#which reminds me that if i boil the dried ones i have again and then one more time and then dry them again they should actually

[featherymainffins]

One thing about me is I don't understand why people say that you should never try even one cigarette because they all got addicted after one. I had the worst fucking nightmare experience with my first cigarette you couldn't pay me to smoke one of these again.

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 3,498

Warning: stress, yelling, fighting, kisses, insecurity, self doubt, language, suggestive, whipped cream

A/N: Things are getting are getting spicy now!! Y'all aren't ready for part four!! A reminder, of you want to be included in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One, Part Two, Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

The smell of cedarwood, one you used to love, was now suffocating you like a toxic gas. Your eyes blurred in shock as Toji pressed his chest against your back. Letting you know this was real and you weren't in a drunken haze.

“Are you listening to me?” Toji spoke again, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “I told you we need to talk.”

A year and a half ago, the old you would have given in, allowing him to give you any explanation he pulled out of his ass. You, however, had grown in your time away. You didn't have to listen to him.

“I don't want to talk to you.” Your voice trembles, not in fear, but in a boiling rage that was settling in your chest. “Get the fuck off me.” The disbelief in his eyes is almost comical, but he doesn't move. “Get! The! Fuck! Off! Me!”

Your ex listened this time, promptly stepping back and holding both of his hands out in front of him. “Jesus fuck, sorry. But I'm serious about talking to you.”

A scoff of disbelief is the only answer you gave him as you washed your hands. If you kept your body constantly moving, you wouldn't freeze up again. Despite your best efforts, your traitorous hands continued trembling. Unfortunately for you, Toji noticed this, his eyes lingering on your hands before drifting to your face as you dried them off.

“Do I make you that nervous?”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?!” The rage finally boiled over, like hot milk on a stove. “Nervous?! You think I'm nervous?!” You stormed forward, jabbing your pointer finger into his chest.

Your rage and finger jabs only have Toji rolling his eyes. His much larger hand shot up, grabbing and squeezing your wrist. His skin on yours made you feel a certain way. That contact was something you craved before, something you felt like you needed. Now? That contact made your stomach churn with nausea.

“Ya’ done lying?”

“Let me go.”

“No, I asked you a question. Are ya’ done lying?” Toji steps forward, crowding you against the wall. “Because we both know you're lying to yourself. You are nervous; you've been nervous since you stepped foot here in Kyoto with your friend.” His words stung like lashings from a whip. “I make ya’ nervous; that's why you've been avoiding me. And I don't like being ignored.”

A rage burned in your eyes as he waited for you to respond. How dare he corner you and act like you were the problem! You yank your wrist away, glaring up at him.

“That friend of mine is my boyfriend! And I'm not nervous around you. I can't stand you. Being around you makes me sick.”

“Oh, that's rich. Why is that Y/N? Why do I make you sick?”

“What makes me sick?! Toji, did you forget you broke off our engagement a month before our wedding? You broke my heart! Being around you fuckin’ hurts; do you not understand that!? So what you see as nervousness is me trying to heal!” Toji’s eyes widened as you continued your rant. “So that’s why I have no desire to talk to you! I don't care what you have to say!” But knowing Toji, he wouldn't back down so easily. “But you won't leave me alone unless you say whatever the fuck it is you want to say! So what is it, come to gloat about your life as a married man? Come to show me a picture of your pretty wife?”

“Watch it.”

“Or did she find out about your gambling problem and can't handle it? So you want me back so I can take care of us?” You had fully intended for that to hurt, but your insults just bounced off him. A smirk turned at the corner of his scarred lip.

“You think I'd actually want you back?”

His words stung like a million scorpion stings. It knocked the air out of your lungs as you felt your stomach drop. Toji slowly came to the realization of what he had said, his smirk falling as he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, fuck, I didn't mean it like that.”

You shoved your way past him; your heart thundered in your ears as you grabbed your sweater and bag off your chair. All of your friends were far too drunk to notice the state you were in, waving bye as you headed for the door, dialing Satoru’s number. Hot tears flowed down your cheeks as you tried to keep some composure.

He picked up on the first ring. “Our first drunk call; I'm so excited to hear all the cute things you're gonna say.” When Satoru doesn’t hear the commotion of the bar, his teasing tone vanishes. “Y/N?” God, he sounds sincere, like he might care for you. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?”

“T-Toji’s here, and I—” a sob rips through your chest, “I can't do this.”

“Where are you?” You listen to him shuffling a door opening and closing.

“Outside of the bar.”

“Is he around?”

“N-No.”

His breathing was shallow; the background was breaking in and out. Was he—running? Why would he come running to you?

“Good, stay there; I'm on my way.” The line went dead, leaving you standing there, staring at your phone.

The inn was nearby, so it shouldn't take him long, maybe a ten-minute walk, maybe faster since he was running. But he couldn't come soon enough. Your head kept turning toward the door to the bar, anxiously waiting to see if Toji came out. God, you prayed he wouldn't.

Your chest was constricting, and your eyes blurred as you fought against the tears threatening to escape. You didn't want to cry more. Because it was a waste of time, energy, and tears. There was no sense in crying over something so silly!

“You think I’d actually want you back?”

His words were on a loop. Slicing into your still bleeding heart, cutting new wounds, deeper ones. Which was so stupid! You would never get back to him! Even if he asked you to. You two had grown apart, your relationship toxic. So why did it bother you so much? Words from a man that hadn't been in your life for so long!

You glanced towards the night sky, the stinging feeling slowly turning numb. You knew deep down why it hurt. A reason that made you feel sick and weak. Like some fucking pathetic character from a soapy book.

If Toji didn't want you, who would?

A hand gently grabs your shoulder, turning you around. You turn, expecting to look up to the almost magical blue eyes of Satoru. Only you can find dark blue eyes. You step back, only to have Toji grab your purse and yank it, pulling You back towards him.

“Leave me the fuck alone!!” Toji flinched at your broken plea. “Haven't you done enough tonight?!”

“Look, I’m sorry! I didn't mean it like that!”

You fight against every urge to punch him. “Oh!? Okay, what did you mean when you said, ‘You think I’d actually want you back?’ Because it seems like you meant it to me!” Your purse falls to the ground as Toji pulls you closer. His hands clamp down on your upper arms to prevent you from moving away.

“Will you shut the fuck up for five damn minutes!?”

More tears stream down your face; your eyebrows knitted together pathetically as he bent down slightly, forcing you to look up at him. There was no use fighting it. He wasn't going to stop; you were trapped.

Satoru was breathing heavily as he turned the same corner he'd walked with you earlier. When he did, he froze in his tracks, seeing you and your prick of an ex standing outside. Toji was squeezing you, yelling something in your face. Satoru’s heart clenched when he saw the way your eyebrows pinched together. You were distraught, visibly upset, and you—you were crying.

Something inside Satoru’s chest snapped, and he bolted forward, rage painted over his features. “Hey!”

Your head whirled towards his voice, Y/H/C hair, tear droplets flying. He swears it happened in slow motion; fuck, you were even pretty when you were upset. Your face softened, the disdain melting away like snow in the spring. All because he was there, knowing that he had that sort of effect on you made his heart race. Making you happy was all Satoru had wanted to do.

Something he had never felt with clients before. Because the more time he spent with you, the more Satoru got to know you, the less you became another client on his calendar. To him, you weren't just a number, a dollar in his bank account, were Y/N.

His Y/N.

Not this fucking assholes. Not anymore! Satoru grabbed Toji’s wrist, forcing him to release you. Your ex-fiance glowered as Satoru pulled you to stand behind him. When your hands clung to his shirt, he released his vice grip on Toji’s wrist.

“You again.” Toji sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, me, the boyfriend.” Satoru crowded Toji, the two men face to face. “I’m guessing you didn't hear me the first time.” He eyed your ex up and down. “If Y/N wants to talk to you, she will. But as you can see, she doesn't, so fuck off.”

Satoru backed off as you buried your face into his back. He knew you were crying. Still, your body was trembling, hands clinging to him, keeping you grounded so you didn't break down. The state you were in irked him the wrong way, and his fist clenched, longing to hurt the dick who'd hurt you as much as he’s done to you.

“I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and Y/N. So you fuck off.”

“I'm Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo family business. I'm also dating Y/L/N Y/N, and I plan on being with her for a very long time! Got it?! Good now, if you’ll excuse us; I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner, asshole.”

Satoru felt your grip loosen around him, a little gasp leaving your lips. “T-Toru.” A nickname, you gave him a nickname. God, he felt like he could fly.

“I got you, let's go.” Turning around, Satoru started leading you down the sidewalk.

He barely made it a foot away before he was yanked back by the collar of his shirt. Both fists shot up, ready to fight. Toji instead shoved your purse in his face. “Some boyfriend, you are almost leaving without her bag.” Toji waved at you as he headed back into the bar. “We’ll finish this another time, Y//N.” Satoru glared at him until Toji was inside; the second he was gone, Satoru grabbed your hand, leading you down the street.

You didn't say a word, but your smaller fingers intertwined with his, allowing him to lead you away. He pulled into a ramen shop, helping you in a booth before sitting across from you. You were wiping at your eyes, but more tears kept rolling down your cheeks. Satoru’s heart shattered seeing you so upset like this.

“I-I’m sorry,” you hiccuped, “I god, I'm sorry, Satoru.”

“No, don't apologize.” He reached out, replacing your hand with his own. His thumbs gently brushed tears away. “What happened?”

You laughed, but it wasn't your usual happy laugh. No, this laugh was full of sorrow. Satoru didn't like it when you laughed like that.

With a breathless sigh, you leaned into his hand. “Toji cornered me in the bathroom. He kept wanting to talk, and well, things were said.” Your lips brushed over Satoru’s palm as you spoke. “In the midst of my anger, I asked if his wife found out about his gambling problem. And if he wanted me back to take care of him like I did. Jokingly, of course, and he—” Your bottom lip quivered. “H-He uhm, god, it's so stupid—”

“It's not stupid, please tell me.”

You took a deep breath, “He said, ‘You think I’d actually want you back.’” Your voice was so fragile as you repeated those pain-ridden words to him.

“Are you kidding me?” Satoru’s other hand cupped your other cheek. Holding your face gently as he watched as your face contorted with emotional pain. “This is the part where you tell me you're joking, right? That he didn't say that shit to you?” The mind-numbing silence was the answer to his question. “That motherfucker, I should have knocked him out when I had the chance.”

“I-I didn't even mean it, ya’ know? I wouldn't get back together with him.”

“Good, because there's no way in hell I would allow you to get back together with that asshole. You deserve so much more.”

Your Y/E/C widened and glittered under the lights at his words. “You think I deserve more?” Satoru nodded, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones. The look on your face was full of hope, a look Satoru had never seen grace your beautiful features before. But that light faded just as fast as it appeared.

It was doubt; you had been hurt so much in the past that you doubted the genuine words he was saying.

”Hey, I don’t say shit. I don’t mean.” Satoru whispered.

”I know, I just, I’m so confused.”

”Confused because you’re drunk?”

”No, I’m pretty much sober now.” You sighed, pulling away from his grasp. “I just, I’m conflicted.”

”Conflicted over what?” He cocked an eyebrow as you flushed. “Tell me.”

You gulped down some water before running a hand through your hair. “I just, us.” Satoru perked up. “I know I hired you to be my wedding date and all. But I like you.” You chugged more of the water down like it gave you courage. “And it’s not only because you’re super fucking hot. I also like talking to you, god I love talking to you.” Satoru’s cheeks flushed, watching you closely. “But what is the cherry on top of the sundae of you being everything I’d want in a partner is the fact that you came running for me today.”

”Y/N—“

”You dropped everything and came running to me. Like a scene from a Rom-Com.” Your nails clanked nervously over the glass, your gaze drifting toward the awe-struck Satoru. “I know I hired you, and this is your line of work. But I can't stop thinking about the kisses—mmmph!”

Before you could finish your last word, Satoru grabbed your face, kissing you deeply. His fingers gripped your chin but shifted to hold your cheek in his hand, cupping it gently. With wide eyes, you slowly kissed him back, melting against him.

Satoru slowly pulled away, his thumb moving down, caressing your bottom lip as he looked into your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this about a client before.” He panted softly.

”Really?” You smiled wide as Satoru hummed happily.

”That day we talked on the phone, I knew there was something different about you. Something I want to explore.” You giggled, tears forming in your eyes as he wiped them away. “So, what do you say we order dessert here for a little date?”

You looked around before shaking your head. “No.” Satoru’s face went pale as he looked you over, searching for an explanation. “The dessert here is shit, let’s go back to the inn, and I’ll make us something?” Satoru's breath was full of relief as he stood up, grabbing your hand tight.

”You are such a brat.”

Despite being a brat, Satoru followed you back to the inn. He watched with curious eyes as you moved around the clean kitchen. You were pulling out mixing bowls, cream, and chilled sheet cake. Your tiny hands so gracefully washed strawberries, your touch gentle as if they would fall apart if you handled them any other way.

Everything you did was done with skills he did not possess. Slicing strawberries, cutting the vanilla cake into the perfect symmetrical cubes. Satoru found himself under a spell as he watched your every move. God, you looked so gorgeous in a zone like this. Your smile, the way you move with purpose, focused on constructing the dessert you promised him.

You peeked at him from the corner of your eye. He grinned as he rose from his seat, striding towards you as you poured heavy whipping cream into the stand mixer before switching it on at medium speed. Satoru had a certain gleam in his eyes as he oh’d and awed at the cream inside the mixer. He was so fascinated, and he looked like a child in a candy store.

You tapped his shoulder, handing him a small vial. “Want to help me? You can put the vanilla in.” Satoru eagerly took it, opening it. He sniffed the bottle before looking down at you.

“Give me a hand?”

“Sure,” your hand slowly ran over the top of his, “just do a little bit.” The two of you poured some vanilla into the mixing bowl. A rich smell wafted up in the air. “Was this just an excuse for me to touch your hand?”

“What?” His tone was full of faux confusion. “No, never.” He quickly put the vial of vanilla down, his fingers interlacing with yours as he pulled you into his side. “What's the next step, chef?”

“We add in sugar.” You worked your culinary magic, sweetening the whipped cream. “And that is how I make my whipped cream; I use it at the bakery.”

“I love the whipped cream at the Ichigo Cafe.” Satoru groaned out, looking into the bowl. “So fluffy and sweet!”

You tapped your fingers on the bowl. “Why don't you taste it? Tell me if it's sweet enough for you. Mr. Six packets of sugar in my coffee.” He turned to face you, resting his hand on his hip with a smirk.

“I am not at all ashamed of my likes, Y/N.” he pulled the top of the mixer up. “I like my treats sweet; I am the Gordon Ramsey of desserts!”

“Satoru, watch out for the switch!”

Satrou smacked the switch while scooping a finger full of whipped cream. The whisk attachment spun around several times, splattering the two of you with bloats of sweetened cream. Satoru quickly turned it off, looking around at the white mess.

A big blob of whipped cream fell off his nose, smacking into the metal table. The sound, his eyes slowly glancing at it, and the stunned look on his face knocked over your giggle box. Your head tilted back as rich, warm laughter flooded the kitchen. Making Satoru melt as he wiped the whipped cream off his face, licking it off his fingers.

The sight of his fingers dipping into his mouth. Had you choking on your laughter? Cerulean eyes burned as he slowly pulled his finger out, smirking. His thumb brushed out your lip, smearing whipped cream over it. The action had you breathing heavily.

“Tastes sweet, but I think you're sweeter.” He leaned down, his lips brushed over your cheek. “Ten times sweeter.”

You closed the distance this time. Pusjingnhis back against the table. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down and deepening the kiss—the taste of your whipped cream lingering on his tongue. Your sudden boldness had Satoru stumbling, eyes wide as you shoved Your tongue in his mouth, much like he had done to you earlier.

He whined, shutting his eyes tight as he grabbed Your hips, pulling you tight against him. “You're so beautiful, god Y/N.” He whispered in between heated kisses. “I think I started falling for you since that first phone call.” His honesty had you whining against his lips as he sucked and nipped at your bottom lip.

“Satoru~”

“God, I want you; I want you so bad, Y/N.”

Your heart lurched into your throat as you pulled away, staring into those blue eyes you were falling for. Satoru wanted you. He legitimately wanted you. Not just to take you out on a date, but he wanted you in ways you hadn't been wanted in a very long time. Ways you told yourself and Satoru you didn't need. But the desperation in his kisses, how his tongue moved against yours, and the hard bulge growing in his pants had your heart thundering, utterly breathless, and oh-so-wet

“Toru.” He groaned, trailing kisses over your neck, his hand squeezing your hips. “Toru.”

He pulled back, shutting his eyes tight as he rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he sighed, “I’m sorry as much as I want you. I don't want to rush you.” Your hands trailed over his toned stomach, fingers undoing the button to his jeans.

“Toru, take me to our room.”

Tag list: (AGE MUST BE IN BIO!!)

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovely212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator

[peachetteprice]

Hi!! I have a request

I have had this idea of singing/hummjng Simon “Ghost” Riley back to sleep after he has had a nightmare or can’t relax enough to fall asleep.

Reader can carry a tune; maybe not a grammy nominee but Simon loves it when they do sing.

Simon doesn’t ask them himself to hum or sing to him, it sort of just happens. No one knows how to calm him down like they do and the way Reader hums/sings one of his favorite songs and gently rubs his back works better than he thought it would.

