#I just can't. do door to door or phone calls

[heedthetenofwands]

ghost x (lowkey unhinged) sunshine f!reader

suggestive nsfw (but non-explicit)

His girl was the sweetest thing. Smile as bright as the sun and you looked at him like he’d hung the stars and the moon. Coming home to you was always the highlight of his day.

But something was amiss ever since a week ago.

He had come back from base, a day of planning for the next mission and cleaning up from the last, and his heart yearned to be at home with you. Stepping through the front door, he was ready to hear his bird chirping his name and telling him about the day. But the house was silent, the lights were off, and he couldn’t hear a thing.

He waited a moment before calling out your name. It was only when he walked up the stairs to the bedroom that he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed. Your back was to the door.

“Love?” He called to you. You turned your head back to see him before standing up and making your way around the bed to smile and greet him. You hug him tightly, a bit firmer than usual and he had to brace his core a little in surprise. You let go and look at him with an innocent smile.

“Did you have a good day?” You asked.

“It was OK, better now.” He replies. You continue staring at him, almost in contemplation and, without blinking, kiss his cheek and move out of the room.

Alarms bells are ringing.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"There's something wrong." He confesses to them at drinks after work a couple days later. "She's angry."

"Your bonnie? She doesnae seem ta have a malicious bone in 'er. I'm sure it'll pass." Soap says.

Ghost grunts dismissively. "Never been this long."

Gaz hums in thought, "Did you forget a date?"

Ghost stays quiet but Gaz doesn't miss the confused stare. He clarifies, "Birds care about 'em. 1st anniversary, birthdays, the milestones. Can fall through the cracks if you're not careful though."

Ghost replies, "Maybe." In his mind, he's already running his fingers through their calendar.

Price cuts through, "Why not just ask 'er?" Straight to the point, as Ghost expected.

He leans back, "Rather not." Ghost knows he's hiding the real answer. What do I do if I can't fix it?

Price looks at him, assesses him and sees right through him. But before he can press further, Ghost hears his phone buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and after reading the message from you, grumbles a quiet 'fuck' that draws the attention of his team. They lean over to catch a glimpse of the message.

The screen showed previous conversations between the lieutenant and his girl, you sending him your texts with smiley faces, hearts or emoticons with every message. That is, until your latest one which read:

Love: pick up bread on your way home.

The team winced at the cold tone.

"Good luck, mate."

"Warning ya, bakery closes earlier than usual today."

"You're fucked."

Ghost glares at them all before standing up and leaving.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rest of the week had followed similarly with you just not acting like you're usual self.

That Friday it was your turn to pick a film to watch, where you would usually put on a cheesy rom-com or a tense-filled drama, that night it was a R18 horror movie. Ghost did not utter a single complaint when you put it on. Or move an inch when you lay your head on his chest and smiled at a scene where a cheating husband and his mistress get sliced in two.

Where you two would usually stay in bed together to bask the warm glow of a slow Sunday morning, instead, Simon woke alone. He called your phone again and again until you came home a couple hours later. You ignored his questions. Fearing the worst, he let it go.

And the bite of your finger nails into his skin got stronger and stronger every night as you two lay in bed. It was as is if you were clutching or branding onto him with all your might.

It was later that week, that Simon decided to was time to ask. Time to confront the dissonance that was ringing louder and louder in his ears whenever you touched him, looked at him and smiled at him.

He was going to do it. Right after dinner, he was going to do it.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Ghost, in fact, did nothing after dinner because as soon as you had gathered up the plates. You had returned with a cake.

You brought it to the table. “I know how much you love my desserts, Si. It's been forever since I've made one so I thought I would make your favourite today." You sit down before adding, "I've changed it up a bit, too. New ingredient and whatever.”

Ghost stills at that. “What’s the ingredient, darling?” He says as casually, as he could. Cyanide? Arsenic?

You smile sweetly at him, “It’s a surprise Si, where’s the fun in knowing before tasting it?”

“Right.” He replies, hesitantly.

You start cutting a slice, and place it on his plate before sitting down and waiting for him.

He takes the fork. "You're not hungry, love?"

You shake your head, "I want to see your reaction."

There's a moment where Ghost is trying to remember the poison hotline contact number so he could ring it after his 'taste test' but he finally breaks.

“Nope, can’t do this anymore.” He says.

“Can’t do what, Simon?” You asked with faux concern. You stand up and come to his side of the table to face him. “What’s wrong, baby? You're going to love it.”

“Did I forget an anniversary? Your birthday?” He thought aloud. He doubted it, but he must have done something wrong. He reaches for your arms and gently pulls you to stand in front of him, he holds your hands and bows his head before you. “Tell me love, have I been neglecting you? Spending too much time at work? You can tell me.”

You gently remove your hands from his hold, moving one hand to cup his cheek and the other to tilt his chin so he could meet your gaze. At first, he leans into the gentle palm of your hand but the cold look in your eye with that small smile of your lips makes him freeze.

“Don’t bullshit me, Riley.” Your voice cuts through the candlelit room. He has to fight to not let this do something to him. It gets worse when you use both of your hands to cup his jaw and force his head upwards to meet your gaze. “I found a second phone when I was sorting the laundry. There was a message from another woman. Asking if you would be coming over that night. What a greedy fucker you are.” He has to fight any sound that may escape from his lips at seeing you speak so harsh. “You listen to me, Simon.” His eyes widen as you close the distance of your face to his and your lips are so close. He wants to kiss you. “I will fucking kill her.”

Ghost had no idea what was happening, mind moving too fast and too slow all at once. All he could do was focus on his sweetheart's voice. You stand upright, move closer to Ghost, forcing him to spread his thighs so you can stand between them and press his face to your form, stroking the back of his head, his shoulders, his back as if to soothe and comfort. “I am yours. You made it so. And now, you are mine too."

He can't help the chills running down his spine as he laid his head against your body and felt the presses of your touch. You tell him, “All you need to do is give me her name and where I can find her. And after tonight, we can forget all about this, my love. If you work hard enough, I will forgive you. And in time, I will ask you what deficit I had to make you think you can replace me."

You sigh, "I gave you all week to confess, but you have no shame do you?"

Finally, Ghost's mind seems to catch up, "Wait, wait, sweetheart I don't have a second phone." At that, you tighten the hand in his hair, grabbing a good chunk of the back of his head. He whines at the sensation, "I swear, love." But you do not yield.

His mind is racing.

A second phone?

And finally, he realises. "Sweetheart, wait. It's Johnny's. He mentioned that he lost his phone, the idiot must've dropped in my gym bag. That's why you found it."

Your body stills. "Are you sure, Si?"

While you stay still, Ghost only wraps his arms around you, nestling his face against the warmth of your body and your hesitance. He pleads, "On my life. Call him, darling. Please."

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A phone call later, you confirm that Soap indeed dropped his phone, and was seeing the woman you saw in the notifactions. With a sinking feeling, you return to the kitchen table.

"Si, I'm so sorry." You tell him, tears already brimming your water line. "I should've just asked you-" Before you can say another word, Ghost had already stood up and embraced you. You sink against him.

You should have never doubted a starving dog.

Ghost smiles as he releases you from his hold, "You still want dessert?" He looks back at the cake.

You only giggle, "Yes, let's eat. Not that one though." You ignore Ghost's questioning gaze as you walk to the fridge, humming a small tune, and then pull out another identitical cake. You set it on the table, smiling innocently as the blood drains from Ghost's face. "Let's eat, Si."

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @patscorner @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l

warnings angst (?), homophobia/homophobic slur, sexual innuendos, sexual content.

kalena speakss 🪽! so here’s the ACTUAL chapter ten, i accidentally posted a different version last night so if you saw that just completely disregard it lmao

July 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California 

“‘Preciate you comin’ out, man.” I nod, my hand giving a firm dap to Julian.

Yeah, the Julian who’s girlfriend I seem to be helplessly obsessed with.

We had just beat the Fever at home in a blow out on the second night of a back-to-back. My body is aching, and as soon as I left the locker room, I was ready to push through those metal doors and go home. Maybe stop for some dinner too. 

Until I heard it. The voice that has replayed in my head rather than in my ears for the last week and a half. That slight southern drawl with the occasional upbeat ending. It’s perfect, and I didn't realize how bad I’d missed it until now.

I meant it when I thought I needed a break. Maraye was running laps in my head, like a marathon. She’s all I seem to be surrounded by. But there’s so many issues, and Nika was right: I don’t need to be getting hurt again.

So I stepped back, wanting to figure out what I really did want. 

Now I know that I want her in my bed, hands in my hair, moans of my name leaving her mouth. More importantly, though, I want her to be mine. So damn badly. I wanted to grow with her, watch her succeed up close, to do all the things with her that come with a relationship. 

That shit was fucking terrifying. I can't remember the last time I let a girl get this close to me. To learn me in the way Maraye has been able to. Or even being able to learn her in the way that I have.

So when she stands there, next to Julian in her curve hugging jeans and a cropped shirt with my name and number, her eyes looking everywhere but at myself, I know that something is off.

“Congrats All-star.” She says to me, eyes looking at me but not really. She darts everywhere but at my eyes, which normally are her main attraction.

The All-star list dropped at halftime, Rickea and Dearica making the list as well. A smile spreads onto my face and I finally drop my hand from Julian’s. “Thanks, angel.” It slips. I shouldn’t have said it, not here in front of him. I knew I shouldn’t.

It was so natural, falling from my tongue like butter. 

I see his eyebrows furrow, looking down at his girlfriend as if she would stop me from calling her that again. 

“You comin’ to Indy?”

“I was thinking about it. Yeah.” Raye answers and it’s the first time throughout this awkward exchange that I actually see those eyes. Wide, doe, eyes that I know I could happily spend the rest of my life just looking at. “Uh, we. We were thinking about going.” She corrects when Julian darts his head to her.

I nod, wiping the palms of my hands on the side of my jeans. 

“I should probably head out, Ion wanna keep y’all too long.” I force out through the tension. I don’t want to leave. Because I know that as soon as I do, I’m going to force myself into more dry texts and ignore her calls and keep myself away from looking at that damn perfect face. 

“You sure?” Julian questions me. His tone is skeptical, like he knows something that I don’t. Or that he knows something that he shouldn’t.

“Yeah, I got some places to be at too.” I hum, pulling my phone out to look at the time. It’s not late, barely even 10 o’clock, but that slight movement is enough to make them both think I have other plans.

Maraye pushes her curls from her face, the bright white hallway lights make her gold septum glisten in her nose. “I’ll see you around then?” She asks, taking a step closer to me and we hug.

The only difference is this hug isn’t what I’m used to. It isn’t the hug where her arms wrap around my neck, mine feel on the swell of her ass, and I can smell every bit of the scent she chose to wear. That would be too risky.

So instead she holds me by my side, my arm cautiously around her shoulder while her palm presses into my back. It’s difficult for me to keep my composure because deep down I know that I should be able to hug her however I damn well please. 

And I can’t.

All because of him. It’s always him.

—

The hum of the engine is all that fills the car, along with the occasional voice of whatever rapper Julian has playing at minimal volume while I drive. 

It’s been like this for a minute. Just the two of us sitting quietly, my finger tips occasionally tapping against the steering wheel while he stares out the window. I’m supposed to be taking us to his place, we’d eat some dinner and maybe watch a movie.

“So, you and Paige, huh?” He asks, his voice so monotonous.

My hands start to sweat and nearly slip down the wheel. “What?”

He turns his head towards me and though my eyes are glued to the road ahead, I can feel the way his dark eyes are burning holes into my skin. 

“You and her. Y’all got something goin’ on? She callin’ you angel and you don’t do nothin’ about it?” His voice casually picks up, going from nonchalant to angry in a matter of seconds. I briefly look at him, and even through the darkness of the night I can see his light skin slowly build in a red tint.

“Paige and I are friends, Ju.” I breathe out. I know that’s true, even though it’s also a lie. Paige and I stopped being just friends the second I kissed her on my couch.

“Then why the hell is it that you been hanging out with her so much, but the second I’m around y’all wanna be all awkward and you wanna look at the floor?”

It’s my fault for thinking that he wouldn’t be able to pick up on our awkward exchanges, because the tension was very noticeable. It was my first time seeing her since that night in the studio. She’s been avoidant lately, and honestly I couldn’t even blame her.

She was over it. And I guess I am too. 

Yet, here I stand, lying to Julian once again and letting him think nothing is wrong. Keeping him at arm's reach when I should really be letting him go.

“I’m sick of fighting, Julian.” I told him. That’s also true. I am so damn exhausted from all the back and forth yelling, but right now I just really don’t want to have this specific conversation. 

“Answer my fucking question, Raye. Are you fucking her?” He yells, never taking his glance off the side of my face.

“What, no!” I look over at him again, my hands shaking while I grip the wheel. “Quit being so insecure! Just because I got good people in my life, doesn’t mean I’m fucking them. I’m with you.”

I hate this. This lying and manipulation. I fucking hate it because this isn’t who I am. I’m not an asshole. I’m not a cheater. Then here I am, doing everything I write about in my songs, hurting him just to protect my own image.

“Insecure? You think I’m jealous of that fucking fag? Like she can give you anything that I do.” He scoffs. His words hit my ears and as I process them, they taste bitter. Every gear in my head starts turning and I start to get angry. Not at what he said, but how he speaks about her. I waste no breath in defending her.

“Watch how the fuck you talk about her, Ju.”

We approached his apartment complex.

“Why you defending her?”

“Why are you calling her out her name?” I yell back.

He’s silent. We stop at a light and I turn my whole head to make eye contact with him. “Should’ve never that you get close to that fuckin’ dyke. You wanna fuck around with her, go do that shit then.”

I reach for the panel on my door, pressing the unlock button. The click echos through the car. “Get out.”

He looks at me surprised, as if he didn’t expect me to say that to him. “Raye.”

“No. You wanna talk to me crazy, you wanna talk about Paige crazy. So get the fuck out.” I reason. “Your place is right there. Walk. Get the fuck out of my car, Julian.”

He scoffs, slumping back against the seat. “Man, you crazy.”

“Get out of my car. You think I’m fuckin’ joking?” I laugh completely irritated. I reach for his phone, taking it off aux and throwing it into his lap. I look at him expectantly.

Julian huffs, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger door. He hops out, looking at me with squinted eyes. “So you—”

“Close my door.” I cut him off, no longer looking back at him, but the green light that is blaring at me to keep driving.

He huffs, slamming the door and I speed off as soon as he does so.

I sit with my own thoughts. So much running through my head, but it all goes back to her. And suddenly I don’t care about the lying or the distance. I just want to talk to her. To talk to Paige.

I pull off into a nearby gas station, pulling my phone out of my purse.

can we talk?

It isn’t even a few seconds before the gray text bubbles pop up on my screen. Then they disappear and I groan.

Until they pop up again, this time fast and insistent.

Yeah we should

Come over?

I know better. Me and Paige don’t have a great track record of keeping our hands to ourselves when we’re alone. So I should text back that we should meet somewhere else.

That’s until she texts me again: Please?

send your addy

And she does.

—

My leg bounces from where I sit on a kitchen stool. It’s not in the anxious way, but in the distracting way. My arm is stretched out over the edge of the counter that I lean on. My fingers tug on my bottom lip while I look at her.

Raye’s been here for a few minutes, going on about something Julian has done. I was listening at first, I think he knows and argument being the specific terms that stuck in my head.

She stood in front of me, pulling her curls up into a bun on the top of her head. It makes the hem of that damned cropped shirt ride up on her body and expose gold jewelry on her belly button.

So yes, it’s hard to listen to what she’s saying when she’s practically tempting me right now. But I do listen when she says:

“I dunno. I’m done with all of this shit.”

If I were a dog, my ears would practically be perking up at it. I sit up straight, leaning with my elbows on my knees to get closer. To make sure I heard her correctly.

Throughout this whole encounter with Maraye, she’s only ever told me she was tired or that she was bothered. Not once did she ever tell me she was done, and that makes all the difference.

“You’re done? For real?”

“Yes. I dunno. It’s not that simple, P.”

I let out a scoff. “Yes it is. You aren’t comfortable ‘round him like you are with me. You don’t spend all day with him like you do with me.” I shrug my shoulders, slightly frustrated. I feel like I’ve given Raye enough evidence that I’m better, as cocky as it sounds. But yet here we are. “It’s hella simple. You jus’ don’t wanna admit it.”

“I didn’t come here for you to scold me.”

“So whatcha come here for then, huh?” I ask, standing up from the stool. 

My hair tumbles down my shoulders as I tower over her. Maraye’s eyes trail down my body and the white shirts that clings to each ridge of my body.

“You wanna kiss me? Wan’ me to fuck you? Wanna keep talking about him? What do you want, Raye? ‘Cause I know what I asked you to come here for.”

“And why’d you do that, Paige?” She responds, getting in my face.

I should be bothered and put up yet another defense. Then I’m reminded that she’s already defensive, herself. She’s frustrated from all the arguing that took place the minute I left her and Julian at Crypto. 

She’s mad. And normally I’d justify her anger, but tonight; it’s all our fault. We made a mess, started seeing each other in a way that we shouldn’t have and Julian caught on. He knows.

“Well for one, Ion wanna be a home-wrecker.” I say, throwing my hands up. “You might be over him theoretically and he might be a raging asshole, but I don’t do that shit, Raye.” And I don’t.

Fooling around, seeing multiple girls, I used to do a lot of it. I can admit that. Home-wrecking, however, has never been on my list.

