#Becoming the Lettered Bottle to the Past

[obxsummer]

leave me again ii // rafe cameron

pairing: rafe cameron x routledge!reader (she/her), ex!jj maybank x reader

summary: you left the cut with nowhere to go. it’s rafe cameron that finds you and shows you the life you deserved to live

warnings: sorry jj lovers, that man does not get our girl back so sad jj and probably ooc rafe but i love it when that man is soft

navigation || part one

--

Six months.

It had been six months since any of the Pogues had seen you. No social media, no sight of you around town, no letters. Nothing.

The past six months left you to do a lot of reevaluations. You’d walked aimlessly after the group had left for the dive with nothing but your backpack and phone, no destination in mind. Until you found one.

“Lost or something?”

“Fuck off, Rafe,” Your response was instant as you continued to walk without sparing him a look. The car shifted into a different gear, you guessed by the noise, before Rafe was hopping out to approach you.

“Are you okay?” When you didn’t answer, he moved in closer and grabbed your shoulder before turning you to face him. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

You stared at him with the knowledge that you probably looked like a mess with the tear streaks across your cheeks. While Rafe had a lot of issues with your friends and brother, he usually stayed clear of you. Whether that was because you were close with Sarah, or what, you didn't know.

Twisting your fingers together, you dropped your gaze as tears started to build again. “You ever watch someone you love choose someone else over you, every single time?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut to Rafe. He had. His whole life he watched his dad choose Sarah. Watched his mom choose another family over him. Watched Wheezie choose another sibling over him.

“Get in, I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

Six months ago, you hopped in Rafe Cameron’s Range Rover and left The Cut behind. You didn’t question the decision, knowing you’d worry about everyone else before taking care of yourself, and that clearly didn’t work in the past. You felt horribly guilty about leaving John B with no indication whether you were okay or not, but you knew if one of them found out, JJ would be busting down the door to Rafe’s bedroom before you had a chance to say no. 

While you weren’t sure what the original intentions had been, Rafe was so different with you after bringing you back to his new house. One he’d bought after selling Tannyhill, free from the haunting of his father and the screams that echoed off the walls, he had turned it into a safe space for himself and anyone he invited in.

Things blossomed quickly and you realized the Rafe in front of you was not the bully, coke-head addict you’d once known. He was such a gentle person, and so much more attentive to you than JJ had ever been. Whether it was making you breakfast in bed before you left for the day, or prepping a warm (actually warm, like hot water you’d hadn’t had in forever) candle lit bath, or popping an expensive bottle of wine just for you to taste, he was there in ways nobody had been. You were his girl, his only girl, and you never once had to question that.

Rafe had even invited you to sit in on his investment meetings and he was slowly pulling your name into his business so you’d have a professional background to grow into. You were steadily becoming an educated little couple in his home, something he was so proud and grateful for. He had someone to lean on for advice and give him fresh eyes on new projects with no judgment or fear of anger. The two of you soaked up your bubble of peace for as long as you could before shit hit the fan. 

Little did you know, on the other side of the island with your brother, there had been absolutely no peace. John B and JJ barely spoke, everything ending in an argument when they did. Pope was sick of playing mediator, and Kie had more of less shut down out of guilt. Sarah was still searching for you, but you’d gone ghost. Cleo was treading lightly with the knowledge that everything would explode eventually. 

So, they did what they could, and dove into treasure hunting. When JJ pulled the amulet out of his pocket in the back of the Twinkie, John B’s emotions were mixed. Sure, he was stoked that he’d found the object the group was looking for, but he wished you were here. It was your birthday, and John B was inches away from losing his shit without you.

“Dude, are you okay?” Pope asked as the group stood in the office area of the house, trying to find more information on the amulet’s inscription.

John B tossed the heavy object on the desk in frustration. “No, I’m not okay! We can find decades old treasure like it’s the easiest thing ever, but we can’t find jack shit about my sister? That’s bullshit, Pope. And you know it.”

Pope knew things would be sensitive today. Even JJ woke up grouchy, which John B told him was deserved since he caused your absence in the first place. The lack of your presence weighed heavy on the group, so Pope suggested going to visit one of your favorite beach spots. 

Little did he know what he was getting himself into.

--

“Rafe!” The house was filled with your laughter as Rafe twirled you in the kitchen lighting, your favorite song playing from the interactive speaker on the counter. The two of you had spent the day together, visiting the country club for lunch before Rafe took you shopping for something to wear tonight.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme love on you, it’s your birthday” He mumbled as he pressed soft kisses into your neck, hands squeezing your hips teasingly. The soft fabric of the dress he’d picked out covered your frame, the color matching your skin perfectly. 

You hummed in content, fingers holding his biceps tightly as if your knees would give out any second. “You loved on me a lot this morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Rafe’s thumb traced your bottom lip before he kissed you softly. “You make it so easy.”

The two of you got lost in each other for a few more moments, soaking up the quiet as the orange sunset started casting through the windows. Today had been the best day you’d had in so long and you were so grateful of Rafe for giving you so much patience and love.

It had taken time for you to adjust to this kind of life. You walked in here with three outfits to your name, a busted cell phone, and a stuffed animal John B won you at the town festival as kids. And Rafe embraced every bit of it, let you keep your Pogue pieces while building you a life around it that was filled with items you needed but would never ask for, all while loving you so gently.

You climbed out of his car (technically the one he’d bought you but you refused to acknowledge that), and stepped down into the soft sand below. This was your spot, the spot you came to whenever you needed to clear your head or take a moment alone. You’d shared it with Rafe shortly after everything changed, and now, it was a shared spot that you both considered special.

Rafe moved around the car to grab your hand and guide you toward the area he had organized for the two of you. A small white table had been set up with your favorite snacks and two glasses of wine, surrounded by the fluffiest blanket and pillows you’d seen. 

“Did you do this?” You squeezed his hand tighter, tears in your eyes at how sweet and thoughtful the gesture was. Your jaw dropped as the two of you walked closer; everything was thought out down to the tiny forks you loved so much being there to pick up the appetizers. 

“Course I did, baby.” Rafe kissed your temple softly and grabbed one of the glasses to hand to you before taking hold of his own. You clinked your glass against his, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply in appreciation.

And then everything went to shit.

“What the fuck?”

Rafe’s hand tightened against your lower back, both of you looking over to see the handful of figures standing a few feet away. Your heart went to your throat went you made eye contact with your brother, whose hand was wrapped in Sarah’s. JJ stood behind him along with Kiara, Pope, and Cleo, all of them looking at you expectantly.

“Shit,” You whispered and took a step back from Rafe, eyes meeting his in dread. His expression had hardened at the sight of JJ, all the anger rushing back when he thought about how you’d been treated in the relationship, how unfair everything had been. You clocked the frustration in his gaze and placed your fingers on his cheek to redirect his focus back to you. “Don’t. I’ll handle it.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked but he didn’t argue as you slipped your wine glass back into his hand and left his side to approach the group standing in front of you. You weren’t even worried about JJ or Kie, you were worried about John B more than anything.

“Hi,” The greeting was so quiet you almost didn’t hear yourself. How do you talk to people you disappeared on six months ago?

John B’s only response was to pull you into the tightest hug he had ever given. You stumbled with the force of his body colliding with you before regaining your balance and returning the embrace. 

“You’re okay,” He repeated the words to himself as if convincing his mind that they were true before stepping back and holding your cheeks in his hands. The smile on his face was huge, and you were so so confused. “Holy shit.”

“Hi,” You laughed quietly, placing your hands on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”

John B shook his head, his thumb brushing the random tear from your cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I told you to take a break, yeah? And you did.”

You glanced back to where Rafe was surprisingly conversing with Sarah with no anger in sight. The pit in your stomach slowly disappeared as you took them in and turned your attention back to John B. “I um… there’s a lot to catch you up on, and I want to tell you. I wanna tell you all of it, JB, but-”

“And I wanna hear it,” He reassured softly. “But someone put a lot of effort into your night and I don’t wanna steal any of it.”

You were so goddamn grateful for your brother. Pulling John B into another hug, you spared the look over his shoulder to see Kiara stomping away from the beach. You tried to keep a smirk off your face but it definitely made its way through. 

Stepping back from John B, you shared hugs with Cleo and Pope, promising that you would see them soon before you were face to face with the reason you made it here in the first place. JJ looked rough. His hair was chaotic, arms thinner than you remembered, and he just looked tired.

“I don’t want your apology,” You spoke as he opened his mouth. “And it looks like you have a girlfriend to go find anyway.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” JJ replied quickly as he stared at you. “Not anymore.”

You pulled your lips in and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you around, JJ.”

He reached a hand out toward you when you moved to walk away. You paused just out of his reach and looked back. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

You nodded. “I know. I should be thanking you actually, because if you had said it back to me that day, I wouldn’t have found something so much better.”

And with that, you walked away from JJ and the empty promises he had always given, walked away straight into the arms of someone who would give you the world and more, if you just so much as asked.

--

navigation 

[reddesires]

Magnetic

Logan Howlett x Mutant Reader

Summary: There's only one way of satisfying your undying curiosity of finding out whether or not those fridge magnets will stick to the one and only Wolverine, who just happens to have an adamantium skeleton.

A/N: There may or may not be a continuation of this, idk yet.

It first started off as mere curiosity, the fact of knowing Logan's skeleton was enveloped by pure metal on the forefront of your brain.

Your eyes would constantly wander to the fridge that was decorated by various colorful magnets by the students, the cat and and the multicolored alphabet letters, especially catching your attention.

The growing need to know if those magnets would stick to Logan or not was just too irresistible to refuse as you snatch the grumpy cat magnet from the fridge door, examining the narrowed green eyes on the face of black feline. Yeah, it reminded you very much of the rugged mean mugging man who was all too unaware of your devious intentions.

Logan was used to your teasing antics of playing with his tufts of hair whenever you got the chance or somehow discovering all the new hiding places he hides his beer in, just to hide them elsewhere (he thinks it's your sixth sense at this point). He feels as if he's always on his toes when it comes to you, your mutation aiding you in somehow bypassing his enhanced senses, you find great joy in sneaking up on him when he least expects it.

So when you casually walk in the room that he's in with your hands behind your back with a feign, innocent look on your face, his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh hey Lo! Didn't expect to see you here!” The lilt in your voice and the sway of your body as you walk over only cause him to tense as he sits up straight, his eyebrow raising in question.

“You know I usually sit here,” his voice trails off as his eyes trail up and down, analyzing your body movement. “You're up to something.” You grin immediately, a laugh bubbling up as you round the table as if you're trying to corner him, and he doesn't waste time standing and quickly rounding the table from you.

“Hey, don't make me spill my beer,” He says warily, holding his beer up by the neck of the bottle. You smile deviously as you slowly trail along the side of the table, still holding the mystery item behind your back and he doesn't like how you're looking at him as he mimics your movements ready to bolt to the exit any second. “Okay, we're playing that game.”

He exhales exasperatedly as he immediately swerves and runs out the door, holding his beer securely as he hears you run after him. “Logan! Get back here!” The laugh in your voice is mischievous and he doesn't trust you as the two of you run past Jean and Ororo, they look after the both of you surprised as they never expected Logan to run away from you of all people.

“Get em, girl!” Ororo cheers as they watch you round the corner after Logan, he's trying to lose you by running in front of innocent students and taking unexpected turns and it isn't long for you to have him cornered.

“Aye, have mercy.” He says your name with defeat as he clutches his beer to his chest, he somehow managed to save it from even spilling a drop during the chase and it makes you giggle as you step forward building the anticipation before getting to him, and he only watches with a close eye as you do. Only when you're within an inch from him, your face almost intimately close to his, do you notice his adam's apple bob up and down with trepidation, his eyes fluttering slightly as he's aware of how close you are to him.

You slap the magnet onto his face.

He blinks once then twice as the magnet sticks securely on to his cheek. You gasp with unadulterated joy, a cheer pulled out of you as your curiosity has finally been fulfilled.

“It does stick! Oh, this is gonna be so fun!” His face falls as he realizes what this concurs. He's become your magnetic plaything as he remembers the millions of magnets that are currently adorned on the fridge door.

“No, don't you think about it.” He grumbles as he pulls the magnet off his cheek, the crabby cat image only intensifying his dismay for your new upcoming hobby. “Oh Wolvie, it's all I can think about.” You tease as you gently squeeze his cheek, walking away feeling rejuvenated.

[kindaasrikal]

I like to think that sometimes the ninja have elemental accidents that makes them deal with the wrath of Wu. I also like to think that sometimes those accidents actually help them.

Kai: starts to uncontrollably shoot fire from his mouth, and in a mission where they need to light a bunch of pedestals near the same time, it really comes in handy.

Zane: can’t help but freeze things each time he touches it, and in summer best believe everyone is clinging onto him for that refreshing ice to cover their skin.

