#but people are so ready to dismiss all of it as if it's nothing because bree and nick only knew each other for a couple of weeks

[enjoyerofstories]

The discussion of whether bree kissing sel was cheating or not is very tiring. however, i am sure of one thing: if nick kissed another person the fandom would've called him out on it

edit 1: one thing i want to add is that this whole debate is surrounded by bias from both breenick and selbree shippers. on one hand, breenick shippers consider them to be in a relationship and this is why most of them consider it to be cheating-esque. on the other hand, selbree shippers think bree and nick only have a situationship going on and they are so ready to dismiss the situation as not cheating because that would cast a shadow on their ship's first kiss scene (which is understandable tbh)

edit 2: what really bothers me about this debate is how easily people seem to dismiss bree and nick's relationship and nick's feelings. idk why i'm surprised tho. it became clear the first day i got into this fandom that most people don't care about them or nick

[a-b-riddle]

Part 2

Can't stop thinking about reader finally cutting them loose.

For three days there was nothing but radio silence. In those three days you had told yourself that it was a grace period. Time for Simon to cool off and realize how much of a bastard he was for saying all those things he obviously didn't mean. Johnny coming back over with a bouquet of flowers and endless apologies and cuddles.

Simon didn't apologize for his harsh words.

Johnny didn't call you later, as promised.

For three days you jumped at every single notification, silently hoping it was one of them. Any of them.

But it wasn't.

And you, unfortunately, got the answer to the question you had been asking yourself for months.

Did they still want this?

The answer was clear.

You didn't let their unofficial dismissal get to you. You still had shit to do. A life to get on to. A book signing to go to.

Jesus.

A book signing. A book you wrote. A book that was being published and released the day of the expo. You weren't expecting a huge line because this was your debut novel, but with the help of some ARC readers who had took to social media, there had been a bit of a storm brewing.

You had listened to John when he had mentioned writing under an alias. Don't know how crazy people are out there. They'd do anything to get close to you, Dove. Just better to protect yourself where you can. You almost hated yourself for listening to him now. Now you would just have to keep writing under your pen name.

You were getting ready to close up shop early when your phone finally pinged.

Kyle.

Fuck.

Of course it was Kyle. The one who hadn't treated you like you were constantly bothering him. Not the one who made you feel guilty for agreeing to your arrangement. Nor was he the one who fucked you and left you. No. He was just the one who just wasn't there.

Maybe that was just as bad.

What are you up to today?

That was it. Almost two weeks of radio silence and that's all he had to say? It just added more evidence that you were making the right call in ending this now. It had already carried on for too long.

You had two things on your to-do list and you wouldn't let Kyle's sudden reappearance deter you.

E-mail the publisher back.

Change the locks.

You didn't have the strength to face them again. If they groveled, it would be too easy to take them back. One against four wasn't much of a fair fight. And if they didn't care to fight for you... you don't know if you could survive it. Coming face-to-face with the proof that it didn't bother them to give you up even though it was killing you.

No. Cutting it off completely was the best thing to do.

So you didn't respond.

You left Kyle's text unanswered as you e-mailed the publisher back that everything was set for your flight on tomorrow morning. You would spend Thursday adjusting to the time difference and Friday you would rest up before the expo this weekend. She assured you that you would need to rest up your writing hand. Whatever that means.

You left Kyle read as you closed up shop several hours earlier than usual. You needed to drop off the bank deposit before you started on task number two.

You didn't bothering responding to Johnny when he had texted you when you were leaving the hardware store, purchase in hand. Asking if you were free Friday. Promising dinner. 'In or out. Your choice.'

It was almost second nature when you got home to pull up your phone. Ready to text one of them to see which one of them could come over and help.

Fixing a leaky sink? Nothing Johnny hasn't seen before. Need help moving furniture? John won't mind when you change your several times on what should go where. Kyle would always come in with take out the moment you mentioned you were hungry and whenever you felt like going for a walk when it was a bit too late in the evening, Simon was the first to volunteer as your personal guard dog.

But asking them to come and change the very lock you planned on using to keep them out seemed... counter productive, if not downright petty.

You were almost done with the lock when your phone sounded off. Only this time it wasn't a text. Someone was calling you.

You almost faltered when John's name came on your screen.

Fuck.

That almost got you.

You almost answered it.

Almost.

You clicked on the 'Sorry, I can't talk right now. Options, before finishing up your work.

And just like that, you were done. No help needed. You had changed the lock. Even adding on a deadbolt. Replacing the flimsy chain Simon had taunted you about. If someone wanted to get in here, that wouldn't stop them.

Well, now you didn't need to hear it anymore.

Not that you would really hear it again...

Your flight was in twelve hours. Although that seemed an ample amount of time you hadn't even begun to pack. You had luckily narrowed your outfits down, but now was the task of folding it nicely into your suitcase rather than just stuffing it in there.

On my way. We need to talk.

It was too late for talking. Three days too late. Several months too late.

The last message sent was four weeks ago. A new Thai place had opened up close to your apartment that you were wanting to try. All of them had given you excuses.

Not my taste, Dove.

Cannae do it tonight. Next weekend? Next weekend didn't happen either.

I can do tomorrow. Kyle ended up bailing. You forget the excuse he used.

Simon hadn't even bothered to reply.

The final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Almost two years wasted with nothing, but a broken heart to show for it. And the worst part is, they had all chipped away at your heart, leaving you to deal with the final blow that would shatter it.

Im sorry. I can’t do this with you anymore. wish you all the best.

Your fingers made quick work in blocking their numbers. It was best. If they wanted to reach you, they couldn't. On the other side of the coin, if they didn't care to reply, you wouldn't spend countless hours crying over the fact that none of them had been affected the same way you had.

You would deal with getting them their belongings that they had left behind another time. You had big things, great things happening for you. You were cutting your loses. You were cutting them loose.

You just hoped you didn’t regret it.

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : roommate!hamzah goes bald .. & "we listen and we don't judge"

roommate!hamzah x poc!reader

summary : blurb and smau in which hamzah is bald now and roommate!reader begs him to do the tiktok trend "we listen and we don't judge"

mickey speaks : hiii love u slushies & more of my hamzah works can be found here <3

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

youruser

Liked by kynewman, mandys_iphone, and others

yourusername this lyfe toooooo sweet 💭❤️

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enyaumanzor hi ur so fucking cute • ♥︎ by author

yourusername MUUAHHHHH

mandys_iphone my heart skipped a beat • ♥︎ by author

yourusername can i get a little kiss kiss?

thatmartinkid Uh well no cus she's actually my Girlfriend 🤓!

yourusername omg go somewhere else lil boy !!!!!

ynfan ooooweeeeee i needed this yes lawdd • ♥︎ by author

hamzahandyntruther RIP HAMZAH CURLS and HELLO HAMY/N CONTENT!!!!!! #loserscanalsobewinners 🤔? • ♥︎ by author

hamzahthefantastic mmmbruh • ♥︎ by author

yourusername mmmmokay

•

•

•

--- we listen and we don't judge

you start the video and lean back to get you both in frame, causing hamzah to yelp in panic as he tries to push his beanie down over his head quicker, "wait!" his voice strains and you giggle before cutting the clip.

it cuts to both of you silently staring at the camera before hamzah smirks and makes you both laugh.

"okay this one's serious," you say as you lean back after starting the video once more, entirely overlapping hamzah's space (not that he minds). you grab your notebook from beside you on the couch, "ready?"

hamzah who has been following your movements the entire time, is already looking at you when you look over to him, "girl, i've been ready. you're the one with the giggles"

"the attitude is crazy"

"aht!" he raises a finger while stretching his arm behind you to rest on top of the soft couch, "what do we do?"

you catch on and nod your head with him as you reply together, "we listen and we don't judge"

"right!" he exclaims harshly, catching you off guard, especially when he shakes you by your shoulders slightly. his face drops when you don't laugh and he turns to the camera with his jaw dropped. he shakes his head with a dismissive kiss of his teeth, "wicked reference. you wouldn't get it."

"uh huh, you go first hamzah." he rubs your shoulder before putting his hand back onto the couch to rest.

he clears his throat, "'kay, sometimes when i'm really bored and you're like showering, or something, i move around something in your room. it's like something small you don't notice like switching where a stuffed animal is on your bed or somethin'"

your smile falls the more he speaks, "oh. starting off strong!"

the camera cuts and you're both overly-smiling, "we listen and we don't judge!!"

"when i'm like really hungry..." you look into his eyes, "this is like middle of the night, right, and i'll go into the kitchen and just sneak a bite or two of your leftovers-"

"oh nahhhh, what the hell??? y/n!"

"no! listen! like, if there's nothing else to eat!"

hamzah pouts slightly, "that's just evil, bro"

"you want me to starve? okay, i'll just starve next time and you'll be sorry!"

"no i won't" he squints his eyes, "and don't start that gaslightin-"

the clip cuts to you both excitedly repeating, "we listen and we don't judge!"

"well sometimes when you get home late from hanging out with people i'll hop in bed and fake being asleep because i like it when you sit there and harass me to wake up," he smiles menacingly.

"ew, you're a freak! you like when i beg for your attention???" you question while laughing.

"well yes!"

"we listen and we don't judge!"

"i hid your contacts for like three days once because i thought you looked cute with your glasses on" you say it with a smile as if it wasn't such a devious act.

"what?" hamzah turns to laugh at you, "pardon???"

"we listen and we don't judge."

"well, i got really drunk once and peed in your bathtub."

your face is still before you blink and look at him with a smile threatening to split, "when was this??"

"uhhhh, i dunno. i think like a month or two ago, but martin was using your toilet and i literally couldn't hold it-"

"so you pissed in my tub with martin stood inches away?"

hamzah begins to laugh so hard he can barely get out his breathy, "yes, exactly"

"i actually hate the image you just put in my head oh my god!!!!" you squeal and melt yourself into your cascading giggle-fit and sink further into hamzah's side.

you both laugh together- the kind of laughter that overpowers your entire being, when your eyes are squinted and there is no air in your lungs to produce an abundant sound any longer.

hamzah breaks his hold on you to wipe his eyes and reach for your phone yelling, "turn this shit off"

it cuts to a final clip of you smiling with your head resting on top of hamzah's as you pet his beanie-clad head, "bald!"

"enough!!!" the video gets blurry before cutting off as hamzah manhandles you off of him.

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[espresso1patronum]

loverboy? college senior gojo satoru x f!reader

college senior gojo, the playboy who swears he doesn’t believe in love at first sight—until he sees you. his frat boys are crowded around your picture, hyping you up like you’re the eighth wonder of the world. gojo rolls his eyes, ready to dismiss the fuss, but then... he sees you. and he falls.

college senior gojo, who suddenly decides you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. it’s not just your looks; it’s the way your presence feels like sunlight breaking through clouds.

college senior gojo, who finds out your department building is right next to his. he chalks it up to fate, not obsession, that he always seems to "accidentally" cross paths with you.

college senior gojo, who convinces himself he’s not stalking—just observing. it’s totally normal, he thinks, to linger near the cafe just to watch you laugh with your friends. that soft giggle of yours? it does something to his heart he can’t explain, something that makes him clutch his chest like he’s in pain.

college senior gojo, who hates the idea of anyone else looking at you. he hears guys making comments, sees their lingering stares, and it takes everything in him not to walk over and break their jaws.

college senior gojo, who’s usually so smooth, so cocky, but the thought of walking up to you and saying hi? it terrifies him. he’s never been scared of anything before—not rejection, not love, not commitment—but you? you’re the one thing he doesn’t want to mess up.

college senior gojo, who doesn’t know how to handle the way you’ve completely dismantled his ego. he’s used to being the one people chase, the one they fall over themselves for. but now? now he’s the one sitting in the back of a lecture hall he doesn’t even belong in, just because he heard you’d be there.

college senior gojo, who starts learning everything about you—not in a creepy way, of course (or so he tells himself). he notices the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re concentrating. how you bite your lip when you’re reading something you don’t quite understand. he catches himself smiling like an idiot when you laugh too loud at a dumb joke, and he doesn’t even care.

college senior gojo, who starts dressing better on the off chance you’ll notice him. he always looks good, but now he’s putting actual thought into it, coordinating outfits and even wearing cologne. he tells himself it’s not for you. it is.

college senior gojo, who finds himself tongue-tied when you accidentally bump into him outside the library. for the first time, his brain supplies nothing clever, nothing smooth. just a nervous laugh and a half-mumbled, “you okay?” he wants to kick himself afterward for not saying more, but then you smile at him and his whole world tilts on its axis.

college senior gojo, who never thought he’d be this guy—the one daydreaming about you in the middle of class, imagining how your hand might feel in his, what it’d be like to hear you say his name like it’s something soft, something sacred.

college senior gojo, who realizes that maybe love at first sight isn’t such a ridiculous idea after all. because it’s not just the way you look; it’s the way you are. and he’s never wanted anything—anyone—more in his life.

[too-deviant]

ray bans.

with…ART DONALDSON!

contains…fem!reader, 18+ CONTENT!, handjob, p in v, public sex, this was written b4 the movie came out so excuse any discrepancies!

You blame the tequila.

Strong and sharp in your glass at the tennis luncheon your boss had invited you to, swishing around with every movement you made as you told an overexaggerated story to Art Donaldson. He didn’t pay a lot of attention, you could tell, but his eyes were so firm on yours that you needed to talk to get the nerves out. 

