#get it? do you get it? because I’m Pears

[nevereatpearss]

You're so cool :0

Ikr I’m so cool.

( @so-am-smyme9540 cough cough look at this photo I just took )

[dancing-with-stars]

guys. guys !!!!

[exopelagic]

fruit <33333333333

[luveline]

hey jade! maybe this is a tad more angsty than you'd like but could I request prison!Spence getting a visit from bombshell!reader and Amy? or a phonecall with them? q

ty for your request <3 mom!reader, 1.4k

“Best behaviour,” you’re whispering, hand on Amy’s small back, her shoe digging into your hip. “I’m serious, baby. Big feelings are okay, but we can’t be loud. We can’t shout.” 

She frowns. Amy’s been a little against you these last few weeks. “I’m not shouting.” 

“I know.” You try and fail to divide your attention between her and the line you’re following. You almost miss the sound of the buzzer that ushers you forward. “Okay, I’m right here. I know everything has been super scary, and you’re my brave girl, but I’m right here. You can tell me anything. Okay?” 

She rubs your chin with her nose. “Okay, mom.”

“Okay. Let’s go see daddy!” you cheer under your breath, enthusing your voice with some false joy. 

Your nerves threaten to make you sick, but you have to be the put together one. This is the strife part of the marriage you’d signed up for. Though no one can blame you for handling it poorly —who could ever expect Spencer to be where he is right now? 

You carry Amy into the penitentiary visitor’s room with apprehension, shoulders stiff, fingers aching against your little girl’s rough denim jacket. The room is laid out strangely, but there’s a clear division between the prisoners and the visitors, though there’s no overarching perspex. There are dividers, sure, but you can touch him. You can see him sitting near the middle of the room, his hair in violent disarray, his eyes locked onto you already. 

You speed up your walking. 

Desperate, your knee knocks into a chair as you try to touch his face. 

Spencer lets you for a half a second, before he moves away. “You’re not allowed to touch me,” he says, voice laden with a raw apologeticness that threatens to trip you up immediately. 

“Daddy!” Amy says, squirming in your arms, her foot on the desk as she tries to shove herself over the short partition. 

Spencer, in a dads instinct, reaches for her without thinking. “Amy, Amy,” he says. 

“No touching!” a guard shouts clearly. 

Spencer pushes Amy gently back into your arms and holds his arms up in surrender. The guard veers his way, but walks off again when he sees Spencer’s compliance. 

“Daddy,” she whines, holding out her hand. 

“Sit down,” Spencer says to you. 

You sit down. The gap between both you and Amy and Spencer widens, her little legs pumping restlessly into your thighs. You’ll be bruised as a soft pear when you go home, but you barely feel it now. 

“Shh,” you say, wrapping your arms around her like a straight jacket. You don’t really have a choice. “Shh, baby, shh. Remember what mommy said, okay? We have to be quiet, or they won’t let us see your daddy anymore. We have to follow the rules.” 

“It’s okay,” Spencer says. He clears his throat. “Hey, Amanda?” 

She looks up in surprise at her full first name. “What?” she asks. 

“God, it’s so good to see you.” His voice thickens with emotion, but he keeps a tight handle on it. “I miss you so much, sweetheart. So much.” He looks at you. “I miss you,”  he says again. 

“We miss you too.” You wipe your nose. “It’s weird just being mom and Amy at home.” 

Weird isn’t the right word. Amy has cried herself sick five nights a week for the last month, because if her mom is home, why isn’t her dad? Why can’t she talk to him? Where did he go? 

“When can you be home?” Amy asks, reaching toward the glass again. 

Spencer looks around the room before he reaches over the half-partition to hold her hand. He gives you a look: watch my back. 

“I don’t know yet,” he says, holding her hand tightly, and giving her fingers little squeezes, “I’m sorry, princess.” 

You give him a look of your own: change the subject. 

You miss Spencer more than you’ve ever missed another person. There’s never been a feeling as acute as this in your life, you don’t know what to do with yourself when you aren’t with him. The only thing you can do is be Amy’s mom, and you’ve always felt that Spencer made you better at it. Without him, you’re struggling. 

He looks like he can tell. 

He diverts his attention from you to Amy again, ducking his head, his face posed into his most loving smile. “You’re so pretty, just like your mommy. You’re getting prettier every day, aren’t you? Mommy told me you’ve been helping make your own dinner. That’s amazing. You’re my smart girl.” 

“I make– made our favourite last night.” She struggles over ‘favourite’, but she’s as smart as her father. The words come easily. “We had, uh– butter chicken! And mommy made…” 

You blink a small tear from the corner of your eye. “I made garlic naan. We toasted them under the grill, didn’t we?” you ask with a sniffle. 

“Yes!” She looks back at you. “Dad’s plate.” 

You wipe your cheek quickly. “We kept you some,” you say, fighting as hard as you can to stop yourself from crying at the table. You can’t break down here, and you won’t. “Amy was worried you’d come home and be hungry, so we saved you some.” 

Spencer leans far over the table to squeeze your wrist. Behind him, the prison guard begins making their way to your table.

“Spencer.” You lean away before he can get caught. 

Spencer snatches his hand back to grip the partition. 

He smiles. “Angel,” he says clearly, looking you straight in the eye, “you’re doing so good. I can’t believe how amazing you are.” 

“I’m gonna fix this,” you promise. 

“No, no, angel, I just need you to look after yourself, and my princess.” He gives Amy a smile dripping with affection. “She needs lots of looking after. Don’t you, Amy? I know mommy’s doing such a great job looking after you.” 

“I miss you,” she says. 

“I miss you too.” 

“Can I have a hug now?” 

He looks back, right into the watchful gaze of the guard. He turns back with a smile that’s nearly convincing. “Not right now, I probably don’t smell very nice, and they don’t want me to get my gross smell on you.” 

“Ew, daddy.” 

“Ew,” he agrees, wrinkling his nose. “I wish I smelled like you and mommy. What smell is it today, baby?” 

“Persimmon,” she says. She preens at the suggestion that she smells good, relaxing against your chest. 

You kiss her temple. 

“Persimmon,” Spencer says. He couldn’t sound more proud. “You know what? Persimmons have lots of meaning. They’re a symbol of perseverance.” He remembers to dumb it down. “People who eat lots of persimmons are strong, they can get through anything. Maybe when you and mommy go home, you can share a persimmon, and I can eat one here, and together we’ll be strong while we wait for me to come home.” 

“You can come home now,” Amy says. “Come home with us!” 

“I can’t,” he says gently. “It’s complicated.” 

“I think daddy has the right idea,” you say, interrupting his explanation unapologetically, “I think we should go to the market when we leave and pick all the different fruits, and I’ll send some for dad here, and we can eat them at the same time.” 

“Like a picnic?” 

“I can make little sandwiches, and we’ll get your teddies,” you agree. “Whatever you want. But first, I think you need to tell daddy all about this week. What book have we been reading? Oh, and we got you some new shoes ‘cos your feet got bigger!” 

He smiles lovingly. “Oh, they did?” he asks softly. 

You know he’s gutted.

(Spencer gets out of prison almost two whole months later. He gives Amy a huge box of tangerines (with the white lie that they are persimmons, hard to find in DC, and your sweet girl doesn’t know the difference yet) with a new pair of converse wrapped in a red silk bow, promising that he will never miss another fitting. He doesn’t know where to start with you, that much is obvious, he’s so grateful to be home and he’s sick to his stomach with guilt, too. He doesn’t realise the only thing you needed was for him to come back. 

The diamond necklace is a nice gesture, though not half as valuable as his face pressed to your neck as he sleeps, Amy on his stomach, their long fingers sticky with orange peels. It makes all your silent crying worth it.)

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eleven

Steve watches as Eddie positions himself at the breakfast bar. He easily swings up the end of his tail, the final couple of feet laid out on the chopping board.

He slices a thick piece, turning it and cutting it into neat chunks. It looks like raw steak inside. He cuts a thicker slice, making more chunks, then he does it again.

Next to him, Robin picks up the chunks and slides them onto metal skewers, “thanks Eddie, these will go great on the grill.”

“Yeah, well, we need to get rid of it at some point, might as well use it up now-”

Steve wakes up choking. He doesn’t make a noise, or at least, he doesn’t think he has. He just lies there, heart beating frantically, eyes wet, telling himself again and again, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.

Steve lies there, waiting for his heart to calm and his breathing to even out, the sweaty flush on his skin slowly cools. He really needs to go back to sleep, but he knows already that he probably won’t be able to settle.

He wants to talk to Eddie. Wants to see him. Doesn’t think he’ll be able to go back to sleep without reassuring himself that Eddie actually is okay which – okay, that’s a bit ridiculous, but he just...needs to. For his own sanity.

Steve blinks gritty eyes at the clock, nearly half three in the morning. His parents are down the hall in their room, and Eddie is at Hopper’s cabin, hopefully asleep on the couch, and there’s not much Steve can do about that.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, willing himself to relax. The more he tries, the less likely it becomes, until it hits him; the walkie.

He rolls out of bed, and feeling a little bad for waking Eddie up, makes sure it’s on their channel and the volume is down low before holding down the trigger to speak, “Eddie?”

Nothing. Silence. God Steve is an absolute shit for doing this, and he hopes it’s not so loud that he wakes Hopper or El. He resolves to try one more, if this doesn’t work he will just have to make himself leave it alone and go back to bed, “Eddie?”