Thank you 😊💖‼️

Hello! I took some creative liberties with the prompt given. It is only slightly different from what you gave me, but I hope I did it justice! Please let me know your thoughts. @skrubob

(Note: influenced by a sleep disorder my dad has. I don't know, I thought I could relate a bit more with that idea!)

Strangers in the Night

Simon "Ghost" Riley - 1.9K words

It happened again.

It happened again like it happened most nights: without much warning, and for no particular reason.

It wasn't a spectacular night. There was nothing distinct about the moon and its size, neither the thickness of its crescent nor the depth of its craters. It wasn't a notable day for the planets and their stars. Nobody had wished on a comet. Nothing, in fact, nothing had gone on in the day to warrant such an odd happening.

Like every day, whenever Simon was off-deployment, he woke up at 0615. No sooner and no later than the sun rose, did he clambour from the bedsheets with a tired groan and a stretch - only occasionally might he have triggered his shoulder blades to seize up, though, thankfully, today was not one of those days - make his careful way downstairs so as to not wake you, flick the kettle on for a brew and stare out of the kitchen window until its rolling boil turned to a simmer, and it clicked itself off.

The cuppa was perfect.

There wasn't a single thing wrong with it.

In fact, if he could have sampled a half-pint of it, dried it into a powder, dusted it onto a canvas and hung it up on the wall in the bedroom - so that he could have something of a reminder of the most well-balanced cup of tea he'd ever made - then he just might have. Though, that wasn't to say that it was anything extraordinary. Not at all. It was a simple, bog-standard cuppa with a dash of milk, a humped teaspoon of white cane sugar, and all he did at the end, when he pulled the teabag out, was make sure not to pinch the sides of it on the rim; that was all there was to it.

And that was all to re-iterate that nothing at all about Simon Riley's day was unusual.

To insist on that point, as you readied yourself to work, and he gave you your cuppa for the morning - two sugars, a whiff of milk, exactly how you liked it - he made sure to give you a kiss on your lips just as your palm neared the door handle. It lasted exactly three seconds, and there was nothing overtly obscene about the smack that followed or the light tap he gave the rear of your thigh as you left.

When you were gone, he did the laundry. The washing machine finished at nine, so he put the tumble dryer on, too. That finished at eleven-thirty, and everything else was put on the line in the garden, which dried until three. Between then and three, if only to keep himself occupied, he fixed one of the dining chairs that you had leant too far back on and splintered the wooden bar at the lumbar region, for which he had to pop to B&Q to grab another bottle of wood glue, which, by and by, was also nothing peculiar in the slightest.

Once that was fixed, and the washing was dry, he collected, folded - even ironed, if the crinkles needed a spot of flattening, in which case it was one of your work blouses or a pair of his fatigues - then sorted them into the chest of drawers in your bedroom.

And, of course, once that was put away, he had his second brew of the day. Equally as plain. Equally as perfect.

By 1800 hours, you were home, and he gave your lips another kiss. Six seconds, this time, double the length of the one from the morning, with a little more vigour, and unlike the previous, you gave his left buttock a little clench, then a pat, and off you went to check the fridge for dinner.

Spag-bol. Spaghetti bolognese. With parmesan, too. The only thing that could've been somewhat abnormal was the addition of cut-up Cumberland sausages that desperately needed eating up, though it was hardly the monumental incident required to be the reason behind it happening again. It was nice. Dinner. Not your finest work, but then again, weekday meals, especially when Simon was home and you had to cook for two again, never were.

After washing up, you gave him a peck on the cheek, and he held you for a moment against the cabinets, just relishing in the body heat that he missed that morning. And when that was over, you popped the TV on - something completely ordinary in genre, motif, and drama - and fell asleep against him on the sofa.

Perhaps it was why you didn't notice so much. Perhaps if you'd stayed awake, you would have known when, why, or how it came to be.

An hour or two - or some duration of time in between - of light sleep passed, and you woke to the sound of his electric toothbrush whirring away. You joined him in the bathroom to brush your teeth, he slung an arm about your waist and drew circles into your stomach, though you were still some variable of dazed by the sudden jolt from being asleep to awake, but it was all alright, truly, because within two minutes, you were dead asleep again.

It was uncertain how much time had passed between falling asleep and being awake again. That was the terrible thing with sleep. Sleep blurs the lines between seconds and hours. What could have been five minutes could have easily been five hours, and what could have been ten hours often felt no longer than ten seconds. Time becomes an illusion, much like the theory in which, on one planet, it is equally plausible that thirty seconds in passing may equal three days in another, and yet, both planets cohabit the same space, the same universe, mere light years apart.

When you did manage to fall asleep again after brushing your teeth, and when it did happen again, it was a mere three seconds.

There was shouting. Some rambling. It bled into your unconsciousness until, with a rather heavy dip in the sheets, a bolt from the blue, you were left wide-awake.

"Simon?" You said into the void. There wasn't much to be seen at night.

"Where? Where is it? There's a--"

--You were awake now. That was for definite. Three seconds had passed, and Simon was awake, too. There was something odd about the frenzy in his eyes. If it wasn't for his blown pupils, you would have been convinced there was an intruder somewhere in the house. But he looked delirious. Three seconds had passed, and he hadn't slept a wink for something more like three days. But in the same breath, he was barely awake.

He was somewhere in between, mumbling under his breath about a spider and how it was somewhere here, in the bedroom, and it wanted him.

He wasn't making any sense - Simon Riley was not afraid of a bloody spider.

Twenty-two hours, eighteen minutes, and three seconds had passed. Nothing pertubing had happened prior, and yet, it was happening again.

"Simon, love, go back to sleep." You enveloped the shadow of his waist and pressed him back to the mattress - luckily, he hadn't left the bed yet. He was in and out of it, then. Ever-mumbling, eyelids still bursting wide every few seconds with the type of fear that should have only been present in somebody murdered. "It's alright."

It didn't happen often.

A few times since you'd been together, all countable on one hand, which, at this point, was years. He'd told you it might happen the first night you'd slept together in the same bed. Not the first time you'd slept together, full stop, but when he moved in and co-opted the king-sized bed in the bedroom. It was real, then. The relationship.

He never remembered it in the morning. Never did. Never will. You know he never did - he would have apologised if he did. Never asks if it's happened, but he's sure it has, because he notices the way your eyes never leave him the morning after, as if you're worried he might start yelling obscenities again and you have to hold him.

You always have to hold him. Like his mother did. One arm along his belly, stroking his stomach, and the other around the curve of his head, petting his hair like he's a little lamb. He would never be embarrassed about it, what you have to do to calm him, but if he were to ever ask if he'd ever woken up in a state, looking half as scared as a little boy in the dark - you wouldn't tell him. No. It's only a memory for you, and you'd rather like to keep it that way.

"It's alright." You cooed.

Sometimes, you sing to him. If he needs it. You sung that night, actually. He needed it that night. God, you must have sounded awful. Part of you was pleased at the fact that he never remembers it once he wakes up, because you'd quite like to avoid the conversation about how you can only just about hold a tune, and not with much fluidity.

It was Etta James' I'd Rather Go Blind.

The DJs on Smooth Radio played it during crawl traffic on the M60, rattled on about how incredible of a voice she had, they did, which was salt in the wound, really - there was an accident that morning on the hard shoulder, it took all of fifteen minutes to clear - and it was all that was stuck in your head at work, on the toilet, in the break-room and in the car on the way home.

It was the only song that came to mind as you started singing. A few wobbly notes here and there, nothing but of jumble of lyrics where it was certain you'd said more than one of the pre-chorus lines in favour of getting to the chorus itself, and you could hardly stop yourself from whispering some notes that you knew you wouldn't be able to reach at a murmur.

Simon settled a little at that. You were sure there wasn't much cognition behind those eyes - he was nothing but a walking zombie whenever it happened - but his hands clasped the one on his stomach, his pupils pinched back to normal, and by the second chorus, he was calm again.

You held him for a while. A long while. Until daybreak came in. Just to make sure it wouldn't happen again.

And at 0615, when the sun crept in to cast its shadow along the foot of the bed - and it would still be another hour until you rose - Simon awoke, stretched out his shoulder blades - though, this time, they did seize up - and faced your conked-out body.

Simon did notice something peculiar, then.

Your arms wrapped around his torso - which were often the other way around - should have been clutching the covers. There never meant to be a kink in your brow. Never was. Never should have been. Only on the mornings when you looked at him with too much empathy - when something had happened the night before that you never wished to talk about, was there ever such concern knotted into them.

And, in that moment, Simon knew. He leant a kiss to your lips, later joined them at your earlobe, too, before whispering;

"Thank you, love."

And there actually was something anomalous about that day, irreverent of the last. For some reason, whether because of the stars, the moon, or the planets, Simon had an Etta James song stuck in his head. How bloody weird.

| Masterlist |

[hifumi-123]

Actually, no one asked me this, I photoshopped it myself.

Anyways, here’s the

Majima with a s/o who has chubby hands:

Recently, you came across an article online titled "Beauty Starts with the Hands!" The main content suggests that all beautiful people in the world have slender, elegant hands, so you should start taking care of your hands too. The article lists several key features of beautiful hands:

First, beautiful fingers should be slender and long. Generally, a woman's hands are considered aesthetically pleasing if the ratio between fingers and palm is close to the golden ratio of 0.618.

Second, beautiful hands should be flawless. Darker coloration around the joints or noticeable hangnails around the nails can affect the overall cleanliness of the hands.

Third, beautiful hands must be fair-skinned. White and clean hands are more attractive. If the skin tone of the hands is too dark, they won't look good no matter what. So, one should pay attention to their hand's skin tone (though you think this point smacks of racial discrimination, the editor was too careless).

Fourth, beautiful hands should be hairless. If body hair is too noticeable, it will make the hands look fuzzy, obscuring the skin tone and texture. This is especially true for women with excessive body hair, which can be even more prominent and darker than men's.

These are the essential features of attractive hands.

Moreover, the article provides numerous solutions to address these issues. For longer, slender fingers, try hand massages. To remove darkness around joints, use exfoliating scrubs. For fairer hands, apply more sunscreen. To deal with body hair, use hair removal devices. With consistent care, one can achieve beautiful, attractive hands.

After reading this article, you can't help but sigh. It's not easy being a woman nowadays! Not only do you have to take care of your face and hair, but now your hands too! This whole regimen seems more exhausting than military service.

Although you want to say you don't care about your hands, the truth is—

"Ah! Why do my hands look so chubby? My fingers are short and pudgy, they look just like a baby's hands..."

Looking at your hands, you can't help but ponder. You're an adult now, theoretically a "mature woman." That's how it should be.

But why are your hands still chubby?

You always thought it was because you were overweight, but even after losing some weight recently, you noticed your hands didn't change at all. The parts that were chubby remained so. You painfully realize once again that your hands are truly not attractive. At least, they can't be considered beautiful hands.

You know that to others, this might seem like a trivial matter, not worth mentioning. When you discuss this with friends, they tell you not to worry about such unimportant things. However, hands can reflect a person's character. From the neatness of nails, presence of hangnails, or calluses on fingers, one can deduce a person's background. Beautiful hands are always well-cared for. Every time you look at your baby-like hands with calluses from gripping pens too tightly during your student days, you feel anxious and ashamed. Honestly, it's a hurdle you can't seem to overcome.

Although the article seems like an silent advertisement, it has caused you considerable anxiety. Before reading it, you never even thought about whether your hands were attractive or fair enough. Your current situation is like "not particularly caring about something, but once someone points it out, you start to become conscious of it."

After all this rambling, it boils down to:

"I want to have beautiful hands like a hand model!"

That's what it's all about.

After dinner, despite Majima's kind reminder that "lying down right after eating will turn you into a pig," you lazily sprawl on the sofa, tossing and turning. Hearing your complaints about your hands, the sound of water in the kitchen suddenly stops. Majima, who was washing dishes, dries his wet hands with a towel and says with a look of exasperation:

"Huh? I didn't know about that. There's nothing wrong with them, is there? Yer fingers are all there, all ten of them, aren't they? Isn't that enough?"

"What? Don't apply yakuza standards to me, okay?" You sit up on the sofa and reply irritably. "Normal people don't get their fingers cut off even if they make mistakes."

Majima chuckles and plops down next to you.

"Then let me see. Let this former cabaret club owner who has seen countless hands judge whether Y/n's hands are unattractive. Come on, give me yer hand," he urges, extending his own.

You place your plump hand on his palm. Compared to Majima's large, masculine hands, yours look even more childlike. Majima gently massages your hand. Whether it's because he finds it amusing or not, he always likes to knead your hand like this. He probably treats it like a squishy toy. But you don't mind, as it feels quite comfortable, almost like a massage.

"I really like Y/n's soft hands. Even if ya might not," he says softly.

You find it hard to understand why he would like these hands that are far from "beautiful." You silently look at Majima's lowered face, feeling conflicted once again. Is he saying this just to comfort you? Like how mothers always say their children are beautiful.

"Don't you wish your girlfriend had more slender and elegant hands?" you ask.

"Are ya stupid? Isn't smooth and soft very cute? Anyway, I really like yer hands. They're soft to hold, just like those things—" Majima furrows his brow, seemingly searching for the right word. "Ah, they're called Squishy, right? Yes, just like a Squishy."

He can say such embarrassing things so casually. What a strange person. You can't help but laugh, then sincerely tell him: "Although I don't really like these hands myself, if Goro likes them, then even childish hands are okay."

After receiving so much praise, you want to look at Majima's hands too. So you cup his hands and start examining them closely.

Compared to yours, his hands are much larger and more substantial. Surprisingly, Majima's nails are well-shaped and neatly trimmed, his fingers are long, and his knuckles are prominent. You could say they are very typical "man's hands." It's unfair that even his hands are so handsome. Perhaps because he usually wears leather gloves, his hands don't have many calluses, and even though he often holds knives when fighting, his palms are still smooth.

"Hmm..." you pretend to ponder, "According to the essential features of beautiful hands, you have a pair of beautiful hands."

Majima laughs, clutching his stomach, then wipes tears from the corner of his eye. "Is that so?" he says, "Then it seems I'm more suited to be the girlfriend."

"Alright then, you can be the girlfriend," you joke, "I'll call you Goromi from now on."

Majima shakes his head and sighs, "That name is too corny. If we have children in the future, ya can't give them such tacky names, okay?"

Hearing his words, you feel your cheeks warming up. You turn your head away, deliberately not looking at him, "I'm ignoring you now. I'm going to take a bath."

"Wanna bathe together?" he asks, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

You know well that if you agree to his invitation now, Majima will definitely wear you out before letting you leave. You've experienced this firsthand several times before, so you quickly get up from the sofa.

"No need, I can wash myself!"

You walk into the bathroom with agility completely different from your previous lazy attitude, hearing Majima's cheerful laughter coming from the living room.

Once my friend mentioned that my head is quite large, I began to realize how big it actually is. But before that, I never thought there was an issue with my head at all. Recently, I came across discussions online about protruding mouths, and only then did I notice that my own mouth is a bit protruding. I even entertained the idea of getting braces, but I found out that just wearing them wouldn't fix the issue. I would have to undergo a jaw surgery to correct the protrusion. So, I abandoned the idea since this problem doesn't affect my ability to enjoy food.

I feel like a lot of appearance anxieties stem from others' opinions. I believe it's not worth paying too much attention to what they say. Instead of changing yourself to fit other people's standards of beauty, it's better to learn to accept yourself first. After all, no matter how perfect you are, others will always find flaws in you.

Can’t believe that I said something this profound

[axailslink]

Hey can I request a angsty fic with Scotty basically the readers ex pops back up and wants to rekindle things, and the reader reassuring Scotty that she doesn’t want them.💜

Your frown tears me apart

(Scotty) Vivienne Scott x poc FEM reader

Smmary: your ex of two years comes back into your life trying to rekindle an old flame and Scotty starts to get a bit insecure and unsure of your current relationship stability. Although she isn't aware that the relationship wasn't a good one.

Scotty watches as you get dressed for work "I have someone I have to meet today so I won't be coming home right after work can you handle everything on your own?" She nods but of course your speak of a possible disappearance from her usual day has her questioning you "someone?" You nod as you fasten your bra "yeah my ex just moved back and wants to see me." Scotty of course has even more questions now "ex? Want to see you?" You nod "yes babe." Scotty has this obvious frown when she doesn't like something and she doesn't like this at all. You read her facial expression and grab her face "Scotty stop you have nothing to worry about it was a long time ago she means nothing" of course your girlfriend wants to believe you but she can't. She can't she just can't bring herself to believe such bullshit. "You can never stop loving someone" you nod in agreement "yes that's true but my love for her has boiled down to only that of a small pea." Scotty nods trying to convince herself as you straddle her lap and force her to look at you "Vivienne Scott you have nothing to worry about she lost her chance years ago we were kids... You mean the world to me that's just a reminder. What I had with her is long gone but the love I have for you is here to stay I buy groceries, I cook, I clean and I love you so fuck her." Scotty nods gently letting her hand rub your lower back "then don't go" you sigh "I already told her I would however you can join me so you can see that your girl will be on her best behavior." She smiles as you peck her lips "my girl?" You nod as she flips you both around so that your back is against the soft sheets. "You're going to make me late" she laughs as she kisses down your neck "you get fired I can just get you to work with me" you laugh as your hand rubs the shaved part of her head "that can never happen then I'd really be late" she laughs and kisses you again "every day."

