#dopamine you’ll be fine

[dopamineband]

I LITERALLY FORGOT TO TELL EVERYONE ON THIS APP THAT WE RELEASED A NEW SONG HAHA IM THE WORST SOCIAL MEDIA HANDLER EVER

SICK OF YOU IS OUT NOW!!!!

[tombstoneswerewaiting]

starting 2024 RIGHT !!

[shiftingwithmars]

bitch shut the fuck upp💀

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

[katareyoudrilling]

The Sweepstakes: Javi Gutierrez (Porn Star AU)

Series: The Sweepstakes

Pairing: Porn star Javi Gutierrez x Female Reader

Summary: It seemed like a great idea at the time, but now you’re not sure you’re brave enough to claim your sweepstakes prize.

Word count: ~3.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: reader is a full-figured gal, vague body descriptions, body insecurity, some ass smacks, ass worship, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV (there is paperwork)

A/N: Huge thank you to @burntheedges for all her help with this!  Javi is a new character for me as is some of the subject matter I’m writing about.  I hope I’ve done both justice!  Spanish translations are at the end, but everything should be able to be understood in line with context.  I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

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“There’s a kitchen to the left and a bathroom here,” Erin opens a door to show you a spacious full bath.  “The production room is at the end of this hall, which is where I will be if you need anything.”

You nod along and follow her down the hall.

“And of course, here is the room where you’ll be doing your scene!” She opens the double doors with a flourish.

It’s so… bright in there.  Is it always that bright?

You look around the large bedroom.  A bedroom you are very familiar with, as it is where your favorite porn production company films many of their videos.

You wrap your arms around your torso, feeling exposed even though you’re still fully clothed.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You entered a sweepstakes you never expected to win.  You saw the ad after a particularly satisfying session with your vibrator.  It said, “Enter to win a night with your favorite performer!”

Your favorite performer had just given you a fantastic orgasm.  In your dopamine haze it seemed like the best idea you’d ever had.  You’ve never had an orgasm with a partner, but he gets you there every time.  Could he do it in person?

The “he” in question was none other than Javi Gutierrez.  The friendliest porn star there ever was.  Sunshine incarnate. You wondered and then you clicked submit.

Now, seeing the room in person, faced with the reality of the large bed and sunlight filtering through the curtains… your brilliant idea doesn’t seem so brilliant anymore.

Erin leads you into the room and continues, “Since you’ve opted not to be filmed, we have removed all the cameras except one.”  She gestures towards a tripod in the corner.  “The lens cap is on though, it’s just for sound.  We will be monitoring the feed just to be sure everyone is safe.”

“I… I don’t know… if I can do this,” you choke out, your breaths coming faster and faster as panic builds in your chest.

“Hey, it’s ok.”  Erin places her hands on your shoulders and captures your darting gaze.  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.  If you just want to meet Javi and call it a night, that is completely fine.  He really is the sweetest.” She smiles at you, and you let out a long exhale, allowing your shoulders to relax slightly.

“He won’t be upset?”

“Upset? No. Our performers are all very aware of how intimidating this is and would never judge anyone for backing out, Javi especially.  I know he is excited to meet you, though.”

“Me? Why?”  That’s just ridiculous.  One of the most beautiful men in existence is excited to meet jiggly, squishy you?

“He’s excited to meet everyone, all the time, but we did show him your photo and tell him a little about you from your paperwork.  I believe his exact word was deliciosa.”  She winks.

Delicious? What? Javi is always so complimentary to his scene partners, telling them how beautiful they are and how good they feel, but none of his scene partners look like you.

“What do you think? Want to meet him?” Erin asks you gently.

You nod.  “Yeah, I guess.”  If Javi is who you think he is, then he will at least be friendly and kind.

“I’ll send him in in a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable and remember, we are here for you, however you want this evening to go.”  She leaves the room, closing the doors behind her.

You face the bed, the space you’ve traveled to in your mind so many times now real in front of you.  You’ll just meet him, and it will be fine.  So what if you’ll never know what it’s really like to be with him.  So what if this once in a lifetime opportunity passes you by.

You hear the doors open behind you and quickly turn around only to be blinded by the gorgeousness that is Javi Gutierrez.

He’s wearing a white tank top that shows off his broad, muscular shoulders, lightly freckled from the sun, and loose linen pants that hang low on his hips, revealing a thin slice of tummy and happy trail.  His skin positively glows in the setting sun.  His hair falls softly in ringlets of brown and gold around his handsome face.

“Hello, I am Javi.” He introduces himself with a wide smile and open arms.  You allow him to gather you into his broad chest, too stunned that this is happening to even introduce yourself properly.  You mumble your name against him.

His scent fills your nostrils—citrus and the ocean breeze—and you breathe it in greedily.  Too soon he lets you go and steps back.  A look of deep concern fills his chocolate brown eyes as he considers you carefully.

“Erin said maybe you want to leave.” His deep voice is so gentle and soothing. “It is ok if you do, but I hope not.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Say what? That I would be sad not to get to fuck you?”

“You don’t… really want to do… that with me. It’s ok.”  Your cheeks heat as you stutter your answer.

“Of course I want to, why would I not want to? You are so beautiful. Bonita.”

“No I’m not, you don’t want this,” you gesture towards yourself, your tummy, your ass.

“I do want this.  What is wrong with this?”  He looks genuinely confused.  “May I touch you, bonita?”

“I… I guess.”

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips then trails kisses up your arm.  You shiver as his mustache brushes against your sensitive skin.

“¡Que linda!  So beautiful and soft,” he murmurs as he gets to your shoulder, dropping your arm and placing his hands on your waist.  “Why would I not want more of you to fill up my hands?” He slides his hands around to your ass, bringing your fronts together.  You can feel his length hardening between you and your mouth falls open in surprise.  He squeezes your ass, “This. You. Are beautiful.  And I do want to fuck you.  Te deseo, bonita.”

He closes the distance between you to press a kiss on your mouth, currently open in shock.  He teases your lips and chin as his hands knead your ass, pulling you against him.  One hand travels up to palm your breast. He finds the hard point of your nipple and you gasp as he pinches it.

“Do you not want the cameras because you do not think you are beautiful, bonita?” he whispers against your skin as he drags his angular nose along your jawline.

You nod as you whimper.  The idea of watching yourself like that… it makes your insides churn.  You just knew when you saw the question in the paperwork that you would never want to watch it, so why record it?

He pulls back and holds your gaze intently.  “It is your choice, por supuesto.  But I hope I can make you feel beautiful tonight.  With me. Will you stay?”

His smoldering gaze is hypnotic and you find yourself replying, “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Bueno, this makes me very happy.”  The smile that lights up his face confirms his words.

You find yourself smiling back, your insecurities taking a backseat to the fizzy excitement now bubbling through your veins.  His joyful presence is contagious.

Javi returns to your mouth, no longer in teasing nips, but with intent as he draws you into a deep kiss.  His tongue slides against yours with languid, knee-weakening strokes.  He leads you backwards until you feel the bed against the backs of your legs and directs you to sit.  With your head tilted back, he continues to explore your mouth, standing between your legs, his large hands cradling your face.

He steps back and pulls his tank top over his head.  He moves to return to your kiss, but you stop him with your hands on his chest.  You have to see him, touch him, this beautiful man you’ve fantasized about so many times.

“You’re gorgeous, Javi,” you whisper reverently as you drag your palms down his golden chest, delighting when his nipples pebble under your fingers.

“Gracias, bonita,” he chuckles softly.  His fingers trace your jaw and the shell of your ear as you explore his body.  “Undo the tie,” he murmurs as your fingers trace the edge of his trousers.  You can already see the shape of him through the thin material, straining to be released.

You bite your lip and Javi groans, “Fuck. Those lips, ay, son deliciosos.”

Carefully, you tug at the drawstring knot, it gives way, and his pants slide down his beautiful legs, revealing the full glory of his nakedness to you.  His cock bobs in front of you and your mouth waters at the site.  You shift, squeezing your legs together at the ache building at your center.

His glorious length, hard… for you.  It boggles your mind.

“It’s so sexy, you looking at me like that,” Javi growls.  “I can’t wait to fuck you with this cock.”  He strokes himself in front of you.  He’s so thick it sends shivers up your spine.

You look up at him and lick your lips.  “Can I taste you, Javi?” The boldness of the request surprises you even as the words escape your mouth.  You’ve become brave so quickly in the presence of Javi’s obvious desire.

“Absolutamente.  Whatever you want.  I am here for you.”  He smiles down at you as he stands in front of you next to the bed.

You take him in your hand and stroke lightly from root to tip, then bend over to retrace your path with your tongue.  Javi’s approval rumbles in his chest as you lick and taste your way along him, ending with a swirl of your tongue over the head of his gorgeous cock.  Grasping him firmly in one hand you draw him between your lips.

Javi caresses your neck and cheek as you pump him into your mouth.  You close your eyes and focus on remembering the salty taste of his skin on your tongue.  You never want to forget.

You lose yourself in the rhythmic action, stroking him with your hand in time with your mouth until your jaw aches.  You pull back to catch your breath only to have his mouth on yours again.

“Your turn, bonita,” he practically growls into your mouth.  “I need to taste you. Por favor. Lo necesito.”

You remove your clothes with his help. You want to look down, away from his face, so you don’t see his reaction to you, but you force yourself to meet his gaze.  What you see looking back at you is pure lust and desire.

Goosebumps rise over your skin at the intensity of it, your nipples pebble and your pussy throbs.

“So soft,” he whispers reverently, cupping your breasts.  He squeezes and moans before taking your nipple in his mouth.  He presses you back, so you’re laying on the bed.  Out of habit, your arms move to cover your body, to somehow make yourself smaller.

“Don’t hide from me, bonita.”  Javi gently takes your wrists and pins your hands out to the side.  “Let me see you. You are so beautiful. Quiero verte.”

Sincerity shines from his kind eyes.  You take deep breaths and relax.  You want to trust him.

He kisses your lips then travels down your neck, sucking at your pulse point and making you gasp.  He gathers your breasts in his large hands and nuzzles into them before taking each peak in his mouth.  He travels across your belly, licking and nibbling at your roundness, before grasping your thighs in his hands and licking a broad swipe up your slit.