Raye lets out a snort. “Spell theoretically.”

I huff and run my hands through my hair. “You’re so unbelievably annoying.” I respond, stepping away and walking past her to my couch but she tugs my arm.

“Okay, wait.” She laughs. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Yeah, okay.” I stand in front of her again. This time we’re even closer, her hand wrapped around my wrist. “What do you want me to do?” It’s more of a statement than a question because she knows.

She knows I want her to breakup with him and choose me and then let me fuck her within an inch of her life immediately after. That, I could get behind.

“You wanna hear me say it?”

“Please?” 

Raye’s free hand trails up my arm. She’s so tempting, the words so close to dying on my tongue and not being heard at all. Her voice is so enticing, and she looks up at me through her lashes like I hung the moon.

“I… want you, to make a fucking decision.” My voice doesn’t waver as I look deep into her eyes. “You can choose whoever you want, but I can’t keep doin’ this. You choose.”

This is the closest I’m going to get to fighting her off. I don’t push her arm off of me or tell her to back up. This is the closest I’ll get, because I simply can’t get enough of her.

“Okay.” Maraye nods, clutching onto my bicep.

“Okay? That’s it? You not gonna yell at me for making you choose?”

She smiles and shakes her head. The bun on her head shakes a little, and it makes me smile too. “I’ll choose. You gotta give me some time tho’. Few days maybe?”

It seems pretty reasonable to me, though I’d rather she break up with him right this minute over the phone, that would be just a bit crazy.

“We got a road trip. I’ll be gone all week, that work?”

“You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“I just need to know. You pick him, fine.” I shrug. “But if you pick me, even better.”

She grins. “It’s giving Meredith Grey.”

Now I push her off me, listening to the way her laugh fills my ears and bounces off the walls. She stumbles back a tad before catching me on the couch. My back rests against it while Maraye stands in front of me, the spot between my legs becoming designated for her.

“C’mon. It was funny!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m a sexy idiot.”

I hum, rolling my eyes.

It was things like this I missed. The laughter, the jokes, the comfort. Sure she was stunning, and the flirting and kisses were otherworldly, but this topped it. These moments with Maraye that were so hard to come by.

I like the way she looks when she’s looking down at me. It’s intimidating, but still so damn hot.

“A very sexy one.” I finally respond, sitting up more so she can see me better. “These jeans look incredible on you, by the way.”

“Yeah? You wan’ a 360?” Raye jokes.

“I want a 180, angel.” I reply. My hands reach for her hips, playing with the fabric of her belt loops. Raye brushes me off, making a frown spread across my mouth. 

She bows her head to check the dainty watch on her wrist. “It’s late, P. I should get home.”

“You could stay here with me.” My hands drop from her body, instead using my eyes to suggestively try and convince her to stay the night. It’s a joke. Mostly.

“And you were the one who said no more home-wrecking.”

—

My lips are pressed against hers, tongues swirling and spit swapping between the both of us.

It’s urgent. More urgent than any way Paige has ever kissed me before. She doesn’t give me a second to think before her finger is breaking me open and I’m gushing all over her. The stretch is so foreign, and I can’t believe how unbelievably full I feel with just one finger.

“Like this?” She asks after pulling back with a nasty suck of my tongue. I’m nodding at her words tucking my lip between my teeth. 

“Mmph yes. Yes.” A whimper rumbles from my mouth. I clutch into her shoulder, tossing my head back until it hits the pillow under me. 

My legs start closing in on themselves when she adds a second one. “I’m tryna make you feel good, baby. Why you fightin’ me?” Paige asks. Her voice as deep and hungry as I ever heard it. 

Her fingers curl into me, thumb rubbing tight circles on my unbelievably sensitive clit. She found it within a matter of milliseconds, it felt like. And the lights were off.

“He fuck you better than me? Huh?”

I barely hear her over the sound of my own cunt but that doesn’t stop me from shaking my head eagerly. “No. Fuck no, P. He doesn’t.” 

I’m nearly melting at the stimulation. Her voice in my ear and her finger’s scissoring me apart

“P.” I hiccup, nothing else filling my head except the pleasure I’m feeling. Her fingers are so damn long, tickling the deepest parts of me that I didn’t even know existed. She consumes me, swallows me whole. 

Her mouth finds my neck again, biting on my sensitive spot and making my eyes roll. I’m so close, my arousal already dripping past my cunt and onto the sheets below my ass. It’s messy. Wet and messy.

“You wanna cum for me, angel?” Paige teases, licking at the mark she left on my neck.

“Fuck, Fuck! ‘Mm God, P, you’re—”

“You’re doin’ so good, ma. I know you wanna cum.” She nods. “Just let me have it.”

“Paige!” I moan, reaching to grip her hand.

“Pretty fuckin’ girl. Cum, baby. I’m right here.” 

Her words add unbelievable fuel to the fire and my back arches underneath her body. She’s talking me through it, bringing me to the edge and I gasp before waking up.

The sun peeks through my blinds and sleep still crusts my eyes. I wipe them, sitting up half naked in my bed. 

I got home late last night. Closer to one in the morning. Paige was distracting, and I simply couldn’t just leave when she was begging me to stay.

My body is sweaty, my breath is embarrassingly ragged, and My panties are so soaked under the shorts I wore to bed. 

When I sit up, the duvet covering my body, I reach for my phone. Then I see them, the hundreds of texts and calls from Julian and the text from Paige.

Hope you make the right decision

I’ll see you when I get back ma 🫶🏼

[peppermintquartz]

Prompt: Buck and Tommy’s first Christmas together (can be AU or post breakup/makeup)

it surprised Buck when Tommy asked, very shyly, if Buck wanted a tree, now that they've moved into Tommy's house.

"Of course I do," Buck replied. That was two weeks ago.

Ever since then, Tommy's been giddily buying all kinds of Christmas decorations. A wreath for the door, outdoor lights and an inflatable Santa for the house and the lawn, mistletoe under every doorway ("You don't need mistletoe to kiss me, you know that right?" "Yeah, but I like having the excuse. Now, pucker up."), plastic boxes of brand-new baubles and ornaments and tinsel.

Buck can't help finding it adorable that his hot pilot boyfriend is enjoying the season so much, and a little sad that it's because Tommy never really had a person to celebrate it with before.

And today they are out tree shopping with Chimney, Maddie and Jee after a nice lunch of donburi. Jee is perched on her uncle's shoulders, her delighted giggles keeping the trip light and fun. Also, this means Buck doesn't get to use a clipboard to check off his requisites for a good tree, more's the pity; Chimney and Maddie definitely conspired on this.

Fortunately for Buck, his boyfriend is a checklist fiend. He just doesn't use a clipboard for it. Instead, he has it on his phone, and he frowns if a tree is lopsided, too short, too tall, not green enough, does not have enough space under the foliage...

"I can't believe there's two of you," Chimney grumbles as Tommy fishes out an actual measuring tape to check the circumference of two trees to see which one meets his exacting standards.

Buck doesn't answer his brother-in-law; he's plotting when would be a good time to jump Tommy's bones later: before or after putting up the decorations.

Sighing, Maddie peers up at her daughter. "I hope you're gonna learn only the good things from Uncle Tommy, Jee."

"Uncle Tommy!" Jee calls out, beaming. She points to the left. "That one!"

Tommy pauses, looking over his shoulder like he thinks he's hallucinating, and blushes when Buck winks and blows him a kiss.

They end up with the tree Jee chose, and one that Tommy selects. After Jee is passed back to Maddie, Buck and Tommy manhandle the two trees onto Tommy's truck. The smell of pine and sap surround them and Buck wants to hold Tommy, just for a while, to let him savor the moment. They grin dopily at each other instead.

(If Buck kisses Tommy filthily in the truck before they drive down to the Hans, that's entirely his business.)

[strawberryblue-blog]

Stay away —Héctor Fort.

summary: Hector is a customer at the coffee shop where you work and you start to have feelings for him.

warnings: none. angst, enemies to lovers?, Hector being flirtatious and arrogant, etc.

words count: +2k.

#SEXYNOTE: This story is divided in acts, which are short stories that take place at different points in time.

—Act one.

You dismissed some customers with a smile after they thanked you for your service. You took the things from the table and walked to the counter to deposit them there.

You heard the door of the store ring open and the murmur of kids coming in as they laughed and played. You sighed taking your notepad to put it in your apron when your friend, Carla, reached for it with a knowing look.

"Enjoy your table" she teased as she watched the boys sit at their typical table.

You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out at her as you turned to put on your best fake smile. You could feel a few stares as you made your way towards that table, the murmurs began to hush as they noticed you standing near them.

"Hey boys" you greeted politely. "What can I get for you guys?"

Your gaze met one of theirs and you smiled slightly towards the gaze of the young man, who quickly raised his head flirtatiously. Your skin bristled as you felt a shiver down your back but you pretended to smile towards them as if nothing was wrong.

The group of football players that came every afternoon after practice, some were flirtatious, some were more shy, some were chatty and some were quieter. There was one of them in particular who had tried to get your attention every time they came over but you never let it get to you.

"The usual, Y/n, please" Ferran said with his smile. And you nodded taking note as you remembered their orders.

Even though you knew exactly what they asked for, it was part of your job to ask what they wanted. They usually had the same thing but you knew that sometimes some of them changed their choices.

They had been coming in for coffee for at least five months, almost every afternoon. And even though you thought soccer players couldn't drink coffee, it turned out they could.

Of course you knew who they were. Everyone knew, even if you weren't into that world. The coffee shop was near the Barcelona stadium. Anyone who lived here would know exactly who they were. FC Barcelona and Spanish national team players. You still tried to stay out of the way and just do your job. It wasn't like it mattered much anyway.

"Anything else?" you asked looking around as you noticed some customers calling you.

"Your phone number, linda (beautiful)" one of them mumbled and the others cheered as they heard "linda".

You bit your tongue nonchalantly. You didn't feel flattered, or embarrassed, or special. It was just the opposite.

It was disgusting.

Hector Fort. You knew perfectly well whose voice it was. His name, his reputation, his talent. He had gained a lot of fame these last months with his plays, becoming a great player and all the women in town were dying for him.

But not you.

And he had been trying to flirt with you since the first time he sat at the cafeteria tables with cheesy compliments, little hints, trying to have something from you. But you wouldn't let him.

"In your dreams, honey" you mutter low and their friends again squeak an 'uhhh' mockingly as you turn and walk away from them.

The hour passes as you continue to serve the customers. But you can't fully focus on your work, you're scattered. For some reason that word is going around in your head. It wasn't the first time he had flirted with you but this time he had had some effect on you and you didn't even know why.

But for minutes you found yourself turning your gaze to his table, looking for the author of the word. And every time you looked, he was looking at you.

Haughty, head held high and with a flirtatious smile on his perfect face.

You could even see how his friends were talking to him but he wasn't paying attention to them, you were his attention. He was looking at you like you were the only person in here and it made you shiver.

He had been looking at you for days and you know it because you used to look at him too, although then you ended up looking away to do your job.

It was the first time you were so attracted to a client but you kept pretending he was just another one, because he really was. So, you put the ideas out of your head and went back to your daily tasks.

—Act two.

Another afternoon came and this time you found yourself waiting for the group of boys. You knew they would be here any minute and for some reason you had been longing for them to arrive (or maybe just one).

It had been two days since they had come and you were beginning to feel something strange in your chest. The sound of the door chimed and you turned to greet whoever had come in but were surprised when you saw only Hector enter.

He entered quietly and sat at his table, waiting for your attention. As you greeted the pair of grandparents who were saying goodbye, you grabbed their cups and took them to the wash quickly, you had to go serve customers.

But not just any customer. Hector Fort, who for some reason made you feel nervous.

Your eyes focused on the boy sitting alone as he waited with his arms on the table, sighing and stretching his legs. You swallowed saliva and silently approached the table, wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as your heart raced faster and faster.

Why did you suddenly feel this way? You had served Hector thousands of times before with his friends. You'd been serving clients for six months now, you never got this nervous. It was just your own ideas.

"Good afternoon, what can I get for you?" you asked sounding friendly but hiding the fact that you almost had a mini heart attack.

Hector's amused look rose from the table and watched you in front of him, nervous and almost trembling. A smile appeared on his lips and you could have sworn he enjoyed watching you as your voice trembled.

"Hi, linda" he greeted flirtatiously. "Are you on the menu?" he asked as he gave a quick glance of you.

«Linda» he had used that word again. You couldn't answer his stupid question sarcastically like you used to, because your heart went into overdrive and you froze how stupid.

"Just a black coffee, please" he indicated after a second. You nodded and smiled sideways, watching him.

Why had he come alone this time? You wanted to ask him. Normally all his friends came, it was already like everyday life. He wasn't wearing his typical workout clothes like when he used to come most of the time either, so you guessed that maybe he had come from somewhere else.

He looked particularly handsome today, though. His well shaped jawline shone with his glowing skin, his static curls static, he had a carefree, relaxed look. He made no jokes, no off-hand remarks, apart from the little joke from earlier.

He looked different. More real, more human. It sounded weird but it felt that way.

"What?" he asked with a smile. "Do I have something on my face?"

Oh god. Dear lord.

You'd been staring at him like a crazy person. That must have been awkward. It was. Damn. You shook your head barely and turned, literally running away from Hector. How embarrassing. Your cheeks burned at the thought that you'd been staring at him as if you'd forgotten who he was. You closed your eyes slapping your forehead and the image of the young man came back to your mind. Your stomach churned and you had to sigh for peace in your chest.

—Act three.

You finished delivering the order to a table and sighed, walking to the counter. Gina waited for you and pointed to the group of players laughing among themselves. They were back again.

After the lonely sight of Hector you thought maybe they wouldn't come back but here they were. So as part of your job, it was your turn to serve them again. It was quicker than you thought, you walked over and took the order quickly. Although you tried not to look at him, Hector's stare had been stabbing you the whole time. So you quickly escaped from the table while they continued to watch something and laugh.

You hadn't spoken to Hector since that afternoon. You asked Carla to replace you because you felt bad, but it was a little lie so you wouldn't go back to that table. Now you were watching them all laughing together as Carla poured coffee into the cups.

"Would you give this to Pedro?" she asked with a shy smile and you smiled as you watched her cheeks turn pink.

It was a slice of strawberry cake, one she had made in the morning. She had talked to Pedro the last few days and they had gone out to dinner two nights ago. You nodded and after taking all the things, you approached the table. With a smile, you handed everyone their order and when you got to Pedro, you took the cake.

"I didn't... order this" he mumbled confused.

"On the house" you muttered giving your friend a quick glance. Pedri watched her and his eyes sparkled at the sight of Carla greeting him. His friends mumbled something and some laughed carrying him.

"Only one night in your bed and you already have girls making you desserts" you heard Hector's voice sarcastic towards Pedro, laughing along with his friends who feasted.

"You have to teach me, friend, other girls prefer to play hard to get" he muttered straight to you and some of his friends hid stifled laughter, others just looked at him confused.

Your heart froze. He was talking about you. He said it with some suspicion while pointing his gaze towards you. You idiot. Not only had he just embarrassed you he also said that about your friend, he was calling your friend easy. He was an idiot.

His mocking look confronted you and you wanted to throw your coffee on him but you weren't going to do that. He didn't even deserve your attention, so you kept serving them as if you hadn't heard that. Smiling and holding your posture to show him that he wasn't worth it.

But something inside you resonated.

What had happened to that boy who came here alone the other afternoon? He had behaved well, he hadn't made jokes, he hadn't made fun of the situation. He just sat down, ordered his coffee, paid politely and greeted you on your way out. You thought that maybe something about him was worth admiring, that maybe he wasn't a jerk like they said or he looked like.

But now... now he was back to being the arrogant idiot Hector Fort. How everyone painted him.

Your chest shrank with emptiness. Your fingers trembled as you set his mug down in front of him and you wanted to tip it over again but you didn't.

—Act four.

Several days passed and like every afternoon, the group of boys continued to visit the store. Right now they were laughing while talking and pointing at something. Today it had been your turn to be behind the counter and you were glad at a certain point, you didn't want to go near them. You could see how Carla brought her red cheeks every time she came back from that table, you knew she liked Pedri, a shy and kind young man, who used to apologize for his friends' mess sometimes.

Compared to Hector, Pedro was someone kind and humble, he would never try to go over the top like the other idiot.

Why did he think you would go out with him? You were a simple girl who only worked to live and pay for your studies. You spent most of your time cooped up here or studying, you didn't have a bulky body, you weren't famous, you didn't even like to go out. What made him think he could treat you like you were just another prude? Idiot.

His jokes were constant, about your phone number, about taking you home, about what you were wearing, about anything to say to get your attention. It was unbearable. And normally you were used to dealing with idiot men trying to flirt with you. But Hector was so much more.

"Stop looking at him!" you heard a little shriek from your friend.

You turned your head quickly toward him. Damn. You'd been staring at that idiot again. Like he was going to commit some crime and you'd be the one to stop him, hoping to catch him in the act. You were watching out for your friend. You didn't know what his next move would be and Carla wasn't an object for him to appreciate. But you knew that was a pitiful lie. You were looking at him.

"I wasn't watching" you say nonchalantly as you brewed coffee in the machine and started it up.

"He's asking about you" he mentioned and your heart skipped a beat.

You relamiste your lip ignoring his comment but your body shuddered. You had been hiding behind the machines, in the kitchen, dodging his gaze, trying to go unnoticed. For some reason you were beginning to feel different around him and you wanted to eliminate any kind of empathy you felt for Hector.

