#and he was very right: D xxx

[djarinova]

the moon ...... she is..... so beautiful and big and bright this evening <3

[merakiui]

I just can't stop thinking about police officer!Darling and prisoner!Floyd

Floyd on day xxx of trying to convince officer!darling to give him head between the bars of his cell: 🥺👉👈 (the answer is always a firm no.)

Aaaaa prisoner Floyb,,, it's so boring in the prison. He's done everything he's allowed to do since he was put here: working, exercising, crafts, cooking, etc. Now everything is lame and he hates having to wait on death row like this. :/ he could die tomorrow or years from now. He hates having to feel so bored, as if his days have become stagnant and cyclical.

Thankfully, he looks forward to seeing you! :D you're the only bright light in this prison. Floyd may give the others a tough time every now and then, but he always listens for you. Sure, he's mischievous and very...confident in his needs and wants, but he's never caused any trouble for you. In fact, he even protected you from another inmate who was causing some issues. They were going to hurt you, and while Floyd knows you can fend for yourself it unsettled him to see his officer Shrimpy in danger. >_<

He would've killed that inmate right then and there, but protecting you was his number one priority. When you, shocked and confused, ask him why he protected you, he just shrugs. Why wouldn't he? Your life is important. Besides, he's already stuck in here, condemned to death. What's more time added to his sentence if he beats up a few small fry while defending you?

[lovelyhan]

Hii!! minghao + "oh really?" / "yes, really." / "lying doesn't suit you, sweetheart." from the prompts enemies to lovers? :D

— rush hour ⟢

pairing: minghao x reader

summary: you used to be good friends with the newest dancer in your agency, but your competitiveness gets the better of you when he overtakes your spot as the top performer of the month—for three straight months.

word count: 6.7k words

tags: enemies to lovers, dancer au? unresolved sexual tension, smut

warnings: promiscuous behavior in public, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: this . got really REALLY long :D like long enough to have its own header and everything LOL it probably helps that hao has been clawing his way back into my bias line these days, so the brain rot kinda just spilled out,, anyway, thank you sm for sending this in!! i hope you like it :3c

smut tags: porn with some plot ig, public sex, vaginal fingering, exhibitionism, hao is kinky as fuck, dirty talk, degradation

svt taglist: @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @dreamhannies - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @gae-uls - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @enhacolor - @ilyvern - @woo8hao - @spk93 - @tommolex

minghao taglist: @zeenanigans - @renjunphile - @pluviophile-xxx

Saying that you hate Xu Minghao is a bit of an overstatement. 

After all, you were the one assigned to show him the ropes when he was accepted into the agency. While you’re no professional mentor, you like to think he was able to rely on you during those first few weeks. He’s been in Seoul for a better part of two years, and although his Korean can already pass as a native’s, you knew he still struggled every now and again. It’s a good thing that verbal communication isn’t direly needed in your line of work.

Minghao was an excellent dancer—one of the best you’ve seen with your own eyes. You once took pride in having a budding prodigy like him as an understudy. Whatever steps or routines you’d ask him to try out and make his own, not only will he deliver, but he’ll blow your expectations out of the water while he’s at it, too. 

It doesn’t help that he knows his own body well enough to channel each movement with passion that makes him look alluring to everyone who dares to watch any of his performances. Minghao isn’t vain or conceited or anything like that, but he’s completely aware of how attractive he is, and that’s a trait that’s further amplified by his dancing. 

You suppose the funniest part about this senior-junior relationship you have with him is how he always asks for your input about his routines. Even if Minghao has long proved that he doesn’t even need a pseudo-mentor like you, he still takes the time to hear out whatever you have to say—eager eyes always shining every time you indulge him with an answer.

Another thing that inevitably brought the two of you closer is the fact that you both take the same train and get off at the same station. Your apartment is in a different neighborhood from his, but you find comfort in the newfound company you’ve been given since Minghao’s arrival. Though he doesn’t talk much outside discussions about work and other dance-related topics, having someone familiar to sit right next to you on the train is more than enough to quell the day’s fatigue.

Your other colleagues sometimes voice out their envious comments jokingly—saying that you’re extremely lucky to have such a hot guy as constant company. Almost always, you respond with a vigorous shake of your head before insisting that things between you and Minghao aren’t at all like that. Besides, you know better than to nurse a romantic relationship between your colleagues. You wouldn’t even let yourself have a crush on any of them. 

What they don’t know, however, is that on very rare occasions when your body feels just a little too heated, and your sheets a few threads too thick, it’s Minghao that flits into your mind as your hesitant fingers reach between your thighs. 

You touch yourself to the thought of him taking you in one of the dance studios. Specifically, in front of the full-stretch mirrors as he fucks you from behind. You imagine him whispering how good you are for him, how you’re taking his cock so, so well. 

Subverting the mere image of the kind man who constantly seeks your validation for his performance has you creaming on your own fingers within minutes, and if you weren’t such a terrible person, you would’ve felt bad for thinking about him in such an obscene light. 

Then again, what Minghao doesn’t know won’t kill him.

His first month in the agency comes and goes like the changing seasons. Next thing you know, it’s time for monthly evaluations again. 

While others would usually dread these assessments, you looked forward to them. You know that they’re less a measure of talent, and more a measure of hard work. Sure, talent could be one of the main driving factors of getting a high score, but you know better than anyone else that talent is nothing if you don’t work hard enough to cultivate it. 

That’s the kind of mindset that always landed you in the top of the rankings for every monthly evaluation.

And it’s the same mindset that puts you immediately beneath Minghao. 

The agency is always prompt with the release of the results. They’d post the typewritten scores next to the dancers’ names in the bulletin board at the ground floor cafeteria for everyone to see two days after the monthly evaluation.

It was a bit of a challenge to squeeze past the other dancers to get a good look at this month’s results—the crowd being more chatty than usual. Your closer friends insisted that you’d be number one as usual, and that you didn’t have to check at all. 

Part of you wants to believe them, but the unsettling feeling that pools in the pit of your stomach doesn’t let you become complacent. It doesn’t help that everyone around you seems like they’re sneaking glances your way—only to look away when you try to catch their gaze. 

When you finally make it to the front of the board, you notice that Minghao is already there—already dressed to kill for today’s sets and routines. His black hair is still damp like he just got out of the shower and rushed straight to work, eyes glued to the bulletin board. You would’ve let your gaze linger a bit longer on his gorgeous face, had it not been for the surprise that awaits you on that single sheet of paper plastered right in front of you.

1. Xu Minghao — 100 points

Your vision tunnels in, white noise ringing in your ears. 

You could vaguely make out the characters of your name just below Minghao’s, and just a few points from a perfect score. But you didn’t care about that. All you could focus on was the fact that you’ve been kicked out of a spot that’s been yours for as long as you can remember. 

No wonder the others were buzzing amongst themselves, flashing you brief looks before whispering their thoughts on the matter to the nearest willing ear. Not a single soul has ever garnered a hundred fucking points from monthly evaluations. The evaluators cut no corners when it came to assessing their dancers’ level of skill and technique, and seeing how they deigned to give Minghao, a complete newbie, a perfect goddamned score—

“Congratulations, bro!” 

“Minghao, you’re a fucking beast! How long did you even practice?”

“That’s so cool. No one’s ever gotten a perfect hundred before.”

“You’ve gotta tell us the secret, please!”

Like a bunch of bees, the collective of dancers start to crowd Minghao—giving him congratulatory gestures and greetings alike. Your understudy simply gazes at them as if in a daze, but ever-so slowly, a smile cracks through his typically stoic demeanor. 

“Uh, thank you…?”

He’s whisked away to the cafeteria before you can blink, and you can only watch in shocked desolation as they all usher themselves away from the board.

Away from you. 

You don’t miss the way Minghao tries to catch your gaze in the midst of it all, the smile he showcased for everyone to see falling the moment he realized you’re still rooted in place. Yet he doesn’t try to break free from the crowd, nor does he attempt to call your name out loud. 

Not that you have any plans on answering if he did.

It’s only after today’s session has concluded that Minghao manages to pull you to the side for a conversation. You’re already halfway out of the building when he catches you, and you can tell that the sheer euphoria of knowing you came out on top is still humming in his veins. 

It pisses you off.

“Thank you,” he says simply. 

“For what?” You try not to sound too gruff, but the pensiveness in your voice comes out anyway. “Letting you take my spot?”

Minghao’s grin dips into a grimace—mirroring his expression from earlier. “What? I meant to say thank you for showing me the ropes. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have—hey!”

You’re probably being immature. No, you’re definitely being immature. Instead of accepting Minghao’s gratitude like a normal fucking person, you continue brisk-walking to the building’s entrance without letting him finish. Of course, he chases after you, asking if he did anything wrong or if you’re simply in a bad mood or both. 

You don’t answer him even when he continues pestering you on the way to the train station, and he doesn’t stop despite the lack of responses from your end. It’s beginning to get on your nerves, too, because he was never this goddamn pushy during all those times you went home together. What’s stopping him from being the quiet companion he’s always been?

“Can you just shut the fuck up, Hao?” you end up snapping at him when you finally get off at your shared station—earning yourself a bunch of questioning looks from nearby commuters. “You don’t have to fucking rub it in anymore than you have. I already know the results, okay?!”

“Rubbing what in?” he asks, exasperated. “I’m just asking you what’s wrong because you don’t normally act this way. Is it so bad for me to worry about my friend?”

“Friend?” you echo mirthlessly. “No fucking friend of mine takes away what belongs to me.”

This time, when you storm off, Minghao doesn’t follow you.

Fortunately, that all happened on a Friday. It takes you the entire weekend after that heated encounter at the train station to realize that maybe you went a little overboard with what you said to Minghao. 

As you replay your conversation in your head, you’re filled with a crippling sense of embarrassment. The top spot for monthly evaluations belongs only to the best—you know this better than anyone else. The only reason that the evaluators deemed you as a second placer is because Minghao is that proficient in his dancing. 

You’re one of the people who was able to watch him closest. You’ve seen the work he put into practice firsthand. You even called him a prodigy. 

So why did you make a fool out of yourself by having a meltdown at the fact that you got beaten by someone who obviously worked harder than you did?

Hard work beats talent any day. But Minghao has both honed to perfection. 

If you’re going to reclaim your rightful spot on the top, crying about it is the last thing you should do. You’re going to have to put in double the effort to call yourself worthy.

As expected, Minghao has started to distance himself from you after that spat. You don’t blame him. As much as you wanted to apologize for your behavior that night, you wouldn’t want to remain friends with a sore loser if you were in his shoes. 

But as his second month in the agency breezes past, you notice that, not only has he distanced himself, but he’s become somewhat…hostile.

He treats everyone else the same way since he came in—stoically with a few words of affirmation here and there. You, though? It’s almost like he’s forgotten all about the time you were assigned to look after him. There’s always this cockiness lingering in his eyes that grates at your nerves more than you thought it would. He’d throw you haughty glances whenever he catches you flubbing some parts of the choreography from the corner of his eye. 

The worst part is that Minghao is more vocal now compared to when he first came in—not seeing any problem with pointing out how you’re starting to slack off during practice. 

“How are you expecting yourself to take back the crown when you’re already breathless after such a simple routine?” he gloats when he catches you lingering by the water fountain, lips curved into a smirk.

You glare at him while you take a sip from your water bottle. “Fuck you. I’ve been rehearsing all fucking day. Who wouldn’t be tired?”

“People who rank first in monthly evals,” he says boredly. “Oh, but you wouldn’t know about that, now would you? At least, not anymore.”

You’re so fucking close to tearing his face off with your own fingernails that you’re slightly grateful that Minghao gets called back onto the dancefloor to polish his group’s routine. Minghao’s constitution changes in a flash—that arrogant look he reserves for you alone making way for his usual aloof expression while he makes his way back. 

He always looks cool and amicable to others, but when no one’s looking he makes sure you catch the patronizing tilt of his lips whenever he pulls off some high level choreography with zero mistakes. As if to remind you that you’re never going to take back what he stole from you. Not in a million years. 

Okay. Maybe you do hate Xu Minghao. 

You hate him a fucking lot.

…

Minghao proves that the results he reaped from his first month in the agency are no fluke.

For three consecutive months, you’re forced to stand in front of the cafeteria’s bulletin board with his name plastered on the very top. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought that the evaluators were only editing the month indicated on top of the sheet with how stagnant the results always are. 

The agency’s rising star consistently comes out on top with little to no effort, while you’re desperately clawing your way back to glory at second place. 

You didn’t know what the fucking deal was. You worked your ass off twenty four-seven. Even if you weren’t in the studio, you made sure to study all sorts of routines and choreographies so your body would remember the movements deep into your bones. 

But then you remember that even if hard work beats talent, you can never beat a man who has both at his disposal.

You’re at your wits’ end at this point—so close to giving up on the title you thought would always belong to you. Your evasive behavior did you no favors in maintaining a good reputation among your colleagues either. If you listened to their hushed conversations closely enough, you’d catch them saying how pathetic you’re being. Ostracizing yourself all because you’re insecure that your understudy became your adversary. 

The only reason you hate what they’re saying about you behind your back is because all of it is true.

Your usual group of friends doesn’t sit with you at your usual table at the cafeteria anymore, but you don’t really mind that—learning this late into your career that silence can be more beneficial than it seems. But every time you see Minghao laughing at a joke told by one of your colleagues, you can’t help but feel that familiar bite of resentment you’ve come to associate with everything he does.

If only he didn’t overtake you during his first goddamn month here. If only he wasn’t the one assigned to be your understudy. Maybe the blow to your pride wouldn’t have been this bad. Maybe you wouldn’t be licking your wounds in your loneliness. 

Maybe you wouldn’t have lost a friend you actually liked having around.

…

With an upcoming dance competition, it’s no surprise that the dancers at your agency often stay behind to polish their performances to perfection. Usually, practices would adjourn hours before the sun even sets, but these days, you find yourself exiting the building no earlier than nine PM. 

The excessive practice time has been taking a toll on you—this much you know. Your muscles have been sore for days, and no amount of painkillers and Salonpas can easily cure your affliction right away. So for tonight, you decide to take it easy—packing up once the clock hits six o’clock. The last thing you want is to accidentally pull something you shouldn’t, thus rendering your participation in the competition null and void.

But as you walk towards the train station, you realize that perhaps staying later was a smarter move after all. All around you, commuters of all ages and walks of life brush past you in their haste—the need to arrive home as soon as possible like a cloud on everybody’s heads. The closer you got to the station, the more it dawned on you.

It’s fucking rush hour.

You’ve always avoided going home during this time for two reasons. The first is the influx of commuters that’s literally and figuratively too suffocating to deal with, especially when your physical constitution isn’t in the best shape. 

The second is…because you noticed that, ever since your platonic breakup, Minghao has started leaving the studio at this hour. Later than your previous commutes home, but earlier than your new work-yourself-to-the-bone schedule. Sure, he’s still the biggest fucking prick to walk the earth whenever he feels like taunting you during practice, but he doesn’t seem interested in working overtime. 

If you’re being completely honest, you’re over the monthly evaluation results. Honest! You’ve just come to accept that nothing is ever set in stone.

Things change all the time. Humans used to believe the earth was flat. The Athenians once thought of Plato’s bullshit as the gospel truth, and—

You dared to assume you’ll be on top of the world forever.

What happened months ago was a reality check, and slowly but surely, you’re relearning the difference between ambitious and obnoxious. It’s a humbling experience that you’re honestly grateful for happening because…if it weren’t for that harsh reminder that there’ll always be someone out there who’s better than you, then you wouldn’t strive to improve at all.

You let out a quaint sigh when you settle into the train. As expected, tonight’s commuters have filled it out to complete capacity, and you wouldn’t have caught the last available space near the doors if you hadn't sprinted like a madman. Though your aching muscles practically scream in complaint, you comfort yourself with the promise of a long soak in your bathtub the moment you get home.

The smooth tone of the announcer’s voice rings from the overhead speakers, telling all passengers to step away from the doors, as the train is about to leave. Not that any of you can help it. You’re all packed like sardines in what’s usually a pretty spacious train car if you came in just an hour earlier or later. 

All of a sudden, you find yourself missing those days where you’d sit on the side where you could see the sunset breezing past the windows—listening to the stories of someone you can’t even hold a civilized conversation with anymore. But before that train of thought can progress any further, you shake your head as if the mere gesture alone can dispel your longing.

You try to press yourself back to avoid getting crushed by the automatic doors, muttering a quiet apology to the person behind you since you ended up subsequently squeezing him further into the crowd of cramped passengers. When the doors finally close, you hear him say a quick it’s okay, back at you, you’re forced to whip around in the limited space with your mouth agape.

Right behind you is Xu Minghao, looking just as distressed as you are.