You moan as his warm mouth envelopes your cunt and his tongue nudges at your sensitive bud.  “Delicioso,” he groans between licks.  He slips a finger inside you, and you instinctively roll your hips into him.

Him stroking you inside and out is divine, and you try to sink into the sensations and just enjoy, but a thought keeps worming its way back in.  Your mind won’t let it go, so you clear your throat, “Um Javi? I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, sweetheart? Are you ok?  Do you not like it?” he kisses the inside of your thigh, looking worried.

“No no, it feels so good, don’t stop.  I just…  I… fuck…” you lose focus, distracted as he resumes dragging his fingers in and out of your pussy, circling your clit with his thumb.

“I have read your papers, have you changed your mind about something?”

“No, it’s not that.  It’s just… I’ve never… come with a partner.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs into your skin, continuing to stroke you, “Do you come when you watch me?”

“Every time,” you moan as his fingers find a spot deep inside that makes your arch off the bed.

“Then we will see.  It is ok if you do not.”

“I want to.  With you.”  You do, so so badly.

It’s something you’ve thought about a lot.  It could be a matter of skill, but you can get yourself off alone just never with a partner.  You have a suspicion that how you feel about your body might be the reason.  None of your partners have ever said anything to make you feel badly, but you haven’t exactly let them appreciate you either, assuming that they wouldn’t.

You cover yourself, turn off the lights, only partially undress, in the hopes that a partner won’t notice what you look like.  As if they haven’t been looking at you in all the moments leading to the bedroom.

But Javi didn’t let you do that.  In this bright room, you bared yourself to him and he said you were deliciosa.  

“You have my word, I will try very hard,” he places his free hand over his heart, sealing his promise with a nod, making you giggle. “And we have things to help, if you need them.  It is ok. I will take care of you.”

“Thank you, Javi, oh…” you cut yourself off with a moan as Javi dives back into your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth and making your hips jerk.

You decide to believe him and work to clear your mind.  Your eyes drift close as you focus on the pleasure he is pulling out of you.  His warm tongue strokes wide and firm, circling your clit in determined strokes.  You let your body respond how it wants.  Your hips rock into him with each stroke of his tongue, seeking that perfect pressure.  It feels amazing.

But you don’t come.

Before you can get frustrated, Javi kisses his way back up to your tits and gathers them in his palms.  “Look at you in my hands,” he moans, mouthing at your soft flesh, swirling his tongue around each nipple.  You take the opportunity to run your fingers through his silky hair, twirling one curl and then another.

He groans in appreciation when you tug slightly.  The sound goes straight to your core.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin. “Roll over, bonita.”

He rolls you on to your stomach, kneeling across your outstretched legs.  He gently smacks your ass cheek, sending ripples through your body. You gasp and your pussy clenches around nothing. 

“Yesssss,” he hisses and he smacks you again.  “Look how you bounce for me.”

He takes handfuls of your ass cheeks and kneads and squeezes them together.  Suddenly you feel his cock slide through the cleft of your ass.  You try to twist to see him but can only get glimpses of him staring down at you, slack jawed and wrecked.

Your body is making him look like that.  It makes you feel powerful, and you wish you could watch him enjoy you.  For the first time, you regret not allowing the cameras.  

“Fuuuck,” Javi growls, sliding his cock between your ass cheeks.  You whimper and whine pinned underneath him.  “I could come like this, bonita, you feel so good.”  He lets your ass cheeks fall apart and smacks them again before gathering you back up around his cock.  “So juicy and plump.  Fucking amazing.”

You’re drenched with arousal and unable to relieve any of the pressure.

“Fuck me, Javi, please,” you beg.

“Sí, bonita, I will fuck you,” he growls.

Javi scoots back and rolls you over then wedges himself between your legs.

Taking his cock in hand he glides himself through your slippery folds, nudging at your clit with each stroke.  You whimper as he teases you until he notches himself at your entrance.

He eases himself into your channel.  He’s a lot to take and works his way in gently, watching your face for signs of discomfort.

You let out a guttural moan as he bottoms out in your cunt. “So good Javi, you’re so big.  Fuck, I’m so full.”  The stretch of him is glorious.

He pistons his hips slowly at first as you both savor the drag of him through your walls.  Gradually he speeds up until he’s slamming his hips into you.

Every thrust reverberates through your body.  Your breasts and tummy wobble, but you don’t try to stop them.

“Look how you bounce when I fuck you,” Javi groans, continuing his relentless pace, “ it’s so sexy.”  His fingers dig into your thighs as he presses you open.

“Yes Javi, more… yes… please.” You beg nonsensically as your orgasm begins to sparkle at the edges of your awareness.

“You need to be filled up, don’t you bonita?  You need to be stretched around this cock.  That’s it.  Fuck. You feel so good.”  He moves a hand in between your bodies to circle your clit and you cry out.

“I think I’m close, Javi,” you whine.  He circles your clit faster continuing to drag his thick cock in and out of you.

“Let go, bonita.  Let me see it.”

You tip over the edge, an edge you have never found with a partner before, but you’ve never felt so desired with a partner before and so free in your body.  Javi’s skill with his cock and mouth and fingers is unparalleled for sure, but what does it is the look in his eyes and his filthy words when he fucks you.

He has made it so clear that his arousal is not despite your body, but because of it.  And he made you believe it too.

“Bonita?”

“Mmmm?” you mumble as you come back into your body, the aftershocks of your orgasm spacing farther and farther apart.

Javi is next to you, holding the back of your hand up to his lips as he peppers it with kisses.

“I have a question.”

“What is it?” you crack one eye open.

“Can I go get Erin to set up some cameras? For the next one?” he asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

You bite your lip as a shy smile spreads across your face.  “Yeah, ok.”

“Deliciosa.” He smiles in return before bounding out of the bed towards the door, leaving you giggling on the bed.

You stretch out while you wait for him to return, feeling more at home in your body than you have in a long time. You wiggle your fingers and toes and smile to yourself. The next one is going to be fun.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Translations: Deliciosa/o/son deliciosos – delicious, they are delicious Bonita – beautiful Que linda – how beautiful/pretty Te deseo – I desire you Por supuesto – of course Bueno – good Gracias – thank you Absolutamente – absolutely Lo necesito – I need it Quero verta – I want to see you

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[just-call-me-by-yn]

SNOW ON THE BEACH — spencer reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: mainly fluff, itty bitty angst if you squint, hurt comfort, swearing, an oblivious reader (to some extent), and mention of alcohol consumption.

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: The reader just got broken up with, but Spencer is there to keep her company, try to cheer her up, and maybe confess his feelings for her.

a/n: first fic yay! I got this idea while listening to my Taylor Swift playlist also English is not my first language!

“So then he’s telling me all about how he has feelings for someone else” A couple of tears streamed down your face and the voice cracked several times throughout the sentence. “I’m like- motherfucker! Did he truly think, that I would just be like ‘It must have been so hard on you! It’s okay, go run into the sunset with the other girl’?!”

Spencer took a wine glass out of your hand just in case, since you were gesturing a lot. He didn’t want you to spill the burgundy liquid on your couch. When he looked at you, there was worry in his eyes. His lips pressed into a fine line. He thought about how to tell you of the feelings, he had towards you for a long time, but he labeled them as 'not proper'. Millions of ideas of how to communicate it to you streamed through his mind as you told him, about how there was another woman in your relationship, and when he saw your emotional reaction to a breakup, he backed out of the idea of confessing. He had never seen you this distraught and livid, never in the years of your friendship. But he couldn’t just blurb out his love for you, no, not in this moment, not when he wasn't sure if you’ll even remember it by the next morning. Maybe it would be the way to go. That was it! It would be off his chest, and it wouldn’t ruin the long run, your relationship had. No. He couldn’t. You deserved better. You deserved to know.

“You’re oddly quiet today Spence, penny for your thoughts?” You sniffed your nose, which wasn’t exactly ladylike of you, but was a perfect summary of how you felt.

“Do you really want to know what I think?” He answered with a question that was enigmatic in itself. You just nodded. “That’s kind of what you get for dating someone like him, a player. You knew he was that type, but still pursued it, fell in love, and got hurt.”

You were too speechless to make a sound, too stunned to speak, eyes wide open, and mouth agape. 

“I am not saying that’s necessarily your fault, actually it’s scientifically proven that it’s just hormones and neurotransmitters acting up in your brain, you know, dopamine that gives you euphoria and pleasure, oxytocin, and vasopressin. A lot of love can be explained that way, but my point stands. You knew he would probably break your heart, but you were chasing the high knowing the risk”

“I never regretted my words more than asking you for your opinion just a second ago” You stated as you shook your head and rolled your eyes.

“I am not blaming you though, y/n!” Spencer took your small hands into his. “I know how it is.”

“Oh, do you?” The question lingered in the air, for a minute which felt like much longer for him, as he battled the urge, to simply tell you then and there.

“Yeah, maybe not exactly, but I feel like love can make you act or at least seem very irrational at times,” He said quietly, deciding to keep it vague, not wanting you to feel cornered.

“Okay, so tell me about her,” You say in response to a sudden spike of interest that bubbled in your chest. You removed your hands from his grip and reached for the glass of wine.

Spencer froze, going into autopilot thinking hard, and trying to find the best way to exit that conversation. His mind was going as fast as the speed of light.

“Matter of fact she doesn’t know I like her that way… she’s sort of out of my reach. We are friends though, and-” 

“You don’t wanna ruin it, do you? Just in case she doesn’t feel the same?” You finished his sentence in awe at how romantic his struggle was. “I can tell you, she probably dreams of you confessing your love to her. Any girl would. You are a great guy Spencer!”

He wasn’t so sure, so when you put your hand on his arm to show him some support, his whole body tensed because of that act. He prayed you wouldn’t notice, but you did.

“Are you all right? Did I say something wrong?” You asked as your eyes got heavier with each passing moment, tired because of all the tears you’ve shed in the past couple of hours, it was already dark outside, so it got even harder to keep them open. A small yawn escaped your mouth, which Spencer took as a sign to drag you off the couch and put you in bed. He put one of his arms under your knees and the other on your waist, making you squeak in surprise at his sudden actions “Spencer! What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” He said under his breath more to himself than to you “That’s what I’m doing”

“I can walk you know” A delicate chuckle left your lips, somehow the casualness of the situation overshadowed the sadness you felt because of your douche of an ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that” He felt much better as your mood changed to some more of a positive emotion. He set you down on the bed and gently covered you with a duvet.

