#I am loving jungle club!!!!!

[challenge-ant]

if I was lola I would have such a crush on ant oh my god how does she do it

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Fourteen

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: YEEE FUCKING HAW WE'RE BACK AND LONGER THAN EVER. FEAST, MY PRETTIES.

Word count: 10k+

Chapter Fourteen:

Well, Arlo. It seems the Greyhounds have actually… done something right?

I know, Chris. If you’d told me they’d be in this position, not even in the Premier League, yet through to the FA Cup final, then well! I’d have eaten my hat!

But Arlo, you don’t own any hats. 

There’s lots that you don’t know about me, Chris. 

Oh. Well, I’d like to find out more one day, Arlo. 

Maybe one day, Chris. Maybe one day… But, moving forward– it seems AFC Richmond’s new coach, badboy Roy Kent, has well and truly shared the fabled ‘Roy Kent Effect’ once more. 

That’s certainly true, Arlo! Kent and his teammates have never worked so well, even when he was on the pitch next to them. I think this is the start of a blossoming season for the Greyhounds. 

I agree, Chris. So, you heard it here, folks. AFC Richmond are off to Wembley!

A few weeks after Roy’s return, you found yourself feeling the love. When you came to, you were screaming your head off. Everything was a giant blur of those familiar reds and blues, so you knew you were home. The locker room still looked the same as always, but the players within were so drastically separate from how they were a week ago that you could hardly fucking believe it. 

AFC Richmond were going to Wembley for the FA Cup final. The only downside– they were against Manchester fucking City. You weren’t about to dampen their joy, though. You suspected they all knew exactly what was at stake, but they deserved this. They deserved to feel like winners. 

Sam bound over to you as soon as he could. His embrace brought you back down to earth, and you hugged him back so tightly that it was a miracle neither of you passed out. “God, I am so proud of you,” you whispered into his shoulder. 

He reciprocated by squeezing you once more, before you tugged apart. “You still bring us good luck. You are part of the reason we have come this far.” He spoke so earnestly that you couldn’t stop your throat from drying up. 

You swallowed painfully, utterly overwhelmed. Sam went one step further, however, when he stepped onto one of the benches. “Hey, guys! Guys!” he yelled, bringing the sound in the room right down. Every player, and coach alike, turned to him and listened intently. “We wouldn’t have gotten to this position without the help of every single person in this room.” Sam looked down at you then, smiling like the golden sun. “Thank you, everyone! We’re Richmond till we die!” 

The room erupted into roars that no jungle could replicate. You soaked up their cheers, their happiness, their togetherness, and as you did you sensed someone close by: Roy. 

He stood in the doorway of the manager’s office, wearing a tracksuit that donned Richmond’s logo. He’d fallen into his coach position as if he’d always been here– assertively, strongly, respectfully. When you glanced around the room and saw him, you had to stop just for a moment to take him in. You smiled at him, even though he wasn’t looking at you. When he eventually caught your eye, you quickly looked beyond him, acting as if you hadn’t been eyeing him up for the better half of a minute. 

Roy liked it when you looked like this– happy, content, in the middle of a bustling and buzzing room yet perfectly fine with just existing and not speaking. You were good like that, good at listening and observing. You were also good at talking when you got to it, but Roy’s initial annoyance whenever you opened your mouth had quickly disappeared after a few weeks into your placement at the club. That sentiment had only grown over the past year and a half.

Jesus– eighteen months. It’d really gone fast, hadn’t it? Eighteen months, and you’d grown into your talent and only increased your work ethic (even if you secretly hated your current position). Eighteen months, and Roy had played his last game of football ever, but coached his first professional game since. 

Roy leaned on the doorframe of the manager’s office and crossed his arms. Dani had his hands wrapped around your neck lovingly from behind. The two of you swayed back and forth as the team continued rejoicing. Slowly, you latched your fingers onto Dani’s forearms and held them tightly. Roy knew what that felt like, having you close. He’d been there with you once, when it was impossible to keep your hands off each other in a crowded room like this. 

There was another thing that hadn’t happened in eighteen months. You and Roy. Roy and you. In truth, you’d thought about things more than he had. This was amongst one of the first times he’d allowed himself to think of you together, properly, and what it could have been like. 

He thought back to November, almost six months ago now, when he’d told you that he had no intention of fucking things up. To do that, you and Roy couldn’t happen– wouldn’t happen. 

Roy frowned when he thought about how awful he’d been, not even during that conversation, but afterwards. He hadn’t put up any boundaries, had continued acting the same as he always was around you. It wasn’t kind; he knew that as soon as he’d seen your face on Boxing Day, practically scrambling to get the fuck out of his house. 

The bad thing was, however, that Roy didn’t want to stop. Sure, he’d said things would never happen, and you’d graciously accepted that fate and tried to move forward over these past few months like any respectful and decent person would. But, he hadn’t. He’d said the words, but not followed them. 

Roy huffed to himself, only now realising– he was a fucking idiot. 

This was Roy’s more prominent disease, it seemed: delayed on-set realisation of selfishness. DOROS for short. Maybe he’d always known, but had pushed it all away in favour of keeping you close. Maybe he’d always known, but innately knew that he had never wanted to cut things off with you, so simply acted like he’d never fucking said a thing. 

Mentally, Roy added a new to-do box to his list. 

Fix things with you. 

He would. Oh, he would. 

“Roy!” Ted’s familiar accent called from behind him. Roy turned around and looked down at his fellow coach, sat before him with his feet on his desk. Beard was the same, and the two of them looked like peas in a pod. “How’re your first few weeks going?” 

Roy balled his fists instinctually. “Good. I think.”

“Well, you gosh darn thunk correctly!” Ted burst, jumping out of his chair in excitement. “And now, I need your help once again. This match next week, the big one.” He stopped directly in front of Roy, chin to chin. “How do we keep the guys like this?”

This meaning the ruckus behind him. Joyful, strong, ready to fight with all they’ve got even if the outcome isn’t in their favour. Roy knew that feeling well, having felt it too many times to count. 

He sighed. “It’ll be tough. Come tomorrow, they’ll all start to spiral.”

“How so?”

Roy shrugged. “It’s the hope that kills you.” 

Ted’s face soured immediately. “I don’t like your sayings over here.” 

“Yeah, well…” Roy turned around to look at the guys. “It’s easier than being fucking disappointed.” 

“Screw that!” Ted suddenly exploded. He grabbed Roy’s shoulders and urged him to look in his eyes. “We’re stopping that today. What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you look at those guys right there, acting like that?” Ted asked. 

Roy swivelled his head back around to look at them. “I… I dunno?” he said. 

Ted squeezed his shoulders abruptly. “Yes, you do! Say it. Say it!”

“All-fucking-right!” Roy yelled. “Her!” He pointed at you without hesitating. 

As if on cue, you laughed. You scrunched your eyes shut in happiness, giggling as Dani placed his chin atop your head. He squeezed you tighter, and you giggled even harder, gripping his arms stronger than before. Sam and Colin laughed opposite them, still overcome with the buzzing adrenaline of the win. They all were. You perpetuated that feeling, made the guys want it even more so you could join them at times like this. 

Ted moved next to Roy, looking at the same scene. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Ted whispered. “You’ve never been more right in your life.”

You had to suck in a deep breath as your laughter dissipated. Your lungs were empty of all reserves, but you’d never felt better about it. Dani gently removed himself from you to head towards Richard and Zoreaux. As he did, the most unexpected thing happened. 

Someone tapped you on the shoulder, and when you turned to greet them with a glowing smile, you stopped short. Jamie Tartt stood before you. “Hey,” he said. 

You kept things light as you perked your brow at him quizzically. “Hi.” You smiled. “Congratulations.”

Jamie laughed awkwardly, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Thanks very much.” You’d never tire of his accent, secretly. You were fond of Mancunian. “Listen, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Oh– sure.”

“Privately,” he added. 

You glanced around the locker room quickly, before nodding once. Jamie led you out to the corridor and beyond. He opened the door to the kit room and held it for you as you entered, then followed you inside and shut the door behind him. 

You didn’t know where to place yourself. Stood in the centre of the room, overwhelmed by the scent of soggy feet, you turned to the striker and waited. Jamie stood opposite you with the same feeling of being utterly out of place. 

“What can I do for you, Jamie?” you started, getting the ball rolling.

“I know we’re not really… er, close.” He clutched his hands together awkwardly, almost unable to meet your eye. “But I know how much you mean to the club and that.”

You huffed amusedly. “Sure,” you agreed. 

“Which is why I know you won’t laugh at me when I ask you this.” Tartt finally met your eye, and you were taken aback. Whatever was on his mind you now knew was a big deal. I mean, it had to be for him to approach you like this, surely?

“Okay,” you said sturdily. “Lay it on me.”

“It’s Roy.” You held your breath as he said it. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that Jamie would come to you about a Roy problem, yet here he was. “He won’t coach me. Not like the others, you know. I know I was a dick in the past, for lack of a better word, and that Roy was on the receiving end sometimes–”

“All the time,” you said, matter of factly. Jamie subtly exploded.

“Okay, fine– all the fucking time– but I’m back now, and I need a fucking coach. I want him to teach me the same way he teaches Sam and Isaac and the rest.”

“But, you don’t know how to ask him,” you said your thoughts out loud. 

Jamie nodded quickly, agreeing with you tenfold. “I know he’d tell me to fuck off.”

“Well, of course he’s going to do that.” You almost chuckled from how right he was in saying so. “But, I see where you’re coming from.” Your mind spiralled down different routes, unknowing of where you came into this equation. You could tell Jamie what to say, but you knew what Roy would reply simply because it was Tartt, not you. “Why come to me, though?”

Jamie’s face squished questioningly, like he couldn’t understand why you hadn’t put two and two together just yet. “Roy fucking listens to you.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh now. “Oh, please. Yeah, he listens. But whether or not he decides to do what I say is a completely different ball game.”

Jamie reached out to you suddenly and gripped your shoulders in desperation. “Please. I know I’m making up for lost time and bad behaviour and whatever else I did to the guys, or Lasso, or Roy, but I need to be useful here. I want to be useful here.” 

You regarded him thoughtfully then. It was hard not to take him into account when he was like this, bearing his soul to a person who had never connected with him beforehand. Reaching out to you was a shot in the dark for him, but he’d done it anyway because he wanted to succeed. It was commendable, when you put it all into perspective. 

You decided upon a middle ground. “I’ll plant the seed in his head to let you in, alright?” 

Jamie let out a clear sigh of relief when you agreed. “Well, fuck– thank you.”

“But!” you continued. “You need to go to him yourself. You need to apologise, and tell him exactly what you said to me. It’s Roy, so he’ll make it a fucking nightmare and will probably be childish and petty and whatever fucking else that grown man is capable of…” As you rambled, the cogs in Jamie’s brain finally understood the whole story– you liked him, didn’t you? “...but he’ll do it eventually. He has to. He’s a coach now, and if you’re here, you deserve to be coached properly.”

Jamie squealed and smiled at the same time, his eyes ablaze with boyish resemblance. He squeezed your shoulders affectionately. “I knew coming to you would work out. I just knew it.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Don’t make it a regular thing,” you joked. “There are only so many strings I can pull with Roy.”

Jamie raised his brows assumptively. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean by that?” All your amusement reluctantly trailed off alongside your words.

“Well,” Jamie started. His grin dropped instantly. “I mean– don’t make me fucking say it. You already know, don’t you?” 

“Know what?” you pressed. 

“That Roy, y’know. That Roy–” Jamie flailed his arms around like a flapping seagull. “He– y’know…” 

You squinted at him. “Are you speaking some kind of secret footballer language that common people like me don’t fucking understand?”

“He likes you!” Jamie finally let out. 

“Oh.” You stepped back. Jamie’s arms dropped to his sides. “Stop fucking talking now.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t see it?” Jamie looked you dead in the eye, but all you were capable of doing was looking away from embarrassment. “Well, you’re more stupid than I fucking took you for.” 

“Hey!” you exclaimed. “There’s no need for that shit when I’m digging you out of the mess you fucking made last season.” 

He raised his arms up in understanding. “Alright, alright. Sorry, my bad.” You let out your own sigh of relief when you realised the conversation was over. 

You and Jamie headed back to the locker room soon after. As he made his way towards the guys, you stuck to the outer limits of the cinder block walls. Roy was still in the manager's office, his back turned as he spoke to Ted and Beard. You didn’t want to intrude, so you made the decision to cut back into the corridor once more; not to leave, but to wait until the guys were ready for a pint. 

You slowly trudged down the familiar corridor that you used to traverse every fucking day. Past the locker room, you approached the gym. Beyond that, your old office still sat. Keeley had recently upgraded to a larger room deeper underneath the Dogtrack, however, so the usual array of pink pillows and her cheetah statue were nowhere to be seen. 

You entered through the half open door and walked straight into darkness. The walls were the same, just pinker. The desk was the same, just empty. Whenever you visited this office space after time away you felt the same pull to return. You didn’t care if it had no windows; you’d managed to make it home for nearly a year without any hiccups. 

God, you wanted to be back here. Everyone knew it, even Rebecca, but you daren’t take favours. You would never. 

A small knock sounded from the door, and you turned back quickly. “Ready to g–? Oh!” you exclaimed. You’d been expecting Sam or Roy, but were met with the still slightly unfamiliar face of Nate. “Sorry, Nate. I thought you were someone else.”

“That’s alright,” he said, smiling. “May I come in?” 

“Oh,” you spluttered. “Yes, of course. This isn’t my office anymore.”

He stepped inside. “No, no, it’s not, is it?” he said, and the tone of his voice was erring on patronising. You opted to ignore it, knowing that he wouldn’t have meant it that way. Surely?

The silent pause that flittered between you was very awkward, there was no denying it. It wasn’t that you’d meant to not really know him, but your circle at the club had seemed to travel in one certain direction that you hadn’t been able to control. The guys, Ted, Roy, Rebecca. Not Beard, not Nate. You didn’t mean anything by it innately. 

If anything, you were happy that Nate was making himself known to you. You’d love to get to know him more– or more than what you barely knew of him from your time at the club. 

“What a great game today, wasn’t it?” you started. 

“Oh yes, fantastic game,” said Nate. 

“And that thing–” You mimed what had happened on the pitch earlier, which happened to be a middle finger of all things. “That all four of you did to Jamie. Classic, really fucking brilliant.”

“Oh yes, the good old middle finger.” Nate copied you in miming what he’d done less than an hour ago. All four coaches had signalled to Tartt what needed to be done, and that signal happened to be swearing at him full-frontally. Four middle fingers had stood up on end, and Tottenham didn’t know what had hit them when Tartt managed to make a goal from just beyond the halfway line. 

“You were all absolutely brilliant!” you exclaimed. “I’ve been seeing you in the paper as well, you know? The whole Wonderkid thing.”

Nate smiled forcefully. “I definitely said Wunderkind.”

“Either way, it’s fantastic you’re getting that recognition.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Nate said, taking your compliment graciously; or so you thought. “So, here’s the thing.” He plunged right into his words like he’d had them on standby the entire time. 

“Go on,” you urged him happily.

“You can’t come to Wembley.” 

“What?” you asked, not fully absorbing his words.

Nate stopped smiling. He looked at you sternly, or like you were akin to dirt on his shoe, or whatever else. Your smile turned to a frown instantly. 

“You can’t come to Wembley,” Nate repeated. 

Those five words hit you like a tonne of bricks. You didn’t understand what he was saying, or what he meant. For a second, you thought he’d got his words mixed up, maybe, but even if they were un-muddled they wouldn’t make sense at all. 

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you said smally, feeling multiple degrees of hurt even though you had no explanation. 

“Okay,” Nate replied. “I’ll spell it out for you.” He raised his chin and sucked in a deep and confident breath, “You cannot come to Wembley for the FA Cup final.”

You still didn’t understand, but you understood Nate’s words fully. Why he was saying them, though, you had no idea. Perhaps you hadn’t misinterpreted his patronising tone upon entering the room, but had picked it up perfectly. You didn’t know Nate enough to get mad– properly mad– but your blood boiled as you looked at him. 

“Why not?” you asked, swallowing sullenly to try and keep the butterflies in your gut at bay. 

Nate smiled. You hated that he smiled. It felt grimy and wrong. “Roy, Ted and Beard seem to think that you keep the team happy, and maybe you do. But, this is the fucking FA Cup final. They can’t afford any distractions, and you.” He looked you up and down like a blight. You’d never been looked at like that before in your life. “You are a distraction. You may think you’re helping, but the guys need clear minds and ready heads. You’re a distraction towards all of that.”

You laughed abruptly, at a loss for words. Nate’s smile turned to something much more condescending. Gently, he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder. You froze on the spot. 

“It’s just better if you sit this one out, alright? Don’t worry, the guys won’t miss you too much.” 

You opened your mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was air. Your lungs collapsed beneath your chest, your heart pumped blood uncomfortably and incredibly fast into your limbs, your organs, your gut. It hurt. It really hurt. 

Nate squeezed your shoulder. You stiffened further. “Good talk. Let’s catch up after the final.” He removed his hand from you and left promptly, leaving you in the darkned seclusion of your old office. 

Realisation hit you like a double-decker bus. Nate had always been like this a bit, hadn’t he? Not before he became a coach, but afterwards, certainly. A shift had cemented within him as soon as he’d donned the Richmond jacket and owned a desk spot next to Ted and Beard. The whistle around his neck clung to him like a trophy of his authority. 

Nathan Shelley was not a nice coach. Good, smart, intelligent, but not nice. 

You wondered if Ted knew. You wondered if Beard knew. You wondered if Roy knew. If they did, you knew they’d do something about it, so perhaps not. Innately, despite the weak way your chest scraped air through your crippled lungs, you hoped it was just you that he had gripes with. You hoped he wasn’t like this to any of the guys themselves. Just the thought alone made you angry beyond belief. 

No one on the team deserved to be treated the way that Nate had just treated you. 

You sucked in a sharp breath quickly, feeling the beginnings and endings of tears behind your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not for this. If you twisted this entire ordeal on its head then it was borderline comical. Not to toot your own horn, but you knew that if any of the guys in the locker room next door found out about this, then they’d take your side. 

That was exactly why you couldn’t tell them. You weren’t about to be the reason that AFC Richmond’s managerial team broke apart. They’d come so far already after relegation. You couldn’t– wouldn’t– fuck that all up. 

Quietly, you swallowed away your pride and your feelings and left your old office. Silently, you headed back to the locker room and entered timidly. 

“There she is,” Roy muttered to Sam as you entered. As you approached him, you realised he’d picked up your bag and slung it over his shoulder to save you holding it yourself. “Ready to go?” he asked, face to face. 

Your eyes hit his. You struggled to keep everything at bay, but brushed it off as best as you possibly could. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Here.” You gestured to your bag on his shoulder, but Roy twisted himself away from you. 

“I’ve got it.” Roy frowned slowly, a sour feeling sprouted in his gut. “You alright?” 

You waved him off. “I’m fine. I just don’t feel all that good, if I’m being honest.” 

“Hm.” He reached out confidently and laid his knuckles against your forehead. Roy had done this to you many times. You were used to it, but still allowed yourself to silently indulge in his touch. Besides, you needed this. He didn’t know, but you needed him right now. “You do feel a bit hot, actually,” he said lowly. “Wanna skip the pub and go home?” 

Gently, you nodded. Roy’s hand dropped to your shoulder, the same one that Nate had held just minutes before. Quickly, you placed your hand over his. “Yes, please.” 

Roy stayed still. Something was wrong, he knew it. There was this look in your eye that coincided with you not feeling well, but that wasn’t all. The way you were standing; slumped, arms wrapped around yourself, as if you were desperately trying to make yourself smaller, invisible. The hand that rested atop his own didn’t feel strong. This wasn’t you, the real you.

Roy nodded at you in understanding. “Okay,” he whispered. Roy turned to the rest of the room and addressed the team. “You’ll have to catch us next week for drinks, boys.”

The collective groan that descended across the room made you feel awful, but there was nothing you could do about it. 

Roy sensed your unease. “Hey!” he yelled. “That’s fucking enough of that. Get some sleep after your well-deserved booze break, and I’ll see you all bright and early for practice on Monday!”

“Yes, coach!” 

You and Roy drove home in silence. Not the uncomfortable kind, but Roy could tell something was on your mind. It was rare that either of you evaded the weird sixth sense you had about the other now. Roy could read you as clear as he’d read your article about him. 

He stopped his Jeep outside your apartment building and killed the engine. You gathered your belongings and shot him a quick smile. “Thanks.” You went to leave. 

“Wait.” In one click, Roy had locked your door from the driver’s side door. “Tell me what’s wrong or I’m not letting you out.”

You huffed, slumping back into your chair in acceptance. “Really?”

“Really,” Roy repeated.

“This is childish, Roy.”

“I don’t fucking care. One moment you were happy as a daisy, and the next you look like you’ve landed on death’s fucking door.”

You sighed in exasperation. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

Roy twisted himself to face you more head on. He crossed his arms and waited patiently. “Go on.”

You rolled your eyes, wishing this to be over. “I’m on my period.”

Roy pointed at you quickly. “Don’t try and catch me out with a feminine problem that you assume men don’t want to hear about. I have a fucking sister, and I know all about how crazy her cycle made her. This isn’t that.”