He was a casanova. A womanizer. A jerk.

But you were starting to feel things for him. Like that time he flirted about your sweater or when he noticed you'd cut your hair, no one had ever noticed before. How he smiled at you as you set the coffee down in front of him or the time when his fingers caressed yours when he took the cup from your hands to help you. Your world stopped.

Ever since then you couldn't stop thinking about him. About his damn perfect face, his curly hair that you had wanted to stick your fingers in and comb through, about his muscular arms and the tattoo that covered his forearm. You had definitely lost your mind. You couldn't like him.

So since then you had tried to change your place with Carla during the evenings. You didn't even want to see him from afar. You needed to move on and ignore any feelings that grew in you. You were just a simple coffee server. He was all you would ever have.

—Act five.

After a long day in the cafeteria, you had finally finished serving the last customers of the day. Carla and your manager had already gone home and you were finishing up your business.

It had been a quiet afternoon, especially since the football group hadn't shown up today. But you tried not to make a big deal of it.

It was all gone.

Your little feelings for Hector, they were gone. Your mind was now clearer since you had started dating one of your classmates, nothing serious but at least your mind was occupied with something else. You clearly didn't like Hector, you were just a little persuaded by his constant flirting and you were over him.

So you had gone back to work as a waitress, ignoring the guy who was still trying to get close.

You had started to get along better with some of them, Ferran used to come up to the counter when you were there, he would talk to you and Carla. Sometimes they were joined by Alejandro or Pedro, two other nice and attentive guys.

When everything was ready inside, you left the premises and locked it with the key, making sure it was secure. It was late at night and you would change home today, there was nice weather and you weren't too far away, the streets were empty and it wasn't a dangerous area.

"Hey..." someone greeted and your hand shook as you held the lock.

Your body froze and even though your back was turned you knew exactly who it was. You gulped, catching your breath to slowly turn around. Surprised you watched the boy approach with his hands in his pocket and his gaze expectant.

"Oh, hi" you greeted in confusion. "Sorry, we're closed" you indicated pointing to the shop.

"I know, I was expecting that actually" he mentioned and you raised your eyebrows.

Had I been waiting for you to close? What did that mean?

"For what exactly?" you ask confused.

"To walk you home" he replies and your blood freezes. You are speechless.

Had he been waiting for you to close the place so he could take you home? Did he know you were due to close today or was he just passing by? He hadn't come to the coffee shop yesterday, nor today and you guessed it was because in a few days they would be traveling out of the country for an important match, as you had heard from Ferran.

"You don't have to" you say stowing your things in your bag.

"But I want to, if you let me" he takes a step forward and stands close to you. His deep gaze makes you sigh.

"It's not far. Better go home, Hector" you indicate starting to walk down the sidewalk.

You don't want any trouble. You don't want to owe anyone any favors, least of all him. It's not a bad way, you can just walk yourself home.

You sigh when you feel his footsteps behind you, following you. You turn a little and see him walking a few feet behind you, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on you.

You stop. He stops. You start walking again. He walks back. You stop again and he stops again.

Your belly rumbles and you close your eyes as you feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. What is he supposed to do? Follow you home? Doesn't he understand your words? Or maybe he's just trying to protect you? No. He wouldn't do that, he doesn't have to.

Feelings start to well up in your chest and you feel like you're starting to suffocate. Having him around makes you feel like this. You don't want to feel this. You don't want to fall back into his nets.

"What do you want from me, Hector?" you ask tiredly turning around completely.

When your gaze meets yours your barriers fall. You'd been putting yourself in all this time saying you were over him. You had been pretending but you couldn't do it anymore. You liked Hector.

"I just want to walk you home" he murmurs low and slow.

"Why?" you insist. His gaze glows in the darkness like lanterns as he takes several steps towards you.

There is an overwhelming silence and with your gaze you ask him for explanations. Hector scratches the back of his neck nervously and stands up straight.

"Because I like you" he spits without preamble and your body freezes. "Haven't I made that clear enough to you these past few months?"

You shake your head. He's playing with you. You can't like a soccer player, not someone famous and handsome like him. You're a gamble. Surely he and his friends planned it all while you fell for it like a fool.

"No, you just want to play with me" you almost scream exhausted.

"Why do you think that?" he questions confused and takes another step. ""Is it because we are different?"

You deny again and want to turn to continue on your way but he stops you. His hand encircles yours and he spins you around, you fall onto his chest and your hands rest on his muscles as his hands wrap around your waist.

Your heart starts pounding as you notice how close they are, his breath mingles with yours and you swallow a sigh. Your eyes drop down to his mouth and you're dying to touch his lips, full, marked and appetizing. All your skin bristles as you feel his hands on you, you want to touch his face, his skin, his mouth, his neck. You want him to wrap his arms around you, to hold you, to kiss you.

And he does it. And you let him. His lips crash against yours and you merge in a strong and passionate kiss. His lips are warm and tasty and they kiss fleetingly feeling.

Your chest squeezes with mixed feelings that you thought had vanished. But in reality they haven't. As hard as it is for you to admit, you're in love with Hector. But he's not for you. You are not for him.

Your hands rest on his chest and you shoot out of his kiss, moving away from him.

"I can't" an overwhelming sigh leaves your lips. He looks at you confused and tries to get closer but you stop him.

Your head is dizzy and your lips are burning to kiss him again. But you can't.

"Listen to me, please" he tries to say it but you deny it. "I like you, ¿okay? A lot. I want to be with you" He insists on taking a step but you take another step back.

The butterflies in your stomach make you scared. He's not for you. You don't even know him. You can't.

"I don't want to have you around, stay away from my life" you scream with tears in your eyes before you turn and start running in some direction.

Tears fall down your eyes but this is the best thing for you. For both of us.

—Act six.

Since that night you have never been the same. Your feelings for Hector have grown inside you and now every time the door rings you expect him to be the one who enters the cafeteria. But he doesn't.

Hector hasn't come in since that night, especially after you asked him to leave you alone. He really did. He just stopped coming, stopped insisting. Maybe you overreacted that night or were too harsh and now you feel guilty. He took the news of her walking away very seriously and you were starting to feel your heart breaking.

The worst thing is that you yourself had broken your heart. Being afraid to love or at least to accept that someone could love you. That's what you wanted to think, but Hector wasn't someone for you. You didn't deserve him, you were just a girl who works to survive.

You two could never have anything. You didn't even know if you were really something to Hector. Maybe he was just messing with you and you were here losing your mind.

You walk slowly and depressed to his table, as you have been doing for the past two weeks. Your classmates are there, laughing and chatting as usual. But he's not there.

"Hey guys," you greet barely. "What can I get for you?" you repeat listlessly.

The players greet you and make their requests as they always do for almost seven months now. You want to ask about him, you want to know about him. But you don't know how to say it. You don't even know if you have the right to know. But you think you could take the risk.

"Isn't Hector... coming today?" you try to ask without sounding curious. His friends look at you in denial.

"He stopped coming with us" says one of them. "He says he has to do things" he explains.

I don't think he has anything to do. He just doesn't want to come here anymore. And that breaks your heart.

"He was the one who was excited to come before but now he stopped coming" says another laughing. "We actually got to know this place through him and I think it was the best decision to come here."

Your heart breaks into a thousand pieces. You smile, feeling your eyes sting from holding back tears.

"Thanks guys" you can barely say with your voice in a trickle. You turn on your heels weakly and begin to walk away from them.

Your chest burns and you start to feel like crying. You did that. You hurt him. You told him to stay away and now you ruined everything. All because of your fucking fear of loving someone. Someone like him.

Hector Fort, Barcelona player and Spanish national team player. The boy who has inhabited your heart for the last seven months.

The man you're in love with.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

So It Goes...

Gold cage, hostage to my feelings Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Teen. Summary: Today's the day you've been dreading... letting everyone know. Little do you know your day is about get worse... Dieter has to leave. Warnings: pov switching, pining, fluff, comfort, so much inner turmoil for them (don't worry they'll figure it out soon), call back to one of my favorite simpsons episodes, a secret reference to drag race because @devineconjuring is very funny, croissants Words: 3,400

A/N: Help, I've fallen for characters I've written and I can't stop writing out scenarios. If you love Dieter and Golden Girl like me, welcome back. The biggest most grandest thank you to @devineconjuring for being the bestest beta who lets me yell insane typo'd ramblings to her. She gave me the title suggestion and also is so smart and wonderful and excuse me, I have to go wave a flag with her name on it as I march in a parade in her honor. Previous Chapter Masterlist

*** His phone shrills him awake at 8:25. 

ALEX DAVIES CALLING

Shit. 

He gently shuffles out of the bed, instantly missing your touch when he delicately lifts your arm off his chest. He quickly tiptoes out the room and answers the call.

“Alex,” he whispers, eyes focused on the framed wedding photos that hang across the hall from the guest room. 

“Sorry to call so early, Bravo, but Spencer’s decided to go a different way and he’s going to need you for reshoots on Bittersuite. He needs them stat, so your hiatus has been cut short.” 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How short?” He steps closer to the collection of photos, focusing on the photo of you smiling in front of a grand bookcase full of leather books. Your white wedding dress with the delicate threads of golden ivy flourishing across it catches his eye. He had downed drink after drink that night, trying to quiet the thoughts that rattled through his mind. God, he wishes it was him.

“Shooting starts Tuesday… back in London.”

His head hangs down. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Sorry, Bravo. You good to leave tomorrow?”

“I have no other choice,” he grumbles, his eyes focusing on a backlit photo of you laughing and dancing at the reception.

“You don’t. I’ll have Court get your travel and hotel situated. She'll follow up later today. Alright?”

“Alright,” Dieter sighs, his heart breaking at the thought of 7,000 miles separating the two of you and not being here for you. 

Ending the call, he opens his camera and aims it at a candid shot from your wedding. You and him are laughing, your heads thrown back, your arm grabbing his. Warren stands with his arm around you, wearing that same sly smile he always has. Dieter zooms his camera in, cropping Warren out of the picture. Now, it’s just you and him. To a blind eye, it looks like it could be a happy bride and groom on their wedding day. He snaps a pic, feeling somewhat like a criminal, rewriting the narrative of your wedding night in his head as he quietly walks back into the guest room. 

You’re still asleep, splayed across the bed, mouth slightly agape. Your green pajamas have your old initials embroidered on them in golden thread that reminds him of the ivy on your wedding dress.

He gently lays back down. His jeans annoy him, but he didn’t trust himself to sleep in anything besides them. Like a self-imposed denim chastity belt. 

He replays last night–the secret moments, half-spoken confessions, feelings, and declarations swallowed down before they could escape. One day you’ll know. One day he won’t feel like he’s crossing a line. He just wants to do good by you. 

Two days now, he’s woken up next to you, feeling like he’s been in a dream. But everyone eventually wakes up. Reality always returns. 

Today’s the day you open the proverbial door to hell, letting everyone know. Today, he has something to tell you: tomorrow, he leaves for London.

He watches you peacefully sleep, chest steadily rising and falling. You’re the first thing he’s seen when he’s opened his eyes for two mornings now, yet it feels like something he’s done for a lifetime. You’re not his, and yet it feels so right.

You sigh in your sleep. He wonders if you dream of him. Or is it Warren? God, he hopes it’s him. 

He shouldn't feel this way. Your life will soon turn too chaotic, too unknown. 

And yet he can’t ignore the way you looked at him last night, eyes heavy with words left unsaid. He wonders if you truly know how he feels. If you feel the same pull he’s always felt.

He pulls the sheet up over your shoulder with adoration. He wishes he could stay in this bed with you forever, shielding you under his heart and the soft blankets. 

Tomorrow he’ll be far away, on a film set–surrounded by people, lights, and cameras–playing the hero of the story. And none of it will matter. Because you won’t be there with him. Because he can’t protect you. Because he won’t wake up next to you, feeling the warmth of your body next to his. Because he won’t be able to get lost in this temporary illusion of him being the one who holds you and loves you. 

He could wake you up and tell you everything. Confess all the feelings he’s felt for all these years, risk it all, take a chance, and gamble with his heart. But he can’t. He’ll continue to toe that line for as long as he can, too terrified of losing you. He’ll take his unspoken words with him across the ocean and time zones. Where they can’t hurt you. 

The morning sun shines through the sheer curtains, backlighting you, casting you in a rich golden glow. For now, he’ll stay here, laying beside you. Pretending you're his golden girl for a little longer.

–

Your phone alarm rings, jolting you awake. Your head is pounding. The bed is empty, but you swear you remember placing your head on Dieter’s warm chest in your drunken haze and being lulled to sleep by the tranquil rise and fall of his chest. You try to rub the sleep out of your groggy eyes, letting out a large yawn. God, you drank a lot last night. Speaking of last night–the realization wallops you upside your already aching head–the song confession to Dieter, the way his eyes rounded in sadness, how close he held you against him. The press of his lips against your forehead when he wished you sweet dreams. The feel of his arm wrapped around your body, pulling you deeper against him. 

Another realization hits. You have to let people know today because, once they know, you can begin to move on. God, you don’t even want to think of the prospect of telling everyone. What will you say? Hey, it’s me, Warren left me for someone else, but it’s okay. I was kind of miserable in the marriage as it stood. Anyway, see you around!

You shake the thoughts out of your head. First thing first, find Dieter, then get some sustenance in your stomach and some Advil for your head. 

“Dieter?” you call out as you get out of bed.

No answer. 

You walk down the hall, and the house is quiet. 

“Dee?” you shout as you head down the stairs. 

Nothing.

Did your feelings offend him? Did your drunken confessions spook him? 

The only sign he was here is that the records are cleaned up, no longer strewn across the floor. No note left, nothing. There’s no way he’d do this to you… right? God, what did you tell him last night? You feel like a fool. Not even 48 hours after your husband walked out and you’re trying to confess your love to someone else… let alone his best friend. 

Why does this hurt more than your marriage ending? 

Flopping against the couch, you feel ridiculous at how sad you are over Dieter leaving you like this. You feel the trail of a lone tear as it falls down your cheek. You knew today was going to be awful. You just didn’t think it would be this ba–

The doorknob jingles open, and Dieter walks in with a white bag and a tray of coffee.

You can’t hide the smile that spreads wide across your face when you turn and see him. 

“Dee,” you whisper.

“Hey, Sweets,” he sends you a lopsided smile. “Was hoping I’d be back before you woke up. I got you your favorite.”

"You're the best, Dee," you say, gratefully accepting the coffee.

You can’t even recall the last time you told him what your favorite food was. Something as simple as breakfast is making your heart race in the middle of your living room. “You didn’t have to…”

“Of course I did,” he interrupts, walking over and setting the bag on the coffee table. “You need food, and I need…” He trails off, his eyes staying on you for just a second too long before he looks away. His voice softens. “...I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly. “I am.” 

He sits down next to you, tenseness radiating from his body and the way he moves. He clears his throat, nervously raking his hand through his hair. 

You take a drink of coffee. Of course he ordered it the way you like it. “What’s on your mind?” you ask tenderly, turning to him. 

He looks up at you, and for a quick moment, you think he might tell you everything you want to know… but then he looks away and leans back, rubbing his face with both hands.

“I–uh,” he starts, then stops. His voice cracks. “I have to leave tomorrow.”

A bomb. Dropped in the middle of your living room. 

Your heart sinks. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He whispers, as if saying it out loud will make it even more real than it already is. “Spencer wants me back for reshoots. London. I leave first thing tomorrow.” 

Your stomach twists, the thought of him being thousands of miles away hitting you harder than you expected. You haven’t even begun to process the end of your marriage, and now the one person who has held you together is about to leave.

“Oh.” It’s the only word you can manage. 

His brown eyes watch you, his brows furrowed as he tries to figure out your reaction.

“Look, I-I wish I could stay here and not g–”

“No, I know. You have to.” Your voice cracks. “I’m sorry, I’ll be okay. You can’t just stay because…” Your words trail off as they reach your mouth, dying in your throat.

Because you have to lie. Because you do need him. Because you know you can’t do this without him.

His jaw clenches. His eyes flash through something akin to anger, sadness, and frustration. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” His voice is so fragile, like he knows just how much this is going to break you. 

“Last night… What I said… Did I–?”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he interrupts, his voice soft but firm. “You didn’t.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists as if holding himself back from saying more. He stands and paces the room like he’s trying to burn off the nervous energy buzzing within him.

“I told you I’d be here for you, Sweets, and now, I can’t.” He stops and turns to you. “I can’t be what you need right now. Not like this.” 

Your heart breaks a little more at his words. You want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s exactly what you need. But you don’t. You just nod, because you think he might just be right. 

He moves closer, standing just inches away, his eyes searching yours for something. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but you want to give it to him.

“Dieter,” you say, your voice barely audible as a tear slips down your cheek. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to either,” he says softly. He steels himself with a deep breath. “But I have to.”

“Can we just have breakfast together still?” Your voice sounds so infantile and desperate. Another tear falls.

He kneels in front of you, wiping your tears with his thumb. “Of course,” he says, giving you the smile you’re going to miss. 

—

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a croissant, flakes scattering like confetti around you. This is undoubtedly the saddest party he’s ever been to. He smiles at you, and you return it, but the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He feels like a fuck up again. He feels sick to his stomach, his appetite waning as he studies you.

“How’s your head?” he asks softly.

You glance down at your cup, swirling the coffee absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze. “No complaints yet,” you reply with a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood. 

