#especially one that they made with their own two hands

[kiemiu]

things matt does that makes you question your friendship | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. unestablished relationship headcanons wc 618 (library) + (request)

best friend!matt who's so attentive to your needs. he's always checking in on you, especially when you're out together. he'll rest his hand on your back before leaning towards your ear to whisper and ask how you're doing. during dinners with friends he'll look over at you and raise his eyebrows in question, waiting for your signal. if you're ever uncomfortable, he has no qualms about gathering all of his things and dragging you away from the chaos. your comfort is always above everything.

best friend!matt who adds love songs to your shared playlist. you both update your joint playlist pretty frequently, sometimes even sending the songs to each other beforehand. matt often will send a song with an attached message like 'this song reminds me of you' or 'i think you'll like this, just added it to our playlist'. you didn't notice it at first but once you started looking at the lyrics of the songs, they always mentioned love, infatuation, unrequited love, and more romantic topics.

best friend!matt who created a nickname for you that only he can use. he gets incredibly upset when someone uses the nickname he gave you, and even more upset if you let them. he made it up and reserved it specifically for you while making it known that you're the only person who has that privilege over him. he'll be giddy if you create your own special nickname for him, and will ignore anyone who addresses him by it if it's not you.

best friend!matt who doesn't correct people when they think you're dating. it's happened plenty of times, the way the two of you cuddle up to each other in public and have animated conversation that only the both of you can hear, anyone with eyes would think the two of you were dating. and whenever someone assumes, before you can interject to deny their claims, matt quickly throws out a 'thank you' with a smile before pulling you away and avoiding your question of why you didn't correct them.

best friend!matt who unknowingly seeks out your approval. after he makes a joke you're the first person he looks at, just waiting to see your smile and hear the familiar sound of your laughter. it always gave him a sense of pride when you paid attention and recognized him, even if it was for something as small as laughing at his crappy jokes.

best friend!matt who takes candid photos of you. it's always when you least expect it, building a lego set in the tranquility of his bedroom and you'll randomly see a flash out of the corner of your eye. at first you used to poke at him about it and beg for him to delete it, but it happens so often now that you can only grow a flustered smile, wondering just why he takes so many pictures of you. not realizing he has a photo album dedicated to just you with a matching wallpaper to prove it.

best friend!matt who can't get you of his head. he's surrounded by you, your face on his homescreen, the last hoodie of his you wore resting on the back of his chair, your hair ties on his nightstand, while one of your favorite childhood tv shows play in the background..he sees you in everything he does and everywhere he goes, and he makes it known. always sending you a small update text when he's thinking about you and sometimes a picture of what exactly reminded him of you. 'watching your show, made me think of u :) ❤️'

best friend!matt who is so utterly obsessed and in love with his best friend.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🥡: @emely9274 @ginswife @madifilipowiczslvt @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash @sturnina @lovetaylorrussellgrr @nervoussagittarius @sacaydia @chrissturnsss @hearts4werka @chrisprincesss @koilaniazul @chrispleasure

[prentisslvr]

congrats on 100 followers. i’ve been following since your first spencer fic, checkmate. i absolutely love your writing. could i ask for a spencer reid, with prompt 4 (he’s saying it) and then 8 (with reader saying it)

WHATS MINE IS YOURS

summary; you spill something on your shirt and you borrow spencer’s

genre: fluff, mutual pining, bestfriends to lovers.

prompt; “is that my shirt?” & “stop looking at me like that.”

authors note: i’m not sure if i like this, this was a little rushed but 🤷‍♀️

you had arrived at work in a haste, two cups of freshly made coffee in your hands, one for you, the other for spencer.

which was what you did every morning, but it’d just so happened that today, emily had her intern running around completing tasks, one of them being running right into you, causing you to spill piping hot coffee all over your white top.

you would’ve screamed had it not been for the fact the intern looked like she was going to burst into tears right then and there, so with a strained smile, and a pat on her shoulder you’d made your way back to your car looking around for something to wear.

the only thing being a spencers fresh laundry you’d picked up from the laundromat for him, he woke up pretty early in the morning, but he lived a walk away from the nearest laundromat.

and since you had a car, you grabbed them for him.

he appreciated this greatly, even if it had taken you weeks to convince him to allow you to do it, you lived like five minutes away from the laundromat, he live about fifteen minutes away in a car, probably thirty minutes to walk like he did.

you just liked making things easier, penelope had once said your love language was acts of service, whatever that meant.

you walked into the bullpen in one of his button up shirts, you sigh taking a seat at your desk, the shirt was white with stripes, it wasn’t your usual attire and it drew attention, from almost everyone.

especially the man who owned it, at first, he’d just thought you changed up your style for a moment, but when he really looked, he noticed what you were wearing.

his shirt.

and, god, he was having palpitations, you were in his shirt, and you looked really good.

it was no lie to the entire team, and well, pretty much the world, that whilst you and spencer were best friends, there was something more than that between the two of you.

“is that my shirt?”

your eyes shoot up from your paperwork and you guiltily nod. “i spilt coffee and im not exactly the most prepared person in the world, i had your laundry and—”

“don’t worry about it.” he smiled cutting your little rant off. “what’s mine is yours.”

you sigh thankfully. “thanks spence, you really are a lifesaver.”

as you continued work though, spencer would not stop sending you glances, if it were someone else, you may even have seen a hint of desire in his eyes.

but it was spencer, surely he wouldn’t.

“stop looking at me like that!” you exclaimed, it’d been ten minutes and spencer wouldn’t stop staring at you, granted you’d been looking too, but still.

spencer blinks. “like what?” his ears going red, he’d been caught, but he couldn’t help it, you just looked so good in his shirt, he’d never felt so attracted to you before now.

“nothing, nevermind.” you bite your lip looking down at your work with frown and spencer smiled, he’d tell you one day.

but for now the dr would settle for his stolen glances and making sure he kept a couple spare shirts in case you ever happen to ruin one of your own once again.

[whumpster-fire]

Oh boy okay I think my smallest / least known fave is Ambersun (formerly known as Albion, changed because of how many other bands have the same name), and I am begging everyone to listen to this band because seriously it is so good.

Summary: it's a power metal band which I think may be basically a one man show plus various guest vocalists I'm not sure, which does story-based concept albums based on different works of fiction. Possibly qualifies as Rock Operas? Anyway I love "fandom music" and this is one of my all time favorites even though two of the albums are for "I don't even go here" fandoms and the other is for a book I found through the music, because the sound is awesome, the lyrics are awesome, and you can just hear the passion put into them.

I'm now going to post a bunch of lyrics under the cut please please please listen to these songs. Actually just listen to the albums in order, this is one of those bands where the songs are already good as standalones but you really need to listen to the full album to get the full experience.

We are lost, in an endless night, the sun drained from our eyes

Gone, when we sold our lives to the plague that stole the sky

"Life Before Death," from The Poison Skies

Erased and they don't care, but you would still be here if only you'd stayed, been mine only mine

It's so unfair to leave me, the tribe I formed deceived me, but now I'll fight in your name

There's no way to hide from their stare,

I still feel their eyes everywhere

And the hatred that clouds all their minds, it hides the truth of it all

"Out In the Wilds" from The Poison Skies

The one to keep the noble name, to carry all their hopes and dreams, a future severed when one night became forever

"Run" from The Poison Skies. This. Freaking. Song. Has changed me. "Run" is a banger on its own, but reading The Afflicted and reaching the scene this song is about made it so much better and also slightly painful. Which can be said about the entirety of The Poison Skies but this song especially, because the entire song is a character high on adrenaline, deluding himself into believing he can actually pull off the promise he made to his friends that he was going to survive the badass self-sacrificing stunt he was pulling. Also I have no idea how I have not gotten a speeding ticket while playing this in the car yet.

Visions that I can't erase, every time I see her face,

She reminds me of how I never tried

Now I watch us as we fall, can't help anyone at all,

Why did I alone survive?

Survivor's Guilt!

"Survivor's Guilt" from The Poison Skies

This worthless weapon symbolizes who I am

Remaining silent, offer no resistance,

And I become the iron mask

"Disappear" from The Poison Skies

Survive one last dance through the wind and the cold,

We can't change our stories, but they still can be told

"Snow" from The Poison Skies

Sealed in cryogenic cold, I'll dive into the dark, reanimate your soul

Together we will rise up hand in hand this blackened night

"Morning" from The Day the Night Slept

I'll burn in the night, I'll light up the sky, you'll see,

And I'll be the Scorpion's Fire!

"The Scorpion's Fire" from The Day the Night Slept

Lost in the night, but still he survives

I'll tear apart time so his heart never dies

"Asriel Must Be Saved" from Buried Souls. Yes this is exactly what it sounds like from the title. A 15 minute musical fix fic about finding a way of saving Asriel Dreemur from Undertale with some sort of timeline fuckery I don't understand because I haven't played the game. And it's glorious.

Mighty wheels will turn again, flames of faith ignite

Chase the legend of the sun, and bathe our world in light

"Bring Back the Sun," currently a single release.

enough about taylor swift already. reblog and tag the smallest, least known artist you listen to

[whoreforsexymen]

Vander 🫗 | SMUT Headcanons

Pairings: Vander x Reader, Dom!Vander x Reader

Rating: NSFW!! 18+, MDNI ! You WILL be blocked.

Pronouns: She/Her + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Word Count: 898

Tags: DaddyDom!Vander, Spit play, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Crawling, Thigh Riding, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Etc.

Notes: Just some spicy Headcanons for our big, old, husky, bearded barman 🤍 as well as some for a darker version of our big teddy bear dad 🤍

- Vander is completely enchanted by your lips. Every chance he gets, especially when he cradles your face in his hands, he can’t resist the urge to brush his thumb over them, savoring their softness. It’s also no wonder how primal it makes him feel considering how your own natural instinct is to suck the skin of his thumb gently. Every. Single. Time.

- He can’t help but prod at them until you let him breach the surface. You’re always so hungry for a taste of him, no matter if it’s his cock or his fingers. Always so insatiable, and deeply unsatisfied until moments like these when you’re greedily swirling your tongue around his finger.

- He never wastes time in hooking his thumb into your mouth, toying with making you and your tongue slave to find it. The slickness of your saliva and the sounds that follow are nothing short of immaculate, a perfect blend of neediness and yearning that leave him desperately smitten.

- The way you whimper, and the way your thighs grind together to ease the tension and aching in your clit drives him to the brink—the sounds unraveling him, each one igniting the flames of his own aches.

- He wants nothing more than to switch his fingers out for his cock— but unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to hear you as well. His fingers are slim enough to let the noise pass over them, but his cock would be a different story.

- Vander is a gentle lover by nature, but— like any part of nature, he has his more unpredictable moments. His ‘natural disasters’ or sorts. Though—you wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘disasters’.

- Just as easily as it is for him to spend hours tenderly ramming his cock into you, during more ferocious, needy moments, he’ll waste no time in fucking you senseless. Despite it mainly happening every blue moon, he knew when you needed it like this, and he knew that you’d be willing to take it on the days he needed it like this.

- You both have happily accepted that he’s a man with a wild side to be nurtured every now and then. And you’re so good at nurturing it for him. When laying in bed, he’s started fucking you from behind, quickly losing his patience for tenderness. He’s sat upright against the headboard, and pulled you on top of him, all without ever disconnecting from you for even a moment.

- With your back pressed to his chest, he cups under your knees, almost folding you in half from the way he gripped and pulled them back- as he started slamming his hips at a merciless pace. The angle had you practically foaming at the mouth, considering—with his given strength—he uses minimal effort to bounce you up and down to meet the way he was snapping his hips up into you. The way your ass bounced on his legs is a sight that constantly makes his dick twitch when he thinks back to it.