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

Work went well you couldn't stop talking about your girlfriend as usual which had Dean wanting to jump out of the closest available window. He could handle Scotty because she rambles and rambles but she's easy to ignore you don't just ramble you reenact, yell and grab hold of him to keep him engaged in the story. So when you're finally off the clock he silently cheers you of course grab some lunch for you, Scotty, and her mother on your way home. You're surprised though to see Scotty dressed and wandering around the house doing your daily chores "babe you had work today right?" She shakes her head "no I called in sick I have something more important to worry about at the moment the stake of my relationship." You sigh and place the paper bag down "Scotty I thought we discussed this this morning you weren't going to do this the whole jealous creeper thing. You know I love you." Scotty sighs and dries her wet hands "we didn't discuss anything Y/n we had sex and you left for work" you open the bag and hand her a sandwich "I don't like this jealousy Scotty I really don't like this fucking side of you eat so we can leave." You shove the sandwich in her hand and push past her taking the bag with you as you go to her mother's room.

Her mother can see it written all over your face when you walk in the room not that that truly matters she also heard it "I'm sorry she's just acting out of character jealousy? Scotty has never been jealous she's never even acknowledged the people who took passing glances at me because she knows no one could love me more than her." her mother smiles to herself "you're right that is out of character for her but maybe it's because of who she's worried about" you pause and shrug "my ex?" Her mother nods "you two have history in her eyes that's a whole past she knows nothing about so think like her she's probably running through everything that person could do better for you. Can they cook better? Can they treat you better? Can they love you better?" You nod slowly "oh" you hand her mother the sandwich "I got it just like you like it-" you mock her "no healthy shit but don't tell Scotty she'd hate me for it." Her mother smiles and pats your shoulder "she could never hate you she loves you too much."

As Scotty sits and eats her sandwich she's wondering just about everything which is why you join her in the kitchen and just stare at her until she's had enough. "What!?" You raise a brow and her face immediately softens "I didn't mean to yell I'm just-" irritated? Jealous? Upset?" She sucks her teeth as she dusts of her hands. "Just tell me she means nothing absolutely nothing tell me you don't have dreams about her please tell me I'm the only one." You grab Scotty's arms seeing her so shaken and worried and has you wanting to cry. "Not anymore Viv you're the light of my life really your smile warms my heart and you frown tears me apart."

She nods and you hug her immediately cradling her head into the hug and kissing her cheek "trust me she's a real peice of shit... Love I'm not going anywhere and I love you more than everyone on the earth combined"

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

You two arrive at the cafe and there she is you can see Scotty visibly tense up but you kiss her cheek "I think you should get a different table you're easily upsetting and I don't want to have to comfort you through a panic attack in front of all these people." She nods and stays back as you sit in front of your ex with a smile on your face. "I ordered your favorite apple pie" you smile kindly which Scotty finds annoying as she watches from a distance "my favorites have changed you're behind a few years I enjoy something different now..." You glance at the cup of coffee and smile "I also don't drink coffee anymore." She nods "okay so that's how this is going to be?" you nod as you cross your legs skirt rising just above your thigh "yes that's how this is going to be." She smiles softly.

"I missed you I didn't want to leave you but I had no choice" you watch as the smoke rises from the coffee and this causes you to wander just how hot this would feel on skin. "You leaving was the best day of my life it was the day when you could no longer use me. It was the day when I stopped being the sex object you wanted and that's fine. You don't get to come back and act as if you were good to me." She sucks her teeth her soft and sweet facade drops with the blink of an eye "then why come here?" You smile and glance back at your girlfriend "just to say fuck you and to leave you with your thoughts as I leave with my future wife." You get up and she grabs your arm causing Scotty to immediately jump up but you place your hand on her tummy gently shaking your head. "You remember that knife I stabbed you with the night you yelled at me and hit me? I still have that knife and you still have that scar would you like another?" She lets you go and you can see Scotty is visibly shaken you grab her hand and pull her out of the cafe. "You stabbed her?" You keep walking towards your car "yes with very good reason she raised her voice at me." Scotty nods slowly remembering when she raised her voice at you earlier. "...I would never stab you Scotty I felt threatened that night my life was in danger that's why she has that scar I spoke of." Scotty catches you in an unexpected kiss hands sitting in your waist "I know that should scare me but it doesn't I love just how much you can take care of yourself." You smile and look her up and down "if you were a guy you'd have a major boner right now wouldn't you?" Scotty bursts into laughter "I'm going to the car. I'm not even answering that!" You follow behind her both of your hands still intertwined.

A/n: unedited because I just didn't feel like it but I knew I had to post something today. So please love this as much as you love the older fics of mine.

@iwillbiteabitch

[maruzzewrites]

nightsky.

astarion reflects upon the nightsky; astarion & karlach | if you want to buy me a ko-fi!

The night moves on with the chatter and the laugher, the stars as only witnesses of a moment of joy among people who had so much to lose, and won.

Astarion stands a bit aside, away from the last remains of a crowd. People chatting, people enjoying an evening without thoughts, and he is reminded every second of what he could never have. He hoped that being away would alleviate the pain, but it lingers around him like an injury never healed.

He dreamed of this moment, these moments, for years. Centuries. And he still cannot shed the weight of what he experienced to enjoy one night like a normal person, without the baggage that comes with being Astarion. He barely even remembers how to be himself, what he would do in these situations if he isn’t the one used to lure one more victim into the belly of a beast.

And around him, everyone is simple. And joyful. Drunk on alcohol that is cheap, and full of food that sat in crates for days and days. Scorned by the druids that swear to protect nature, but their definition of nature is their own, and yet every single one of these people is happy. The rivers of good will run deep, and run far, but never quite as far as necessary for him to be free before mere days ago.

It makes his blood boil to see the serenity with which people go on about their business, about even terrible things they have to endure.

Betrayed, rejected, manipulated, everything under the sun. And yet he is the one who can’t stomach the most mundane of interactions without having to rely on the same old act, the survival instructions he built for his own good during the years.

He can only stay away, nursing his own bottle of wine.

Alone.

That is, until someone loud and warm like the sun he just learnt to enjoy again comes by. She laughs like all the others, maybe with more glee and bliss than anyone else, and she greets him into this night with a toothy smile, “Hey! Why are you here all by yourself?”

Astarion observes Karlach. Tall, imposing, gentle Karlach. The hound of the hells, depicted as bloodthirsty warrior is no more than a docile young woman who can drink someone under the table and has the enthusiasm to burn down a house. Quite literally.

Astarion should hate her. He should resent the way she can just avoid thinking about her own pain, while he can’t even remember who he was before he died. Yet, there is something endearing about the woman that pushes him to not be malicious to her.

Not entirely malicious, more like. He is still Astarion after all, catty and everything, “Maybe no one is good company enough for me, my dear.”

At that, Karlach laughs again. A genuine, deep kind of laughter that could appeal the most arid of hearts, if they are able at all to feel some type of positive emotion anymore. Astarion learnt long ago, vampirism dries up your ability to feel mildly, and everything becomes so much. He cannot even phantom what a pure vampire feels, if just a spawn like him has this experience.

In any case, that laughter both irritates and feeds into the growing affection he could see himself feel now that he is out of his own hell. It is difficult to trust again, to let his soul be soft and open to something that could hurt it again, but Astarion has the feeling that both sentiments he feels towards Karlach come from the same source: her past.

He has been robbed of the wonder one feels for the world, and there she is with the clock ticking inside of her, and she can laugh, smile, love with unbound enthusiasm. She embraces what comes to her when Astarion trembles at the mere thought of exposing his true self again, if there is anything there anymore, if there is anything to be saved anymore.

“Sorry, mate. I need a breather, but I don’t want to be alone.” Karlach breaks his train of thoughts with those simple words. She motions to lay down on the grass, nearby his tent and in his general presence.

“Who said you had my permission?” He asks, a bit annoyed with the newfound company that invited herself into his brooding space.

She chuckles again, a bit more sad now, as if to show once again that his choice is the one that will isolate him. Astarion knows that his actions are not those of someone who will be trusted, liked or cherished, but maybe he wants that and maybe he deserves that. If he doesn’t trust those he travel with, it’s more than natural they will return the same energy back at him, but for now he is exhausted of the pretense and the faking.

Only for tonight, he wishes he could linger in his hurt.

“C’mon! I will be silent as a mouse, promise!” She says, in that whine she usually uses the moment she wants something. Astarion heard it before, when she asks not to be left alone at camp or when she wishes to have one more ration of food before going to sleep. It is always about something harmless, inoffensive whether she gets it or not. She is not selfish, or demanding, but always wanting.

And what can he answer? Can he say no? He considers the options; as if he isn’t already in a precarious situation as a spawn, as if she wouldn’t be favored if it came to the point of being chosen, as if there is much more for him to lose and be left alone to fight whatever it is they need to go against from now on. He cannot have her upset with him, he chooses.

“Alright. Alright. But give me my space and my silence, darling.”

The only answer he gets is an excited, low little laugh that stays in the air long after it left Karlach’s lips. She first kneels down, just to lay back on the fresh grass, as her skin burns and warms up like it usually does. Astarion cannot help but let his eyes wander towards the tiefling after a few seconds, finding her with her eyes filled with stars and a smile on her face.

It is odd, the way the light played and reflected on her content features. The way the stars were bright, small and delicate inside of her and the way her eyes are so lively, drifting from one point to another, following imaginary patterns in the sky.

Astarion doesn’t know what it is, though, that pushes him to ask, “Is it that interesting?”

Karlach turns hear head towards him, surprised. She makes a confused noise as if to ask why he is talking to her, then she grins big and toothy, and answers with a light teasing, “So you don’t want me to talk, but ask me things anyway?”

Astarion is about to tell her to nevermind the question, to simply continue as she is doing, and he looks ahead as he resolves to avoid even thinking about her. But before he can act all puffy about it, Karlach looks back at the sky and sighs, “The stars are just so beautiful. I missed them.”

Astarion stays silent.

He raises his eyes to look over the dark expanse of the night sky, with stars dotting the black and blue with their intense light. The moon, hanging high, shines down into the nearby mirror of water and dances on the surface. Astarion has seen this sight so many times, as the night is all he has ever known in the last centuries, but tonight it’s different.

Tonight, even if with fear in his heart, Astarion walks these lands a free man without the worry of having to return home with a victim or to face some sort of torture. Tonight, the stars are witnessing his autonomy from a power he couldn’t oppose before, but now is merely a memory that lives miles away and won’t reach him easily.

Tonight, he is with people who profess to care for him. It is difficult to understand, to believe and to learn, but Karlach herself roars and acknowledges her immense need for affection and, in doing so, admits her care for others. Astarion can’t even attempt to seduce her, easy as it would be, because that body burns hot like the hells.

A funny thought, one he voices, “They look even more beautiful in your eyes, darling.”

If he cannot seduce her with physical affection, he can attempt to test the waters and do so with sweet nothings whispered as close as possible without harming himself. He sees her giggle at the compliment, he is sure the movement of her arm was supposed to be a light shove, but she rethinks before he is burnt, and her limb simply lays in the space between the two of them.

The gentle warmth coming from her hand, if he didn’t know better he is almost tempted to take it in his cold, dead ones to hold and seep into his flesh. He wonders how it is, to burn from the inside, and to have no beating heart. He smirks both for the reaction he got from her, and because of that bitter thought; his heart beats no more, he is pretty sure. If it does, it’s because of no natural cause.

But Karlach adores and loves, with all her soul, still. Despite the lack of heart, she is kind and sunny like a hot summer day, one you will curse for the heat but will miss once snow starts to settle on the streets. He still has a soul, doesn’t he? No one can take that one away from him.

Could he love and rejoice in the company of someone else, could he learn to enjoy his freedom like Karlach does, despite the years of constant torture weighting on both of them?

He cannot be anchored to the past, he thinks. If he wants to feel this soul wiggle and be moved, he cannot stay where it hurts and freezes. He needs a hot summer day to enjoy after a long, cold winter without sun.

And just as those thoughts start to crowd his mind, Karlach jumps on her feet and stretches her limbs, announcing, “Alright, mate. I’m gonna get something to drink, want any?”

For now, Astarion decides, he wants to get close the only way he knows how. For now, he touches known territory and he will see, eventually, if something new can grow from this sun that decided to revolve around him by chance.

“Bring me some wine, will you? And come back to talk with me, I think I need the company.” He smiles, seductive. Karlach blinks at the suggestion, but she laughs and tells him she will be back soon.

Astarion looks up, at the night sky.

The stars shine bright, lonely, but perhaps there is beauty even in things one knows already, if watched with new eyes.

[makutaibo]

"Again."

Gritting her teeth, Aresia stood, pushing herself up with her sword. The storm around her raged, feeling like a mirror of her frustration. She spat the bloody spittle from her mouth - she didn't remember biting her tongue, but this seemed the day for stupid mistakes like that - and watched the wind snatch it up, adding it to the torrent that raged around her.

"Why?" She looked up, fixing her father with a glare. He met her cold blue eyes with his red ones, his face showing no sign of it affecting him. He had shed his godly stature for the height he had had as a mortal, which meant that he was merely imposing as opposed to towering. "Are you trying to prove it to me? That I'm not ready?"

Her father pulled a sword from the air and fell into a defensive stance. "Stop posturing, Aresia. You are frustrated with yourself. Channel that frustration through your blade, not through empty words." He regarded her, and in that moment, his relaxed demeanour drove her past her boiling point. With a yell, she ran at him, determined to at least bloody him this time-

"Again."

Aresia found herself looking up at the storm above, lying flat on her back with her limbs splayed. Tears stung her eyes as she replayed how she got there. Her efforts this time had been nothing short of humiliating. She forced herself to sit up, slumping forward and falling in on herself as she did so. Her eyes found her sword to her right, but she made no move to pick it up. Shame choked her, and she closed her eyes to try and stop the hot tears that were leaking from them.

She felt her fathers hand on her shoulder. There was no insistence behind it, no guiding movement, simply a reminder that he was there. They remained like that for a long while, her crying, him lending comfort with his presence.

This was not the first time they had shared a moment like this. Her father was a stern teacher, and his methods drove her to frustration often. Every time, she expected him to get angry, to chastise her for her emotional outbursts. And yet, unlike every other person she had endured instruction from, he offered her the ability to feel. It still surprised her, sometimes.

In time, her tears dried up, leaving her sitting on the clouds to recover. She stole a glance at her father, and found him sitting more comfortably by her side, hand still on her shoulder. It was moments like these in which she felt most connected to him. In which she felt if she called him father, he would not correct her. At least, not immediately.

She understood why. Her father was, above all else, a god. Every god that survived the Mortal War agreed to the Covenant, an agreement forbidding the murder of the gods, and prohibiting the gods from consorting with mortals. Of course, every god broke the second rule almost immediately, her father included. However, Aresia knew that he had done that for duty. Initially, she had considered him callous for breaking the covenant for duty, rather than for the children he had decided to take in and train, but as she had grown older, that had changed.

"Does it truly bother you so much, Aresia? That I have sent Omir on his path through the world while you still train?" Her father's voice was calm as the wind, which had stilled as they had sat in silence.

Aresia could not help but scowl at the mention of her brother. Yes, he was three years her senior at 18, but had the same lack of self-control he had as a ten year old. "He's a hothead, sir. Always has been. It feels unfair that I need to go through another hundred inane training sessions while he gets to go and experience the world for himself."

"I see." Her father's face furrowed as he took the time to contemplate her words. When he spoke, his words had adopted his 'teaching' cadence, a tone she was both grudgingly fond and intensely tired of.

"When you find yourself dealing with a young wyvern that is both abundant in energy and lacking in discipline, how do you teach it to behave?"

Aresia stopped herself from rolling her eyes. The fact that she, an orphan, still got to hear all about the various behavioural patterns of a wyvern from her father, just like every other child with Tholionic parents, seemed proof that fate both existed and served to deliver punchlines. "I don't know, sir. How do you teach unruly wyverns to behave?"

"You...," he paused to give her shoulder a slight shake, smiling gently as he did so, "let it run and fly around for a while, going every which way, only stopping it when it explicitly does things that are forbidden. Then, when it has tired itself out, you start teaching it in earnest."

"So what you're saying is that my brother is a hyperactive wyvern hatchling. Sounds about right." Aresia grinned, feeling at ease with the explanation.

"Aye. You, on the other hand, do not lack the level-headedness he has yet to learn. No. What you lack, young lady, is self-mastery. You are skilled, and have the ability to approach situations with calm and strategic thought, but you let your emotions get the better of you. Omir does not yet try to control himself, whereas you have yet to master holding on to that control."

"Bollocks." Aresia swore softly as she realized where this was going. "You want me to get frustrated, don't you?"

"Language, Aresia. You are not yet a soldier, and therefore are not allowed to curse like one." Her father removed his hand from her shoulder and stood. "But yes. I have found that there are few things that challenge self-mastery quite as effectively as tedious, repetitive sparring drills."

Aresia sighed and repeated the phrase that had been hammered into her mind relentlessly since she was first given a sword. "Every warrior must master themself, and mastery of oneself comes through self-control."

"Good to hear that you do remember my teachings, sometimes." Her father proffered a hand, and pulled her to her feet when she took it. Their eyes met, and in them, Aresia could see the same pain she felt, deep in her chest. The pain born from the wish to acknowledge the bond they shared, while knowing they cannot do so.

