#before they chuck him in a jet

[thepotentialof2007]

Lewis Hamilton's height being measured live on camera in 2013

[tojisun]

hockey player simon pt 03 // part of this plot // mlist

i swear it was just supposed to be a drabble w no plot

jo heaves a sigh the moment you slide in front of her, and you would have been insulted if it wasn't for the gentle smile she gives right after. still, she's staring at you with that teasing tilt of her lips and her eyes narrowed in humour, one that you're not privy to.

"what?" you finally bite out, fiddling with your iced coffee, feeling self-conscious.

you fleet your eyes to yourself and, yeah, sure you're wearing the same pants as yesterday’s but c'mon? you didn't get to go back to your place after, well...

at least you didn't repeat your top, and is instead wearing a sweater you've stolen from simon's closet. cashmere, cream and soft, and the material comfortable, if not a little bit loose in the arms that droop past your fingers.

you thought you at least looked like those typical college students in the movies—effortlessly chic in a boyfriend sweater, if not a little haggard because who is not when in university?

she finally chuckles, the thrum of her voice easing up the frown that tugged your brows together. “don’t sweat it, superstar. it’s just that i’m still not used to seeing you be a sugar baby.”

you choke mid-sip, her words devouring you like an angry tide. you feel your eyes water in protest, the feeling burning as you sputter.

“i’m not–!”

“you’re not what?” tim asks, sliding into the seat beside yours.

you grumble, wagging a finger as you wipe your stained chin with your other hand. jo snorts and fills him in, chuckling all the while as she gestures at your sweater because she knows it couldn’t possibly have been yours.

tim’s smile turns cheeky, teasing, and he wiggles his brows at you.

“shut up, oh my god,” you whine, rolling your eyes at them, almost shyly, and you feel your cheeks warming. “i’m not– simon’s not my–”

“oh c’mon, babe,” jo says, playfully throwing her mechanical pencil at you. you huff before chucking it back at her, giggling to yourself when it bounces off her arm and rolls into the floor.

tim picks it up for her.

“he buys you expensive things—” her eyes flit to the new promise ring that you’re wearing. you unconsciously hide it behind your palm. “and pays for your tuition which i’m so, so jealous of.”

“doesn’t he fly you around too? in a private jet or something?” tim pipes up, shamelessly snagging away your iced coffee now that you’re too preoccupied to drink it.

“he doesn’t!”

twin brows quirk up in silent judgement.

“…he buys us first class tickets, not, like, a whole jet.”

see? they seemed to say with the way they cock their heads to the side.

you sniff. “it’s for work,” you mumble, remembering the first time simon flew you for his games.

“i mean, for him, maybe. but you? tell me what business do you have in winnipeg?” tim chirps and you almost want to jump him just to make him shut up.

“sugar baby,” jo finishes, singing. “but i mean, who can blame him, huh?” she grins, her voice dipping into a faux southern accent. “i’d spoil you too, sugar.”

“oh, you flirt,” you trill, taking the opening she offers to change the topic.

tim takes the bait and whines about how jo doesn’t do all those things for him, but jo is unmoved, eyeing you knowingly, but thankfully drops it too.

it’s just—

there’s a whole stigma to athlete’s girlfriends. for god’s sake, they even have a whole label—puck bunny—which is honestly just a dig made up by really shitty men who burn with jealousy . and you know that, but—

you can’t help but wonder if some, not all, of simon’s love for you is because of what you do to him. of what you give him in return. especially since he’s so busy all the time, either flying during the season and is rarely home, or packed with training and other physical regimen during the offseason.

so you wonder if this—flying you with him on the days the official WAGs are not being flown by the franchise, bringing you to vacation spots on the other side of the ocean, buying you everything you used to only dream of ever having—was his way of paying you back for your support and patience and care and love.

tim knocks his shoulder with yours, worry now lining his boyishly charming face.

“y’alright?”

“of course.” you lick your lips. “so did you ever get a copy of the lab sheet from rayan?”

.

you watch from the front seats as the team wrap up practice tonight, their coach looking pleased at their performance. it was still difficult to follow the game, but the players all look content too despite the sweat and their ragged breathing.

they never did know how to hold back even during a practice.

you say your goodbyes to the other people who came to watch, shooting simon a text that you’ll be waiting for him in the parking lot, and walk out.

the cashmere sweater, thankfully, is enough to fight off the cool air and the gentle breeze while you make your trek to simon’s distinct range rover, all sleek and pure black like he’s got the damn royals for a passenger.

it’s locked so you hover outside, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants, and entertained yourself with making puffs of air like you’re ten again. it’s honestly not too bad to be alone, if it weren’t for the sudden swarming of your doubts—the very same ones you thought you already shrugged off before taking the cab to the rink.

fuck.

“hey, love,” simon’s voice pierces through your thoughts and you jump, barely smothering the yelp that almost tore itself from the base of your throat.

you swivel, heart pounding, and simon’s beautiful face creases into one of concern.

“are you–”

“si!” you greet, jogging to him.

he laughs and opens his arms for a hug, one that you excitedly give him. you tuck your cold face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, taking in the antiseptic scent of rink soap and the faint smell of his shampoo.

his body is so warm against yours, and you can’t help but melt in his hold, body relaxing at the comfort he brings you.

“you ready to go home?” he asks like the insinuation that his home is also yours is not heart-stopping and world-changing.

you nod, unable to trust your voice right now.

there’s something different whenever it’s just you and simon—your thoughts, for once, are quiet and your confidence in yourself peaking like simon is the only place in this world where you can truly be yourself. it’s not just indulgence, nor tolerance, but it’s pure unadulterated acceptance.

and maybe it’s because of that realization, that flipped switch, that in the lull of your conversation with simon, you bring it up.

“did you know? my friends think that you’re my sugar daddy.”

you feel him freeze, body going rigid as your words spill into the space between you two. you continue to hide your face away from, avoiding a serious conversation as regret begins to build, shame licking up from your fingertips to your ears.

stupid, you think to yourself. why the hell did i bring it up? fuck—

then, simon laughs, soft and sputtering, his whole body shaking as he giggles, choked wheezes uncontainable. you tip your head up just enough to catch his eyes, questions filling your tongue, waiting to be spilled, but simon cups your cheek so tenderly before you could doubt anything any more.

“do i need to be one to spoil you rotten?” he asks like he didn’t just shaken the foundations of your doubts.

do i need to be one to spoil you rotten, he said like spoiling you was the norm. like showering you with expensive gifts and booking you expensive flights and helping you with your expensive necessities was something that boyfriends typically do. like your friends are the odd ones for thinking he had to be anything other the man you’re dating to be able to splurge for you.

“no,” you say, dizzy with the weight of your affections.

simon’s smile droops, his eyes clearing. “was that something that honestly worried you?”

“i–”

the humour leaves him, and simon straightens up at seeing the gravity of the turmoil in your heart. his hands fall to your sides, thumbs hooked in the dip of your hips. he leans forward until his nose is brushing against yours.

“you know i love you, right?” simon asks, his voice quaking in desperation.

“yeah,” you sniffle, honest because god you mean it. “yeah, si. i know.”

“okay,” he says after a while, still intensely looking at you like you aren’t surely anything but a blob in his eyes with how close you two are pressed to each other.

then, his lips brush with yours, so faint, you almost missed it. you shudder at the feeling of it—how could a chaste kiss feel so intense?—your lips wobbling as something in your heart bloats.

you feel simon’s lips stretch into a grin from where they’re ghosting above yours, and then he’s kissing you again, this time deeper and longer. you curl your arms around his neck, feeling like you’re being swept off your feet all over again.

because simon is not good with words, truly, but he’s managed to swing an axe to the cornerstone of your self-doubt and made it crumble.

.

“oh god,” jo sobs in your arms, the two of you snuggled up under your sheets. “that was a joke! i promise!”

“i know,” you say, giggling. “i swear jo, it’s not you, it’s me.”

she looks up at you, eyes shimmering with tears. “are you sure?”

“yeah,” you croon, bumping foreheads with her. “...‘sides, simon’s taking me somewhere to make up for, and i quote, ‘making you doubt how serious i am about you’.”

she sniffs. “…permission to make a joke again?”

you grab your plushie from somewhere behind you and smack her ass with it.

“ow!”

“stop being dramatic—that didn’t hurt.”

[giggles nervously] so uh. 🏃🏻

[rosenclaws]

Come back (erased part ii) || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Logan doesn't remember you but he can sense you. He can tell you were someone important so when the team hatches a plan to find you he's the one leading the charge.

warnings: she/her pronouns, violence, killing, blood, reader gets hit/threatened, mental torture, injuries, logan goes feral, illusions.

wc: 3.5k

link to part 1

a/n: Part two is here!! Finally omfg im sorry this took so long. I hope this is a good part two i had a fun time writing the angst and stuff. It maybe ended a little darker than I meant but oh welll. We love some angst. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The sound of the grandfather clock echoes in Logan's ears. The faint sound of students walking around the halls, playing outside. All drowned out by the clock. The heart necklace sits in his palm, his rough fingers tracing the shape over and over again.

When Logan had gotten back to the mansion he was bombarded with questions. All about a person he had never heard of. He grew angry and confused, wondering who they were talking about. It wasn't until he saw the look on all their faces that he realized something was wrong.

Memory wiped. He was fucking memory wiped again. Charles tried to explain it all but his brain went fuzzy. He tried to restore them but whatever you had done was too powerful. Only faint distant feelings. They tried to jog his memories with pictures but nothing worked. Whoever you were you were, you and him were close.

He's got a look on his face that he doesn't even recognize. One of pure adoration. The stories they tell, it was like hearing stories of someone else. He went through his room. He could smell this faint vanilla scent. The same one from the motel room. It was you. He was with you. But just who are you?

He turns the heart around in his hands. It’s faintly familiar. He closes his eyes and tries to wrack his brain for anything. Just something. There's a gaping hole in his chest, a sense of dread and something lost. A surge of anger takes over him as he shoves the necklace back in his pocket. He feels helpless and confused and he fucking hates it.

They're planning something in Chuck's office and they kicked him out. Why he doesn't know. They're planning a rescue for you and apparently he was the most important person to you so why wouldn't he be in there. Even if he doesn't remember. He should be in there. He stands up and barges through the doors, not caring anymore.

"Tell me what the hell is going on. Now." He stands with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

"Logan..." Jean starts but he brushes her off.

"I don't fucking care if I don't remember her just fucking tell me the mission." They team exchange looks and Logan resists the urge to roll his eyes. He's not a child. Whether he remembers you or not you were important to him and to the team. He needs to get you back.

"The mutant group, apparently she knew of them. She used to work with them years ago before any of us knew her." Charles explains and Logan listens. His hands tightening into a fist.

"We believe that she went after them for reasons we do not know. But what we do know is that they're dangerous. More dangerous than what she remembers." He can feel somethings off. The way the team shifts in their seats. The way Ororo won't even look him in the eyes.

"Logan, we think they have her." Scott says slowly.

"So we go find her."

"It's not that simple-"

"No it really fucking is that simple." Logan growls.

"You all talk about her like she's the heart of the fucking mansion so why am I the one who seems to care the most right now! I can't even remember her!" Logan slams his fist hard onto the table it almost breaks.

Why aren't they as worried as he is? Why don't they seem to care? Silence casts over the room but slowly everyone nods, agreeing with him.

"We leave in 15." He says with such severity that no one argues. Logan turns and leaves. Ready to come and find you.

-

The jet engine hum is the only sound inside. Everyone is quiet. Waiting. Normally Logan hates flying but right now he's too focused on getting you back. His eyes are closed as he tries to pull anything from his head. The faint sound of laughter, the feeling of warmth, the smell of vanilla. All of it was right there. Locked behind a door he couldn't get through. He feels someone sit in the seat next to him.

"What." He growls as he turns the necklace in his hand around and around.

"Are you okay?" It's storms voice. He sighs and opens his eyes.

"Just fine." She's quiet for a moment before she decides to talk.

"We're going to find her Logan." She says with a confidence he just doesn't have.

"You and her, I've never seen two people more meant for each other. She made you happy and you made her feel less alone." He wishes he remembered you.

He really does.

He can't think of all the moments he's been told about or the pictures that have been taken. He doesn't know what it was like to love you or to be loved by you anymore. It kills him. If he was happy, if you made him happy, then he's lost it all. Why would you take that away? From him and from you. Why couldn't you trust him with this?

Even though his memories are gone he can feel this sense of worry building in his chest. He needs you to be okay. He needs to protect you. Fuck he doesn't even remember you but that deep primal urge is still there.

"Five minutes out. Everyone brace for landing." Logan tucks the necklace into his suit, keeping it close to his heart as he unsheathes his claws and waits for landing. He will find you. There's no other option for him.

-

Your whole body ached. After leaving Logan you tracked down Mack and his gang but they had the one up on you. New, powerful mutants. They already knew you were coming the second you had the thought. They ambushed you. Attacked you and rendered you useless. They should have just killed you but Mack wanted to keep you. To lure your team out as a trap.

"They aren't coming." You hiss as he stands in front of you. He's crouching down and grinning.

"I don't know sweetheart, my sources tell me there's someone on the team who is quite fond of you." He brushes your cheek and you recoil in disgust.

"Get your fucking hands off me." He chuckles and one of his followers hit you hard in your leg.

"Feisty. Tell me, is that because of Logan? Did he rub off on you?" Your blood runs cold. If they do anything to him.

"Don't touch him." You lunge at Mack but you're restrained. to the ground. Mack presses his foot onto your throat and his smirk turns into something dark.

"You're funny. Tell you what." He puts more pressure on your neck and you start to see dots in your vision.

"When the Wolverine gets here we'll make him watch you die...and then kill him." Mack laughs and another hard blow to your head sends you into darkness.

You can only hope that Logan stays far, far away from this.

-

He can hear them. Fucking idiots not even trying to hide. They're bragging, laughing. Well they won’t be laughing for long. Logan’s claws gleam under the moonlight as he stalks like an animal.

The plan was to create a diversion while a rescue team goes in to get you. He wasn’t exactly know for his subtlety but no one wanted to argue him being the one to find you. It was a one man rescue team.

The sky rumbles and a loud explosion from far away leads the mutant group away. Logan springs into action. He takes out the few bodyguards around camp with ease.

He finds you alone and unguarded. A sense of relief washing over him as he bends down and scoops you up in his arms. Though he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. That this was too easy.

“Logan?” Your voice is quiet, broken.

“Hey, we’re gonna get you out of here.” He gently holds you as he looks for a way out.

“No.” You say. Your voice stronger than before. Confusion washes over him as you push him away. The injuries on your body seemed to disappear as the world fades around him.

“You think I want you to save me? I ran away from you Logan. Couldn’t you get the fucking hint?” Your words spit like venom. You were not the person he thought you were.

“It was all a lie, a cover.” His claws come out, teeth baring as his anger grows. But then he catches a whiff of someone unfamiliar. He hears the faint calling of his name.

“Yeah?” He walks closer to you. A taunting look on your face. Without warning he swings his claws right next to your face.

“Tell him that it will take more than a weak illusion to fool me.” Logan whispers in your ear.

Slowly the world he thought was reality melts away. Your tied up, held by force by one of Mack’s followers. Had he given in and swung at you he would have killed you. That must have been their plan. He looks to the side to see a body with three claw marks on the ground.

“Well, you’re smarter than I thought. Well done Wolvie.” He hears a slow clap behind him.

”Fuck off bub,” Logan growls as he holds up his claws. Ready to pounce. He hears the rustling around him. He’s not alone, they’re hiding, waiting.

“It’s a shame really, we would have gotten along great.” Mack smirks as Logan grows angrier.

“Fat fucking chance.” Logan lunges at Mack but he’s tackled to the ground. Held down by some sort of force he can’t fight.

“You may be physically strong but let’s see how you do when someone fucks with your mind. Just like she did.” Logan struggles baring his teeth as he tries to fight out of whatever hold they have him under.

“Stop!” You cry out. Your voice is strained and tears are falling down your cheeks.

“Mack please, just leave him alone.” You fight out of the grip on you with all your strength. Falling to the ground roughly. Your hands are still tied behind your back as you struggle to get up.

“Please don’t hurt him.” Your desperate.

Mack stands up crouches over you. He grabs your face roughly, digging his nails into your face tightly. Logan growls when he sees you wince in pain.

“Aww so cute.” He taunts and throws you to the ground.

“The question is which one of you has the biggest hero complex hm? You left us because you thought we were wrong, evil. You wanted to play hero.”

“What we did was wrong Mack. We hurt innocent people for our own good.” Logan stares at you and you can’t find it in yourself to look him in the eyes.

You can’t bare to see that look of nothing. He doesn’t know who you are and its your fault. But this is for the best. You can get him out of here and he can walk away from you without the pain.

You feel a sharp pain as Mack slaps you hard. “We were surviving!” He yells.

“Why should we care about the world when they don’t care about us!” He takes out a pocket knife and you tense up.

“Get the fuck away from her.” Logan roars and Mack just grins.

With a snap of his fingers one of the other mutants starts to crush Logan. It was a subtle pressure at first but he could feel the discomfort. They were sinking him into the ground. They were going to bury him alive. You can see a flash of panic. He hates that suffocating feeling. So reminiscent of his nightmares.

“Mack please, we were family once.” You beg as you watch Logan struggle. You can’t let them do this to him.

“Stop please!” Mack grabs your face and makes you watch.

“We were but you picked a new family. Now you can watch him suffocate.” Your eyes meet with Logan’s and you start to cry. He’s afraid. Its your fault. This is all your fault.

“I’ll stay! I’ll stay and help you again just let him go!” You cry out. The weight is lifted off Logan and he scrambles to breathe.

“I promise. I won’t fight and I won’t run. Just please, leave him alone.” Mack thinks for a moment, its a tempting offer. Your powers are strong and he was never able to find anyone quite like you.

“No! Logan shouts, he can’t let you do this. Not for him.

“You got yourself a deal. But if you ever try anything. We’ll hunt him down and kill him. Then the rest of your little family.” Your eyes flash with fear and you nod.

Logan’s heart twists as he sees the broken look on your face. You’re condemning yourself to a torturous life for him. When you look at him he feels a horrible feeling. He longs for you. Your eyes are full of a love he’s missing from his life. You love him and he can’t even remember what it was like. Did you calm his nightmares? Keep his deepest secrets? Did you know all his faults and choose to love him anyways? He needs to know. They pick him up and force him onto his knees.

"Tell your team to stay away." Mack wraps his hand around your neck, his knife pressing against your skin, taunting Logan.

"Logan...I love you and I'm sorry." Your voice is raspy as you choke out the words. He needs to know. You smile painfully as Logan just looks at you.

"Go on, run away Wolvie." Mack snarls.

Even in pain your eyes are full of love just looking at him. He was your everything. You love him so much you're willing to sacrifice yourself, your happiness, all of it for him. How? This kind of love...he's never felt this before. He may not remember it all with you but fuck he wants to know what its like. He wants to learn what it was like to be loved by you. He can't let you go. Not when his future happiness is in your hands. The rage builds. He will not leave you. Doesn't matter how much blood will be shed tonight. He will save you.

With a loud roar Logan unsheathes his claws and with all his willpower throws off the weighted feeling. He's like an animal, snarling and growling as he drives his claws into your captors. There's no mercy in the way he takes each and everyone of them out. They try to stop him but when they realize their efforts are futile they start to run.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is cold, void of any emotion as he digs his claws deep into someone chest. Mack's confidence fades as he watches Logan's rampage. He grabs you and tries to run. Dragging you along the forest floor.

"Logan!" You shout and he instantly turns around.

On all fours he uses his claws to launch himself towards you. Chasing Mack down like prey. It's really a pity how fast he catches him. At another time he would have enjoyed playing with him, toying with his fear. All the pain he's caused, not just your pain but the innocent people he's ruined. He deserves to pay.

"Not so tough now huh?" Logan stabs him right through the heart.

When he's sure he's dead he stands up, blood soaking his claws. His head turns to you and you freeze. You know he won't hurt you but apart of you worries this is a trick. Another one of Mack's illusions just to fuck with you. Logan gently bends down and cuts you free.

"He's gone sweetheart." Tears start to fall down your cheeks as he scoops you up in his arms.

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry." You babble over and over as Logan holds you tight. You fit just like a puzzle piece into his arms. This feels right. This feels like home. The sound of footsteps sets him on edge but he calms down when he sees the familiar faces of his team.

"Where the hell were you guys?"

-

No one dared bother Logan. They let him take you back to the jet. He held you the whole time. Even when you fell asleep from utter exhaustion he kept you close. He was with you every step of the way. Bringing you to the lab, watching as they run tests and stick needles into your arm. On your recovery bed with the ugly white lights he sat until you woke up. Sometimes you stirred, whining and you sounded afraid.