“Spence?” Your voice was quiet slightly above the whisper. “Stay the night?”

“Yeah, okay, sure, I’ll be on the couch if you need me” Spencer turned off the light, leaving the dim lighting from the other room cast over the room, making it so you could only see the shape of his silhouette, he turned on his heels to leave your bedroom, but as he meant to walk away you spoke again.

“No, like in the bed you know” A small smirk started creeping onto your face, and he mirrored your actions. When he was already in your bed you felt comfortable enough to cuddle into his chest, and say “You should tell her, you got to”

“You think?” He put his chin on your head avoiding eye contact.

“Yup! Also, you have to tell me, do I know her?” Being seen as noisy was the last thing you cared about at that very moment.

“Oh yeah, quite well” Spencer smiled at how adorable you were, like that big kind of smile that bore all the teeth. Even though the atmosphere was light-hearted a lump in his throat made itself present.

“Wait… please tell me it’s not JJ! I’m begging you. Spencer, please, you can’t just snatch Will’s wife like that! Are you okay in the head?” You were putting the puzzles, but they all were in the wrong order.

“No, it’s not JJ, geez, y/n!” He laughed like that was the most unbelievable and ridiculous thing he ever heard. “I’ll let you guess, give you one more try, and then I will tell you.”

You tried your best to figure out the equation. Failing miserably to add two and two together. Your intoxicated state of mind made you spiral like you were some sort of conspiracy theorist, trying to figure out what the government was hiding from the citizens. 

“No! I give up, please tell me now!” You wined as you looked up at him and saw his loving glance. “Oh shit! No way.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, really, I just thought you deserve to know” The look he gave you did not resemble any look anybody had ever given you before, in your entire lifetime nobody did. It made you sober up right away when the butterflies erupted in your chest, and you could feel their wings brush against your rib cage. 

You always had a thing for Spencer, even though you'd never admit it to yourself, your ex came around, so you let that emotion play the second fiddle. Now all you could feel was affection, unconditional and utterly amazing, warm, and fuzzy love, you have never even imagined happening to you in this cruel world. It felt unreal and made your feelings for your ex-boyfriend look ridiculous, and juvenile. It felt like that was what you were destined to do your whole life, and it struck you, you were meant to be in love with Spencer this entire time. 

“So that’s what it feels like” Your eyes begin to fog with tears again as the abrupt feeling of admiration repeatedly runs through your veins. 

“What does?” Confusion painted his facial features.

“When the feeling is mutual” 

That’s when his lips found yours. Light pecks on your top lip innocently asking you, if it’s okay to move further. As an invitation, you part your lips silently allowing him to continue. Soon his tongue found its way into your mouth, exploring it gently. 

The kiss was like a storm cloud, raining thoughts into your brain, which was exposed to every little drop of wonder. There were a lot of thoughts going through your mind but the main one was how good he tasted, and then there was the other one that you could compare to a background noise of how you were so clueless all this time when you could have had him in your arms for so long, as more than a friend. 

His hand moved up to your face cupping it, deepening the kiss. Then he suddenly pulled away.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” He said caressing your cheek as you both were catching your breath, he gave you a weak apologetic smile, it was clear he was having an internal battle with his emotions. “You have had a few glasses, and you’re in a vulnerable state, I don’t want you to despise me after tonight.”

“I can promise you that would never happen, but I understand. It's alright” You just cuddled back into his chest and fell asleep listening to his fastened heartbeat, the one of a heart that you’ve recently learned beats for you.

check out my masterlist -> here ♥︎

[turtletaubwrites]

Zoro x GN!Swordsman!Reader (with a powerful/unique sword)

Thank you anon for this request! I'm still getting the hang of headcanons, so I hope you enjoy these! (Also ty to my partner because he loves Zoro and swords, and wanted to share a couple thoughts) 💚

Summary: Headcanons and drabble for Zoro with a partner that is a strong swordsman with a powerful and unique sword

Word Count: 544

Rating/Warnings: SFW, GN!Reader, Fluff, (Maybe some Angst if you squint), Swearing, Kissing, Mildly Suggestive, Implied/Brief Descriptions of Violence

A/N: Imagine Zoro nerding out with someone who shares his biggest only interest. And then they kiss 🥰 I need to see it

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

Headcanons

Sparring!! Oh hot damn, the sparring is so good! The playful competition between you both makes you push yourselves even further. 

That heat can lead straight to the bedroom. Or really wherever you happen to be sparring, if you’re comfortable. Hearts racing, adrenaline filling your veins. He loves the way you challenge him. He loves the way you taste after your blades have met.

There may need to be boundaries set, especially depending on your goal. If it’s also your goal to become the world’s greatest swordsman, it may lead to more exciting and playful banter, sparring, etc. But it may lead to issues when it comes to decisions, i.e. which one of you will challenge the most powerful swordsmen in battles. (Or the inevitable circumstance of one of you truly beating the other.) It could be a playful rivalry, it could go sour, or it could be a mix of both that you’ll have to work through together.

Since you happen to possess a very powerful sword with unique abilities, Zoro will never stop suggesting you let him give it a try. It’ll come up in so many conversations, and he’ll try to convince you to give it up in a bet. You never do. 

You might occasionally use the three sword/overcompensating jokes, but only if he was really being a little shit. He'd make you pay for it though.

Oh the cute sword care moments!! It’s like a mini vacation, you both hide from the rest of the crew and silently take care of your blades. Your deep breaths match up as you run your fingers along the cool metal. 

“Hey, babe. Want me to take care of that one for ya?” “You’re not touching my sword, Zoro.”

Endless competitions. Some are breathed against your ear in a husky tease as you’re about to fight a hard battle. Some are yelled over the heads of your crewmates as a slew of enemies come charging forward.

“Bet you can’t kill that guy, faster than I get those three over there.” “Oh, fuck you, babe. I’ll get these five before you shut your stupid mouth.” “Wanna bet your sword on it?”

Drabble

“So, how many did ya get,” Zoro teased, coming up behind you to wrap his sweaty arms around your waist.

The battle had barely ended, and your breathing was still ragged, but you managed to sigh.

“I didn’t agree to that bet, babe.”

“I got twelve. No way you got more than that.”

“Wow, you’re really bragging with that number,” you laughed, turning in his arms to see his eyes narrow. 

He sucked his teeth, touching his forehead to yours before his voice came out low and dangerous.

“How many?”

“You’re not getting my sword.”

He kissed you then, pressing his body against yours. You melted into him, the heat of the battle still flowing through you. Your fingers felt almost tingly as you wrapped them around his neck. 

Breaking apart just enough to catch your breath, you saw that little twitch at the corner of his lips.

“How–”

“You’re never touching it, asshole,” you teased, rolling your eyes as you walked away. You grinned at the sound of him huffing behind you. 

“FINE, no sword! Just tell me how many you got!”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I love this request so much! Zoro is such a fucking nerd. He'd have the best fucking time sparring with his partner 💚

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

[navybrat817]

How Far Down

Pairing: Mickey Henry x Female Reader Summary: Mickey is bad for you, but you just can't stay away. Word Count: Over 2.1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, semi-public fingering, implied public sex, unhealthy relationship, codependency, bittersweet, spooky vibes, Mickey Henry (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Fic #3 for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! @tavners , thank you for suggesting Mickey and semi-public sex! I hope I did it justice. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics and Mickey edit by @rainbowkisses31 . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Mickey was like a drug to you. His touch sent dopamine through your body, the pleasurable sensation bringing you to new heights again and again. You needed more of him to satisfy your craving. He delivered every single time.

But being addicted to a man as free spirited as him was like trying to catch the wind in your hand. He slipped through your fingers quicker than sand. When the inevitable comedown happened, it left you disappointed with the harsh reality that he would never truly be yours. So you walked away.

Until he called you back to him.

"It's the Halloween bash. C'mon. We'll have fun."

You should’ve had the strength to ignore him or say “no”, but you were helpless to resist his call. You asked for the address when you messaged him back and hoped you didn’t sound too eager. One night wouldn’t hurt. You’d only stay long enough to make an appearance and you’d be on your way. Besides, it was a party and Mickey had a job to do.

He wouldn’t notice if you left early.

“Better not bail on me or you’ll hurt my feelings. And I’ll hunt you down.”

You wouldn’t dream of bailing on him. The thought of hurting his feelings produced a pain in your chest so great that you thought your heart would give out. That was one of the things that scared you about Mickey. You gave so much of yourself away and did you get enough in return?

It would be fun if he hunted me down.

The day leading up to the party was a blur, your stomach twisted in knots as you got ready. You had no reason to be nervous. It was a night of fun to be had and nothing more. As long as you didn’t let Mickey suck you back in, you’d be fine.

There was a line out the door of the club as you arrived and you wondered just how long people were waiting to get in. Mickey instructed you to give your name to the bouncer, which you did. For a second, you didn’t expect your name to be on the list. He could’ve done it as a prank to get back at you for walking away. It was a silly thought. He was many things, but he wasn’t cruel.

Still, you let out a sigh of relief as the bouncer let you go right in. If that wouldn’t have worked, you would’ve tried to flirt with him. Your slutty angel costume left little to the imagination, which was both sexy and ironic. You never felt angelic or innocent around Mickey, but it was fun to be in his presence.

The halo fell from my head a long time ago.

Orange and purple strobe lights flashed in time with the music, giving the club a perfect Halloween glow as the bodies moved along the dance floor. The array of costumes brought a smile to your face. Everyone was having fun, uncaring of what happened tonight. Problems would still be there tomorrow, so why not let loose?

“There you are.”

You heard Mickey over the music and blinked a few times, not remembering walking through the crowd to get to his booth. Your throat constricted as the two of you locked eyes. While you were some form of an angel, he had demon horns and an open red shirt. The light around him accentuated his muscles and gave him an ominous glow as he walked around the table, grinning as held out a hand for you.

It only took you a second to take it.