Her father, she had grown to understand, did not wish to be callous. In fact, she believed that, if he had the choice, he would gladly drop the pretence that she was anything less than his daughter. But her father was a man bound by duty, and she understood that part of that duty was balancing his responsibilities as the god of war and his oath to obey the covenant. If he acknowledged her as anything more than a favoured member of his Legion, he risked being forced to question his devotion to duty. She had also grown to understand that said devotion was the only thing keeping him from collapsing under the weight of what he was forced to be.

And if, by denying herself the ability to call him father anywhere outside her head, she helped in carrying that burden for him, well. It would be a pittance compared to the debt she owed him for his love. She smiled at him. "More than sometimes, Tholnair."

He smiled back, a rare smile that fully reached his eyes. Reaching down, he grabbed her sword, holding the hilt toward her. "Good. Now, again."

She took the hilt in her hand, feeling the weight of it. Then she nodded.

"Again."

[yetanotherfreakingfoodblog]

Chicken Paprikash

I continue to enjoy cooking chicken. I thought I had made some good chicken before (on this very blog!!!), but then 2023 came along. My friend gifted me some Hungarian paprika from her travels, so one day earlier this year I decided to make chicken paprikash...and it was a huge hit. The people I made it for were delighted. My partner: "top 5 chickens I've had in my life." My friend: "the ultimate comfort food, reminds me of my grandma." My other friend: "when are we having that again?" You get the idea.

I used this NYT Cooking recipe, mostly. The best thing about this recipe is the comments. I am not Hungarian. I thank the Hungarians for introducing the world to chicken paprikash. I loved having chicken paprikash when I was there in 2008, and I love the comments on this recipe. They are largely an argument over whether this is "really chicken paprikash" or not. One helpful comment says "this is a very bad recipe and not just for Hungarians."

I leave judgment of the recipe up to the reader. All I have to say is that I made this dish, mostly following the recipe, and we loved it. Was it Hungarian? Probably not, as I am just a lady who made this in California for friends from all around. But was it delicious? It absolutely was, and I'll be making it many times over.

I skip the egg noodles and do dumplings instead, more on that in a moment.

Saucy Chicken

Ingredients

6-7 bone-in skin-on chicken thighs

1 tablespoon avocado oil

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 large onion (peeled & diced)

3 cloves garlic (peeled & minced) (I *still* hate working with fresh garlic, I tend to use pre-minced freeze dried garlic in stuff like this which overjoys me. Don't tell my purist friends).

3 tablespoons Hungarian paprika, sweet or hot or a combination -- I love this with hot paprika. I made this so many times that I ran out of the hot paprika my friend got me though, so I also ran through the sweet, which was also wonderful. When I ran out of hot paprika, I started adding about 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper to the 3 tbsp sweet paprika to get more heat. I thought 1/2 tsp was a small kick, I might go up to 1 tsp for a spicier dish.

3 tablespoons flour

14oz canned crushed tomatoes (the recipe calls for "1 cup" but I just put the whole 14oz can in and it's great).

1 cup vegetable broth (I only keep Better than Bouillon veggie broth around, I'm not really a broth purist so I default to veggie broth and this one is a good one. The recipe calls for chicken broth).

3/4 cup plain yogurt (the recipe calls for sour cream, but I always have yogurt around and rarely have sour cream. Recommend using a thicker yogurt, I like Strauss Greek. I also think this recipe is totally fine with less yogurt than 3/4 cup).

Dumpling ingredients

6 eggs

1.5 cups flour

a little salt

more vegetable broth

Recipe

Preheat oven to 400. Season chicken "aggressively" with salt & pepper.

Heat 1tbsp avocado oil and 1 tbsp butter in a large Dutch oven on high. Sear the chicken in batches, skin-side down, until golden & crisp, 8-10 min. Turn the chicken over and sear the non-skin side for ~7 minutes. Remove to a plate to rest.

Return pot to stove. Add onion to the schmaltz in the pot. Cook, stirring & scraping frequently, for ~5 min.

Add garlic, stir again, cook til softened (~3-4 min)

Add paprika & flour, stir well to combine. Cook until fragrant and the taste of flour has been cooked out, 4-5 min. (It will be dry, it's ok, toasty toasty!)

Add tomatoes and broth. Stir together, then nestle the chicken back in skin side up. Slide the pot into the oven (uncovered!) and bake for 25-30 min, until chicken is cooked to 165 and sauce is a bit thicker.

While the chicken bakes, make dumplings! Bring ~4 cups veggie broth to a boil in a medium saucepan. Whisk together the eggs, flour, and salt. I use a 1 tablespoon cookie scoop (filled halfway) to drop dumpling batter into the boiling broth. (I wish I had a smaller scoop, my dumplings usually turn out on the larger side, but they're really unfussy and supposed to be rustic. You can also use your hands and a regular spoon!). They're done when they're floating, or a bit after. Use a slotted spoon to bring them out. You might need to do this in batches.

Take the chicken pot out of the oven. Remove the chicken to a plate with tongs, then stir the yogurt into the sauce. Put the chicken back into the pot. Serve chicken over the dumplings!

[hobiiiiiworld]

Hate Game | PJM + MYG - Chapter 5

⇢ Parting ways

Synopsis: 

Onus

/ˈəʊnəs/

noun something that is one's duty or responsibility.

__________

Jimin loses his brother. His father loses his first born son, the heir of his company, leaving it up to Jimin to keep his father´s company in the Park family. Jimin would never have pictured himself marrying out of duty. However, Mr. Min, who only married Jimin so he could take over the company, isn´t exactly how Jimin pictured. Now, all he wants is to make Yoongi regret his decision to marry for money.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Min Yoongi | Kim Seokjin x Kim Namjoon

Genres: Marriage out of duty | Angst | Emotional Hurt

Word Count: 2,3K

TW: Jimin and Hoseok break up.

Notes: I FEEL SO BAD FOR HOSEOK I´M SO SORRY MY BOO I LOVE YOU

Read on Ao3

For the rest of the week, Jimin tries his best to get some piece of himself back before he has to return to work. He goes to the park, but ends up crying when a dog reminds him of their childhood pet that was named, fed and walked by Ji and Jimin. He tries to work out, but has to cut the session short when he hears a voice painfully similar to Ji´s and trips, hurting himself. Jimin even joins his friends to a jazz-bar on Wednesday, obviously initiated by the ever so elated Taehyung. The night ends when Jimin drinks one too many cosmopolitans and trows up in the ice-bucket. 

Friday is spent mending his throbbing head and unsettled stomach, messaging Teahyung with promises that yesterday was the last time he will drink ever again, and catching up on TV-shows. By the time Hoseok comes back from work Jimin feels much better, almost back to normal. 

While Hoseok is in the shower, Jimin decides to start dinner in the kitchen, which is where Hoseok finds him when he comes back. Hoseok´s hair is wet and the joggers hang low on his hips and his torso is glistening after his half-assed drying ritual, a lazy smile tugging on his lips as he moves over to Jimin. Normally, this sight would rile Jimin up, and normally they would forget about dinner, and normally Jimin would let Hoseok lead him to the bedroom. But normal isn't a state Jimin can remember anymore. Now, all he knows is how his chest clenches and his insides churn with resentment when he sees Hoseok. 

"What can I do to help?" Hoseok asks, his hands going around Jimin´s waist as he takes a stance right behind him. 

"Grabbing a shirt could be a start," Jimin mutters, continuing cutting the carrots as if Hoseok isn't kissing the curve of his neck. 

"Why? Am I distracting you?" asks Hoseok, teasing. 

"In fact, yes. And we have a dinner to make." 

"We could always forget about dinner," Hoseok suggest as he slips his hand beneath Jimin´s shirt, pulling him closer. He keeps kissing, moving from the nape of Jimin´s neck to the shoulder. This whole thing wouldn't be annoying if Hoseok had dried himself off properly so  Jimin´s shirt wasn't getting wet in the process. 

Both of them can tell what Hoseok is after, but Jimin isn't in the headspace to go there. He grabs Hoseok´s hand to stop him.

"I'm not in the mood," Jimin says, turning back to the carrots. 

"Sorry," Hoseok removes himself completely, disappearing from the kitchen for a few seconds before returning, dry and dressed this time. It's silent as they chop and boil and fry. Jimin doesn't want to speak because his headache has returned, and Hoseok doesn't know what he can say to Jimin that won't make him mad, and decides silence is the best option. Especially after the rejection. Hoseok sets the table as Jimin plates their food. 

"How was your day?" Hoseok asks as soon as they're both sitting by the table. 

"Long. I´ve had a headache and my stomach still isn't alright." 

"So yesterday was fun, then?" Hoseok tries to humor Jimin, who would much rather eat in silence.

"Yes and no. I ended up drinking too much, Tae had to take me home." Jimin remembers a time he would have laughed and told a fun story about the night prior, even if it ended badly. He just can't get himself to do that, now.

"Good on Tae. I'm glad you have him." 

"Yeah. What about your day?" asks Jimin. 

"Listen, Jimin…" Hoseok hesitates, gaining Jimin´s attention. Hoseok is looking down at his plate, a concentrated frown apparent as he bites his lip. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately, and not just because of what happened with you brother, but also because… Well, I guess it's more about us than about you. Something's been stuck on my mind that maybe you can answer for me. I know…" he hesitates again, looking up. "Lately things have been so weird between us, and it feels like no matter what I do, it makes you mad. Like you might… hate me? I don't know. And I've tried to just push it away, because I know you don't hate me," Hoseok laughs bitterly. "But now, I don't even know what to think or do anymore. I'm not sure if it's just grief or if it's actually me anymore." 

"Well... ehm…," Jimin sighs, realizing he can't postpone this any further. "I can't explain it, but every time I look at you something in me just snaps." 

"So you do hate me?" Hoseok asks, voice trembling.

"It's not that I hate you. I love you. It's becoming very clear to me what I'm missing out on, and it sucks I have to let you go. All I can think about when I'm with you is how I won't have you for the rest of my life, even when I would want nothing else, you know? I feel everything I'm going to miss, and it angers how unfair this is." There is a slight pause where Jimin looks down. "Also, we should be letting each other go, but you're holding on too tight."

"You should have told me that, I would have listened," Hoseok says aspirated. "I thought you needed me now, more than ever, which is why I wanted to hold on. You just lost Ji, and I thought I did the right thin by not turning my back to you." Hoseok is staring at Jimin, eyes hard and lips turned to a tight line. "I would have stepped back if you asked me to." 

"But even when I tried to tell you what I needed, you didn't listen," Jimin says, thinking back to the times he wished for Hoseok to just let him go. "What I needed wasn't you or your love, I needed you to listen to what I told you. When I said you should leave, I meant that. When I said I would miss you I didn't say that because I wanted you to stay, I said that because I didn't want to have to fight." 

Hoseok is getting mad, Jimin doesn't even need to look at him to feel the tension in the room shifting to a suffocatingly thick tightness.

"You could have said that, then. Instead you have been pushing me away, without saying anything, making me feel awful and sad and annoying. It tried so hard being understanding and patient, and now you're telling me you've just been annoyed at me for that exact reason?" 

"I've been hurting, Hoseok. And you can't tell me you've been trying when all you've done is keep yourself locked up in that fucking happy-bubble of yours, ignoring my feelings. You've been here, singing and smiling and laughing meanwhile I've been fucking miserable," Jimin says, voice getting louder as his frustration rises. 

"I tried lightening the mood because you've been moping! Good to know my efforts have been useless."

"I´ve lost everything, Hoseok," Jimin gets up, needing an escape before he actually says something might regret. "So do not complain about me moping." 

"You can't use that as an excuse for everything!" Hoseok shouts, standing up as well. 

"Even now you won't fucking listen," Jimin scoffs, turning around. 

What do you want me to do then?" 

"I want you to fucking leave," Jimin says over his shoulder as he walks out of the kitchen. 

And he does. Jimin doesn't even make it to the bedroom before Hoseok is out of the apartment, the sound of the door slamming stopping Jimin in his tracks. Hoseok actually left. 

"Right," Jimin mutters, forcing himself to move. This is the best time to leave. The perfect time to part ways for good, never to see each other again. Now, he needs to get out of here before Hoseok comes back. Before he has to say goodbye face to face. Yes, this will be easier, leaving after a big fight. Maybe Hoseok can hate him and not feel as heartbroken that way. 

Without thinking he calls his dad, who picks up. "Hey," he says happily. 

"Jimin! I'm here with Yoongi, he says hello." 

Jimin ignores the greeting, feeling enough as it is. "Do you think I could move in with you for a couple of weeks? Things here kind of blew up, and I don't think I should stay here." Jimin waits a couple of seconds for the reply, which doesn't come. "Hello?" 

"What about you just move in with Yoongi right away? That way you won't have to move back and forth." 

The suggestion is awful, and Jimin would rather move to the streets than move in with Yoongi any sooner than he has to. "What does Yoongi think about that?" Jimin asks, praying he will say no.  Be the man I know you are, that I hope you are. Please, Jimin begs in his mind, kick me to the curb. 

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind eve a little bit!"

"Alright. Can you send me Yoongi´s number?" 

"Of course! Let me know if I can help with me move, alright?" 

"Will do." 

"And Jimin?" Jimin hums in reply. Jimin´s dad clears his throat. When he speaks next, his voice is low. "I'm sorry about all of this. I know you and Hoseok loved each other. Probably still do, right?" 

"Right," Jimin says, blinking rapidly to stop the stinging of his eyes. "Bye dad." 

The two of them hang up, and starts to pack his clothes into a bag. A couple of minutes late, Jimin gets a call from a number he doesn't have saved. 

"Hello, this is Jimin," he says, an empty bag now in hand and the closet door opened.

"It's Yoongi," comes from the phone. "Your dad asked me if you could move in with me? Today? Apparently you have to move out?" Yoongi asks incredibly.

Jimin sighs."I didn't know he would suggest me moving in with you. Then, I wouldn't have said anything, believe you me." 

"I was quite… ready for it myself, but he is my boss and father in law in the end, couldn't say no." 

"Should have," Jimin mutters, which clearly goes unnoticed by Yoongi. 

"Just so I know, how much stuff are you bringing?"

And Jimin is stupid, because why haven't he thought about the furniture and all their shared stuff. He bought the sofa with Hoseok. Same goes for the lamp and the bed and the nightstand and the cutlery and the pots and the pans. Everything is theirs. In a split second Jimin decides to leave it be. Hoseok can have it, Yoongi probably have all of these things anyway. 

"A couple of bags." 

"I´ll text you the address."

"Can't wait." Jimin hangs up like that. 

An hour later Yoongi and Jimin are stood in the elevator, two bags and a suitcase by their feet, containing everything Jimin now owns. The elevator ride up the sixth floor feels endlessly long, both of them painlessly aware of how alone they are about to be. How intertwined their lives are about to be. 

"Welcome home," Yoongi says as he opens the door for Jimin. Home is definitely not this place with it's gray walls and black furnitures and dark hallways. Home should be with the man Jimin just left, in their shared apartment with their future kids they always dreamed up together. Yoongi calling this home isn't like spreading salt in the wound. Not, it's like spreading chilling sauce in the wound, making his whole body feel hot and bothered and in pain. 

Yoongi is looking at him, nodding his head impatiently, urging Jimin to walk through the doors. What Yoongi can't see is the regret Jimin is feeling on his body, and the fight he is currently having with his instinct to run away. Running away won't fix this. So, he nods back, picks up the bags and walk through the doors. 

Yoongi gives him a quick tour of the apartment, each room the same gray color palette and minimalistic style He shows him the spare bedroom for last, which is a little bit of a mess. The bed is thankfully made, but there are boxes stacked against the wall and random shoes on the floor that are accompanies by books and pieces of clothing. Yoongi did definitely not expect Jimin here tonight. 

And Jimin might have said something snarky if his throat wasn't closed up. This new home doesn't feel like a home at all. 

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but is closes it quickly when the doorbell rings. Smiling to himself slightly, he walks to hallway. Curious, Jimin stays in the hallway, watching as Yoongi opens the door to a man in his early twenties with tattoos who smiles so brightly it almost lights up the whole room. The tattooed man bounces past the threshold, kissing Yoongi´s cheek.

"Honey I'm home!" he exclaims, holding up a white bag of takeaway. "Today I bring you your favorite." And Jimin notices the way Yoongi is smiling towards the man, and the way Yoongi seems to open himself up to this man in front of him, and the way he softens under his smile. This tattooed man isn't Yoongi´s friend. No, he has to be more. 

The black hole in Jimin´s stomach is growing. Je just threw away his whole relationship meanwhile Yoongi clearly wouldn't have cared, having his own boyfriend. Carefully to not attract attention, he closes the door behind him and throws himself on the bed. It's no point in fighting the tears when they're breaking down his feeble attempts at emotional control like water breaks through thin paper. He never stood a chance. 

[reidjumpers]

would you ever write something along the line of the minimal loss episode reimagined. so instead of emily being in the ep it’s the reader and spence has the biggest crush on her. it kills him knowing that she’s getting hit and bruised. yeah i don’t know if you would do it but i love that idea.

GUESS WHAT I really love this idea too so I tried to rewrite Minimal Loss reimagined. Please emphasize on tried.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer could feel his blood run cold at the question Benjamin Cyrus fired at him and you. He subtly glanced towards your direction, pressing his lips and tried his best to maintain his composure. He watched you shift on your seat a little bit, eyeing the gun on Cyrus’s hand intensely.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in faux confusion.

“God will forgive me for what I must do,” Cyrus said calmly. Too calmly. Spencer gulped as he heard the clicking sound of his gun. He caught the sight of you gaping and eyes widened in horror as a gun aimed against his head.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One of you does. Who is it?”