It was the tequila, not his eyes, that got you cornered in a bathroom too fancy to be anywhere but this cushy hotel, legs pushed back so far you felt a burn in the crease of your groin. Those dusty blonde curls buried between your thighs, perfectly calloused hands holding them apart so he could lap at you with perfect fervour. 

Your eyes were watering, and he gazed at you as you came down, rubbing up and down your legs until you were ready to push yourself down and onto your feet. You wiped the runoff mascara as best you could, but huffed at the stains around your eyes.

Art had grinned, slid his sunglasses from his collar and placed them perfectly over your eyes. You’d asked him when he wanted them back, and he’d just smirked. 

Which was how you found yourself scooting past old people in linen suits and straw hats, expensive bags and designer shades on their noses. Yours weren’t designer, but they were Art Donaldson’s, so you won. 

In this life you took your seat in the rows at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Centre — a doozy of a sentence to tell your Uber driver. In this life you slid Art Donaldson’s sunglasses over your eyes and waited patiently for him to sidle onto the court, slam himself a win, and meet you in the bar to take them back. 

His hits were precise, hard, fast. The muscles in his arms and neck pulled beautifully. You pulled the plush of your lip between your teeth, letting it go when he hit another, his grunt louder to you know. Clearer. 

But as your eyes pivoted back and forth across the court, his opponents moves much more confident and fluid than his, the life changed. Now this life was a tense strain in your neck, your fingers tight around the dress you wore just for today. In this life, Art Donaldson lost, and when everyone else was cheering for the winner, you were watching him storm away. 

It was quicker to manoeuvre through the crowds now that everyone else was leaving. You didn’t have to worry about bumping into people, because they were all bumping into you and there was a collective agreement that any and all shoulder shoving slash toe-stepping was okay for now. So you slid your way through, sidestepping through the rows of seats and going down a row every time you got to some stairs — ensuring that it wasn’t completely obvious where you were going. 

You made awkward eye contact with the ball boy but your confident smile put him at ease and he dismissed you completely, allowing you to slip around the back of the stands and into the locker room. 

It was much quieter in there, the noise of the crowd fading into nothing when the door closed behind you. Now you could focus on your surroundings, the sound of water dripping and heavy breaths. 

You parted your lips gently, “Art?”

Footsteps, and then the blonde man was rounding a row of lockers and meeting your sly gaze. His own was shrouded in barely covered anger and light confusion, the latter crowing over a bit more when you took steps to invade his personal space. 

“You came.” 

“Well…” You shrugged, lifting the glasses off your head and tucking them into the collar of his polo. Letting your hand linger on the planes of his collarbones, feeling the heat radiating from the skin beneath the cotton. “That was quite some game.” 

Art huffed, “I was in walkabout. Shit luck.” 

You leaned ever so slightly closer, running your hand down his chest to just above the waistband of his shorts. You admired the way he looked under the lights — the beads of sweat on his jugular, the happy trail you could feel peek out from under the hem of the shirt. Your other hand stayed propped against the locker, and he was quick to run his own down your wrist, cupping your elbow. 

“Well…I say we pick up where we left off, no? That make you feel better?”

You narrowed your brows at him in a silent question. His minute nod was enough. Then your hand was sliding beneath his waistband, dipping into his underwear — Tommy Hilfiger — and wrapping around the base of his cock. 

He sucked in a breath, fingers tightening around your other arm, jaw ticking and eyes firmly on yours. You didn’t break contact even when you squeezed him a bit and he let out a shaky groan. 

You dropped your other hand, hooked your fingers around this waistband. Pulled it back so you could lean forward, eyes glaring at where your other hand sat. Then, with a noise so sweet he might have exploded, you let a string of spit slide from between your lips. Art watched it fall, achingly slow, onto his shaft, and then held back a cry when you started to slide your hand up and down his dick. Wetting it just right. 

You looked back up at him, made him look back at you. You pumped your fist slowly, thumbing his tip and adding his precum to your saliva. The sounds were erotic on their own, and even you had to tense your thighs together. Art’s own legs shook from his standing position, but before he could drop his head onto your shoulder you were removing both hands from his body and smirking at his painful moan. 

With your right hand still wet from his cock, you printed a perfect print on the front of his polo and pushed him gently back. He walked, transfixed on your gaze, until his calves were hitting the wooden bench and he was being sat down. He stared up at you, pleadingly so, and you lifted the hem of your dress just enough so you could slide onto your knees on either side of his hips. 

With your crotches pressed together, Art couldn’t stop his hands from flying to your ass and squeezing. You grinned, and his smirk returned in full force. 

“Should lose more often.” He murmured, leaning forward and pressing his nose against your chest, the low cut of your dress feeding his carnal desire to completely devour you. 

You hushed him gently, pushing yourself up so you could slide his shorts and boxers down to his thighs. His dick sprung out beautifully, making another wet patch where it hit the bottom of his shirt. You used your hand, brought one of his around so he could pump himself while you reached under your dress and pushed your underwear to the side. Then you were shuffling forward and letting Art align the tip of his cock with the wet of your folds.

You didn’t waste a moment, bracing yourself on his shoulders and rolling your hips along his own. Your breathy moans accumulated to the steam you had now registered coming from the shower he had abandoned in favour of letting you take him like this. His huffs and puffs only increased as he began to control your movements, rutting into you from below. 

The creaky hinges of the bench cried with every hurried thrust, but the shower muffled most of your sounds. You gave into your urges and licked a stripe up the plane of his neck, bringing your hands around to grip hard at his back, creasing his already ruined shirt. His own mouth was suckling and nipping at your chest, hitting that sweet sweet spot just in time for your movements to get a little sloppy. 

Smacks of skin on skin fuelled the fire in your gut, and your fingers coiled around his blonde curls. His own movements stuttered, and you let out a guttural groan into the humidity of the room when you finally reached your peak, Art following not far behind you. 

You stood with effort, fixing your underwear and patting your dress down while Art panted beneath you. Then you patted him on the cheek, took his sunglasses back from his shirt and put them right back on your face.

“I’ll see you at the mixer next month.”

divider by @bunnysrph 🫶

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Ace’s fingers are sturdy, thick, rough, and dazzlingly accessible. When he realizes how you feel about them, will he ever let you live it down? ~1.9k words.

CW: SMUT! Afab reader, gendered pet names (“princess”), body worship, fingering, and praise.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Ace caught you staring at his hand one day when the two of you were killing time on deck.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? What are you looking at?” He picked up the hand in question and brought it to his face, inspecting for whatever it could be that made your eyes stick there. Maybe a bug?

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just... looking.” Your blushed and immediately averted your eyes. He quickly realized that you were admiring his hands.

“Oh?” That classic, cheeky grin crept over his lips. “You like what you see?”

“Shut up.” You were crimson now. Was it that easy to read you?

“What? C’mon.” Ace poked you playfully in the side.

“Nothing. Your hands are nice. That’s all.” You tried to dismiss his wheedling curiosity, but Ace’s cocky grin got cockier.

“Oooh. I see. What about ‘em?”

“God, are you really going to make me say it?” You rolled your eyes and he nodded. He loved it when you complimented him, and he was shameless about it. “They’re nice, Ace. That’s all.”

“What about my fingers?” He tilted his head, and his expression was cocky and knowing, but still sweet.

Your mouth went dry. His ability to read you was uncanny and, honestly, a bit concerning. Your eyes darted down to the alluring fingers in question. Sturdy, gorgeous, long, veiny… fuck.

His gaze tracked yours and he could tell exactly what you were thinking.

You tried to answer like you were unbothered by the teasing, like you weren’t flustered, but you failed. “Your fingers are nice, too. Now can we drop the subject? Please, Ace.”

Ace laughed and didn’t say anything more about it. He knew you were shy about this sort of stuff in front of other people. You still flushed with embarrassment, unsure how much of that interaction was overheard by the crew, given that multiple people were within a ten-foot radius… but Marco definitely heard, because he snickered. He was going to be annoying about it later, you could already tell.

Ace loved to tease you. He thought it was endearing and darling whenever you got flustered—it was just too easy to make you blush, and you looked too good blushing to hold back.

Later that night, you were sitting around a table with a sizable group for dinner. Ace sat across from you, flashing his warm, dark eyes and knocking his thigh against yours under the table. “C’mon, pretty. Let’s go.”

You rose from the table and followed Ace to his cabin, like you usually did after you finished your evening meal. You could tell that he was ready and roaring to go because he was barely trying to conceal his erection when he got up from the table. It escaped everyone else’s attention, although he certainly wasn’t being sly about it.

Ace led you down the hallway by your hand. When you finally got to his cabin, he closed and locked the door, then pinned you to the wall and showered you in kisses. His lips were eager and passionate, hands roaming every part of your body they could access.

“Now what did you like about my hands and fingers earlier, baby?” He pulled away and held his face centimeters away from yours. “I’m curious. Please?”

“Fuck, Ace. They’re just nice and big.” You squeaked out the last couple words because his hands squeezed your ass roughly.

“Oh yeah?” Ace smiled and his nose scrunched up. Those freckles could melt your heart even when you were in the worst (or most bashful) of moods. “Why didn’t you say that earlier, pumpkin?”

“Embarrassed,” you let out a whimper as one of his hands squeezed one of your breasts so hard it hurt.

“No need to be embarrassed, beautiful. Now let’s get these off.”

Ace helped you out of your clothes until you were standing in front of him naked. He was fully clothed still, and you felt a little self-conscious, but you quickly realized what he was after.

He began to pass his hands from your wrists up to your shoulders, paying close attention to where he touched and how softly. Goosebumps raised on your skin, trailing after his delicate caresses.

Ace felt every inch of you, eyes glued to where his palms met your skin. The admiration was reciprocal—you looked down at where his large veiny hands touched you, and he was entranced by how soft and supple your skin was under his rough, long fingers.

It’s like he was worshipping you. He took his time, going slowly from your shoulders, sliding his fingers up your neck, down your clavicles, spending a few moments feeling your breasts, creeping down your ribs… He worked your whole body sensually, drinking in every inch of your skin, all the way down to your ankles.

You caught yourself holding your breath and had to manually inhale and exhale for a moment. You were too wrapped up in him—the way he was so, so focused, the way his rich, dark hair and freckles shifted as he petted you carefully and slowly.

It was making you aroused, yes, but also you were just in awe of this man who was treating you like something holy and invaluable.

His fingers traced aimlessly for many minutes as he worshipped your skin. When they finally ceased, he had one hand on your cheek.

He swiped the finger pad of his thumb over your bottom lip and gave you a soft kiss. “You really like my fingers that much, sugar?”

You nodded shyly again, and he smiled. “Open up.”

You weren’t sure what he was getting at, but as you opened your mouth, Ace slid his middle and ring finger onto your tongue. Instinctively, you closed your lips around his fingers and started to suck.

He groaned. “Fuck, that’s it.”

His erection was straining against his shorts, pressing onto your naked skin as you sucked his fingers and made eye contact with him. When you increased the suction and made your cheeks hollow, the tent in his shorts twitched.

He gently pulled his fingers out of your mouth and they crept downwards to rest on your core. You were already immensely turned on, sopping wet and throbbing with need.

“What do you want me to do with my fingers, princess?” Ace’s voice was honey-coated, smooth, and dripping with lust.

“Inside, Ace,” you whimpered. “Put them inside.”

“You want me to finger fuck you?” He purred and pressed his already-wet middle and ring fingers into the sticky valley between your thighs, mixing your own saliva with your arousal.

You hummed in affirmation, and he hooked his fingers up through your folds, entering you as you whined quietly.

Ace’s fingers felt thick inside of you. They always felt thick, but it was emphasized by the fact that you’d been dreaming of this particular moment all day. Pressed inside of you, his digits were remarkably stocky, broad, and rough. Ace removed his free hand from where it was still resting on your cheek and brought it down to palm at his cock.

You were starting to ooze slick on his fingers already, gushing as he curled his fingers and explored your aching core.

“Ace, fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned quietly and his cock jumped. He grinded his palm over it harder, letting out his own gasp of pleasure at the sensation.

“Does it, baby?” He cooed, staring down at where his fingers wiggled and disappeared into you. “You like my fingers that much, sweetheart? Why don’t you fuck yourself with ‘em? Find that soft spot of yours and make yourself feel good.”

Ace held still, prompting a desperate sound to escape your lips. Without a second thought, you began to rock back and forth, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you and dragging them back out, angling your hips over them until you pressed his fingertips onto your g-spot. As you rolled onto his fingers greedily and your moans got louder, your thighs started to shake.

“God, you’re hot. Needy little pussy, so tight and wet for me.” Ace’s voice was low and gravelly as he took his cock out of his shorts and started to stroke himself slowly. “Keep going, gorgeous.”

You grinded on his fingertips, pressing on your own hot spot repeatedly until you were arching your back and screwing your eyes shut in pleasure.

“More, Ace, fuck,” you whined. “Need more.”

“Awh, do you?”

Ace’s hand left his leaking cock, and he brought his thumb to draw lazy circles over your clit. Your hips bucked, disrupting the rhythm you had built while got yourself off.

“Falling apart, sweet thing? Tell me what you like about them again. It sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth.”

