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illbegottenfaith · 2 months ago

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stutter (a puzzle pieces by saint motel inspired fic)

something about you and your features reawakens theo's stutter (theo nott x reader)

a/n - LOVE how I usually naturally write in British English (for the most part) but the title of this fic is apparently the American English variant?? sorry but stammar just doesn't have the same sound as stutter and it rlly messes with the flow of my sentences lmao

tropes/warnings - fluff, theo has a stutter, tw alcohol, slightlyy mean reader? very mild tho lmao

word count - 3.2k

taglist - @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf

Theo’s stutter had never been bad exactly - just bad enough to be noticed. Bad enough to make him hesitate before speaking, bad enough to make his father sigh whenever he tripped over a word at the dinner table.

"Think before you speak," his father would say, voice clipped, disapproving. "There's no point in opening your mouth if you don't know what you're going to say."

As if Theo didn’t already try.

So he adapted. He learned to pick his words carefully, to stay quiet unless absolutely necessary, to keep his voice even and deliberate. The less he spoke, the less he had to risk tripping over his own tongue. He stopped rushing and started living his life at a careful, highly controlled pace.

Over time, with extensive help from the best speech therapists his father could find, he grew out of his stutter. By the time he was old enough to be surrounded by classmates who would’ve torn him apart for it, it was already buried beneath layers of indifference. He built himself a reputation on cool control - on quiet, dry wit and the ability to cut someone down with a single unimpressed look. He spoke when he wanted to, not when people expected him to, and that was enough to keep it from ever being a problem.

Until you.

Because for some infuriating reason, with you, it found a way to slip through the cracks.

You and Theo were like two puzzle pieces that never quite fit right.

You didn’t hate each other - not really - but it seemed like a stretch to call yourselves friends. Try as you might, your personalities seemed fundamentally disconnected. He had little patience for your sense of humour, or lack thereof in his opinion. On the bad days, you had a snarky quip ready for even his most innocent comments. It was the most maddening thing for your friends - just as seemed that the two of you had finally learned to get along, Theo would take the mickey out of you, or you would turn your nose up at his boorish antics, and the cycle would repeat.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), all of that changed two weeks ago. It had happened on a brisk Wednesday night. His dorm was fresh out of bottled water and it was too late and too cold to sneak down to the Kitchens to get some. Mattheo was keeping everyone up fretting about what-if-someone-gets-extra-thirsty-in-the-middle-of-the-night-then-what and no one could get him to shut up. Naturally, Theo had been rather unceremoniously evicted from his cosy, dry bed to fetch water from the girls’ dormitory, after a unanimous (and unfair) vote.

So there he had stood outside the girls’ dormitory, shivering, waiting for one of your friends to bring out some water. He had glared at the distorted view of the moon through the common room walls, fuming about how it already was the middle of the night and none of his roommates seemed the least bit thirsty, not that Mattheo would listen to reason.

Finally, the door had swung open, and out of the shadows peered your wan, tired face.

Maybe it was something in the way your lips twisted in displeasure as your droopy eyes struggled to stay open. For some odd, inexplicable reason, he felt a pang of regret over having woken you.

If you were slightly more awake, you might have noticed the glazed look in his eyes. But as it were, all you had done was shove a small jug into his lax hands, manually curling his fingers around the handle when his grip refused to tighten. Of course, you and your roommates were too environmentally conscious to be entertaining single-use plastic.

“Hold still,” you had muttered as you tipped your room’s jug into the smaller one, filling it up. In the pale moonlight, it had been as though he was seeing you in a completely different light for the first time, both figuratively and otherwise. You hair looked unbearably soft from the way it cascaded down your shoulders. Almost as soft as your pillowy lips, which were now parting to release a sigh. And did your skin always smell this sweet, he wondered, as you stepped closer?

“You want a cookie?” you had asked waspishly when he had kept staring at you once his jug was full. That had snapped him out of his trance. After bidding you a hasty, clipped goodnight, he had crept back down to the boy’s dormitories, head reeling, heart thudding. Before finally nodding off in the wee hours of the morning, he had put the whole thing down to sleep deprivation.

But when you looked just as adorable in your 9 am Charms lesson the next day, bags under your eyes as you poorly stifled your yawns, he knew he was well and truly fucked.

That had been two weeks ago. Now, he’d be hard pressed to muster up any real sort of annoyance over the reactions you elicited from him, knowingly or otherwise.

You were all in the Great Hall, having breakfast. Your friends were talking about some book they had read recently. Mattheo and Draco were having an arm wrestling match right over their eggs. Enzo was yammering in Theo’s ear, not that he was listening. Theo had long since learned to tune out Enzo’s chatter until lunch, when he was sufficiently awake to actually process it.

No, what he was doing was watching you - watching the way you chewed on your bottom lip instead of your breakfast, a faint crease between your eyebrows as your eyes flitted across the parchment. He cast his eyes around the table listlessly, desperately wishing for a change in topic, preferably one that had to do with you.

His prayers were soon answered. Ivy turned away from her conversation to look at you.

“How’s the essay coming along, Y/N?”

You finally peeled your eyes away from the essay you were proofreading, sliding your gaze disinterestedly to Theo and the rest of your friends. He watched your sleepy, downturned eyes momentarily rest on his, a familiar electric jolt twinging in his chest. There was no denying it - what had previously seemed uninteresting or unimaginative was now hopelessly irresistible to him.

You scowled, flipping back to the first page. “Terrible. Awful. I don’t know what possessed McGonagall to let me take N.E.W.T level Transfiguration.”

Because you’re brilliant at it, Theo wanted to say, just like how you’re brilliant at everything else.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Ivy said reasonably as you haphazardly started gathering your things.

“It is, it really is. Even worse, my guinea pig escaped so now everyone has something to practice on except me.”

“I can be your Guinea pig,” Theo murmured. Mattheo gave him a hard shove in the shoulder blade.

“What?” You distractedly pushed a lock of hair out of your face.

He grimaced, a throbbing pain now settling in his upper back. “I said,” he forced out, “serves you right. Losing your guinea pig.”

You rolled your eyes. “Charming as ever, Nott.”

You hurriedly placed a kiss on Ivy’s cheek, glowering at Theo as you walked off. Just as he opened his mouth to ask (yell) where his kiss was, Mattheo shoved a bun into his mouth.

"Real subtle, mate," he said sarcastically.

Theo shot him a glare, but the delicate flush dusting his face betrayed him. "Shut up."

Mattheo only smirked, taking a bite of his own toast. "Whatever you say."

Some nights, trouble had a face. Tonight, it was yours.

He saw you before you saw him - tucked inside an alcove at the far end of the corridor, bathed in the flickering glow of a lone torch. It was the late kind of hour when nothing good was bound to happen. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey dangled loosely from your fingers, the deep amber liquid catching the dim light as you swirled it absentmindedly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this - pushing limits just for the sake of it. It wasn't immediately apparent, but anyone who paid close enough attention would see you had a habit of toeing the line between reckless and untouchable.

He should have walked away. Should’ve let you self-destruct in peace.

But Theo was never that smart when it came to you.

"You’re not exactly being subtle," he said, stepping out of the shadows.

You didn’t jump, didn’t startle. Instead, you turned to face him with a slow, deliberate ease, like you’d been expecting him all along.

"Wasn’t trying to be."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Could’ve fooled me."

You smirked, raising the bottle in a lazy toast before taking another sip.

"What, you gonna tell on me?"

Theo scoffed. "If I wanted to get you in trouble, you'd know."

"Mm. So you’re just here to nag, then?"

"Not nagging," Theo said. "Just pointing out that if you’re going to break the rules, you should at least be smart about it."

You hummed, swaying the bottle between your fingers, humming poorly. You were definitely well past tipsy. "Smart’s overrated."

"Yeah? So’s liver failure."

That made you laugh, short and sharp, like you hadn’t expected him to be funny.

He shouldn’t have cared about that. Shouldn’t have cared that his words - his stupid, judgemental, throwaway words - had gotten a laugh out of you.

But he did. And that was the problem.

You studied him for a moment before holding out the bottle. "Want some?"

He looked at it disdainfully. "Generous."

"Hardly," you said. "Figured it might loosen you up a bit. You’re wound tight, Nott."

Theo exhaled, crossing his arms. He knew all about being tightly wound when it came to you. "Right. Because getting pissed in a dark corridor is the key to inner peace."

"You should try it sometime."

"Hard pass."

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Then, just to be a menace, you took another slow swill, letting your lips linger at the rim of the bottle before licking a stray drop off the corner of your mouth.

Theo didn’t react. Wouldn’t react. You weren’t doing anything special. Just drinking. Just looking at him with that same lazy amusement, like you had him all figured out.

And maybe you did. Maybe that was what rattled him.

"You’re - " He started, but his tongue tripped over the word, catching slightly before he forced it out. "You’re d-drunk."

Your drooping eyes widened fractionally. Your lips parted in your efforts to concentrate as a slight frown creased your forehead, not all that different from the one at breakfast a few days ago,

Theo felt the heat crawl up his neck before he could stop it. His mind scrambled for damage control, but the way you were watching him - head tilted, intrigued, like you were piecing something together - made it worse.

"You good?" you asked, something teasing yet concerned in your tone.

Theo cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain control of his rogue tongue. "Obviously," he muttered, shifting his weight.

You let the silence stretch a beat too long before raising an eyebrow.

"You sure? ‘Cause for a second there, you almost sounded - "

"Drop it," he cut in, swiping the bottle from your hands before you could protest. He took a slow sip, letting the firewhiskey burn its way down, using it as an excuse to steady himself.

You watched him succumb to the buzz of the drink. "You’re changing the subject," you noted, smirking.

"Yeah?" He felt less wired, less sober. "You’re still an idiot for doing this in the open."

You watched him lean against the wall opposite yours, eyes gleaming in the dim alcove. You let him have that one. But just as he thought you were letting it go, your gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing.

"Don’t act like you’re any better," you mused.

Theo frowned. "What?"

You nodded toward his pocket, where a cigarette pack was sticking out slightly. "Don’t you go through, like, three packs a day?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line. You had him there. "That’s not the same."

You widened your eyes mockingly. "No, you’re right. I might get liver failure in thirty years. You’re aiming for lung failure by, what - next week?"

Theo clicked his tongue, tucking the pack deeper into his pocket. "Cute."