“Me,” your voice was firm, slicing through the thick tension. Spencer slowly turned his head towards you with a wide eye. You glared at him with an eye that screamed don’t you dare at him, determination and fear swirled together in your eyes made him shiver. He could feel dread and helplessness slowly sinking in. “It was me.”

Cyrus lowered his gun that aimed at Spencer, slowly turned his direction towards you. Spencer shot you a glare and silently demanded you for explanation at your stupid sacrifice. You had just deflated your own fear and bargained for your safety in order to save him. There was a bitter taste curled and overwhelmed him at the tip of his tongue upon knowing he couldn’t do anything to diffuse the situation.

Spencer let his shoulder sink a little bit as Cyrus silently holstered his gun into his pants, allowing himself a brief relief upon knowing that he didn’t have to watch your demise today. It took everything inside him not to jump and inserted himself in between you and Cyrus as he yanked you to the ground by hair and a sound of your pained whimper filled the room. He couldn’t even bring himself to flinch when a rifle aimed towards him as his eyes fixated on the sight of you being dragged across the room.

“I told you not to put me in this position!” Cyrus snarked, releasing his hold on you and slammed you to the concrete floor. Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and could feel the tip of his fingertips go frozen as dread and fear pumped rapidly into his system.

The sound of you being slapped filled the room made him flinch a little bit. He glanced briefly towards the rifle against him, giving him a brief break from the horrifying sight before him. Spencer could feel anger and disappointment filled him with the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything besides watching you being beaten mercilessly by Cyrus. It was supposed to be him. It was supposed to be him who took all the beating instead of you. You were everything good left in the world and you are a living reminder that there are lights and hope in life despite all the horror and worst face of humanity he was constantly being contaminated with.

What would he do if you were gone then? The brief horrifying thought flashed before his eyes as he watched Cyrus slammed your defenseless body into the ground again. He could feel hot tears prickling in his eyes at the thought of living his life in void and helplessness if you ceased to exist before his eyes. Spencer collapsed his balled fist into his lap as the realization that he couldn’t live without you washed through him.

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut as your body was slammed against the wall and hit the mirror, refusing to picture the sharp shard of glass cutting your skin.

“Proverb 23rd tells us that bloods and wounds cleanse out evil,” Cyrus recited as he yanked you by the collar again and slammed you against the wall. Spencer could feel anger and disdain boiled inside him as he watched your body helplessly fall into the floor after the impact of your collision with the wall.

“I can take it,” you said with a firm voice. Spencer caught your eyes briefly as your eyes flickered in between him and Cyrus that stood in between you and him.

His heart fell into the bottom of his stomach like a heavy sandbag. He knew what you meant from your firm stares alone. You only said that to reassure him and signal the team outside not to come in a rush. It was a minimal loss situation, Spencer had concluded. He drew a sharp breath as he mentally prepared himself for a situation where he couldn’t possibly save everyone and had to accept however many people he could save while others perished.

Spencer glanced up to meet your eyes again before Cyrus moved to block his sight. He furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of your eyes screaming I’m fine, I’m okay at him with blood flowing freely from your broken nose. Dread settled painfully in his bones that the possibility of the team having to choose between your life or his was too close than he liked.

He blinked his eyes to shoo away the tears that threatened to fall. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t risk blowing up another cover that guaranteed his life when you had sacrificed yours for him.

Cyrus beat and slapped you for another round with disdain painted clearly on his face. “Pride comes before the fall,” he said as he punched your stomach and slammed you to the floor, thinking you were antagonizing him as you repeatedly said you could take it. Spencer let out a relieved sigh as Cyrus took a step back from you and left you shaking with pain on the ground, instructed Cristopher to tie you up and took you upstairs.

Not today, he reassured himself. Forcing himself to be satisfied and grateful for your spared life. Not today.

***

Spencer had just successfully coaxed Cyrus into testing the negotiator for the FBI and proving them that they were not a liar and ensuring your safety. Disgust and anger brewing at the pit of his stomach every time Cyrus glanced his eyes towards him. He somewhat marveled at the plain trust Cyrus gave him effortlessly. The memory of him beating you hadn’t left his mind, still painted fresh and clear as if it still happened before his eyes. He had to mentally restrain himself from glaring in disgust at the thought of Cyrus molesting a child and beating you up until bloody and bruised.

“What is it, Christopher?” Cyrus addressed his man that had been trying to shot down Spencer’s suggestion regarding the situation. Only then Spencer turned his attention fully at him who had been pacing around in agitation repeatedly.

“Some of them had been talking about leaving,” he sighed.

“Leaving?” Cyrus pressed his lips together as Christopher affirmed his question. Spencer balled his fist and hid it inside the pocket of his pants as he waited in antagonizing anticipation with whatever next step Cyrus would take. “Wake the baby. Let’s get them meet the orphan that they made.”

Spencer nodded mutely at Cyrus’s decision. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding this whole time, letting himself loose a little bit and allowed himself to feel relief washed through him. Cyrus had taken the big bait and he had ensured your safety with his lies and negotiation skill. It was the least thing he could do after what you did for him.

He knew he would be damned if he couldn’t get you out of his god forsaken place alive. For now he just has to give and surrender with whatever fate is waiting for him into the hands of the team waiting outside. He took one longing glance outside from the window, wishing that he would be staring into the starless sky with you right now.

***

Spencer watched from the back silently as the members of the cult filled the empty chair inside the chapel one by one. What was once an empty and quiet chapel now buzzing with life and the air was stale and raked with fear. The negotiation test went as smoothly as Spencer could wished for. He heard Rossi rattling out your identity to Cyrus in exchange for your safety from a speaker phone as they released the orphan into the team outside.

You emerged from the opposite end of the chapel, a swarm of children and women pushed through from behind you. Spencer stared and watched the way the sunlight that slips through the chapel window fell into your skin. The glowing sunlight from behind your back casted a halo behind your figure. He noticed that your blood had been cleaned up and there were a few specks of dried blood on the collar of your shirt. Some newly formed bruises littered your face, angry and red and was a painful sight to behold. He hated it.

Cyrus was listing out names from the list he had written the day before as Spencer slowly made his way towards you. Everyone’s attention was focused on their leader calling out the names on the altar, but Spencer’s focus was solely on you. Your eyes were watching Cyrus solemnly as you leaned yourself into the wall to support your weight.

Spencer lifted his hand to touch your face and stopped midair before he realized a tad bit too late. His finger twitched painfully with a burning desire to feel you underneath his fingertips, but he couldn’t risk another round of beating and blowing up plans that had been rolling quite smoothly so far.

Guilt surged inside him like the sea, disdain and bitterness brewing and threatening to explode from the bottom of his stomach. He could feel himself dying a little bit inside at the frightening state you were in, all because you were sacrificing your life for him. For his sake when he wasn’t even sure he deserved it.

You finally acknowledged his presence and spared him a glance. Your eyebrows furrowed together in distress and Spencer had to restrain himself from the temptation to put his thumb in between your eyebrows and smoothen out your stress wrinkle between your eyebrows. If he could take away all your pain, he would.

“He looks pissed,” you whisper-yelling at him. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to respond to your words. Even after you took the downfall and hard beatings for him, you still think about other’s well-being instead of yours.

You took another glance towards him from the lack of response from his part. Your eyes scanned his face briefly before your lips twitched into a soft, reassuring smile. “I’m okay. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Spencer shook his head, refusing to believe your words. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and full of regret scratching his throat painfully.

“No, no,” you shook your head and quickly squashed his apology. “No apologies. We both know one of us has to take it.”

“But why should it be you?” Spencer hissed through his greeted teeth. His distress and agitation, and overall emotions that he had been trying to tuck and buried it away seeped into the surface. He could feel his mask cracking and threatened to be broken, and he was thankful for the roaring voice of Cyrus listing out names that masked his own. “Why should it be you? Why couldn’t it be me?”

“He had a gun against your head, Reid!” you hissed back with an equal amount of emotions laced on your voice. “I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t let them kill you. I know they would kill you first if one of us refused to answer. I can’t, Spencer, I—” you took a sharp breath and glanced away from his prying wide eyes. He could hear your voice wavering and your eyes glossed with tears. “Look at the people he’s releasing.”

“It’s the one who failed the loyalty test,” he observed. The previous slip of emotions was being put to the back of his mind again as he noticed the new fact he just found. “I’ll get word to the team, wait for the sign from outside indicating what time the raid will come.”

You stared at him with a wide eye, confusion and fear swirled together. You looked so vulnerable and small like that, like a polished porcelain that could crumble into dust anytime. Spencer nodded firmly and gave you a reassuring smile, silently asking you to believe him. He almost jolted with surprise when you grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly and briefly, understanding what he was trying to do.

“Be careful,” you whispered.

He nodded and turned away to make his way to Cyrus, not believing himself to utter any single words without breaking down. He was determined to make sure you were safe and would make it out alive, whatever it takes.

“Told her she shouldn’t have blinded you like that,” Spencer told Cyrus with a faux exasperation and disappointment. He shuddered when Cyrus nodded sympathetically.

“To either of us,” he corrected him sympathetically, which made Spencer want to do nothing but curl up in disgust. Cyrus jerked his chin towards your direction and addressed Christopher, “Bring her back.”

Spencer watched you being dragged up by your upper arms into wherever they were keeping you. He forcefully gulped and shook away the lump of dread on his throat, disbanding it as soon as it was formed. His eyes were apologetic and yours were nothing but filled with determination and forced bravery.

Those who had failed for the test were ushered out of the farm through the front door. Spencer mentally counted the amount of people who walked out into a guaranteed safety, relieved that it held a much greater amount that he had prepared. It was only a matter of saving the rest and finding a way in for the team to bring you and him out of this place.

Cyrus was making his final and last negotiation call with Rossi, asking for a fried chicken and its sides for their last supper and the presence of media to document his sacrifice to God. A suicide attempt to bring down himself and his faithful fanatic followers was a more appealing option to him rather than surrender himself to the authority apparently. It was obvious from the first time Spencer stepped into the building, but it still didn’t fail to fill him with dread and fear.

“I’m always looking for signs of things to come,” Spencer explained to Christopher with a polite smile after he demanded how he had known Cyrus’s plan of final act of sacrifice all along. He maintained his gaze firmly and silently wishing that the team would catch his words through the parable microphone planted outside. It would be his only hope and way for them to come in.

***

Thick smog and fire blinded his sight and blocked his way. Spencer stumbled upon a block of brunt wooden log as Morgan dragged his limping body outside the chapel. Cyrus was dead, but Jesse had finished his suicide mission by blowing up the chapel and the rest of the building. He could hear sirens blaring outside and faint sounds of wails and fearful screams mixed together in the air.

The thought of you trapped inside the building flashed before his eyes for a moment. He didn’t have a moment to glance back to make sure about your whereabouts as he kept coughing and stumbling, Morgan’s grip still firm on his upper hand to drag him outside into safety. Fear started to paralyze his body that he nearly fell into the concrete fall face first. He just needed to see you, to make sure you were safe.

He didn’t know that the sight of armed soldiers and police cars could bring an immense amount of comfort for him. Spencer nearly cried at the overwhelming relief that he was out unharmed, slipped by the last strand of his hair from his ultimate demise. But he couldn’t allow himself to be relieved and comfortable before he knew where you were. Before he knew if you were safe.

“Spencer!” your voice came faintly in between the chaotic sirens and the sound of angry fire eating up the chapel. “Morgan!”

Spencer watched you squirm out of Emily’s embrace, running limpy towards him. He knew he had burst into tears as soon as his eyes landed on you, safe, alive, although littered with bruises and dried blood on your shirt. His shoulders sank and shook as your arms wrapped around him tightly, all the horror, fear, and dread that he didn’t allow himself to feel in the past few days before had rushed into him and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

Relief and comfort of knowing you were safe in his arms was a breath of fresh air for his burned lungs. Usually he would squirm at the thought of touching someone, but the steady rise of your chest as you breath against him overcame all the unfortunate uncomfortable thoughts that came with the activity of hugging someone.

“You’re safe,” Spencer gasped as he released you from his embrace. He was aware that everyone was watching him hugging you and he fought all the mortification that slowly crept up his cheeks. He tried to mask it away as being a relief to find his coworker made it out alive from the sticky hostage situation.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassured him with one last firm squeeze on his arms. He wanted nothing but to pull you into his arms again, shield you for any harms lurking in the outside world. The anger that had been forgotten on the back of his mind surged inside him again. But he had to be satisfied with only one final squeeze as you parted from him to be checked by the paramedics.

The flight back to Quantico was quiet and a peaceful one. Everyone was winding up and breathing from the horror of the case that just wrapped up. Spencer tried his best to distract his mind with his book, burrowed in the furthest corner of the jet as the comforting and steady hum of the jet lulled him to sleep.

You slipped into the empty seat right across from him. A weak smile and a timid greeting were exchanged between you and silence followed right after. Spencer knew what conversation would follow after this, and he didn’t want to face it just yet. He had stopped reading from the moment you took the seat and watched him with careful eyes, but he still put up the act in the hope it would steer you away from bursting his bubble.

It did not. Spencer didn’t put up a fight as you gently took his book away from his hands and placed it gently on the table.

“I need you to listen to me,” you started with a firm voice. You were wearing the nice lilac shirt that Spencer liked, and the bruises on your face had started to heal and fade away. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault. It was my decision and I would do it again.”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but you tilted your head with your lips pressing together, discouraging him to counter your statement. He took a sharp breath and shook his head.

“Do you hear me?” your voice was softer this time. Your hands silently reached for his and held them gently. Your thumb made a soothing pattern on his knuckles, a reassuring and determined smile was on your face. Spencer couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “Do you hear me, Spencer? I will do it again. It wasn’t your fault. It was my decision.”

“I know,” he answered finally.

“Thank you.”

“Please know that I will do the same for you.”

His words had caught you off guard. You stared briefly before nodding, patting the top of his hand gently with your hand as you gave him a really bright smile. Spencer let himself sink further into the comfortable leather seat and let relief washed through him again. Everything will be okay.

[storiesforallfandoms]

lock the door ~ ben hargreeves;the umbrella academy

word count: 990

request?: yes!

“Yay requests are open! Your writing is amazing and you are one of my favs. I was wondering if I could request a ben hargreeves imagine with some smut. That boy has my heart and I need more imagines with him. If not then maybe something a lil steamy with him. Thank you”

description: in which he forgets to lock the bedroom door, and their least favorite (or favorite, depending on who you ask) sibling walks in

pairing: ben hargreeves x female!reader

warnings: swearing, slight smut

masterlist

One of the perks of having a huge house that was usually empty was having multiple options of where to get intimate without the fear of getting caught. Your and Ben’s choice for the day: the shower.

You guys were sure it was the safest place to go. No one walked into a bathroom with the shower going, even if the door was unlocked. As long as the two of you remained quiet enough so that anyone who may come home couldn’t hear you, you were set for at least 40 minutes - an hour if the hot water cooperated.

That’s where you found yourself on that particular day: your legs wrapped around Ben’s waist, his dick deep inside of you as he lifted you up and down on him, the still boiling hot water raining down on your back.

Your head was against Ben’s shoulder, his bare skin pulled between your teeth as you tried to muffle your moans. Your slight biting was causing Ben to let out low groans into your ear.

Suddenly, you both heard the doorknob turn and the bathroom door squeak open. Ben was quick to hold you to him and you quickly buried your head in his neck in order to keep any accidental sounds from coming out.

“Ben, you’ve been in here for so long, I gotta piss,” came Klaus’ voice.

Ben rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "There’s like a million bathrooms in this place.”

“There’s two, only one of them has an actual toilet and it’s this one.”

Ben let out a frustrated noise. “Okay, just...just give me a minute, okay? I’m almost done.”

“No man, I can’t wait! I gotta pee now!”

You tried not to giggle as you heard Klaus opening the toilet seat lid.

“No Klaus!” Ben snapped. “Just get out!”

“Why?!”

“Because I don’t wanna listen to you taking a fucking piss!”

Suddenly, Ben’s grip faltered for just a second, causing you to slip. In a moment of fear, you let out a squeal and tightened your grip around Ben’s neck, trying to keep yourself from falling. Ben put a hand on the wall to steady the both of you, holding you tighter with his other hand.

There was a moment of silence. There was no way Klaus didn’t hear the sound you made, and there was no way he’d ever think it could possibly be Ben. He definitely knew, and knowing Klaus, he’d never let you or Ben live that down.

“Okay,” Klaus finally said. “I’ll go pee outside. You can finish your...shower. I’ll lock the door behind me so no one else walks in on your...shower.”

The door basically slammed behind him, but you could still hear Klaus’ laugh on the other side.

Ben helped pulled you off of him and gently set you down on the shower floor. Your legs were so wobbly from pleasure and from lack of use you had to sit on the floor. The two of you looked at each other for a long time, sending each other a silent message as Ben reached to turn the shower off: the mood was effectively ruined.

The two of you dried yourselves off and re-dressed. You were dreading stepping out of the bathroom and having to face Klaus.

“Maybe he left the house,” Ben said. “Maybe he went to meet up with his other junkie friends and we can get out before he comes back.”

“You’d have to come back eventually, Ben, you live here,” you reminded him.

“I could stay with you.”

“You could, but Klaus is your brother. You can’t run from him forever.”