Dieter laughs at the joke, but he knows you’re upset. Hell, he is too.

“You should have seen the line at the café,” he says, trying to distract you. “A guy recognized me and let me cut the line, so I got the last croissants of the morning. Sometimes this whole acting thing works out.”

You let out a weak laugh, but it’s barely a whisper against the silence that envelops you both. He wants to reach for your hand, to bridge that gap now clinging between you like a thick fog. “I’m glad I went, though,” he adds. “You deserve a good breakfast after last night.”

“Yeah, last night…” Your voice trails off.

His heart sinks at the way your words are left hanging in the air, raw and unspooled. It hurts to see you so distant. The croissant feels heavy in his hands. He places it on the table with a sigh.

“Look,” he starts, trying to steady his voice. “I-I hate this, Sweets. You nee—I told you I would be there for you, and now, I’m going to fail yo—”

“No, Dee. God, I’m sorry,” you turn to him, your eyes rounded with guilt. It breaks his heart to even look at you, sitting vulnerable next to him, still in your cute little pajamas.

“I didn’t mean to put you in this position.” Your voice trembles. “I just… everything is so overwhelming right now. I’m still trying to process all of it.”

He nods, his chest tightening with every word you speak. “It’s okay,” he reassures. The words feel hollow coming out of his mouth. He knows it’s not. He knows he’s lying. “You’re allowed to feel everything. I just…I want to help you, not make it worse.”

“I know you do,” you say softly. “That’s why it’s so hard.”

“Hard?”

You look away, fiddling with the edge of your pajama top. “Dee, it’s hard… because… I’m scared of what this means for us. For me.” You breathe in deeply. “Warren left me–no notice, no explanation. And now… here I am, sitting with you, and last night I–I–the song, you know. It feels like I’m just rushing into something I don’t understand, and now you’re leaving… for… so long, and I feel…you–you’re so important to me, and you’re–you–”

He interrupts gently, “You don’t have to say anything more if you’re not ready.” He can’t hear this now. He can’t. He stayed up holding you last night, thinking of that song and the lyrics. Eyes like sinking shipsOn waters so invitingI almost jump in

You nod, returning to your croissant. The bite you take of the flaky pastry echoes in the shared silence that hangs heavily in your living room. He wants to pull you close and hold you, but the fear and the quickly approaching deadline of his inevitable trip keep him at bay.

“What are you going to tell everyone?” he asks quietly. His shoulders hurt from the stress of holding everything back; he tries to loosen them. He feels like he’s letting you down with every word he speaks.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I’ll just… tell everyone the truth.”

You’re so brave. He swallows hard. Warren’s ruined your life, and now he feels as if he’s done something wrong too.

“Well, you’ve already told me, so there’s one person down,” he offers with a slight smile.

You laugh, and his heart soars, reminding him of the plane he’ll soon be on, traveling far away from you. Why can’t his brain just allow him one victory?

“I guess I’ll start with the important people and work my way down the list,” you shrug.

“Sounds like a plan, Sweets.”

“God, I am not looking forward to it,” you sigh, dusting off the crumbs that had fallen from your now-finished croissant.

He watches you with a mixture of admiration and concern. Your shoulders slump, pressed down from the weight of your own thoughts. His heart aches for you and all of the vulnerability you’ve shown him.

“Come here,” he finally whispers, leaning back on the couch. You hesitate for only a moment before sliding closer. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you in. His heart skips a beat when you lean against him, resting your head against his chest. This is all he’s ever wanted.

“Cartoons?” you ask, your voice already relaxed.

“Cartoons,” he nods, grabbing the remote. Now, this is all he’s ever wanted.

—-

The clock ticks above the television screen. Dieter has to leave your house by 3 to pack and get ready to go. You almost ask if you can accompany him, but you stay silent. You have too much to take care of today. Your family doesn’t even know yet. The sooner everyone knows, the sooner you can begin to heal.

It’s 2:45 now. Fifteen minutes left. You cuddle closer to him, relishing the feel of his soft shirt. He chuckles at Homer Simpson ordering a crab juice, and a small smile edges your lips. For a moment, you feel happy. You hum a peaceful sigh, feeling his strong arm wrap around you even tighter. His lips ghost the top of your hair as he takes in your scent with a deep breath.

The clock insidiously continues to tick. You wish it could just stop. That time could suspend itself here in your living room. But it won’t, and it doesn’t.

The Simpsons episode ends. Dieter reluctantly extracts his arm from around you. “I—need to get go—”

“I know,” you say.

He stands, the space between you widening, a chasm filled with unsaid words and feelings not realized. You watch him move, already mourning the warmth of his company as he slowly begins to grab his belongings. The sun filters through the windows, lighting your house in a bright glow, but all you feel is the darkness of your and Dieter’s impending separation.

You reluctantly rise from the couch, feeling foolish in your pajamas as he puts his sunglasses on and grabs his keys.

“Well,” he softly says, reaching for the door. “I should get… going.”

“Yeah,” you reply, trying not to sound as sad as you feel.

“You know, I’ll be back before you know it,” he offers, though the words feel like a fragile promise.

“I know,” you say, stepping towards him, bridging the distance between the two of you.

“And I’m always just a call or text away,” he says, his hand cupping your chin. “Take care of yourself, Sweets.”

“I will,” you whisper. “You too, Dee.”

You lean forward to kiss him. Just as your lips are about to meet his, he slightly turns his head, your kiss landing softly at the corner of his mouth. A bit of hesitation lingers between you, and a flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks as you pull back. He offers you a shy, sweet smile before he turns away and walks out the door. 

Why did you lean in? You feel like a fool.

He walks down your front path and unlocks his car, and with one last solemn nod toward you, he gets in. You can’t watch him drive away. You shut the door. 

Now it’s only you in your cold house, alone. You head to your kitchen and grab a bottle of wine and a wine glass.

It’s a pajamas and wine day today.

You pour yourself a glass and settle on the couch. It’s time to move on. It’s time to take care of yourself. You’ve got this. 

You spend a long time on the phone with your parents, reassuring them that you are okay and will be fine. Exhausted, you switch to Turner Classic Movies and find a marathon of war films. Oh good, nothing with love, please. You begin to write the list of everyone who needs to know as William Holden tries to escape a POW prison camp.

Dieter’s text tone dings from your phone. Two texts. Your heart pounds against your chest when you read them.

Hey, sorry about earlier. I just knew if I kissed you…. I wouldn’t stop

[scary-grace]

if my heart was a house - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

It's been nineteen years since Tomura was sentenced to death, and you've built a life in the space he left behind, braced each day for the worst. You're prepared for everything - the questions your daughter asks, the memories that sting a little more in the winter, the specter of the news you've been afraid of for years. But of all the things life's thrown your way, it's the one you haven't dared to hope for might be the one thing you can't handle. (cross-posted to Ao3) written for @pixelcafe-network's Challenge Friday event! Banner/divider by @cafekitsune

You know even before you open your eyes that it’s snowed overnight. The world always sounds too quiet afterwards, and you used to have so many words to describe it – almost comforting, almost eerie, almost serene. But that was when you were young. Now you’d replace all those words with a different one: Empty. You used to love the winter, the first snowfall of the year, and you still do. But it always reminds you of him. And he’s gone.

He’s been gone for years now. The length of time you spent with him has been swallowed six times over by the time you’ve spent alone, and you’d like to think that even in the beginning, you wore your sadness well. Now, nineteen years in, it barely shows. You keep it buried through spring, summer, autumn – until the first frost, the first freezing rain, the first icicles on the eaves and the first drifts of snow on the ground, when it crawls free of the grave and sprawls on top of you at night. You met Tomura in the winter. Fell in love with him by spring. You got two more winters with him after that, and then he was gone, and nothing can fill the space he left behind.

But even if one chamber of your heart is frozen open for good, the rest is still alive. And there’s room for a different kind of love, a way for you to translate your grief rather than buckle beneath its weight. There’s a knock at the door to your room, and your daughter’s voice slips cautiously in. “Mom? Are you awake?”

“I’m awake,” you say, and you blink away the tears. “Come in.”

Even at eighteen, Chihiro still hesitates before she steps across the threshold, but once she’s made the choice, she throws herself onto the bed with abandon. “We got half a meter. That’s even more than the forecast said.”

“And we’ve still got power. Lucky us.” You wipe your eyes, just in case, and turn to face her. “Good morning, kiddo.”

“How long do I have to be kiddo? I’m almost done with high school.”

“Okay, you’re right,” you compromise, even as your throat tightens. She’s never met her father, never will, but the tone in her voice when she’s putting her foot down reminds you painfully of him. “What should I call you instead?”

“My name. You’re the one who picked it out.” Chihiro’s dressed in her pajamas with a hoodie thrown over them, and you can see her phone lighting up through the front pocket. “Don’t you like it anymore?”

“I love it,” you say, “Chihiro. Did you sleep okay?”

She nods. There’s something on her mind. You can tell by the way her brow furrows, and the way her mouth thins tells you that she’s planning to keep it quiet. Or that she’ll try. Chihiro has a hard time keeping her feelings inside. She and Tomura have that in common, but while you always gave Tomura space to figure out how to say what he needed to, you always let Chihiro know you’re aware, and listening. “What’s going on up there, Chihiro, my daughter who’s almost done with high school?”

She rolls her eyes, but a smile is pulling up the corner of her mouth. Her smile’s always been a little lopsided, but so has yours. “There’s only one morning of the year you ever sleep in,” she says. “The first time it snows. And then you’re different all day – not mad or depressed or anything. Just different. I was wondering why.”

“I’m sorry,” you say at once. “I’m not upset with you. It’s not anything you did. You could never do anything that would –”

“I know, Mom.” Chihiro’s crimson eyes are intent on your face. “It’s one day. You get to be weird if you need to. I just wanted to know – is it because of him? My dad?”

When she was little, you’d lie, and tell her the snow is so pretty that you can’t help but get emotional about it. There was a while where she didn’t ask. But she’s old enough now that you can admit it. You think. “Yeah,” you say. Your voice is steady. You’re proud of that. “This is around the time of year when I first met him. It brings back memories.”

“Good ones?” Chihiro settles into the pillows the way she used to when she wanted a bedtime story. “Tell me.”

You hesitate. “Not the gross stuff,” Chihiro clarifies. “I don’t want to know about that. Kaori’s mom tells her all about that stuff. And she bought her a vibrator for her birthday.”

“Huh,” you say after a second. “That’s sex-positive of her.”

“You’re being nice. What do you really think?”

You think she reminds you of Tomura. He never let you duck behind the niceties; he always wanted to know your real reaction. “I think it’s weird. Especially if Kaori didn’t ask.”

“She definitely didn’t. She’s really shy.” Chihiro grimaces. “I’m glad you’re not weird like that.”

Not weird is a good thing. Maybe. “You know I’m here if you need to talk about –”

“No, Mom. Gross.” Chihiro buries her face in the pillow. “Tell me about my dad.”

“Okay,” you say. “Your dad. He, um – there was something about him. I never met someone like him before, and I haven’t since. He told the truth about stuff, even if it wasn’t pretty, and he said what he thought even if it was a bad time. One time we went on a double date with one of his friends and their new boyfriend, and the first question out of your dad’s mouth was whether the boyfriend had drawn his facial hair on.”

Chihiro wheezes. “That’s awful,” she says, but she’s laughing – just like you were. “Had he, though?”

“We never got an answer,” you say, and Chihiro laughs harder. “Your dad could be a jackass sometimes, even to people he liked, but when it really mattered, he’d –”

Kill for them. You swallow the words. “He was there for people when they needed him,” you say instead. “He was always there for me. Even if he didn’t know the right thing to say, I could count on him to listen. And he never gave me a hard time for standing up for myself. Not even when we argued about things.”

You were sort of a pushover early on. You were worried that saying no would make you difficult, and being difficult would make him want to leave. It wasn’t how you were most of the time, or how you’d been before you and Tomura got together, and he wasn’t scared to call you out. You remember the grin on his face the first time you really put your foot down about something, set a boundary and held it. I knew you were in there somewhere, he said. This is how I like you.

That was something you loved about being with Tomura: You were good for each other. You made each other better. “It sounds like you were happy,” Chihiro ventures, and you nod. “Do you think you’d have gotten married sometime? Did you guys want kids?”

Married, maybe. Your friends and his all used to joke that the two of you were the old married couple of the group, but while you talked about the future, you almost never talked about marriage to go with it. Not until it was almost the end, and you never made it to the discussion, any discussion, about having kids. Your pregnancy was catastrophic because of what happened before it, but even if it hadn’t been, it would have raised a lot of questions that neither you nor Tomura knew how to answer. “We were really young,” you say. “I was only twenty-two. We hadn’t had that talk yet. But I think we’d have talked about it if –”

“Yeah.” Chihiro’s voice is muffled by the pillows. “Did he know about me? Before he died?”

Your stomach clenches in a tight, guilty cramp, one that’s been getting steadily worse over the years. “I didn’t find out until after he was gone.”

“Oh.” Chihiro’s voice goes small and wavering. “Do you think – um – do you think he would have liked me?”

There’s no way to know. That means what you say next isn’t technically a lie. “He would have loved you,” you say. Her shoulders shake, and you rest your hand on her back to settle her, the same as you’ve done since she was a baby. “Just like I do.”

Chihiro turns her head to look at you, her eyes glassy with tears. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” You rub her back in slow circles. “Ask about him whenever you want. I’ll always try to answer.”

“Do you miss him?”

Other than your daughter’s ragged breathing and your own steady, shallow sips of air, there’s no sound in the world. When you open up the blinds, you’ll see an empty snowfield, unmarked by human footprints for a little while longer. Footprints in the snow will be filled in by the next storm or melted away in the thaw, but the marks Tomura left on you are indelible. There will never be room for someone else where he stood, because he’s still standing there, somewhere you can’t reach.

Sometimes you’ve thought, selfishly, that it would be easier if he really was dead, just so you wouldn’t have to cope with knowing that he’s still out there, knowing exactly where he is with no way to get to him. You’ve let Chihiro think he’s dead. You tell yourself it’s easier for her this way. It’s better that she doesn’t know what really happened to Tomura. The fact that you know is bad enough.

“Mom?” Chihiro asks, and you realize you never answered her question. “Do you still miss my dad?”

You still love him. That’s the same thing. “I do,” you say. “Every day.”

Chihiro cries herself out, and then it’s time to get moving. Her school has a late start, not a snow day, and you still have to go to work. You make a special breakfast anyway, play the music you and she used to dance to when she was little, and soon your daughter’s smiling again. Chihiro doesn’t have trouble being happy, not like you and Tomura both did. Still do, probably. Your depression was just that, but the sheer weight of Tomura’s past regularly threatened to crush him, and you doubt the nineteen years he’s already spent in prison have done anything to improve things.

But Chihiro knows how to be happy, and you know, because she tells you when she’s not. You’re not naive enough to think your teenager tells you everything, but she knows she can talk to you. And she does talk to you, getting steadily back to herself as you eat breakfast and clean up and get ready, her for school, you for work. Then the two of you crunch your way to the car and start digging it out of the snow. The snowplows must have been out last night and early this morning, because the road doesn’t have much in the way of accumulation. You’ll have to be careful of ice.

You’re both a little sweaty under your winter coats when you get in the car at last. “I’m already gross,” Chihiro complains. “Why can’t we get a garage or something?”

“Where would we put it?”

“In your room,” Chihiro says. You snort. “Or in mine. Since I’m going to uni soon.”

Your heart sinks whenever she says that, but you’ll be damned before you let it show. “You’ll still need somewhere to stay when you come back,” you say. “Maybe we don’t really need a kitchen.”

Chihiro rolls her eyes. “What? You’re not planning to turn my room into, like, a sewing room or something once I go to school?”

"No," you say. "My parents did that when I went away. I hated it."

Looking back, you took it way too personally. They weren’t saying they were done with you, or that the place you’d grown up wasn’t home anymore. You were just hurting, and looking desperately for a reason why. Coming back on school break to find your room cleaned out was a good one. “I’m not going to do that,” you say to Chihiro.“Even when you live somewhere else, you’ll always have a place with me.”

Chihiro glances sideways at you. “Kaori’s mom is freaking about her moving away.”

“Kaori’s mom freaks out a lot,” you say. You and she should have bonded, because you’re the only single moms in this small town, but Kaori’s mom makes you nervous. “How does Kaori feel about it?”

“Her mom will be fine. She’s not worried.” Chihiro pauses for a long moment. “I am, though.”

Your grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckled. “About Kaori’s mom?”

“About you,” Chihiro says. You reach a stop sign, come to a full stop, and turn to look at her. There’s a stubborn set to her jaw that’s all too familiar. “Kaori’s mom is crazy. But Kaori’s mom has a life. She goes out some nights and her friends come to visit and she has parties and hobbies —“

“I have hobbies,” you protest.

“Yeah. Your hobby means you hang out in the house all day,” Chihiro says. “You can't carry your sewing machine and all your fabric to a craft party. Maybe if you learned to knit or something —“

“I’m not going to knit.”

“Something,” Chihiro says firmly. “Something that means you’re not alone all the time. I’m excited to go to uni. I’m worried about what’s going to happen to you when I leave.”

You’ve fucked up, big-time. “Chihiro, I understand why you —“ No, you don’t. All you understand is that you were stupid to think your damage didn’t show, awful for making Chihiro think she has any responsibility for your mess of an internal life at all. “It’s not your job to make sure I’m okay. I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not about taking care of yourself,” Chihiro fires back. “It’s about being happy. You want me to be happy, right?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I love you.”