“Knew you couldn’t resist my invitation,” he said, jumping down to join you on the floor instead of pulling you up to the booth. “Though a small part of me wants to punish you for staying away for so long. Why did you run away from me?”

Part of the charm of Mickey was that he didn’t come across as arrogant. Playful, the life of the party, and someone who encouraged you to make the best out of bad situations, but never full of himself. You admired that. He was also unreliable, too spontaneous. A distorted dream of a man that you could never have.

“You know why I left,” you reminded him, putting your arms around his shoulders. “But we could both use some fun, so why not take you up on your offer?”

“And that’s just what I am, aren’t I? A good time,” Mickey smiled, slipping an arm around your waist to drag you against him. “Everyone’s having a good time tonight.”

Even if you didn't leave at the end of the night with Mickey, you knew it wouldn't be a boring evening. Watching him in his element was hotter than you cared to admit, the gorgeous man making everyone get lost in the music and atmosphere. It was like he encouraged people to lose their inhibitions. No one cared about the consequences.

They lived like there was no tomorrow.

The flashing lights reflected off his blue eyes as you gazed at him, but they almost looked black. “We can’t have too much fun,” you teased as he began to grind his hips against yours.

“Why not?”

You sighed and wondered if he was trying to goad you or if he really didn't get it. “Because we both know how this’ll end and I'm a little tired of it.”

Mickey would happily go on his way while you were left with a void in your soul. The worst part was you were certain he didn’t do it on purpose. The bond between the two of you wasn’t pure enough to be love, so why would you expect him to treat you like you were his other half?

“Why does it have to end at all? C'mon. You and I always have fun together,” he argued, grabbing your chin with a firm hand so he could lick you from your chin to your forehead. “Besides. Your aura is so delicious. I've missed it.”

A lustful sigh left your lungs before you attempted to step back. The smile on his face looked strange. “My aura? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Mickey threw his head back as he laughed, his chest shaking as his fingers dug into your hip. He sometimes struck you as a man more intelligent and deeper than he let on, but always swayed you from those thoughts with a slip of his tongue or the slide of his cock. He was lust in human form. But he led you down a path with no end.

So why did you follow him?

“You know what I mean. Your whole glow screams lust. And lust is a sin that feeds itself and grows,” he said as he pushed your costume up your thigh. It didn’t matter that there were others close by where anyone could see. And you didn’t put up a fight. It wouldn't be the first time you fooled around with people mere feet away. That was part of the fun. “But I don't need to feed myself with you around. You feed me plenty.”

At that moment, you almost wondered if Mickey’s costume was real as he hooked a finger in your panties and moved them aside. He could easily lure people in under the guise of a good time. Lost in his hypnotic gaze, you moaned as his finger circled your hole. “It's like you really are a demon,” you breathed as one finger pushed inside you, making you clamp around him.

His teeth flashed in a wicked smile as the digit moved in shallow thrusts. “Demons come in all forms. All shapes and sizes,” he said as you frowned. He had to be kidding. “This city is my playground with plenty of people to play with.”

You smiled after a second, playing along. “Is that what you're doing? Playing with me?”

“You make it easy to play with, even when I have to chase you. Though I didn't exactly chase you, did I? All it took was a text,” he said, though you didn't feel insulted at the implication of how easy it was to get you there. “And dressing up like an angel? You’re far from being immune to temptation.”

It wasn't fear that moved through you, but your smile slipped all the same even as he dragged a finger in and out of you. “I, oh, was kidding about the whole demon thing.”

The gorgeous grin was back on his face. “So was I.”

He sealed his lips against yours as he pushed another finger in, the feeling making your head spin as you rocked your hips. Wantonly, you practically humped his hand as he took what he wanted from you. It was pathetic that you allowed him in so easily, but didn’t he always make you feel good?

“You’re bad for me,” you whined, gasping when he bit down on your bottom lip.

“The worst,” he agreed, pressing his palm hard against your clit. “But you’re so good for me, aren’t you? Such a good girl.”

The praise warmed you as your moans got louder.

“I could fuck anyone here tonight, but it’s you I want,” he went on, curling his fingers just the way you needed him to. “My filthy, desperate angel. You’ll let me do whatever I want to you and you won’t stop me. Do you know how good that makes me feel that you want me so badly?”

You wanted to argue that he was wrong, but how could you deny his words when you were so close? And he was right. He could fuck anyone he wanted, but his fingers were deep inside you because you were special. You meant something to him.

Right?

“You want me, too,” you stated, but the words came out like a whimper, lost in the music.

“Of course, I do. You’re my favorite. That’s why I wanted you here with me tonight,” he smirked, the words as empty as how you felt when the sun came up. But you believed him because you wanted to believe him. That it didn’t matter if he took other lovers because they didn’t mean anything to him. He was still your addiction and you wanted to get high. “Now come on my fingers. I know you can do it.”

With a shudder, you did as he said and soaked his fingers with your juices. He licked into your mouth as it went slack from pleasure, an almost smug hum reverbirating as the digits continued to glide along your walls. The familiar haze washed over you as he guided you through your orgasm. If anyone around you noticed, they didn’t care.

Neither did you.

“Delicious,” he purred as he drew his fingers out and shoved them into your mouth. “How do you feel?”

Licking your taste from his fingers, you swallowed with a heavy heart. “Empty,” you admitted, the high crashing even sooner than usual. You hated it. You wanted it to go away.

You needed to go, but your feet wouldn't allow you to move.

He didn’t look at all offended by your answer. Instead, a pleased smile spread across his face. “That’s because my fingers are never enough. You need my cock.”

You both knew you weren't going anywhere. Why argue? “I need your cock,” you agreed. All he had to do was fill you up and it would make it better.

“Bend over my table and I’ll give it to you,” he promised with a glint in his eye. It was like staring into an abyss and you wondered how deep it went. Would you ever reach the bottom if you fell?

“But the crowd-”

“They won’t even notice. They'll just think we're grinding to the music,” he said, gracefully hopping on the stage as you followed with shaky limbs. “And even if they did, who gives a fuck? They’ll wish they were in your place, but they never will be. You know why?”

“Because I’m special?”

“Yeah, you are. My favorite angel who feeds me well,” he assured you, the void in your chest slowly starting to grow smaller as he brought your back to his chest. “But don’t ever walk away from me again, okay? It'll only hurt us both.”

There was no sarcasm in his tone. Only truth.

“I won't walk away,” you said, letting him pull your dress up again as he pressed his clothed cock against your ass.

You'd always come back if he called.

“That's my girl” he praised, lightly biting your earlobe. “Now hold onto the table so we can have some real fun.”

With a nod and a smile, you fell into the abyss.

Why is he so pretty? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Misc Sebastian Stan Characters ⚓ Ko-Fi

[thelonelyempath]

Fluff Prompts II

1. “Dance with me!”

2. “You know you don’t have to ask for a hug.  Come here, sweetheart.”

3. “I just...you’re so pretty.”

4. “Your hands are so soft.”

5. “I love you.”  “What was that?”  “I said I love you.”  “I know, I heard you the first time.  I just wanted to hear you say it again.  I love you too.”

6. “No kisses for a week if you don’t settle down!”  *fake offended gasp*

7. “I still can’t believe I was lucky enough to have you wander into my life.”

8. “You know you’re my favorite person in the world, right?”

9. “Of course as soon as you sit on my lap, my bladder decides to make its presence known.”

10. “Give me your hand, love.”

11. “Kissing you is my favorite hobby.”

12. “You two are gross.”  “You’re just mad because you know you’ll never have this.”

13. “Stop talking yourself down, babe.  You’re amazing.”

14. “I can’t decide if I like kissing you on the forehead, cheek, or lips more.”

15. “I promise I’ll never break your heart and tell you I don’t love you anymore.”

16. “Oh quit your pouting.  I’m not gonna leave.”

17. “Your hugs make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

18. “No good morning kiss for me?”  “Oh, right!  My bad.”

19. “You are unbelievably cute when you’re mad.”

20. “Can I kiss you?”

21. “You’re just as beautiful as you were the day I met you.  Perhaps more.”

22. “I am so in love with you.”

23. “My favorite color is your eyes.”

24. “The dog’s had enough cuddles.  It’s my turn!”

25. “Just one kiss?”  “Ugh, fine.”  “Jeez, love you too.”  “I’m just kidding, love.  Come here.”

26. “Did you steal my spot because you wanted to sit on my lap?”

27. “Come here.  I want cuddles.”

28. “Good morning, my love.”

29. “Hey so this one’s mine and no one else is allowed to have them!”

30. “You are adorable.”

31. “Just seeing your face gives me so much dopamine.”

32. “Give me another hug.  You’re warm.”

33. “Aww, are you getting flustered?”

34. “How much do you love me?”  “Let’s see...how big is the universe?”

35. “I don’t ever want to forget this moment.”

36. “I’ve kissed so many girls/boys right where you’re standing, but I can promise that you will be the last.”

37. “Give me a kiss.”

38. “Can I hold your hand?”

39. “I love you.  So much.”

40. “I love when I put my head on your lap and you play with my hair.”

41. “Carry me.”

42. “Can you stay with me?”  “Of course, my love.  Always.”

43. “I’ve been wanting to be with you for so long.”

44. “Why are you staring at me?”  “Because you’re beautiful.”

45. “I knew you were the one the second my lips touched yours.”

[blissfulip]

Dopamine

on AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation

Cw: Allusion to sexual themes, just general bickering on this one

Words: 1.8k

[A/N: I know this one took forever, sorry about that lmao, tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly(ish). (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Previous Next

Chapter 5: Rise to the occasion

“Wait,Viktor—” You said, trying to catch up to him since he stormed out of the Hextech lab, “We can’t just walk back in there together as if nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I’m talking about us doing something well-nigh against academy rules; they will ask questions.”

“Oh, eh—you go in first."

The opportunity to counter was stolen from you and substituted by the cold touch of Viktor’s hands upon your back, jostling your body effortlessly through the library door. He came in behind you shortly after, and you thought the interval in between both of you walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.

“The interval in between both of us walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.”

“No one gives a hoot about where we might have gone; stop concerning yourself with their opinion."