Ben looked as though he were thinking for a moment before finally letting out a sigh of frustration and opening the bathroom door. A rush of cold air filled the warm bathroom as you followed Ben out and to his room.

On the way to his room, you heard a door open - Klaus’ door. You both shared another look before turning to look at Klaus.

“Have a nice shower you two?” he asked, a smirk on his face.

“Fuck off, Klaus,” Ben retorted. “You better not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Klaus shrugged. “Who would I tell that would actually listen? Luther and Allison are too busy sucking face, Diego doesn’t give a shit, Five is too young to hear that stuff, and Vanya...well Vanya also doesn’t give a shit. Pogo may want to know, just so he doesn’t accidentally walk into anything he doesn’t wanna see like I did.”

“Don’t you dare tell Pogo,” Ben hissed.

You put a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down. He looked down at you and you offered him a small smile. He smiled back and allowed you to step away from him, approaching Klaus.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone about what you saw, Klaus,” you told him. “Not your siblings, not your robo-mom, and certainly not Pogo. You hear me?”

Klaus raised an eyebrow at you. “And why wouldn’t I do that?”

“Because if you do I will rip your nuts off and shove them down your own throat, do I make myself clear there?”

Klaus’ eyes widened and his legs crossed. He nodded, unable to get his voice to work, before turning back into his room and slamming the door shut. Ben’s eyes were just as wide as Klaus’ had been, but the smile on his face was more impressed than Klaus’ had been.

“That was so hot,” he said, approaching you and kissing you again. “I think I’m definitely in the mood again.”

You giggled and kissed him again, your moment being ruined as Klaus called, “Go to your fucking bedroom this time!��

The two of you laughed as Ben swept you up in his arms and carried you to his room, far away from Klaus’ room and making sure to lock the door behind him this time.

[sour--disposition]

Damage Control

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

This is Part 2 to Bad Girlfriend, which you can find here

You looked down to your phone, rolling your eyes at the name and photo popping up on the screen. “Hello”, you sighed, answering the call and sitting back down on the sofa.

“Y/N…”, Ethan trailed off. “We really need to talk to you. Harry’s really not doing well and we don’t know what else we can do to try and help him”, he told you.

You let your head fall back against the back of the sofa, letting out a deep breath. “I know you hate me and the rest of the boys and Harry, but he needs you”, Ethan begged.

“Where are you?”, you asked heavily.

“We’re all at Harry’s”, Ethan told you. “Thank you”.

Within half an hour, you’d managed to navigate the London traffic that separated both yours and Harry’s apartments. You were still pulling the hoodie over your head when you walked into the lift and hit the button for Harry’s floor. Ethan was waiting for you outside of the front door, arms crossed over his chest as he paced around a small section of the corridor.

“Hey”, he sighed, a small ounce of relief seeming to wash over him.

“Where is he?”, you asked instead of a greeting. Ethan nodded, and motioned for you to follow him into the apartment. As you expected, he led you down to Harry’s room. You passed the living room, where a multitude of shoes and coats had been discarded, and straight into the bedroom where the rest of the Sidemen and Cal congregated.

You got a few looks from some of the boys as you walked through the group and made a beeline for Harry’s bed. “Hey”, you whispered, perching yourself on the side of his bed.

Harry looked up at you, tears immediately filling his eyes. He pulled the duvet up and around his face more, trying to hide his blotchy skin and the dried tear tracks that you’d already noticed. “What’s this about?”, you asked him quietly.

“He won’t speak to us”, Josh said, voice laced with frustration and worry. You nodded at him before turning back to face Harry.

“I can’t help if you don’t speak to me”, you told him. 

As much as Harry had hurt you, nothing hurt more than walking away from his front door after returning the cardboard box with his stuff in it. Seeing him like this, as a shell of the person you thought you were going to spend forever with, was crushing.

You rested your palm on the side of Harry’s face, feeling the rough facial hair that had been building up on his cheeks since you’d last left his apartment. “Harry”, you whispered. You left your spot on the side of the bed in favour of kneeling on the floor so you could come face to face with him, chin propped on his mattress. You let a hand rest on his hair, scratching his scalp gently. “Please”.

“I’m so sorry”, he choked suddenly. “I’m so sorry”, he repeated, just as brokenly.

Fresh tears were running down Harry’s cheeks, dampening the pillowcase under his face. “Is that what’s caused this?”, you asked him gently, swooping your thumb down to wipe away a few of his tears. Harry’s nod was barely noticeable. “Will you talk to me about it?”, you asked, voice still just as soft.

Harry’s eyes met yours before darting around the room. You could see when he’d made his decision, recoiling back in on himself. “Tell you what, I’ll bring you a brew and give you a bit and then see how you’re doing”, you suggested, standing up from your spot and turning around to make your way out of the room.

You turned back to the boys, silently urging them out of the room before pulling Harry’s bedroom door shut and walking towards the kitchen to make him the promised cup of tea.

“Shouldn’t someone be in there with him?”, Vik asked.

“No”, you told him simply. “He’s not the best with people anyway but he’ll just be overwhelmed with this many people if he’s this upset”, you explained. As you waited for the kettle to boil, back rested against the kitchen counter, you turned to Cal. “How long has he been like this?”, you asked him.

“I mean, he’s been bad since you left him”, Cal said with a slight edge to his voice. “But he’s been bad since you brought his stuff round”, he sighed.

“Are you saying that this is my fault?”, you asked, voice turning defensive. The six other men in the room stiffened. Cal hadn’t been there for the blowout between you and Harry and you doubted that he’d been informed about anything that was said.

“Maybe this is a conversation for later”, Josh tried to mediate, voice hesitant and wary.

“No, she needs to hear that this is her fault”, Cal defended. “Bog’s in there on his arse because she’s a selfish cow”, he spat.

You scoffed, turning around to busy yourself with making Harry a cup of tea. “Look”, you said, before anyone could step in and cause any arguments. “You can think what you want about me, but I’m just trying to help Harry. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave”, you told him simply.

Cal was silent after that and stayed out of the way. He refused to look at the others who kept sending him funny looks and he stepped out of your way when you went to take Harry’s drink down to him. Your murmured ‘thank you’ when unacknowledged, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

Harry was in the same position that you’d left him in, bundled up in the duvet staring blankly ahead at the wall. “Here you go”, you said, placing the cup down on the side table, perching on the side of the bed as you did so. Your hand returned to his hair, stroking through the messy, knotty pile of dirty blond. “I’ll come back in a bit, yeah? Drink that and see if you come ‘round a bit”, you told him, letting your hand have one more smooth over his hair before you got up and left.

You paused in the hallway after you’d shut Harry’s door. You let your head lean back against the wall as you tried and failed to fight the tears that had been bubbling just beneath the surface ever since you’d arrived at Harry’s. Seeing him in the state he was in seemed to reopen all the wounds that you’d managed to emergency triage over the last week or so and it ached so deeply that you didn’t know how to cope.

“Y/N?”, a voice asked from down the hallway. You stood up straight as quick as you could, scrubbing the tears off of your face and sniffing unattractively. “Are you okay?”, Josh asked you, coming closer.

“Yeah”, you told him, but your blotchy face and broken voice gave you away instantly.

“Freya told me how hard this has been for you”, Josh whispered, standing in front of you. “I tried to get Ethan to not call you but…”, he trailed off. “I’m so sorry”, he said.

“What for?”, you asked him, running the sleeves of your jumper under your eyes once again.

“Harry told us everything… I hope”, Josh started. “We were all awful to you and we thought we were protecting Harry. You don’t deserve any of that”, he told you.

“Cal clearly doesn’t have that idea”, you laughed sadly. “Me and Harry both kept secrets, we thought it was the best thing for the both of us. If I knew he was this bad…”, you trailed off.

“Come on, there’s a tea for you in here”, Josh said, guiding you towards the living room. He handed you a cup of tea that had been left on the side for you and went to sit down with the rest of the boys. You sat down in the free corner of the sofa, putting your cup down so you could wipe your tears once again.

“Why did you never tell us?”, Simon asked. “How bad he’d got? Why did you let us hate you?”.

“I don’t know”, you told him truthfully. “It was easier, I guess”, you shrugged.

“If we’d have known…”, Tobi started, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know, we’d have done something, though”. Each of the boys looked distressed, seeing Harry the way he was was taking a toll on everyone, but so was finding out the truth after 6 years worth of lies.

“I know that, but I don’t think he did. Or does”, you said sadly. “He’s terrified of disappointing any of you. I was terrified of disappointing him”, you shrugged weakly. “So I did everything I could to make sure that I didn’t”, you admitted.

Talking about it felt like pouring salt in the reopened wounds. “I guess that didn’t work”, you whispered to yourself, but the room was so deathly quiet that you may as well have shouted it.

“What do you mean?”, Ethan asked. “What didn’t work?”.

“Harry’s always deserved better than me, I guess he finally figured that out”, you said, as though it was obvious. 6 of the 7 faces in front of you wore incredulous expressions. “What?”.

“Harry said that he’s always thought you deserved better than him”, Josh told you sadly. “That that’s why he tried to push you away”.

You looked down to the cup in your hands, fingers tapping relentlessly as you tried to process what Josh had just told you without breaking down into floods of tears once again. “I never knew that”, you said, voice cracking around your tears. “I never thought it would end up like this”.

Nobody knew what to say to you. Josh and Simon had an idea from Freya and Talia about how hard this had hit you and you still dropped everything and came running when Ethan told you that Harry needed your help.

“I know I don’t know everything and I probably have no right to even say anything, but it’s painfully obvious that the two of you still love each other”, Josh told you. “You’re the only person he’s interacted with, let alone spoken to, in the last week”, he reminded you.

“What if loving each other isn’t enough?”, you asked brokenly. You could see the pity written across everyone’s face, even Cal’s, but that did nothing to ease the pain that was hacking away at your insides. 

It was clear that no one had an answer, so you sat up straight, took a deep breath and wiped your face. “I’ll be back in a bit”, you told them. “I’ll text someone if we need anything”, you promised.

You knocked on Harry’s bedroom door, but didn’t wait for a response before walking in and pushing the door half shut behind you. The mug on his side table was empty but Harry had curled himself back under the covers. He looked to you when you came in, before letting his eyes drift closed. He looked exhausted, but you weren’t surprised if he hadn’t been looking after himself.

“What can I do?”, you asked, sitting down next to Harry. He only shrugged in response, still not opening his eyes. “Harry, this isn’t safe, baby”, you whispered, letting your hand rest on his face again. You watched as Harry leaned into your touch, moving his head slightly so that as much of your skin as possible was touching his.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered again, voice a little less hoarse than before. “I don’t deserve this”.

“That’s not your choice”, you told him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to”, you promised him.

“Don’t”, Harry said, voice as harsh as it could be given how weak he was. “I don’t deserve you looking after me again. Don’t lie and tell me you want to be here”, he whispered.

“Okay”, you said. “Sitting here hurts more than walking out the other week”, you admitted. “Because I still love you and seeing you like this is breaking my heart even more than it already is”.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut again, stray tears leaking out of the corners. In a change of plan, you stood up and went to the bathroom, grabbing the comb off of the side of the sink. “Let me know if it hurts”, you told him, before taking a small section of his hair and started working the comb through the very ends, working your way down to the roots.

You sat in the same position, slowly working your way through Harry’s hair, for 20 minutes. You did your best to cause him as little pain as possible, but some of the knots kept snagging on the comb because of how big they were. “Beautiful”, you smiled, putting the comb down on the side before turning back to him.

“Thank you, feels better”, he mumbled.

“I’m glad”, you told him, running your fingers through his, albeit greasy, knot-free hair. “Feel like taking a shower?”, you asked him, knowing Harry would find it hard to resist, especially if he hadn’t showered in a good few days.

“Wanna, but I’m too tired”, Harry murmured.

“Bath?”, you asked him. “I’ll get it running so all you need to do is go sit in there once it’s full”, you offered. You watched as the idea ran through Harry’s mind for a few moments, before he smiled up at you weakly and nodded.

Once you’d set the water running, you wandered back through to Harry’s room, sitting down next to him again. “Things aren’t right without you here”, Harry admitted. “Feels wrong”.

“I know”, you said.

“I wish I didn’t ruin everything”, he whispered.

“Josh said you always thought I deserved better than you, that that’s why you pushed me away”, you told him.

Harry looked confused. “Yeah”, he said, like it was obvious. “You’ve always deserved so much better than I can give you”.

“I always thought you deserved better than me”, you admitted. “How were we together for 6 years and didn’t even cover the basics?”, you scoffed.

“You thought you weren’t enough?”, Harry asked, and you could practically hear his heart breaking even more in his chest.

“You tried to push me away, I did everything I could to make sure I never disappointed you… I guess it was a cycle that just needed breaking”, you said sadly. “Your bath will be ready, go on”, you instructed.

While Harry was in the bath, you dug him out some clothes and a few towels and left them folded up on the sink before returning to his bedroom and finding out a fresh set of bedding.

By the time Harry had dried himself off from the bath and gotten dressed, you’d stripped and remade the bed and shoved the bedding into a laundry basket. “You didn’t have to do this”, Harry told you as soon as he spotted the fresh bedding.

“I know, but I need you to be okay and looking after you is the only way I know to make sure that you’re okay”, you told him honestly.

“Are you okay?”, Harry asked you bluntly, coming to sit on his bed. “Tell me the truth”, he whispered, taking your fingers in his.

“No”, you admitted quietly, eyes trained on your fingers.

“Talk to me”, he said quietly.

“I’m not ready to stop loving you yet but I’m scared that it’s not enough to try and make this work”, you said, eyes burning with brewing tears. “I don’t think I can ever stop loving you”, you croaked, tears finally spilling over and dropping onto your conjoined fingers.

Harry wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you between his legs, tucking your head beneath his chin. He squeezed you tightly as you sobbed unabashedly into his chest. Harry kept his head rested on yours, keeping you cocooned in his frame. It also meant that you wouldn’t be able to see the tears flooding his eyes at the sight of you so broken.

“I know I’ll never be able to stop loving you”, he admitted quietly, lips catching on your hair as he spoke. “I know the second tries have never worked before, but we never actually spoke about what was wrong”, Harry told you.

“Maybe breaking up and getting the whole truth out to everyone was the best thing that could happen for us”, you said weakly. “Well, I say that like you’ve not just had your first shower in a week and I’m not holding things together by a thread”, you snorted.

“I meant what I said”, Harry said suddenly after a few moments of silence. “Things aren’t right when you aren’t in my life. And it’s not just because we’ve been together for 6 years”, he told you. “I mean, like, I’ll see something on twitter and my first thought is that you’d find it funny, and how I nearly started crying in M & S because they were out of your favourite pasta shapes and then I remembered how much you hate M & S so I had to leave before I had a breakdown in the pasta aisle”, Harry said.

“I cried in Asda because I walked past a couple bickering about sushi and whether or not it was nice”, you admitted before laughing through the remnants of your tears as you sat up. “We’ve spoken more today than we have in the last 2 years”, you reminded him.

“Maybe another shot is worth it. You make me too happy to not try”, Harry whispered, resting a hand on your cheek and smiling softly when you leaned into it. “I love you too much not to try”.

Instead of replying, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to Harry’s. “I love you, too”, you whispered against his lips. You kissed him once more before pulling back and smiling at him.

You and Harry walked back out into the living room a few moments later, both still with blotchy faces and drying tear tracks and a few fingers hooked together. Harry ducked his head, a shy smile crossing his face when he saw that everyone was staring at the two of you.

Harry smushed himself into the corner of the sofa and quickly pulled you down to sit in the small space beside him. His arm rested over the back of the sofa, fingers twiddling your hair absentmindedly as you let your head drop to his shoulder tiredly.

“So... you all good, Bog?”, Ethan asked warily.

Harry turned to you briefly, an unmistakable look of bliss settling onto his features when your eyes darted up to meet his. The smile that you gave him pulled all the broken pieces back to the centre and the way you rubbed your cheek sleepily against his shoulder glued them all back together again.

Harry looked back up to Ethan, letting his arm behind your head drop down to cradle your shoulder and hold you to his body.

“Never better, mate”

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Hayloft (p.1)

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts...) 

Warnings: Abuse, mentions of drinking, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!

__________________

When your car finally pulled up the old dirt driveway to your family's farm house, the sun was already setting, casting an orange hue over the acres of land that your father had inherited from his father. It was beautiful, really. The sun was behind your old two story home made of wood planks that were covered in chipping white paint. The door’s paint was also chipping, only this time it was old navy blue paint - at least that’s the color it was supposed to be when it was painted who knows how many decades ago - that peeled back to reveal the wood beneath. 

Your father’s truck wasn’t in the driveway yet when you pulled up and you sighed in relief because it gave you the opportunity to get dinner started before he got home. You headed straight for the kitchen. The only moment taken for yourself was the moment of silence when you leaned against the counter top and stretched out your back from the long day's work at the diner. The refrigerator was mostly empty and you made a mental note to run to the store after work tomorrow before your father could notice the lack of food. Thankfully, there was still enough scraps to piece something together for tonight between the fridge and the cupboards. 

The house was swimming with the delicious scent of herbs, onions, potatoes, and stock as you boiled a stew on the stove when you heard the front door open. “Hi, Daddy! How was work?” You asked over your shoulder before you even heard his steps enter the kitchen, not actually caring but knowing he’d be upset if you didn’t ask. 