There’s a few seconds of silence this time, before a quiet crackle of static, “Stee?”

“Sorry to wake you up buddy, are you okay?”

“Eddidie fine. Pear and grape for din-ner. El Eddidie dance. Mus-ic. Movie on TV. Clean teeth. Couch sleep. Blanket. Stee good?”

“That’s...really good Buddy. Yeah, I’m fine, just had a bad dream,” Steve wants to ask about the dancing and the music and what the movie was and everything else Eddie has been up to today, but it’s the middle of the night, and it would be selfish to keep Eddie talking, “you should sleep.”

“Stee bad dream tell Eddidie? Dark TV tell?”

Steve thinks for a second, “I dreamed you got hurt. Eddie ow. Many ow, really bad. I was...scared.”

There’s a few seconds silence before Eddie replies, “Eddidie no ow.”

“No, I know buddy, but thank you for telling me, we should get some sleep. Night.”

“Stee perfect.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

Steve’s been lying in bed for a full minute before he realizes what he’s just said. It doesn’t really matter; Eddie doesn’t know what it means.

Stupid brunch. Stupid brunch that stopped Steve visiting Eddie before work. Stupid parents. Stupid Keith and his stupid duty rosta so stupid Robin is at stupid work and she couldn’t come to stupid brunch. His parents are so much nicer when she’s there; something to do with keeping up appearances in front of strangers or whatever, Steve knows why they do it. It’s not because they actually like Robin or anything. Steve's pretty sure his parents don;t actually like anyone, not even each other.

Steve sits in his car and sighs. Watches as the door cracks open and the light spills out. Eddie sitting there in his blue sweater. As Steve watches, he lifts his hand and gives a little wave. Steve shouldn’t be visiting this late really, but he couldn’t miss a day. It’s not fair on Eddie, for one thing, being left here like this, when he doesn’t really understand why.

Steve gets out of the car and jogs over to the house, Eddie letting him in. El’s not there, Steve figures she’s already in bed. Hopper’s putting dishes in the kitchen when Steve comes in, “sorry I’m so late Hop.”

Hopper shrugs, “doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed anyway, Eddie, get the lights and lock up before sleep, okay?”

Eddie nods, “make dark. Key lock make safe.”

“You got it. Night kids.”

“Night Hop.”

“Night Hopper.”

Steve throws himself down on the couch; today has just sucked all the way through, Eddie climbs up next to Steve, muttering, “Eddidie not kid,” under his breath.

Steve snorts a laugh, Eddie clearly does not want to be lumped into the same category as the, ‘mongrels,’ “if you’re not a kid, what are you?”

Eddie thinks for a second, the points past Steve, “book please,” Steve hands it over, leaning close to watch Eddie as he thumbs his way with fair accuracy to the page he wants; Steve really should get him some more books. He’s also got to thank El for working on Eddie’s manners.

It’s the frog page again.

Eddie points to the ‘froglet’, “Eddidie.”

“So...like a teenager?” Steve hazards vaguely. Steve figured Eddie is the same age as him, more or less, just because the human parts look the same and are roughly the same size; it’s not really anything to go on though. Steve points, “when do you grow into a frog?”

“Later.”

“What?”

Eddie nods, “later.”

“Eddie...are you going to get legs?” Steve has to be sure. Has to understand what Eddie is saying.

“Legs?”

Steve lifts his feet off the floor, waving his legs up and down a little, trying not to get too excited before he's sure, pointing, “legs.”

“Yes. Eddidie legs later.”

All of the worry Steve's been harboring about what to do with Eddie just...lifts. He knows Eddie couldn't live with him, hidden away, forever...but the thought of releasing Eddie somewhere. Leaving him alone, worrying about what would happen if people found him. Never seeing him again, all of it was tearing at Steve inside, a burden he didn't know how to answer, “Eddie! Why didn’t you tell me! This is awesome-”

“Legs bad.”

“What…why?”

Eddie closes the book, looking sad again, he takes Steve’s hand, “called?”

“That’s my hand buddy...and those parts are fingers,” Steve lets Eddie link their fingers together, the webbing preventing them locking together fully, “Eddie, why are legs bad?”

Eddie shuffles closer, turning his body into Steve’s, “called?” Eddie uses his free hand to point to Steve’s eyes.

“Eyes, buddy,” Eddie’s finger makes contact as he shifts in the seat to lean ever closer, tail pressed tight to Steve’s thigh, he traces Steve’s brow, “eye brows.” Eddie’s finger, his black, rounded claw traces along Steve’s nose, “nose.” Steve can’t move, doesn’t feel like he can breathe really as he waits for what comes next. Eddie’s fingertip traces Steve’s bottom lip, ever so gently he touches, leaving a tingling on Steve's skin, “lips. Lips and...mouth.”

Eddie nods, satisfied, taking his hand away, and Steve can finally take another breath, even with the distraction of Eddie's touch, he can’t avoid the sense of mounting horror, “Eddie, why are legs bad?”

Eddie has to drop Steve’s hand to bring both up to his face, he gets as far as pressing his palms to his cheeks before Steve grabs his wrists, dragging his hands away from his face, “no,” Steve says, horrified, “no, that’s not what happens. You’re wrong, that can’t be what happens.”

Eddie nods, sad but sure.

“No. Eddie no, that’s not- I won’t let you,” and Steve knows as he says it he has no fucking control over this whatsoever.

Eddie takes Steve hand again, pushes it against the back of his head. Steve’s fingers worm their way in, feeling that familiar starburst of ridges. They’re familiar as the rest of Eddie now, Steve’s been washing Eddie’s hair pretty much every other day for weeks and weeks now. Steve fingers find the place where they meet in the middle, right at the back of Eddie’s head, “mouth.”

Steve fights the instinct to pull his hand away in horror. He forces himself to keep it there; it won’t hurt him, Steve can feel the ridges of Eddie’s fucking skull, hard and unforgiving under his skin and hair. That can’t be right, it just doesn’t make any sense but...Steve can imagine it, the petals of a Demogorgon’s mouth unfolding.

“Stee?”

Steve’s voice breaks when he speaks, and he can feel the first tear break free, rolling down his cheek, “yeah buddy?”

“El tell Eddidie...Stee tell Eddidie I love you. El tell Eddidie love...Eddidie love Stee too. Stee perfect.”

“Oh buddy," Steve's voice cracks, "...yeah. Yeah, I love you too,” Eddie wipes away Steve’s tears with his knuckle, licking the water off his finger. Eddie half climbs and Steve half pulls Eddie into his lap. They hold each other tight, Eddie gently nuzzling his face back and forth against Steve's cheek, against his neck, breathing in Steve's hair and skin.

Steve does the same to Eddie, hands tight on Eddie's tail, on his back, in his hair, wherever he can reach to touch, committing Eddie to memory.

Steve doesn’t go home, he can’t. He just sleeps, fully clothed, on the couch, pulling Eddie down on top of him, and holding him close.

Steve and El sit on the stoop, all bundled up. Steve’s got a coffee and El’s got a hot chocolate. They watch as Eddie moves along the tree line; he’s collecting pine cones and burying them. Planting seeds. He uses his hard, blunt claws to dig; the earth is maybe a little harder because of the cold, but it doesn’t seem to bother or hinder Eddie at all.

It feels precious now, watching Eddie. It feels like the time he has with him is suddenly short; that he needs to make the most of every single second. Steve tries to absorb all of it, the way Eddie moves. The look on his face as he examines his finds, his fingers, the dark nails. The way the light is absorbed by the dark matte black of his tail. The way his hair gets blown around in the fresh breeze, shining a little in the light, thanks to Steve’s hair care regimen.

How he smiles at Steve when he catches him watching.

Steve tries not to think about last night; it’s too much to absorb. Too strange; surely Eddie cannot be right. But then Steve reminds himself of where Eddie came from, and the fact that the girl he’s sitting next too can move shit with her mind, and figures he has to adjust his expectations around what could be normal.

“He does this a lot,” El says.

“Huh, maybe he does this back home too; always wondered what he gets up to when I’m not there.”

“He does,” El says with certainty.

“Oh have you...have you looked. Inside his head?”

“Only a little. Just to check if he’s alright and...when he’s struggling to find the words.”

“Oh. Yeah. Is it...is it very different?”

“Yes.” El seems to think for a moment, “he thinks in...pictures. People think in words a lot. And he pretty much only thinks about now. People think about a lot of things at once, the past, the future. Eddie doesn’t do that, there’s mostly only now.”

“Huh...I guess that...makes sense.”

Eddie comes back to the foot of the steps, brushing loose things from the woods off the sweater of the day, “Hopper now,” he informs them.

“Oh yeah Buddy? Can you hear his car?” Steve touches his ear.

“Hopper car yes, Eddidie hear. Hopper inied work.”

Steve can’t help but smile, even though it feels like he wants so cry at the same time, “what is Hopper’s job, do you know?”

Eddie nods, “Hopper Hawkins Indiana safe.”

“Yeah buddy, that’s exactly right.”

Part Thirteen

[bobcatblahs]

Today my random Doctor Who opinion nobody asked for is that I think each Doctor should’ve been allowed to curse, except it should be limited to *one* curse word that they could use multiple times.

My classic Doctor Who knowledge is limited, I’ve mostly seen 3/4 and of course 8.

So for this I’ll start with Eight and go forward.

Partially based on conversations with my husband because what else do you talk about at night?