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, raising your voice slightly. Your stress levels had grown exponentionally in the last minute and a half. You could feel your rapid heartbeat beneath your chest. “It doesn’t fucking matter, alright. If I wanted to talk about it then I would have told you by now.”

Roy perked his brow at you. “Is this about something football related, or something life related?”

“God!” you exploded finally. You wouldn’t mention Nate, but Roy’s incessant poking meant you had to say something real. Maybe this really was something you should have told him a while ago. “You really wanna know?” You turned towards him, eyes crazy and breathing erratic. “I hate my fucking job, okay. And everytime I go to the stadium for a game I’m reminded of everything I left behind and everything I continue to leave behind. The guys, Ted, Beard, you.” 

For the first tme since the car stopped, Roy shut his mouth and listened. 

“I– I wonder how much longer I can fucking do it. The commute every morning, the staleness of my work colleagues, the giant stack of papers and assignments that are always waiting on my desk to get done because no one else will fucking touch them. I don’t sleep at night properly, and I can’t even cook meals anymore. I feel like–” You sucked in a deep breath and finally looked Roy in the eye. “I feel like, even despite all of you including me in everything, I’m running on the spot behind you and will never be able to catch up. Like I’ll never be part of that world anymore. And it’s, it’s– breaking me.” 

Roy leant towards you instinctually. 

“Rebecca and Keeley know I hate it, but every time Rebecca talks about getting me a position at the club I freeze. It makes me feel sick that she’d so easily and without question hand me something because I don’t feel like I deserve it. And–!” Roy flicked his eyes over your face, at a loss of what to say. You laughed from a lack of what else to fucking do. “The game last weekend, when you showed up and finally realised your worth as a coach, I almost missed it because I couldn’t take being back there without thinking how much I fucking miss it all. I’m pathetic–”

“No, you’re not,” Roy interjected hoarsely. 

You laughed again, on the brink of tears. “Yes, I am. Who does that? Who cries before a fucking game because they can’t handle being there? Me. I do that now, apparently.” 

Silence descended inside the Jeep. You finally took a breath, and when you did you realised what you’d done. You leaned back in your seat and faced the windshield, utterly embarrassed that you’d burst at the seams. 

“So,” you said smally. “That’s that.” You turned towards Roy again. “Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Roy stayed as quiet as a mouse. That wasn’t his style. Glued to his spot, Roy kept his gaze on you thoughtfully. He regarded the look on your face and noticed the subtle embarrassment on your brow; you hadn’t expected to cave so easily when questioned about what was wrong. 

He looked down at your hands in your lap. Your fingers shook subtly as they brushed across your knuckles in worry. Roy hated that you were worrying after being honest about something in your life. It was only him, he thought. Surely you should know that you could tell him anything and he’d listen.

“Sorry,” you blurted out. 

Roy huffed, speechless. “What the fuck are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Fucking–” Roy moved closer to you. “Come here.” 

His arms were around you in no time. You stayed stuck in place, stunned, for just a second, until you found yourself hugging him back so fiercely that you couldn’t have thougth of anything you needed more. It was funny. You could count on one hand how many times you and Roy had hugged, and none of them had been like this. 

You’d been close before, sure, in proximity and in more. You were close even now, despite counting the conversation you’d both had in November. Everyone on the outside seemed to think of Roy as someone who wasn’t hands-on. He liked his space, he didn’t like to pry or poke, yet here you were– the air being squeezed from your lungs because he’d made you open up for your own good– because he couldn’t think of anything better to show that he cared than to embrace you. 

Roy Kent cared so much that it was a wonder he had energy to do anything else. 

When the two of you parted, you couldn’t help but laugh. You stayed close, foreheads almost touching. Roy smiled at you genuinely, fully, thoughtfully. 

“No wonder you’re going mental,” he said lowly. “That’s a lot to hold onto without letting it out.”

That’s not even the half of it. You wanted to say, but you didn’t. 

“You’re not running in place behind us,” Roy continued. “You’re what keeps us all together. You’re the reason I went back to Richmond.” You didn’t say anything, just took in his words. “I didn’t go back just for the game, or the guys– I went back because I knew you’d be in the box, looking down at me on the pitch again.” 

Your throat closed slightly, as the urge to cry hit you. You swallowed it away, not wanting to burst again in such a short amount of time. “Well,” you whispered. “I’m glad.” 

For a fraction of a second, Roy’s eyes dropped to your lips. 

You’d been here before, you thought. You’d been here with him like this so many times that you couldn’t even count them off the top of your head. If you had time, a few minutes maybe, you’d be able to pinpoint every occasion where the word almost screeched within your mind. 

Almost there. Almost on you. 

Perhaps you’d never get beyond the proverbial almost, but this time felt different. Something had shifted recently. You felt it. Roy’s stares lingered for just a tad too long. Electricity buzzed between you even when you weren’t touching. The joy you’d felt when he’d arrived at the Dogtrack and finally caved in had been second to none. In hindsight, maybe jumping the wall of the home box and running down the steps in the stands to him had been too much. 

Roy didn’t think so. He’d relished you being close. His stomach had somersaulted as soon as you’d yelled his name. Secretly, he’d hoped you’d react the exact way you did. He’d done it for you, had he not? He’d come back to Richmond for you. 

Without realising, you and Roy had inched closer to each other so much that you both hovered over the centre console of his Jeep. Foreheads almost touching. Hearts almost caving. 

You’d been here before so many times. 

Roy swallowed without moving a muscle, ready to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Instantly, you crashed back down to earth. You sucked in a deep breath and straightened yourself, leaning back towards the passenger side window. You thought the worst. Was this an ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this’? It had to be, surely. 

“Oh,” you let out, flustered. “Don’t apologise, don’t wo–”

“No,” Roy cut you off strongly, unexpectedly leaning closer. “I’m sorry for being a fucking idiot.” 

Time stilled. That word– that almost– lingered in the air like dust in the desert. Heavy, dry, suffocatingly warm. 

Roy’s expression grew to frustration as quickly as you’d both fallen to silence. “I thought I was doing the right fucking thing, stopping–” He gestured between you both, not able to find words. “I thought it would be better for you, to not get you mixed up in all my shit.”

The penny dropped. You squished your face into a hurt smile involuntarily. “It’s okay, Roy,” you said softly. 

“And worse yet,” he continued. “I’ve been a… a fucking arse. Not changing how I acted around you, or what I said, or what I did. I must have made everything ten times fucking worse for you.”

You shook your head immediately. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Roy replied instantly. “It does matter. I never wanted to play with your fucking feelings or make what I did more difficult for you, but that’s exactly what I did.” 

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s okay,” you repeated, just for good measure. 

Roy fell silent for a pause, taking in your words as if he really needed to hear them. In fact, you thought he really did need to hear them, straight from your mouth and no one elses. 

“You’re sure?” he asked, checked, wanted to make extra fucking sure. 

You nodded quickly. “I’m sure.” You smiled, trying desperately not to let the cropped up hurt on your face show through. That wasn’t on him; he hadn’t intended to damage you this way. 

“Okay.” Roy breathed out deeply, leaning back into the driver’s seat like the weight of the world had just been taken off his shoulders. “Thank fuck,” he whispered, before meeting your eye again. He smiled, accepting the silliness that one felt after being so vulnerable with someone else. “I really fucking need you, you know?” 

You laughed first, wanting to say so do I. Instead, you differed your response. “Of course, you fucking do. Who else is going to tell you what to do with your life?” 

Roy’s smile lit up all over his face. You remembered a time where you used to count how many times he looked at you like this; honest. Now, it was everyday. 

“Exactly,” he said. Gently, he stuck his hand out and laid it upon your cheek. “Fucking exactly.” His thumb swiped across your face warmly. You shivered immensely, but tried desperately to hide it. 

You glanced at the radio clock. Time ticked by, and you knew you had to leave this conversation soon. Innately, Roy knew it, too. 

“My mum’s coming to Richmond tomorrow morning,” you said softly. Roy’s hand stayed put. You didn’t mind. “I need to go and clean my flat, or she’ll start washing up mugs against my will.” 

Roy’s eyes flicked between your own. Affection seeped from within them, so far removed from when you’d first met. Slowly, he removed his hand from your cheek. His fingers skimmed your skin on the way back to his lap. “Okay,” he whispered; acceptance. 

Almost would stay the same. Almost had gone the furthest it had ever been.

You slung your bag over your shoulder. Roy unlocked the passenger side door with one button click. You gripped the handle strongly, but paused before you left for good. 

“Thank you for listening to me,” you said simply. “I mean– really listening to me.” 

Roy stayed still, not leaving your gaze for a second. “Always,” he said lowly. 

When the door to your building shut behind you, Roy was still reluctant to drive away. He watched as the light turned on from the window of your ground floor flat, saw your silhouette enter the living room– the room where he’d stood before a few times– and drop your bag to the floor in exhaustion. 

Roy drove away when your silhouette disappeared, the feeling of you still present on his fingertips. 

You didn’t tell anyone about Nate. You didn’t tell anyone that he’d warded you off or spoke ill of you supporting the team. Instead, you went to work. You encompassed yourself in your job, taking on extra responsibilities despite that being the one reason you felt spread thin. 

By Thursday, you were ready to crash. Your bed had been calling you every day, as soon as you disembarked from the train at Richmond tube station. Intentionally, you ignored texts from Rebecca and Keeley about times to rendezvous at Wembley Stadium. If they ever asked, you’d blame it on having too much of a heavy work week. That would be your out. 

Logically, you knew you wouldn’t be able to completely miss Richmond playing at Wembley. People would be expecting you there. The guys would be expecting you there. But, despite their cries and pleads for you to be present, you were prepared to keep them at arms length– for Nate’s sake. 

When Saturday came, you knew it would be hard for you to avoid everyone at the club. By ten o’clock in the morning, Keeley had already called you twice. By half past the hour, Rebecca had called you three times. 

On the fourth time she rang, you knew you had to pick up. 

“Darling,” she said quickly. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” you said (you lied), secluded in your flat. “This week has been insane. I haven’t been able to focus on anything that isn’t Pluto Press related.”

Rebecca made a guttural sound in her throat. “Bollocks!” she exclaimed. “I’ll send a car. It can be there in twenty minutes if need be.”

“It’s okay. I can get the tube. Don’t worry–”

“Oh,” Rebecca cut you off. Her tone switched instantly. “Actually, don’t worry about a car. I think someone is waiting for you out front.”

As if on cue, the horn from Roy’s Jeep sounded from your living room window. 

Quickly, you ran to the window. Between your sheer curtains, Roy’s obsidian black Jeep was stationed on the road by your front door. You couldn’t curse on your call with Rebecca, but by God– you wanted to. 

“Is that the cavalry coming for me?” you said down the phone, peeved. 

“Yes, it is,” Rebecca said smugly. “See you in an hour, darling.” She hung up the phone fast, so quick that you couldn’t give any excuse to get out of this match. 

Quickly, you gathered a bag of belongings and left your flat. Reluctantly, you descended the steps of your building and pulled the handle of the passenger side door of Roy’s Jeep. You settled quickly, without fuss, but words dangled in the air as soon as silence descended within the car. 

“Ready to go?” Roy said from the driver’s seat. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out. Roy didn’t push you, but he did push upon the accelerator and toward Wembley Stadium. 

Roy parked in the car park beneath the stadium, only for players or coaches, and killed the engine. 

You grabbed your bag quickly and left his Jeep, knowing what happens when you’re trapped inside with nowhere to go. The two of you made your way through the back entrance of the stadium. It was a miracle that Roy hadn’t asked what was wrong– you were being quiet and subdued, that was enough of a trigger for him to know something was up. 

You wondered if Nate had eyes on you. You wondered if he was watching you traverse the inner sections of Wembley, if he saw you freak out when going past the locker room, if he saw you retreat into yourself past the press rooms. 

Roy didn’t wonder. He kept his eyes on you through it all. 

Silence hung in the air uncomfortably as you passed office after office. These were the inner workings of a stadium; a world that you knew well, but nothing like that of the Dogtrack.

You finally broke the air. “I should really get to Rebecca and Keeley,” you said.

“And you will,” Roy said. “There’s just one stop we have to take first.”

Your heart stilled as soon as he turned to the right, entering into the final office on the long corridor you’d traversed. You were hit with the nervous gazes of Ted and Beard immediately, but you didn’t care for the way their expressions faltered softly—

You cared for the way Nate’s eyes bored into you with no remorse. At the back of the room, he glared at you ten times worse than he’d done the week before at the Dogtrack.

“Writer!” Ted exclaimed, filling the tension in the air with his enthusiasm. “Oh, thank God,” he added in a whisper. 

“Hi,” you said smally, accepting a hug from him suddenly. 

You hated this. As you removed yourself from Ted’s grasp, you could feel the steely eyes of one Nathan Shelley staring you down, like a child did to an ant before he crushed it with his shoe.

After you left Ted’s embrace, you stepped back so quickly that you almost tripped over Roy’s feet. He steadied you instantly, keeping his hand at your lower back.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Ted said, gaining some colour back on his face.

You laughed nervously. “I should really go and find Rebecca and Keeley. I shouldn’t be here.” 

“Poppycock!” Ted exclaimed. “You’re exactly what we needed. The guys are in the locker room just down there, why don’t you go and say—,”

“No!” you burst suddenly. 

The room went quiet instantly. Beard looked at Ted quizzically. You could feel Roy’s stare on the back of your neck.

“They need to focus,” you stuttered. “I should just go and find my seat.”

Nate stepped forward a few paces, coming between Ted and Beard silently. “I think that’s a good idea. Let her go and find her girlfriends.” 

You hated the way words fell from his mouth. You knew he had you exactly where he wanted you— uncomfortable, vulnerable, everything in between— but you were in no situation to open this can of worms with Ted, Beard and Roy. 

You gripped your bag on your arm tightly and turned to Roy. “I’ll see you on the pitch,” you said timidly. Quickly, and without thinking, you pressed a chaste kiss on Roy’s cheek, and left promptly.

You had no idea where you were going, but knew that you couldn’t stop as you made your way down the inner corridors of Wembley.

All you knew was that you needed to be where Nate Shelley was not, as soon as humanly possible. 

“Have a glass of wine,” Rebecca said sternly from the internal bar by the VIPs box. 

“I’m okay,” you said, keeping yourself contained.

Her smile turned to a frown. Oh, she knew you far too well for you to get out of this one.

“Take the fucking wine glass, darling.”

“Okay.” You took the glass of wine instantly and downed one, two, three gulps. You breathed out. “Oh, that’s better.” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, satisfied. 

“Sorry,” you said between gulps and sips. “It’s just been a long week.”

“I can see that,” she said, looking you up and down. “Are you sure that’s all it is? Your job?” 

Shit. She knew something else was up. They all fucking did, and it drove you insane. Innately, you cursed yourself out for being so well-known, so well-loved. You were surrounded by the people who knew you most in this world, but also by the people that didn’t want you around. It was a double-edged sword of inescapable proportions, and you were tired.

“That’s all it is,” you said, trying to adopt as much sincerity as you possibly could. 

Rebecca’s frown stayed put as her eyes roamed your face. Gently, she reached out her hand and ran her expensively manicured nails through your hair softly. 

“You’d let us know, wouldn’t you?” she said, and you froze with your wine glass to your lips. “You’d let us know if it was something else, too?” 

Keeley shoved a mini sausage roll in her mouth and approached you both quickly. “It’s Roy, isn’t it.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not Roy,” you groaned. 

“Then what is it!” Keeley exclaimed, launching pastry crumbs across the bar. 

Before you could respond, applause broke out from the crowd immensely. You gulped down the rest of your wine quickly and dropped the empty glass on a side table by the door to the stands. 

“That’s kick off,” you said, already on your way to take a seat.

The conversation went unfinished, as Rebecca and Keeley followed you out of the door towards the pitch. They didn’t attempt to pry during the game, too caught up in the song and dance of yelling chants for Richmond, of being present, of supporting.

You knew you’d dodged a bullet, as you screamed your lungs out from the stands. But, you knew your silence was on a time limit. If anyone would get something out of you, it was Rebecca and Keeley. 

And you knew it would only be a matter of time before they broke your silence (for the better). 

When the full-time whistle blew, you felt helpless. You could only imagine how the guys were feeling, knowing that they’d lost so spectacularly against none other than Manchester City. 

The person who your heart went out to the most, however, was not normal. It wasn’t Roy, it wasn’t Ted, it wasn’t even Sam or Isaac or Colin— it was Jamie Tartt. 

You knew he’d be hurting the most from this immense defeat. His old team, his past life, and at Wembley fucking stadium no less. He’d be in bits.

“Well,” Rebecca said, standing up and wrapping her scarf around her neck. “That’s that, then.”

“The guys will be crushed,” Keeley said sadly.

“Jamie will be crushed.” The pair of them looked at you as you spoke. Their sombre faces were enough for you to know that they agreed wholeheartedly.

“Come on.” Rebecca passed you and stepped out of the stands. “Let’s go and commiserate with them.”

You tensed instantly, watching silently as Keeley stood up and followed Rebecca. The two of them waited for you at the end of the row. 

“I should really head home,” you said finally, trying to keep your expression neutral. 

“What?” Keeley.

“Why on Earth do you need to leave now?” Rebecca.

“It’s just— I don’t want to crowd them, you know?” The pitch of your voice had risen. You sounded like a mouse, a lying, cheating mouse.

The two of them stared at you like you were mental. Neither said anything, their expressions spoke a thousand words for them— what the hell is up with you?

You faltered first. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Oh no, we absolutely will look at you like this,” Rebecca said threateningly. “What’s got your knickers in a twist? You look like a labrador that’s shit all over the carpet!”

“I really hope you haven’t shat on someone’s carpet, but if you have, you can tell us.” Keeley leaned down and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I haven’t shat on a fucking carpet!” 

“Then come on!” Rebecca exclaimed. “Your team needs you.” Her words stung you internally. “They need you.” 

Rebecca’s commanding nature jumped out tenfold. You were stuck at an impasse, between a rock and a hard place, whatever other metaphor you could use for being trapped. One side of your brain projected a sad picture of the guys in the locker room, begging for a friendly face to come and lift them up; and the other— Nate was glaring at you like you’d just done something terribly wrong. 

God, you hated this. No one knew the way he’d talked to you, or what he’d said. And the worst part was that you couldn’t tell them— wouldn’t— from how much drama it would create. 

Football was supposed to be your safe space. Watching matches with your girls, cheering or crying in the locker room with the guys, urging Ted, Beard and Roy on whenever you could.

Nate had taken that all away after one simple conversation. 

You didn’t know how to tell them no. If it was up to you, you would have sprung out of your seat and ran down to the locker rooms without any hesitation.

But, it wasn’t up to you. Nate’s words rattled around your mind like beads in a maraca. 

Rebecca sucked in a deep breath. She leant down and grabbed your hand swiftly, warmly. “We’re here with you. Whatever you need, we’re always here. But, those boys need us the most right now. You know them better than I do—,”

“And me! You know them better than me, too!” Keeley joined in supportively. 

“They don’t want us without you, and that’s a fact.” 

You let out a shaking breath, then nodded quickly. Nate would have to move to the fucking side.

“Okay.” You nodded again, strongly. “Okay— let’s go see our boys.” You stood up quickly, not letting go of Rebecca’s hand.

“Your boys,” Rebecca said sternly. “They’re all yours.”

Navigating the lower levels of Wembley was nerve wracking, you couldn’t lie. Scenarios raced through your head of things going terribly wrong; Nate stopping you in the corridor; Nate forbidding you from entering the locker room; Nate this, Nate that. 

Fuck this shit.

Rebecca was right. They were your boys, your team. You knew them on levels that didn’t revolve around football, you knew them as people. And by God, they needed that. This time, they needed someone to make them feel something other than defeated.

The corridors were clear when the three of you turned the corner to the locker rooms. Only a security guard stood at the door of Richmond, and he very easily let you all in when you approached.

You held your breath when you finally entered. The guys sat in their respective cubby holes sullenly, elbows on knees, heads in their hands.

You’d seen this before at Roy’s last game. Silence even deeper than when you both sat in the Dogtrack locker room alone littered the air at Wembley. You could only imagine what the guys were feeling, like history was repeating itself on so many levels for the team.

You caught eyes with Jamie first. He looked broken. 

Rebecca and Keeley headed towards the coaches, but you felt stuck in place by the door, frozen by the sad atmosphere in the room.

Roy saw you before you saw him. He strolled over slowly and reached out to grab your forearm. “Hey,” he said softly. 

You flashed back to reality and gazed up at him. “Hey.” Quickly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders tightly. He clutched you back strongly, and you knew that he’d been needing a hug with the same fervour as yours. 

You didn’t need to say you were sorry. He’d probably heard it enough already. He knew you felt the sting of a loss this big just as much as he did.

When you went to pull away, he squeezed you tighter. Evidently, he wasn’t done just yet. 

“Well, guys,” Ted said to the room. Roy finally tugged away, but he kept a firm grasp around your waist as the two of you turned to listen to Ted’s address. “We lost. You don’t need me or anyone else to say it, because the look on your faces says it all.” Ted’s southern drawl felt like therapy. Within seconds, the team felt acknowledged, and that was all that mattered. “We all knew this was going to be tough, and for just a moment I want you all to forget the score, forget the goals and whatever else, and just think of how you all played like a proper team.” 