“I love you, Mom.” Chihiro says it bluntly, unashamedly. “So I want you to be happy, too.”

You don’t know what to say. It’s quiet, and it keeps being quiet, until a car pulls up behind you and honks its horn. You refocus on driving in a hurry. With you distracted, Chihiro pushes the point. “You barely even talk to people, Mom. Kaori’s mom thinks you hate her because you never say yes when she asks to hang out.”

“I don’t hate her,” you say. Chihiro’s skeptical look skewers you to the seat. “Look, she’s just not — it’s complicated.”

“No it’s not,” Chihiro says. “Next time she asks to hang out, say yes.”

No. “What if I sign up for an art class at the community center instead?”

“Do that, too,” Chihiro says. You grimace. “You want me to be happy. I’ll be happy if I know you’re talking to other people and doing stuff that’s not in the house. I don’t want to come back on a school break and find out you’ve only been talking to the trees or something.”

She pauses. “I guess you can talk to them a little. As long as you don’t start thinking they talk back.”

“Got it.”

You drop Chihiro off at school less than a minute before the bell rings, but she still makes you get out of the car and hug her. She hugs really tight. She got that from you. Tomura used to complain jokingly that you were a boa constrictor in a girlfriend suit. You kiss her forehead and send her on her way, then get back in the car and drive to work, feeling even worse than you did when you opened your eyes to a snowy silence this morning.

Chihiro’s wrong about Kaori’s mom. It is complicated — not because you hate her, but because she’s the nosiest person in town, and because you’ve got a lot to hide. You didn’t mean to have a lot to hide. It was just something that happened, and as the years since Tomura’s conviction have unfolded, you’ve gotten steadily more attached to the lie. It’s not about you. It’s about Chihiro, who shouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that her father’s a convicted murderer awaiting execution in supermax prison, who shouldn’t have to deal with people looking at her differently. It’s about Chihiro. It’s not about you.

Or so you tell yourself. But there’s a reason you fled from Tokyo in the aftermath of Tomura’s sentencing, why you cut off contact with his friends and yours, why you dyed your hair and changed your phone number and nuked your social media along with every email address you ever had. People hated Tomura. And because you were with him, they hated you, too. It didn’t matter that you knew nothing. That the murders he was accused of committing took place before you met him. Even if you’d dumped him the second he was arrested, you’d have been called stupid for not seeing it all along. You couldn’t hack it. You were headed for a breakdown at high speed. But you would have stayed, if Tomura hadn’t told you to go.

The last time you spoke to him was after his sentencing, as they were taking him away. You seized his hands, already cuffed, his wrists chafed raw, and for a split second, he held on so tightly that one of your fingers broke. Then he looked up, hopeless fury in his eyes. Get out of here. Don’t come back. I don’t want you to watch.

You thought he meant he didn’t want you to watch him being shoved into an armored truck for transport, but when your letters came back unopened, when he refused to let you visit or even call him, you realized the truth. He wanted you gone, just as completely as he was gone from you. That moment in the courtroom was the last one you’d ever have with him. And that was what tripped the breakdown at last. You were throwing up too much to overdose and you were too chicken to try another way, so you went to the doctor to figure it out so you could kill yourself with your chosen method. You just wanted anti-nausea pills. The doctor did bloodwork, made you give a urine sample, and gave you a diagnosis.

“Hyperemesis gravidarum,” he said, and you looked at him blankly. “You’re pregnant.”

He expected you to get an abortion. Everybody and their mother probably expected you to get an abortion. If Tomura had been there, if your accidental pregnancy had been something the two of you were dealing with together, it probably wouldn’t have even been a question. And for any other pregnancy, it would have been the only viable option in your mind. But when you thought about it, about this pregnancy, your mind rejected the idea so violently that you threw up again. You couldn’t get rid of this baby. You needed it. Looking back, you know your reasons were terrible. You had a kid so you wouldn’t be alone. So you’d keep some memory of Tomura close to you always. So you’d have a reason to keep getting up in the morning, a reason to eat and sleep and exercise, a reason to find a new job in your new town and work hard at it. So someone would need you. So you could do something with your agony at losing Tomura, grab it with both hands and twist it back into love. Deciding to have the baby was the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. And raising Chihiro, loving her, is the most important thing you’ll ever do.

She’s right about you. You do live for her. And if that means signing up for a pottery class at the community center and agreeing to grab tea with Kaori’s crazy mom so she won’t worry, that’s what you’ll do.

You work in the combined billing/records/HR department at your town’s medical clinic, with occasional ventures to the front desk when a receptionist is out sick. You spend a lot of time staring at the computer, a lot of time on the phone, and very little time talking to your coworkers — but you’ve been here for seventeen years, longer than almost anyone else. You were working here before some of your coworkers were out of primary school.

Dr. Kawada is your age, though. He greets you as you walk in. “Glad you made it. Anybody who lives past the town limits is staying home.”

“They should. The roads are terrible even with the plows out.” You hang up your coat, then sit down and power up your computer. “How many patients do you think we’ll get?”

“We have a ton of cancelations already,” Keiko, the nurse-practitioner, reports. She would be the one to make it in — Kawada would crawl here with his teeth if he had to, and she’s his wife, so of course she tagged along. “And there was a call for you, bright and early.”

“For billing? Somebody must have been losing sleep.”

“Not for billing. For you,” Keiko admonishes. “I forwarded it to your phone. It seemed kind of urgent.”

You log into your computer, then decide to check the message while you’re waiting for it to perk up. The voice on the other end of the line is completely unfamiliar. “Hi there. My name is Midoriya Izuku, and I’m a lawyer with the —" There’s a really loud sound on the other end of the line, completely obliterating whatever he was about to tell you about the organization he’s part of. “Due to confidentiality I can’t share much over the phone, but it’s really important that I get in touch with you! Please call me back to arrange a meeting —“

You hang up and delete the message. You don’t like lawyers, and this guy sounds like he has prosecutor written all over him. Or else he’s a reporter lying to you about his credentials to trick you into giving him a quote. The twenty-year anniversary of Tomura’s conviction is coming up, and there were articles at the ten-year mark, too. You’re more concerned about how this Midoriya Izuku got your number in the first place. You’re not easy to find. You made yourself tough to find on purpose.

It’s a quiet day at the office. Almost all the appointments are canceled, which means that the walk-ins get seen almost immediately, and you have time to start on your end-of-the-year reports. And time to talk, because Keiko and Dr. Kawada are in talkative moods, and you’re the best and only target. “How’s Chihiro?” Keiko asks. “Has she picked a school?”

“Not yet. Still weighing her options,” you say. And then, because you’re tired: “She’s worried about what will happen to me once she leaves.”

“Tell her not to worry. We’ll take care of you!” Dr. Kawada says with a grin. “What’s she worried about, anyway? You seem fine.”

“I am fine. But I’m signing up for an art class so she’ll stop worrying that I’m going to wither away alone,” you say. Dr. Kawada snorts. “How I’m doing isn’t her responsibility. She didn’t ask to be born and I didn’t have her so she could take care of me.”

“Nobody thinks that,” Keiko says. She gives you a weird look, but then she changes the subject. “Hey, but even once she moves out, you don’t have to be alone! Me and Shogo know lots of people we want to set you up with!”

You’re pretty sure your face goes dead white. “What?”

“I mean, I know you haven’t been seeing anyone since you moved here —"

“Because it’s not about me anymore. It’s about Chihiro.”

“Yeah, but if it’s about Chihiro, shouldn’t you want her not to worry?” Kawada’s not helping. You feel like you might be sick. “I moved here right around when you did and I’ve never seen you date anybody. Things must have gone down real bad with your ex —"

“Shogo!” Keiko swats him, mortified, then looks at you. “Sorry. He should know better.”

“Chihiro’s dad isn’t my ex,” you say. “He’s — gone.”

It’s the same trick you’ve been pulling on Chihiro since she was old enough to ask, and it works on adults, too. Kawada backs off, chagrined. “Sorry,” he says. There’s an awkward silence. “I’ve known you for seventeen years. How did I miss that?”

“I don’t like to talk about it.” You don’t even like thinking about Tomura, but every winter, it’s unavoidable. Every winter the sadness curls up around you, and although time is supposed to heal things, it’s never gotten any easier to throw off come spring. “I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”

“Yeah,” Keiko agrees. Her eyes are sad. “Still. Tell Chihiro not to worry. We’ll keep an eye on you.”

You force a smile, force your eyes to brighten. “Thank you.”

It’s the clinic’s slowest day in a while, and you spend a lot of it screwing around on the computer. You sign up for an art class, one that meets the same night as Chihiro’s choir practice, so you can pick her up on the way home. You google therapists, too — maybe she’ll feel better if she knows you have one. And maybe you need one. Chihiro’s your daughter, the most important person in the world, the one you’d sacrifice everything to care for. Caring for her takes up most of your thoughts, distracts you from the pain of losing Tomura. Once Chihiro goes away for school, there won’t be anything left to keep your sadness at bay.

Tomura’s been on death row for nineteen years. They could execute him at any time, and you’d never know until his name was released by the government. During his trial, when you realized the death penalty was on the table, you looked up how it would happen. It still haunts you sometimes. You don’t want to think of Tomura with his neck broken, his eyes open and staring, dying with feet chained together and his hands bound behind his back. You want to remember him before it all went wrong. Back when you still believed he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

You met him at university, on a day when the campus was iced over. Your on-campus job started early, which meant you had to make your way to the library on paths that wouldn’t be de-iced for another hour. Tomura had an early class. He was headed the opposite way from you, and you were both so focused on not slipping and falling that you walked headlong into each other and fell on your asses anyway.

Your backpack slid from your shoulders, and the papers Tomura was carrying scattered across the path. Fuck, Tomura said, with feeling, and you laughed. What’s so funny? You fell down, too.

I know, but — An image popped into your head and set you off all over again. We look like we’re in a cartoon. Except without the stars and planets around our heads.

No stars and planets? I want a refund, Tomura said, and cracked a smile that opened up a split in his lower lip. Damn it —

Here. You retrieved your fallen backpack and a packet of tissues, then started gathering the papers Tomura had dropped. Sorry. It looked like you were in a hurry to go somewhere.

Comp-Sci building. I’m never signing up for a 7am again. Tomura’s phone buzzed, and he yanked it out of his pocket. And now it’s canceled. Motherfucker. I have to walk all the way back —

Maybe not all the way, you said, and he looked at you. I work at the library. It’s definitely open. You can hang out there until they get the paths salted.

Tomura looked at you, the tissue still pressed to his bloody lip. You didn’t know his name yet, didn’t know anything about him, but there was something you liked about his face. Something you liked about how he still got in on your joke, even though he was pissed about the fall. Something about the fact that he hadn’t gotten up yet, even though you’d gathered all his papers and were holding them out for him to take. I’ll level with you, he said after a second. I’ve never been to the library.

I get that a lot, you said, and you stood up. The plan was to hold out your hand to help him up, but you moved too fast, and your feet slid out from under you again. You managed to hang on to Tomura’s papers, but you went down hard. Fuck!

Tomura didn’t ask if you were okay. He just lifted the papers out of your hands, set them aside, and helped you sit up with hands that shook ever so slightly. I’m surprised you swore, he said, and you raised an eyebrow. You look like the type who says fiddlesticks instead.

Fuck off, you said, and he laughed. Making him laugh felt like an achievement, one you were proud to win. Looking back, that was when you knew you were in trouble. Maybe we should just crawl to the library.

It’s cold. Walking’s faster. Tomura got shakily to his knees, then his feet, and you copied him. I bet we can make it.

He stumbled twice on the way there, and you stumbled once, but neither of you fell again. You were leaning on each other to balance, more contact than you ever made with guys you weren’t dating, and nothing about it felt tense or awkward. It was just the only thing that made sense to do.

And that’s how everything was with Tomura. It just made sense, and you were so happy — and you think Tomura was, too. You fought sometimes, sure, but everyone does. Sometimes you didn’t know the right thing to say, but neither did he. He had a rough past, and you didn’t push him to talk about it. You just let him share what he wanted to, when he wanted to, and towards the end you had something close to the whole picture. It just didn’t have the murders in it.

No. You don’t want to think about this. You know what you believe about this, and going in a circle won’t help solve anything. You decide to redirect your feelings of frustration by looking up the lawyer who called you. Sure enough, he’s a prosecutor— or he was. Looking at the profile on his law firm’s website, you’re not sure what he does. He was in the news a year or so ago. Some case involving the yakuza.

The bell rings, and since Keiko’s on break and the receptionist got snowed in, you hurry up to the front to check the new patient in. It’s a good distraction. It helps to stay busy. When you’re busy, you don’t have to think about any of it — not Tomura, not the fact that he’s gone, not the fact that your daughter is leaving soon, too. And you don’t have to think about how it won’t be long before all your distractions run out.

[scar-lie]

DNA Pt. 2 {Scarlett}

Summary : Scarlett finally found out you're her daughter

Pairing : Mom! Scarlett Johansson x Daughter!Reader

Warning : curse word, bad memory, anxiety, cutting, blood

Word count : 2,029

NO one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

DNA Pt. 1

Cherrylemontober

"Oh, that feels good,” Scarlett sighs in relief, relaxing every muscle when one of the employees decides to give her a massage after a long hour of working doing stunts, running, and just a never-ending shoot.

“Tired huh? "Scarlett chuckled when Alice—one of the workers on the project—commented, moving her hands from shoulder up to massage her head.

“Yeah, oh god, that's the spot... That's been aching for days now,” Scarlett whispered, closing her eyes, and Alice chuckled at her behavior and kept massaging her shoulders and head.

“Ok, what exactly are we doing? "RDJ asked, still confused while driving after he picked up Lizzie, and Hugh is on the way to look for you

“It's Y/N, and it's a long story; she just ran away in bad condition.” Lizzie bites her lower lips, worried about you, and RDJ is confused and worried too.

“Why? "He stops at the red light and faces Lizzie, who's been busy contacting you.

“It's... She found out who her biological mother is, and... and I don't know what's going on in her head; she just bolted out, and I’m worried.” Lizzie's hand keeps shaking, and her breathing is getting labored, so RDJ quickly took her phone and held her hand.

"Breath, Lizzie, breath; Y/N’s fine; she wouldn't so such thing.” Robert squeezed her hand, and the light turned green, and he proceeded to drive.

You took a deep breath, still gripping the steering wheel tight. You've been sitting in your car for about 20 minutes now, after your 4-hour drive from the city to the outskirts of another city.

You look at your left side, seeing a simple but big house, enough for 20 to 40 people to fit in, then you look back forward to see a path going forward for another house of your neighbor.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, going out of the car and proceeding to walk to the door of your old house, then stopping at the door to knock three times.

“Mom? "You called out, but after a few minutes, no one is answering, so you assume that your mom went out to get some groceries or something.

So you lower down to get the spare key at the bottom of the third flowerpot, then open the door and come inside to see the place as clean as you expected.

The house was well maintained, no dust, no dirt, no trash, or anything unpleasant. The pictures scattered around the house, some hanging on the wall, some on top of the drawers.

It's all pictures of you, your mom and dad, and your lovely sister, whom you adore and love so much. This house brings so much memory that you can't help but shed a tear just by looking around and touching things.

From the picture of the four of you standing in the side drawer, past the entrance to the trophies, couches, and decorations laying around the house, that brings you to the kitchen when you four are usually having fun making dinner for Sunday night that is full of laughter before everyone goes to do what has to be done the next day.

It eventually leads you to the backyard, where you can see the city up there. Your father built a wooden fence around when your sister was 5 years old, and then he also built a big swing where your mom put comforters and pillows there after 3 months when you were adopted.

You love looking over the city from the backyard, and you always sneak out at night just so you can sit at the ground in awe and watch the city light shine with the stars.

“Here you are, Miss Troublemaker,” your father sat besides you after another night of you sneaking out of your room when they told you to sleep and bit you goodnight.

“You know, you should really sleep now; it's getting late; you still have school tomorrow,” your mom, sat on the other side of you, then pulled you to lean on her and kiss your forehead.

“Sorry again,” they chuckle, knowing you will be doing this again eventually.

“We know, sweetie,” you whisper, then stand up.

“I guess you both plan on staying here for a little while longer. Just go inside before you two get cold, ok? "After your father answers her, ‘Yes, dear, no need to worry. Mom gives us a warning look, then goes back inside.

That night you and your dad stay late at night, you listening to the stories of your dad on how he courts your mom. Your mom eventually goes out again to fetch you both back inside before you two catch a cold, and that being said, you two got a good scolding from her first thung at the morning.

"Idiots,” you chuckle at the memories, not knowing your tears, cunning down your tears.

You sigh, taking off your shoes, putting your bag, key, and phone down to the pavement of your backyard before you set foot on the soft grass and go to the swing to sit and lay back your back at the headboard of the swing and begin to hum the song your family loves.

“I miss you, Dad..I wish you were here,” you whisper, looking down, and you can't take the pain anymore. You sob there, curling to the ball and crying on your knees until you run out. Tears still keep dropping one tear after another, while quiet sobs keep coming out of your mouth.

Not knowing your mom is already home, standing right before your things on the pavement, happy and also sad seeing your shoulder shaking, without any doubt, your mom also took her shoes off and walked towards you.

"Sweetie,” your mom called. You quickly turn to the other way and wipe your tears, making yourself presentable as much as possible.