- The screams you could never bother to try stifling almost kept him up at night sometimes. Too many times have the recollections made him overfill a pint or two behind the bar counter, earning questioning glances from bar patrons. He can’t always help the way his mind wanders when he has you to ravish every night.

- Vander often says things like:

“C’mon Angel— Look at me while you suck my cock dry. I wanna see those pretty little eyes of yours.”

“That’s it— Attagirl. Atta-fuckin’-girl.”

Dom!Vander HC’s

- Will make you kneel on the ground, mouth wide open, pussy dripping, and leave you like that. He’d tell you that you weren’t allowed to swallow your spit. He’d then pull up a chair and sit in front of you, despicably far, and just watch you. He’d wait until your shirt became transparent from how much drool had fallen on it. Then—only then, would he speak.

- “Crawl…” he commands.

- You obey. You crawl to him, almost desperately quick, until you stop at his boots. He’d be tempted to make you grind on them, but he prefers his thighs for that.

- You crawl onto him, straddling one of his massive thighs.

- Just a few minutes into him making you grind yourself down on it, his blue jeans are just as soaked as your shirt.

- “Attagirl.” He’d coo as he’d start guiding your hips for you with his hands. It’s your fault if you think he’s going to let you cum anytime soon, though.

- When he halts all movement once you’re practically falling off the edge of your orgasm, he’d tut at you when you keep trying to desperately find the friction again.

- “Don’t you fight me.” He’d snap as you greedily tried to chase your orgasm, thrashing your hips around against his grip.

- He’d pull your hair and make you look at him, his other hand holding your jaw with contempt.

- Denial was his virtue. He won’t let you cum until you’re crying and begging for mercy.

- “Cry for me, Angel.” He’d command, needing to see the tears in your eyes while you begged for release.

- When you’d get too embarrassed to do so, he’d grip your face tighter.

- “Let. Me. Hear. You.” So you do. You let it out.

- And then—only then, will he slip his thick fingers in you.

- “Excellent. Such a good girl. Now. Get yourself off on daddy’s fingers, yeah?” He’d purr.

[1920sladydectective]

Hey i saw requests and had to ask, ambessa x reader for a wounded reader. I mean like a well executed plan goes to shit and Reade gets hurt much to ambessa's suprise. Passed and frustrated, ambessa traces readers old scars and stews on the new ones.

Hello my lovely! Thank you for your request! Very awesome and fun idea, I hope you like what I’ve done with it 🫶🫶🫶

I’m always happy to take them, especially with Ambessa if anyone is wondering! I shall try to get to them all.

This may not be quite what you wanted, I wrote it at half three in the morning and it’s a tad sillier than I’d intended. I’ll probably rewrite/add to it, but here it is for now!

Some mentions of blood etc - reader is hurt after all ❤️

Hurt Reader x Ambessa Drabble -

It was a shock, the warm slice sinking through your abdomen as a tall knight appeared.

This plan had been ridiculously simple and after ten years working under and loving Ambessa Medarda, you were notoriously difficult to surprise.

That being said, you were currently bleeding out as you stumbled away with the stupid bastard’s blood covering your front. You couldn’t let him live, but you did hope you didn’t die in the process.

Nearing the Noxian camp, you allowed yourself to cry out, spluttering slightly as everything blended into one.

Ambessa was discussing land division with Rictus, eagerly awaiting your return so you could retire to bed and then finally leave this back water hellhole.

Cries and clamouring had her dashing from her tent. You were there, unconscious, dragged along by shaking rookies.

The physician was already running to you, a loyal and efficient member of Ambessa’s staff, had it been anyone else her worries would have ended there.

She could tell all the blood was not yours, but it did nothing to dissuade the bile in her throat. This was impossible. This couldn’t be right. Part of her, foolish and soon to be carved out, had mistaken you for invincible. Despite the war wounds you wore as proudly as she wore her own, you were faster than her, always less risky. You were her sly fox, and the stab of fear she felt at you being caught made her snarl.

Hours seemed to drain into nothingness, her large hand stroking your serene face, muttering your favourite pet names and telling you stories. You had always hated the silence of rest, a feeling that only dissuaded with Ambessa. Her feelings were a muddle of thick, pulsing anger and desperation. Her fingers traced against the most faded of your marks, a melancholy filling her. Your story was mapped here, your journey with her visible in each gash and cut. It had seemed beautiful to her before. It still was, but as the cuts grew newer and fewer an uncharacteristic reservation filled her.

You were too precious to lose, and this had been your worst brush with death. The reason was inexcusably stupid, as Rictus had found out. A knight leaving his rotation slightly late because he was chatting up some maid, meant you’d been caught mere seconds before you would have fled. Ambessa felt hypocritical wanting to suddenly bundle you in furs and lock you in your chambers, but as she traced the crimson bandage on your midriff the plan seemed more and more plausible.

It took two days for you to wake and she never left your side. Murmuring all the while, her voice growing hoarse, Ambessa brushed your hair and ensured you stayed warm. The physician had said you would be fine and that she could benefit from some rest herself. Ambessa had nearly killed her, for some reason.

That, it seems, was what woke you.

“Do stop being stupid,” Your drug addled lips slurred, glassy eyes looking between the physician and your imposing wife, “She’s right, you look like shit,”

“Hello, Dear,” She muttered, dropping her blade and kneeling at your side.

“That was a tricky one, eh? What happened was-”

She let out a relieved sigh, kissing you tenderly on the lips, “We are not debriefing right now you fucking idiot,”

It took five months, eight hours of continual sex and a trip from Mel, but Ambessa finally seemed to mellow at the idea of you returning to her side in combat.

In the end you think it was your constant gasping and fawning at her own scars that did it.

Overreacting to your lover’s aged scars as if they were fresh was irritating apparently…

It was nice to know you were loved

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

[since everything under a Read More cut gets deleted in case a blog deletes/gets deleted and the WayBackMachine isn’t good with pictures, for Archive Purposes Only, I will add the most important bits of the/rest of the full post and have also checked/updated/added the source links to the best of my abilities. I will also add all pictures to make sure absolutely everything is included. Harry and Louis' tattoos are also color-coded for easier sorting.]

PART 1 "Artist Key:

FN: Freddy Negrete, Shamrock Social Club (LA)

LS: Liam Sparkes, Shangri-La Tattoo (London)

KP: Kevin Paul, Kevin Paul Tattoo (London)

TA: Tom Atkin, friend of Harry & Louis', fiance of Lou Teasdale (London)

Skunx: Skunx Tattoo (London)

DC: tattoo shop where Zayn and Louis went (Maryland) ---

February 1, 2012:

Star outline (Harry) - FN [Harry's 1st tattoo]

June 15, 2012: 

Wont' stop til we surrender (Harry) - Paul Nguyen [Harry's 2nd tattoo]

Meta: Harry got this tattoo about 10 days after Eleanor left the U.S. for the first time on the U.S. leg of the Up All Night tour. It was 2 days before she returned. It was at the beginning of the heightened closeting and increased Elounor pap shots. 

It is also important to note that this is a modified version of the song lyric from "Sweet Disposition" by Temper Trap. 

The song lyric as it is actually written/sung:

We won't stop 'til it's over Won't stop to surrender

Harry made the lyrics "won't stop 'til we surrender," using parts of each line to make it about more than one person in a struggle against something or someone else. 

The next day, on June 16th, Ed Sheeran did the show where he said Harry was "taken" and answered "Innit?" when a fan said "By Louis." 

June 23, 2012*: 

Hi (Harry) - Unknown [Harry's 3rd tattoo]

A for his mum (Anne) on forearm (Harry) - Unknown [Harry's 4th tattoo]

Meta: We did not see these two tattoos until June 23 at the Dallas show. Zayn has said in an interview that he "drew" the A on Harry's arm. This might mean he actually tattooed Harry himself. 

The "Hi" tattoo appears to be in Louis' handwriting. Just days after the tattoo appeared, Louis appeared very interested in a radio host's tattoo, asking twice if it was in her handwriting. The interview took place in Tampa on June 29. 

Harry: “What does this say?”. Boring stuff about this girl’s tattooed arm. Louis: “Did you write it yourself?”. Everyone: “…”. Louis: “Is that your handwriting?”

In Miami, on July 1st, Harry revealed it said "Hi" but was very coy about it. Liam then declared it his favorite tattoo (out of 4 at the time, but it counts, god damn it) and looked right at Louis.  

Same, Liam.

The "Hi" tattoo seems especially poignant as it came in the middle of a heavy Eleanor presence and Elounor push and Harry had Louis possibly tattoo a word on him in Louis' own handwriting. At the very least, he got a word in Louis' handwriting tattooed on himself. Almost like a brand. 

July 27, 2012*:

I CAN'T CHANGE... (Harry) - LS [Harry's 5th tattoo]

Birdcage (Harry) - LS [Harry's 6th tattoo]

I think Liam Sparkes did the "I can't change..." tattoo, which we first saw July 27, 2012, because the lettering and tone is identical to these kinds of tattoos that Liam Sparkes does:

I think this is also most likely the day Harry got the birdcage tattoo, which I think is a Liam Sparkes design. 

This is significant, because it places Liam early in Harry's tattoo timeline, making the stuff to come in October more important. 

August 9, 2012*: 

Hanger (Harry) - Unknown Artist [Harry's 7th tattoo]

I think it's possible this was done by Liam Sparkes on July 27th, as well. 

Meta: The "I can't change," birdcage with no door and hanger are the most obvious and heavy-handed series of anti-closeting tattoos Harry has gotten to date. All 3 came between very public Elounor appearances: the France trip in early July and the Olympics on August 10th-12th. 

August 13, 2012:

Padlock (Harry) - Ed Sheeran [Harry's 8th tattoo]

17BLACK (Harry) - KP [Harry's 9th tattoo]

Pingu (Harry) - KP [Harry's 10th tattoo]

Iced Gem (Harry) - KP [Harry's 11th tattoo]

Meta: Ed & Harry got tattoos together the night after the closing ceremonies of the Olympics 2012. In this article from August 14, Kevin Paul (the tattoo artist) says:

I did a couple of bits on him last night […] They’re really personal to him - the reasons he had them done and stuff, so he doesn’t really want to announce what they are […] One was something from his childhood, and another one was something really important in his life.

I think it's possible the "iced gem" for Gemma is the "something from his childhood." I think the 17BLACK is the "something really important in his life", because I doubt a matching cartoon-themed penguin tattoo he got with Ed is important enough to be coy about. Ed did the padlock, so Kevin wasn't talking about that one.

August 21, 2012:

Never Gonna/Dance Again (Harry) - TA [Harry's 12th tattoo]

"Big” on big toe (Harry) - TA [Harry's 13th tattoo]

September 4, 2012:

"Gemma" in Hebrew (Harry) - FN [Harry's 14th tattoo]

Shamrock (Harry) - FN [Harry's 15th tattoo]

Freddy Negrete posted a picture of Harry from the night of the 4th to his instagram the next day on September 5th.

September 8, 2012:

Green Bay Packers logo (Harry) - FN [Harry's 16th tattoo]

Drama Masks/SMCL (Harry) - FN [Harry's 17th tattoo]

Filled in star (Harry) - FN [Harry's 18th tattoo]

You can see the same flash sheets in the mirror next to Harry's arm as in this picture from Freddy's instagram account.

Meta: Louis was most likely with him on this night. He is in the far right side of the picture. You can see his butt, legs and shoes with his rolled jeans.

Here Louis is carrying the shoes from around the same time:

(the shoelace is not important to this...it was the only pic I could find)

Louis also tweeted "ouch :(" on the same night:

After this trip, Freddy Negrete responded to a fan via instagram [link not working anymore] that "Harry wanted "a big [tattoo]" on his chest when he was in LA again. 