Nya: When tied up and captured with the release button behind her, Nya is awfully thankful that for the past week her hair has been incredibly heavy with water and will not dry, since now its heavy enough for her smack the button with.

Cole: keeps making rocks float in the air, and has found a new past time making them spin around someone’s head each time they get a concussion. He likes shaping them into dumb stuff too. He also specifically does it around villains, so when they realise them in their confusion he can throw the floating rocks directly at their foreheads.

Jay: becoming a lightning rod is one thing, Jay being really worried as he shakes Lloyd who is slowly dying before accidentally electrocuting him, getting yelled at for doing it, only for Lloyd to shoot up and start breathing again is another.

Lloyd: When Lloyd can’t stop glowing green, he becomes an oversized flashlight when they have to go on a mission in a deep, dark cave. Lloyd is terrified like a lil baby since he has to lead and keeps screeching each time any noise is made. No Lloyd that wasn’t your father it was a rat.

Bonus+

Wu: once kept creating things out of his hands and couldn’t stop. Mystake and the Fsm loved it since he kept making tea cups out of his hands. Mystake swears that that was the first time she had gotten so much business.

Garmadon: kept shooting destruction beams out of his hands when he was younger and would have to keep his hands as fists so the Fsm wouldn’t realise. After being sent on an errand to the town they regularly visit, he accidentally opens his hand and shoots a beam at a house. Instead of getting yelled at by the people surrounding it, the people with yellow hats turned out to be construction workers who were tasked to break down the house for a new one to be built. They were literally just complaining about how long it would take when Garmadon shot it down to dust. The Fsm got ten letters the next day asking for Garmadon’s help.

Morro: once saw someone struggling to breath and panicked, cover their mouth, and after the the past week of accidentally making the wind stronger or weaker where the training grounds was destroyed multiple times and Wu had to tie everything floatable down, Morro accidentally became an oxygen mask as he pushed and pulled the air from the person periodically. After the person began to breathe properly again, Morro burst into tears because he thought they were struggling to breathe because of him. Wu had to sit him down and explain exactly what had happened. Now, in the present, Morro likes to make people shut up by taking away their breath for a second.

Euphrasia: once couldn’t stop making everything float before she got dragged into helping people move stuff around since she made it easier. She keeps having old grandmas asking her to carry stuff around and help renovate homes. She’s gotten sick of hearing ‘a little to the left- ohhh no more to the right!’.

Sora: kept accidentally breaking things and once broke some rich guys toaster. She then proceeded to try fix it only for her powers to go haywire and make a toaster deluxe 5000 when it can fry, grill, and toast bread to perfection with added on butter. She had to block the guy five times after he kept asking for her fix his microwave.

Wyldfyre: she became super sweaty after over using her element only for Kai to realise that the only reason his fire was able to make the bottle he was holding blow up was because it was coated in sweat from Wyldfyre’s hand. They tested it out and whilst Wyldfyre’s flames and normal ones can’t make it blow (if her flames did she’d be blowing up 24/7 and normal flames aren’t strong enough), Kai is perfectly capable of making her sweat into bombs. Ghost Wu is not amused when he sees his monastery on fire.

Pixal and Arin begin to not only be sick of all the elemental accidents, but also appreciate them for their usefulness, since Arin likes to use Kai’s flaming mouth to help bake pies.

[pearlfeline]

truth or dare

pairing: draco malfoy x female reader

word count: 1,228

summary: slytherins throw a party and play truth or dare. draco can't seem to play correctly when it comes to you, blaise becomes a wingman, and to pansy, you're a sleepy nerd.

a/n: ughhh i don't really like this because a party just seems so unrealistic to me lol. every time i see those scenarios it doesn't seem convincing to me at all. i didn't add copious amounts of drinks and partying to this because i truly think despite them being who they are, the most they would do is share a bottle together as a small group and not throw a party because they dislike mostly everyone. also, they're still kids. sorry if that ruins the entire thing and this sucks!!! although, i really liked the idea of draco not being able to bring himself to give you a mean dare like he would to the rest of his friends. enjoy.

Your nose was deep in a book when you heard a faint jingling.

“Mrrph..”

You look behind you and see your cat swatting at the window. Your owl was here.

“Oh, Pluto leave that poor bird alone.” You get up and take the parchment from your owl’s beak.

“Thank you, Buttons.”

Buttons blinks once before flying out swiftly.

Once you unravel the parchment, you recognize the handwriting instantly.

“Small party in the common room tomorrow night. Don’t tell the stupid Gryffindors and just come downstairs for once. P.S. Don’t sleep right after dinner like an old crone and attend. I’m tired of talking to the same buffoons every day.”

You roll your eyes. Of course, he sends a letter over something he could’ve told you in passing.

“Wanker.” You mumbled, tossing the letter on your bed.

Of course, you’ll attend but there’s no reason to act giddy about it. At least on the outside. How you feel on the inside is nobody’s business surely.

The next day, you expect to walk into the common room with a circle of a few people, but you were met with bottles scattered across the floor.

Draco’s platinum hair stands out immediately despite the lights being dimmed.

“So you took my advice and stayed awake until curfew! Must be a new record for the old miss.” Draco chuckles to himself.

“Quite the dramatic invitation.” You look around and see scared first years peering through the steps.

“Is this your idea of a small party?”

Draco shrugged. “It’s just Slytherins. Whoever chooses to come is invited.”

“Obviously they’re going to show. Everybody who’s here loves to kiss up to the famous Draco Malfoy.”

Draco smirked.

“Not everybody” Blaise comes out of nowhere, sipping whatever from his cup.

“Do you not see how bad of an idea this is? The first years are trying to sleep.”

Blaise nods. “I didn’t want it to be this big either… or this loud.”

Draco rolls his eyes, giving a firm slap to Blaise’s shoulder. “Lighten up Zabini. It’s just a little over thirty people. Not my fault that’s twice as many people you know.”

Blaise takes that as his cue to get another drink and shakes his head before breaking away.

“Pansy is whining about playing truth or dare. Are you coming or not?” Draco’s eyes flick to the dorms.

“You threw a party just so we could all go upstairs and ignore it?”

“Somebody had to bring the drinks.” Draco walks past you, ironically slipping a bit on the steps. The younger kids move out of the way, scurrying back to their own rooms, trying to avoid a lecture out of fear.

You reluctantly follow Draco to his dorm room. Pansy and everyone else were already comfortably lounging, laughing about someone’s misfortune if you had to guess. Blaise followed quickly behind you, shutting the door.

“What happened?” He sits down near Pansy, who was obviously tipsy already.

“Truth or dare Zabini..” She giggles.

Blaise sighs. “Truth.”

You settle down on the corner of Draco’s bed, admittedly excited about the outcome of Blaise’s choice.

Draco sits on the floor, not before putting his sweater where he wanted to sit.

“…Boring… But fine.” Pansy, previously laying on her stomach, sits up and ponders a good question before smiling mischievously.

“Who in this room would you most likely snog..?”

Blaise pauses for a brief moment. “Pansy if you wanted to you should’ve just asked me.”

Pansy face-plants into her hands, groaning. Though, you had a feeling she was smiling under there.

After a few turns, it was eventually Draco’s turn.

“Y/L/N. Pick one.”

“Dare.”

Draco smiles at your answer but it soon fades as he thinks of what to say next.

“You should..”

The circle exchanges looks with one another.

“I dare you to…” Draco’s eyes dart around the room.

“Chug your drink…” Draco muttered.

“I.. I never got a drink.” You replied.

Blaise gives Draco a sympathetic look, before handing you his cup. “Here.”

You hesitantly take the cup.

Goyle furrows his eyebrows. “Malfoy, you just made me sneak outside and bang on Gryffindor’s entryway, why is her dare so-“

“Shut up.” He snapped.

You start to sip an already half-drunken cup, grimacing at the taste.

You hold it all in your cheeks, shaking your head in pain.

“You’ve got to swallow it eventually love.” Blaise takes back the cup cautiously.

You could only manage a squeak in response before forcing it down in an excruciating gulp.

“Not a fan?” Pansy laughed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be…”

Draco purses his lips to hide his smile, suddenly finding that looking down at his shoes and playing with the laces was worth occupying his time. Despite looking forward to this very scenario all day, he couldn’t bring himself to give you a humiliating dare.

“I don’t know how you all drink that stuff so often.” You smack your lips, still tasting the remnants of whatever drink it was.

“Was that your first drink?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Of course it was. I don’t have access to these… alcohols…” You shrink slightly at how inexperienced and awkward you sounded.

Draco only scoffs. “We’ll, no wonder you couldn’t even chug.”

You glare at him, shoving him lightly. “There wasn’t even enough for me to possibly do that.”

“You looked like a newborn deer trying to drink from its first puddle.” Pansy let out a cackle before covering her mouth.

You close your eyes before rolling back into the bed, grabbing a pillow to shove into your face. It took you a moment to realize you weren’t in your own bed.

Draco’s smell of shampoo seeps through the pillow and into your nose. You flinch slightly but keep the pillow there, wanting to still hide from everyone. Though the mixed smell of fresh laundry and rosewood was an added bonus.

Pansy slaps the foot hanging off Draco’s bed.

“Ow!” You muffle through the pillow.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already!”

Honestly, you were getting tiresome. You rarely stay up and sinking back into a bed didn’t help. You didn’t respond and just closed your eyes.

Blaise looks over at Draco, trying to basically have a telepathic conversation. They both somehow understood each other perfectly.

“Pansy I think we should go to your room and finish where we left off.” Blaise holds his cup with his teeth, one hand pulling her away and the other opening the door.

Draco’s other minions just stared blankly, completely oblivious to what he was implying.

“Get out.” Draco quietly hissed, making them jump and rush out, almost squeezing into Blaise and Pansy between the door frame. All mumble incoherently trying to push each other.

In between this time, you actually did doze off. Draco turns back around to hear your breathing slightly get heavier as if you were on the verge of snoring. He sighs, lifting the pillow off your face and placing it under your head.

“I bet Dumbledore sleeps later than you.” He mumbled.

Draco pulls the blanket from under you and tucks you in. He could’ve almost burst out laughing by how you sleep so easily, but he decides against waking you up after Blaise basically gave him two favors tonight. Draco slumps onto Blaise’s bed, staying up as long as he could, making sure you were able to sleep uninterruptedly throughout the night.

[wildrangers]

This Town is Fake, But You're the Real Thing // Matt Smith

This is based on an anon ask from a few weeks ago requesting a story with Matt and a HOTD costar with an age gap. For context, reader is just shy of 30 to Matt's 41. It ended up being longer than expected but that's not shocking🙂

Tropes & Topics: miscommunication, mutual pining, will they/won't they, age gap, resolved angst, fluffy end

Word Count: 2.8K

You’d been dreading and anticipating this filming day for weeks now. You’d been cast as Alys in Season 2 of House of the Dragon and anxiety has been your primary emotion since you received the news. On the obvious side, the show’s massive and will ideally propel your career forward with dizzying speed after toiling away for a decade on small projects. A less obvious, more personal element of the matter is your equally long crush on Matt Smith. You’d first seen him as Doctor Who when you were a teen and you’d become madly infatuated. You nearly drove yourself mad while waiting for filming to start, trying to get your emotions under control before stepping on set. It helped and hurt that he’s such a lovely person in real life.

Within a week of signing your contract, a beautiful gift basket had arrived at your door. You’d curiously brought it inside and nearly dropped the champagne bottle when you found the note: Cheers to being scene partners soon! Can’t wait, Matt. Your first course of action was to tear into the chocolate covered strawberries and your second was to frantically call your manager to yell at her for hiding this surprise from you. You’d sent back a thank you note, which is how, somehow, you two became pen pals in the months leading up to filming. 

In your letters, you two discussed the show and your ideas for your character’s relationship dynamics all while Matt kindly provided guidance when you shared your anxieties about joining such a well-respected and beloved show. By the time you arrived on set, you felt more settled–Matt would be a professional support and colleague, your childish crush left in the past. After all, you’d had feelings for your teenage self’s idea of who Matt Smith was. This Matt is real, kind, your coworker, and 12 years your senior. 

All of this logic dissipated when you heard his painfully familiar voice calling your name across the set you were exploring before filming began. He quickly approached you, grinning broadly as he pulled you into a warm hug. You, thankfully, recovered your senses swiftly, returning his hug before somehow carrying on a normal conversation with him. Several months into filming now, that first day is a blur but you’d left a good enough first impression that you two became close throughout shooting. 

You clung to your logic, desperately fighting back the crush that was rapidly developing into actual feelings throughout this time. Your chemistry on set was palpable and mercurial but in your trailers or sharing a drink after work, your relationship was filled with laughter, stimulating conversation, and affection. You’d bonded over your love for horror movies, jokingly plotting one to star in together in the future. You respected him, this project, and yourself too much to risk all that you’d built for a relic from your teenagedom.