You almost couldn’t focus enough to talk. Every time his thumb grazed your sensitive bud, your hips jerked forward.

“B-big,” you moaned desperately, and the sound went straight to his cock. “They’re so b-big and—fuck, Ace—so big and rough. Feels good.”

“There we go, angel. Good job using your words. You look so lovely when you’re fucked out like this.”

“Ace, more,” you begged him with lust-crazed eyes. “Want you.”

He obliged, leaning over you with his fingers still inside your cunt and rubbing on your clit. He latched his lips around one of your nipples as you writhed on him. He sucked lightly, swirling his tongue and biting delicately—you were reeling in ecstasy.

“Ace—fuck, I’m close.”

Usually, he made you wait a while to orgasm. He would edge and tease you until you were on the verge of tears. But today he was so worked up that he was going to let you cum right off the bat—it was one step closer to putting his cock in you. He was counting down the seconds.

He curled his fingers again, taking the lead. He started to press on your g-spot rhythmically, indulging you farther by pulsing heat in your cunt with his devil fruit powers. It felt so good that almost started crying in pleasure. It took everything in you not to topple over from your shaking legs and crumple on him.

Ace groaned with satisfaction and want as you squirmed from his touch. Precum seeped over the head of his inflamed cock and dripped in slow rivulets down his length. “Mmmm, keep going. Cum on my fingers. Then I’ll stuff my cock in you. You want that?”

You nodded, and at the same time, Ace started to scissor his fingers curl them faster. “Fuck, Ace, fuck, fuck, ‘m cumming I’m—fuckkkk.”

You hit your breaking point, spasming in euphoric bliss as you came on Ace’s fingers.

“Does it feel good? Look at me.”

You struggled to even open your eyes, and his wrist kept moving. It was almost too much, but you kept riding the blistering wave of your orgasm on his fingertips, drawing your climax out and shaking with every second. “F-feels so good, Ace.”

When he finally pulled his fingers out of you, he sucked them clean and pulled you by your hand to the bed.

“Ok beautiful, c’mere. Let me do all the work.”

😐😐🤒 i need his fingers in me stat or im going to start screaming in the streets and biting people. idk. something drastic 🥴😇 feeling unhinged today! ⸜( *ˊᵕˋ* )⸝

here's my masterlist and here's my posting schedule for october!

i'm posting every day from now until halloween!

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[drewsbraziliangf]

don’t try this at home | Drew Starkey x black!reader

summary: no one never tells you how much a broken heart hurts. how you feel like you could die from how much pain it causes you and dealing with it mostly alone serves as a constant reminder of what life could've been.

a/n: Here’s part 2 of nothing to say when heaven falls, heavily inspired by ‘in the kitchen’ by Renee Rapp. I want to thank you all sooooo much for the love on the first part I’m still taking it all in💖

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

It had been seven months since the both of you broke up - more like you decided to call it all off and he just watched.

A part of you felt broken beyond repair. It felt like everywhere you looked you could see his stupid blue eyes and damned smile. As if your brain couldn't cope with his absence anymore and began to force you to picture him everywhere you went. Wether it was in someone holding the door for you, a stranger complimenting your hair, a song on the radio that you knew he’d sing along as he drove. It felt like you were dancing with his ghost. Like life happened around you but you were stuck in the kitchen where you last saw him. It was just you and the bittersweet memories.

You never knew how his family took the news of your break up, Brooke was the one who reached out to you and said that she was sorry things had happened that way. But after that everything was radio silent and you preferred it that way. It hurt less when the living reminders of him weren’t too keen on keeping up with your life anymore. They had no reason to do that anyway.

But nothing hurt more than when you began to call everything off with the contractors. The venue, the buffet, the band that would be playing, the decoration crew, photographers and wedding planners. That broke you because you could feel their pity through each and every single call. Like every time you dialed a number, the knife was piercing the open wound again.

It didn’t take long for you to move back into the apartment you rented before you had moved in with him. Slowly life was stable again. Wake up, walk in the park, work, diner, sleep. Repeat.

You also deleted most of your social media profiles and created brand new ones. You didn't want to think of how long until people realized that you were cutting online ties to any one connected to him and they started asking questions. You wanted to remain invisible at last.

Still that wasn't enough. Every other day when your best friend, Frankie, posted a picture or a video where you were in she would immediately tell you that he had liked it. Every time for the last month and a half. You didn't know if you liked to be informed of that or not, if you were honest.

Sometimes you hated yourself for leaving like you did, but in most days you asked yourself how you managed to stay that long? Of course you loved him and was one hundred percent ready to be with him in the long run, but the sudden dismiss of your relationship as soon as Odessa was in the picture was a real deal breaker. Even if you had tried to ignore and move past it, both of them seem to keep on pushing your buttons more and more.

Moving back to this apartment was a blessing and a curse. You were glad that the lender was a nice lady and accepted your application again. You loved the neighborhood and the neighbors, so you were relieved that this part you were able to recover.

Unlike the place you shared with Drew, this one barely had memories of him. So it was easy to ignore his absence in your home. The thought of your shared apartment brought a strange kind of pain to your heart. So many plans, memories and dreams that you for your future now sat alone. All of them waiting for a different kind of closure - one you weren’t sure they’d ever get.

There were pieces of furniture that used to decorate that address that you had brought with you. And on them you could feel him linger, like he was a ghost lurking by the corners waiting for you to acknowledge him again. You never did.

Weeks came and went as the breeze that passed by. None of them too significant. One failed date here and there, bar trips with Frankie, catching up with family members. Routine wasn’t hard to follow when you didn’t have anything else to focus on, it gave you a sense of normalcy. That’s how you found yourself sighing at your friends words on the speaker phone.

“Come on, it will be fun!” She points out, “And you might even find someone you’ll like.”

Frankie had been trying to convince you on the past few days to go to this party in a private club that she was invited and could take a plus one. You did enjoy going to some bars but clubs were never your scene, but you knew that with her insistence you’d end up caving in soon or late.

“Frankie, you know that I don’t enjoy this kind of things too much,” you argue as you serve yourself some pasta. “Besides, I have that presentation at work that I need to focus on.”

“That’s not coming up for another two weeks, I’m sure you can take one day to live. You’re young and gorgeous, you shouldn’t be locked up on a Friday night.”

You giggle at that. Ever since you told her what had happened with your previous relationship, she made it her mission to get you to meet as many guys as possible. Half of the times you managed to back out and the ones you did you’d find yourself under someone you were sure that you’d only see once.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You ask with a small sigh as you shake your head.

“Be ready by nine, hun.” She says, and you can clearly hear the excitement in her voice, and then she hangs up.

This was everything you didn’t know you needed. The sweaty bodies dancing on the main floor, loud chatter all around and the strong smell of alcohol surrounded you.

Everyone seemed pretty in sync with each other here and, as Frankie held your hand, the both of you headed to the bar. When you arrived, you realized that the both of you had a very different perception of what small was. This place had at least one hundred and twenty people in, all with different styles and ages.

Frankie was taller than you, with legs and a waist to die for. She drew attention anywhere she passed by with her long blonde hair, at work people called her a bombshell, since she did look like a modern version of Gisele Bündchen. You became friends not long after you moved to Connecticut. As it was closer to New York and your then fiancé, had many meetings and events in the city. Both of you working in a corporate position at one of the many offices that were spread downtown. As the two of you were closer in age, it didn’t take much for a friendship to blossom between you both.

“I’ll have two caipirinhas,” she said to the bartender with the cutest little accent.

At the name of the specific drink from your native country, you looked around and realized that the party was somewhat tropical themed, so having a drink that was heavy on lime and sugar made sense.

You were glad that your outfit wasn’t standing out too much. The skirt barely covered your behind, but somehow the soft fabric made you feel comfortable as it wasn’t clinging to your skin as a the leather option you tried earlier would. Summer was insanely hot this year and the less the better.

Once your drinks arrived, she handed you one and the both of you walked towards one of the empty seats a little far away from the bar.

Conversation between the two of you flew lightly and it was always good to talk with Frankie. She understood you in ways no one ever had, there was never judgment coming from her. Even when you broke down in front of her when your relationship ended. She was your family away from home.

She also felt confident in sharing with you her fears and struggles as a single mother. Her boyfriend had passed away a year and a half ago in an accident and left her with a little boy to raise. Hayden her pride and joy and you knew how hard she worked to provide him with the best there was. You were more than glad to help her whenever she needed, you loved the both of them endlessly.

As the hours passed by the party became more packed than it was when you arrived, now you could barely walk between the damp bodies. So that made your trip to the bar for new drinks twice as long.

The bartender acted on automatic as he took your order once more, and for a moment you felt bad for coming here again. So many voices and sounds around you that you questioned yourself how he was able to understand each order correctly.

You tapped your colored nails against the glass countered as you waited, trying not to focus too much on what was happening around you. And that was how you felt it before you’ve seen it.

The strong smell of a very specific cologne. You didn’t dare to turn your head as the smell flooded your senses, hopefully it would be just a coincidence, right? I mean, what are the chances?

But it seemed like you have zero support from the universe tonight because the voice ordering a Sazerac besides you was very familiar. Familiar as you had heard it groaning in your ear as your legs were wrapped around someone’s waist.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Was it too late for you to make an escape? Thankfully, the spot you and Frankie were sharing was to your left so you looked back in that directly only to see her wide eyes staring right back at you.

Fuck.

Where the hell was this bartender?

You looked ahead again and allowed your eyes to briefly look down to your right. That goddamned gold signet ring.

Fuck.

Suddenly you didn’t want to drink anymore. Not when you felt a very familiar gaze burning into you.

No escape.

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[namisweatheria]

I feel like we don't discuss Nami's relationship with gender enough. Her entire character is so deeply informed by being a girl in a male-dominated pirate world and it's so interesting and so worth talking about.

The background creepiness of Bad pirate crews, which are most of them, how they tend to not have any female crew members at all, how they beckon any pretty young woman around to come play with them and join them. It's real bad. It's also like, a totally 2 dimensional portrayal of evil that is reserved for the most background of background characters.

However I think their ubiquity says a lot about how piracy is meant to be perceived by the public in One Piece, and is one of the strongest indicators of how prevalent misogyny is in-world.

It's very normal in One Piece for regular island inhabitants to have never met a Different class of pirate in their life. There's no reason for them to withhold judgement that maybe these pirates won't be like every crew that attacked before, and to wait and judge them by their actions. I mean frankly that would be irrationally weak self-preservation.

There are people who live peacefully under the flags of Yonkos who protect them, and feel loyalty and gratitude to them for it, but that seems to only be thing with very big name pirates. The East Blue, being the weakest and least populated, has no such plethora of powerful people and resulting turf wars.

So. Nami. Is very clearly implied to have never met any Different pirates before. I'm thinking about what that means. About how every group of pirates she stole from were creepy, dangerous men. How she started going out stealing when she was still a young child. How she didn't have a mother anymore to guide her or comfort her. How Arlong would grab her chin inappropriately, talk about her as a "human female", as property, and god knows what else.

How all the men in Arlong's crew treated her patronizingly, pretending they're all friends, teasing her and playing at respect when really not a single one of them ever stuck up for her or hesitated to accuse her of betrayal. Who were always ready to kill her if she refused to cooperate. Who grabbed her and intimidated her when they felt like it.

That's what she had to come back to after a close call with stealing from other predatory men, instead of the relief of home there was a dark, cramped room filled with endless hours of misery and isolation and blood. Where any one of her captors could barge in and demand new maps, work faster, where did you go, you took too long again this time. Endless threats and incursions.

I'm thinking about that her fight scene in Alabasta, where she tumbles and rips off her cape and uses it to catch her enemy's spikes, before leaping to her feet and running out the back door, all in one moment. How it makes her enemy reconsider her and think, "so the girl's not a total novice at fighting after all." What that implies about her experiences as a young thief. The times she wasn't fast or clever enough and had to fight and claw her way out. Why she always carried a staff and a knife. Why she was the only one before Chopper who had any medical knowledge or experience.

You know she was stitching herself up. And the weapons, how do you think she learned to use those? If any of the Arlong Pirates helped her it wasn't out of kindness and it wasn't gentle.

Then I think about Nojiko, and Bellemere's memory, and the only softness in a hard life. How easily Nami connects to every young woman experiencing hardship that she meets. How completely she dismisses the struggles of men unless they mean something to her and are going through something terrible. The way that Nami only has sympathy for women and children is easily noticeable in-text, but it's also something confirmed in those words by the author. And it's clearly because of the life she lived, the men who had all the power and only abused it, who saw her as nothing but a girl to take advantage of, without anyone aside from her sister clearly knowing and caring about any of it.

Nami clearly isn't bitter, she doesn't think the world owes her recompense, on the contrary she knows she is far from the only person in the world to suffer the things she has suffered. She is endlessly reaching out and kind, but only to those that she isn't sure would get help without her. Certainly, before Luffy, Usopp, and Zoro, no man ever reached out a hand to her without an ulterior motive.

I think when she sees a girl in trouble, a girl biting her lip to hold in a scream of grief, a girl running in the woods away from a monster, a girl captured by pirates, she sees someone who no one is coming for. Who no one will stick up for. A person without allies in a world against her. Whether it's actually true in this case or not, she runs straight for that girl anyways every single time.

