he returns with the drinks I got back on his lap , as I take a sip of my drink I think he made it himself as it isn't diluted as it normally is . As we drink in comfortable silence , I look around taking in our surroundings when a realisation hits me .

“Wait, where's Arthur and John ?”

“ Oh, they're just in the private booth , doing god knows what.”

“So Tommy, can I ask you something?”

“Yes ,Princely, what is it ?”

“Is it true you rode a horse across the street?”

“Yes, I did . Why do you ask ?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could do that on our next date .”

“...Why ?”

“Because I want to feel like a fairytale prince and be swept up on my feet by a handsome man on horse , and plus we can't get stuck in traffic since a horse isn't technically a vehicle.”

“ Love, I don't think that is legal .”

“Since when did you care about what is legal!?”

He smirks , ready to retort back with something “ Well, Princel-”

“ Um , Tommy?”

We both looked around to see who interrupted Tommy. It was Arthur who was looking sheepish for some reason .

“Yes, Arthur, what is it ?” Tommy said, annoyed that we were interrupted.

“ We need you to come to the private room to talk business.”

“ Which part, Arthur ?”

“Kimber ,Tom . He's being a right prick.”

Tommy signs exasperated “Oh for fuck sake , alright you go in I'll be in there in a bit .” He says whilst carefully pulling me off his lap .

He turns his attention back to me . “Sorry Princely looks like our time has been cut short , do you want me to get someone to escort you home?”

“It's fine Tommy , but I think I would like to stay here for a little while longer then I will go home with Polly when you are done .”

“ Alright but if you need me I will be in the private booth , okay ?”

“Okay , try not to kill anyone .”

“No promises love” He says as he kisses my cheek before he goes.

At first I relaxed in my chair , daydreaming about my next date with Tommy and how to make sure he will be comfortable where it will be , I am interrupted by a loud sound from the door . I snap out of my ponder to see a group of factory men loudly yelling at the barmaid to get drinks. Looking through the window, I see it's dark outside , shit I forgot about keeping track of how much time has passed since Polly must've left already . I can't leave without someone escorting me home as it's not safe for me to go home alone at night in Birmingham, and the pub is starting to get too crowded with people for me to recognise anyone I know .

What the hell do I now ?

Okay I have to get to Tommy but the pub is so full I can't see which room he is in .

As I lean back in my chair, it felt like everything around me was heightened as I could hear bits of every conversation from all the patrons merging together from all sides of the room to form a never ending incoherent mess, the volume of this mess sounds like the roars of thunder each time they spoke, my ears are straining at this combination . My chest starts to feel too tight, everything feels way too , as I feel the oxygen slowly drain from the room the madding rhythm of my heart is telling me I need to go NOW .

I rushed to the bathroom the smell of cleaner and musk hitting me in the face and as I sat on the brown wooden floor which somehow has multiple shades, I leaned against the gray wall or at least I think it is as the yellow light of the bathroom makes it hard to tell. I begin rocking forwards and backwards, thinking that this might give me some comfort from this situation as I feel myself slowly dissociate more and more as this continues .

Why is this not helping !?

I'm in a different room with no people yet despite this I am still feeling like this .

Feeling deeply distressed because of this I started desperately hitting my head repeatedly, hoping that the pain would stop this horror from happening to stop me from processing all these things at once and end this suffocating experience . As I run my fingers through my hair , trying to regain some sort of control and think of what to do best but my mind is still foggy.

Then I hear the sound of the door opening, the loud noises from outside leaking into the room for a couple of seconds into the cold isolated bathroom, and then for some reason a man hovering above me . I can't focus on his face as when I try to look up to see his face the but I can't make it out clearly as the light flickering harshly against my eyes , but from what I can see is that he is white , has brown hair judging by his arms and his white shirt has a beer stain .

“Are you okay, mate?”

He says he doesn't know what to do with me .

He sounds...younger than I thought, like he must be around my age.

At this point , I feel like talking is beyond me. As I feel like I can't even speak . Which in of itself is terrifying . . So I nod instead, not knowing what else to do. He looks confused, but I think he probably thinks I'm high on snow or something.

“Okay then , try not to wreck the place.” He says lightheartedly as he leaves .

When he leaves the contrast between the busy pub and the isolated bathroom , with my only solace being my thoughts but even then I feel them turning against me.

How can anyone help me if no one knows where I am ?

How am I going to get out of here if I can't see the exit through all those people?

Would anyone notice where I've gone ?

Would anyone care ?

I can hear the noise from outside starting to emerge in the room as I can feel it slowly suffocating me , as I can feel my body continuing slowly shutting down . The more time passes, the more overwhelmed I feel as the reality of the situation sits in . Eventually, I can't take it anymore, feeling everything at once but with no way to do anything about it , so I start to lie down on the cold floor as I stare at the ceiling, feeling utterly exhausted but restless at the same time . Hoping that being unconscious would stop the anguish I was feeling, but then the door opens again, and I hear:

“Princely, are you there ?”

Authors Notes

●Pretied bowties were laughed at in public in the UK at the time. 

●Vimto was invented in 1908 in Manchester 

●Cordial is a temperance (non-alcoholic ) drink originally,  it's a concentrated fruit syrup 

●Ice was accessible to a wide range of people through ice factories in the country from the 1900s , but I couldn't confirm how much this would've cost the average person 

●Stewards was the person who would carry your bags and put them on the carriage 

●Station master / mistress is the person who manages the train station . 

●Feebleminded Cretins was an insult used to describe disabled people of colour this tended to be used in eugenics texts 

●Andrew Wakefield is the name of the man who started the vaccines cause autism movement in the 1990’s to sell his own version of the MRR (Measles , Mumps and Rubella) vaccine 

●Stewards were open to people of colour at the time 

●Colonies were places were disabled adults and children  lived and @worked in the country separate from the rest of the population in remote villages 

Credits ( people I would like to thank):

@gay_AF_satan for writing the fic where I got the term Princely from .Here's the link for it :

@red-write-hand and @rysko for reading previous drafts of this and gimming me good feedback to help me improve this

And finally @raven-phoenix who tirelessly helped me every step of the way and helped me flesh out the chapters and certain scenes .