Or, at least that’s what you repeat in your mind as you pace nervously in your trailer, practicing your lines quietly to yourself. Today’s scene is the last for you two to shoot and it’s by far the most daunting for you mentally. Alys and Daemon have a tense relationship, clearly drawn together despite Daemon’s suspicions and Alys’ blurry intentions. This scene is the culmination of that tension and while nothing physically occurs between them, an emotional vulnerability is needed for it to be satisfying for the viewers. 

You hear a knock on your door as the PA summons you to set. You take a deep, steadying breath before following her onto the lot. Harrenhal’s lot is constantly damp and by the time you’re on the actual set, your dress is clinging uncomfortably to you. 

“There she is! How are you feeling, love?” Matt questions, squeezing your shoulders soothingly. 

“Nervous, you?” you admit and his smile turns downward.

“What’s making you nervous? How can I help?”

“It just feels like a big scene, that’s all.” 

“Darling, we’ve done so many big scenes. What else is going on?” he pushes and you sigh, nervously fidgeting with the ends of your wig. 

“I guess it’s weird this is it, you know? It’s been months of us working together and after today we’re basically done. It’s daunting, I want to make sure the relationship feels right at its conclusion for the season.”

“It will, I promise. You’re brilliant and we’ve worked so hard to cultivate this dynamic–we know exactly what to do together, yeah?”

“But do we?” you question and immediately regret it. His brows furrowed as you kick yourself for letting your confused personal feelings get in the way of the work. “Never mind, I’m just psyching myself out. You’re right, as always.”

Matt opens his mouth to reply but the director calls you to your marks and all you can do is squeeze his hand before going to your spot, closing your eyes and banishing yourself from your mind–you are Alys, he is Daemon, you two are fighting because tensions are coming to a head. 

You two do several takes but something feels off. You’re both hitting your lines and your marks but there’s something missing, which you’re obsessively trying to solve as shooting’s paused for lunch. As you finish up your smorgasbord of snacks, your favorite craft service meal, Matt approaches, his eyes focused on you. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his eyes tunneling into yours with an intensity you’ve never seen from him off camera. 

“Of course” you reply without hesitation and he nods. 

“I’m doing a slight improv, will you follow my lead?” 

“Of course” you repeat, just as the director calls you back to set. 

Your nerves have returned but you’re eager to see Matt’s idea play out–you’ve both improved different moments over the course of filming and they often lead to your best takes. 

The director calls action and your lines repeat as they have all day long. You’re lost in the moment, noting Matt approaching you much more closely than previously. This must be it–he wants more physical tension in the scene and you kick yourself for not thinking of it yourself. Suddenly, Matt’s hands roughly grab your arms pulling your chests flush together. 

Your gasp is real, as is the way your own hands rise to grip his shoulders as he towers over you. Your Alys brain kicks in and you switch to struggling against him, eager to get away from this man who could easily overpower you. 

“Don’t leave” he breathes out quietly, a line not in the script, his eyes earnest and glossy with emotion.

“You know as well as I why I must, no matter what we may…sense in one another” you ad-lib and though it fits Alys’ intentions, your own desires easily bleed through. 

“And what is it you sense in me?” 

“Danger…lust” you sigh, eyes instinctually dropping to his mouth. Your heart’s in your throat, this is the most you two have leaned into the characters’ sexual tension. “And what do you see within me?”

“Temptation…damnation” he replies fervently. You two hold each other’s gaze and you feel your eyes growing misty as are Matt’s before you. He begins to lean in and as much as you desperately want to give in, Alys would never, so you forcefully push your hands into his chest until a few feet separate you. 

Your breathing is labored, your face feels flushed, and you nearly forget the final scripted line that concludes the scene, “I told you you’d die in this castle, Daemon…I refuse to die with you.” 

A single tear escapes Daemon’s eyes and you turn on your heels, head high as you leave the room before the director yells “Cut! Holy shit you two, thank god we had coverage on both of you. That was perfect. I’m going to call Ryan to review the changes but that was brilliant. Hang tight for a few minutes, okay?” 

You nod, dizzy with emotion. You can’t force yourself to look in Matt’s direction, the vulnerability and intensity of the scene making you feel exposed. Instead, you stumble over to craft services asking for a mug of tea to settle your nerves. You take a deep swig and feel some of the tension leave your shoulders but the butterflies in your stomach refuse to follow their lead. You hear someone approaching and know before you hear his deep voice saying your name that it’s Matt. 

“Are you okay? Was that too much?” he questions and you force yourself to turn around.

“I’m fine, it was brilliant.”

“Then why do you look so shaken?” he questions, hands going to rest on your shoulders, as they have countless times over the last few months. You find yourself stepping out of his hold, feeling too raw to stomach being touched right now. Your thoughts are racing and your heart is pounding and being this close to him is too much. 

“It was just intense, that’s all.” 

“It was, wasn’t it?” he agrees, his eyes boring into your face despite your refusal to meet his gaze. You simply nod, taking another sip of tea. 

“It felt real” you breath out and immediately regret it. “Sorry, that’s silly, I didn’t mean…” you trail off, unsure how to express all that you’re thinking and feeling right now. 

“I don’t think it’s silly” he replies quietly and you shut your eyes. You have to be imagining things, he can’t possibly be admitting to feeling similarly to you; it’s impossible, for countless reasons. You’re saved from responding by the director calling you back to set and you quickly walk past Matt, mug firmly in your grip as you try to steady yourself to appear professional.

“Ryan loved it guys, that’s a wrap on Daemon and Alys at Harrenhal for season two!” he cheers and the crew bursts into claps and whistles. You force a smile and express your gratitude towards the director and crew before quickly excusing yourself to your trailer, not waiting around to see what Matt has to say to everyone. 

Your team must feel your anxious energy because they get you out of costuming, hair, and makeup in record time. You say your farewells, frantically getting into one of the waiting cars that will whisk you away to your hotel. You regret, on some level, not saying goodbye to Matt but you promise yourself you’ll text him in the morning and meet for breakfast. 

As the elevator rises you text Emma, Hey, crazy day, room service together tonight?

You toss your phone on the bed without waiting for a reply, peeling off your clothes and jumping in the shower. You just need to wash this day away. Once you feel yourself fully reinhabiting your body again, you turn off the water, dry yourself, and do your skincare before changing into sweats. A knock sounds from your door and you feel more tension leaving your body as you go to answer it, assuming you’ll find Emma on the other side. 

Your heart stutters when you’re instead met by Matt’s anxious gaze, his hands feverishly running through his hair. “Matt?” 

“You just left” he replies, voice tight with an emotion you can’t place.

“I…I was tired, I just wanted to unwind” you say, offering this half truth. His intense stare makes you fear you aren’t convincing him. 

“Can I come in, please? Just for a moment. I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong.” 

You nod shallowly, stepping to the side before closing the door behind him. An awkward silence descends and you perch nervously on the foot of your bed. Your phone buzzes beside you and you glance over to see their reply Can’t sorry, I’ve got a night shoot–tomorrow?

“Do you need to get that?” Matt’s voice draws you back to the moment in front of you and you watch as he paces the floor.

“No, Matt, but can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.” 

“I’m sorry, I just…I keep replaying that final take and what you said afterwards and how you disappeared and I can’t help but feel like I’ve crossed a line or upset you.”

“Matt, you heard the director, it was a brilliant move. It worked beautifully, why would that upset me?” 

“Because it felt real” he replies and you freeze at your own words repeated back to you. “But it couldn’t have been, could it? We were both in wigs and calling each other different names.” 

You don’t know what to say so Matt plows ahead, “Not when we’re friends and colleagues and I’m old enough to be your father.”

You're surprised by the snort that erupts from you, “Matt, that’s a little dramatic. You are not old enough to be my father for Christ’s sake.”

“Well I’m certainly too old to be your partner” he replies quietly, finally stopping his pacing with his back to you. “Far too old to kid myself into thinking you’d be interested in me that way.” 

You freeze, your breath stolen from your chest at his words. “Matt?” you question tentatively, rising to place a gentle hand on his shoulder blade but he moves from your touch. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. See? I knew this was stupid and unprofessional and putting you in an uncomfortable position and I value our friendship but still went ahead and blew it up and–”

“Matt” you say firmly and he turns at the stern tone of your voice. His eyes are sad as they meet yours and the slump of his shoulders is so un-Matt-like that it breaks your heart a little. You step forward and place your hand to his cheek, a thrill racing through you as he closes his eyes, nuzzling into your touch. You stay like that for a moment, each of you seemingly nervous to break this fragile moment. Finally, he releases a deep breath and his hands land on your hips as his eyes open again. “This isn’t a good idea.” 

“Why?” he questions, stepping closer until your bodies are flush together.

You raise your other hand, gently moving a strand of hair out of his face, “Because I’m just…me and you’re…you’re you, Matt, and you’ll realize that quickly. You’ll also realize that even though I seem to have my life together, I’m ultimately just shy of 30 and still trying to figure shit out. You’re settled, you know who you are and what you want. I can’t offer you the same in return and that’s unfair.” 

Your admission hangs in the air between you for a long moment, “But you’d want to? If I told you I’m not remotely concerned about anything you just said?” 

“I would but only if you believe me when I tell you I think what you said before is bullshit too.” 

He smiles fondly at you, his calloused thumb rising to skim your cheekbone down to your chin, before raising to faintly trace the shape of your mouth. Your heart’s in your throat as you rise on your toes slightly, offering your parted lips to him in offering. His hand curls into your hair as he painstakingly slowly joins your lips together. 

Your heart settles at the rightness of the kiss, the care with which he handles you. He allows you to lead the way, your mouths learning the feel of each other before you brush your tongue against his mouth which he gladly opens to you. As your tongues twine, you surrender to the moment, fully leaning your weight into him as you pull him as close as humanly possible. He returns your eagerness with his own and you’re pleased at the soft groan that falls from his lips into yours. When you finally pull away, he drops his forehead to yours as you catch your breaths that mingle in the air between you. 

The peaceful moment stretches onward, neither of you wanting to end it. However, your stomach finally does as it rumbles loudly causing Matt to laugh. “I always tell you, just snacking all day is not enough, darling.”

“It’s not snacking, it’s a personalized charcuterie board” you protest, chuckling at this long-standing disagreement. 

“Room service? I can’t bear the thought of not being within two feet of you the rest of the night” he says and you nod, chuckling at his admission. 

“First Omen?” you question and he scoffs, pulling you onto the bed with him as he grabs the remote.

“Absolutely not, we’re watching the original first” he insists and you hum your assent, curling into his side and you’re struck by how natural it feels. “Youth, these days” he sighs, jokingly. 

“You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you Matthew?” 

His only response is to giggle and place a soft kiss to your temple before picking up the phone to order you both a feast.

Matt taglist (message or comment to be added!): @slayraxes-blogs @littlehorrorlover @decaffeinatedparadisepost

Side note: Part Three of my ongoing Matt series is written, I'm just editing and planning what comes next before posting

[polarspaz]

Carrion AU Updated Tidbits

So here's a HUGE info dump for the AU, and some minor adjustments to the lore.

-When Tim was a child, he was severely neglected by his parents. They had no interest in him and let the nannies do all of the care taking, and sadly, Tim was fine with that, until he started getting sick.

The nannies that took care of him were suddenly gone, and his parents became obsessed with him eating all of his food, especially dinner, but the more he ate, the worst he got, and Tim wasn't an idiot.

He knew the food was the real reason he was becoming so ill, so when his parents left the house, he studied. He researched poisons, searched through the house for information and clues, and finally found the truth.

The insurance plan filed under his name, the threatening letters from the mob, and even the bottle of poison his parents were using to coat his meals, all pointed to one single truth. His parents were going to kill him. They needed money from the insurance company to pay off the mob and his death would give them just that.

A few night's later, Tim secretly watched his mother make dinner and saw her pour a deadly amount of poison into his meal. Tim's tiny heart hammered against his chest, and one resounding thought echoed in his 7 year old mind, I don't want to die.

So he crept past his mother and towards the wine glasses, pulled out a small vile and dumped it's contents into both drinks. He then went to the dinning table and sat down quietly, his hands shaking the entire time.

Five minutes later and he was still there, trembling. Both his of parents were dead on the floor.

-----

Gotham is divided into two parts, The Gilded Square, and the Chaos Circle. The Gilded Square is the upper center part of Gotham, where Batman and the police force have complete control. This is were the majority of citizens live and where Wayne Tower and Manor are located.

The Chaos Circle covers the entire area outside the Gilded Square and encompasses most of Gotham. Here, there is no law, criminals run wild and their numbers are immense. The worst felons from all over the country are sent here, and psychopaths like the Joker rule the streets.

-Batman does not like killing, but he will do it if he has to. The sheer amount of chaos he has to fight against has brought him to this point. Still, it's a last resort option, and he still won't use guns.

-The rest of the Batfamily try to follow this rule but there are times when it's broken. Jason likes to use guns and has no problem with offing more people than necessary. Dick gets extremely violent when he finds hurt kids. Damian meanwhile thinks torture should be implemented into their cause. Stephanie likes shoving fireworks into unethical places, like eyeballs, and then there's Tim.