Late September 2012:

2 Cross with K & M (Harry) - LS [Harry's 19th tattoo]

LOVE Banner (Harry) - LS [Harry's 20th tattoo]

Meta: These were done in late September, I think. It was after the drama masks but before the "Kiss You" video shoot which was late October. 

If Harry did, in fact, have a large chest piece in mind in early September, it's possible he may have been thinking of the birds by this point. It then might make sense that he would get the "LOVE" banner and then cover it up so soon afterwards. It could have been a part of his design. This is a Liam Sparkes design that includes birds placed similarly to Harry's with banners and the words "true" and "love" beneath:

-

continued in Part 2

TIMELINE: TATTOOS TO DATE

This is organized by date. All tattoos are linked to photos, unless they are major tattoos I want to talk about, in which case I have inserted the photos into the post. (Special thanks to thelegohouselove and their wonderful tattoo masterposts with pictures)

Dates are dates I believe they actually got the tattoos. If I can’t find a date they got the tattoo, I have indicated it with a “*” which is the first date we saw the tattoo. 

Before we begin, fun facts that might blow your mind:

Harry has 56 tattoos that we know of.

Louis 38 tattoos that we know of. 

Harry got 30 of his 56 tattoos between June and October 2012. That’s, on average, about 8/month.

Louis got 10 of his 37 between October and December 2012. That’s, on average, about 5/month.

The most Harry ever got on one day is 4. He got 13 in a 7 day period in October 2012. The most Louis ever got on one day was 5 on February 25 of 2013.

Artist counts for Harry: Tom Atkins (10); Liam Sparkes (10); Freddy Negrete (8); Kevin Paul (3). 

Artist counts for Louis: Skunx (7); Liam Sparkes (4); Freddy Negrete (4).

Some of this stuff isn’t an exact science. Some of it is me making an educated guess, especially involving some of Harry’s tattoos in October and Louis’ “The Rogue” vs. “It is what it is” and Harry’s 3 Nails. So bear that in mind. 

Over all, this should give you a good idea of just how much the tattoos seem to be an outlet during highly-closeted and stressful times (Harry’s June-October spree that gave way to the birds, ship & compass and butterfly and Louis’ October-December Haylor spree), not only in date alone, but also in the subject of the tattoo.

Thank you to Kerry, Jess & awesomeanonfriend for the cheerleading and fact-checking and Angela for her insight. 

Let’s do this.

Keep reading

[littlespoonevan]

Would love to hear more about the Miss Congeniality Au!

ahhh miss congeniality au, my beloved!!!! 💖💗💞💕🩷❤️ truly, truly, truly i feel like this au could be so much FUN if i could find the discipline and motivation to just sit down and write it lmao. but i will say i v much enjoyed fitting all the pieces together for this snippet so here's hoping it awakens something in me askdjhf

i hope you like it 🥰

~

Eddie never imagined becoming a special agent. Then again, he never imagined becoming a single dad either.

But FBI work actually keeps him chained to a desk a hell of a lot more than regular police work used to and the pay’s better.

He’s regretting that decision right about now.

“Eddie, it has to be you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, quickening his step even as Chimney continues to keep pace with him.

“It absolutely doesn’t, Chim.”

“The whole office agrees-“

Eddie stops short, whirling around. “Just because the little simulation version of me you drew up on the computer had an eight-pack-“

“My computer does not lie, Diaz-“

“I don’t have time,” Eddie cuts in. “I can’t be away from Chris that long.”

“It’s one week. Less, if you do your job right.”

Eddie makes a face.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. A charity firefighter competition that he really thinks sounds a hell of a lot like a beauty pageant. Sure, there’s obstacle courses and stuff to complete but he’s not sure what a speedo competition has to do with being a competent firefighter. The cause is noble, he guesses, but there has to be a better way to raise money than deciding who’s the most specialist firefighter in all of Los Angeles.

Especially when the host – Captain Bobby Nash – is the target of a bomb threat.

It wouldn’t even have landed on their desk if not for the fact that three people with ties to Bobby Nash and the LAFD had received bombs in the mail over the last two weeks.

Athena thinks their best chance to take down the mail bomber is to have someone on the inside, to infiltrate the competition and investigate the contestants while also being the FBI’s eyes and ears throughout the week.

Hen and Chim, of course, volunteered Eddie for the job.

“I don’t like undercover work.” It’s an oversimplified version of the truth – that Eddie hates having to perform for an extended period of time and that this competition sounds like his own personal version of hell. Also, as much as he knows he’s in good shape, he doesn’t actually want people ogling his body for a week straight.

Chim gives him an incredibly unsympathetic clap on the shoulder. “Just use those big, brown eyes of yours and wow the judges with your salsa skills and no one will be any the wiser.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue back when another voice cuts through their conversation.

“She said yes!”

He and Chimney both look up to find Hen running towards them, a beaming grin on her face. “Athena said yes! Better start practicing your poses, Firefighter Diaz.”

Well, shit.

-

Captain Bobby Nash has got a made-for-TV smile that has Eddie understanding why he got the hosting gig over every other fire captain in LA.

“Special Agent Grant,” he says, shaking Athena’s hand with a warmth to his expression that Eddie doesn’t expect.

Athena clearly doesn’t expect it either because she clears her throat as she pulls her hand back. “Captain Nash. This is Agent Diaz.”

Nash redirects his attention to Eddie, extending his hand once again. “Great to meet you. And please, call me Bobby.”

“You too,” Eddie says, flashing a polite smile and following Athena’s lead to take a seat in front of Bobby’s desk.

“So I take it there’s been some progress in the case?” Bobby asks, settling into his chair.

Athena purses her lips, exchanging a look with Eddie. “Not as much as we’d like. Given that we still don’t have a trace on the letter the bomber sent and the LAFD’s reluctance to cancel the competition, we’ve decided to send one of our agents in undercover.”

Bobby’s eyes immediately flick to Eddie and Eddie feels the ridiculous urge to straighten his posture. “I’m guessing that’s where you come in, Agent Diaz?”

“Not that we want to undermine the integrity of the competition but it will be imperative that Eddie makes it to the final,” Athena says. “It’s the best chance we have of catching the bomber if we can’t determine a suspect before then.”

Bobby leans back in his chair, regarding them both with an unreadable expression. Finally, he cracks a smile. “Well, he certainly looks the part.”

“He gets that a lot,” Athena snorts and Eddie ducks his head to hide the heat in his cheeks. It’s bad enough when it’s Hen and Chim ribbing him; he didn’t actually think Athena ever overheard them.

“Which firehouse is he representing though?” Bobby asks. “All of the contestants have already been chosen.”

Without missing a beat, Athena hands over a file that Eddie knows contains the fake details of his new identity. “Apparently the 133’s entry came down with an awful bout of food poisoning.”

Bobby accepts the manila folder with a faint smirk. “Well, that’s a shame.”

-

“Diaz. Diaz, do you read me? Over.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he steps onto the bus ready to ship the contestants to the opening luncheon. “Yes, Chim,” he mutters under his breath. “I can hear you; stop yelling.”

“Remember to smile, Eddie.” That’s Hen.

How Athena thought they were the two best suited to oversee this, he’ll never understand.

He scans the length of the bus, looking for an empty seat. The whole place is overrun with burly men in too tight t-shirts talking animatedly to each other. It takes him a second to realise one of the men in question is waving at him.

He’s got curly hair and a golden retriever-esque eagerness to his smile. “Edmundo?” he asks. “From the 133, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and rearranges his face into a smile as he makes his way to the empty seat. Though calling it an empty seat feels generous when the firefighter all but shoves himself against the window to make room.

“How’d you know who I was?” he asks, genuinely curious. They only finalised the details of Eddie’s position in the competition yesterday and they made sure to leave any of his information off the official competition website.

“Oh I did a little deep dive on the other contestants but you were the only one who didn’t have a picture so I figured it had to be you.” He shrugs with an affable charm before offering Eddie a hand. “I’m Evan Buckley, with the 118. Everyone calls me Buck though.”

“He’s cute,” Hen says in his ear.

“Like a puppy,” Chim adds.

Eddie ignores them and shakes his hand. “Uh, you can call me Eddie,” he greets. Changing his last name was necessary; he refuses to go by Edmundo for the next week. It’s only then that he clocks the station number Buck said. “You’re part of Nash’s team.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, beaming with pride. “Bobby’s the best captain ever. You know some of these guys have it out for me because they think he’s gonna play favourites even though he’s not a judge. He’s just the host. But whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

The dejected look that creeps onto Buck’s face suggests it very much is a big deal even if he won’t admit it. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy. The guy seems harmless, even with all the rippling muscles. Then again, he’s not surprised a competition this testosterone-fuelled has people acting territorial.

“They just want an excuse for when you beat them in the first round,” Eddie says, mostly to fill the silence but also to get this Buck guy to stop looking so downtrodden.

He definitely doesn’t expect the way Buck’s whole face lights up in awe.

“You think I’ve got a shot at making it to the finals?”

The earnest hopefulness in Buck’s voice catches Eddie off guard and Hen and Chimney in his ear don’t help.

“Aww Eddie’s making friends!”

“Forget friends! Eddie, he’s cute; keep flirting with him.”

Eddie bites down on the urge to tell them to fuck off and makes himself smile at Buck instead. “’Course you do. Some of these guys are lucky they even made it this far.”

Truthfully, Eddie hasn’t even taken the time to look at anyone else on the bus all that much yet but the words tumble out of his mouth without permission. And in the face of Buck’s delighted grin, he can’t find it in himself to take them back.

“Thanks, man,” Buck says bashfully. “Hey, you have anyone to share a room with at the hotel yet?”

“Please tell me there’s only gonna be one bed,” Hen squawks gleefully in his ear.

“Uh I don’t know. Are they assigned or-?”

“They figured since most of us know each other we could pair up however we want but- um…” Buck trails off, making it clear no one has offered to share with him and well, it seems like he knows a lot about the other contestants. That could be good for Eddie. To get information and close the case. Obviously.

“Yeah, man. We can share.”

“Awesome!” Buck declares, slumping more comfortably in his seat and bumping his shoulder –probably accidentally – against Eddie’s. The bus gets moving then and Eddie takes the opportunity to scope out some of the other contestants.

It’s unlikely their suspect is another firefighter but not impossible.

“So how come I’ve never seen you at a scene before?”

Eddie blinks, redirecting his attention to Buck who’s looking at him curiously.

“Oh uh, I just transferred in the last couple of months.”

“From where?” Buck’s expression doesn’t look suspicious and Eddie has to remind himself not every conversation with a stranger needs to be an interrogation.

“Um, El Paso,” he says, immediately cringing on the inside. This man does not need to know any of his real life personal details.

But Buck only smiles again. “Cool. I’ll have to look out for you on calls from now on.”

And it’s not said flirtatiously or anything like that but Buck looks bashful again and Chimney is cackling his ear about how, “Eddie’s got a fan,” and Eddie’s stomach does a strange, traitorous flip.

But this is fine.

Everything is fine.

It’s just-

It’s going to be a long week.

-

[polarisjisung]

LITTLE THINGS

synopsis: when your boyfriend climbs up the very tree you hate so much, on a stormy night, all just to see you, suddenly the big bad oak tree outside doesn't seem all that intimidating

wc: 1.2k

pairings: chenle × fem! reader, established relationship

genre: fluff

warning: mentions of a storm, uses of petnames, use of the word death

notes: HAPPY CHENLE DAY! this is a little cheesy but fuck it we ball ig

You've always hated the massive oak tree outside your bedroom window, the one that likes to play these unintentional pranks on you in the middle of the night.

Branches flying and spinning as if they're about to snap off, leaves forming shapes you didn't even know existed through the window as the wind whistled behind you.