"Not as cute as you stuttering over your words a minute ago."

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," you murmured, grinning as you took back the firewhiskey.

The Slytherin common room was empty when you both stepped inside, drenched from head to toe. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did nothing to dry the water you trailed in as you stalked toward it.

Theo watched you try to wring out your sleeves with an air of great suffering, muttering something about "bloody weather conspiracies" under your breath as you peeled off some of your outer layers.

"This is all your fault," you grumbled.

Theo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah? How’s that?"

"You control everything else," you shot back, flicking a few stray drops of water at him. "Figured you had a deal with the bloody sky, too."

He smirked. "Don't give me ideas."

You rolled your eyes, crouching slightly to warm your frozen hands by the fire. Your clothes clung to your frame, and Theo forced himself to look away before his thoughts could wander into dangerous territory. Instead, he shrugged off his soaked sweater and tossed it over the back of the nearest couch.

"Relax. You’ll live," he said idly.

"You better hope so," you threatened. "If I don’t, I’m haunting you forever."

Theo snorted, undoing the cuffs of his shirt.

"I don't think you have the attention span for that."

You shot him a look. "I'd find a way," you said darkly.

"Sure," he agreed sarcastically.

You huffed, standing up straight again.

"And here I was, thinking you actually liked me."

The words were meant to be teasing, flippant, meaningless. But something about them made his pulse stutter.

Maybe it was the way you said it, light and careless, like the idea was so ridiculous it wasn’t even worth entertaining. Maybe it was the way the firelight flickered against your golden skin. Maybe it was the way a stray droplet trickled down your throat, inch by agonising inch, before disappearing beneath the collar of your shirt.

Maybe it was the fact that he did actually like you.

Theo didn’t know what made him say it - either the warmth from the fire or the cold still clinging to his skin or the fact that he could feel the exhaustion of restraint pressing against his ribs. But before he could stop himself, he was opening his mouth, lips forming words he had barely formulated.

"You look - " he started, then faltered.

Shit.

His tongue tripped, his brain suddenly too slow to catch up. He could feel the syllable stuck in his throat, unable to escape, the word stuttering into nothing.

"Y-you l - l -"

Silence.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, slow and smug, realisation dawning on your face.

Theo exhaled sharply, his stomach twisting as he tried to force his expression into something impassive, something cool, something...unaffected. In short, he tried attempting what was an impossible feat when your very features were enough to leave him dizzy.

A wicked smile unfurled across your face. He wasn’t getting out of this alive, was he?

"Do you not know how to talk?" you demanded, eyes glittering with suppressed mirth. "Is this your first day on planet Earth?"

Theo clenched his jaw, crossing his arms in a futile attempt to feign indifference. "Shut up."

You refused to let up. "No, really. What was that? You looked - what? What do I look like, Theo? Enlighten me."

He forced himself to roll his eyes as his fingers curled into his sleeves. "You’re insufferable."

"J-j-j-j - " You stuttered mockingly, eyes alight with mischief. "What are you, an idiot? Does your tongue need rewiring?"

Theo should’ve turned away, should’ve thrown himself onto the couch and forced himself to think about literally anything else. But he couldn’t help it.

He watched you - watched the way you grinned to yourself, watched the way your fingers twisted in the fabric of your damp clothes, watched the way you were so completely and utterly oblivious to the way you made his mind unravel.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just the heat in his chest or the feeling in his bones or the fact that his name sounded so damn good dripping off your honeyed lips while you teased him.

It was everything.

It was the way you filled every empty space like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there. It was the way your laughter lived in his head rent-free, the way you made even the most infuriating drivel you spouted feel like something he couldn't bear to go without. It was the fact that no matter how much you poked and prodded, no matter how ruthlessly or relentlessly you mocked him - he still wanted you. Desperately.

He should be embarrassed. The Theo of a few years ago would have been - would’ve burned with the humiliation, would’ve clenched his fists at the reminder of all the times he’d stood in front of his father, struggling to string together a coherent sentence under the weight of that unimpressed gaze.

But you were different. He could hear it in your voice, buried beneath the teasing - the unmistakable warmth, the absolute delight you took in making fun of him. Not because you wanted to humiliate him, but because it amused you. It endeared him to you. Because you liked getting under his skin.

And, Merlin help him, he liked that you liked it.

"Go on," you continued mockingly, roughly drying your hair with a towel, still oblivious to Theo watching you like you hung the stars and moon. "Careful with the big words, now."

Theo just stood there, staring at you, utterly gone. He wasn’t even trying to school his expression anymore.

When you finally looked up from drying yourself, your teasing faltered ever so slightly at the look in his eyes.

You blinked. “What?”

Theo shook his head, leaning against the wall thoughtfully.

“Nothing.”

You stilled. Because for the first time, you actually noticed. Theo wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t enduring your teasing with quiet exasperation.

He was watching you with something softer - something warmer, something dangerously close to adoration. It lingered in the lines of his face, in the almost-smile playing at his lips, in the flicker of fondness he couldn’t quite suppress fast enough before your eyes met his.

You stared back, speechless. Theo swallowed, tearing his gaze away, turning sharply as if shaking himself out of it.

"You should dry off before you actually get sick," he muttered, forcing his voice into something steady.

You stared at him for half a second longer, something unreadable in your expression.

"Right," you finally said, clearing your throat.

Neither of you acknowledged the moment for what it was. But the resurgence of Theo's stutter remained a secret kept only between the two of you.

#theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff

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laufeysvalentine · 3 months ago

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i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch.

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you.

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan.

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.”

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out.

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.”

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.”

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.”

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. ��and i’m still mad.”

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene.

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.”

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.”

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever.

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you.

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them.

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut.

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him.

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.”

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.”

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint.

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius.

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.”

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue.

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.”

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may.

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.”

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be.

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years.

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love?

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it.

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks.

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t.

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)?

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t.

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working.

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters.

fuck.

you are not getting over him anytime soon.

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward.

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault.

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it.

it must be especially bad this time around.

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up.

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him?

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed.

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers.

she waves her head, face in the pillow.

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?”

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.”

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you.

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing.

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…”

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.”

so she doesn’t.

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you.

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm.

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there.

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened.

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her.

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet.

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact.

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys.

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place?

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet.

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you.

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay?

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them.

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left.

here he is. remus lupin.

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful.

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open.

oh.

he wasn’t sleeping after all.

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating.

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering.

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow.

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake.

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking?

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?”

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now.

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist.

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.”

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?”

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened?

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards.

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?”

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon.

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.”

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.”

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper.

“no.” he says firmly.

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders.

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.”

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins.

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body?

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.”

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves?

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real.

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?”

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes.

your mouth hangs open. “but…”

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.”

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?”

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good.

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours.

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined.

remus. your remus.

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose.

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?”

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?”

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.”

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now.

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.”

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.”

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be.

masterlist

taglist: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353 > i'm in love with all of u fr

tags: @fairygirl170 @burningwitchprincess @theredvelvetbitch @effervescentpoet @nott-my-riddle @amatoanima @boromoony @daddypriceugh @stqrgirlies-blog @angemyrtille@lydpop @moonlightremblack @moonydoodlez @wizzerreblogs @just-here-for-ff @sodavrr @serenadingtigers @ficcharsimp @lettertovera @djlance-rock @hypn0fl3ct @thewitchesofart @novausstuff @wrenisrad @ayyeitssarahh @a1ienmush @jay-is-a-pinguin @lovergirlsdiary333 @ajtriesart @setayeshmohseni @iraslore @thesecretgirluniverse-blog @nishinoyas-wife @hyperfixatedscorpio @pansyitcanton @hannah44444 @may-madness @girlwihkaleidoscopeeyes @oursweetmoony @whimsicalgirliee

lmk if you'd like to be on my main taglist xx!

italics means i couldn't tag you for some reason 💔 also sorry i've been so mia in the comments, i love and appreciate all of you who are commenting, tysm and have a good day lovelies

#i want you #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #the marauders #harry potter #laufeysvalentine #nora's scribbles ᝰ.ᐟ #marauders #x reader #remus lupin #remus x reader #kisses!

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dropitpunk · 2 months ago

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sweet moments with mickey 17

tags: nsfw, mickey 17 x fem!reader, fluff.

even if he can be slow, his heart is in all the right places.

mickey is stunned when he first sees you, jaw slacked and longing eyes watching you pass him in the hall.

the smell of your hair was comforting, so good he could feel his heart drumming inside his throat.

you gave him a polite smile, your eyes scanning him with a glint of intrigue. he gulped, suddenly self conscious of his uniform.

"have a good night," you said, nodding towards him. as your smile grew wider, he remembered he was just standing there.

"you too." he nodded back, picking at his fingernails in a distracted manner.

you were beginning to walk towards your room again, so he panicked and rushed out the words "i'm mickey, by the way".

he could see your lips moving when you introduced yourself, beautiful lips. he registered your name, putting a title to the face, beautiful face.

"you're beautiful," he blurted out.

"thank you. it's not very easy to be beautiful when you are in space." you laughed and he melted, smiling back at you.

from that moment, he knew you would be connected. he didn't know for how long, but he hoped it could be for a long time.

no matter how many times you asked mickey to take care of himself, he would always put your needs on his top priorities.

"d'you want some of mine?" he asked, face stuffed with suspicious bread.

mickey was starving, but he wouldn't mind giving you a piece if you really needed.

"how was training today?" mickey would ask as soon as you entered his door.

you always observed his behavior as you took off your shoes, trying to figure it out if he was already another version of mickey.

you liked them all equally, challenging or sweet.

"tiring, boring. need a kiss." you pouted your lips at him.

mickey got up from bed and grabbed your waist, gently locking your lips.

he didn't like to talk about his day, so you didn't press, but when you thought of the things he was going through, it still made your insides turn.

"your hair is always so soft. how?" his fingers made little circles in your scalp, bringing your head to his chest.

"alien shampoo." your voice was airy, mickey knew how to make you weak.