He came around the corner but you could hear from the moment the door opened that there were the footsteps of more than one person entering your home. With a frown, you turned from the stove and took a few steps so you could see around the wall that blocked your view of the front door but your father and new mystery person stepped around that corner and into the kitchen before you could get that far. You stopped in your tracks, startled by their sudden appearance, and your hand flew to your chest as your eyes widened in surprise. “Sorry!” You chuckled awkwardly, apologizing for your jumpiness, “Didn’t think you’d be comin’ in here.” 

It was a man about your age that stood just behind your father, a navy baseball cap twisted in his hands and his footsteps light so as to not knock dirt off onto the floor from his work boots, both welcomed displays of manners that you appreciated, unlike your father who left a trail of chunks of dried mud and grease everywhere he walked. This new boy, though, he was cute. Short curly hair that was messy, either from work or wearing the hat, big expressive brown eyes that reminded you of a puppy in the best possible way, a tight lipped expression that showed he was a little nervous and uncomfortable to be here, they were all a welcome, albeit unexpected, surprise. 

"Work was good. This here is Arvin Russel. He'll be staying with us, at least for the night." Your eyes flicked back to the boy you now knew as Arvin when your dad introduced him and your heart skipped a beat at the eye contact. 

  He nodded his head slightly, a small cordial smile flashing on his face for just a moment, "Pleasure to meet you,..." 

"Y/N. It's nice to meet you as well. If you're staying the night, let me add some water to the soup and then I'll go make up the spare bed." You pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards the pot of stew that was nearly done. 

"That's very kind of you. Thank you." 

Before you could notice him moving, your dad was already beside the fridge and you reached out to try to stop him before he could open it. "Let me get you something! What about you, Arvin? You want a beer or some water?" You scurried to try and beat your dad to the fridge that you knew would earn you a reprimanding that you didn’t deserve. 

You were too late though and your dad already swung the door open wide. You stepped back nervously, rubbing the sharp edge of your nails against your thumb. "It's damn near empty." He noted, voice stiff and dissatisfied. He stood, managing to produce the last two beers from the refrigerator before slamming it shut. 

You flinched at the loud sound, hearing the few glass jars of preserves and jams clanging against each other inside from the force. Your eyes rolled beneath closed lids at his overdramatic reaction, even though it was one you expected. "I'm gonna hit the market after work tomorrow but I checked that we have enough for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow." Your voice was sweet and placating, careful to respond in a way that would keep his temper in check. 

  "It's that damn job of yours. I told you women shouldn't be working. They belong in the house where you should be. Now look. You went and let the kitchen run out." He passed Arvin a beer, which he reluctantly accepted, watching the way your father pointed his finger at you accusingly. “Ain’t no man gonna want a wife who can’t even keep the kitchen stocked up.” 

Your tongue was raw inside from biting down on it so hard in order to keep yourself in line, as he called it. You didn't need a blow out tonight, not with Arvin here. "I manage to work and keep up with the house just fine, Daddy. We just got a little low on groceries but I'll be heading to the market tomorrow to fix it. Don’t you worry." Even you were surprised with how even and sweet your voice came out, that ever present fire of anger towards your father having been fanned into a decent blaze.  

He popped the tab on his beer and sighed, dropping the topic for the time being, "Fine. But make sure to pick up some fixin's for that chicken roast you make. Patty is lookin' nice and fat in the coop so why don't you cook her up tomorrow." 

You grimaced at the thought. Patty was one of the chickens in your coop out back that had been pretty slow when it came to laying eggs but you’d grown attached to her nonetheless. Ever since you were a young girl, your daddy warned you not to become attached to the animals out back but you never listened. Back then, you’d had your mother to step in and convince him not to kill the animals for whatever reason she could come with and opt for buying meat from the market instead. You hadn’t been able to convince him like that since she’d passed. Everything had been different since she passed. 

“I don’t know, Daddy. Patty’s been layin’ a lot of eggs lately and we’ve been gettin’ extra money from sellin’ all those eggs. Why don’t I just pick up a chicken in town tomorrow at the store.” You insisted, walking back over to the stove to stir the stew. 

“Don’t go wastin’ money on things we already got! We got some chickens out back. Just cook one of ‘em up tomorrow!” Your father’s voice was hard and stern now, enough to fill the air with tension in Arvin’s presence. You turned slowly, making eye contact with Arvin briefly before quickly avoiding it. You didn’t like the way he stood awkwardly, silently watching the interaction he clearly didn’t think highly of. Your father was already getting worked up and it would only get worse the longer the night went on. 

Biting your cheek, you nodded, “Yes, sir. Now why don’t you boys go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in just a minute.” 

**

Dinner went relatively well, despite your father’s occasional grumblings about there not being any beer. Once you finished, you stood up and picked up yours and your father’s bowls before noticing Arvin’s was empty as well. “Did you want some more? There’s just enough for one more if you’d like it.” You offered Arvin that last bit of stew but he just shook his head and stood up. 

“Oh, no thank you miss. Dinner was delicious though. Let me help with that.” He grabbed his own bowl before your hand could reach it and then took the bowls from your hands as well before setting them down at the sink. 

You chased after him, “Thank you but you don’t have to do that! Please, sit. I’ll make your bed up when I’m finished cleaning up dinner.” 

“She’s right, son. Kitchen ain’t no place for a man. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you the room you’ll be stayin’ in.” You father’s chair screeched against the beat up wooden floor as he stood, beckoning Arvin to him. 

Arvin was standing right beside you, his arm only a few inches from yours as he lowered the stack of bowls into the sink. He looked over at you with deep soulful eyes that seemed to look right through your calm facade in a way that made you feel seen like never before. It was highly uncomfortable, almost violating after all these years of hiding away what you felt for the sake of keeping the peace, and you forced a smile, “Please, you’re our guest. It wouldn’t be right to make you do the dishes. You go with him.” 

He gave you a drawn out hesitant look but turned away nonetheless and walked towards your dad. “Thank you again for letting me stay here till I get things figured out. It’s mighty kind of you.” Arvin thanked you and your father for your hospitality, shooting you one last glance over his shoulder before following your father down up the stairs towards the spare room. 

You made quick work of the dishes, having cleaned most of them as you were cooking earlier anyways and scurried to the closet that held your extra sheets. As you passed the bathroom, you heard the shower running and knew it was your father bathing after his long day of work, like he always did right after dinner. The man was a creature of habit. 

With your arms full of neatly folded faded steel blue linens and the thicker burnt sienna colored wool blanket, you made your way towards the guest room Arvin was staying in to find the door wide open and the man looking through his bag that was set on the bed. “Knock knock,” you announced your presence, waiting at the entryway for Arvin to notice you before entering. 

He spun around, dropping something that you didn’t see quickly into his bag and pressing it down while flashing you a small polite smile, “Hello, ma’am.” 

You walked into the room, raising the linens in your hands, “I brought some sheets so I could make up your bed.” You walked over to the wooden chair and set the top sheet down before making your way back over to the bed, unfolding the bottom sheet as you did, waving it up and down in the air to straighten it out before laying it flat on the bed. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, miss,” He moved his bag to the ground and jumped to lift the corner of the mattress and tuck the sheet beneath it. 

You blushed at his kindness, not used to such help from your father, but shook your head, tucking the sheet beneath the mattress on the opposite side of the bed “If my daddy came in and saw you fixin’ the bed yourself, he’d kill me,” you chuckled to make it sound like a joke but you knew better than that. He wouldn’t actually kill you but you would certainly get some less than kind words thrown your way, maybe even a few beer cans thrown your way depending on how drunk he was. 

Arvin shook his head, his hands falling on his hips, “Looks like you do most the housework ‘round here.” What he was insinuating was clear even though his tone didn’t change but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. He didn’t need to concern himself with the difficulties between you and your father. 

“So how’d you and my dad meet?” You changed the topic, going to grab the top sheet and unfolding it. You laid it over the bed and tucked your side in, Arvin reaching down to tuck his side in as well in a silent act of defiance against your insistence that he didn’t need to help. It occurred to you suddenly after the question left your lips that you didn’t actually know anything about this boy but, for some reason, you still didn’t feel uneasy around him.  

Arvin pulled the top corner of the sheet up to the head of the bed as he answered, “I just started workin’ at the garage with ‘im.” 

“You like cars?” You questioned, spreading out the final layer on the bed, the wool blanket. 

Arvin shrugged, “Never been really into ‘em but I can fix ‘em alright enough. Just needed the work and happened to see the wanted sign when I was passin’ through town.” 

Your brow raised in curiosity, “You were just passin’ through and stopped in this old town cause of a help wanted sign?” The little town you lived in wasn’t terrible but it was far from a destination that people really moved to for work unless you a doctor desperate for a place to practice or something like that. “You must really be desperate,” you joked but immediately felt a slight pang of regret when a shred of truth could be seen in his eyes. 

“Just tryna figure out where I’m goin’ ‘n what I wanna do. Figure I’ll find somewhere I like eventually.” Arvin picked up his bag and set it off to the side where it was a little more out of the way. 

You stared at the man standing before you, taking every bit of him from the grease stains on his white t-shirt to his scuffed up brown work boots to his messy hair, dirty from dried sweat. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with him that you realized that you’d been staring in a settled yet weirdly comfortable silence. You stood up straight and smiled to diffuse the awkwardness you’d unintentionally fostered, “You’re more than welcome to take a shower. My daddy should be finished any second. I’ll set some extra towels in there for you.” 

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” He nodded in appreciation but offered no further conversation. You could tell from the moment of silence that it was time for you to make your exit. 

“Well, uh, I better head to bed. You need anything before I go?” You asked, backing towards the door and swinging slightly with it once your hand hit the old bronze knob. 

Arvin shook his head, “No, thank you. ‘M all set.” 

“Alrighty, then. You have a good night.” You chewed your lip as you opened the door to make your exit. 

“G’night, miss Y/N.” 

Butterflies flew wildly in your belly as you walked to your bedroom. It had been a long while since you’d seen somebody worth looking twice at in this old town but now a mysterious handsome man rolls into town and stays with you. In your house. It probably wasn’t the safest of situations but Arvin genuinely looked like a nice man. From your very brief interactions with him, you couldn’t really imagine him trying to hurt you or your father for no reason. Even if he did, you knew where your daddy kept his shotgun and you had no problem defending yourself. But like I said, you had an unearned sense of peace with Arvin that you hoped wasn’t a misjudgement. 

“What’re you smilin’ ‘bout?” Your father’s gruff but thankfully not entirely drunk voice made you stop in your tracks and turn towards his room with a suppressed groan. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing but an undershirt and long johns with his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides.

You shook the smile off your face. “Just thought of somethin’ funny that happened at work,'' you lied. “You need somethin’?” 

“I watched you come out o’ that boy’s room with a big ol’ grin on your face. Better not let me catch you ‘n him. Ain’t no daughter o’ mine gonna be whorin’ around with some boy blowin’ through town, y’hear?” He threatened, his hands reaching down to pull up his worn out long johns. 

Your blood boiled at the accusation and despite your best efforts to keep peace while Arvin was here, you spat words with venom, “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ with Arvin. God forbid I have a damn smile on my face.” Your voice was low enough so that you hoped your guest hadn’t heard your outburst but when your father’s face darkened and he began taking slow, heavy steps towards you, you weren’t sure if your charade of normalcy would last much longer. 

Your father hovered over you, exaggerating the size difference between the two of you, “I put a roof over your head. I put food on the table. You play make believe with that little diner job but I'm the head of this house. I'm your father. You watch that fuckin’ tone with me girl."

Your jaw was clenched tightly, matching your fists, as you glared up at him with indignantly furious eyes. Father your ass. He once had been your father, an imperfect but loving man who used to try. Now he was merely a selfish broken sperm donor. He inherited this house from his father, didn’t pay a darn cent, and you couldn't remember the last time he pitched in a dime for anything but alcohol and the occasional dinner he made when he was in a good mood. He did do that- have these strange out of character nights where he pretended to be kind and loving. They were far and few between though and, while you enjoyed the change of pace, it felt like walking on eggshells in some fantasy world. 

A heavy silence settled between the two of you that crackled with a tension that could snap at any moment and turn into a full blown fight. Your eyes were narrowed on his as you refused to let him think he intimidated you anymore. Nevertheless, you turned on your heel, nails digging into your palm, and walked down the hall towards your room, leaving him alone. 

“He wouldn’t want you anyways, fuckin’ attitude like that.” Your father grumbled to your back, hoping for one last reaction out of you that you refused to give. 

It took all the control in the world to not slam the door in his face but you knew there was no way it would escape Arvin’s attention. You’d have to resort to the therapy of muffling your furious tear-soaked screams into your pillow until you finally fell asleep, like you did many nights. 

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄. ♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"hi!! you have a lovely writing style! can i request an imagine where you're friends with george but he has a crush on you and it grows a lot bigger when you show up at his house to take care of him / cook for him because he's been having a really busy schedule? thank you so much :) have a nice day"

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

warnings: none :)

links: | ao3 | request | masterlist |

⋆ song recommendation: Bookstore Girl by Charlie Burg

George’s feet felt heavy as he climbed the steps towards his front door. His mind was still running a mile a minute with everything he still had to do that week. Time seemed to have caught up to him, even sprinted past him and left him to drown in his schedule. As he reached into his pocket for his keys, his eyes finally caught sight of the warm glow spilling from the windows of his home.

With careful steps he entered his apartment, brows furrowed as he peeked around the corner to find you dipping your finger into whatever was boiling in a pot on the stove. His heart fluttered slightly, a blush creeping to his cheeks as slipped back behind the corner of the wall jutting out to separate the kitchen from the entryway. You’d hadn’t seen him, in fact you were too caught up in mumbling to yourself that you hadn’t even heard the door when it popped open.

He loosened a few buttons on his shirt, tossing his keys in the bowl by the door and making it apparent he was home, yet you still didn't pay any mind to him. George leaned against the corner, running his fingers through his dark hair as he watched you bustle around his kitchen. His heart swelled as you stood on your toes to reach into an overhead cabinet.

You jumped slightly as he reached around you, grabbing the jar you were sought after. You grinned brightly at him as he handed it to you. "Welcome home! I know how busy everything is for you right now, and I'll take care of everything tonight," you rambled, twisting the lid off the jar with a small grunt as George's tired eyes seemed to sparkle at you.

He chuckled lowly at your excitement for the task, leaning against the counter beside you and popping a tomato in his mouth. "If I wasn't so estact to be coddled tonight, I'd bug you about breaking and entering," he teased, making you roll your eyes playfully.

You took to stirring whatever was in the pot, chewing the inside of your cheek. "You gave me a key, jerk. Doesn't count if there's consent," you countered, making him laugh again. "Plus, you have to admit; this is a nice surprise."

He couldn't help but smile down at you as you worked around him, reaching across his waist for a few spices and over his body to get into another cabinet. He could smell hints of your perfume as you neared him and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him not to take you into his embrace.

He opted to cross his arms over his chest as he listened to you. His mind wandered to what it felt like to press his lips against your shoulders, digging his nose into your hair as he held you close to him. As you cut up a pepper, filling him in on the whereabouts of your day, the memory of the softness of your hands threaded into his thoughts. He was hopelessly in awe of you.

"You're sure you don't need my help?" He asked once again, settling his hands against the edge of the counter behind him. Your gaze drifted towards him to shake your head, but your eyes caught on the tightness of his shirt now.

After you had finished cooking, he poured a glass of wine for you, basking in the graciousness of your smile as you asked him about his latest project. Sitting across from him at his kitchen table as he propped his chin on his fist, you finally had the opportunity to take in his appearance completely.

It'd been almost a week since you had seen your friend; the time apart proving to be a time of consideration when it came to your relationship with George. His tousled hair and slightly rosy cheeks softened his usually pristine look. As he talked, his accent grew deeper with tiredness, becoming a symphony to your ears. You could listen to him folly on about pretty much anything.

His gratitude of your meal sent your heart skipping in your chest as heat rushed to your cheeks. You'd shared a meal together many times, bonding more about this and that, but tonight felt different.

As the two of you stood beside each other at the kitchen sink, you fought not to lean against him. He mindlessly dried whatever you gave him, listening to you explain a new song you'd heard on the radio and how it reminded you of a friend of his. He, of course, chuckled at this with a shake of his head, his mind scolding his heart for breaking slightly at the fact that you'd thought of his friend and not him. It was silly to feel that way, surely.

Your arm brushed his own, the warmth of his skin sending heat waves through your body. His mind swam with incoherent emotions with each of your touches, whether it be your fingers grazing against each other as you handed him a plate or the ghost of your breath against the coolness of his wet hands as you gently giggled at his smug comments. Your laugh was such a comforting echo to him.

Your hands dipped back into the warm, soapy water to retrieve a glass before scrubbing it clean and handing it to him. "Thank you, by the way," George praised. "For dinner and everything, I mean." He sighed tiredly. "I really needed it…"

You couldn't fight the small smirk tugging at your lips as you looked up at him. "It was my pleasure. I'll do it tomorrow too if you'll let me," you offered, excitement building in your chest at the prospect.

George's teeth subtly dug into the flesh of his bottom lip as he hesitated. "Oh come on. I couldn't ask that of you-"

You cut him off. "Please! I'm doing this out of the kindness of my heart. You don't have to ask," you joked, making him shake his head with a small smile. "Listen, I know how stressed you've been lately and I want to help you out. It's not a big deal," you settled, the air of decision showing you'd be back the next night.