It felt eerie, like you were in those horror movies where the main lead seemed to have no common sense and jumped at the oppurtunity at getting themselves killed, like they actively sought out death.

It made you feel like danger lurked at every corner, you were caged by nothing more than the four thin walls of your bedroom, and that the curtains that masked the outside, though not particularly well, were your only form of blissful ignorance.

On the windy, less peaceful nights as you tossed and turned in bed, you didn't appreciate that massive oak tree whatsoever. Tonight, your dislike for the thing feels amplified, and you come to the conclusion that you'll be chopping it down even if it's the last thing you do. Heck, you'd get the saw and do it yourself if you could.

You don't like it, the rumbling, those loud cracks or the booming sound followed by quick, incessant flashes across the sky.

It caused shivers to run down your spine, your pupils to dilate and your eyes to be screwed shut, your fingers curling in on themselves as you cocooned yourself in the warmth of your blanket.

Simply put you don't like thunderstorms

And that darn oak tree is of no help. Especially not when there's a rather distinct shadow slowly crawling across that of the tree, one you take peaks at and look away from in turn as you slowly sink deeper into your mattress, seeing it move towards you, getting closer by the second

You swear you'd elicit a scream had it not been the dead of the night, knowing if you did, you'd get an absolute earful about it the next morning, being such a scaredy cat at your big age

There's a knocking at your window only a few moments later. You gulp.

God you did not want to die today.

"Y/n" there's a deep, hesitant whisper of your name and you can't help but curl further into the thin duvet that rests over your shaking body, by no means was it cold, but it felt protective against the storm outside, and that was reason enough for you to wrap yourself up in the blue comforter— your life practically depended on it

You're imagining things, you convince yourself, sighing and closing your eyes in attempts to drift off to sleep.

But the light treading of footsteps that grows louder and louder has you bolting your eyes open in seconds

"Oh goody, you're awake" chenle's beaming voice in your room at 2am was not what you had been expecting, you're not quite sure where he gets this much energy from in the middle of the night either, shooting him a dark glare, between your own two sleepy eyes

"You couldn't use the damn door Zhong?" your hand plants itself against your forehead as you shoot up from your bed, quietly stomping over to him to shut the window— something you'd been meaning to do for the past few hours, but had simply been too scared to do.

"Yeah well your parents hate me and I'm not sure they'd like me making my jolly old way through the front door given the hour" he rolls his eyes, setting his wet jacket down to dry

"And you think they'll like you for sneaking in through the window instead?" you whisper yell, brows somewhat furrowed

"What they don't know won't hurt them" he shrugs, a little too casually for someone who'd just parkoured their way up a tree at 2am, you hum regardless, he wasn't wrong.

"Besides they don't hate you" he takes a seat at the edge of your bed

"Now don't lie to me princess" he chuckles low and slow "we both know they hate do, especially daddio"

"Hate is a strong word, they're just not your biggest fans" you defend, letting chenle wrap you up in the spare hoodie of his he'd bought along with him "though I can't say that you calling my father, daddio is doing much to help"

"I didn't come here to talk about whether your parents approve of me" he smiles, eyes rolling yet again as he wraps his arm around you, "that's a conversation for later— right now, I'm here for you"

"At 2am on a Monday morning? we have school Chenle"

"Well correct me if im wrong princess but I'm sure you'd rather me be here than be all alone on a night like this" he says, gesturing towards the window with a tilt of his neck

"No way" you huff "i'm a big girl, a little storm won't phase me" you say proudly with a puffed chest, not that it lasts long as you practically throw yourself into chenle's arms with a muffled screech, when another strike of lightning booms above you, heartbeat erratic

chenle chuckles to himself

"What was that, a little storm, not sure about a big girl but you sure are a big baby" he laughs again, "my big baby"

You pout, "don't tease, it's scary"

You feel his hand run across your hair in attempts to ease the racing of you heart, pulling you from his chest to take ahold of your cheeks in his hands, gently caressing them with tender eyes locked into your own

His stare is strong, unlike yours, yet there's a deep rooted gentleness to those eyes that overwhelms you with calm. Chenle always knew this fear of yours made you feel pathetic, childish in fact.

"is it still scary? even when I'm here"

You respond with a shy shaking of your head

"Nothings scary when you're here," you whisper against his hold, and chenle swears, he feels his heart swell at how sweet your words are, falling from your lips so hushed, almost like they were sacred

"Not even that big bad oak tree outside?" chenle points at the horrific outline of the tree outside, earning a quick shudder from you before you tuck yourself back into his hold

"Not funny lele" you sulk

"Come on princess, it was a little" his lips tug upwards, your own smile hidden away between the material of his black hoodie

You shake your head "hate that tree with a passion"

"even if it helped me get up here?"

You shake your head again, maybe the big bad oak tree wasn't all that bad, maybe you just had to give it a chance to prove itself

"I'm glad you came" you say, pecking his cheek to affirm your gratitude

"Of course I came princess, you know I could never leave you alone on a night like this" he holds you tight against his chest, so firm you wonder whether he too thinks the wind would break through the walls and sweep you away

"Besides, I have to make sure there's no other guys sneaking in through your window"

[bullet-prooflove]

Such A Good Girl: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @Yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @hal3ynicol3

Companion piece to:

With Me (NSFW) - Ryan and you send the night together for the first time.

The Morning After - Ryan and you enjoy the morning together.

Adrenaline - Ryan gets turned on by your capability.

My Favourite Kind of Night (NSFW) - Ryan and you send the night together at a law enforcement conference.

Bed Breaking (NSFW) - Ryan breaks your bed.

Marks - Ryan decides he wants to commit.

Wishes - Ryan wishes things were different between the two of you.

Stop Thinking, Start Listening - Ryan hates seeing you with another man.

Kitty - Ryan knows something's not right when he seees you with another man.

The problem is Ryan can’t keep his nose out of your shit, not when he knows you’re doing something dangerous. The thought of you out there undercover, it makes his skin itch because the assholes you work with they don’t have your back, they’ve never had your back. That was made abundantly clear during the first couple of cases the two of you worked on together when you came hurtling in like the cavalry despite the fact there was a hold order on their backup due to a dispute between the Sheriff and John Dutton.

“I think I owe you a drink, for saving my ass back there.” He had told you in the aftermath as he stood on the steps of the precinct, hands tucked into pockets of his jeans.

“You owe me more than a drink. I’ve just got my first write up.” You’d told him, your hands running through your hair as you tied it back into a messy bun. “I was such a good girl before I met you.”

He finds out later that night how much of a good girl you really are and you find out how much of a bad boy he is.

In the present he sits in his car and he thinks over everything he’s learned over the past couple of hours. The ATF believe guns are being run through a microbrewery in Bozeman owned by Sebatian Myers, you’d been selected to pitch in because you’d run a similar operation back in Alabama before you made the switch to Montana. There have been no wire tap warrants, no surveillance requests, they’re running this like you’re a C.I which means you’re out there entirely on your own. What’s actually puzzling to him is the reason that you agreed to it. That op in Alabama, it had ended badly for you. Ryan’s seen the scars, he’s kissed them in the dead of night. Three stab wounds all in your left side, you’d lost your kidney and an enormous amount of blood. You couldn’t be around the department after that, especially after you learned it was your partner who ratted you out, a man you’d worked alongside for three years, who had gambling debts coming out of every orifice.

“I learned my lesson.” You had told him as his fingers had trailed over each of those scars. “Undercover work isn’t for me.”

It’s when he flicks through the file on Myers that he realises what your investment is. Two years ago Myers had been linked to the rape and murder of a teenager from the reservation. It was one of  several cases you inherited from your predecessor. You’d tried to reopen it but the reservation police wouldn’t trade information with you and it wasn’t a priority to the Sheriff’s office so you’d been forced to stand down. You used to have nightmares about it because you felt like you were failing those girls, you’d wake up in a cold sweat and Ryan, he would be right there holding you, soothing you.

He knows you, he knows those cases were something you had never been able to let go because you were convinced that it was still happening, that the killer had just gotten better at concealing it. When the opportunity to investigate Myers had come up you wouldn’t have been able to resist. You’d dressed yourself up and walked straight into the lion’s dean, no back up, no safe guards, just you.

He’s fucking livid because he knows you wouldn’t be pulling this shit if the two of you were together, he would have talked you down, figured out another way.

But you aren’t and that’s  why Ryan’s now sitting outside Myers’ place, his gaze fixed on the windows because he can’t let you do this alone. He won’t let you do this alone.

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[susansontag]

hello, I heard you called.

the word ‘lazy’, you will find, is in quotation marks, because I personally do not think audiobook listeners are lazy, but there are many other posts and discussions about this latest thinkpiece topic on the internet, including some in which these people trying to redefine literacy jokingly allude to themselves as lazy. but you knew this, because you know what quotation marks mean, and you would never accuse someone quoting an argument in a book with necessarily sharing the view quoted, because you know how basic punctuation functions—you even used quotation marks in your own latest response, so you absolutely know what they mean! so you can stop lying now.

you can also, for that matter, cease your blatant lying about other things. let me walk you through.

I did indeed say reading is a more psychologically sophisticated process than listening. this is true, because decoding written language must be taught to someone, and is called gaining literacy. I never said that people lack psychological complexity if they can’t read, though you falsely claimed I did (and I quote)—‘you just think they have less “psychological complexity,” an argument used to support aristocracy and colonialism’. I never assigned ‘psychological complexity’ (your words) to individual human beings anywhere in my response, I simply said one process out of the many processes our brains can undertake requires deeper and more sophisticated processing whilst said process is taking place (the process: reading, or the decoding of written language made by possible by written/typed/etc symbols). again, this is about the sophistication of a particular process, not about the relative sophistication (or your word, ‘complexity’) of the brains of different individuals or groups! but again, this was quite obvious if you read my response in good faith, fully willing to engage with the argument being made on its own terms (that redefining reading is a bad thing).

I can accept it may have been accidental, but considering you went on to transpose my viewpoint onto someone else who very considerately tried to explain this view to you—someone in education, no less, who clearly has great reason to feel strongly about this topic—I’d think you really should have brushed up on your cursory glance at my reply. especially seeing as you responded again and again, digging your heels into this imaginary thing no one has said.

your point about colonialism isn’t worth dignifying with more response, you’ve attached a meaningful concept onto your fabrications to lend them more weight somehow. no one fell for it.

it seems you even agree with us, that reading and listening are different skills. why you then continued on this tirade it’s difficult to ascertain. regardless, as per your last response there’s no reason to hand-wring about my believing your given definition of reading as ‘understanding the words and sentences and meanings that the text serves the function of conveying’, because that is not a definition that takes into account the decoding of symbols and thus is not an adequate definition of reading. this one will suffice:

so, let’s review. you have lied (deliberately or accidentally) that I believe audiobook listeners are lazy, you have lied (deliberately or accidentally) that I believe individuals who lack literacy are not psychologically complex, and you have complained about people believing a definition of reading that you yourself have introduced that is not, as it happens, the definition that the two people you were arguing with believe anyway.

one wonders what’s been accomplished here.

This conversation is so fucking funny to me

[laswells-ashtray]

ALRIGHT LAST REQUEST BUT.. more young Price bull shittery(I was the one who made the first YP shenanigans). I find it hilarious how MacMillan handles him as if he were some feral cat.

How do you think he’d react to his superiors or another team’s captain disciplining John? The sergeant is gonna sass off to them either way, but what if someone oversteps to the point where his captain has to step in?

Also, I wanna see how you think he came across Nikolai. What does Mac think of the criminal pilot? lol

Sergeant John Price is an arsehole of the biblical variety. MacMillan is aware of it, anyone with ears who has ever made the mistake of interacting with John is aware of it. Despite it all, MacMillan is fond of him. In the same way one is fond of a stray cat. It's scruffy, grubby and smelly but you scratch behind it's ears anyway.