Ted had a way with words that you knew was the main reason his career was so vast. You didn’t know a thing about American football, but you knew that Ted was a stellar coach whether it was football or soccer in his eyes.

“You played as a team today,” Ted continued. “And sure, you’re allowed to be sad about the outcome, I’m not about to tell you you can’t feel that sting, but—.” Roy squeezed your waist. You wondered if he was doing it subconsciously. “But you all need to know that you were a unit today. One that has got us up through these ranks and back on the radar of the Premier League, even if the FA Cup wasn’t ours this time around.” 

His words settled over the room and brought back a sense of self to all the players. Next to you, Roy breathed out softly and in understanding. You could feel the tension within him dissipate ever so slightly. 

And then, that all went away. 

“Knock knock!” a voice sounded from the door to the locker room. A second later, a face you didn’t recognise turned the corner and into the room. “Awh no, sorry for the loss, lads,” he said, as your eyes darted quickly around the room, trying to find any semblance of familiarity. You found it in Jamie’s eyes instantly. “Though, not fully sorry. Because Man City fuckin’ won!” His Mancunian accent reverberated throughout the room.

You understood immediately, as you watched Jamie’s hands ball into fists. The rest of the team stayed back, as if glued to their cubbies. This was Jamie’s father. It had to be. 

Jamie’s dad pottered further into the room, towards his son. Jamie stood up as he did, sucking a deep breath into his tired lungs. “My boy, my boy. You bottled it didn’t ya?” 

Your entire body tensed as everyone observed, not saying a word. Jamie’s dad only kept coming, not paying any mind to the other players in the room. Roy’s grip on your waist tightened suddenly, as if he could feel your anxiety rising. You could feel the same from him; every muscle in his body tried desperately to hold back. 

Jamie’s father lunged towards his son’s face, so close that Jamie couldn’t look anywhere else. “You hear me, boy? You fuckin’ bottled it, didn’t ya?” he repeated. 

“Don’t speak to me that way,” Jamie said quickly, seething. 

“Wha?” his father faked not hearing him, getting even closer. 

“Do not speak to me that way,” Jamie repeated. His father looked up to his face, catching his eye lethally. 

Your gut lurched as his father kept going, kept repeating wha?, kept getting closer and closer to his boy’s face. This was vile, and you could hardly believe no one was doing anything.

“Wanna say that to me again, boy?” 

Jamie stood his ground, puffing out his chest to be bigger, straightening out his spine to be taller, and better, and whatever else he hadn’t learned from his shit-bag of a father. 

“Huh?” he said again, louder. “Huh!” he exclaimed. Alongside his voice, his hands bombarded into Jamie’s chest– hard.

Something within you snapped. Your chest compressed, your intestines warped, and your legs started moving. Roy’s grip disappeared from around your waist as you rushed forward, not giving a shit about the audience, or about the guys, or about Nate. Nate, who was standing behind Ted and Beard, saying and doing nothing. 

Inside, you stopped caring. You didn’t give a fuck if he hated you being around, you didn’t give a fuck if you’d get in trouble from this outburst, but you had to do something– anything. Jamie Tartt was being publicly abused by his father in front of your eyes, and you couldn’t fucking stand it. 

Maybe this is what Roy meant. You were the glue. You kept everyone together, you brought Roy back to the team. Maybe this is what you’d always been meant to do– protect these boys from whatever you fucking could, when they weren’t able to for themselves. 

As Jamie recovered, ready to strike, you were already one step ahead. In a fraction of a second, you were already beside his father, fist raised. When your knuckles hit his skin, you finally came back into the room. There were two crashes; one from the impact of your fist on his father’s cheekbone; the second from him hitting the floor unceremoniously. 

Quickly, Beard approached you and hoisted Jamie’s dad up by his armpits. The two of them backed out of the door, clambering over stray shoes and shirts and whatever else that lay on the floor. Without any warning, two large arms wrapped around you from behind and pulled you off the ground. You knew it was Roy as soon as you smelled his cologne. You smiled inappropriately, and then you chuckled to yourself deviously. 

You’d just punched Jamie’s piece of shit dad in the fucking face. 

And it felt fantastic. 

Clatters sounded from the outside corridor. Beard breathed heavily as he made his way back into the locker room, and the door slammed loudly behind him. The air felt heavy as eyes darted around the room. The guys looked at each other, then to Beard, then to you. Roy still held you tightly, dangling you above the ground as you tried your damned hardest not to burst into laughter. 

You couldn’t feel your hand. Your knuckles were red when you dropped your gaze to look. Your hand shook, finger bones stuck in place as they contemplated what their owner had just done– thrown a punch for the first time in her fucking life, and very haphazardly at that. 

When Jamie looked over to you, Roy finally dropped you to the floor. He leaned in close to your face, surveying your eyes suddenly. This was a look you’d never seen from him; fear. Roy Kent wasn’t one to be afraid, but the way his eyes poured into your own had your chest crumpling beneath your skin. He was worried– he was frightened– for you. 

“You ok?” he whispered. 

You nodded quickly. “I’m not the one you need to be asking that to.” Your gaze moved over to Jamie in a heartbeat. 

Roy stood up straight once more, puffing out his chest as he inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. He started walking without warning, fists balled, towards the Richmond striker. Everyone held their breath, knowing that him and Jamie together were not a good combination. You, however, smiled to yourself without question. 

When Roy reached Jamie, he wrapped his arms around him immediately. Coach and player hugged in silence, as the gravity of what Jamie’s father had just done stuck to every wall in the room. He needed this– hands on help, a real show of love and affection.

You were happy that Roy was the one to breach contact. That’s exactly what Jamie had needed. 

“You ok?” Roy asked him, pulling away from the embrace. 

Jamie breathed out slowly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking,” Roy muttered. 

Both men turned back to face you. You held your wrist with care, not wanting to jolt your now fucked up hand. You smiled at the two of them knowingly, as everything settled back into place. 

Behind you, Nathan Shelley grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. On the way out of the locker room, he rushed past you harshly. You yelped to yourself as he pushed into you, jolting your wrist painfully. He stopped before you for just a second; he smiled. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Watch yourself there,” he said, in some kind of fake honey-toned pitch. Then, he turned on his heels and left the locker room as fast as he’d bumped into you. 

Another threat. What a fucking joke. 

Your face soured immediately, you couldn’t help it. Inside your head, you imagined a world where you’d told Roy all that Nate had put you through recently. You could see it clearly– his whole body would tense, his fists would ball, his nostrils would flare, and he’d yell I’ll show that little fucker! 

Deeper within the indulgent part of your mind, he kissed you passionately before he went to confront Nate on your behalf. You swallowed quickly, trying to pat away those thoughts from the unexplored crevices of your mind. It was futile. Besides, you knew you still couldn’t tell Roy about Nate’s behaviour, for the sake of the team. 

One day, rest assured, you would. When Nate left Richmond, or something else happened to change things around here, that’s when you’d lay it all out for him. 

You were counting down the days.

“Hey,” Roy said, alerting you back into the room once more. Stood before you, he looked down at your hand. His brows furrowed. “Hm,” he growled gently. 

“It’s fine,” you lied. 

Softly, Roy laid his fingers atop your red knuckles. A sharp pain bombarded through your flesh instantly, forcing you to suck in a gasp. The pain spread to the rest of your hand, down your fingers, and twinged into your wrist. You couldn’t help it– you had to scream. “Motherfucker!” 

“Just as I thought,” Roy said. “You’ve fractured the shit out of your hand.” 

You squirmed on the spot, trying desperately to alleviate the pain you felt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you rattled off, purely as a way to expel what you felt. 

“Come on.” Roy bent down to the floor and picked up your bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go to the physio.” You hardly heard him, too focused on your hand. Roy gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the room. “See you in a bit, lads!” he exclaimed to the room. 

The two of you turned into the empty corridor ay Wembley, walking slowly as you tried to hold onto the last of your composure. 

“God,” you hissed. “Why the fuck did I punch Jamie’s dad?”

“Because someone had to,” Roy replied. “And besides.” He glanced at you unknowingly, as you remained preoccupied on your self-inflicted injury. “It was fucking hot.”

You groaned immensely, dropping your head onto Roy’s shoulder. “It doesn’t fucking feel like it,” you whined. Roy couldn’t help but smile. 

“Oh, believe me,” he said lowly, indulging in you being this close to him. “It was.” 

Roy held you all the way to the physio. Secretly, he’d never been happier that you’d decided to be so reckless. Perhaps, he thought, he was rubbing off on you just as much as you’d changed him for the better.

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[brailsthesmolgurl]

LOSE YOU TO LOVE YOU

Preview: You had to lose your lover to protect them against harm but what happens when someday, fate connects the two of you again? Warnings: Angsty but yes to fluff too, slightly-slightly suggestive towards the end! this is gonna be a bit of a lengthy read as always

P.S: This is an extremely detailed request by one of you guys, its a bit challenging for me to write it hence I decided to take it upon my own twist for the story. Or else, I might actually get so demotivated to write this piece and I do not wish for that. Overall plot would still be half-preserved but I had decided not to use any names just for the overall inclusivity for other readers. Great ideas should be shared and I think my readers would like to be included too in this wonderful plot :)

"What...what have you put into this y/n?" Rafayel stumbled, the mug slipped out of his hand when his legs started buckling beneath him. He was in disbelief as he watched the mug broke upon impact against the hard tiled floor. It was like time had slowed down for him and he could only blame the orange juice he had drank. "Y/N!" He calls out to you again, hands now clasping onto his slender neck when he slowly crumpled to the ground. Yet, his calls for you fell upon deaf ears, four walls on each side of the room watched him suffer.

You peeked over the heavy door leading to his room and your eyes watered at the sight of your fiance lying motionless on the ground. Knocking him out is the only way you can think of the moment you were threatened by an elite group of assassins. They are the reason behind his bounty value--that had exceeded by two million-- and they presented the only option for you to 'save him' is by leaving him.

They cornered you on one of the days when you were out dealing with Wanderers. Although you are fairly combative, one woman against a dozen of elite assassins would not grant you a survival route. Hence, you were practically forced to listen to their proposal. Not much details were disclosed to you about why they were willing to retract the bounty for your fiance but you figured if he could live a better and safer life without a bounty hung on his head then why not? Even if you were to be at their disposal.

"Leave him and he shall walk like a free man he once was." You remembered the grim voice of a man as he relayed the terms and conditions to you. "We do not seek a confrontation here as you are with child."

Flashing back to the present, you lightly rubbed your belly, still wondering how they know of your pregnancy when it was not even announced to Rafayel. This further tells that those assassins are not to be messed with. "I am sorry." You knelt down beside your lover, studying his peaceful features as he was snoozing. "I am sorry I have to do this to you. I promise you that I will be back for you when the time is right." Pushing yourself off of the floor, you left without turning your head back. Each step taken ripped your heart out of your chest even more.

Years had gone by, with you disappearing off of the grid and went into hiding. During then, you had been living under a pseudonym, revamping your whole image and identity to go full on undercover. You did this because you did not want Rafayel, nor anyone from your past to track you down. However, peacefulness does not last long when news of Rafayel’s bounty is on the rise again and it got you wondered what he could have done to piss them off. You did some digging yourself. With the help of your new identity, you can slip in and out of the clubs without a worry. Eavesdropping just enough to get the information you need to propagate further in tracking down the same man who once threatened you to leave Rafayel.

The trail has led you back to Linkon City and you stood at the balcony of the unit you had rented, overlooking the scenic view of the concrete jungle below. The city has changed a lot since the last you had been here and that is probably years ago. “Mummy.” A child-like voice snapped you out of your reminisce and you looked down, watching the toddler walking up to you. A perfect photocopy of your ex-lover; with dark purple locks smooth to one’s touch and eyes the same as his hair. He is like a doughy-faced version of Rafayel. The child that you bear while you left Rafayel now stood in front of you, eyes full of hope before another similar face joins him. Yes, you gave birth to twins. The other is yet another photocopied version of Rafayel, but adorns the eyes as deep as the blue sea. That is how you manage to tell them apart from one another.

“Mummy you okay?” The blue-eyed toddler followed up with the question. Although only been in this world for three years, the both of them had grown so much, not only in terms of height but also knowledge and other aspects that would commonly be found within a toddler’s growing age. They inherited Rafayel’s artistic talent; always doting on painting to pass time whenever you are home with them. Whereas from you, they certainly are highly adaptable and smart. “We go for walk mummy?”

“Yes, let’s go for a walk.” You stood upon and went over to the front door to grab your coat, handing the twins their coats as well. “Put them on alright, the night is going to be chilly and I do not want you guys to be sick.” Out of habit, you slotted your baseball cap right over your head. It is a good strategy to not stand out from the crowd when you get to shield parts of your face at certain angles. You grabbed your wallet and phone and proceeded to walk out with the twins.

Nights in cities are never boring; with bustling traffic and chatters hailing from crowds. This was what you had missed out on for the past years. Staying by the countryside does have its perks but still, you missed the noises of a city that is alive. Dank pathways were sprawled out at the park as you walked with your toddlers by your side. The rain had just subsided and it smelled of dew and silt. But, something seemed off. There were hints of metallic smell in the air, a smell closely resembled to fresh blood. You stopped in your steps and started scanning the area, your ears perked up to maximise picking up even the slightest of gales. “I’m scared mummy.” Your toddler had seemed to pick up on the shift of aura as well.

A twig snapped and you too, snapped yourself towards the source of the sound, shielding your kids by pushing them behind you and hands dug deep into your coat, ready to draw out your weapon if danger ensues. Your eyes were narrowed into slits, relying on dimly lit street lamps to highlight the bushes in front of you. “You know what you should do right?” You looked down, watching your toddlers nod towards you. They were already trained from young to flee should there be any situation that requires them to. Both of them have a watch equipped with a navigation system that will lead them directly to the nearest police station or anywhere that is a confirmed safe house for them. With that, you ushered them and watched as your kids held hands with one another and started to tread lightly out of the park, the watch illuminating their way.

You pulled out your gun the moment an amorphous figure emerged from the bushes and before it could reach you, it burst into flames, screams of agony like a banshee on a killing spree tore through the empty park. Luckily, your children had already fled and a beep on your watch notified you that your kids are safe, and they are currently back to the unit that you had rented. You lowered your gun and stared at the tallowing figure in front of you, the blazoning red tinge of flames looked familiar, it was as if you had seen it—“Y/n?” You blinked, looking up to find another figure emerging from the same path taken by the man who had now disintegrated into ashes and blended into the night skies. “Is that you?”

“Rafayel?” Your jaw dropped, watching him emerged from the bushes. It must be because you missed him so dearly that your mind decided to deploy a mirage of him amidst danger right? It’s like those final wish scenes and you could not help but feel goosebumps slowly drawn to the surface of your arms. “You’re not real.”

The man in black clomped over and you stumbled backwards, gasps fleeting out of your lips as you thought you just saw a ghost. “Careful.” The grip on your arm gravitated you back to reality. You are now staring right into the eyes of your ex-lover, the same guy you thought was killed because there were no news of him anymore. The same man that you were forced to leave in order to protect his safety. The love of your life, the father to your twins. “You are back.” He enveloped you into his arms, his breath disheveled, his tone of voice ebullient. You were expecting a frustrated Rafayel, not forgiving you for leaving him, not acknowledging your existence because you had left him so suddenly without a reason.

Yet, you could not seem to fathom his current state as he held you tightly in his arms. Rafayel had been nothing but the bearer of a deft husk of a ‘widow’. Ever since he woke up to an empty home, he became relentless. Thomas too, was greatly affected by his melange of emotions. Everyone else who worked around him were forced to be more obsequious than ever, showcasing utmost sycophancy in fear of getting panned by the artist. For he had went through a change of heart, thirsting only for revenge upon the group of people that took away his lover. Succour was indeed offered by Thomas, to seek out information regarding your whereabouts. Rafayel agreed and thanked him, providing him all of the money needed to seek you out but deep inside, he knew that finding you would not be a simple matter and his worry haunted him further.

The walk back to your place was awkward, one-sidedly perhaps. Rafayel had not stopped talking, telling you about his journeys of tracking down every single one of the members of the elite group and threatening them to spill their guts about your whereabouts. Given that you left him on your own will, none of the men knew where you had migrated to and that literally got their guts spilled afterwards. He then went on, telling you about how he had handled the truth of you leaving him, that, when it came to a certain point in his life, he was the one that caused you the suffering instead. His words did travelled into your ears, but it was not being processed properly as you were too occupied on thinking about how does one tell their long time lover that they had became a father without their knowing?

The both of you stood at the front of your door now, you praying quietly to yourself, hoping Rafayel would not freak out if he were to meet both of your twins upon stepping into the entrance. You imprinted your thumbprint on the scanner and the door unlocked with a crisp click. Two sets of footsteps were heard clomping towards where you stood and you looked over to Rafayel immediately to analyse his reactions towards your twins. “Mummy— who’s this?” The both of your twins immediately froze, being only a couple of steps away and their eyebrows were strewn together in confusion. The father of the twins stood frozen too, eyes darting in between the two toddlers, noticing the familiar and yet uncanny features of theirs.

When Rafayel got to the leader of the elite group, he was foretold that you were pregnant when you left but he supposed that he was unable to take a grasp of time after you had left. Both of the boys are a bit taller than kids of their age, both rocking the same purple locks as his, pallid and flabby cheeks that Rafayel was certain to own when he was younger back in the days and not to mention, the both of them got your lips. Every lip motion is a total reflection of you. “You were pregnant with them when you left me right?” You took the note that Rafayel does probably know of the existence of you having a child but maybe, he is still in shock, not expecting twins at all. You nodded in response to his question.

Rafayel got onto his knees and smiled, tears started jerking around in his eye sockets, tainting his purplish-pink eyes a glassy tint. “I am your father.” He opened his arms to the twins but your kids cautiously looked over to you, awaiting for the confirmation as they had never seen their father before. Upon noticing your nod and smile, the twins squealed in surprise and hurtled themselves into his arms. Just like that, a family reunion happened.

“You already got them to bed?” Couple of hours later, Rafayel had placed the two reluctant twins of his to bed. Given both of the kids had been longing to have a father figure in their life, a few hours of interaction with Rafayel are definitely not enough for them. However, bed time at 9pm came to be an obstacle for the twins. Yawns started replacing laughs and Rafayel knew it was time to call off play time and switch to story time. You would usually read them to bed and Rafayel thought it is a great idea to put the kids at ease by telling his story, portraying himself to be the main protagonist set out on a journey to save a princess and to rescue her minions as well. The princess being you and yes the minions are the twins.

“Yeah, they could barely listen to my story for five minutes.” Rafayel plopped down next to you on the couch and extended his arm across your back, an invitation for you to lean against his shoulder and you did just that. “I might have went a little hard on them for the tag game.” That explains the heavy stomps and patters of footsteps coming from the room and hallways just now as you were taking a rest. You settled your longing gaze on your fiancé, realising that years had done no harm to him. The same hairstyle that he wears without much styling, the same siren like eyes that only holds you as the apple of his eyes, the same moles that were dotted across his face and the same warm smile he could ever emblazoned onto his features when it comes to being around you. He never changed.

As your insecurity started to settle upon you, particularly towards your own looks. Where time and stress has taken a toll on you, imprinting its effects with fine lines and wrinkles on your face, painting dark circles under your eyes and causing you to constantly wear a fatigued smile. “Do I look different to you even after all of those years Rafayel?” You peered up to him.

“My love.” Rafayel’s warm hand came up to caress your pinched cheeks, you had indeed became much more thinner than he last seen you, before you left him. He knew you must have not suffered any lesser when you had to constantly be on the run while having to bring up both of the kids by yourself as well. But, part of him was grateful that you no longer had to run, for he had eliminated every single member of the damned association. “You still look the same as how you always were.” His eyes wandered, down your cheeks and to your lips and back up again, lust wriggling its way through his gaze. “I missed you dearly my wife. I promise you that no matter what happens ever again, I will not let anyone convince you to leave me anymore. For I, will take full responsibility for the safety of our family.”

Your eyes reflected like glass under the dim lighting, words of affirmation coming from your lover after such a long time seized all of the rumination in your head. You did not notice the streaks of tears till you felt the pads of his thumbs swiped across both sides of your cheeks, his hand now fully cupping your small face. “Now, may I take the responsibility to care for my wife and to make love to you all night to prove my love to you?” The words he spoke were laced heavily with romance and lust that he had held back for years and little did you know, he is going to give you another child and make up for all of the lost times with you and his children.

A request from @cherriejoyponce, fulfilled with my own twist. Hope you like it!

[shelbgrey]

can you do a mark sloan x reader sfw/nsfw hcs , and can she be richard webbers god daughter

please & thank you!<3 you write such amazing works

Mark Dating Richard's god Daughter headcanons

Paring: Mark Sloan x Webber!Reader

Summary: headcanons about Mark Sloan dating Richard Webber's God Daughter. -SMUT warning

MasterList ML2

You are Richard and Aele's god Daughter. They adopted you after your parents died in a car crash.

Richard has always been a father to you, but you call him uncle Richard.

You wanted to be a doctor like Richard for as long as you could remember. You worked hard in medical school and soon enough you were in the same intern class as Miranda Bailey.

Bailey is your best friend and has threatened Mark’s life if he hurts you.