[hoe4hotchner]

Not worth the tears | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 1.6k  | CW: Angst, no use of Y/N, mention of cheating, reader was dating a man, crying.| Summary: reader got cheated on - Hotch is there to pick up the pieces

The weight of your phone felt heavier than it should have in your hand as you stared at the screen. The text was still there, glaring at you, a brief, emotionless exchange that had just ended your relationship. You couldn't feel much, not at first. There was shock, a numbness that spread through your body like ice. Your partner had cheated— of all things he had cheated. And it wasn’t even a messy confession or an argument where the truth slipped out. It had been revealed so casually like it didn’t matter.

Your thumbs had moved faster than your brain, sending a few bitter replies before cutting off contact completely. Now, you sat alone at your desk, a dull ache blooming in your chest, your breath shallow. He had taken all the air out of your lungs and drained every bit of hope you had put into him. The thought circled through your mind—I tried. I tried for him. I gave everything, but it wasn’t enough.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. The words blurred on the screen, and you blinked back the tears clouding your vision. That was it. It was over. You stared at the empty chat thread—his response was short, dismissive, almost as if what had happened didn’t matter. As if you didn’t matter.

You rubbed your hands over your face, trying to swallow the knot in your throat. You were supposed to be working—on a case, of all things—but the walls of the BAU felt tighter than ever. The world outside of this room, outside of the text that had wrecked your day, seemed far away.

As you leaned back in your chair, your thoughts spun—how long had it been going on? Did the moments you’d spent together mean anything at all? The memories felt tainted now, like ink smeared across a once beautiful piece of art. You'd done everything right. You tried to make it work. But it was over. And it was time to face that truth, even though it burned.

It felt like a punch to the gut, that revelation. He had betrayed you in the worst way possible, and all you got in return was a half-hearted apology and an empty text saying it wasn’t a big deal. You should’ve seen it coming, right? But you’d held on, hoping that things could change, that he could change, despite the cracks that had started to show months ago.

The pain was suffocating. You stood up from your desk, pacing the room, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on your chest. But it wasn’t going away. It was just getting worse. You'd loved him, believed in him, and he tossed you aside like you were nothing. He'd broken you in ways you never thought possible, and now you had to pick up the pieces.

Again.

Your thoughts spiraled as you stared out of the window, lost in a haze of disbelief and hurt. You wanted to scream, to throw something, anything, to just feel something other than this emptiness inside. The room felt too small, too confining, and your heart ached like it was splitting in two. Maybe it was. Maybe that’s what happens when you give someone everything, and they rip it all apart.

The glass door into the BAU creaked open, and Hotch’s presence filled the room before you could even look up. He stepped inside, his brow furrowed, as usual, a file in hand. His eyes scanned over you, a practiced intensity in them, as though he was ready to talk about whatever work issue had brought him here. But then, he stopped.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asked, his voice soft but carrying that steady authority. It wasn’t a question he asked often, and when he did, it was because he already knew the answer. He had this way of reading people—of reading you—like any of the case files that came across his desk.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, brushing a hand through your hair as you shook your head. You forced a weak smile, but your throat tightened, betraying the façade. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just… work stress.” You waved a hand dismissively. But the lie tasted bitter on your tongue. The raw emotion in your voice gave you away, and you knew Hotch could see it. He always could.

He stood there, watching you closely, then set the file down on your desk without a word. It was the first time you'd seen him hesitate. “Something’s wrong. Talk to me.”

You wanted to hide it, to shove the pain down and pretend like you hadn’t just lost someone who wasn’t even worth the heartbreak. But this was Hotch—someone you trusted more than anyone. Your lips parted, and the words came tumbling out before you could stop them.

You felt your walls crumbling, the mask you’d tried to wear falling away as the weight of everything hit you all at once. Your chest tightened, and you tried to hold it in, but the pain surged forward, unstoppable.

“I broke up with him,” you said, your voice trembling. “He… he cheated on me.”

Hotch’s entire body went still. His expression, once concerned, darkened with something else entirely. His jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. It was as though he was holding back from storming out and finding the man who had hurt you. “He what?”

You nodded, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “I tried, Hotch. I really tried. I wanted it to work, but… it’s over. He didn’t even care.”

The room was heavy with the weight of your admission. You had never seen Hotch angry like this—at least, not for something personal. His dark eyes were clouded, and the controlled, calm leader of the BAU was nowhere to be found. But then, just as quickly as it had come, the anger softened, replaced by something much gentler, much deeper. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush the tears from your cheeks, his touch soft, careful, as if you might break at any moment.

“Did he tell you? Or did you find out another way?”

The look in his eyes was enough to make you swallow thickly. It was protective, fierce, as though he was barely keeping himself together. You hadn’t known it then, but Hotch loved you. And the idea of someone hurting you, betraying you, was enough to make him want to hunt down the bastard who had done it.

“He told me,” you muttered, looking down at your lap. “Like it was nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

Hotch inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands flexing. For a moment, you could tell he was fighting the urge to walk out and do something rash, something you knew he would regret.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, and there was something deeper in his voice, something that made your heart skip a beat. “You didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “He didn’t deserve you.”

You sniffed, wiping at your face as you tried to pull yourself together. “I just… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Hotch shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” his voice was firm. He moved to sit beside you, his presence somehow grounding in all the chaos that had filled your head. “This is on him. Not you.”

The conviction in his voice made your breath hitch. You stared at him, taking in the intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if you were the most important thing in the world. Your heart twisted painfully. You had never seen him like this before.

“He wasn’t worth your time,” Hotch continued, his tone softening even more. “You deserve someone who will fight for you, someone who will never hurt you like that.”

You could feel yourself breaking down again, the tears coming back, and you didn’t fight them this time. You didn’t have the strength to. Instead, you let yourself fall, collapsing into Hotch’s arms as he caught you without hesitation. He pulled you close, holding you tightly against his chest, his hand stroking your back in soothing circles.

For the first time all day, you felt safe. The ache in your heart hadn’t gone away, but being here, with Hotch, made it bearable. He didn’t say anything more, just held you, and somehow, that was enough.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, and he seemed to understand that you needed the silence.

“I wanted it to work,” you whispered between sobs. “I really wanted it to work.”

“I know,” he said softly, his hand soothing as he rubbed slow circles on your back. “You deserve so much more than what he gave you.”

As he held you, a thought crossed your mind—Hotch had always been there. He had always cared, always looked out for you. And as he held you now, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, you wondered if maybe he had cared more than you’d realized.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes, something soft and warm, but it wasn’t pity. It was deeper than that. It was understanding. It was… love.

You blinked, trying to process the moment, but the sadness and exhaustion weighed you down too much to explore it further. Instead, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why.

Hotch shook his head, his expression tender. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and for a moment, the world didn’t feel so broken. In his arms, you could breathe again, and maybe—just maybe—your heart wasn’t beyond repair after all.

Because even though everything had fallen apart, Hotch was there to help you pick up the pieces. And this time, you weren’t alone.

[vicsnook]

Out of Oklahoma | Tyler Owens x Reader

word count: 3326

warnings: Tornadoes, Loss, Implied smut

notes: Hey y’all 🤠 I am back with some more content! When I tell y’all I was sat at that theater. Even my boyfriend was thirsting over Glen (specifically in the rain scene, iykyk). Anyways, hope y’all enjoy this one and please don’t forget to like and reblog 🫶🏼.

I crawl out of the hotel bed at 5, hitting the snooze button on the way to the bathroom. My reflection looks back at me less than thrilled for what’s to come today.

Apparently the world hates me because there is no coffee to brew when I check the kitchenette, so now my day’s gone from bad to worse. I check my phone and sure enough I have a million messages from my dumba-sweet brother Boone about how he can’t wait for me to meet his friends.

I'm not ready for that. But nevertheless I carry on and make my way to the airport to board a flight to take me home, to Oklahoma. It’s fine, I think to myself. It’s all going to be okay. But I know it’s a lie. Still I get on the plane and pretend I’m going somewhere tropical instead of the one place I swore I wouldn’t return to.

The wheels touch down roughly on the strip, startling me awake. Here goes nothing. The airport is packed but thankfully all I have is my carry on which holds what little I left to California with six months ago. So much for making a life for myself.

The old Ram is parked just outside the doors and I know I can’t put this off any longer. After what happened last year, I want to turn around and get the hell out of dodge but I can’t avoid him forever. Not when my family needs me, well what’s left of it. “Well, well, well, look at what the cat drug in.”

I sigh and look up, locking eyes with the one person I didn’t want to see ever again. Tyler Owens. My ex-fiancée.

“Tyler. Nice to see you didn’t get blown away by a Tornado,” I force out with the fakest smile I can muster. God knows I’d love to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, amongst other things, I shake my head dismissing the stupid thought.

“Y/N, good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. That all your luggage?” he asks, grabbing my carry on from me and placing it in the bed of the truck before I can even answer. “Yep,” I mumble, getting into the truck.

“So, where’s Boone?” I ask, trying to ease the tension.

Tyler glances over at me and I feel my stomach do a stupid flip. Stop it!

“He’s at your Nana’s house dealing with some of the insurance people. I’m really sorry about what happened, Y/N.” he says. “We tried to warn them.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s not your fault, Tyler. You didn’t know it would turn and hit them directly.” I start to reach for his arm to comfort him but pull it back, the gesture feeling inappropriate after all that happened between us.

He nods and continues to drive on. Him and Boone blame themselves but I know there’s nothing they could’ve done. I just wish they’d see it that way.

-

The ruins of the home we grew up in come into view and my heart shatters all over again. The anger bubbling in my stomach as I see all the tornado took from us. Why!? Why us!? I want to scream at the sky as I walk up to my brother who I can tell is barely holding it together.

“Hey Boonie,” I whisper, hugging his back. His breathing shakes as he turns and pulls me into a hug, nearly suffocating me. “I tried sissy, I really did but they’re gone.” he says, “I was too late.”

I hold him as he finally breaks down and I try whispering reassurances in his ear but I know he’s not listening. My eyes make contact with Tyler’s as he heads towards the rubble and begins to sort things out.

“It’s not your fault, Boonie.” I say, holding his face so he looks at me. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

He nods quietly, pulling me in for another hug as the guilt consumes me for having left him behind. I should’ve never gone to California.

-

I follow Tyler to the entrance of the dingy motel on the edge of town, still holding on to Boone’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Y/N.” Boone says, handing me the key to my room. “Always,” I respond. Squeezing his hand one last time as he turns to go to his room.

“Where’s the rest of your crew? I haven’t seen them.” I ask Tyler as we head up the stairs since our rooms are on the second floor. “They’re helping some people downtown that got hit too. They asked me to give you their condolences.” He answers, stopping in front of my door.

“Um, thanks and thank you for all you’ve been doing for Boone. I hate that I couldn’t get here sooner.” I say. “California wasn’t all I thought it’d be.”

“Tried to tell ya.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Tyler.”

He moves a step forward and drops his mouth beside my ear, the distance between us almost non-existent. “Nothing to be sorry about, darling.” He drawls, pulling back, then turning around and walking into his room, leaving me in the hallway.

This man will be the death of me.

-

The weeks go by slowly as we deal with the insurance but somewhere along the way we finally get Nana’s ashes back. Boone and I take them out to the river, spreading them at the one place she loved most.

“So how are things between Kate and Tyler?” I ask Boone as we head back to the motel from the pizza parlor.

My stomach clenches, waiting for his answer.

He looks at me and grins. “Why you want to know Sissy? Any interest in getting back in that saddle?”

“Ew! No! I was just curious, Boone.” I say, glaring at him while he laughs.

“They never really were anything serious. She ran off to New York City the second she got her research. Oklahoma held too many painful memories for her or something.”

I nod. Pulling into the motel parking lot that we now call home. That is until the money from the insurance comes through and we can get to rebuilding Nana’s place.

“There’s the man of the hour.” Says Boone pointing at Tyler who’s getting out of his truck. The white shirt clinging to his chiseled chest because of the rain.

He really does look good in a cowboy hat. I think, quickly shaking my head trying to erase the thought. “Close your mouth Sissy, you’re gonna get drool all over yourself.” Boone teases and I playfully smack him, tearing my eyes off Tyler.

“You know Sissy, I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” I ask, turning off the ignition.

“How y’all girls run away from that man. I mean I ain’t blind and I may be biased because he’s my best friend but his personality doesn’t suck either.” I sigh, knowing he’s not wrong.

“It’s complicated.” I finally say, and get out of the car. Heading for my room before Boone can add anything else.

-

“Where are we going?” I ask again for the millionth time. Letting Tyler and Boone blindfold me was starting to seem like a mistake the longer we were in the truck.

It also didn’t help that Tyler was playing the cd I burned for him back in high school.

“Almost there, Sissy.” Boone assures me, as the truck left the paved road and headed down a dirt road. Please Lord don’t let this be another one of Boone’s pranks.

Tyler helps me out the truck and leads me down a rocky path. My nerves increasing by the second and wondering where my brother had ran off to.

“Tada!” yells Boone, the bandana falling off my eyes as Tyler pulls off the knot.

“I know it ain't much Sissy but I couldn’t let you keep living in that Motel much longer.” Boone says, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the tiny home that now sits behind where Nana’s new house will be. “So, you hate it?”