He knows John has a blatant disrespect for authority, he's been on the end of it so many times that it's starting to get funny. And he's fully aware of it extending to other captains or lieutenants, sometimes rightfully so, sometimes he's just being pissy. But John is his sergeant, what's most important is that the disrespectful little fucker is his disrespectful little fucker.

So, the day John kicks off at a lieutenant in a team they're working with, he isn't surprised. Hell, John's defending him.

"Captain, I think you'll find that my team is more capable for this situation so I should lead the entry." It's a daft lieutenant who has been getting on his tits all day, thinks he's Billy big bollocks because he has a few poxy bits of metal stapled to his perky little A cups. He's wrong, his team isn't more competent and they all know it but clearly, his captain is all but tonguing his hole if he has that level of overconfidence.

He doesn't get a chance to respond to him and he wasn't stupid enough to think he would.

John openly laughs at the man, rolling his eyes as he glances between the lieutenant and back to MacMillan. "Your team wouldn't know their bloody cocks from their coccyx if you asked them about it. Only way anyone would let your team lead is if they wanted shrapnel lodged in their sac."

He can see the man clenching his fists when he looks over at John, the typical reaction for that level of disrespect especially in front of a group but the sergeant is right. Letting the lieutenant lead would end in avoidable injury for almost everyone involved.

What he doesn't anticipate is the other team's captain stepping forward and clasping a firm hand on John's shoulder with a grip that is undoubtedly painful and deliberate. Captain Penfold, new to the position and smug about the rank as if it was anything but more work. MacMillan had interacted with him once years ago when he was a barefaced wee dickhead and had spent the rest of the night drinking to forget having to have interacted with him.

"Sergeant Price, I'd recommend you watch how you talk to my men before I have you written up for insubordination. Talking to a higher-ranking officer like that would've earned you a black eye where I was trained, I wouldn't be surprised if one of my soldiers offered you the same and I wouldn't feel inclined to stop them."

MacMillan is aware of two things, he inherited his mother's temper and his father's lack of tolerance for smarmy Englishmen, especially the ones who think talking with that fancy fucking accent makes them the most intelligent in the room.

Grabbing the man's collar and all but yanking him off of John doesn't take much thought, and it takes even less effort. He pulls the bastard close to him, staring down at his fuck ugly face and into those big beady eyes, highlighting the height difference that the other captain had been oh so testy about.

"David, if you so desire than I can assure you, I'll let you take that warehouse all on your own. Prove your talents that you're so eager to brag about. But if you put a hand on my sergeant again or if any one of your soldiers do then I can assure you that you won't be left with a black eye, you'll be left with a tight wee hole for your lieutenant to ram his prick in as he so eagerly desires and your own measly cock stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet. Now, I want to hear that diplomatic apology that the fancy rich-boy school you went to taught you to hand out or you can promptly kiss my fucking arse and handle this mission yourself. You twisted wee knob gobblin' shitebag."

God bless the captain because he tries to defend himself, he does. But MacMillan isn't in the mood to fucking listen.

"I'll leave you standing there, dicks in the wind. If I need to discipline my sergeant or any of my soldiers, I'll do so as I see fit but until that cunt at your side learns his fucking place then I see no issue letting my men point out the flaws in his poxy fucking plan. Do I make myself fuckin' clear, Captain?"

John tries to pull him back and it should be enough of a sign that he's pushed it far enough but he stands firmly in place, grip tightening on the prick's collar.

"I work with you not for you and until you can make a plan that doesn't needlessly put my men at risk then we are done here. You can come and find me when you're ready to apologise and listen, until then neither you nor your lieutenant have a word to say to any of my men. And if you want tae play it up wae the brass then I'll let evdy ken exactly why your Da ended up in Barlinnie."

Only then does he let the other man go, taking a brief moment to enjoy the look of fear that passes over his face as he stumbles backwards. He doesn't bother listening to the dribble from the captain or the lieutenant as he drags John out of the room by the crook of his elbow.

They walk in silence as MacMillan leads them outside so he can smoke that fag he's been desperately craving since he stepped into the room with them all. He's surprised it takes John so long to ask when the young sergeants looks at him curiously.

"You've mentioned Barlinnie before, I thought it was a prison."

"It is."

"Oh. Oh."

Now, for MacMillan and his opinion's of Nik.

At first, the Scot thinks nothing of the Russian man. He's useful and he doesn't get on MacMillan's tits. Win-win. Then he catches John watching the Russian one day when he thinks no-one's looking.

They've never had the talk but John's never mentioned a bird at home and he's seen him slip off with another bloke "for a smoke" when they were at a bar, the lad came back with his fly down. He knows, he thinks John knows he knows but they never talk about it.

"Stare at his arse any harder and you might burn a hole through his jeans, John boy." He takes great joy in the way the younger man jumps at the sound of his voice.

"I wasn't- Don't blood call me that, I'm a grown man." A grown man who struggles to tie his own tie, aye right.

"Talk to him, lad." He wants John to be happy, wants him to succeed so that one day he has a sergeant that is as much of a pain in the arse for him as John is now but more importantly he wants John to have someone. The younger man might be a fanny on the best of days but he's one of the most efficient men that he has and he needs something other than the job before it gets him killed.

That line of thinking lasts approximately two weeks. Then the incident happens.

"John, are you- Jesus, Mary, mother of fuck. Put it away. In my fucking office? You clatty bastard."

"Mac, you were supposed to be away-"

"Take the Russian and get your bare arse off ma fuckin' desk. You little deviant."

"Yes, sir."

[jiminy-crickets]

saw the tags on your rb, and as a fellow "connor bedard has autism" headcanoner, i would love to know more of your thoughts 😈

it's less of a headcanon and more of a divinely correct vibe check. but like am i wrong...???? although I do see it more as they're the same flavour of ND with different presentations, like Connor is hyperfocus ADHD, and Macklin is inattentive (this comes from someone with mixed presentation ADHD¹, they also tried to diagnose me with austim but my legs were too long i make eye contact BUT!!! 93rd% "indicating that Cassie has many behavioural characteristics similar to youth diagnosed with ASD." raaaaa 💪💪💪 93% is an A!! i ace even the tests i fail!!!) Plus his rigidity with his diet, is bonkers for someone that young (and it's been going on since he was like 14-15)

Like especially with the way that Connor's constant practicing, after practice until the zamboni kicks him off, and then on off days and optional skates hiding his gear to make him take days off?? that is pretty classic hyperfocus ADHD. And especially with the way he blames the teams loses on himself, like please sir seeing you in the mirror is not good for my health!!

And with Macklin, people often mischaracterize inattentive ADHD with not being motivated or good at routine and while yes those two things are a normal part of human life, and more-so with ADHD, he has shown many times how deeply he cares about hockey........ but I think (and also remember i am projecting) his father being THAT hands on with him and his brothers training (even now which yuck, you have your own job get your grubby paws off of your kid's job) has made him unable to self propel, and get himself into that routine? (AND AGAIN I AM PROJECTING) like something Macklin has said a few times is how the shift to a pro-hockey schedule has been hard, and yes it is an adjustment, but he has been essentially living away from his parents for YEARS, two years boarding at Shattuckk, one year (presumably) billeting in Chicago while playing in the USHL, and one year in college at BU, and I think the real shift is that... daddy is planning his workouts again, full time not just summers (also, the travaling doesn't help) AND THAT (i am projecting) is HELL to someone who built a routine, and any hope of getting back into one was dashed when he went of IR for his hip after one game. the boy needs CONSISTENCY!!!!! And until they get him 1) away from his freak father who has his hands al over his development plan, and 2) on simple routine with max five types of days (home game, home practice, home rest, away game, away rest) he will not get situated.

BACK TO BEDARD <33333

the man loves rules and procedures. him at his first training camp all doe eyed and "wanting to make the team!" so much that Kyle Davidson... maybe it was Luke Richardson who said it...??? either way his coach or his GM pulled aside his MOTHER to tell them that they needed to start looking at apartments. Before getting drafted it was never "when" it was "if i get drafted".... like dude.... it's gonna happen! Whenever he get's sen't to the box its always a "they hate me, don't they know I am unable to break rules!! not because they don't apply to me but because I can NOT break rules!" vibe (I am only kinda projecting on this one)

and I do think the type of media around them during their developmental years up has affected them, Macklin's media was always focused on his father, which reinforced his reliance/dependence on him, whereas Connor's was focused on him which encouraged him to focus on himself and what HE can do to improve.

also Connor has that DOG IN HIM

^ connor bedard real not fake (also my childhood psychologist had this PROMENENTLY displayed in her office and i think seeing it every two weeks had an adverse affect on me)

¹ and a bunch of other learning disorders, dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyscalculia, audio processing disorder, also anxiety, depression, and cutie patootie disease (fatal 😔)

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

You've always been my favorite

Yandere!Jonathan Levy x f!reader

Cw/triggers: Stalking, possessive behavior, darkfic, Jonathan masturbates to porn, twisted thoughts, some dub-con/non-con thoughts on Jonathan's side, yandere themes.

A/n: I'm sorry for potentially traumatizing you.

Summary: Jonathan is your new professor. But he had his eyes on you for a long time.

After your professor has quit, a new one, Jonathan Levy was quick in replacement.

You knew Jonathan Levy. He was the one jumping in if some of your other professors were sick. Though you didn't think much of him, he on the other hand quickly began to like you a little too much, even for his own good. He became a bit attached to you to say the least.

Jonathan was the professor teaching most things, so he was the one you did see mostly during class.

"I hope you all are prepared for out big exam coming up in one hour." Jonathan said shortly after entering the room, not bothering to look if anyone is missing, placing his bag down beside his desk.

After he sat comfortable in his seat, adjusting his glasses, Jonathan looked around the class.

Two people were missing, but one of them called in sick, the other one still missing were you.

Just as Jonathan thought about the possibilities of what could be, the door opened and you stumbled in with a thermos in hand.

"You're late..." he said with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Sorry," you replied bluntly, "I've overslept a bit."

After you were back in your seat, Jonathan cleared his throat and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

"Alright everybody, get comfy, get your books out if you haven't already and get prepared. I'll give you one hour."

Jonathan watched the class, his eyes however were fixed on you as he nonchalantly opened his book then started reading himself.

Throughout the hour, Jonathan threw occasional glances towards you, he liked seeing you concentrate, but even more when you pay attention to him.

When the time finally came to hand out his exams, he made sure you were the last one to receive it only so he could say good luck while being close to you without making himself look suspicious, especially not towards you.

Jonathan wondered how you were doing but had no doubt in your knowledge. He knew you could do well, and if not, he was there to help you.

After the exam was done and everyone handed them back to Jonathan, he overheard you and a friend talking about staying late for study in the library after class, his ears perked up and he had to stop himself from smiling.

When the class ended, Jonathan packed his things. He knew the library would ultimately close in 3 hours, and you would likely stay until the end. So he made his way into his office, open his laptop and just browse around. He even stalked your social media accounts.

Jonathan took his time to start correcting some of the exams, until he finally got everything together to make a leave but not before passing the library just as you and that one friend walked out.

Lucky for him, you two parted ways. Jonathan usually isn't one for stalking, but you were an exception for him. Though he already had an excuse made up in his mind if you did actually catch him.

While you walked, you were completely oblivious on Jonathan walking behind you at a good distance. He kept his head low and his hands in his pockets. Sure he knew where you lived but he wanted to make sure you'd arrive there safely. It would be a shame if something would happen to you.

By the time you arrived home, Jonathan thought about how he could rig your exam, just so he could see you more whether it would be some actual private tutoring or maybe after class, preferably alone. Oh how he would love that.