He wonders what fucked up things Mack made you see. The bruises and scars on your body told only half the story. With each fearful sound he wishes he would have taken longer to kill that bastard. But he's gone now and you seem to calm down when he's with you. Sensing him through your sleep.

The necklace sits in his hand. After he got back he had to make sure it was still with him. It was bloodied now, and had some wear and tear from the past. So he busied himself fixing it up, cleaning it until it shined like new. He doesn't know when or why he bought it for you but clearly it was special. The two stones meant something. He knew they did.

When you finally came to he jumped into action. Calling hank to come check on you while he slipped away to get you water. There was a big fuss, people scolding you for leaving and crying from happiness that you were back. Apologizes poured out of your mouth as you faced your family. Logan hung back and watched you be embraced, be loved. Your powers seemed to settle after this. The fear of touching other people was gone as you hugged people without a second thought. He waited and waited until it was just the two of you.

"Hey there," You can barely look at him as he sits in the plastic chair next to your bed.

"Logan I..." You can't get the words out. How do you even begin to apologize.

You bury your face in your hands but Logan isn't having it. He had a lot of questions but they could wait. He takes your hands away from your face, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your heart breaks a little when you look into those eyes. He still doesn't know you. Of course, his memories are still gone.

"Why did you come? You don't remember me." You ask him. He risked his life for you, he killed for you. The Logan you knew at the start wouldn't have done that for you. Maybe with the team but to risk all of it alone. Why?

"I don't have to remember you to see you were important to me sweetheart, though I would really like those memories back." Of course.

You never took them from him. If anything you locked them away. You couldn't bring yourself to truly erase yourself from his mind. With a gentle touch you release his memories like a tidal wave. They pour into his brain, flooding his senses as memory after memory flash into his mind. Ending with your final moments together in that motel room.

Your first kiss, you told him you loved him. You took that from him. He should be angry with you. You stole his memories just like they did before but when he opens his eyes there's no anger.

Only love.

He smashes his lips onto yours. Capturing you into a heated kiss. This is what he dreamed of. Getting to touch you like this, to show his love. He's rough with his motions. He should be gentler but he can't help himself. Years of desperation building up into this. He can finally hold you, finally claim you as his.

"Logan I'm so sorry." You cry. He shushes you with another kiss.

He doesn't care about that right now. You were afraid and though he wishes you came to him he's just glad to have you back. You scared the fuck out of him.

"I love you too sweetheart, you didn't give me the chance to say it but fuck I love you." You claw at his shirt to get him closer.

You need him to be as close as he can. He ignores the wires and climbs into the bed with you. Situating himself so that you're as close as you can get. Legs intertwined with each other. He takes the necklace and places it around your neck. Clasping it and smiling as it rests above your heart.

"I'll always fight for us sweetheart. I'll fight for you." Even if he doesn't remember you he knew deep down that there was something there. That you were important to him. No one could take that away from him.

You curl into his arms, finally feeling at peace for the first time. Not worried about your powers or about your past. You felt protected and loved. Logan lulls you back to rest promising to keep watch. He knows that what you suffered won't go away easily but he'll be there every step of the way.

Nothing will take you from him again. Not ever. He'll make sure of that.

[htchnr]

♰ considerate ༻ C. HOWARD drabble.*ೃ˚

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

CW ➻ looting a dead raider ⋆ talk of cannibalism ⋆ Cooper eyeing you like he's gonna eat you ⋆ not like that ⋆ well, maybe like that ⋆ Cooper being a bit of an asshole to Lucy ⋆ sexual tension between you and Cooper ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

SUMMARY ➻ based on this short and funny post by @pissedoffghoul ! WC ➻ 500~.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

Lucy watches in disgust as Cooper takes large gulps of water from a dirty pond. "that's so gross," she groans, nearly gagging at the sight.

Cooper snorts, wiping some drops off his chin with the back of his gloved hand. "that's what you find gross?" he huffs, standing up. his eyes find your form bent over at the waist as you dig through a dead raider's things. his dark eyes lingering longer on the back of your thighs as you rummage around.

Lucy's eyes follow his, brows twitching in confusion. "you know, i could be a lot worse," he ponders, eyes tracing your hips before reluctantly pulling them away to face Lucy. "i could leave alone with Y/N," he shrugs, walking up to your side. you bump your hip against his, reaching up to hand him some Jet you found.

Lucy frowns, hand gesturing to you. "she's nice! sure as heck nicer than you are." she huffs, watching the interaction between you and him.

Cooper lets out a raspy laugh, knocking his hip against yours before patting your lower back. "wanna know a little secret? gotta feelin' you'll love to hear it," he grins.

Lucy swallows, an uneasy feeling in her stomach now. "she, is right 'ere you know?" you drawl, chucking an empty can of some kind of food product against Cooper's back.

he snickers, eyes still on Lucy as he smacks a gloved hand against your ass before walking towards his saddlebags. he grabs the bags that lay close to Lucy's feet, leaning in a little once he's at his full height again. "she eats people," he dramatically and loudly whispers to her, before patting her shoulder roughly and moving to return to your side.

Lucy stands there, blinking at your figure, lips slightly parted. "wha.. what?" earning a loud laugh from Cooper as he leans against the wall beside you.

you look up from your kneeling position by the dead raider beside you to Cooper, smacking his thigh. the action only goes so far, before his large gloved hand snatches your hand, a dirty grin on his radiation thinned lips. "stop bullying the girl, would you?" you huff, but Cooper can't help but admire you from this angle on your knees.

Lucy just blinks, now looking between the dead raider beside your kneeling form and you. you look over your shoulder at Lucy, taking in her shocked and slightly afraid look. "you're safe darlin', he's just an asshole." you glare back up at him, finding him looking down at you with a look that sends tingles down your spine.

"besides," you pull your hand from his grasp, looking back at Lucy. "unlike him, i've got respect for people," you glare at him again, "who might not share the same, taste." you huff, shoving the few things in your bag you want to keep, before grabbing Cooper's hand that pulls you up to your feet.

"you dear, won't see me cuttin' up anyone around you if you don't like the idea, i'm atleast nice," you wink and smile at her, smacking Cooper flat on his back before walking through the doorway beside him.

[ace-of-zaun]

Kiss Me More. Pt. 1

silco x f!reader - 4.1k words - SFW

summary: “Whatever, all I’m saying is, I can teach you how to kiss,” Silco insists, before adding just a little too nonchalantly, “You know, if you want to.”

cw: first kiss, practice kissing, mild angst, fluff, jealous silco, first love, falling in love, friends to lovers, soft silco my beloved, young silco

-

You can always tell if Silco is home by the level of carnage that your living room is currently exuding. 

Honestly, it’s like the boy arrives home from work, stands smack-bang in the middle of the room, and shakes off all his belongings like a dog caught in the rain. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if he did exactly that.

Vander, on the other hand, is at least a little bit more tidy. A little bit less chaotic. 

For example, you can tell that Vander isn’t home right now because his shoes aren’t lined up neatly next to the door (unless, of course, he’s come home barefoot which has happened before).

But, you know for a fact that Silco is home because his backpack is currently strewn across the sofa, his coat is somehow hanging off the lamp, and his shoes are leading an obvious trail through the room; one behind the other, like some abstract art of an invisible man walking. 

Oh, and also because you can hear him loudly cooking dinner in the kitchen. 

“Sil, I’m home!” you call out, toeing your shoes off and pushing them up against the wall by the front door with your feet.

“Hey! Just making us something to eat!” he shouts back.

Setting down your bag next to your shoes, you allow yourself to drop just as heavily onto the sofa, only pausing once to chuck Silco’s bag over the back of it, just so you can laugh at him when he can’t find it later.

A long day at work means you’re that kind of tired where you can’t quite tell whether it’s your muscles that are aching or your bones themselves. 

You’re completely still - head resting back, eyes glazed at the ceiling… for approximately two seconds before you realise your foot is tapping anxiously against the floor. It’s not long before your whole leg is jiggling, nervous energy building up until-

“Hey, Silco?” 

“Yeah?” he calls back, still in the kitchen. 

“How do people know how to kiss? Like how are you supposed to know what to do?” you ask, both still shouting somewhat to hear one another. 

There’s a pause. Then an incredulous-

“What?”

You’re not quite sure if Silco didn’t understand the question or whether he just didn’t hear you properly, so you ignore him until he finally pops his head around the open doorway of the kitchen to look at you.

His jet hair is mussed and a little wavy, probably from running his hand through it too much, and there’s a little streak of coal dust on his jaw. The thought of getting up and gently wiping it away for him flits through your mind but is forgotten entirely when he clears his throat, startling you back to his expectant expression. 

“I said, what do you think is the proper way to kiss someone? You know, so it feels… uh, good and stuff?”

Silco screws up his face in confusion.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You huff a breath of annoyance and tiredly run a hand through your hair.

“It’s just…” you begin, trailing off as embarrassment begins to heat your cheeks. But it’s only Silco. You’ve known each other for forever, so you power through in hopes of getting the answers you want. 

“It’s just that I’ve never kissed anybody before and I don’t want to mess it up.”

You’d been asked out on your very first proper date today and out of all the things you’re nervous about, kissing is, without a doubt, at the very top of that list. 

So what if people might think you’re a late bloomer - you’ve just never gotten round to it before! You’ve been far too busy working your arse off to make sure you and the boys could keep the home you’d all worked so hard to afford, let alone keep putting food on the table.

Plus, growing up and living with two ridiculous boys of your own had put you off wanting to spend time with any more for a good number of your teenage years (seriously, do all their bedrooms smell that bad?)

But today a boy you’d met a few times in the shop you worked in had asked you out on a date.

And maybe it was because he’d looked at you in a way that no-one else ever had before (in a way that made you feel like the only girl on Runeterra), or maybe it was because you felt like it was high-time you started thinking of yourself for once, but whatever the motive, you’d said yes.

Which had promptly led you to this current dilemma: One, what if he wants to kiss me? And two, how do I kiss?

Hoping Silco had heard some tricks from some of his friends at the mine, you thought he’d at least respond with some useful advice. You’re decidedly not expecting him to gawp at you like he used to do at the fish in the Undercity’s scuffed aquarium (also known as, sneaking into the underground factories at night to see the big glass windows lining the river). 

“You’ve never kissed anyone before?” 

A jerk of your head up to stare at him… 

He has?

“Wait, you’ve already had your first kiss?” you squeak, hopelessly trying to keep the wobble out of your voice.

He’s definitely never talked about having his first kiss before. Why wouldn't he tell you something like that? (And why is thinking about all of this making you feel so uneasy?)

Silco pushes off the doorway he’s leaning on and crosses into the living room, choosing to perch on the arm of the sofa next to you. He’s still holding a spatula in his hand, which you would have normally teased him for if you weren’t so caught up having a crisis over Silco’s apparent love life. 

“Yeah, when I was like, thirteen,” he answers flippantly, as if it’s common knowledge. Old news. Last week’s gossip. 

“What?”

You’re aghast. Stranded out in an ocean with no lifeboat.

There’s this weird feeling bubbling up inside of you and for some reason your brain is hissing the word jealousjealousjealous like a wretched, little goblin, but you’re not jealous, you have no reason to be jealous. 

Gods, it’s not like you and Silco even like each other, you’re best friends, always have been, always will be. 

“With who?” you demand, crossing your arms across your chest and then promptly uncrossing them when you feel ridiculous. 

“Gods, I don’t remember, it was ages ago,” he says, pure indifference just oozing from him. 

“Wow,” you exclaim flatly, your sarcasm nearly reaching slow-clapping levels at his gross attitude. “Woooow.” 

“What? I’m supposed to remember every single kiss I’ve ever had?” he retorts with a roll of his eyes. 

You think you might have pulled a kidney. Or maybe your ribs have come loose. 

There’s been more than one kiss? Too many to remember or even bother to keep count? 

You can’t help but fall silent, staring at the ground as a sick, uneasy feeling spreads through you at a rate you can’t even hope to control. 

Oblivious as ever, Silco doesn’t even notice your internal spiral. 

“Wait, why do you want to know how to kiss? Who are you planning on kissing?” he all but demands, concern creeping into his tone.

It’s matched by the frown that paints his features when you finally drag your gaze back up to his face. 

“Seven,” you tell him before mumbling shyly, more to yourself than to him. “And I don’t know for sure if we’re gonna kiss.” 

Now it’s Silco’s turn to blanch. 

“Who?”

“You know, that boy who comes into the shop sometimes,” you huff in annoyance. 

Janna, he never listens to you.

His reaction is to grimace and you’re not entirely sure why it warrants such a visceral reaction. 

“I thought you found him annoying,” he points out (rather unhelpfully, if you do say so yourself).

Okay, technically, you had said that. At first you’d found his hovering a bit stifling, especially when you were trying to work. But now that he’d asked you out, you think he can’t be all that bad. 

“Well, yeah, at first, but he’s kinda sweet when you get to know him,” you explain, unable to hold back the little smile that crosses your lips when you think about the moment he’d gently tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. It was probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. 

Beside you, Silco pretends to gag loudly. He’s gross. 

You’re just about to punch his leg as hard as you can in retaliation, but the exact moment you do, he reaches up to nervously push a hand through his hair. Except, he’s forgotten that he’s still holding the spatula, so instead he comically smacks himself in the face with it. 

Silco jolts backwards briefly before looking down at the utensil in his hand and you can just see the moment he remembers the food-

“Shit!”

He scrambles off the sofa and back into the kitchen, almost slipping on one of his own shoes in the process. 

“Idiot,” you mumble under your breath when he finally disappears from your line of sight. 

You cross your arms and slump back against the sofa, half in denial of the pout you know you’re sporting. That bone tiredness has been swiftly replaced with a strange, confusing feeling that you cannot for the life of you put a name to. 

Why would Silco care about who you go on a date with? If anything, you thought he’d be happy that you’re finally putting yourself out there. You know, exploring, having fun - something that isn’t just working and sleeping and yelling at Silco when he steals your tweezers. 

The sounds from the kitchen all cease in abrupt succession, silence ringing out when he finally steps back into the living room. 

His arms hang down awkwardly by his sides and he avoids eye contact with you, choosing instead to stare at the stain on the wall by the door. 

“Burnt it,” he announces sheepishly.

“Siiiiil,” you groan dramatically, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling as your arms drop heavily down against your thighs. “We can barely afford food as it is!”

“Oh, be quiet,” he hushes with a sneer. “I’ll give it to Vander when he gets back home and I’ll make us something else in a minute.”

Vander had been doing extra shifts in a pub most evenings, just to make sure you guys stayed in the green and didn’t lose the apartment or miss any unnecessary meals. Honestly, you have no idea how he does it after working all day in the mines. 

You roll your eyes at Silco but can’t find it in yourself to be truly mad. 

Instead of starting dinner again like he said he would, Silco carefully sits next to you on the sofa. You can tell he’s staring at you but you ignore him, keeping your gaze fixed on the window, eyes unfocused enough that all the neon lights blend together in a colourful swirl. 

It’s quiet for a little bit, bar the usual noise of the apartment building and Silco noisily fiddling with a clasp on his shirt, before he abruptly says out of the blue-

“You know, if you’re worried about not knowing how to kiss, you could always practise on me.”

A beat. Then you slowly tip your head sideways to look at him.

“What?”

“Well, you know what they say, practice makes perfect,” he begins, making brief eye contact before darting away like he’s been caught. “And if you want to impress this Six guy-”

“Seven."

“Whatever, all I’m saying is, I can teach you how to kiss,” Silco insists, before adding just a little too nonchalantly, “You know, if you want to.”

If you weren’t so tired, you might have laughed at him. Or smacked him up the head. 

But you must really be exhausted because you do neither of those things, instead squinting at him as the cogs turn sluggishly in your brain.

He’s not… wrong, per se. Practising would make you feel more prepared for it if it happens on your date. 

“I mean, I guess so,” you admit to him slowly. 

You shift your body to the side and really, properly consider him for the first time, trying to imagine yourself kissing Silco. 

And just like that, your stomach erupts into butterflies and you suddenly have no idea what to do with your hands. (Funny, you didn’t feel like this earlier when you thought about kissing Seven…)

To his credit, Silco allows you to consider his offer in silence as you try to figure out what you want to do.

You can’t really argue with his logic. It would be good to know what you’re doing beforehand so you can impress Seven, or at the very least avoid embarrassing yourself.

And Silco is safe. You’ve known him practically your whole life and he’s never truly let you down yet. 

The more you think about it, the more it feels like a good idea. (And it seems to pass you by that by kissing Silco as a practice for your first kiss, Silco himself will be your first kiss…)

You shift your body to face him a bit more, smiling up at him. 

“Yeah,” you say with a croak, before clearing your throat and speaking again just a little more confidently. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks, searching your expression for any sign of hesitance. 

But you’re not hesitant. A little nervous, sure, but this is new, it’s normal to be nervous. 

You throw him a big smile hoping he understands. 

"Yep!" 

Silco offers you one of the softest smiles you’ve ever seen from him and it makes your chest feel all fluttery and nice. 

Then, he slides closer to you and gently takes your cheek in his hand. 

“What, l-like, right now?” you stutter, eyes nervously darting up to meet his. 

Silco freezes and his gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips. 

“I mean, there’s no time like the present, right?” he says, waiting for your confirmation before moving any further. 

He just caught you off-guard, that’s all. It’s not everyday you kiss your best friend as practice for when you kiss your first ever boyfriend. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

You take roughly five seconds to fully prepare yourself - yes, this is actually going to happen - before shifting yourself to face him properly. 

“Okay. Ready now?” he asks, unable to hide the little smile working its way onto his lips. 

“Yep, ready,” you confirm, smiling back up at him as your heart begins to beat rapidly in your chest.

Silco leans down slowly, his hand still gently cupping your face, and your eyes close instinctively, suddenly giddy as his nose brushes your cheek.

Then, he closes the gap and presses his lips to yours.

For a second or two, you just get used to the feeling of him. How his lips are somehow dry and soft at the same time. How he tastes of peppermint gum laced faintly with cigarette smoke, even though you’ve told him repeatedly that he should stop and who the hell’s he trying to impress anyway?

You only just have the presence of mind to purse your own lips against his when he pulls back from you (and you force yourself to ignore the disappointment of that being it).

Luckily for you, that is not it. 

“Okay, not bad, now I need you to move with me,” he says, licking his lips and pushing back his hair only for it to flop back to the exact same spot.

Huh?  

“Move… with you?” you ask as if you’re in a daze. 

“Yeah, like, move your head and lips a bit more. Just follow my lead,” he explains confidently, almost indifferently. “And you can use your hands if you want.”

“What?” 

Okay, you’re baffled now. What do hands have to do with kissing?

“You could put them around my shoulders, or… or in my hair,” Silco tells you, briefly avoiding eye contact as he mumbles out the latter. 

The bashful way he says it makes you think that’s what he prefers. 

“Okay,” you nod slowly, trying to take it all in. "Move my head and lips, use my hands. Got it." 

This time you're the one to move closer to him, leaning up to place your hand along his jaw.

Silco joins you halfway, meeting your lips once more with a slow, chaste peck before he dives back in for more, this time a little bit deeper. 

He tilts his head a little and oh wow, that feels even better. 

You try to heed his advice, this time actively moving your lips against his. Silco must notice the change because he kisses you even harder, pressing forward until you sway back with the motion. 

A hand snakes around the nape of your neck, pulling you back to him and you think your heart swoops in your chest as he does. That same hand travels lightly down your spine, fingertips dancing along the back of your shirt, bringing out the most delightful shiver.

Fuck, you get it now.

Your own hands trail up from his jaw and slide smoothly into his hair, until your fingers accidentally get caught on a little knot in the strands, causing a rough little tug against his scalp.

And Silco groans, travelling from the back of his throat into your lips and it makes you jump back in surprise.

But he doesn’t let you go far, one hand darting to the back of your head to keep you close.

His lips brush against yours as you both breathe heavily, neither one of you wanting to move away. 

“Do you want to stop?” he says, voice husky and low.

A half second to catch your breath before a vehement- 

“No.”

And then he’s right back at it, kissing you even harder. Even more urgently. 

Now, his hands snake into your hair, tugging gently until you gasp at the pleasurable sensation spreading through you. 

Silco takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and you’re immediately overwhelmed by the heat that floods your body. 

It feels like your hands have a mind of their own because without even telling them to, they’re suddenly gripping at Silco’s shoulders, then his cheeks, and then yanking the short hairs at the back of his head. 