He’s changed out of his usual practice clothes—having exchanged it for an oversized crewneck and sweats. His expensive headphones hang unused around his neck, and you wonder if you wouldn’t have noticed each other if only he was blasting music directly into his ears…

The urge to take back your courteous apology is strong, but you would much rather not give him any more of your energy than you already have. You’d take all his insults and badmouthing head-on in the studio, but it’s been a really long day, and you don’t have enough fire going to extend his hostility inside a crowded train in the middle of rush hour. 

“Why’re you out so early?”

You can feel gooseflesh prickle the skin of your shoulders when you feel Minghao’s breath next to your ear. A glare settles between your eyes as you jolt away from him in the limited space that affords you to do so. 

“Watch it, asshole. You’re way too close for comfort,” you hiss. “And the time I go home is none of your business.”

Minghao shrugs. “I dunno, you always stay late to practice. Is it so bad to be curious?”

“Yeah, because if it hasn’t occurred to you yet, I actually hate your guts, and I don’t appreciate you talking to me like we’re friends.”

He falls silent for a moment, and in the next moment the train lurches into motion—nearly catching you off balance. You’re quick to brace a hand against the door, but you startle again when you feel a large hand around your arm, touching you in a way that’s meant to steady. You spare Minghao another glance, but there’s less vitriol laced in your gaze and more confusion.

“Are we…” he whispers, gaze shied away from yours as he maintains a steady grip on your arm. Then, he gulps. “Are we not friends anymore?”

Again, you scowl. 

Is he being real with you right now?

“Dude, I am completely over the monthly evaluations if you think that’s the reason I’m being the way I am with you,” you hiss. “I was going to apologize after I said all that hurtful stuff in the past. But then you went ahead and started writing your very own villain arc. So, ask yourself: were you even my friend at all, Hao?”

The sound of that nickname making its way past your lips is familiar yet foreign at the same time. During these past few months, you’ve never once called Minghao anything else but asshole, dick, jerk, self-centered punk, and other variations of those words. You don’t want to admit it, but calling him by something that’s close to an endearment makes you feel like there’s cotton sticking to the roof of your mouth. 

Minghao doesn’t respond yet again, and you force yourself to face forward—leaning your head against the glass of the door so you wouldn’t have to look back at him anymore. You’re pretty sure the salaryman right next to you has been eavesdropping on your conversation this entire time, but it’s not like he has any other choice given the circumstances. 

You let the constant whir of the train engine lull you into a calmer disposition, heartbeat finally equalizing after everything you just shot at Minghao. That’s probably the most you’ve said to him all month, and to say that you’re not the least bit embarrassed about how you admitted wanting to apologize for a past transgression is a blatant lie. 

But what’s done is done. You’re just going to have to accept the fact that the man you once thought of as a good friend; the same man who’s now the main antagonist of your life and career, is standing behind you in your rush hour commute. Just twenty minutes more, and he’ll be out of your hair soon. 

Much to your delight, Minghao keeps his mouth shut until the train pulls over at the next station. The doors open with a mechanical ding, accompanied by the announcer's voice yet again. You’ve heard the monologue thousands of times, but you don’t quite hear it over the throng of passengers rushing to get off the train. 

You make way for them by scooting towards the back of the car, and Minghao does the same. But instead of shuffling away from you the moment there’s more room to move around like you thought he would, he lingers closely to your form. 

However, the amount of people that got off on this station is quickly replenished by a new horde of passengers—quickly filling in the space you thought would last for at least a few more stations. Once again, you find yourself slowly being squeezed closer to the corner of the car, but for some reason, Minghao wedges himself between you and the unassuming college boy whose wireless earphones are plugged in as he scrolls through his phone. 

When you realize what he’s trying to do, you say, “You don’t have to protect me or anything. I’m fine on my own.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “You obviously didn’t see how you looked like you’re about to get crushed. Just thank me and we’re good.”

A biting retort is already resting on your tongue with how passive-aggressive that response of his sounds like. What the hell is his problem? It’s not like you asked for him to shield you from the other passengers. 

And yet…

“Thanks, I guess.”

You watch him visibly stiffen at your words, and you feel your heart slamming into your ribcage the moment you utter them. Did you really just thank the same man who’s been making your life at work a living hell for months?

The train starts to pick up speed again before you can answer that yourself.

You practically glare at the corner you’ve been forced into the entire trip to the next station. Minghao is right behind you, but you can’t be assed to worry about that when you’re chewing your lip out of frustration. Part of you feels relieved that you swallowed your pride and thanked him, but the part that’s been receiving the brunt of his antagonism for the past half year hisses in disagreement.

He’s an asshole. He’s a self-centered prick that uses people as stepping stones. He’s—

“...Sorry.”

You refuse to turn around. You refuse to believe that he’s actually—

“I’m sorry for being a jerk to you,” Minghao murmurs, and you feel his fingers graze your shoulder as if to emphasize the words with the sincerity of his touch. “I just… I didn’t know how to act when you lashed out at me back then. Y-You were my only friend, and I thought you’d be proud that I achieved something after working so hard for an entire month.”

You’re at a loss for words, completely stunned by the honesty in his voice. You’ve only known Minghao for a short while—been on good terms with him for even shorter—but you can always tell whenever he’s lying. 

This is not one of those times.

“A…friend of mine told me that I tend to act based on how I’m treated,” he continues. “I know that doesn’t excuse how I’ve been acting around you for so long, but… I guess when I got the hint that you hated me, the only way I could cope with that is to hate you right back. Even if I really didn’t.”

No. This isn't real. You’re dreaming. This is probably a side-effect from all those late hours you’ve spent in the studio—

You let out a soft squeak when you feel him rest his forehead against the back of your head, sighing so deeply, it makes you wonder how long he’s been thinking about apologizing properly. Minghao grips your arms again, not to help maintain your balance, but more to anchor himself onto his own. 

“I don’t care if everyone else in the studio looks at me like I’m some sort of god on the dancefloor,” he admits, voice so quiet, you could barely hear him. “The only person I’d want to look at me is you.” 

Your breath hitches, and you’re sure he hears it. 

“Can we please go back to normal again?” Minghao pleads. “I miss hearing your comments about my dances. I miss going home together.

“I miss you.”

The sincerity in his voice singes through you like a red-hot iron poker. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. All you can focus on is the stuttering breaths Minghao takes from behind you. 

If you’ve ever imagined reconciling with him, this certainly isn’t the most optimal venue. But now that he’s bared his defenses, you don’t see any benefit to keeping up your own.

“I’m…sorry and I missed you, too,” you admit somewhat sheepishly, thanking the higher deities up there that he can’t see the way your blood rushes to your cheeks. “But I don’t really know how to—”

Your sentence is cut off mid-way when the train abruptly runs into a bump on the tracks, forcing Minghao’s body against yours when he momentarily loses his footing. It’s an accident, and you wouldn’t have minded since some turbulence in this part of the city isn't rare at all. But that split second where Minghao got thrown against you from the impact made you all too cognizant of how thin the material of both your skirt and his sweatpants are.

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao sighs before bracing an arm towards one of the walls to your left. The rustle of his clothes gives rise to the scent of his cologne wafting to your nostrils—a fresh, not-too-musky aroma that makes your head spin despite.

Just your luck, the train pitches to the side and you feel Minghao’s groin brush against your ass once again. This time, you’re not strong enough to hold down the soft whimper that tumbles out of your lips, and you don’t even feel ashamed about it.

Suddenly, you remember a time from back then where you’d spend your nights getting off to the same man who’s unknowingly sparking your arousal in the unlikeliest of places. You’ve once fucked yourself to the thought of him, so what’s the use with getting embarrassed now? As long as he doesn’t know, you should be fine.

Except Minghao isn’t deaf, and he definitely picked up on that suggestive little noise you just made.

Experimentally, he lets one of his hands dip lower and lower until his fingertips brush the hem of your skirt. That sinfully short skirt that keeps riding up your thighs every time you do a rather bold move during practice. His eyes are completely trained on you even if you’re still facing the corner, and when he feels you shiver, all the blood in his system rushes down south.

“You’re into this?” Minghao chuckles, bracing his hands on your hips before sliding his growing arousal against the ridge of your ass. “My… I didn’t think mending our friendship again would go this swimmingly. How about I take you out to dinner first?”

“Hao!” you chastise him with a poisonous look, but from the way you subtly rock your hips in time with his movements, Minghao can tell that dinner is the last thing on your mind right now.

He chuckles softly, keeping one hand steady on your hip while the other dips beneath your skirt again. When his fingers immediately press down against the gusset of your underwear, Minghao has to bite down a groan because of the wet patch that’s already accumulated at the center. 

“Not only did you ditch your shorts, but you’re already this wet? From a little grinding?” he hisses into your ear. “Needy fucking slut.”

You can’t help the way your pussy clenches at the harsh name he just called you. It’s all so strange. You never once reacted this way whenever he called you a bitch or anything similar, but you suppose when you’ve made amends with a friend you’ve secretly been wanting to fuck since you first laid your eyes on him, there’s no use keeping up any charades.

“Your hatred was all just an act, isn’t it?” he laughs, nudging your underwear to the side so he can get a feel of just how wet you areas you spread your legs to accommodate him. “Do you rile me up on purpose because you can’t deal with the fact that you actually want me?”

"You're delusional," you bite back.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

Another low laugh rumbles in his chest and you swear you don't get wetter with each hum of it as he presses closer to your ear. "Lying doesn't suit you, sweetheart."

You’re about to answer him when the announcer’s voice rings from the speakers yet again, saying that the next station is approximately five minutes away. This promptly rips you out of your lustful haze as you realize you’re very much still in public, where dozens upon dozens of passengers still share the same car with the both of you. Minghao seems to pick up on your split-second realization, but doesn’t seem fazed by the idea of getting caught doing this in the presence of strangers.

“Lots of passengers are going to get off at the next station, but not a lot are going to get on like the last one,” he whispers before plunging two of his fingers into your sopping cunt without warning. 

You have to physically cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from gasping out loud. When you turn to look at Minghao again, eyes ablaze with disbelief, he simply flashes you an evil smile.

“If you want to come on my fingers, do it in five minutes, whore.”

The sensation of his long, slender digits curling inside you forces you to brace yourself against your tiny little corner of that train car. Your skin prickles everywhere as Minghao grinds his half-hard cock against your backside, all while he works between your pussy lips as if he’s thought about it dozens of times before. 

His digits dip in and out of your entrance like he doesn’t know what he wants to do first. Poke and prod at every inch of sensitive flesh there is or fuck you until you’re a moaning mess for everyone to see. Either way, you’re panting all while Minghao maps the expanse of your pussy with his touch alone, and every time those sinful fingers brush against your clit, you jolt in response.

“Shh,” he coos. “Don’t be too obvious, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want the entire train knowing how much of an impatient fucking slut you are—whoring all over my fingers ‘cause you can’t wait to get off the train.”

You involuntarily clench at his filthy words, begrudgingly unearthing a kink you didn’t even know you had. But at the mere mention of the other passengers, you let your eyes frantically pass over those nearby. You don’t know if they’re really preoccupied on their phones or pretending not to notice the act of indecency that’s happening right beneath their noses. The college boy that almost crushed you earlier is still banging his head to whatever song is playing on his phone, and you take that as a sign to let yourself go.

“Now that won’t do,” Minghao tuts before sliding his fingers back inside you, nudging your thighs even further apart before curling his digits just so. “How can you come in five minutes if you’re so distracted?”

“F-Fuck,” you whine as quietly as you can. “Hao, f-feels so good.”

“Yeah?” he laughs softly and your vision goes black for a moment when you feel his thumb graze your clit with just the right pressure. Just how dextrous can he be? “Then focus on my fingers, sweetheart. If you can’t come before the train arrives at the next station, maybe I’ll just go back to hating you tomorrow after all.”

You nearly choke on a moan when he starts to rub your sensitive nub in varying pressures and speeds, nearly robbing you of your ability to speak. “You’re a f-fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a fucking bitch, but see where that got you now?”

It’s almost like you’re hard-wired to rebut everything he says, and you have all those months of shared antagonism to thank for it. But when Minghao crooks his fingers at a slightly different angle, your already sore legs nearly give out when his fingers hit you deep enough to make stars dance in the seams of your vision.

“Oh?” He sounds so smug, you actually want to hit him. “There it is.”

You can hardly believe it. You can barely find your own g-spot even on good days if you don’t put your back into using your toys right, yet Minghao got it in less than five minutes, inside a train full of passengers, no less?

Your brain has all but fizzled out when the pads of his fingers start to massage that sweet, sweet spot inside of you again—milking your body for all those lovely reactions you’re so willing to give to him. Minghao’s cock is an ever-present weight against your ass, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you, and how badly he wants to feel you come apart on his fingers right here, right now.

“You liked being fingered on the train, sweetheart?” Minghao rasps into your ear, relentless in his movements as tears start to line your lashes. “Like it when you supposedly hate the man that’s doing this to you? That’s made you this fucking wet?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’d let him stick his dick into you right now if he wanted, but you know that Minghao isn’t going to risk that just yet. So instead, you focus on the sensation of those skillful fingers—the same ones you’ve dreamt about a long time ago—coaxing out a high you never thought you’d achieve outside the four corners of your bedroom. 

You can think about his stroke game later. Those powerful thighs as he thrusts into you. Not to mention how euphoric it would feel to come around his cock, milking him for that white-hot release until it dribbles down your thighs and he inevitably fucks it all back into you—

The stimulation of Minghao’s dexterous digits coupled with the thrill of being caught are the main players for today’s debauchery, but it’s that particular fantasy that pushes you over the edge. 

One moment, you feel like you’re on top of the world again, and the next you can taste blood in your mouth with how hard you bite against your lip to muffle your moans. A gush of slick coats Minghao’s fingers as he helps you ride out of your orgasm, peppering the side of your face with butterfly kisses.

“Pretty little whore, coming in record time,” he chuckles.

You can barely just start taming your breathing when Minghao takes his fingers out of your panties—tugging your skirt down back to semi-decency before prodding those same fingers against your lips. Still dazed from the high he just let you experience, you open your mouth, lathering your tongue against each digit as the tangy taste of you fills your tastebuds. 

“Good fucking girl.”

The train eases into the next station, and just as Minghao predicted, the car frees up just enough for you to get comfortably seated by the windows again. He sits right next to you the whole time—hand never straying from yours as he holds it firmly in his. For some reason, that gesture of his flusters you more than the stunt he just pulled five minutes ago.

When you both get off the vehicle, the awkwardness begins to settle in your system. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to him after all of...that. Is there even a protocol to follow after getting finger-fucked on public transportation?

“Hey.”

You startle when Minghao breathes out while the two of you make your way out of the station. It’s the first time he’s broken the silence since arriving, and your heart pounds in anticipation of what he’s about to say next.

“I really am sorry for all the shit I said to you these past few months,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his head like he’s just as clueless about what to do as you are.

You blink up at him. “Um, yeah. You already told me, Hao.”

“I just figured it was worth repeating.”

“Giving me a mindblowing orgasm is a good enough apology on its own, you know.”

He stops walking for a moment, and you look back at him with brows raised.

“Really now?” he asks, and—there’s that smirk again. That no good smirk. “I don’t think I’ve received a ‘good enough apology’ from you yet, sweetheart.”

One glance at his sweats, and sure enough, the evidence of his own raging arousal is still up for grabs. You feel your pussy tingle at the mere thought of what’s to come once you voice out your agreement, even if your overworked muscles are begging for a break.

Oh, well. Might as well stock up on more painkillers on the way.

⟢ end notes: i really really REALLY went overboard on this one and there isn't even any piv sex in action holy fucking shit LMFAO TT to lovely user yourfavoritefreakyhan, i hope i didn't scare you off with the word count JSHFD I REALLY JUST GOT CARRIED AWAY AHAHS hao has been testing me for DAYS and it manifested in this . anyway, pls don't expect every request from my ask game to turn out this fucking long bc this rly was just a heat of the moment creation AJSDHSJHF

[yuheartss]

WHOS THAT GIRL?

IN WHICH — light finally makes a move on the girl he’s been stalking since high school

ʚɞ WC? 949 wordss

ʚɞ warnings! - stalking, hint of kidnapping, fem!reader, fluff-ish, unedited, lowercase intended!

ʚɞ a/n: I feel like I made him a little ooc but I hope not.. if I did please tell me! constructive criticism is welcome js don't b mean ⟢

In collage you were a bubbly person you had all the best fashions, best friends everything you could’ve ever wanted except one thing, a boyfriend, you told yourself that you didn’t need one you had to work on your fashion design major

You went to a small cafe to work on a dress sketch with your earbuds on you don’t notice a man coming up to you, he taps your shoulder and you look up at him “yes?” You ask “um can I sit here? All of the other tables are full” you look around and he was right it was full

“Yea sure” you said welcomingly the man smiles and sits with a cup of tea in hand “so what’s your name?” He says, hoping to start a conversation you look up from your sketchbook you give him another smile “y/n what about you?”