Derek thinks it’s funny that Mark started dating you after Webber tried to say it was nothing personal when he hired Mark.

Richard notices how Mark looks at you almost immediately and he absolutely hates it. He thinks Mark is just looking for a one night stand, but that’s not true.

“I want you to stay away from him. There’s a reason the nurses formed a anti-Mark club”

But what your uncle said went in one ear and out the other. Honestly Richard couldn’t blame you. He knew what it was like to be in love with someone you couldn’t have.

Speaking of Love, you didn’t find out about Richard and Ellis till your intern year when Ellis showed up at the hospital with Alzheimer. You and Meredith became close friends through this situation.

You couldn’t really stay mad at Richard since it was a long time ago, but it still hurts that he could do something like that to Adele.

“It's kinda funny in a dark way, the two most important men in your life are both man whores” Bailey said, she was your person and she could say stuff like that to you without getting mad.

You know Richard and Bailey are close, but whenever they have a petty argument you're taking Bailey’s side. Yes, she's smug about that.

Adele gets mad whenever either one of you tatel on Richard. You may get annoyed, but she’ll drive down to the hospital whenever you need something.

You think it's hilarious when Adele yells at Richard like he's a child. She’ll definitely do it to Mark too if she has too. “Out of all the petty, ridiculous, infantile.. Are you running a hospital here or a playground?”

“Adele..” Richard started. “Playground or Hospital, Richard?!” Adele yelled and Mark snickered as Richard mumbled, “Hospital”

“Apologize to our goddaughter right now” Adele scolded, Making Mark hide his laughter in your shoulder. “Sorry” Richard mumbled.

“Not to complain or anything Aunt Adele, but that’s not a real apology” you said with a smirk.

“That is not an apology! You give an apology you mean, because if i have to drag myself down here though rush hour traffic again, to police this damn Jungle Gym..”

“You made your point Adele” Richard sighed. Adele huffed and turned to you. “Love ya aunt Adele”

“Love you too, Dear”

Mark and you both gave Derek crap when Richard and Derek were living together. “Derek is dating your uncle Richard”

“I am no!”

Richard does his best to be nice to Mark, but he wants to protect you from him. Especially when he found out he slept with Addison.

He definitely used his ‘Chiefʼ voice when he threatened him about dating you. “If you hurt her. IF you cheat on her, even the morgue won't be able to identify you. Are we clear!?”

“Yes!.. Yes sir”

Adele loved him when she was still alive. “RIchard you be nice to him he’s part of the family now”

Mark comforted you when Adele started getting Alzheimer. Adele was the closest thing you had to a mother, so it hit you hard when she died.

Mark had gotten close to her as well. Mrs. Shepherd was like a mother to him. Yes, when he started dating you Adele was constantly in his life. She gave him relationship advice and was like the aunt he never got.

Then Catherine showed up. She really didn’t like you or Mark that much. She had a problem with Mark because she thought Jackson was wasting his time in plastics then she just thought Richard ‘babyed’ you too much.

“You mom is banging my Uncle” you said bluntly to Jackson.

“The Chief banged my mom too” Meredith said, thinking it’ll make Jackson feel better.

Richard walking you down the isle on your and Mark's wedding.

NSFW Headcanons:

These are from the original mark HCs I posted a couple of days ago... Sorry. If you want all of them go to the original HC post.

He’s an expert at foreplay. He’ll spend as much time as he can trying to get you hot and bothered or worked up.

He's definitely the dominant person in bed and your not complaining, he'll get rough and pound hard enough were the bed starts rocking.

Mark loves bitting your neck just to hear you moan. When you finally give in to him, he'll lay you down on the couch or bed and start pealing your clothes off to reveal your chest.

The sex maybe rough, but Mark isn't not big on insults. He refuses to degrade you and will only use sweet words.

He has big chocking kink, he won't be too rough about but he loves wrapping his fingers around your neck and feeling your pulse when he's ramming into you.

Loves eating you out,your legs around his head. He loves your legs in general and loves leaving kisses on the insides of your thighs. He'd rather pleasure you for hours than receive.

There's also a tone of jealous sex. If he sees Alex shamelessly flirting with you expected to be tied to bed as fucks your brains out. If he sees Jackson touch you in a way thats reserved only for him you’re pinned against the wall.

This man is amazing when it comes to aftercare. He knows exactly what you need. After your both cleaned up, he'll pull you to his chest to cuddle.

[rebeccccccaaa]

 My Part of Town

__________________

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

:: After what seems to be a rather confusing and tough case, Hotch finds himself in a dark corner of a club watching the girl he interrogated just days ago captivate him in a way he hasn’t been in years. ::

warnings:: talks about violence (canon type cm kind); reader is described to have tattoos, alt styled extras (not goth specified), etc; age gap (reader is in her mid to late 20s), also slight power imbalance? Idk i tried to write it in way that didn’t make it seem like reader fucked her way into the BAU by making hotch a tiny bit subby/pathetic but idk i put the warning anyway sorryyyyyy, no mentions of y/n, sober reader slay, no contraceptives mentioned so stay safe babies, body positivity, mentioned jack at the end for plot lol but he’s not present in the story, not sure what else i should tag

author’s notes:: i originally wrote this with the intention of a certain type of person in mind (me lol) with the tattoos and stuff, i know not all you readers have such but i thought i’d keep the second pov for fun and interactiveness, so i hope that’s ok with y’all, enjoy!!

___________________

Hotch stood at the bar, a drink sweating in his hand. He hardly drank anything, in fact he just wanted to go home at this point. The room smelt of body odor, cheap perfume, and smoke. He didn’t understand how his coworkers could love going out to such a place like this. It was definitely not his scene anymore, but with much begging from the girls and Morgan, they were able to successfully convince him and also Rossi to go and celebrate the success of this last case. He was surprised to even see Reid enjoying himself. 

He never thought in a million years he'd be back in a place like this. He looked around seeing the girls in a small circle laughing and jumping around, Rossi sat at the end of the bar talking to a girl, who was way too young for him, trying to get her away from hims, and Spencer and Derek were standing at the edge of the dance floor wondering who their next flattery target was going to be. Darting his eyes around, they caught a particularly familiar set of eyes that Hotch couldn’t seem to shake until he walked into the overstimulating room of noise and colors, at least until this very moment.

You grinned at him, facing completely towards him now. You dressed in all black, platformed shoes making you much taller than when Hotch had met you for the first time. The silver and gold reflecting the bright lights that scattered over the crowd from your fingers. Your skin covered ink that surprised him just as much as it did the first time he’d seen your decorated skin. And although you dressed in all black, you seemed to stand out more than anyone else in the sea of bodies. 

Hotch tightened his jaw upon meeting your eyes. Your hips swayed effortlessly to the music that boomed through the room. It was like you were dancing just for him. Teasing him, like you did in the interrogation room where you had first met. You were an enigma to the case. You had come from nowhere, had nothing to do with the unsub or the victims, and yet had almost all the answers the BAU had questions for before they could even begin a profile. 

Hotch began to fidget in a panic when you began walking towards him.

Hotch walked in the interrogation room. File in hand. They were in New York City. The infamous concrete jungle. The case involved a long line of girls in their 20’s; their stomachs gutted and filled with dirt, a small white rose planted in place. They hadn’t a long list of suspects but when a security guard mentioned to Hotchner of a strange girl lurking at the scene of the most recent crime they brought her in as suspect or at the very least, a witness. Walking in the room, a girl sat rapping her ring stacked knuckles against the table.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon?” Hotch asked.

You stayed silent. You knew the position you were in. You were studying behavioral analysis and criminal justice yourself. 

You were at the crime scene yesterday, you asked questions to the security guard who ratted you out. It would be a waste of time and effort, and especially money, to know that after all those hours of studying, your skills would be useless when it comes to navigating a real case. You needed to see for yourself. So you asked some questions, awkwardly and suspiciously at best, and now you found yourself sitting in an interrogation room for a crime you actually have nothing to do with. 

“Why were you asking questions to a security guard about the victim? You asked, if anything had changed? You indicated that you have seen the previous victims’ bodies.”

“I have,” you said. 

“Why’s that? Was there something in particular you saw that made you ask those kinds of questions?”

“Am I being questioned as a witness? Or a suspect?”

“Why do you feel like you are being questioned as a suspect?” he asked, making you go silent. Hotch took his sign to leave, leaving you to continue tapping your decorated fingers against the table like before. 

“She’s not really saying anything. Her demeanor tells me that she’s keeping something from us but her body language also is calm and collected. She may not have anything to do with the crime but she knows something, and she is not telling us,” Hotch said to Rossi and Spencer who stood watching the interrogation. 

“I called Garcia to look into her background a bit. She’s also a student at the same college all three of our victims attended. So I asked her to cross-check each of their schedules with hers for any overlap and she came up empty. They don’t even study the same major,” Spencer explained.

‘What does she study?” Hotch asked.

“Get this, Behavior Analysis,” Rossi said. 

“Hey! If you’re still lingering behind the window, I got something to say. But send the grumpy one in,” you shouted. 

“She beckens for you, Agent Hotchner,” Rossi teased. 

Hotch walked back into the room. You sat properly in your chair again with your hands folded politely, completely contrasting the way he left you. You had discarded your jacket too.  Hotch couldn’t help his eyes drifting across your decorated skin. It tells him that you were most likely extroverted, confident. Though the psychology behind tattoos can be varied so his interest peaked briefly. 

“What would you like to share?” Hotch sat across from you.

“Have you built a profile yet?” you asked. 

“We have some working theories,” he responded. 

“So do I,” you smirked.

“Agent Hotchner,” you strolled up to him, “What the hell are you doing in my part of town?”

“Your part?” he joked with you.

“Did you finish the case?” you asked.

“Yes, much help from you. Thank you,” he replied.

“What?” you yelled over the music.

“I said ‘Thank you,’” he responded loudly as you did.

“I’m just kidding, I heard you. I just wanted to hear you thank me again,” you smirked, before leaning over the counter to call the bartender. He may have been right about your tattoos making you a confident persona.

“So, what are you drinking tonight, Agent Hotchner?” you asked him.

“It’s just Hotch, and um, I’m not too sure. My coworker ordered me this drink. But I've hardly drunk it.” he complained. 

“Yeah the drinks here are like gasoline, but at least you’re paying for what you get,” you laughed. 

“What about you? What’s your poison tonight?” he asked you, he could feel his shoulders start to relax a bit.

“Coke,” you winked before grabbing. 

“Really?” he asked with curiosity, he figured a girl your age would be drinking the night away while you were still young.

“I’m sober,” you told him. 

“Good for you,” he told you, a smile creeping unsuspectingly on his face. 

“Not all that crazy, I’m starting my thirties soon and graduating next semester so I have to start taking life super seriously since it won’t for me,” you said.

“What makes you say that?” he questioned. 

“Seriously?” you joked, “Look, I knew my appearance was eventually going to affect my career down the line but I believed life is too short to not celebrate your body and decorate it the way you want. The body is a temple, and what’s a temple without art?”

“I think your tattoos are lovely,” he complimented. 

“I think so too,” you grinned, making him chuckle. You liked amusing him. 

“What do you mean by affecting your career? I understand not everyone likes tattoos in the workplace but you can easily cover them up with the right attire, can’t you?” he asked.

“Of course, but why would I want to burn up wearing a turtle-neck shirt in the middle of summer just to please some old fucks who don’t even work personally on the cases we would be working on?” 

“I understand you,” he debuted.

“I can help with that,” he told you, after a small pause between you two.

“What do you mean?” you questioned.

“Well, I can talk to my boss about opening an internship position with the BAU. That way right before you graduate you can have a good reference and experience on your resume for when you start looking for a permanent position,” he explained. 

“Are you serious?” you beamed.

“Yes, you were excellent with my team and incredibly effective. And I think it would be good for you to continue exploring that part of the job, if that’s what you want to do after you graduate,” he told you. 

“Uh, yes! Oh my goodness, if I wasn’t sober I’d take a shot with you right now,” you laughed putting your hand on his chest. 

Hotch could feel the warmth blooming from your hand into his system. His breath became slightly heavier than it was. He doesn’t know what compelled him to do this but he knows you could be very valuable to the team, and working with the BAU would set you up for success after you graduate. Those were the only reasons, right? 

You and Hotch stayed a while at the bar talking and laughing most of the night. You told him stories about your tattoos and he told you stories from past cases. Derek and Spencer had left by then, Rossi was making his way out and the girls were still dancing and laughing as they had been the whole night. Occasionally they would point at him talking to you, they giggle at how unexpected and incredible it was for Hotch to be talking to a girl like you. What felt like minutes was actually hours and you were itching to get back on the dance floor again. 

“Let’s go dance,” you tugged at his arm.

“Oh, no. That's not my thing,” he protested.

“Well, pretend it’s your thing tonight! Come on, I want to dance with you,” you begged. 

“Eh,” he whined.

“Come on, come on,” you dragged him by the arm; it worked since he set his drink down and dragged his feet across the dance floor to bring his body against yours. 

His hands hesitantly went to your hips while your arms instinctively wrapped around the back of his neck. Your chests were pressed against each other and if Hotch focused hard enough he could probably feel your heart beating against his. Maybe you could feel his picking up. Your eyes were closed, like you were trying to focus on only the music but unbeknownst to him you were focusing on his touch. 

Finding confidence, Hotch moved his hands up and down your back. His leg moved in between yours and your hips moved together in sync. Hotch had never danced like this before with anyone. He felt a little lost but you were guiding him well and he was feeling more bold than before. Your fingers started raking through his hair and Hotch couldn’t help but sigh with his eyes fluttering close. It had been a long time since someone had been with him, had touched him in any way that wasn’t a professional handshake or a platonic hug. He had been always busy with work and if not work then taking care of Jack. Haley had been gone for a long time, it almost felt unnatural to feel this way again but Hotch was remembering how good it felt and how much he missed it. 

He let his face bury into the side of your neck and you continued scratching his head, pulling your nails down the back of his neck making him breathe out shakily. You had this man suddenly wrapped around your finger. Hotch became as bold as one could get in the darkness of the club, letting his hands completely cup your behind and pulling your hips impossibly close to his. You pulled slightly away from him before resting your forehead against his. His eyes were only focused on your lips. You turned yourself around, hearing the sigh escape from Hotch when you did, but you made for it pressing your hips against his. 

The girls had taken a break chatting and giggling at the bar. They couldn’t believe the sight before them. Hotch, a widower and single dad grinding up against a woman dressed in black and chains with tattoos up and down her arms and legs in a suit and tie he refused to change out of when he agreed to tonight's outing. 

“I cannot believe what I’m seeing,” Penelope gasped.

“I think I’ve drank too much; I’m hallucinating Hotch having a better time than us,” JJ joked. 

“Oh come on, girls. Leave the man alone,” Emily said before downing the rest of her drink. 

“I would’ve been less surprised if Reid pulled a girl like that,” Penelope jokes.

“Yeah, it’s not so much the situation but rather who. I’ve never seen Hotch like this,” JJ said. 

“You know I can’t deny that,” Emily rang. 

“I think I’m gonna go now, seeing Hotch like this is making me feel things I’ve never wanted to feel from my boss,’ Penelope grumbled. 

“You guys are so dramatic,” Emily laughed. 

“I think I’m actually gonna go,” JJ chimed, “I shouldn’t leave my boys alone all night.” 

“Ok, then let’s all just get out of here,” Penelope chirped, “We should leave Hotch to whatever he plans on doing.”

“I think you mean whoever,” Emily said, as she snapped a picture of you two dancing like there was nobody else there with you. 

“Did you take a picture?” JJ gasped. 

“Oh! He’s gonna kill you!” Penelope laughed out loud.

“Let’s go before he finds out then,” Emily chuckled. 

You and Hotch danced like if the other let go you would disappear never to be seen again. You milked the time you had together in these final hours of the night before the sun set in reality. You could feel Hotch’s lips pressing against your hot skin below your ear. Your chest fluttered and your stomach flipped at the feeling. You were so enthralled in the feeling, you didn’t hear him whispering in your ear. The small puffs of air pulled you from this trance and you quickly turned around to better hear him. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he whined.

“Lead the way,” you teased, pulling gently at his tie.

His fingers entwined between yours pulling out of the disco. You nearly tripped over your platforms trying your best to keep up with the man taking you to his home. He opened the door for you and you practically jumped in the car without hesitation. You couldn’t help the giggles coming from you as you heard the quick steps from Aaron rounding the car. 

The drive to his place was quick, or maybe it was long and you were just distracted. He looked so stoic and determined behind the wheel. Not even your light touches along his thigh, or the unbuckling of his belt would shake the fire behind his eyes. His skin was burning up and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. Once he got home he was quick to open the door, quick to rid his tie, quick to show exactly where he intended on fucking you tonight.  So quick, he hadn’t bothered turning any lights on. Not that it mattered too much.

You laid roughly on the bed watching Hotch undress above you. You couldn’t help but notice the scars across his stomach, that’s when you noticed the scars along his knuckles; even with how dark the room was. You told yourself you’d ask about it another time. You didn’t want to ruin the moment over something he probably doesn’t want to talk about anyway. You started picking at your rings, twisting and pulling hard and fast to take them off; sometimes they were a bit distracting when you were having sex. 

“No, leave those on,” Hotch gowled, before reaching to you to disrobe your outfit from tonight. 

As he reached for those eye-catching platforms that made you stand out from most of the people dancing in the room, you couldn’t help yourself making a bit of a snarky remark. 

“You want to keep those on too?” you flashed a smile. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he remarked, before his hands left your ankles to flip you over, leaving the shoes on for both your pleasures. 

He peeled your underwear down your legs. His lips kissing the backs of your thighs softly; if you hadn’t been so overly focused on his every touch you wouldn’t have felt them. He stood tall over you, towering like a stoic statue. His hands roughly ran along your spine making you arch your back deliciously, basking in the fiery feeling. Hips pushing backwards to feel every inch of lust from the man behind you . 

You dropped to your elbows, arching your back even more as you anticipated a craving you’ve wanted since he walked into that interrogation just days ago. If someone had told you then that that man would rutting his hips into from behind like he’d never fucked before, you’d had laughed in their face. But you couldn’t be more satisfied with the outcome of it anyway. 

“Oh, Hotch,” you called out breathlessly. 

He grunted behind you as he slowly inserted himself into you, pressure building like a souffle in the pit of your belly. He grunted again, words incoherent, before you realized he was speaking to you. You hummed in confusion, asking to repeat what he said louder, when his hands threaded your hair and pulled you back on your knees effortlessly against his body.

“Aaron,” he growled in your ear. 

Your hands instinctively went up and behind, holding his face close to your neck and he bit and kissed the soft flesh sensually, goosebumps erupting along your arms. You whispered his name in the darkness that blanketed over, your sense of sound and touch becoming overstimulating. Hotch’s hands roamed your body like you were a delicate glass sculpture, contrasting the momentum of his hips that bruised your skin. 

You could feel the intensity building, and your body beginning to buzz when Hotch suddenly pulled out from you to flip you over violently. You smacked down on the bed again like you had before, a playfully shocked giggle erupted from your belly. Your feet felt heavy over the edge of the mattress from the shoes you still had on. Hotch leaned down, stroking his rough hands along your legs from your ankle to your hips before dragging your hips even closer to the edge. He brought his hand to the back of your knee, bending it before he once again entered you with a delicious burn. 

Your hands reached up cupping the back of your neck to pull him closer to you, his damp forehead resting against yours. Your rings felt ice cold against his burning skin. You could see, barely in the blue black darkness, his chest beginning to become red. His hands, although rough, were beginning to feel clammy but you hadn’t minded not one bit; completely enthralled and aroused in his touch. 

You could feel the sweat building between the valley of your breasts. Your back is heating up from the thickness of the sheets that you laid upon. Even more so obvious when you felt the contrasting cold air that swept between when you arched you back in pleasure. 

“Aaron,” you whispered.

“What do you need?” he asked you.

“Kiss me, Aaron,” you begged.

Without hesitation, his lips found yours in a feverous kiss. Your noses bumping against one another blocking your abilities to breath; but with the heightened passion shared between, breathing seemed impractical in a moment like this. Your breasts grazed softly against his chest, your nipples hardening with the friction as he moved swiftly and roughly above you. 

You moaned in the kiss as did he. Your center pulsing, practically sucking him in with each thrust of his hips. The sounds of sex bounced off the walls. The bed squeaked beneath you; Hotch’s hips rutted into you with no particular rhythm. You hand came down from his neck to grip the sheets and you moaned and whined louder and louder as you inched closer and closer to your climax. Hotch breathed heavily above you before dipping head to your neck. Suddenly, without any warning, his hands roughly grab your wrists pinning your arms above your head. 

“Keep them here, sweetheart,” he groaned, before standing straight up again to roughly grab your hips. His fingers dug into your soft skin, bound to bruise the next morning. His hips snapped in and out, in and out, harder and faster than anyone has ever fucked you before. You squealed and whimpered in ecstasy, pleasure. Your thighs squeezing tightly around his hips desperately holding back to climax. 

“Fuck!” His voice was low and guttural. 

“I can’t hold it anymore; can I come, please?” he begged, he reached for your calf pulling your leg over his shoulder. His mouth instantly kissed and bit like he was a rutting animal. 