The noise Silco makes this time can only be described as a moan, low and throaty, and just when you think you couldn’t feel any hotter, Silco grabs your waist with both hands and pulls you towards his lap. 

You straddle one of his thighs, knees pressing into the sofa, hovering slightly above him as you continue to kiss, an ache building within you every passing moment. 

Gods, what is this feeling? You swear you’ve never felt like this before, like you could keep kissing him forever. 

But you don’t because suddenly Silco’s hand moves up the back of your shirt to land on the small of your back, and the feeling of his hot skin on yours makes you squirm in his grasp, breaking your kiss once and for all.

You lean back to stare at him, jaw slack. 

Did that really all just happen? Did you really just kiss your best friend and like it so badly that you want to do it again?

You’re both breathless, chests heaving like you’ve just run a marathon. And while your jaw may be slack, Silco’s is actually slightly agape, his eyes half-lidded as he stares at you. 

Heart racing, it takes you a few seconds to realise that you have no idea what he’s thinking right now. 

You’ve never seen him look like this before and you’re a bit scared to know what that means. It’s like he’s never seen you before. 

Of course, that’s when the panic starts to set in because, what if you’ve upset him? What if you’ve ruined everything? 

Physically unable to stand the thought, you begin to clamber up from where you’re still straddling his thigh when his hands instinctively dart out to grab your waist, keeping you in place above him. 

You look down in shock and only then does he let you go, almost as quickly as he’d latched on.

Dropping down heavily onto the sofa, you make an attempt to get your breath back, but don’t quite manage to calm your racing heart as you stare at the floor, hands curled around the edge of the cushion below you. 

Usually, round about now, Silco would say something witty, or make fun of you, but instead he’s eerily silent, avoiding eye contact like it’s the plague. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? 

Fuck, you can’t take it anymore. 

“Well, uh, thanks for the lesson,” you say awkwardly, shuffling off the couch and standing up. 

You need to go for a shower or maybe scream into your pillow for a bit. But Silco stops you in your tracks, grabbing your hand before you can barely take a step. 

“I don’t think you should go on your date,” he blurts out, the first thing he’s said in nearly a whole minute. 

Your head swivels to look down at him. 

“What? Why?”

Silco dares to look at you for a scant second before his eyes dart away like he’s embarrassed. He drops your hand, clasping his hands together as if your touch burned him. 

“Uh, ‘cause I need your help putting that shelf up.” 

He nods to the piece of wood currently lying up against the wall across the room, where it’s been for the last six months. 

“And someone needs to be here in case our parcel gets delivered,” he continues. You think he might be trying to look casual, but honestly, the way he keeps running his hands through his hair makes him look more insane by the second. 

You’re so distracted by it, you forget to point out that you haven’t even told him what day you were planning to go on your date. 

“Silco,” you huff, frustrated. “Vander can help you with the shelf and Mrs Oliver can take the parcel if no-one is in.”

You’ve never seen the old lady next door leave the apartment once in your entire time living here. 

“I still think you should stay in,” Silco insists. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air. “Putting up a shelf and taking in a parcel doesn’t take a whole evening!”

His whole body language shifts as he changes tack. 

“Where’s he taking you anyway?” 

“I don’t know, he said it’s a surprise.”

Silco’s response is immediate. 

“That sounds really dodgy,” he exaggerates. “Maybe I should come with you just to be safe.”  

Okay, maybe that’s what this is all about. Maybe he’s just being overprotective and trying to look out for you. You can deal with that. 

“Silco, I’ll be fine, I know how to look after myself,” you try to reassure him. 

“Yeah, but I don’t like the thought of you going somewhere I don’t know with a complete stranger. It’ll be safer if I come as a chaperone, I know how to handle things,” he tries to say wisely. It comes across a little bit smug.  

“You can’t even cook dinner without burning it to a crisp,” you point out. 

“It isn’t burnt to a crisp,” he hisses. “And that was your fault anyway for distracting me.”

Alright, that’s it. 

You put your hands on the back of the sofa and lean over him slowly, Silco mirrors the action as he leans back with you, his eyes widening as his hand clutch the sides of his trousers until his knuckles turn bone white. 

Your voice drops, low and (hopefully) threatening.

“Silco. I don’t care what you say, I’m going on my date. Alone,” you say defiantly. There’s a brief pause where you realise that statement is nonsensical, so you add, “With Seven.”

His awestruck expression melts into a scowl, but you don’t wait for his rebuttal, pushing yourself off the sofa back and straightening up, ready to walk out the room. 

“Where are you going?” Silco calls, slightly breathless for some reason.

“For a shower,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I used up all the hot water,” he says back. 

You’re far too frustrated to think of a reply so instead you just huff and stomp out of the room, leaving him to stare after you, as you wonder what the hell just happened.

[y3ager]

STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

[thesplatterman]

tip tuesday: the flyfish (and how to krill them!)

an overview on the flyfish:

the flyfish is one of, if not, the most hated boss salmonids in the salmon run salmonpedia. this flying smallfry shoots out a total of eight tentamissiles across the map. their armor is impervious to ink and so, must be taken out by the use of bombs chucked into their missile launchers.

method one: the casual (bombs)

the usual method is to obviously chuck bombs at the launchers. be careful as to not get too close or too far away, and get to a high inkable area as to avoid the hordes of salmon by the shoreline. throw your first bomb into the right launcher first, as that launcher directs the person in front of it (or the person closest to it.) refuel and launch the other bomb at the remaining launcher. it can be soloed in one go, but it's better to do it with teammates.

method two: weaponry

certain weapons can help with taking out flyfish faster:

explosher: acts the same as bombs. fire the explosher at the launchers to instantly take them out. repeat the same steps of preparation as the first method for the best results.

grizzco splatana: charge up your weapon to cut through any type of surface. you have to aim upwards and move forward towards the flyfish in order to reach the salmonid inside. you need to fend off salmon and also avoid the sludge water, as the splatana isn't easy to stop.

grizzco slosher: the slosher can penetrate any surface with its slosh. fire at the pilot once to krill the flyfish, but save the other three for salmon population control.

method three: specials

the specials are efficient in krilling most bosses, however they are limited to two a round (excluding the one refill in the xtra rounds) and some don't penetrate the forces.

the specials that can krill flyfish: inkjet, crabtank (both need to be used as explosher), triple inkstrike, kraken (to an extent), triple splashdown(?), killer wail 5.1, booyah bomb

the specials that dont: wave breaker, reefslider

method four: cohock sweep*

cohock rounds are by far the easiest way to take out any type of salmonid, but be careful. you can't dodge missiles while within the cannon. if you aim in the middle of the launchers, you can take out both of them at the same time with one shot. if not, then just aim for one at a time. if you get targeted, run away from the launcher and maybe get some eggs in before going back and manning the launcher.

method five: salmonid treason

flyfish can be killed with other salmonids, although its very rare to do so. one method is to make a slamming lid crash on top of the flyfish by either baiting the slamming lid or splatting the slamming lid. another method is to use good ol' joe and make him eat the flyfish by baiting him near the flyfish. however, you also need to lure the slamming lid close to the flyfish and not get splat by the jets of the flyfish or any other salmonid.

extra tips:

to find a flyfish in the fog, follow where the arrows come from when you're targeted. if you're not targeted, follow the opposite of where the missiles launch are coming from.

to avoid flyfish missiles, hide under grates and other objects. if you can't find a place to hide, swim and dodge the missiles.

each missile reload takes five to seven seconds, depending on if they need to relocate the machine or not to get away from you. mostly they just hover in one place.

with multiple flyfish on the loose, it is recommended to use a killer wail 5.1 special to get rid of all the missiles. you need to get to at least the third round in order to not lose any points.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Even If It's a False God, We'd Still Worship This Love

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 9

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

7k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking, some drunken spiciness, family teasing, very brief uses of my terrible Spanish, lots and lots of pining, angst, Roy is an idiot

A/N: There's a couple of Selena songs in this chapter. I highly recommend these covers, especially while reading!

-I Could Fall in Love

-Dreaming of You

Roy glanced up over the top of his book across the plane. She was curled up in her seat, eyes fixated on the notebook in her hands. They’d both been sleepy as they boarded the plane early that morning, not saying much to each other as they settled in and accepted water bottles from the lone flight attendant.

Initially, the ‘couple’ had sat side-by-side, with the singer dozing off quickly, her head nestled on Roy’s shoulder; he'd heard her get up well past their agreed upon bedtime to go work at her piano until some ungodly hour. While she dozed, Roy reflected on the night before, on the feeling of his breath skimming over her bare skin. Even that brief, barely there contact had been enough to send Roy reeling for the rest of the night. Had she felt his kiss (if he could even call it that)? What was she thinking? Why hadn’t she said anything?

And what the fuck was wrong with Roy?

Eventually, she stirred, offering Roy a sheepish grin when she realized she’d been using him as a pillow. Some little part of him wanted to assure her she was fine, she could sleep on him whenever she wanted, hell she could lean on him while she was awake if she wanted. He was half tempted to wrap an arm around her and tug her back to himself- and not for the benefit of the flight attendant who smiled knowingly at the pair.

Instead, Roy watched as the singer had settled herself in a window seat across the jet, scribbling furiously and hardly paying any attention to Roy. Roy, meanwhile, had hardly absorbed a word of his book. He wondered what she was writing and, more importantly, who she was writing about. Curiosity, he assured himself as his eyes darted back to the words currently swimming on the page. It was simple curiosity. Same thing that made him try to kiss her neck. He cringed internally at the memory.

“What’s up with you?”

Oh shit. Maybe his cringe wasn’t completely internal. “Fuck d’you mean?” Roy grumbled, trying to act like his usual aloof self, the self he realized he had been acting like less and less lately.

She cocked her head at him. “You’re making this weird face.” She smirked. “Dreading having to meet my folks, Kent?”

Alright. So, either she had no idea he’d tried to kiss her, or she decided to pretend it never happened. Either way, Roy decided to shift focus. “What’re you working on over there, sunshine? Something about me?” He hoped his voice was light and teasing; ever since their holiday at the lake, he was desperate to get back to that joking, playful place they’d finally gotten to.

Even though her eyes went wide and she clutched the notebook to her chest, Roy definitely caught the way the corner of her mouth ticked upwards. “No previews,” she chucked. “But when this one’s done…” Her gaze turned warm. “You’ll be the first one to hear it, Roycito.”

~

My heart skipped a beat as I glanced across the backseat at Roy. During our flight, he’d been content to read and watch movies; in between, he’d teased me about whatever I was writing and tried to sneak peeks. Now, he sat facing the window of the SUV that had picked us up at the airport, fingers drumming on his good knee. As if he could feel my gaze, he glanced over at me and cocked an eyebrow.

“All good, sunshine?”

Hmm, I thought sarcastically, let’s see. You gave me a thoughtful gift and tried to kiss my neck, didn’t say a word about it and then accused me of not liking your admittedly super sweet and gorgeous ex-girlfriend. You’re about to meet my entire family, and oh, yeah, I am desperately in love with you. Yeah, everything’s definitely all good, Kent.

Instead of blurting out the word vomit in my brain, I simply shrugged at Roy. “Just a little nervous about introducing you to my parents,” I murmured, turning to look out my own window. “But it’ll be fine,” I assured him. “Just be yourself.” Deciding we needed to ease the tension in the car, I turned back to him and raised a cool eyebrow. “Or maybe a better version of yourself,” I teased.

That did it. Roy cracked a smile and reached across the seat to shove my thigh gently. “Fuck off,” he growled, totally unaware of the way his touch sent my heart into overdrive- especially when he left his hand there for the rest of the drive.

Neither of us said another word until the car pulled up in front of the house- the one gift my parents had ever accepted from me- and I laid my hand on top of Roy’s. With a deep breath, I hummed, “Showtime.”

I clutched Roy’s hand in mine as we entered the house; despite my hammering heart, the sight had my shoulders relaxing immediately. Although this wasn’t the house I’d grown up in, it was filled with all the furniture, photographs, and nicknacks from my childhood. It was warm and familiar, like the old blanket that I still kept folded neatly at the end of my bed in England. Roy blinked as he took in the sight of my childhood photos, the ones that featured embarrassing haircuts and ice cream-covered smiles.

“Ma!” I called as I tugged him towards the kitchen. “Dad!”

In a blur of squeals and Spanglish, I was wrapped in the most familiar arms in the world and enveloped in the ever-present scent of rose perfume. My mother squeezed me tight, too excited to decide if she wanted to chatter away in English or Spanish. When she finally let me go, I saw the soft look in Roy’s eyes, the look I sometimes spotted when he thought I wasn’t looking. Offering my shyest smile, I took his hand and tugged him close.

“This is Roy,” I said simply, ignoring the gnawing voices reminding me that this would be the only time my family would meet the footballer; the next time I came home, this fake relationship would be nothing but a distant memory.

“Mucho gusto,” Roy said, his voice dripping with uncertainty.

Despite the years of being on me and my siblings about our broken Spanish and imperfect accents, my mother fawned over the four stiff little syllables Roy offered. She pulled him into a hug, chattering about how nice it was to meet him, how handsome he was, until finally, the expected question flew out of her mouth:

“Are you hungry, Roy?”

Clearly remembering my warnings, Roy simply smiled and nodded; even if he said no, she’d make him a plate anyway. So, he allowed himself to be led to the dining room table that was older than both of us and plopped down in what was usually my seat. I sat beside him and laid my hand on top of this.

“Mucho gusto?” I teased as my mother began scurrying around to load a plate of rice and chicken. “I didn’t know you knew Spanish, Kent. I guess I should’ve asked.”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards. “I… asked Rojas to teach me a couple things,” he admitted quietly. “Nothing to brag about, just a few things to impress your parents.” He winked. “Plus all the good swear words.”

My heart slammed against my chest as Roy thanked my mother for the food she set in front of him. He learned Spanish, I thought dreamily. For me.

Before I could linger too long on those words, my father ambled in, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his face. Roy was immediately on his feet, extending his hand towards my dad.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Roy said after I’d made introductions. Something told me Roy Kent didn’t often call people ‘sir’.

“Nice to finally meet you, Roy,” my father hummed. He turned to me with a hug that, while not as smothering as my mother’s, was just as warm. “Mi Estrella,” he murmured as he squeezed me tight.

When he let me go, Roy was looking at me with curiosity. “Estrella?” he repeated quietly.

I nodded. “My dad’s nickname for me,” I explained. “It means star.” I grinned at my dad. “He says that ever since I was a little girl, he knew I was going to be a star someday.”

“Guess I should start calling you starshine instead of sunshine,” Roy joked with a wink.

While Roy continued eating, my parents gushed over the details of my niece’s quinceañera, about the venue and the dress and how beyond stressed my sister was.

“I’ve got to go help your brother find a new jacket,” my dad grumbled to me with a wrinkled nose. “Leave it to my sons to leave everything until the last minute.” He eyed Roy carefully. “Want to come, Roy?”

Roy nearly choked on the last bits of rice as he turned to me. “Er…”

I shrugged. “If you want to,” I said. I laid my hand on top of his. “It might be fun.”

His shoulders relaxed as he looked down at our hands. “Sure,” he murmured. “Might be fun.”

~

Como la flor

Con tanto amor

Me diste tú, se marchitó

Me marcho hoy, yo sé perder

I closed my eyes and swayed my hips as I clutched my pastry blender in my hand, mixing the ingredients in the glass bowl on the counter. With Roy out with my father and brothers, I decided to enjoy some rare alone time in my L.A. home, in the kitchen I used all too rarely. Music blasting, cookies baking- just like when I was a teenager in my grandmother's kitchen, dreaming of the day I’d be as famous as the singers I listened to.

“Are you making cookies?”

Roy stood in the doorway, twirling a set of keys around his finger; I recognized the keychain my mother kept around her copy of my housekey so she could check on the house while I was gone, despite my insistence that I could hire someone to do it for me.

He stepped closer, eying the dough I’d been working on. “Your dad just dropped me off,” he explained. “Hope that’s alright.”

I nodded and continued mixing my dough. “Of course,” I assured him. “You have fun?”

“Believe it or not, I did.” Roy chuckled and took his phone out of his pocket. “It was your dad and your brother and a couple of your uncles, just shopping and fucking about. They’re actually pretty cool.”

“Please don’t tell them that,” I snorted. “They’d never shut up if they thought a professional athlete called them ‘cool’.”

Roy grinned and showed me some photos of him and the men in my family, screwing around the way they always did; he was smiling and laughing the way he did when we were alone. “We had a good time,” he said, sounding even more surprised than I felt. “I’m… actually looking forward to the party tomorrow.” He nodded towards the speaker my music was playing from. “This the kind of stuff they’ll be playing?”

I nodded, suddenly excited. “Oh, definitely. It’s not a party without our queen.” When I saw his puzzled expression, I went on, “This is Selena. She’s one of my heroes.”

“Like Linda Ronstadt?”

His response was so effortless and automatic I nearly flinched. Part of me couldn’t believe he remembered the offhand comment I’d made about my childhood hero; another part of me wasn’t surprised at all that Roy Kent would be so damn thoughtful.

“Yeah,” I breathed, nodding. “Like Linda Ronstadt.” I cleared my throat. “You ever dance cumbia before, Kent?”

“This is cumbia, I assume?” he asked with a smirk. When I nodded, he shook his head. “No, never danced cumbia.”

Without thinking, I held my hand out to him. “You should practice,” I teased with a quirked eyebrow. “Otherwise, you’re going to embarrass me in front of my whole family, and then I’m going to have to fake breakup with you already.”

Roy let out a playful scoff, matched by those familiar rolling eyes. “I know how to fucking dance,” he huffed, taking my hand nonetheless. “We’ve danced plenty of times.”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “That was at clubs. You weren’t dancing, you stood there while I danced on you. You’re welcome for the experience, by the way,” I joked, deflecting from the thoughts I had about dancing so close to Roy. “But for this, you need to actually dance. Move your feet.” I swayed my hips dramatically. “Move your hips.”

Roy’s eyes were glued to my hips in a way that had my face burning. “Hips,” he echoed absently. He gave a little cough. “Like this?” He attempted to swing his hips the way I had but wasn’t quite smooth enough. He rolled his eyes, clearly aware of how awkward he looked. “Alright,” he conceded. “I could use some fucking practice.”

Placing both hands on his hips, I pressed myself a smidge closer to him. “Come on, Kent. You’ve got this.”

He watched my hands, my feet, my hips as we moved to the song, the one I’d been singing and dancing to my whole life. I hummed along, nodding when I saw him begin to relax and feel the rhythm. As his confidence clearly grew, he reached down and took my hands from his hips, holding them in that now familiar warm grip. From there, his eyes never left mine, carrying that intensity that I saw in my dreams every night now. Without warning, he gave me a tentative little spin, causing me to squeal in surprise.

“You’re a fast learner,” I teased as one Selena song gave way to another. “First the piano, now cumbia. Are you trying to come for my job, Kent?”

Roy offered a pleased little chuckle and whirled me in another spin, smoother now. “I must have a good teacher,” he hummed. He brought his free hand to my waist and tugged me close as we continued to dance around the kitchen. “You ever think about how, somewhere out there, some kid is dancing ’round her kitchen to your music, dreaming of being like you?”

For the first time in years, my feet stumbled off-beat. He meant it. Roy meant what he said. Even if I didn’t know him as a genuine person, I could see it in his soft eyes. It felt like a punch to the butterflies in my stomach every time I caught glimpses of that kind, authentic guy, the one I wished I could bring home to see my parents over and over and dance with in my kitchen all the time and kiss in private.

Beep! Beep!

The sound of the oven brought me back to reality, prompting me to take a step back from Roy and drop his hand. “That batch is done,” I blurted out. “I, uh, promised my sister I’d make some cookies for tomorrow, for this giant dessert table she’s doing. So, I’ll be in here all night.”

Roy nodded slowly, taking in my rushed explanation. “Right. You’re really good at baking, right? I remember reading that somewhere.” When all I did was nod, he shrugged. “Lemme go grab a book, I can hang out here while you work. Is that alright?”

My eyes fluttered as I tried not to dwell on the idea of Roy reading about me and remembering the details, the way he’d remembered Linda Ronstadt. “Sure, Roy. If you want to.”

He shrugged, the smallest smile on his lips. “I want to,” he assured me.

Roy came back quickly and settled himself at my kitchen table with one of the million books he’d brought with him. He didn’t say much, but he nodded along to the music and offered me tiny smiles whenever our eyes met. And for the rest of the night, I let myself live in a little fantasy, one where, after a night of baking as he relaxed with a book, we could head to bed together, and I could sleep in his arms instead of down the hall.

~

“Hey, Roy?”

