#i just pulled out my old sketchbooks

[ourhouseishaunted]

trips and dozens of shitty sketches of trigun women fall out of my pockets

[giftedpoison]

do ya'll ever get this like yearning to create art

but you don't know what kind but it doesn't count if its your main art form? (for example: my main art form is writing, although i dabble in others as artists are wont to do, but my brain is not satisfied i need to do something else)

It literally has me wanting to paint or i don't know. its like a feeling of ravenousness thats completely elusive and drives me up the wall sometimes

[vessmar]

literally in hell bc my ipad has a part of the screen that is unresponsive and also won't fucking charge rn, and i'm honestly not sure what i'm gonna do if this thing fully shits the bed i'm nothing without my ipad, i hate it but all of my hobbies are on that mf piece of junk, sobs

[townofcrosshollow]

Tell me, Margaret, when I'm gone, what will I want?

Tumblr likes to kill my quality but here's an attempt at detail shots (why did I paint this so smalllllll)

[cheezyartarchive]

Making a seperate post for her actually. Pulling her out from the dust and introduce to y’all: Akane Amanogawa, an old OC made idk how long ago (~2021 or earlier maybe?) for the Pretty Rhythm: Rainbow Live series, it’s an idol anime cause of course I had an idol anime phase-

[rememberwren]

Just thinking relentlessly about Ghost who meets a clairvoyant (you).

You live life in relative peace and normalcy, but sometimes (something beyond this universe) convinces you to use your gift. When the urge strikes, you usually let it; you are not one to deny the powers of the beyond. Of fate. Of God maybe—who knows.

When you see the tall man outside the train station rifling through his backpack, brow low and angry, something in him calls to you. He’s handsome enough, a little intimidating especially thanks to his stature, but you feel no fear as you change course and cross the street to him.

“Left it on the tube, friend,” you tell him. He stares up at you with fathomless, dark eyes. Eyes that have seen so much brutality, that have shut against so much pain.

“What?” he asks.

You point to your mouth. “Your facemask. You left it on the tube. Rotten luck. Hope your day gets better!”

And while you don’t anticipate ever seeing him again, you’re hardly surprised when you do. That’s the universe for you. Or, more likely, that’s just Simon Riley. When he falls into step beside you the next morning, he’s wearing a new facemask.

“You been following me?” he asks.

You blink. “No? Think it’s the other way around.”

“How’d you know. About my mask.”

“Ah. Clairvoyant.” You tap your temple.

He scoffs. “What, like talking to the dead?”

“I do that too.”

“Don’t believe you,” he says. Ah, a skeptic. You know better than to argue with one.

“Alright. See you later, Simon.”

And it isn’t until you’ve turned the corner that he realizes he never gave you his name.

The next time he runs into you, he stops you in your tracks. People on the sidewalk flow around you both, irritated at the interruption in their walks, but you don’t care. Not when he pulls out a leather-bound book and hands it to you.

“Prove it,” he says, hand shaking a little. “His name was John. Johnny. He’s been dead for three months. I just—prove it.”

You take the book reverently, sensing how much it means to him. You nod and part ways. When you glance back over your shoulder, he looks disappointed—but sometimes these things take time.

At home, you open the book. It’s a sketchbook, filled with pages, figures unfamiliar to you (Simon. So much Simon), handwriting in a neat curl. You flick through it slowly, learning about John MacTavish the old fashioned way. When you come across the last page, you find it blank.

Perfect.

You pick up a pen—but no, that’s not right. You search for your charcoal pencils. That’s better. Then you begin to write in a neat handwriting so unlike your own.

The next time you see Simon, you hand him the book. He takes it with naked trepidation, mouth set in a frown beneath his mask.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him.

You both part ways. He isn’t sure what to feel—like a fool, mostly, for believing. Heartbroken, sure. He can admit it. He’d wanted to hear from Johnny one last time, some message that the man was at peace. Some idea, painful though it would be, that Simon’s feelings had been reciprocated.

He goes home and flips through the book, knowing each page by heart by now. The last one is his least favorite, forever blank—except this time it isn’t. And it makes his blood run cold.

Written in Johnny’s handwriting are a number of disjointed words:

help

help me

help me

tunnels

Makarov

help me

head

boom

help me

sos

alive

Next.

[livinghalfway]

Younger Years Pt. 3

Part 2

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence Word Count: 1664

The next morning when Damian woke up everyone was much more prepared to deal with his inevitable attack. The restraint on his ankle and Alfred the cat still napping on him helped deal with most of the initall anger that radiated off him though. The goal right now was to convince Damian that he had been de-aged, and all he needed to do was stay with them until the magic wore off. 

The topic of Danyal would come later, for now they needed to focus on Damian. 

Everyone had also prepared an item to show Damian to prove to him that they were telling the truth about his current situation. Alfred was first and had brought him a cup of tea the exact way the young boy preferred when he had first joined them at the manor. Duke showed Damian his school yearbook, and had marked which pages had an older Damian in them. Jason rummaged through the art room and pulled out a few old sketchbooks. 