"i might need to burrow that." he smiled against your head.

mickey was always thinking about you in some way at any time of the day.

in the morning, if you weren't with him, he would think about your face when you were drooling on your pillow, dreaming about rainbows and unicorns. he thought about kissing your nose and waking you up in the same way he did when you slept on his bed.

at lunch, he would be all over your personal space, cracking bad jokes about his time on earth or silly things that happened on his week. teasing you endlessly about the night before, or the night to come.

at work, it was harder to think about you, but the most satisfying. he needed a motive, a drive to say focused, and you fulfilled that role very well. mickey kept thinking about coming back to you, being in your arms, getting to touch your body and kiss your lips. it made dying worth it, more palatable. it required more effort to think about you in such stressful situations, but his mind did anyway.

at night, he poured everything he got into you, into making you feel appreciated just like he felt by you. he could kiss your entire body for the whole night and not get tired.

"i'm close, mickey." you whined into his mouth, he kept the same pace and rubbed your clit a little harder.

he kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, feeling his stomach burn with a familiar feeling. he pushed his needs away to give you more pleasure.

"come around me." he whispered into your ear, lips moving back to your face. he hugged you close when he felt you gush around his cock, biting his shoulder.

you always rubbed his back after, scratching your nails against his skin, listening to his heartbeat, giggling at the sound of his voice. you were there, you loved him.

and if you were there with him, he could die again, and again, and again...

#mickey 17 #mickey 17 x reader #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #fluff #mickey barnes x reader #mickey barnes

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martzyink · 6 months ago

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🍂🖤.

This is a very random spread but enjoy the doodles and the dorky paragraphs I’m about to write rambling about what the heck was going on in my brain while drawing this.💀🙏🏻

Let’s be honest, Mickey LOVES the fact that Ian’s been in the military. Absolutely loves his rib tattoo and is OBSESSED with Ian in a military/army uniform. Also I just wanted an excuse to draw my season 11 babies being silly and married.🧌✨

I had this vision of Ian (Season 1) letting Mickey “borrow* most of his clothes (or clothes he just happened to be wearing whenever they’d meet up. Sometimes Fiona’s, sometimes Lip’s) just because Mickey always seemed to be wearing the same scruffy old clothes and well, Ian felt bad but obviously he had to do it in a way where Mickey wouldn’t suspect that so he’d tell him “it’s fine, just give it back next time I see you” both knowing damn well Ian will never be seeing those clothes again. And Mickey agreed to it every time because free clothes?? Hell yeah. Ians scent? Nice. Really nice… ☺️✨

And god he needed new clothes bad.😬

(Btw there was a third drawing I decided to take down because no matter how much I looked at it, I wasn’t happy with it😭😭)

#this took too long to draw #I love my boys #shameless #shameless fanart #gallavich #gallavich fanart #gallavich art #ian gallagher #ian gallagher fanart #mickey milkovich #mickey milkovich fanart #ian x mickey #mickey x ian

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mehwmidklpe · 1 month ago

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hiiii, i have a request. So its a Percy x reader where reader and Percy meet up at the beach to go on a little date, but Percy arrived early and waits but starts to draw readere initial in the sand like a love sick puppy (and maybe starts talking about her to some sea creature) and then she comes and sees percy and just smiles and realized yup that's the love of my life:)

Thank you beforehand!!!!

that's so cute!!

Yes, Percy knows the date wasn't planned till after like 10 to 20 minutes. But what's wrong with being early to make sure everything is perfect?

After many years, Percy Jackson, the most oblivious demigod of all time finally got the courage to ask you on a date.

He hadn't expect you to call him out as an idiot for taking so long to ask that question.

But hey! At least you didn't judo-flip him. And he got a date on the beach out of it, too!

After Percy had set everything up, he was sitting on the picnic blanket, waiting for you to arrive. He was so happy, like he's litteraly a lovesick idiot.

So lovesick he found himself drawing your intial in the sand with a cute smile on his face.

But when he heard a sound and looked up, he didn't see anyone. When he looked back at the sand and the intial of the most beautiful name he'd ever heard, he saw a turltle.

"Ohh. Hey little guy! What's your name?"

He frowned as he heard the turtle answer. "No name yet? Well then I'll give you one!" He started thinking.

"Ooh! How about Leo- No, wait, not Leonardo. I know a boy named Leo. He's pretty cool, but you deserve the best ninja turtle name out there. Michelangelo." He decided.

"Yeah he's totally my favorite." He then said as he watched the turtle crawl towards the pizza he had set on the blanket.

"Woah there buddy. I know turtles love pizza. So do I. But that pizza is reserved for a special lady."

Percy felt a smile growing on his lips as the turtle spoke to him again. "Yeah.. I have a date with this amazing girl. It's our first one. I still can't believe she said yes."

The son of Poseidon hadn't even noticed a sea star coming up to him. "Oh, another friend! What's your name? Also none. Mhmm.." The boy started thinking of a name again.

"Patrick. You're definitely a Patrick." He nodded.

"Wait? About my date? You heard that?" He asked the sea star as the turle crawled atop of him.

A giddy smile rested on his lips at the thought of you. "Her name is Y/n." He looked at the turtle once he heard his voice.

"I know Mickey, that's a beautiful name. But not as beautiful as she herself." Once the star asked about you, Percy knew there was no way back.

So now he found himself talking to at least 18 sea animals. Some of them were in the sea, but you could still see them, others were sitting right infront of Percy.

And Michelangelo, of course, sat in Percy's palm.

Gods did Percy feel like a disney princess.

"Yes, Flounder, she took all of them out. Singelhandedly." Percy confirmed to the fish at the edge of the sea.

"Squidward! Language!" He said to the octopus. "But yeah she's a fucking badass." He silently agreed, but every creature heard it.

Percy turned to the other fish. "Nemo. What did I tell you? She's not going to marry you. I will be her future husband, okay?"

"Don't worry, Alberto. We'll do two weddings. One in land and one in the sea. You can all be there, I'm sure she'll love you guys!"

He then looked at the crab. "Yes Sebastian. Y/n is the most beautiful, gorgeous girl you'll ever see! She's breathtaking! Divine! Aphrodite loosk like shit next to her! I don't understand how she's not full goddess, but I can totally see her godly half."

"Why thank you, you don't look too bad yourself."

Percy froze at the sound of that voice. The voice he'd recognize anywhere. He gulped and turned around to see you in all your glory.

"Y/-Y/n." He stammered.

When he heard the voice you couldn't hear, he leaned in closer to Michelangelo on his hand.

"Yes Mickey, I told you she's breathtaking." He wishpered to the turtle, agreeing to what the turtle said about your appearence.

Oh yeah, this boy is totally your endgame.

You stiffled a giggle as you walked over to him.

It was only then that Percy let his eyes rank over your body, taking in your outfit, your hair, your eyes, everything about you.

"You look–" "I heard you the first sixteen times, Percy." You said as you sat down next to him.

You tilted your head, lookign at the sand. "Is that my name?" By now, the intial had turned into your full name with hearts and stars around them.

Percy had done that while he rambled on about you to his new sea friends.

"No? It's your dyslexia who's fooling you." Percy lied. "I can read, Percy." You state.

He stayed quiet for a bit, before his head turned back to look at you again.

"I uh.. I got us pizza! Well actually Connor traveled to new york and get me some for us. He wanted to go to Italy first, I don't really know why the plans changed." Percy said, adjusting the two boxes of pizza.

"And uh.. I got us some cola, too. Don't tell Mr. D that I stole the from him though.. Uhm.. And I got some other snacks if you–"

"It's perfect Percy. Thank you." You assure him, taking his hand in yours.

The son of Poseidon fel the heat rise up to his cheeks, and you didn't hear it, but the animals were all 'ooh-ing' and 'aah-ing'.

"Now back to the whole 'talking about me to some animals' topic. You said you wanna marry me." You recalled with a smile.

Percy froze, he had no idea what to do.

"Uhm.. Well- I didn't- I mean we're still young, a-and we're not even an actual couple so.." His voice trailed of, noticing how stupid he sounded.

You bit your lip. "If you ask me we might just be one."

Did you just say that?

Like actually?

"Uhm.. Y/n.. would you want to be my girlfrie– Wait. You're not messing with me, right??" Percy asked you. "I'm not, Seaweedbrain."

Percy shot a look at the octopus. "Shut up squidward! Only Y/n gets to call me that!"

And you giggled. "You're cute, Percy Jackson. And yes, I would like to be your girlfriend." You smile again.

His heart was racing faster than a black marlin can swim. "That–That's cool–yeah.. cool." He tried to play it off, but even the animals weren't buying it.

Then Percy's eyes randomly widened. "No, we're not gonna do that!" Percy shot back at Patrick. "What'd they say?" You ask him. "He said. that we should kiss."

You frown at that. "And you're not gonna listen to him? C'mon Perce, he's a star." You say to him.

The sea anmilas were probably encouraging him cause he looked around at them.

Then finally, he scooted closer to you. "Is this okay with you?" He asks you, tone soft. You nod. "Yeah."

And so his lips found yours in a soft, loving, sea-animal-proof kiss.

The animals cheered, but it honestly sounded like a ton of gibberish to you, especially the sound that came from the dolphin who's name you did not know.

It didn't matter though, cause Percy Jackson was kissing you.

When you pulled away, he smiled. "Was that okay?" You nod again. "More than okay."

This time, you both blushed.

"So..?"

"Yes Percy. They're invited to the wedding."

And the animals cheered again.

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sadesluvr · 1 month ago

Text

FEEL. — mickey 17

somewhat inspired by @darkoies doctor c.ai! (NSFW)

w/c: 2.3K

As he felt his body temperature slowly begin to drop, Mickey knew that he’d been cloned again.

He’d grown to accept that there was nothing like climatising to the perfect 20°C of the lab, sometimes laying there for hours with nothing but a sheet to cover his modesty – only if he’d been lucky enough to be attended to that quickly. Mickey seemed to be reborn in a lab full of people, yet he was always alone.

Blinking, he fought to adjust himself to the sterile curing lights, expecting to be faced with Dorothy or one of the other scientists. Instead, he was met with warmth; rounder, fuller features staring down at him with a curious look and a gentle smile. He'd certainly never seen you before.

“...Vitals are surprisingly low,” the voice spoke. “Is this normal?”

Instinctively Mickey opened his mouth to answer, clamping it shut once he realised you weren’t speaking to him, but a fellow doctor across the lab. He hoped you hadn’t noticed. He felt a bit silly.

“I’m just going to put this in, ok? It’s a small chip to help us track your endocrine system, hormones, endorphins – those kinds of things. You shouldn’t feel a thing, it’s virtually weightless.” You spoke again, eyes occasionally making contact as you glanced down to reassure him, but more focused on dabbing at his skin with a wipe.