“Light” he says leaning back against his chair he looks at your sketch “are you in a fashion major or something? I can tell because of your unique style and your sketches” light finished, like he didn’t already know, you stare at him for a minute and laugh softly “your very observant Light,yea I’m in that major what about you?”

“I’m in criminal justice my father was a cop so I’m just following his footsteps” he said casually, looking into your eyes for any suspicions you might have “interesting…you don’t look like you’d be a cop more like a…scientist or something” you tilt you head as he chuckles

Your phone buzzed causing the both of you to look at the phone “hello?” You answered the keychain on your flip phone dangled as you leaned over to talk to your friend as you were doing this light took notice of your slicked back bun your curls covered in glitter hairspray, charms and hair clips near your ears

He knows you’ve been like this since high school you’ve Always been friendly you were popular and all but you never had any classes with light so of course you weren’t gonna remember him

Ryuk hoveres over Light his smile never falters what are you gonna do Light? Your not gonna stalk her are you? Ryuk teases looking over to you, still on call with who ever

“Very funny” Light says softly “i already know where she lives” Ryuk laughs as you turn back to Light “sorry about that something came up I gotta go it was nice meeting you Light” you say as you start to pack your things up

“Wait! Can- can I see you again?” He asks a little too desperately but that’s what girls like right? You blush a little and flip a page of your sketchbook and write your number down you rip the paper out and give it to him before speed walking out

He watches you go and looks at the note :

xxx-xxx-xxxx call me! ♡

He smiled at this and left the cafe as light walked out the street he couldn’t help but start thinking about if you r always like that or do you fake a face or the public he just couldn’t help but think about you about what makes you tic your fears everything

So two months later you guys have been hanging out and then light calls you, he asks if you want to take a walk in a park and of course you agree, you put on your best outfit ever cheetah print leg warmers here bows with similar patters over there

And of course you being the only person of color with bright colors on, it made you stand out quite a lot you got stares from girls and boys, men and women, dogs even! it made you slightly uncomfortable as you noticed this one man who kept following you ever since you got off the bus

You brushed that aside once you saw Light in the distance you called his name and he looked over to you with a smile you caught up to him and held his arm “sorry about this” you muttered as you leaned you head on his arm

Thinking that this’ll throw the man off and he’ll leave to which he did leave after a while of walking and that’s when you let go of Light “sorry some guy was following me and I wanted to shake him off” you explained as he nodded “yea I kinda figured that’s what you were doing it’s no problem” he replied deciding to be bold and take your hand

You bit your lip softly to stop the expression that your blushing to appear “soo where are we going?” You ask as you both go deeper into the park “you’ll see..” was all he said when you both got onto the center of the park he had shown you a lit up little area fairy lights, the water fountain reflecting those light’s making the water light up, flower bushes all around

“Oh wow..” you said softly placing your well-manicured hand over you mouth “like it?” He asked with a smirk watching your every move “yeah.. are you finna propose or something?” You questioned him eyeing him suspiciously

He chuckles “no no nothing like that, I was gonna ask if you wanted to be my girlfriend” you pause for a moment he was so casual about it you almost missed the question, you practically jumped on him screaming a yes he returned your hug smiling but what you couldn’t see was the dark look in his eyes

Next thing you know, your on tv you watch as the reporter says that you’ve been missing for three months she finally asks? who’s that girl?

[garfinkelstingle]

Hi! I absolutely love your fics, could you do a fake insta fic with timothee? The face claim being Rachel Zegler with she/her pronouns. Thanks!

pairing: timothee chalamet x fem!reader

a/n: nonnie there is no excuse as to why this took me so long apart from the fact that i was in a slump... but now i am (sorta) not! i hope you guys like it and have a great day & week xxx (also some of these "posts" are very self-indulgent AND i'm going to the eras tour twice next year so i'm just so excited aaahhhh!!!!!!)

masterlist

yourinstagram

liked by tchalamet, florencepugh and 2,391,382 others

yourinstagram miscast23 gala!! loved every second of it (and not just because i felt like a million bucks in this dress)

view all 328,382 comments

tchalamet how are you real???

*liked by yourinstagram

tchalamet like i'm serious it should be illegal to be this good-looking my gOd

yourinstagram babe stfu 😭

yourfan36 THEYRE SO CUTE WHAT

yourfan89 mommy? sorry, mommy?

haileesteinfeld hot stuff

yourinstagram 🫶🏼🫶🏼

tchalamet

liked by yourinstagram, zendaya and 1,382,932 others

tchalamet felt cute, won't delete later cause my girlfriend won't let me

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timmyfan16 as she should(n't?)

yourinstagram can you blame me????

*liked by tchalamet

timmyfan38 y/n better be prepared to fight because d a m n

zendaya looking fine mr

*liked by tchalamet

timmyfan29 thanks for this blessing

yourinstagram

liked by tchalamet, taylorswift and 3,248,422 others

yourinstagram ERAS TOUR BABY!!!!!!! thanks for all the friendship bracelets guys <3333

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swiftie13 y/n being a swiftie will forever be my favorite thing about her

tchalamet miss americana

yourinstagram & her heartbreak prince

yourfan78 im literally so jealous i couldn get tickets rip

timmyfan62 I WAS AT THE SAME SHOW I SAW Y/N AND TIMMY DANCING AND SINGING THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE SET it was insane

yournamenews

liked by yourfan92 and 28,492 others

yournamenews Y/N via her Instagram story yesterday

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yourfan73 she's so insane for this 😭😭

yourfan15 i thought this was fake at first but she even put it in her highlight????

timmyfan39 wish i had someone who looked at me the way timmy looks at y/n ughhh

yourfan26 oh we're being fed fed

yourinstagram

liked by dylanobrienfp, tchalamet and 5,218,329 others

yourinstagram breaking news: dylan o'brien spotted with fan

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yourfan27 she's just like me fr

tchalamet we took pictures too?? why didnt you post them???

yourinstagram because you have yet to star in teen wolf silly

sadiesink ❤️

*liked by yourinstagram

timmyfan98 the fact that my two (three) faves had dinner together yesterday has done more for my mental health than my parents ever did

yourfan36 not y/n being a teen wolf girlie too omg

tchalamet

liked by yourinstagram, tomholland2013 and 2,492,449 others

tchalamet captionless

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timmyfan26 it's the hand in the hairs for me

yourfan18 not y/n liking this the second he posted it my PARENTS

yourinstagram actual loml (maybe show your face next time so i dont feel so weird for saying that)

tchalamet so you DO only want me for my looks huh??

yourinstagram actually your bank account is a slightly bigger selling point 🤭

timmyfan15 this picture has no right to make me feel the way it does

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram oscars 2023 screaming crying punch me in the face?????? MY SPIDEY TINGLE IS STILL IN OVERDRIVE

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tchalamet what's it with you and posting pictures with strikingly handsome men???

yourinstagram i would post you more if one of us didn't look like a fart in every single one of our pictures

tchalamet more wallpapers for me ig

*liked by yourinstagram

andrewfan84 MY TWO BABIES INTERACTED AAHHH

yourfan92 spiderman stan's really won today huh

tomholland2013 you never seem this excited to see me 🥲

yourinstagram ily to the moon and to saturn tom but,,, it's the AMAZING SPIDERMAN

*liked by tomholland2013

tchalamet

liked by yourinstagram, florencepugh and 3,492,294 others

tchalamet this is MY goofball girlfriend, whom i love almost as much as i love her dog. thanks for coming to my ted-talk.

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yourinstagram you're so unserious for this what???

yourinstagram i do love u though and i'm even ok with you loving me less than rosco bc i will never love a human being more than i love that dog xxx

tchalamet 💔💔💔

timmyfan64 i love them sm

oliviarodrigo loving the rosco content yes!!!!

*liked by yourinstagram, tchalamet

yourfan87 if i'm not invited to the wedding i would 110% understand it but please invite me to the wedding

yourinstagram

liked by tchalamet, chrisevans and 7,324,432 others

yourinstagram how do u like the new haircut???

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yourfan52 excuse me WHAT

yourfan98 i think i officially died and went to heaven

tchalamet personally i think that the earrings are the highlight of this picture

yourinstagram really? i feel like the painting of a square in the back makes my eyes pop

timmyfan25 what are they even talking about at this point???

florencepugh loving the chop!

*liked by yourinstagram

selenagomez cuties

yourinstagram 💖

yourfan83 adopt me pls i'm not even joking at this point

[nyrandrea]

hiii I’d like to request (again if that’s ok, it’s me the one who asked for the injured ) but if so then may I ask for this time so what if everyone’s at camp all asleep when a few people sneak in and kidnap reader but Astarion wakes up hearing something wasn’t right seein what’s going on watches as reader disappears then ofc hunting them down to see them being used in an ritual all tied up and weak dndeueududid ( sorry it’s like 1:18am I’m laid awake thinking about random things 💀 )

Helloooo again! I enjoyed your last request and certainly had fun with this one too so thanks again! (1:18am is the best time for random thoughts :D )

Warnings for canon typical violence, kidnapping, rituals (kinda), blood and swears

Word Count - 2.9k

Enjoy!

xxx

Under the silvery embrace of the crescent moon, nestled within the heart of a tranquil forest, you and your companions had surrendered to the gentle clutches of slumber, a collective of soft snoring weaving its way through the rustling leaves and whispering trees. 

A clearing in the woods served as your base for the night after a long, grueling day of travelling. The grass beneath you was like a plush carpet, and a delicate blanket of dew kissed the blades, glistening like diamonds. The air was crisp, yet tender, cradling you in its nocturnal embrace. 

Your team had all gathered in a sort of semi-circle, heads pillowed upon hands or nestled into makeshift cushions fashioned from backpacks and rolled-up cloaks. You weren’t sure how or when, but throughout your sleep you had unconsciously rolled over and inched yourself closer to where Astarion lay, his delicious scent drawing you in. 

One could observe the group and note the serene expressions etched upon their faces. They appeared as though they were sculpted by dreams, their features softened by the embrace of rest. Your eyes fluttered beneath closed lids as you chased the remnants of recent adventures.  

Unfortunately for you, you were being observed. 

You flinched as the corner of your vision registered a goblin kneeling beside you, the tip of his dagger against your throat before you could even scramble for your own weapon. 

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you," he purrs, smiling smugly down at you. “Not if you want your friends to keep their innards intact.” 

Your eyes widen and dart over to where the rest of the group lay, completely oblivious to the goblins that threatened their very lives. You were even surprised to see Astarion still in a deep trance of meditation; he was usually so much more alert at night. 

“What do you want?” you whisper. 

“For you to come with us, true soul,” the goblin answered. “We are in desperate need of your... assistance.” 

‘Great,’ you thought. ‘Just what I need, more Absolute nutjobs.’ 

“Look, I don’t think I can help you.” 

“Oh, but you are the only one who can,” he retorts, slowly pulling the knife away from your throat. “It’s our leader, you see. She is gravely ill and only a true soul like yourself can cure her.” 

Your face scrunches up in disbelief. “If she’s ill, then it’s a healer you need, not me.” 

The goblin frowns. “It’s you she needs, she said so herself.” His blade edges closer to you once again, signaling for you to get up. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to come with us. Or am I going to have to resort to a bit of… persuasion?” 

He exchanges a glance with one of his men, who seemed all too giddy to slash Astarion’s neck. 

“No…!” You almost shout but restrain yourself so as to not alert the others and incur a massacre. “I-I’ll come with you, just... leave them be.” 

The goblin grinned up at you, and you had to force down the bile that was rising in your throat. 

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he crooned, gesturing for you to follow.  

You hesitate for a moment, your gaze darting between your weapon and the goblin, his eyes are trained on you, almost as if he was daring you to try. Ultimately, you were outnumbered, and they held the element of surprise over your companions. No matter which way you tried to cut it, there were going to be casualties if you didn’t do what you were told. 

So, you begrudgingly allowed yourself to be led into whatever hellish fate this cult of the Absolute had in store for you. A plan of escape would have to come later, when you were far enough away from your friends. 

Unbeknownst to you, one of them was already on your trail. 

xxx 

Amidst the shroud of night, when the moon hid its luminous face behind a thick blanket of heavy clouds, you and your merry little band of kidnappers ventured into a meadow cloaked in long, swaying grass. The air had an eerie stillness about it, broken only by the distant whispers of nocturnal creatures. 

As you traversed the meadow, moving with cautious steps, your feet sinking into the cool earth with each stride, you silently weighed up your options. The grass was like a sea of shadows, their whispers brushing against your legs like ghostly fingers; it would be so easy just to blend in and disappear. 

You would have considered it, if it were not for the worgs. 

The air was imbued with the scent of dew-drenched grass, but those beasts would still be able to track you down within seconds. Only... there were most certainly four of them the last time you checked. But looking around now, you only noticed two. 

It appeared the goblins had noticed too; their hushed conversations were like faint echoes in the vast expanse, mixing with the symphony of crickets and the occasional haunting call of a night owl. You couldn’t make out a damn word they were saying, but they looked nervous. 

“It would seem that we have a stalker in our midst,” the leader of the group growled, holding up a hand for everyone to come to a halt before he grabbed your wrist, forcing you down to his level. “Sod it, change of plan. You’re with me,” he commanded one of his men before turning to the rest. “You lot deal with the bastard while we take our friend here back to base.” 

“Hey!” You grabbed his wrist and tried to wrench yourself free. “Let go!” 

“With pleasure,” he grinned as he simultaneously released his grip and struck the back of your head with a blunt weapon, rendering you unconscious just as the ambusher seized the opportune moment. With lightning speed and calculated precision, he pounced from the grass, launching himself like a shadowy wraith. Long grass bent and swirled in his wake, mimicking the dance of phantoms. 

In that fleeting moment, you caught the glint of a blade unsheathed, reflecting a cold, silver streak in the night. Chaos ensued, and the long grass became a battleground, hiding the combatants in its tangled embrace.  

The clash of steel rang through the night, intermingling with the desperate cries of your name as you slipped away into darkness. 

The ambusher moved with ruthless determination; his scarlet eyes ablaze with a wild, unholy fervor. In the end, silence fell upon the meadow, broken only by the ragged breaths of the victorious, standing amidst the long grass, a solitary figure bathed in the haunting glow of the moon, his cloak billowing like a specter as he followed the trail of broken grass the other goblins had made as they carried your prone form away. 

 xxx 

The first thing you could feel was a pounding in your head. You try to sit up, to pull your knees up so you can curl up and settle the turning in your stomach. Slowly, your eyes opened as your breath sped up. 

You were lying on the dirty floor in the middle of some sort of temple, hardly able to move due to your wrists and ankles being bound by chains. You struggle to draw in shallow gasps as you blinked through the blurriness of tears that clung to your eyelashes. 

“What?” you whisper to yourself, wiggling to try and find an opening in the chains, trying not to hyperventilate as the bindings dug painfully into your skin the more you tried to move. 

You bite your lip as your mind races with ideas to escape, to get away from this place, to kill these people for having the audacity to kidnap you, to threaten your friends. 

Different scenarios play out repeatedly in your head, but the reality was that you were powerless to do anything. 

“Comfortable, are we?” 

A goblin slinked her way over to you from the shadows, she was unlike the crude and menacing stereotypes that often plagued her kind. She possessed an eerie, captivating beauty and moved with an uncanny grace; as sinuous as a serpent. Her skin, the color of moss, bore intricate tattoos that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy.  

Your skin tingled, hairs on the back of your neck prickling up as the goblin prowled behind your back to watch over your shoulder, her warm breath brushing behind your ear.  

“I do hope so - it is truly an unimaginable honor to have a true soul like yourself amongst us, especially one with such... soft, tender flesh.” 

A soft whimper pressed from your throat as warm hands slithered over your shoulders, kneading gently into tensed muscles. It sent a shudder down your spine, pressing your entire body in on itself.  

“No need to be so coy, dear,” she said. “We’ll be getting to know one another, after all. For what is to come.” 

Your lips pressed tight together as you swallowed down a knot in your throat, but your chin was forced up so that your eyes locked with hers. The symbol of the Absolute flashed on her face like a dazzling light, but no matter how much the tadpole wriggled and pulsed inside your head, nothing was happening. 

You held no authority here. 

“Those little mind tricks won’t work with me,” she sneered, pointing a clawed finger to her temple. “For I too, am a true soul. In fact, I am the one and only true soul!” 

“W-w-what do you mea-?” 

You were silenced with a hard slap. 

“You may not speak in my presence, worm,” the goblin growled. “Speaking of, I’ve got so many of the little buggers up there, I may as well be as powerful as the Absolute themselves!” She barked a laugh and grinned maniacally down at you. “And your parasite will make a fine addition to my collection.” 

‘Gods, this bitch is fucking crazy,’ you thought, but your mind immediately seized up and burned as she pried her way into it, and she was not too happy with your choice of words. 