“Shit! Yes, yes!” you egged him on. Your climax spilling over, waiting for that little drop of water that would break the dam of pleasure. And once you both reach the highest point, your hands grab at each other desperately searching for some stability of any kind to guide through the crashing waves of bliss. His body slumped forward damn near crushing you beneath his strong body. 

“Holy shit,” you sighed, laughter escaping your lips as you felt your entire body and mind buzz with nirvana. No man had ever fucked you that good and you were a little upset that it was over. Unbeknownst to you, Hotch didn’t have any plans of ending your pleasure; at least for tonight. With heavy eyes and a devilish smile, Hotch slid down your body, placing both of your legs over his shoulders with every intention of wearing you out tonight. 

…

You stood in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with a drunken smile you hadn’t seen in years. You were completely naked. Your makeup ran down your face and your hair was practically a bird’s nest, and yet you stared at yourself with admiration. Hours had passed, every inch of clothing ripped or discarded on the bedroom floor of this man. Your shoes were long gone by this point and you felt your face becoming warm knowing you’d never wear those shoes again without thinking about tonight. 

You had taken a quick shower, since Hotch had let you. He left you with a couple of garments he put aside for you to make sure you felt comfortable. You walked under the shower, letting the hot water engulf you and clean you. You looked around for the first and noticed the small toys in the corner of the bath. You stepped out and saw the small green and blue toothbrush beside another larger toothbrush that was also green and blue. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself. 

You walked back to the bedroom quickly seeing Hotch sitting peacefully on the bed typing away on his phone in the soft warm light beside him. The small puddle of light allows you to better look at him. He looked so handsome and calm, so different from the harsh fluorescent lights of that interrogation room and the blinding colored LEDs from tonight. He looked up at you smiling when his eyes met yours. He chuckled seeing how different you looked now than when you had when he first saw you days ago; hours ago. You climbed into the bed, instantly snuggling into his side like a cat. Your lips kissing and biting playfully along his jawline.

“How old is your son?” you asked quietly. Hotch raised an eyebrow to look at you, he usually kept Jack’s room closed and his toys put neatly away.

“You’re going to be an excellent profiler,” he commented. 

“You're not wrong but also you have matching toothbrushes in the bathroom and rubber duckies in the corner of the tub,” you remarked, giggling.

“Right. That would be the obvious answer,” he chuckled. 

“He’s 10; I’m going to pick him up from his aunt’s place tomorrow afternoon,” he told you. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair by then,” you told him, sinking lower beneath the sheets ready to sleep.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind it all. You can stay as long as you like,” he whispered. He craved those little domestic moments again that he had been missing for years. He knew he was crazy for thinking about moments like that, moments of you meeting Jack and whatnot despite only knowing you for such a little time, but he was starving for that kind of intimacy again. He will start thinking rationally again when he wakes tomorrow. 

“I think you ought to take me to dinner first before I meet your kid,” you joked.

“I can do that,” he said seriously.

“Really?” you challenged. 

“Yes, let me take you out to dinner next Friday,” he offered. 

“And if you’re working? If you have to leave?” you questioned. 

“Well, you’ll be coming with us, won’t you?” he grinned.

“Oh, right. Ok, then it’s a date, SSA Hotchner,” you smiled widely before pulling him in a kiss. 

“You’re the only one who can call me, Aaron.”

“You swear?” you laughed.

“I swear.” 

[carolmunson]

baby, as if | flashbacks pt. 2

welcome back to the jungle, babes. baby as if: masterlist (read with caution.)

welcome to the second part of the flashbacks. here we see what happened, where the sour parts began. here, we semi-answer the questions for why he's like that. tw: 18+ (21+ preferred), p in v sex, drug use, references to violence, active violence (domestic and non-domestic), references to gun violence, references to violence with a switchblade, references to club going/getting lapdances, established couple arguing, verbal abuse, psychological abuse/gaslighting, screaming matches, etc. dead dove, do not eat. for a more extensive list of trigger warnings please look at the master list.

5 Years Ago

“Oh, fuck that’s it,” Eddie huffs, sweat making the underside of his hair curlier than normal against his neck, “Ride it juss – mmm, shit, just like that.” 

“S’good?” you whine out, eyes glassy and begging for a morsel of his praise. You both still had your clothes on, panties pushed to the side under your diner dress, jeans shoved down part way while he leaned back on the driver’s seat of the van – parked hidden away beyond the trees outside the diner parking lot. Your lunch break spent sucking him in between your thighs.

“Mmmfuckyes,” he hisses out, voice gravelly and deep, “Always so good, sweetheart. Fuck, this pussy’s all mine, isn’it?” 

“All yours,” you yelp while his palm comes down in a loud crack on the side of your ass, “S’yours.” “That’s right, s’all mine,” he whines, eyes rolling while your hips slap against his pelvis. His hips stutter upwards and still, fingertips sinking into your skin where he grabs you, “Shitshitshitshitshit.” “Ooh yes, cum for me, cum for me,” you gasp, riding him through his orgasm, only slightly lucid from your own moments before. He grins at your encouragement, brows pinching in the ecstasy of his aftershocks before he pulls you in to kiss him while you both come down. 

“Fuh-hu-hu-uck, I love you,” he whispers while he catches his breath, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you, too,” you smile into his neck, pressing yourself flush against his chest to hold him tighter. 

His palm grazes your back, a soft hum pouring from his chest before he presses a kiss to your shoulder, “You gotta get a new dress for the diner soon, honey. This one’s a little tight, don’t you think?” 

“You callin’ me fat, Ed?” you ask, abruptly leaning back from him. 

He laughs, shaking his head, “No sweetheart, not at all. M’just sayin’ it’s showing you off a little more than I’d like it to.”

“How else am I gonna get tips, handsome?” you wink. He lets his eyes roam over your for a moment.

He shrugs with the cock of his head, “When you’re right, you’re right, I guess.” 

Eddie leans in to kiss you again, one rough hand comes up to cup your cheek, “If things keep goin’ how they’re goin’ you won’t even need to work at the diner anymore, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah?” you mumble against his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ll be takin’ good care’a you,” he smirks, mouth pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck, “Keep you at home with a couple babies, far the fuck away from Indiana.” 

“Oh, I gotta stay home with the babies?” you giggle, “I can’t be an award winning journalist while you’re home with the kids?” 

“I can do that,” he laughs, nuzzling against your skin, “Be a stay at home dad, watch you be great.” You give each other a few more kisses – soft and gentle, “I’ll see you at ten, kay?” “Okay,” you whisper against his lips, crawling off of him over the console and getting in the passenger's seat so he can drive you back into the parking lot. You touch up your make up in the mirror while he watches, lower lip tucking between his teeth. “You’re too pretty,” he scolds, “Who said you could look so pretty like that?” “Shut up,” you laugh, dabbing your chapstick on with your finger. You give him a final peck on the cheek before getting out of the van altogether, “See you later.” 

Time ticks on at the diner and it’s a quiet night besides of the corner booths of your regular construction guys. You always take your time with them because they tip the best right after payday and even if you hate to admit it – they’re a little funny. They’re cute, too.

The grease and oil on their clothes smells like Eddie after a shift at the garage, smells like your dad’s coveralls. It’s what you expect men to smell like these days, never scrunching your nose the way some of the women do who walk by. “Who do you think’s winning Smackdown this season?” Bryan asks you in front of the guys. “Bry, you ask me something about WWE every time you’re here and every time I gotta tell you I have no clue what you’re talkin’ about,” you laugh, writing out the check and slipping it onto the table. “We gotta educate ya, girl,” the guys chime in, “Maybe one of these nights we can have the remote and put it on. We’ll tell you all about it.” “Over my boss’s dead body,” you roll your eyes, “No rush on the check fellas, let me know if you need anything else.” They always hang around late but you never mind too much, they don’t ask a lot and they never get too rowdy now matter how many beers they clear. Bryan and his closer work buddies have been coming around here since long before you were working behind the counter. He knows your birthday and you know his, you met his mom a couple of times, his grandparents twice. His daddy left when he was a kid, but his papa basically raised him. 

The bell on the door clinks and you can smell the acrid tobacco from the Camel’s Eddie smoked when the air whooshes in with him. He smiles at you, soft pink lips splitting his face when he sees you behind the shiney linoleum. Ten o’clock on the dot. You pour him a cup of coffee when he sits on the stool across from you. “How long you think it’s gonna take to close up tonight?” he asks, tossing a glance over at the group in the corner booths. His brows raise slightly before he brings his attention back to you: the smear of your mascara under your eyes, the slight dampness at your hairline – too pretty. “Should be ready to hit the road around eleven,” you pass him a couple of creamers and a sugar packet which he always ignores. Sandra tries not to get mad when you flirt instead of closing up.

He leans up on the stool, lips pulling in for a smooch. You oblige him every time, never realizing all the reasons he does it. He wants those boys to know you aren't on the market, well taken care of by a man with his budding reputation. Eddie Munson wasn't really someone you wanted to get on the bad side of, at least that's what people were saying in town under their chitters of day to day gossip. His posture stiffens when the guys get up to pay about a half hour later, when they make jokes with you, when they imply they'll see you tomorrow. Eddie's jaw clenches and releases, rolling his shoulders when they file outside to smoke their end of night cigarettes.

"Busy night?" he asks once the bell stops dinging. "A little," you shrug, you walk around the counter to clean up their table; smiling to see they've stacked everything together to make it easier to carry. "Good tips?" he asks. You nod, patting your apron while you disappear in the back, letting Peter know that was the last of the dishes. Eddie catches you when you reappear, closing in on a slow kiss. "Thought about you all day," he smiles, "Your dad was pissed, I dropped a wrench twice under the hood of some new customer's car." "Don't test him," you tease, "He's a hard ass." "I'm his favorite," he winks, "Gonna be his son one day, right? He can't hate me now." You start to count out the register, catching his eye in between the change of bills -- he winks each time, making your heart race. But your smile falls when you see his phone start to buzz on the table.

“Don’t get all pouty, it could just be Gare,” he says when he catches your change in expression. The soft breath out of his nose tells you enough. “M’sorry baby, I gotta go,” he says, one foot already hitting the white and black tile below him, “Big move over by Rick’s and they need extra support.” 

He leans over the counter again to give you a kiss, but your frown is evident. "How am I gonna get home, Ed?" you ask softly. "Aw, honey," he pouts, voice stuffy with baby talk, "M'so mean, huh? Why don't you call your dad? He'll come get you. Unless you wanna wait for me. I’ll be back in – I dunno, two hours tops. Come back a few G’s richer than I was before." "I'm not waiting around outside the diner until one in the morning," you sigh, reaching for your phone in your apron, "I'll figure something out." Your frustration is evident.

“C'mon, look'it me," he says softly, smiling when he meets your eye, "I’ll get you somethin’ pretty tomorrow." He leans forward to kiss you again – short little pecks, “Whatever.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Want.” Kiss. “Don’t make this a regular thing,” you warn, crossing your arms and trying not to smile after the kissy assault. He nods, leaning in again to kiss you on the mouth more seriously than before. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he says, gathering his keys and bouncing up off the stool, "Text me when you get home. I love you." “I know, handsome,” you nod.. He blushes at the name, you know it’s his favorite – he never really thought he was handsome before you came around to remind him all the time.

“Hey,” he pouts at you from the door, “Say it back.”  "I love you, too," you sing song, leaning on your elbow on the clean counter top. That's how it's been -- always with a promise of something pretty, of something new, of something he wants to see you in, to smell you in, to kiss you in. New shoes, new dress, new mascara, new lip gloss, new, new, new. But you were starting to miss the old Eddie who didn’t have to be on call all the time. Eddie, who'd be excited to see Beau at the shop, who wasn’t too tired from being with Rick and the boys, from making deals all night – from pushing bricks in different states.

When 11 hits you make your way out of the diner, your dad didn't answer your call -- both your parents and Beau fast asleep by now. You light a cigarette, seeing the headlights of a car turn on in the dark parking lot headed your way. "Hey, where's your man?" Bryan says from the driver's side, another friend in the passenger. "Had somethin' to do," you shrug, flicking your ash into the bush behind you. "I can give you a ride, if you want."

You weren't in any position to say no to a ride.

A few weeks pass and Eddie hasn't been able to drive you home from the diner at all these days. Date nights coming in a little farther and few in between. Even Beau had been asking where he'd been lately. But tonight it was just the two of you, back pack filled for a night over at his place. Movies snuggled up on his couch, two different kinds of pizza and the cinnasticks you liked so much -- extra iceing. You could barely stop smiling during your mid-shift, giggling at every text message, every smiley he sent your way.

You jump at the harsh sound of the horn outside, expecting him to come in and give your mom a hug like he usually does. He's idling outside of your family's house, knee bouncing and fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Hair tied up, bangs curly and over flowing on his forehead, damp with sweat. 

“Is that Ed, honey?” she calls from the kitchen, organizing pins back in her trusty tackle box of hair fixins that she keeps in the cabinets closer to her hair cutting chair.

“Yeah!” you yell back, shoving some essentials in your purse before running toward the door, “Um, I’ll probably see you tomorrow!” 

“Okay, tell him I said hi!” she offera while you head outside. He flashes his high beams at you, honking the horn again while you squint under the harsh bright lights. Your keys jingle in your hand while your sneakers sink into the mud from the summer rain, hurrying to open the door. 

“Hi handsome,” you smile, but he doesn’t look happy to see you, “You okay?” 

“Babe, what’re you wearing?” he asks while he looks you over, “We’re goin’ to the club.” 

You look him over, blackest black slim fit slacks, shoes shined, leather jacket newly conditioned while all the hardware glinted back at you in the light above him. You look down at your sweatshirt and jean shorts, your dirty sneakers, “Oh, um, I can go change.” 

He sighs, big and heavy, leaning his head back on the headrest,  “We don’t have time, I gotta meet Rick beforehand.” 

“You didn’t – you didn’t tell me. I thought we were just going to yours tonight,” you say, hoisting yourself into the passengers seat, “So don’t act all – I don’t know – fuckin’ exasperated with me for not dressin’ up.” 

He takes a deep breath through his mouth and out through his nose, eyes closing and fingers tightening on the wheel while you click your seatbelt into place, “M’not exasperated with you. But now I gotta leave you at Rick’s ‘cause I’m not gonna be late for this play just cause you don’t read your texts.”

Your furrow your brows at him, his tone feels clipped, sharpened – he was tense like a stretched elastic, waiting to snap, “You didn’t text me.” 

“Yes I did,” he huffs, pulling out of the driveway and onto the street, “Why don’t you check?” 

You do, even going as far to open your text conversation, his last message from the last hour in his shift: see u in two hours, qt :)

“It’s just from when you texted me from work,” you say, turning the screen toward him, “See?” 

He scans it, knee bouncing, fingers drumming, he swipes his hand under his bangs to push away the sweat, “You have bad service or something? Did you delete it?” 

“No, babe, I think you just didn’t press send,” you laugh lightly, “Unless you got some other bitches you were supposed to meet tonight.” 

His head had never whipped so fast around, “Why would you say somethin’ like that, hm?” he snaps, “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Ed, babe,” you say softly, “You serious? I was joking. It was just a slip up, I’ll hang at Rick’s.” 

“Well it’s not funny,” he says, leg bouncing so fast it shakes the van at the red light you’re stopped at, “I don’t like that shit.” 

Your heart sinks, watching the whites of his knuckles flex and relax on the wheel. Your suspicions might be right about why he was acting like this tonight, “You gonna kiss me hello, or no, Munson?” 

His shoulders slump, turning to you to lean in for a kiss, but you catch his eyes in the streetlights – pupils blown to block out his pretty brown irises. Your brows pinch and you reach out to hold his chin in your hand. 

“Wait – are you -- are you fucking tweaking right now?” you ask, the anger present on your face. 

“Stop it,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and dragging his face out of your grip to look back on the road, “I had a little blow, m’not tweaking.” 

“So you’re gonna do this play all revved up? Thought you weren’t ever gonna touch your own stash,” you snap. Eddie wasn’t innocent and you weren’t either, but he was always – always adamant on not touching what he sells. 

“I’ve been awake for two days,” he boredly explains, raising his voice to drown out your disappointment, “I needed a boost.”

He grabs your hand from your lap, pulling your knuckles up to his mouth to kiss them, “Don’t be mad, please?” 

“I’m not mad you just…you don’t have the right personality to be playing around with that shit,” You huff, savoring the feeling of his soft lips on your fingers. 

“M’not playing around with it, it was just for a boost,” he pleads in a whine. You stay glaring at the windshield while his thumb caresses your hand. 

“Baby…” he says sweetly, casting his hook, “Don’t be mad, baby girl. I’m sorry.”

Line. Sinker. You try not to grin but can’t help it, warmth pools through your body when he talks to you like that. He presses a kiss to your fingertips this time. 

“Do you love me?” he asks.  “Unfortunately,” you groan sarcastically. 

“I love you more,” he says, keeping your hand with his on his lap, “Love you the most.” 

You get to Rick's, hand in hand with your boyfriend while he guides you inside. To anyone else it would look like a party but the group was too small, it's what Eddie would call a gathering. He says his hellos and you say yours before Ed finds the man of the hour in the corner with Steve Harrington -- budding favorite dealer amongst Indiana's elite. "Harrington," Eddie nods, his arm skating around your waist. They nod at eachother mid conversation, you both wave. You try not to listen to whatever they're talking about, not wanting to get caught up in the stress. The smoke in the air burns your eyes against the neon pink light fixtures burning on the wall. You wonder where Rick ordered these one's from -- or stole them. Something. "Alright baby, I'm gonna head out with the guys but I'll be around later, alright? I'll come get you," he promises, pressing kisses on your cheek that offer you whispers of his cologne. It's not too long before a joint is perched between your lips, hearing the revs of cars and Steve's motorcycle outside, all headed to he same place. But Eddie didn't show up -- popped up two days later with a cross tattoo on one of his knuckles -- fresh. His eyes were dark, under eyes darker -- tense and overwhelmed -- but much richer than he was two days before. Not showing up became regular. Countless texts and calls of: ‘Sorry baby, things are running late.’ ‘Sorry baby, have to run some plays for Rick.’

‘Sorry baby, gotta go to Michigan with some of the guys.’

'Sorry baby, I'm just so tired.'

Bryan drove you home every shift for two months, ever since Eddie stopped coming by. Started spending his nights at clubs and bars to deal, ignoring your calls and texts for days on end.

You let Bryan start kissing you goodbye.

Four and a Half Years Ago

Eddie got another cross tattoo a month after his first, hunkering down and laying low for a while, especially now that his daddy was out of jail. No one liked Mack Munson the way they liked his son, not the same criminal he was. Mack did crime for sport, how far can you go? How many people can you hurt? How many envelopes can you push until you've pushed too many? He's normally out for a few months before he's back in again, but that's easy when you've got no where to go.

Eddie was different -- making a name for himself in all the right ways. Oh, a kid at the park's bike got stolen? Eddie got him a new one. Wayne's car broke down? He covered the cost to fix it. Mrs. Costner couldn't pay her heating bill? Don't worry, Eddie will be there with the cash before you can say 'hypothermia.' Even the cops were starting to let him slide if he could spare a few pills, a few ounces, a few dollars. It felt good to be bad if he could get some good out of it. Not that he was telling you anything, this was through the grapevine. Checking your phone to some of your friends with pictures of him at the club. 'This your man?'

Maybe.

He'd come see you sometimes at the diner, fresh and clean, nails shined and silver shinier. Eddie would look at you with those love sick eyes, watching you work in the overhead light. Your smile, your laugh, the way you hold one hand on your hip while you pour coffee. His phone would buzz and then he'd leave, sometimes without saying goodbye.

Your boyfriend, the ghost. Sex felt different when he offered it, he seemed distracted. You could've sworn you saw a girl's name pop up on the screen when he had a call come in but he'd flip it over before you were sure. Forehead to forehead, panting while he held your face in place to look at him. I love you, I love you, I love you. It was hollow, the dark blackness of his oversized pupils daring you to not say it back. You always did. How could you not?

Bryan was different -- he was long car rides and shared doughnuts. He always let you play your favotite songs on the radio. You weren't walking on egg shells, he liked when you bantered with his friends. There wasn't an underlying dread beneath every interaction the way it had become with Ed.

And Bryan's pupils always stayed the same size.

You aren't expecting to see Eddie's van outside the diner when you finish up your mid-day shift. The fall weather turned the sun down hours ago, but the night was still young and abuzz with life. You'd planned on going out since you had the weekened off, but it seemed like Eddie had different ideas for you.

He shoved the diner door open, looking disheveled and out touch, reeking of cigarettes he chainsmoked before he got in. "You done for the night?" he asks while you come around the corner of the counter with your jacket on. "Yeah, um -- why're you here? You didn't text me," you ask quietly, following him out into the crisp air. You wave your goodbyes through the newly repaired window to a dissapointed Sandra -- even if Eddie paid for the fix, she still didn't like that boy.

"We're goin' for a ride," he mumbles, "Gotta talk to you about somethin'."

You heart sinks and then hammers when you get in the passengers seat of the van. Fear floods through your veins, even overpowering your disappointment when you see a lipgloss in his cup holder that you know doesn't belong to you.