“What’s the problem? Honey? "Your mom sat down beside you, opening her arms for you to get in and lean on her.

“It's nothing; I just missed Dad, that's all.” Your mom didn't push you but offer a comfort that you know you can trust and lean on to her no matter what.

“Ok...just don't forget me and your sister is here, ok?”She kissed your forehead, cupping your cheeks, and made you look at her.

"Yes, Mom,” you quickly move to embrace the comfort your mom is giving you.

You’ve been out the whole day, not answering the phone calls or texting to anyone. Lizzie and the other were worried sick looking out for you.

It's 9 p.m. when you decide to head back home to your house in the city, and when you open the door, Scarlett is there, walking back and forth.

She's been worried for hours now. When the news reaches her, Lizzie doesn't have a choice but to contact Scar and ask her about the places where you could go, and that's when Scar knows that you run away.

“Y/N gosh, we were worried sick for you; where have you been?"Scarlett quickly enveloped you in her arms, but you quickly but gently got out of her

“I wanted to be alone. Please leave.” You open your front door, but Scarlett didn't move an inch.

“Y/N? "Scarlett whisper, she can read your expression and body language well, and she knows that you want space but not wanting to leave you all alone.

“What's the problem? "She tried to reach out, but you moved and opened the door more for her to get out.

“Leave me alone,” you said with so much hatred.

The more you look at her, the more your patience gets thin, and the more angry you are, you can't accept the fact that she's the person who gave birth to you and who threw you in that stupid orphanage.

And the more you hear her voice, the more your memory comes rushing back bit by bit, where you try to leave it to the back of your mind and you hate her for it.

“LEAVE NOW, DAMMIT! "You scream, not wanting to be near her anymore.

"Y/N, I'm here; you can tell me everything." Your blood boils, and you explode right there and then.

"You wanna know, huh? Ok...you wanna know how fucking bad of a mother you are, leaving your child to a shitty orphanage who makes them work and gives them a good beating when they didn't do things right or they didn't have money to give to the orphan keeper...and I fucking hate you for that." Scarlett's eyes were wide open, because her secret is out but also confused.

"How...how do you know about my daughter?" You quickly cut her off and pushed her a little.

"Cause that child you abandoned is me. You fucking left me with that monster. I have to survive in order to llive, and you... you're in your fucking mansion, drinking wine, having delicious meals,s, and living your best life while I try to survi." You push the DNA paper on her chest and clench your jaw..

So fucking leave before I drag you out of here." You drip the door handle to control yourself and not just grab her and get her out of here.

"I-I……ok,” Scarlett is speechless, and she has tears in her eyes. She wanted to explain, but she chose to leave with a heavy heart, not knowing what to do or how to approach you.

Once she's out, you quickly lock every door and window and head up to your room and lock yourself in the bathroom.

Your heart is beating loudly; you can hear it on your head; every beat brings back memories of how the paddle sounds when it hits your skin.

Every little noise coming outside sounds like how many times you and the other run away when you all hear the madam coming home.

Every scream, every cry, every shout, every pleading—you can hear it all like it's happening, and your chest starting to hurt—that makes you sit down and lean your back on the wall, clutching your chest.

You look around in hopes of distraction, but your eyes land on the razor blades you use this morning to shave.

Your mind says no, but your body has a different approach; it quickly grabs it, taking your shirt off and starting to cut your hips.

The blade kissing your tender skin, puncturing the flesh and drawing blood, and you sigh in relief, one cut after another; some are deep, some were superficial wounds. The only thing that makes you stop is when you look up at the mirror, seeing yourself.

“What have I done? ”You drop the blade;your eyes lock on the blood on your hips and hands.

“Oh god,” you shed tears over what you've done. You've been 6 years clean, and you promise your dad that you will stay clean before he dies.

And you curse yourself for doing this to yourself without thinking it, but it also makes you feel safe and alive at the same time.

You got interrupted when your phone rang and Lizzie's name flashed on your screen, so you cleared your throat and answered her call, knowing she's worried too.

*LIZZIE*

Hey-

Where have you been, huh? We’ve been going around thecity to look after you

Sorry that I worry you all. I go to Mom to clear my head

It's fine; just don't do it again, ok? Yeah

How are you? Are you okay?

Yeah, just shocked and sad and hurt. I'm fine, Liz.

I’m not convinced; I’m going there

You don't have to; I swear I’m fine, and I want to be alone.

Are you sure?

Yeah, I’m sure, just tell everyone, I’m fine and I’m sorry for making them worry.

They'll understand. Just call me when you need someone ok? I’ll be right there.

Yeah, thanks, Liz.

After saying your goodbye, you hung up and winced when you started to move to go to the

How to wash yourself, and it stings more when the water runs down to your wounds.

“I’ll be fine.” You keep chanting it until you're ready to sleep.

[annie-writesstuff]

Come here, kitty, kitty! - Sylus (Part 2)

Summary: The curse of the Evol cats wears off. Majority of it, at least. Sylus finds himself in his 'human' form. However, your reaction is not what he expected. He thinks you're one of the most interesting persons he has ever met.

Warnings: None. Fluff. I really think Sylus is a green flag. Man is guarded, but when he opens up he's a softie. Tall, dark and handsome lol. He is whipped. It turned kinda angsty (sowwy). Slight - perhaps - spoiler/theory about his past if you squint.

Also, thank you to everyone who read part one! I am truly happy that so many of you enjoyed it!

And thank you to the Anon that messaged me! I am truly happy you loved the story! Thank you!

You can read PART 1 here!

The sun filters through your broken blinds. You scrunch your nose, eyelids fluttering until they fully open. Your [e/c] eyes meet your old wooden ceiling. A yawn leaves your lips as you stretch.

"Good morning."

"Morning!" You chirp reflexively, yawning once again.

Wait.

Slowly, you turn your head.

Sylus smirks, wondering if your half asleep brain has finally caught up on what is going on.

"Um..." You stutter, tugging the blanket closer to you. "Hi..?"

The smirk disappears from his face at your tame reaction. Every time he thinks he's got you figured out, you surprise him.

You should've been screaming, trying to get away from him, hurling objects in his direction.

Instead you're looking at him with more curiosity than shock.

"Red?"

He meets your eyes, and nods. "You don't seem surprised."

"I am!" You assure. "It's just... I don't know how to react. I mean... You looked so familiar. And when I looked into your eyes... I realized you were my little kitty."

"Your little kitty?"

A little flustered, you hurry to correct yourself. "I mean... the... the kitty..."

Rising his hand, he stops you. "Now, I do not like owing people. But you took me in and fed me. So thank you, kitten. Name your price."

Eh? A bit flabbergasted, you stare at him. "P... price?"

"Yes."

Honestly, you just want one thing. "Can I pet your ears?"

Pet his ears... is that what you want? Well, who is he to deny such request?

Rather than giving his verbal approval, Sylus leans down, so that you can reach the twitching ears atop his head.

He is a bit uneasy when your hand first makes contact with one of his ears, but he realizes that, just like yesterday, you're being careful and mindful. His ears are sensitive, but the way you're caressing them feels tolerable nice.

"You're a cute big cat." You smile, switching your attention to his other ear.

A tiny gasp leaves your lips as he leans into your touch, a lot more instinctively than consciously.

"If you tell anyone about this, there will be consequences."

You can't help but giggle, solemnly nodding. "Nobody will know."

He nodded, satisfied, and once you have had your fill, he moves away.

"Can I have your name?"

Normally, he wouldn't reveal his identity. However, because he is almost one hundred percent sure you don't know who he is, he complies.

"Sylus."

"How can I get you back home, Sylus?"

"I'd need to borrow your phone, kitten."

You nod, and without an ounce of hesitation, hand him your device, which had charged during the night.

Sylus uses the special code from the unknown number to contact the twins, which soon reply that they will be on their way shortly.

They don't press for any answers when he asks them to bring him a change of clothes.

Good. He is not in the mood to be answering anything.

At around an hour later, he has changed into his suit, and he walks out of your small bathroom, buttoning his dress shirt at the wrist.

"Thank you again for your... hospitality." He reiterates.

You nod, offering some water bottles to the masked individuals that came to pick up the 'boss', as they've called him.

"I hope to see you again, Sylus." You say softly, walking him to the door.

The taller male hesitates for one second, before looking down at you. "I look forward to it, kitten." He says.

This isn't going to be the last time you see him.

He's going to make sure of it.

Once he is back in his penthouse on N109 zone, Sylus can't help but feel bored.

His eyes darken as Mephisto updates him on your whereabouts. He clicks his tongue, expertly maneuvering a golden bullet with his fingers.

Money and power can give him anything he wants.

Except that the one thing he wants is priceless.

His Evol turns to dust the bullet in his hand as he decides his course of action.

Sylus has always found humans interesting, but you... are a complete enigma.

He wants to know every little detail. What makes you smile, what makes you sad. What ticks you, what excites you.

He wants things to go organically. The two of you have a bond, already, and he would never force you into anything, but he's quite sure that you're also thinking about him.

Fate... is cruel.

But it is wise.

You have found each other, and he firmly belives there is a reason why.

Maybe in this life, there is a hope for happiness for him.

[lostintransist]

.. that idea on ghost coming back with his therapist’s contact is brilliant, could we get a pt2 when we do hit him up cuz,,, it’s inevitable and he pulls up in that same motorbike and actually plans a banger date?

Just for you! A part 2! Original post for anyone curious is here.

Also thank you for what I am percieving as patience, I had things to accomplish today. But it gave me time to think about this...

CW: I can't think of any.

You held onto the business card. No real explanation that would satisfy you or anyone who might have asked. And your best friend did ask. Repeatedly.

“You still have the card?” She asked over drinks.

Running your tongue along the inside of your teeth you debate on how to answer.

“Yes,” you reply curtly.

“And have you called the therapist or texted him yet? Do you even know his name?” She followed her questions with a sip of her drink.

“All I know is that when I search up S. Riley I get a few hits about a brother to a home invasion that ended badly a few years ago and nothing else. No one on social media matches him and without his full name or maybe a birthday I can’t find much else about someone that might be him.” Flopping back into the couch you watch your drink slide side to side as you tip your glass.

“You don’t have to call him but you have to make a decision about this soon,” she chides.

“No decision is a decision though.”

She gives you the flattest stare she can muster. Seeing as your best friend is autistic it’s a pretty impressive flat look.

Heaving a sigh you concede the point.

“Fine. I get it. I can’t avoid this forever, what if he finds me at a coffee shop again and asks why I haven’t called? S. Riley sure does seem like a man who doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.”

“I think you should call and tell the therapist to inform him that you would like to never see him again, but you have this whole ‘attracted to the adventure’ thing going on.” She rolled her eyes.

Aghast at being so well identified, it does not matter that she is your best friend, you fire off a rude gesture at her. She only laughs.

“At least I never have to worry about not realizing I fumbled the woman of my dreams three months late,” you say with a wicked grin.

“It was one time!” Your best friend launches one of the couch pillows at you.

“Twice.”

The purest look of concern crosses her face.

“Twice?” Comes her panicked ask.

“Once at the bar,” she nods, “And then last week at the bookstore.”

Watching her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open you can’t help the full-body laugh that overtakes you.

“I thought she was just being nice!” Her voice gets squeakier with each word.

You are laughing so hard you can’t breathe.

“I fucking love you and am so glad we are best friends,” you manage to croak out between ab-shredding laughs.

💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠

Your next early day off of work you pop in your headphones and call the number printed on the business card. It sat between your insurance card and your driver’s license. Those two cards didn’t see much action and would keep the business card from disappearing.

“Thank you for calling Healing Sky Therapy, how can I help you?”

“Yes, is Anna Mortz available?”

“For a phone call or an appointment?” The sound of clicking keys bubbles over the line.

“A phone call, I am calling to speak to her about a current patient of hers.”

“Okay, and are you a provider?”

This causes you to pause. Did you really need to explain why or how you were connected to this crazy situation? No. Bare bones it is.

“No, I should be listed as a person who can discuss the care of a patient of hers who goes by S. Riley?”

“Okay,” she drags the word. “It looks like I can drop a call in her schedule in about forty minutes if that would work for you?”

“That would work great, can I give you a callback number?”

“Yes, I can take that when you are ready.”

Finishing up the phone call you grabbed your grocery list and headed out the door. Your phone rang as you were transferring bags from your cart to your trunk. The number looked vaguely familiar and so you answered.

“Hi this is Anna Mortz, I am returning a phone call.”

“Yes, hi Anna. I am the one who called.”

“That was in regards to Simon Riley, right? Let’s go through some information on my end to make sure that we can discuss him first okay?”

“Absolutely,” you slam the trunk closed and return your cart while confirming all of your information.

“So, what questions can I answer for you?” Anna started.

“Let me get settled and I will give you the rundown.” Tossing your purse to the passenger side and locking the door you get situated in your seat. You push a large breath from your lungs and start. “Okay, so this is a weird situation. The long and the short of it is that Simon had been dating a friend of mine several years back and they were not good together. He was being a pushy asshole who refused to let the relationship die and she was codependent to a deeply unhealthy level. My friend asked for help in telling him off once and for all. She tended to cave and give into having sex every time he came by to start a fight. That is where I met Simon.”

Anna made a noise of confirmation. You took it as permission to keep telling your story.

“Nothing more came of that except my friend and I drifted apart, nothing major and not important to the story. I ran into Simon next at my friend’s wedding reception. I don’t know if he showed up to confirm to himself that it was really over or if she actually invited him but,” you paused here eyes tracing the dash of the car parked in front of you. With a slight shake of your head, you focus back on your phone call. “That is neither here nor there. He hit on me that night and I told him basically to fuck off and go to therapy if he wanted a shot at that conversation.”

Puffing your cheeks with air you slowly let it out, you felt like you were explaining a whole crazy situation to the principal.

“He ran into me at a coffee shop close to probably a year later, dropped your card on the table with his number on the back, and insinuated that I would call because I was interested in him.”

“Okay, that is pretty close to the story he told me as well,” Anna speaks with kind authority. “What I can tell you from a clinical standpoint is that Simon struggles with C-PTSD, which is complex post-traumatic stress disorder. This basically means that Simon has been through so many traumatic events at so many points in his life that he has a hard time functioning day to day without it affecting every aspect of his life. I can also tell you that we have been working on him gaining some coping abilities and practicing social skills.”

“Okay, I guess what I am asking is that if I go on a date with him will I end up with a stalker who will end up killing me in the night if I say I don’t want to see him again?” You lay your concerns bare. She’s not your therapist so her judgment worries you a bit less.

“While nothing is guaranteed,” she hedges, “I cannot see that kind of behavior occurring with the progress Simon has made. He has scheduled out appointments weekly for the next three months with me and has even mentioned he is working on some other types of therapy I have recommended to help him process his traumas further. He’s actually doing the work to deal with his issues. I think he is here because he wants to be, you happened to be the trigger.”

Resting your elbow on the steering wheel you leaned your head into your hand.

“Whew, okay. Thank you. That is actually really helpful. How is he about accepting boundaries?”

“He is familiar and comfortable with them in a work context but if you choose to interact with him I know personal boundaries will come up in our sessions. So, I would keep it in mind when interacting with him.”

“Okay, thank you so much Anna this call has been,” a slight pause, “Enlightening. I appreciate your time.”

“Happy to help. Have a good day!”

With that the phone call ends and you stare down at your phone. Flicking open your messaging app you add the contact you saved to it almost a month ago.

<Your therapist seems nice.

Three minutes pass as you watch the screen. It goes black once and you wake it with a tap on the screen.

Tossing it to the passenger side on top of your purse you put the text from your mind. You instead focus on pulling out of your spot. Parking lots are of the devil and you aren’t even religious like that.

Five days pass before a message dings on your phone from one S. Riley.

>Can’t say she is nice to me. I get a lot of mean looks from her.

Setting a timer for an hour and thirteen minutes you let the text simmer. You hope he can see that you have opened the message.

<You normally take a work week to respond?

>Only when I am on a job.

The reply comes in instantly.

<What kind of jobs keep you from your phone?

>Classified.

<Ooh big brain work then. Got it.

You snort at the eye roll emoji he sends.

>So, have you decided if I can hit you up yet?

<I’m thinking about it. If I were to say yes, where would you take me?

>Indoor sky diving.

You read the three-word message at least six times, check out the closest indoor sky diving place near you, and then finally reply.

Starting and erasing three messages you finally settle on one.

<Would we ride your bike there?

>Unless you would prefer to talk on the drive over?

What do you talk about with a man when you had to check with his therapist that he wouldn’t murder you?

<Bike sounds like fun.

>Saturday?

<Maybe. Time?

>2

<Done. Pick me up at noon and we can grab lunch?

>No, you’re going to want an empty stomach. Dinner instead.

Narrowing your eyes at the message you debate the logic of testing a boundary yet. The advice to not have a full stomach did look like a good one.

<Fine, but nowhere fancy. If I can’t roll up in the same outfit I don’t want it.

The only reply you get for several hours is a thumbs up on your message.

Guess you had a date coming up.

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

may you please make a part 2 to drunk call??🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 I can't end like that😔

PART TWO

jude bellingham x exgf!reader

PART ONE DRUNK CALL

PART THREE DRUNK CALL

a/n: this was (and took) sooo long that I had to make another part! And thank you for requesting the second part, I had so much fun continuing the story!

Jude never called.

You waited, even though you knew it was foolish. You waited through long, empty days, staring at your phone like it held the answer to all the questions you couldn't let go of. Wondering a lot of things, all of them having to do with Jude.