But he was a fair man, and wouldn't normally want to... abuse his job for... personal needs. But Jonathan was ready for a few exceptions.

Jonathan was ready to leave and call it a day, but not before looking back at your house, examining it from afar.

He didn't know much about break ins, but he could watch some tutorials online on how to do it professional. With a quick go to the darknet, he would surely find something...

As Jonathan arrived back home, he decided to correct those exams first so the boring part would be out of the way. He wasn't tired, if anything, he felt kind of energized.

Jonathan reviewed your exam at last, only so he could write down where you need most help and where you'd be okay. After the correcting was done, Jonathan went to his computer, firstly visiting his go-to porn site after a long and mostly boring day. But you weren't part of the boring part, you were always the highlight.

After browsing though cheap scripted and bad acting ones, he finally found a good looking one for a quick stress relief.

Unzipping his pants, he pulled his semi-hard cock out, working himself up with slow strokes while watching the video.

As the pleasure built up, he couldn't help but let his mind wander off to you, how you're always pay attention to him, not questioning his authority as your professor while also being his good student.

He stroked faster, spreading the leaking precum around the tip and shaft while tightening his fist. Jonathan knew he could just easily bend you over his desk and have his way with you however he pleased.

His thoughts even went as far as bending you over his knees and spanking you then fucking you stupid on his desk as punishment.

Regardless of what his mind came up with, it always ended up fucking you. Imagining things such as having you suck him off while he's in the middle of class, or eating you out while you're reading a goddamn book.

Closing his eyes and leaning back, listening to the moans of that girl in the video, imagining how this would be you moaning when he's having you. And he will have you one day.

As badly as Jonathan wanted to hold his impending orgasm back, thinking about all the nasty things he wanted to do to you he couldn't resist chasing his peak.

"Fuck, how good it would feel to have you wrapped around me," he squeezed his cock again "whether you like it or not."

Jonathan's breathing hitched before becoming heavier.

"Mmm, but I'm certain you would love getting fucked by me, even if you wouldn't admit it, baby."

With one last stroke he came hard, spilling his cum on the ground. He threw his head back against the chair, his cock softening in the grip of his fist.

After he was done, he shut down his computer, grabbed a wet rag and cleaned his cum off the ground before he went to bed.

The next day, his day passed quickly, mainly because most of his attention was drawn to you. You looked so happy with the results of your exam. You deserved it, being the good student that you are and the cherry on top, even unknown to you, being his favorite.

Jonathan had approached you, asking if you could stay for a couple minutes after class for a quick discussion about the results of your recent exam.

After everyone was out of the room, Jonathan leaned against the desk and crossed his arms while you were still sitting at your place.

"So," he started, uncrossing his arms to walk over to you, leaning down with his hands on the edges of your desk. "You did good mostly. But in order to pass this good, you have to be good in any of these, not just one. They all count."

You nodded. "I understand."

"And I'm not doing this to torture you, I hope you know that. I just want what's best for you." Jonathan said in a lower and slightly huskier tone, looking into your eyes with a serious expression.

He pushed himself off of your table, moving back to lean against his with his arms crossed again. "What I'm trying to say here is that I'm willing to help you."

"I know. But I hate asking people to throw their time away because of me. I will study more from now on, I promise." you replied.

Jonathan smiled. "That's good to hear." he knew you would try giving your best, but what kind of professor would he be if he wouldn't offer his help to his student?

"Well, you can go now, I'd hate to take your precious freetime away."

You gave a gentle smile, grabbing your bag and stood up. "Thanks Mr. Levy, have a good day." you said before making your leave.

After you've left, Jonathan let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

Back at his home, Jonathan had atleast half his mind being busy on you. He couldn't help it, why was he even acting like that? He didn't know either, but does he want to stop? Absolutely not.

Jonathan was even at the point where he didn't care about good senses anymore, that's how far he'd go for you.

What he did next was wait for nighttime to come, then he went out going to your house. Breaking into your home was relatively easy, but he still hoped you would be in deep slumber already.

It didn't take him long to find your bedroom, he sneaked into your room like a cat, already loving how he could just sneak in without you noticing anything.

He had to stop himself from wanting to search through some of your belongings, feeling way more bold now that he was in your house.

Of course his eyes were trained on you, he didn't want you to wake up and alert the whole neighborhood with your screaming.

Jonathan crouched down at your bedside, simply admiring your peaceful, unaware and beautiful sleeping face.

He reached out, pulling your covers off just a tiny bit, revealing more of you. Leaning in, he closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of everything you had on you. His fingertips glid carefully along the curve of your neck.

Jonathan felt so at peace with finally being so close to you, albeit if you're sleeping.

"It won't take long until you're mine, sweetheart."

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

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@krakenkitty @mooksmouse @klillaah @faretheeoscar @alexxavicry

Wanna get tagged?

[hungermakesmonsters]

Love, Sick Love

Chapter Twelve

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Injury/blood mentions. There is also some smutty behaviour. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.5k

A/N : aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh what am i doing??

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN

Master List

Chapter Twelve

Again, you found yourself waking up in his arms.

You felt more exhausted than you had before falling asleep, like you were suffering from an emotional hangover from everything you’d been through, everything you’d told Billy. Your eyes opened for a few seconds and then closed again, pressing your face against his bare chest and listening to the steady drumming of his heart beat.

Billy shifted and let out a gentle sigh, his hand softly stroking your hair.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, “go back to sleep.”

And you did.

Even though you wanted to ask him why he wasn’t asleep, even though your head was still full of unanswered questions about what he future might hold, you fell asleep.

And Billy kept hold of you, making you feel safe despite everything you’d learned about him and everything you’d revealed about yourself. 

It should have scared you or in the least made you pause, but it didn’t. He’d done terrible things, just like you had, but you were certain he’d never hurt you.

You woke again a few hours later. The awful pressure in your head had subsided a little, but you’d spent the night flashing from one restless dream to the next, half-remembering then before slipping into the next. 

Slowly, you lifted your head so you could look at Billy, and you shifted up the bed so you didn’t have to crane your neck.

“Hey,” he said softly, smiling at you.

“Hey,” you replied, managing your own small smile. Then came the lingering silence as you looked at him, wishing you could read his mind and know what he was thinking about everything you’d confessed to him. But, since you couldn’t read minds, you decided to ask. “About last night, what I told you -”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, placing a hand on your cheek. “Not to me. I’ll never judge you for it and I’ll never tell a soul. Your secret’s safe with me. You’re safe with me.”

He sounded so certain, like he’d been up all night thinking it through, reaching the conclusion that he didn’t care that you’d killed people. Reaching the conclusion that he’d keep you safe, no matter what.

“What about you? The Homeland Agent -”

Billy cut you off with a kiss, a soft and tender meeting of lips that left you feeling breathless.

“Do you want this?” He asked quietly, against your lips, his eyes shut tight. “Do you want me?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest and your breath caught. The familiar war of fight versus flight began to war inside you but, quickly, you realised you didn’t want to do either.

“Yes,” you finally dared to confess, giving in to weeks of agonising and trying to force away your feelings. “But -”

He stopped you with another kiss, his body pressing closer to yours, urging you onto your back.

Everything quickly faded away, becoming nothing more than static in the back of your mind. You couldn’t deny it anymore, you didn’t want to deny it anymore; with Billy you felt safe, seen. With Billy you almost felt... loved.

Your lips parted, eagerly allowing him to deepen the kiss as you welcomed the press of his body on top of yours. Wrapping him up in your arms, you let your hands run down his back, fingertips mapping out the faintly raised lines of scars that littered his skin.

One of his hands gripped your hip while the other still remained on your cheek, adding a strange sort of tenderness to the moment, even as you parted your legs and allowed him to settle between them. The increasingly familiar press of his erection against you drew a sigh from you. There was nothing you wanted more than him in that moment, chequered pasts be damned. Billy was quickly becoming an oasis, a place of refuge, something you didn’t want to survive without.

A moan slipped from your lips and into his as you felt the slow, steady grind of his cock between your legs. The motion caused your slip to ride up your thighs and the friction from his boxers, the only thing separating him from you, had you instantly feeling desperate and needy.

But Billy didn’t seem to be in any sort of rush, in fact he seemed heavily invested in a hot and heavy make out session, enjoying the fact that you were both finally on the same page.

“Fuck, kitten,” he groaned as you nipped his lip with your teeth.

“Billy,” you muttered in breathless response, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

His lips captured yours again and you both started to lose yourselves to each other. Seconds, minutes, time slipped by unnoticed. Everything was him and the way he was touching you, the way he was kissing you.

“Kitten,” he groaned against your lips, an invitation and a plea, a hint of what was to come if you let him continue.

You barely realised that your hand was gripping his ass through the fabric of his boxers, fingers digging into supple flesh, as your hips moved against his.

His hand slid up your body from your hip, over your slip to your chest, his thumb teasing the hardened peak of a nipple through the soft fabric. Another moan escaped you, betraying just how turned on you were, how close you were to coming before he’d even really touched you. And that little sound was enough to have Billy doubling down, his hips rocking faster, his kiss turning more insistent.

“Billy,” you gasped, “fuck, Billy -”

He silenced you with his tongue, slowly but surely becoming the same dominant man he’d been the first time you’d allowed him into your bed.

“Mine,” he groaned against your lips. “You’re mine.”

Fuck. You were. In that moment and perhaps in every moment that would follow after. You were his, even if you still didn’t want to admit it. Your grip on him tightened and he let out a grunt, obviously enjoying the fact that you were finally being hands on with him.

As his lips moved to your neck, you angled your head, letting him kiss and suck your skin.

Finally, you got it. Finally you understood that first time together because, now, you were the one that wanted to hold him tight, wanted to leave him bruised and covered with the marks of your affection. Now you were the one that wanted to hold him tight and fuck him hard, and make him forget about anyone who ever came before you. Finally, you understood how difficult it was to keep those urges in check.

And, all the while, his hips kept moving, his clothed cock grinding against you, the fabric of his boxers soaked with your arousal. The sounds spilling from your lips more than giving away what he was doing to you and, suddenly -

“Oh - fuck!” You gasped as you came like some horny teenager.

Billy pulled back from your lips so he could look at you, biting his lip as he watched your mouth go slack and let out the sweetest moan he’d ever heard. The movement of his hips became slower and more pronounced dragging out your orgasm until you felt like you were nothing more than a needy puddle beneath him.

His thumb traced your lower lip and he grinned down at you, looking very impressed with himself.

“I love making you come,” he groaned.

“Then do it again,” you answered back, breathlessly.

Before Billy could even respond, your fingers were at the waistband of his boxers, eagerly tugging them down. There were no thoughts in your head beside what you wanted; him. All the doubts and fears were gone, your mind quiet except for the longing inside you that you now knew only Billy could sate.. You didn’t want to think, didn’t want to stop and consider just how messy and dangerous your life was about to become because, if you did, you knew you’d tell him to stop.

But, unfortunately, that choice was taken away from you.

A heavy knock on the door started you and had your whole body going tense beneath him, your heart threatening to stop as your mind raced over all of the terrible possibilities. 

You expected the door to be kicked in, for armed men to enter your apartment and either dragBilly away from his crimes or you for yours. It was the police, the FBI, the Homeland Agent. Someone was coming to get you, to tear you away from each other, and if one was caught, the other would suffer just as much.

Then you heard your name, accompanied by another angry knock.

Jenna.

Even Billy breathed a sigh of relief - though from where you were laying, that seemed awfully premature.

“Wake up!” She called through the door, knowing you well enough to know that you tended to sleep until noon before and after working late nights.

“Think she’ll go away?” Billy whispered, barely managing to bite back a grin as he spoke.

It was funny, you supposed, though you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh; your body was still coming down from the orgasm he’d given you, you had his boxers pulled halfway off his ass, and his cock was still painfully hard between your thighs.