Mickey took a short breath, having not particularly grown accustomed to needles throughout any of his seventeen iterations.

“Uh-huh... Why do I -”

“All done.” You grinned, withdrawing the tool with a smile.

He couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed, selfishly wishing a flare up of some kind, anything that could get him to spend just a few more minutes longer with you. Anything was better than a meaningless afternoon within the four walls of his room. Pursing his lips, he pushed himself to sit upright, allowing for him to get a better view of you.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine...” he began, wringing his hands. “Though in my position I’ve learned that’s not much.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to be an Expendable. I admire your bravery,” you began, leaning in, your faces a few centimetres apart. “Chin up.”

Goosebumps peppered his skin as he felt your breath on his cheek, the warmth of your hands felt even through your plastic gloves as you held his face in place, running a torch over his eyes.

“It’s not all bad,” he chuckled nervously. “I get to keep my memories.”

“I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. There are definitely a few things I’d like to forget...”

“Like what?” he questioned, hoping that you wouldn't find his prying weird. He’d never get this far with any other doctor on the team.

“Bad hairstyles for one,” you said with a soft sigh, stepping away from the man to enter something into a computer. "My entire college years, amongst other things.”

“I bet they weren’t that bad,” he shrugged, brushing a wet, messy strand of his mousy brown hair from his eyes. “Nice girls like you definitely had a better time than me.”

The statement seemed to illicit a smile.

“Well,” you huffed as you scribbled something down on a clipboard. “Nice girls tend to finish last. That’s why I’m here. Other than the pay, being a doctor on Earth is pretty shit.”

Mickey grinned, and this time let out a genuine, audible laugh, so unrestrained that his voice broke in the process. You hummed in amusement, presumably at the fact that the man had taken such glee in an offhand comment, before going back to your job and listing some rather important things about the tests being run.

By that point Mickey had naturally zoned out, having heard all the doctors’ spiel before. What did it matter if hypertension could cause blackouts, heart attacks or death – he would just be reprinted anyway. In a fucked-up way, nothing really mattered... In what he thought would’ve been basic empathy, he hoped you could see him for who he was - less of a crash dummy and more of a human.

Marshall was fuming.

And by that nature, the whole lab was pissed off with you.

The past few experiments had been complete failures – not due to misguided hypothesises, but because Mickey was a shitty lab rat. If you could even call him that.

Over the few weeks that 17 had been cloned, nothing had gone to plan. Half the time, he’d passed out before research could begin, or hadn’t even been deemed fit to work. You’d only seen him in passing, being wheeled about on a table or through plexiglass – but you knew something was wrong…the numbers told you so.

It was difficult. On Earth there were too many patients for you to really care about them in the way your cared for Mickey, but reading his past files and listening here-say from the other workers was enough to sympathise with him. From what Dorothy had told you, his past iterations had never been so stubborn, which was why it didn’t make sense for him to act up now.

Arkady thought it to be a fault in the tech, that somehow he’d reprinted wrong…but you knew better.

It was obvious he’d grown fond of you. You’d caught him staring multiple times, a distant smile dotted across his face as he carved out your visage through the haze of the testing room. Sometimes, he’d even wave. Discreetly, you did back.

To be fair, you liked him too.

Naturally, it made sense for you to ‘deal’ with him. You clutched your clipboard to your chest as you walked down the empty corridors to a distant room, curtly waving away the guards as you entered.

The brown haired man perked up, and if you weren’t facing expulsion – or death – from Marshall himself then you would’ve made a quip about it.

“Oh - I, uh...They just shoved me in here, I have no idea what’s this all about —“ Mickey stammered, eyes glancing around the room frantically as if to search for a source of reason himself. You watched as he shrunk in on himself, seemingly realising from your crossed arms and pursed lips that you weren’t in a generous mood.

“You shouldn’t be surprised. You haven’t been eating as much. Or sleeping,” you began, shoes tapping against the floor as you strolled towards him. He seemed to be trying (and failing) to divert his gaze from you, eyes as wide and watery as ever, and it occurred to you that it felt like a mean teacher punishing a schoolboy. “They wanted to throw you in the cell, but I convinced them to lend you to me under the name of science.”

He nodded shyly and peered up at you from his bangs.

“Our research is compromised if you go into a mission on two hours of sleep and low blood sugar. Then we look bad, and Marshall blows his gasket.”

Mickey itched uncomfortably, contemplating something before the edges of his lips curved up into a small, jaunty smile. “...Isn’t there some kind of shot for that?”

“That isn’t the point, Mickey,” you chided, ignoring his silly attempt at a joke. “Not everything can be fixed by a drug. We may be miles away from Earth, but most things are still down to basic biology. You’re still human.”

The man sighed and cast his gaze to the floor, so much so that you couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble with Marshall. If you let me out of here, I’ll tell him it’s my fault.”

You fought to hold back a small smile. Here he was, essentially a complete stranger – a literal lab experiment - and yet was ready to take a bullet for you. It baffled you as to why nobody else saw the gentleness of humanity in Mickey – probably because no one was willing to give him a chance. Being labelled ‘Expendable’ would do that, all too ironic that he was the most important on the ship. To the whole regime, really.

“There’s no need to do that...” you hummed. “I’m just annoyed I’ve overlooked things.”

“…Like?”

“Happiness, for one,” you began, slowly striding around the room to place your clipboard on a small table. “And attention. We tend to forget that we need it.”

Mickey swayed his head, seemingly taking in what you were saying as he watched you like a hawk. As if his body had been pulled taught with a string, his back visibly straightened as you stopped in-front of him, your shins touching the tips of his thigh. Swallowing, he angled his head to look up at you, and your gazes met.

“Be honest with me, Mickey…Did you stop eating just so you could see me?”

He swallowed again, briefly diverting his gaze before looking back at you, running his tongue over his lips. Mickey was always cute, but he looked especially delectable in this angle.

“Y-yeah…” he stammered. “I really didn’t mean to get you in trouble —“

“Why did you do that? Did you want my attention?”

“Uh –“

“Do you like me?”

His answered came in the form of a shy nod and an uneasy grip on your legs. In the best way, you were going to ruin him.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “You can touch me. I want you to.”

Reaching out to embrace your torso, Mickey found himself softly stunned as you pulled away, comforted with the sight of you removing your lab coat and aptly peeling off your jumpsuit, discarding it across the cold floor.

The man wasted no time in latching onto you, rubbing his face over your bare skin as he pressed wet, impassioned kisses against your stomach, making his way passed your bellybutton and towards your underwear.

You threw your head back as you pulled him closer, placing your hands on top of his as he roamed your body, lithe fingers kneading the shape of your thighs and ass. In any other circumstance, you would’ve been trying to pleasure Mickey – and you were sure you would eventually – but you got the feeling that he only ever wanted to make you happy.

Your pleasure was his pleasure. He was useful that way.

Mickey let out a soft whistle from his nose, momentarily pulling away from getting his fix.

“You smell like strawberries…” he murmured before nestling into you. Who would’ve thought that the perfume you’d grabbed from Earth right before jumping on this metal container would awaken something in him?

Grinning, a purr escaped your lips as you lowered yourself onto Mickey’s thighs, one hand on his chest as you gently pushed him onto the bed, his back springing up ever so slightly from the recoil. He looked so beautiful like this; all desperate and wanting, eager to taste your lips.

Pressing your lips against his, you gave him what he wanted. Though you’d never underestimated him, you were rather surprised by how skilfully his lips moved against your own, barely missing a beat as his hands worked your way up to your breasts.

He let out a moan as he gave them a squeeze through your bra, eyes darting frantically between your chest and the sight below him – your ass grinding perfectly against his bulge.

“You’re so sweet, Mickey, do you know that?” you teased, popping up to quickly push down his pants. “I hate the way they treat you.”

“You aren’t like them…” he murmured. “You’re perfect.”

If it wasn’t for hormones clouding your judgment, your heart would’ve stopped upon questioning the melancholy statement. You’d only treated him as any good doctor would – with respect – and yet he was comparing you to some kind of deity.

Mickey stopped you with a firm grasp on your forearm, just as you began to reach down into his boxers. You were mildly shocked, almost expecting him to be completely passive in the act, but wasn’t adverse to the offer. In fact you rather liked it.

“Let me.” He whispered.

You obliged.

Mickey let out a loud whimper as he sunk into you, his cock bottoming out in you nicely. He was average sized, but it completed you. You felt every pulse and twitch as you moved your hips along him, coating pink cock in a shiny film.

He’d pawed at your chest now, popping a breast from inside the material and putting it into his mouth, sucking and licking at your nipple. You moaned at the contact, though quickly but down on your lip to suppress any more noises. At the end of the day, you were still technically a doctor on duty.

Then again, Marshall was so weird that he’d probably enjoy your gratuitous display – limbs flailing and Mickey’s hair clung to his forehead from ecstasy. The ship was cold, but heat filled your body, tingling from your loins and rising through to your cheeks.

You were so preoccupied with Mickey’s visual proof of euphoria that you’d barely noticed that his hands had made their way to your lower body, his hands holding the sides of your ass in position as you writhed against him.

“Shit…” you stammered. “You’re so good…Don’t stop…”

Naively, the man shook his head, staring up at you with puppy eyes. In an effort to impress you, he bucked his hips up into your wet pussy, squelching sounds louder and prominent than before. He seemed to be hitting your spot effortlessly.

“Beautiful. God, you’re an angel…” he sighed, his squeaky, yet raspy accent as prominent as ever. He sounded like he was from New York.

You’d ask him about it some day.

As Mickey’s pace slowed, and your walls clenched around him, you could tell that you were both close. Honestly, you didn’t know whether you’d flop into his arms or if he would cave in on you, but somehow, even millions of miles from Earth, you grounded each-other.

#florence writes!!#mickey barnes x reader #mickey 17 x reader #robert pattinson x reader #mickey barnes smut

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4rtbyl33 · 9 months ago

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I'm kinda curious how Bradley would react during the villain take over in the 'Mickey's house of villains' movie

I actually did draw some doodles based around this idea a few weeks ago bcuz I re-watched the movie

I drew them and forgot that Max wasn't actually inside the House of Mouse the moment it was taken, so I took the time to draw some "accurate" edits!

I think Bradley would be scared, it just fits his character to be kinda pathetic like that yk? Acting all tough but in reality he's just a chicken.