-Tim, who likes to make drugs that cause people to claw into their skin so they can dig out the spiders hiding inside their veins. To say Bruce has his hands full in this AU, is an understatement.

[zablife]

Listen Carefully

Summary: Danny falls in love with Johnny's girl during his interviews.

Warnings: slightly nsfw, angst

Danny leans one elbow forward on his trembling knee, extending the microphone closer as a way to bridge the gap between your bodies. He listens carefully as you confide the secrets of the club. Though he doubts it's anything Johny hasn't told you to say, he's still mesmerized by your every movement, so much so he's barely moved in the past twenty minutes. Cigarette between his lips all but forgotten, he finds he can barely breathe in your presence, let alone smoke. He only becomes aware of the impediment when you dip forward to tug ever so gently at his cigarette, glossy lips parted as though you might replace it with a kiss.

Despite his best efforts to stay cool and detached, the corners of his mouth turn upward in a goofy grin. The heart of a rabbit beating within his chest when you gaze back at him, smile bathing his entire body in honey coated warmth. You twirl a lock of your hair as you hold him under your spell and the effect is instantaneous. His palm lands on the ground, fingers tangling in the tall grass to keep the world from spinning as all the blood rushes to his crotch. Your head cocks to the side as you take notice, eyes flicking downward momentarily, diverting to the tape recorder at the last moment as you ask sweetly, "Do you need anything else, Danny?"

The sound of his name on your tongue could make him cum on the spot, but the loud roar of a motor cycle engine behind him reminds him you're not alone. His hand shifts to the front of his trousers, clearing his throat in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort. "Maybe a few more questions..." he grunts.

Benny cuts his eyes at Danny from across the lawn before taking a swig of whisky. “You believe this guy?” he asks Johnny, hackles up even though you haven't been touched. He stands, ready to charge, but Johnny places a hand to his chest.

“Wait a second. Got a better idea,” he chuckles, stamping out his cigarette. Sauntering over to the patch of ground Danny occupies, Johnny settles behind you, tickling the spot beneath your ribs he knows will produce the most delicious, impish giggle.

"Hi baby," you simper, turning your head to capture his face in between your palms. He doesn't hesitate staking his claim, kissing you with heated passion. Then he turns your chin back toward Danny, urging you to concentrate on the questions the young man is struggling to ask.

And though his brain is foggy, Danny presses on with Johnny bearing down on him, Johnny relishing the thought that he's throwing the kid off his game. As Danny stutters out the next question, Johnny's large hand caresses your stomach, your shirt billowing in the breeze to reveal a slight swell. Wait until he finds out she's pregnant, Johnny thinks with a mischievous smirk, but keeps that part to himself as he accepts a cool beer from Cal.

Then another devilish thought comes to mind. Let's give him one more souvenir to take back to that fancy college of his. Running the icy cool beer bottle between your exposed shoulder blades, Johnny feels you jump between his legs and you gasp out a deep, raspy breath that sounds so wanton and orgasmic, Johnny feels his own cock twitch at the sound. He's sure he catches Danny gulp too.

"That's...that's all I need," Danny admits soon after, excusing himself to somewhere unknown and Johnny can't help but toss his head back and laugh. Little does he know the damage that's been done to the poor kid's psyche.

He'll go home and replay that tape until the ribbon is threadbare, ticking ominously in the recorder late one night as he's jerking himself off to the now familiar sound of your high pitched whimper, despairing as the reel snaps in half just before his favorite part... "Hi baby."

He hadn't wanted to accept Brucie's letter until now, the cold hard truth that you're having Johnny's baby, but that's when he has to admit you'll never be his. This recording was the tether to his sanity, the last moment he'd allowed himself to dream of something more. He pitches forward in the darkness to mourn, part of him wishing he'd never known you so he might never have felt such sorrow.

[socialkid]

Imagine…

It’s a casual Saturday afternoon in the middle of June. The sun is out with mild wind, it was the perfect weather. And when the weather is nice like this, everyone knows to watch out for you. Because around this time, you’re shopping. Shopping, shopping, shopping. You run from store to store buying everything in sight. Most of the time with your money, which makes your boyfriend mad. He likes to pay for you.

You boyfriend: Bakugou who knows you love shopping. The days when you have free time, what are you doing? Shopping. The nights where Bakugou’s pacing up and down your apartment because you won’t answer the phone then suddenly, you come bursting through the front door with a bunch of shopping bags. He knows. If anyone knows it’s him.

This morning Bakugou had gotten a call and he was reminded that he had a day off from the agency he worked at. So when he woke you up to ask what you wanted to do today, he wondered why he asked, already knowing your answer.

Now you and Bakugou were walking through the strip mall, him holding two of your bags in one hand and his other holding yours.

“Are we done yet? I wanna take you dinner and we can’t be here all day.” Bakugou asked, grunting as he readjusted your bags.

“Not even close babe,” you said with a quickness as he groaned, “Besides, it’s only two o’clock. You don’t want to just sit around till dinner do you?” You asked him.

“Yea yeah.” He said.

You looked through the windows of the stores as they went by. Preppy, pink and frilly stores, tomboy stores, casual clothing stores, toy stores, and so much more.

“Where we goin’ next huh?” Bakugou asked, looking through some of the bags he was holding. “Hmmm probably Spencer’s, then we could hit up the food court for Auntie Anne’s, and then Foreve-” you stopped in your tracks at a merch store. The window displayed, shirts and hats of merchandise by well known creators.

Bakugou looked at you as you made googly eyes at the coryxkenshien merch, worn by a mannequin. “Y/n…don’t start-” your boyfriend was interrupted by you squealing and jumping. “Just go in the damn store already.” Bakugou sighed as you rushed in. Bakugou made his way in behind you slowly after. Not even 15 seconds later and he had already lost you.

He made his way around the store looking for you, and calling your name every once in a while. He got the idea to check by the Cory section. No sign of you. He checked the sections of your favorite artists and creators, still no sign of you.

He had actually started to become a little panicky. “Y/n? Where are you?” He raised his voice. He knew you were smart, the complete opposite of vulnerable. You could help yourself if you needed to. Even without using your quirk, you can handle anyone. But still, Bakugou wanted to make sure you were safe.

Bakugou had checked almost every area of the store and he had continued to worry. Before resorting to shouting your name he saw a section under a sign that wrote “Heroes”.

As soon as he entered, your voice began to fade in, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my goshhh!” Bakugou walked past all the merchandise: Earser Head, Red Riot, Chargebolt, and more. He finally stopped when he saw you gazing at a triple layered table, sitting under a sign labeled “Dynamite”.

There on the table was a clear representation of Katsuki himself. The black and orange shirts and pants, hoodies labeled ‘Dynamite’ in black and orange letters, and miniature sized Dynamite plushies.

Bakugou couldn’t help but grin a little bit when you turned around to face him, already wearing a baseball cap with his named labeled onto it. “Babe! Look! It’s you! Everywhere! Oh my gosh!” You said smiling from ear to ear. “I can see that y/n.” He said sarcastically, chuckling a bit, “Calm down, you can get what you want I’ll pay for it.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You picked up everything that had his name on it. Hoodies, tank tops, hats, water bottles, stuffed plushies, fake tattoos, etc. You also stashed a few items by Shoto, Red Riot, and even one or two Deku items.

You were so excited for your items. So excited you didn’t pay attention to the shocked face of the cashier ringing up all the Dynamite merchandise, as she looked at Dynamite behind you.

After that nothing else in the mall seemed interesting. At this point you were ready to go home before dinner and check out your man’s merch.

After that day, you made sure to put your items to use. You were always flaunting your boyfriend and you made sure everybody knew it.

One night your boyfriend had called you up and asked if he could sleepover at your apartment. And when he arrived he was meet with you, wearing an oversized Dynamite shirt. He couldn’t help his intentions that night. And when everything was done, you cuddled up next to your Dynamite plushie and your life sized Dynamite.

“You love me don’t you?” Bakugou asked, you could practically hear his grin.

“Yup, both of you.”

[soupbtch]

Ed notices Stede tucking flowers through his powdered wig in the captain’s cabin as they get ready together. He grows quietly fascinated watching Stede’s fingers as they sort through the flowers scattered on the desk, picking the smallest, brightest ones to loop gently into his wig. He’s never seen anyone handle anything so delicately before.

He steps closer, and Stede looks up and asks, “Would you like some in your hair, as well?”

Ed’s eyes widen at the question before he remembers he’s not attending the party tonight as Blackbeard. He can be anyone he wants. He can be someone who wears flowers in his hair. He might even like it.

“Yeah, sure,” he huffs in a small voice, and Stede gestures for him to take a seat.

Stede reaches around to pluck a flower from the pile. “May I?”

In the past, Ed has never liked people touching his hair; and though he barely knows Stede, he finds himself trusting him anyway.

Stede begins gently placing flowers in Ed’s hair, weaving the stems through his waves. No one has ever touched Ed so tenderly, with such great care as if he were reverent and beautiful and delicate. He feels himself melting into the soft press of Stede’s fingertips against his scalp.

“There,” Stede says quietly. “Go have a look.” He doesn’t need to find a mirror to see how he looks – he can read it on Stede’s face.

From then on, trusting Stede becomes an easier decision to make. Then something natural and instinctual, like breathing. Ed trusts Stede again later that night as he slips the red silk from his fingers, and once more a few days later when he asks Stede to run him through on the deck of the ship. Inhale. He trusts Stede with the next ten years of his life. And still, as he waits at dawn with his feet dangling over the edge of the dock. Exhale.

His vision tunnels. He’s cold. Suffocating.

“Like treading water,” Ed had said a lifetime ago. “Waiting to drown.”

Miraculously, he breaks through the surface. He has to force the air back into his lungs, will them to deflate and hope his body remembers how to fill them back up again.

“Breathing the same air,” Stede says to him. And it’s painful, and he hiccups and chokes, but slowly, gradually, it gets easier. He whispers his goodbye to Blackbeard as Stede lays him gently down on the bed. But his breathing is still jagged, irregular; one step forward before stumbling back.

He’s sputtering on salt water again when he finds a letter in a bottle. He finds the man who wrote it. He’s wielding a sword, and Ed trusts he won’t get gutted this time as he sprints towards him from across the beach. He inhales automatically as they intertwine, pressing their promises to each other's lips.

“Almost ready? Want me to put the flowers in your hair?” Frenchie asks.

“No thanks,” Ed exhales. “It may be our wedding day, but I trust Stede will be here any second now to do it himself.”

[amuseoffyre]

Things worth remembering:

All Stede knows about Ed's breakdown is that it was because of him (You broke him/he took my leg cos I mentioned your name), He doesn't know about Ed's other trauma aside from his dad and while he knows Ed is disillusioned with pirating, he doesn't know the specifics about why.

Ed tends to speak in metaphors and while Stede tries to understand them, it's clear that sometimes he's missing the mark. Sometimes Ed isn't even sure of the metaphors himself, but once he has them, he holds onto them - the fish thing has got him especially.

And the thing is that Ed's only just learned to sit with himself in episode 5 and it's overwhelming him. At the beginning of 6, he's the stillest and quietest we've seen him and is gazing out to sea while having flashbacks to things he's done and people he's hurt (hello 1x09 callback).

And the thing is he's okay at the start of 7. He's made a decision about shedding the Blackbeard stuff. He doesn't say anything to anyone and he's ok until Jackie points out Stede is the rising star just when Ed wants out

He doesn't begrudge Stede being excited and happy with his new fame. He is afraid of what his presence has led Stede to: the conversation with Jackie is very much his "you defile beautiful things" moment, especially his presence brought Ned to Stede ("It's me you want").

He also doesn't understand why Stede killed Ned because Stede bottled up his trauma like his love letters. He doesn't even know why Stede a) became a pirate or b) went back to Mary, especially since Stede never actually told him where he'd been directly. He had to hear it from Anne - and Stede is betrayed by that as well ("I told you that in confidence")

Right now, he's feeling unmoored by his own identity and now Stede has taken a step that has fully changed him as a person too and dragged him straight back into the heart of piracy. He tells Jackie he wants out and she asks if Stede knows that and Ed's face just drops and he whispers "shit".

And he spends of the rest of the day thinking and quiet and realises that to process any of this mess, he needs to be away from the pirate world for a bit so he can get his head on straight because now it's roaring back in for him. He sits, he thinks, he realises he needs that space - he should speak to Stede but he tried that the day before and Stede still killed Ned.

Stede also lashes out, which definitely doesn't help. He's right. Ed is panicking, but Stede is also missing so many little clues. Ed never told him about dropping his leathers and Stede just sees him as Ed in other clothes. He doesn't understand the significance, even when everyone around them realises something is off. If even the Swede picks up on it, you know it's an obvious flag.

