#but i explained to her that i think him being there would be much worse because he'd want to be in charge and he's quite chaotic with moves

[talisidekick]

Someone tagged this with the following and I actually want to talk about this:

This isn't the first response like this. I've had comments, asks, tags like this one, reblogs, and even comments on other platforms where this has spread to that bring up racism and xenophobia. Whether thats accusing me of being racist or hating immigrants (despite coming from a family if immigrants) or just pointing out, like this person did, the inherent xenophobic attitude the world has for my pharmacist to want to change his first name to an English sounding name. And it gets worse, I was given an English name at birth because my mother wanted me to "have a name that fit in". They weren't English, my last name was German, my great-grandmother who was a pillar in the family used German and Norweigan words mixed in her English that carried into my life and still does to this day. And because I wasn't "English", I still got picked on at school to the point I filtered out the german/norweigan in my vocabulary and learned to mimick accents to remove any germanic lilt I had in my speech.

Point being, I made this post recognizing the inherent xenophobia present. That's one of the reasons I told my pharmacist he didn't need to do that for my sake. I kind of suspected he wasn't just being kind. The way he said it had intent. The next time I saw him, nametag out, proud, it was touching to see the name I was given to protect me from xenophobia going to protect someone else, but also a bit bitter that I know part of the reason for wanting to find an English name was the pressure to blend in and sidestep a LOT of bullshit.

My name now is Germanic, my middle name Italian, my last name Ukrainian, and my nickname I use everywhere to make peoples lives easier is Talia or Tali <- To which I've learned "Tali" is a common short-hand/nickname or name for some in the middle-east (I didn't know, I just mashed up my middle name with my childhood nickname 'T' to get it so my friends would have an easier time transitioning over to my new name and it stuck. I just recently found out from a co-worker who just got back from a trip to the middle east and asked me about it). I'm no longer side-stepping the bullshit, I have noticed a difference in treatment. If people don't know me, and haven't seen me, like when it's over the phone or in email, it takes much longer and I have to be more precise with my wording. In fact, I've noticed it a bit when in person too. Next to my English named co-workers, I am treated by some like I know less and I'm scruitinized a bit more. Now obviously if I was a woman of colour and not off-white canvas, this would be 10-times worse in ways I'm not qualified or experienced to explain or get into. I'll leave that to someone WITH that kind of experience to get into.

I've never mentioned whether my pharmacist is a coloured man or not, and I never will. It's not that it "doesn't matter", every aspect of that man shapes his existence and experience of this life. I'm just not clarifying because the moment I do, I know some of you are going to solely focus on his race and miss the nuance of everything this post is about. It's about transgender positivity, discrimination, humour, and the kind-hearted actions of an incredible man in his journey of immigration. By leaving him faceless, every one of you brings something of yourself to this post. Be it simple joy, or further commentary.

The person who tagged this post is one of many who've accurately pointed out one underlying truth about this post. Not everyone is treated equally in society. This happened in Canada. Do you begin to understand the depths this post goes to with all that I've said here? With what you now know about me? Because I think some of you should now re-read the post again.

A while back my pharmacist saw my deadname on my profile and accidentially called it out, he corrected and deleted my deadname from the system so only my preferred name shows up now. There was a crowd of people behind me, so as he hands over the pills he apologized, in equal tone and volume as when he called my deadname and lied saying it's been a long day and he didn't mean to call out -his own- name. I quietly told him it was fine and he didn't need to do that for my sake.

His response: "No, it's my name now."

I went to the pharmacist yesterday, his nametag is my deadname. He informed me he's immigrating and in the process he's changed his first name to my deadname to have an English sounding name. That's why he's now able to get a reprint of his nametag to be my deadname. And repeated, with the intense seriousness of someone who is going to die on this hill: "It's mine now. Not yours. I'm taking." His tone indicated that decision is final.

Bro literally deadnamed me once, and has committed to flat out stealing my deadname. It's his now. Legally. Officially. I over heard his co-workers call him by the name.

[destinedfordiapers]

The Intern

This caption is for @ellieabdl, a blushy little thing. I hope you enjoy it!

You sat there frozen in place, terror washing over you.

This can’t be happening.

Pee trickled down your office chair, pooling on the floor. You just peed yourself. At work.

What were you going to do?

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does. She walked in, that same confident smile plastered on her face.

Nobody would have ever suspected Megan was a mere intern at the office. Despite being over ten years older than her—and her direct supervisor—you were often confused for her intern by clients.

There was just something about her. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt the pressure her presence put on you.

Megan took one look at you, her eyes drifting down to the pool of your own pee, before walking straight toward you.

“Up,” she demanded. You obey. She inspects the damage, turning you around.

“Don’t worry, you’re okay. Give me your phone, I’ll call your husband.”

Too shocked to argue, you hand her your phone.

“Hi…no, this is Megan, Eleanor’s intern. She’s fine, well, kinda…no, no nothing serious! She just…well she had a little accident…oh, it’s not her first? Well that explains some things…great, we’ll be waiting in her office.”

She turns to you, smiling. “Your husband is on the way with a change of clothes. Just sit here, okay? I’ll make sure everything gets cleaned up.”

The next twenty minutes were some of the most awkward in your life. Megan never left your office. Finally, your husband, Jason, walks in with a bag of spare clothes.

He hands you the bag and you open it. To your utter horror, a pull-up is sitting on top.

“Eleanor,” Jason says calmly, “I think it’s time you wear some protection. This is starting to get out of hand.”

Before you can argue, Megan nods her head. “I agree, Eleanor. And Jason, I’ll be happy to help keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s not leaking and changing on time.”

That was six months ago.

Six grueling, humiliating months.

Somehow your intern now walked into your office like you were her subordinate. She didn’t knock. She just came in.

Megan walked straight over to you, telling you to stand up. And, no matter how much you wanted to argue, to stand up for yourself, you obeyed.

You let your intern—over a decade younger than you—walk into your office and check your pull-up. And if you were soggy, she’d hand you another pull-up and tell you to go change.

And your pull-up was wet far more often than before. Needless to say, your confidence was shattered. Your performance and work was slipping.

Every day, Megan would report your pull-up usage to your husband. Each day their conversations got lighter, their laughter intensified.

You loathed Megan’s power over you. The way everything she did was so effortless. She was graceful; she was strong. Most of all, you hated the way you always obeyed her.

And then it happened.

You felt a sudden, devastating urge. You needed to get to the bathroom now or you’d mess your pull-up. You wouldn’t let that happen. You waddled as fast as you could without losing control to the bathroom. As you got to the bathroom door, you felt a sigh of relief.

You were going to make it.

Until Megan opened the door. “What’s the rush, Ellie?”

It was too late. Before you could take another step—or even respond—you were squatting down and filling your pull-up.

Megan watched the whole thing, eyes locked onto you.

“Uh oh, did smelly Ellie make a stinky in her pull-up? I need to call your husband, we need to have a little chat about you.”

The next day, your husband insisted that he drives you to work over your objections. It was unusual—but so was the thick diaper between your legs.

After yesterday, your husband decided you’ll be in diapers until you can figure out your “potty situation.”

To your surprise, your husband opened your car door and told you to follow him upstairs, offering his hand.

“W-what are you doing?” you ask meekly.

“Your boss is expecting us,” he says matter-of-factly.

Without another word, you follow your husband as he marched to your bosses office, hyper-aware of the crinkling of your diaper.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see her in your bosses office. That same confident grin you hated so much.

Megan greets your husband like an old friend before everyone sits.

“What’s this all about?” your boss asks.

Without hesitation, Megan starts, “About my promotion, sir. Ellie is no longer qualified for her position, though I’m not sure she ever was.”

You look at her stunned. You move to stand up, but your husband’s hand prevents it. “No, Ellie,” he whispers to you.

Your husband turns to your boss. “Ellie is here to resign. It’s for the best. She’s clearly overwhelmed by this job and Megan is far better suited for the position.”

Your boss looks at you and Megan. His confusion gives way to a smile.

“Well, this certainly saves an awkward conversation. Megan is someone our company cannot afford to lose. And Eleanor’s performance has been, well, dreadful lately.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m happy to take over her position immediately,” Megan grins, “This is a win-win for everyone.”

Your boss nods. “But…may I ask why?”

Your husband answers for you. “Ellie isn’t made for the corporate world. She needs a slower pace in life. If she’s too immature to keep her pants clean, she’s definitely too immature to be a Senior Vice President!”

“So it’s true?” your boss asks, “I try not to be involved in office gossip, but it was all everyone could talk about yesterday.”

“Yep!” Megan answers, “Ellie had an oopsie-daisy in her pull-up yesterday. So we decided it was best for her to…move to a position more suited for her.”

“Well, that settles it,” your boss says standing up, signifying the end of the meeting, “Stick around Megan, I want to talk to you about your job after I walk Elean—Ellie—out.”

On the drive home, your husband explained exactly what your “new position” would be.

“Ellie, I love you. I’ll always love you. But things are going to change. You were never cut out for all this. I see that now. It was selfish of me to even let you try.”

You open your mouth to argue.

“No sweetie, just listen. You’re not like Megan. She may be 12 years younger than you, but she’s already everything you’re not. She’s smart, confident, and capable. I mean, she did take your job in six months—starting as in intern!”

“And what did you do while she did that? You went back to diapers. While she was taking your job, you were filling your pampers. So, if you’re going to act like a baby, then you’ll be treated like one.”

“I-I’m not a baby, it was just stress! I..”

“Oh, you’re not? Let’s see, Ellie. Babies need diapers—and so do you. Babies don’t have jobs—and neither do you. Babies cry when they’re upset or have an accident—and so do you. So what does that make you?”

You feel your diaper grow warm.

“I’ll help you out. It makes you a baby. And what do babies need, hmm? Caregivers! Babies need Daddies! And so do you.”

Your eyes grow wide.

“So from now on, I’m not your husband. I’m your Daddy. And your only job—now that you’re unemployed—is to be Daddy’s little angel. You don’t need to worry about a single thing anymore.”

Your husband—well, Daddy now—took his new role seriously. The guest room slowly transformed into a nursery. Complete with changing table, crib, and toys.

So many toys.

You found yourself losing more adult privileges every day, slipping more into the world of your second babyhood.

Your bedtime was now 7:30. You took a nap at noon every day. Your meals were served in a high chair—and never with any utensils. Your movies and tv shows were never rated above PG.

More troubling, you could swear you heard someone else in the house after Daddy put you to bed. But no matter how many times you asked, Daddy just laughed.

“Don’t worry about the adults, Ellie-welly, babies like you should be in dreamland!”

Which brings us to today.

It started like any other. Well, since your Daddy sent you back to babyhood. Daddy woke you up, changed your diaper with plenty of tummy tickles and raspberries. You ate your oatmeal in your highchair. You made your mid-morning stinky. And Daddy put you down for your nap.

All standard stuff.

You were laying on your bed, coloring and watching Bluey when it happened.

“Hi Da—!” you started, before realizing it wasn’t Daddy.

It was Megan.

“Hiya, Ellie!” Megan cooed, “Awwww, are you coloring for Daddy? Are you staying in the lines or is that still too much for you?”

“Wha-what are you doing here?” you whimper.

“Well, someone needs to watch Daddy’s little stinker while he runs errands. Babies can’t change their own diapers, silly!”

Megan reaches down and checks your diaper. “Not too wet, yet, Ellie-belly!”

You whimper like a scared baby who misses her Daddy.

Because that’s what you are.

"I can’t believe it,” Megan scoffs, “I knew you were pathetic when you hired me, but I didn’t know you were this pathetic. I mean, aren’t you like 33? Look at you! In a soggy diaper coloring on a workday?”

You look at Megan. She’s so beautiful, so sexy in a way you could never be. Not in thick, soggy diapers.

���And this room? I can’t. Well, nursery, is the better word. You even have a changing table! And look how many diapers! Isn’t it embarrassing to know you’re going to fill every single one up?”

“Or do you even care? I mean, I’d never let myself be some pamper packer while my Daddy is out fucking re—never mind.”

Despite your overwhelming humiliation, you can’t help yourself. “D-doing what?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t know? Did Daddy not tell you? Well, it does make sense, why would a Daddy tell a baby who he’s fucking? Wait…have you not even wondered? Are you THAT much of a baby you don’t even think of sex anymore?”

She’s lying. She had to be.

You blush violently, dreading the truth. You hadn’t had sex since the day you were fired. But that was just because Daddy was adjusting! Surely.

“Ellie, your Daddy needs a woman—not some baby in diapers. You understand that, right? Look at me. I’m everything your Daddy wants. I have a job. I’m potty trained. I’m mature. You’re none of those things.”

You want to yell, to scream at Megan. But the look in her eye—the menace—shuts you down.

There’s no point in trying. She’s in control. You’ll never beat her. She’s right. She’s everything you’re not.

“Now, little one, let’s find something to do before your Daddy gets home. I think it’s good for us to bond in our new roles.”

“N-new roles?” you stutter.

She just laughs. “Don’t you worry your silly little head, Ellie-welly, I’m sure you’ll figure it all out one day.”

[azurem]

Oooh 💥☝️Sum up the kind of relationship they have 💥🛐 I feel like while they are (GAY) cute together they are still a little toxic (silly toxic) with each other.Something like using each other for some benefit HEHEHAHAHA 💥

Okay this is kinda fun cuz I think it depends on how far along they are in their relationship. However, to be more hmmm concise, I'll explain their dynamic in a "half—half" relationship situation! (Aka they've been a couple for some time but they aren't super-married)

(about them using each other cuz it's long)

First of all we have to have in mind that they both entered the relationship not only out of genuine attraction but also because the other was useful. — In my multiverse, at least, Nightmare's main fuel to start knowing Ink better/manipulate him was because of a single truth in their verse: while most people can AU travel, they can't AU discover (For example, if a fell Undyne wanted to fo back to her verse from a classic AU, she could do it quite easily. But if she wouldn't be able to go to an AU she has never been in).