The second the villains started their song he sneaked away, he wasn't about to stay and find out what could- would happen, he still felt kinda bad over not being able to do anything tho. On his way out he very obviously would bump into Max and would explain what happened. I think it's hilarious how Max just stayed outside the building for the whole movie while all the Disney characters were held hostages, so this would also happen if Bradley was involved!

The film would show Mickey and the rest of the crew planning on how to take back the House, then it would cut to Bradley and Max talking about something random (like the Goofy movie shenanigans (Bradley is very concerned)), someone would say a punchline, and then we would go back to Mickey.

And well, this, at least in my AU, would take place a little after Max's embarrassing date(the episode aired on June/July 2001 and the movie on November 2001) and Bradley would discover... Important information.

Anyway!

Bradley's part on this special concludes in him discovering that Mickey is a wizard.

"Max- Max, wdym he isn't only your uncle but he can also use MAGIC???"

#an extremely goofy movie #house of mouse #maxley #puppy love #max goof #bradley uppercrust iii

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teddybeartoji · 11 months ago

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彡 OH, LITTLE PRINCE, LITTLE PRINCE...

☆. contains: prince!satoru gojo x gn!knight!reader; fluff (i'm lying i'm lying i'm lying), a reunion in the field? satoru just wants to turn back time wc: 1.6k

+ here's the previous part and here's the "i hunger to commit the act of touch" masterlist!

he's back here.

the field where he first met you.

he keeps coming back, again and again and again.

the prince pushes aside the few branches that hang in his way with a gentle hand and he's met with the most beautiful, the most peacuful sight in the world. it's hazy and it's warm, the sun bears down on the spot like guarding it is her life's purpose and gojo is grateful. the birds sit in the trees while singing their lovesongs and the grasshoppers hide in the grass, chirping as loudly as they can because... they can.

this is their home.

a kind breeze ruffles the prince's hair, it cradles his face and holds him close as he breathes in the fresh air. he loves being here. outside. he wants to feel everything, he wants to see everything. he will never get enough of the colors of the trees, the shades of the flowers, the melodies of the skies. he's sick of seeing brick walls and fancy clothes – he wants to roll around in the dirt! he wants to live.

the place looks like something out of a fairytale; gojo's eyes shine as he takes in his surroundings as if it's his first time there – the rain has washed away the blood and the ground has taken the bodies, leaving behind a clean slate.

an almost clean slate.

in the overgrown grass, he sees it—

the familiar glint of armor.

his heart races, his eyes grow big. he takes a cautious step into the field and away from the shady treeline, he's slow and steady; afraid to scare you away.

(to hurt you.)

the silver and the green look good together. tufts of grass sprout from between your body and arms, your legs, your fingers. no gauntlets... he's glad. the prince wants to see more of you but he's happy with even the slightest glimpses of skin – he wants to be closer to you. he wants to know you. he wants to help you shed the armor piece by piece, to lower the steel walls around yourself, but he knows not to rush it. your bare fingers are enough.

and your neck, your ears, your chin, your jaw. lips. cheeks and nose. forehead, your scar, your eyes. his breath hitches. it's really you. laying in the grass, basking in the sun.

(like you always do.)

he takes another step. you don't mind.

gojo can see you clearly now and he almost regrets his decision to move closer. there's a faint tug at the corner of your mouth, the slightest, and his stomach fills with butterflies.

"stalking now, are you?" a teasing lilt. more butterflies. they're so colorful, they're so pretty. "my highness."

a scarred eye cracks open and his knees almost buckle from beneath him. freckles adorn your skin and he feels lovesick. you're so warm, but the prince reckons the sun has got nothing on you. he's known the sun for his entire life and you only for a mere few months, hell, he's only seen you twice – but in his mind it's clear, it's so fucking obvious, that you shine way brighter than her.

(no matter how much you try to hide it.)

"i– " he stammers. he's been in this situation hundreds of times before but he still doesn't know what to say.

but despite his lack of words, his lips stretch into a charming smile as he stares down at you. "no."

he watches you push yourself up onto your elbows before raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun – you, you, you.

"i missed you."

the prince's body acts on its own; the words form somewhere deep inside his chest, behind his ribs, and they crawl up his throat like they're dying to reach you. they are.

"ridiculous as always, hm?" his heart is races. nothing, and nobody, excites him like you do and that's saying a lot.

"you love it."

you give him a deep hum. the smirk on your lips doesn't fade.

you let yourself fall back against the carpet of grass and splay out your arms as if you're making an snow angel. "right."

he keeps looking at you. admiring. you look like a painting; a watercolor one – no rough corners and no harsh edges, the soft hues hold you so gently. it just feels right. there's no need for a frame, you're perfect without it. the prince takes another step and he waits for your remark, but it never comes. you want him beside you. his own smile grows wider, his chest bigger.

but the second his knees finally hit the ground, when he's mere inches from you – cold droplets of water hit his skin and he struggles to tear his eyes from you to look up at the sky instead. the sun has disappeared in a matter of a second and she's been replaced by dark clouds. the prince's heart bleeds. again. a cold gust of wind ruffles his hair and he lowers his head to meet your gaze. the faint smile stays on your lips, though it doesn't seem real anymore. now it just seems fake.

you're not happy.

he sees it now - you're the last of the dried blood, the last rotting body laying in the field and now the rain has come to wash you away as well; to clean up the mess.

there's no stopping it.

his marble fingers reach out to grab your hand, your cheek, but you're sinking. fast. you fade as the watercolor painting takes you in; you disappear as the grass swallows you whole and his fingers dig into the dirt, desperately clawing at it to save you. panic runs in his veins and his hands tremble. he can hear his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

"no– please!" the little prince sobs. "don't go, please!"

the world doesn't listen. it's not up to him.

(nor is it up to you.)

it happens so fast. too fast. you're gone now, and the prince is left kneeling there with glassy eyes and a broken heart.

again.

he clutches at his chest – it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. he can't breathe, he can't think; his body feels numb and so does his mind. he wishes he could go with you, he wishes the nature would take him just as it took you. the tears won't stop, his eyes hurt. his head hurts. hurts, hurts, hurts.

thunder booms in the background and the birds are long gone. no more lovesongs.

gojo paws at his own neck when his throat starts closing up. now, he really can't breathe. his tears mix with the overbearing rain that's trying to drown him; lighting strikes somewhere behind him – it's getting closer and closer. there's dirt underneath his perfectly manicured nails, there's dirt on his pearly white shirt. his vision blurs and everything muddles together. he tries to take in another breath of air, but he just can't.

(it was his fault.)

the thunder clashes once more and—

he's not in the field anymore.

there's no sun, no rain, no dark clouds, no trees nor birds. shadows surround him, they circle him and wait for him to fall again, just so they can plague him some more.

drenched in sweat, panting and heaving, he sits on the massive king sized bed in his bedroom in the castle. it's still hard to breathe, it still hurts. he wipes away the tears brimming in his lashline before setting his eyes on the cracked open window and the forest that sleeps behind it.

it's cold.

puffs of air escape his lips as he breathes and though he's sweating, he's far from being warm. his hands shake when he pushes himself off the bed and his steps are weak when he makes his way over to the glass pane. he feels numb. he's sad. the prince watches the snow fall ever so peacefully, he watches it form a blanket on top the trees and the ground. stars shine in the dark night sky but when he raises his head, his attention is solely on the moon. she's beautiful. the prince hopes she's guiding you, holding you. keeping watch.

(he wonders whether you sometimes look at the moon with him in mind.)

the cold air nips at his skin and he shivers at the bite. he doesn't want to close the window – it feels like another betrayal. what if you want to come in?

he knows it's ridiculous. suguru keeps teasing him about it, his mother keeps lecturing him about it. they don't know what they're talking about – he wants to see you again.

not the dream version. he wants to see you. he wants to apologize. he wants to say that he's sorry. he wants you to smile. he wants you to be mad. he wants you to tease him. he wants you to bark and bite. hiss and scratch. he knows he deserves every mean glare and stare, every poisonous word. he'd bleed to make it all up to you. to take it all back.

obsession. devotion. love.

he's always been a sensitive boy.

he needs to make it up to you, and he will.

even if that's the last thing he ever does.

#ok i feel like the style of this one is a bit different... i just hope it's not BAD different lmao #short sentences and shorter paragraphs buuut what can i say. it just felt right.#angel boy #wtf mickey can write #ihtctaot

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em-harlsnow · 2 months ago

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—> set right after the prison reunion in season 9

“ow! what the fuck?” ian jolts away from mickey’s mouth, startled after the sudden joy of being reunited with a sharp pain in his scalp.

“what the fuck did you do?” mickey asks, tugging his hair again.

“ow, Mickey. get off.” ian mutters, trying to bat his hands away.

mickey sits himself up, above ian and keeps his head down. he definitely does not get off. instead he keeps pulling at the now-black strands of hair on his head.

“why would you do this, ian?” mickey asks, genuine hurt making its way into his voice. Like Ian’s managed to offend him.

“it’s just dye, calm down.” ian says, trying to pull himself away from mickey’s angry hands.

“so it comes out?” mickey asks, eyebrows raised at ian once he makes his way up to his eyeline.

ian swallows, feeling a lot like he’s being told off for something. it’s the same feeling he had when he went to the principal’s office for the first time for calling his Math teacher a bitch.

“…no.” ian gulps out. “but it’s gonna grow back.”

“i can’t fucking believe this shit. i got sent here for a ginger and i get a black-haired freak.” mickey mutters, but when ian looks at him, he’s got a hint of a smile upticking his face.

ian furrows his eyebrows at him. “y’know… you have black hair, right?” he says, reaching upwards and messing up the hair on mickey’s head. it’s so shocking, so surreal, to be able to reach out and touch him like this.

mickey scoffs. “yeah, and now we look the same. it’s fucking weird. why would you do that to my fucking hair?” he complains, scowling at ian’s head like it’s personally offended him.

“i didn’t do anything to your hair.” ian says, confused.

mickey pulls ian’s hair again, making him wince. “this hair. my hair. my red fucking hair.”

ian laughs. “didn’t know you felt so passionately about it.”

“it’s not fucking funny, asshole. this is serious. d’you even still have red fucking pubes?” mickey asks, hands suddenly scrambling to try and undo the jumpsuit.

ian wrestles him off, figuring that it’s probably not the best time to start on that. not now, in broad daylight with guards outside.