“You haven’t even seen crazy yet,” she growled as she traced a claw down the side of your face, drawing a thin line of blood. “I think I’ll pry your worm out myself with my bare hands and make you watch as I consume it before we gut you and roast you on the spit with the rest of the pigs.” 

Strong hands took hold of your arms and legs and dragged you onto a slab of stone that had markings etched along the edges. You could just make out they were in Infernal—akin to the ones on Astarion’s back—but like his, you couldn’t decipher their meaning.  

You kicked, flailed and screamed in desperation, but you were soon silenced by the goblin as she wrapped her hands around your throat while the others formed a circle around you and started muttering some sort of ritualistic prayer. 

Your senses were dulling further by the second and a part of you wanted to give in to the pain, to just let yourself black out and fade away, but something within you pulsated with the will to live. To fight to your very last breath. Was this the parasite’s doing? Or was it something else? 

“Just give in to the Absolute, dear, "the goblin said, her tone almost sickeningly gentle. “You’ll be all the better for it.” 

“F...f...” 

“Aw, your last, dying words,” she purrs, leaning in closer to listen. “I will permit it.” 

“...Fuck you,” you spat. 

The goblin’s smug expression warps into one of pure fury, and she bares her teeth at you as she grabs a hold of your face with one hand, using the other to slowly inch her claws towards your left eye. Her hiss garbles into a shrill wheeze as a dagger is plunged into her back and through her chest several times, relentlessly. A stray drop of blood trails down her mouth as she screams silently before she is rolled away from you, her body plopping onto the ground with an unceremonious thump. 

You try to catch your breath, thanking whatever Gods were out there that they decided to spare you today. 

“Don’t thank them, darling, thank me,” a familiar voice teased, though his shaking voice betrayed his light tone. “They would have done bugger all, anyway.” 

A tiny, joyful laugh escapes from your raw throat as your eyes fall onto the welcome sight of Astarion, who seems just as relieved to see you.  

“Are you alright?” he asks, quickly approaching with what appeared to be a pair of bolt cutters. 

You nodded desperately, holding out your wrists. 

Astarion took a moment to get the teeth of the bolt cutters properly in place where they wouldn’t bite through the skin but snapped them together fairly easily. 

You shuddered a soft sob, relief dripping from your eyes as you rubbed at your wrists. Astarion didn’t wait for further instructions, you needed to move. 

He knelt by your feet, slotting one link of the chain between the thick metal teeth, then braced one handle against his thigh. It bruised and dug into the flesh of his leg, but he didn’t stop. 

The metal didn’t relent, but neither would he. 

“Astarion-”  

“Just... hold on, darling!” he says, pausing only briefly to give you a reassuring smile. “I’m no Lae’zel or Karlach; strength isn’t exactly my forte but I’ve... almost got it...!” 

Teeth grit, fueled by fear and desperation, Astarion pulled harder and harder, feeling the bruise work against the bone and listening to his back crackle at the strain. He shifted, readjusting – maybe one half of the link would be enough? It was dented – that was a good sign. 

You rested both hands on Astarion’s shoulders, steadying you both as he groaned under the effort. He jerked the handle to and fro, desperately trying to force the iron link to submit to iron teeth. 

With one final effort, the metal finally crunched, and you were free. 

Astarion’s arms encircled you with a strength that made you feel safe and cherished, while you nestled your head against his chest. 

“You... how did you...?” 

“I knew from the moment they took you,” Astarion said, smoothing down your arms, the motion was slow and helped calm you down a little. “I was, let’s say, aware of their presence in camp. But like you, I wanted to avoid a messy fight and so I tracked you down myself and... thank the gods I did.” 

“Guess they helped out a little, after all,” you weakly joked. 

“Oh shush,” he softly retorted. “It was fairly easy, what with that awful stench those creatures' reek of.” 

“So, it was you... in the meadow.” 

“It was,” he smiled, but it was tinged with bitterness. “I almost had you, if only I’d been quicker, or less sloppy, you wouldn’t have...” 

His eyes, pools of worry and tenderness, never left your face. He reached out with a hand that trembled, his fingers brushing away strands of your disheveled hair. His touch was feather-light, as if he feared causing you any more discomfort. 

With a voice softer than a whisper, he asked, “Did… did they…?” The words carried the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. 

“It’s okay,” you said, reaching out to caress his cheek. “I’m okay.” 

He nodded, his lips curling into a tender smile as he leaned into your touch. Gently, he began to inspect your injuries. His fingers traced the contours of your throat, seeking out any sign of any permanent damage. With each touch, he was meticulous, ensuring that he didn’t aggravate the forming bruise. 

"Does it hurt much?" he inquires softly, his expression unreadable, almost dazed. 

You wince slightly but shake your head. "It's bearable.” 

He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "You're so, so strong, my dear," he whispers, his words a soothing balm to your wounded soul. 

 His soft gaze hardens as he glares down at the goblins' bodies that littered the room. “Death is too good for them. I’m almost tempted to have them revived so I can make them suffer just a little longer.” 

“How did you even manage to kill so many?” you ask, you knew he was a dab hand at killing but even he couldn’t take on a whole horde by himself. 

“They were all so engrossed in their little ritual, they didn’t even see me coming,” Astarion said with a shrug. “That’s what you get for blind faith, I suppose.” 

You wanted to laugh, but your throat hurt too much. 

“Come on, darling,” Astarion gently looped your arm around his shoulder and guided you, going as slow as your aching legs would allow. “Let’s get you home.” 

Your eyes met his in a gaze that transcended words, a silent conversation of empathy and understanding. In that moment, the world ceased to exist beyond the contours of your bodies, and the only reality was the sensation of skin against skin, the intoxicating scent of each other's presence, and the unspoken promise that he would never allow this to happen to you again. 

xxx

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

[imababblekat]

Bayverse TmnT X Trans-man Reader; HC's

Anon Request," I don't know if you do TMNT Bayverse boys with a trans-man!reader so if you don't, I'm sorry and feel free to delete this ask: How would the boys react when their S/O discovers in the middle of their relationship that they don't feel like a girl anymore and realizes that they prefer to be called a man but is scared to tell them for fear of the turtles hating them and break up with them. S/O is scared that they're going to call them a freak and a weirdo for it; even though at times they forget that they're dating a mutant turtle."

◉Story Notes: trans male reader, very brief mention of terf(just the word), s/o referred to as they before coming out to turt bf, he/him with (s/o) is the turt's now bf for clarification, hurt with comfort

~xXx~

Leonardo:

He senses from the gecko that something is different about his s/o, it’s an energy thing is what he tells them later on

Leo won’t bring up this strange feeling he has about his s/o till he starts noticing how they started acting almost distant with him

Like they’re hiding something and it concerns him more than anything, because what if it’s something serious? Like they’re secretly in danger?

Leo will sit them down with their favorite drink, somewhere private and let them know that he’s concerned for them, and while they have absolutely every right to not say anything to him, he just wants them to know he hopes they’re okay and that they can trust him

His s/o confessing that they’re trans, was not at all what he thought was going on, but he’s so incredibly happy they felt they could come out to him

However, Leo does feel kind of sad that his s/o had been worried this whole time because of him(s/o) being a transman might effect their relationship

When he(s/o) explains this to Leo, said turtle is quick to reassure him(s/o), stating he’d love him(s/o) no matter how he(d/o) identified, because if anyone knew that there was more to the world than the physical, it’s definitely Leonardo

Raphael:

His s/o’s stiffened return to his hug is what tips Raph off that something is going on

Did he do something wrong? Oh god, he hopes you’re not becoming repulsed by him

After a few more instance of his s/o acting strange, Raph pretty much puts his foot down and ask what’s going on

His s/o is thrown for a loop when he ask if he did something wrong, or if there’s something wrong with him, and it almost makes them laugh

They’re quick to explain, albeit scared, that no, nothing is wrong with Raph, and that in fact, they’re worried that he’ll think something is wrong with them

Poor lover boy is so confused till they confess how they feel like a man more than a girl, and Raph just kind of sits there like. . .ok??

His s/o is still his s/o, and he’ll love him(s/o) regardless of how he(s/o) identifies, so why would he(s/o) be worried what he thinks?

It’s not that he finds his s/o coming out as a transman is bad or anything, he just doesn’t see the big deal till he(s/o) goes on to explain to the large turtle that the reason he(s/o) was so scared to say anything is because of how terribly the trans community has been treated

Raph gets quickly understands then, and even though his s/o being trans doesn’t make a big difference to him, he of all the turtle brothers knows what it’s like to be treated horribly just because you don’t quote on quote fit in

He’ll reassure his boyfriend that coming out doesn’t change anything for him, Raphael still loves him(s/o) wholeheartedly, if anything's changed it’s that he added terfs to his list of “People I’d Punch On Site”

Donatello:

Donnie is so perceptive about things, especially concerning his s/o

He’s the fastest to notice a change in them and ponders if he should outright ask his s/o if everything's okay, or wait for them to come to him

Donnie will test the waters with his s/o responses to any forward actions he takes before deciding this is a matter of them needing to want to come to him, in which case he’ll spend so much time making them comfortable with non-verbal gestures to feel they can confide in him

It takes a while, but Donnie is a patient turtle; if he can spend a week plus on a single project, he can wait an eternity for his love

Eventually they do come to him, in the middle of the night while he’s typing away at his laptop, and his s/o feels their heart flutter when Donnie is fast to stop his work just for them

It helps encourage them in confessing that they no longer feel like a girl, but a man instead, which is terrifying to tell Donnie

Why? Because the man is a literally scientific genius if not prodigy, and bigots love to use science to demean the trans community

So imagine how surprised his s/o is when he simply smiles and gently reminds his s/o that he’s(s/o) dating a mutant ninja turtle

Donnie gets his s/o to laugh the anxiety away by jokingly stating that the most normal part of their relationship is his s/o coming out as trans

Seriously though, he like his brothers love his s/o no matter what, and he’ll spend the rest of the night showing his s/o why being trans is actually scientifically plausible so that if anyone tries to say something to him(s/o), well he’s got his genius partner to back him(s/o) up

Michelangelo:

Mikey is by far the quickest to find out his s/o is trans; his welcoming personality makes it easy for his s/o to make up their mind on telling him

Ofcourse that doesn’t mean it’s still all that easy, it’s a very serious topic and Mikey tends to be anything but serious

Except for when he picks up on his s/o’s sudden odd behavior around him

He’s so good at letting them know how worried he is, and it nearly breaks their heart that he was so concerned for them

When they do confess that they’re a trans man, a stiff silence fills the room as Mikey stares that them, thinking. . .

It’s got his s/o quickly regretting saying anything, dreading the moment their sunshine would ultimately break up with him(s/o), when Mikey dumbly comments

“So like. . .the robots?”

He's(s/o) left sputtering, on one hand he(s/o) wants to laugh at the pun on the other he(s/o) wants to slap Mikey on the arm

Mikey laughs for them both, quickly pulling his s/o in for a hug and a big smooch, feeling over the moon for being the one his s/o chose to come out to, knowing how big of a moment this is for him(s/o)

His s/o is still a little peeved at his joke, but can’t help to smile because he(s/o) can always count on Mikey to help wash away any fears he(s/o) may have

Not to mention, but Mikey is also the biggest hype man for his transman s/o, if anyone can make someone feel themselves in the best of ways, it’s definitely Mikey and he’s 100% going to make sure his s/o loves being him(s/o) self

~xXx~

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #31

A/N: Wahoo, I made it! Thanks so much to everyone who left likes and comments and nice things in the reblogs, you all motivated me to keep going! :D

-

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

xxx i'm alive, i'm just not well

Louisa is surprised when River calls her on a Wednesday morning, and a little concerned. He's been home from hospital for a little over a week and she hasn't heard from him at all, except for one-word responses or thumbs-up emojis when she's texted him to check in.

"Hi. You alright?" she says as soon as she answers.

"Yeah, erm. I just had a favor to ask, if you wouldn't mind. And if the answer is no, then that's fine, just-"

"What do you need, River?" Louisa interrupts, not angrily but she's leaving soon and it sounds like the favor might be a big one.

"Could you give me a ride to work?"

Louisa makes a face. His tone had made it sound like he was going to ask for a huge loan, or help hiding a body. "Don't you have another week of leave?"

"I mean, yes, technically. But I'm losing my mind here, Louisa. I cannot take another day of sitting around in my flat. I'd get a cab, but these crutches are a pain. Please?"

"Did Lamb say you're good to come in?"

"I...haven't asked him. Better to ask forgiveness than permission and all that."

"Right," Louisa scoffs. "Because Lamb is famously a very forgiving man."

"Please, Louisa." There's a hint of genuine desperation in his voice that weakens any reservations Louisa might have had and she sighs.

"Can you be ready in ten minutes?"

"I'm ready now," River says, the relief and eagerness in his voice painfully evident. "Thank you. Coffee's on me."

"There won't be time to pick up coffee and you."

"Okay, then, drinks after work are on me. Or coffee tomorrow. Whichever."

Louisa smiles and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, alright. I'll see you soon, River."

As she drives to River's apartment, she tries to imagine what he's been doing for the past week and is slightly appalled when she comes up with nothing. It's not that she doesn't know him. If anything, they've grown a lot closer the past few months. And now with everything with his granddad, and what she's learned of his parents recently, she feels like she knows him better than ever (maybe more than either of them want). But she has no idea what he does outside of work. He could tell her he does ballet, or collects pieces for an elaborate Christmas village, and she wouldn't be more surprised than if she found out he likes putting together jigsaw puzzles or bingeing Netflix. Somehow, she doesn't think he does any of those things. She's not sure he does anything outside of work.

That would explain why he's so eager to get back. Not that she can judge him for that; Lord knows she's used that place as an escape from her feelings herself.

Louisa parks across the street from River's flat. She doesn't see him on the pavement, so she calls him. The phone rings and rings; he doesn't answer. Suppressing a sigh, she gets out of the car, then changes her mind about suppressing it and sighs, loudly, because being annoyed with River feels better than the worry that's trying to take root in her stomach.

She finds him sitting on his stairs, halfway down with his crutches on the steps beside him. For a second it's funny, but only for a second because then she sees the expression on his face. She's not sure she's ever seen him look so angry. Red rises in his cheeks when he sees her.

"It's these fucking things," he practically spits, giving his crutches a shove and sending one of them clattering toward Louisa. "And these fucking stairs. I fucking hate this!"

Louisa's brow furrows as she starts up the steps toward him. "They did say it would be harder going down than up," she says, trying for levity. He just scowls.

"Yeah, no kidding."

"How have you been getting down before this?" Louisa asks, and River lets out a short, bitter laugh.

"I haven't."

Louisa blinks. "You've just been in your flat for a week straight?"

He shrugs.

"What about groceries?"

"I've been eating a lot of takeaway."

She sighs, reaching toward him to give him a hand up. "Let me help--"

"I don't need help!" River snaps, and Louisa pulls back, frowning. He seems to realize he was too harsh, because some of the fury leaves his expression. "I don't need help," he repeats, and this time he just sounds miserable. "I just need to be better. I'm not well and I need—I need things to be fucking better--"

He cuts himself off with a gasp, his face crumbling. He looks utterly defeated, on the verge of breaking down completely.

"River..." Louisa sits on the steps next to him, and apparently that's the push that sends him over the edge.

He lets out a broken sob, clasping one hand over his mouth like maybe he can push it back, or maybe stop any more from escaping. It accomplishes neither.

"C'mere," Louisa says quietly, scooting closer to him. She puts an arm around his shoulders, feeling a little awkward at first but doing it anyway. He leans against her, and she can feel tremors running through him as he cries. She doesn't say anything. Any concerns about work and being late are forgotten as she holds him.

"I'm so tired," he manages through his tears. "And I'm alone."

There's an ache in Louisa's chest, an old one that hasn't bothered her like this in ages. Her immediate instinct is to push it away, like she's been doing, but something tells her that that's not what River needs right now. She takes a shaky breath.

"I know it feels that way," she says around the growing lump in her throat. "Believe me, River, I know. But you aren't. Or, you don't have to be, anyway."

River doesn't answer, but he seems to be calming down some. He takes a deep, shuddery breath.

"I went and saw him, the day before everything."

Louisa doesn't have to ask who him is. River takes another breath before he continues.

"It was like he was there, but he wasn't. He didn't...didn't speak to me. Didn't look at me. And at first I thought he was just angry with me, that he was deliberately ignoring me, but..." He gives a helpless shrug. "He's been worse since I put him in that place. And I know that what he did, what he gave Harkness...it's unthinkable. But he did it for my mum, and he did it for me. He did everything for me, and I couldn't do the one thing...Fuck."

Louisa holds him a little tighter. "I'm so sorry, River."

"And now I can't even walk down the fucking stairs," River adds with a small, watery laugh. He pulls away from Louisa, wiping at his face. "God, I don't know what all that was about. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me," Louisa says. Her mobile buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out of her pocket, glancing down at the screen. "Shit."

"What?"