“No! Thank you so much!” I yell, pulling him into a hug. “You really didn’t have to do this Boonie.” Tears stream down my face as my brother squeezes me. Thank you God for such a good brother.

“I can’t take all the credit, it was Tyler’s idea after all.” Boone whispers to me. I nod, pulling away and wiping the tears off my cheeks.

Lord knows if things were different I’d be running to Tyler and giving him a big ol’ kiss right now. But they aren’t. I remind myself so I settled for just saying “Thank you, Ty.”

“Not a problem.” He says, turning to follow my brother to my now little home.

-

“Please work, come on!” I yell at the shower. My little home was nothing but perfect, well except for the water which always seemed to go out at the most inconvenient times.

I try calling Boone but I’m greeted by his voicemail which only leaves one other person to call. Sighing I pull up his contact and dial. Ignoring the contact picture that I never bothered to change.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um sorry to bother but I can’t reach Boone and my water went out again while I was washing my hair,” I say, already regretting calling him.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” He replies, hanging up before I can say anything else. I pull on a bathrobe and tidy up before he gets here. I wince when I see my hair in the mirror, suds still in it but oh well. Tyler’s seen me how the lord made me so I doubt a little bit of suds will make me ugly.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by his knocking and I think as I open the door that maybe I should’ve thrown some clothes on. “Hey,” I say, stepping aside as he makes his way to the water heater closet to check there first.

The minutes pass and the silence is eating me alive. The temptation to say that I was wrong for ending things the way I did consumes me. So much so that I don’t realize he’s talking to me until he comes to stand in front of me.

“Earth to Y/N? It’s fixed. You shouldn’t have any more issues.”

“Thanks Ty. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” I reply, his eyes meeting mine.

“Live your life without fear of me dying everyday because of what I do,” he says, it's clear to me then that the wound is still very much open.

He starts to head for the door but I’m quick to get up and grab his arm, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Ty, I’m sorry. I was wrong, okay? All I did was trade tornadoes for earthquakes. Happiness for misery. I was wrong and I shouldn’t have left the way I did.” I say, my eyes searching for his.

“You left me, Y/N. You packed your bags and left without saying a word, leaving all of us behind. So, no, sorry doesn’t cut it here. I’m sorry about your Nana but you made your mistakes. Live with them.” He replies, the anger in his eyes sending chills down my spine. I swallow the lump in my throat long enough for him to walk out and slam the door on his way out. What the fuck did I do and how can I even fix it?

-

** 6 months later **

Nana’s house is finished. It looks similar to the one the tornado tore from the ground but me and Boone know it couldn’t be more different.

We bring in what we could salvage slowly and try to make it look as closely as possible to the original one. Lastly, placing a picture of Nana, Boone, and I, that Lily recovered from the wreckage on the mantel.

“Close enough,” Boone whispers, sitting on the couches that Dani and Dexter got us.

“Yeah, I just wish she was still here.” I reply, sitting across from him. “You going chasing again today?”

“Yeah, but I promise we’re being safe sissy. We don’t do that driving into tornadoes and shooting off fireworks anymore after Nana,” He answers, sadness filling his features.

“Just be safe,” I mutter, taking a seat next to him and letting him pull me into a hug. “Always.”

“For what it’s worth, he’s not really mad at you. He’s mad at himself for not realizing sooner how far gone you were until it was too late.”

A sigh escapes me as he gets up, giving me a faint smile before walking out the door. Off to chase the very thing that took the last bit of family we had.

-

The rain came in buckets. All day it’d been so pretty but as soon as I stepped outside the grocery store, I saw how much the sky had changed. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as lightning struck.

Rushing to my car, I threw the groceries in the back seat but before I could throw the car in reverse I heard it.

The tornado sirens.

I threw open the car door and started sprinting back into the grocery store but a cry for help stopped me before I could make it in. Lord please protect them. I prayed quickly.

Debris was already flying all around me when I turned to look for the source of the pleas and then I spotted her. A girl who looked no more than 15 was on the ground in the parking lot, her leg in a cast and her crutches nowhere to be seen. “Please help me!”

I ran towards her. My body going into overdrive as the wind threatened to push me over too. “Please don’t let me die,” she begged as I threw her arm around me and hurried back for the door.

The wind picked up even more and the rain turned into hail as I trekked through the lot trying to make it back inside. The short distance seemed infinite.

I felt it before I could even turn. It was there. The loud roar filled my ears as I pulled the girl in front of me and with the last of my strength I had, I pushed her to where the door was.

Then my feet left the ground as the tornado sucked me in and I felt the world go black.

-

“Bo-one?” I rasp, my throat on fire and my entire body feeling like it’d been run over. The events leading up to this moment slowly coming back to me as I struggle to open my eyes.

“Hey, he’s just outside talking to the doctor, let me get him,” replies Tyler softly. My eyes adjust to the harsh hospital lights as he steps out the door and taps Boone on the shoulder.

My head pounds as I take in my surroundings. Scratches cover up both my arms. If I looked into a mirror right now I’d probably collapse.

“Sissy! Thank God you’re okay!” Hollers Boone as he comes to my bedside, careful not to hurt me when pulling me to him. “I thought I lost you.”

His tears wetting my hospital gown as I hug him back as best I could. “I’m okay, Boonie.” I whisper in his ear as he sobs.

“Is the girl okay?” I ask, worry filling me up at the thought that she didn’t make it.

“Yes, she made it inside just in time, Sissy. You saved her life.” Boone says, taking my head in his hands and pressing our foreheads together like we did when we were kids.

I close my eyes, nodding and thanking God that we were all okay.

“I need to go sign some paperwork but if you’re feeling up to it, we can take you home today. You got lucky,” Boone tells me while getting up from my hospital bed.

“I’d love nothing more than my bed.” I reply, shooting him a smile as he steps out.

I turn to Tyler who’s been quietly standing in the corner this whole time and I notice his swollen eyes. My heart squeezing at the thought of having worried him and Boone.

“Hey,” I mutter, and his eyes finally meet mine.

“Guess Boone isn’t the only tornado chaser in the family huh,” he jokes, still standing in the corner.

“Guess not,” I reply, chuckling but my throat is so dry that it turns into a cough and he’s rushing to my bedside with a glass of water in hand.

“Thank you,” I manage to say as I chug the water. Instant relief filling my throat. “So, can you fill me in on what happened after I got sucked into the tornado?”

“Uh, well witness accounts are that you pushed the girl inside and then got sucked in. Me and Boone had been chasing the tornado and pulled into the lot as it dissipated.” He stops, taking a seat on the bed and grabbing my hand. “The people in the supermarket started pouring out and screaming that you got sucked in, of course at the time we didn’t know it’d been you. Nevertheless we all started searching and found you passed out on top of a tarp in the baseball field.”

“Oh wow, that’s quite the distance. Saved myself some gas for sure,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Y/N, you could’ve died. You got out with scratches and a story but you could’ve died,” he says, a somber look on his face.

“Hey, I’m okay. I didn’t die. Nana protected me,” I tell him, tipping his face so his eyes meet mine. “I got a second chance to start over and,” but he cuts me off.

“I love you,” he says, then his lips crash into mine. The kiss knocks the air out of my lungs but as he pulls away, I recover and pull him back to my lips.

When he finally draws back, his eyes are teary but there is no sadness in them anymore. “I’m sorry for walking out on you, if you had died, I don’t know how I could live with myself, knowing how I left things,” he says, his words piercing my heart.

“Hey,” I say softly, “I’m here and I’m okay. I know there’s a lot we need to talk about but I can promise you this, I’m not leaving Oklahoma. Ever.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” I whisper, leaning in to meet his lips.

But before we can finish our moment with a kiss Boone is bursting through the door.

-

** One month later **

“Ty! Dinner’s ready!” I holler, and I hear the sound of the shower turning off. Making my way to the living room I stop and pick up my Nana’s picture, thank you for saving me. I think to myself and put it back down.

“Ty! Come on!” I yell, quietly sneaking up the stairs to our room. Glad that Boone’s off with Lily at the fair.

“Coming!” I hear him yell from the bathroom. The towel is wrapped around his waist and drops of water make their way down his abs. Man, I’d sure love to be that towel. I think to myself as I watch from the door crack but am greeted with a smirk when I make my way up to his face.

“Hey darlin’, coming to see the view?” he asks cheekily, turning to me. Busted.

“Well you’re the one who says “if you feel it, chase it,” and I sure am feeling a lot of things right now,” I reply, letting my eyes trail down his chest.

“Oh, yeah?” he replies, coming closer. “Well you better start running.”

I giggle and turn to run but don’t even make it out the room before he’s tackling me to the bed. Dinner is gonna be real cold when we’re done here.

[a-small-safe-place]

Then, Nothing.

Yandere Cullen family

A/N: Renesmee is a platonic yandere. The rest of the Cullens are romantic yanderes for you, but it is mostly centered on Bella and Edward right now.

You met Renesmee in a park. You were babysitting a child for a family, and she happened to approach you. This child looked too grown to be the age she said but also looked too young to be anything older, and something about her was off-putting in an uncanny valley way. However, something compelled you to engage with her. She said she did not want to play with any of the other children. Renesmee said they were too ingenuous. That seemed like too big of a word for such a little girl. She talked your ear off, though. She said she does not "talk" much at home, and that it is easier just to be not verbal. That worried you; was this child being abused and forced to stay silent at home? Who even were her parents?

As if on cue, a very beautiful man and woman approached. They looked too young to be the girl’s parents, but also too similar to her to not be her parents. They were also more inhuman in appearance than Renesemee. The mom, Bella, was more welcoming than Renesmee’s father, Edward, who chose to remain standoffish.

Bella smiled and told you, “Renesmee doesn’t usually talk to people besides her family; you must be special.” Her tone sounded as if she had been flirting with you. You chose to ignore it. Maybe just because she was so inhumanly beautiful made it seem like she was flirting. “I don’t know about how special I am, but your daughter is certainly unique; she seems so bright for her age.”

Edward finally spoke up, but in a flat and uninterested tone, “she is; we are very proud.” An awkward silence settled over the area. Thankfully, the child you had been babysitting came up ready to go home.

You began to see them more and more around town. It seemed as if Renesmee could sniff you out in a second if she happened to be in the same area as you. You were relieved that you did not live in the area and lived in a part of town that was in a much lower tax bracket. If you did live in the area, it would not be surprising if Bella, Renesemee, or even Edward showed up at your doorstep. Edward was the most normal out of the three. Bella’s behavior was nice, but something about it felt awkward with a sinister undertone. If she looked different, it would seem more sincere, but something about all three of them made you want to run away as fast as you could despite their beauty. A driver for the family that you babysat for had seen them when picking up you and the child and joked that Bella and Edward were probably related given that they looked similar. He loved to gossip and asked you a million questions about them. You shuddered at the idea. That could explain why their daughter was so peculiar, but wouldn’t incest result in more physical deformities and not just strange behavior from a child? Even if they were related, they did not seem to be that close, definitely not siblings. Everything about them seemed the same but also different.

You tried your best not to think too much about it, but it got to the point where you would see at least one of them anytime you were out on that side of town. You were fine trying to avoid them; each time your excuse was along the lines of “oh they need this kiddo back home!” or some other similar response. That is until you ended up getting fired. The mom refused to say why, and she reacted in disgust when she saw you. Before this, both of the parents enjoyed having you as their sitter. It was a harsh dismissal. You decided to stop by the grocery store before going home. You needed something, anything, to make you feel better about your loss of work, and with the influence your last family had in the community, it was clear you would not be babysitting for a while. Or so you thought.

“Hello,” Edward’s voice sounded from behind you. He did not seem happy to be there. “Sorry,” You mumbled, scooting out of the way, assuming you were in front of something he needed. “I have a job for you,” He said cryptically. You turned around to face him feeling confused. Edward continued to talk. “It will pay well. I know you take care of children, and I wanted to take Bella somewhere on a date, and we do not have a sitter for Renesmee, and she has warmed up to you.”

“You want me to babysit?” You asked somewhat dumbly causing him to smile a bit and chuckle. “Yes, she has warmed up to you, and Bella thinks you are trustworthy. The only catch is that you have to care for her at our home. You may not leave when you are watching her, even if you have an emergency.” You weren't a fan of that stipulation, but you figured they would allow you to call them to come back in a dire situation.

“Okay, fine. When do I need to be there, and is this going to be a regular thing?” You asked. He seemed a little irritated that you're asking these questions. “Tonight. You will start now. It will be a regular job. You can follow me out to our house.”

You arrived at his and Bella’s home. It looked like it was designed by the best architect. Renesmee greeted you outside. “You're here! We are going to have so much fun! Come one! Come meet my family.” As she is dragging you in, Edward is driving away. He did not even mention when they will be back or how much you were getting paid exactly. He was probably making sure you would not take the money and leave. There are people inside. Four people, two guys, and two girls sit on the couch and sofa. You hear a few people in the kitchen. “These are my aunts and uncles! That's Uncle Emmett and Aunt Rosalie; they are married, and then Aunt Alice and Uncle Jasper; they are married too. My Grandma Esme and Grandpa Carlisle are in the kitchen. Grandma wanted to make dinner for you… I mean us.” Two of them smile at you, the two dark-haired ones. The two blondes look mad and somewhat disgusted. This is weird. You have never babysat with people around. Why could the family not watch Renesmee? She seemed to like them just as much as you. Renesmee pulls you into the kitchen. Her grip is surprising for a little girl. A blonde man and a woman with caramel-colored hair are cooking. They look far too young to be a grandma and grandpa. Something about all of these people seems so familiar. As if you have seen them before. Not just on the rich side of town but on the poor side of town too, in your neighborhood. They both introduce themselves and clearly know your name as they greet you. “Are you hungry?” Esme asks, handing you a plate of food. It smells divine, but this has to be a trap. Most families prefer you not to eat a bunch on the job.