“you’re worried about my pubes, mickey? really?” ian asks, surprised at how frustrated he is about it. “also- why the fuck would i dye my pubes? that’s gotta be dangerous.”

“why the fuck would you dye your head?” mickey snaps. He tuts, scratching his nails back through ian’s hair. “the second the ginger comes back, i’m shaving the fucking black off.”

“i thought you didn’t like the buzz cut?” ian questions. mickey never said so, but he didn’t like it as much as the longer hair.

“i like it long. or the curly thing it does when it’s wet. a buzz cut isn’t bad; not compared to that shit.” mickey mutters.

and god, he’s exactly the same. it makes ian’s chest feel like it’s inflating, how mickey’s describing what he likes about him. even if he’s also describing how much he hates the current hair.

“i don’t like it either, y’know.” ian tells him.

“better not, because it’s coming off as soon as possible.” mickey tells him.

“and here i thought you liked me for more than just my hair.”

“still here, ain’t I? even though I hate it.” mickey tells him.

ian smiles. he’s never letting him go this time.

#shameless #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fan fiction

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oaksgrove · 5 months ago

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The Sweet Side of Bravery

pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x paediatrician!fem!reader

synopsis: The 141 team drops by for a blood donation drive, but all the other doctors are busy—leaving a quirky pediatrician in charge. Between colorful crocs, Mickey Mouse band-aids, and lollipops for bravery, Gaz finds himself charmed in the most unexpected way.

warnings: none, just fluff, humor, and a touch of slow-burn!

word count: 977

part 2

Kyle had been in his fair share of strange situations, but walking into a pediatric clinic wearing tactical gear for a blood donation campaign definitely topped the list.

“This is a bad idea,” Ghost muttered under his breath as the four of them entered the clinic, colorful murals covered the walls, and a little cartoon sun in the corner cheerfully announced, “Every drop counts!” to promote the blood donation drive, his skull mask somehow makes him look even more out of place.

“It’s just a needle,” Soap teased, clapping Ghost on the back. “What’re you scared of, mate? The cartoons on the telly?” He motioned to the TV in the corner, where Paw Patrol played on a loop.

Price, ever the voice of reason, ignored them and gestured toward the front desk. “Let’s just get this done, yeah? Try not to scare the kids while you’re at it.”

Gaz wasn’t paying much attention to the banter. His focus was on the doctor who had just emerged from one of the exam rooms. She didn’t look like any doctor he’d ever met—bright, colorful glasses perched on her nose, her hair streaked with pastel highlights, and—were those crocs covered in pins?

“Dr. [Your Last Name],” the receptionist called, waving her over.

“That’s me!” she chirped, her voice cheerful as she approached them.

“Hi, we’re here for the blood donation,” Price said, stepping forward, trying to keep his tone professional despite how out of place he felt.

Gaz wasn’t really listening. His attention had snagged on the woman who was making her way toward them, clipboard in hand. She didn’t walk so much as bounce—her ponytail bobbed with each step, and her pastel scrubs were patterned with tiny teddy bears and clouds.

The glasses got him first—big, colorful frames that looked more suited to a quirky bookshop owner than a doctor.

“Oh, great! Welcome!” she said brightly, motioning to a chair at the station she’d set up. “I’m Dr. [Your Last Name],” she said brightly. “I’ll be handling your blood donations today!” She scanned the group and raised a brow, though her smile didn’t falter. “So, which one of you tough guys is going first?”

Soap immediately pointed at Gaz. “Him.”

“Traitor,” Gaz muttered under his breath, but he stepped forward anyway, trying to ignore the amused looks from his team.

She gestured to the chair and patted the armrest. “Come on, Sergeant. It’s not so bad. I haven’t made anyone faint all week.”

“That’s reassuring,”

Gaz sighed and stepped forward, sinking into the chair. He glanced up at her, trying not to look at the ridiculous assortment of pins on her crocs—disney characters, rainbows, tiny stethoscopes, syringes and hearts.

“This won’t take long,” she said, snapping on gloves. “Promise it’ll only sting for a second.”

“You seem awfully comfortable doing this,” Gaz said though he was very aware of the amused glances his mates were throwing his way.

“Occupational hazard,” she replied with a shrug. “Kids aren’t exactly thrilled to get poked with needles, so you learn to make it fun.” She glanced up at him. “You’re a little big for a sticker, but I’ve got lollipops if you’re good.”

She prepped the needle with a practiced efficiency that surprised him, though her accessories jingled softly as she moved. Tiny charms dangled from it—medical supplies, teddy bears, and even a cupcake.

“Nice bracelet,” he muttered.

“Thanks! It’s from one of my little patients,” she said with a smile. “You’d be amazed how much easier it is to get a six-year-old to sit still when you’ve got some sparkle going on.”

The needle went in smoothly, barely a pinch, and she gave him a nod of approval. “All done!”

Before he could react, she stuck a Mickey Mouse band-aid over the tiny puncture and handed him a heart-shaped lollipop.

Gaz blinked at the lollipop, then at her, his brain struggling to catch up.

“You’re joking,” he said flatly.

“Not at all,” she replied, grinning. “Everyone gets a lollipop. It’s the rules.”

Behind him, Soap let out a loud snort of laughter. “Rules are rules, Gaz. Take the lolly.”

Behind him, Soap practically howled with laughter, while Ghost muttered, “I’ll take Elsa, if she’s got one.”

“You can have Anna,” she shot back without missing a beat, holding up a Frozen-themed band-aid. “I’m saving Elsa for someone braver.”

Even Price chuckled at that, though he tried to hide it behind a cough.

Gaz, meanwhile, found himself oddly fascinated by the doctor. She was cheerful—borderline ridiculous, really—but something about her felt genuine. She didn’t treat them like soldiers or strangers, just people.

When they’d all finished, she handed each of them a lollipop and made a show of comparing their band-aids. “See? Look how brave you all were. I’m so proud.”

Soap held up his Hello Kitty band-aid like a trophy. “I’m keepin’ this as a souvenir.”

“You would,” Ghost muttered.

Gaz lingered as the others headed toward the door, finding excuses to check his phone or adjust his jacket. He didn’t know what he was waiting for until she glanced over at him, her glasses sliding down her nose just enough to reveal her curious gaze.

“Something on your mind, Sergeant?” she asked.

“Just… thanks. For this. And, uh, for not laughing too much.”

Her smile softened. “You’re welcome. And for the record, I think it’s great you all came out to do this. Most people wouldn’t bother.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he nodded and followed his team out into the rain.

Soap nudged him as they walked. “What’s that look for, mate? Don’t tell me you’re smitten.”

“Shut up, Johnny,” Gaz muttered, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.

And as they headed back to the base, he couldn’t help but glance at the lollipop in his hand and wonder when they’d need to donate blood again.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod 141 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz x reader #gaz x reader

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finkriel · 2 months ago

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A Serious Confession

No amount of vitriolic emotions within me for these past two days will ever satiate the level of hatred, disgust and betrayal I am feeling. But it cannot compare to the numerous amount of people that feel the same way.

As a former ex close friend of Kittycorn Samson, I need to get this out as it has been eating me away for these past four days. I was one of her friends that was not only introduced to her incestuous content but also contributed to enabling her behavior and hiding it from the public. While I engaged it in private and controlled settings, I did contribute to it throughout these past nine months and I take full accountability for my bad decisions there. Many people have already spoken on the matter and I will do the same here as I owe it to everyone.

To start off, my relationship with her has always been that of a close friend. As someone who was a sparklecare fan since the middle of 2022, I met her on the official Sparklecord, to which I would approach her on her personal tumblr blog on November 2022, to where she introduced me her comet characters and we soon found commonalities with each other, such as living in the same state as well as so it was fairly simple to connect with her. With the way she described her trauma experiences to me as well as the love she had for her characters, it was easy for me to sympathize with her and I grew to care for her immensely. While I was never a clown myself, she would spoil to me the entirety of the story she was planning (including the Mickey Family and Sly’s “secret canon” character archetype) and the more stories she shared, the more I got invested. But it was during June 13th, 2024, where she asked me a strange and specific question that I never questioned, about the topic of being into something that comforts the person that other people would say otherwise and, being into something that heals the traumatized person that other people would say otherwise. While I was uncomfortable and confused at the time (hence why it took so long to answer her questions), I pushed aside those feelings just because she was my friend. And I thought that it wasn’t as harmful like she described it to me here. (The screenshots here were taken on Tuesday, where I blocked her afterwards, I still have access to her messages so if anyone wants me to divulge additional information, I am more than willing to do just that)

Looking back at how I acted when she revealed to me about this and her incestuous story, I feel so disgusted and ashamed of myself. The "googles" I had on, did not allow me to see how truly deplorable that the content she had been indulging and the only reason I did support her was from the pure belief that it was helping her heal her trauma when nothing else at the time could, which to an extent it was, given the way she has been acting throughout out 2024. I truly believed during all that time that it was the right thing to do and that it wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. In addition, it was around this time where I was finally in a place to work again that I felt the immediate compulsion to help her out financially, which boosted my incentive to keep supporting her and not tell anyone about this. This also extended to Imani, who also engaged with this incestuous content and I sacrificed countless days and nights at work to financially support her, given the sympathies I had for the abuse she was suffering from. (This screenshot from the callout document, took place in one of Kittycorn’s private servers that she invited me five days later (the one with Emsody, Kai, and chaosblast) and as you can see, the person blurred out that was responding to Imani, was me. What I said here, I no longer believe but I know it is not an excuse.

Little did I know that Kittycorn has secretly been in contact with groomers, pedophiles and predators such as Chimera, Woof, and so many countless others, to the point that she was actually friends with them and has been abusing and silencing victims all this time. Keep in mind that during all of these months, it was knowledge that I was completely unaware of, knowledge that she HIDED away without me knowing it and it was only until the callout document came out that I found out about the matter. That was the point where I blocked her out from my life. (Edit [Sunday - 3:22 PM]: I removed the part about Imani of her action in the doc, as chaosblast_ has informed me in a server that the art was shared in an 18+ server so anyone could have sent it to the alleged minors. In addition, sparkletroll [the person marked in yellow in one of the screenshots] said that they didn’t want the person behind the doc to share it anywhere since they weren’t sure if they had the right story but the person did. The proof is unsubstantiated so know that information has been updated.)