Roy looked up from his book. Those familiar pretty eyes gazed at him from the doorway to the guest room, where he had settled in the night before. She cleared her throat and shifted her weight, something clearly on her mind. Behind her back, he spotted a guitar in her hands, an old, worn one, different from the shiny ones she kept around her London home. Probably from the early days of her career, he pondered as he appreciated the way the morning light caught the smooth surface.

Her smile was soft and timid, reminding him of the time they’d spent together on their holiday; so different from the glittering, shiny popstar he thought he’d be spending time with and, somehow, even more lovely than the glamorous celebrity the rest of the world got to see on red carpets and onstage. She was real like this, in jeans and no makeup and that tiny, infectious grin that made her eyes sparkle.

“You wanna hear that song I was writing on the plane? I finished it.”

He hoped the way he hopped off the bed was enough of a yes for her. He followed her down the stairs and through the house, out the back door and into the garden. She plopped down, gesturing for Roy to sit in the grass beside her. As she took out her phone and began tapping away, Roy couldn’t help but smile at the serious look on her face.

When she looked up and saw that smile, she wrinkled her nose playfully. “Don’t laugh,” she chided lightly. “I know I’m being dramatic, making you come outside and all, but trust me. This song needs to be played out here.”

Immediately, Roy shook his head. “No fucking laughing,” he promised.

As if he could ever laugh at her.

Nodding at Roy’s promise, she positioned her guitar on her lap, balancing her phone on her knee. Roy snapped a quick photo before stuffing his mobile back into his pocket; Keeley had texted him that morning to remind him about posting photos from this little trip. But he didn’t want to focus on Instagram or publicity right now. No, he wanted to hear this song, the one he’d be the very first person to hear.

She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath before she began strumming the guitar, creating a homey melody that nestled itself deep in Roy’s chest. She was right, he realized immediately; this song was meant for the outdoors.

Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?

I'm not cut out for all these cynical clones

These hunters with cell phones

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I'm setting off, but not without my muse

A lump formed in Roy’s throat; her voice was a smidge lower than usual, thick with longing. It was heavy, and so beautiful. He’d heard so much of her music over the last few months, including songs that had truly touched his grouchy heart, but this was different. The song felt so heavy, filled with something he couldn’t place his finger on.

What should be over burrowed under my skin

In heart-stopping waves of hurt

I've come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze

Tell me what are my words worth

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I'm setting off, but not without my muse

Her eyes alternated between closing and focusing on her phone and gazing out into the garden, lit with the late morning sun. Some part of Roy wanted to take a million photos and videos of this moment, of how beautiful and vulnerable and sunlit she was, pictures that would surely thrill their publicists, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Her song had cast a spell on him, and he was in no rush to break it.

I want auroras and sad prose

I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet

'Cause I haven't moved in years

Her eyes flickered to his, something he hadn’t realized he was craving, holding his gaze steadily as she continued to sing-

And I want you right here

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground

With no one around to tweet it

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

Roy couldn’t help but crack a smile at the way her mouth ticked up in the corner at the word calamitous. He remembered the night of their first sleepover, playing Scrabble and refusing to believe it was a real word. One of her favorite words, he recalled. One she was dying to put into a song, but it had to be the right song.

This song. A song he got to pretend was about him.

And somewhere, deep inside his chest, in a place he refused to explore, Roy suddenly felt a sharp pang wishing that he wasn’t pretending. Somewhere deep and buried, Roy wished he could stand up with pride and tell everyone around him that this song, this beautiful, poetic, stunning song was about him, Roy Kent. He’d never fucking shut up about it if it was.

Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I'm setting off, but not without my muse

No, not without you

No, not without you

A few strums of the guitar guided Roy back to reality, to a timid smile that was waiting for him to share his thoughts. And this time, unlike the other times, Roy was determined not to fuck this moment up. He licked his lip and shook his head with the softest sigh.

“That,” he murmured, “might be my fucking favorite song, sunshine.”

Her smile widened, glowing with pride as she took in his words. “Mine too, Kent,” she hummed. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I was debating having the whole strings and drums thing, or if-”

“Just the guitar.” Roy was surprised by his own audacity. He shook his head. “Promise me you won’t change a fucking thing. Because that was magical.”

“Just the guitar,” she repeated, her fingers gliding over the smooth wood of the instrument. “Alright, Kent.” She winked at him. “Maybe I’ll have to give you a producer credit or something for your input,” she joked.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with just pretending to be your muse.” He smirked, pretending the idea wasn’t gnawing at him.

Instead of laughing along, she cocked her head at him, her eyes filled with racing thoughts. Roy’s heart stuttered, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing, if he’d gone and ruined what he had to admit was one of the most tranquil moments of his normally unruly life. But before she could share whatever thought was going on in that pretty little mind he admired so much, her phone vibrated, nearly falling off her knee. She broke eye contact- and that spell Roy had been under from the first note she played- and glanced down at the lit-up screen.

“My sister,” she grunted, declining the call. She sighed and looked back at Roy, the sparkle gone from her eyes now. “We should head on in and start getting ready,” she announced. Some of the happiness returned to her face as she smirked at him. “You ready for your first quinceañera?”

Roy chuckled and stood, offering her his hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s fucking do it.”

~

Originally, the idea of bringing Roy Kent to my niece’s quince had, to put it plainly, horrified me. Bringing that surly, swearing, grump of a man to such an important family event sounded like a nightmare. Even after discovering the Roy that had become my friend and- fine­- my crush, I was still nervous about introducing him to the most important people in my life, the people who had supported and encouraged me, who sacrificed to make all my dreams come true. Would they like him? I had wondered. And some small, insecure part of me had also wondered- Would he like them?

Every single one of those worries was shattered as I watched Roy interact with my family. He used the short phrases Dani had taught him on my tíos and tías, bringing surprised smiles to the faces of my uncles and aunts who rarely got to meet the men I ran around with. He greeted my brothers with firm handshakes, laughing about the previous day’s outing like they were old friends, as though he was just any old boyfriend of their younger sister and not a soccer legend dating a professional singer. He took selfies with my way too bold cousins and easily sidestepped the flirting of some of their nervier girlfriends, who would then turn around to let me know how much they loved my music and how expensive tickets for my concerts were; the laughter in Roy’s eyes made the irritating interactions worth it.

But, best of all, he treated my nieces and nephews with the same enthusiasm I had seen him have with Phoebe. He listened intently as the boys chattered on about their favorite teams and asked incessant questions about his career and the players he knew; he even managed to talk about Jamie Tartt without swearing. Even more endearing was the way he allowed my three-year-old niece to lead him by the hand to the dessert table and point out all the treats she wanted him to hand to her.

And the black ensemble he wore- which he admitted Keeley and Dani had put together for him- didn’t hurt either, with the top buttons of his shirt undone just so and the pants that fit far too perfectly to be fair.

As I pondered the sight of him taking selfies with my oldest niece and her friends, my sister sidled up, that familiar knowing smile on her face.

“I thought he was supposed to be a grouch,” she teased, nodding towards the smirking coach.

“Believe me, he is,” I chuckled, unable to suppress my grin as I thought about the swears and eyerolls I now thought of as oddly charming. “But he’s also… nice.” I didn’t know what else to say as she raised an eyebrow at me.

Finally, she just wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “That’s good,” she said. “You deserve nice, cariño. Mom and Pop, they’re so tired of seeing the rock stars and the bad boys. They want to see you happy, with someone who cares about you.” She squeezed me close, knocking her hip to mine, the way she did when we were children. “Does Roy care about you?”

It was such a loaded question. Yes, Roy and I were friends now, and he was one of the most protective and supportive people I had in my life, something I felt truly grateful for. But the kisses and affection and the sparkling looks he gave me, they were all for show, for the cameras, for the job. My heart was heavy every time I remembered that all of this, like every relationship I’d had, would end, leaving me once again with nothing but a broken heart and inspiration for sad songs that the internet would both love and mock me for.

But then those brown eyes found mine, and that smirk became a wide grin, and I felt myself melt into my sister’s embrace.

Even if it wasn’t the way I wanted, I knew I could answer her question truthfully-

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Roy really cares about me.”

~

Roy tried to remember the last time he’d had so much fun at a party. He was grateful for his kitchen dance lessons, because he found himself gravitating towards his fake girlfriend, wanting to dance close to her to the music that pulsated through every inch of his body.

She was glittering, magical, as she danced under the party lights, moving her hips even more fluidly than she had in the kitchen the night before. Her hair, her makeup, that fucking dress- everything about her was stunning. Roy marveled at how easily she glided back and forth between looking like home in her jeans and sweatshirts and looking like a goddess in dresses and heels.

Her eyes were bright as she pressed her body close to his, laughing as she sang along to the song he didn’t understand a word of. He probably could have stayed on the dance floor all night, admiring her and doing his best to keep up with her dreamy moves. Roy was something close to disappointed when she tugged his hand and pulled him over to their table, where a few of her family members sat drinking and chattering.

“I’ll be back,” she promised over the music, pressing a kiss to Roy’s cheek.

Roy must have had more shots than he’d counted, he figured. That had to be why he reflexively turned his head to steal a kiss, probably deeper than he should have in front of her brothers, he admitted. But fuck, her lips just felt so soft against his cheek; how was he supposed to resist?

When he pulled back, she blinked at him before offering a tiny smile. “Don’t miss me too much.” With a light touch to his shoulder, she was gone.

“Really?” her oldest brother scoffed, giving Roy a playful shove. “We’re right here, man. You’re going to lose all those points you’ve earned with your shitty Spanish.”

Roy let out a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry,” he apologized, clearly not meaning it.

Her brother shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We just like seeing her happy.” He nodded to the stage, where the DJ was setting up a lone microphone. “Did she tell you what song she’s doing?”

“What song?” Roy repeated incredulously.

“She always sings a little something when we have big parties,” her dad explained from Roy’s other side. “Almost always a Selena song, usually ‘Dreaming of You’. It’s always been one of her favorite songs.” He beamed with that pride only a parent could have. “She sings it beautifully.”

Roy sat up as he watched her climb the stage, that old guitar in hand. “I bet she does,” he murmured, more to himself.

The teenagers on the dance floor shrieked with excitement as she approached the microphone, her bashful expression nothing short of lovely. The birthday girl, in her big poofy dress that Roy couldn’t believe she could walk in, was pushed to the front of the crowd, beaming up at her aunt expectantly; clearly, she had been looking forward to this part of her party.

“So, someone’s been spreading a rumor that I like to sing,” the popstar joked, winking at her niece. “So I’d like to sing a little something for my beautiful niece. Happy birthday, mijita.” She blew a kiss to the birthday girl before strumming her guitar and taking a deep breath, preparing to sing, the way she had in the garden that morning.

Late at night when all the world is sleeping

I stay up and think of you

And I wish on a star

That somewhere you are thinking of me too

Her eyes found Roy’s, immediately softening and sparkling as she continued in that voice wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of.

'Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight

'Til tomorrow

I'll be holding you tight

And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be

Than here in my room

Dreaming about you and me

Wonder if you ever see me

And I wonder if you know I'm there

If you looked in my eyes

Would you see what's inside?

Would you even care?

I just wanna hold you close

But so far

All I have are dreams of you

So I wait for the day and the courage to say

How much I love you, yes I do

Eyes closed, she leaned back from the microphone and continued strumming on the guitar, the tune shifting into something different, but just as soft and wistful. Out of the corner of his eye, Roy caught flashes of confusion on her family’s faces, their expressions telling him that this wasn’t her usual performance.

When her eyes opened, she winked at her still beaming niece before looking back at Roy, her gaze aflame with something he couldn’t quite name.

I could lose my heart tonight

If you don't turn and walk away

'Cause the way I feel I might

Lose control and let you stay

'Cause I could take you in my arms

And never let go

I could fall in love with you

I could fall in love with you

Her brother leaned close to Roy and murmured, “This is new. Usually she just does ‘Dreaming of You’ and that’s it.” He nudged Roy pointedly. “Three guesses who inspired the change,” he teased.

All Roy could do was chuckle awkwardly and shrug, unable to tear his eyes from the singer as she sang, her voice thick with emotion, as though the song was made for her.

I can only wonder how

Touching you would make me feel

But if I take that chance right now

Tomorrow will you want me still?

So I should keep this to myself

And never let you know

I could fall in love with you

I could fall in love with you

And I know it's not right

And I guess I should try to do what I should do

But I could fall in love, fall in love with you

I could fall in love with you

She played the outro to massive applause, especially from the teenagers on the dance floor. She leaned down from the stage to hug the birthday girl tightly and blow kisses to the young people screaming her name. She practically floated offstage and back to Roy, who stood up so he could wrap her in a hug.

“That was beautiful,” he gushed. “Seriously, you’re fucking amazing.”

“Anything for Roy Kent,” her older sister called out in a mocking voice, sounding like some sort of inside joke Roy didn’t quite get.

The sour face she made at her sister told Roy that yes, there was a joke happening. “Just be glad I’m not charging you for the performance,” she quipped. She turned her attention back to Roy, offering him that beaming smile.

“You ever think of doing an all-acoustic album?” he blurted out without thinking. “Just… that song you played this morning, and then this…” He shook his head. “It’d be fucking amazing. Just you and your guitar. It's fucking magic.”

She studied him for a moment, looking like she wasn’t quite sure what to say. Finally, and reached down and took his hand in hers. “Come on, Kent,” she chuckled. “Let’s get you a drink and you can try to become my new producer.”

~

I giggled as Roy and I stumbled through the front door after waving off my driver. After my Selena mashup, we joined my siblings and cousins in multiple rounds of shots, filling the night with laughter and joyful shouts. Now, at nearly two in the morning, the two of us staggered into my house, Roy’s arm wrapped loosely around my shoulders as he hummed the song that had been playing in the car before we got out.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he sang, his voice gruff and off-key. “The downtown lights.”

Once we managed to make it upstairs, I pulled him into a tight hug. “Thanks for tonight, Kent,” I murmured. “You were the perfect boyfriend.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “For you, sunshine? Anytime.” He gave me a small squeeze before pulling away and taking a backwards step towards his room, down the hall from mine. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I echoed, watching his receding figure before ducking into my own bedroom. Once inside, I kicked off the ridiculously high heels I’d been stupid enough to dance in and removed my jewelry. Impatient to get some pajamas on, I reached for the zipper on my dress so I could take it off and leave it in some corner instead of hanging it up like a civilized popstar would.

Too bad I couldn’t reach the damn zipper.

“Fuck,” I hissed, wondering how the heck I’d managed to get dressed. Right, I reminded myself: I’d changed at my mother’s so I could get ready with my sister and niece. One of them had zipped me up.

Too tired and drunk to feel embarrassed or timid, I yanked my bedroom door open and poked my head into the hallway. The light coming out from under the guest room door told me that Roy was still up.

“Kent!” I whined.

From the other side of the door, I heard a grumbled, “Yeah?”

Pouting for an invisible audience, I shouted back, “Come help me with my zipper.” Without waiting for an answer, I turned back to my room.

I could hear the long sigh from his room, but, sure enough, his door opened. I heard his footsteps approach slowly. When I glanced over my shoulder, Roy was in the doorway, already changed into the plain t-shirt he usually wore to bed. My skin warmed at the sight of his boxers, but I waved him over, pretending to be much more casual than my racing heart felt.

His fingers were warm on my back as he found my zipper, reminding me of when he’d put the Scrabble necklace around my neck; I wondered if he could feel me shiver at his touch and the memory. Slowly, he guided the zipper down, down to where it ended just above the curve of my ass, exposing my bare back.

Roy could have left, right then and there. He could have turned and walked out, grumbled a tipsy goodnight, and returned to his room. That was what I fully expected him to do.

Instead, when I turned my head to thank him for his help, his hand hovered over my shoulder as he stared at me with wide eyes. With a visible gulp, he took the shoulder of my dress between his fingers and tugged it down deliberately, as though waiting for me to tell him to stop, to ask what he was doing, to order him back to his room. Rather than do any of those things, I let him slowly guide the dress down my shoulders until it fell in a puddle at my feet, leaving me in only my panties and bra.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, eyes on my lips. “Really fucking beautiful.”

Before I could think of a single word to say, Roy crashed his mouth into mine, hungry and reckless. I quickly turned my body to face him, to press myself against him and wrap my arms around his shoulders. He groaned into the kiss and slid his hands down to my ass, just like he had that day at the lake. My desperation for him finally winning, I reached down to the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor carelessly. He reattached his mouth to mine seamlessly and began urging me towards my bed.

I tugged him along until we were both horizontal, mouths and hands everywhere, soft groans filling the silent room. Something hard pressed against me deliciously, even harder than that afternoon making out in front of the paparazzi.

My heart soared when I remembered that there was no paparazzi, no audience. This was just me and Roy, in my bed, touching each other because we meant it. I pulled him closer, feeling like finally, finally, I’d done the impossible and caught lightning in a bottle. Maybe, just maybe, I had found that love I’d spent my whole life singing and dreaming about.

Roy’s hands felt like home and his lips tasted like paradise as I began to squirm beneath him, appreciative of the friction he gave me. We could go back to London together, I thought as my hands wandered down those perfect arms, arms I dreamt about each night. Every love song on my tour would be for him. Hell, I could tell him that my new album really was for him. This wouldn’t have to end, my soaring heart thought. We could stay like this, me and my muse-

“Fuck.”

The curse that hissed past the lips I was kissing froze my movements. I pulled back, eying Roy’s flushed face and feeling his ragged breath against my own.

“Something wrong?” I breathed, begging him to say no. Begging him to stay.

Of course, he didn’t say no. He didn’t stay. Instead, he climbed off me and off my bed, shaking his head sadly.

“I’m sorry.”

That was it. Two words. Two little words and he’d sent me back to that place I’d been so many times, that place of loneliness and doubt. Without looking back at me, he walked towards the door, pausing only to pick up his shirt and tug it back over his head. He closed the door quietly behind him, leaving me alone.

The sound of footsteps trudging downstairs finally had me able to move. I tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack, revealing Roy hurrying down. His footsteps made a beeline for my backdoor, which quickly opened and shut.

Part of me wanted to run after him, to demand to know what had just happened and what it meant. To beg him to come back upstairs and try to love me. Please.

But for once, I didn’t. I wanted Roy Kent to choose me, and I wasn’t going to beg. Not this time. This time, I turned off the light and crawled back into bed. The memory of his hands and his lips played over and over again in my head until, finally, I drifted to sleep.

~

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme@alicedsworld@222333777@thegivenvoid @tortilla-maria1 @treblebeth @maackiimoo

[wttcsms]

love cuts just like a knife (you make the knife feel so good) ; phillip graves

pairing phillip graves x f!reader word count 8.4k synopsis lover and victim are synonymous when it comes to those who fall into phillip graves’ trap. you learn this lesson a little bit too late. alternatively: an ambitious twenty-five year old graves will do anything for recognition and a promotion. even using you, a renowned general’s daughter, as a means to an end. collateral damage is insignificant when it comes to reaping the rewards of love and war, after all. content contains age gap (reader is 19, phillip is 25), manipulation, loss of virginity, possessive sex, possessive!phillip, lovers to enemies, naive + inexperienced!reader, mentions of pregnancy, power imbalance, breeding kink, minor depictions of violence + blood, literally heavily inspired by taylor swift’s “all too well (10 min version)” + “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve” </3

The four walls of this bathroom are closing in on you, you can’t breathe, and you’re certain that this most certainly is the end of the fucking world.

You try to focus on your breathing, but the sound of your heart banging against your chest invades your mind and makes you think your eardrums are going to burst from the inside out. You’re vaguely aware of the knocks against the bathroom door, but you can’t make out what the person on the other side is saying. The whole room is spinning, and you shut your eyes, forcing yourself to keep steady, to stay calm.

Your fingers curl around the countertop of the bathroom, back hunched over and your shaky arms being the only things helping you remain upright.

This can’t be happening.

You only tighten your grip, staring at your fingers before wanting to throw up when the light reflection from the promise ring on your finger catches your eyes.

You swear that in the glint from the thin band wrapped around your finger, you see flashes of what transpired these past few months. Secret smiles shared from across the room, being tangled up in hotel bedsheets, that damn smirk and boyish grin that sent you spiraling, that led to your’s — your whole entire family’s — demise.

It all comes back to you at too much of a rapid-fire pace for your already shattered mind to deal with properly. Instead, you’re practically ripping off the ring from your finger and chucking it somewhere in the bathroom. You hear the distinct sound of its landing, and from the corner of your eye, it still taunts you.

You shut your eyes again, childishly refusing to turn your head any further so you can conveniently ignore what the ring happened to land next to.