Eight: Hell. ‘Hell no’ ‘What the hell’ ‘Go to hell’ it just fits. Especially with his memory issues and bizarre adventures

Nine: Fuck. Just sprinkle it anywhere. From ‘D’you mind not fuckin’ farting while I’m trying to save the world’ to ‘You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me’ in the big brother house…

Ten: Shit/Shite. Mostly used to describe the taste of the random things he licks or the situations he gets himself into. Frequently used phrase: ‘Donna don’t touch that shit’

Eleven: Damn/Dammit. Also sprinkled anywhere. ‘Take them all, dammit!’ ‘Good men don’t need any damn rules. Now’s not the time to find out why I have so damn many.’

Twelve: Fuck. Added liberally. Just. Anywhere. From anger to joy. ‘Hate is always fuckin’ foolish’ ‘Never eat fuckin’ pears’ ‘Do you think I care for you so fuckin’ little that fuckin’ betrayin’ me would make a fuckin’ difference?’

Thirteen: Back to Damn/Dammit. On occasion when necessary. ‘Dammit! If I was still a bloke, I could get on with the damn job and not have to waste time defending myself.’

Fourteen: Hell. He has plenty of what the hell moments. My personal fav and first would be ‘What the hell?! I know these teeth!’

Fifteen: C*nt. Not a word I can stomach out loud, but he’d use it in both the funny complimentary way and the insult way. Examples include ‘Ruby that dress is serving c*nt’ and ‘Lindy Pepper-Bean was a c*nt

(Idk why but that word just gives me the ick, but I know what I’m talking about with this I promise 🤣)

[kamfor334]

manifested my desired appearance!

hi guys! I know I haven’t posted in a while, this is just a little post about my manifestations, I manifested my desired appearance!

to be honest, when I think about this experience one thing is that this reminded me how EZ manifesting really is. When I first started to manifest my desired appearance, I thought it would be harder, and I would have to put in a lot more work. But, now looking back, this helped me realize that manifesting is simple, and instant. We are constantly manifesting naturally, and it isn’t that complicated or hard.

how it happened

It’s kinda funny how, people always say manifestation is instant (cus it is) but you genuinely to remember or realize until you see that you ACTUALLY have your results so quickly, and before you even realize. Tbh, I didn’t even really count or keep track of “how long it took”, since I find that constantly checking for results kinda deters me or messes with my mindset. I realized I had manifested my desired appearance when I was looking in the mirror today, low-key surprised me. My hair is thick, longer, my curls look the exact same as the photos from my vision board. My lashes are thicker, longer, my lips are pinker, plumper, ect, ect. I also noticed my body. I didn’t change my height (cause I didn’t want to) but, I look super cute!

After this, now I wanna manifest clear, soft smooth skin a lot more persistent, because me skin has been getting clearer and softer, but I’m not at my desired goal, however, I have seen a noticeable difference in my skin 🤭

also, people commented on it. I’ve been getting lots of comments on my body by my friends, telling me my body is tea, complementing my waist ect. And another thing I can remember is going to the convenience store with my mom, and this lady complementing my hair, and my mom pointing out my long, soft hair, and literally telling me word for word that I have4b hair 🤭

what I manifested

you don’t have to read this if you don’t want to but, I just wanna talk about what I manifested 🤭

White, straight teeth, pretty smile.

longer, thicker manga like lashes, wide, black beady doe eyes.

plump, pink, soft lips

more prominent dimples

Slimmer, oval face shape.

4b, defined healthy curls hair.

longer hair.

pear shaped body, slim, flat, soft waist, round plump bubble butt, r plump, round thighs and hips.

slim arms, collar bones, back and neck.

how did I did it!

well, for one, I said affirmations when ever I could, and whenever I had doubtful thoughts I would counteract it with a affirmation and try to take a deep breath and remind myself manifesting is easy, simple and instant, and that I literally already have, before I even fully realize.

I created a vision board. with pictures for visualization, written affirmations. I really like this form of manifestation cause you can look at it before bed, read it in your free time, visualize and affirm while you look at it.

looking in mirrors. I know a lot of people say not to look into mirrors when manifesting a physical change, but for me it helps. For some reason, looking in mirrors makes affirming a lot more fun and makes me feel more confident, like while I’m looking in the mirror I’ll say “I’m so pretty. ☺️” “I’m literally so beautiful, it’s so mesmerizing.” “I have such a cute, small waist” and is makes acknowledging my affirmations as truth lot easier, and it makes me feel so confident to admire myself. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to tho, or if it doesn’t work for you.

That’s it! I love youuuuuu

sorry this is long, I was just really excited to share my results. 😭

remember that manifesting is literally so easy and simple, we literally do it all the time without even realizing, and manifesting is instant.

[bullet-prooflove]

Good People: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wabi-sabi1090 @lostinwonderland314 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219

Takes place after:

The Farm - Carmy recalls the day you met.

Prequel to:

Pears - It starts when Carmy makes an order he doesn't remember.

Mornings - Carmy sleeps better with you around.

Bubble - You have no idea that you saved Carmy's life.

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW) - Carmy tells you he lvoes you for the first time.

Everyone knows that Carmy has a thing for the farm girl. It’s the way his attention shifts when your name is mentioned, the fact it’s him that signs for the orders and no one else. They watch as he asks about your day and raise their eyebrows when he stands there and actually listens.

“You may as well be giving her fuck me eyes.” Richie says as he tries to wrestle The Beef t-shirt onto an inflatable hotdog in Jimmy’s backyard.

The two of them are setting up for that ridiculous kid’s party, hoping to knock a couple of grand off the debt Mikey owed him.

“I don’t have fuck me eyes.” Carmy mutters, focusing on slicing the oranges for the homemade Ectoplasm he’s made because Unc’s kid is nuts about Ghostbusters.

“Oh you do. You fucking do.” Richie argues as he pulls out the duct tape. “It’s probably the reason we’re getting such a discount, she likes the way you shake that pasty white ass underneath that little apron of yours.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” He snaps at Richie, launching a piece of fruit at the back of  Richie’s head. It smacks him right on the dome and the other man turns to face him furious.

“What the fuck is with you?” Richie retorts, throwing it back. “Last month you got the shit kicked out of you by a guy dressed like a carrot, now you’re whoring yourself out for cucumbers. You’ve got issues man, big ones.”

Carmen really has nothing to say to that because honestly if he had to whore himself out to keep this business going, he probably fucking would. That’s exactly where his self-respect is right now, rock fucking bottom. It’s the reason he’s out here in the fucking suburbs slinging gourmet hot dogs for little monsters have no fucking clue how the real world works.

“I hate you.” He tells Richie as he throws himself back into his work the same way he always does. “I fucking hate you.”

It’s an hour later that Richie does the uncharacteristic thing and apologizes. Carmy thinks it’s probably got something to do with the Xanex he took about an hour ago.

“I shouldn’t have said that about Alice.” Richie says, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. “She’s good people.”  

“Yea she is.” Carmy responds as he starts to make up another hotdog. “She’s helping us out in a bind because she’s a good person. It’s got nothing to do with my ass.”

Richie tilts his head from side to side as he pulls the bottle of Xanax out of his coat pocket and spills another tablet into his palm.

“It’s a little to do with your ass.” Richie tells him as he takes the pill, washing it down with a cup of Ecto.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carmy asks as he puts the finishing touches on his masterpiece.

“It means for some fucked up reason she likes you.” Richie responds, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know why, you’re basically a fucking mop with eyes but she does and you should really do something about that.”

“Like what Richie?” Carmy retorts, turning to face him, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “I run a sandwich shop that’s failing so badly I had to pay for our meat order with change out the arcade machine thirty days ago, I’ve got jack shit to offer anyone right now.”

“I’m just saying you deserve to be happy.” Richie says as he leans back against the fold up table, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Mikey would have wanted you to be happy.”

Carmy doesn’t know what Mikey would have wanted because Mikey, he’s not here to tell him.

“That second Xanex just kicked in didn’t it?” Carmy remarks, changing the subject and Richie exhales, nodding his head.

“Oh yea, big time. I don’t feel a fucking thing.”

It’s on the way home, that Carmy starts to think about what Richie said, about you, about being happy.

Sitting in those fields at your farm on his days off, shooting the shit with you. It’s the closest thing to contentment he’s felt in years. If he was a better man, someone less mentally ill, he’d consider pursuing it but honestly he’s a fucking mess. He wouldn’t wish himself on any woman especially you.

“You’re punking out aren’t you?” Richie says from the passenger seat as he watches the world go by outside.

“No.” Carmy says, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “She just deserves better than an asshole like me.”

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

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dashielldeveron]

cunning | shinsou x reader

Shinsou x Fem!Reader. BNHA spoilers for chapter 425. Note: written in a fervent haze backstage at a show I’m working and posted from mobile, so it’s much more casual than my normal stuff. ~1k words

You dragged Shinsou by his tie down the corridor towards the entrance to the stairs, and the moment you rounded the corner, you slid your hand up to grip the tie’s knot to yank his mouth down to yours. Shinsou flailed for a split second, as he always did when you initiated, as if he’s perpetually shocked that you would be so desperate for him, but he recovered, pursing his lips to return the kiss, casual, almost lazy about it—and he chuckled under his breath.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” You said with a huff, bitter you had to tear your mouth from his to speak, so you settled for pressing kiss after kiss along his jawline. “Couldn’t tell your girlfriend that you were finally transferring into the hero course—“

“It’d be suspicious if you’d been the only one without a reaction to Aoyama’s leaving, now, wouldn’t it?” Shinsou placed his hands, featherlight, on your hips and slid them up to your waist, where he tapped his fingers in a ripple. A vein in his neck visibly throbbed when you gave his tie another pull, and with a sly grin, he tilted his neck to expose more of it.