That however, does not cancel out the complicity I am a part of when it comes to Kittycorn. In no way, does it make any of the things I have said, an excuse. Hell fucking no, is it not, and I do not want to deny it. I have nothing blame for but myself and the blinded love and compassion I had for Eve as a friend.

To anyone that reads this, you do not have to forgive me and you all have every right to be furious at me. I’m not innocent in any way and there’s no excuse for the participation that I played a part in all of this. I just want to let you know that I am truly, truly sorry. I can never ever forgive myself for supporting her nor can I ever make it up. But know that I will always stand against incest and pro-ship content. It was never something I indulged prior to that day and I for the life of me, would rather stand my morals and my gut feelings than blindly accepting excuses that individuals such as Eve, engage in, while hurting hundreds of people in the process. I hope you all can at least gauge the information I have provided here. Feel free to ask questions if you have any.

#Soplana's Talks #sparklecare #sparklcarehospital #fuck proshippers #fuck incest #for good measure #sparklecrit #sparklecriticism #sparklecrit community

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tastesousweet · 6 months ago

Text

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (xii) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7 p8 p9 p10 p11

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : new tattoos, bad advice, and october nights

warnings : angsty, fluffy (barely lol), mentions of alcohol and weed, mentions of pain related to tattooing

mickey speaks : MAWMAS BACKKKKK!!!!! hi this is both really long and a lottt of set up for future parts ; also this is barely proof read, so be kind to her please she's my friend....!

THIS IS PART TWELVE, READ THE OTHERS FIRST PLEASE...

"OKAY you take those three, i'll take the rest."

october in la is unfortunately nothing special. there is no fun, drastic change in the trees or chilled weather that calls for layered soft sweaters. though this is all you've known your entire life, growing up only an hour outside of la, so you've gotten pretty good at pretending and finding the autumn spirit within the beaches and palms.

when the triplets exposed that they'd never had "chai anything" a few days ago, while the group lounged out on erin's sunbeds, you and remi were passionately up for the task of forcing them to try one of your homemade iced lattes (as they were essential to the autumn spirit in your eyes).

you both arrived at the warehouse a few hours after noon, heading straight for the small kitchenette with grocery bags in hand. asha giddly followed asking, "whatcha doinnn'?" and lifting herself onto the counter as you both unpacked ingredients. she helped as much as she could before having to return to her receptionist duties.

you spray the sink with water and wipe the remaining mess from the counter, "okay, let me know what they think of it!" you remind remi as she leaves with four drinks in hand.

"i will!" she exclaims.

౨ৎ

after dropping a drink off at the front desk with asha, then caine (another tattoo artist), you find yourself outside of matt's studio. you're happy to hear a lack of buzzing, indicating he doesn't have a client in with him and leaving him all to yourself.

you quietly move his curtain to the side to make sure he’s alone, only for the room to be completely empty aside from his uniquely decorated walls and dim colored furniture. your expression dulls and your hand falls to your side as you walk into the vacant space.

you find comfort in matt’s large, wheeled desk chair as you steal a few sips of what is supposed to be his drink and stare at his computer wallpaper that fades and changes every few seconds. it’s a collection of basic automated wallpapers which you figure makes sense for matt; he would probably care less if his computer at work was void of any personality.

“hey… what’re you doin’ in here?” his scratchy tone finds your ears easily in the otherwise quiet room.

you smile at the sound of his voice and swirl the chair around to face him as he walks in (with a smile mirroring yours across his face). he looks soft and cozy like a teddy bear or one of those soft felt dolls you remember from your childhood. he dawns a faint brown sweater, his hair all messy as if he’d just woken up from a dazed nap. he approaches you with his hands tucked in his pockets, coming so close that he now has to look down at you sprawled out in his rolling chair, “well, i came to have you try my homemade latte but you were no where to be found…” you look down at the remaining half of the drink in humor.

“oh that’s where that mess in the kitchen came from,” he widens his eyes in faux shock, ignoring your grumble of “it was not that messy” and tilts his chin up slightly, “that’s supposed to be for me?”

you glance down at the half empty glass before nodding your head and bringing the straw back to your mouth for a petty sip, echoing, “supposed…”

matt kisses his teeth playfully and leans down, taking hold of the straw once you’ve finished, taking in a sip of the drink slowly. he stares into your eyes an extra second before pulling back and smirking out of enjoyment, “not bad,” he smoothly takes the glass from your hand, “thanks.”

౨ৎ

"when you gonna let me tat' you again?"

matt would never admit this without shame, but his spirits are actually lifted now that you’re taking up his space and time- he’s starting to think his intuition must’ve tied to yours weeks ago when he had kept his schedule clear of any appointments this afternoon. as if he'd already known you’d need room to talk his head off about your long week of work or what you’re planning to do for halloween later in the month.

matt's still getting used to letting himself enjoy you- or at least all that you’ll allow him to have. he can tell you've been attempting to refrain parts of yourself now that you've agreed to take a step back from the intimacy the two of you explored over the summer, opting for the label of ‘friends’ to poorly glue onto your relationship (the gooey, sticky, and messiest kind of glue; runny and uncoordinated like one of the macaroni picture frames he’d made at camp as a kid). but he always seems to find new ways to guide that closeness out of you.

a few nights after your chaotic birthday party you slipped out of the loud dive bar and followed him into the parking lot (not without exchanging a knowing look from andrea; to ground you and ensure you'd be strong). he moved quickly but not at a pace for running, just fast enough that your heeled feet couldn't keep up well. by the time you'd slowly approached him, he was already ducked into his SUV in search of nick's jacket.

your thick heel's decent from constantly hitting the pavement to stopping grabbed his attention. he sent a look over his shoulder and looked away, only to return his gaze again once he recognized your precious face.

he'd move from the car with a smile he rarely gives out, "the fuck you doin' out here sunshine?"

you'd laugh through your nose and glance down with your arms crossed over your chest. he thought you looked extra pretty that night; like you were written down in his favorite font and brought to life as his own dream girl. you wore a sweet-wine colored sweater with your full shoulders peeking out from the size, sheer black tights underneath your small patterned shorts, and an assortment of jewelry (most attractive piece being his gifted charm bracelet). but his eyes did a small pinch and his bottom lip found home in his mouth when he'd begun to notice the neutral expression over your face. and that's when his dream would come to an end.

"hi..yeah, i needed to talk to you but it was really loud everywhere else."

he could tell something was up, "sure, hold on." his head slowly nodded while turning around to grab the jacket from the car and slam the door shut once more. he locked the doors with a small beep as he came closer to your figure, "what is it, baby?"

you'd blink and rub your lips together once before returning them to a slight pout; you were clearly not as sunny as you had been just a few minutes before, dancing and grinding with remi in the bar. like day and night.

your eyes didn't follow him, it was as if you hadn't even noticed his proximity until he had his hands cradling your head and moving your face to look at his. "y/n ... what is it babyy?" his words drew out into the space between you, a comedic tone lacing them.

your eyes kept looking all over his face, "matt, i just think ... i think we should actually be friends, like you said remember? on the phone."

his dream girl. his dream girl who just sent him back to square fucking one when he stupidly assumed she'd come outside to crush on him and give him a secret kiss or two. his dream girl just threw his own words back at him which makes it worse, somehow.

matt's brain and words counteract so often that he shouldn't be surprised anymore, "hey ... are we not being friends right now?" you'd roll your eyes. "what??"

"matt."

he played with a strand of your hair that fell perfectly out of place and into your face, "is it because we kiss? you know i kiss all friends, yours and mine," he laughed before he could fully finish the sentence and you were quick to push him away and start walking the other direction. "i'm kiddingggg!" he'd walk behind you repeatedly asking you to stop, before he wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you close to him. "stop it sun'. i said m'kidding! can i just get one hug please? i'll keep it innocent as fuck."

you paused before softly uttering, "of course you can, matt." you turned yourself around in his hold to give in to his embrace, head curled into his chest as his arms slung around your waist. you couldn't quite tell whether he was asking you or informing you when he reluctantly whispered into your ear, "promise we're all good." so you remained silent.

he respects that you felt the need to reverse everything between you two but can't help but wish every now and then you'd call and ask him to come and fuck you in the middle of the night. he's pissed that now he's got this nagging in his chest and shift in his brain when you’re around that you don't seem to deal with at all.

you're just his friend. his friend who he's currently listening to while softly sketching jagged faces on a gum wrapper pressed against your thigh.

you've stopped overanalyzing these moments with matt, now that you've agreed you're just friends it's helped you embrace them for what they are at the time without worrying the implications of the future. you're back to having a crush on matt but you think this must be better than constantly secretly competing with erin for him; constantly hurting your own feelings.

your body is relaxed as you drape yourself over his cold, leather tattoo bed, resting your head on your bent forearm as you talk, resisting the touch-deprived-shudders that come over you with every stroke of the pencil or movement of his hand innocently over your upper thigh.

you're caught off guard by his question. "ummmm, 'never again' would be my first choice."

matt breathes a laugh, "come on, you won't let me put somethin' else on you?"

"matt, i am only just now mentally well after the first." you glance down at your thigh, naturally curious as to what he's drawing.

"lying and being dramatic, this is ridiculous." he tsks and smiles to himself.

"dude, m'not! recovery is very hell-like."

there's a small silence as he crafts his idea, "okay ... but if i let you tat me, then can i tat you again?"

your excitement is so abundant as you spring up, "shut up, you wont!" he shrugs his shoulders, "you'd let me?! like, actually?!" he nods and you try not to get too giddy over the fact that matt offered something you'd off-handedly mentioned during one of your many pillow-talk sessions (to which he'd told you he'd never let anyone besides chris or himself tattoo him); meaning he too remembers times of borderline romance between you two, and you are not alone in those memories you keep in your mind.

matt laughs at you and swipes the gum wrapper from your skin, crumbling it and tossing it into a small bin. "yeah, i'll let you, s’gotta be small as fuck though."

౨ৎ

your hands shake without command as you touch at the small section of unmarked skin on matt's forearm. he's guided you up until now, preparing you with the very basic and rushed skills that you'll need to ink the tiny heart he'd requested.

"breathe," he reminds you, making you both laugh when you let out a deep breath you hadn't realized you were holding in.

"are you sure you want me to do this? it's a big responsibility ... i don't think i can handle it." you look at him and he's already looking at you with a smirk.