You don’t care much for violence.

Which is ironic; a renowned general’s only daughter being a pacifist? Sounds more like the setup for a joke.

But there’s nothing funny about the way his knuckles are smeared with dried blood, and the sincerity reflected in his blue eyes is too real to be just a joke. Dangling from in between his fingers is the unmistakable golden locket your mother gifted to you when you were only twelve — just months before her quick death. It’s your most prized possession.

And then it was stolen.

At least, you think it was stolen. You’re smart enough to know better than to throw wild accusations, especially whenever you’re on base and these young men surrounding you are training to be the best and brightest for the country. But still — you’re not careless enough to just misplace something so important. The only reason you took it off was because your father told you jewelry wouldn’t be allowed past a certain point. He had promised that the locker would be secure, and you didn’t have the heart to come running to him to tell him that the lockers evidently were not. After watching a fighter jet’s practice run (a supposed special treat for graduating top of your high school class — neverminding the fact that your father’s influence probably had something to do with it), the door to your locker had been swung open and left entirely empty.

You even had a sneaking suspicion as to who the culprit could have been. Jeremy Omelia has been a pain in your ass since summer break started, and you’ve been forced to spend most of your time either on the training base or following your dad around like some little puppy. He’s a new recruit, evident in the way he talks loudly and obnoxiously about how badly he wants to go to war. Your father, a highly respected general, mind you, isn’t shy about his distaste for fighting.

Avoid it at all costs.

Instead of hardening him, all the violence your father has beared witness to has left him rather soft. He shields you to the point where some of his fellow men jokingly discuss about you living in your own little bubble world. And they’re right.

You’ve never had the luxury of sneaking out or having movie dates and getting your father to allow you to go to a sleepover at a classmate’s was harder and less painful than pulling teeth. You get it; that he’s overbearing and overprotective for a good reason. But when the situation calls for you to stand your ground, you find yourself completely at the mercy of your opposition.

So when you first accused Jeremy of stealing your beloved necklace, it had been nothing short of a miserable, failed mission. Too overwhelmed and yet too unsure of yourself, you had practically stuttered through your accusation. It hadn’t helped that you chose to confront him in front of the rest of the new recruits, too. They would have mocked you and probably teased you with the type of cruelty only boys are capable of, but the status of your father shields you from it. Their laughter still rings in your ears, though.

And for the first time in your life, you felt the urge to punch someone in the face.

Again: you’re not a very violent person. Nor are you the type of person who jumps in and does stuff as irrational as that.

But staring up at the boy in front of you, locking eyes with him, and then allowing yours to wander from his bloody knuckles to the thin gold chain dangling in his large hands, you feel a sudden surge of satisfaction. Your father may tell you to avoid fighting at all costs, and you may have a distaste for violence, but a punch managed to solve all your problems.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, daring to take a step forward. Your fingers graze against the familiar, cold feeling of the gold of your necklace. “Thank you.” You repeat it again, staring up at him, trying to see if you know him at all.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, knowing that he’s lying right through his pearly white teeth. It’s a nasty habit of his — lying, that is. It’s probably inherited. That’s the excuse he tells himself anyway. As if unlearning bad behaviors from your family is impossible.

“I know he stole it! That jerk! I—” You pause, clearing your throat. Your cheeks feel warm, and you suddenly can’t look him in the eyes. “That jerk” is probably one of his bunkmates. Badmouthing the guy might do more harm than good, and since you haven’t necessarily regained possession of your necklace, you should shut up. Instead of finishing your onslaught of insults, you stretch out your palm, silently asking for your prized possession back.

“I know.” He says, after a minute of silence. “Omelia’s a dick. And an idiot. Y’know, I think he has a little crush on you.”

That makes you look at him again.

“That’s— I—” You need a second to process what you’re trying to tell him.

“That can’t be true,” is what you lamely settle for.

“Guys do weird shit to get a girl’s attention, y’know. ‘Specially for a pretty one.”

(Things like getting their knuckles bloody and risking punishment and public humiliation. But, that’s neither here nor there.)

You want to blame your inexperience for being the reason why you react the way you do. You’re thankful that he’s only human and can’t hear the way your heart starts to beat at his comment. He says it so casually, as if it’s not a compliment. And maybe he doesn’t mean it in that way. Maybe it wasn’t a compliment towards you at all. Maybe he’s just being a completely normal guy, and he’s just making simple conversation, and you’re the weird one for practically gawking at him.

“I guess.” You reply back, feeling small as ever. “May I have my necklace back, now? Please?” You tack on the please at the last minute, hoping he’ll appreciate it, and the two of you can be done with this whole entire awkward situation.

“Depends. You gonna get it stolen from you again?”

You know he’s just teasing you, but you can’t think of anything smart to say back, so you just cross your arms, hoping your distaste for his comment will be made known. Instead of apologizing, he laughs.

“Turn around.” He tells you, and you do. Only out of curiosity, though. Only because he has a nice laugh. Only because he obviously went through great lengths to retrieve your necklace back for you, and he never acknowledged your thank you’s, so maybe doing what he says will make the two of you even.

The tips of his fingers brush against the nape of your neck, and you never realized just how sensitive you are. It takes everything in you to not jerk away from the movement, but it’s almost as if he’s shocked you. It’s silly to get overwhelmed from just the slightest touch, but you swallow hard as he manuevers around your hair to clasp the necklace around your neck.

“There.” He says, seemingly satisfied. “Now the next time someone takes it from you, at least you’ll have a solid look at ‘em yanking the chain around your neck so your accusation can have some credibility.”

You ignore his little teasing remark in favor of satiating your curiosity. “Who are you?”

“No one you need to worry too much about.”

You turn your head, ready to face him again and ask him for his name more firmly, but he’s already walking back from wherever he’s came from, leaving nothing but the memory of his face and the ghost of his touch lingering on the back of your neck.

Ambition is a curse.

Ambition is a bitch.

At least, that’s how Phillip Graves sees it. Ambition and the greed to do something more, to always have the best — sure, it motivates him to be the top of his class and to rise through the ranks faster than most. But it also ends up resulting in him doing some pretty questionable shit.

Things like beating up fellow recruits.

He doesn’t like fighting.

Or rather, he doesn’t like to be the first one to swing.

You see, it’s easier to justify when you do bad shit because it’s done out of retaliation. No one can blame you for being the bad guy if you were the victim first — right?

But no.

General McHenry is the closest thing Graves has to a father figure. His home life is something he chooses not to acknowledge, and when you’re too consumed with climbing the ladder, a lot of things get easier to move to the backseat, left to be abandoned and forgotten. His family being one of those abandoned, forgotten things.

The conversation still replays in his mind as Graves stomps on Omelia’s back.

“General [Surname] has been a pain in the fucking ass for as long as I can remember. The weak bastard’s always opposing the opportunity to strike, and he’s going to be the reason why our enemies are going to accuse us of being a bunch of pussies.”

Graves nods in agreement, even if he doesn’t truly agree. General McHenry’s been the one kind enough to take him under his wing, and so it’s better to just go with what he says and continue to benefit from the general’s sponsorship. Raw talent and simple ambition only gets you so far nowadays.

“You agree, dont’cha? ‘Course ya do.” McHenry grumbles, pacing around the room. “[Surname] refuses to man up and fuckin’ fight. It doesn’t help that he’s still viewed as a golden boy around here. He’s even got the fuckin’ president wrapped around his finger.”

Graves personally doesn’t have anything against General [Surname]. He seems like a nice enough guy. He’s a war hero, too.

Then again, so is McHenry.

“When I’m at the top of the fuckin’ foodchain, [Surname] and his entire family is going to regret crossing me. You understand, Graves?”

Graves nods. Lately, McHenry’s been going on little tangents like this, where he’s secretly plotting the downfall of this general. He goes along with it because he feels like he owes it to McHenry, and even if there’s only a sliver of a chance of taking down General [Surname], Graves will follow through for McHenry because the payoff will be fantastic.

He doesn’t actually anticipate McHenry coming up with a feasible plan.

“Fuck! What the fuck is your problem, Graves?!”

The howl of pain from Omelia snaps him back to his current reality. Staring down at the pitiful, crumpled form of Omelia, Graves can’t find it in himself to feel the slightest bit of remorse. Truth be told, Omelia’s had it coming since day one.

The pathetic idiot’s been eyeing General [Surname]’s daughter ever since you stepped foot on base. Everyone is aware of your presence, especially this year’s class. The famous general’s only daughter is going to be here all summer? And you just so happen to be the prettiest fucking thing most of these guys have ever laid eyes on? Trouble was bound to happen.

Graves just didn’t know that he was going to be one of the unlucky participants of it.

He sighs, crouching down before taking a hand to tug at the collar of Omelia’s shirt. The action forces Omelia to weakly lift his head, allowing him to look Graves in his gunmetal blue eyes.

“Where is it?” Graves doesn’t sound angry, which is shocking to poor Omelia considering the fact that he sure as hell punches like he is. The proof is in the constant stream of blood trickling out of his nose.

“Where’s what?” He’s not even feigning ignorance, which Graves can’t necessarily fault him for. He’s not really the type to wear his heart on his sleeve — would much rather prefer to pretend that he doesn’t even have one, thank you very much — but he’s on a bit of a time crunch right now. He knows your schedule. You’re going to be leaving the canteen pretty soon, and if he wants to catch you, he needs to speed things up.

He chooses to further take his irritation out on Omelia, punching the guy with his left fist this time. It’s not a particularly hard punch; he figures he’s already done enough damage, and by the time word gets around of his transgressions, Graves will hopefully already have McHenry pulling some strings to make sure his punishment isn’t too severe. Now, though, both of his hands are bloody. Blood is a bitch to wash away.

“Fuck!” Omelia yelps. “What the fuck are you even looking for?”

“Her necklace. The damn locket that she confronted you about for stealing. Where the hell is it?” With each sentence, Graves shakes the boy, forcing his limp body to jerk with each aggressive tug. Graves starts to feel a little bit guilty, before he remembers that technically, Omelia made you cry.

You’re cute, Graves finds himself thinking. Too cute to be crying over an idiot like him.

The guilt dissipates.

“That’s what all this shit is about? Over some stupid fu—”

Omelia’s complaints are interrupted by another one of his pained screams. Graves had punched him again, this time a bit harder.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit.” Graves growls. He switches gripping Omelia’s shirt in favor for curling his fingers into the locks of the boy’s hair. It’ll be easier to use that as a sort of leash; provides him the ability to more forcefully bash the idiot’s head into the pavement beneath his feet. Seemingly smart enough to sense the impending danger, Omelia quickly begins to shout.

“It’s in my fucking left pocket! Left pocket, left pocket!”

Graves keeps his grip tight and unyielding as he uses his free hand to rummage in said pocket. Sure enough, Omelia had enough sense to not lie.

He releases Omelia unceremoniously, clutching the dainty necklace and keeping it safely secured in the calloused palm of his hand.

His parting words — more like a warning — leaves Omelia wondering just who the fuck are you to Graves.

The next time you make her cry, I’ll break every fucking bone in your body for every tear she spills.

Eighteen years old. Freshly graduated from high school. More college acceptances than you know what to do with. General [Surname]’s only child. His precious little princess. His only immediate family, and after the untimely death of your mother, his biggest weakness.

General McHenry is teaching Graves on how to exploit weaknesses.

“Good job,” McHenry says, laughing before clapping Graves on the back of his shoulder. “You sure can put on a performance, son.”

Son. Huh. It has a bit of a nice ring to it, he supposes.

“Y’know, I thought I wouldn’t be able to stick out my neck for ya, but you must’ve done some Oscar-worthy acting, boy. You should’ve seen the look on that girl’s face when she begged her daddy not to let ‘em punish you too harshly. Looks like you’re smarter than you look.”

Yeah, sure. It’s a bit of a backhanded compliment, but Graves will settle for it. He just has to deal with this shit for a while longer, and soon, he’ll never have to settle for anything ever again.

At first, General McHenry thought it was a bit of a bullshit idea. The general’s daughter is much too protected by the likes of her father and his closest allies to be touched by the likes of any outsiders. The best way to have him in the palm of their hands is to hit you with it, but that provides to be a bit of a challenge. No direct attack on you will go unpunished.

Graves suggests playing the long game.

He’s read your file, and it doesn’t take a psych degree to read you to filth. You’re nothing more than a pretty girl who’s been spoiled and sheltered by her father all her life. You’re eighteen and about to begin the start of your life, and you probably feel as if you’ve never done anything exciting. Even if you act like a stickler for rules or you’re scared to face the consequences of disobeying your father, with the right words and the right timing, Graves bets planting the seeds of rebellion in your naive, little brain will be a simple task. He’s certain you’ve never had a boyfriend, never even been given the chance to go out on a date — the slightest bit of affection will have you eating out the palm of his hands. The same hands he’s going to use to force your father into the ground, allowing him and McHenry to do whatever the fuck they want.

Naturally, no good deed goes unpunished. Graves still has to scrub the bathrooms with a toothbrush for the next two nights, but it’s a small price to pay. If you truly caused a commotion and swayed your own father to change his stance all for a guy you don’t even know the name of, he’s certain in the next few months, he’ll have you craving his last name and the privilege of bearing his children.

Which isn’t such a bad thing. You’re pretty, he’ll give you that. The prettiest girl he’s ever seen, too.

“What do you plan on doing next?” McHenry asks, grinning. Graves smiles back.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all figured out.”

Word spreads around quickly in places like these. While you saw the evidence all over his knuckles, hearing what actually transpired leaves you a bit breathless — shocked, but not necessarily because of the violence of it all. Shocked because it had all been done in your honor.

It’s only been two days since the incident, but the feeling of your locket pressed against your skin seems to burn. It serves as a constant reminder of the boy who fought to get it back for you, and suddenly, this necklace has two special memories behind it. You never want to take it off again.

You catch snippets of the recruits whispering to each other, but it’s hard to hear the full story whenever they look up and notice you’re nearby. No one has outright approached you about your connection to this whole fight, and it’s not until dinnertime that you finally get all the details.

“What’s this I hear about between you and Graves?”

“Me and who?” You continue twisting your pasta around your fork, perfectly content with eating in silence and daydreaming about the boy who retrieved your necklace for you. You’ve been texting your closest friends from high school about all the drama, questioning them on what it means. The general consensus? That boy’s got it bad for you. The thought makes you way too happy.

“Phillip Graves.” Your father says.

You shrug, still not sure who he’s talking about.

“Young lady, do not play the fool with me. According to Omelia, he’s the one who left him bloody and bruised outside the back of the gym.”

So, two things you now know for certain: Omelia is a necklace thief, and the boy you’re thinking about is named Phillip Graves. This is becoming a truly enlightening conversation.

“Oh. Well, I didn’t know his name.”

“You don’t know his name, and yet, he’s starting brawls over you?”

“Well, dad, when you put it like that—”

“[Name], what Graves did was a very inappropriate thing to do. Honorable men should never raise their fists against their own fellow soldiers, especially over disputes that could have easily been solved with a simple conversation.”

“Dad, you don’t seriously think that he’s the bad guy in the situation! He’s the one who defended me—”

“I’m just saying, sweetheart, that he used unnecessary force—”

“Omelia is such a jerk! You weren’t there that day. He totally humiliated me in front of everyone in the canteen whenever I tried to make ‘simple conversation’. He wouldn’t listen at all.”

“There’s going to be a meeting to discuss what Graves has done. I personally believe that he should be punished in accordance to what’s written down for men who act as rashly and harshly as he did.”

“Dad!” You gasp, dropping your fork entirely. It makes a tiny sound as it hits the porcelain of your plate, but you ignore the clanging noise. “Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

“Omelia has a broken nose, [Name].”

“Omelia stole the last piece of mom I have left. He would have never given it back if his nose wasn’t broken.”

Looking back, maybe the violence was harsh and uncalled for. A punch might have sufficed. The brutality he’s capable of is simply excusable in your untainted mind. You reason that all soldiers must be capable of going through great lengths to protect and defend others. Isn’t that what he was doing? Protecting and defending you?

“If you vote to have him punished horribly, I won’t forgive you.”

Even if your bottom lip is trembling and your hands are shaking, your father can see that there’s some conviction behind your words. He’s never been one to deny you, his only daughter, and perhaps Graves is just young and brash.  

“Fine.” Your father says, appeasing you.

The clink of his fork tapping against his own plate sounds a bit too much like the first domino of his downfall.

“You never told me your name,” you’re standing with your arms crossed against your chest. The sunlight coming through one of the large windows hits your necklace, making it shine. He takes in your entire form, memorizing the shape and silhouette of your body. You’re a sight for sore eyes, at least.

“I’ve got a feeling you already know it, though.” He watches the way you fight down a smile at his remark. He bets you have a pretty smile.

You pull out the seat that’s across from him.

“I didn’t know you read.” You say. You’ve been plotting running into him for the past week now, and you know that he frequents the library every day for at least an hour. You’re not sure what he likes to read, but you doubt brushing up on the hockey romances on your Kindle will provide much conversation. You downloaded The Art of War and only made it past the first three pages before deciding that you’ll just manipulate the conversation into something not about books.

“You think about my literacy levels on your freetime, honey?”

All common sense evaporates the moment he calls you honey.

He teases you every time he talks to you (which, then again, isn’t very much), and so you’re certain there’s nothing genuine behind the pet name, but it still makes you undeniably giddy. No one’s ever called you something so sweet before.

Trying to appear unfazed and not as flustered as you feel, you eloquently reply back, “Um— I— No.”

He laughs, the same nice laugh that you can’t stop thinking about. It almost makes up for the fact that he’s most certainly laughing at you.

“Don’t feel bad. I think about you during my freetime, too.”

He can’t just go around saying stuff like that! It’s unfair! It’s… No one goes around saying stuff like that!

“What? Nothing to say to me now?” He’s grinning at you, book in his hand long-forgotten. You notice that it’s not mean, though, which makes you relax just the slightest.

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that.” You tell him. “People might take you seriously.”

“Well, they should. I am serious.”

And for a split second, he thinks he’s being a bit cruel. Mean, at the very least. The way you’re looking at him makes it plainly obvious that you’ve never been flirted with a day in your life.

The hopeful gleam in your bright eyes makes him believe his own lie, just for a brief moment.

It could be worse, he reasons with himself. There are worse people to pretend to fall in love with, after all.

You’ve never been gifted flowers before.

Maybe Phillip knows this. Maybe the insane amount of bouquets he’s gifting you is to make up for all that lost time. Maybe he’s just one of those people who believe in going big or going home.

Maybe he likes you as much as you like him.

You know how your father feels about dating. He’s a rather traditional man. Believes in the whole entire “ask him for permission before taking his little girl away from him” type of shit. Graves is thorough with his research, and even gathered the courage to ask your father for the chance to take you on a date.

It had been a risk—

—one that almost didn’t pay off.

He thinks his ears are still ringing from the shouts of your father. He’s heard reports that he’s a stoic man, for the most part, and isn’t one for conflict when there’s an option that avoids it. But he’s also a reasonable man, and so, Graves can’t necessarily fault him for the rant he went on.

You’re six years older than her! The hell are you doing trying to take her on a date?

He eventually calmed down, of course. Graves took the brunt of the screams pretty well, gave a whole long lecture on how he would never harm a hair on your precious head. He didn’t anticipate on liking you so much, and believe him, he’s been trying to fight down the feelings he’s harboring for you, but he knows he’ll regret not at least trying.

Your father is soft on you. You must talk about Graves more than he realizes it, because General [Surname] gives him his permission a lot easier than he planned on.

He almost feels bad for the way he’s playing your family like a fool.

Then he remembers the power he’ll receive once all is said and done, and he can almost ignore the lingering feelings of guilt.

He forgets everything when you walk through the doors of the library, surprised at the sight greeting you.

He’s made sure that everyone on base knows to avoid the library at all costs tonight, and he even retrieved the key from the librarian on hand after slipping him a twenty and whispering a quick threat about what will happen if he isn’t left alone in this building. Dealing with the closest florist available and strategically arranging all the bouquets to the point where the whole front entrance of the library is covered in red roses. The spines of the books, the front desks, every table — none of them are visible due to the sheer amount of flowers obscuring them from view.

“I don’t–? What?” You take in the scenery before looking at him. He’s got a large bouquet in his hand and a proud smile on his face, like he’s pleased with your reaction. You think this is a good thing.

“Told ya I was serious. Now you believe me?”

There are weeks that go by without the two of you ever even talking. Most days, you’re lucky enough to be walking past him on the base, and for a fleeting moment, he’ll shoot you a smile that’s so quick, you blink and he’s already long gone. You convince yourself that there’s a meaning to all of this, though. That distance must truly make the heart grow fonder, because why else are you collecting all the scraps you’re given and convincing yourself that they’re the only things keeping you full?