You take the moment that he's distracted from a phonecall with Gareth to text Bryan that you won't need a ride, shoving the phone in your pocket where he can't see. Eddie takes you to the lake where you both used to sit in talk in the summers when you were first getting to know each other. This visit didn't feel friendly in the same way, this time you knew he wasn't going to awkwardly reach for your hand or fumble over his wors like he used to.

“So you fucked some other guy?” he asks, flicking his cigarette into the lake, “You cheated on me?” 

“I – Eddie -- we've barely been seeing each other. You've been dodging for months,” you explain, “I thought we were done.” 

“Did I say that? Did I break up with you?” he snaps, “Cause I’m pretty sure your dad still thinks I’m your boyfriend. Pretty sure all the guys still think I’m your boyfriend. And now I look fuckin’ stupid ‘cause you’re goin’ around with some asshole.” 

You shook your head no, feeling his anger radiate off of him, so quick to find it these days, “M’not goin’ around with someone. We aren’t like, together or anything. He took me on a few dates, he drives me home, we kissed, we–” 

“You fucked him,” he spits, “And I know you did cause you can’t fuckin’ look me in the eyes. You at least owe me that much.” 

You reluctantly make eye contact with him, your reflection shining back in his wet angry gaze. You take a deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth shakily, “Yeah, I fucked him. At least he’s fucking around for me to fuck.” 

“Oh, s’that what this is?” he scoffs, “Not getting enough attention? God for-fuckin’-bid huh? God forbid I got shit to take care of so I can help out my uncle and get ‘im set up in an apartment. God forbid I start movin’ up the ranks so I can start making some more cash. And-and-and god fuckin’ forbid I take some different shifts at the garage so I can sleep in a little after being up all night tryna not get busted by Hopper and his fuckin’ pig brigade. So sorry I wasn’t comin’ home to you with flowers every night, I had to take care of some other shit. I mean Jesus Christ do you ever think about anyone but yourself?” 

Your eyes meet the earth again, watching the way your calves flexed and unflexed, the crease and re-crease of your sneakers. 

“You’ve been at the club, Ed,” you murmur quietly, “So you’re not so innocent either.” 

“At the club?!” he balks, “You mean sellin’ drugs at the club?” 

Your eyes burn with tears because he’s not hearing you, “You’re n-not just selling at the club. The girls’ve been showing me p-pictures. You’ve been hooking up there long before I started seeing Bryan.” 

He lights another cigarette, letting the smoke billow out into your face, “So his name’s Bryan, huh? Okay.” 

He takes a step toward you, sticks and wet grass crunching under his boots, “And what’s so great about Bryan, baby?” 

You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of his looming presence, how big he can make himself seem when he’s angry. He takes another crunching step towards you, only a foot between the ends of your sneakers and the tips of his Docs. You feel the smoke of his next drag kiss your face again, hear his arms cross over his t-shirt. 

“You forget how to talk, princess?” he bites. You shake your head no, matching his posture by crossing your arms over your chest. The straps of your tank top bite at your shoulders uner your jacket when you do, your bra straps pulling along with them. 

“He cares,” you say quietly, “He’s not…he’s not giving me up to go, I don’t know, have strippers dance on him so he can make a buck at a bar.” 

“He cares? Is that what you call it?” Eddie laughs bitterly, “So it wasn’t me caring about you when you’d call me every night from your dorm? Not me helpin’ watch your little brother when you needed to take an extra shift or two? Helping your mom with her errands? It’s not me caring when we’d drive out to the dunes cause you wanted to put your toes in the sand – you know how much money I lost that day?” 

Your eyes pool with tears when you remember that day, he’d tossed his phone in the trunk. Nothin’s as important as bein’ with my girl, baby.

“Buying you a new TV for Beau so he can play video games in his room and not bother your dad? Fuck, takin’ your dad out to lunch so we can talk about the future I want with you? But I don’t fuckin’ care? Askin’ him your ring size but I don’t fuckin’ care?!” his voice raises with every sentence. 

You wince when he shouts, not expecting the anger to be so explosive. His pupils are blown, but that was starting to become more expected than before.  He shakes his head, "You know what, babe? You're right. I don't fuckin' care. I don't fuckin' need you." Eddie tosses his cigarette to his feet, stomping it out. "Plenty of other pussy to keep me occupied, right?" he asks, head tilting when he looks at you, "Since that's who I am, huh? Didn't bother to ask me if I was fuckin' around did you?"

"S'not like you'd tell me the truth," you argue back quietly, voice meek while you hold back your tears. "Pffft," he scoffs, "Better watch that attitude on you, girl. You're gonna run that mouth to the wrong person one day. Not every guy is like me."

He crunches back toward the van, lingering his eyes on you while he stands at the open door on the drivers side. His face is pale in the light of the moon, eyes aching for you to say something. Almost yearning before he hardens again. "Bryan can pick you up, right?"

Four-ish/Three-ish Years Ago

Bry asked you to be his girlfriend two weeks after your fight with Eddie. Pulled out all the stops with that union money; good dinners, nights out on the town, all the boys knew how to do was drink beer and party. You finally started to understand WWE in a way you weren't sure you were supposed to, but it was as fun as it was ridiculous. Boys nights became boys nights plus you, the crowd favorite. Pulled in for soft kisses on football Sundays and baseball games, borrowed jackets if it got chilly. Eddie never let you wear his jacket. After a month you were sure that you'd made the right decision. The soft way he looked at you, his sandy hair, the callouses on his hands from a hard day of work. He was a good boy, good enough that Sandra made sure to give them discounts every time him and his friends came in. You only thought about Eddie when you'd run into him or that crew in town, cigarette between his full lips and a snarl to match.

Eddie didn't like to be made a fool of the way you'd made a fool of him. After another month, you barely thought about him anymore -- you had other things to worry about.

Bliss has its costs.

The first time Bryan hit you it was a blip in time, followed by a water fall of apologies. Before you noticed how much beer he was backing when he was out with the guys, why he started off so nice. You never saw him after he got too drunk -- angry and ruddy in the face. Stumbling into his apartment where you'd be there waiting for him. He stopped liking it when you'd joke around with his friends. He stopped liking it when you'd come to boys nights. He stopped letting you listen to your favorite songs in the car.

But when he was good, he was so, so good.

When he was bad, he was horrid.

Eventually, your parents noticed that you stopped coming around. You never showed up at the shop, stopped bringing Beau to and from camp and school. Your mama never saw you, you hardly came home. Your daddy would text you in the morning and ask if you’d be in the diner that night to get a glimpse of you. Bryan would snatch your phone at every incessant call.

“Why do your folks wanna talk to you all the time?” he’d ask, “Did you tell ‘em you wanna leave?” 

You got so many bouquets over the next five months you could open a flower shop or a funeral service. Either way, they were more often than not. The 'sorry's' never stopped coming and the bruising started to match. You went through concealer like the diner went through cooking grease -- opting to start wearing readers to work to detract from the caked up product on your cheeks, by your lips, on your throat. But no matter how bad it got your heart would soar at his smile, at his gentle touch, at the softness of his kiss. You knew now why it was so hard for all those other women to leave.

You started hearing stories about Eddie -- more erratic than he was before but somehow more beloved around his part of town. A violent type of Robinhood that you didn't want to cross. Gareth came by the diner one night when you had finally gone in, sitting across from you with a smile while you caught up on a slow Tuesday. Told you all about it, about him, about what was new with the guys. It felt nice, like old times -- a fondness in your chest blooming when you watched him leave.

Two days later, your phone buzzed in the darkness of Bryan's apartment -- RESTRICTED popping up on the screen. You didn't have to guess who it was; Gareth wasn't coming in for a late dinner. He was doing rounds. He was keeping tabs on you.

Bryan had passed out on the couch hours ago, the deep steadiness of his snoring echoing through the living room. You reach for your phone, tip-toeing to the back porch while you consider denying the call -- but you know he'll just keep calling. He hates being left in the dark.

You answer shakily, “Hello?” 

“Where are you?” you hear him ask in a low voice, menacing, “Sandra told me what’s goin’ on. Where are you? Now.” 

“Nothing’s goin’ on, Ed,” you say quietly.

“If nothings goin’ on then why’re you whisperin’, hm? You keepin’ quiet for what?” he challenges, “Are you at his house?” 

“I’m not telling you where I am.” “You think I won’t find you? I got eyes all over this place,” his laughs, “You don’t think if I tell Sandra I’m comin’ to save your ass she won’t give me your schedule?” 

“There’s a reason she doesn’t give it out to you,” you hiss, “It’s literally illegal. Can you stop your fuckin’ hero shit? You think you’re any better?”

“Hero shit?” he growls, “Your mama keeps calling me crying on the phone asking if I’d seen or heard from you at all. Your daddy hasn’t slept in days thinking maybe this asshole finally snapped your fuckin’ neck. You keep skippin’ out on shifts at the diner and you wanna shit on me for tryna help? Fuck outta here.” 

“I’m fine,” you say through gritted teeth, “Stop. Calling.” 

“And yeah, sweetheart, I do think I’m better,” his voice raises, blaring through the receiver, “When’d you ever hear that I’m beating on the bitches I take home? Who am I beating on? Don’t make shit up just ‘cause you wanna be stubborn.” 

"Fuck off," you hiss. "Why did Gareth tell me you got bruisin' everywhere, hm? Why did Sandra stop me the other night at Melvald's to tell me to call you? I know she doesn't like me, so it must be serious -- right?" he challenges.

"I have it under control," you growl. "Yeah?" his voice lilts, argumentative and ready to go, "Well fu--" "Who're you talkin' to?"

Bryan takes your phone before you can answer.

When you show up to your shift the next day Sandra can barely recognize you, tears welling up in her eyes when you come in the door.

You do your best not to meet her gaze, simply nodding when she asks 'Was it him?'

You woke up late, knowing you couldn't miss another day or the owner would fire you -- already on probation for all the work you've missed. Didn't have a chance to shower let alone do your makeup, not that you could bare to touch some of it.

The morning is slow, she let's you sit in the back and cry it out to Paul while he flips burgers and flap jacks on the grill. You prep, chopping up whatever he could have you chop, anything to keep you back with him unless Bryan thought it was a good time to show up with his buddies.

He passes you a lemonade and two Advil at noon, winking in the way grandfather's do when they know you've had a bad day.

"Here ya go, sugar," he smiles. You smile back, igorning the sting of the tear in your lip reopening at the gesture.

"Thanks, Paul."

The bell dings during another slow period and you smell Camels before you catch a familiar whiff of Creed Aventus.

"She's in the back," you hear Sandra mutter through the server window.

“Oh, girl, what did he do to you?” You know that smoky voice anywhere, it pours like ice down your back. “You can’t be here,” you shake your head, stepping away while he steps closer to you.

“Hey, look,” he starts with his hands up, soft and gentle, “Look, look. Sandra called me, I’m just coming to pick you up.” 

“I have to be here,” you assure, “I can't leave early, he's gonna know.” “That’s fine,” Eddie shrugs, “I’ll tell him you’re comin’ with me.” 

You shake your head no, “It’s fine Ed, I can handle this. Please just go home.” 

“I’m not doin’ this with you,” he shakes his head in response, gruffer this time, “This isn’t for me. Your folks, they – they miss you. Beau misses you. Asks me if I’ve seen you every time he’s at the shop. I can’t be lyin’ to Beau like that. Don’t you miss him? Don’t you miss your folks?” 

Your lower lip wobbles when you think about Beau, all the basketball games you missed for his youth league. The voicemails of him begging you to come.

"C'mon, Sandra said it's okay if you dip out early," he says, ecouraging you with caution -- like you're a feral cat about to run away, "Come with me, I'll take you back to his so we can get your stuff." "Eddie please," you beg, "Please don't get involved -- he'll get the cops on your back I --" "I'm not worried about cops," he chuckles, a knowing smirk flickering on his lips, "Get your jacket, come get in the van." "I can't..." you urge again, throat tight with a threatening cry. You turn around, back to your chopping, drowning out the blood pumping in your ears with the beat of the knife.

"You can, c'mon." You ignore him, feeling his eyes on you, narrowing down to burn holes in the back of your skull. He doesn't have the same patience he used to. You hear his soft sigh, the cross and uncross of his leather jacket, the tinkling of his chains and hardware.

"Baby..."

The dam breaks as his smooth honey voice; it had been so long since someone had called you that. Said it like that, so low and pretty, like he means it. You let out a choked sob when you feel his palm slide over your back and around your shoulder.

"Oh, baby, baby, come here," he whispers, pulling you into him while you fall apart. Tears streaming over the bruises on your cheek bone, the tear in your lip, over your jaw.

"Let's go get your stuff, okay?" he asks, rubbing your back against the polyester of your work dress -- you got a new one in a size too big when Bryan said he didn't like how your old one fit, "Come on, let's go get in my car."

"Prince of the trailer park," Bryan grits toward Ed when he knocks on the door, "To what do I owe this white trash surprise?" "Comin' to get her stuff," he respons nonchalantly, "You gonna let me in or what?"

"Her stuff?" Bryan asks, sick smirk sliding over his face, bleary eyes peering into the van parked by the sidewalk. "What's she tellin' you?" he asks, arms crossed over his white tee, freckled arms flashing against the fabric.

"Nothin'," Ed shakes his head, "Just comin' to get her stuff." Bryan takes a step forward and that's all it takes to get Ed ready to go, arm out to keep his distance, to keep himself between your boyfriend and the van.

“I’m not playin’ around today, man,” Eddie warns, “Let me go grab her stuff and this doesn’t have to be a problem.” 

“Problem? You’re ninety pounds soakin’ wet,” Bryan laughs, his couple inches on Eddie helping to bore over him, “What’s she telling you?” 

“She hasn’t had to tell me anything,” Ed repeats, “S’all over her face. You’re all over her fuckin’ face man, now let me in the door before I do something you don’t like.” 

Bryan lunges, but he’s not quick enough, the soft click of a gun cocking puts him back at attention. “My uncle did two tours, Bry, you think I don’t know my way around a trigger?” Eddie smirks. You watch from the van, horrified, heart racing when you see the black metal gleam in broad daylight. Ignoring Eddie’s demands to stay in the car you throw open the door and run to the sidewalk. 

“What the fuck, Ed?” you rasp out, voice heavy with your earlier cry, “Put that shit away.” 

Bryan catches your eye, looking at you with a fuming rage, “This is all you, huh?” 

“No, it’s not – I didn’t say anything,” you plead up at him, “I promise.” 

“Listen pal,” Eddie continues, another step forward while his heavy boot finds its way over the door frame, “We can make this real easy if you let me.” 

They bark at each other like rabid dogs when the doors close behind the three of you, a barrage of insults from Bryan’s liquor soaked mouth. You grit your teeth, jaw tight while you decide what’s worth it to keep and what’s not. Your eyes glaze over with tears and the whirl of the place around you. 

When did Eddie start carrying a gun? 

When you’ve fit as much as you can in your duffle you make your way towards the door; hearing Eddie’s low growl of the threat when Bryan makes it way over to you. 

“If you think for one second you’re gonna see or hear from her again then I promise you, you are sorely mistaken,” he mutters, the scrape of metal on metal rings in your ears when his rings slide over the short barrel. 

“If I remember correctly, you’re not around too to find out are you?” Bryan bites back. 

Eddie chuckles smugly, a tight pulled smile across his face with his dimples deep on his cheeks, “I got eyes on every corner, chief. Don’t test me.”

“We’ll see about that, huh Munson?” Bryan nods, eyes settling on Eddie’s knuckles – another fresh cross tattoo blazoned across pale skin. 

“We won’t see about shit,” Eddie nods back, “I always keep my promises.”

He takes you to his place -- his uncle in a nice little apartment in the city now so the trailer's his. It looks the part, new repairs and updates the other people in the park couldn't believe when he started making them. You fret and worry the whole way there, not looking at him once for the ride, not even a thank you.

"He won't come to mine," Eddie soothes in the car, "I got a friend outside your folks place, too."

"Mhm," you nod, watching the town woosh by while he presses on the gas, two turns and it's just trees lining the street.

"You're okay," he says when he pulls in, hopping out to open your door from the otherside, "C'mere."

You follow him in, collapsing on his bed the moment you make it into his room. His sheets are fresh, they smell like him on his side, pillow laced with a few strands of his wavy hair.

"You know you're the only one I ever let in my bed," he says softly, kicking his boots off in line with his other shoes. "Hmm," you hum, too despondent to reply.

"Scooch," he mumbles, warm palm pushing gently at your arm. You make room for him, hearing his jacket slide off and his belt get undone. If it was a year and some change ago the sound would've sent your reeling with need, now it just sounds hollow.

He slides in next to you, encouraging you to flip over so he can see you. You haven't looked in those soft brown eyes in a while, it almost hurts. His brows furrow and then soften, yearning the way they did before he left you by the lake.

"You hurtin'?" he asks, hand reaching up to run over your hair, "Can I get you something?"

"I took some Advil at work," you answer, the ache at a dull thud in your face. Exhaustion starts to overtake you while you sink into his mattress, the first time you've felt safe in months.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, thumb sliding feather light over the bruise on your cheek bone.

"Didn't want you to be right," you croak out. "Sounds like you," you smiles back. He comes in closer, arm snaking around you like he used to.

"I missed you," he whispers, "All the time."

Your eyes water, "Don't...don't do that."

"Baby, I'm being honest," he urges, "Couldn't stop thinking about you."

"You don't mean that," you sniffle, your heart sinking while he pours out more confessions.

"Of course I mean it," he says, looking at you with desperation behind his gaze. He leans in slow, warm lips brushing yours, careful not to press to hard on the swollen corner of yours. You relent, letting him kiss you, letting his hands roam over your waist and push you in from between your shoulder blades.

"Didn't you miss me?" he asks. The pit in your stomach knows that you didn't -- you didn't miss him breaking off dates, you didn't miss the ignored calls, you didn't miss him fucking off for who knows how long. You didn't miss finding lipgloss in his car, hair strands that weren't yours.

But you missed this. The way it feels to be told that you're the only one allowed in his bed. The only one he sends someone to keep tabs on. The only one he misses.

You nod, your body moving this time to get close to him.

"I'd never hurt you like that," he mumbles against your lips, "Not my baby. Not my girl."

He holds your eyes in his when he puts you gently on your back, gingerly pulling off your diner dress. He presses kisses down your neck, across your chest.

"Let me make you feel special," he says down at you, light shining behind his head like a halo, "Let me show you how special you are."

He still knows your body like he wrote the schematics for it, pulling soft needy moans out of you like a never ending string of chords he's always known how to play. You almost forget the thumping pain in your head, peppered in gentle kisses at every wince. 'I love you' weighing heavy on his tongue when he keeps eye contact, but never passing his lips. Never passing yours. Maybe neither of you have to say it.

You both settle afterwards, two rounds have pushed you past the point of exhaustion -- fast sleep in his arms after a bottle of water and two more Advil out of the palm of his hand.

You wake up in darkness, a sea of dark blue and black with a soft green glow of his side table clock. A little past midnight.

Your head pounds, dehydrated from all the crying. You search for your phone in the blankets -- noticing the bed next to you is empty while doing so. You peer over the mattress, no light coming in from under the door.

"Ed?" you call out, but no one responds. You sigh, finally finding your phone somwhere under your hip. Your inner thighs ache from having his hips slam into them hours before, hips in their full extension while he pushed into you deeper and deeper.

274 missed calls. All from Bryan.

Your blood runs cold, looking out the window to see Eddie's van missing. A car you don't recognize sits a trailer away, humming with muffled music, a shadowed figure inside behind a cloud of smoke. A gentle moment of ease flits through you -- at least someone was looking out.

i just woke up, where are you? who's the guy outside?

You wait for a bit, going through your socials to make sure Bryan is blocked on everything. You delete all the messages, not bothering to read them so your fear doesn't spike again.

Your phone buzzes.

i'm out.

You swallow, hoping he's not making good on any promises -- not after that show earlier this afternoon. But you don't have to wonder past the next scroll on Instagram.

Grainy with a filter is a photo posted 45 minutes ago from a friend of a friend, a bottle girl at the club that all the boys love the most. With two girls on each thigh there sits Eddie in a VIP back room, laughing at someone in the background -- whiskey neat in one hand, cigarette in the other. The caption makes your heart hammer --

'our king on his throne. ♡'

[magicalgardenofhypnosis]

Alan’s Spa Day

Alan Ritchson flew off the continent of North America to secret hidden location of his own choice as the helicopter lands the propellers stop and he exits to see one skinny young man who is awaiting him. Alan stood tall over him like fucking tower built like a tank walking up to him as his feet pounds the feet because he is so god damn heavy and walks in to a swinging door to his new life. The man guiding him in to the side hall way to lead him in to the locker room as he lifts his shirt up exposing his body to the air that inhabits the room something about the room gets to him. The shirt flips through the air as his hands land on to his pants firmly landing on to the tip of his as he swoons and he his hands are now firmly planted on to his belt as he is at it undoing the belt letting it drop to the floor in a quick action. The man exits the room in to another side of the building standing in front of a private control booth closing the door as I flick the switch and everything locks down flicking another switch as the intensity of the air fills the room.He begins to swoon as I can hear him begin to struggle removing his pants kicking them off of his feet landing on to the bench he is sweating and wiping off the watts on his body he takes a deep huff and he laughs his butt off.I flip another switch as the camera blurs on to the television dropping his pants as his defining muscles sculpting like a God begin to ripple before me, he spun about with his ass so huge popping up as if jiggle a bit in action. A smile spreading across his face with facial expression as he bigs to giggle loudly out of control, he grabs his cock to begin to play with it slinging down as he is stroking with it so hard and I can’t wait to see the moment he cums. “OH FUCK! AHH! WHAT? OOOHHH! How the hell am I so hard right now? I can’t cum! What the fuck? Ahh fuck! FUCK!” He screams as his back falls on to the bench crying pain, pleasure and lust.