"y/n, just put the fucking gun to my skin, it'll be fine." he encourages as his opposite hand drags across his jaw to scratch at his scruffy facial hair.

you bite at your lip and shake your head before steadying yourself. you get close to direct contact but feel the pressure of matt watching, causing you to pull away, "we should just get chris to come do it."

matt groans and lets his head fall back dramatically. "hell no. i don't want it if you don't do it, c'mon sunny." he pulls himself back up to face you, "you know i trust you, right?" his eyes hold onto yours.

a loaded fucking question. you allow a breathy, "yes," to pull from your mouth.

his voice is quiet and he won't let his eyes leave yours, "'kay ... good," he's a bit louder again, "let's see it." he lies back down on the leather bed.

when you finally gain the courage, you gently hold and press into his skin. he almost immediately yells in pain, scaring you and making your entire body jump back. your frantic eyes look at him, "fuck! oh my god, i'm so sorry, honey. are you okay?" he's holding back a laugh with his eyes crinkled and cheeks full of air, "matt, seriously?! i'm gonna fucking kill you!" you scold him as he childishly laughs at your expense, taking hold of your shaking hand and rubbing it a few times to gain your trust again.

౨ৎ

it's frustrating that you've only become more hot to matt now that your relationship has fallen platonic, probably due to the appeal of wanting someone he just can't seem to have.

so, he's embarrassingly attracted to your request for the words "lucky you" written in silky cursive under the space where your bra clips softly against your back. he's reluctantly found a spark of jealousy in the idea of other guys that will indeed be lucky enough to see the hidden ink as he begins to wipe the area with an alcohol pad.

it took a lot of convincing to get you to this point, you were adamant that it would hurt far too much and you couldn't take it. but matt's good enough with his words (or maybe you just like to believe whatever he's got to say) so you gave in eventually.

he interrupts you to check in once he's got the outline printed in the area, "am i good to start?"

you're honest, "no, but yeah."

"hey, i got you, bab- ..." he lets his voice cut off and clears his throat. "i got you, y/n. you'll be fine."

"thank you." you let out and pinch your eyes closed once the hypnotic buzz of the tattoo gun begins.

just like the first time, you find comfort in talking as matt works on you, your voice straining the few times he marks over rough bone or muscle.

matt tries to keep your spirits up, by staying engaged in your conversation and adding a few jokes to hear your (pained) laugh; like when he responded to you reminiscing over your first time meeting under similar circumstances with, "i'm a little nostalgic too, it's been a minute since i've had you topless for me."

your voice is muffled from your face being squished against the bed, "matt, i'll kick you. i'm in too much pain for you to poke fun at me right now, funny guy."

your brain holds onto this for longer than he'd think. how dare he bring up your sexual past while his large hands hold you down to this bed and your bare back is left on display?! as if you weren't suffering enough!

౨ৎ

"i am ob-fucking-sessed!" you look behind you into the mirror displaying your back's delicate artwork.

"you like it?"

"i knew i would. you did amazing. i can't wait for it to heal." you're in stood in awe of your reflection, but can detect matt's unwavering eyes on you which makes your body heat.

౨ৎ

the dingiest smell of old cigarettes and hot liquor painted fumes in the air surrounding matt, with his frame slouched against the bar.

"matt the fucking man! what's good, you're mighty quiet tonight, huh?!" eli claps a hand against matt's shoulder, forcing a bit of matt's full cocktail glass to spill over and coat his hand and the grimy floor.

matt ignores the wetness and flashes him a smile, "'m fine, you know i'm not one to go out of my way to speak to just anyone."

"yeah, but you're like," eli squints his eyes and holds a finger at him, "like, all, you know- almost like you're sad. the fuck do you have to be sad about?!" he holds his hands up as if to say, we have this entire disgusting bar to hang out in, what could you possibly be upset about?!

"m' not fucking sad," matt deadpans and takes a long sip from his small glass, setting it on the bar.

"yeah..." eli laughs, "come on bridget's got us a table over here." he tilts his head away from the bar and towards a large crowd.

౨ৎ

the yellow hued bathroom is brightly lit as you keep hold of your tits in one arm and raise the small tube of tattoo ointment up to your face while andrea delicately applies it to your two week old tattoo for you. figaro lazily curls up in the sink beneath you, purring in long, sleepy drawls.

"okay, but what a wild story to tell- my ex situationship gave me both of my hottest-placed tattoos. how do you manage to hang out with him, let alone take your top off and not even make out with him afterwards?"

you practically slam them bottle down on the counter due to your whole enthusiasm, scaring figaro as he leaps and hits his head on the sink's silver spout before rushing out of the room, "aw, i'm sorry kitty!" you attempt to console with your words, "but trust me when i tell you this- it took so much out of me, drea, when i tell you he's, like, the cutest when he's all focused on his work and giving me all of his attention." you gawk at the memory.

"i know, babe. but it's best that it's done with. that back and forth and constant comparison to erin was getting excessive and he only plays into it. it's fucked up!" andrea was the one to come to you the morning after your birthday party and advise you to essentially give him an ultimatum or end "whatever you were" for the better. it hurt to hear and at first you asked her to leave the situation alone as this was exactly why you never wanted to tell her.

it only took matt and erin flirting in front of you again a few nights later for you consider her opinion and decide to put a stop to the fling you and matt had.

"you're right, he fumbled badly. we both know this ..." you pause with a small pout forming, "but at the same time, what if i'm the one fumbling?!" you exclaim and andrea immediately laughs.

she places her head on your shoulder and squeezes your arms softly, "never that! honey, that man will easily regret not having you for the rest of his life."

౨ৎ

matt has unnamed people crowding him on both sides, some practically on top of him, while packed into this small curved booth. he'd normally be beyond irritated by this but without the proximity he'd probably be more annoyed having to call out "what?" every time eli attempts to say anything over the blaring music.

"alright, tell me what you been up to matt! haven’t seen you in a bit'," eli pries while pouring shots of the room-temperature tequila for the two of them.

matt shrugs. lately his brain has remained with you and how to either return things to how they used to be or completely move on from you. "same shit. working, sleeping." matt rubs a hand over his face, "got this girl i was fucking around with for a bit but i'm a little too into her."

"ohhh shit! my boy's usin' past tense and sayin' he's "too into her"?" he sends the shot over to matt with a smooth slide across the dark wood. eli whistles and tuts, "sounds like you gotta get over this broad."

matt looks to the ceiling with his eyes closed and lips rolled into his mouth, before exhaling with a dramatic flutter of his lips and shake of his head. "sounds like it," he agrees and readjusts his hat towards the back before lifting the small shot glass into the air, connecting it with eli's.

the two immediately throw the shots down their throats with large grins. and before matt can place his glass back on the table there's a slice of sour lime placed into his mouth by a girl next to him as a second scoots closer and kisses his opposite cheek with her sticky lip gloss.

matt pulls the lime from his mouth after sucking hard, "yeah, think i'll take a few more of those," he laughs and spins his finger in the air indicating another round be poured.

౨ৎ

you gently tuck a soft blanket around andrea's sleeping figure on the large couch before you head to your room for the night.

your room is a haven. decorated with stylish hints of posh pink and zangy orange hues that remind you of your childhood home's dining room. when you're lonely you find comfort in the small trinkets you've collected over the years, sat on a dresser next to a ceramic bowl with an assortment of rings, bracelets, and loose earrings. there are pieces of artwork on your walls, a few gifted from your old college roommate (who had more painted canvases than she knew what to do with) and a few you've picked up from vintage shops. you keep a few framed pictures of your family and girlfriends on your bedside table (keeping them close and connected to you in your most vulnerable state).

you let out a surprisingly loud (and long) yawn as you move to light a few small candles around your room. eventually opening the small drawer to your bedside table and grabbing one of the few joints (lucas had rolled using juicy watermelon wrapping papers per your request) from a small plastic bag. you grin to yourself as you place it in your mouth and bring a soft green lighter to ignite the end and bring life to the small stick.

once you fill your lungs you gracefully fall onto your plush bed, spreading your arms out wide before taking hold of the joint to blow a stream of swirly smoke up into the air above you. you give a dazed, dopey smile to your ceiling before tastefully drawing in another hit of the funky plant.

౨ৎ

post smoking a full joint and writing a tangent-heavy journal entry, you're left wondering about the moody twenty-something tattoo artist who seems to linger in every crevice of your home. it definitely doesn't help that weed tends to make you pathetically horny, practically sealing your fate.

you lay yourself on your stomach and play with a loose string coming from a throw blanket as your phone dials and buzzes against your cheek.

"y/n?" his voice pitches up an octave which makes you giggle.

"matt?" you mock him, "hi, what are you doing?"

"i'm, uh," you start to notice the loud and bouncy background.

you pinch your eyebrows together, "oh fuck, i didn't realize you were out. i'm sorry. i just was missing you, i guess."

you can hear him groan dramatically, "missing me is crazy...?! do you actually? you're not jus' sayin' that, right?"

"you know i'm not a liar, matthew."

his words are slightly slurred and dripping in intoxication, "i don't know, do i? you're a sneaky girl sometimes."

"not as sneaky as you," you purse your lips.

"mmmm yeah, prolly. where are you?" he distractedly changes the subject.

you cradle your chin in your palm with a sigh, "home. i should be asleep i have work in the morning. but i'm high and i just ..." you stare off into space, "oou, i ... probably shouldn't have called you."

"what?"

your body freezes, "shit, oh god. just like pretend i never did this okay? please."

"huh? sunny what the fuck are you talkin' about?!" he's laughing but your influenced brain convinces yourself he must be laughing at you. matt must've known you were a few sentences away from going back on your word and stupidly inviting him back into your bedroom. he probably thought you were pulling a sick joke. you hang up before grabbing one of your pillows and erupting into uncontrollable sobs. you only sob more when you feel the embarrassment of crying for essentially no real reason.

౨ৎ

matt moves the phone away from his ear with confusion drawn across his face at the abrupt ending of that phone call, slowly blinking at the bright screen before he's once again receiving soft kisses against his throat and across his jaw.

she leans in so that he hears her as she jokingly mocks his loved up phone call, "who's 'sunny'?"

matt's mouth splits in a wide drunken smile as he laughs it off, his hair slightly damp at this point from sweat and body heat, "s'no one, don't worry about it." he takes hold of the girl's face and brings his mouth to hers.

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