And while Nightmare can go AU "discover", this method of transportation would be limited to mostly negative AUs anyway. Like, even if he, somehow, managed to negative all the neutral AUs (make everyone miserable) he would never be able to get into pacifist AUs because he can't travel to AUs that have much positivity. This was a problem for him cuz he wanted to have all of the AUs under him and not just half of them. As such, he decided to find a solution, which was to find a multiverse explorer that was able to transport multiple people: Ink.

(the way he discovered it was mostly out of some reasoning ngl. Ink's the natural foil to Error, who seems to go wherever he wants, so it'd be natural for him to be able to travel non discriminately. The reason why he chose Ink was because he was the most accessible and "tame" out of the others he knew about)

Ink's way of using Nightmare mostly relied on stuff he already promised to them: like, being able to call Nightmare's gang whenever he felt like Error was being too much (as in my multiverse lore creativity was running lower than usual so Ink couldn't keep attacking at his usual pace since it's either being able to battle or having emotions) and meta stuff that Nightmare wasn't affected by; he wanted to bait the creators into paying more attention because a partnership between the two of them would be something new.

Anyways with that base talked about it's kinda funny to talk about this. Hm. At a medium point, they don't really use each other like that. Mainly because they found out about something called the emotional wall. They weren't supposed to catch feelings for each other, so these efforts to exploit each other's abilities for their own benefit simply. Can't be done comfortably.

Main one affected by this is Nightmare, who I feel would be the one most attached. While Ink is still somewhat of an asset to him, he has already acknowledged that any true effort to truly weaponize Ink like that would end up with them being affected negatively. Seeing Ink affected negatively isn't particularly attractive to him, so he doesn't. The problem of the limited travel still exists, but he has decided not to think about it for some time forward. (After all, he still has Ink under his sleeve. Even if he chooses not to use him now doesn't mean that he won't be after, right?). Besides this being a thing™ he also knows he's at a disadvantage in the emotional play. He is the one that fell harder. He can't go being too careless if Ink could break him with a few placed words and not vice versa.

Ink is funny because I feel like he would just. Not use much of Nightmare's help like that, even at the beginning. It's a recurring theme I have for Ink that he just likes to suffer. He really enjoys drowning in glasses of water. The thing just got worse now that he got feelings because as he now feels somewhat responsible for Nightmare's actions he doesn't like to really involve him in his deal with Error. It was different when Nightmare was somewhat of a NPC to him as he just assumed it was a character behaving against another (Night having beef with Error and using him as an excuse to beat him up and win them over) but now that he actually believes him a person he's just. Really uncomfortable?? (Would you get your partner to help you defeat a videogame boss? Even if yes, Ink just doesn't strike me as someone who'd ask for help. To me, he just loves to make everything more difficult for himself)

(actual dynamics)

I think they are kind of cute while they're alone. But it's fun to think about love dynamics...!

As I've mentioned before, my usual dynamic for them is that Nightmare's the one that fell harder and the one that's the most sure about the feelings he has. Ink fell after but he's the one that's the most ashamed of how he's feeling. (I like to play that this is when he discovered "embarrassment" and "shame" as true emotions. His crush is shameful. He still thinks of himself as someone above other characters in a way. He gets ashamed of liking Nightmare the way someone gets embarrassed of liking a character too much for their liking). However, while he's ashamed I feel like he tries to overcompensate it by being obnoxious about it?

Like, he knows he's kinda uwu butterflies in tummy yn-ing here. But he's also aware that his romance fic co-protagonist is doing worse. He doesn't get as flustered when he's the one doing the flustering, so he pretty much goes for the kill whenever he has the chance to. Nightmare doesn't fall far behind because he's salty Ink made him fall in love with them, so flustering them would be his owed revenge. They're kinda competitive like that.

(this spitefulness Nightmare has also translates to a desire to see Ink under him/in a lower position than his as a way to gain back control, which is fun to think about. He just really doesn't like the idea that Ink's the one with the most power in their relationship, though he can't fault them since he's the one with the feelings. Evil stuff)

(also theme of love is shame and love is power kinda thing here i dunno)

Toxic stuff (evil)

Okay here comes the heavy stuff. Even taking into account how they wouldn't use each other in practical ways, they'd still be pretty toxic I believe. They grow and get better but. It's a harsh thing. I like wholesome not that angsty stuff so most of the bad behaviors aren't that. Severe?

First of all I think Ink would be neglectful and would just refuse to communicate. He pretty much weaponizes ignoring Nightmare whenever he feels like he's been slighted. Like, Ink would forget to check/say hi, Nightmare would get upset at being ignored and Ink would just go back to ignore him because he didn't like the tone he used when he was complaining. He'd also lie a lot, mainly when he forgets about things they were supposed to do and all that. (Though they ended up neutralizing this one cuz Nightmare now has a vial of paint just to summon Ink if he ever wants to talk/date, so yippie??)

Ink would also just. Not take a lot of hints? He'd play along with most of the stuff he does notice, though. He'd play flustered if he thought Nightmare deserved it as a reward kinda thing.

I think he just wouldn't treat Nightmare much as an equal, even if he's one of the most "person" to him. Habits die hard so I think he would fall to see him as a dateable NPC at times. Kinda condescending in a way.

Nightmare's toxicness is fun to think about, mainly because I think it's. Explosive?

Like, I feel like he wouldn't get too manipulative since he knows Ink. Well. Knows whenever he's trying something funny. He knows Ink would just play along so the idea of doing so feels useless to him. He wouldn't be too abrasive because he also knows that Ink's the one holding the most power in the relationship; Nightmare can't act without any thought behind because Ink would retaliate and he'd retaliate hard. So he just doesn't act very much nor complains too much about it up until he gets upset enough he does.

So yeah. I'm afraid that Nightmare would vampire wattpad boyfriend behave. Sometimes. He'd try to be... Reasonable?? (While he gets jealous he knows Ink's pretty much aroace so he's not making any sense) But he would also semi kidnap Ink whenever he feels like they're forgetting who's supposed to be in charge of their thing. Not very effective since Ink doesn't treat him seriously but it's a thing he would do I believe. Just. Him trying to get Ink to behave "according" to a monarch's spouse but Ink just never caring about it.

Nightmare would also be very. Old minded in a way. He'd try to get ink to wear shoes and stay inside more because he's evil and shouldn't be trusted.

Also he would have a weird fixation into trying to get Ink scared because he feels like fear is one of the only reliable methods of control he has. Not because of him because he doesn't want to change the fact that he's gained his trust but. External factors. He'd have a field day the day he finds Ink's scared of the white/the antivoid, though he would also be shameless and try to comfort him cuz he's a jerk.

I just think they would both be very into reaction seeking. Ink has faked to break up with him before. Nightmare has hid some of Ink's paints just to see if Ink would get more/not care and only drink paint that he already has in his sash. I hate them

[equalperson]

I fucking hate being traumatized because why am I bawling the hardest I've bawled in god-knows-how-long because someone I didn't even like that much berated Me. gasping wailing trembling and snotting over this for several minutes.

[pinacoladamatata]

something something down by the river

yeah i could draw something other than two characters gazing at each other with utter heartsick longing but I know what i'm about son

[girlivealwaysbean]

dni.

[senzasord]

I got like four hours sleep, Cody is apparently sick again and can't see the vet until 4:45, my mum asked my uncle to help me move without asking me first which has kicked up a whole bunch of awful memories, and I have a stomach ache because I'm so stressed.

But I am finally getting some assignment work done.

[sticky-sugar]

try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.” 

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly. 

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him. 

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober. 

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts. 

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen. 

fuck. 

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice. 

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth. 

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.” 

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you. 

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.” 

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else. 

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning. 

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again. 

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option. 

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know. 

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable. 

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions. 

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that. 

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again. 

your phone buzzes in your hand. 

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus. 

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that. 

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that? 

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!” 

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you. 

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“ 

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it. 

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last. 

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room. 

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to. 

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours. 

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them. 

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates. 

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you. 

he does, a week later.

— 

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly. 

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him. 

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed. 

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear. 

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention. 

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be. 

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair. 

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room. 

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants. 

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert. 

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body. 

you’re completely naked. 

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything. 

but it’s enough. 

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you. 

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight. 

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does? 

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face. 

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him. 

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight. 

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you. 

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat. 

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t. 

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you. 

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after. 

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t. 

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers. 

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt. 

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations. 

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance. 

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up. 

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore. 

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own. 

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck. 

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.” 

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him. 

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“ 

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that. 

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“ 

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you. 

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers. 

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.” 

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.” 

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes. 

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear. 

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him. 

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in. 

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done. 

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand. 

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“ 

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams. 

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you. 

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.” 

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling. 

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.” 

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.” 

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it. 

[lookingforuravity]

THE ONLY EXCEPTION

♫ now playing - the only exception by paramore

bakugou x reader

word count: 1,827 words

IN WHICH each time your friends caught bakugou only being nice to you.

a/n: still 'fool for you' just changed the title (≧ω≦)

“i've never seen him so.. calm.”

“right? he's always so uptight.”

the two friends were peering over the couch as they watched bakugou and y/n sleep soundlessly. there was a serene look drawn on his face while he held y/n closely to him, her hand resting softly on his chest as their chests rose up and down simultaneously.

“how come he's so much nicer to her than any of us?” kirishima complained with a pout stitched on his lips. he'd been friends with bakugou way before (two months) him and y/n got together. where was his special treatment?

“they're dating duh. why wouldn't he be nice to her?” mina replied as gazed at the couple with a soft gaze in her eyes. their young, teenage love was truly admirable.

even if bakugou seemed to have a stick up his ass 24/7.

the couple twitched softly in their sleep. it had been a long and stressful day of endless amounts of training, and lord knew that they both needed a break. a thin blanket was all that covered their bodies, but anybody could make out the way bakugou held her waist and the way y/n laid her hand on his chest underneath the sheet.

the usually quiet library turned into a circus as it filled up with bakugou's grumbling, denki's whines, and y/n's giggling. the sight of bakugou repeatedly smacking denki on the head with rolled up paper was an entertaining sight to distract her from her note-taking.

“are you seriously this stupid?” bakugou growled as he peered over the blonde's notebook, erasing and scribbling over any mistakes he made. denki pouted while rubbing his head on the spot that bakugou smacked. “c'mon.. it's really not that easy!” denki whined.

bakugou's vermillion eyes narrowed at denki. “it's basic algebra! how did you even get this far if you can't do simple math?!” he snapped.

denki continued to pout as he grumbled under his breath, something about bakugou lacking basic respect.

“uh.. katsuki?” y/n called out hesitantly.

though he still kept the glare on his face, the way his body language softened was visible, and how his tone contrasted from denki to her was plain obvious. “what?”

she turned over her notebook towards him so he can see her work. “i think i did it wrong.. can you check it?”

bakugou grabbed her notebook and skimmed over her work. “yeah.. here, let me explain.” he leaned over closer to her, close enough to where she can smell caramel on his skin.

denki's mouth fell agape as he watched how the guy went from raising hell on him to looking like he was practically skipping in a field of flowers inside his head. “that is SO not fair! how come you're so much nicer to her than me?!”

“cause she's not an idiot! keep working!”

it was far past midnight, and it was already one thing that izuku couldn't sleep, but on an empty stomach? it made it far much worse. he tried everything in the book from counting sheep to counting his breaths, but nothing could beat his racing mind and the sound of his stomach growling.

izuku didn't want to disturb anyone, but would it really hurt if he just tip-toed to the common room? he sighed as he ran his hand through his curly green hair, quietly making his way to the kitchen to not wake anyone.

but as he walked through the common room, a taller figure appeared in front of him.

“GAH!” he yelped, hastily smacking a hand over his mouth as he realized how loud he'd screamed. “shoto!” he half-whispered. “what are you doing?!”

todoroki stood still, his expression unwavering. “i couldn't sleep.” his direction turned towards the kitchen. “i wanted to get a snack, but i think someone is in there.” he said.

that's odd. it was almost one in the morning, and the only people that izuku thought could be awake fell asleep ages ago. he asked todoroki who it was but he only shrugged, showing he only heard the person but never checked who it was.

he never thought he'd be met with the sight of bakugou resting his chin on y/n's shoulder as she made them snacks.

“at 12:47 in the morning? that's way past bakugou's bedtime…” todoroki muttered under his breath.

bakugou's tone was softer, softer than anyone had ever heard besides y/n herself. “you better not burn it.” he huffed.

y/n giggled, slightly turning her head to face his side profile. “i'm not going to burn our snacks,” she assured. “i'm an expert.”

“expert my ass.”

“hey!”

izuku and todoroki looked like a deer in headlights looking at the scene before them. they wanted to walk away, believe them, they really did. but the sight of bakugou being so domestic was such a rare and amusing sight to see.

“do we… leave?” izuku suggested.

“i don't know…” todoroki answered. “this is really weird.”

bakugou’s head shot up from her shoulder and turned to look at the two voices faster than the speed of light. his ruby eyes were narrowed as he glared them down as his lips curled. “the hell are you guys doing?”

izuku's hands flapped around in a panic. “w-we were just about to leave! i swear-”

“you're very affectionate, bakugou” todoroki said, as blunt as ever.

“shut up!” he yelled, his face turning as a red as a tomato and his hair puffed up. y/n giggled once again at the dramatic scene that laid in front of her. “do you guys want snacks too?” she offered.

“why are you giving our food to extras?” “suki!”

brutal wasn't even the word to describe today's training session. everyone was curled up on the ground, hands over their stomach as it even hurt to breathe. the sounds that filled the room were heavy breathing and complaints. and y/n— was nowhere to be found.

mina, jirou, and ochaco all wandered the hallways, a worried look etched on their face as they searched for their friend. “i'm really worried about her y'know.” mina was the first one to break the silence.

both girls nodded in agreement.