They both need to use their words and explain wtf is happening with both of them, but they are also both ridiculously traumatised by their past experience. Ed is afraid he's unlovable and now Stede is talking down his coping mechanism, so maybe he's right and Ed-as-Ed is unlovable, while Stede has been told his entire life he isn't enough, so becoming the ultimate pirate should be the win he's been looking for, only Ed isn't happy and Ed is leaving him, so maybe it's him that isn't enough after all.

They are both tangled up so much in their own histories and don't know enough about each others and that's why they keep lashing out and hurting each other so much - they each don't realise what they're saying is a different kind of weapon to the other.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

"if i say i miss you, i know that you won't.”

Summary: Cillian looks back at all the mistakes he made in his marriage. Writing to a wife that never came home after he realized too late he was the reason she ran away. Will one last letter change everything?

Warnings: Resentment, mentions of divorce, marriage problems, yearning

Tapping his cracked finger tips against the cold wooden table, fit snuggly to the side of the wall of the kitchen just beside the window. Cillian warmed his hands, cusping them around the simmering cup of honey tea while he scanned the same script for the ninth time. The words and acts blurring together in a silhouette of scattered thoughts.

He tried to focus to the best of his ability but the autumn sun peered in through the sheer blinds, pulling his depressed, tired eyes away from the scripture. It was at that point in the season the leaves started to fall in their poetic state, scattering across the front lawn and dwindling over the cracked sidewalks.

"Hm.." He hummed to himself whimsically as he watched a young couple walking happily hand in hand together down the street, involuntarily caressing the golden band that fit snug to his finger for the past fifteen years.

It felt like just yesterday his wife was wrapped in his arms, stealing the warmth of his body, her hair flowing freely over his shoulder while their legs were intertwined between the cotton sheets. Her head tucked between his head and collarbone while her plush, delicate lips pressed against the veins of his neck.

She had the giggle that would make any sorrowful man smile gleefully, so infectious, so pure. He missed it immensely.

It had been nearly a year since he saw the woman that took his last name. Marriages were a funny thing, the divorce statistic rising increasingly fast with each passing day. He never dreamed that he would become a part of such a number, not ever.

Her scarves still lay on the hooks behind the door, her remnants of clothes and shoes still decorating the once shared flat, only reminding Cillian that he was living with a ghost of a person who was still living, just not with him anymore.

The media pressed on the topic repeatedly in nearly every interview he did, questioning what was really going in his marriage. Being the private, family man he was, he dismissed these questions immediately, only wanting to stick to questions regarding the projects he was currently working on.

They slowly began to fade away, much like his wife as time passed. Speculations ever so often here and there when he was spotted out walking Scout by himself, never having taken the wedding ring off.

Papers were never signed, but in a way the void in the house crept into his gut, often causing him to just sit in the car, staring at the fortress that was supposed to be his safe haven. The house no longer feeling like home as much as it was a reminder of how his lifestyle slowly pushed her away.

No one talked about how celebrities still had their battles and money was just but an object. Cillian would have thrown it all away for her if he knew it would end with his wife disappearing and never coming home, leaving him a simple letter of her decision to leave.

Gulping, he wiped at his dreary eyes as tears were bearing down against the waterline of his baby blue eyes, desperately seeking an escape from the bottled up emotions Cillian avoided for so needlessly long.

She was a writer, a damn great one in his eyes but their schedules never aligned and the first book signing she had he couldn't push back a date for an interview. He hadn't asked her how it went, merely promising he'd make it up, yet he never found the time to do so.

Their love life diminished at a rapid pace, the date nights not so frequent, while every conversation lead to arguments, inevitably leading to mental exhaustion and her needing space away, time to think.

Their careers didn't align, and neither were willing to put their lives on hold for one another. She had missed out on so many oppurtunities to publish anymore, even passing on a job to be a writer for the times. She hoped this would fix the problems in their relationship, not realizing until far too late how many phases of her aspirations she passed on because of him. She refused any longer to sit around and wait for Cillian to find the time for their marriage, for her. He honored and respected her for that but the days soon turned into weeks, leading to months, leading to Cillian living how he was now.

The picture frames stared back at him every day, making him feel like a fool for not making time for her, for never fighting harder for their marriage and disregarding her hopes and dreams. The flashbacks of all the intimate moments warmed his heart, the arguments and feuds eating at his bones like acid did to a surface.

Stumbling into his office, he opened the left hand drawer, pulling out a pen and paper, sitting down like he did every week before he began to write, hands trembling each time as he held the pen.

" My love,

I write this with letter to you with good graces in hopes of you coming home.

I understand I've poisoned our love, I was so careless with your kindness, your strength, and your selfless love.

To you I'm just a man, but to me you're all I am. I once said I could never imagine my life without you in it and that holds true to this day. I realize our marriage wasn't perfect, no marriage is. However, I refuse for us to be some statistic we always said we would beat.

I find myself losing who I am every day you are away. I'm still trying to convince myself you are coming home, though I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, if you resented me even after how long it's been. Still can hear the creaks of us dancing on the patio, can still see your subtle eyes gleaming in the orange of the sunlight.

I understand the pain and hurt I've done to not only us but to you. I don't know if you read these letters but I won't be a bother any longer..

I just need to say, I still wear this ring every day and our love will never come off of this finger. Not a day goes by where I don't think of you and not a day will go by where I am not madly still in love with you. I need you, I need us.

I just wish for a chance to prove to you, my love, that I can be, I will be a better husband to you than what I was in the past.

Regardless I wish all the best to you.

Kindest Regards,

Cillian"

Licking the slit of the envelope, Cillian debated on whether or not this would work, but he refused to give up hope that one day she would return.

Clasping the mailbox shut, he noticed the paps walking toward him and scuttled back inside.

The weeks passed agonizingly slow after he mailed the letter.

The fifth night of the third week Cillian was sat in the recliner, lamp glowing over the table at the same script making notes of what could be changed or what expressions and mannerisms he should expose in the scene when a glare of light flashed through the window.

He hadn't thought much of it and tried to ignore that skip of his heart and the empty hope that it could be his wife until the sound of a car door closing echoed outside the house.

Like a young boy in love, nervous for his first date he hurriedly ran to the window in a rush of anxious optimism, pulling the curtain open hastily. All hope diminishing from his body, heart breaking when he noticed it was just the new neighbor's car pulling into their driveway.

Something told him she was never coming home.

The following night his assistant was doing the final fit for his red carpet premiere for "Small Things Like These", brushing at Cillian's hair until she gave him the thumbs up that he was ready to go.

Before exiting the room she tugged at his arm gently, eyes beading with sincerity and utter care and concern when she asked,

"She still hasn't come home has she?" What was he supposed to do, lie? Clearly nothing has changed in his life, nor did he even mention you anymore. Still trying to navigate through life without you by his side. With a simple sigh, he scratched at his forehead, unable to find the words, nor want to have to admit aloud that he didn't know where his wife was or if she'd ever be coming back.

With a simple look of hopeless confusion, Cillian rested his eyes sighing and changing the subject respectfully, mentioning how she should grab one of his jackets since the weather was supposed to decline into a chilly wind later on in the night. Holding the door open for her to follow him out to the car, she dropped the subject, merely nodding at his comment and mumbling a sincere thank you.

He smiled for the cameras upon arriving, playing the role of a successful actor and not allowing the prying voices to get a reaction out of him when they made comments about her, his one love.

She never wrote back. He still held onto her belongings unable to bare with separating from them. Never daring to take the ring off of his finger even if she didn't wear hers anymore.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Kinktober Special Part 2

Mo’s Kinktober Special

The Crew’s Whore (Part 2) (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your power fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy. 

Pairing: Franky x afab!reader

WC: 3100 I'm so sorry

TW: IS THIS A SAFE SPACE?!?! Banging a robot, alcohol consumption oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, crying, forced orgasm? face shot, heavy use of pet names, cringe, his body is a sex toy idk, cringe, so much cringe, please forgive me I love him, idc

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Robo-boning uder the cut:

Chapter 2: The Cyborg

It was a breezy evening aboard the Sunny as you sipped from your wine glass while leaning forward against the railing of the deck. Sanji had once again prepared the crew a fantastic meal and you felt full and comfortable with the cool sea wind blowing through your hair. It was late, most of the crew had returned to their quarters. Zoro was up in his crows nest dojo having a late night workout, Franky had returned to his workshop to fiddle with some new cannon technology, Luffy was in a food coma and snoring loudly laid up against the mast, and even Sanji had finished dishes with Robin’s help and excused himself to bed. Robin was always so helpful with the dishes with her Devil Fruit powers and all. 

You were alone out here with only the sounds of the waves crashing against the hull and your captain’s aggressive snoring. You thought about how you missed your old life, but also how happy you were with the Straw Hats. You loved your job at the brothel and it certainly was less dangerous… but this new life? It was… exhilarating. You loved it. 

*I think I need something stronger* you thought to yourself…

You looked at your empty wine glass and walked into the galley for something more exciting. It was spotlessly clean and empty. You opened up the liquor cabinet and perused your options. Vodka, tequila, gin, rum.. hmm… 

*It’s a pirate’s life for me, I guess.* You giggled and grabbed the bottle of spiced rum off the shelf. You realized that taking it straight from the bottle was a little barbaric for a late night solo cocktail and went to the fridge for a mixer. Orange juice, mineral water, nothing suitable to mix with rum. You wracked your brain, what would go well with rum?  A lightbulb went off in your brain, there’s an obvious choice. Cola! 

Rum and cola went together like peanut butter and jelly, like pancakes and syrup, like tea and honey. Your mouth watered at the prospect of a tasty drink… You knew there wasn’t any cola in the kitchen, but you knew exactly where it was. You filled a glass from the cabinet with ice and held it in one hand and the bottle of rum in the other. You pushed past the swinging galley door towards the hallway that went to the center of the ship. You skipped down a flight of stairs until you reached a wooden door marked with blue cartoonish stars. Blue lettering adorned the top of the doorway reading ‘Franky House.’ 

*So nostalgic of him* you chuckled to yourself before knocking twice. 

“What’s up?” You hear Franky’s booming voice from the other side of the door. You opened the door and sidled in with your glass and bottle in hand. 

“Oh heyyy pretty thing, what are you doing up at this hour?” Franky turned on his stool next to his workbench to look at you. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” You smiled at him as you strode confidently towards the fridge you spotted in the corner of his room. “Fancied myself a rum and cola, figured you’d be the guy to call about finding a bottle of cola around here.” 

“Yeah babe! Mi cola es su cola!” He flashed you a winning smile before he turned back towards his work bench and continued fiddling with whatever gadget he was working on before your intrusion. You grabbed a bottle of brown syrupy liquid from the fridge and brought it over to him. You said nothing, just pointed the head of the bottle in his direction. He barely looked up as he reached his large hard out and popped the cap off of the bottle for you. You smiled. 

“Thanks, handsome.” 

You returned to the desk in the middle of the room where you had set your rum and glass, setting the cola down. You picked up the rum and poured a GENEROUS amount over the ice. You topped it off with the freshly popped cola and brought the glass to your lips. Holy shit you over did it with the rum but damn, that’s good. You took a few more sips and let out a big sigh. 

“Rough day, sweet cheeks?” Franky laughed after hearing your exasperated sigh. 

“Hmm.. I guess. Just feeling a bit nostalgic is all.”

Franky’s hands continued to manipulate the mechanical item on his work bench.

“Yeah I get it. It happened to all of us, ya have this whole life and then all of a sudden you’re a pirate. It’s super weird. You’ll get used to it, y/n, we all do. We can talk about it, if ya like.” He doesn’t turn around. He had always been so good at expressing his emotions, such a tender and kind soul. He knew how you felt, and wanted you to feel heard. 

*Such a sweet heart for a robot* you thought to yourself. But he wasn’t a robot, he was still a man. Sure, his body was more metal than flesh at this point, but it didn’t take away from what a gentle spirit he had. You started to wonder what other human instincts he had left… 

“Honestly Frank? I’m kind of trying not to think about it. What are you working on?” You walk over to his work bench and lean up next to him, against the table backwards, able to see the item on the table but facing his body. 

“Oh this? Nothing totally crazy, just something I was thinking about for my forearm cannon. You see this part here…” He was excitedly telling you about his work, clearly passionate about his science. You nod and give him “hmm”’s here and there. You pour another strong drink and bring it back over to Franky’s work bench. You set the glass in front of him.

“I can’t be the only one indulging tonight, right?” You say seductively as you slide the glass towards his massive chest. 

“Well little lady, I’m usually a cola purist, but I guess one drink won’t hurt.” Franky grabs the glass in his large hand and slams the drink in one gulp. He hisses out, not prepared for how strong you made the cocktail. 

“My god girl, you’re trying to get me drunk?!”

You laugh out loud and pour yourself another drink. 

“No no, just trying to get more comfortable!” You laugh again. “Now tell me more about this hydraulic, fusion combustion, thingy again…” 

You say this as you set yourself down on Franky’s wide lap, drink in hand. 