“Oh, you slut.” But you conceded, finishing your path to just before his ear and then trailed down his neck. “God, fuck,” you said, releasing his tie to wrap your arms around him, reaching up to grip the hair at the base of his neck, “I can’t—can’t believe after all of this, you wouldn’t share any shred of good news; God knows we need some after all of this—“

“I know, baby.” Shinsou pressed his lips to your forehead and nuzzled into your hair, guiding you back against the wall. “Am I not allowed a surprise every once in a while?”

“Shut—shut up,” you said, biting your lip, “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, your cunning nature wouldn’t be endearing. You’re a frustrating little sneak, y’know?”

“Yes, I like to think so,” said Shinsou, grinning toothily in the moment before he lifted your chin with a tap of his finger to kiss you again. This time, he returned your fervour, connecting his lips to yours, varying pressure as he pleased, letting your tongue flick at his coconut-pear chapsticked lips before finally opening his mouth. His tongue pressed against your gums in that slow, teasing way he liked, and he tilted his head to the side to reach the roof of your mouth.

When he suddenly broke from you, you let out an honestly embarrassing whine, and he rubbed his thumb over your kiss-swollen lips. “How can I stop teasing you when I get looks like this afterwards? You’re adorable.” Shinsou’s eyes, full of mischief, flicked up to catch yours. “Want me to make it up to you?”

He always thinks he can talk his way out of trouble with you, and to be fair, he usually could. You couldn’t stay mad at this man. “Sure. Surprise me.”

“With pleasure,” said Shinsou, sliding his hand to cup your cheek, and when a crooked grin stretched across his face, the haze of his quirk floated through your mind.

Feeling light.

Distant.

But very, very happy. And teeming with affection.

For you, Shinsou’s quirk always felt like he was cradling you tightly, like his love could touch you. Like you were safe. Still cogent, still in the moment, but acutely aware you’d do what he’d tell you. Others probably felt scared under Shinsou’s quirk because he was scared of them.

Shinsou traced a circle over the edge of your cheekbone. “You with me, baby?” When you nodded, Shinsou kissed you again, slow to pull away, half-lidded eyes unbearably fond. “Then get close to orgasm. But don’t you dare come.”

You inhaled sharply. “Oh, you rat bast—“

And the hazy buzz of a building orgasm flooded you all at once. It’s shocking, really, an electric sort of whizz-bang, when it comes on so quickly—and you gasped, impulsively hunching over and knocking clumsily against Shinsou’s cheek, then clutching at his blazer lapels to hide in his chest. Warmth and static and fog and gosh, you were tripping over your own feet, and you’d thought Shinsou was trying to steady you when he gripped your hip, but no, his hand kept going to the swell of your ass and down to the underside of your thigh to yank it upwards, hooking it over his own hip. Staring you down while you struggled to even keep your eyes open, Shinsou rolled his hips into yours, and you just about cracked in half.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle the honest-to-God sob from how good it felt, how intense the blur and haze was combined with the distant-floatiness of his quirk, and Shinsou laughed to himself again before he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, feeling you tremble while he ground into you, taking your other hand in his to lace your fingers together. Fuck, you were close; you were so damn close, but it’s like he’d set a lock on you, like you’d keep rolling that boulder up that hill, like—

“Ahem.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Aizawa-sensei clearing his throat, but Shinsou didn’t rush as he dropped his brainwashing and surfaced from your neck, blinking blearily at your—your shared homeroom teacher, with crossed arms and Bakugou and Todoroki in tow, the former tactfully (embarrassedly?) looking away and the latter unable to tear his gaze away from you.

“Shinsou,” said Aizawa-sensei, as Shinsou dropped your thigh and disentangled himself from you, with heat burning your face to oblivion but Shinsou appearing annoyingly calm, “I was going to discuss your move into the Class A dormitory, but considering whom I had next door—“ Aizawa’s eyes slid over to you. “—I may have to do more planning.”

[writingescapades]

Too Late

A/N: Cheesy but take this word vomit.

It was not the first time someone attempted to kill him, and it certainly would not be the last. It was not even a creative attempt or one Aventurine intentionally provoked. It was just a small pear knife, straight to the heart, in a dark alley. Aventurine was not suicidal, but surely, he deserved to go out with a bang. This dingy alleyway was a pathetic resting place. What a lame way to die. Except, he did not die. His shadow protected him.

It was all a flutter of lights, really. He only saw the sliver glint before darkness cloaked in on the victim and his attacker. There were a few sounds, and the next thing Aventurine saw was the attacker, dead. He would remain there, unknown and forgotten by all, even his victim. In any other situation, Aventurine would not have passed a glance at the attacker. Only waiting for you to give the signal that it was safe to move on. But this time, Aventurine stopped and stared at the body with icy venom. He had heard the unmistakable subtle sound of the blade piercing the body, your body.

It was not the first time you walked off an injury, though one day, it would be your last. You hoped it would be as simple as bullet to the chest, a simple slash across your neck, or a stab to your back. You would lie there, remembered only by the shadows, as your body endured its final pain. You couldn’t say you didn’t want to die. Life as a bodyguard forced one to love death or, at least, accept its constant companionship. So you didn’t hesitate when you saw where the blade was heading. Too focused on disposing of the attacker, you paid no heed to the injury and continued to do so as you tailed the IPC manager back to his apartment.

Aventurine waltzed into his bathroom, and you slinked over to his wardrobe and began to take out a new set of clothes. Your boss had a habit of showering and changing his clothes after going through any filthy area, after any mission, or anytime he got injured. And he always discarded the previous set of clothes, as if they were tainted.

A burst of hot steam fanned Aventurine as he stepped out the bathroom in nothing, but a towel wrapped around his waist. On instinct, your hand held out his clothes, unphased by his appearance. There had been one too many attacks in the bath for either of you to be embarrassed, not to mention the numerous times your had to tend to his wounded body when he came back from missions. Once you were sure Aventurine was safe, you prepared to leave the IPC manager to his duties.  

“Wait,” Aventurine called out. He stared at the wall as he absentmindedly fanned himself.

“Sir?”

“What were the terms of our contract?”

You stared hard at your boss’s head. You were tired from shadowing Aventurine. Your body ached and your mind was weary, yet you rattled your brain for an answer.

“Above all, to protect the master”.

“You failed”.

The voice was low and short, and if you didn’t know him better you would have shivered. Instead you came forward and scrutinized him. He sat in all his decadence, fan cooling skin softened with the most luxurious brands. Other than a faint trace of exhaustion, no wrinkle or blemish marked his skin. No scar. No injury.

“I see no injury, sir”.

“It’s hidden”.

A lie. You noticed no new injury when he came out of the bath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir”.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered softly. Then he got up and rummaged around the closets.

“Sit,” he beckoned you towards the couch.

“It will get dirty”.

“Oh? And why is that?” Aventurine asked as he made his way towards you.

You sighed. “Because I haven’t had a chance to change yet, sir”.

The couch sank as Aventurine sat beside your injury. You attempted to face him in order to hide it but were stopped by his hand holding onto your elbow.

“Wrong answer”.

He tugged at your shirt collar, the colour being the only thing masking the blood underneath. You heard a sharp intake and the pressure on your shirt increased as he tugged it down your shoulders. You smelled the antiseptic and gently covered your wound.

“Don’t get involved”.

“It’s already too late for that,” came a soft voice as Aventurine gently removed your hand and dabbed your skin.

It took a long time to clean up the blood. The coffee table was full of bloody cotton gauze, and you were definitely going to need stitches, but that’s not what worried Aventurine. It was your silence, dulled to the pain. Instead of hissing or clenching your hand, you instead, nodded off and now your head lay on his lap. He could see your shoulder and arm covered in scars and blemishes and he gently traced them. There was so much you both didn’t know about the other. So many secrets and hushed understandings. The distance was far between the two of you, yet your bodies managed to stay only an arms length away. Aventurine didn’t know what life had in store for him. He didn’t know if the goddess held him in her heart, but he did know one thing. The slow realization that his life was yearning to tangle itself in yours and that his heart beat to your pulse.

[callsign-dexter]

Tiny Visitors, Big News

Request: Could you do fic for Bobby Nash from 9-1-1 with wife reader? She was a kindergarten teacher and she had brought them to the station for a trip. Like the one they had during one of the episode. Everyone is just gushing over them because they're so cute 🥺 Maybe she and Bobby had a private time together and she reveal that she was pregnant. With his past, he didn't think that would be a father again. And he deserves that. Just something fluff and cute. Tag me later!! Thanks!! :))

Pairings: Bobby Nash x Wife!Reader

Warnings: fluff, cursing

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you @pear-1206 for requesting this!

There were many things you loved. You loved your job as a kindergarten teacher. You loved your husband of 8 years, Bobby Nash. You loved your extended family who were like your kids sometimes. You have always wanted children of your own but you knew his history and knew he was hesitant after bringing up children one day. If he was being honest, he would love to have kids of his own but after what happened in Minnesota, he thought of himself not being fit enough to raise kids and you quickly shut that down. After a few months of him thinking about it he finally came to you and told you that he wanted kids and you brightened up and so you both started to work on creating life. After 1 year of trying, you were about to give up hope but then one morning when your period didn’t come you were hopeful and you remembered that day clearly.