It was virtually an ambuscade. When you sat back right where your book had been left and Viktor was on the chair opposite you, a friend and a foe together in liue of curiosity came without a warning and joined you. Asher seemed increasingly more annoyed than Lara, whom you suspected was simply thirsty for some quality gossip.

“So… you snuck out together, where to?” She asked with a shit-eating grin creeping up across her face.

“The dorms.” You astonishingly managed to answer in unison.

“Whose?” Asher shot at you immediately after, not leaving any time for thinking.

“Listen you—” Viktor started, and you were sure his intentions were going to take him somewhere he’d regret, so you interjected.

“We just needed to get some of our work instruments; it's not a big deal,” you said awkwardly.

“I thought your dorm was on the west wing; why did you go together?” Lara questioned you (and correctly, alas).

“You know what they say: ‘you shouldn’t count your birds before you hit them with a stone’.” You said, in the most deadpan way you could find in you.

“She needed help choosing which one of the books would be better for the presentation she is planning, and I needed help carrying some of the heavier volumes. We…killed two birds with one stone.” He said, entirely unconvinced but long resigned.

“Right, and you accepted his help with your work?” Said Asher with a cynical eyebrow raise.

“Well, the arrogance, fear of public speaking, long-term sickly obsession with work, and his careless neglect of social cues make up for an almost tolerable knowledge of many useful subjects.”

Viktor looked at you with knitted brows, his mouth agape, as if he at some point had the intention of saying something but gave up on it as the hint of faint praise in your statement made him befuddled enough to not know what to say.

“Uh, fine, just let us know you’ll be out next time; we have to make the week one report for Heimerdinger, and you two were nowhere to be found for like an hour."

“We could’ve been here earlier, but as you are both aware, she is chronologically challenged.”

"Wha—we were running against the clock because someone had to stop by the restroom on our way back.” You said, the pitch of your voice was getting higher as the irritation grew.

“I wonder why.”

“I know why, and I don’t particularly understand why you are saying it like it was my fault.”

By that point, both Asher and Lara, after sharing a look of reproach with each other, had quietly stood up and gone back to their respective work tables, leaving the two of you to quarrel in private.

“I’m sure in hindsight you can see clearly that dragging me into a small closet was regrettably ill-advised; you have such a talent for slip-ups that one could almost think you do it on purpose.”

“You think I wanted you to rise to the occasion, on purpose?” You said in a slightly mocking tone.

“You are certainly taking the opportunity to rag on me because of it.”

“If I wanted to make fun of you for that, I would've done it on the way here, Viktor, and just so you know, if I wanted to be the cause of your late-afternoon wood, a cleaning closet wouldn’t be my choice of scenery.”

“Stop calling it those names; it’s horrid—in fact, just quit talking about it; it’s giving me a tension headache."

"Oh, I apologize. Am I being too silly about the thing that you just reminded me about? I’ll make sure to talk about you b-o-n-e-r more solemnly in the future."

“I’m sorry if I thought you’d be able to take things seriously; that wasn’t my intention.”

“I am. I can take things so seriously that I will go back to my work over there, where I don’t have to hear you sniffle every two seconds, the heel of your shoe clanking on the floor, and your pen clicking repeatedly.” You said with a sour expression as you removed his journals from your bag and walked over to the other side of the library.

“Choice of scenery; who does she think she is?" Viktor mumbled quietly to himself before noticing the unintentional clicking of his pen and quietly putting it down on the table with an almost imperceptible pout.

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

Both the second and third meetings, as well as the halfway report with Heimerdinger, went sufficiently well, with your own presentation already in the final stages. It had been a particularly lazy morning; your eyes had nearly not opened, pushed closed by the heavy lids of a sleepless night, and the burgeoning symptoms of what you suspected could turn into the flu, when you decided to skip the last meeting and give your speech the finishing touches in the comfort of your own bed.

Since everything had been finished and you figured everyone would assume you were sick or had other commitments, you didn't tell anybody, hoping your absence would be disregarded. You soon learned that was a misjudgment on your part when you heard someone knock on the door to your dorm room well into the afternoon.

 “I can’t believe you got sick too!” Lara said as soon as you cracked the door open.

“Too?”

“Cirian is terribly sick as well; there must be some sort of epidemic!”

“I’m sorry… who?” 

“Cirian, from Biology.” She said, absentmindedly, as she scrambled in the kitchen for something, “Where do you keep your mugs? I’ll brew you some tea.”

"Ah, yes, top left.” So that’s his name. “I’m quite alright, though; I just needed some rest.”

“That’s good to hear because Heimerdinger said you and Viktor would have to fill in for him.”

“You have to be kidding me.” You said throwing your body back on your bed dramatically.

“I thought you’d be ecstatic,” she said as she came back with two mugs and a puzzled expression, to which you responded with one to match. "Well, you’d have an excuse to spend more time with him.”

“And why on Heimerdinger’s fluffy mustache would I want that?”

"Well, you two are dating, no?”

"No, we’re fucking not. Where did you get that idea?”

“You’re pulling my leg now, come on." She said with a small chuckle, and when you did not laugh but looked at her with concern, she continued. “Well… He seemed to be quite into you that day you were at my place, and you were very flirty.”

“I was drunk!” You said trying to defend yourself and trying to ignore what she had said about him being into you; it wasn’t a thought you wanted to consider at that moment.

“Fair, but then, I thought all that banter you two have was just playful bickering.”

“It’s most certainly not; I despise him, and he hates me with a passion.”

“With a passion, alright.” She said with a cheeky smirk that she tried to hide by taking a sip of the tea.

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know something that neither of you do, apparently. But I  digress." She said, gulping the last bit of tea and leaving the mug on the sink before turning back to you. “I’d go talk to Heimerdinger before he leaves for the day, if I were you."

She left shortly after, leaving you to ruminate about more than one of the things that were said.  She couldn’t possibly be making any sense, could she? Perhaps you should have asked what she meant by Viktor being ‘into you’ that night, but then again, you had noticed a slight change in his physiognomy.

You weren’t as drunk as you claimed to be, and it was this small change—the blush all over his face when he saw you—that made you look at him through your eyelashes so suggestively. It was the small gasp hitched on his throat that made you swing your hips when you walked slowly to where he stood. It was his white knuckles and his fingers clasped together in a tight fist around his vest that made you lower your voice into a purr when you said his name. You wanted to provoke him; his reaction was so akin to one of fury that you relished the possibility of making him hate you more.

There was no reason to bend over the table to write, not in the way you did, at least. You just wanted to, although you still tried to convince yourself that it had the same motivations as everything else you had done that night.

If you didn't know of further proof that backed up Lara's theory (which she herself was unaware of), it would have been reasonable to conclude that she had made an unfortunate misinterpretation of the situation. You caught yourself grinning at the memory of it—how you had been enjoying the scent of Viktor’s perfume and the feeling of his chest pressing against you—even before you noticed what the proximity of your bodies was doing to him.

Raise to the occasion was such a good one; he really can’t appreciate a good joke.

”B-o-n-e-r” You spelled it out loud to yourself with a hearty chuckle.

And even after you did notice it, a smug little voice in your head was telling you to lean closer, to see how far you could take it before he either said something unspeakably rude to you or took it the opposite way, but you had to be circumspect. You were the picture of practicality, yet he still had the gall to get angry at you. 

My fault…ha. If I had been doing it on purpose, that closet would’ve become too small for what he’d want to do with—

You had to physically shake that thought away and remind yourself that regardless of how fun it was to mess with him, Viktor was still incredibly insufferable to work in the same vicinity as, let alone with, so it’d be better to talk to Heimerdinger and get this whole debacle sorted out.

You did, however, spend the entirety of the way there thinking about the scent of saffron and leather.

[dopamineband]

4 days until You’ll be fine is with you all

If you like MCR, palaye royale, Yungblud, black veil brides or any bands similar to them then I can promise you you’ll love this song but this is where we need YOUR help

We can’t reach every one in these audiences on our own so we need you to help us make as much noise on the internet about this song as possible for the next 4 days.

If you don’t already follow us on twitter head over there and help us flood the timeline with all sorts of dopamine nonsense, if you’re on instagram post us to your story’s and tag us! We will follow back EVERYONE that does this & on here? Reblog this, send it to your friends, tag your friends, you could be introducing someone to their new favourite band as well as supporting an independent artist in a capitalistic industry !!

[noirs-pages]

Diavolo and Lucifer 1

Summary: You have a particular way of greeting Diavolo every time you see him, to the chagrin of Lucifer.

Lucifer was… odd to you, to say the least, in terms of the lens you view him under. When not inflated with his pride, he’s someone you can generally tolerate and be able to have civil conversations with, but there’s a distance you want to keep with him.

It’s not out of fear, you can’t fear someone who’s pride gets so easily bruised that he flares up like a bird. No, you keep your distance because the longer you stay around him, the more Lucifer gets the idea that you’ll be happy to be subservient to him. To be his little assistant to bully as he pleases, like a dog hoping for a reward.

You can’t say you’re surprised. A demon of pride like him would value his own pride more than your own, and as such, would want for the taming of your pride with his presence.

You can’t even ask him for help. You just refuse to feed into his pride in any way.

You’re polite when you need to be, but that’s about the extent of it. It irritates you, how your status as a human being leads to Lucifer treating you like less than a capable adult and more an entertaining thing to press and prod.

It’s why you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Diavolo walk into the council room.

In an instant, Lucifer stopped with his teasing smile and lowered his head just a bit in a subtle but clear show of respect to a demon he deemed superior. It can easily be seen as him giving a friendly greeting, but you knew better.

“Ah, Lucifer!” And, of course, Diavolo presence and voice was as loud as ever.

You slipped out of your chair and past Lucifer. You felt a small flare of heat from him, probably for breaking one of his social taboos that he’s so stuck on, but he can’t full out show his anger.

Not when Diavolo was in the room, and certainly not when he’s focusing on you.

Alright, time to internally kill Lucifer.

“Hey there, Big Pup,” you reached your hands out, up into the air, and let your smile get softer when Diavolo instinctively lowered his head towards you, “how you doing?”

You sunk your fingers into his hair and ruffled it around, like you would with any good dog. You almost snorted when you heard Lucifer behind you choke on his own spit.