George opened your car door for you, standing with his hand on the top of the car and his arm resting on the door as you faced him. The nodes of his cologne beckoned towards your sense of smell, the sweetness of it threatening to draw you in closer. You stood on your toes, this time to reach his cheek as you pressed your lips close to his jaw.

As you stood back, the noise of the parking garage had been sucked away from the two of you, his eyes locking to yours. One of his hands moved almost instinctively to settle against your neck and within seconds, he was hovering near your lips. The scent of alcohol on his breath engulfed the oxygen between the two of you. His eyelids shut softly before he effortlessly closed the distance between you.

His kiss was tender yet confident, which seemed almost uncharacteristic of him. Your hands moved to slide against his chest, pressing your hands against the softness of his shirt. His lips melded against yours in a gracefully choreographed dance as if they were long lost partners meeting after suffering a life alone.

He pulled away, leaving you breathless and thoughtless. The radio static in your ears dissipated as you stumbled back on your heel out of pure shock and pure content.

You wet your lips, swallowing the tension between the two of you. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

He smiled as you slipped into your car, leaning his hand on your car door. "I'll be looking forward to it."

[stevenscookntrecipes]

Cinnamon Instant Regret

Instant ramen, it's the go-to "I don't wanna move an inch" meal for many of us, it's incredibly to easy to prepare and helps us at least get through the day. So, although I don't eat it all too often anymore, it'll forever have its very own spot in my heart as the thing that has let me at least survive though many 'a tough day. Now, a long long time ago, in a place still relatively close by, I had some friends over for a sleepover. 'Course that meant we'd need to make food, like, edible food. Obviously, as the perpetually distracted high school teens we were, we hadn't really considered the possibility. "Wooo, sleepover! food? what's that? ...can I eat it?" So, we rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for anything vaguely edible ...that required at most half a spoon's worth of effort. In the end we managed to find some packs of Indomie brand instant noodles, which at the time and now still is my favourite instant noodle brand, and decided to just use those. But, in a sudden surge of curiosity, one of my friends asked themselves an absolutely horrid question: "How would this taste with cinnamon?" And as the endlessly curious person I am, I obliged them. So, for anyone who is at a sleepover, or intends to be at one, who wants to follow along with this utter trainwreck of a culinary journey, the recipe (though admittedly, entirely from memory) is as follows: Total Time: Approx. 10 mins Yield: 1 serving

Ingredients: - 1 Indomie brand instant noodle package - 1/2 a teaspoon of paprika powder - 2-3 teaspoons of Indonesian sweet soy sauce (kecap manis) - Too much cinnamon, adjust to personal distastes Instructions: 1. Boil Water: Fill a small pot with water and bring it to a boil. (For Indomie I believe it wants about 400ml of water, but I tend to just eyeball it.) 2. Mix the Spices: In the meantime, grab a bowl large enough to comfortably hold the noodles. In it, empty the flavour packet, mix in the paprika powder, and don't forget to accidentally put in far more cinnamon than any mere mortal should consume in a year let alone a single meal. 3. Cook Instant Noodles: When the water comes to boil, put in the dried noodles and follow the instructions on the packet. (Personally, I prefer just tasting once in a while until it has just the right amount of bite ...and temperature.) 4. Mix Noodles with Spices: Drain the water from the pot, and slowly add the noodles to the spice bowl, mixing with every step to ensure the spices evenly coat the noodles. About halfway through, add the sweet soy sauce. Continue mixing till all the noodles are in the bowl and seem evenly mixed. 5. Serve: Serve the bowl as-is to anyone stupidly brave enough to be willing to consume this abhorrent creation.

If you have none or must try it yourself for one reason or the other, remind yourself that crying is a great way to induce catharsis and in no way should you ever feel bad about crying or wanting to cry.

Crying is a normal part of life, and in depriving yourself of it you are blocking out one of the major ways to relieve stress after traumatic occurrences, which makes it harder to deal with them as they pile up until it finally spills over at the worst possible time.

So, when you feel like you need to, cry. Cry your heart out, let all those regrets and pains flow right out like the salty drops that'll fall. If you can, embrace a partner, a friend, a pet, your blahaj, or other plushie/pillow, and let them lend you their ear and shoulder as you embrace the cinnamon-sweetness of a good crying session.

And now, finally, rid yourself of all your worries by THROWING UP THIS HORRID HORRID DISH and NEVER even THINKING about consuming it EVER again.

Notes: - I tend to eyeball any and every measurement, so the ingredients are my best approximation of how much I generally put in. - If you're, like me, having a hard time distinguishing between the cinnamon and cayenne pepper shakers, just put a liberal amount of it directly on your tongue. You'll know. - If Indomie isn't available, please, by all means, feel free to replace it with an instant noodle brand of your choice. If done well, the cinnamon-flavoured regret should overpower the flavour packet contained within and make your choices seem as if they never mattered in the first place.

[tamagochiie]

Hi!! Could I request a hc for my man Levi Ackerman where he has been crushing on the reader for a while now but thinks he doesn’t really have a chance because she’s just so beautiful, kind and a little on the younger side. And he doesn’t really think that someone like her could ever be interested in someone like him. Then those toughts only get bigger as he sees how much time she spends with Jean or Eren or someone. And then some sort of drama is happening which eventually leads to this dramatic confession from both Levi and the reader. Hope that’s not too long? Have a great day!

First of all, I am SO sorry this request took so long to reply to. I was in a really bad headspace when I first got this, and I couldn’t write it properly at the time. But here I am now! Also, I got waaaay too into this, so I apologize that it’s a little long... 

Move My Mountain ; Levi Ackerman 

Levi Ackerman is nothing short of confidence and pride; insecurity scurries back into the shadows at the sight of him.

But you are sunshine and hope—all the good things in life wrapped in a lilting laugh, tucked in the corners of your lips when you smile, and the twinkling in your eyes;

Just the sight of you makes his title as “Humanity’s Strongest” fray at the edges and wither away, and it irritates him to no end. 

Of all the ugly his eyes have seen and horror his ears have heard, its you that has him weak in the knees, you are a sharp contrast to the stoic man.

You’re young, youthful, and promising—all the things Levi is not. 

Levi is many things, but worthy to feel the warmth you radiate as you walk into any room, a room that he might find himself lingering around in, is not one of them. 

Levi may be sharp, attentive, and quick on his feet (quite literally). But it takes him an embarrassingly substantial amount of time to realize his feelings for you—that no, he does not hate you, but rather he finds himself completely smitten over you.

He realizes he always has been since the first time he saw you as a cadet. You weren’t entirely talented, and your skills were questionably underdeveloped, but you had heart and you were just as determined and fiery as your counterparts. 

Levi looks forward to seeing you persevere during trainings; but he likes it better whenever you waltz into his office and assist him in paperwork he can clearly take care of on his own. 

And you find yourself feeling comfortable around the Captain, entertaining him through small talk or sharing a few fun facts with him that always leave him dumbfounded. 

Not that he’ll show it. 

He’s quite kind to you, and though you found it off-putting at first, you had eventually grown comfortable to it. You even found yourself growing selfish, wanting more and more after each visit. 

However, unbeknownst to everyone save for Erwin and Hange, Levi Ackerman is petty as he is incredibly violent. 

There’s a twinge of jealousy in his chest and a twitch in his eye whenever he sees Jean joined to you by the hip. He’s aware of the history you two share, being childhood friends and choosing to join the Survey Corp together after the attack on Wall Rose. 

But it doesn’t stop jealous seeping out of Levi like a waterfall. 

He hates it when he catches Jean ghosting around you, dipping down to you a little too close for comfort whenever he talks to you, so Levi’s patience snaps like a twig and he crinkles his nose in disgust, steam rising from him when he watches Jean throwing his arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to his chest while you laugh at his jokes. 

A line has been crossed. 

Unfortunately for Jean, though his actions meant no harm, he’s drowned in piles and piles of work within the following week. Levi has him carrying extra weight, makes him run more laps to his knees shake, and riddles him with questionable work from dusk til dawn. 

And just when things die down and the tide of Levi’s jealousy pulls back, it’ll come rushing back in when he catches Jean do another thing like leaning his head on your shoulder after a day’s worth of training. And it begins to bother you, picking at your skin until you can longer keep quiet and watch your friends suffer. 

You’re in the middle of handing Jean your bottle of water (because Sasha chugged all of his in one breath) when Levi cuts in. Maybe it’s the heat of the sun that casts over the training ground, or maybe its the fact that once again, Levi’s jealous has once again gotten the best of him and he’s playing it off as frustration for the whole squad. 

Whatever it is, there’s steam rising off as he glares at you and Jean. 

Levi clears his throat, arms folded across his chest as he taps his foot, “If you have time to drinking other people’s water, Kristien,” Jean chokes on his water when he realizes Levi’s presence, quickly saluting him, “then you’ve got time to do laundry.” 

Jean’s eyes widen, jaw slacking. “B-But I already did that yesterday, S-Sir.” You watch as Levi pulls his brows down, narrowing his gaze intensely as he strides up to Jean. He shifts uncomfortable under Levi’s inspecting eyes and clears his throat to try and gain some composure. 

“That’s the great thing about laundry,” Levi grits, “it always piles up, so why don’t you hurry the fuck up and fuck off.”

However, Levi’s plan to wedge you to apart because you offer yourself to help. 

You may be bubbly and full of life, and some may mistake your soft nature as someone naive and gullible, but you read the room easier than anyone. For the first time, Levi finds himself silenced; throat dried as if sawdust had been shoved into his throat, and he watches you saluting to him before excusing yourself along with Jean. 

Unluckily for you, you become the target of his boiling rage. He’s ticking like a clock, the countdown to another outburst lingering in the air. It’s your turn to be buried in the extra weight of chores and responsibilities, doing more laps and push ups than you can manage. But you never complain, not even once.

Not until Levi strips you and Jean from the opportunity to go out on an expedition and traded off for laundry. 

“I’ve had it!” You boom as you uncharacteristically lose composure, shoving the basket of dirty laundry to the side and causing Jean and Armin to flinch. “I’m gonna do laundry—laundry instead of joining the expedition? You’re kidding!” 

Levi had overworked you painfully til your knees shook and your head felt dizzy, and at some point you wondered if was still training you or if it had any ulterior motive.

“I’m only the barer of the news!” Armin defends, visibly shrinking as you slowly grow unhinged. 

“Then I’ll talk to him!” Jean steps in front of you, looking at you warningly as his chest heaves. “Jean, go away.” 

“No,” He’s firm, headset in stopping you. “Make no mistake, the man is short, but he’s scary as hell. You saw him when he beat the shit outta Eren.”

“I can take a punch,” You state dryly, “now move.” 

You place your arm on Jean’s shoulder, gripping it tightly before swiftly shoving him to the side, causing him to skid on the floor.

Determination drips from every step you take out the room and down the corridor. Your eyes directed towards one door and one door only. You wind past other captains and cadets, not bothering to even take a glance at them as you finally close in on Levi’s office. 

You storm in, not even thinking to knock. You’re met with wide eyes and looks of disbelief from Erwin, Hange, and Levi; they were in the middle of a meeting when you barged in. Erwin’s jaw slacks, his brows pull down as he looks at you quizzically, “Cadet—What are you—”

“You.” You seethes, breathing heavily as you glare at Levi. “Why am I assigned to do laundry instead of joining the expedition?” 

Hange and Erwin turn back to Levi with an alarmed expression painted on their face, as if they were only hearing this for the first time. “Surely, that’s not true,” Erwin chuckles lightly as he grips his hands on the armrest of the chair, shifting uncomfortably underneath the thick tension between you and Levi, “Levi, is this true?” 

“It might be.” He answers dryly, a bored expression in his dark eyes as he glares back at you, “But I’m sorry, am I supposed to be answering to you? Who the fuck do you think you are interrupting a meeting?” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Your new found confidence not only shocks them, but most importantly you. 

You always kept yourself in your place, never needing to be reminded who you are and what you’re meant to do, always biting your tongue and cheek when you’re angry. You never caused any trouble, but always slyly getting your friends out of it. 

That is, until now. 

“Excuse me?” Levi looks at you in bewilderment. 

“What the fuck does doing laundry have anything to do with saving humanity?” You repeated, balling your fists till your knuckles color white. “I’m one of the best and you know it, yet I’m wasting my time cleaning Reiner’s DIRTY UNDERWEAR EVERY DAY.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re one of the best.” Levi is cold as the first winter of the year, looking completely unfazed by flow of your emotions. But you are, indeed, one of the best, nearly surpassing Mikasa. 

Not that he’d ever admit to it.

“Why am I staying behind?” You press, raising your voice as you take a few steps closer to the desk. 

Unfortunately, Hange and Erwin stay in the crossfire of your argument. They’re unsure when to take the beat to get up and leave.

They worry they missed that opportunity a while ago. 

“It’s dangerous and you’re not ready,” Levi clips. 

“I’m ready and you’re just taking your anger out on me!” You counter, “You don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been taking your anger out on Jean and now on me?” 

“You made us work to the bone, but we persevered. We pulled through. So, if I can handle Reiner’s sweaty laundry, then I can handle saving humanity. Grow a pair and let me back in on the expedition.” 

“No.” Levi is stern, the grip in his pen is tight and his knees locked in as his ability to stabilize his emotions withers. 

“Why not?” You groan, throwing your head back. “Because it’s dangerous.” He states matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“WHY DO YOU CARE IF ITS SO DANGEROUS?” You’re yelling, breaths labored and chest constricting as your frustration grows. You’re completely unhinged and with little to no care in the world how you look like to everyone in the room. Levi bangs his fists against the surface of his desk, swiftly standing from his chair. Erwin and Hange flinch at his sudden aggression, exchanging looks of surprise. 

“BECAUSE IF SOMETHING WERE TO HAPPEN TO YOU, I WOULDN’T KNOW WHAT I WOUDL DO.” 

Silence falls on the room and after a moment, everyone stands on their toes as they reflect the confession that slips Levi’s lips just moments ago. 

You, Hange, and Erwin look at Levi wish a slack jaw and a puzzled expression. 

“I don’t—“ You swallow thickly and take a deep breath, “I don’t understand what you mean… Why would you—”

“Hange,” Erwin calls out to his friend softly as he clasps his hands together, “I think this is the part where we leave.” 

Hange pouts her lip begrudgingly, “But—“ 

“Now.” Against her will and her wishes for juicy gossip, Hange mirrors Erwin’s actions as he rises from the chair and a hunched position and swiftly scurries out the room. 

You and Levi stand in a thick blanket of silence. Levi is a man of many words, though most are painted in aggressive and backs up his violent tendencies, so he admits his worries about someone and that someone being you, it means everything. 

It comes as a shock—a shock that feels electric and runs down your spine, you feel like you’ll lose your breath. “Why…why would you care?” You come down from your anger and the thumping of your heart calms down. “I don’t—I really don’t understand….” 

Levi licks his lips as he loosens his grip; for the first time you can see him clearly without having to second guess it. He shudders a breath as takes a step back from his desk, the chair scrapping against the floor as he abandons the paperwork and slowly yet surely walks to you. 

You grow tense and the budding anticipation in your stomach spreads through your body and up your throat. It’s only until Levi is a few steps away that you finally tear your eyes from him, dancing around the room desperately looking anywhere but him.

Levi halts his movement, only within an arm’s reach away from you. “I’m not good with words,” He admits in a mutter, more to himself than to you, “but I—I would like to be honest because you make me want to be honest.” 

Levi’s gaze wavers along with the rest of him; his arms fall limp , his hands clammy as he twiddles his fingers to ease the fear hammering in his chest. “I have…” Levi speaks softly, a sharp contrast to how he usually his. His voice comes out dry and gravelly as if he had just woken up. 

“I can easily read others as if I was looking at the back of my hand, and I know  when people feel things…But it took me forever to understand what I felt for you and when I finally caught up with it, I didn’t—I don’t know.” 

Hesitantly, as if you were scared to see something contradicting his words, you meet his eyes and you gasp. He’s looking right at you, eyes full of certainty yet wavering in his doubt that he’ll ever get a chance with you.

“What do you mean?” Your words come out so quiet, Levi almost misses it. “What don’t you understand?” 

“Out of all the things I’ve seen and heard, and all the blood my hands have been stained in, you move me.” 

He steps a little closer and you find yourself holding your breath, “You move me.”  

You don’t know what to say. You scan through your memories, all the ones that you had with him and try to remember what you felt. And maybe you did feel something for him, something more than just cadet and captain, but you never let yourself think too far from it. 

You were scared to let yourself fall, but for some odd reason, Humanity’s Strongest was letting him fall on his knees for you.  

You can’t help but smile and your eyes glistening as you take the final step to close the proximity between the two of you. “

If you’re saying what I think you’re saying then,” You sigh as you close your eyes, your breath fanning against Levi’s cheeks, “don’t be shy to move a little more and show me what you mean.”

 Levi’s takes a moment, studying the look in your eyes as he calculates his movements. He feels excited, but fear pulls the rug beneath his feet and all of a sudden he finds himself more scared of you than any mission he’s even been in. 

You hold his face in your hands, smiling at him. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now.” 

And just like that, your words egg him on and have him pushing all his doubt behind him.

 Levi’s lips are soft against yours, the kiss is gentle yet eager to go deeper. He’s reluctant to cage you in his arms, but when he feels you smile against his lips and how your arms wind around his neck, he realizes he’s eases in. 

Levi Ackerman has seen all the uglies in the word, and had his heartbroken one too many times to count, but you are the only one that moves him.