***********

You were sound asleep when your husband’s alarm started to go off at 6 AM and that made you jerk awake and it seemed like it surprised him too because he had the same reaction as you. His arm that was draped over your stomach was quickly retracted and he was rolling onto this back and reaching blindly for his phone. He got it and quickly turned the alarm off but it was no use the both of you were awake. “You get up too early.” You groaned, turning on your back and slowly opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him. You were met with the sound of his chuckle and a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s not my fault that I have to go in early and get the firehouse in tip top shape.” He said and you pulled a face and looked at him.

“Actually, you’re the captain so you have a say in the schedule.” You said and he chuckled again.

“You got me there, Darling. I also have to get the firehouse in shape for certain tiny visitors coming today.” He said and then was slowly rising and sitting on the side of the bed, that’s right you had a field trip today with your kids to the firehouse. You got up and kneel behind him rubbing both hands up and down his biceps and kissing his neck. “Keep that up and I might just have to call you and I both in sick.” He said and he could feel you smirk against his neck. “I also don’t think your school would like the sudden notification that they need to get a sub in for you.” He said and you groaned. 

“They’ll get over it.” You said and he laughed, a laugh that you loved. 

“I’m sure they would but you don’t want to miss out on a day with your kids.” He pointed out and you once again groaned.

“I can’t disappoint them, can I?” You ask 

“No, you cannot.” He replied and you fell back on the bed and he got up starting to get ready for work. He was only his tight brief boxers and his muscles were on display and you couldn’t help but drool just a tad bit. “I can feel you staring and drooling.” He said turning to look over his shoulder and you smirked not caring that you were caught.

“I can’t help it when my husband looks so fucking hot.” You said and he chuckled and smirked.

“Well, I can say the same about my wife.” He said looking at you in just your underwear and bra and you frowned and he took notice of it. “What’s wrong?” He asked, coming over now halfway dressed.

“I’m not hot.” You said and he gave a confused look.

“Yes, you are.” He said and you shook your head.

“No, I’m not. I’m bloated and look disgusting half the time. None of my clothes fit and I have to wear yours sometimes, especially your hoodies.” You said and he shook his head.

“You’re hot to me and to be honest you look better in my clothes than I do. Also, what are you saying about hoodies you steal mine pretty much all the time, I think half of your wardrobe is my hoodies.” He said and you cracked a smile. “There’s that smile I love so much.” He said.

“Your hoodies are so comfortable and they smell like you. It’s like you’re hugging me all the time when I’m wearing them.” You said and he smiled and crawled up to connect his lips to yours. You laid back and now he was hovering over you.

“Steal my hoodies anytime. I know I can get them back.” He said against your lips. If he stayed here any longer you wouldn’t be able to resist him. 

“You better get going. You’re going to be late.” You said trailing your hands down his chest and down to his abs and you kissed him.

“My incredibly hot wife is right. I love you.” He said and you blushed.

“I love you too. Be safe and come home to me.” You said

“I will always come home to my girl.” He said and then he was climbing off of you and finishing getting ready and then he was looking back at you again and smiling. “I love you.” He said again.

“I love you too.” You replied and then he was grabbing his already packed bag and then he was heading out of the bedroom. You didn’t move until the front door shut. You sighed and got up and your world spun for a minute but everything came back after a few seconds and you were grabbing clothes to take to the bathroom to hop into the shower. You didn’t have to be at work until 7:30 AM and it was only 6:30 AM so you had time to kill and you didn’t live too far away from the school, 20 minutes, and the firehouse was 30 minutes away. When you got done with your shower and dressed you went into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker as it started brewing the smell you always loved started to make you sick. It made your stomach churn and before you knew it you were running to the guest bathroom and barely making it to the toilet before you were spewing your guts into the toilet bowl. “Fuck, that was not normal.” You said to yourself as you got up and flushed the toilet and wiped your mouth with the hanging towel and then. Once you felt like you weren’t going to puke your guts out against you walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a bowl and your favorite cereal along with the milk from the fridge. As you went and sat down at the table and poured the cereal then the milk you began to think about everything you had to do to get ready for the day and you hoped the kids had their permission slips. This field trip had been planned for weeks. As you ate your cereal you felt good about everything and so glad you didn’t get sick. Though it did make you wonder what was wrong with you, you never got sick over the smell of coffee. As you sat there thinking you remembered that your period was late and that made you stop eating. “No, it can’t be.” You said but then you grabbed your phone and unlocked it and went to your app and it showed that you were 10 days late. You looked at the time and it was only 6:50 AM. You would have enough time to run to the store and grab a pregnancy test. So, after you ate and put away the milk and your dirty dishes you grabbed a travel mug and poured some coffee in it. You grabbed your things for the day, then your purse and your keys to your black with red trim Ram truck. You unlocked it and put everything in it and then got in. You started it up and headed to the store which took no time. When you arrived there, you found one of the many empty parking spots and parked. You turned the truck off, grabbed your purse and got out. You locked the truck and headed into the store.

“Good morning.” The cashier said and you smiled at her.

“Good morning.” You replied and headed to the section with the pregnancy section. You were nervous and you didn’t know why. When you got there, you looked at the many different ones and it overwhelmed you, you didn’t know which one to pick, and an older woman worker must’ve seen because she came over to you with a smile.

“Can I help you with anything?” She asked and you jumped “I’m sorry, Dear. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She added quickly.

“No, it's ok. I just don’t know which one to pick. First time.” You told her and she smiled and nodded.

“The best one that seems to have good and accurate results would be First Response Early Result.” She said, grabbing it and handing it to you.

“Thank you.” You said looking at her gratefully and she smiled.

“It’s no problem. Here I’ll check you out.” She said and then you followed her over to the cash register and you put the test on the counter and she rang it up and you paid for it. You thanked her again and then you were heading out of the store and to your truck unlocked it and got it and turned the truck on. You debated on going home but looked at the time and saw it was 7 AM and so you decided to make your way to the school and do it there. You took a deep breath and headed to the school. Traffic was pretty easy going and you didn’t run into heavy traffic which you were grateful about. When you pulled into the parking lot you parked in your usual spot and turned the truck off. You got out grabbing everything including the pregnancy tests and put it in your bag. You walked to the building and into the greeting your best friend, Mia Buckley the younger Buckley sibling. 

“Hey, Y/N.” She said and you smiled at her.

“Hey.” You said and it must’ve not been your enthusiastic self because she raised an eyebrow at you.

“Ok, what’s up?” She asked and you looked at her confused.

“Nothing is wrong.” You said and she continued to raise an eyebrow at you.

“I’ve known you for 3 years. I know your tells. What’s up?” She asked and you sighed.

“I think I might be pregnant.” You said and she squealed which made you wince but smile. “I bought a pregnancy test and am about to take it.” You said “I’m nervous.” You admitted.

“Want me to be there with you?” She asked and you looked at her gratefully.

“Please.” You said and she nodded and then she was dragging you to the bathroom. She took your stuff and you went into the stall and undid the test you took a deep breath and took it then capped it. After you wiped and pulled your pants up you walked out to her and set a timer then washed your hands.

“If you are pregnant. How are you going to feel about it?” Mia asked

“Ecstatic and scared. Bobby and I have talked about having kids but I know he was uneasy about it after everything happened in Minnesota.” You said and she smiled and nodded.

“I think you two will be great parents. I know Bobby is going to support you if you are and I know he’ll be ecstatic because that is who he is. He loves you and wants everything with you including kids.” She said and you nodded as tears came to your eyes and spilled down. She ran her hands up and down your arms and then eventually pulled you into a hug. She held you there for a few seconds until the timer that was set for 5 minutes went off. You pulled back and held her forearms and you took a deep breath and nodded. You both turned to the test and there were two pink lines, it was positive. 

“It’s positive.” You said and a wide grin broke out on her face.

“How do you feel about it?” She asked 

“Ecstatic, scared, and shocked.” You told her and she chuckled.

“You’re gonna be a great mom. Now come on, we have to start getting ready for the day and then you have to take a field trip to the firehouse.” She said and you grabbed your stuff and stuffed the pregnancy test in your purse and walked to your classroom. As you set your stuff down the kids started to come in and you greeted each and every one of them the parents that were going stayed and the others left. The field trip would be taking place early in the day and lasting throughout lunch. 

“Good morning, everyone! Who is ready for the day?” You asked and you got a collective of ‘yea’s then they settle. One of the kids, Ashlan, raises her hand. “Yes, Ashlan?” You asked as everyone came up and turned in their permission slips.

“Will we see your husband there?” She asks and you smile.

“Yes, you will. He is the captain of the firehouse where he runs it.” You said

“That is so cool.” She said and you smiled. You answered more questions and then it was time to go. You had them walk in a single file line to the bus.

“Mrs. Nash?” Bleu asked as you stood by the bus door and he stopped while everyone settled down in their seats.

“Yes?” You asked, looking down at him.

“Do you think we will be able to go into the firetruck and turn on the sirens?” He asked and you smiled.

“If you ask really nicely, I’m sure they will let you.” You said

“Yay!” He exclaimed and got on the bus. Once everyone was in you walked up onto the bus and sat at the front. The drive began and the bumps and the curves that normally wouldn’t bother you were starting to get to you. Luckily you arrived at the firehouse quickly and the bus was stopping and parking the kids were yelling in excitement and then you were stepping down to be met with you husband and Evan Buckley.