The first day after that night, you barely slept, listening to every quiet sound in your apartment, convinced that maybe, just maybe, you’d hear his knock at the door. On the second day, you kept your phone in your hand, glancing down every few minutes, your heart leaping at every notification, every small vibration. And by the end of the week, you found yourself laughing bitterly at your own persistence, at how much you’d let yourself hope, even when you knew better.

You had been telling yourself, every morning as you woke up, that that day would be different. That you wouldn’t let your mind wander to that quiet promise he’d made, his voice so soft you could still hear it, could still feel the warmth of his hand in yours as he’d said it. You knew it wasn’t true even as he’d said it—knew he wouldn’t call, couldn’t call, because that’s what breaking up meant. Still, hope clung to your heart, relentless, like some foolish thing.

So you waited.

You waited through the hours that turned into days, each one bringing fresh reminders that he was moving on, that his life was a current pulling him further and further from you. You’d check your phone, not expecting to see his name but hoping all the same, holding your breath every time it buzzed. And each time, your heart sank a little deeper.

But you waited still.

Jude didn´t call.

You tried to text him. Countless times. In those late, lonely hours, your fingers would hover over the screen, struggling to find words that could hold even a fraction of everything you felt. It was always something casual, something lighthearted, as if you could fool him—and yourself—into thinking you were fine, as if you didn’t feel like your heart was breaking all over again each time you realized he was really gone.

"Hey, just wanted to check in. Hope you’re good." (Delete.) Too casual.

"Miss you. Just… thought you should know." (Delete.) Too vulneable.

"Hi, I saw your last game, you were amazing!" (Delete.) Too nice?

Every message felt hollow before it even left your fingers. What good would it do, anyway? He’d made it clear in his silence. You’d both known it couldn’t work, that your lives were pulling you two in opposite directions. He’d warned you as much, his words gentle but firm, saying things like, “We’ve got so much ahead of us, love. You’ve got your path, and I’ve got mine. If life wants, we´ll find each other again.” But he’d said it like it was for you, like letting you go was some form of love you weren’t supposed to understand.

And as the days turned to weeks, you started to believe he was right.

Honestly, you didn’t even know how to feel. Sad, angry, disappointed, embarrassed?

Each emotion tangled into a painful knot in your chest, and you couldn’t tell which feeling hurt the most. Sad, because you missed him with an ache so deep it felt like part of you was missing. Angry, because he’d let you go so easily, without a single call, without even trying. Disappointed, because you had clung to the quiet hope that maybe he still cared enough to reach out. Embarrassed, because despite everything, you’d allowed yourself to hold on, to wait like a fool for something that would never happen.

Yet, the world wouldn’t let you forget him. Every corner you turned, you saw him—on billboards, in match highlights, in advertisements... He was everywhere, as though the universe itself had made a cruel joke of your pain, forcing you to watch him live on, shining as bright as ever. You saw him laughing on a teammate’s story, his smile warm and carefree. You saw him in interviews, composed and confident, speaking about his achievements and his ambitions as if nothing else mattered. He looked fine, perfectly whole, like you’d never been a part of his life at all.

Each day, the silence grew louder, the hope dimmer, until your patience twisted into bitterness, then resignation. You had to live. You had to let him go, even if every part of you was still holding on. And so, with a heavy heart, you made the only choice you could: you blocked him, a decision that felt both too small and impossibly final. Then, you went to your contacts, your thumb hovering over his name, the one you still couldn’t bring yourself to eliminate. This time, instead of calling him, you did something different.

With a deep breath, you pressed delete, erasing the last way of contacting him you had. You knew his number by heart, every digit burned into your memory, as if letting it go would somehow let him slip further away. But maybe that’s what you needed—to let go, truly let go, so you could finally breathe. Even if you tried to call him or add him again, you had several figures to let you rethink before committing a huge mistake.

Afterward, you sat alone, staring into the silence of your tiny apartment, feeling the weight of the finality settle around you. You ran a hand over your face, feeling the exhaustion from pretending, from hoping, from clinging to a future you could never have.

On the other side of that silence, Jude felt your absence as a steady, relentless ache that he couldn’t shake. In the quiet spaces between training, in the dead of night after a long game, he felt it most—the weight of your absence, the hollow space where you’d once been. He knew he should call, that he should reach out, hear your voice one last time. But he couldn’t bear it. He knew you´d wait for him if he gave you even the faintest reason to. And it terrified him, the thought that you’d hold onto him, sacrificing parts of your own life for the sake of his.

So he let you go, telling himself it was the right thing to do, that this was the most unselfish choice he could make. But every time he tried to believe it, he felt like he was betraying himself, betraying the love you’d shared.

He tried to lose himself in his career, in the game that had always been his one constant. But no victory, no goal, no applause could drown out the emptiness he carried inside. He wanted to tell you, to let you know that his silence wasn’t indifference, that his heart was breaking just as much as yours. But every time he picked up his phone, he’d set it back down, the words he wanted to say sticking in his throat.

He saw the world as a series of checkmarks and achievements, but none of it felt as bright, as warm, as real as those quiet moments he’d had with you. Those nights lying together, the way you’d laugh and roll your eyes at his bad jokes, the way you’d look at him as if he were more than he believed himself to be. He missed you in a way he didn’t know how to explain, in a way he didn’t know how to live with. But he’d made a choice, and he’d told himself he would stick to it.

Months passed, and you did your best to move forward, carving out a new life, piece by piece, in the wake of his absence. You kept yourself busy—classes, late-night studying, juggling shifts to cover tuition. It was exhausting, but you almost welcomed the tiredness; it kept you grounded, kept you from lingering in the past. While studying, to pay your debts, you worked in a prestigious catering company, the kind that only served high-profile events, but even as your skills sharpened and your responsibilities grew, your heart never felt as full as it once had.

You’d see glimpses of Jude’s life in the rare moments you allowed yourself to look. Despite blocking him, it was impossible not to know what he was up to—his success was plastered everywhere, his goals, his accolades, his bright future. Each headline was a bitter reminder that he was out there, rising, while you remained here, trying to pick up the pieces.

One day, your manager pulled you and your coworkers aside and briefed you about an upcoming event, hinting at its significance. “It’s one of the biggest events we’ll handle all year, so be at your best. We’re talking global importance,” she said, eyes alight with excitement. She was sparse on the details, but the way she spoke made it clear that this wasn’t just another upscale gathering. You nodded along, more focused on memorizing the itinerary and service details than wondering who would be there.

The day arrived, and you went about your work, clad in a crisp uniform, doing your best to stay professional. The space was dazzling—high ceilings, crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow, and tables meticulously set with silverware that gleamed under the lights. You were given a tray of fizzy and sparkling drinks, instructed to serve as the event unfolded.

That’s when you felt the electric buzz in the air, a shift in the atmosphere that suggested someone important had arrived. You saw a few of your colleagues exchanging glances, eyes widening as if they’d just spotted a celebrity. Curious, you glanced around, only to see a coworker hurriedly approaching you, eyes wide and speechless as he leaned in close.

“It’s Real Madrid,” he whispered, and your heart dropped.

Real Madrid.

Your hand tightened around the tray as your mind started racing. Real Madrid was here, in this very room. Which meant…

You felt your heart stutter, panic settling deep in your chest as the weight of that realization washed over you. You knew Jude would be here. He had to be. It was a big event, a high-profile event, one he wouldn’t miss. And now, after all those months of silence, after all the nights you’d spent waiting, he was right here, closer than he’d been in what felt like a lifetime.

You felt your feet move as if they were no longer your own, your body frozen between the urge to stay and the overwhelming need to flee. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to tell yourself that it was just another job, that you’d handle this as professionally as any other event. But the mere thought of seeing him again, of standing so close that you could hear his voice, see his face—how could you possibly prepare yourself for that?

Your teammate’s eyes were on you, watching the shock that must have painted your face, and you felt a sense of dread twist in your stomach. You wanted to say something, to ask if he’d seen Jude specifically, if you’d have to serve him. But even opening your mouth to speak felt impossible, the words caught in your throat. Instead, you swallowed hard, pressing your lips together as you took a shaky breath.

Somehow, you had to power through this.

[theocddiaries]

*On a GUN private jet* Abe: Hey, I found this little guy here. [shows a chessboard]: Any of you guys want to play to kill time? Shadow: Pass. Sonic: Sure thing. Abe: Nice. I might teach you a few things. [goes to set the pieces] Sonic: Oh, it's okay, I can play; Tails taught me. Shadow: Isn't that wonderful… [grabs Sonic's arm and pulls him close. Whispers]: Let him win. Sonic: What? Shadow: He's a grumpy loser. He mopes, he makes the face, he slams the door, then he said he didn't slam the door. It'll be better for everyone that he wins. Sonic: Shadow, please, stop being stuck on things that happened over fifty years ago. Shadow: Fifty years ago? I’m talking about how he acted last week because some agent’s kid beat him up at the Hungry Hippos game. Sonic: … Okay, I'll lose. [moments later, they've come back and are in GUN HQ] Abe: Thank you for your assistance, Sonic. Sonic: Always a pleasure to help. Abe: I'm glad you're not upset about our chess match from earlier. Nobody likes a sore loser. Sonic: So I've heard. Abe: I've got a kid's guide to chess back in my office. I can give it to you before you leave? Sonic: ...No, I'm good. Abe: You sure? You can color in the little players with your crayons. Rouge [comes in and walks to Shadow]: Hi. What's going on? Shadow: Towers and Sonic played chess. Rouge: And you told him to lose, right? Shadow: Yes, don't worry. Rouge: Good. Momma needs some extra cash this Christmas. Abe: Or you can give it to your fox friend. Maybe he can teach you better the second time. Sonic: … Are you calling my brother stupid? Rouge and Shadow: Damn. Sonic: You know what? Let's play a rematch. Rouge: Shadow. Abe: Okay. Game on. Now, I want you to go first. Now remember, try to open up the middle of the board. I'd have moved that guy two spaces. Rouge: Shadow, please, do something. Shadow: Don't worry, just because Tails taught him doesn't mean he can actually-- Sonic: Checkmate. Shadow: Or maybe he can and we're gonna have to go through one of those weeks.. Abe [blinks]: Huh? What? How'd you do that? Sonic: Want me to bring you the kid's guide so you understand it better? Shadow: Sonic. Sonic: Hey, you told me to let him win the first time, nothing about the other times. Abe [turns to Shadow and Rouge]: You did what? Why tell him to lose to me? Shadow: Because you're like a baby when you don't win. With the kicking and the eyebrows and the angry eating of the sunflower seeds. [Chittering] Abe: That's not true. Rouge: Oh, honey, it is. We're still picking up the shells from the horrendous episode of the Hungry Hungry Hippos. Abe: I don't mind losing to a chess genius. Sonic: Well, I wouldn't say genius. Shadow: True. That was an average move. He's not even as good as I am. Abe: You're not that good in chess. I beat you on our first mission together. Shadow: Did you really? Or did I let you win that one too? Abe: …You didn't let me win. Shadow: Hm. Why would I sacrifice my queen for your pawn, Abraham? Huh? Huh? Abe: I got it. Stop saying that… Rouge: Well, I guess we'll never know! Abe: Or we can find out right now. Rouge: No, it's-- Shadow: Are you sure you want to do this in front of people? Rouge: Shadow-- Abe: Sit down and let's settle this. Shadow: Gladly. Rouge [saddened]: I just wanted a pair of boots… [MOMENTS LATER] [through a phone call] Tails: Hey, Sonic, everything okay? Sonic: Yes, buddy, sorry for not calling. I arrived but I--uh--I kinda can't leave. Tails: Why not? What happened? You okay? Sonic: Yes, it's just-- Abe [in the background]: Stupid lab rat--Take this! Shadow: Damn it! Listen, I lose and I burn this whole facility with everyone inside! Sonic: It's just some déjà vu I'm feeling kind of icky about…

[ponyosmom35]

live

simon ghost riley x reader

synopsis: reader is still struggling with simon's death and their stolen future.

warnings: angst

Link to master list:https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

She trudged into the house, kicking the door shut behind her as she shrugged off her coat. The weight of the day clung to her, heavier than the chill outside. She avoided looking at the photo by the door, the one she still hadn't moved. His grin in that picture felt almost mocking now, a reminder of what she'd lost. Four months gone, and she still couldn't reconcile the idea that he was never coming back.

The deck called to her, though she wasn't sure why. She grabbed a blanket and stepped outside, the biting cold stinging her face. He had built the deck the summer before last, insisting it would be "their spot" for early mornings and lazy evenings. She traced her fingers over the worn wood, his handiwork still solid beneath her touch.

Her gaze drifted to the yard, barren and lifeless under the season's grip. The once-bright flowers he'd helped her plant were shriveled, reduced to blackened stems poking from frozen earth. She didn't realize she was crying until her cheeks burned from the mix of tears and cold. The flowers felt like a cruel metaphor, as if they were fading along with him, leaving her with nothing but memories and silence.

She sobbed until she had no tears left, her chest heaving as she pressed her hands to her face. The sharp vibration of her phone startled her, and she fumbled for it, wiping her cheeks hastily as she saw his name on the screen.

"Hello?" she answered, forcing her voice to steady.

A thick Scottish brogue came through the line, a lifeline of familiarity. "I'm shocked you answered me, lass. Finally figured out how to pick up the phone, have you?"

She let out a weak chuckle, hoping it masked the shakiness in her voice. "Sorry, I've just been… busy."

He didn't buy it for a second. "Aye, busy burying yourself in work, I reckon. It's fine, lass, no need to apologize. I was just worried about you."

She sighed, staring at the lifeless yard. "I'm fine, really."

"Don't lie to me," he said softly, his tone gentle but firm. "I know you better than that."

Her resolve crumbled. "It's just… hard. I feel like I'm barely keeping afloat. Some days I think I'm okay, but then… something small reminds me of him, and it feels like I'm drowning all over again."

There was a pause, and she could hear him take a deep breath. "You've got to give yourself a break. He wouldn't want you to live like this."

"I don't know how to do anything else," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I just… I miss him so much."

"I know you do," he said gently. "But you need to step away, even just for a bit. Go somewhere you've always wanted to. Clear your head. It doesn't fix everything, but it might help."

She hesitated. The thought of leaving, of facing the world without him, felt daunting. "I don't know…"

He pressed on. "Do it for him, then. You know he'd want you to live. Not just survive—live."

She closed her eyes, her heart aching. "I've always wanted to see his hometown. He used to talk about it all the time. He promised to give me a tour."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "Then go, lass. See the places he loved. I'll even meet you there for a day, show you around. You don't have to do it alone."

"Really?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

"Aye. Just give me the dates, and I'll take care of the rest."

She started to protest. "I can't let you—"

He cut her off. "No arguments. He would've wanted you to have this. Let me do this for you."

She hesitated, but the warmth in his voice soothed the jagged edges of her grief. "Okay. I'll start looking at flights and hotels."

"Hotels? No, lass. Just send me the dates. I'll handle it all."

She smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. "Alright, thank you."

"Anything for you," he said quietly. "And for him."

As the call ended, she sat in the silence again, staring out at the dead flowers. For the first time, she let herself imagine something beyond the winter—a trip, a chance to see his world, and maybe, just maybe, a glimpse of herself coming back to life.

--

She lay in bed, the blankets pulled tightly around her, but the chill in her chest remained. She stared at the ceiling, her mind drifting despite her exhaustion. The room felt emptier than usual, the space beside her unbearably vast. She closed her eyes, desperate for sleep, and let her thoughts wander back to the last winter they spent together.

He was in the bathroom, the light spilling out into the bedroom. She watched him, leaning against the doorway, toothbrush in hand, clad only in his briefs. His tall, muscular frame was a sight to behold, his tattoos stark against his skin. The ink told stories she hadn't heard all at once—some pieces he'd shared, others he said he'd tell her someday. Now, she'd never know them all.

He caught her watching and raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You staring at me again, love?"

"Maybe," she teased, propping her chin on her hand. "You're not exactly hard to look at."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned off the bathroom light and made his way to the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he slid in beside her. Before she could curl up, he reached out, pulling her against his side.

"Bloody hell, your feet are freezing!" he grumbled as her toes brushed his leg.

She giggled, her mischievous grin hidden in the dark. "You're my heater. It's your job."

"Is it now?" he muttered, feigning irritation. She pressed her icy toes between his thighs, and he gasped, jolting. "Get your icicles off me, woman!"

She burst into laughter, clutching at his chest as he groaned dramatically. Still, he didn't let her go. Instead, he pulled her tighter, wrapping his arms around her.

"You're impossible," he said, his voice muffled against her hair. "Should I turn the heat up?"

"No," she replied, nestling closer. "I've got you."

He sighed, his breath warm against her temple. "Right, then. But I swear, for Christmas, all you're getting is socks."

She laughed again, the sound light and full, and his lips brushed the top of her head in a soft kiss. "Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow."

She drifted off that night, her smile lingering as his steady heartbeat lulled her into peaceful dreams.

Now, in the silence of her bedroom, her eyes fluttered open. The memory felt vivid and real, as if he had been there just moments ago. She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing the empty space where he should have been. A sharp pang of loss struck her chest, but it was quickly replaced by something softer, warmer. For the first time since he'd died, she realized, she'd recalled one of their moments without crying.

She smiled faintly, her fingers resting on her heart. "Thank you," she whispered into the quiet, as if he might somehow hear. Then, closing her eyes, she let herself fall into a dreamless sleep, her heart a little less heavy than before.