“Behind a door panel with lift upward to the ceiling.”

“I see it! Should I walk through.”

“Obviously! Hurry up”

“Yes Sir!”

“Put on the clothes I left on the bed”

“Yes Sir! Why do I feel so hard and weird?”

“It’s the air purifier cleaning you up “

“Oh duh! This is a spa”

“You funded the venture “

“It’s a celebrity private club”

“Do some poses “

“Yeah grab that guitar “

“Do some dances “

“Bust a move”

“Oh God! I am hard “

“Show me some ass”

“You are hot”

“Bitch please “

“They are for the sponsorship”

“Every ad campaign”

“Imagine you are so hot”

“Everyone wants you “

“Wants to be “

“Haha”

“You think so?”

“Don’t Move”

“Sorry babe!”

“Babe!”

“We are together “

“You got it”

“Do you love me Alan?”

“From here to the moon”

“Yes babe”

“Join me babe”

“Hell yeah!”

“I’ll be in the spa”

“I love it”

“What dummy?”

“You grabbed my ass”

“Swat”

“Ouch!”

“Follow the arrow”

“Wicked it’s gym”

“It’s 2024”

“Whatever “

“Get to work bitch”

“I love being demeaned “

“Fuck off!”

“You are hot”

“I know “

“Babe”

“Yes babe”

“Mind if I sit on your lap”

“Getting hard “

“Good job!”

“What a bitch?”

“Thank you sir”

“I think I’ll cop a few”

“Do what you want?”

“That not me”

“Swat”

“Oh God!”

“I am hard”

“Damn! You are awesome “

“You are using me”

“I can’t wait to fuck you”

“Oh yeah?”

“Rock you like a jungle gym”

“Make you swoon”

“Yes babe”

“I am all yours “

“What did you do to me?”

STOP!”

“Excuse me!”

“You are teasing me”

“No! I am not “

“Bro”

“Fine”

“I’ll fuck you”

“The spa is awesome “

“It’s special “

“Indeed”

“It fixes you “

“Improves your health “

“Dumbs you down”

“Makes you a bro”

“Makes you addicted “

“Drives you mad”

“I became yours”

the end

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/24/2024

you might be wondering “is my dear friend tumblr user girlfriendsofthegalaxy still unemployed?” the answer is yes. take this cat off my hands please i don’t think he’s causing the unemployment but he certainly isn’t helping

listening

via Wendy @dying-suffering-french-stalkers, Huoy Meas' ប្រគល់ក្ដីស្នេហ៍មកខ្ញុំវ���ញ. figuring out what this incredibly zippy Cambodian rock song is named and what it's about was really difficult bc spotify is a bane upon this earth and won't let you fucking copy-paste and OCR was not working on the Khmer script. i ended up listening to the first couple seconds of each of her songs on apple music, and finally figured out this roughly translates to Give Me Back My Love and is about begging a fuckboy for closure.

via the spotify discover weekly, Night Club's Pretty Girls Do Ugly Things. all Night Club's songs sound the same so if you like one, great news! i had this song on for a full gregorian hour bc, i am only a tiny bit ashamed to say, i was storyboarding a The Man With No Name fancam to this. i think it would go pretty hard.

Smoke you like a cigarette Choke you like a lariat Fatalistic tourniquet Do you want more?

-

reading

thank you mackintosh.

i did not Adore any of these comics from the library. i sort of enjoyed Night of the Ghoul, a one-volume TPB by Scott Snyder and Francesco Francavilla. i think ive blogged about this before but every once in a while i'll get a bee in my bonnet to read some horror comics even though i am a giant baby about horror movies.

Night of the Ghoul is about how you can't save your dad from PTSD but also about a lost horror film and also about the extremely dad behavior of tracking down every scrap of info about an auteur. there's also a monster.

the subtle art changes from present day to the remains of the film to the non-film flashbacks are well done, imo. the cover screams mignola but the inside pages are really fun pulp nonsense. i love a piece of genre writing that rolls around and delights in being a piece of genre writing.

im doing my level best not to get sucked into tiktok but i DO love watching this lady revive antique nail polish and look for dupes for shades from like the 20s. she found an almost exact dupe for a shade produced during wwii which is crazy insane to me!!!

-

watching

The Asphalt Jungle (1950, dir. Huston), it's a very painterly heist noir. i even like Sterling Hayden in one of the more prominent roles, even though i think he generally has the appeal of undercooked dough.

much like Fritz Lang's M, it presents the criminal element of the city as its own class with its own reputation and reference systems. it got in some trouble with the censors for having a VERY clearly laid out heist plan and execution. it's also got the babiest Marilyn Monroe in one of her earliest roles

this was such a gloriously messy movie. everyone is such a fucking mess. this woman only known as Doll is heartbreakingly, head over heels in love with Sterling Hayden's character. she's a little flighty and bumbling and silly, but determined! they're constantly orbiting the gravitational weight of her desire for this man and desire for a real life with this man. and that's just one subplot! she has maybe five minutes total screentime! she should have gotten a supporting actress oscar!!! everyone acted their fucking hearts out and it was so much fun to watch!

-

playing

monument valley is in the netflix games library this month (i don't actually know what their liscencing agreements would even look like, they and the studios they worked with were very tightlipped about that when they were rolling this out three years ago) but i assume it's going to be on the service for a while. i have never played this game, which makes me feel a little bit like a bad gamer. you can tell it's ten years old from some of the color and texture choices, but WOW did literally everyone take inspiration from this game.

this is the platonic ideal of a phone game. i get why everyone went insane about it and there was a brief boom of geometry-based puzzle mobile games. it is MUCH much harder now to get people to pay money to play a game that has a planned endpoint and planned number of levels, so netflix is a good home for it.

i was often frustrated but always delighted. the level below involves making something happening that made me genuinely gasp out loud in glee. well worth the annoyance of downloading the netflix app and scrolling through the poorly labeled and poorly sorted carousel of games.

great retrospective, a bit about how you need to have tiny teams go off and just kind of fuck around and bring weird stuff back, and a lot about how they actually designed the levels

The end result had a pixel-perfect axonometric aesthetic that not only went hard on its references to Dutch master artist and printmaker Maurits Cornelis Escher, but also dug deep into classic video game design, going right back to early arcade machines and 8-bit titles. Each of the ten levels is like a piece of fine furniture, built with invisible dovetail joints and inlaid with marquetry, stuffed with secret compartments and little design flourishes. Gray cites the world of theatre and stage design, as well as graphics, as important keystones in the way the levels were constructed. ‘Ken would always talk about flower arranging, and how you frame a silhouette of a level on the screen,’ he says.

-

making

update on the Phantom Menace fabric: pinked the raw edges and threw it in the laundry again with a very large quantity of vinegar. 50% poly was too high for it to really do anything, which is interesting. it didn’t lessen the seam edge effects either, which is a little annoying bc the seams were so gigantic and that’s a good chunk of fabric to lose. i am going to buy a camp shirt pattern at some point when i have money again but for now it goes in The Box

also! thrifted a pack of o-rings for jars for a dollar and finally put my grains etc in my pretty jars. they’re going to live in the pantry but today they live out on the countertop

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: The moment Mingyu saw you on the beach in that skimpy bikini, it was over for him. Pairing: Mingyu x fem!reader Rating: R18+ Genre: smut Tropes: spring break au Word Count: 1,525 Warnings: language Smut Warnings: public sex, body worship, breast play, unprotected sex, creampie

Chapter 1: Honey Flavored Lips ៚ WITT Masterlist ៚ Chapter 3: Patience is Key

The last thing Mingyu wants to do right now is sit in the bungalow. He slept on the couch last night and will be for the whole week; he’s not the most pleased with the arrangement, but at least it’s a comfy sectional. He weighs his options and ultimately decides another day on the beach couldn’t hurt at all. If anything, that’ll be the most fun option without getting absolutely drunk at 2 pm in a club. The club is a half-hour drive away into the city anyway. It’s not very easy to do without a rental car. He doesn’t even bother to ask the others if they want to join him. Changmin and Hyunguu are off exploring the town and the jungle that lies just behind it. San and Jaehyun went to the nearby city earlier, and Youngkyun is likely still a recluse despite them being in a tropical location.

He leaves the house after preparing, and, of course, he lacks a shirt. Why should he wear one when he is on the beach anyway? His hair is up and out of his face, and he still wears a silver chain despite his lack of clothing on his upper half.

Luckily, the beach isn’t too busy despite the nice day. He sets up his spot and stays sat on the sand for a while. There are a few other people in his surrounding area but not too close that he feels like he’s on top of them. It’s not too hot that he feels the need to be in the water, and the wind isn’t too strong to make him feel the need to bake in the sun, either. It’s just all around a really nice day.

He notices a gorgeous girl walking up the beach and toward the beach blanket set up nearby his. Her bathing suit leaves just enough to the imagination that Mingyu wants to know more. It couldn’t hurt to at least try, right? The moment she’s settled and laying belly down on her place, Mingyu glances over. His glance must’ve been more of a look because she looks over at him and giggled quietly.

“Enjoying the view?” you ask flirtatiously.

“Is it so bad if I am?” he flirts back.

You chuckle, flipping your hair over one shoulder, “You trying to do something about it?”

Mingyu smirks, leaning back on his hands behind him. He looks up in the sky for a second, then drops his gaze back down to you. You’re giving him a rather suggestive look. It conveys very clearly to him. He returns your gaze, and it tells you all you need to know.

“There’s a private bathhouse over by those palms.” you jerk your head in the direction of the trees.

“I do need to learn the beaches a little better. Care to show me where you mean?”

You stand up, brushing a bit of dry sand off your chest and stomach. You can feel his eyes on you, and you absolutely love how easily you can get a reaction out of him. You walk over to him, swinging your hips a little extra, and stop right in front of him. You squat down, resting your butt on your heels. His eyes are transfixed on your chest, which is now basically at his eye level. You reach out a hand in his direction.

“Let me show you around then.” you ask with undertones of flirting.

He takes your hand, “Show me the way, beautiful.”

You’re pinned to the wall of the bathhouse the moment you step inside with the tall man. His lips are immediately on your throat, pulling sweet sounds from you. He has one hand holding your hip while the other is playing with your chest. Your hands find their way around his neck and up into his hair. You gently tug at the locks soliciting a quiet groan from the man. His hand travels around to your back from your chest. He pulls the string that’s holding your bikini top shut, and then you feel the release of the fabric.

“So fucking beautiful.” he sighs, “If we weren’t stuck in this stupid building, I’d spend so much time making you feel good. We don’t have a whole lot of time, though, do we?”

“We could go to yours or-”

Before you can finish your thought, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth a swirls his tongue around it. His hand that had previously been untying your top returns to your chest, playing with the breast not occupying his mouth. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you grip his hair just a bit tighter so as to hold onto a bit of sanity. You start to grind against him, hoping that he catches your drift and fucks you soon.

“God damn,” he moans slightly, “you okay if I fuck you raw? I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“If you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I’ll leave and find someone who will.” you threaten, though there’s no intent behind it.

Mingyu chuckles slightly, knowing there’s no true threat to your words. His lips continue to kiss paths across your body in any way he can. You snake your hands down his muscular form and into the front of his bathing suit. You feel a shot of arousal run through your body and center itself in your core, just thinking about how well he’ll fill you up. He lets out a shaky breath as you start to move your hand around his member. His hand moves away from your chest and glides across your side to tug at the strings holding the lower half of your bathing suit together. The moment one side falls loose, his fingers quickly find your clit and rub circles on it. It takes everything in you not to crumble against his body.

“You’re so wet. Bet this pretty pussy would take me so well.” he muses between a few kisses to your collarbones, “Let’s see if I’m right.”

You can’t think of anything to say. Your brain is practically mush hearing and feeling how he worships your body. You simply shove his bathing suit down as best you can to finally release him from the fabric. Within moments he’s fully inside you, and if you thought you couldn’t think straight before, now is even worse. He waits a few moments to allow you to adjust to his size. Still, he kisses any skin he can reach on your body, whispering praise between each one.

“Y-you can move; please move.” you practically moan.

“So fucking pretty, and you take me so well. Fuck, ‘m gonna start moving now, pretty girl.”

When he starts moving his hips, you swear that you see heaven. He’s hardly started, but you already have a continuous stream of moans and whimpers escaping your lips. Your back is pressed against this wall rather uncomfortably, and your hair is definitely a mess, but right now, all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel. He’s an expert with his hips, rocking them at a pace that isn’t too fast or slow. His fingers never stop drawing circles against your clit. You clench around him slightly, making him groan against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“If you squeeze me like that, I don’t know how long I’ll last, beautiful.” he warns you.

“Can’t help it,” you breathe out, “you feel so good inside me.”

Soon enough, Mingyu’s pace becomes rougher and slightly uneven. You couldn’t care less since your high was quickly approaching. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, high off of the adrenaline of fucking a stranger in a public place. Just as you’re about to topple over the edge of an orgasm, you hear someone outside the small bathhouse. The man fucking you couldn’t seem to care less, though. You moan loudly but try your best to muffle the sound against his neck.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds,” he tells you, “those guys out there are just my housemates; they won’t mind one bit.”

Normally, something like that would make panic swell in your belly. This time though, it makes you feel more of a rush of arousal bolt through you. Tossing your head back against the wall of the building, you let your moans fly free. The tall man warns you that he’s about to cum, and you let him know he’s more than welcome to cum inside you. When he does, it triggers your own orgasm, and he carries you through it with the continued stimulation to your clit, now combined with him toying with your nipples again. His hips slow to a stop. Both of you pant, trying to catch your breath. He chuckles slightly and rests his forehead on the wall beside yours.

“I, um, I never caught your name.” you admit.

“Mingyu,” he informs you, “that was one hell of an adventure for being strangers, huh?”

“Mmh,” you hum in agreement, “You gonna be around the rest of the week?”

“Name a time and place, gorgeous. I’ll be there.”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2023© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic, or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted.

Networks: @caratwritersclub​ @kwritersworld​ @k-vanity​ 

Tag List strikethrough = unable to tag: @meowniee​ @cryoculus​ @2nk-3554  @yumekowhore​ @hyunjaespresent-deobi​  @chibby11

[ellssbellss]

wip wednesday :)

i forgot this was a thing, and i wanted to show you guys that I am, of course, working hard on lavender roses and headcanons; sorry for the slow updates!

click below for a sneak peak of...

Big Brother is a Prince!

That night, under a setting sky.  

Bubbles flew from Kyoya’s nose as he struggled to hold his breath. His long legs strained with every kick, every effort he made to bring himself to the surface. One of his arms pressed against the gravity of the ocean, the icy current twisting around his lithe silhouette, trying to pull him deeper within its waters. But he couldn’t succumb to the force. 

Not when his other arm held you against him. 

His long fingers grasped your waist, his heart hammering as your unconscious body fell against his chest. The cut on your leg was still bleeding, the ribbon of red billowing out into the ocean blue, and he clenched his teeth. With a labored grunt of desperation that presented itself in a flurry of bubbles, his arm gave one last swipe, his legs one last kick, as he pushed both of you out of the surface. 

Gasping, Kyoya selfishly gulped air, while bringing your head out of the treacherous water and onto his collarbone. 

“(Y/n).” He called in the vast blue, still wading water. The beach wasn’t as far as it could’ve been, and he supposed he should be grateful for that. But gratitude was his last priority, especially when your head just lulled against his wet skin when he called your name. “Damn it, wake up (Y/n)!”

His heart pounded faster. Cursing, Kyoya shifted you onto his back. In his family’s jungle-themed water park, he had held you against his spine once before. He had been able to feel your warmth, your heart beat, the small smile you had sported as you drifted off. 

Now, he had to wrap your arms around his neck, your body unresponsive to the way he swam towards the beach up ahead. His hand gripped both of your wrists against his pulse, foolishly hoping that the feeling of his heart beating out of his skin would bring you back to him. 

“Come on, (Y/n),” He huffed as he swam, his blurry vision tracing out the forms of his friends as they sprinted down the mountain, jumping and waving at him when they saw him pop out from the surface. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

Still nothing. Kyoya swam as fast as he could. His muscles burned, his hair dropped in front of his eyes, and his gaze became even more unfocused as the worry set in. 

“Don’t do this to me.” Kyoya’s voice was raspy and gasping as he worked to bring you to the surface. But the colors of the sunset were melting together across his visage, and his swimming shifted to muscle memory as he got lost in his anxiety. “(Y/n), you have to wake up. You have to breathe, for god’s sake!”

His cry was barely audible over the splashing of his limbs in the waves, and he cursed again. The worry stabbed at his stomach, and his hand tightened against your skin. He hated the cold, clammy feeling that touched against his fingertips, and the muscles in his jaw popped like fireworks. 

He couldn’t fight his reality. That his best friend was unconscious on his shoulder blades after putting herself between two dangerous people that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. His security priorities had become lazy, as he had not stationed anyone so far from where the host club’s event was taking place. He didn’t expect anyone to go that far. You shouldn’t have gone that far. 

And why did he let you go alone? He had made an excuse. You were with Haruhi, you were around friends. You were safe. 

He hiked your unconscious form higher onto his back. 

hope you love it so far :) can't wait to give you guys a peak into what went down that night

[player1064]

gary goes into business instead of broadcasting post-retirement. carra still goes into puditry. they don't know each other/end up as friends.

they both end up on the same season of I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and fall in love. this is highly apparent to the entire audience.

I've not done a request fic in like two months bc I've been so zoomed in on the beville fic but I wanted to write something quick and silly and yes this request has been sitting in my inbox for more than THREE months but dont worry i did not forget about it I haven't forgotten about ANY of u.

and this really is quick and silly it is Mostly dialogue bc idk how else to convey the Vibes of im a celebrity but I had soooooo much fun with this dkjfgdfjsgkk...

---

 “I’m Gary Neville, I’m a businessman but I’m probably best known for my football career, playing 602 games for Manchester United and earning 85 caps for England.”

“What am I doing in the jungle? Mid-life crisis, I suppose.”

“I’m no stranger to public humiliation – just look at my coachin’ career! My only worry is the food – I do love a dairy milk, to be fair.”

*

“I’m Jamie Carragher, and I’m best known as a football pundit with Sky – am I allowed to say other broadcaster’s names on here? – and for winning the Champions’ league with Liverpool.”

“I’ve always said the jungle is the only reality show I’d consider doin’, so I guess it’s time to put me money where me mouth is.”

“Scared? Eh, no, I don’t think there’s many challenges I wouldn’t do. You don’t get to where I’ve got without that drive to win.”

*

Jamie walks into camp, takes one look at the group of people stood in front of him, and almost considers walking straight back out. Would that work, saying the catch-phrase outside of one of the challenges? ‘I’m a celebrity, get me away from Gary fucking Neville?’

“Jesus Christ,” Gary mutters. “Don’t you ‘ave some children to spit at or somethin’?”

“Don’t you ‘ave a football team to coach – oh no, sorry, they both fired you.”

“How the fuck are they lettin’ you take three weeks off in the middle of season? What’re people gonna do when they want to listen to two hours of Scouse gibberish?”

The rest of the campers watch on, no longer even attempting to come and introduce themselves to Jamie.

“And how’s your club gonna manage without yous, eh? What if they need someone to fire another manager?”

*

“Yeah, I uh… is it mean to say I hope one of them gets voted off soon? Don’t get me wrong, they’re both perfectly nice guys, but…”

[yelling heard from outside the hut]

“…Yeah.”

*

The first pairs challenge, shockingly, goes off without a hitch.

This is not a surprise because the challenge was particularly difficult – it’s early days, they’re still easing everyone in – but because of who the public had voted to complete it. Because the public is the public, and they’re nothing if not predictable.

“All twelve stars! I’m pretty pleased w’that, you know.”

“Typical fucking Neville, taking the credit for his partner’s hard work.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall you crawling about in the mud to get the –”

“—I was the one doin’ all the heavy lifting!”

“Of course you were doin’ the heavy lifting, look at the fuckin’ size of you!”

“Ugh.”

Jamie storms off camera and back into camp, leaving behind a bewildered looking Gary.

“He’s a bit of a diva, in’t he?”

*

“The first few days? Erm, it’s been goin’ alright, I think. I’ve been told I’m not always the easiest person to get on with, so it’s a pleasant relief that the others seem to – I mean, obviously not all of the others, but – but he’s –”

*

“Oh, I’m loving camp. Missing the gym a bit –” for emphasis, Jamie slaps his bicep – “but the food’s not as bad as I were expectin’, and the banter is sound – we’re all great friends already –”

“—well, no, but you can’t count him. He’s so weird, ‘ave you seen him? Like a little robot, doin’ everything exactly the same every day.”

*

“Another pairs challenge…”

“I don’t get why people keep voting for us to do these trials. You’re useless at ‘em anyway, do they want to see us starve?”