“Okay so if you can see this piece right here…” Franky continued explaining his latest project to you as you became distracted by his handsome features. He had a strong, chilled jaw, defined abs, incredible thighs and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his swim briefs. Was it still real? Did he have anything or was he like a doll?

You let your thoughts get the better of you and you set your glass down on the workbench. You slid to your knees in between Franky’s spread legs and let your head rest on his thigh. 

“WoAAhhh sweet thing, something else on your mind?” He dropped what he was working on and lifted his sunglasses onto his head as he looked down at you. He leaned back. You giggled up at him while stroking his crotch slowly. 

“mmmm yes. How could I not wonder? I’ve thought about it so much. Never had someone like you before…” You drew your face closer to the growing bulge in his swim briefs as you palm him. 

“Are you sure? How much do you want it? It might be too much for ya, doll face…” Franky puts his large palm on the side of your face, seemingly a bit concerned. 

“I want it. I can take it, please show me.” Your fingers worked at the hem of his tight black speedo before he helped you bring it down to his ankles. You pull them all the way off and return to your kneeled position between his legs. 

“Wow…” 

His cock was so gorgeous. It had to be real. It was so long, thinner than you’d like, but the length was truly impressive. The base was decorated with tufts of blue hair. 

“Is this good for ya, babe? Tell me what ya like and I can make it happen." Franky stroked your hair as you were staring at his cock from between his knees. 

“What?” You didn’t know what he was talking about. Was he that confident in his sexual abilities? You felt your cunt clench in anticipation. 

“No, this," He nods his head down at his erect cock. "I can make it anything you want. Too big?” You stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“Want bigger? Maybe you’re a little size queen?” Franky smirked at you with those last words. 

“No no,” You stuttered out. “Could you… could you maybe make it a little… thicker?” You were so embarrassed, you felt so silly asking for this man to change up his own cock for you. 

“Of course doll, if you want to be stretched out real good, who am I to deny you?” Franky smiled as he pressed his metal nose. 

You stared at his erect penis as it became girthier right before your eyes. 

“No way…” You gasped quietly to yourself. 

“Yes way baby! You really thought I would rebuild my own body and not give myself an incredible dick?” He grinned down at you between his legs. “Now… where were we?”

You felt his hand gently push the back of your head towards his newly engorged cock. You were snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the thick length with both hands and began to pump it slowly. 

“Perfect….” Franky cooed at you as you stroked him. 

You leaned forward and took his tip into your mouth. He groaned loudly. You knew he would be loud, he always is, why would now be any different?

You gradually took more and more of his cock into your mouth and bobbed your head up and down. With each pull backwards you slurped and dragged your tongue across the bulbous head of his dick. 

“Fuck, shit, just like that…” He tried so hard not to ram his hips into your face, knowing it would scare you off. His body was too strong. 

“Shit baby… You’re way too good at this… get up here and let me stuff you.” 

Once again your pussy squeezed around nothing, pushing out a drip of your arousal. Franky leaned down and grabbed your hips to pull you upward. 

In a moment you were on your back on Franky’s workbench, his projects swept to the the floor with one brush of his huge forearm. He was man handling your body to pull all your clothes off of you. You lay back down on the table, now fully bare in front of him.

“Franky, fuck me. Please. I want it.” 

He hovered over you, massive body eclipsing yours. 

“And you’re sure? I told you it might be too much… Once I start… well it can just be a lot for someone who isn't used to it.” Franky asked you for the last time, making sure you knew what you were getting into. 

“Yes, Frank. I’m so sure.” 

He pushed you down forcefully, but you protested by rising to your elbows and catching his lips in a wet kiss. He accepted your kiss and forced his tongue past your spit covered lips. You groaned at his dominance, such a change from how you were used to being with your other lovers. 

After making out for several moments, you whined a bit too loudly when he pinched at your nipple. 

“Okay okay needy girl, I’ll give you what you want now. But don’t say I didn’t warn you…” 

He pushes your thighs up with one hand as he lines his perfect cock up with your sopping hole with the other. He squeezes himself in slowly. 

“Holy FUCK, my GOD Franky…!” You shout out as he sinks balls deep inside of you, having you in a mating press with one hand due to his large stature. 

“Oh pretty lady, we haven’t even started.” He begin to pull out and shove himself back into your cunt, slick coating his cock more and more with each thrust. You slammed your eyes shut in pleasure, his dick was hitting all the perfect spots inside of you almost like it was made perfectly to fit your body… oh wait… it was. 

All of a sudden you felt a new sensation along with his heft length splitting you open. Was he… vibrating? Your neck snapped up and your eyes shot open to meet his above you. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. Had to add something for the ladies pleasure, right?”

“FRANKY!” Your body lurched forward and grabbed his biceps. You had never felt anything like this before. It’s like your body was lit up by electricity. The smooth drag of his vibrating cock against your g-spot was complete sensory overload. 

Franky chuckled. He continued railing into your tiny body, chasing his own pleasure, not worried that you’d reach yours. 

“Frank I’m going to-!” You yelped as your body tumbled over the edge in pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your spasming cunt pushed out your release all over your lovers abdomen and legs.

“Wow doll face, I never thought you’d be a squirter!” Franky laughed over you as he drilled his hips into yours further, not concerned about your recovery from your intense orgasm. Your body was limp in his hold now, not able to produce any sort of coherent phrase. 

“Franky wait, I feel like-Ah!“ 

You were cumming again. It was only a few moments after your last orgasm and your center was  squeezing and creaming on Franky’s thick robotic cock again. You had lost full control over your body, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. You screamed. You had no idea what words you were trying to scream, but you screamed. 

“You like that, huh baby? How about one more for me? I think you can do it, right?” Tears streamed down your face as you laid on his workbench, boneless. Your cunt was throbbing in both pain and pleasure. You were being thrust into so forcefully that your body slid back and forth on the table, your breasts basically hitting you in the chin as they bounced so aggressively. 

“Mmmm.. Hmm. FUCK! Yes I can do it, I can take it!” You felt drunk on pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes focused. The sensations in your pussy were unlike anything you’d ever experienced. As your cyborg lover pounded into you at an impossible speed, you felt the familiar wave of pressure bubble up from your center, but this time far more intense than the others. 

“There it is baby, I can feel it, I knew you could do it for me sweet thing.” He coaxed you into tipping over the edge. Your back arched and you shrieked up at him. You vision went completely white for a moment as you felt your massive release splattering against Franky’s thighs and cock. Wet, sloppy noises filled the room as you felt your cunt start to tingle with numbness and overstimulation, 

“Can’t… it’s too much!”  You whine loudly at him as you make a feeble attempt to push at his abs, not entirely sure what you wanted yet. 

“That’s just fine doll face, I’ve got something else in mind anyway.” He flashes you a huge grin before grabbing you around your ribs and setting you down on your knees on the floor in front of him.

“Open wide, pretty lady!” He held your hair in a makeshift ponytail with one hand and stroked his massive cock in front of your face with the other. 

Obviously after 3 earth-shattering orgasms you were putty in his large hands. You stick your tongue out and look up at him. After seeing the makeup smeared on your face from spit and sweat and tears, there was no way he could hold back any longer. 

“Fuuuuuuuck…!” He groaned out as he painted your eager, wrecked face with simply so much cum. It dripped off your cheeks and your chin as you happily kept your mouth open for him. He finally finishes his release and taps his cock on your tongue, so you can taste the last bit. 

“Shit you look so super like this!” Franky beamed down at you covered in his thick cum. You grin back up at him, delirious from exhaustion, cum dribbling down your neck. “But I guess I can’t leave ya like that huh?” He grabbed a clean rag from a drawer in his workbench and started wiping his seed off your face, you were so exhausted your eyes fell closed and you held your head in his free hand. 

“Hold on hold on doll, I’m almost done then I’ll put ya to bed.” Franky finished cleaning your face and picked up up off your knees and set you down on his bed. He tucked you in and went to put back on the little clothing he had on in the first place. He moved towards the door of his room. 

“Well thanks for the break, little lady! I have a repair I need to finish up on the deck tonight, but you get some rest.” Franky says from over his shoulder on the way out to the rest of the ship. You close your eyes and relax your bruised and exhausted body into Franky’s mattress. 

"Hey, if you’re feeling up to it when I get back, we can have a round 2! You haven’t even seen half the super stuff I can do, I just went easy on you!” He shouted as he left the room with his toolbox and the door closed behind him. 

Your eyes snapped open.

“WHAT?!”

---

a/n I again, am so sorry lol but Franky needs more love. Justice for Franky Fuckers.

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: A look back into our reader's past, and a run-in with one, too.

chapter warnings: slow burn,mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, alcohol(ism), child neglect, childhood trauma. Maggie fluff to fix it all <3

a/n: EEP EEP EEP, i know i know its a slooooow burn but we truly are just getting started. Enjoy!

chapter two: Tell Me A Lie || series masterlist

SEPTEMBER 17th, 1982

Freezer-burnt Egos sit three high on the olive green plate in front of you.

“Great.” Syrup hasn’t been purchased in weeks, so you slather each one with a smear of grape jelly. All served up with a side of tap water.

One bite in, and the sound of shattering glass startles the appetite out it you.

“Dad?!” You shout in a panic.

The sight that greets you on the living room is one that’s become familiar in the few months since your mom’s passing. Your father, slumped over in his beat up recliner, a shattered vodka bottle on the floor next to him.

“Shit…” you’re frantic as you rush to grab the broom and dustpan. It’s become a routine, clean up dad’s mess so that he doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes for his night shift at the Plant.

While it may be routine, it’s certainly not normal. No fourteen year old should be shopping for groceries, and doing laundry and writing checks to the electric company with a letter begging for them to give her a little more time with the lights on.

Every payday, you’d wait for Dad to pass out in his chair, and you’d take most of the cash from his wallet. It was just enough to get yourself food for the week and pay what you could. If he noticed the missing money, he never said anything, but you assumed he did notice that debt collectors had stopped calling so much.

“Bye, Dad.” You whispered. No response—then again, there never was.

The bag of glass was thrown into the trash on your walk to the garage. Hopping on your rusted out silver bike, you started the 2 mile ride to Hawkins High.

In truth, this has become the only slice of peace in your day. You could shut your damn brain off and just breathe. Not worry about the inevitable chaos that waited for you at home.

It was Friday, which means a meeting with the school counselor to see how you were doing since your mom died. June was…it was a time you’ve tried to block out. To suppress any memories or feeling from that awful day.

“Did you hear me, hon?” Ms. Kelly’s soft voice pulled you from your dissociation.

“What? Oh, mhm.”

She looked at you softly, tilting her head as a sign she absolutely did not believe you.

“Listen,” she pulls the file off her desk and turns it for you to see. “Your grades…they’re not at all reflective of your abilities. Your teachers think you’re brilliant, but the lack of effort on homework and tests is something of a concern.”

The pain of holding back tears began to prickle your throat. “I know, I’m—I’m trying. I’m studying as much as I can—“

“You’ve got such a bright future, just work a bit harder, hm?” Her smile was one of reassurance and confidence.

It’s not Mrs. Kelly’s fault. She didn’t know about what was happening at home, so she certainly didn’t know the impact of her advice.

“Work harder,” you whisper, venom coating your tongue. “Got it.”

The smile on your face is only there to keep the tears at bay. She excuses you to get back to next period, and you practically sprint from her office.

Where your legs take you, you’re not exactly sure. But the room is empty and dark and at this point you’ll take any refuge you can get.

So you sit and sob, heaving breaths and crying into your palm to muffle any sounds. How long you were there you have no idea, but it was long enough to hear the bell for end of the school day.

The door to the room opened, pouring in light from the hallway.

“Shit…you okay?”

His voice was so gentle and unsure. Backlit as the door closed, the shadow of his silhouette almost made him look like an angel.

Long shaggy hair, denim and chains and leather.

An angel--dressed like a devil.

You attempted to stand quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, but you stumbled. Luckily for you, the stranger caught your elbow and waist.

“Whoa, hey just—here, sit for a sec, okay?” He guided you to the table across from where you’d sat, and ushered you towards one of the chairs.

“You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was so soft; a kindness you hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

You shook your head, “No, no. I’m fine.”

He laughed softly, “You sure about that?”

The tears in your eyes put holes in his chest.

“I’m Eddie,” he sat next to you on the table, “Who might you be?”

You whispered your name, and he smiled, then whispered it right back.

Eddie was gentle with you. He sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

What you didn’t know was how he watched you. The way he recognized the pain in your eyes—a kind of sadness that only people who’ve experienced it can understand.

He knew a bad home life when he saw one, and It made him angry.

Angry that someone could look in your eyes and hurt you. That people could see how broken you were and take advantage of it. Worst of all? He was angry there was no one there to protect you.

As far as he was concerned, that changes today.