Louisa puts her phone back. "It's Catherine. I'm late and Lamb's pissed."

"Oh! You can go, I'll be...well, I'll manage."

Louisa stands and extends a hand. "You're coming to work. Come on!"

"Louisa..." River begins. "I don't--"

She shakes her head. "Nope! You're coming. And then we're going out for drinks. You promised."

River's brow furrows. "I don't think I promised. But I did say that I'd buy you a drink."

"Drinks. Plural."

"Right. Drinks."

He reaches up and takes her hand and she hauls him upward, helping him get his crutches situated. Once he's upright, he looks down the flight of stairs with a small sigh. And then determination flashes across his features and he takes a deep breath and nods once.

"I've got this."

Louisa smiles. "You've got this."

xxx end

[cleapallea]

ASTRO: YOUR SUN AND NOTABLE EVENT THROUGHOUT YOUR LIFE

+analyzing the birth chart of Albert Einstein ‼️🗣️

+info and my master list

Your sun in the birth chart tells you what you did or What happened to you during that age or time. This may be linked to your success and life path :D. So for this rule, You have to look for degrees of your sun and what they are represents. AND I have to remind you that there are a lot of interpretation, but to keep you in a state it should be linked to what's general meaning, or -what's below the surface .

"Everyone has a purpose!"

You heard me right :D

I will give a memorable and very well-known individual for this session:

Yup! Albert Einstein at your service~

Albert Einstein at the age of 23 during 1990s —contributed to atomic theory, and he was the first man to prove that matter is made of atoms. And the rest is history of his ideas.

so his sun is in 23°, yes you heard me right. His sun is in Pisces in Zodiac sign.

and during the year of 1990 when he was 23 yr old at that time. He worked hard in laboratory, but he skipped lectures. However, he was credited with unexceptional record. ( That's how Pisces moves, aka "I didn't know anything at all, but you should see my crown.") They are like Virgos but in messy manner so people with Virgo asc and sun as well act like this.

So continue, After he published his works, continued making the year his time by studying and putting the God's creating and mind (how the mind works, how God connect us (universe) or so called the theory of relativity and E=mc², and so much more. He was also worked as a teacher and artist before by telling his story. So I guess? God really has a plan. In astrology the tenth house represents the social life or anything related to public by means.

XXX This analysis also dedicated to God's Glory XXX

✎ Once I'm done with my notes gonna do free readings, but I will grant you two choices only: Career (future and Possible Love life.)

—Plagiarism is A Crime—

[cielie-voss]

hi, can I make a request for an eddie fic? Like enemies to lovers where the reader is in a classic school band which is always in a fight with corroded coffin? Thanks a lot :D

You know I hate you, right?

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - Enemies to lovers

Warnings: swearing, Eddie and Reader being bitchy.

a/n: thank you so much, I loved this one, it's so sweet! I hope you like how it turned out!

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

Masterlist

“If I were your wife, I would poison your coffee!” Her screeching voice fills the cafeteria.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie stands up angrily and stomps a step towards her, "If I were your husband, I'd love to drink it!"

“She doesn’t mean it.” Shrugging, Gareth leans back in denial.

“Oh, she means it.” With a shake of his head, Jeff brings his friend out of his delusion. “And I couldn’t blame her.”

“Nonsense!” Gareth denies and continues to stick to his conviction.

“Jesus Christ, I’m counting the days until I don’t have to put up with this smug behavior from her anymore.” Grumbling, Eddie sits down at the table again, seething with anger at his eternal rival, who, also seething with anger, stomps away from the table.

"And her wannabe metal look... How I'd love to rip the studs off her vest."

“I bet he’d love to rip other things off her,” Dustin whispers to Gareth, unfortunately not as quietly as he intended to, and receives a bitterly angry look from the freak.

“Never in my life! And not in a thousand years and if we were the last two people in this universe!” he explains to his young friend with a disgusted grimace.

"And now? Where should we practice now?” After a few moments of deliberation, Jeff says what everyone at the table was silently wondering. After the water damage to Gareth's house, the garage was blocked. Unless the guys at Corroded Coffin would love to practice between Laundry baskets and boxes full of books. And at the gig in three months, according to rumors, people from the music industry will also be there to scout new talents. So nothing is more important than practice right now.

“So I guess we can forget about the music room,” Gareth sighs and leans back. “Thanks to our Prince Charming here.”

Eddie shoots up next to him indignantly. “Prince Charming?” His mouth opens and closes like a fish on land, trying to counter this sarcastic remark.

“What can I do about her being like that? A stupid, bitchy, snippy, unfriendly, unempathetic, arrogant wannabe alternative bitch?”

“You don't happen to have any more negative Attributes come to mind as these …”

“Seven, it was seven,” Dustin adds to Jeff’s remark about the line-up of unnecessary adjectives.

An uncomfortable, oppressive silence falls over them as everyone picks at their food thoughtfully.

“Maybe you’ll try again. Just… nicer?” Gareth suggests after what feels like an eternity, furrowing his eyebrows, ready for another angry tirade on Eddie's part.

“Yeah, maybe you should really try charm. You know, women are into that sort of thing. Flattery, nice words,” Jeff adds.

“Oh, and how do you know what women are into?” With a very exaggerated rolling of his eyes, Eddie turns to his friend. “Besides, I doubt there is even an ounce of femininity in this … bitch. And when it does, it's buried deep under a heap of arrogance. No, before I have to deal with her again, hell will freeze over. We'll find another rehearsal room."

XXX

The Hawkins High School music club has always been a tight-knit community, a sanctuary for those who revel in the soothing melodies of classical music. Y/N, with her cello in hand, was the epitome of this world. She thrives on the sweet symphonies that echo through the club's hallowed halls. As for Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of the local metal band and self-proclaimed "Metalhead," he was about to clash with this world in ways he couldn't have imagined.

One sunny afternoon, Eddie and his bandmates strolled into the music club's headquarters, hoping to secure a practice space for the coming months. Despite Eddies reluctance and constant complaints, they managed to talk to him, convince him that this is the only way to find some place to practice. Open confrontation is what they called it. And to keep everything nice and calm, they asked Dustin to help them negotiate.

Y/N, sitting amidst her fellow cellists, raises an eyebrow at the sight of these intruders. Their leather jackets and wild hair stood in stark contrast to the elegant formality she is used to. It is clear from the beginning that Eddie and his bandmates are unwanted guests.

"We need a place to practice," Eddie declares, his voice dripping with defiance.

Dustin added, "Yeah, and we're willing to pay."

“Pay?”, Gareth asks quietly with furrowed brows and leans to Jeff.

The music club's president, a stern guy named Brandon, stares them down. "This isn't a place for your noise," he sneeres.

Y/N's fingers tighten around her cello's neck, her disdain for the interlopers growing by the second. She has always despised their kind—the rebels, the rule-breakers. To her, music was a sacred refuge, and these delinquents threatened to disrupt it. Although she secretly began to find some peace - unlike the one she knew before - in listening to Metallica or even Iron Butterfly.

Eddie, undeterred by the icy glares and piercing remarks, leans in closer to Brandon. "We won't be here forever, just a few months. We won't interfere with your precious little concerts or rehearsals."

Brandon scoffed, his eyes flicking toward Y/N as if seeking her approval. "The answer is no."

Y/N, unable to contain her annoyance any longer, speaks up. “If you won’t take no for an answer, you have to discuss with the principal. And I’m pretty sure, since you’re definitely not his favorite student, he’s on our side. So I’m afraid you have to find another way to practice your … noise.” With her hands gesturing around their instruments, she puts on a smug grin.

Reluctant Dustin tugs at Eddie's vest. “Dude, come on. We’ll find another way.”

“Yeah, go on Freaks, find another way.”, she quips and shoos them out with waving hands.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shoots back, slowly walking towards her, nearer and nearer with every word until their noses nearly touch, "Oh we’ll find another way, little Beethoven. And it’ll bother you even more than sharing this room with us, just because I’d love to see the regret and defeat on your nasty, little face."

The room falls silent, the tension between them palpable. Their exchange has caught everyone off guard, a brief spark of some kind of chemistry amidst the hostility. But neither is willing to admit it.

XXX

In the following weeks, Eddie and his bandmates scoured Hawkins for any available practice spaces. Everywhere they went, doors slammed in their faces, and they were met with cold rejection. It seemed the music club's word had spread like wildfire, labeling them as outcasts.

“Shit. Fucking. Bullshit.” Gareth declares, as they leave another unsuccessful negotiation. “The gig is in two months. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if this is a stupid idea. But… what about the hellfire club room?” Shrugging, Dustin turns to Eddie with this last resort.

“The-” Eddie takes a deep breath and clenches his hand into a fist, bringing it dangerously close to his face waving around. “The Hellfire Room? Why didn’t we think of this before?!”

Now that a new rehearsal space was found, Corroded Coffin spent every free minute practicing. Of course, to the great dismay of the music club, which was only a few rooms away. Their unruly appearance and the thunderous echoes of their music didn't sit well with the club's traditionalists. A constant battle ensued as to who is louder; Corroded Coffin with their covers of Metallica, Van Halen and Co, or the Music Club with their cello and piano version of Mendelssohn's ‘Song without words’.

One evening, Y/N is practicing with her cello alone when she hears the distant sound of an electric guitar. Curiosity piqued, she follows the music, which stops and starts playing again every now and then, paired with a string of curse words until she stumbles upon an abandoned classroom. There, she finds Eddie, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings, lost in the raw passion of his music and the frustration in not hitting the right tones.

In that moment, Y/N is captivated by the power and emotion in Eddie's playing. It is a stark contrast to the elegance of her cello, but it resonated with her in a way she couldn't explain. She leans against the doorway, silently listening, her earlier animosity momentarily forgotten.

Eddie notices her presence but doesn't stop playing. He smirks and quips, "Enjoying the noise?"

Y/N bites her lip, feeling a strange sense of connection. "It's not noise," she admits, surprising even herself. “And you’re playing it wrong.”

Before Eddie even has the chance to say a word, she continues and takes a step towards him. “Your fingers are too slow. If you would move your index finger faster from here - “ She raises her hand and mimics his hand, still wrapped around his guitar, making it easier to understand for him, “ - to here, you would get the right tone. But either way your finger is too slow, or you just simply don’t know how to actually play guitar.”

Still with furrowed brows, Eddie cocks his head. She’s not wrong. She’s absolutely right. And that bugs him.

“But actually, in my opinion, the latter is the case. Well … “

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop, little Beethoven!” He carefully lays down his guitar, then turns to her, raising his hands indignant. “So you are trying to tell me, Edward Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin, that I can’t play guitar?” Laughing contemptuously he leans forward and grabs one of the little silly pompoms hanging down from her jacket. “You don’t even know what real music is and you have the audacity to tell me how to play my guitar?”

Rolling with her eyes, Y/N brushes off his hand and sighs. “Dickhead.”, she hisses under her breath, reaching out to his guitar. Before Eddies mind has the chance to comprehend what is happening, she wraps her hand around the neck of said instrument.

“See, you play it this way.” Her fingers glide smoothly over the strings, mimicking his previous playing.

With his eyes wide in shock, he follows her actions. She is good. Really good, actually. But of course Eddie is way too proud to admit it, so he rolls with his eyes and laughs.

“And this is how it’s really done.” She continues the song, but plays the right chords. And damn, she was right. That’s why it never sounded good when Eddie was playing.

“You know, you’re really getting on my nerves, little Beethoven.” Ripping his guitar out of her hands, and pushing her outside of the room again, he desperately tries to fight against the butterflies inside his stomach. But this? Damn, without him knowing, his mind decided that this was damn sexy. And he hates himself for feeling this way.

From that day on, Y/N finds herself drawn to the abandoned classroom. She begins to bring her cello along - pretending to feel safer when she isn’t all alone in the school at night practicing-, while Eddie shreds his incredible solos. Every now and then, he even lets her play with his guitar, acting dumb and like he needs some help from her. They still exchange barbs and insults, but there is a newfound camaraderie beneath it all.

One evening, after a particularly intense jam session, Eddie looks at Y/N, who has brought her own guitar this time, his eyes softened. "You know," he begins hesitantly, "you're not half bad on that guitar of yours."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Coming from a Metalhead and lead guitarist, that's a compliment, I suppose."

Eddie grins and for the first time, it isn’t a taunting grin. It’s genuine, filled with a warmth Y/N had never seen before.

As the weeks pass, Eddie and Y/N's secret jam sessions continue. They are enemies turned to unlikely allies, and the more they play together, the more their mutual attraction grows. The music club's rejection has pushed them together, and in the process, they discovered a love for each other's worlds.

And the more he gets to know her, the more he realizes that she isn’t just some wannabe alternative bitch, but a real alternative bitch, listening to Metallica, Mötley Crüe and Slayer in secret. He hates to admit it, but he really starts to have a crush on her. Which, of course, his bandmates and friends start to notice.

One evening, after they played a haunting melody that blended their two musical styles, Y/N leans in, her lips brushing against Eddie's ear. "You know," she whispers and his hand automatically finds its place on her knee, "if I were your wife, I'd make you coffee every morning." What is happening? She never even dared to think about getting near to the freak, let alone imagining enjoying this intimacy she recently has with him. Her heart is beating so fast, he nearly could hear its pounding.

Eddie's heart skips a beat, and the tips of his ears start to turn into a burning red as he whispers back, "And if I were your husband, I'd drink it every day."

Carefully he lets his hand run through her soft hair only to stop at her cheek, cupping her face with his calloused hand. He feels the heat of her breath against his neck as she leans further into his touch. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, sealing the unspoken bond that has formed between them. The enemies-turned-lovers have found their harmony, a fusion of metal and classical music that was as unique as their love story.

“You know I hate you, right?”, he whispers out of breath between kisses.

“Hell yeah,”, she answers, smiling against his lips. “As much as I hate you too.”

In Hawkins, where strange things always seem to happen, the most unexpected love has blossomed between a Metalhead and a Cello player, proving that even the fiercest enemies could become the sweetest of lovers.

xxx

Thank you for reading! 🫶 If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

[mixelation]

hello yes i wrote team disaster babysitting. deidara pov because why not. i'm thinking AFTER their chunin exams (which they fail) so they're still sort of hanging out as a genin team but there's a somewhat established rapport with the Uzumaki-Namikaze social cloud, for example they've at least interacted with kakashi a few times

Deidara found himself alone in the mission office on a Friday morning. He’d volunteered to go while Tori and Itachi waited in line for breakfast, because waiting in line was for idiots. Also, he liked to be the one to pick missions. Tori wildly underestimated what she could handle, and Itachi picked missions based on what omiyage he could bring back to Sasuke. Nerds. 

“Hokage-sama requested your team specifically,” the desk-nin told Deidara. 

“Oh yeah?” Deidara asked, accepting the scroll. “Any idea what it is?”

With their team, it could range from anything to some insane and super fun S-rank down to a D-rank where someone fucked up the fuinjutsu trap on their front door and needed an expert to undo it, like the ninja equivalent of using your keys. Well. An S-rank wouldn’t come in a regular scroll. But it could be a B-rank…

The desk-nin just stared back at Deidara. “That’d be against protocol.”

Whatever. Boring. 

It would look bad for other people to see Deidara open the scroll without his team, so he hurried out of the office, dodging around a half-asleep chunin. As soon as he stepped out of the office proper, Hatake Kakashi of all people melted out of the fucking wall. 

“What the fuck,” Deidara swore at him, barely avoiding running right into him. 

“Hello there, my adorable ninja sibling,” Kakashi said, stepping right in his way. “I see you have a mission scroll. Have you opened it yet?”

Kakashi was grinning at him, so hard his one visible eye was crinkling. Also, only Kushina-sensei ever referred to them as “ninja siblings,” because that wasn’t a thing. Something was up. 

“It’s bad form to do it without your team,” Deidara replied slowly, hackles raised. When had Kakashi ever shown interest in their missions before they had a chance to go spectacularly wrong? 

“Oh, yes, good, good…” Kakashi said vaguely. “Well, I hope you three have fun.”

He disappeared in a whirlwind of leaves. What the fuck, indeed. 

Deidara ducked into the bathroom on the second floor to open the scroll. It wasn’t like it was illegal for him to do it– Konoha was just really into all their genin doing things together and blah blah blah. Whatever. 

The mission parameters of the scroll were actually quite short, which either meant something so classified they couldn’t print things, or the most boring mission possible. 

A big blue D ranking glared up at him. So it was the latter. Blegh. 

Babysitting…? 

xXx

“Not Kakashi-nii-san?” Naruto whined. “Dad, you promised–”

“Kakashi had… something to do,” Minato answered, shooting his son a placating smile. “But look, Sasuke’s here!”

Sasuke did not look happy to be there, fidgeting at Itachi’s side. Naruto gave him an extremely judgemental one-over. 

“We’re going to have tons of fun, Naruto-kun!” Tori said, putting on her most disarming smile and flashing a thumbs up. 