“so am i,” ochaco said. “she just disappeared right after training ended.”

the trio kept wandering the halls, looking in every corner and every turn where y/n could be hiding.

suddenly, through the glass window, they see their little y/c haired friend sitting on the bench, with her fingers intertwined on her lap and her head hung low.

“there she is!” jirou yelled, quickly running to the nearest door to go outside and get y/n while the other two girls trailed closely behind her.

but something made them stop dead in their tracks. the closer they got to the window, the more they were able to see someone elses silhouette sat next to her.

“is that bakugou?”

bakugou's arm was wrapped securely around y/n's shoulders, intently listening to her rambling about whatever she needed to get off her chest.

“i did really bad today.” she mumbled, her voice filled with sadness and frustration.

“and that’s okay.” bakugou comforted her. “one bad doesn't mean you suck. everyone has bad days.” he reassured her, rubbing light circles on her shoulders.

y/n shrugged, playing and picking at her fingers as they rested on her lap. “i just think i’m weak, y’know?” she mumbled once again.

“you're not- hey. look at me.” bakugou squished her cheeks and turned her head to face his. “stop. you think i'd be talking to you like this if you're so weak? hm?”

“no?” she muffled due to how much bakugou was squishing her face.

“exactly. you're strong, so stop putting yourself down because of one off day and keep training.”

“you're hurting my cheeks.”

bakugou let go of her face, lightly patting her cheeks as an apology. “my point is, one bad day doesn't mean you're weak. think about every other time you've kicked ass.”

y/n laughed softly, her face changing from what looked like a kicked puppy to her usual grin. “thank you suki.” she said.

“this is the cutest thing I've ever seen.” mina whispered while clenching her shirt where her heart is tightly.

“who knew the pomeranian could be such a romantic?” jirou teased as ochaco and mina giggled along side of her.

bakugou lightly ruffled the top of y/n's hair, lightly blushing from the way she looked at him with such a lovestruck glance. “you're strong. don't start with that ‘i'm weak’ shit cause i won't hear it.”

“you're so sweet when you want to be.”

“now you're pushing it.”

“why are you only nice to me?” the question caught katsuki off guard.

the couple had been in y/n's dorm room simply sitting in silence, with their legs entangled together and the light noise of the TV playing in the background.

he turned his head slightly to face her, their eyes meeting instantly as she was already looking at him so softly. “why wouldn't i be?” katsuki questioned as his fingers lightly played with her hair.

y/n shrugged, not having a response to his question. it just seemed out-of-character for him. he was the type of person to not let anyone change him, good or bad.

but the crude boy would come to be a puddle of sap when it came to her. even if it wasn't obvious verbally, the ways his eyes softened when they laid upon her was enough said.

“i asked you a question first.” she retorted.

katsuki exhaled sharply, his gaze turning from her to the ceiling as his heart rate sped up a bit. “you're just.. different.”

y/n's eyebrows raised slightly as a smirk stitched itself onto her face. she scooted closer to katsuki's side, leaning her head on his bicep as she stared lovingly at his side profile. “i'm.. different? there's more to that, isn't there?”

“of course there is. you just don't get to know that stuff right now.”

y/n knew that katsuki wasn't one to talk about his feelings. she wasn't looking to change that. but the simple thought of him just looking at her differently from the rest, like shes the only person in every room, made her heart flutter.

“don't think i'm getting soft though.” katsuki grumbled, an arm slipping around her waist as he pulled her impossibly closer.

“you're just… the only exception.”

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2024 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other

TAGLIST: @kaerotica @sweetlike-sugarplum @misfortvne @iridescencefae @awesomesauce-oo @kalulakunundrum

[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

[prodixal]

"Aye. I wouldn't say I was green with jealousy of this...fictional friend of yours. Mildly jealous, maybe? A tad bit?" he wasn't entirely sure if being jealous of someone who did not exist was better, or worse, than the alternative. Either way, he was not fond the guy -- or the idea of him. "Besides you are far more jealous than I. If this was one of our competitions you'd be sure to win. For a change." he shrugged at the words, as if they were spoken with utmost certainty -- and yet he knew them not to be true. Rickon did not think it was possible to feel jealousy stronger than he did, and yet he kept those feelings at bay when they did arise -- mostly. It was unbecoming of a lord, to act on such impulses. And he had no right to jealousy, not with her. As she proceeded to explain her thoughts, with brows furrowed and words broken in their struggle to convert feelings into thoughts -- he had half a mind to stop her. It felt oddly wrong that she should need to do that, that she should need to reassure him when she was just as much her own person as he had been his own. Just as capable of making decisions, just as certain. And yet it felt good to hear -- it felt good to allow them, even if only this once. Because they etched on, every word of hers engraved into his mind like it was made of stone and they were chisel. "Alright." he says at last then, and his eyes go visibly softer, and his breath eases following much relief. "Thank you. For choosing me." it is all he could utter, all he knew how to express in return. And his cheeks turned warm once more, as she leaned further in. "I would be quite content staying in this room with you as well. For a good amount of time." Her sudden push against his chest nudged him to fake an injury through a hearty laugh. "I keep no secrets from you, that is a vile accusation." he said through that laugh, and his eyes searched to find hers in a moment of contemplation. "You need not know such things." it came out warm and honest. "I've not the words to string together into poetry that could accurately describe the extents of your beauty. No poet does. Such is my curse, and yours -- that I should admire you wordlessly and you should have to accept that." nervousness was surpassed only by the sweet taste of relief, as he expressed something he held onto for much too long. "And know that, well, so long as I am me and...you are you --" his eyes could not hold her gaze, not truly, though a smile did linger. "You will remain the single most beautiful thing."

As she rested her chin against his chest once more, and her fingers traced over his collar bone sending fresh goosebumps up his skin, Rickon felt incredibly at ease. His mind was freed of the barricades placed between his mind and his soul, and for a moment he let himself recall the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. He remembered everything about that day. The way sun felt against his skin upon reaching the capitol for the very first time. The way smells overwhelmed his senses, and colours were so bright and varied. He remembered the sounds of distant laughter at the bay, the southern birds singing. He remembered how she wore her hair, the colour of her dress, the violet in eyes, the smell of jasmine. Clearly, as if it were all unfolding before his very eyes, he recalled the sound of her voice -- and how quickly she went from a stranger, to a friend. How such moments were written now, permanently, across time and space. So many strings had to intertwine, so many stories come to pass, so much had to have gone exactly right so he could meet her then, so he could hold her now. Rickon pulled her closer, as that thought settled. "It is different to how I thought it would be too." he said quietly, still somewhat lost in thought. He'd never imagined crossing so many lines, never meant for things to get this far. "You must know I never..." voice traced off. Only couple moons ago he would have been betrothed to someone else. His feelings, in a grand scheme of things, always mattered very little. So whatever he did, and did not feel for her through time, mattered little as well. A sweet thought of her smile, a shiver at the touch of her hand, a warmth at the sound of her laughter, those were but harmless, and rare, indulgences. They never went further than that. "I did not plan for things t -- to turn out the way they did." and yet, here they were. So perhaps a part of him had wanted it all the same. Perhaps when all else became distant and obsolete...the principles of duty, and honour and certainty, he wanted her more than he'd ever dared to admit. "But I am glad it is alright with you." he shifted gently, not do disturb the place she lay. "It is alright with me too." Daenyas words entered the room like a sweet lullaby. Perhaps he had been exhausted of travelling, of thinking -- but the hopefulness within her voice made his mind latch on to her effortlessly. He knew no such happiness would ever find them. That no good times would ever come to stay. Long periods of joy, of health, of summer, they were the most rare thing of all. And not for the likes of them. Not in this lifetime, perhaps not even the next. She must have known it too, the girl who spoke with death knew death did not rest. And yet here they were, together, in a moment that made him buy into every single word anyway. Moment so sweet he'd imagined perfectly what their life could someday be. Life where war was long gone, and summer was at its peak, and they were happy and healthy and together. The thought warmed him, even more so than her hands as they dug into his hair anew. Head rested upon her collar, eyes closed as he was permitting the tiredness and the thoughts to overcome him. "A long stretch of good..." he repeated, almost as a whisper, a prayer of sort. "I am prepared...I think." smile pushed into dimpled cheeks, and he did not hear the words she drowned within the fabric of his shirt. Yet he knew them to be sweet, and so without opening his eyes or moving much at all, he placed a gentle kiss upon her neck and let his mind wander off with the dreams.

" YOU CONFESSED TO YOUR JEALOUSY JUST EARLIER ." daeny reminds him lightly , her brows arching with it as her lips twitch in response to his smile . although , now with everything that has happened perhaps the confession can be put into different context . " you said you were frightfully jealous of my faster , stronger friend . have you forgotten ?" she finally allows a smile to bloom over her features at his nudge , a huff of laughter escaping her as she bumps into him lightly in return . " by that you mean it is annoying how charming i am ?" daeny blinks at the words , startled by the line of them . her brow furrows a bit in confusion . " i offer because — because you're rickon ." it seems quite self explanatory to her somehow . of course she would offer . it is rickon . is such a feeling not mutually felt ? she's quite sure rickon would offer quite a great many things to her as well . gods , he offered this , this journey , this danger he had put himself in , for her . was it not the same ? " and — " daeny fumbles for words , for how to explain . " as you are rickon i feel quite strongly for you . and about you . " her eyes meet his with the words , her gaze searching even as she tries , " i wish for you to be happy and i wish to make you happy and — " another fumble for words , her brows knitting tighter together to say , " you are very important to me ." her gaze flicks over his features , searching some level of understanding as she says, "i enjoy things very much when i do them with you . and so as such if i were to pick who to do such things with it ... " a shrug that is more a nervous movement than anything else . " would be you ." she has to blink in surprise as her hand is captured , and as a kiss is placed on her finger she can only feel her ears warm in surprise . the warmth of her flush only grows as rickon continues . " i know you are perhaps charming me ," daeny starts with an arch of her brow at his words , her head tilting with it even as she still feels the warmth of his touch in her hand . " but i actually quite like this room ." she lets her gaze travel around the room with the words , thoughtful before she meets his eyes again to say , " under other circumstances i would be quite content to stay here with you i would think . at least for a good amount of time ." it is pipe dream truly . an unrealistic one . she knows they both know that . and yet daeny feels the need to verbalize it all the same . daeny can't help the warm feeling that floods through her at the sound of his laughter , her grin growing impishly as the action rattles their hands on his chest , as giggles escape her as well . she shifts impossibly closer as if proximity will perhaps bottle the feeling . in a way it perhaps does . " i am glad to hear that i am not the only one who struggles with this ." daeny makes a show of sighing , her eyes twinkling before she lightly teases , " although your story is of course much stranger . i accept you all the same ." daeny rests her chin on rickon's sternum as he speaks , feels her cheeks warm once again as he starts . for a moment it seems as if he perhaps gets lost in thought , an act that only makes her impossibly warmer at the concept . and yet the sentence never finishes . daeny didn't even realize she was waiting for the conclusion until it never came . " i — " daenya has to blink a bit to clear her head , shaking her head a little as her brows furrow to say , " what is that supposed to mean ?" the thought that whatever rickon was thinking was deemed better to not tell her only makes daenya feel more flustered in the moment . she smacks her palm down on his chest with not nearly enough impact to actually wound . " you are keeping a great many secrets lately , you know ." daeny huffs lightly , and yet there is no heat in the words . no , all the heat has somehow found its way to her skin . daeny moves to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear in an attempt to compose herself .

and yet it is rickon taking her braid next , him moving to tuck it away . daeny allows her chin to rest on him anew . she can feel his heartbeat thrumming underneath the point of contact . " i do not mind it ." daeny replies gently and honestly as her lilac eyes meet his . she shrugs once again as she sweeps her palm gently over the cloth of his shirt , smoothing over it before she's pivoting to allow the tip of her finger to trace over his collarbone . " and i do not think it greedy ." there's a beat as her fingers trace back and forth over the skin , her eyes on the movement before she shrugs and adds , " ... i do enjoy that it is me you wish to ask ." daeny can only huff as he continues , her fingers rubbing circles into his scalp as she turns her head to rest her cheek on his chest . there is a beat there where she indulges in the rise and fall of his breath before she says , " you tease me ." a pout even as her fingers gently comb through his curls . " i have never pitied you ." she drinks in the closeness for a moment before she's blinking as he continues . the words push her to straighten , to meet his eyes as she says , " it does benefit me ." the words are insistent , and in the moment daeny is quite sure of them . although she cannot say how exactly she is benefited she knows she is . just as she is benefitted now , as they lay together . this benefits her in a way she is quite sure little else can , and yet rickon provides it so freely . she is grateful for it . " it does ." she sighs as she moves to lean on him anew , fingers twirling a curl around her finger to say, " you will just have to trust me on this fact , rickon ." she blinks as he moves to sit up , surprised by the gentle motion even as his fingers move to enter her hair . her brows furrow . " in ... " daeny fumbles a bit for words . her hands , now extracted from his hair , gesture uselessly to say , " such a way ! you must know what i mean , i —" her brows twitch to furrow . " i knew we would be together for the rest of our days . or at least as many of them as we can . and i knew you felt the same ." a nod as she meets his eyes , as her fingers twist a bit as she adds , " and yet this is different than how i thought we may have meant that ." there's a beat there before she meets his eyes meaningfully again to add , " ... but it is alright with me ."

his next words instantly cause her brows to furrow , knitted together gently as her thumbs pass soothingly over the soft downy hairs curling at his hairline . " i like you as you are ," she insists . it is not the first time daeny has extended such a sentiment and she will do so again . rickon was rickon , and she quite liked him that way . for him to be more like her of all people was not something she would particularly long for . and perhaps for that his admiration comes as a surprise . she allows her hand to smooth over his curls as he speaks . her next words are a whisper and they are a gentle one . a hopeful one as she moves to press them near cheek to cheek as she rests her face on his shoulder . her lips press against it in what is not a kiss but could easily become one as she says , " but perhaps things will be good for a long while ." daeny's eyes are bright with the hope . her fingertips comb through his hair , again and again in a soothing rhythm . " perhaps they will remain good forever one day . wouldn't that be lovely ?" daeny's tone is hopeful as she turns her head towards him , her words near murmured into his ear . " you should learn to enjoy it in preparation for that day . because it will come ." daeny's tone is certain . her head shifts a bit in a nod . " of course small things will happen . you will perhaps stub your toe or maybe ... you will find dinner burnt . but there will be a long stretch of good one day and — you should learn to enjoy it before then ." it is her hope really . that one day there will just be a long stretch of good . a great many years of it . perhaps not today or tomorrow but at some point . she does not want to be weighed heavy with dread when that day comes . she wants to enjoy it as it's happening instead of in hindsight . she shifts to accommodate rickon as he moves closer , as he embraces her and tucks his face into her throat . daeny slides a hand up the nape of his neck and into his hair anew as she warms with pride at the words . at the concept that she could offer such help . she tucks her face into his shoulder once more . " ... you help me forget too ." and it is the truth . the heaviness of it all feels far away in rickon's presence . his previous words echo and daeny can't help but think that she has surely benefitted in a great many ways . her words are hushed and murmured against the fabric of his shirt as she says , " ... thank you ."