Renesmee grabs a plate and begins to eat. “It's so good! Grandma worked hard on it! You have to try it!” It is impossible to say no to her for some reason. You take a plate and take a few bites. It tastes wrong. There are hints of good flavor, but it is heavily covered up by the taste of medicine. The gravity of the situation hits you. “I need to excuse myself; I need a bathroom break.” The shakiness in your voice is clear. You pretend to go to the restroom, but book it to the door when you're out of sight. You see your keys are missing; even your phone has disappeared from your pocket. You step outside only to see your car missing. Suddenly you're grabbed from behind. This person is very strong but knows how to hold someone down without injuring them. You're stuck with a needle. Your life does not flash before your eyes, but each time you've seen these freaks in public flashes in your mind as your vision spins. A wave of calm lays over you. It is unwelcome because it feels unnatural, but it is too comforting for you to care as your vision goes in and out. You see some flashes of memories that do not belong to you. They are from a lower angle, so it has to be from Renesmee's mind. It is Carlisle assuring her that you are going to be safe because they all love you as much as she does.

Then, nothing. You're out like a light.

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part twenty-six

679 words

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Steve studies Eddie’s sketches with a frown. They’re thumbnails of people in different positions, and Steve can’t help but compare them to his own. Perhaps he simply has to come to terms with the fact that he’ll never be a good artist. He thought he was improving, given all the time and effort he’s putting into the portraits, especially Eddie’s, but no. He still sucks.

The point of the assignment wasn’t to make the drawings good - only to provide a quick recap on anatomy. Still, though, Eddie’s are good. And Steve’s… Well, at least Steve isn’t going to get a poor grade (because that’s frowned upon when the student tries their best).

The figures on his paper are unproportionate and vaguely unsettling, like his art tends to be.

“They can’t be that bad, Steve,” Eddie says, naively.

Steve had unthinkingly shielded his paper from the other teen - a habit he’d picked up from the project, and when Steve had asked, Eddie had handed his own over passively because he’s a fucking art prodigy, apparently.

Steve slumps in his seat and places his paper in front of Eddie. He hadn’t even pushed to see it. Not once. Now, he picks it up and studies the sketches for a solid minute, brows furrowed in concentration. 

Steve’s frown deepens considerably. He’s beginning to regret handing it over for judgment. Eventually, though, Eddie sets the paper on the table and looks up to make sure he has Steve’s attention before he issues his verdict. As if Steve’s attention is ever directed elsewhere.

Once assured Steve’s eyes are on him, Eddie picks up his pencil and hovers over the paper with the eraser aimed at it. “May I?” he questions. 

Steve huffs. "Sure. ‘S not like they can get any worse," he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Eddie erases things here and there. Steve thinks he's about to begin fixing the drawings, but he simply straightens and slides the paper over to Steve. He leans in close and points to one of the places he had erased. "Okay, so...” 

He continues to suggest ways Steve could make them look more like the references. 

At the end of class, Steve actually feels better footed - ready to finish up his portraits. He's almost done with his own, actually, and he only needs a few more things until he'll be satisfied with Eddie's. 

The bell rings and Steve turns to make plans with Eddie only to find the teen already looking at him expectantly. "Uh, my place?" Steve suggests. It's only fair after Eddie had hosted on Monday. 

Eddie nods in acknowledgement. "Sounds good, Stevie."

Steve clears his throat, trying not to let it show that he’s aware his face has begun to flame with the arrival of the nickname. 

Stevie. 

It's not like it's unprecedented, people have called him Stevie here and there for as long as he can remember.

It feels different coming from Eddie, though. Makes him feel special.

"You wanna follow my car, then?" Steve asks, standing from his seat finally. 

Eddie levels him with a look that's hard to interpret. "Bold of you to assume the entire school doesn't know where your castle is, Mr. Keg King." 

Right, he'd forgotten about the parties. 

Steve scratches his check. "Huh, right. Meet you there?”

Eddie agrees and Steve finally takes his leave. 

Hours later, when dismissal has rolled around, Steve is trying to remember what state he'd left the house in that morning.

He doesn’t go to his locker even though Eddie’s library book - which he’d picked up yesterday - is in his locker and he’d wanted to grab it for tonight. He's trying to avoid Tommy. He knows his friend will just act like nothing ever happened. And to him, nothing did. He's probably forgotten already, honestly. 

Steve doesn't forget - he never does.

He goes straight to his bimmer and unlocks and opens the door, but as he’s about to descend into his seat, a hand claps him on the back and he straightens again. 

So, Tommy's found him anyway. Great.

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[livingdeadgirlflorette]

YOUR FACE ⟡₊⋆∘ carl grimes x fem!reader

summary : with this weird dynamic between helping Carl smoke, tension-filled silence, and longing looks— maybe this time together might be where unspoken words aren't left unsaid.

word count : 4.9k

tags / rundown : fluff, slightly suggestive, smoking, awkward first kiss, confessions, kissing, inaccurate depiction of how smoking affects people, reader isn't good at feelings

a / n : This was in my drafts for such a long time oml! anyways the tile is based of the song "your face" by wisp, I just really liked the song with this :3 this isn't as long as my other fics but I hope you enjoy just as equally <3

dividers by me ! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

PART 1: SO HIGH ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The smoke that fills Carl's lungs from your mouth gives him another familiar hazy feeling. It's been an unarguable routine from the two of you— whenever you guys get too overstimulated from the Alexandrian kids or just from the adults, you both go to the same clearing you guys met, sit down next to each other, Carl brings his comics to read and you bring your cigarettes.

And something that he'll always look forward to is you helping him smoke. The feeling of your hand holding his face, keeping him steady and blowing the puff you took into his mouth, him taking it in and breathing it out— all the while you both stare into each other's gaze. But as soon as he's done with the drag, you're eyes leave his— going back to your own devices.

your character had bemused him; how one second you both are sharing an intimate moment, holding him softly and with a fondness, and the next you're behaving like nothing had ever even happened.

Carl wanted to dispel that indifference you'd been feigning— that stoic face you'd been masquerading in and out of the walls. He desired to know what was behind all those barriers of distance you'd made to keep yourself safe. He wanted to know you. The real you.

"You know, I think you're ready to take off your training wheels and do it yourself, cowboy." If it wasn't already evident in the sluggish tone, you were relaxed from the amount of puffs you'd been doing already. Lifting your hand and pulling yourself away from him, he stops you by gripping your forearm. He had never done this before, and the unfamiliarity of it had startled you— but then registering his touch had your mind involuntary give you chills in your spine. It felt good, him holding you.

Carl didn't want you to pull away; he wanted to stay forever like this, with your face close and in his space. But he'd have to start saying it before he loses the chance.

"I think I'll need a few more practice runs." He stated boldly. Carl didn't really know what he was trying to say when he blurted that out. All he knew was that he wanted to keep your face close to his. He tilted his head and looked at your lips, before looking back to meet your startled gaze— but as quickly as it had shown on your face, you painted over a mask of nonchalance.

You let out a chuckle. Carl was always one to speak his mind about things, but he always seemed timid when approaching this. You like this side of him. With your free hand, you take another drag of the cigarette before putting in out. With his gaze studying you close, you blow the smoke in his face.

He definitely didn't expect that, because he let go of you forearm and waved his hands in front of his hands to get rid of the waft of smoke from his face. Despite all of this, he still managed to laugh at it.

"Maybe another time." You dismissed. You stand up and look down at him, clueless that he'd been left in the dust. "We gotta get back before they notice, remember?" You finish fixing yourself up before reaching out a hand at his still sat position.

". . ." Carl didn't know how to feel, he looks at the hand reaching out to him and back at you. ". . .Right." He finishes his contemplation and grabs your hand, getting support from you to stand up. He pats himself down to get rid of the dirt on his pants and flannel.

"I'll start walking back. Stay close, okay?" Your voice lets out a stable tone. Hesitant, he nods and goes back to tidy himself up and the comics strewn about on the grass. With that, you turn to the direction of Alexandria and start your walk.

With you figure walking away, Carl was left to drown in his own thoughts. He felt. . . dismayed? All you did was dismiss him but he felt like you threw his heart away doing it. He knew he shouldn't feel like this. He didn't have any right to, you guys weren't anything— You guys were just friends who helped the other smoke, but he didn't want just that. He wanted more. Carl looks back at your decreasing figure before finishing up and jogging to you, matching your pace and falling in step next to you.

He's gonna say something to you about it. He doesn't know when, but he will. He can't stand just being smoking buddies with you— he wants more.

"So. . . do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice cuts the silence of the dinner table, overpowering the clanking and screeching of utensils against the plates. Carl's movement of taking a spoon of his food slows with his gaze locking with his father's—but then, just as swiftly, he goes back to his normal act, breaking the eye contact.

"I don't know what you mean." He tries to act and put on an air of nonchalance, playing up an act and pretending nothing had happened—just like you do when you and him are in the forest clearing. Carl had never intended for you and him hanging out outside the walls a secret; however, with the fact that his father wanted the best for his son and still tries to show good towards him, he feels like Rick wouldn't be too happy if he found out his son was going outside the gates and smoking—maybe even worse when he finds out he's doing all of that for a girl.

". . ." Rick's eyes are trained on his son in contemplation quietly, watching every calculated movement his son does to see any tick of movement that would give him the assumption of nervousness. He already knew his son was hiding something—but he didn't take him as the type to lie about it; he just wanted to see if he'd tell him the truth.

"Sure then," Rick said. "If that's the case, I guess you wouldn't mind telling me about that girl you go on prancing around outside with?" And with the question alone, Carl stops his next move and fully becomes attentive.

How did his father know? He thought he was good at keeping up his face, but that inquiry from his father left his vocabulary in shambles.

"There's no—what? I don't know what you're—listen, whatever you're trying to say, I— . . . Okay, how did you find out?" Carl blurts out before he deadpans before dropping his utensils in defeat. He figured that trying to defend himself would make things worse, so he'd rather get straight to the point. He isn't going to get anything good out of dodging his dad's interrogation, but he needs to know how he knew first before he tells him.

"It was Tara's turn to keep watch in the tower," Carl should've known. With all the teasing looks he got from her whenever she talked about girls to him and how he would listen intently, he figured maybe Tara was just in a chipper mood these days, but he guessed he was wrong.

"She saw you and the other kid climb the back walls and walk away." His father finished. Carl didn't want to explain to his father why he did it; it'll just send him into a pit of shame. But he figures he'll have to cross that bridge when his father gets to it.

"Now I'm going to ask you this again, and don't lie to me," Rick leans back in his chair, a domineering aura surrounding him. You'd think he'd look all serious and stern—but with Judith squirming and cooing in his lap, it made him less authoritarian and more father-like.

"Do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice lowered, wanting an actual direct answer from Carl, not the 'I don't know what-you're-talking-about' bullshit he was spewing earlier.Carl didn't know what to say. If he was going to tell his father the truth, he'd have to open up to him about you. And that's hard enough on his own, but to his dad? He doesn't know how that'll go. But it's better now than never. So with a deep, defeated sigh—he starts.

"There's a girl I hang out with, just a few minutes outside the walls from here," Carl recalls the first time you'd met each other and how he told you how smoking was going to kill you. Oh, how much he laughs in his head at the thought of that, especially since he smokes with you now. With Carl finally confessing what Rick wanted him to say, his domineering stance softens, and he adjusts Judith on his lap—who was still moving around, now trying to grab his father's finger using her hands.

"We go to a clearing, and just talk there. She's—. . ." Carl's words pause. He was unsure what to call her; it would be weird calling her an acquaintance since they know each other more than that, and it would be even more peculiar to come out of his mouth calling her a friend—knowing what they've done together.

"She's something else." He finished. There wasn't a word that they could call what they were, and Carl couldn't think of one for the life of him. She really was something else.

"Well—I thank you for being honest with me that time," Rick adjusts himself to help Judith sit properly. "But I wanna know something else." He breathes softly through his nose, readying himself to ask.

"Why?" From the start, when the world fell to shit, Rick knew his son wouldn't be the same as he was before—his character would grow up to be more mature and stoic, having to leave the childlike nature he shortly had and take over this stone-faced disposition. He was forced to forget he was just a boy.

But, with the time that he'd been with that girl, Rick noticed Carl would be less tense, he'd laugh more, and he'd even let out a genuine smile without worry. Something that you had whenever you were with him had turned him back and made him experience what it felt like just to be a teenager. What it felt like to not be always vigilant, just relaxed and content.Carl was left speechless. Just like he couldn't think of what to call what you and him were, he didn't know why he was hanging out with you. Well, he did know; he just didn't want to say it. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge how all of your experiences with him in the forest were something more for him.

"I—I just, like her. She's good company." That was all Carl could say, before scooping another morsel of food and eating it. One confession mixed with another and a half-assed excuse. He knew his father was better to believe just that, but he also knew he wouldn't prod at him anymore.