Naruto looked doubtful. Last time she’d been here, Tori had been very insistent on doing a jigsaw puzzle, because Tori was a nerd who liked puzzles and didn’t understand small children didn’t. Deidara wasn’t sure what the appeal of Hatake Kakashi as a babysitter was, but he definitely seemed cooler than Tori. 

Not cooler than Deidara, obviously. 

Kushina-sensei and Minato were going to go out to eat on a rare date night, and Kushina passed over a post-it note with the restaurant’s phone number. She said their plan afterwards was to take a “long, private walk” for several hours and that they could be reached via ANBU in case of a dire emergency. 

(Fuck. They were going to go off and fuck, possibly in the woods or some shit. Thanks for sharing, Kushina-sensei.) 

They received instructions for heating up dinner and Naruto’s bedtime, and then were left alone with the kids sitting around the dining table. 

“Do I really have to stay the entire night?” Sasuke demanded of Itachi as soon as the adults were gone. 

“Yeah, Mom says I have to give my bed to him,” Naruto agreed, crossing his arms in a stunning imitation of Kushina-sensei’s disapproval pose. “That’s just not fair.”

Sasuke stuck out his tongue, and Naruto wadded up his napkin and threw it at him. 

“Whoa there,” Tori protested, grabbing it out of the air. “That’s not a situationally appropriate way to express your feelings, Naruto.”

Had Tori… ever spoken to a child?

“Sasuke, we won’t be going home until after you’re asleep anyway,” Itachi said blandly. “Besides, you like Hokage-sama’s pancakes.”

Naruto brightened. “Dad said he’s making pancakes?”

Briefly distracted by the distant dream of pancakes that Itachi may or may not have just made up, the two boys calmed down enough for them to get dinner on the table. Then they immediately started bickering again. 

Deidara had no idea why Kushina-sensei insisted they were friends. Itachi also insisted this but Itachi was also, like, noticeably insane about all things Sasuke. Deidara just didn’t see the point of forcing playdates like this. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Deidra decided when Naruto flicked rice at Sasuke. “You lost seat privileges, yeah.”

“What–” Naruto started as Deidara picked him up by under his arms. “Hey!”

Deidara sat him back down at the other end of the table. Itachi wordlessly passed Naruto’s plate over. Sasuke looked like he desperately wanted to mock Naruto, but his eyes kept flicking back to Itachi. Apparently Sasuke could act slightly civilized with Itachi literally breathing down his back. 

Naruto got extremely pouty and refused to finish his whole meal, but they did get through dinner without a food fight. 

“I found a super fun game,” Tori announced while Itachi peeled and cut up pears for dessert. She set a box down on the table. “It’s a puzzle of the Elemental Nations, where each piece is a province! Is that fun?”

Both boys stared at her. Tori stared expectantly back at them, like she was waiting for them to burst into cheers any second. 

“Do you want to see what’s in my room?” Naruto offered. 

“Okay,” Sasuke agreed. 

Naruto grabbed the entire bowl of pears the second Itachi set it on the table and zipped off, Sasuke on his heels. Tori sunk into her chair, pulling the puzzlebox towards herself. 

“Well, I think it sounds fun,” she mumbled.  

There was the distinct sound of one of the boys slipping on the stairs, followed by the clang of the plastic bowl hitting the ground, and Itachi sighed and followed them. 

The next couple of hours Deidara would categorize as “not terrible, for a D-rank.” Deidara convinced the boys to abandon Itachi to clean up the pears, and Naruto very proudly showed off the little training target and plastic shuriken set he had in his room. The plastic shuriken couldn’t stick in anything, but they were weighted to mimic an actual shuriken, and the target mat hanging from the back of Naruto’s door  changed colors where pressure was applied, so you could see where you hit it. 

“Nii-san lets me use his real kunai,” Sasuke sniffed, even as he picked up a baby blue shuriken. 

“Well, he’s not supposed to,” Naruto countered. “Dad said.”

Deidara cut off the argument by picking up a pink shuriken and nailing the target in the center. 

They played with the shuriken for a while, and then Naruto unearthed a board game from the mess of his room. Both boys seemed very intent on beating each other, but Deidara got bored with it about three turns in, and Itachi showed back up with a washed bowl of cherries. Tori trailed in behind him with a deck of cards from the same pile of games she’d found the puzzle.

“I’ll teach you how to gamble,” she told the boys, and Itachi buried his face in his hands as both of them lit up.

Card games were fun for a few rounds, until it became clear that Tori didn’t didn’t know you were supposed to let little kids win every once in a while lest their little feelings get hurt. 

“Don’t show them your full hand until you’ve already won!” she proclaimed, pulling her pile of random game pieces they’d been betting with towards herself. 

“That means she’s cheating,” Deidara told the boys sagely. “You should throw her out, yeah.”

“I’m not cheating–” Tori protested. “Hey– hey!”

Watching Tori get wrestled out of the room by two eight year olds was, actually, one of the funniest things Deidara had ever seen. So, the night wasn’t so bad… right up until Itachi announced it was bedtime. 

“But we didn’t even finish our game,” Naruto protested, gesturing at the board game they’d abandoned. 

Sasuke’s eyes flicked between Itachi and Naruto. Sasuke had to be acutely aware of Itachi’s… personality. If Itachi decided you were going to do something, you were either going to do it, or you were going to have to unleash an S-ranked jutsu to make him back down. 

Sasuke might have been ready to defer to Itachi, but Naruto had a whole eight years of practice ignoring the Hokage himself. He puffed himself up and metaphorically dug his heels into the ground. And, to what looked like Itachi’s dawning horror, Sasuke decided he wasn’t going to let Naruto outdo him. 

“No,” Itachi said to Sasuke’s impressive puppy dog eyes, but Deidara could see him wavering. “No. Go brush your teeth.”

“RUN!” Naruto shrieked, and then the air was filled with glitter. 

“Oi,” Deidara protested, grabbing for him, but then immediately recoiled when his hand touched something slimy. 

Craft glue? Deidara wondered, barely registering Sasuke flipping the boardgame into Itachi’s face. Both boys run out of the room giggling. Is this why Kakashi was acting like that?

Kakashi had had to cut something strange out of his hair a couple months ago… 

“No, my puzzle!” Tori screeched from downstairs, so apparently she was useless. 

Itachi clicked his tongue in annoyance, and Deidara watched as he flash stepped over the stairs’ banister, rather than run down them like a normal person. Deidara followed him. 

Most little children usually couldn’t do their own jutsu or cunning plots to foil Uchiha Itachi. But most little children didn’t have full access to the Hokage’s house. 

“Later, loser!” Naruto yelled from what Deidara had thought to be a closet door in the living room, and then slammed it shut. There was a click and a flash of light to indicate a jutsu, and then absolute silence. 

Itachi stepped forward and tried the doorknob. It didn’t budge. 

“Oh, that’s…” Tori started. “Yeah, you’re not getting that open.”

It wasn’t a closet, apparently, but rather some sort of safe room. Whatever jutsu was on it not only prevented them from opening or kicking in the door, but it also completely soundproofed whatever was happening with Naruto and Sasuke on the inside. This was probably a good idea if the Hokage’s family had to hide during an emergency, but a terrible idea if your son was a little shit who hated bedtime. 

“If the Hokage and Kushina-sensei designed it, I doubt even you could blow it open,” Itachi said to Deidara. After a beat he added, “Not that you should try.”

“I’m sure they’ll get bored and come out, yeah,” Deidara replied. “I’m going to check out their movie collection.”

One movie later, during which Itachi paced around behind the couch and in front of the safe room door, it started to occur to Deidara that maybe they weren’t going to come out. Or, god forbid, they simply weren’t able to. 

“Tori,” Itachi whined. 

Tori made a big show of laboriously standing from the couch, but Deidara could tell she loved every second of it. 

“Let’s see what’s going on with this seal,” she said, and then slapped her hand against the door. She did it with more drama and flourish than she did most things, which was just how she did anything involving channeling her own chakra. It was sort of pathetic, in Deidara’s opinion, because nothing Tori could do with her own chakra as of now was nearly as impressive as the type of shit she did without it. 

This technique was one Deidara had witnessed Kushina-sensei teach her, and it was one of a number of super basic fuinjutsu skills Tori had somehow skipped. It was one of the few fuinjutsu “lessons” Tori had received where she didn’t get an internal-screaming looking in her eyes as Kushina-sensei explained something that Tori clearly already understood. The technique forced collapsed seals to unfold themselves. 

(“Have you just been working blind?” Kushina asked, aghast. 

“Sometimes?” Tori replied. “You don’t always need… well, I can unfold them with another seal–”

“Tori, that’s the hardest way to do it–”)

The seal appeared beneath Tori’s fingers, spidering out across the door and then onto the walls and even across the floor and ceiling. Tori took a step back, eyes darting around to study the seal as it grew. Deidara was no fuinjutsu expert, but this had way more parts than any of the barrier seals he’d seen Tori make before. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tori breathed out. She hadn’t accidentally sworn by her family’s god since the whole reincarnation thing, which meant whatever they were looking at was really, really bad. 

“Well,” Tori said after a beat. “It’s good for children to learn that their actions have consequences.”

“Tori,” Itachi hissed back at her. 

“What? They’ll be fine in there. It’ll only be, what? Three more hours, max?”

Itachi glared at the wall. 

“We could contact Kushina-sensei,” he said finally. 

“What, and ruin their date night?” Deidara countered. “I’m with Tori. Kushina-sensei would never let us live it down, and the kids will be fine, yeah.”

Itachi glared at the wall some more. He twitched. 

“Could you at least take down the soundproofing?” he asked finally. “What if they’re scared?”

Deidara groaned. What if they need a little snack? What if they have to pee? Who cares!

“Actually,” Tori said brightly, eyes still studying the seal, “it’s really well-integrated, so it’d be easier to undo the whole thing–”

Itachi twitched again. 

“You need to calm down, yeah,” Deidara told him. Tori wrinkled her nose at him. “If you get started about ‘microaggressions,’ again, Tori–”

Itachi did not calm down. Eventually, he summoned a crow to contact Hokage-sama, as if he didn’t care how hellish it was going to be to have to deal with Kushina-sensei after they box-blocked her. 

Also, like, rude? Even old people deserved to get some sometimes. 

“Okay, okay, fine,” Tori said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Itachi, can you use your Sharingan to confirm whose chakra is powering this thing?”

The crow stayed on Itachi’s shoulder as he studied the seal. 

“It’s a mix,” he said eventually. “Mostly Hokage-sama, with Kushina-sensei, and… ah, I guess the third one is Jiraiya-sama.”

“Okay, thanks,” Tori told him. “I think deactivating it is chakra-specific, so only those three people can do it. If you can find something in the house with some of their chakra, I might be able to trick it.”

Itachi nodded solemnly and then walked off, crow still on his shoulder. Tori continued to stare at the seal, biting her thumbnail in thought.

When Itachi was gone, Deidara asked, “What sort of object do you think he’ll find?”

“Oh, I just wanted him to go away,” Tori replied, leaning against the back of the couch. “If Itachi finds anything, I’ll tell him it’s not enough.”

Deidara stared at her. Normally, he’d be very pro manipulating Itachi. But…

“So you can deactivate,” he concluded. “Why not just do it?”

Tori took her time to answer, and Deidara heard Itachi open a squeaky drawer in the kitchen. 

“I don’t think I should be parading around the fact that I can just undo the Hokage’s personal seals,” Tori said finally. 

“So what?” Deidara countered. “You work for him. He’ll be delighted, yeah.”

Tori bit her lower lip. Don’t show them your full hand until you’ve already won, she’d said. She sat through so many lessons where she pretended she had no idea what Kushina-sensei was talking about. 

Deidara reached over and shoved her. 

“Hey,” Tori protested. 

“You’re being so stupid, yeah,” Deidara told her. “They knew since day one I could blow up the whole village if I really wanted to. That’s why they recruited me, yeah. You’re supposed to let your village know how good you are.”

Tori gave him a look like she thought he was the one being a little stupid. 

“It’s different for me,” Tori said finally. “I’m not– you and Itachi, you could fight your way out of anything. I have to play smarter than that.”

“Play?” Deidara repeated. “What game do you think you’re playing? Hokage-sama and Kushina-sensei aren’t Orochimaru. They’re not going to cut out your spleen because they get bored. There’s no ‘game,’ yeah.”

“They let me play with their kid,” Tori protested. “Their trust–”

“What the fuck, Tori,” Deidara countered. “They let Itachi play with their kid. They already trust us. They’ll trust you more if they know you’re not going to burn your eyebrows off making stupid fuinjutsu mistakes.”

Tori turned her face back to the seal. “Hmm.”

“Whatever,” Deidara told her, flopping down onto the couch. “If you want to be a moron and let Kushina-sensei keep wringing her hands and giving you fuinjutsu tips you don’t need instead of actually being useful to you, I don’t care.”

Eventually, Itachi came back with chakra-infused ink. He’d also grabbed some brushes. 

“Actually, I think disarming it completely would be a security risk,” Tori told him, looking him dead in the eyes. The crow ruffled its wings. “But I’ll get rid of the soundproofing, if you want.”

It took her two tries and over an hour of work, but Tori didn’t blow anything up or set off the additional alarms in the seal. 

“Naruto-kun is so annoying,” Sasuke reported through the door, completely unafraid and unharmed. “And so stupid! He’s been trying to open it but he doesn’t remember how.”

The safe room had both food and water, along with little cots, and they managed to convince the boys to go to sleep before Minato and Kushina got home. 

“Oh crap,” Kushina said when she saw the seal. “Guys, I’m so sorry, he’s done this to Kakashi twice–”

“And you didn’t warn us?” Itachi cut her off, eyebrow twitching. He’d dismissed the crow, at least. “Or adequately teach your son how to undo it?”

Kushina-sensei blinked down at him. “Well, I mean– he’s a kid. We figured he’s not experienced enough to make the call about when it’s safe enough to come out.”

Itachi opened his mouth again, probably to explain to Kushina he thought she and her husband were idiots, but Tori stomped on his foot. He closed his mouth. 

Minato had approached the door, likely with the intent of undoing his deathtrap, but had become distracted by the additional seals Tori had painted onto the wall directly to the right of the door. 

“Oh, sorry about that,” Tori said, foot still in range of kicking Itachi. “Itachi was worried when we couldn’t communicate with them, so I tweaked the soundproofing a little.”

Minato tapped a finger to his chin, looking thoughtful. “I see.”

“Hmm, I guess if Naruto’s going to activate it in non-emergencies we do need to give him a way out,” Kushina-sensei continued to babble, stretching as she stepped around her husband to check out Tori’s work. “Yikes, Tori, why didn’t you just undo the whole thing? Would’ve been way easier.”

Tori was watching them very intently, still standing closer to Itachi than she strictly needed to be. She’d also put Deidara between herself and the seal, he noticed. 

Paranoid bitch, he thought. 

“She said it’d be a security risk,” Deidara answered for her, moving so he was no longer between them. Tori glared at him. “Like you might need to use the room again in the next couple of hours or something, yeah.”

He yawned performatively. 

“Did you hijack the chakra in the seal?” Minato asked, sounding baffled. 

“Yeah, babe, what else would she do? You know she likes medical stuff, and that’s all they do–”

In the end, Tori learned she could have made her seal with about thirty fewer strokes, Sasuke woke up and demanded he be taken home, and Deidara barely dodged a newly escaped Naruto throwing tinned natto in his hair. 

“Brat!” Kushina-sensei bellowed. “You know it’s past your bedtime–!”

On their walk back to the genin dorms, Tori seemed oddly pleased with herself. It wasn’t the way she’d normally express pride; there was no wild gesticulating or her attempting to explain every detail of her latest feat. Instead, she kept her eyes on the sidewalk and a tiny little smile on her face. 

“What’s up with you?” Deidara demanded after a few blocks. 

“Oh, um,” Tori fidgeted. “That went better than I thought, I guess.”

That was actually really fucking sad. Had Tori always been like this?

Deidara reached over and shoved her off course. “I told you, yeah.”

[lunamiuna-the-curious-fella]

Ok so, about Fresh, my absolute favorite, my hyperfixation. I'd totally want to be friends with him. He's so cool. But I'd constantly be aware of the never ending suffering his host is going through and like, if I just kept being friends with him, I'd feel like shit cause like, think of the host, I'm being buddy buddy with THE parasite that possessed them, right in front of them, despite knowing what he is! I can't just blatantly ignore this! But I'd also feel bad for Fresh, cause like, his entire existence is reliant on possessing people and feeding off of their souls. How tragic is that! To have to hurt people, just to exist.

So since I can not for the hell of it pick a side, I'd be like this, trying to find a peaceful solution:

And hear me out, wait, don't go, hear me ouuutt- I think, I found a plausible solution! Kinda-...