[trumanbluee]

you're the one that i want - deadpool / wade wilson

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

based on this request! <3

content: three words, baby! the honda odyssey!

word count: 2.5k

warnings: established relationship, no mention of condom (wrap it b4 u tap it!), petnames galore, deadpool is a warning in of himself lol.

a/n: the deadpool brainrot has been so strong recently so thank u guys so much for all ur requests! my return to my deadpool era couldn't have come at a worse time with my exams happening rn but i will try and write as much as i can! love you!

You'd been sitting in the backseat of the "fuck-ass Honda Odyssey", as Wade had described it, arm resting on the centre console, your head propped up on your palm lamely as you turn it left to right, half-listening to Wade and Logan argue like you're at a tennis match.

You'd almost flown forward into the front of the car when it came to an abrupt stop, tyres screeching as you let out a soft yelp in surprise. Wade hears you, and wordlessly pushes you back softly. You'd heard something spat out from Logan, along the lines of "You'll never save the fucking world!", followed by Wade's voice saying, "I'm gonna fight you now." and then the sound of a sickening crunch as he punches Logan in the nose.

It's milliseconds before you see your boyfriend's arm reach back and open your door, gently ushering you out with a soft, "Why don't you go for a walk, pretty girl?"

You know better than to argue, especially with Logan seething in the front seat, so you hop out of the car, shutting the door behind you as you trudge off into the trees, half grateful for being kicked out of the car so you didn't have to listen to Logan's grumbles when you inevitably had to ask him to pull over so you could pee.

You could hear the yelling and grunting in the distance, shaking your head as you hear the faint shatter of glass, followed by a - less than masculine - squeal from your boyfriend. You laughed to yourself, not worried in the slightest as you hear the fighting between the two, Logan's growls echoing through the trees as he squelches his claws into your boyfriend's stomach.

You'd told Wade to give Logan a break, and that eventually he would find out about his 'educated wish', but he hadn't listened, instead continuing to push and push and push Logan until, expectedly, he reached his breaking point.

You wandered around amongst the trees for a while, before slumping against a tree not too far from the car, your eyes growing heavy as you listened to the soft rustle of the leaves above you.

You wake up groggily, looking around the room as you rub sleep from your eyes. You startle when a red suit appears in front of you, but it's not the Deadpool suit that you're all too familiar with.

"I'm Elektra, that's Gambit," the woman points to a man in a helmet, who's stood in the corner, playing with cards, "and that's Blade," she points over her shoulder with her thumb to the man in a long, leather trench-coat.

"I.. uhm.. Hi?" you say, taken aback by this sudden bombardment of strangers.

"We're helping you and your friends get out of the void." Elektra explains, offering her hand to help you stand up. You take it gratefully.

"...Oh, cool..." you say, still groggy from being asleep for so long. "..are.. are they around?"

Elektra nods, pointing outside with her head, "Yellow's by the fire, Red's... around here somewhere."

You nod, thanking her and smiling awkwardly at Blade and Gambit as you walk outside, the smoke from the fire consuming your nostrils as you step out. You spot Logan by the fire, but see that he's sitting with someone.

'She looks an awful lot like that X-23 girl we saw at the TVA.' you think, not ruling out the possibility that it is her with the level of weirdness that had already occurred during your short time in the void. You tread on, looking around before you spot the Honda Odyssey. You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you walk to the drivers door of the car, opening it to reveal your boyfriend in the back-seat, pulling his katana's out of the passenger's seat next to you as you plop into the driver's seat.

He looks up when he hears the car door open, and the white eyes of his mask visible soften as he sees you.

"Hey baby," he coos, scooching forward in the back-seat to press a soft kiss to your cheek through his mask as you sit in the driver's seat, peeking over the headrest to look back at him, "was wonderin' when you were gonna wake up, sleepy head."

You smile softly, before taking a moment to look around at the damage done to the car. Your eyes go wide and your hand flies to your mouth, the other reaching back to swat at Wade's shoulder.

"Wade! What the fuck did you two get up to in here? Jesus Christ!"

You hear a whisper of 'Baby Knife!' followed by a soft grunt as Wade pockets another one of his knives.

"Just some good ol' fashioned fightin', baby! I'm kinda sad you missed it, that shit got good!"

You tut, leaning around the driver's seat to look at him as he's hunched over, digging for another one of his knives beneath the seat.

You hear him mumble something along the lines of 'Hate this fuckin' car' before he shoots up, and you can sense his smile through the mask. He leans back in the seats that are in the very back of the car, right leg thrown over one seat, with his other leg spread, suit-clad knee pressing into the fabric of the other. His eyes sharpen as he looks at you, before groaning softly, throwing his head back in a circle, and sighing.

"Fuck, princess, that fightin's gotten me all worked up," he groans, chin pressed to the top of his chest as he looks at you, eyes narrowed.

You feel your thighs rub together at the way he looks at you, the manspreading the cherry on top of a very, very, delicious looking dessert. He chuckles, gesturing to your thighs with his head.

"Saw that, baby." He laughs to himself before he lifts his hand, beckoning you to him with two fingers, his other hand resting on the headrest of the seat in front of him, twiddling Baby Knife between his fingers.

You squirm in your seat before not so agilely climbing over the centre console, crawling over the seat and onto Wade’s lap. He pockets Baby Knife, bringing a hand up to pull the bottom of his mask up, the other settling on your ass as you straddle his waist. 

“Hey doll-face,” he murmurs, smiling and giving your ass a playful squeeze, pulling his mask fully off before placing his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you into a kiss. 

You moan against his lips as you kiss back, his gloved hand giving your ass a firmer squeeze. Wade uses this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips as you gasp into his mouth. Your hips grind down subconsciously and he pulls away from the kiss, both of your chests rising quickly as you both try and regain your breath from the heated kiss. 

Wade smirks up at you, moving both of his hands to your hips, squeezing softly, pulling a giggle from your lips before he’s engulfing them in another breathless kiss. He moves your hips with his hands, grinding you down on his boner as it tents in his suit, causing him to buck up absentmindedly as he groans into your mouth. Your breathy whimpers vibrate against his lips, and he pulls away, leaning his head back against the headrest behind him. 

“…Fuck, doll-face,” he groans, looking up at you, “ look what you're fuckin’ do to me, baby.” 

He nods down to his dick, almost bursting out of his suit, and your mouth nearly drops open. Wade thinks to himself that if you were in an animé, you’d have heart emojis bulging from your eyes. 

He takes his hands off your hips, crossing his arms behind his head in faux-laziness as he watches you undo the buckle of his belt, slapping the sides of his legs softly, signalling for him to lift his hips. 

“Watch it, doll-face.” Wade warns, half-joking, “Ask me nicely, please.” 

You groan, giving him your ‘are-you-fucking-serious-right-now’ glare as you tug at his belt. He’d been on the receiving end of this look many times in the past, so he’s unfazed as he chuckles dryly, planting his hips down.

 “I can wait, Princess.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Please, Wade,” you glare at him, “Will you please lift your hips up so I can get your dick out?” 

You add a pout and a flutter of your lashes at the end, and his resolve noticeably crumbles. He huffs, lifting his hips up off the car seat just enough for you to pull down his pants slightly. You dip your hand into his underwear, giving his dick a soft tug before freeing it from the tight pants of his Deadpool suit. 

You gather some spit in your mouth, looking at your boyfriend through your lashes before spitting onto the tip of his cock, using your hand to spread it along his length, squeezing softly around the base. Wade groans from below you, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Fuck, hotstuff, ya’ killin’ me here.” 

Wade hisses as you squeeze a bit harder around his dick, the pretty ring he’d proposed to you with cold against his skin. 

He almost whines, stopping himself by biting his lip, “Oh, c’mon baby, what’d I do to deserve this teasin’, huh? I fought so valiantly against ol’ Wolvie, didn’t I, princess? Don’t I deserve to be treated nicely?” 

Something about the whiny-ness of his tone sends a pang to your heart, and pussy, and you grind down against his thigh absentmindedly before putting both your hands on his shoulders. 

“Help me out, would ya’, Wadey?” you ask sweetly, shimmying your hips slightly to gain his attention. 

His hands fly to your tights, tugging them down your thighs, lifting your legs softly, one by one, and peeling your pants off, leaving you hovering above him in your prettiest pair of panties. You’d been wearing them as a birthday surprise for him, but you’d both been snagged by the TVA before you could put them to good use… until now. 

Wade’s breath hitches from beneath you as his eyes land on your panties, his lower lip bitten between his teeth as his chest heaves. 

“Fuck, doll-face, what’re you all dressed up for?” he says, tracing a gloved hand over the lacy hem of your white panties, pressing a soft kiss to the little blue bow in the middle, before blowing a puff of cool air onto the damp spot beneath it. 

Your legs wobble softly and a shiver runs up your spine, leaving you grateful for your hands planted on your boyfriend's broad shoulders. 

You muster the breath to say, “They’re for you, baby… Well, they were for your birthday…”

He groans softly, pressing a soft kiss to your mound before pushing the thin fabric to the side, swiping a gloved finger through your slick. 

“Shit, baby.. Y’so wet f’me,” he says, voice breathless. “Fuck those stupid fucking day players, keeping my beautiful fiance, and her beautiful fucking panties from me on my birthday. What assholes, hey baby?” He says, pressing his thumb to your clit harshly as he blows another puff of air onto your slick pussy, causing your hips to buck into the air. 

You whine softly, bringing a hand to pump Wade’s cock once again, nodding mindlessly at his question that he knows you didn’t even hear. 

Wade chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest and shooting straight to your cunt, your thighs squeezing around his hand as he thumbs your clit lazily. 

You shuffle yourself forward on his lap, holding onto Wade’s strong shoulder with your hand, the other slowly pumping his cock as you lift yourself up, breathing hitching as you push yourself down onto the tip of Wade’s dick. 

His breath hitches beneath you, rubbing soothing circles on your hips through his gloves as you sink down onto him. His hands grip your hips tighter as he bottoms out, your eyes squeezed shut as you clamp down on his length. 

“Shit, baby, I could blow my load right now.” Wade gasps, head thrown back as his grip tightens on your hips, moving you up and down on his cock. You follow suit with his movements, digging your nails into the fabric of his suit as you leverage yourself on his shoulders, pushing yourself up and slamming yourself down on his cock, a moan slipping from your lips at every drag of his dick along your walls. 

Your hips stutter slightly, and Wade takes this as his cue, moving his hands from your hips to gain a strong grip on your ass, lifting you up and slamming his hips to meet yours. You whine softly, eyebrows knitting together and biting your lip as the soft squelch of your wetness reverberates around the car, your chest heaving with exertion, skin dewy with a thin sheen of sweat. 

You throw your head back, moaning wantonly, one hand coming off of Wade’s shoulder and pressing against the roof of the car. 

“...Shit…Wade!” you stammer as he moves one hand to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing harshly on your clit through his glove.

You slam your hips down to meet Wade's quicker, chasing your high as Wade slams his hips up to meet yours, his head thrown back against the head-rest behind him, eyes closed, as he groans softly.

"C'mon, doll-face," Wade grunts from beneath you, rubbing cruel circles on your clit as he bucks into you, "...y'gonna cum? Can feel you squeezing around me, princess."

You moan softly, babbling something like a 'uh-huh' as your eyebrows knit together, eyes shutting tight as you feel the coil building in your lower belly, threatening to snap any moment.

Wade feels you clamping around him, looking up and watching as you throw your head back, your grip on his shoulder tightening.

"That's it, baby," he groans from under you, pinching at your clit meanly causing you to whimper softly, your head coming forward, forehead resting against his as you grind down onto his cock.

"C'mon, hotstuff, give it to me..." he grunts, feeling his own orgasm coming as you clench down on him like a vice, a string of curse words sputtering from your lips as he feels you gush around him.

"...Shit, baby... Good girl," he coos, fucking you through your orgasm as he cums, soft grunts sounding in your ear as he bucks into you before stilling, stopping the movements of his thumb on your clit, as he lifts you up gently and pulls out. He pulls his hand away from your clit, but not before collecting a part of the mixture of yours and his cum on his gloved fingers, pushing it slowly back in to your drooling pussy. You whine, overstimulated, and he tuts, pushing your panties back into place and pulling your pants back up your legs, leaning back in the seat as you slump against his chest.

He smiles, giving your bum a soft pat and pressing a kiss to your hairline, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I lied, doll-face, the Honda Odyssey fucks, hard.”

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

[luveline]

𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Your best friend Eddie tries to explain what a hickey feels like and finds he doesn't have the words. He could show you, though, if you want? [3k] 

fem!reader, shy!reader, implied inexpereinced!reader, friends-to-lovers, pining, mdni heavy petting, hickeys, lots of hickeys, marking up, neck kissing, shoulder kissing, heat of the moment confessions, eddie being flirty but also a good friend, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie strokes down the length of his guitar neck almost tenderly. You're focused on his hands rather than his mouth as he recounts last night's date to you, distracted by the deft movement of his fingers, which aren't exactly small. It's an oxymoron —paradoxical, even— that his thick fingers would move with such gentle precision. 