Eddie cleared his throat, and your eyes found him again. “Look at us,” he nudged your shoulder. “strangers a couple minutes ago, now we’re acquaintances. Who knows? Before we leave we might even be friends.”

A genuine and true laugh escaped you. It’d been so long since you’d heard your own laugh, the sound alone was foreign.

Though for Eddie, it was a sound that made his heart beat faster and face turn rosey, even under the gross fluorescent bulbs.

“I’d like to be your friend, I think.” You smile. Crinkles formed by his umber eyes as he mirrored your grin.

Your hand juts out, extended to him for the taking. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”

His warm grip finds yours, “Not to your knowledge.”

There’s a pain in your cheeks from smiling so hard. “That’s reassuring.”

Eddie jumped up, offering you his elbow. “Whaddya say, kid? Care to cause some chaos and debauchery with your new pal?”

It’d be easy to say no. To allow yourself to return to the shell you’ve built around yourself in order to protect your heart in a way no one else would.

But you didn’t hesitate. Linking arms with Eddie, his scent invaded you—nicotine and weed and…vanilla? Whatever the combination, you’re sure it was uniquely and perfectly him.

“Whatcha got in mind?”

Eddie could have said anything and you’re pretty sure you’d have agreed. “Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

“Mama! Do we have any straw’bies?” Maggie asked from the kitchen.

The smell from the chemicals you’re cleaning the shower with make your head throb and the sweat on your brow itches you for the ten millionth time.

Deep breathes. Deep breathes.

“No, Mags. C’mon, get your shoes on. As soon as I’m done here we’re going to the store.” You throw the yellow gloves down into the sink, giving them a quick rinse.

The weekend has brought some seriously good progress. Friday you’d managed to get Maggie registered for school, and start cleaning out the house.

Boxes of old newspapers and tchotchkes your father had kept sat stagnant, collecting dust and taking up far too much space. None of it mattered to you, so you’d trashed it.

All of it.

Saturday was spent taking trips back and forth to the Goodwill, hoping and praying your little car would survive after all the driving she did. You’d bought a few cheap gallons of paint from Melvald’s, this house was your home now—Maggie’s home. It was time to wipe the slate clean and create a place the two of you could fill with love and laughter and memories

“Mom?” Maggie mumbled, mouth full of banana as she watches you slink into your jacket.

You grabbed your keys. “Yes, angel?”

“Can we get ice cream? Wouldn’t that be a fun way to ce-bre-late me going to big girl school tomorrow?”

I need to find a damn job.

You do some quick math, adding and subtracting based on what you had left in your savings, and what you’d set aside for bills.

You drop to your knees in front of your daughter, getting right down to her level to place a big kiss on her forehead. “Of course we can. Good idea, Maggie-moo.”

Her dimples were so deep from her big wide grin, you poked a finger in each of them.

“Moooom!” She laughed, swatting your hands away.

“Whaaaat? I just love you! Now c’mon, we gotta go get your asparagus.” You hold the door and Maggie jumps onto the porch.

“Ice cream!” She shouts, making a mad dash to the car.

You chuckle. “Right, right. Ice cream.”

The store is a mere 10 minutes drive from home. If you ask Maggie, she thinks 10 minutes is the perfect amount of time to throw an impromptu concert from the back seat—room for encore included.

The moment your hands grasp the shopping cart, Maggie’s arms are up. “Assuming the position, I see.” You smile proudly.

Scooping her up, you plop her right on her bottom into the cart. Maggie wiggled, gasping as the two of you strolled past the chip aisle. “Don’t forget! We have to get some snacks for school too!”

“Right,” you braked, and turned down it. “Let me guess, Doritos are the perfect school snack?”

Her eyes are wide, clearly overwhelmed at the selection the Pete’s Grocery has to offer. “Can we gets the cheese ones?”

“Sure thing, Sunshine.”

Shopping is entirely uneventful. It’s mainly you budgeting and planning on dinners for the week. Everything bought has to have more than one use or purpose, or you don’t get it. A few jars of pasta sauce, some spaghetti, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. Chicken, canned corn, strawberries and bananas and a few boxes of mac n cheese. No the shopping spree Maggie thinks it is, but you’ll make it work.

“Alright kiddo, now the piece de resistance…the ice cream section!” You use your best announcer voice as you scoop her from the cart, and let her roam free.

She squeals. “Mom! There’s so many kinds!”

You watch her, taking in how the littlest things in this life make her the happiest you’ve ever seen her. You’re so engrossed in your daughter, you almost don’t hear it. The familiar tone that had engrained itself in your memory, the sarcastic “Sure, Robin.” that had been a staple in his vocabulary since High School.

Any calm feeling you’d had vanished, stomach churning inside you. “Mags,” you called in a hushed tone. “Maggie! C’mon, baby, just choose—“

The voices were an aisle away, and moving closer to you.

Maggie was in her own world, running back and forth to different doors in careful deliberation.

You could feel yourself start to tremble, calling her a bit louder this time. “Maggie-moo, please hurry—“

“Ho-ly shit.”

Of course Robin was the first to say something. She stood with her mouth agape, Steve perplexed next to her. When he’d followed her gaze, the two bags of chips he was holding fell to the floor.

He called your name like he was unsure. Questioning if the ghost in front of him was really his friend from all those years ago.

“Mommy! I founded the one I want!” Maggie screeched as she barreled toward you, clutching a box of Bomb Pops to her chest.

Your two old friends’ eyes went straight to your daughter.

Robin’s eyes were so wide, you thought they’d burst from her skull. “Mom?” She questioned.

Steve followed her up with, “No freakin’ way.”

Maggie chucked the pops in the cart, and stood by your side, your arms instinctively reaching for her. She must have followed your eyes, because soon, she too was in the middle of the staring contest the three of you had started.

She was quiet for a moment, studying them, and it wasn’t that long before she started giggling the tiniest bit. She covered her mouth, making herself laugh with whatever joke was rolling around in her little mind.

Maggie walked up to Steve as she laughed, and smiled her big toothy grin at him. “Hiya, Cheeseball!” She spoke through her giggles.

Robin’s laugh caught her so off guard she started coughing, and Steve was all smiles. “Excuse me? Who told you about my nickname?”

Maggie laughed, “My Mommy! She said your name is Steeb and you’re a real cheese ball!”

“Steve, Mags. Steve.” You were laughing, thankful for your daughter for saving you and for easing the tense moment you were seconds away from having to address.

“Nope, uh-uh. He’s Steeb now, from this day until his last.” She looked at you, get big smile taking up her face. Her eyes were soft, softer than they’d been moments ago. She looked back to Maggie, “And who’re you?”

Pride filled Maggie’s voice, “My name is Maggie and I’m six years old, but I’ll be seven soon! Mommy telled me birthday is Star Wars day.”

Robin’s brows pinched together, “Star Wars Day?”

“May the 4th.” You and Steve answered in unison.

The hazel-eyed boy looked at you, offering you a small smile.

Robin went back to talking to Maggie, asking her about Star Wars and her why she chose Bomb Pops. Steve walked over to stand next to you.

He plopped the chips in the top of your cart, and without any hesitation, pulled you in for a hug.

“God, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair.

You could feel the emotion squeezing your throat, “I missed you so much, Stevie.”

He held you a few more seconds, using Robin as a distraction. “Is…is she—“

You gripped him tighter, “Not here. Please not here, Steve.”

Steve Harrington was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. A bit of an airhead, and clueless sometimes, but not dumb. He’d seen it immediately, the resemblance between the two of you, and the one of Maggie and his other friend.

Steve let you go, looking over your face. “Does, um…does he know?”

With shame in your heart, you shook your head. “No, and I need to keep it the way.”

The for now went unsaid.

Steve nodded. “You haven’t ran into him yet then, I take it.”

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what would happen if we did. Can’t think about it, not right now.”

Maggie approached the two of you, yanking Robin by her arm. “You were right, Mom! I do like this Robin lady.”

When the laughter died down, it was then Robin asked the question looming over the four of you.

“So, and pardon-my-french Little Miss M, but what the hell are you doing back in Hawkins?”

And with that, the floodgates opened.

You told them about what you’d been up to the last seven years, and what brought you back. Granted, you kept everything very Maggie-friendly—meaning most of your words were very PG friendly.

It was a weird feeling, admitting to all of the half-truths you told yourself, and how you had to push them out of your life. You wanted to tell them anything but the truth. To spare their feelings and the thought that you too could just as easily abandon the people who, at one point, were some of the most important people in your life.

"That's...that's heavy shit." Steve breathed.

You nodded, fully aware of the hanger-ticking-timebomb Maggie was becoming.

"We'll, uh...we'll catch up soon. Gotta get the grouch dinner."

"I am not a grouch." Maggie crossed her arms, and turned away.

"Of course you're not! You're just a girl who knows what she want." Robin high fived Maggie, and your heart melted.

You hugged them both one more time before loading Mags back in the cart, "Stop by anytime," You said with a smile. "You know where I live."

[mythos-writes]

Hey I got a request for Tommy Shelby

So basically tommy is a Single dad to a two year old daughter 2 year old daughter

So basically tommy is at a family meeting and you was clingy all day so Tommy past you to Arthur to hold you while you slept and when u woke up you start to cry Tommy pick you up and Rock you back to sleep and all the family make fun of him for being soft

Hope that make sense

Tommy Shelby x Daughter Reader

Word Count: 765

Warning: swearing, fussy toddler

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Tommy still remembers the day his daughter (Y/N) came into his life. She showed up on the doorstep of Watery Lane with nothing but herself bundled up in a bassinet and a letter. A girl Tommy had a fling with ended up pregnant and didn't want to give it up. So she left it on his doorstep, leaving him with their outcome.

If Tommy had opened the door, she might have ended up at the orphanage, but lucky for her, Polly found her first. Tommy was out doing business in London and Polly was looking after Finn. As it was late at night, Polly was the only one up to hear the knocks on the door. She was greeted by the small bassinet and a sleeping baby inside, covered by a small knitted blanket. She looked up and down the Lane, but no one was in sight. Polly took her in that night. Giving the baby a bath and changing her into some of Finn's baby clothes. When she went to reach for the blanket that the baby came with, a note fell out of the wool blanket. Polly read the note and was shocked, but not surprised, at the content of the note.

When the boys arrived back, they were relatively surprised at this new addition to the family. She walked up to Tommy and handed him the letter. His eyes quickly skimmed over the words telling him the weight he was simply handed. He looked at the little girl in his aunt’s hands. He first wanted her gone, not wanting to bring an innocent child into this life. It was his way of controlling something that he couldn’t control.

Two years later, things had changed. The business and the family have grown and changed, and the young Shelby's children are growing up. Finn is 10, while young (Y/N) is 2. She had become the light in Tommy’s life. When he comes home from a long day at work or a meeting with other gangs, her hugs release his stress or anger. She is also a good distraction when it comes to family meetings. 

Tommy had called a family meeting to discuss some upcoming expansions and see where the family was standing with their parts of the business. The two of them had a rough night before, (Y/N) running a fever and unable to sleep. Which meant Tommy not sleeping. Their morning consisted of little food, minus the bottle she still would take in the morning, and many micro naps between the two Shelby’s. But with the little energy that they both had, they both showed up to the meeting at Waterly Lane. 

“Tommy. Why did you bring (Y/N/N) here? Usually, you leave her with Finn?” Arthur confronts. He is never opposed to seeing his niece, but when it came to these meetings, there was no place for a small innocent lady like his niece. Tommy quickly shushes his brother. 

“Arthur, you wake her up you’ll be floating down the crick,” Tommy threatens in a whisper. He passes his sleeping toddler to her uncle, giving him a small break, knowing how she’ll be when she wakes up from this nap.

“We had a rough night,” is all Tommy said before he quickly moved on to the family meeting that was at hand. But because they’re the Shelby’s, the meeting doesn’t stay quiet for long. 

Tommy yells. In the quietness of the room, it broke by the wines and whimpers of the once-sleeping toddler. Tommy turned to Arthur, seeing his daughter beginning to wake up. 

“Daddy,” she cries. Tommy quickly took her out of Arthur’s hands and pulled her in close. 

“It is ok sweety, daddy is here,” he whispers, trying to calm down his daughter. With his soft rocking, (Y/N) quickly fell back asleep. 

“When did Thomas Shelby become soft,” John joked, nudging Arthur. They giggled to themselves before seeing the look that Tommy was sending them. It was Polly and Ada’s turn to laugh. 

“Just because he is showing his soft side right now, doesn’t mean he won’t put you in your grave himself,” Polly defends her nephew. “John you should take some notes,” she jabs at her other nephew.  John rolls his eyes before lighting a cigar. 

Tommy looked down at his sleeping daughter and felt his ice heart melt a little more. The sounds of the tunnels are mere whispers in his head. Tommy knew he wasn’t a good man, but to (Y/N), he was her everything. 