“No,” you finally sighed.

Grudgingly, you let go of him. Billy didn’t seem to want to move until you gently pushed him off you. He let out a disappointed huff and dropped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Climbing out of bed, you pulled your slip back down and took a deep breath, not wanting to appear like you’d just been about to be fucked within an inch of your life by the wanted man in your bed.

You opened the door slowly, but that didn’t stop Jenna from barging straight in.

“I brought breakfast,” she said, making her way to your kitchen, and placing a bag down on the side while she rummaged for plates and started filling the coffee maker.

“Jenna, what -” 

“I thought we could have breakfast and talk,” she answered, moving around your kitchen like it was her own.

“Talk about what?”

“You know what.”

And you did. She wanted to talk about Billy, about the things he’d done. She wanted to talk about the man he’d been, without knowing the girl that you’d once been. Jenna didn’t know, didn’t understand. And you were glad - of course you were glad - you were glad she’d never been through the things that you and Billy had been through.

“Jenna,” you sighed.

When she turned to finally look at you, you saw her expression flicker between surprise and annoyance.

“What the fuck is that?” she asked, pointing at you. When you shrugged, not sure what she was talking about, she clarified; “on your neck. Why do you look like someone has -”

“That someone would be me,” Billy interrupted, stepping out of the bedroom.

While you were glad he’d at least had the decency to pull on a tee-shirt, you still found yourself wishing for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

You took a step back, putting space between yourself and both of them.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Jenna said, not bothing to hide her annoyance. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in if they find him here?”

“They won’t find me here,” Billy answered for you.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because the only person who knows I’m here is you, and I’d hope you wouldn’t fuck your best friend over like that.” Billy said, sparing a glance towards you. “Look, I get that this situation is fucked up -”

“Fucked up? You’re wanted for multiple murders.”

You stood there, barely breathing, barely listening as they went back and forth, venting their frustrations at each other. You weren’t sure if minutes had passed or hours before you finally forced yourself back into the moment.

“D’you think the cops care if you can remember?” Jenna snapped.

“Stop,” you said weakly, finally managing to find your voice again. “Both of you, just... just stop. Please?”

“I’m trying to protect you, how do you not get that?” Jenna snapped.

You visibly winced at the sharpness in her tone.

“She doesn’t need protecting from me,” Billy answered, tone matching hers.

“Both of you need to go,” you said, your fight or flight reflex quickly settling on flight.

“Kitten -” Billy started to object.

“Please, just - both of you, go. I can’t do this.”

And you couldn’t. You felt like a child again, standing and listening to your mom and whatever guy she was with at the time, screaming and arguing, acting like you weren’t there, like you didn’t matter. 

“You can’t be serious. You can’t expect me to just leave you here with him,” Jenna said.

“Jenna... I love you like a sister but, please, can you just trust I know what I’m doing?” You pleaded. “I’ve been looking after myself for years. You know I wouldn’t willingly put myself in danger.”

Billy was the first to move, turning and heading back into the bedroom to get dressed.

“He’s dangerous,” Jenna said again, not moving an inch.

“Not to me,” you told her. “I know you don’t understand, and I wish I knew how to explain it to you, but I’m safe with him and I can’t turn him away.”

It was everything you’d already told her the night before. You just hope that this time it would actually sink in.

“You can’t tell anyone that he’s been here, Jenna -”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” she said admantly.

“You were right; if he gets arrested, I will too... and not because I lied about knowing him.”

She looked at you, confused, like she was finally starting to really understand how little she knew about you.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, though it didn’t seem like she really wanted an answer.

“A long time ago, someone hurt me...” you said, voice threatening to break. “And I... I hurt them back...”

It hung in the air and you watched the words register with her as the pieces started to fall into place. The day after you’d been spiked, you’d let out a similar confession, and Jenna quickly figured out that the two pieces of information fit together. She didn’t say anything, but she gave a nod.

“One of the people Billy hurt... they hurt him,” your voice turned quiet, not wanting Billy to overhear you spilling his secrets. “When he was a little kid, they...”

You didn’t have to finish it. Given the context of the conversation, Jenna immediately understood what you were trying to tell her. Her expression softened and, just like that, you’d managed to pull her into the weird world of confusion that you now inhabited.

“If he hurts you -” she started.

“He won’t.”

“If he does, I’ll kill him myself.”

“You won’t need to, I’d never hurt her,” Billy said as he emerged from the bedroom. Without pause he cleared the space between you and pressed his lips to the top of your head. “I’ll see you later, kitten,” he muttered into your hair, letting his hand linger on your waist for a moment before pulling away.

Both you and Jenna watched as he made his way towards the door, and after he’d gone you both remained silent for almost a full minute.

“You have the worst taste in men,” Jenna finally grumbled.

“You were the one who told me to stop going for the safe guys.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean...” she trailed off, shaking her head. “You still want me to go?”

“I guess you can stay for breakfast,” you conceded. “As long as you don’t -”

“We don’t have to talk about him anymore,” Jenna said. “As long as you’re sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I am.”

The words left your lips before you could even really think about it. Were you sure? Could you ever really be sure of anything when it came to Billy?

No.

Yes.

You were sure he’d never hurt you, that he’d do everything he could to keep you safe. But would that be enough?

You went to change while Jenna finished setting up breakfast for you both and what followed was nothing short of awkward. Neither of you seemed to really know what to say to the other anymore, and you could tell Jenna was still worrying about everything but what you’d told her seemed to have unsettled her enough to make her want to keep her thoughts to herself.

But she wasn’t angry any more, and that was something.

The rest of your day went by normally; Jenna left not long after breakfast and you lazed around until it was time to get ready for work. Even work was pretty normal, if not a little quiet. Billy stayed away from the bar and so did his friends, though you had no idea if it was because of the Homeland Agent or just because they were somewhere else doing things you didn’t even want to think about.

That night, you got home, threw yourself into a hot shower and, then, waited.

And waited.

An hour passed and there was no sign of Billy, so you reluctantly took yourself to bed.

The next day passed pretty much the same. You got up, had breakfast, wandered to the coffeeshop a couple of blocks over, then you returned to your apartment to get ready for work. And, that night, there was still no sign of him.

He’d disappeared on you before, but not like this. He’d laid low when he knew you were angry with him, when he knew that you didn’t want to see him, but you were neither of those things now.

Panic settled beneath your ribs and you found yourself wondering any number of things; was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had he heard you tell Jenna his secret? Fuck, why had you even tried to tell her?

Or was it something else, something worse? Had he been arrested, or was he lying in a ditch dead somewhere? It wasn’t like you could call hospitals or -

Fuck. What were you doing? What were you thinking? It had only been two days and, already, your mind was rushing to every worse case scenario it could possibly conceive. And, the worst part was that you didn’t even really understand why. 

Until a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even thought twice about him vanishing. That was just Billy, that was just what he did, but he’d said he’d see you later and you’d assumed that meant that night.

On the third day, you cracked.

At almost four in the morning you called him. Part of you expected him to answer straight away, to hear some smug comment about how much you missed him. Instead it rang right through to voicemail. You hung up and tried again. And again. Then you decided to leave a message.

“I don’t know if this is some game you’re playing, but I don’t like it, Billy,” despite the annoyed undertone of your words, there was no hiding the worry in your voice. “Can you just... I don’t know, let me know that you're okay?”

There was an instant feeling of regret the moment you hung up. What if he’d been arrested and that message led the cops to your door? What if it was just some stupid game and you’d exposed how much you cared?

Whatever it was, you unblocked his number and spent the rest of your night staring at your phone, hoping that it would ring.

But there was nothing. No word from Billy, no sign that he’d even gotten your message.

And you hated it. You hated that he’d forced himself into your life and then vanished. He’d made you care and then he’d abandoned you.

You hated it so much that when he finally turned up again, you seriously considered not letting him into your apartment.

“Kitten, please,” you heard through the door on the fourth night, a strange hitch in his voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand.

When you opened the door, Billy practically fell into your apartment.

You first thought was that he was soaked through and that he must have been out in the rain for quite some time, but you quickly stopped caring about that the moment you saw the state of his face. His cheek was swollen and there was blood - fuck, you couldn’t even tell if it was his, there was so much of it.

He looked around your apartment wildly, seeming terrified until his eyes finally settled on you.

“Billy -” you moved to reach for him, not expecting him to recoil, - “- hey, Billy, it’s okay. You’re alright.”

Already your stomach was tying itself in knots, not sure what you were supposed to do. The way he looked at you put you in mind of that cold, dark street weeks ago, the way he’d told you about his ‘friend’ and about his nightmares. And you felt just as out of your depth now as you did then.

He took another step back looking at you as if he was afraid, but not of you.

“Billy, what happened?” You tried again, this time standing your ground, not trying to move any closer to him.

“I don’t -” he started and stopped, obviously struggling to find the words, “- I don’t remember. I don’t remember what I did, but I - I...”

You watched as he pressed a bloody hand to the side of his head, trying to ease the pressure of a bad headache.

“Frank, he - I didn’t - I -” 

Frank. The same person who’d sent Billy into a tailspin the last time.

“They say I did these terrible things but I - I don’t remember it. I don’t feel like it was me. I don’t feel like I could do that,” Billy tried to explain with a desperation that made your heart ache for him. “How could I - how could I do that?”

“Billy, please, just... let me see if you’re hurt,” you said softly, not sure what else you could do to help him.

He looked at you again with those wide and wild eyes, like he was scared of what might happen if he let you get near him. You quickly noticed that he was shaking. No. His body was practically vibrating, like he couldn't stop, couldn't stand still.

“You came to me so I could help you, right?” You continued. “I can’t help if you don’t let me see Billy.”

“No... no… it doesn’t - it’s not important, it’s not -” he let out an awful, pained sound as he struggled with himself roughly knocking the side of his head with a curled fist, trying to force his brain to work the way he needed it to. “If I can’t trust myself with that, how can I trust myself with you?”

“You don’t have to trust yourself, because I trust you.”

That seemed to settle something in him and Billy stilled, though he kept his fist pressed tight to the side of his head.

“You… trust me?” He asked, a telltale tremor in his voice.

You nodded and dared to take a step forward, your heart aching all the more when you noticed the tears clinging to the corners of his eyes, desperate not to be shed.

Billy almost flinched as you reached for his wristed and slowly lowered his hand. Again, he looked at you as if he was a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck, trying to decide if he should bolt or not.

Slowly, delicately, you urged him towards a chair and managed to get him sitting down and, little by little, Billy seemed to settle. Not completely, but enough that he let you help him out of his jacket so you could get a better look.

“Stay here,” you told him, “I need to get something to clean you up with.”  

But the second you turned to leave, Billy's hand was around your wrist.

“Don't leave me,” he said in a broken, fractured tone. “I don't want to be alone anymore.”

That was the moment that broke you, the moment that had tears threatening to fill your eyes because you knew Billy wasn't just talking about that moment. You had no idea how much of his life he'd spent alone - probably even more than you had - but it pained you to hear him begging you not to leave him.

Stepping closer, you ran your fingers through his hair before pulling him towards you, letting him slip his arms around your waist and press his face to your stomach. It didn't even cross your mind that he was getting blood all over your satin slip, but even if it had, you wouldn't have cared.

Billy shuddered, taking awkward breath after awkward breath, and you held on to him, giving him time to let the panic settle. You didn't think anything of the wet patch growing on the front of your slip, you just focused all of your attention on trying to soothe him.

“I don't know who I am anymore,” he sobbed. “Why - why would I hurt him? Why would he hurt me?”

“Shhh, it's okay. It'll be okay,” you said even though you weren't sure that it was true. You had no idea what was going on or how to get him calm enough to explain it.

“He was my family. My brother. I don't know why I'd let them hurt him.”