You shift around where you're sitting on his bedroom floor, criss-cross applesauce with an uncomfortable heat rising from the bottomless pit of your stomach to your tight collar. The white button up you'd worn under your sweater vest is a size too small. You're really starting to notice. 

You peel out of the vest and hope it'll help you calm down.

"She wasn't exactly sweet," Eddie says, plucking a string, listening to the sound, and tuning it this way or that depending on how he liked it. "I think she wanted to get it over with, which isn't really my thing. She was in my lap before I could make it clear I wasn't interested in anything quick." 

You lift your gaze from his hands. He must feel you watching his face. He looks up in tandem and smiles reassuringly. "It's fine. I kind of thought she was getting into it, she was like a vampire on me at one point, but I wasn't feeling it and it's clear she wasn't either. Drove her home. How was your night, d'you watch that tape?" 

You trace the coil of a black curl down to his shoulder, and can't force yourself to meet his eyes as you ask, "A vampire?" 

"What?" 

"She was like a vampire at one point, you said." Eddie's arm goes still. "What did you mean by that?" you ask.

He puts his guitar down on the floor. You worry you've said something truly dull for him to place his sweetheart in such a rush, but Eddie's like that. He can tell you're embarrassed no doubt, and he's giving you the answer to your question as swiftly as he can to soothe the wound. 

"Here, look," he says. He pushes his hair away from his neck on one side and tilts his head, bearing a wine-stained curve of skin to you unabashedly. "She kissed me. She gave me a hickey, used a lot of teeth. That's why it's bruised so much on the edges." 

Warmth you've never felt rushes in, like your blood has superheated, and it's written on your face. Eddie's room feels suddenly a thousand times smaller than before and more intimate, his poster wallpaper curving in, the space between you inching closer. 

"Sorry," he says, "I know it's kind of weird to show you." 

"No, I'm sorry," you say, mortified. "I shouldn't have asked you." 

"Yeah, you should. You didn't get it and now you do. I don't mind telling you." 

Eddie lets his hair fall back against his neck, a kinky curtain that looks ridiculously soft in the orangey light of his lamp. There's a butter smoothness to it, and the way he moves as he does is worse, his hand open and reaching for you. He doesn't hold your hand, doesn't even try, just lets his upturned palm hang off the edge of his knee as if to say, Ask me whatever it is you want to ask me. It's cool. 

"Why would she do that?" you ask, gesturing to your neck.

"It's not her fault, I was flirting with her a ton trying to make it work."

"Not like that." 

Eddie's hand turns toward his knee. "Like what?" 

Your hand drifts to your own neck absentmindedly. You get kissing, wanting to be kissed and wanting to give them. You understand why she kissed his neck; if you'd been in her position, alone in the car with Eddie laying his charm on thick, you might climb the console and push aside his hair too. 

"I know why she kissed you. I don't see why she…" You rub your lips together, your embarrassment turning sharp. You hate how humiliating this feels. "I know what a hickey is, Eds, but why would you want one?" 

His turn to fluster. The tiniest tinge of pink paints his cheeks. "Are you asking me why I enjoyed it?" 

"Did you?" 

You despise yourself, truly. Worse when Eddie laughs, his chest forward, hair falling in his face as he chuckles sincerely. 

"Yeah," he says, smiling at you "I liked it. Before she started trying to kill me I was having a good time." 

He doesn't put you through the agony of asking what you both know he wants to. 

You've never had one?

"It feels warm, and it's– you know how being kissed gives you butterflies, right? It's better than that. It's hot, and all her weight is on you and you have your hand on her back trying to pull her in, and she's as close as she can be without, you know." Something flickers across Eddie's face. Not longing, but a remembered pleasure. It makes you squirm. 

"I don't see how it doesn't just hurt." 

The hand that hadn't been reaching for you holds a pick. He flashes it between his fingers, a party trick, a nervous tic, his eyelashes tangling together as his eyelids inch closed. He scrunches his face up for a second. 

"Don't hate me if I ask you something weird," Eddie says, eyes shut tight. 

You don't think you could. You watch Eddie's face, knowing he can't see your analysis, and feel a shock of pins and needles in your hands when his eyes open and immediately lock on to yours. 

"Do you want me to give you one?" he asks. 

Your lips feel like they've been glued shut. You're aware of your breathing, how shallow each inhale has become, but you can't do anything about it. 

He has the decency to acknowledge what position his question puts you in, "I know it might be weird but I can't describe it to you if you don't know what it feels like." 

You surprise him. You surprise yourself. "Uh, yeah. Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"It doesn't hurt?" 

"Not unless you want it to." A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, though it fades quickly. "It doesn't hurt. That's not the point. But it can feel… foreign." 

You nod jerkily, wishing you knew what to do. 

The atmosphere is thick enough to cut through. Neither of you like it. Eddie gives you another type of smile, a familiar one that says, I'm your best friend, I always will be, so please chill out. 

"You're gonna have to sit in my lap." 

You actually laugh. "Eddie," you chastise, thinking it's a bad joke. 

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it's that or the bed." His teasing tone is light, but he still adds, "I mean, we can do it sitting next to each other but it's difficult. Whatever you want, though." 

You climb up on your knees. You're shy, absolutely, you always will be and especially when Eddie's teasing, but he really is your best friend, and the bed isn't happening.

He doesn't scare you. 

He grins and ushers you toward him. "Alright, come here." He tugs one of your thighs over his lap and your breath catches. He grabs the other and any laughter between you abruptly dies. 

You settle over his lap with an expression not far from pained. Eddie's hands rest against your thigh and your hip. He has to look up at you now, and he does as he encourages your weight firmly downward. You're more than conscious of where you're positioned. 

"Do me a favour?" he asks. 

"Yeah." You put your hand on his chest tentatively. 

"Don't suffer through it if you hate it, okay? All you have to do is say something and I'll stop, but if you feel like you can't, a good right hook would work too." 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," you protest. 

"Me neither," he says. His hand lifts from your thigh to your neck, and he brushes his fingertips down the curve of it ineffectually. It would feel good if you weren't choking on air. "Relax, sweetheart. Please." 

"I'm really warm." 

"Your shirt's too tight anyway," he says, hand at your collar. He thumbs open your top button, a second, and exposes the flat of your chest. His fingers slide across your neck as he folds back your starched collar. They're cool compared to the raging heat he finds there. 

You take a deep breath. 

"You could put your hands in my hair," he says. Wishful thinking has hope colouring his tone. 

You put your hands on his shoulders. The very tips of your fingers partition his curls. 

He raises an arm above your mess of limbs to weave a hand behind your ear. It's then that you feel his callouses, so rough against the delicate skin of your scalp. Despite their texture, you find it feels good. He tucks his hand in tight, and slowly, slowly turns your head to the side. 

"Look up," he murmurs. 

You lift your head and stare at the ceiling with widened eyes. 

He can't know but he does, and he says, "Close your eyes." The heat of his breath kisses your neck.  

You shiver at the suggestion of his lips, and again when they press to your skin. Close-lipped, Eddie kisses the skin just under your ear where on the opposite side of your head his thumb strokes quarter circles. You're quickly overwhelmed by the duelling sensations. You don't notice his lips have parted until he's kissing a sloven path downward, his spit cooling in wake. 

This isn't a hickey, this is straight up kissing, and you don't know what to do with how you feel. You hide your hands in his hair. 

It tugs him forward. He reads your hands for enthusiasm, and if it is or isn't he pulls you closer still and opens his mouth against your skin. His teeth are impossible to ignore. 

Your hand works further into his hair, getting caught in a tangle as he sucks your skin between his lips. His lazy mouthing turns insistent but still gentle, his teeth scratching ever so slightly at your pulse as it capers beneath his ministrations. You gasp at the warmth blossoming under your ribs. You cup the back of his neck a touch too tight. 

He doesn't stop kissing you, only grabs your wrist to stop you from choking him out. You make a sound you've never made with him before, a mewl, all breathless and teary as the sensation worsens. Which is to say, betters. 

He breaks a particularly rough kiss to suck in breath, his nose sliding up the curve of your neck as he leans back. "You okay?" he murmurs, half-lidded eyes locking onto your flushed face. 

"Why does it feel like that?" you ask. 

He drops his head, his nose level with your chin. "I don't know," he says, punctuating with a kiss right there, the closest bit of skin he can find. "Want me to do it again?" 

You swallow and he must see it. He says nothing, wrapping his arms around your waist as he waits for you to respond. Your stomach pushes into his, your arms braced on his shoulder so you don't collapse into his front, limp with touch. 

"Sweetheart, can I do it again?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, quiet but enthusiastic. "Please." 

He's slower this time. Eddie leans into your neck and doesn't kiss you at first, his lips so close to your skin that you can feel their phantom. You skin tingles from his previous scandalising, and it doesn't beg, skin can't beg, but you can, you curl your arm behind his neck and hook his head there, crushing his hair to the crook of your arm. He doesn't take much convincing beyond that. His lips smush against your neck and you feel every millimetre as they part, heat and warmth and wet spreading like budding flowers come to bloom. You melt into him soon after, and Eddie takes your weight in stride, hand at the small of your back and pulling you in so hard you can feel his ribs. 

When you think you're used to it —not used to it, but expecting what can be expected— Eddie nips you. Tiny dainty kisses broken up with a nibbling you'd couldn't describe as anything but playful. He laughs at your gasping and does it again, again, giddy hot laughter mixed with one of the strangest feelings you've ever been subjected to. You're molten. You're dizzy with it.

Eddie pulls back enough to ask, "I'm gonna undo another button, okay? Just one. Is that alright?" 

"What for?" 

"So I can kiss your shoulder. Just your shoulder." He sounds pleading, desperately excited in a way you've never heard him and you want to know what it'll feel like, so you let him. 

This next button unveils the top of your bra and the soft hills of your breasts. He doesn't look, barely glances at his hand as he tugs your shirts down your arm, diving into the juncture of your neck like he needs it to breathe. His kisses are proper compared to some of the stuff he's been doing, but then he opens his mouth and the flat of his tongue wets your skin as he kisses kisses kisses down your shoulder. His hand is somewhere under your shirt, fingers slipped under your bra strap and pulling teasingly at the elastic as he eases you down in his arms. You're shorter than him where you'd started taller, totally compressed in his arms and at his mercy.

When he pulls back, the slimmest ribbon of spit shines between your shoulder and his lips. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, his eyes glassy, and that hand cups your face. He pretty much grabs you, but there's not a lick of cruelty in his touch. Eddie's rough. Never cruel. 

"You're on fire," he says. It's objective rather than joking. "You're so hot. Do you want to stop?" 

"Not– not unless you want to," you say, trying to quieten your breathing. You sound like you've run a marathon. It feels like it. 

"I'm gonna give you a real one, cool?" 

"I didn't know they weren't real." 

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, and his eyes are damning, a loving pity in the black of his blown pupils, "I was just warming you up." 

Your mind blanks. 

"Make sure I can hide it," you say. 

You aren't thinking straight, concerned about hiding his hickeys but not what this means for the two of you. His unexpected hunger, and your willingness to let him eat you whole. 

"I don't think you can hide it anymore," he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

You look down at his lips. They're rosy, swollen from the pressure.

He sees you looking. 

He yanks you in by the waist and sizes you up, almost, like he's calling your bluff, not spiteful but something mean about him as he stares at your mouth in return. 

Like he doesn't want you to make the mistake. Like he knows you won't. 

His hand tips your chin up high and he ducks his own down. An inch and you'd be kissing. That's all it would take.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks.

"I don't know," you say. Is it what he wants?

It has to be. 

"Have you wanted to, before?" He draws a line down your cheek with his marriage finger. Fast as a heavy tear. "You want me to kiss you?" 

"Yeah," you whisper, trying to make sense of this, your sudden confession, a secret want pushed into the light. 

Eddie turns his hand and strokes down your cheek with the back of it, pushing any dampened baby hairs away from your skin. His gaze softens. 

"Was that so hard?" he asks. 

"You knew?"

He kisses you. He's smiling, and he doesn't take just one. He must kiss you four or five times, your lips parted enough to know he could push it further if he wanted, but he doesn't. These kisses are unhurried, missing the ravenous passion of his hickeying but not the fondness. 

"You don't know how hard it is," he says after he's broken away, his forehead tipped against yours, "how hard it is to have someone look at you like you look at me everyday, like I'm something you can't have." 

"I didn't know–" you knew. You felt the same. His kissing is evidence alone. it's confessional.

"I know. Guess I thought nothing good would come of it, but– but I don't want good. I want you." 

He pulls back quickly, like you've said something confessional rather than him. He surprised himself. 

"I'm not good?" you ask. 

"You're good. You'll ruin me, that's all." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means by that. He kisses you again, kisses your cheek, draws a line of crescent moons down along your neck to the mess he's made of you. He kisses– he sucks your neck so hard, so sudden, that goosebumps erupt and you can't stop yourself from saying, "Ohh," as you cling to his shoulders. 

This is the vampire thing he'd talked about, the points of his teeth stark against your skin even now. There's another layer of vulnerability unveiled here, knowing that he could really hurt you and knowing he never would. He kisses you until you're overwhelmed by him. Heat everywhere. Sweat shining on your skin. You don't want anything else but this.

You squeak as the pressure turns from pleasurable to too much. Eddie hears the pain in it and pulls away, instantly sorry and willing to prove it, his hands cradling your face. 

You pant. He shushes you gently.

"Sorry, baby." He pets your cheeks. 

Your head falls back, too heavy on your sore neck. You feel wiped. 

Wiped, but good. Lax. 

"That was nice," you say breathlessly. 