Rick could read his son like a book. He knew that wasn't just the reason; that girl had done so much for him that Carl didn't even realize it, and he knew his son would think much more about what she was to him, but he knew Carl should let him figure it out himself—rather than condemning him for it. With a fatherly chuckle, he leans a little with the toddler in his arms to pat his son on the shoulder, letting a gentle squeeze.

"I bet she is. But tell her something before you do something stupid." That was all his father said before standing up and bringing Judith with him, walking up to the front door—presumably to sit on the porch with her. Carl seemed to notice that. With the amount of walls they were in, he saw his father felt safe enough to just enjoy the smallest of things, like how he'd just enjoy being with his daughter.

But after finishing his pondering about his father, his father's words rang in his head. 'Tell her something.' Should he? One side of his heart that still believed there was good in this world—how there is still hope in this—told him he should; he should tell her everything he wanted to let out—how entrancing her lips were when they were inches apart from his, how her presence alone could calm all the thundering thoughts pounding in his brain.

But the other side of his that was marred, cynical, and closed-off tells him he shouldn't; well, everything was going great for them, so why should he have the audacity to let himself ruin it? If he did something to shatter that with you, ruin the experiences you already had with him and in the future that you'd have with him just because he decided to do something he wasn't even sure if you'd reciprocate—he'd never forgive himself.

Carl was a mess, and he knew he was. All his thoughts were drowning in confusion just because your person was so enthralling. Your carefree personality and how you let him do the things he thought he could've never done—you were everything he wanted. He wanted you so badly.

But how would he tell you? You seemed so close, yet so distant. All those memories of being close with him and talking about the most nonsensical topics just for the sake of keeping the conversation going were layered on by the other set of events that follow—how after everything you've been through with him, you seemed to shut down—how you didn't allow yourself to get too comfortable with anyone, even him. How whenever you and him pause to get lost in each other's gaze, you flutter your eyes and pull away.

You looked afraid—you seemed to abhor letting people in, seeing who you were when you were vulnerable. Carl despised it. How it felt like you were close and far at the same time, all together. It was like you guys were at a standstill, and he wanted to stop the limbo your character put your relationship in. He needed an answer from you, even if it had the chance of breaking whatever you guys had with each other.

He dropped his fork. God damn it, with all the brainstorming in his mind about how to approach the thought of telling you, he had lost the appetite to eat. With a frustrated sigh, he picks up both his and his father's plates to put in the sink—going to wash it. He'll have to dwell on it later. Right now, he needs to distract himself from the mindless routine of washing the dishes—just to take his mind off it, off of you.

With the passing of the cigarette smoke, Carl looks back at your face. He wonders if he should listen to the wise words of his father and tell her the truth. But he's scared. He laughs at the thought; after all these years of living and surviving through this wretched apocalypse and off all things, the one thing he was most scared of was losing you. It was ridiculous to him; he's done heinous acts just to keep going in this cycle of life—yet he thinks that confessing what he felt to you would be the end of his world.

"What's wrong, you look?" You tilt your head in inquiry, visibly confused. Carl didn't even notice that you'd seen him staring at you, observing you like this would be the last time he'd ever see you.

"Sad. Or you could just be constipated with how concentrated you look."

Even with the amount of things he's been feeling about you and pondering the aftermath of what could happen if he told you—you still managed to make him let out a chuckle.

"I was thinking." Carl huffs a breath out. He was thinking, thinking of what you'd say. Without skipping a beat, you follow up on what he had said. "Thinking about what?"

As you ask, you take a drag of the lit stick of tobacco and gently grab his chin, just like you always did. No matter the repetitiveness, he'll always welcome that hazy feeling of you getting close.

But before you get to exchange the smoke in your mouth, he places his hand over yours that was holding him, looking at you with such a focus that could burn through your eyes. With his action, your movements halt from being startled, and you involuntarily let the puff in your mouth out slowly.

"This." Carl looked into your gaze. Just like the last time you were this close, you had pulled away. But you aren't sure if you'd like that. "I was thinking about you."

With the confession leaving the tip of his tongue, your face formed a light flush. Carl was always forward with you about things, but never this upfront about his feelings for you. Contrary to his belief, you know. You knew what he felt, ever since he had started to smoke with you.

Even though he was going through the same burden as you, he felt like he had to be there with you first. You hated it. You didn't hate Carl; you hated how you felt about it and how it felt with him. How you let the walls of your heart come down when it came to him, even after everything that you swore would never break. With a doubtful look slowly painting your face, you can't help but try to distance yourself from him.

"Oh. That's. . . interesting." With a heavy feeling, your vision goes to anywhere but his, finally breaking the chain of eye contact you'd been sharing in the blanket of silence. "I've been thinking too, about— stuff." You had muttered awkwardly, saying anything that comes out of your mind, just to fill the awkward silence.

"You think you can tell me?" Even with your eyes off him, you can still feel his perceptive gaze. Carl didn't want you to crawl back into that timid disposition you always had put up; he wanted you to open up to him—let him in that mind of yours.

"If I say it," you paused. "It's going to ruin everything." Your voice had barely let out the last sentence, your tone trembling. Your heart wanted to tell Carl everything—how your body felt flush whenever he did something to gauge a reaction from you, how you wanted his body near you—not just from helping him smoke—but more than that.

But would saying what you had wanted ruin the relationship that was one of the only highlights of surviving in this apocalypse? Will saying what you had dreamed of saying destroy what he had thought of you?

But with your self-doubt clouding your mind and making your body still, you had barely registered the warmth of Carl's hand on yours, holding it with such care you'd think of it more of an intimate gesture. With a gentle call of your name, he assures you.

"Hey, nothing you do will ruin—" Carl paused, unsure if he should state it as what they are. Friends? He isn't even sure at this point. "-will ruin us, okay? I won't get mad."

"I'm not expecting you to be mad," you counter. "I expect that you'll feel betrayed." You finished. If Carl didn't reciprocate what you felt, you were sure he'd be confused. Would he think that all you did with him was just an elaborate ruse to get him closer to you? You weren't certain, but you had an idea it would go down that route if he did.

"If you aren't sure how to tell me, then show me." Carl tilts his head, coyly lacing his time. Whenever he does those mannerisms, you always thought he looked cute. He didn't look like a stone-faced killer that was brought upon this apocalypse anymore, but just a teenager going through regular stuff, feeling normal things.

With that, you contemplate. You were irritated at yourself for not saying anything; it was as if your heart was in your mouth—disabling you from telling what you desired. But with a deep breath, you lean in close to Carl—his eyes going wide for a second, then adjusting to this newfound distance.

Carl knows he shouldn't be nervous; you've been in his vicinity close to him like this dozens of times. But with this unexplored feeling brewing in his stomach, he feels like he should be—because you were going to do something else.

"Don't—don't freak out, okay?" Your voice is so close to him, it makes his ears flush red. He's lucky he had long hair; he was sure you'd tease him for it if you had seen them.

The tension felt thick, just like all the times you had been close to his lips, mere centimeters away. Sometimes you wish that the times you were that close you'd just lean in and kiss him, but inevitably you always pull away.

And just like that, you realize that your embarrassment gets the better of you again. You pull away slowly; you think this is stupid. You shouldn't have done that. You turn away, one of your hands covering your face that was starting to burn up.

"I-uh, sorry, I think I should go back, yeah. I'm sorry—" Your face turned back to his. But before you could let out another apology, a pair of soft lips had met yours, your eyes fluttering shut.

Carl had kissed you. You had dreamt of what it felt like to kiss him. But now that it was actually happening, you felt so surreal. With a hesitant state, you tested the waters and kissed him back, a light push to see what it felt. His lips were chapped, understandable since chapstick didn't seem like a necessity in the apocalypse, but his lips felt gentle.

When you felt the absence of soft pressure on your lips, you fluttered your eyes at him. You were sure your cheeks were burning at this point; it was uncontrollable. Once you guys were at a normal sitting distance from one another, you finally piped up.

"That was, uh, good." Your voice barely above a whisper. Both your gazes found one another, and then, with heat creeping up your neck, you had looked away.

"Thank you, I guess...?" Confusion had still not left your tone. With this, you were also perplexed by your own words. What were you thankful for?

"Why are you thanking me?" Carl's voice didn't seem to miss a beat, going back to his playful self. You were thankful for this—how he could always help lighten your guys' mood even when it was awkward.

"I don't know, okay!" You let out a genuine laugh. "I've never had to think about what to say after. . . that." Your eyes met his. He seemed to have a glint in his eye, telling you all you needed to know that he was planning something mischievous.

"Well. . ."

"Yeah. . ."

This was one of the things that made you abhor having to actually commit to kissing him—the aftermath. What would become of you and Carl? Would it be just unbearably awkward, and you'd never have enough courage to look him in the face again? Or would it help express your blossoming feelings towards you and him?

"I've always liked you, y'know?" Carl speaks up first—his tone soft and careful, breaking the silence you both have been dreading. But with just a few words of confession, he seemed to melt through that weird tension that had permeated through the space between you.

"I know—or like I. . . knew, I guess?" Your voice comes out meek, nervous about what was still happening.

His face went slack—his face contorting to shock and embarrassment, with a noticeable flush of red rising up his ears.

"Wait wha-? How did you even-what. . .?!" His voice was getting higher, something you picked up on when he was getting nervous.

With a small giggle, you answer his question. "It doesn't take a detective to find out you like me, Carl. You were quite obvious." Your face grows a smirk, creating a playful atmosphere.

He looks away with another wave of shyness. This was disastrous. Was he really that obvious? "It couldn't have been that obvious." With a slow turn, he looks back at you. ". . .right?"

"Do you really think you were that slick? You looked." You paused, unsure whether to say what actually was on your mind. He looked in love, but you figured you shouldn't—it would be too fast.

". . . nevermind. It's just that eyes don't lie, Carl, and the way you look at me—it seems very telling." You end your sentence with a smile. With everything out of the bag, you felt light as a feather—with nothing left to hide from him.

"If you knew then, why did you stop?"

"What?" His question seemed vague, out of nowhere.

"Why didn't you kiss me?" Carl was sure you could tell his heartbeat going haywire, feeling the vibration of it beating up to the tips of his ears. He sounded so desperate, but he didn't care. All he wanted right now was an answer.

"Oh! Uh. . ." You didn't expect how much he looked like he was yearning, waiting for something, anything from you. Saying you were scared would be embarrassing, but with everything you and Carl already did, there didn't seem like anything else to do but go forward and be honest with him.

"It's a stupid reason," you say, looking up at him, with bashfulness filling your face.

Without skipping a beat, Carl's hand had already gone to yours to intertwine. He didn't seem to know it, but that simple gesture was already melting away that air of dread that was coercing you to not say it.

"If what you're going to say is stupid, then what does that make what we did?" His eye had a glint of wit that he always had when he wanted to cheer you up, encouraging you to go on.

With your free hand and the still-lit cigarette in hand, you take a long drag. It was funny to you how this small stick of nicotine used to be the only thing of happiness that helped you get through it—to go on and keep living. But now, the thing that was your hope and joy in this world was right next to you. 

"A bad idea?" You finally answer his rhetorical question.

With a dry chuckle, he looks to you and just gazes. He never thought that you'd feel the same way, let alone reciprocate kissing him. He felt like the happiest he's ever been since coming to Alexandria.

"I felt," Your mouth opens to let out another word, but you shut it quickly. Taking a deep breath and looking at the sky. "Afraid and. . . guilty is what I'd put as how I felt about you, I guess."

"Why would you feel that way?"

"'Cause it's you!" You look back at him, incredulous, and your hands gesture to his whole character.

"You and me, we were cool, y'know? And we just hung out; everything was going fine, and I didn't want to ruin. . ." You then gestured to both of you. "This, I suppose."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I told you it was stupid." You look back at the golden hour of the sky, then just slump. It felt freeing telling him that, but it also filled you with shyness. This whole situation just made you want to get eaten by walkers alive and just sink into the world.

"I don't think it's stupid." His free hand goes to fix the loose hair that fell to your face and tuck it to your ear. The fact that his hand was ever so close to your face had your skin burn up so fast you're sure he already sees your skin blushing.

"I think it's cute."

Your eyes went shocked, but then quickly roll your eyes at the cheesy reply.

"Oh, just shut it already." You both giggle and simply bask in the playful mood that was created.

"No, I'm c'mon seriously!"

"You being 'serious' isn't you laughing, Carl." You smile and laugh as you say your quip. With a smile on his face and a shake of his head, you continue your tyrant of laughter.

But your laughter had come to a halt when he had lifted his head and held both your wrists, and he had said your name. "I like you, okay? You're so good to me, and you're such a comfort to come to when I need solace, and I just. . ."

As if the tables had turned, now he was the one losing his words, them dying at his throat.

"I just need you; is that enough? Can I please be with you?"

"If I ever say no to that, I think I'd need a checkup from our clinic."

Your response went out as fast as he had asked, eager and happy that he had finally decided that he wanted to be with you.

"Yes, I mean." With a final look from one another just looking into each other's gaze full of love and admiration, you both take a shy push in and finally kiss again, something you think you'll never grow tired of. But Carl pulls away just a breath away from your lips, wanting to get one last word in that he knows you won't ever forget—before he goes back in for more.