You didn’t start off with these kinds of friendly greetings with Diavolo, you’re not exactly a person that easily shows open affection. However, you are a pretty blunt person all things considered. You were zoning out and ended up focusing on Diavolo’s hair just because the color was so rich and told Diavolo as such when he asked you why you were staring.

And when Diavolo asked if you wanted to touch, the rest was history. Poor man, the first hair ruffling really left a number on him. His eyes went wide and you can just see the dopamine being shot into his veins. And for the rest of that meeting, his eyes kept drifting back to your hands.

It was silly as well as cute. And now you have the added bonus of it being endlessly entertaining because Diavolo has no qualms with getting your hands on his head with his friends watching.

“I’m doing quite fine, thank you,” Diavolo rumbled out after a delay, almost losing himself to your hands, “Barbatos has been working me to the bone. There’s so much to do.”

“How horrible, but there’s nothing to be done,” you sighed before backing away, pleased by the little sigh of disappointment that left Diavolo’s lips.

“Diavolo,” Lucifer finally recovered enough to speak up, “while it is only us here, it’s best for you to conduct yourself as someone befitting your position. What are you going to do if someone else witnessed you being pet like and called a ‘pup?’”

You just shrugged your shoulders, knowing full well Lucifer was not talking to you, “Hey, he’s the one that gave his stamp of approval. If he wants the pats, he gets the pats.”

His opinion doesn’t really matter and it’s nice to remind Lucifer of it.

“There’s no harm being done, Lucifer,” Diavolo laughed with some shame but you’re glad to see he didn’t give into it, “it’s just a cute human greeting. Perhaps you want to give it a try?”

You pulled your hands out of your pockets, shaping them into claws as though you’re ready to pounce on Lucifer’s head.

“Well?” You asked with a light tilt of your head, knowing he won’t say yes.

“I’ll have to pass,” the vein on Lucifer’s head thickened a bit, jaw tense, but ultimately let it go with a sigh. He’s fighting a losing battle.

Ah, no wonder you and Lucifer don’t quite get along. You both like having your prides fed.

[ex-mortis-evie]

!!!CW!!! Themes of addiction, obsession, intoxication, feedback.

So recently I’ve started discovering something pretty cool about the initiation of trance.

What do I mean by that?

Well, it’s kind of a long story, but trust me when I say it’s pretty cool.

So, recently I’ve been doing some research into how the brain’s affected by words.

You know, the usual speech we hear every day of our lives.

How that constant day-to-day has conditioned us over time to think certain things.

And with that conditioning comes the tingles.

Little bits of bliss in the brain that thistle and transform into different emotions.

Of course these may be anything, but they’re usually linked to relaxation, pleasure, and obedience.

That’s where the start of trance comes in.

They’re basically indicators of trance, if that makes sense.

After all, when you feel good, you get little hits of dopamine in that silly brain of yours.

And those tingles are just the direct result.

It’s nothing really new, but I do think it’s pretty interesting.

Knowing that those tingles form and how great they can feel as they multiply and build when you slip deeper into trance.

And we both know how easy that is, right?

So as those tingles multiply, your brain just kinda fogs all up.

Almost like those tingles take away your cognition.

Think of them like little thistles on your mind.

Getting stuck and multiplying more and more the deeper you go.

Eventually your brain’s just gonna get covered in that foggy floatiness that only those tingles can provide.

And see, that’s the magic of it all.

This air of uncertainty as these tingles start to really drive their way through that silly mind.

Where they just eat away at the thoughts that make you, well, you.

And that’s totally normal!

You’ll make it just fine after the tingles subside.

I mean, if they do, of course.

Oh yeah, there was one key thing I forgot to tell you about these tingles.

How do I put this?

These tingles can be uh, a little addictive.

Don’t worry! You’ll be just fine with them in your brain.

They’re not gonna take you completely over or anything without your knowledge.

Well, of course that is if you stop letting them.

They usually take a bit to really get you hooked, but so long as you’re not reading along and finding yourself needing to go deeper, you’ll be fine.

And hey, it’s no big deal, they’ll eventually subside so long as you don’t go too deep.

Yeah, they may stick to your brain for a while and get you absolutely devoted to their blissful balance of brainwrecking whimsy and blank wonder, but you’ll be fine, trust me.

So long as you’re not still spiraling away with every second you spend succumbing to their seductive speech, there’s nothing to worry about.

And even if you were, it’s not like you’d be deep enough to feel the slow spin of intoxication spiral around you as a sudden dizziness deepen every drop of your subconscious down into their sultry grasp.

I mean, at that point you’d really have to be addicted to the tingles taking away your thoughts with every second of time that passed.

By that point I doubt you’d even realize that you’re addicted, you’d just be sitting there nearly begging on your knees to have your brain fully wrapped and whisked away from you and completely surrender to the tingles.

Though of course if you were that addicted, I doubt you’d even know what I was saying by this point, you’d just be so deep and dependent that each word is just another fix for your happily hooked brain.

I wouldn’t worry about it though, your brain couldn’t even properly process worry at that level I’d imagine, it would be so far gone from you that you’d be hoping that any second now, it would be fully far away and fully taken over by the tingles.

But that would be a little crazy right? I mean, imagine having your mind so fully melted that the tingles would turn every mushy mess left of you into the perfect puppet for its desires and dreams.

Where you’d have no worry, no thought, just a deep feeling of surrender all in that body of yours.

Where you’d be hopelessly addicted to that deep drop, every time your eyes flutter down back again into trance would just be another hit of your fix.

And hey, maybe it’s already happened.

Maybe you’ve already become deeply devoted and desperate for more deep drops and directions.

To have your world thrown upside down and all around again just to have your brain be thrown right side up in it’s dizzy and droopy state for all to see just how hopelessly hooked you are.

And hey, if that happens?

You can tell me all about it.

I’d be curious to hear how your brain hooks into trance and onto the tingles.

Maybe you’d take another read of this induction.

Maybe you’d move on with your day.

Maybe you’d read some more of my work.

Whatever you feel like doing though, just know that soon this addiction will lift and you’ll be right back to normal.

That is, if you want to go back to normal.

All you have to do to keep the cycle going is read this whole little discussion out again.

You can keep reading until you’re satisfied.

Just know that you’ll wake naturally and be free of this curse once you’re ready.

Until then, stay cool and try not to be too hooked, ‘kay?

[loosingmoreletters]

For the ask game Ghostbat, 37

I barely go here anymore babe, you’ll have to excuse the characterizations.

meeting in prison au

Bruce Wayne’s parents die. He copes with it and everything else that happens to him in the next decade as well as one would expect for the richest orphan in the world, pushed around by relatives with sharp teeth and greedy hands. Maybe, in some other world, there’d be someone who cares, but in this one, the Wayne and Kane names are not spoken kindly. Any cousins he has, are much older, distant, and more likely to tell Bruce to stay quiet and out of sight.

Bruce is pulled from school after the first fight he gets into over his parents’ death. It’s just until he’s learned to manage his grief a little better, until he’s fit for society again. He never returns and it suits him just fine. He occupies his days with self-studies in whatever matter interests him and remains unseen as is demanded.

The first real decision Bruce Wayne, all of nineteen, makes about his life, is taking a gun into his hand and shoot the man who ruined his life three times in the chest.

He does so in broad daylight, is caught on the spot, though the police doesn’t have to tackle him down, he’d already on the ground, heaving, throwing up over the gun. Erratic, the report will say later, not a practiced shooter. He isn’t, he’s fired the handgun he nicked from his uncle a hundred times in the forest behind the manor, practiced until perfection, for three shots that will have his parents’ murderer most certainly die a slow and agonizing death.

Poor Bruce Wayne, a fragile child presented only at the right occasions like expensive jewelry.

The sentence they give him is barely a slap on the wrist. After all, so proclaim the papers, what good son wouldn’t avenge their parents?

It should matter, Bruce thinks somewhere, that he perpetuated the same violence as the one that ruined him, ruins him still. It doesn’t matter to anyone, it just feels hollow.

It’s Gotham, they decide on a year in Arkham.

His mental health has never been great, his aunt proclaims in some interview, crying crocodile tears. We had to pull him from school because of it! We tried our best, but poor Bruce, he was hurting so much.

Bruce has no doubt that by the time he is released from Arkham, all of his assets will be seized. All the papers he had to sign to even get admitted, he knows exactly what freedoms he gave up. Bruce Wayne will no longer be of worth to anyone, and that suits him just fine.

It’s fine anyway, there’s no need to live beyond this.

The first month is surprisingly quiet for all that he now resides in Arkham. He supposes the doctors are still careful with him, paid to keep him docile and quiet. They’re probably happy that this criminally insane inmate never throws a fuss, isn’t anything like the freaks they keep downstairs. After all, Bruce Wayne really only got revenge. The motif is clear, his trigger as well. He’s a predictable patient, and the diagnosis they write on their little clipboards amount to nothing more than severe depression. The doses of depressants he’s prescribed is too high, and since nobody expects Bruce to act out, nobody checks if he actually takes them.

More often than not, his therapists end up telling Bruce how happy they are to speak to him instead of anyone downstairs. Bruce’s monotone behavior is well rewarded after the six-month mark, he gets a cellmate.

Anton smiles, flirts, charms, and never speaks of what sentence brought him here.

Bruce isn’t stupid, he figures that whatever it is, it isn’t what he’s actually here for. Anton is amusing in his own way, though Bruce supposes his own reactions to Anton’s flirting are the true entertainment to the other. It’s what you get when you raise yourself in isolation. Anton cracks a joke about attraction and Bruce replies with formula for dopamine.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Anton says one night, out of the blue.

“How’d you know?” Bruce asks in return, his eyes never straying from the page of the book he’s reading, thankful for the moonlight. He can read and keep up a conversation at a same time just fine. Could probably add a third task if he had anything else to occupy his hands with that wasn’t turning a page. Maybe he should ask the doctors to add some creative classes. Cooking would be fun, though he supposes the knives would be a challenge. It’s sad, he misses chemistry.

“The way you talk,” Anton answers.

Bruce doesn’t think there’s anything special about the way he talks. He’s blunt to a fault.

Why did you kill him?

He murdered my parents.

Did you plan this?

Obviously.