“Hey, Baby.” He whispered quietly and you smiled.

“Hi, Honey. You ready?” You asked

“Always.” He said and then you had the kids start coming down one by one and then gather around the front of the firetruck. Bobby and Buck started to explain things and then Eddie Diaz, Howard ‘Chimney’ Han, and Henrietta ‘Hen’ Wilson started to come in and out and explain different things. When Bobby talked you just stared in awe and at all the information he knew. 

Finally, lunch time came around and while the kids ate with the other firefighters you looked at your husband and he looked at you. “Can I speak to you in private?” You asked and he looked at you confused but answered.

“Of course, come on.” He said and led you to his office, where you’ve been many times and had a lot of fun in there and you had a feeling your baby was conceived here because this was the last place you got down with it. He held the door open and let you in and when you were fully in the room he walked in and shut the door. “What’s wrong?” He asked, concerned.

“So, I threw up at the smell of coffee this morning.” You said

“You love the smell of coffee.” He said and you nodded.

“I also got dizzy this morning when I stood up.” You said

“Why didn't you call me?” He asked

“Because I was fine afterwards. I found out why I was sick this morning. I’m late, 10 days late to be exact.” You said and you could see the gears turning in his head. “Baby, I’m pregnant.”

“You’re... You’re pregnant?” He asked and you smiled and nodded and pulled out the test. 

“I went and bought it this morning and took it at school. Me, you, and Mia know.” You said still not being able to gauge his reaction. “How do you feel about it?” You asked.

“Baby, I’m ecstatic.” He said and pulled you in for a hug and you let out breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“I thought you wouldn’t be.” You said and he pulled you back and looked at you.

“Not in a million years. I want everything with you and that means kids. Yes, I’m scared of not being a good father after what happened in Minnesota. But darling, I want this baby.” He said putting his hand on your stomach. “We got this.” He said and you smiled and brought your hands up to his face and pulled him in for a kiss.

“I love you.” You said against his lips.

“I love you too.” He said back and kissed you still having his hand on your stomach. “Now come on, I want you to eat. Gotta keep you healthy you have a human being growing inside of you know.” He said and you smiled.

“Ok, Daddy.” You said and he smiled.

“After you, Mommy.” He said and you led the way to the kitchen where everyone was scattered around. One of the kids grabbed his attention away from you and you smiled watching him interact with the kids. He was going to be a good father to your child and you couldn’t wait.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

@angenu01-blog

@talesofreading

@callsign-revenge

[snek-of-eden]

How TOS characters would react if you asked them for a hug (platonic)

this is based on that time i asked all of my teachers and basically everyone who i knew for a hug and compiled all the data into a best hugger spreadsheet. yea i’m neurodivergent and touchstarved why do you ask

“can i have a hug please?”

Kirk:

he would definitely ask you if you were okay

If he knows you he gives amazing hugs, absolutely fantastic. If he doesn’t really know you, you might get a quick, well-meaning one-arm hug

“sure thing, come here <3”

chub is good for cuddles

it’s kinda intimidating to ask for hugs from him, especially when he’s on shift

you feel a bit honoured that he actually said yes to your request

he always does a quick little squeeze at the end before he lets go

his hugs aren’t super tight though

the kind of hug that makes you both smile

wouldn’t rank super high on a “best hugger” list but that’s not his fault, he’s trying to run a ship here and he can’t get too attached to people

you probably wouldn’t get a repeat hug unless you really needed one or you knew him well

he smells like shampoo!

Spock:

he’d definitely raise an eyebrow

it looks like he’s considering saying no but on reality he’d never refuse unless the circumstances were dire

“of course, officer. is something wrong?”

he’s not an enthusiastic hugger but he’s really really good at long hugs

like not-letting-go-until-your-heart-rate-is-steady kind of long hugs

not super tight, not super loose. very medium strength hugs

he would clasp his hands together behind your back so he doesn’t have to touch your skin with his fingertips

if it’s a calm hug he might continue talking about ship duties while he holds you

if you’re freaking out he’s quiet enough that you can hear his heartbeat, which is surprisingly calming

he smells like lavender

he’ll hold on until you’re ready to let go

when you do let go, neither of you will talk about it again but it’s never awkward

he doesn’t offer up hugs if he sees you again, but you know he’d accept one no question if you asked

Bones:

he might not register what you’re asking for a second, because it’s not a request he gets very often

grumbling under his breath about not having time for this, but in reality he’s over the moon

“get over here, sweetheart”

king of platonic pet names. he knows well enough that this is notttt romantic

he smells like antiseptic and pear soap

his hugs are tight as hell, enough that you might have to remind him that he’s not trying to break your ribs

swaying hugs are his thing

while he holds you he’d definitely ask if anything’s up, or if this is a just-because-hug

would complain that this is why he doesn’t get close to patients, while simultaneously rubbing your back happily

once you get past the intimidating facade he’s a softie and pretty easy to ask for hugs

only in private though. never in public

if you do something great in the future he might hold out his arms for a hug randomly

Scotty:

he’s honestly miffed you haven’t asked him for a hug before

absolutely lights up at the question, clumsily putting down anything he’s holding and putting his arms out wide

“tha’s a good kid, c’mere”

he smells like engine oil and grease and something slightly singed. in a good way

surprisingly soft. he’s gentle and squeezy and keeps patting you on the back

he might lift you off your feet for a couple of seconds before putting you back down

very laughter-filled hugs

if youre upset he might try and tickle you a little

after asking, of course

he wouldn’t do long hugs, but he’d be regretful about it. as it is he’s probably neglecting some jefferies tube that’s about to malfunction or burst into flames

after that you’re not getting hugs when he’s busy, but if he’s got time and he sees you in the hall he’d call out “where’s my hug, lad?” (gender neutral) and follow through on it

he’s the one asking for hugs, and even though they’re short they’re very good natured

Uhura:

perhaps the least intimidating person on the Enterprise to ask for a hug. if you were asking all of the crew, you’d do her first because she gives off comfortable vibes

she would repeat your question back to you - “can you have a hug? of course you can!”

the first one to initiate the hug

no swaying whatsoever. she’s like a steady rock, and her hold is the perfect tightness

this is the best hug you’ve ever had

you are going to remember this hug for at least two years

you’re legitimately planning on calling your parent and telling them all about this hug, it’s just that good

she smells like perfume and freshly brewed herbal tea

while you’re hugging, she would definitely go “awwww” or make some sort of sweet little positive comment

you both let go at the same time. it feels like you never want to step away

she tells you that you guys can do hugs all the time if you want, and you get the feeling she really means it genuinely

whenever you see her she’ll hold out her arms for a hug no matter what, even if she’s talking to someone she’ll hold them out knowing you’ll come

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks. 

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling. 

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him. 

“I can’t,” you say. 

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.” 

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.” 

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat. 

“James…” 

“Just hit me,” he says. 

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage. 

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to hit you, James.” 

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.” 

“I’d rather not, though.” 

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.” 

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.” 

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.” 

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm. 

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest. 

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!” 

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.” 

“I am not punching you in the face.” 

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.” 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say. 

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple. 

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests. 

You relax. 

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.” 

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two. 

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority. 

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.” 

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined. 

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.” 

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint. 

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?” 

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.” 

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?” 

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.” 

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.” 

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift. 

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy. 

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses. 

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?” 

“I need stuff.” 

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.” 

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.” 

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance. 

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny. 

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does. 

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?” 

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.” 

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.” 

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…” 

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there. 

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them. 

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise. 

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.” 

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.” 

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.” 

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour. 

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?” 

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.” 

“You sure?” 

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.” 

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before. 

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, “this is all for me, I can pay.” 

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues. 

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns. 

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says. 

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.” 

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.” 

“Maybe next time,” you appease. 

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks. 

You laugh. “She was nice.” 

“Very motherly.” 

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?” 

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.” 

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.” 

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?” 

“No! When?” 

“The third.” 

“What does he like?” 

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.” 

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.” 

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely. 

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction. 

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door. 

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.” 

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.” 

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly. 

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years. 

“How exhausting,” you’d said. 

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.” 

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames. 

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot? 

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork. 

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat. 

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly. 

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?” 

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending. 

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?” 

“I’m actually not sure.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.” 

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it. 

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously. 

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?” 

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask. 

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.” 

“Sorry.” 

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?” 

“I’ll just be in your way.” 

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.” 

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.” 

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly. 

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”  

“I resent that!” James calls. 

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one. 

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.” 

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.” 

“We’re both fine,” you say. 

“Were you worried about us?” James asks. 

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk. 

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company. 

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real. 

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths. 

“Bit my tongue,” you say. 

“Ouch,” Remus says. 

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually. 

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down. 

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.” 

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased. 

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.” 

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.” 

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.” 

“And the rest,” James snorts. 

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself. 

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask. 

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.” 

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?” 

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask. 

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country. 

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood. 

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.” 

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says. 

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?” 

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.” 

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask. 

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.” 

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.” 

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly. 

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.” 

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead. 

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Of course.” 

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise. 

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.” 

He’s angry. 

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.” 

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.” 

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones. 

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner. 