"I'm never gonna let you go."

woowee!! it's been a hot minute since I've posted! sorry guys for all of the people that were waiting for me to post when I never did, right now I've been really into my academics and I'm elbow deep into like 4 pending submissions to pass next week lolol!!11 anyways sorry for the rambling, I hope you enjoyed reading! ✮⋆˙ what did you think of this? don't be a silent reader and let me know ⭑.ᐟ

tags: @carlslvr @shadowybasementmiracle @kawliflo @xictoriiaa

wanna be tagged the next time I post my fics? tell me so I can ꩜ .ᐟ

[zombie-bait]

Full Moon

Ok so I don’t normally post about Helluva Boss but the newest episode touched on an interesting concept I haven’t necessarily seen represented in media. Back when I was on Twitter (derogatory) a few years ago there was this now deleted viral thread where someone discussed how their struggles with mental health affected their relationship with their partner and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. 

This is such a good, short example of how anxiety and depression can play tricks on you. It becomes so easy to envision yourself as a nuisance, a constant burden to those closest to you because they cannot possibly genuinely enjoy your company, right? But in doing so you create this arbitrarily cruel version of the people you love, people who would otherwise never behave like this outside of your own mind.

It's mean. Because your mind wants to be mean to you under these circumstances. It wants to put everyone else's emotions and desires above yours, both in worthiness and validity. And that starts bleeding into your understanding of other people, especially those you care about.

Now. Helluva Boss.

"Can I get a fucking MINUTE to think after everything you put me through you pompous rich ASSHOLE? Treat me like one of your little butler imps, you can’t just dismiss me like that! I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we’re smaller and not as important. Well I’m not letting you, BITCH! Let’s go!" - Blitz

I find it really interesting how Helluva Boss decided to approach this conflict between Stolas and Blitz. Obviously, the difference in power matters. It's the underlying tension of their entire relationship and their lives. Stolas is burdened by the mountain of expectations thrust upon him from a very young age while Blitz is constantly reminded that he can NEVER be part of that world, that he is "smaller and not as important" not just in Hell's hierarchy but in his own life and family. Stolas very literally has power over Blitz (through the grimoire, the arrangement, his position in society) and Blitz uses their relationship as an excuse to reverse those roles. But that power dynamic, in one form or another, never truly goes away. And for Blitz, it's a lot easier to paint Stolas as this manipulative symbol of power and himself as nothing more than Stolas' plaything. It's easier to be angry than to be vulnerable and accept that someone might care about him.

"Dismiss" is the keyword in that quote. All that Blitz has been able to process is that Stolas has decided to end the relationship that they have. He feels ls like a choice has been taken away from him so he lashes out because he's not ready to emotionally tackle what the rest of Stolas' offer might entail. If Stolas hates him, just wants to play with him, then he is justified in his anger, his self-destruction, his isolation. If the world is mean, you're "allowed" to be mean back.

But

In that moment he forgets that Stolas is someone he actually cares about. Someone he's known for way too long and clearly wants to keep in his life, no matter how reluctant he can be to admit it. Someone who is not innately cruel or manipulative but sad and desperate for connections in a lot of the same ways that Blitz is. And Blitz immediately sees that he's miscalculated something.

Somewhere along the way the fictional version of Stolas that he's allowed himself to be mad at and the real one that he's not ready to admit he cares about have merged into something real that he has actual power over. Stolas can get hurt and Blitz can be the one who does it. He has once again allowed his greatest fears (which Stolas so frequently symbolizes) to co-opt his loved ones, to give him an "out" even though he didn't actually want one in the first place.

I'm definitely not the first person to say this but I think this is an example of the miscommunication trope done right. Their individual struggles are what cause them to be unable to connect during this conversation or to even have a proper conversation in the first place. There is no convenient misunderstanding or third party fabricating this rift. Both of them have preconceived ideas of what the other one is thinking but those ideas are flawed and rooted in self-hatred. They also both shutdown in their unique ways when the conversation starts heading in the direction they'd feared it would.

Blitz and Stolas work because they're both fucked up in similar ways, because they want similar things. That's the same reason why they're uniquely designed to hurt one another. A fear of rejection and a yearning for happiness. To borrow a quote that has been used by literally everyone from Spiderman to Evangelical preachers, "hurt people hurt people."

anyway, I really liked this episode.

(twitter thread screenshots sourced from this reddit post)

[takes1]

heyyy, I just found your page and I’m in love omg<333 would just like to request an ushijima imagine with a tall reader (5’10-11) it’s so rare to see a tall reader tbh hahah, anyways reader is captain of the girls volleyball of their school and is a middle blocker, ushijima just kinda stumbled upon their gym with tendou and cannot take his eyes off here or something 😭

Thank youuuuu

thanks pookie! sorry about the wait. this was a great request! i rlly appreciate asks like these. sorry i wrote this man a little different than what i normally see, but it made sense to me

warnings. none, sfw.

details. ushijima not getting social queues / pining!ushijima / kinda dumb!ushijima / stoic!ushijima / staring / secretly sweet!ushijima / tall!reader / team captain!reader / unrequited? crush / tendou being a great wingman / 1.8k words

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. request box.

Leading a team full of peers never came naturally. At least, the girls didn't make it an easy task when every order, every call was either questioned or giggled at.

Today's practice in particular was getting to you. Nobody was focused up and there were some plays that only existed because it was a Friday afternoon going into a long weekend off.

You shut down a laughable attempt at a spike. If anything, your jump was too high- the ball caught your chest and slammed into the opposite side of the court. What was that? Six shut-downs in the past ten minutes?

"Let's try hitting the ball, not bumping it!" You shouted, swiping the sweat down and off your face. It was mean, but honest.

"We're trying!" Somebody whined.

You flung your arm dismissively at the other side of the net and rested your hands on your hips. Maybe it was just destined to be a rough day, after all.

A melodic whistle from the entrance turned your attention to a cheery redhead, skipping towards the court. Behind him trailed a slower, silent, but somehow greater presence.

You called for a water break at once- celebration ignored- to greet your eccentric friend.

"Strooong block," Tendou grinned and scanned you for signs of effort- he found it in the wetness across your light-colored shirt, "Good game?"

"Hardly," You fanned yourself by pumping your collar with air.

Ushijima stopped glancing around the gym and finally acknowledged your presence- you pretended to not care about his awful staring problem. He didn't look you in the eye, but in a way, it made you more on-edge. Was there something wrong?

You stopped fanning yourself and faked a smile to hide how concerned you were that they might stay to watch, "We're just- off, today--,"

"Mmmm!" Tendou's attentive hum and consequent staring was far more objective, but creepy nonetheless.

What a couple of weirdos.

"We were just about to call it, actually," You placed your hands on your hips, squinting at the other captain to guess his intentions, "So if you were trying to use the court, you can have it."

Narrowed eyes caught your gaze in an intense, humbling second- you wrapped your arms around yourself and glanced away.

Ushijima had an otherworldly harshness to him. You rarely felt the need to shy away from people, but he knew how to make you squirm.

He said absolutely nothing to you. Tendou accepted your offer and paid it forward by inviting you to stay and run drills, but there was something about Ushijima you couldn't decipher, no matter how much you wanted to practice. It was like he had a problem with you, or the way you ran your team, or he was just pissed off- none of those were possibilities you had the energy to deal with after this evening.

They took the court gladly to do some pair work and clean up; your team left in a cheerful mood, ready to get started on their long weekend right away. The arrangement left only you dissatisfied.

Tendou stalked your exit carefully from afar, tip-tapping anxiously on the ball in his hands. Your long shadow slipped away and they were alone at last.

He kept his voice low, just in case, and cozied up to Ushijima's side, "Soooo..."

Ushijima spared a passing glance over to his curious friend, no more.

"How long?" Tendou's attentive, inquisitive grinning was enough context. No need for direct name-dropping, nor denial.

His stone face began to fill with color.

This was a new feeling for him- it felt like he was dying, but in a good way, and he didn't want it to ever stop. He couldn't seem to catch his breath until you left. That didn't bother him per say- he didn't need air if it meant he could watch you shut down spikes, or roll into a skilled receive, or lead your team.

When he was forced to speak was the only real problem. He could sit and be a spectator forever, but when it came to getting any words out with you, they all fell apart on his tongue. He was always pretty quiet, but he knew this was pushing what he could get away with.

"Don't know. I've always liked her."

Tendou tossed the ball to him. He caught it, deep in thought.

It was clear that you didn't return the feelings. From the beginning, you were always different with him than you were with your team, or even Tendou. He knew he wasn't charming, or charismatic, or friendly. That wasn't an issue until recently.

The way you walked, with a slight swagger, always standing straight-- using your height as a weapon, captured his attention first. He caught himself stealing glances at you from across the gym when your teams switched for precious practice time. He started to notice more. The strong lines in your legs, the sweat-stuck hair on your brow, the little pant on your breath when you said hey just out of civility, the confidence in your voice when you called plays.

Now he battled the feeling of wanting to put himself closer to you. Once that craving started to hit him at night, moments before he drifted off to sleep, he knew something was wrong with him.

Every time he had the opportunity to say something, he lost his voice.

"It's-," He slapped the ball a few times onto the gym floor, then stopped to think before sending it over, "Different now."

Tendou shot him an easy pass, "Y'know, I was starting to think you couldn't get crushes."

He bumped it back, "Me too."

-

Despite how off putting the experience was, by the next practice you were able to brush it all off. You were operating on two completely separate teams, after all. What the guys did, how they practiced, and when was simply not your business.

You slung your bag over your shoulder on the way out of your classroom. Your teacher called after the exiting students about due dates.

"I've been getting questions about the quiz! Remember, you also have a discussion due. They're two different assignments--!"

You only halfway paid attention, too excited about the warmth blowing in through cracked windows from the hall. It would feel so good at practice today - and you had something special planned to raise morale.

You were only a step out the door when you crashed into something firm. The sound of your head smacking into Ushijima's was loud, and unsurprisingly, painful.

"Oh-!"

"Mm-,"

You ran hot with embarrassment and failed to cover it with a laugh. How did you not see him?

"Sorry," You both muttered at the same time.

You rubbed your temple, he rubbed his forehead.

As he did so, he spared you no dignity with what looked like a judgmental up-and-down gaze. It was so piercing that made you grip your shoulder strap tighter. You weren't sure if he meant something by it.

That was just another example of his behavior that felt contradictory.

"We need..." He trailed, briefly checking his hand for any blood. When he looked up, his eye contact so intense that his brows began to furrow. There was some sort of affliction behind his eyes. A narrowed, preoccupied focus that made you uneasy.

You instinctively wiped the back of your hand over your hot face, in case you had anything on it. The side of your head throbbed like terrible.

He opened his mouth a little to say continue, but sighed instead, uneven.

Things were starting to connect in your brain. Little by little, you picked up on more cues from his body language. He was out of breath, a little sweaty, and flushed. He was clearly rushing here. That was the reason you plowed into one another. You realized you were lucky you were around the same size, or else that could've knocked you on your ass.

"The guys need to get into the gym earlier today."

The statement ripped you from your spiralling, almost complete, thoughts. You laughed, "Yeah, right."

Despite you both being Captains of the same sport, there was very little need to talk to each other beyond your shared affinity for Tendou. Your team schedules never clashed- your coaches and advisors made sure of it.

You squinted when he clearly wasn't kidding.

"Do you really 'need' it? Or do you just want the gym earlier?"

He took a breath to answer, but you were quick to ask another agitated question, "Did Coach Washijou approve of this? I haven't seen an updated schedule."

Talking to you was impossible enough, but you were pissed off, and asking so many questions, and the light was hitting your face just right, and you smelled so good. He couldn't shake how pretty you still looked, angry and impatient with him. You stood straight and proud. Your eyeline was close to his own so he could savor every color he could find in your darting eyes.

His slow reaction and lack of social graces was so off-putting that you could only assume it came from a place of narcissism. He must not have cared, or he thought that his own team was more deserving of practice time that he demanded taking yours.

You were seconds away from calling him an entitled prick when you spotted a familiar redhead approaching, just over Ushijima's shoulder.

"(Y/n)!!" He sang and squeezed past his friend to take your hand in his. He tossed it back and forth between his own. It made you smile for a moment; as always, he helped diffuse the tension.

"Hey, Satori-," You wanted to be nicer, but only had about 15 minutes left to figure this issue out, "What is this about needing the gym sooner?"

He looked up at the ceiling, acutely aware that Ushijima was not a fan of this physical contact between the two of you, "Hmm! Ohh, that. I meant to tell you-,"

A calculated gaze to Ushijima, "He said nevermind."

That little liar.

In a flash, just through that familiar, cunning face of his, Ushijima understood that Coach Washijou never actually wanted the gym. Tendou only told him the 'news' because he wanted him to have a reason to speak to you. He really wanted to punch him, just for a moment.

There was something between them you couldn't make out. A conversation there you didn't get. You couldn't, and didn't want to, bother yourself with it.

"Perfect! So, there's no issue then?" You patted Tendou, then Ushijima's broad shoulder and squeezed between them to go change for practice.

"Mm-mmm, No issues here!" Tendou grinned and wiggled his fingers goodbye at you. He looked at his friend.

Ushijima placed an oversized hand on that shoulder and watched you walked away.

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