(It’s hard to face reality when you find yourself falling in love with the image of his back turned, walking away from you.)

And in your mind, you’re right. You’re pleased to find out that you’re not just some silly little teenage girl, falling in love with the first person who will give her the time of day. After all, this isn’t necessarily your first time experiencing what it’s like to be crushed on.

It is your first time being wowed by someone so much older and therefore unattainable.

It’s addicting — his attention. He can only gift you his affections so few and far between; every time you find yourself on the receiving end of it, you get dizzy from excitement and joy. This is someone who likes you. Someone who likes you so much, he does grand gestures like this to properly court you.

It’s not your fault, is what you’ll tell yourself in the future. Anyone would have fallen for his tricks.

Anyone would have fallen for him.

Being with Phillip is exciting. Your friends from school tell you it’s simply because he’s your first boyfriend — the word still makes you smile every time you think about it — but you know in your heart that it’s because it’s him that makes it exciting.

You like the way he teases you, not to mock you or to bully you, but because that’s just how he shows his affection. You like the way he’s better than all of your friends’ boyfriends because unlike them, Phillip is actually a man. He’s older, making him more knowledgeable about a lot of things. You like the way he never makes you lift a single finger; you think you’re almost forgetting how to do basic things, like opening doors and pulling out chairs and even putting on your seatbelt yourself. But he makes up for it by teaching you things.

Things like spreading your legs for him when he tells you to, even when you’re not expecting him to.

“Phillip, I—” You forget what you’re about to tell him the moment the moan escapes from your lipglossed lips. It’s your nineteenth birthday. Dad’s away on a mission. Phillip tells you he had to pull some strings to not get sent away, either, and the lengths he’ll go to keep you happy makes your heart flutter.

The two of you get into his fancy sports car, and he drives upstate to a quaint little bed and breakfast that he knows you’ve been doing research on. The two of you were supposed to be heading out for dinner right about now, but when you finished getting ready, something in your beloved boyfriend seemed to change.

Now you’re not having a birthday dinner.

Gripping the sheets and gasping as the cool air hits your bottom half because of the way Phillip flipped the skirt of your dress, you realize that at least one of you will be eating tonight.

“Phillip, we—we don’t have time to be doing this.” You weakly protest, no true conviction behind your words.

Before him, you would have never imagined how good one person can make you feel with just the tips of their fingers or strategic movements with their mouths. Now the flood of pleasurable memories travels from your mind to in between your thighs as you remember just what exactly Phillip Graves is capable of.

“Fuck, baby, you’re already so soaked. I haven’t even done anything yet.” He murmurs, ignoring you entirely. He licks his lips, pressing quick, wet kisses against your inner thighs.

“Phillip, wh—what about dinner?” You fight the urge to instinctively buck your hips, but it gets harder to think reasonable thoughts whenever you feel him tugging at the waistband of your panties.

“You should’ve thought about that before wearing this slutty little dress. Were you trying to get the whole restaurant to fuck you with their eyes?” He practically spits out the sentences, and you’re momentarily shocked.

“I didn’t think it was…slutty.” You say, voice sounding as small as you feel. He can feel you practically shrinking away from him, and he mutters out a swear.

He doesn’t mean it. Doesn’t mean to be harsh with you; he knows you’re a sweet girl. He knows you would never have bad intentions.

But he’s not sweet. And he never has good intentions unless he’s the one benefitting.

And he can tell McHenry and even himself that this is all just a ploy to take down your father, but the moment he knew he had you wrapped around his finger was the same moment he realized that if he’s not the one protecting you from the dangers of men like him — maybe even men worse than him — then who will? It’s not like father dearest, for all his overbearing efforts, is doing that great of a job. Look at how easily Graves slipped through those defenses.

He’s doing right by you, is what he tells himself as he strips you of your panties, leaving you in just your pretty pink sundress. Men are wolves. They’ll take one look at you and eat you alive.

At least he has the decency and heart to make it a good time for you.

He presses a kiss against your clit, and you almost forgive him for his cruel words. Phillip makes everything so easy, including forgetting about any of his minor transgressions.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nod, even though you’re sure that he can’t even see the movement. He’s too busy with his head buried in between your thighs, kissing all over you, sucking hickeys on your thighs before his mouth meets right where you truly need him. You can’t even remember what he’s apologizing for the moment you feel him lapping up your juices before plunging his tongue inside your needy cunt as if it’s his right to do so.

Your hands find purchase in the thick locks of his hair rather than the bedsheets. Phillip has been doing this lately — eating you out, that is. The first time he had done it, you nearly cried from the sheer embarrassment of having someone so close to a part of you that is so intimate. You suppose, though, that if it had to be anyone, at least it’s him.

You always want it to be him.

You wonder if all men are like this. If all men plunge so deeply into the wet depths of their girlfriend’s pussy. Your walls flutter around his tongue, and the tip of nose seems to brush against your clit every so often, only adding to the overwhelming stimulation. Maybe it’s because you’ve never done this before him, or maybe it’s because he has a stronger effect on you than he should have, or maybe it’s because you’re just a sensitive girl — maybe it’s all of the fucking above. No matter the reason, all you know is that the pleasure Phillip is capable of handing out is nothing short of overwhelming.

You gasp and mewl out his name, letting out breathy moans of curse words — such filthy words have never left your mouth before he tainted you — and you keep tugging at his hair. He pulls away, your weak grip doing nothing to keep where you want him. Before you can complain, he immediately replaces his tongue with two fingers, scisscoring them inside of you, trying to stretch you out.

“Such a tight, little pussy.” He breathes out, chin wet with your slick and eyes darkened with lust. “Wonder if my pretty, little girlfriend can make me proud.”

“Huh?” Your pleasure-addled mind makes it hard for you to keep up with what he’s saying, and he only chuckles darkly at your clear confusion. He’s only been eating your sweet pussy for a few minutes, and you’re already too fucked out to even make conversation.

Cute. You’re too cute.

Fuck — he wants to keep you by his side forever. Even after his little con is over, and he gets the position he wants.

“You know what I wanna give you for your birthday, baby?” He’s still slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of your tight hole, and he relishes in the feeling of your walls contracting and squeezing against him. He decides to add in a third finger, which makes you gasp. He takes that opportunity to press his lips against yours, forcing his tongue inside your mouth and giving you a sloppy kiss. You think you can taste a hint of yourself on his tongue, and the dirtiness of it all makes you moan into his mouth. Everything right now is so filthy. You don’t know why you’re enjoying it so much.

“I wanna give you something special.” His voice is rough with lust, and the feeling of him curling his fingers in your tight cunt makes everything so hard to keep track of. All you can focus on is the heat coiling in your belly, and your eyes are glazed, barely able to look at him straight. “I want to give your little pussy something you deserve. I’m going to fuck my cum in you, and then when we go out to dinner, everyone is going to be able to see your wellbred pussy. How does that sound, hm? You want it? You want me filling your cunt with cum for the first time?”

If you had been in your right state of mind, you would have had the decency to be embarrassed at the way you cum all over his fingers, his words bringing you right to the edge.

“Oh? I think my baby likes the sound of that, huh? Just turned nineteen and already such a slut for me.” He’s still lazily thrusting his fingers in your cunt, and your walls are still spasming from the orgasm. “But you only act like this just for me, right?”

You nod too eagerly. “Yes, yes, yes. Only you. Only your slut, only want your cock, your cum.”

He’s already unzipping his pants, tugging down his briefs, freeing his cock from its confines. He removes his fingers from your wet hole, and your cum and juices act as lube as he uses it to wet his cock. In the back of his mind, even he’s aware of how far he’s taking this.

There’s no coming back from this — he knows this. But he’s still going to do it.

“You trust me, baby?” His eyes search yours for any hint of hesitation. He knows that he’s taken advantage of your naivety already; if you tell him to stop, he will. He expects to see nothing pure in your eyes, certain that he’s your ruination, only to have his heart skip a beat when he realizes that there’s only love and reverence in them. You’ve fallen for him, and he has no idea why he feels the way he does. Swallowing hard, he ignores his uneasy feelings in favor of giving into the one he knows he can actually control: lust.

You nod your head, eager to please him. His rough hands are gripping both your legs, easily exposing yourself to him, and you should feel incredibly vulnerable, but all you really feel is safe. It’s Phillip, after all. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.

“Good girl.” His eyes travel down your body, stopping once to admire the amount of marks he’s left on your soft skin, and then stopping again the moment he sees his prize. Your pretty pussy is slick with arousal, tiny hole clenching around nothing. You want him; it’s clear as day. And he’ll give it to you, give you everything; any part of him that he can afford to give is yours for the taking.

What he’s doing is unforgivable.

He doesn’t want forgiveness, though.

His hands grip your waist as he sheaths himself into your virgin cunt, your previous orgasm allowing the movement to be slick. It’s far more gentle than Phillip would treat anyone else, but it’s merciless all the same. There is no room for resistance, and all you can do is moan out in pain and pleasure as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate his length and girth.

You thought your first time would be romantic. A room full of roses, at least, like when he first asked you out.

But it’s Phillip. As long as it’s him, you’re happy.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans out, voice sounding raspy as he watches your tiny hole taking his dick like it’s supposed to. You feel full, filled to the fucking brim, and the foreign feeling of it all has you confused and overwhelmed. There’s a slight sting, and you think you should wait for the pain to subside, but he’s already shallowly thrusting, and you choose to shut up.

Phillip knows best. Phillip would have waited if you were supposed to wait.

“Forgot how good virgin pussy feels.” His touch is possessive as his hands travels all over your body, exploring areas he’s already well acquainted with before gripping your hips once more. His thrusts are starting to get more aggressive, but you find that the pleasure outweighs the pain. All you can feel is Phillip.

For a second, you wonder how many girls he’s been with before. Then he leans down to give you a kiss, and you forget what you were worried about.

“Don’t worry too much, baby. Just relax, and let me fill your pussy. Then, I’ll take you out to your birthday dinner. How does that sound?”

Nice. It sounds nice. Actually, you wonder why you even cared about something as silly as a birthday celebration. Isn’t this good enough?

“Should I make you go out with no panties? You’re squeezing me so tightly, I bet your cunt can hold my cum all night.” He kisses your forehead, the action far too sweet, juxtaposing the rough thrusts of his hips slapping against yours. “Or maybe I’ve loosened you up too much, and it’ll just drip all over your thighs and onto the floor. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

You moan, imagining the filthy scenario in your head. Everyone would see; how humiliating. How exhilarating.

“At least everyone would know that you’re. Fucking. Mine.” He starts to punctuate every word with an especially rough thrust, and you can only moan as you lie there, taking it all. Taking everything he’ll give to you, and turning it into something sacred.

“I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!” You cry out, and you prove it. You’ve proved it by the slight blood painting his cock from when he took your virginity, and you prove it a step further by cumming all over his cock. This is the first time you’ve ever came on it; Phillip vows to make sure it’s not the last.

Even if it jeopardizes his own personal mission.

“Atta girl.” He groans out, practically hammering into you at this point. You’re fucked boneless, left to just serve as a cocksleeve as he chases after his own pleasure. Phillip is surprisingly meticulous. He’s usually better at keeping himself composed, never one to give in to instinctual, animalistic pleasure.

In the back of his mind, he knows the risk, has even calculated it. He’s never done something as stupid and reckless as fucking a girl raw.

But no girl has ever been as sweet as you, as trusting as you. It’s the lust talking as he imagines you as the mother of his children. You’d be kind and patient, teach them to be better. They wouldn’t become fuckups like him if you’re there to raise them.

He can see it. He’s always been good at envisioning his future. Coming home to you barefoot and carrying his kids isn’t so bad. It’d be nice. He’d build you your dream house, make sure you always stay bred and dripping with his cum, keep you safe.

All of these thoughts only serve to bring him to the edge, and he makes sure he’s as deep in you as possible as his warm cum shoots inside. He refuses to pull out, and you don’t tell him to. Why would you? You feel closer to him than ever, and he’s kissing your forehead now, cooing that you’ve been such a good girl for him.

You’re tired. You felt like you’ve barely done anything, and yet your eyes are droopy and your vision is getting blurred. You still find the strength to mumble it out, though.

I love you.

He freezes up immediately, but when he looks down at you, you’re already fast asleep.

He’s got you hook, line, and fucking sinker.

So why doesn’t he feel like celebrating?

“Dad, what’s going on?” Your confusion is evident on your face. Your father has his hands pinned to his back, and there are men in scary uniforms yelling at you, and you’re frozen in place. “Dad, tell them that this is a mistake!”

“I’m going to be okay. Nothing bad is going to happen to me.” Your dad’s words of reassurance do little to console you; it’s kind of hard to believe what he’s saying whenever he’s quite literally getting arrested by men who are supposed to respect him.

You’ve just gotten back from a date with Phillip. He had seemed a bit off, but you brushed aside his odd behavior as a result of his nervousness. After all, he ended up presenting you with a promise ring. You don’t think he’s ever given someone something so precious and important.

Your good mood obviously disappeared the moment you walked through your front door.

“You’re innocent. You know nothing. They’re going to make sure that you stay in a safe place while I’m gone, okay? Just do what they tell you, and wait for me to get back—”

“Dad, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” The desperation and anxiety in your voice makes him frown, but there’s nothing he can do as the officers drag him out of the house. Despite your screams of protest, they don’t stop, and even you know hitting an officer would only make things worse. It’s not as if you could have done any real damage anyway.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The worst part is, you don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

They’re calling your father a traitor. And by extension, you are one, too. A child is but a reflection of their parents, after all.

Your mother was an enemy spy, and your father knew. Even worse, he protected her. Broke his own moral code, broke the rules of his training, destroyed everything — all for her. The proof was hidden inside his own office, and you don’t even know how someone could have broken in to obtain such incriminating evidence.

Now everyone is treating you like a criminal, down to giving you only one phone call. Naturally, the only person you can think to phone is Phillip. He’ll understand. He’ll calm you down, explain everything to you because that’s just what he does. He’ll know what to do. He’ll get you out of this mess.

You bite down on your lip, impatiently waiting for him to pick up. Usually, he picks up after the second ring, but the dial tone goes on for what seems like ages until you hit the automated voicemail message. You frown, wondering if he’s been sent away. You try again for good measure, but he doesn’t pick up the second time, either. You’re about redial and try for a third time before the woman supervising you snatches the phone away.

“It’s supposed to be one call, remember?”

You don’t talk back, afraid to make things worse, but you don’t think it’s fair. Phillip didn’t even pick up for it to count as a phone call.

You try again and again. Every time they make you move to a different safehouse, you waste that one phone call opportunity on him, daring to hope that he’ll pick up.

After a month, the dial tone haunts you in your sleep.

Hindsight truly is 20/20. When you’re free from the haze of first loves and rebellion, when the smoke of lust has dissipated from the air, when you’re given nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company, that’s when everything starts coming together.

That’s when you can see a traitor for what they are, not what they tell you to view them as.

On the way to the next safehouse, they had to stop at a gas station. You had to learn to be sneaky these days, and the old you would have felt incredibly guilty at the idea of stealing a pregnancy test, but you refuse to ask your handler for one. Pride is the cause — or maybe shame is more accurate.

Whatever the reason is, you find yourself locked up in a gas station bathroom, your worst fears confirmed.

[writemekpop]

Confession (Part 1) | Jung Jaehyun & Nakamoto Yuta

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader, Yuta x Reader

Summary: Ever since you became pregnant, Jaehyun won't fuck you. You turn to Yuta for a shoulder to cry on... that becomes something more.

Genre: Husband!Jaehyun, serious angst, suggestive, borderline abusive behaviour from Jae tbh, bad boy college friend!Yuta

Word Count: 1.2k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 💋

“Jessica! Riya! No, no… Alina!” 

Jaehyun shook his head, frowning. “Let’s keep thinking.” 

You snuggled deeper under the covers. “But Jae, we only have three months left till the baby comes! We need to think of a name.”

“Hmm… how about Maya?” Jaehyun said.  

“Maya Jung…” you paused. “I like it!” 

Jaehyun placed a kiss on your forehead and shuffled back to his side of the bed. He picked up his book and started reading. 

You watched Jaehyun as he became engrossed in his book. His chestnut brown hair curled handsomely over his forehead, and his biceps bulged under his T shirt. Your stomach fluttered with need. 

Jaehyun hadn’t seen you naked since the pregnancy had changed your body, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You hadn’t been together in so long – you’d almost forgotten the feeling of him inside you. 

You leant as close as your swollen belly would allow. 

“Jaehyun, put your book down. Mama needs you…” you whispered. You trailed your fingers up his arm, over his collarbones, to his soft lips.

Jaehyun pulled your hand away. “Not now, Y/n.”

You sighed. “Come on, baby…” “I said not now,” he snapped. 

“You’re never in the mood anymore!” you returned. 

Without even looking up from his book, Jaehyun muttered, “Can you fucking understand English? Not. Now.” 

Frustration bubbling up, you snatched the book from his hands and chucked it onto the floor. 

Jaehyun frowned, but before he could say anything, you smashed your lips onto his and kissed him. 

You shuffled closer, and pulled your night dress over your head. The cold air made your nipples stand up.

Jaehyun’s eyes raked over your naked body… and a light shudder of disgust ran through him. 

Before your pregnancy, Jaehyun would look at you like you were the Mona Lisa. Everything had changed. 

You followed his eyes to a maze of stretch marks that started on your hip and went up to your swollen belly. 

“I’m like a tiger,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Jaehyun gave you a tight smile. 

You crossed your arms. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Jaehyun blinked. “If we have to do this… can we turn off the lights first?” 

You frowned, but turned off the lamp anyway. 

You pushed the niggling feeling of dread in your stomach down and curled your arms around Jaehyun’s shoulder. Then you kissed him, hard. 

You felt Jaehyun’s hands skirt tentatively over your tummy. Disappointingly, he didn’t move his hands any lower. 

Jaehyun stayed stiff, unmoving, barely kissing you back.  

You were beginning to get impatient. You reached into his lap and slipped your hands inside his boxers. To your surprise, he was completely soft.  

You struggled to hide your gasp. 

In the ten years you’ve been with Jaehyun – four years of college and six years as husband and wife – he’d never been unable to get an erection. 

“Is something… wrong?”

Jaehyun sighed. He moved you off his lap and switched on the light. 

“I just can’t get into it. None of the pregnancy books said you’d get all-“ 

“All what?” you snapped.

Jaehyun bit his lip. “All… bulgy.” 

You pulled the sheet over your body, cheeks burning. 

Jaehyun wiped the sweat off his brow. “Can we try tomorrow night?”

“We have Yuta’s party,” you mumbled. 

“Oh yeah,” Jaehyun said, shifting onto his side. “Well… good night.”

You sniffed. “Night.”

---

The next evening, you and Jaehyun went to Yuta’s house for his annual barbeque, a tradition he’d had since your college days. 

Yuta pulled the door open, smirking. His hair was jet black and spiky, and he had a beer in his hand. 

“It’s my two favourite people! Get inside!” 

Yuta greeted Jaehyun with a fist-bump-come-hug. 

When he saw you, his eyes lit up.  

Yuta kissed your cheek. “Long time no see, Y/n. Pregnancy suits you.” 

You felt a shiver of delight at his comment. But it was quickly squashed when you remembered what Jaehyun said to you last night. 

Yuta punched Jaehyun on the shoulder, grinning. “Can’t believe you knocked this one up… you always did have a crush on her, ever since that first lecture.” 

Your memories of that time were rose-tinted, like the colour of Jaehyun’s ears when he asked you out a week after college started. 

You pushed through the room, which was crowded with people from college, desperate to use the bathroom. 

You made it just in time, sighing with relief as you emptied your bladder.

As you were getting up to leave, you heard a voice.

You froze. 

The voice was coming from outside the bathroom door.  

“Don’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you, okay?” 

It was Jaehyun’s baritone. 

“Yeah, man. What’s up?” The other voice had a lilting Japanese accent. Yuta. 

“It’s about Y/n.” Jaehyun said. “We’re having some… problems.”

You pressed your ear to the door, heartbeat quickening. 

“Nah, it’s nothing man,” Jaehyun said. “I’m just stressed about the baby.”  

You sighed in relief. Obviously, Jaehyun wouldn’t complain about your sex problems with someone else! He was a gentleman.

“Are you sure?” Yuta said. 

Jaehyun replied, “Well… don’t get me wrong, I love Y/n but –  I’m not… attracted to her anymore. She’s so… huge.” 

You stifled a gasp. 