[i-heart-yellowstone]

John Dutton with wife reader. Him being in such a mood that even his children start to tease him and her joining in. Anything at all. Fluff/suggestive. Up to you. Thanks!! :))

With prompts; "Are you really this happy 24/7?"

"Are you really this grumpy 24/7?"

"Are you really this happy 24/7?"

Tags [ @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @pear-1206

Exiting through the front door I joined my husband on the old wooden porch swing that overlooked the main part of the property we called our home. He moved one of his arms and laid it back down over my shoulder once I had taken my spot right by his side.

The sounds of nature were the only things we could hear for once. There weren't any of his adult kids running to complain about something or him having to rush off to fight someone who wanted to take the land from us.

I thought we could live in this peaceful moment forever- unfortunately that isn’t the case when it comes to Beth Dutton.

Her car quickly came down the gravel and dust driveway where she parked at the end of the steps. She slammed her car door walking up to the porch seeing me and her father sitting on the swing. “Are you really this happy 24/7?" She bluntly asked the two of us.

I began choking on the coffee I was drinking from one of the kitchen mugs, not expecting that to come from her mouth. “What! Why would you ask that?”

“Beth, I’m allowed to be happy with another woman.” Her father John remarked back at his only daughter.

His only daughter wasn’t exactly happy when he had brought me to the ranch a couple of times for our dates. And she especially wasn’t happy when we had gotten married a year later. I knew why though, it was because I wasn’t her mother. To her I was he step-mother.

We had done our best to be nice to one another but apparently she hadn’t fully accepted that her father could be happy with another woman just yet and we’ve been married for almost five years now.

Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, daddy. I mean you can’t really be happy all the time with her.”

“Beth!” John grumbled running a frustrated hand down his face.

I held my coffee mug in both hands, nudging my husband with my elbow in a joking manner. “Oh come on, John. You don’t have to fake being happy with me.”

“Y/n, I’m not faking it.” John shifted on his side of the porch swing so that he was directly facing me.

I tilted my head to the side knowing I could tease him for a little longer before he would figure out that I was entirely joking with the love of my life. “Are you sure? I mean I doubt I’m anything like Evelyn was in bed.”

“My mom popped out four kids in total. How many kids do you want to give birth to Y/n?” Beth asked, flipping her hair out of her eyes. “I’m going to get you someone better.”

John rolled his eyes, sitting his coffee mug down on the side table with frustration in his tone. “Beth, that's too far. Okay. I’m married to Y/n and you’re just going to have to accept it.”

“It’s going to happen, daddy.” She smirked in my direction.

Leaning back in the porch swing I almost couldn’t contain my laughter. “Oh god.”

“This whole man-to-man shit thing we got going is becoming a little ridiculous.” John shook his head wishing this would end.

His daughter spun on her heels walking up to the front door. “I’m on it.”

“Beth!”

She called back. “I got it.”

“Beth!” Her father shouted at her.

She shut the front door and hollering beforehand. “I’m totally on it!”

Once we were back alone together on the front porch I touched the side of his face making him look me in the eye. “Honey, I was just joking when I said I don’t enjoy being married to you.”

“But you said-“

I cut him chuckling lightly. “It was a lie, John. I was just trying to make your daughter happy. The only way I think she will like me is when she sees me start agreeing with her on some things.”

“Thank god.” He sighed heavily, slumping his shoulders in relief.

Resting one hand against the side of his face I felt him lean into my palm. “I can’t imagine being married to anyone else but you.”

“I didn’t realize that I was missing having a woman in my life until I saw your truck break down on the side of the road that morning.” He recalled causing a smile to grace my lips at the memory.

When I had gotten a flat tire on my truck right outside the Dutton fence line I thought I would have to call someone to tow me to a shop which would take hours until I saw a man around my age rode up to the fence on a horse wearing a white cowboy hat.

Leaning forward I kissed him slowly, moving my other hand behind his neck making the gentle kiss deeper until he broke it suggesting a common morning routine for us. “How do you feel about going for a ride?”

“Have you not met me? I would love nothing more.” Getting up from the swing I finished the last of my coffee, rushing towards the wooden stairs heading straight to the barn walking backward. Yelling with my hands cupped around my mouth. “Meet me at the barn. I’ll saddle the horses, just don’t forget my hat.”

John groaned getting to his feet, calling back. “You’re hat. I remember the white hat belonging to me when we met.”

“What’s mine is yours, honey!” I laughed with a cheerful grin.

He shook his head going to grab what we needed to ride our horses, truly treasuring the joy he felt once falling in love with you. “I love her. Let’s go to work.” It would take time for Beth to accept her father could be happy with someone else than her mother, but he wasn’t going to not live his life simply waiting for her approval.

[kaiserposting]

Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryuusei — Red

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader, Shidou Ryuusei/Reader WORD COUNT: 1.5k TYPE: Humor, Bad Flirting, Petty argument WARNING(S): tw Kaiser, tw Shidou

Kaiser is maybe pissed off or developing chronic depression (or uncovering a long going, underlying mental health issue).

Well, not to be overdramatic, but his life has fucking sucked ever since he came to this wretched place they call ‘Blue Lock’!

More like stupid shit lock, but he wouldn’t be caught dead saying something this immature out loud. Yoichi scored one more goal than he did — an entire goal, one of it, in surplus that is — and made a fool of him. Now Kaiser is spiraling and wanting to prove himself like a loser, when he’s the one who’s supposed to make others feel this way.

What is happening right now, in front of his very eyes, is egregious torture. Cinnamon to sauté the pear of anguish in.

He went looking for you in an only slightly creepy stalkerish way, which he already wasn’t happy about, since he had to walk around this soulless building and see too much of it at once. And when he finally finds you in one of the few communal spaces (gross, by the way), what are you doing? Betraying him by talking to Sae’s pink pervert and laughing. Your audacity to have fun while Kaiser is suffering is insolent. Ness should give you a yellow card for that.

Even if it’s below him, Kaiser can prove himself, though, both on the field and when it comes to strange rivalries with questionable undertones. He is better and more deserving of all attention, including yours, and he’s going to show you. He’s going to show you so hard, you’ll regret your ignorance so much that you’ll drop out of here and go back to school or whatever the fuck.

With this objective in mind, he reminds himself to act natural and walks up to you. In fact, Kaiser is confident no one has acted this natural before.

“Hi,” he says in an unnecessarily firm tone, with the most forced smile of all time. Maybe he should’ve come up with something before interrupting your conversation, now that he thinks about it.

Your heads snap in his direction at the same time with a weird synchrony. “Hi,” Shidou mocks, imitating Kaiser’s expression, going as far as to suck in his lips to make it seem more exaggerated and stupid.

Somehow, this situation strikes you as awkward, so you settle for staring at him expectantly. He probably had a reason to approach you, right?

“How… are you… doing?” Kaiser asks, ignoring the bug in favor of swinging an arm around your shoulder and leaning in way too close to your face. This is mostly an action meant to distract you from how strange he is acting. The only language he is proficient in is shit talking, so now he finds himself at a loss for words.

Shidou, however, is adept at smelling weakness. Without thinking twice about it — pathologically impulsive — he pushes Kaiser off of you, and his grin grows menacing. Now he’s the one draping himself over you, and he looks at Kaiser, who seems a bit caught off guard all things considered.

“We,” Shidou points a finger at himself and then at you, maybe attempting to insinuate something, “were doing great! And then the double-rat-tailed wonder came in.”

The who?!

Kaiser maintains a cheerful facade. “I don’t know if you’re aware because you seem quite stupid, but the point of a nickname is to be short. At least my hairstyle obeys gravity.”

“Wow, hear that? No way you like ‘em uptight and snobby like this guy, babe.”

“Really? Because I would’ve thought the vulgar type who treats the plays leading up to scoring a point like edging doesn’t suit you at all. Right, darling?”

Babe? Darling? May God touch these people’s wretched souls.

“Aww, you remember that? You watched me? Good times. I’m getting so popular.” Shidou lets go of you, much to your surprise. Then he stretches like a cat and yawns, overdoing it just to illustrate his boredom with Kaiser’s presence. “Anyway, forget about gravity. Pink is much better than blue-”

“No, it isn’t,” Kaiser argues childishly, crossing his arms.

“-We all know it! And what do you have in your hair? Blue. And what do I have? Pink.”

“This is stupid. They’re just colors.”

“Someone’s mad he doesn’t have pink instead of blue.”

“What? You’re so dumb. You know it’s not natural, right? I made the choice to dye it blue. If I wanted pink, I would’ve-”

“‘You’re so dumb. You know it’s not natural, right?’” Shidou repeats in a snotty tone, then throws you a meaningful glance and snorts, waiting for you to join in on the bullying. Apparently mimicking Kaiser is something he’ll add to his list of things he considers funny from now on.

You wonder if either of them have noticed you’re yet to speak at all.

“Well, what about you?” On cue, Kaiser addresses you. Are you seeing things, or is his eye twitching? “You understand opinions about colors aren’t objective, don’t you?”

Shidou perks up. “What do you prefer? Pink or blue? You love pink, right?”

“No, I bet you’re just… obsessed with blue. I bet it’s all you can think about, along with football, of course.”

“But isn’t pink so much more energetic and wild and cool and lovable?” Shidou flutters his lashes and strikes a pose as if he’s trying to act coy but in a manner so overt, it becomes clear he’s not really trying to sell his performance.

Are they even talking about colors anymore?

You shrug, deciding to treat the situation like a game. “I haven’t decided yet. Convince me which one I should pick. Get me on board.”