Eddie sits up and drags you with him, hand behind your neck to prop you up. He's laughing again, his awful sweet laugh that you've heard a thousand times before. It never fails to make you smile. 

"You're like a dead fish." 

You cover an eye with your hand. "I take it the romance is over." 

"You thought that was romantic? Babe, I'm only getting started." 

Eddie gives you a quick peck. Where his hickey had felt like the heart of a star growing hotter with each passing second, his smaller kiss feels like the sun through blinds, a dappling of warmth. 

"Are you messing with me?" you ask.

He pushes his arms over your shoulders for a hug. 

"No. Not messing with you." His nose rubs against the shell of your ear. "It's about time we talked." 

You let your hand drift down the dip of his back.

"Okay," you mumble. Talking. You need to talk about whatever it is that just happened. 

"...Maybe I'll get you a glass of water first," he adds.

"That's a good idea." 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider letting me know/reblogging, it means the world to me and makes a big difference!! ♡ NOTE: Eddie def pines back if that isn't fully clear, I tried to imply it with his date where he could've hooked up with someone but didn't go through with it, it was cos he's too in lurve

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie III

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: oops, more slow burn

Warnings: I have a feeling you will all be requesting a much FASTER update. Angst, fluff, shitty ex-boyfriend, the usual. Some violence which could b triggering. Please be kind to your mind.

Summary: Harry hates Kael. To be fair, most everyone hates him.

“Did y’bring your skates?” Harry asked. He was taking shots into the net for about an hour and a half at the time she had arrived. She was just a little over half an hour early to their practice. He paused to skate over to her. She was putting water bottles into place, clipboards, and other things that her uncle needed for a successful practice. Once everything was where it was supposed to be, she took her camera and took a practice shot of the ice behind Harry littered with pucks.

She frowned and looked away at her camera using it to divert his attention ever so slightly. Her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “They’re in my car...”

Her unease wasn’t lost on Harry. “Do y’want t’go get them and I’ll help y’for a bit before practice?” He asked, leaning on his stick propped against the board.

She shook her head. “No thank you.”

He tilted his head at her. “C’mon, Rookie. You’re not going t’learn if y’don’t try.”

She sighed. “It’s not that... it’s just...” she looked up at him. “I’m still pretty embarrassed about it and I don’t want to do it here in front of everyone and everyone try to help...” She explained. “Like Uncle Charlie will give his two cents and honestly, I’ll be overwhelmed and I’m already nervous about it. The whole team watching would be even worse.”

Harry hadn’t really thought of that. But he wished he had because that meant that he could have a private lesson with her. One-on-one time with her was easily his new favorite thing. It happened a little more frequently since the night he followed her home. When he brought the used skates to her, she ordered pizza, and they played several rounds of Cribbage together. On a morning off from practice, he happened to be going by her place (of course going out of his way to be nearby) he did yoga with her before ordering breakfast to be delivered to her. Evenings where she worked at Louis’ he placed himself at his regular table and smiled at her as she came and went from kitchen to fluttering around the room waiting on everyone.

But on game days, whether they were home or away, she stayed her distance. He suspected she knew about his habits and his hookups. Which made him feel bad in a way he hadn’t worried about in ages. Harry was very comfortable with his sexuality. He liked having sex. He enjoyed making someone else come and yeah, he enjoyed that aspect for himself too.

But since he met the pretty photographer, he didn’t like it as much. Didn’t find it nearly as satisfying. Even though he wanted to.

Harry had a pond out behind his house. A pond that was very frozen in this chilly winter air. She hadn’t been to his place yet. Her pretty being all over his house seemed like a brilliant idea. It made him want her more.

Harry never wanted a girl the way he wanted her. For him it was always a one-night stand at their place, so he had the freedom to leave. They knew what they signed up for. But she invaded every little part of his mind. Thoughts of camera flashes and smiles. His picture on her fridge. The picture she texted him of herself that he saved as her contact photo. Her wearing Niall’s jersey. The cookies she made for her neighbors. Her rundown car. Her piece of shit ex.

“Would y’want t’come t’my place? I’ve got a pond out back.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Harry,” she admitted. Her voice was quiet, but she made direct eye contact with him. She always did, even if the conversation was difficult.

He frowned. “Why?” He asked.

“Because... you’re... you.”

“What’s that mean?” His eyebrows pulled forward as he tried to think through her logic before she said it.

“It means...” she looked at the ceiling like the answer would appear there. “I am not going to be seen with you at your place when you’ve never brought a girl home.”

He blinked. “How do y’know that?” She shrugged but busied herself with her camera taking pictures of the bench. She took Harry’s gloves from him and put them in a specific place. He felt utterly annoyed when he realized why she might have known. The frustration came over him before he could stop it. “Did your stupid ex tell you ‘bout m’reputation or something? Is that it? S’why y’don’t let me in fully? Y’think m’a piece of shit too?” He asked quietly. It sounded a little too accusing. He didn’t mean to. But it was unfair. Plus, he thought they were friends. The kind of friends like he was with Niall.

Because honestly, Harry didn’t think he could be good enough for her. Maybe he was projecting what he felt. She deserved a good boyfriend who would be able to devote all his time to her. She didn’t deserve someone that got a crummy five months to be in a relationship who had to worry allthe time about him because he had never had a steady girlfriend before.

She brought the camera from her face down to rest against her stomach on the strap around her neck. Once more, she looked him straight on. It was intoxicating. Brave. Beautiful, of course, always.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Harry Styles,” she said very clearly.

He blinked. “You don’t?”

“Why would I think that? Because you sleep with women who clearly want to sleep with you? You’re entitled to whatever you want with whomever you want as long as they fully consent, Harry. I don’t really give a shit. I just refuse to date a hockey player because an actual piece of shit cheated on me for who knows how long which I did not consent to. It’s obvious you’re charming, talented, intelligent, and very handsome,” she paused briefly, took a deep breath. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, Harry Styles. I just won’t be her.”

She brought her camera back to her face. She seemed unaffected by his stunned expression. He swallowed and it felt like a rock was in his throat. “That was an awful lot of compliments, Bunny,” he hummed. She continued taking pictures, but Harry saw the way her cheeks turned another shade of red under his gaze. He leaned closer towards her. “You think m’handsome?” he teased.

“A blind person would know you’re handsome, Harry. Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Charming?”

“Are you getting off on this or something? Is your ego not big enough?”

“I just didn’t know you thought that ‘bout me. I thought y’jus’ kinda tolerated me and m’overbearing presence.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I hate you?”

“No reason.”

But he answered too quickly. It was the reason that hung in the air over and over. She turned from her camera and caught his gaze again. “You’re nothing like Kael, Harry. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that you were,” her voice was extremely gentle, like she was speaking to someone with a baby napping in the room. It made him feel all over. Every cell in his body vibrating with emotion.

The breath he released was more relieved than when he found out he was being drafted to the Chargers. Harry wanted her all over his house. Wanted her in his room and not even for sexual reasons. He just wanted to see her there after any game. Wanted her to wear his jersey. Teach her to skate better. Hang any of her photographs in his house like a museum paying tribute to her talent. More than that he wanted pictures of her in his house—so many pictures of her.

*

On nights when the team had curfew because of early morning practice or a game the next day, she did not of course. Harry broke curfew almost every single day after learning where she lived. He asked her to move in almost every time he followed her home ensuring she got home safely in her crappy car.

You shouldn’t break curfew. You’ll get a big fine. Marc and Michael keep an eye on my arrival.

It’s fine. I have the money.

Harry was territorial about her and especially her safety.

Look, I don’t want to be weird, but we’re friends... Evander said you... had plans tonight with someone...

Harry wanted to kill his teammate. Who? He tried for the funny remark so he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind at the thought of her thinking about his late night hook up.

You’re ridiculous.

Making sure you get home safe is more important than having an orgasm.

...

Sorry, FRIEND. Thought we could talk about orgasms.

R I D I C U L O U S

😇

Go puck yourself Harry.

God, you’re hilarious Rookie.

Good night, Harry. Thanks for worrying about me. It’s... actually kind of nice.

Yeah, of course. Good night, Rookie.

Harry didn’t have plans that night. Not unless pining over his coach’s niece in the privacy of his own bed was a plan.

*

Charlie was currently taking his anger out on the guys, which was extremely unfair because they had no idea it was because of her. She wished she could have been surprised. Instead, she quietly took pictures, feeling bad for their poor lungs. They were breathing hard and heavy as they struggled with the conditioning drill.

“Five minutes!” Charlie snarled.

They all collapsed on the ice in their spots. Players on the bench were slumped and moaning in pain and they were already on a rest. She glared at her uncle holding two six-pack water bottle carriers as she stepped onto the ice. She nearly slipped twice. Harry didn’t even move to help her, which meant they were in really tough shape.

“Thanks Sweetheart,” Asher heaved.

“Coach, is something wrong?” Niall asked, chugging his water. Off to the side of the rink Callie was throwing up into a trash can. A quiet ‘pussy’ came from an equally green-looking Lang. Only Niall could get away with asking because he was the nice one of the group. But even still, Uncle Charlie silenced him with a glare.

“He’s mad at me and taking it out on you,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry guys. Uncle Charlie, can you stop punishing all hockey players on my behalf?”

“Sweetheart, don’t,” he shook his head once paying no mind to the team that was half dead on the ice before him.

She sighed heavily. “You’re being mean, Uncle Charlie. It’s not their fault!”

“It’s the reputation they’ve given the game,” Coach Wheeler agreed.

“What reputation?”

“Uncle Charlie is mad he picked me up from my apartment. He’s not keen on where I live.”

“It looks like a meth lab.”

“My apartment is not a meth lab.”

“You have a drug dealer living on the first floor.”

“Michael is super nice! He watches my car and—”

“Jesus,” Niall murmured. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t even bother, Horan. I tried everything. She is insistent, she doesn’t want a single hand out from anybody. Which is why you’re all paying the price. What kind of asshole makes someone as sweet as her—”

“Uncle Charlie, can we not air my relationship out in front of the whole team?”

“If we’re doing suicide sprints because of fucking Kael Crowe I want to be moved to the Lightning,” Callie groaned referring to the minor team affiliated with the Chargers. “What the hell, Coach!? Take it up with Crowe!”

Exhausted agreements resounded from the ground. “You all better treat women with respect. There is zero tolerance for it,” Coach Wheeler grumbled.

“Sweetheart, do something please,” Lang begged standing to where Callie was previously, vomiting promptly into the trash.

“Uncle Charlie, can you cut them a break? They didn’t cheat on me.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Asher moaned. “Permission to cross-check when we play him?”

“Permission granted,” Uncle Charlie shrugged.

“Jesus,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Harry was still breathing hard, but surprisingly didn’t say anything. She was certain he would have something to say about Kael or her stupid choice. Everyone seemed to.

“First one’ll be for you, Sweetheart. Second one’s for me,” Asher winked.

“Why’d he pick y’up?” Harry asked quietly. It was interesting, it was the first thing he said after all the time spent trying to remember how to breathe. It was like he already knew the answer. He also didn’t rat her out for knowing beforehand about where she lived. Although she suspected he knew the punishment would be far worse if Charlie found out that Harry knew where she lived and said nothing.

“Car wouldn’t start,” she shrugged handing him a bottle of water. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s all I can afford,” she admitted quietly. The conversation was just for the two of them. “I’m on a budget,” she reminded him.

Harry liked how open she was with him. When she told him and Niall that she couldn’t skate and that she got nervous about it, it was vulnerable in a way he didn’t expect. He liked how she said she wouldn’t date him (even though it broke a piece of him) and still managed to compliment him. Each time she mentioned she wasn’t swimming in cash made him feel like she trusted him. He thought of her cold apartment, her used skates, and her broken down car.

It was a shame she wasn’t going to like him as much after her next comment.

“Coach, if I let her borrow one of my cars while hers is in the shop, can we call practice early? I’ll drive her to and from games. Won’t let her out of my sight until she’s safely in the building.”

“I’m not convinced it’s a safe building.”

“Jesus Christ, Sweetheart, where are you living?” Niall sighed.

When Coach said the name of the building and the street just into the bad side of town, everyone moaned again. She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the right price and no one bothers me. I use you all as a threat.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Callie groaned. “Coach, we’ll take shifts, anything. Make it stop,” he begged. Lang returned from throwing up in the trash can and took water from her.

“I don’t need shifts of you guys watching me,” she rolled her eyes. “No one bugs me, they know I work for the team and that I could have twenty scary hockey players there in a matter of minutes.”

Harry smirked. It was obvious he liked the sound of that. “Coach?” Harry prompted.

“Harry, I’m not taking your car, for God’s sake!”

“Oh you don’t have a choice, Sweetheart,” he snorted.

“Uncle Charlie! You’re not getting one of your players to babysit me!”

“Then you’re responsible for their lungs bursting.”

She pouted, glared at her uncle, and marched off the ice. Snagging her camera from the bench as she did. It was childish, petty, and made her look like an idiot, but she was too mad to care. Harry sighed. “Coach, she’s a grown woman... y’could have at least asked her if she was okay with that...” Harry reminded him. Charlie leveled Harry with a stare.

“She’s the best person I know,” Charlie explained. “That piece of shit Crowe never deserved her. It kills the whole family that she doesn’t see her own worth. We watched her take care of him and put her life on hold for him. She doesn’t let people take care of her. Maybe because she doesn’t know how,” he shrugged. “So if she needs tough love to do that, then so be it.”

Harry followed her off the ice. He walked slightly awkwardly on his skates but found her outside one of the offices sitting on a bench, putting her items away in her bag. “You’re not giving me your car,” she grumbled.

“Rookie,” he sighed.

“I don’t need you saving me! This is just like when you yelled at Kael.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “We’re friends, right?”

She glanced at him. “...yes,” she said tentatively.

“Y’know how y’always worry ‘bout me drinking water? Making sure I eat dinner? Texting me t’make sure I get home after following y’home?” She didn’t look at him and fiddled with the laces of her boots. “Y’can ignore me all you want, but s’what friends do. We care ‘bout you and want t’do all the nice things y’do for us.”