How about,, finding a group of people that'd be willing to serve as a host for him for periods of time, so Fresh could switch between them efficiently, while letting each and one of them recover physically as well as mentally in between their turns.

Now, some reasons why it would be beneficial to Fresh, to convince him:

1. No more struggling to find a host, since I'd be like a network of people that are willing to do that. Very efficient indeed. (-v-)_/¯

2. No more struggling for control with the host.

3. The whole thing would be based on consent and mutual respect, so boundaries of both parties must be respected, and I think that's the kinda vibe he'd agree with.

4. Overall bigger chances of survival, because as much as he's smart and powerful now, there's always that small chance that people dear to the host will realize what's going on and somehow get rid of the parasite. With this arrangement, it wouldn't be a problem. It'd be overall less of a mess.

Now you probably wonder, who the hell would agree to such an arrangement with him? That's where comes... 🥁🥁🥁 Advertising!

Imagine like a poster or flier, with funky colors, Fresh on the front page, and it goes like this:

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Are you feeling a bit lonely or craving a new experience? Do you have a strong soul to spare, and are not afraid of a bit of pain?

If you answered yes to these questions, consider joining:

Fresh's potential host group!

It's a group, where members periodically serve as the host for Fresh, the parasite, while in between their turns rest and recover, physically, as well as mentally!

How long these periods of time will be and everything else, is of course negotiable, and you can always quit, so you have nothing to worry about :)

If you're interested or have any questions, call XXX-XXX-XXX ;D

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Idk if I'm biased but I genuinely think that has some chance to work...

[leahsflwer]

Could u please write a Barty Crouch Jr imagine? a fluffy one if you could! thank you and love your posts! Keep up the good work xxx

Of course doll face ❣️

Barty Crouch Jr Imagine - “Can be our little secret” || Fluff content

Warnings: Cute content, adult language, just the usual things

Barty Crouch Junior x Hogwarts Student (gender fluid/adult reader)

I walked around Hogwarts, past the talking paintings, past other students who eagerly ran to the great hall to eat dinner, up the stair cases and finally reached the large door to Mad eye moody’s office. I was badly failing a few of my classes and it was bad enough to be here, so I peaked around to make sure I was alone and hurried inside.

Closing the door behind me quietly and wandered around to hear a weird groaning and painful yelps almost. I was worried for my professor and peaked around the second door way. Spotting him changing. He wasn’t right at all. He stated to get thinner, taller, his blonde hair changed to a rich brown, his skin smoothed out and his fake eye popped out and rolled over to my foot.

I was panicking, i didn’t want to disturb him at all. He would turn around any second so I grabbed the eye and nervously walked over to him.

“Sorry to disturb you sir..” I spoke up

He quickly turned around and pointed his wand at me, his face wasn’t scary like before, it was rather smooth and handsome. Making me gulp. But I knew exactly who he was now.

“B-Barty Crouch Jr?” I breathed out and stepped back one step making him smirk

“I might have to kill you. Now that you know who I am, you could go and tell your little friends” he sighed and steadied his hand to aim at me better

“Wait! N-No! I only came by for one reason. So I can get extra help on my classes. You’re very smart so I needed help. I won’t tell if you can help me out with my study?” I suggested

He hesitated to even speak before tilting his head as he moved his arm around. Putting his hand out and motioning at my bag. I was quick to pass it to him and he pulled out my books and two quills. He took a seat by his desk and told me to sit by the other one. It was odd to know that this was not Moody, but he was my only choice of help. At least that’s what I thought at the time.

Barty showed me easy and simple ways to get past some classes and told me so many new things. I wasn’t great in class and was always distracted at some point, but this helped. I felt like school was getting easier. I would sneak into his office after hours or during dinner time and he would help me out with my failing classes. I was so excited to see my grades rising.

Tonight I was tired but still gathered some snacks and drinks and headed on the daily path to study with “Mad Eye Moody”. Opening up the door and heading inside to see him leaning on the desk with his behind and smiling at me.

I passed him the drink for him and opened mine, sipping it as I stood in front of him while looking up at the giant man. He showed a cheeky smile and used his hand to smoothly turn the chair around and let me sit down. He had grown sweeter towards me after a few weeks and it was rather splendid, I felt appreciated and he was helping me. While we keep out little secrets.

“You look beautiful tonight” He sighed as he pulled up his own chair and sat down, taking the notes and reading over them

“R-Really..? Oh.. thank you Barty” I shyly smiled.

“Mm yes. Also you missed this question here” he pointed out a missing answer and I panicked.

Looking over the question and remembering some things he told me in the past and answered it nervously watching him as he read the answer. He smiled and passed it back to me.

28/28 I did it. I answered everything correct and never felt better, leaning over and hugging him. I realised I got to excited and backed away, sitting up in the chair and shyly closing those notes.

“You have grown rather smart haven’t you?” He chuckled and opened his drink having some and licking his lips which happened to be a big habit of him

“D-Do you really think?” I laughed and he nodded.

My eyes explored the details on his face from his sharp nose and jawline, to his brown eyes that had a faint glow to them, to his pink lips. He noticed my stare and just smiled, moving some of my hair from my face and leaning in closer.

“You shall be my favourite student if I can even say that” he laughed and sat back in his chair munching on a sweet.

He was growing to perfect in my eyes, especially for a wanted criminal. It was making my stomach do flips and my heart want to jump out of my chest. I was falling for the maniac. He was helpful and even sweet at times so how could I not. His touch gave me butterflies even when he wasn’t paying attention. It was hard not to steal glances of him and his soft gaze when he explained things to me, his adorable and soft smile when I got a question correct. Oh it was hard to keep away from the thoughts of him.

A thought through my mind and I tried to ignore it until it made me feel as if I was drowning in it.

“Have you ever been in love before?” I asked him

“Well. Yes in the past, many years ago when I was a student. But things were complicated and it never worked out. Why do you ask? Have you ever been in love?” He replied

“Oh. No actually, well I’ve had crushes but never truly trusted anyone to actually be with” I sighed and he nodded

“Do you have a crush currently then?” He raised a brow as he continues writing

“Ah.. yes actually.. he’s much taller than me. Smart, mysterious and has a big secret” I chuckled and he finally looked at me in the eyes

“Me?” He grinned

“M-Maybe..” I blushed and pretended to read the new notes

“Don’t make me have to keep another secret doll” he smirked and closes up the books, standing up and putting them in my bag.

At first I was way to flustered to notice him putting my things away until I came back to reality and stood up shyly, taking the bag from his hands and smiled at him. He looked down at me and kissed my cheek.

“See you tomorrow for your potions notes” he smiled softly making me heat up but awkwardly nod and walk out of his office and lean on the now closed door and covered my face with a smile, followed by a little squeal.

But was cut off by footsteps approaching me. It was Albus Dumbledore who looked at me with a confused stare as he asked what I was doing in his office. Making me stand straight and smile.

“Sorry to have missed dinner sir. I was just giving Bar- Moody his books I borrowed” I lied and he smiled in return making me quickly rush off.

[eevee-eclair]

voted him... sorry for no crop cant be bothered xxx

(if you do wanna write smth. lidol seapeesound would be silly. but also just happy is good)

Yippee!!! Since there’s no prompt, I rolled a silly dice and I got #3 from the kissing prompts list (Drunk/sloppy kiss)! Enjoy and thank you for your vote :D (check tags for tws)

—

“-and so I said-!” Oli paused and took another drink of cider, holding up a hand as he finished the last of his drink. “That- that’ll cost ya five diamonds!”

He laughed, like he was proud of himself for such a comeback. Next to him sat a very attractive fox hybrid, drink his own mug. Oli had met him on one of his tours, probably in Animalia if his drunken mind is correct. After a few serenading sings and an embarrassing fall into a creek, he had decided to take him up on the offer for a drink.

So now they sat: at a Stratos tavern and telling each other stories over the course of, currently, a single cider.

Oli blinked before he pointed at the fox, squinting. “Wha’s your name again, gorgeous?” he asked, sporting a very lazy grin.

“Callum,” he snorted, sipping his own drink. “Callum Peakae, handsome.”

Oli’s jaw dropped a bit before he grinned. “Wha’da name you got.” He glanced around the tavern for a moment before he crouched at him. “How about I buy you another drink and I show you what they really say about bards, yeah?”

Callum full on laughed at that, and Oli couldn’t help but think it was the most beautiful sound ever. Then he was being yanked by the front of his shirt and into a kiss.

It was short, but it held so much. It was heated, it was messy, it was way more intoxicating than the cider. He went in for more but Callum pulled back before he got the chance.

“How about we skip the extra drink and we get right to the point?” he asked, snickering at Oli’s dumbstruck look.

A quick nod and a paid tab later, Oli had never been so glad he’d been kicked out of heaven, because he just found his own.

[tina-aumont]

Hi, first of all, thank you so much for your work! I want to ask you about an information you shared in one of your posts. You published that Tina Aumont, Jane Birkin and Pia Kazan wore the same dress, a beautiful mini floral and sequinned dress in the latest 1960's. Do you know from what designer or brand it was? I would be very grateful if you could tell me. I have searched it in internet but I have not found any answers. I am also a Canarian like Tina Aumont's mother.

Have a nice day, thanks in advanced.

Hi Diana!!!! Hola!! :D

Thank you very much for your kind words ^^ I really love Tina and through her I'm learning about her sweet and great family!!

It's really nice you are Canarian as Maria Montez' dad!! I'm from Spain actually, but I made the posts in English to make it more international, hehehe.

About the dress, I've been looking for some information but I didn't get any, I've put the link here in case someone wants to have a look and give us some information... It would be great!!!

EDIT: I've just knew Jane Birkin passed away today, may she rest in peace...

_____

Hola Diana!!

Muchas geacias por tus bonitas palabras!! Soy admiradora de Tina y a través de ella estoy conociendo a su linda família.

Que bonito que seas Canaria, como el papá de María Montez, yo soy de Barcelona pero publico en inglés para que sea más internacional, aunque me puedes preguntar en castellano o en inglés ya que te puedo responder de las dos maneras ;)

En cuanto al vestido... pues yo también he estado buscando información pero no he encontrado nada, así que he puesto el link en la publicación a ver si alguien lo sabe y se anima a compartir, estaría muy bien!!!

Muchas gracias por tu pregunta, estamos en contacto :)

EDITO: Me acabo de enterar que Jane Birkin ha fallecido hoy, que en paz descanse...

Eleni xxx

[mywordhaven]

The Road Ahead - ch 2 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Previous Chapter

Throughout most of your married life, you've dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently anticipated his return home, longing for the moment when he would be by your side once again. You yearned for him to open up to you during those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain with you. And as his addiction spiralled out of control, you hoped that he would recognize his problem and seek help. Yet, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Columbia doing God knows what.

But this time is the last. Resolved, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + / no minors allowed)

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Applicable to the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, hard relationship to food, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty guys (more warnings will be added if necessary).

Summary: Frankie breaks the one promise he swore he never would.

Notes: Hey everyone, thank you very much for the sweet comments/reblog/liked, I appreciate it so much :D I was totally not expecting it. I really hope you enjoy this one, it's got that sweet, sweet angst that I think we all love. After this chapter, we are getting ourselves right into the nugget of the action between Frankie and his cielo. Lmk what you all think xxx

Ao3 link

Broken Promises

You’ve never been this tired before. It’s a strange feeling like you are experiencing a sort of out-of-body experience, looking straight at your bone-tired self barely holding on. “My kingdom for a full night of sleep,” you think, before scanning the room. A rumpled bed, a mix of dirty and clean laundry scattered over the floor, and a half-eaten pack of Oreo cookies on the nightstand “Not much of a kingdom” you sardonically judge. As the minutes tick by, exhaustion takes further hold of you and your eyes begin to shut. You start to nod off, but just as your chin touches the top of your collarbone a small fist slams onto your left cheek, and a loud cry pierces the silence of your bedroom.

"Shhh, Ella, shhh, sweetheart, please be good for Mommy," you softly plead. Weary from the ongoing battle to lull your baby girl back to sleep, you slowly rise from the rocking chair nestled in the quiet corner of your dimly lit bedroom. It's been a relentless night since the clock struck 1:30 a.m., and Estrella seems to have taken it upon herself to ensure you stay awake for as long as possible.

You had hoped that the rhythmic motion of the chair, the gentle sway, and comforting whispers, would coax her back into the land of dreams. Yet the soft lullabies and soothing strokes proved insufficient in settling your little girl. The minutes ticked by, and the hand of the clock slowly etches its way into the night.

You slowly stroll around the room, swaying back and forth while cradling the warm bundle in your arms. As you gaze down at the tiny face nestled against your chest, you tiredly ponder, "Perhaps I should start calling you peanut, don't you think, Ella?" Your fingertips delicately trace the contours of her tiny, discontented face. The sight of her scrunched-up, red face reminds you of those spicy peanuts that Frankie enjoys munching on.

Frankie. It has been an agonizing seven days since you last heard from your husband. When he informed you about his departure on one of Santiago's reckless ideas (damn it all Santi), you pleaded with him not to go. You had tried everything, even resorting to playing dirty by reminding him of his promise to never leave again! And how it would surely negatively impact Ella considering her formative age. You emphasized how important it was for Ella to have her papa with her. How much you needed your husband. You had kept going until the morning, and your voice had faded to a hoarse whisper, but Frankie did not budge.

Instead, Frankie had held you close. Listening to you argue and rage while whispering reassuring words about how everything would be just fine. And as the argument heated up, he switched up his strategy. Instead, sternly stretching how thin money was right now. Like an artist, using his words as brushstrokes, he painted a clear picture of the challenges you were both facing, reminding you of the growing financial strain. Ella, remaining in the background of the conversation, both acutely aware of your responsibility as new parents. He’d coaxed, cajoled, and did his best to persuade you that his leaving was the right course of action. He stressed that, although Pope needed him for this mission, the money he would make would provide the opportunity for you to finally take time away from work to be with Ella. When he saw you start to relent at his words, he doubled down and further pressed how, upon his return, there would be enough funds for him to both appeal his drug sanction and for you to stay home with the baby.

Frankie knew exactly what he was doing. With the precision of a former military man well-versed in analyzing and exploiting the vulnerabilities of his enemies, he exerted pressure in the very areas he knew would make you yield. Nobody understood you better than Frankie, after all. He knew that the prospect of staying home with Ella would be sufficiently alluring. You had returned to work a mere two weeks after giving birth and with Frankie grounded from flying, you hadn’t been able to take any additional time off. At the time, you had bitterly thought that if Frankie had opened to you instead of falling heads first into a puddle of cocaine, he would have never been suspended in the first place. You could have stayed home with Ella, and you wouldn't be so exhausted. You wouldn’t be so sad all the time.

Estrella's piercing cries escalate, reverberating in the air, and echoing through the room. With every decibel, her frustration intensifies, mirroring your own mounting agitation. You struggle to steady your breath, attempting to reclaim a sense of calm amidst her loud wails.

"Please, please, Ella," you implore, your voice quivering with weariness and desperation. "Mommy needs to sleep tonight. Mommy has a long day at work tomorrow."

Estrella's cries momentarily ebb, her searching gaze locking onto your face, her innocent eyes reflecting what you think is a flicker of comprehension. But before a heartbeat passes, her tiny face contorts once more, the weight of her frustration crashing upon your ears like a tidal wave, each cry more piercing than the last. Desperately, you put Ella back in her crib at the foot of your bed and you quickly flee the room, the weight of your emotions propelling you forward. As the door shuts behind you, you let out your own loud sob. You are so tired of always crying.

As you attempt to regain control of your breathing and try to halt the now-intensified flow of tears, a wave of nausea overtakes you. You only just manage to hastily make your way to the nearest bathroom. Sinking to your knees, your grip on your own hair tightens as waves after wave of nausea engulf you. Dry heaves wrack your body, futilely attempting to expel remnants of a dinner that never met your lips the night before. The searing pain of acidic bile creeping up your throat only serves to intensify your desire to blink yourself out of existence, if only for a fleeting moment, escaping the overwhelming cries and suffocating anxiety. As soon as the thought arrives, however, the tears start to swell even further. What kind of mother are you, you silently question, your self-doubt echoing in the quiet corners of your soul. What kind of mother entertains the notion of vanishing from their own child's life? A wretched one, you conclude.

You rise slowly, mustering the strength to rinse your mouth, eager to rid yourself of the repulsive taste of bile. Spitting out a blob of toothpaste into the sink, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and recoil from the sight of that hollow husk staring back at you. “What the fuck," you whisper to yourself as disbelief floods your thoughts. You hadn’t found the time to look yourself over in the last few weeks, too busy with the baby, work, and Frankie’s license appeal. You kind of wish you hadn’t looked yourself over right now. You look like a ghost, an exhausted ghost at that—gaunt and fatigued, your skin stretched thin and devoid of life, bearing an ashen hue. Dark circles encircle your eyes, stained with redness from endless weeping. Your hair hangs greasy and limp, the last time you washed your hair was likely before Frankie left, you speculate.