“I have a car,” Kaiser blurts out. Is this the only positive quality he thinks he has when it comes to his personal life? You don’t know if you find it funny or sad.

“So what?” Shidou asks, unimpressed on your behalf. “I’ve always wanted to hijack a car.” Then he wraps his fingers around one of your shoulders, overcome with excitement all of a sudden. “Let’s go on a date when this is all over and hijack a car! We could hijack his car.”

“See, he’s psychotic.” There is an arrogant smile on Kaiser’s face again.

“You’re also kind of crazy,” you say.

“There are no positives to being with him if you think about it rationally,” continues Kaiser, like he didn’t hear you calling his sanity into question. “Even if you wanted to be a deranged criminal, he’d just get you caught. Me, personally, I could plan it all out with you.”

Scratch that, he’s an overly willing lunatic who’s shielding his emotional dysregulation by talking about logic. Like that’s ever worked for anyone.

“So what if I’m impulsive? There are positives to being with me, duh!”

“I doubt it.” Kaiser’s skepticism is palpable.

Shidou’s gaze returns to you, so he can look at you straight on while delivering his next line. “Well, I’d give you a really enthusiastic massage.” Oh, this is the route he’s taking. Ok. “Jitter up your neurons like you do mine.”

“Do you even know what a neuron is?”

“Even a foot massage?” you ask, amused.

“Sure, I can do a foot massage.” Shidou remains carefree at the suggestion.

“Do you know foot reflexology?”

“No, that’s so boring.” You frown, just for the sake of seeing his reaction more than anything. Shidou tries to amend the situation, “I can learn?!”

“You can’t let him massage you anywhere,” argues Kaiser, and he seems quite offended by the notion. “He’ll probably do it wrong and fuck you up because he’s a brute. You’re gonna get injured.”

“Well, can the blue rose princess do any better?”

“Stop calling me convoluted nicknames. And maybe not, but I could hire a massage therapist with a five star rating or something. How’s that sound?”

“You’re such a robot! You’d rather be with a brute than with a robot at the end of the day, right, babe? Team pink wins all day.”

“How am I a robot?”

Gleefully, Shidou expands on his point with his grin turning even more devious, “It’s not about giving a good massage! It’s all an excuse to be all over someone. And by the way, you don’t seem cuddly at all. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.” His definition of ‘cuddly’ is probably questionable considering it includes Sae, but still.

“What! Yes, I am! Don’t talk about touching me, you moronic deviant!” Kaiser then deflates and seems a bit unsure despite the earlier conviction and aggression in his outburst. “I mean, if you think it’s an attractive quality, that is. But if you find it degrading, then I’m not huggable at all.”

Wow, they’re both suckers. You wonder how far you’ll be able to push it in the future?

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hey could you do fic for David 'Deacon' Kay with wife reader where she go to somewhere and then there's a robbery and he has to save her? Tag me later! Thanks :))

Absolutely! Thanks for another great idea!! I hope you enjoy @pear-1206 🤍 This did turn out pretty short, but if anyone is interested in a longer version, I could try!! (Did I name this like a SWAT episode with one random word from the plot? Maybe.)

Warnings: a bit of angst, mostly fluff, some comfort. 1.3k+ words.

Picture from Pinterest

Robbery

You can’t remember the last time you said goodbye to Deacon. Just after you were married, Deacon was shot, and you decided never to say bye again, worried it would be your last farewell. Since then, plenty of alternatives have made their way into your morning routine.

“Have a great day.” “Be safe.” “Call whenever.” Anything to express your love and care, but never bye.

✯✯✯✯✯

“No,” you mumble, gripping Deacon as he tries to roll over.

“It’s Friday,” he replies lightly. “One more day then I’m all yours for the weekend.”

You groan, loosening your grip on him as he kisses your forehead.

“Pull me up,” you request as you raise your hands over your chest.

Deacon chuckles, standing beside you and tugging your arms gently so you’re sitting up.

“I have a bunch of errands to run today. Walk me out, handsome?”

“It would be an honor, sweetheart,” Deacon replies, kissing your hand. “But you have to send me updates while you’re out.”

“Of course.”

When you’re ready to go, you gather your things and wait by the front door for Deacon. He pulls you into a tight hug before leading you to your car, kissing you quickly as you sit in the driver’s seat.

“See you tonight,” Deacon promises.

“Be safe. I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon enters the locker room at SWAT HQ but only manages to change into his gear before Hondo yells that they have a call. It should be an easy enough raid, Deacon thinks, just a quick in and out to apprehend a suspect who has barricaded himself in a house.

While Deacon rides in Black Betty, you drive to your first stop: a department store to buy a few things for a friend’s housewarming party. And, as usual, you find a few things for yourself and Deacon. As you wait in line to check out, you text Deacon that everything is going well and you plan to pick up an order from a sporting goods store next. He doesn’t reply, though you’ve grown to expect that from him. He’ll answer when he can, and you smile at the picture of him on your phone’s home screen.

While you pull out of the parking lot, Deacon replies and says he’s back at HQ and loves you. Short and to the point, Deacon never leaves room for miscommunication or interpretation, and it is one of many things you love about him.

✯✯✯✯✯

You visit your favorite restaurant for lunch before you make your last stop. At this point in the day, you’re ready to get home and wait for Deacon. This is the one errand you didn’t tell him about because your trip to the jewelry store is to get your anniversary gift for him.

Walking inside, you quickly find the perfect watch, tactical grade, black and minimalistic, perfectly Deacon. As the jeweler boxes it for you, you also find a new silver necklace chain you think he’d like, adding it to your gift.

You swipe your credit card just before the bell over the door rings.

“Nobody move!” a masked gunman yells, two more men behind him. “This will be over quickly, just don’t scream and do what I say.”

Stopping where you are, you duck behind a display case to text Deacon. He can see your location with the click of a button, so you just type: ‘Robbery here.’

Sliding your phone into your bag, you raise your hands as one of the men finds you, pointing his gun at you as he tells you to move. You move slowly before him, joining the small group of shoppers sitting in the corner.

“This isn’t about you,” one of the men says. “Sit there, be quiet, and then you can go home. You won’t be getting a refund, though.”

The woman beside you takes a sharp breath, and you turn to her quickly.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay, just take a few deep breaths, okay?” you whisper, taking her hand as you comfort her. “What’s your name?”

As you talk to her, you can only hope that Deacon got your text and the team is on their way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon pulls his phone out of his pocket when it buzzes, and when he reads your message, those two words kick his brain into SWAT mode.

“Robbery at 6333 West 3rd Street, 738,” Deacon tells Hicks and Hondo.

“It’s in The Grove. That suite is a jewelry store,” Hicks says, pulling up the map. “Locally owned Weiss Jewelry.”

Deacon’s brows furrow, wondering why you’re at a jewelry store.

 “There’s no report of a robbery,” Hondo adds.

Deacon will ask what you were doing there once you’re safe, he decides.

“My wife is there. She sent me a text,” Deacon explains.

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Hicks exclaims. “20-David, get out there!”

As Deacon climbs into Black Betty, he lets his training control him rather than his emotions. Thinking like a sergeant rather than a husband is the only way he can do his job and ensure your safety. There will be time to be a husband later, but not if something happens to you first.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Stop talking!” one of the men yells, pointing between you and the crying woman beside you.

You hear a loud bang at the back of the building and press your lips together, praying that it’s Deacon’s team.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Take it,” Hondo commands.

Street fires a flashbang through the side window. As it temporarily blinds the men inside, Luca pushes the accelerator of Black Betty to the floor, ripping the metal door off its hinges so the team can make entry. 

Tan and Street move to handcuff the suspects on the floor while Hondo and Deacon move toward the front of the store.

“LAPD SWAT, on the ground now!” Hondo yells as another masked man opens the door separating the vault and the storefront.

He raises his hands, lowering his gun and sliding it to Deacon as he kneels.

“Go, Deac,” Hondo says.

Deacon steps through the door, walking toward the door as he clears the room. When he sees a crowd of people cowering in a corner, he lowers his gun and steps into view. The hostages tense before seeing his LAPD uniform.

“I’m Sergeant Kay, LAPD SWAT,” he explains calmly. “We’ve apprehended the men who robbed you and the store. EMTs and officers are outside to assist you.”

Deacon’s eyes remain on you as he talks, and you send him a small smile. When he concludes, you stand before helping the women beside you up and to the door. You turn around to find Deacon, but he moves faster than you, pulling you into a tight hug as he cradles your head against his chest. You return his hug, breathing deeply.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” you say.

“What were you doing here?” he asks, leaning back to look at your face as he cradles it between his gloved hands.

“Paid in full and not needed for evidence, Mrs. Kay,” Luca calls as he approaches, handing you a bag containing two jewelry boxes.

“Thanks, Luca.” 

You take the bag, holding it in one hand while the other grips the strap of Deacon’s vest. “Happy Anniversary?”

“Don’t you dare try to give that to me now. We’re celebrating as planned,” Deacon demands, pulling you close again.

“You got here really fast,” you murmur, moving your hand to his cheek.

“You called. I’ll always come.”

“One of these days, I’m going to save you.”

“You do that every time I see you.” Deacon kisses you before adding, “You are trouble, though.”

“Maybe I’ll let them keep the gifts, just in case,” you retort, leaning back to find a police officer.

Deacon grabs your wrist, gentle as always. “No,” he answers, kissing you before you can make another comment.