It looked like she was piecing together what he was saying. But not fully wanting to accept it. “You’re really going to let me borrow your car?”

He smiled.

“I guess I could... have a skating lesson... assuming your car is at your house?”

Somehow, he managed to smile wider. “Yeah, Rookie? Great... I’ll go change and tell Coach. Be out in a minute.”

“Don’t be weird about it, Harry. I don’t want anyone to think you’re my favorite. Because you’re not.”

He chuckled. “Sure thing, Rookie.”

*

Harry hurried to her side of the car and opened the door when they arrived at his house. She grabbed her stuff from the back—it was everything she had to pull out of her car and toss into her uncle’s when he picked her up. Harry grabbed his duffle bag, as well as a small bag of groceries of items she needed to make the hot chocolate she promised after the skating lesson. “M’gonna put this stuff away and sharpen your skates,” he said holding the pair by the laces tied together as he opened the door. “Here’s the key if y’want t’throw your stuff in the car,” he grabbed it off the hook near the doorway and then headed further into the house. With the key in hand, she headed back outside and unlocked an extravagant car she would never be able to afford. Sighing, she put her stuff in the trunk, locked it, and headed back toward the equally luxurious house.

To be fair, it wasn’t a mansion. It was a nice home. It was clear Harry took great care of it—or paid people to take great care of it. Following the sound of something scraping against the blade, she found Harry in his kitchen, sitting on a breakfast bar stool at the island. The kitchen was stunning. Marble countertops, white backsplash, black hanging light fixtures, white cabinets with black hardware. There were green curtains in the window. The appliances were all black. It belonged in a magazine. It was practically pristine.

The only thing she found interesting was Harry’s sink was filled with dishes. The dishwasher looked clean, it was open and completely full as well. How many dishes did a person living by themself have? She spun the key on her finger as she approached him, setting it on the counter. “When’s your birthday?” He asked randomly.

“February eleventh,” she blinked.

Harry smiled that really beautiful way of his. The one that made the dips in his cheeks deepen. His eyes seemed brighter. “S’near mine.”

“I know.”

“You keeping track of me Rookie?” He was full-on beaming.

“No, but I added everyone’s birthday to my calendar after Ray’s. Figured I would make treats if I had the time,” she explained. “I remembered yours because it’s in February like mine.”

“Can’t y’jus’ let me believe y’like me?”

She ignored him. “How do you do it?” She asked pointing to the skate.

He held the little tool out to her—a little rectangle with a space for the blade to slide between. “They don’t sell skates unsharpened, even used ones. So they’re already pretty good, but I feel better doing it myself. I wouldn’t want t’put y’on skates I haven’t ensured were good to go,” he explained and waited until she lined up the blade with the tool. “Jus’ stroke the blade in the same direction a few times. You’ll feel a little resistance. S’how y’know it’s working. The duller the blade the more resistance you’ll feel.”

“Like this?” She asked making sure she didn’t mess up her new skates.

“Yup, that’s good,” he monitored the motion.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

“Course, Rookie. S’what friends are for,” he shrugged simply.

But it wasn’t that simple. Kael would never sharpen her skates for her. Wouldn’t even offer. It’s why she basically stopped skating—didn’t bother to continue because he didn’t care. He never asked if he could help teach her. There was no way he would willingly give his car to her either or offer to follow her home from a game. Most of the time they were at the same arena he didn’t go home with her. In case he wanted to go out with friends.

She felt the emotion building in her throat because she knew Harry had plenty of options. But she didn’t want to be an option. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Honestly, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t... the right time. She was too broken and fucked from her ex. Harry was too talented and charming to deal with a steady girlfriend and he shouldn’t have to. He was young, handsome, and had ample time in his career and life to have fun before he settled down.

“Ready?” He asked interrupting her sad thoughts. Harry was sweet—really sweet. The kind of sweet she always wanted Kael to be. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts of how nice it would be to be Harry Styles’ girlfriend. It wasn’t going to happen. He replaced the guards on her blades. “Pond’s out back,” he told her gesturing to the back slider that led to a porch.

“Your house is beautiful,” she told him.

“Thanks, Rookie, love,” he smiled. “Mum was insistent it be my first investment,” he explained.

“Smart lady.”

“The very best,” he affirmed.

Nope, she wasn’t going to fall for a man who was kind and adored his mother. Not one bit.

The back deck overlooked a decent sized yard, but it was the pond that was by far the feature of it. She could picture beautiful sunsets, and she wished she brought her camera with her. There was a layer of light snow on the ground, the bare branches. It was like a Christmas movie scene. It left her a little breathless and Harry paid no attention to it. Totally used to the beauty of his own yard.

“Y’okay?” He asked over his shoulder. He noticed her pause as he continued walking toward the little pond. Harry kicked his boots off and put on his skates while sitting on a little wooden bench. They weren’t the pair he wore at the rink. These looked a little more worn in and scuffed. Well-loved, was the best description. He laced them quickly and expertly. It must have been second nature to him. With the guards still on his blades, he stood in front of her. “Put these on,” he handed her a pair of socks from his sweatshirt pocket. They weren’t the ones he bought her, which meant they were either his or another set he had bought her just for the occasion.

Nope. Not falling in love with him. Not at all.

“Your backyard is beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had my camera.” She untied her boots and stuck her feet in the skates. Almost immediately, Harry carefully hoisted her left skate between his thighs. He held her foot in her new-used skate (with the guard still in place) and tied the laces tightly.

“I can grab it after the lesson,” he offered and worked on the laces. “S’that feel good?” He asked. “Or is it too tight?”

“No, I don’t like my ankle to move.”

He chuckled. “Y’want it t’move a little, Rookie.”

She shrugged while he tied the other skate. Once done, he pulled the guards off and held his hands out for her to take. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how large Harry’s hands were and wrapped around hers so easily. They were warm and comforting. He bent and took his own skate guards off. “I know y’can skate a little, so I don’t want t’push you,” he headed for the ice. “Jus’ do what feels comfortable.”

She barely skated at the rink. Skating on a pond seemed like a bad idea. Sitting on that little bench watching Harry? Maybe taking pictures of him as she did? That seemed like a good idea. Comfortable, to his point. “Is the pond deep?” She asked tentatively.

He frowned and waited at the very edge as she stood just off the ice. “Bunny,” he hummed gently. “I would never let y’get hurt, so no,” he promised. “S’not deep. S’very safe,” he assured her. “C’mon,” he held his hand out. Tentatively, she took it. Fortunately, she was used to him holding her elbow while she walked or skated around.

“Harry, I really don’t want to embarrass myself,” she warned.

“M’not going t’make fun of you, Bunny,” his voice didn’t have any teasing in it. Harry was dressed in a pair of black pants and a gray sweatshirt. He looked cozy and pretty as always. His voice was too soft and made her feel safe. Which wasn’t a bad thing except for her heart. “Jus’... take little steps. M’not going t’let you fall.”

It was becoming increasingly clear that it was too late for that.

She listened, taking small steps. Harry skated backwards while facing her, holding his hands out for comfort but not holding onto her. “You’re leaning too far forward, Rookie. Y’want t’keep your weight over your skates while y’step. S’going t’change a bit when y'take your steps but s’what you’re trying to maintain,” he explained. He watched her feet as she adjusted to what he said. “Don’t stare at your feet,” he offered kindly. “I know s’hard, but it’s tough on the balance,” they glided silently for a few minutes. “Y’okay,?” he asked glancing at her face. She nodded. He smiled gently. “Okay,” he took hold of her hands again and tugged her gently. “When y’stop, just tilt your foot inward just a little,” he used his own feet to demonstrate. “You’re doing great, Rookie,” he promised. “Feel easier on the figure skates?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier to balance.”

He grinned, excitement covering his features and all she had done was take fifteen little steps or so. “Okay let’s keep going. We’re jus’ going t’focus on keeping y’comfortable today. Getting used to the balance and stopping,” he continued facing her and skating backwards as he pulled her.

“How do you skate backwards?” She asked.

“You gotta walk before y’can run, Rookie,” he chuckled knowingly. She rolled her eyes.

“I meant you, Harry.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been skating m’whole life.”

“Since you were three and before you could walk?” Most every hockey player she knew had the same story. Skating was more important than walking. It was romantic in a way. A first love of sorts. Harry seemed no different in that respect.

He nodded with a shy grin. “Something like that.”

“You’re very graceful.”

“You’re so forthcoming with the compliments today, Bunny. S’nice,” he pulled her toward him. She wasn’t really skating since Harry was just guiding her, but it felt nice to be on the ice without fear of making a fool of herself. “Try stopping.”

“I’m supposed to be skating not stopping Harry.” He smirked and looked at her pointedly. So she executed her little stop and Harry’s smile brightened.

“Lovely, Rookie. Do you want t’try on your own?”

“Sure,” she sighed feeling defeated before starting but it was the only way she’d get better. Harry let go of her hands but stayed the same distance from her (which was no more than five inches away). She took little steps moving at a glacial pace. She really wondered how she could have been using the wrong skates for so long. It felt so much safer and easier to be on the figure skates than it ever had been on hockey skates.

“You’re doing great, Rookie,” he assured her. She felt embarrassed because she was in her late twenties and Harry was treating her like a child. Not his doing, though. It was in her head it felt that way.

But they skated for a while quietly, just listening to the gentle cutting of the blades on the ice. Harry put his hands out just in front of him as a gentle reminder he was there, letting her have the comfort of grabbing him if she needed.

Naturally, her toe hit a divot in the ice at that moment which made her lose her footing. Harry snagged around her waist quickly to keep her upright. “Whoops,” the entire front of his body was pressed to hers. “Y’okay?” She nodded, not wanting to think about how nice Harry was and how warm his body felt. She pulled away as quickly as she could once she regained her footing. “The ice doesn’t get resurfaced like the rink,” he admitted shyly. Like it was his fault.

“You don’t own a Zamboni?” She gaped. “I can’t believe it!”

He chuckled, moving away from her slightly. She couldn’t believe how much colder it felt even though he only held her for no more than forty seconds. “Do y’want t’keep skating?” He asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. Because honestly? She didn’t want to leave just yet.

*

Eventually, they got off his little ice rink. She didn’t fall thanks to Harry catching her two more times around the waist. Each time she sent an electric current right through her heart. He was gentle, kind, and encouraging. Imagining him doing the same thing with his baby niece made her ovaries ache so much she had to think about anything else.

“Did you have a dinner party?” she asked pointing to his sink.

“No,” he sighed. “I jus’ hate dishes,” he shook his head.

“Do you want—”

“Don’t you dare,” he glared at her and headed down the hall toward another room. She smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to make hot chocolate with a mess in the sink,” she called.

“Don’t make it then!” He sounded far away. She couldn’t believe he stayed at her tiny little apartment when she could hardly hear him from a few rooms away. “We can go out t’get some or we y’can jus’ stuff from the dishwasher, Rookie. But don’t touch the sink!”

She rolled her eyes and shifted, through the clean dishes, pulling a sauce pan from it. Harry returned with a bag. “Can you get me chocolate chips, sugar, and cocoa powder? I don’t want to dig through your cabinets—what’s that?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Y’can go through the cabinets,” he shrugged. But it was starting to feel a little too domestic. Now they were at Harry’s house which meant she was done for. At least when they were at her place, she wasn’t subject to the overwhelmingly intoxicating scent of Harry. He found the ingredients and placed them on the counter. “Open it,” he shrugged.

It was a large bag from the pro shop at the arena. She peered in and then looked up at him. “Harry.”

“S’not a big deal, Rookie. Don’t make it a big deal,” he suggested. “What do y’need for whipped cream?”

Inside the bag were jerseys. Langford, Calloway, Asher, and Styles. Her heart felt too warm. Her eyes stung a bit over the thoughtfulness yet again. Skates, jerseys, socks. Harry was too sweet. He wasn’t fighting fair. “Sugar, vanilla, and heavy whipping cream...” she mumbled. Swallowing the emotion she felt, she opted for a joke. “No Horan?”

“He already got his turn,” he grumbled slightly bitter.

She looked at the jersey brushing her fingers over his last name. “It’s too much, Harry.”

“I get a discount,” he shrugged. “On behalf of the team, throw out all your Glacier Wolves stuff,” he grabbed the next set of ingredients and eyed her from across the kitchen island. “What?”

“Even the sweatshirt I’ve worn so much I’ve got it to maximum comfort?” He pressed his mouth into a line and stared at her pointedly. “Alright I’ll throw it out, you’re so bossy.”

He smirked and turned to the stove, turning the dial to light the burner. “Okay Rookie, time for my lesson. Show me how t’make hot chocolate.”

*

It felt like Harry was becoming her very best friend, which scared her. Kael took up so much of her life it left her very little room for friends. The friends she did have... ended up not liking her and talking behind her back. “Hey Rookie,” Harry smiled entering the locker room to drop his stuff for game day photos. “Ugh,” he sighed looking at her jersey and the smile melted.

“Hi, Harry,” she waved with an impish grin.

“Hi Sweetheart,” Asher greeted. “You look beautiful today,” he cooed.

“Shut the fuck up, Asher!” Harry yelled from the other side of the door. Asher winked at her and headed inside the locker room.

“He’s so jealous,” Callie shook his head. She smiled, shook her head, but she could feel her cheeks heating up with color. “Nice jersey, Sweetheart!” He shouted, no doubt enjoying his number on her this time. Only she knew that Callie would be more extra about it than Niall ever could be.

“You can shut the fuck up too,” Harry growled from near the door.

“He must not think I look beautiful,” she laughed quietly.

“Oh Jesus,” Lang snorted filing inside.

“What did she say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Lang chuckled.

“Those are fighting words, Sweetheart,” Niall chuckled heading in after his team.

After the game day pictures were posted to the appropriate social media outlets, she headed inside the arena. She filed down to her spot near the other media. She smiled and waved to people she had been chatting with regularly. They all greeted her as if she was a real media presence and not just the coach’s niece with a camera.