[judasgot-it]

Early Sunsets Over Yokohama

Early Sunsets Over Monroeville - My Chemical Romance

What Once Was - Her's

Part 1

Scenario: He found you.

1.2 k words

Dazai was terrified for once in his life.

The comforting thought of death was something that he had used to protect himself - he could imagine everyone in his life dying because he knew that when they did, he didn't want to cry.

It helped when he had lost people in other ways. He had lost them through breakups, drifting apart...

They were all natural.

So he would imagine that they would die in horrific and disgusting ways, far too vile to speak of. He would kill them in his head in order to protect himself.

But he didn't know where to start if he had ever lost you.

You were the only exception to this rule.

Dazai tried so many times to imagine your death - to kill you in his head, to destroy your image, to distance himself. Just to gain some control over his own self.

It never worked. He would lose himself if you died.

He was living for you, and he couldn't even tell it to you.

The one person who knew everything.

If he couldn't find you, protect you, and know you were alive - he wouldn't survive. His heart might not make it past that heartbreak.

But he forced himself to push that human fear, to find you and know that you were alive.

The ADA wanted you alive as well.

It had been days of searching, after the disaster of what had happened at the airport.

Maybe it was weeks. It was impossible to know the time anymore, as he hadn't moved the calendar from the last date you had marked down.

Your life seemed to have ended since he had been arrested. The day he had proposed to you.

That was when you stopped marking down the dates so meticulously, and instead filled your shared apartment with work and caffeine.

Up until the day of the event, you had been working tirelessly. And then you had disappeared - leaving behind an unfinished bottle of whiskey, a spoiled convenience store bento box, and a letter of encouragement from Kenji.

As much as you tried, it seemed Dazai had rubbed off too much on you. He wanted to laugh at the thought.

Dazai didn't sleep unless his body shut down. The man couldn't even walk, but all he did was force his weak body to think and listen to reports and read documents from all over Japan.

You both had become the same when the other was absent - although Dazai found that instead of one bottle of whiskey, it was three. And you had never bothered to touch the suspicious pills he kept.

He was running on those more than food. Dazai couldn't ever finish his meals before they went stale or bad, so he stuck with a single can of food a day, or half of whatever he was forced to eat in the office.

Life was bleakest in that period - however long it was.

Maybe a month? The weather had changed very little, but time felt like it had passed for an eternity.

He would end up finding you in a small abandoned bus station, like a pawn that was thrown across the board. A very random place to end up, in his opinion.

There was nothing valuable there.

It was impossible to understand how you ended up there - no buses even went there, and the walk to that station was nearly impossible.

But actually thinking about the logistics of your reappearance was something Dazai wanted to not care about for once in his life. Even if you were looking at him, terrified that you weren't the same person as before.

No one understood how it happened. Not even you.

You were suffering from severe memory loss, but it might have been a good thing - you had shown up in that spot with injuries and severe fatigue. It was possible you had crawled your way to that spot, but it didn't seem like you had left a trail there for very long.

The ADA wanted to know what had happened - day and night they would question you, driving through the same points to figure out where you had been, and what could have been done to you.

But Dazai didn't care. He didn't think.

You were here.

All he would do is hold you in his arms, ever since he saw you - dirty from trekking in the mud of the wet woods, and smelling from the days without showering, and he would simply kiss you with abandon.

You tasted terrible, with fuzzy teeth and oily hair. And he fucking loved it.

It was you. All you, here, in that moment, with him.

Since then, he only ever saw you.

In your shared apartment, Dazai couldn't bring himself to ask you:

'What happened?'

All he would do is swaddle you in blankets and hold you in his lap. His arms would wrap around your sides and he would cradle you between his thighs, as if trying to trap you in a cacoon made entirely of his limbs.

Not once did you ask him a question:

'How was prison? How was defeating Fyodor?'

It was as if all of that didn't exist to either of you anymore.

There was no war between the two of you. No abilities, no missing time - the calendar wasn't missing any X's and it didn't have a distinct lack of your handwriting across it.

Everything was the same. The air smelt like alcohol and mold; dirty hair and mud. But it smelt like home.

Dazai could smell you underneath everything, and he could still taste you despite the whiskey on his breath. Everything was familiar, despite the changes.

Even if you lost your face, he was sure he was going to remember what you looked like - the way you were looking up at him was something that had been burned into his mind, something that chased him in his dreams.

There was a small feeling Dazai had, where he wanted to lock you in this room and never let you go. To handcuff your wrist to his, and keep you by his side so he could never let you go.

The best he could do was pull you closer, feeling your ribs contract against his hold as you struggled to breathe in his hold, giggling as if he were being playful.

He would let you think that. Your hands were pulling at his greasy hair, and he played along - hiding his face in your neck so you didn't know that if he let go right now, he just might have to eat you so you never left him again.

Fyodor almost won.

"Dazai, are you alright?" You were pulled at the back of his hair by the handful, your knuckles the first thing to touch his scalp in weeks. God, he needed a shower.

Simply sighing, he brushed his nose against the back of your neck, kissing your spine and smiling as your breath stuttered. You were like a virgin underneath him, even when you were both a disgusting mess like this.

"Just thinking about how much I wanna marry you." If he could, he would wear your skin and die in his grave like that - there would be no other way to be closer.

But the ring on your finger was close enough. He thought a lot about that when you were gone. He knew you did too.

"We should do it soon."

"It?"

Your hand pulled harder, making Dazai wince a little. Of course, you were going to be mean about it.

"Get married, asshole." There's an ending to that - 'because we almost lost each other.' But neither of you were brave enough to talk about it now.

Maybe not ever. This already was a big statement.

There wasn't much of a conversation to be had about it. Not now, at least.

Dazai was sure he was going crazy a little bit, trying to choke you in his arms while still running on nothing but the takeout he had in the car - a meal he only ate half of, given he shared it with you.

His skin was disgusting, and the apartment was disgusting. For once, the dirt he usually surrounded himself with was bothering him.

Maybe he needed to be better for you now.

Before he realized it, he was staring at his dark ceiling, illuminated only by his small box TV and your face looking right above him. The lighting was a little scary - making you look more like a creature from a horror film than the angel he knew.

But your matted hair and tired eyes weren't exactly giving an 'angelic glow' either.

"We should sleep"

Dazai only hummed along, his hands feeling your curves and pulling you down towards him, trying to absorb your skin onto his - if he was a little more mental, he would have skinned you and eaten every part of you now.

Never let you get away from him.

But as your hands and body shifted around, trying to make his skinny frame more comfortable, he could feel the ring he gave you catching on his ratty old pajamas. It was going to have to be close enough, he supposed.

For the people who wanted a pt. 2 -> @aquaberrydolphin @skelkitty @queen-of-fanfic, this was so off the tracks but like we yolo this shit

[sempersirens]

a bird in your teeth, I

masterlist

summary: since moving into the neighborhood a couple of years ago, you've become close with the miller family. as a young woman living alone joel is protective of you, and he intends to show you how much so

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni, neighbour!joel, age gap: reader is early-mid 20s, joel early 30s. no break-out. no smut (yet)

word count: ~1k

"Okay, missy. Bedtime!" Slapping your knees, you rise from your armchair to eject the copy of Notting Hill from the Millers' VCR.

You check your watch and curse softly under your breath. 10:06 pm. Joel should be pulling into the driveway any minute.

"Are there really guys like Hugh Grant back in England?" Sarah asks, tossing her quilt over her shoulder and bundling the pillows under her arm.

"If there are, I could never find them."

"That why you moved all the way across the ocean?"

You turned to Sarah, clutching your chest in mock outrage.

"Maybe. I liked the idea of finding a cowboy. Like Clint Eastwood!" You giggled and clapped your hands together. "Anyway, get upstairs before your old man gets home and initiates a Mexican standoff because I let you stay up past nine on a school night."

Smoothing down Sarah's hair, you place a quick kiss on the top of her head before scurrying her up the stairs.

"Goodnight!" She shouted over her shoulder before her bedroom door closed behind her.

Sarah was definitely old enough to look after herself on evenings like these, but since you moved into the neighborhood a few years ago it became routine to watch the teenager whenever her dad was going to be home late. Neither of you minded, you had bonded like sisters over your time spent together, despite your ten year age gap. You got the impression that Joel liked knowing you were both under one roof while he was away.

Ain't no need f'a young woman to be alone too long he would say, always eliciting an eye roll from both you and Sarah.

Living alone wasn't something that bored or intimidated you. On the contrary; independence excited you. The thrill hadn't subsided in the slightest. Texas had been more than welcoming to you since you decided to leave North London for a new life. As soon as you received the scholarship letter to undertake a Ph.D. at UT Austin, your bags were packed and you hailed a cab to Heathrow Airport.

You had, however, been immediately put at ease when you pulled up to your new home and caught a glimpse of Joel and Sarah walking to the truck in their driveway, lost in conversation, wide-eyed and giddy on an inside joke. You watched over time as the two spent their days in a blissful world of their own making, soaking up each other's company as naturally as the sun burns into the tops of your shoulders on a hot afternoon.

It had been an exceptionally warm Friday evening when Joel first knocked on your front door.

"Evening, ma'am." He had spoken, tipping his head slightly with his hands tucked loosely in his jeans pockets. Your palms had instantly turned clammy, internally praying that he didn't reach a hand forward to introduce himself.

"Hey. What can I do for you?" You had just about managed a reply between mediating your quickened breathing and trying to actually speak words rather than babble.

The rest of the encounter felt like it had flown by. Joel had invited you to a barbecue, too many burgers for jus' two people, he had reasoned. No such thing, you'd replied. Like you had needed any incentive to accept his invitation. You spent the evening with your ankles dipped in their paddling pool, belly laughing and wiping ketchup from the corners of your mouth. You'd be lying if you said your stomach didn't flutter every time Joel directed a question or comment solely toward you, or that your breath didn't hitch when you accidentally brushed fingers passing him the bottle opener. But that had been then, and you promised yourself you wouldn't get so Pride and Prejudice about a man you had just met. A single father, no less. As time passed, you spent most weekends together along with Joel's brother Tommy. Barbecues, family get-togethers, birthday parties; you were invited to them all. Weekends bled into weeknights, and you became an extension of their little family, let into their secret language of exchanged glances and inside jokes.

Lines were never crossed between you and Joel, but that knot in your stomach never seemed to fade either. You knew it was just an unreciprocated crush; misplaced gratitude for all the kindness he had shown you. Southern hospitality and charm had that effect.

Pulling you from your thoughts, Joel's truck headlights illuminated the living room. You quickly cleared the bowls of popcorn and bags of M&Ms from the coffee table before heading into the kitchen to refill your glass of water.

Joel's keys turned in the door and you heard his shoes wiping on the doormat. He called your name softly.

"In here." You responded in just above a whisper.

He walked in wearing a smart button-up, the top two undone, rubbing a hand over his stubble.

"Pint?"

"If you'd be so kind, darlin'." Joel sighed, pulling out a stool before tapping the one next to him for you to perch on.

"Date not go so well?"

"Do they ever?" He laughed as you handed him a cold bottle of beer. "Not having one f'yourself?"

"They won't if you keep expecting them to be a disaster. None for me, I need to head out soon. Meeting some friends for a few at a bar in the city."

"They're all fine women. Just got nothin' in common. S'probably me."

It made you feel dirty when Joel came back tipsy. With his guard down and inhibitions numbed, he was so open. It felt like you were taking advantage of him. You had to fight everything inside of you to argue with his self-deprecation. Of course it wasn't him. He was the perfect man. You tried to not show too much pleasure at his string of failed first dates.

"Should've told me y'had plans, sugar. I would've come back earlier so you could get goin'."

You waved his statement away. "It's no problem, the less time I'm there the better. I should probably head off, though." Before you could move to grab your keys, Joel's hand hovered over yours resting on the table.

"Thank you, by the way. I doubt I say it enough." Eye contact with Joel always stirred something inside of you. Those damn brown eyes. You smiled at him, softly.

"You don't need to thank me, Joel. I like spending time with Sarah. You know that."

He shook his head slightly. "S'not just that. I mean for everythin'. If you ever need me, you call. You know that, right? Hate thinkin' 'bout you in that house all alone."

It's not the first time he had said something of the sort. You always assumed it was the over-protective father inside of him, bursting out at the seams. Or maybe his Southern chivalry finding its feet after a couple of beers.

"Thank you, Joel. I appreciate it." You turned your hand in his and squeezed once before making your way to the door. You felt his eyes on you as you walked. You always felt his eyes on you. Sometimes you would be changing in front of your window and be sure you could feel Joel's gaze from across the street burning into you. But whenever you turned around, he was never there.

"I'm sorry your date didn't go well." You said, lingering in the doorway.

Joel scrunched his nose slightly and shook his head.

"I'm not."

a/n: hi guys! this is my first fic uploaded to tumblr lol kind of nervy but hope you guys enjoy. i plan on writing a couple more parts to this! message me for taglist for part two!

dee x