You ran your fingers through his hair as he held you tighter, clinging to you like he was afraid you'd let him go.

“It's not you anymore,” you offered softly. “You said it yourself, you're different now. You've got me now. You don’t have to be the person that you were anymore.”

On some level you understood how utterly insane that you were being, but you couldn’t bear to see him hurting so much. It didn’t matter to you what he’d done in the past or how many people he’d hurt, because he wouldn’t hurt you. Finally, after years on your own, you felt like you’d found someone you were safe with and, selfishly, you didn’t want to give that up.

“I’ve got you now?” He asked softly, slowly lifting his head, letting you see his bloodshot eyes.

“Yeah, Billy. You’ve got me,” you answered, managing an uncertain smile, not sure what the revelation meant for either of you. “Now, will you let me clean you up?”

Billy hesitated, reluctant to let you go but, after a few seconds, he nodded.

It took you little more than thirty seconds to dart into the bathroom to grab your first aid supplies and a washcloth. 

When you returned, his head was between his hands and he just looked so... damaged. 

You ran the cloth under some warm water before kneeling in front of him, gently placing your hand beneath his chin and urging him to look up. Wiping the blood and muck from his face revealed a black-eye and split lip, and a gentle prodding of his nose left you sure that it wasn’t broken. 

Next you cleaned his hands, fighting back the urge to roll your eyes when you realised he’d reopened the wounds you patched up at the bar only a few days before. Again, there was nothing too serious beneath the blood, and you almost allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Then you saw it, that almost-missable dark patch on his shirt just above his waist. You pressed a hand to it and Billy gave a hiss of pain. Gingerly, you lifted his shirt and let out a hiss of your own.

“Did you get stabbed?” There was no hiding the panic in your voice, no matter how much you wanted to stay calm for him.

“I don’t - maybe? I don’t know...”

“I need to take your shirt off, okay?” You asked, already gripping the hem of his blood soaked shirt. Billy gave a nod and awkwardly lifted his arms. You moved as quickly as you could, trying not to hurt him, but wanting to get a better look at the wound. “Fuck, Billy, why didn’t you tell me?”

The wound didn’t look too serious, a glancing slash across his side, but it was bleeding a lot.

Remembering what he’d told you about how he felt pain, or sometimes didn’t, you wondered if he wouldn’t have just left it bleeding if you hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t know if it needs stitches,” you said, more to yourself than anything. “I - I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine,” he told you.

Slowly but surely, he was starting to sound like himself again, like his own panic had started to pass.

Pressing the cloth to the wound you looked up at him, watching the way his face twisted in pain, but that pain seemed to bring him back to the moment and pull him out of his head.

He looked down and slowly pulled your hand away from his side so he could see the wound.

“Yeah, kitten, it’s going to need stitches.”

And, then it was your turn to descend into panic.

“Fuck... okay...” you took an awkward breath, “I’ll get change and take you to the hospital and -”

“I can’t go to the hospital.”

Of course he couldn’t. He was wanted for murder.

“Then how -” you started to ask and immediately felt sick when you saw the way he was looking at you. “No. No, Billy. I - I can’t.”

“You can, kitten. I’ll talk you through it,” he said, somehow becoming the picture of calm. “We just need a needle and some thread... and that bottle of vodka, if you’ve still got it.”

Despite every single alarm bell in your head starting to sound, you got up and got everything that he’d asked for. You settled beside him, letting him do the honours of pouring vodka over the wound to clean it out.

“Now, you just need to pinch the edges together and sew it up, just like fixing a hole in a t-shirt,” he told you softly.

Your hands trembled and you almost threw up in your mouth but, somehow, you managed to clumsily sew him up. 

By the time you had the wound closed and a bandage wrapped around him, you were so tired and emotionally fraught that you found yourself bursting into tears.

“Kitten,” Billy said softly, wrapping his arms around you pulling you against his chest, “it’s okay, it’s done now.”

It took a couple of minutes for you to get it all out, kneeling on the floor between his legs, holding him as tight as he’d held you only half an hour before.

“Don’t you ever do this to me again,” you told him between awkward, sobbed breaths. “You can’t come into my life and then make me lose you.”

“I won’t,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I promise you won’t lose me. I’ll never leave you. You’re all I want.”

All you could think about was how you might lose him and how much it would hurt. This was why you never wanted to get close to him. This was why you never wanted to care. But it was too late to think like that. There was nothing that either of you could say or do to stop the feelings that had started to flourish inside of you, and you both knew it.

Somehow, Billy managed to coax you off the floor and the pair of you headed for the bathroom, where he cleaned his blood off your hands and helped you change into a clean slip. Then the pair of you got into bed.

You rest your head on his shoulder, awkwardly draping your arm over him, trying to avoid his bandages.

For the longest time, the both of you remained quiet, but you could tell from his breathing that he was still awake. You weren’t sure if he planned on sleeping and, despite your exhaustion, you weren’t sure that you could sleep. At least, not yet.

“I meant it,” you said softly. “I can’t do this if you’re going to turn up covered in blood like this. I can’t do this if I have to spend every day wondering if you’re going to turn up dead somewhere.”

“I know,” he answered just as softly. “And you won’t have to. I promise I’m going to take care of it, then it’ll just be me and you, okay?”

“Okay.”

You weren’t sure what you were really agreeing to and, honestly, you didn’t care. As long as Billy was safe and with you, you didn’t care.

End Note : Aaaaaaaah it's getting so close to the end now. I don't know if next weeks chapter will be the last proper chapter before the epilogue or if I'll need to break it into two parts but, yea, I hope you're all ready for a wild ride to see how this Punisher season 2 adjacent fic pans out. Also sorry if there are any dumb typos, i got stuck working late and didn't get as much time to proof-read as I normally do.

As always your comments/likes/reblogs/asks/general screaming is always cherished and appreciated. I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

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[cheshiresense]

In your Starrk time travels with Ichigo to TBTP may I suggest that thru their own unethical experiments both Aizen and Urahara get their memories from future. They both change their behaviors a bit, they both notice that other is not behaving like their past self did and try to figure out why. When they are in the middle of conversation attempting to sus the other out they bump into Ichigo.

It would be a pretty neat way to solve quite a few problems, and I imagine things would be easier with Aizen and Kisuke onboard the time travel express, especially Aizen because that's like one big bad more or less taken care of without Starrk and Ichigo needing to do anything. And depending on when they remember, I feel like they would also have at least heard of the new genius Shiba that def didn't exist in their first go-around and would put two and two together and go find Ichigo instead lmao. Poor Ichigo, having to ride herd on these two of all people. Meanwhile Starrk would be like not my circus, not my monkeys 😂

On the other hand I kind of do just want to keep this particular AU to Starrk and Ichigo doing the time travel. I'm a huge fan of other people remembering but usually way further down the road/near the end, it just makes for better angst. Also I'd have to figure out how/why their experiments suddenly gave them memories since that wasn't really a thing anybody except the Soul King was planning for in the future (I vaguely headcanon that the Shinigami actually won in the bad end timeline, but only for a certain measure of "winning" because by the end most of the realms were destroyed, most people were dead on both sides, Yhwach was dead too but at that point it basically counted for nothing, and that's why the SK made the executive decision to hit the reset button). So future!Aizen&Kisuke wouldn't have really been dabbling in that, if they weren't already dead by the end anyway, and past!Aizen&Kisuke never had anything to do with time travel projects. I guess I could just make something up but that would feel a bit too convenient imo.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

The plane was filled with soldiers, all getting ready to land and start the mission. Everyone was preparing in their own way. Some people were listening to music; others were reading either a novel or the mission briefing. There were the quiet ones, their eyes closed, and their head leaned back against the wall behind them. Simon was one of those. Before missions, he wanted to be in his own bubble. He’d drown out the noise around him, go through the plan again and again until it was in his blood. But this time…he couldn’t. Because of you.

“Love…” he sounded exasperated as he addressed you. “…what are you doing?” You glanced up at him before your attention returned to the project in your hands. “Crocheting, why?” He watched you for a few moments, the way your eyebrows were pulled together in concentration and your tongue peeked out from between your lips. You looked adorable. “Nothing, just curious, babe.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, ignoring the mask separating the two of you. By now, the pair of you were used to it.

Simon closed his eyes again and thought back, trying to remember if he had ever seen you crochet before, but nothing came up. This must be your first project. He couldn’t help but peek at you again, especially at your project. He desperately wanted to know what you were creating, but before he could ask, Price came up to him, gathering his attention.

“Ready?” Simon nodded and got to his feet. Unlike most of the other soldiers, the 141 was going to parachute out of the plane. He turned to look at you one more time, reaching down and tilting your head up to kiss you properly. “See you soon, love.” You smiled, though he could see the fear in your eyes. “See you soon, Si. Be careful.” He nodded, before joining the rest of his team.

The mission was cruelling, and he couldn’t wait to be back in your arms. They spent two weeks in enemy territory, trying to get the intel they needed. The rest of the soldiers were used in different missions to keep attention away from the task force. And it worked. After those two weeks, they had what they needed and returned to camp, where you were already waiting.

Being a medic, you rarely ventured out onto the field. Mainly, you stayed at wherever the base camp was and waited for patients to come to you. But when news traveled that the 141 was on its way back, everyone knew not to bother you. After all, you would never forgive whoever kept you from Simon. And the moment you saw him, you jumped into his arms. “I missed you.” He chuckled, holding you tightly. “I missed you too, sweetheart. Come, let’s rest a bit, yeah?”

The plane back to Britain would leave the next day, so you had a few hours to relax before that. Thankfully, the task force members all had their individual tents, so you could enjoy the downtime without Simon having to wear the mask. However, when he immediately wanted to get into bed and cuddle, you had to send him off to shower first. He stunk. Plus, it gave you time to prepare your little surprise.

When Simon returned to his tent, he found you kneeling on the field bed, wearing only one of his shirts and panties, while hiding something behind you. “Oh? What did I do to earn this?” You chuckled and shook your head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Si. I’m not having sex surrounded by horny soldiers.” The faux disappointed look on his face made you laugh again before you waved him closer. “But I do have a surprise for you.”

He stepped closer to you, even kneeling down right in front of you when you asked him to. “Okay, close your eyes.” The way he didn’t even hesitate, the way he trusted you, made your heart swell with love. And though it wasn’t what you actually wanted to do, you couldn’t help yourself but lean in and press a soft and short kiss to his lips. “Keep them closed.”

Finally, you brought out what you had been hiding behind your bag and pulled it over his hair. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and he looked up, confused as to what you just placed on his head. “It’s not perfect, honestly, it’s the first time I even tried crocheting, but…” Simon stood up and grabbed the broken piece of glass he used as a mirror. “…when I saw it online, I just had to make it. Once I’m better, I’ll make it again, I promise. Just…do you like it?”

Simon stared at the beanie on his head, it was black and fit perfectly. “I love it. Thank you, babe.” You grinned and bounced to his side. “There’s more.” While making sure that he was still looking into the poor excuse of a mirror, you gently unfolded the edge of the beanie until it was a balaclava covering Simon’s face. A soft gasp escaped him when he realized why you wanted to make it for him. “This way, if you ever feel uncomfortable in public, you can just roll it down, you know?”

Without a word, Simon placed the ‘mirror’ down and spun around, pulling you into a tight hug. “I love you so damn much. I don’t deserve you, my love.” You chuckled, happily wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you too, big guy. Now, cuddles?” With a grin, he nodded and picked you up, carrying you to the bed, where he laid down with you on top of him, the both of you quickly falling into a deep slumber.

A/N: This one is long...oops. Based on this TikTok. Also, I don't usually post on Sundays, but this is a little thank you for all the love you guys showed me recently and for 3000 followers! Hope you like it!