She took a few pictures of the empty ice adding it to her mental portfolio of this sports series she was looking to do. It was peaceful for a moment, the images forming in sequence, her ideal lighting. The way everything would come together to tell a story. It was something she was really excited about—

“Hey, baby.”

She didn’t turn immediately. Surely, she misheard. Her body felt a wave of anxiety run over it. She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. For several seconds, she focused on her breathing and nothing else. A minute. She just needed a minute to collect herself. Turning slowly, she smiled politely.

“Kael.” His feet were on top of the seat in front of him. Some of his teammates were milling behind, a few rows back of him. He looked relaxed and uncaring of how fucked up it was that he was there. Coming up to her while she was alone. “You guys are in town early,” she stated.

He nodded, standing up and heading to her. She busied herself by inspecting her pictures making sure they looked okay on the screen. Her hands were shaking. Not because she was worried about what Kael might do but because she was angry. Kael was her least favorite person and he made her uneasy because of all the fucked-up things she let him do to her. “Nice jersey. Sleeping with Calloway?” He asked, sweeping his hand across the top of her back. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“No,” she clenched her jaw. She wanted to leave as little to the conversation as possible. But she couldn’t. Because Kael didn’t own any part of her privacy anymore. Part of her wished she was sleeping with Callie if only to rub it in his face. But she couldn’t pretend that any more than she could say she didn’t have a crush on Harry. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right, sure...” he smiled slowly. “You look beautiful, baby. Even in an ugly jersey.”

She loved this jersey so much. The only jersey she would love to wear more than Callie’s, was Harry’s. Not that she would ever say that. “What can I say, orange and blue just wasn’t my color,” she shrugged. “And Kael? Stop calling me baby.”

He put his hands up. “Just wanted to say hi... I’m in the area today... tomorrow and the following day, too... thought you might want to catch up.”

“Sweetheart!” Uncle Charlie called.

She turned looking at her uncle, Ray, Callie, Niall, and a couple of the younger players staring at her from across the ice. “That’s my cue,” she said making her way back the way she came.

“You work for the team?” He asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yup.”

“Good old Uncle Charlie helped you out?” He wondered.

“Uh-huh.”

She walked around the edge of the ice noting every pair of eyes of The Chargers following her.

Kael followed her as well. “Do you want to get dinner, love?” He asked.

“I have to work tonight; thanks though,” she said over her shoulder wishing she could have cut across the ice. It would have been nice if she could have shown him that she could skate a bit now.

No thanks to him.

“What about tomorrow after the game?”

“Working again,” she shrugged.

“Lunch?”

“Busy.”

She was much closer now to her uncle and the guys. Their gazes felt warm on her, so she looked at her camera as she walked.

“C’mon, baby. You’re the one that wanted to talk.”

“To get my stuff back, Kael,” she sighed without looking at him. God she wanted to be done with the conversation. Why couldn’t he take a hint?

“Technically it’s my stuff.”

Ugh. That would do it. She spun on her heel. He was right behind her so now they stood only inches apart. This was the guy she seriously saw herself marrying because they had been together for so long. She was going to have children with him. So many days and nights spent at his arena wearing ugly orange and blue. Taking care of his every need and not asking for anything in return. All the other things that she didn’t even want to think about let alone speak into existence. Putting her life on hold for him because he deemed himself more important than her hobby. Now, he was going to continue holding her stuff hostage? Just for some weird power trip?

No. Not anymore.

“I don’t want anything you bought me, Kael,” her tone was biting. Teeth clenched. “I want my stuff back.”

He snorted. “Then go to lunch with me, baby,” he grinned sweetly.

“Hey Kael, we need her for pre-game pictures,” Charlie came up behind her putting a hand on her shoulder gently. She shrugged it off, she was independent, goddammit. She didn’t need her uncle or a hockey team to defend her in front of Kael. He already thought she was weak. She didn’t need to prove him right.

“I am not negotiating for my stuff,” she told him, her tone still angry.

“Sweetheart,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder a little more securely.

“Hey Charlie, sorry. Just trying to catch up with our girl here,” he smiled charmingly at her uncle. She rolled her eyes and marched around Charlie, toward the tunnel back to the locker room. “Tell Callie he’s a lucky man, baby,” he shouted.

“Fuck you Crowe!” Callie was immediately moving toward him as she pushed past. “You’re a piece of trash!”

“Hey!” Ray yelled. The other players yanked him back and away from one person who could fuck up the simplest of things with just a couple words. Kael smiled walking back the way he came. Like he didn’t cause a scene or anything.

*

Callie got three penalties in the first period. Lang had to talk him down because he wanted four. But that would have been bad for the team, and they weren’t even playing Kael.

Harry was fuming, bouncing his knee as he sat seated in front of his locker. “I hate that stupid prick,” Callie growled. She was seated on a chair outside the locker room looking at her camera. It didn’t seem to bother her much that Kael was around. Or maybe she was just continuing to be brave. It was kind of hot the way she stood up to him outside the ice rink. He wished he had known. He would have loved to have punched Kael. He was lucky Harry didn’t hear until he heard Callie yelling.

They lost the game one to nothing. No one blamed Callie because the goal wasn’t even during his penalties nor when he was on the ice. “I can’t wait for the game tomorrow,” Asher sighed. “Still allowed to cross-check?” He asked looking at Charlie and Ray.

Ray shrugged. “If you must.”

Harry wanted to strangle him. The moment he heard one of the younger players say Crowe’s name, he wanted to run to her, shove her behind him, and punch his stupid fucking face. “Harry?” Niall asked quietly from beside him.

“Yeah?”

“You good?” He asked.

“Yup,” he nodded.

“Look, he’s just trying to get a rise out of her,” he explained. “Maybe you.”

“He doesn’t know I like her,” he mumbled.

“You do like her?” Niall chuckled. “I knew it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Everyone decent?” Her voice called.

Harry perked up hearing the voice of the sweet girl he was falling for rapidly by the second. She entered holding a hand over her eyes. “You’re good, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her.

“Bummer,” she muttered dropping her hand. Harry smirked despite how mad he was as a quiet chuckle sounded throughout the room.

“Gross, Sweetheart. They’re my players,” Charlie shook his head.

“Well, you and I have the same taste in men then, Uncle Charlie.”

Another round of laughter. “You okay?” Charlie asked leaning against his office door.

Harry was staring, Niall beside him staring as well. The whole team was watching to be fair. “Yeah... he was just... hovering, signing autographs and stuff...”

“Fuck him,” Callie growled. She glanced at him briefly. Harry wanted to kill him for getting her attention today in the form of his jersey on her. It shouldn’t have been such a concern for Harry, but it was. He liked her so much and it was so unfair he wasn’t good enough for her. At least he was the one that bought the jersey for her.

“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugged looking anywhere but someone else’s eyes.

But it was a big deal, Harry was fuming in his seat. His leg still bouncing.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head.

“Sweetheart, if—”

“Can someone walk me to my car?” She asked.

“I can!” Callie chirped.

She frowned. “Callie, really, any other day. But... with the jersey—”

He frowned. “I hate Crowe.”

“Join the club,” Charlie said.

She sighed. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry quickly tossed a sweatshirt over his practice shirt and a pair of sweats on over his compression shorts.

They didn’t speak as they walked to her car. Harry’s car. She put her belongings in the back seat. “I took the night off. I’m pretty exhausted,” she told Harry leaning against the driver door. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”

But he did. Because it seemed to be the only thing he did. “Oh. S’nice,” he murmured. “Are you… do y’want company or are y’jus’ going t’bed?”

“Probably just bed,” her voice was tired. “Maybe Marc and I will watch a game so he can study.”

At least there was one man in her life he didn’t have to be jealous of. “Well, we have an early curfew anyway,” he mumbled. “Do y’want me t’follow y’home?”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Rookie,” he gave her arm a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re home,” Harry ushered her into the car and let her go on her way. He headed back for the arena feeling fairly defeated. But at least she was safe.

*

Eliana lived close by and expected very little of Harry. She was a nice person. She was a nurse at a local hospital and had hours that lined up with Harry’s every so often.

Harry was a fucking mess.

“Are you okay?” She asked

No. He wasn’t. He wanted the pretty photographer. Wanted to know she was home safe. Wanted to go to her apartment and wake Michael and Marc up and murder them for not protecting her when they said they would. Even though she was in all reality probably fine.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s not you.”

She smirked. “I didn’t think so, Harry. I hope you’re alright.”

 “Jury’s out.”

She rolled her eyes, pulled the covers up to her neck. “Just lock behind you please.”

Harry tried calling her. Not even caring how ridiculous he was. He was past the point of caring. He couldn’t even sleep with someone else, and he’d done nothing more than hold her hands or her elbow. He refrained from cuddling her at their sleepover beyond feeling the heat of her body while she slept.

Harry had called her every hour since he walked her to her car. Hopefully she was just asleep. She did say she was exhausted. Maybe if he drove by and saw her car, he would feel better?

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. He couldn’t follow her like that. It was different that first time. He never intended to follow her into her apartment building. His rationality left him because he was so worried about her. Now that he was okay with her living arrangement, he didn’t want to look insane.

A drink. One drink and he would be home by curfew. Something to take the edge off. Make him forget about his worry.

Harry parked in the first available spot at The Locker Room. He waved to the regulars, said hello to some fans, and headed to his usual table. Force of habit. “Hey Harry,” Louis smiled bringing Harry a drink. “Didn’t know you were coming in; she figured you had curfew.”

He tilted his head at Louis, his thumb pausing on her name in his message threads once more. “Hmm?” He hummed. “She’s... here?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Louis pouted slightly. “She’s been here since five,” he hummed like it was obvious.

“Hey, Louis!” She called from the other room. Her voice hitching slightly in alarm.

Why would she lie? Louis raced to the other room. Harry followed quickly because the apprehension in her voice was enough to bring all his worry immediately back to the forefront of his mind and he expected the worst truly. Because she didn’t seem to be very scared of anything. She lived in a seedy part of town and worked with violent hockey players.

So what could be in the main room that would make her sound so worried? A drunk guy who was getting into it with another person? A handsy guy who thought she was pretty? A girl who didn’t like her decision to cut her off?

None of his thoughts had considered it might be Kael. Who had her wrist pinned to the top of a table, his hand wrapped tightly around it keeping her in place.

Harry’s vision turned red.

She gaped meeting Harry’s gaze. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.

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[ethanthealien]

Things That Hurt When You Have Fibromyalgia That Should Not Hurt:

Blood pressure cuffs when doctors take your blood pressure.

A simple poke from someone else, especially on the tender points

Tripping over something - only mildly, not a bad trip. I trip over things and it hurts like a Bitch.

If I accidentally graze my arm or my body against a wall a bit or something, it also hurts like a Bitch. Again, I'm not talking about badly, I'm not being pushed into a wall or something.

Standing. Just for a few seconds. I actually don't know for sure if this is really a part of my fibromyalgia or actually normal for everyone. But it really fucking hurts to stand for even a few seconds.

Walking for even just an hour hurts. And the longer I walk, the worse it hurts.

The simple act of. Cooking. It hurts to hold the pots/pans, especially with one hand. I can't really lift pans/pots because I'm weak, but also it just Hurts. It hurts to mix things in the pots/pans.

(Others can feel free to add on).

Common Descriptions Of Pain When You Have Fibromyalgia:

Feeling like your whole body is bruised, or some parts of your body.

"Feels like I was in a car crash"

Stiffness, throbbing, aching, soreness, tenderness, fatigue. Your body feels exhausted, and not even necessarily that YOU feel tired, but your body feels tired.

"Feels like being stabbed with a knife"

"Like someone has taken a hammer and hammered all over my body"

"Like I'm hungover"

"Like I ran a marathon"

"Like perpetually having the flu", "Like you have a fever constantly"

“It feels like I’ve been carrying two huge buckets of water that I can’t put down.”

"Like I did a full body workout"

(Amongst many other descriptions)

Common Habits I've Developed Throughout My Life As A Result Of Having Fibromyalgia:

Constantly leaning against walls and frequently switching which foot I'm leaning on more.

Asking people if they wanted to sit down, or if they wanted a chair to sit down somewhere, because I thought they were in pain too. Them declining and me thinking "but doesn't it hurt to stand?? You've been standing for like 15 minutes, aren't you in pain??" They are not.

Constantly sitting down, and/or wanting to sit down, wishing I had a place to sit down.

Not really a habit, but I always end up freaking out a bit when I worry that I've hurt someone. I realized that I would constantly apologize to my girlfriend because I thought I hurt her accidentally (very mild things I mean, I'm not saying I fucking punch him or some shit lmfao), only for her to be confused and say that it didn't hurt. It takes conscious effort to remember that what hurts me does not hurt most other people without fibromyalgia or a different chronic pain condition.

I've had fibromyalgia for pretty much my entire life.

I believed that these things were normal for everyone.

I would look at people and watch how they'd do things like simply lifting up a box or the ways people talk about walking for hours just for fun and just not understand why they were doing it because that hurts?

Growing up, when my brother would ""lightly"" punch me, or my dad would poke me, etc., it always hurt really bad, and my brother shamed me (my brother was severely abusive in many ways, yes) and would go "oh my God, please, you're being dramatic, I didn't even punch you/poke you hard at all." I truly don't think he WAS punching me that hard, I just had fibromyalgia so it hurt like twenty times worse (I'm not excusing his behavior, by the way, I'm just explaining that things that would hurt somebody with fibromyalgia wouldn't hurt most other people without it).

I grew up constantly wishing that I could float so that I didn't have to walk or stand.

I was always aware that I had certain spots around my body that felt much more painful than other parts of my body, such as the sides of my arms, my hips, etc. I also just figured this was how it is for everyone.

If you relate to anything this post, I definitely suggest seeing a rheumatologist or a neurologist (I was diagnosed by a rheumatologist) and finding out the cause of your pain.

None of these things are "normal."

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”