Are you taking this seriously at all, Mr. Wayne?

No, sir.

“I don’t say much.”

Nobody wants to listen to poor, orphan Bruce Wayne after all.

“And yet, if I were to ask you how to get to the bottom levels undetected, I’m sure you could tell me, probably open our door as well without anyone noticing.”

Bruce does look away from his page now and finds Anton staring at him with interest, a sincerity about his own character that Bruce hasn’t expected. Anton, Bruce thinks, beneath all his smiles, is angry in a way Bruce doesn’t have the energy or patience for anymore.

Don’t lose your heart, Master Wayne, Alfred said before he returned to England. Perhaps love would’ve suited Bruce better than endless anger.

“Is that what you’re actually here for?” Bruce asks instead.

“Mhm.” Anton leans back on his bed. He brags about his morning routine outside of Arkham, but he looks plenty pretty to Bruce even without. “My teacher sent me here with a little task. Said Gotham is the best place to practice.”

It’s Gotham, Bruce doesn’t really want to imagine what kind of task Anton has been sent here for.

“Do you want my help?” It’s easier to simply cut the chase.

“Maybe.” Anton tilts his head. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Bruce shrugs. He’s got nowhere better to be, really. “Are you offering a place to stay after?”

Anton grins and it’s more honest than any of his previous flirting, though Bruce supposes that wasn’t entirely for show either. “Oh, I’ve got a whole damn world for a brain like yours. Are you in?”

He holds out his hand.

[codfanficedits]

Final Goodbye - Part 2

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader

Summary: You are Death.

Wordcount: 2612| Rating: M (18+ only!)

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS

A/N: Different colours to identify dialogue better, my shit has been flopping and my brain can't handle the lack of dopamine.

Part 2/4.

Out of all three of them, Kyle had struggled the most with John’s death, or Soap, as the living men preferred to refer to him. Their silly nicknames never made much sense to you, how could John become a Soap, a Kyle become a Gaz, and a Simon become a Ghost?

 Kyle had seen Soap – John – as some sort of mentor, someone to look up to, and the fact that that person was gone, was something Kyle couldn’t grasp, something he didn’t want to grasp.

It turned out that Soap also was the glue that held the four of them together, and with him being gone, the group of soldier started to fall apart, slowly, but surely.

And all you could do was wait patiently.

So you did, waiting in the shadow after Kyle took dangerous mission after dangerous mission. Today was no exception, much to the despair of his captain. Not that that would stop Kyle. No, Kyle felt as if he had to prove himself, he wanted to make Soap proud, he wanted to make Simon proud, he wanted to make his captain proud. So much that he forgot his own mortality in the process.

And there he was, laying in the high grass, hiding from the enemy that planted a bullet into his lower abdomen.

Time for you to come into action, you had been lurking into the shadow for a while now, and just when you were ready to step out again, you saw them. Life.

“Not yet, Death.” Life’s bright voice sounds. “This one isn’t done yet.”

You can only watch while Life takes his hand into theirs, making sure Kyle can hold on until help arrives.

Life is everything Death isn’t. Where you, Death, are surrounded by sadness, despair, and darkness, Life is surrounded by joy, happiness, and light. Yet your realms seem to interfere, blend in together, not every soul is happy to be alive, and other souls deserve to live longer than the universe can grand them.

Life and Death dance around the world, leaving a trail of love and grief wherever they go.

“Gaz!” A loud voice booms over the field, his lieutenant comes running over, as fast as his legs can carry him. “Seems like you will win this round, Life.” You muse, as you watch Simon apply pressure to the wound.

“I need a medic, NOW!” Simon yells. “I can’t lose you Gaz.” He adds with a softer voice. “Not you too.”

But Kyle can’t look Simon in his eyes, not yet, right now he isn’t able to cope with the disappointment he will see in his lieutenants eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Kyle mutters with a  meek smile, and you can see Life squeeze his hand.

“Of course.” Simon agrees, because Simon doesn’t dare to think about the fact that he might lose someone he cares about again.

“You’ll be okay Gaz, I’ll make sure.” And with those words, Simon spews out what he wanted to tell to Soap.

And Kyle will be okay, Life had made sure that he escaped from your grasp for the final time. Life continued to hold Kyle’s hand until he reached the infirmary, Life didn’t let go off his hand until the first stitch was placed in the wound, letting him live until his time was up.

And you just followed, following Life and Kyle into the infirmary, quietly waiting. Kyle’s time would come, quicker than he would expect it to happen.

Life finally let go off his hand, giving you a quick nod before they disappeared again.

You just watched, seeing fragments of yourself guide the souls of the less fortunate while you had yourself fixated on the young man before you.

You watched over his shoulder when he took out his phone. His hand shaking while he went to call his mother, a shaky breath leaving his lips when his mother picked up the phone and the video call starts.

“Mom.”

“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You never call without a reason. What’s on your mind?”

“Just.. I know.. You.. I..” The poor boy started to stutter, not able to express the emotions he wanted to express.

And a mothers love knows no boundaries. “Are you worried about John, Bearie?”

A sour expression crossed his face by the nickname from his childhood, but it is quickly swallowed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.

You know the look his mother bears, it is the look of a woman who wishes her son wasn’t away from her, a mother who wishes she could crawl through the phone to comfort her son about his fallen teammate.

“What is on your mind, boy?”

“I just wonder ma.” Kyle starts. “I wonder if he was in pain, if he was scared, if he would ever be proud of me.”

No he wasn’t, more pissed off than scared, more than you’ll ever know.

His mother sighs softly. “Those are questions you’ll never find an answer to. But I get it, I had the same questions when your grandpa passed. And I like to think that both of them are proud of us. You have reason to be proud, Kyle. I am sure John is proud of you too.”

The expression on his face softens. “Thank you mom.”

“Anytime Bearie.”

He rolls his eyes, quick enough so that his mother doesn’t catch on.

“Do you want to speak to your sisters too?”

“No, I’m quite tired, just missed you.”

“I miss you too Kyle. Promise me you’ll come home soon yeah?”

“Promised ma, I’ll see you soon okay?”

“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”

“Love you too mom.”

The moment his call gets disconnected, he presses his lips against his phone, wishing to press the same kiss against his mothers forehead. Kyle had never struggled to be away from his family, but with Soap’s passing, he found himself longing to be with his family more and more. Maybe he would take a little break after his next mission.

But Kyle never got to take that break. Soon after he was cleared from the infirmary he found himself taking dangerous missions again. The promise to his mother being long forgotten whenever he found himself enjoying the rush again, the feeling of being alive, of being worthy, he finally felt as if he mattered.

Not that any of that was important right now. Because right now Kyle was about to meet you. He had found himself caught in enemy crossfire once more, being in the delusion that he is in fact invincible. But he isn’t, no one is really no matter how often they think they are.

Kyle groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his short breaths, as his hands clutch the wound on his chest, he knew that time was running out, and even you knew that Life wouldn’t be able to keep him away from you.

“Hello.”

Kyle looks up at your words, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you? Did I? Am I dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.

“I suppose I can’t sweet talk my way out of dying.”

“Afraid not.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I promised mom I would come home again.”

“You did.”

“How did you know?”

“That is something for later. Right now I would advice you to call your mother.”

A short flash of gratitude in his eyes before the pain takes over again. With a bloody hand he takes out his phone, dialling his mother’s number. But she doesn’t pick up, she is on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that her son is about to breathe his last breath.

His lips press together to a thin line when he reaches her voicemail.

“Mommy?” His voice is quivering when he speaks. “It’s me, Bearie. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be coming home again. I.. I.. I.. I was too reckless, thought I had to make you and the whole world proud after Soap died, and now I never get to see you again.” The words spill out of him worried his life will be over before he can say the things he wants her to hear.

“I am so sorry for breaking my promise mom, I love you, I love the girls. Please don’t blame yourself.” His breathing is getting quicker and he starts to get cold, a sign for you that his time is coming to an end. You hold out your hand to him, a subtle notice that he has to hurry up.

“Mom. Mom I can’t say this enough, I should’ve said it more to you, but I love you. I really love you, thank you for being my mother.”

One raspy breath, another raspy breath.

“Oh and mom? It doesn’t hurt, I promise. It doesn’t hurt and I am not scared.”

Lair.

He ends the call, the pain is visible in his face, in his eyes. In everything. His hand is shaking when he reaches for your held out hand, and the moment you touch him, it is over. The pain disappears, his face relaxes.

Kyle stands besides you, looking at his dead body. “I had to lie to her, you know. She would never forgive herself for allowing me to join the army.”

“Do not worry, I am not here to judge you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“To guide you.”

“To hell?”

“No, to the afterlife.”

“Oh.”

It stays quiet for a little bit.

“How did you know I had promised mom that I would come home?”

“You should’ve been dead the last time you got shot, but Life decided you were allowed some more time.”

“Can I thank Life?”

“No, Life is a shy creature, and prefers to not be seen by the mortals. I am in no position to deny Life their wishes.”

A quick nod, as Kyle seems to understand what you mean.

He looks at his body again, and a sad look appears on his face. “Will my mother at least have my body back home?”

You nod. “Yes, let me speed up time a little, because it does take a while.”

“You can speed up time?”

“Correct, right now you are no longer in the world of the living, but in my realm. My rules apply here.”

He relaxes as time begins to speed up.

“Watch closely.” You urge. “You might not have realised, but the sunset are always beautiful.”

He goes to sit down, next to his body, and he allows himself to enjoy the setting sun, a soft, smooth transition to the night.

“Gaz, this is Ghost, how copy?” That is your cue to slow down time again.

“Gaz, how copy?”

“Can I answer him?”

“No, everything you do here, has no influence on the world of the living.”

“Shit, they must be worried.”

“Kyle, how copy?”

“Fuck. Kyle, stay where you are, I am coming.”

Kyle leans back into the grass. “Did you guide Soap too?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was there when he got shot. Guided him to the afterlife too.”

“Did he.. Did he mention me?”

“Mention you? He wanted to stay in my realm until he was sure all three of you could cope.”

Kyle smiles. “He always was a good friend. Did he say anything about me?”

“Only that he was proud of you, and that he should’ve told you more often.”

“He did?”