Your mind drifts back to that night, two years ago when Frankie returned home for good (or was supposed to return for good). The unfolding reality had completely shattered the idyllic story you had woven into your mind that night. Frankie tried; goodness knows he tried his hardest. But even within the comfort of your shared home, he couldn't elude the relentless demons that haunted him at every turn. It pained you to witness his withdrawal, but he insisted, left and right, that he was fine—that it was normal for discharged soldiers to struggle with readjustment. He assured you he wasn't the first, nor would he be the last, and that all he needed was a little time for everything to work itself out. "You worry too much, mi cielo," he would say before leaving the house each morning, following yet another night plagued by nightmares.

The whole facade of “getting better” quickly lost its lustre when, in an uncharacteristic fit of rage, Frankie had aggressively confronted a young man who had set off firecrackers on your street, nearly beating the poor guy. You had seen the anger and fear contort his normally gentle features, and you were certain that if you hadn't intervened, the situation would have turned violent. Afterward, with tears streaming down both your faces, Frankie held you. With his face tucked in your chest, he had apologized and begged for your forgiveness, promising that it would never happen again. And, in a rare moment of vulnerability, Frankie quietly shared how it sometimes felt like a dark presence consumed him from within—he could be walking down the street, only to be transported back to whatever hellhole his mind had conjured especially for him.

He had gone on about how he couldn’t do any of this without you. In the end, you had forgiven him. But not before making him promise this kind of violence would never happen again as you wouldn’t tolerate it. To his credit, Frankie never exhibited any violent behaviour again. Well, at least not in your presence.

After that day, you tried your best to be firmer with him. You had pleaded with him to seek therapy, thinking that the moment he opened to you was an overture. But Frankie mostly shut it down. Always founding excuses to delay by finding new reasons for not making an appointment each and every day. The cycle persisted with you nagging and him delaying until one afternoon when you returned home to find him on the couch, a distant and ashamed look in his eyes. The mere sight of him caused your heart to plummet. It turned out that Frankie had chosen to self-medicate. At that point, you were three months pregnant with Ella, and to this day you wonder if you would not have been better to walk out that sunny afternoon.

You knew Frankie carried immense guilt from that day. You could see in his eyes how much he despised himself for what he had done. He vowed never to touch cocaine again, promising to put in the work and pleading for you to stay. He wept and wept, and in the end, you chose to remain by his side only if he finally committed to therapy. This was the last strike, you told yourself, and had decided not to give up on him. In sickness and in health, right?

But to your joy, throughout your pregnancy, Frankie's support had exceeded all your expectations. He not only tended to your needs but also went above and beyond to ensure your comfort. From keeping your favourite snacks within reach to massaging your tired feet without even needing to be asked. Yet, among all the beautiful moments, one memory stood out as the most cherished. It was when the two of you would settle on the couch, engrossed in a shared TV show. During these tender moments, Frankie would lovingly rest his head on your gently rounded belly, hoping to connect with the little life growing within. Softly, he would speak to your baby, already creating an intimate bond that filled your heart with warmth.

Those blissful months, both during the pregnancy and in the ensuing months, were magical. Despite the challenges, what mattered most was that Frankie was with you, supporting you and sharing in the journey which made every hardship feel insignificant. It was in those moments that you truly felt that Frankie had come home. As if on a rocket launch, Frankie also seemed to have gotten his mind together following his suspension. He had managed to secure a job at a garage, but the hours were minimal, and the pay meagre. But, despite it all Frankie had been determined to persevere and make the most of this opportunity, all the while preparing for his license appeal.

 However, everything crumbled a week ago. Like every second Friday, Frankie joined his friends to watch and cheer on one of Benny's fights. But as Frankie arrived home late that night, his expression of guilt etched across his face sent an unsettling shiver down your spine. The following day, Frankie was gone.  The only detail you could scrounge from him was that he would contact you three days after the mission concluded. Now, seven days have passed, and anxiety gnaws at your core more violently with each passing day.

After splashing water on your face, you make your way back to your bedroom, where Ella's cries have diminished, leaving behind traces of fatigue on her tiny, reddened face. Bending down, you scoop her up into your arms and begin to hum a gentle lullaby in Spanish. It's the only one from Frankie's repertoire, a sweet melody he had learned from his Abuela during his childhood. As you hold Ella close, her cries gradually subside, replaced by the comforting rhythm of her soft breath against your shoulder. It soothes your heart to witness her drifting back into slumber. So sweet and innocent.

"Oh, my poor little star," you whisper, your voice filled with tenderness as you gaze at Ella. "You miss your daddy, don't you? I miss him too, and I know he misses you just as much." Leaning in, you plant a gentle kiss on her tiny forehead. "I'm so sorry, Ella. It breaks my heart that you're stuck with me. You deserve so much more."

Placing one final kiss on her tiny nose, you carefully lower her back into her crib. As you slowly tread back to your own bed, you feel its emptiness and coldness, a constant reminder of Frankie's absence. Yet, in this moment, you're uncertain if you would even welcome his presence. Slipping beneath the covers, you glance at the clock: 3:30 am. A sigh escapes your lips. Four more hours before you must get up for work. It's not much, but it's better than nothing.

______________________________________________________________

You are abruptly awakened by a jarring, high-pitched beep. Unsettled by the noise, your drowsy eyes struggle to focus on the clock, revealing the time: 5:15 am. You hastily spring out of bed, desperately hoping that Estrella won't stir from the ruckus. Clumsily grabbing your phone, you stumble out of the bedroom, nearly hitting your head on the frame.

"What kind of deranged person calls at this hour?!" you vent, frustration mounting as you spy a string of numbers on the screen that holds no significance. "Hello? Hello?" your anger is met with silence. "Seriously, if this is some sick prank, it's not fucking funny! Some of us have babies who are trying to..." Before you can finish, a voice on the other end of the line interjects.

"Mi cielo..."

"... Francisco?" you gasp, barely able to catch your breath.

"It's so good to hear your voice, cariño," Frankie softly replies, his tone strangely subdued.

" Oh my God, Frankie are you okay?! Where are you?"

"Somewhere in Peru," he quietly responds after a pause.

"Peru?! My God are you safe?" you ask, concern lacing your words.

"I am, mi cielo," he replies, but his tone betrayed him. You know he isn’t okay.

"What happened, Frankie? Are the others with you? I was worried sick, you told me three days, it's been 7!" you cry out, your worry pouring through your words.

"I know, mi cielo, I know. I'm so sorry. Shit went from bad to worst. I never wanted to worry you like that. The others are fine, I mean..." Frankie stumbles over his words before weakly admitting, "Redfly is dead."

"What? Tom is dead?!” you interject, shock and confusion mingling in your voice. You had seen Molly just 2 days ago, she was with the girls at the grocery store. Tom’s oldest had even played peekaboo with Ella while you were confiding your worries to Molly. She had assured you that for all his faults, Tom was a devoted CO and would look after your Frankie.

"While we were making our way back through the Andes, we encountered..." Frankie begins to explain.

"What do you mean you encountered? What were you guys doing walking through the Andes?! You said it was going to be a simple in-and-out!" you interrupt, baffled.

After a weighty pause, Frankie reluctantly continues, his voice laced with culpability, "Our transport failed, it was my fault. There was an accident, and Redfly didn't make it. We carried his body so that Molly and the girls could say their goodbyes."

"Oh, Frankie I am so, so sorry,” you whisper, overcome with a mixture of grief and sympathy.

"I should have listened to you! This entire mission was doomed from the beginning, a disaster waiting to happen. I never should have gone. Maybe if I hadn't, Redfly would still be alive, and I would be home with you and Estrelita," Frankie ranted, his voice quivering with tears.

"Frankie..." you begin, the weight of his words sinking in.

"I'll make it up to you, mi cielo. I'm never leaving again. I never want to leave my girls ever again."

"You said that before..." you quietly whisper. You know it’s unfair after everything he’s been through, but you can’t help yourself. Pain and resentment have made themselves at home deep within your heart, and it’ll take more than a phone call to dislodge them.

"Cariño..."

Wiping away the tears that have started to traitorously stream down your face and with exhaustion seeping into your bones, you keep going, "Estrella is well. She still can't sleep through the night, but Mrs. Hu says she is the loveliest baby she has ever seen. She misses her daddy though." After a brief pause, you add, "We both do."

"I'm so sor..."

"Please, Frankie, I beg you, stop apologizing. Just make sure you come home as soon as you can, alright? We'll figure it out when you're home safe with us," you plead, vulnerable.

"I promise mi amor, I'll be home as soon as possible. I'll be on the first flight today and be home before you know it."

"Good. Please be careful, Frankie."

"Cariño..."

His words are cut off by Estrella's cries from the bedroom. A tightness grips your throat as a lump forms, and you speak with a strained voice, "Can you hear her? It looks like she's ready for her daddy to be home." You tightly press your fist against your mouth, attempting to stifle your sobs.

"I'll be home soon, mi cielo, I promise," Frankie pleads. "Te amo. Te amo. Te amo." He repeats it like a prayer, softly uttered at your altar.

You are unable to speak, your throat too constricted. "Me too," you weakly respond. "I have to go check on Ella. Please be careful."

You end the call and take deep breaths, attempting to steady yourself. The room spins around you, and Estrella's cries echo in the background. As in a trance, you make your back to your bedroom.

"Daddy is coming home, my sweet love," you softly coo, your voice filled with anticipation. Estrella's tired eyes meet your teary gaze, and you can't help but laugh through your tears as Ella sucks on her tiny fist. "My little peanut, Mama will always take care of you. No matter what comes our way, even though you deserve so much more, I promise to be there for you and do my best," you pour out. As Ella drifts back into the realm of dreams, you reach out to the bed and grab Frankie's worn green blanket, hastily tossed aside in your haste. Holding it close, you settle into the rocking chair in the corner, with Ella snuggled against your chest, softly snoring. You drape the scratchy duvet over both of you, the feeling of the coarse blanket bringing some comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions. Enveloped in its warm embrace, you surrender to drowsiness, cradling Ella in your arms and gently whispering sweet nothings into her ear as you drift off to sleep.

______________________________________________________________

Frankie's gaze remains fixed on his phone, staring at the now empty screen as if willing for your phone number to appear. He yearns to hear your voice again, to hear you reassure him that everything will be okay. He longs for the warmth of your embrace, your fingers gently caressing his hair while he tenderly kisses the back of your neck. The more he stares at the phone, the more a sense of desperation and self-hatred wells up inside him. It's not directed at you, never at you. You and Ella are the only sources of goodness in his life, and he feels he's managed to ruin it all, just like he always does. He has always strived to be a better man for you, always felt unworthy of your love.

He is a man hunted by years of military service and he is acutely aware of his shattered spirit, his inability to adapt to the mundane civilian life. At the VA, he had witnessed the procession of broken men and women, who sacrificed their very beings for their nation, only to be spit out by a system that didn’t give a shit. If not for you and Ella, he fears he would have joined their ranks.

After retiring from active duty, which feels like a lifetime ago, he lived in a perpetual state of limbo. But you were there, his beacon of sweetness, compassion, and patience. For half a year, he held his breath, anticipating the day you would wake up and realize the mistake you made when you said yes and married him. You would finally leave him then and Frankie would be alone, as he deserves. But you never did. You stayed, defied his expectations, and shattered his self-inflicted prophecy. He knows you want him to open his pain to you, to unravel his sadness at your feet, but he is trapped in a prison of his own silence. Unable to be the man you need him to be for both you and Ella.

His subconscious tortures him with these anxieties every other night through relentless nightmares. In some of the worst renditions, he finds himself behind you, following you from a distance unable to touch you. As he tries to catch up, he must crawl through mud, blood, and gore, dragging him down as you seem to float away from him. He screams, but you can’t hear him. When he finally catches up to you, he reaches out his hands and notices their bloodied state, realizing how repulsive he is and how he doesn't deserve to hold you. He always lets his hands drop, watching you walk away with that radiant smile of yours that still brightens his heart, even after all these years. You always call out to him, "Come on, my love, you're falling behind." And he knows he is. But he can't take your hand, can't subject you to his darkness.

His grip on the phone tightens as the tormenting voices in his head grow louder: "She'll leave you now, for sure," "You're unworthy of her," "She'll take Ella and walk away, and you'll deserve it," "Good-for-nothing addict." He hurls the phone across the room, shattering it into pieces. The room feels too small, Frankie feels himself suffocating by the 4 walls, a perfect representation of his dark thoughts closing on him. Quickly, Frankie rises and heads downstairs. In the lobby, his eyes catch sight of the open café bar. He enters and makes a beeline for the imposing counter. Taking a seat on an unsteady stool, he addresses the man behind the counter:

“¿Todavía estás sirviendo alcohol?”

“Sí, lo estoy.¿Qué te puedo servir?” responds the burly bartender.

“Un café y 3 shots de whisky.” Answers Frankie.

“¿Noche difícil?” the bartender asks.

“Vida difícil.” Frankie replies.

“Jajaja, ¿asumo entonces que estás casado?” he queries, as he places the three shots in front of Frankie and begins preparing the coffee.

Frankie swiftly downs the first and then the second shot. Taking a deep breath, he responds:

“Ella y el bebé son lo único que hace que esta maldita vida valga la pena. Y lo arruiné.”

Shaking his head, the bartender goes on, “Dile cómo te sientes, discúlpate y ruega. Si la amas tanto como dices, al menos te escuchará.” Frankie looks away guilty at those words. He knows you and he knows he is being unfair to your love.

“Gracias por el consejo.” Frankie acknowledges.

“De nada, es un placer. Va incluido con el café.”

Frankie lets out a laugh before finishing his last shot, while the bartender attends to the bustling morning crowd. There is no sign of Will or Benny, not even Pope who lives in these kinds of places.

From the corner of his eye, he notices a slick, well-dressed man settling onto the stool beside him, promptly ordering a large black coffee. The man's gaze falls upon the three empty shot glasses before emitting a sly chuckle, locking eyes with Frankie.

"Rough night?" the man inquires, his voice laced with a sleazy undertone.

"You could say that" Frankie responds, attempting to shield himself by burying his face in his cup of coffee. He'd rather not air his problems for all of Peru to see. The lingering buzz from the shots slowly warms him from within. God, he's so exhausted. Sleeping on the cold ground of the Andes for the past week has taken its toll. He isn’t as young as he used to be, age crept up on him. Now, all he craves is to be back home, wrapped in your loving embrace with Ella between you two. Damn it, he even misses that green itchy blanket.

Unfortunately for Frankie, the man seems oblivious to his cues and continues to pry.

"Well, my friend, I think I have just the thing for you," the man remarks, reaching into his side pocket and producing a small baggie overflowing with white powder. Frankie's body freezes.

He hasn't touched that shit since the day he got busted. He promised you he would never use it again, and he has kept that promise. The only one he has kept so far.  A cold droplet of sweat glides down his spine as he becomes entranced by the sight of the little baggie, its contents tempting him with the promise of quieting the voices in his head, numbing the guilt he carries for you, for Ella, for Tom, and for all the other fucked-up things he has done.

"So, you interested? You look like you need it. I'll even give you a discount, my man!" The man slaps Frankie on the back while jiggling the baggie as if to intensify the allure.

"Take it," his conscience whispers, taunting him. "You've already screwed up; what's one more mistake for the road? She won't even find out, and you know what they say, ignorance is bliss.”

Frankie shuts his eyes, and in the darkness, he envisions you—holding Ella in your arms with that disappointed frown of yours. But the moment his mind conjures your image, it fades away, replaced by the haunting sight of Tom's lifeless body sprawled on the ground. A bullet in his head.

The conflicting scenes play out in his mind, like a relentless tug-of-war between his love for you and his hatred of himself.

“Final chance, my man. If you're not interested, I'll find someone else," the well-dressed man leers, his voice oozing with sleaze. The allure hangs in the air, teasing Frankie. Should he yield to one more mistake?

Frankie's trembling hand reaches out, fingers quivering as they inch closer to the small bag before him. At that moment, a surge of regret and guilt floods his senses, clawing at his conscience like relentless demons. His heart aches with the weight of his past mistakes, the pain he has caused, and the promises he has broken. The promise he will break.

Frankie clenches his fists as he seizes the bag, his fingers tightly closing around it. Doubt swirls in him as he wrestles with the bitter truth—he wasn’t a good man and he sure as hell wasn’t worthy of redemption. What difference would one more mistake make?

So, Frankie surrenders. He abandons the fight and lets himself fall. As he pays for the chemical release that will soon free him from himself, he feels your arms holding him tightly and your mouth planting gentle kisses on his face, providing the comfort he so desperately craves. But reality sets in; you're not there to catch him. So, he makes his way to the nearest bathroom, and three words echo incessantly in his mind, like a broken record: “Ignorance is bliss”.

He fucking hopes that it’s true.