“Maybe I’d be able to get more done if you didn’t always insist on bossing me around, James. Can barely hear myself think over that Scouse screech of yours, it’s a wonder me eardrums haven’t burst yet.”

“It’s a wonder nobody’s killed themselves in the boredom of having to listen to you drone on and on all day. Did I actually hear you talkin’ about the stock market the other day?”

“The stock exchange, oh my god. It’s my hotel, which you’d know if you took part in any conversation that’s not about you.”

*

“I can’t believe they let you have that.”

Jamie looks with pride down at the football he’d chosen as his luxury item, then drops it and kicks it towards Gary’s head. It’s wide by about a metre.

“Oi! If you were a half decent footballer that could’ve actually hurt me, you twat.”

“’least mine can benefit everyone in camp, what even is yours?”

“Fidget toy, innit. My niece got me into them, gives me something to do with my hands.”

“You’re a strange little man, you know that right?”

Gary, who’s still positioned closest to the football, picks it up and lobs it into the trees surrounding camp.

*

“Come have a kickabout with me?”

Gary looks around but there’s nobody else sat nearby. “Me?”

“No, Cristiano Ronaldo. Of course you, who else would I be askin’?”

“Literally anyone else here?”

“It’s not as fun when you’re better than everyone else –”

“—ah, so you admit I’m a better footballer than you!”

“That’s not what I said!”

*

“What are you actually doin’ in here? ‘cause no offence, Gary, but you don’t really seem the reality show type.”

“Dunno. Was having a rough week when the email came through, thought it might be nice to get away from everythin’ for a bit.”

“’and you, Jameh?’” Jamie says in a squeaky parody of a Manc accent. “Oh, thanks fer askin’, Gaz. I was worried I was goin’ soft, now that I’ve been retired for so long. Wanted to prove to myself I can still be a winner.”

“Still? When were you ever a winner before?”

“I’ve won a Champions’ League, I’ll have you know!”

“I’ve won two!”

“Have you fuck.”

*

“Who’s your letter from, then? Missus?”

“No, my brother,” Gary says absently, then he looks up from his letter with a frown. “I don’t have a missus, what’re you on about?”

“Don’t you? I could’ve sworn, in Baden Baden with the WAGs –”

“You’re basing your knowledge of my relationship status on a tournament we played in more than fifteen years ago?”

“You realise you’re literally wearing a wedding ring.”

“And you’re not. Any other observations you’d like to make? Sky is blue, maybe?”

“Normally people wear wedding rings to show they’re married.”

“Maybe some people wear them to avoid annoying questions. Anyway, Philip says that I’m coming across very well so far and that ITV has received hundreds of complaints from people who can’t understand your accent.”

“He did not fucking write that, give it here –”

*

“Am I getting along better with Jamie? I dunno, I never had a problem with him to be fair, it’s him that’s always –”

*

“Friends? With Gary? Behave. Have we managed to go a single day so far without him shoutin’ at me for somethin’ I did, or somethin’ I didn’t do right, or for – for breathing in the wrong direction. Christ, I’ve never met anyone this fussy. He’s too easy to wind up.”

*

“He must be doin’ it on purpose, surely nobody is that thick – I mean, is it so hard to stack a couple of dishes when you’ve finished washing them?”

“Well, no, yeah, he did stack them, but did you see – they were all out of order, there’s no stability – they’re certain to all fall and break in the night thanks to him.”

*

All the effort that goes into the Dingo Dollars task and all the camp has to show for it is a single square of chocolate each. Gary nibbles carefully at his, trying to preserve it for as long as possible.

Jamie gets up and goes to sit beside him.

“Here.”

“Wha?”

“Here, I don’t like sweets.”

“You don’t – what kind of a psychopath don’t like sweets?”

“Will you just take the bloody chocolate before I change my mind.”

*

“You’re limping. Why are you limping?”

“Done my ankle in the last trial.”

“Trust you to get injured doin’ a trial. What’d you do, you slip or somethin’?”

“Why don’t you ask your mate, he’s the expert on slipping.”

“Ha ha. But really, Gary – you alright?”

“I’m fine, Carra, ‘s not even strained. Just a bit achy. Twenty years as a professional athlete will do that to you.”

“Give it here.”

“You what?”

“Give it here, I do an okay massage. Maybe that’ll stop yer whining.”

“I literally didn’t say a word until you brought it up.”

*

“I don’t know, he’s – ugh, he’s…”

“He’s not what I expected. I dunno. He’s just not what I expected.”

*

“D’you know how many times me and Gary played a full ninety together with England? One. We only ever played one full match on the same side, and it was shite.”

“It always felt like there was only room for one of us, so I just – I fucking hated him. ‘cause it wasn’t me the managers were picking, was it?”

*

“Carra?” Gary whispers

“What.”

“Carra, I can’t sleep.”

“Don’t give a fuck.”

“Jamie.”

Jamie reluctantly sits up in his camp bed, squints at Gary in the dark. “What.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You already said that.”

“I want to go for a walk, clear my head.”

“Good for you.” Jamie lies back down and pulls his sleeping bag over his face.

“Jamie.”

“I swear to God, Gaz…”

“Yer not gonna make me go out there alone, are ya? It’s the middle of the night.”

“What are you, twelve? Fine, just give me a minute to find my shoes.”

*

“It’s very dark, isn’t it?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

They hadn’t ended up walking very far, just to the log benches in the next clearing over before agreeing the risk of tripping over tree roots was too high and sitting down to just talk instead.

“My internal clock’s all thrown off, we’ve been here nearly two weeks and I still can’t get the hang of it. At home to be fair I’m normally in bed by ten, half ten.”

“I remember, from England. You and Phil were such geeks, weren’t you?”

“Most capped brothers in England, thank you very much.”

“D’you miss him?”

“Nah. Don’t get to see ‘im much anyway, to be fair. He’s off in America, Trace is out here, they’re both just – getting on with it, aren’t they? I prob’ly miss my house more’n anything else.”

“Your house… not your friends? Not football?”

“I like my house! It’s got everythin’ just the way I like it.”

“Alright, alright. Fine, you can miss your house.”

“Wha’d’you miss? Your kids? The missus?”

“I dunno really… kids are both all grown up now, missus went back to being a ms a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

“Is what it is. Anyway, I miss football even if you don’t, honest to God, what kind of a footballer are ya? I wish someone would slip me this week’s standings, feel like I’m going insane tryin’ to imagine all the results.”

“Should’ve said something sooner, twat. I can tell you how the league’s going.”

“You can?”

“Yes. Manchester United are on a – how many games’ve we missed now? – they’re on a three game winning streak and have shot to the top of the league.”

“Oh yeah? What about Liverpool?”

Gary tuts and shakes his head. “Relegation zone, I’m afraid.”

“We were top of the table when I came in ‘ere!”

“Well, you know what they say – anything can happen in football, can’t it?”

“You’re right, what’s that… I’m getting reports from Old Trafford that Salah’s just scored a hat-trick, Stretford end as well –”

“You twat! As if your Liverpool could win away against United, you’re dreaming!”

*

“Erm, yeah… it’s good to be going home, ‘course it is. Glad I wasn’t the first voted out, hah, I actually think I’ve done alright in ‘ere.”

“Yeah, no, it’s been a brilliant experience to be fair. I never thought I’d make such good friends – yeah, even him. I know, I’m as surprised as you are! Anyway, I’m wishin’ them all the very best of luck in the semi-finals.”

 *

“I mean, I know fourth place isn’t bad, but I do think I deserved to get to the finals. I’ve worked harder than anyone else here, so –”

“Well yeah, ‘course, it’s up to the public, so – if it’s my time then it’s my time.”

“What’ll I be doin’ when I get to the hotel? Dunno. Check my messages first, probably!”

“What, Gary? I saw ‘im yesterday, it’s not like I’m missin’ him already! Might get ‘im to buy me a pint, though, least he could do after I had to put up with him for three weeks.”

[siremasterlawrence]

Breathless Part 1

Part 1

“Oh Man! What luck!” I swear landing my leg on a strange looking orb as I pick it up lets my eyes slowly blow up in a bright white like glow. I close my eyes a bit sending my body in to a beautiful blue glow transporting him in to the ball as it hit the floor and it rolls to the edge of the cliff.

Next thing I know I am surrounded by a red gold, silver and slate black painted giant bar I own apparently and soon enough I am behind the bar. I laugh a bit think about what else I can get out of that damn orb now presently placed in the middle of the room causing a major chain of events.

The bar is now a magical place infusing the building to help me with my aims and plans I have had in the back of my mind and truly is everything. I jet on to the bar hopping over the bar on to the bar stool slipping off till I hit the ground running and heading to the main room pick it up and send it flying.

“I wish that could have super fucking pretty hot actors Andrew W Walker and bad ass Luke MacFarlane,”

“What the fuck? How the hell on earth?”

“Where am I? Where are we?”

“I am your Lord and Master”

“I am also your boss “

“You do not work as actors “

“This is my bar apart of my media “

“You work here and always have “

“You are my bartenders”

“You stay here all day “

“You make me millions “

“You are my employees”

“Yes boss”

“Put these aprons on“

“Yes boss”

“It’s time for your auditions”

“Strip for me”

“Get behind the bar “

“Hurry up “

“Hop off the bar”

“Make me a drink”

“Do it! Do it”

“Could have been faster”

“Sorry “

“You clean my shoes “

“You lick them”

“Good job! Your butts need to be in gear, your mind out of the gutter and get to work.”

Part 2

“I need sexy servers and dancers”

“Who Master?”

“Jaime Lomas”

“Ashley Taylor Dawson”

“Fuck? Who the hell?”

“Zip it! Your mind is blank”

“I am your God!”

“Yes boss”

“You belong to me”

“Dress in this”

“Stand on the table “

“Strip “

“Oh Master! Babe”

“Do you crave this body boss?”

“The groups are packing in”

“Hell Yes! Let’s party my king”

“Everyone! Who’s here?”

“My name is Jamie”

“Let me entertain you “

“Ashley join him”

“As you wish”

“My name is Ashley “

“I am fine”

“My body is hard “

“Watch my abs “

“Wash board abs”

“My tight ass”

“I love to do the pump”

“Hey don’t touch”

“This is my Master’s merchandise “

The end

Breathless Part 2

Tom Hardy and Andrew Garfield are the first  celebrity and honored guest to my new club Breathless a magical island vacation spot for the elite. The two land on a private airline walking off of the planes staircase to the land they take off their sunshades and soon the sunlight is in their faces. The light rays shoots in to his eyes glowing so bright shaking him to his core very soon and enough freaking him one something stirs up in him.

————

The lights surrounding him shine over the majestic forest in the latter half of the island begin to shake with the leaves and branch are free flowing.Mindlessly Tom Hardy is the first to see it in the wind a chill cool air calls to him as his toe dug in propelling his feet ever forward in to the breach.

He steps in to the forest ever forward with any and all worries washing away in his cold and blank mind the deeper he goes the more he loses himself.The forest expands in to the jungle causing him to feel the power pour from underneath his feet yanking him in to the center as his shoes strip.

Ripping in to ribbons below his sole but the entirety of the ground floods flowing a cold embrace sending them shivering up his spine.The more he walks the socks come undone as well, as his face goes slack, his eyes turn dull gray and something in him drives him in to the brink 

The jeans stripping like a reel shitting on to the ground, the area begins spinning as he looks upward to the sky and he falls back to the ground.Apparently! The grounds begins to melt in to the soil growing more covering up the island like quick sand or soon sinks in to the soil of the space.

The soul forms massive arms wrapping over his massive muscular body stretching in to the air and drops down descending till it is grasping his body pulling it down. I am in awe of this gigantic, tall and super titan of a man who will be under my absolute control for yeh rests of my his life no way out.

“Tsk tsk tsk”

“You fell for that so easily “

“Sorry Mr. Hardy!”

“I have loved you always”

“I’ve wanted you for so long “

“I can have you finally “

“This body “

“Yumm”

“I can lay on you all day “

“Muscles for days”

“Legs for days too”

“I could eat you up “

“I’ll leg you sink for now”

“Hear this”

“You belong to me for all existence”

“You are not human”

“A mere puppet for me”

“You are named slave”

“I am everything to you “

“I guide you “

“You have fallen”

“Yes Master”

“Make me your world “

“Accept me”

——-

“Andrew Garfield “

“Who? Who are you?”

“I am your inner voice “

“No! You can’t be…this”

“Can’t be? I know”

“My body is frozen “

“Exactly! I am in total control “

“I submerge your soul”

“Your consciousness is a blank state”

“You subconscious is a open world “

“I walk in to it “

“It is my own island “

“You love me”

“Live for me”

“I control you “

“You have no free will”

“No love”

“I am your God”

“Yes Master”

“You see the ocean “

“YES”

“Walk to the beach”

“Stand at the edge “

“Take a leap”

“Plunge in”

“Dive and dive “

“Swoosh you fell in to ocean”

The end 

[herefortarlos]

Hi Desi! 🤹‍♀️💭 for you please!

Hi dalawa!! Thank you for the asks and for making me think!!

💭Dream season 5 storyline?

My absolute season 5 storyline, if I could have anything, would have to do with Carlos and TK both working together to solve Gabriel's murder! I need to see that communication and no secret keeping this season, they worked all season 4 on that. And one of them needs to be put in danger because of it, so we can hear something along the lines of "take me instead" 🫠

🤹‍♀️ Give a hidden talent to all the main characters (or those of your choosing)!

Oh you are making me get creative!! Please forgive me for only doing a few, but these characters and their talents came more quickly to me than others!

TK - Ooo, a different one for TK, he actually has a green thumb!! I'm thinking about him living in NYC, the concrete jungle, and wanting to have some greenery in his apartment, so he does his research to figure out what first time plants would be good to start with, and he loves having something to take care, even when he might not be taking the best care of himself at that time 🥺. When he's forced to move to Austin and live with Owen and has that amazing backyard, he starts to really garden and flex his skills!! Maybe he's got a little vegetable patch and he definitely has a lot of flowers that the pollinators will love 🥰

Carlos - Not exactly a hidden talent, but he is a fantastic dancer 😍 I was thinking of ways a young Carlos could express himself while he was struggling with his queer identity and I think dance would be an excellent way for him to do that! He definitely started out quietly in his room with YouTube videos, just quietly trying to feel comfortable with himself and come out of his shell a little. I think the first time he went to a club was a revelation for him and he could finally let loose and feel a bit more comfortable in his skin.

Judd - We know he's a great cook but I also think he might be a good baker too!! We know he's the youngest in his family, so I am imagining him baking with his late mom to escape his rowdy brothers at times and to spend time with her!

[gala-xyzz]

I HAVE ASSEMBLED A FUCKTON OF SONG LYRICS FOR TITLES AND SHIT HERE YOU ALL GO

at some point i will put all of these songs and more into a playlist :D

"i made a bunch of friends so i could use them as excuses to get drunk" (time of my life by upsahl)

"so ten lives were traded for time… say ten times you looked me in the eyes… held your breath watching them die" (broken by kongos)

"phantoms keep ringing my phone to remind me that i'm still alone" (bad medicine by the upstart crows)

"i don't even care if my soul is gone" (take control of your own life by sven karlsson)

"if i only had your heart i could beat the system… i never really cared for tragic stories, i just liked the endings" (come around by omri)

"i then saw the gates of hell, they were lined with golden amplifiers… they were calling out my name but i could not be found… i was falling though the flames in such a lovely sound" (heart of a dancer by the happy fits)

"why do you feel right when you know it's so wrong?… all you're breaking is drywall… all you feel is what you can't admit" (fight club by fitzy)

"they will sell you a dream for a dollar ninety-nine" (good life by shayfer james)

"the beating of a heart that i hid beneath the floor" (for the departed by shayfer james)

"was it something i said that kept you up in your head?… don't be scared of death, death is scared of you" (monsters by run river north)

"and i'm so scared that all of my worst fears have followed me out here" (american blood by dead poet society)

"you weren't ready to meet the angels" (when you fall by oceanic)

"the city's like a drum ringing in my ear" (my my by magic giant)

"what shall we do with a pretty liar?" (double denim by skylar)

"bleeding hands can make a man… this is birth in reverse, this is sacred" (a good thing by kyle stibbs)

"can you feel my heart, or are you a liar?" (aura by dionysia)

"i didn'y kill my demons to be killed by yours" (bones by the rills)

"a hit of this, a sip of that, a bit of every sin" (pleasure by midnight ambassador)

"save your blessing because heaven ain't a place for me" (seventies by modern alibi)

"there's a reason why you're a one-track mind" (parachute by second thoughts)

"leave me a soul, only by definition, i don't want to feel anything… that money won't bring happiness, but let me ask what does… if i can't have justice i might as well join the unjust" (nunemaker's parable by everybody's worried about owen)

"if you loved us then you'd leave, if you leave you're a liar" (oh my by cxviolet)

"what i need is not what i want" (in a blink by the glass pyramids)

"i could come back and my cold heart still beats… and my heart it keeps getting colder" (dressed in violets by hometown & young)

"i won't cry, i won't wait for you… a hole in the ground or the talk of the town?" (for the wicked by friday pilots club)

"all my life i've been heading for hell… but haven't you heard? hearts turn to dirt" (we have it all by pim stones)

"everything you want in twenty-four hours, but nothing you need" (concrete jungle by au/ra)

"what's the price of perfection? i won't know until i've paid in full" (after me, the flood by bear ghost)

"i'll be your muse, now take what i offer… i am the way and the life in the best-looking truth" (mr rattlebone by matt maeson)

"i heard he'll drink your blood just for the taste… and all the dead are gonna play witness" (dear dictator by saint motel)

"when you always want more there's nothing to gain" (city of angels by em beihold)

[emilybluntt]

imagine a showdown of every emily blunt character. who would be the sole winner?

i am going to be honest and say that i have been pondering this question all day. i wanted to sit and give this some thought because i wanted the answer to be just right. we are going to just include feature film roles ( none animated ), because most of her tv roles have been eh. we are also not going to consider the one short she has been in.

right off the bat emily ( devil wears prada ), harriet ( salmon fishing in the yemen ), baker's wife ( into the woods ), violet ( the five year engagement ), tamsin ( my summer of love ), girl ( wind chill ), mara ( irresistible ), valerie ( the great buck howard ), prudie ( the jane austen book club ), jane ( charlie wilson's war ), norah ( sunshine cleaning ), and elise ( the adjustment bureau ) are immediately dead. they have zero survival instincts.

the real contenders in this show down would be rita ( edge of tomorrow ), evelyn ( a quiet place ), rose ( wild target ), mary ( gulliver's travels ), sara ( looper ), kate ( sicario ), lily ( jungle cruise ), and freya ( huntsmen winter's war ). are all of these characters badass right out the gate? possibly not, but some of them prove to be resourceful enough to stick around for bit, not a long time, but a bit.

i think rita is the one taking this home though. i mean hell she is the full metal bitch after all. she has killed hundreds of mimics by herself.

she was the reason that they started to mass produce the exo-suits for the udf. like?? the angel of verdun deserves the respect on her name.

sorry for that long winded answer, but yes! that is who i think would win an emily blunt character show down. yes, some of the other contenders have some points, but imagine if it was rita that still the time altering ability, no one could stand a chance.

[divinesymmetry]

Pride Month list part 2: book edition

I read a lot (and I mean a lot) of queer books, especially during my YA phase ages 15-17, but here are a few that have particularly stood out to me, and why you should read them:

Maurice by E.M. Forster (published posthumously in 1971): everything you'd want from an early 20th century romance, except it's gay, and arguably the best piece of 20th century queer literature

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (2019): absolutely heartwrenching, will have you gasping for air in between sobs, and it's written by a poet so you KNOW the prose is amazing

Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart (2022): set in 1990s Glasgow, will absolutely rip your heart out and tear it to shreds

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo (2021): 1950s lesbian coming of age during the red scare, need I say more?

Don't Cry for Me by Daniel Black (2022): written in the form of letters, from a Black father to his gay son

Swimming in the Dark by Tomasz Jedrowski (2020): for some reason, no one seems to have read this, and they absolutely should have. will, once again, leave you in sobs (I am beginning to suspect I might cry easily)

My Government Means to Kill Me by Rasheed Newson (2022): another underhyped one, about race and sexuality during the AIDS crisis

Un Garçon d'Italie by Philippe Besson (2003): one of the narrators is literally a rotting corpse, that should be intriguing enough

A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood (1964), Confusion by Stefan Zweig (1927), Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown (1973) and Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin (1956) because, if you're like me, you're desparate to find queer literature from before the 1990s

Angels in America by Tony Kushner (1993), much quicker to read than to watch though, unfortunately, you do not have Andrew Garfield as Prior Walter in the written version

Ace of Spades by Faridah Abiké-Iyimidé (2021) starts with a quote from Get Out and that tells you everything you need to know

Ziggy, Stardust and Me by James Brandon (2019) is surprisingly rich for YA, exploring homosexuality in the 1970s, conversion therapy and Native American identity

Crush by Richard Siken (2005) if you're more into poetry, particularly the kind that will bring you physical and emotional pain

Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel (1986) because you can't not read Alison Bechdel

The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun (2021), The Feeling of Falling in Love by Mason Deaver (2022), and She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen (2021) are the perfect romcoms if you want to switch your brain off for a few hours (or emotionally recover from half of the other books on this list)

For the similar list I made about movies, click here

Happy Pride!🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