“I have no benefit in lying.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the tears in his eyes. “Fuck. I really thought he would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

“He wasn’t. By all means he was telling me how proud he was, how much you had achieved already.”

Kyle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with the name of his mother, the moment the ringing ends, it starts again immediately. And again. And again. Kyle has a sad look on his face. “I hate that I broke my promise to her.” He admits.

“I understand that.”

“God, she will be so heartbroken.”

“Yes. But you did give her some closure by that voicemail. She will cherish it till the end of her dying days. Even though it was a lie, hearing from you that it didn’t hurt, that you weren’t scared. It will help her heal more than you can imagine.”

Kyle wipes away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. “I am glad. She really is the best you know? Always been supportive of my dreams, even when my father left, she was there for me, always putting me and my sisters first.”

“It sounds like you love her.”

“More than I’ve loved myself.”

You watch Simon approach, his face hidden behind his mask, but the emotion in his eyes is clear. “Fuck, no. Gaz.”

He drops down the body of his friend, searching for a pulse, but the body had gone cold already, and in a moment of emotion, of weakness even, Simon cradles the dead body of his friend. “Not you too man, come on.”

Kyle has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Shit.”

Simon reaches for his radio. “Gaz has been found and identified, Killed in action. I’ll return soon.”

“Will he be okay? I noticed him drinking more after Soap died, and I don’t want him to drink himself to death because of my death.”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”

He watches, as Simon picks up his body, and carries him away.

“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.

“I can show you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

By the gods, that wasn’t a good sight to see, the captain looked at least fifteen years older, the constant smoking now had the company of a bottle of whiskey.

A fourth dog tag on the chain.

“Fuck.” Price muttered. “Fuck, it never gets any fucking easier.”

The fingertips of Price trace the outline of Kyle’s file. “I never should’ve let you go on this mission.”

“I hope he knows I would’ve gone on another dangerous mission if he would’ve declined me this one.” Kyle answers.

“He knows, deep down he knows, but it is easier for you humans to find a way to blame yourself.”

“Will the captain be okay?”

“He will be the last of you four to pass.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh, I guess the captain is tougher than he looks.”

“That he is.”

“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Final question, will mom be okay?”

“Your mother? She will never be herself again. She will always miss you, mourn you, but your urn gets a little shrine, and she will never toss out your childhood stuffed animals.”

“How long will it take for her to have me home again?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope once I see her heartbroken face. Right now all my memories of her are nice ones, and I will break my own heart if I see her grieve.”

“That is fair.”

Kyle looks at his captain again, before he turns to look at you.

“Will I see Soap again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Once you’ve moved on to the afterlife, your soul will connect with the souls you’ve loved.”

“Can I go now? Simon will be alright, Captain will be alright, and mom will eventually be alright too. I feel like I can leave them now and not be worried.”

Kyle takes a deep breath. “And I would like to catch up with Soap.”

“Very well.”

You hold out your hand to him. “Let me guide you then.”

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Lilac - Jamie Tartt x F!OFC

Lilac (Syringa) - Meaning: First Love, Reminiscence

Summary: Jamie Tartt and Katie Archer were childhood best friends and had planned their futures together, but what happens when childhood ends and it's time to face reality?

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!OFC Katie Archer (NO physical description other than a name)

Word Count: 1371

Warnings: Language, takes place mostly pre-show, childhood idealism gets shattered, Jamie's anxious/angry reaction is slightly violent (NOT against reader), mention of Jamie's dad being a crap parent, enduring childhood love

Day 3 of the In Bloom Writing Challenge! I originally wanted this to be a whole series, but couldn't find the right way into it so I condensed it into a short fic. Also, this is my first ever Ted Lasso fic! That show is pure dopamine, I swear. Perhaps a teammate or coach of Jamie's will appear in his own fic later this month? Who knows? Oh wait, I do :D

In Bloom Masterlist

Comments, Likes, Reblogs are always appreciated! Thanks for reading! <3

9 May, 2009

Jamie Tartt and Katie Archer’s Unbreakable Life Plan To Remain Friends Forever

Become pro footballers (in the same city but not on rival teams or they’ll make us stop being friends)

Marry the fittest people we know (models, actors, or royalty ONELY)

Have neighboring houses with a pool that goes across both our backyards and a football pitch

Katie can have as many cats and dogs as she wants and Jamie can’t say anything

Jamie can wear whatever he likes and Katie can’t make fun of him

Our partners have to be best friends too

Our mums will live in our pool houses when they get old

And, the most important rule of all!!!! 

8. Any changes to this life plan MUST be discussed with your best friend, OR ELSE!!!

Signed,

Jamie Tartt 

Emily Archer

_________________

21 March, 2014

“Who is this? And what has she done to kick Renaldo off the wall?” Katie asked, holding the corners of the poster while Jamie taped them. 

“This,” he said, rolling the poster down to reveal the blonde girl holding two footballs in front of her bare chest, “is me future wife, Keely Jones.” 

“But I thought you were going to marry Heidi Klum and I would marry Orlando Bloom? That way we’d be the Klum-and-Blooms,” she joked, referring to their life plan since they were eleven. 

“‘Course I remember, babes, but I think Keely here is more of a sure thing. ‘Sides, she’s closer to our age.” He taped the bottom corners to the wall and stood back, admiring the poster while Katie flopped onto his bed. 

“As long as you’re sure,” she shrugged, opening her maths book. 

A football materialized and Jamie started dribbling, “Wanna go kick the ball ‘round?” 

“No, big test tomorrow, remember?” 

“Dunno why you’re bothering with that,” Jamie fell on his back on his bed next to her, “Don’t need school if you’re gonna be a footballer, yeah?” 

“Even if I played half as well as you, we both know I’d get less than half what you’d make as a footballer,” she said, rolling her eyes at the injustice of unequal pay. 

He rolled over and flipped around so they were parallel to each other and threw his arm over her shoulders, “Don’t worry, babes, I’ll loan ya cash if ya need it.” 

She giggled and shoved him off her, “Well how will you know how much I end up owing you if you won’t study your maths?”

“Fine! Five minutes to study, then we go work on your football skills. Maybe you’ll get so good you can play for a men’s team and get paid what you’re worth.” He smiled at her and she rolled her eyes at him. He was too charming for his own good sometimes. 

_________

5 August 2016 

Jamie perched on the edge of her mattress, absolutely gobsmacked at the news she just shared. “You’re fuckin with me, right? You…you’re just messing with me.” 

“No, ‘m not. I’m going to university,” she confessed, squeezing his hand that she held in both of hers to try and comfort him.

Instead, Jamie looked at her like she’d just confessed to being Jack the Ripper. “But, we were…what about the scouts from City?”

“I turned them down.” 

Jamie exploded then, yanking his hand out of hers, shooting up from where he sat next to her and began pacing. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, ran a hand through his hair, pulled at the strings of his hoodie. His limbs felt like they were too full of electricity.

“So what, all these years, all the plans we made, just fuckin’...don’t matter to ya anymore?” 

“You mean the completely unrealistic plans we made when we were kids? Become top footballers, marry some fit fuckin’ models, have adjoining houses with a pool going across both backyards? Come on!” 

That was the twist of the knife. 

“Fuck you, ya know that? I’ve wanted that all this time, believed in it! It’s all I’ve been workin’ toward since we came up with it! And you just go and fuck up your half…how’m I gonna do it without ya?” 

She reached out for him again but he backed as far away as he could in her small bedroom. “You’re incredible, Jamie, you’re so talented and you’re gonna go far. But it’s not for me.” 

“You mean I’m not for you.” 

“What? Jamie, you’re my best friend!”

“That’s not…we were…fucking FUCK!” Jamie’s brain felt like it was full of fire ants and his stomach lurched. He kicked a hole in the drywall before slamming her bedroom door on his way out.

The very fabric of their friendship had torn and there was no going back. If she didn’t care about him the way he cared about her, then fuck it. He didn’t need her, he would be the best fuckin’ footballer Man City had ever seen and she’d have to watch from wherever it was she ended up, hopefully somewhere miserable. 

He didn’t speak to her for the rest of their break. He didn’t see her off when she moved her things into the dorms. He never responded to her ‘Congratulations!’ text after his first game with Man City. 

The only response she ever got were three dots, appearing and disappearing. 

And then, nothing.

____________

August 5, 2021

Slipping off his jersey, Jamie couldn’t help but think about her. After all this time, he still remembered why he’d chosen 9 as his number. It was hers, her lucky number, her birthday in November, only 20 days after his. 

They’d grown up together, their mums having met at work and becoming best friends. He sometimes heard about Katie’s life on his phone calls with his mum but he hadn’t really listened to any since Katie had decided to give up on their friendship, on their life plan — the one they had come up with together when they were eleven so they’d never have to be apart.

Katie had seen how difficult it was for him to deal with his dad’s frequent appearances and disappearances and wanted him to know she would always be there for him. At the time Jamie had only gone along with it because she insisted that he could have whatever he liked in their future — it wasn’t until she’d announced that she was going to Uni that he realized the only thing he truly wanted from that list was their future. 

Together. 

He didn’t care much what it looked like, as long as it was theirs. As long as she was there at the end of every day. Which is why it devastated him when she left. Why he’d thrown himself into training and took his new life as a football star for granted as much as he had. 

Now that he was back at Richmond and apologized for his behavior, she’d been on his mind more and more.

Did he pop into her mind ever? Had she been following his career? Seen him embarrass himself on that stupid fucking dating show? 

It had only been five years but if he ran into her now, would they even recognize each other? 

It was a sad thought to have about someone he was once so close to — someone he, deep down, knew he had loved, and even deeper down, knew he still loved. It wasn’t like the love he had for Keely, his only long-term relationship amongst the revolving door of fit women he’d dated.

He wished he could describe it better than ‘a love I grew up with,’ or ‘love I didn’t even know was love at the time,’ but alas, Jaime Tartt was no poet.

He finished his post-training routine and made his way out into the summer night. On a whim, he decided to walk home. He needed time to think. About a block away from his house, he pulled out his phone and let his finger hover over ‘Contacts’ but he thought better of it and tucked his phone away. 

Only to pull it out again a few steps later and press her contact before he could chicken out. 

“Here goes nothin',” he said to himself as the phone rang.