[peppermintquartz]

Tommy is exhausted. He's taken on so many extra shifts, his captain has barred him from doing any more for the rest of the year. And now his stupid phone won't stop ringing.

With his eyes still closed, he gropes for the phone. But by then the call has stopped, and there's a voicemail on. Without really thinking, Tommy opens it.

"Daddy."

Tommy recognizes that voice. Worse, he recognizes that tone. He's had it directed at him more times than he can remember the past six months.

Before he can delete it, Evan exhales and whispers, "Tell me, Daddy, how many times?"

"How many times what?" Tommy really should delete this. Nothing good will come of this. But he misses Evan's voice, misses how he would call whenever he wanted, fill up the silence of Tommy's world. He's not talking to Evan right now; it's Evan, talking into Tommy's mailbox

"How many times... Am I supposed. Supposed to sleep with someone else... Before. Before I'm good enough f'r you?" Evan sounds drunk. "I wanna know. So I can... I can keep score. Cause right now... Ri' now is just me. I'm just... Just me. Missing you, Daddy. Miss the way... you'd touch me. Right here, kissing up along my thigh... Your scruff. The way you... you'd look at me, like I meant everything to you. God, please, Tommy. Daddy. Tell me, please, tell me how to make you happy. You're good at that. You taught me how to... How to make you happy. Please."

This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. Tommy should turn off his phone and go back to sleep. His left hand slides under his waistband and wraps around his cock, feels it harden in his grip.

"Do I need to kneel? Keep your cock in my mouth while, while you watch a game? I can do that. I love how your cock tastes, Daddy, you know that. You could... You could read, read one o' your trashy romance novels, tell me to reenact a scene. Fuck, Tommy, remember when you had me, pinned against the front door? Your fingers, inside me - nngh - not the right angle, not the right, right thickness. Tommy, I need you. I need to feel you inside me again." Evan is panting now, and there are slick wet sounds in the background. "The dildos don't fit right. They just... they dont. It's not the same without... Tommy. Tommy. Fuck. Daddy, remember when you had me in your lap, and you made me ride you while we... while we watched Dirty Dancing? I'm stroking myself the way you did, slow an' firm, but it doesn't feel the same, why doesn't it feel the same? I need, I need it to feel the same, please, Daddy, help, please help me-"

Tommy is stroking himself as he listens to Evan panting and begging on his voicemail, hating himself for his weakness. Evan is drunk, he probably didn't mean to send this, and Tommy shouldn't feel smug or possessive over the fact that Evan apparently can't get off without Tommy's presence.

Evan is panting harder now, his sobs intercut with breathless gasps, and there's a short, brief cry of "Tommy-" just before the sound cuts out completely.

Tommy comes so hard into his fist he sees stars.

When he comes back to himself, he is disgusted by what he's done. He washes and scrubs his hands with more vigor than necessary. Then he goes back to bed, but he stares at the phone for a long time.

He really should delete that voicemail.

hey so one night eddie takes buck out for a few drinks to take his mind off tommy and he ends up sloppy horny drunk and sprawled across his uncomfortable couch palming his dick through his pants and finally caving into his fucking hunger to call tommy only to for it to ring and ring and ring until he finally hears that bitchy voice again and proceeds to leave the breathiest messiest most pathetic voicemail while stroking his cock, whimpering and moaning tommy’s name until he comes all over his fist.

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Sylus would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and ive made similar ones for the other boys too!

1,035 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Rafayel

Sylus is always prepared for any and every situation that could happen when he works, In all his time reigning over the N109 zone there hasn't been a single thing or person that hasn’t been accounted for to some degree- that was until you showed up at least. Like a black cat, you seemed to bring unexpected chaos wherever you stepped.

Of course he couldn’t help but do everything he can to keep you by his side, not only to be a formidable ally but simply cause he finds you as a whole fascinating. What kind of things will you say next? How will you get out of this situation? It’s like a game to him, one that he can’t predict or brute force the ending to.

While the two of you didn't get off on the best foot at the start, he proved himself very trusting and that he cared for your well being fairly easily. Sure he would take chances to tease you for the littlest things- even creating various situations just to see your reaction to them, but he still honestly responded to your every question and kept you as best in the loop for things as he was able.

It was strange yet nice to have someone like him by your side, someone so strong and confident that you could trust to cover your back and seemingly trusted you as much to cover his in return. It was a dynamic you weren’t that used to yet, sure you had your fellow hunters but no matter how much you fought alongside any of them you just couldn’t find yourself fully trusting in their abilities like this.

The more he got to know you the more he found himself thinking about you and the things you like. Often swiping his card first and thinking later any time your face flashed in his mind when perusing wares. He wonders how long it will take you to realize he keeps all of his estates fully stocked with presents and everything you might need in the event you show up to any of them.

“Sylus? Why are you calling me so early??” “Check your door kitten, you should have a package waiting for you” “Don't tell me its another gun, I keep telling you I can't use these outside of the N109 zone” he chuckles deeply “Well I could get you a gun too if you really want one. But no, it's something different this time” Curiously you grab the box and start to open it “...A teddy bear?” “Do you not like it? I figured it could add to your growing plush collection.” You let out a small giggle “That's so sweet of you. But you didn't have to send it to me right away, you could've left it in my room for the next time I came by like usual.” his voice is soft, almost whispering into your ear “I couldn't wait to give it to you is all. Wont you accept my gift?” Your heart pounds “I love it, thank you. Ill be sure to sleep with it every night!” your face is beaming, he cant see it through the phone but he can surely hear it in your voice.

Any time you find yourself without missions long enough to justify the trip, you spend it in the N109 zone with him. You told yourself at first it was just to keep an eye on him and see if you can catch any weaknesses, but you were secretly excited to be spending time with him even if it was just sitting in content silence together while he worked. And despite his unchanging face, Sylus might’ve looked forward to each of your visits even more than you.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary to accompany him to various events and gatherings, and it was surely strictly for business at first. Now though? It’s hard to tell. Not that you mind either way, it just felt nice to have his arm around you and being doted on throughout the night. When people inquired about who you were, he would usually refer to you as his woman in a more joking way at first, but your heart couldn't help but flip the first time he said it more genuinely. While looking right at you with a smile.

One very late night after attending a party, you couldn't help but doze off in the car on the way back to his place. It was much later in the night than you are typically used to, you don’t know how he can function at this time of night most days. You can’t help but let your mind wander and picture what day to day life with him would be like if you just never went back home.- If you stayed by his side for the rest of time.

He gently carries you inside, but instead of going all of the way to your dedicated room he brings you with him into his. There's no nefarious plans, he just simply wants to have you by his side longer and has wished to wake up to your face for far too long. A faint hum stirs you from your dreams as you are being gently placed onto the comfort of his mattress. A small kiss pressed to the top of your head as the blankets pulled over you before he quietly climbs in beside you.

Did you even wake up in the first place? Even if it was still a dream it meant everything to you, and you reach an arm out pulling yourself close to him and nuzzling into his side. Your eyes flutter closed once more enjoying his warmth as he quietly chuckles to himself and wraps an arm around you in return, falling into a blissful sleep of his own. Neither of you would give up this moment for the world, you were meant to be in each other’s arms just like this for eternity.

He would kill for you, and you would live for him. Nothing anyone could do would predict your love for one another, and you'll continue to defy fate to be with him

[love-and-deepspace-polycule]

My normal PSA:

I'm just posting my random poly relationship headcannons. I include MC, but I don't give many (if any) headcannons for MC due to the nature of the game being MC=you. These are just silly HC I thought of randomly. Hopefully you enjoy? I do occasionally swear in my Headcannons or make minor pop culture references. I also don't consider gender when using a gendered descriptor to get a silly point across (for example, Sylus is a wine Aunt. Aunt refers to a female individual, but used to portray a stereotype even though referring to a man). I think that really covers my headcannon style.

I do take requests, I will write for pretty much any lads ship, I will block underage accounts because I am an adult and I will post NSFW stuff.

Driving together/Who sits where? HC

Zayne:

- He is the driver... He knows he is the safest driver and will actually obey the street laws so he refuses to let anyone else drive when they are all traveling in a group.

- He is actually not a huge fan of driving, but he knows it's for the best if he drives

- kinda works out because he can get carsick, so having to focus on the road and driving helps him distract himself from the carsickness.

- buys a phone holder for his car because he can't trust Rafayel anymore to navigate.

- bought everyone phone charges that he keeps in the car

- "I'm the one always driving I get the final say in what car we buy" most interested in the actual specs of the car

- The few times he doesn't drive he and Sylus will swap and he will sit behind the driver seat.

- if he is not driving he will usually either be resting or watch Xavier play handheld games.

- he likes the windows cracked just a little bit

- keeps a spare blanket in the car for long trips

- phone is the second to die on a road trip, since now he has navigation pulled up the whole time

Rafayel:

- Passenger Princess. He sits front passenger side

- In exchange for the rights to the aux chord he has accepted his role as navigator. Although he is not good at it and it low-key drives Zayne crazy. He will pull Google maps up on his phone type in the address. Forget to start navigation before immediately going to his music app and plugging in the aux cord.

- mute Google maps so that it doesn't interrupt his music causing Zayne to miss the exit like 3 times

- but all is fixed now since Zayne got a phone holder.

- cannot sit normally in the car seat. Has the seatbelt tucked under is arm, leaning over the arm rest with one leg tucked under his butt. Or he is slouched so far down in the seat he can put his legs on the dash. Or he is leaning over the center console to talk to the boys in the back, fully twisted around basically not in his seat anymore with one leg fully on the seat propping him up over the center consult or the backrest FULLY turned around.

- constantly singing and dancing in his seat

- always showing Sylus and MC whatever dumb shit is on his phone (Xavier is usually asleep, when he isn't he will show Xavier)

- phone will always be the first to die on the car ride so he now just immediately plugs in when he gets in the car.

- only requirement for the car was heated seats

- usually the first person to get to the car and always has the car keys so he can just let himself in before giving the keys to Zayne when he gets to the car.

- he will leave his door open just so Sylus can shut it for him.

- Still calls "dibs" on front seat even though it's not a debate at this point.

- windows all the way down

Sylus:

- Sits behind Zayne on the driver side

- made sure that the car they got had a spacious back seat and cup holders. He was the second pickiest when choosing the car behind Zayne

- ended up buying a car for everyone because he can, and he wanted to appease everyone's desires

- Chats a lot with Rafayel since they are kiddy-corner from each other.

- will put his arm around Xavier so he can pull him over to his shoulder if he falls asleep so he doesn't slam into MC or crush MC

- sometimes it's just a sleep train MC on Xavier, Xavier on Sylus.

- The only one who can Sweet talk Zayne into switching so he can drive and give Zayne a break. "I promise I won't speed. Scouts honor. I'll be on my best behavior"

- holds the door open for the backseat crew and guides them in (like a gentleman), and closes the door for them when they settle in (he gets Rafayels door too) before he walks to the other side to get in himself.

- tinted windows all the way up, or maybe just a crack

- his phone will usually survive the trip unless he needs to make a lot of phone calls or watch a lot of secret camera footage that sent to his phone.

- casually just making huge moves in the the underground world on his phone. Like "oh yeah I just bought the whole stock of this underground auction." Just on a Tuesday afternoon car ride with the fam.

Xavier:

- He gets the back middle so if he falls asleep he can rest on Sylus or MC

- When he is not sleeping he will usually have some handheld game system he will play

- sometimes he gets a small headache which he can't ever tell if it is car sickness or if he is just dehydrated

- likes to look out the window sometimes and space out, so he is always waaaay in Sylus or MCs space

- tinted windows all the way up

- if he didn't bring a handheld game, he will play on his phone and his will be the third phone to die on the trip.

- the most chill passenger really. No notes.

MC:

- You get backseat behind Rafayel on the passenger side.

- You have full view of all your beautiful boys in this spot and you get to look out the window! Win-win

- it can get a little cramped if Xavier wants to look out the window or if he falls asleep.

- oftentimes Rafayel will turn all the way around in his seat just to talk to you.

- You also get full view of Zaynes frustrations... Poor guy

[majoryeager104]

I hate to be that person but your drabble about endeavor breaking touya and his s/o apart for the sake of their careers was just so good i can't help but ask if you could possibly make a part 2 😭😭😭 maybe they keep seeing each other in secret or i dunno they both apply for UA and pass and since they stay in the dorms no one can stop them from being together

Omg yesss ofc I’m on it

Summary: after his argument with Enji, Touya sneaks out with you and the two of you decide to keep your relationship secret

(Bonus teen Shiggy bc I need happy endings for him too 👌😩 oh and loml Rumi)

Touya grinned at you as you waved through the window, crossing the room to let you in. He pulled open the window, grabbing your hand and pulling you through and into a tight hug. He stayed like that for a moment, the feeling of your body against his providing some relief for his anxiety. 

“Can you believe this? What’s is being together have to do with success huh?” You complained sheepishly, wrapping your arms around him. 

He let out a soft chuckle, ruffling your hair. “Dunno, but I don’t think my old man’ll be too pleased that you’re here” he said dryly, and as if on queue, there was a firm knock at the door. Touya put a finger to his lips, glancing at the door, and back at the window that was still open behind you. 

“Touya, open the door, our discussion wasn’t over” Enjis deep and robust voice filling the room through his locked door. “Let’s go” Touya mouthed, tugging you towards the window with a wide grin. “Touya?” Enji spoke again through the door, knocking once more. You couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh under your breath as Touya pulled you through the window, shutting it behind you with a quiet click. 

You had both snuck out like this before, so you both climbed down the tree outside his window with ease, laughing in delight at the booming voice of Enji as he entered Touyas now empty room. Meanwhile, Touya grabbed your hand, running down the street with you as chaos ensued in his house behind them. “He’s gonna kill you for this Touya!” You laughed as you ran behind him, his tight grip on your hand yanking you towards run beside him as he let out a gruff laugh “what more can he do to me huh?” 

You didn’t have an answer to that, so you merely laughed once more as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Tenko, we can hide there.” Touya suggested and you nodded, the two of you slowing down as you approached a convenience store. “Snacks? Your usual?” he grinned, sitting you down on a bench to catch your breath. You nodded, and he walked in, carrying Enjis credit card with a grin. 

——

The two of you ended up at Tenkos house, sitting around playing Minecraft while the two of you figured out how the heck you would get out of this. 

“You could just break up like they said” Tenko teased, his suggestion met with boos and scoffs from you and Touya, as well as Rumi, your friend, who’d come to meet you here after you told her what happened. “What so they can treat these two more like puppets than they already did?” Rumi retorted, earning a chuckle from Tenko “I’m only joking… I’d say your only option would be making it into UA-” “that’s easy” Touya scoffed, grinning at you as he leaned back on the couch. “More specifically,” Tenko continued, shooting him a glare “into the same class. They’ve started dorm systems this year, meaning if you two really wanna stay together, without your parents knowing, you need to be in the same class.” He explained “otherwise you’ll be separated 24/7” 

At this, you sighed, crossing your arms. Everyone in the room had a powerful quirk, and you all aimed to join UA together when admissions opened, but ending up in the same class might be more tricky than you thought. Touya noticed your sigh, shoving your shoulder with a sharp look. “Hey. It’ll be fine, we’ll manage. When have I ever let you down- don’t answer that” he shot a look at Rumi, who’d held up a hand to answer with a smug grin. 

——

Touya returned home to face his fate of being yelled at for the next three hours, and you stayed the night at Rumis house. Unlike Touya, you managed to slip out of trouble by saying Rumi was upset over a breakup and the two of you had an emergency girls night. When the two of you came up with it she was cackling like a mad man, even more so when she found out Touya had been grounded (again)

As soon as admissions opened, the two of you, as well as Rumi and Tenko, signed up for the entrance exam, and, to no one’s surprise, you all exceeded expectations with flying colors. 

The worry now was whether or not you’d both make it into the same class. 

“I’m in 1A. Makes sense” Touya said smugly as he read his acceptance letter, before glancing over at Tenko, who was grinning. “Same here.” “IGHT BET” Rumi cheered, holding up her letter like it was Simba in the lion king. They assumed that meant she was in too. Touya looked at you, furrowing his brow as he watched you stare at your acceptance letter. “Doll if you don’t open the thing I might burn it.” He said, probably more anxious than you. You nodded sheepishly, pulling open the letter, the paper smooth and firm between your fingers. 

You pulled it out, slowly. Accepted. But what class? You pulled it out further, reading word for word. Now Tenko and Rumi were anxious too. You stopped, taking a deep breath as you stared at the envelope, your answer just behind the thin paper. Touya grabbed your hand, gently, sliding closer as he pulled it out the rest of the way, his eyes narrowing as he read the final paragraph. 

The room was quiet for a moment, until everyone sighed in relief as they sighted the massive grin on Touyas face as he looked at you. “We’re all in 1A” he grinned, and Tenko and Rumi stood up, cheering along with Touya. You smiled too, joining them in their little celebration, your previous anxiety melted away. 

——

It took no time at all to convince your parents to let you stay in dorms. You used Rumi as an excuse, keeping Touyas presence a convenient secret. Touya did the same, and for the first time in ages his dad was actually pleased with him. Touya hadn’t mentioned you in weeks, his gripes and complaints about the arrangement slowed to a stop. 

But you best believe that as soon as both your parent’s cars drove away, the two of you were laughing and sitting together with your friends in the common room like the little arrangement had never happened. 

I love David Bowie hehe