“Damn, Jae.” Yuta said, chuckling. “Pregnant chicks not your thing?” 

“It’s not just the fact that she’s fat. Her skin’s all marked up, and her tits are so saggy. I just can’t… bring myself to have sex with her.”

You felt like the ground had caved in, and you were falling.  

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Yuta said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “Have you tried… talking to her?” 

“Man, she’s so eager to get in my pants, I can’t get a word in. Honestly, it’s a turn off to see her so… desperate.”

Your head started to spin and you staggered backwards. Your hand caught the sink just in time, but you knocked soap dish, sending it clattering onto the floor.

“Who’s in there?” Jaehyun yelled. 

A fist banged on the door. You saw the bathroom doorknob rattle, and your heart pounded. 

Your voice was thick with tears. “It’s me.” 

The banging on the door stopped. “Y/n? How long have you – been there?” Jaehyun’s voice rose with each word.

You pulled the door open. Yuta and Jaehyun were staring at you. Yuta shifted awkwardly and Jaehyun looked deathly pale.

to be continued...

—

PART 2 HERE

Leave a comment if you want to be on the taglist! 💋

MAIN MASTERLIST

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors skiddaddle pls

Chapter 009: Nina

There’s a new girl at Hellfire and Eddie is seemingly wrapped around her finger. Meanwhile, Max makes a shocking new discovery…

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 3.8k words

disclaimers & warnings — ⚠️ this is a verrrryy emotionally intense chapter. pls read at your discretion ; generational curses, physical altercations, profanities, throwing objects, heated arguments, implications of suspected grooming, shy girl being delulu, lmk if anything else

“Shouldn't have to listen to the shit you say.”

♡

"C’mon... COME ON!" Dustin roars in frustration. "What starts with a T and ends with a C?"

Slow Monday afternoons call for Wordle with the Party.

With little else to do in Hawkins on your day off, you find yourself situated at DRAGON’S BREATH with Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan’s younger brother Will.

Figuring out the last Wordle is a daunting task. Thankfully Argyle has been periodically swinging by, his emotional support nachos being the only thing keeping you from ripping out your hair.

"Tunic," Will suggests.

"Tonic," Steve contributes. "Like tonic water."

"Topic?" you pitch in. “Like Hot Topic.”

This is taking all of your last brain cells combined.

"Topic was one of them, Shy Girl,” Dustin sighs irritably. “I said that already.”

You raise your arms, surrendering. It seems you’ve poked the beast.

It’s been hard for you to focus anyway. The hot and heavy night you spent with Eddie a couple nights ago is taking up all the space of your dirty little mind.

You think of Eddie. His moans. The O-shape his mouth made as he chased his own pleasure on you. How full your pussy felt with just his three fingers pulsing in and out, and how full your mouth felt with Eddie's cock ramming the back of your throat with no mercy. The taste of him. How shocked he looked when you swallowed. How rough he was with you, but oh so thoughtful at the same time.

Truly an experience from another dimension. And you’re already fantasizing about the next time.

But you still want to keep it on the down low. Considering Eddie might still be seeing his Lady Friend, and you're still getting shagged by his roommate whenever he’s not home, you can't exactly get mad at him for texting someone who isn't you.

“Pssst,” you nudge Steve while the others brainstorm. “I think Eddie is talking to Nina again.”

Confusion sets in on Steve's face. He raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Yeah,” you smirk, trying to pretend that it doesn’t hurt. “Saw a message exchange between them a couple days ago.”

“Who’s Nina?”

“Isn’t that the Lady Friend’s name?”

“No…” Steve shakes his head. “Lady Friend’s name was Heather.”

It really has you wondering now... who is Nina?

"Yeah, the kukris are cool huh?" you hear Eddie's soothing voice come into earshot.

Odd. He stopped coming in on Mondays, you thought.

"That's the cool thing about owning a business,” you hear Eddie explain. “You get to choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes — at least most of the time."

Where have you heard that before?

Then Eddie comes into view, with a girl walking very closely behind him.

She’s stunning, standing to be about five-foot-two with a youthful face, petite body, and straight, long jet-black hair. Both conventionally, and legitimately beautiful, the girl looks to be at least 20 years old, dressed in cream-colored Chuck Taylor's, tattered booty shorts, and a playful white off-the-shoulder blouse. Scattered fine-line tattoos ornament her body. Her makeup has been flawlessly painted on, her lash extensions a hybrid between voluminous and wispy. And because you’re from Southern California, you can spot lip injections from a mile away.

A new dancer.

"This is where you clock in," Eddie explains to her. "I'll be sure to get you your punch in code by the end of the week. Over at the lounge we have Will, Shy Girl, Steve, and Dustin. Hey guys!”

Now you know why it sounds familiar. You received a very identical run down when you first started.

You're too shocked to wave so you feign a smile at your new colleague. Also, Eddie is too quick for you to react.

"We call the hookah lounge Dragon's Breath," Eddie continues. "And main-stage-slash-tip-rail is called Vecna's Lair."

They walk over to VECNA'S LAIR and you crane your neck to watch.

You observe Eddie give the girl a very familiar run down of Hellfire, using his arms to talk and eyes to listen.

She laughs at Eddie's charm, as anyone would. They talk for a bit more before he walks, what looks like to you, a predatory circle around her — a lion and a gazelle — and then spins her. Then Eddie does something that just about snaps your heart in half.

“MWAH!” he exclaims. “You are gonna do great. I just know it.”

The verbal kiss. The spin. The drowning her in compliments. Everything he did with you.

If Eddie’s gonna do his job, could he at least make every interaction with his employees unique? It all makes you feel betrayed. As if you were just another number in the factory.

"Traitor." you hiss sharply under your breath.

You abruptly stand up to start towards Eddie, hands balled into fists at the blatant disrespect displayed in front of you. You feel sick to your stomach, skin seemingly dragon-green with envy.

"That’s seven letters not five!" Dustin calls after you.

Eddie sees you in his periphery and waves. For the sake of keeping the peace, the smile you exude is fake to him, but friendly to the girl next to him.

"Hey, Hargrove!" Eddie smiles. "We've got a new person on board."

"I see that!" you exclaim. "Hi, I'm Shy Girl."

"I'm Nina," she introduces herself with a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you."

You two shake hands. Nina is just darling. Her eyes are so kind and bright, full of wonder. Her energy is warm. For a second there she was making you nervous.

“Y-you gonna be starting with us soon?” you investigate.

“Yeah, I start on Friday!”

“First dancing gig?”

Eddie shoots you a look, almost as if what you said was disrespectful. It wasn’t your intention. You were just wondering, after all. Nina looks really, really young.

“Uh, no actually,” Nina smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been dancing since I was 18. So two-ish years now.”

Your soul hurts.

Eighteen is just a baby. Twenty is a fresh adult. Nina is only a year older than the kiddos and can't even be near POTIONS without redirection from Henry.

Now you’re disgusted with Eddie. Why would he ever get so close to someone so young? You thought teenagers at Hellfire made him queasy. Nina is 20 now, but still. What would she have in common with a 28 year old? What about her was so appealing to Eddie?

“Oh! That’s cool… I think?”

Eddie’s harsh lines deepen across his face.

“Nina, why won’t you put your bag down by the cubbies, sweetheart?” Eddie suggests. “Then I’ll have Argyle make you something to eat. My treat.”

“Okay!” Nina chimes. "I was eyeing the chicken wings."

"Done deal. Wings or flats?"

"Flats!" Nina says as she skips away. "Please."

Eddie's admiring eyes trail after her as Nina acqauints herself with Hellfire.

So many questions arise in your head. Is Nina who Eddie’s been texting all this time? Did she come in and audition like you did? Did he ask her out on an 'orientation' lunch/dinner that he apparently does with all of his dancers? It wouldn't surprise you. None of this behavior is new.

This jealousy feels icky. And most of all, it hurts.

"Ugh!" Eddie clutches his chest. He turns to you. "I love her already."

You remain stiff as a board as Eddie slowly leans into you. A part of you is aching to lean in as well, but you can’t give him the satisfaction.

Eddie hovers his hand over the small of your back because he knows Steve is watching. His eyes are out on a prowl per usual the way they burn into you.

"Looking beautiful as always," Eddie compliments you. "How are you? I haven't stopped thinking about you since Saturday."

He looks over your shoulder at the Wordle group.

"What was the last word?"

“Don’t know,” you huff. “You seem to have gotten it.”

“What?” Eddie questions cluelessly.

“With Nina,” you cross your arms. "And all your words that you've been wooing her with."

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie scowls. His hand drops back to his side. “You're mad because I... hired a stripper? Cause that’s kinda what I do.”

“I'm not mad that you hired a stripper, you literally own a strip club,” you shrug. “It’s just that…I didn’t know you use the same script with every new hire.”

"I'm sorry? Script?”

"You used almost the exact same words with me, Eddie," you explain. "Like you do with everybody I'm guessing.”

Disbelief sets in on Eddie's face, accompanied by an ounce of fear. Eddie is scared of something.

"Well, I don't know what you expected me to do when you first started," Eddie shrugs. "I'm not gonna come off strong and hit on you like some creep. Of course I'm gonna give you the same treatment I give everybody."

Eddie's got a solid rationale, but it didn't take away from the fact that you simply felt ordinary. When you compare the interactions side by side, nothing about Shy Girl stuck out from Nina.

"Why are we even having this conversation right now?" Eddie asks you. "We're not even together."

“I’m not trying to pick a fight, believe me,” you cross your arms. “I’m just disappointed is all. You made me really think you were falling for me.”

“Oh so all it takes is me walking with a girl to have all of my words not ring true anymore?”

Your tongue and stomach are in knots. All you can do is stand there and blubber like a baby. You’re making no sense, you’re aware. But why does it hurt you so bad?

Eddie paces back and forth. "I don't even know why I feel the need to explain myself, Hargrove,” he continues. “I’m not the one fucking the other’s best friend."

It's a reasonable standpoint. Still. You felt disgusting.

“Yeah but..." you argue softly. "How can you feel so comfortable touching…kissing…interacting with someone like that after being so intimate with me?”

Your boss can only release a chuckle, a baffled one at that. He shakes his head rapidly.

“Just because we hooked up over the weekend, you think you have a say in who I associate with or what goes on around here?" Eddie spews. “What, are you trying to take over Hellfire or something?”

Your lip quivers. “I never said that! Where did that even come from? Why are you so fucking defensive right now?”

Eddie’s nose flares angrily as he tries to keep himself collected. Suddenly, Nina calls out for his attention and he softens up again.

“Eddie!” the new girl cheers. “Argyle gave me some of his flats and it's so good! I think I’m gonna shoot for Creeping Death next!”

“Hey, nice!” Eddie smiles. “You like spicy, huh?”

“Mhm!”

It would be a lot easier to hate her if she did something to you. But Nina didn't do anything.

Eddie turns back around to face you, kicking at the ground before he thinks of something to say.

“Let’s not do this right now,” Eddie resigns, placing his hands over his hips. “You uh…clocking in?”

“No, I’m going home actually,” you respond. “It’s my day off.”

Eddie makes a face. You project it back onto him. For a moment, you two are staring at each other, appalled at one another's behavior. Being infatuated with the literal mirror version of yourself is hell.

“Hey Eddie!” Will calls. “Do you know a five-lettered word that starts with T and ends with C?”

Eddie’s eyes don’t leave you.

“Sure do,” he answers. “TOXIC.”

There’s a pause.

“BADA-BOOM!” Dustin hollers. “That’s the one.”

Eddie doesn't bother to chase you after your mini altercation. Just then, another pair of heels that don't belong to you click across the hard club floor. Chrissy comes into sight, holding a tray of slushees and her car keys in her hands.

“Hey guys!” Chrissy sings. “I got us some slushees from 7-Eleven. They're Cherry flavored...”

“I’ll pass,” you huff. “You can give one to Nina.”

“Ooh we have someone new?!” she chirps. “Where?”

Chrissy notices your shift in attitude when you walk away and Eddie’s stand-offish posture.

“What the fuck did you say to her?” you hear her snap at Eddie as you walk away.

“Nothing,”

“Bullshit. You look guilty as fuck.”

You stomp your way back over to your section and ask Steve to hand you your purse. It's obvious by the look on his face that Steve caught onto what you were feeling. He doesn't question it. He hands you your things.

"I'm not feeling too well, guys," you announce. "I'm going home."

You collect your trash and organize it neatly for Argyle when he comes back over with some waffle fries. Showing your appreciation for him, you thank him and give him a soft pat on the shoulder.

"Argyle, you should've seen the new girl," Dustin fawns. "She's so pretty."

"Yeah?" Argyle quirks up. "What's her name?"

"Nina."

"Was she hot?" he turns to the guys. "Byers, what do you think? Was she a 10 or what?"

Will, who never seems to pay the Hellfire girls any mind, eyes glued to his sketchbook instead of their sultry outfits, squirms around in his seat. He shrugs. "I-I don't know."

"Steve?"

"She was pretty cute."

Your blood boils. Not her stealing Steve's heart too!

"Nina…” Argyle repeats. "How exotic. She sounds like a small feisty Latina woman."

“Bet Shy Girl can vouch,” Dustin comments. “Right, Shy Girl?”

Intrigued, the line cook turns to you.

"Well, Shy Girl? Is she giving chunti, chingona, or what?”

Steve encourages Argyle to stop as you walk away, hair covering the sides of your face on the way out.

“What?” Argyle sounds bewildered. “What’d I say?”

"Was I made from a broken home?"

A girls day with Max would surely take your mind off of the Nina situation. She always knew how to make you feel better. Lucky for you, she is home today, evident by her skateboard that is situated neatly in the garage.

You hear some commotion coming from your shared bedroom and go in to greet her.

"Hey girl hey!" you call out to your sister. "It's my day off so I was wondering if you wanted to go t-"

You pause in your tracks, horrified.

"Hmm," Max ponders aloud. "Last time I recall, stilettos and G-strings aren't really part of nursing home etiquette."

Propped open on Max’s bed is one of your unpacked suitcases, the one that you hid all your lingerie, heels, and the Hellfire shirt Eddie gave you when you first started in. Typically you lock it but you left it open this morning. Out of all days Max had to look through your room, it had to be today.

Max has a tennis racket in her hand, the handle acting as a hook the way it swept up a thong of yours so effortlessly. You feel your knees buckle.

"What are you doing looking through my stuff, you little shit?" you bark.

"Looking for my sports bras," Max replies nonchalantly. "Still can't find 'em."

She dangles the thong in the air like it's something she caught at the lake.

"Found some other goodies though."

"You couldn't have just waited to ask me?"

"I would've had to wait a day or two since you work nights," Max snaps. "Now I know why. And do I even need to ask where?"

Just what you needed. This is JUST what you needed.

You feel exposed. Violated. Disrespected. In every aspect and every situation. There was no safe place to turn. It makes you angry.

Fine. If people are going to disrespect you, you'll be disrespectful too.

"When is it EVER okay to snoop?" you hiss. "Have you any respect for others and their belongings? How would you feel if I started picking apart at your shit?"

"I wouldn’t care because I don't have anything to hide."

"That's not the fucking point, Maxine."

"Oh, not the government name!" Max exclaims, sassily putting a hand over her chest.

That really tips you over the edge.

"I should've known," Max proceeds, shaking her head. She chucks the racket back onto her bed. “You haven't renewed your CPR cert since you graduated high school. And you need that to even work as a caregiver. Didn't catch that loophole when you were LYING, did you?"

"I was lying to protect you."

"You still lied, Sis," Maxine argues. "You're missing the point..."

Oh, now she wants to mimmick you.

You're blind-sided. Tunnel-visioned. You are feeling all five stages of grief all at once. It’s all too much to bear. You feel the bomb ticking...

As much as you love your sister, it sure was a bitch to raise her. You spent most of the time explaining to Max what social cues are, what is acceptable and what is not. It often made you short-fused because what was common sense to you took ages for Max to understand. Like how you shouldn't look through other people's things.

Max learns best when she puts herself in others' shoes. You've learned that the hard way, over the years.

“How would you feel if I was looking through your drawers and shit?” you walk over to Max’s corner of the room, prying open her drawers and tossing whatever is in there out. “And just tossing your shit out onto the floor?"

“What the fuck?!” Max exclaims. "What are you doing?!"

“Or what if I just went to your side of the mirror and…” you knock her perfume bottles off from the dresser mirror in numbers and watch them fall onto the floor. "Knocked all your shit down because I was looking for my own things?"

"I get it now, stop."

“Or," you brainstorm. "What if I just started unpacking your vinyls and shit and just not care about the packaging?”

Max stops you right there. "ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?! I said STOP."

“How would YOU FEEL?” you yell. “HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I DID THAT TO YOU?! IF I PULLED A 'YOU' ON YOU? NOT GREAT, HUH?”

How would everybody feel if you acted the way they did? Would they be mortified? Would they be disgusted?

Would Dad not hit anybody?

Would Mom have chosen to stay?

Would your first love never want to see you again?

Would Eddie be angry at your behavior?

Would Max think you're the worst sibling ever?

You would hope so for all the above.

Your heart couldn’t take any more pain.

"SHUT," Max screeches. "THE FUCK UP!"

She tosses an acrylic storage box at you. It hits you and you yelp in pain. When she realizes what she has done, Max punches the pillow on her bed. Physically aching for the last word, you take it upon yourself to chuck your empty Hydroflask at her. Thankfully, it misses and the ear-piercing CLINK sound is enough to startle her. Max shrinks herself down in fear, trying to process what you just did.

You regret it immediately. You didn't want to hit her. You mainly did it for intimidation.

It puts you to shame. You are toxic.

Suddenly, Max inflates again, her entire face extending to her ears redder than her fiery amber hair.

"YOU," Maxine growls. "ARE JUST LIKE BILLY!"

Silence.

You take a look around the trashed room. Never did you think you had it in you to be someone like your brother. But of course, the Wolf who is fed the most prevails.

The amount of hurt and anger you actually harbored was way more than you thought. You can’t take back the fact that you’ve exploded on everyone you love now. But at least you can hold yourself accountable.

"I didn't mean that," Max mumbles. “I’m really sorry.”

"No, Max," you sigh. "You're right. And I'm sure you've been wanting to say that for a while..."

But Max refuses. “NO! I just wanted the last word again. Like I always fucking do even when I know it’s never worth it.”

You and your sister join each other by sitting criss-crossed on the floor, pushing the debris off to the side to be handled later. Max leans her head on you and you let her, combing through her knotted hair with your trembling fingers.

"We have a lot to unlearn, don't we?" she sighs.

You nod. "Oh yeah..."

She grabs your hand.

"Are you safe at least?" Max questions. "At work? Any creeps I gotta beat up for you?"

A laugh escapes you. "Nah, someone's already got that covered. Bones snapping and all."

Max flinches.

"That's how you got all that money real fast, huh? Stripping?”

You nod to confirm. "I did it for you. Well, us."

You watch as Max takes out her phone and shuffles through her camera roll. Her most recent in the gallery are videos of her shooting free throws at the Y and playing tennis. She cancels out some apps for more storage, one of them being Messenger. The tab reveals that Billy was spamming her again.

You both shudder. Max puts her phone away.

"Because of you I have a membership," she beams. "And I have a safe place to rest my head and I have money to do what I want and I have food on the table."

She hugs you.

“I hope you know how grateful I am for you. For putting my needs before yours. For throwing yourself into something so terrifying just so I can have a better life than you did growing up.”

“I never thought for a second you were being ungrateful,” you hug her back. “And no matter what I say or do, I’m sticking by you no matter what.”

“Even when I’m being an asshole?”

“Even when you’re being an asshole.”

Max giggles. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

Suddenly your door swings open, causing you and Max to jolt in place. Thankfully, it’s just Robin and Vicky, both worried and confused about the state of your room.

"ToTo," Robin says. "We're not in Hawkins anymore."

"What tornado rummaged through here?!" Vicky exclaimed. "Guys. Are you okay?"

You and Max burst into laughter.

"Yeah, we’re good," you nod. "Just Hurricane Hargrove passing through."

As long as you have Max and your sisterhood with Robin and Vicky, you know you're going to be okay.

You refuse to mope around for the rest of the day, so in the evening you go bowling with Max and your roommates, loading yourselves up with carbs and soda. You ignore Eddie’s “can we talk?” messages, along with Billy’s routine “where the fuck are you” texts followed by rage-calls without a care in the world . Towards the end of the night, however, when the “Sad Boy Hours” hit, there’s a text from a man you simply can’t ignore.

Maybe: Henry

Hey 🧍🏻 it's Henry from work. Can I ask you something? Pls be honest.

tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123

[multi-fandom-imagine]

[ wake ] for one muse to wake up to the other at the side of their hospital bed.

A/n: I am not so sure how I feel about this one.

It was a slit second reaction, one you weren’t even sure you would have been able to pull off but you had to try something.

You saw the glint of the knife which lead you to shove the man out of the way.

“Hey! What the-.”

“Always the observant type…weren’t you Y/n.”

That voice, you recognize it from anywhere. Just seeing the man made your skin crawl. “Krauser.” You has to bite your tongue to insult the man though a tight pain in your chest made blood bubble past your lips.

“Looks like our little lamb doesn’t have much time. These parasites, they’re a tricky little thing.”

You didn’t hear much of the conversation between Leon and Krauser. The pain was starting to become to much to handle, the blood slipping past your lips as Luis wrapped his arms around you as he carried you away from the fight. “It’s alright…you’re doing to be alright..I…I’m going to save you…I promise.”

Luis hated how weak he sounded, you didn’t deserve this. Wiping the blood away from his cheek he could barley hear what Leon was telling him but seeing you like this scared him. Pulling out they key in his pocket he glanced at Leon, Krauser long gone. “The lab…I need to get her to the lab.”

Cradling you against his chest, Luis just prayed that he could save you in time. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait for Leon though he was grateful that the man was standing in front of him. “I need too.”

“Go…I’ll catch up.” Leon gave him a nod, you looked so weak in his arms, your veins showing, your blood coating your shirt. “Do me a favor and keep the door unlocked.”

“por supuesto”

Luis tipped his head to the man then took off running as he prayed under his breath. “You’re going to be okay….I promise you’ll be okay.”

•+•

Getting to the lab was the easy part, but this part, this was the moment he was dreading. Laying you down on the bed Luis cupped your cheek, his thumb gliding over the skin. “You’re okay see….I’m going to fix this and you’re going to be okay but you need to do me a favor cariño…you need to hold on…this is going to hurt.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you weakly felt the man cup your hand, you felt metal beneath your finger tips.Your head was spinning, everything was felt like you were stuck in an echo chamber but Luis’s voice was the only thing that was coming in clear. “What do you mean-.”

“lo lamento.”

“Wh-.”

That’s when you felt it, the shocking pain was something like you’ve never felt before. You tried to endure the pain but it did not take long for you to pass out on the bed, Luis calling out your name.

+•+

Jolting awake, you let out a serious of coughs, a hand rubbing your back gently. “Easy…easy.”

Squinting you glanced up at the man, Luis giving you a smile. Lips trembling you wrapped your arms around him for a tight hug. “I have half a mind to slap you.”

Chucking Luis hugged you close as he placed a small kiss to your temple. “I would very much like for my face to remain intact…speaking of which we should really get out of here.”

“Why where are-.” A small yelp escaped your lips as Luis picked you up cradling you in his arms. “No time to talk princesa…”

“I.”

Now in Luis’s arms your buried your face into the man’s chest. You winced at the blaring alarm as the man held you closer though a laugh escaped his lips once he spotted the man. “Hola amigo!”

“Hey enough pleasantries! Get your ass on the jet ski, I rather not die.”

Snorting, Luis let you down. Your knees nearly bucking from under you. “Easy princesa, can’t have you on your knees yet.” Giving you a wink he helped you on the jet ski first then got on himself. “Hold on tight alright.”

Weaving your arms around his wiser you buried your face in the back of his neck. “Is this a bad time to say I get sea sick.”

“Please do not throw up on me.”

Scoffing you placed a kiss to his cheek though you let out a laugh as he speed off following Leon and Ashley.

+•+

You never thought you’d be grateful to step on dry land, sighing you gave Leon a smile then a nod as he walked off to brief Hunnigan on the events you all went through.

“So I think I owe you a big thank you in you know…saving my life.”

Luis scoffed as he grabbed your hand only to place a kiss to the back of it. “It’s the knight’s job to save the princesa.”

Shaking your head a smile graced your lips as you stood on your toes. “Well since that’s case then I think the knight deserves a kiss.”

“Maybe a dinner too?”

Rolling your eyes you let your arms wrap around his neck as you pulled him in for a kiss. “Defiantly a dinner.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist the man lifted you on the air spinning you around, a laugh escaping your lips. “Ah you are wonderful mi amor.”

Giggling you pressed your lips against his for another kiss, your fingers weaving through his hair.

Watching you both, Ashley cupped her hands inform of her. “I’m happy for them but…what about Luis…what’s going to happen to him.”

Rolling his neck, Leon shrugged his shoulders giving Ashley a slight smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Luis Serra died on the island…I’m looking at some guy we found.”

Beaming at Leon, Ashley placed a kiss to the agents cheek. “You’re the best Leon.”

[your-friendly-neighbourh00d-fag]

fab four headcanons lets go!

ghoul has a shit ton of scars. i mean, they all do, but ghoul has the most.

transfem jet star 🤝 transmasc kobra kid

party is the designated chef. they’re really good at cooking with like. feeling. you know? like how much salt? dc. just chuck some in. which therefore means:

kobra is a really really bad chef, because it’s not an exact science!!!! what is he supposed to do!!!

speaking of kobra! autism!!!!!!!! AUTISM!!!!!!

none of them are NT but. kobra is SOOOOsuperdupermega autism. if you even care.

ghoul loves those cringy ass shirts and stuff with sayings. like live laugh love. sunshine on the mind. he has a kiss the cook apron for when he makes bombs. you decide whether its ironic or not.

ghoul is also hard of hearing because i said so

the four have one big huge shared wardrobe that they all use, if stuff fits. like jet has a cool t-shirt that party steals, puts a funky belt on and wears as a dress. leather jackets and stuff are all communal. party and ghoul share the most, cause they're the closest in size.

kobra loves those silent cartoons, like tom and jerry, looney tunes, all that stuff, and he watches them with the girl all the time

while girlie's here, all of the four carry her differently. she sits on party's shoulders, jet puts her on their hip, kobra does piggybacks and ghoul will either scoop her up bridal style or firemans lift.

funkobra are in love by the way and they're t4t and autism4autism

this is random and not really in universe but kobra kid would LOVE rhythm games. like project sekai and bandori and stuff like that.

ghoul bites

^ that was going to be ghoul bites the skin around his nails but also. no he just bites.

he also has heterochromia

jet is the assigned medic of the gang and she's also the sharpshooter

speaking of which, jet star did kobra's top surgery

ghoul and kobra got drunk married one time and then didn't bother to fix it so they were married before they actually dated

ghoul has like. three shirts. and one pair of pants. that he never washes. and the other three hate it SO much. they're all begging him to get new clothes or at the very least fix the holes in the ones he has but he doesn't budge

ghoul sings the girl lullabyes

party can sew really well and makes clothes and stuff

jet loves dangly earrings and big clunky grandma bracelets, she has a whole jewellery box that party made for her and it's dark blue with light blue stars stuck onto it

anyway 👍 im normal about them

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Imagine...

Being Gibbs’ girl and going to visit him at NCIS during a break in your work day. You hurry out of the elevator, excited to see your man, your grin faltering at the sight of a brunette with legs for days perched on the edge of his desk. She’s skimming her fingers around the lip of her coffee cup over and over, and even from your vantage point at the edge of the bullpen you can read her like a book: the open body language, the attention-grabbing red lip, the clear fuck me eyes as they leer over your boyfriend’s form. She stands to brush an invisible piece of lint off one of his lapels, and you tamp down the urge to snarl. Instead, sweet as honey, you sing, “Jethro!”

He turns at the sound of your voice, a slow smile spreading across his face when he spots you, and warmth radiates throughout your body. With a few strides of his long legs, he’s standing before you, inquiring, “Who let you out of the psych ward?”

You toy with the hem of your scrubs and roll your eyes playfully. It’s his favorite joke when he sees you in uniform- and much to your chagrin, it’s become your favorite, too.

“Who’s your new friend?” you ask, inclining your head subtly in the unfamiliar woman’s direction. You can see over Jethro’s shoulder that she has a case file in hand, but she’s clearly assessing your interaction.

“Ms. Hart is a lawyer with a vested interest in this case.”

“Of course that’s her name,” you scoff, and he chuckles before supplying, “There’s no e, sweetheart. More importantly, mine belongs to you.” He presses his lips to your hairline and you hum, closing your eyes and muttering, “I don’t think that’s the part of you she has a vested interest in.”

He lets out a genuine laugh at that, chucking your chin affectionately. “Green’s a new look for you, babe.”

“Oh, shut up, Jet.” You tuck your fingers into the lapels of his suit jacket, intentionally brushing your thumb over the spot she previously touched, and growl, “Mine.”

“All yours,” he confirms with that sexy little smile in his arsenal that only you get to see. You curl your fingers tighter around the fabric, drawing Jethro down towards you and pressing your lips soundly against his. Your tongue sweeps past his lips and he gasps softly, surprised by the sudden show of dominance from his normally sweet, deferential girl. You let a respectable amount of time pass, ensuring that your little act hasn’t gone unseen, before pulling back and licking your lips with a gleam in your eye. You raise your thumb to the corner of Jethro’s mouth and swipe at the smudge of nude lipstick you’ve left behind.

He gives a gentle yet firm squeeze to your hips, his voice low when he says, “We’ll pick this up tonight, yeah?”

“If you’re good,” you grin. Using his broad shoulders to turn him back toward his team, you tap his ass and bark, “Back to work, Gunny!”

You meet Ms. Hart’s gaze with a sly smile, calling your goodbyes to the rest of the team. Passing Fornell on the way out, you shoot him a flirty wave, then turn to make purposeful eye contact with Jethro before the elevators doors close.

Tobias approaches Gibbs, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face, and mutters, “Me-ow. What was all that about?” 

Your boyfriend narrows his eyes, twinkling with mirth, and responds, “Down, boy. You can’t have that one.”

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

HANDS ON YOU — 040

IN WHICH; ILAND 2 happened and you debuted first place as the leader of LUMIÉRE. Having been told that your group is involved in a lore crossover with ENHYPEN, you navigate work, friendship, and love while trying to make it in an industry filled with animosity and condemnation. When life throws you lemons, you gotta make lemonades chuck it right back!

smau + written (1.0k words)

❥･• chapter 40 — i miss holding your hand

"You're the worst, Lee Heeseung," you say as soon as the door in front of you opens, revealing a shrivelled-up boy. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was homeless. "Y-Y/N?" he stutters as he catches sight of you, not so well groomed either, but at least your pyjamas are cute.

"Are we just going to stand here and stare at each other, maybe get a picture taken or two, or are you going to let me in?" Your eyebrows cock, your voice laced with a tint of sarcasm and before you know it, Heeseung pulls you into the apartment and, shockingly (not really), into his arms. The two of you stand with bated breaths at the doorway of his dorm, unconsciously forgetting that he shared with six other gremlins, in each other’s embrace for a good two minutes before Heeseung decided to break the silence.

"I thought you said you hated me?" His breath hits the back of your neck as his arms tightens around your tiny frame. Forget the hamster vs. deer debate; this man is a koala! You chuckle into his shoulders as you reciprocate his actions, bringing your fingers up to play with his now jet-black hair.

"I do," you are the first to pull apart, and he doesn't refute, letting his hands fall back beside him. For a second, you see a hint of disappointment flash across his face, and you wonder if Heeseung knows he is unintentionally pouting, willing all the power vested in you to not lean in and steal a long-overdue kiss from him.

Heeseung, on the other hand, does not take the situation lightly at all. While it took you little to no convincing from your members for you to rush out of the dorm, in your pyjamas no less, no reassurance or even gaslighting from the ENHYPEN members were able to convince Heeseung that he didn't mess up. Well... except according to Ni-ki: "He did, but for the greater good of mankind." It didn't really help the members' case for the most part.

Millions of thoughts seem to restlessly stir inside his head, and you swear you can almost see the gears in his brain turning, thinking of how he can possibly redeem himself—how he can convince you to stay by his side.

All those thoughts, however, are thrown out the window when you take hold of his hands, rubbing circles on his palms. Heeseung apprehensively catches your gaze that has never once left his, taking a deep breath before letting your innermost honest feelings take the wheel. "But I like you more."

"What? When—HOW?" Heeseung stutters, gripping onto your hand, his heart running the extra mile to keep his brain semi-functioning, because boy does he look like he is about to pass out.

"I think I sort of knew when you sent me that photo during our first conversation."

"That long ago? God, and I didn't manage to pick up on it?" He says, but more to himself, partially in shock that the two of you could have had something as long as five months ago. Heeseung even thought he was doing you a favour when he denied those allegations two months back, regret piling in now that he's reminded of it.

"And you?"

"Y/N, please, I've always thought you were attractive since I-LAND." Heeseung rolls his eyes, you can tell he threw it out lightly, most likely as a joke but you still smile to yourself, trying to keep a calm demeanour though you were mentally freaking out.

"I guess Ray was right, stupidity is a disease." You joke, and the two of you burst out into giggles. Heeseung silently presses his forehead against yours, his eyes firmly trained on your own, and his hands still firmly on you as yours are on him.

You feel your heart race as Heeseung's fingers delicately grip your chin, tilting your head up to meet his towering height. The anticipation hangs in the air, and his trembling hands betray his eagerness. A playful smile dances on your lips as you tease him, relishing in the moment. Finally, unable to resist any longer, you nod in consent, giving him permission to cross the boundary of what you thought would have been an endless situationship.

With no hesitation, Heeseung closes the gap between your lips, and the world around you fades into oblivion. Time stands still as the gentle pressure of his mouth against yours ignites a passionate fire within you. It's a tender yet fervent kiss, filled with the unspoken words and emotions that have been building between you.

Heeseung’s lips are soft and inviting, moving in perfect sync with yours. The electric current that surges through your body sends shivers down your spine while wrapped in his embrace, driving you to lose yourself in the blissful moment.

It feels as though the entire universe has aligned to bring you and Heeseung together, erasing all doubts and uncertainties that once plagued your minds. In this stolen moment, you find solace and comfort in his arms, as if you were made for one another.

The kiss lingers, an enchanting melody that only the two of you share. It speaks volumes, expressing an unfathomable emotion that has been silently growing, hidden beneath the surface.

When you finally part, breathless and filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and affection, you gaze into his eyes. There's a newfound understanding, a profound certainty that you are meant to embark on this hell of a journey together. In that moment, you both realise that fate, although fickle, has triumphed over any misunderstandings or doubts that once threatened to tear you apart, willing for you to find your way back to each other’s arms.

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♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

authors note: PEEP the series title mention 🤭 also yay end of heeyn social distancing era!! 🤪

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[ddejavvu]

Hi! I hope you're doing well! I love everything you write for Aaron Hotchner! I am so in love with this mannnn. I especially love the way you write dfd!hotch and all the lovey Hotch stuff.

So, anyway... in regards to this fic you wrote about aaron x fairy!reader (https://www.tumblr.com/ddejavvu/714841274143948800/fairyreader-with-hotch-hes-somewhere-in-the?source=share)... i am OBSESSED! Could you continue this story? Maybe where the reader and Aaron fall in love, he takes her home (loves on her hehehe) and introduces her to Jack. He would love his magical mum so much, would tell all his classmates..

With Aaron, she would be so cute and innocent and shy 🤭

Anyway, that's just what me and another person in the comments of the fic thought.

Would you consider this for a fic? Mvm or any other day, whenever you find the time, babe.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Sorry for ranting 😬

Love,

Peanut

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

thank you for being so kind! i'm glad you like my writing <333

--

"That's him," Aaron stops in Jack's doorway, whispering only loud enough so that you can hear him where you're perched on his shoulder, your hands gripping the collar of his shirt.

You'd stayed settled in his pocket for the jet ride home, which was entirely too loud, and the drive back to his office, but once he'd gotten you into his apartment, you'd fluttered up beside his head.

"He looks cozy," You note, the little boy's cheek pudged up and rosy against his pillow. His blonde hair is mussed slightly, and his fleece dinosaur pajamas are clinging tight to his frame.

"Mhm," Aaron nods, shutting the door behind him as he makes his way down the hall to his own bedroom, "Did it get cold in the forest? How'd you keep warm?"

"Mostly feathers and leaves," You hum, kicking your feet lightly back and forth against his chest, "I never got too cold. Sometimes the wind would pick up, though, and it'd all blow away."

Aaron hums sympathetically, and the hand that's gripping his collar, pressed up against his throat, feels the vibrations. You inch slightly closer to his face, but you're not sure that he notices while he rummages through a dresser drawer of his.

"Okay," He grabs fistfuls of socks, all neatly folded and crisp white, chucking them onto a chair in the corner, "You can sleep here, I'll leave it open if you want to move around."

You flutter into the empty drawer, intent on settling down onto the wood, but his palm slips beneath you just before you can touch the brown material, cupping you in his hand instead.

"Wait," He chuckles, "I'm gonna get padding for you. Did you sleep on the wood of that birdhouse this whole time?"

"Yeah," You shrug, hands braced on his palm while you lay on one hip, staring inquizitively up at him, "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," He assures you, a kind smile on his face as he fishes two t-shirts out of a lower drawer, "It just probably wasn't as comfortable for you as this is about to be."

He settles the shirts into the base of the drawer, putting them side-by-side so that they fill the space completely. They're folded, and add three or four layers of padding for when you'll eventually go to sleep.

"There, and-" He struggles to grab one of the pairs of socks without jostling you in his palm, smoothing out the lumps in the fabric and placing it into the drawer, "How's that for a pillow?"

He doesn't dump you off of his hand like you're worried he will, instead he lets you crawl off of his palm and onto the shirts. You test out the bed he's made for you, noting that the shirts smell a little bit like the forest you'd just left, woodsy and rough. Your head falls gently against the makeshift pillow, and the fabric of his rolled up socks is gentle on your skin. It's softer than anything you'd had available in the forest, even the fluffy feathers from the birds that fluttered through your woods every winter.

"I like it," You wriggle happily over your bedding, snuggling your face into the socks and grinning up at Aaron, "It's really comfy."

"I'm glad," Aaron hums, smiling down at you from where he's standing over your drawer. He looks handsome with a smile on, his face soft and sweet as it looms over your own.

"Aaron," You rise to your knees, reaching for his cheeks with both of your hands, much smaller than the surface area you put them on. His eyes shine, glittering just like your wings as he raises his brows, humming down at you with the softest voice you've ever heard.

"Thank you. For helping me with my house, for taking me with you, for making me comfortable. Just... thank you."

"Of course," He smiles, lashes fluttering as he blinks, "I'm glad I could help you like you helped me."

You flutter your wings in response, shaking some glitter off onto the shirts below you, but you don't mind. They propel you upwards, and you end up face-to-face with Aaron, your lips puckered primly to kiss the tip of his nose.

It's different from the first time you'd done it, more familiar now, but he still blushes just the same. His skin heats up beneath your palms as you thank him for his help, backing away far enough to catch the gaze of his pretty brown eyes.

He reaches for your face next, with only one finger to tilt your chin up. You comply easily, your own eyes shining as he puckers his lips.

His are much bigger than yours, and it's hard to aim for your nose. What he catches is a stripe across your entire face, cheeks and all when he aims for the tip of your nose.

The sensation of his lips over your face makes you giggle, and your laughter spurs on his own. Then you're just giggly together, standing in the dim light of his bedroom, your hands on his cheeks and his finger beneath your chin, laughing an inch from each others faces.

"Goodnight," He bids you, the same lips that had just stamped over your cheeks curving into a smile. You wish him the same, and you miss his presence the second he steps away to change his clothes.

He peeks into your drawer when he gets out of the closet, finding you already bundled up beneath the first layer of one of his shirts, neckline pulled up to your chin. You've shut your eyes, clearly tuckered out from your long day, and he slips under his own blankets with a similar fatigue.

It's only when his light snores begin to fill the room that you open your eyes again, peering carefully over the rim of the drawer you're in. He's flat on his back with one arm thrown over his head, so you flutter across the room to stand carefully on his chest. His breathing is even and he doesn't wake at your presence, which gives you the o-k to sneak a hand beneath the neckline of his shirt, slipping beneath the hem just like you had in your drawer. This t-shirt, the one that he's wearing, smells even more like the forest you'd left, and you wonder if that's just how Aaron smells.

His skin his warm and soft as you lay yourself flat over it, tucked carefully into his neckline and sprawled out over his chest. It's much easier to fall asleep here than it had been on the sock-pillow, but that's no insult to Aaron's laundry-folding abilities. The socks couldn't possibly have produced this same euphoric serenity that's coursing through your veins now as you lay with Aaron, and your eyes flutter shut with little regard to how he'll react to having piles of glitter on his chest from your wings. That's a morning problem, and this is a nighttime solution.