Those had done well enough to calm the baby assassin down so that Bruce was able to explain the details to the young Damian. Which only served to make him think that instead of this being a test from his grandfather it was actually a scheme to draw him away from his birthright as one of the heirs to the demon head. 

To help further convince him Tim printed out the first DNA test they had done with Damian; making sure to note that the dates on these can’t be altered. Then Dick had showed him photos of him dressed in his Robin costume. What was strange though is that Damian didn’t look pridefully at the photos, only confused. 

Finally it was Bruce’s turn and no one was surprised when it turned out to be a family photo album. It was filled with photos of everyone from the last few years. Pictures of both big and small moments that the family had gone through. What was surprising though is when Damian practically exploded with rage with every page he turned. 

“Chum, is something wro-” Bruce tries to start once he sees how affected the photo album is making him. Only for said book to be launched at his head before he can finish speaking. 

“Get out!” Damian snarls as his eyes dart to everyone around the room as he repeats his words, “Get out!” 

“I told you this wasn’t going to work.” 

“Not now, Jason.” 

Dick makes an obvious move of wanting to comfort Damian, but is clearly holding himself back knowing that his succor would only make things worse. “Dami…” 

“You do not have the right to call me that,” Damian's breath starts to speed up with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “The only one that will ever be allowed to use that name has apparently been long absent from my life. So I will repeat myself only once more; get out.” 

No one makes any move to leave at first and it isn’t until Tim clears his throat as well as putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder does the others finally move. It takes both Duke and Tim to get Bruce out of the room, and Jason ends up having to practically drag Dick out. 

“Why did you pull me away from him! He was clearly on the verge of a breakdown based around the fact that Danyal, his twin, never came here with him! Damian needs someone to be with him right now!” Dick angrily breaks out of Jason's hold on him. 

Jason, immediately matching Dick’s tone retorts, “Since when has that kid ever liked having family much less strangers comfort him? Cause newsflash Dickiebird that what we are to him right now, nothing but strangers who are trying to act way too familiar with him. The only thing your sympathy will do right now is just make things worse!” 

“I’m not going to let my currently 6 year old baby brother mourn a death by himself!”

“We don’t actually know if Danyal is dead or not right now. Just that he didn’t arrive with Damian at the manor 4 years ago.” Tim interjects before any more arguing between the two can continue. “For all we know Ra’s could have sent one twin away to here while keeping the other involved with the league.” 

“Wouldn’t have Damian said something by now if that was the case? He obviously cared a lot for Danyal.” Duke honestly doesn’t know what the right decision is right now, but he’s more inclined to agree with Jason right now. 

Tim runs a hand through his hair in thought, “14 year old Damian, maybe. The Damian that first arrived at the manor four years ago, no way. Especially if he was told explicitly not to say anything. That little brat was still deep in the league mindset, and would have done anything Talia or Ra’s said.”

“Wouldn’t have Ra’s already used Danyal against Bruce though? He’s had plenty of opportunities to use the knowledge of a second child to get B to do practically anything for him. What possible scenario would he be saving that information for?” Dick at this point seems to have calmed down. He’s still obviously wanting to be with Damian, but also knows that Jason is right about how his presence wouldn’t be appreciated at the moment. 

Jason instead of offering any answers to Dick’s questions turns to direct his lingering anger at Bruce, “You’re being awfully fucking quiet right now B, what do you have to say about all this?”

“... I think it’s time to call Talia. I wanted to wait and give Damian the chance to explain himself before doing so, but if the league does still have Danyal we need to start planning his rescue as soon as possible.” 

After asking the boys to keep an eye on Damian, and to check in on him every once in a while without distressing him more Bruce headed upstairs towards his office. Once there he silently stares at the phone in his hand. 

It had been devastating to learn that he had a son, and missed out on so much of his life. Bruce had been angry at Talia, furious even, especially when she had raised Damian to be a child assassin. To learn that she had done this not once but twice shattered him. Even more so when he thinks about how his second son might still be a part of that life when he could have been living here with him instead. 

The alternative to that thought though, the unfortunate more likely option, is that Danyal is dead. 

That he had failed yet another child. 

Bruce presses the number and puts the phone to ear. With each unanswered ring he sees flashes of what could have been if both boys had arrived that day. What was Danyal even like? Was he similar to Damian, or was he the complete opposite? 

“Beloved, what a pleasant surprise hearing from you.”

“I know about Danyal.” Bruce leans back in his chair with his eyes closed. Today has already been exhausting, and he knows that it’s not going to get any better anytime soon. “What happened to him?” 

The amount of silence that follows tells him that for maybe the first time he has truly shocked Talia with his words. Eventually though she answered, sorrow clear as day in her voice, “How much do you know?” 

“I’d rather you tell me what you know right now.” 

“Danyal died two weeks before Damian was sent to live with you.”

There it was, the hard truth. A child that he was never given the chance to hold, to meet, and to love was dead. Bruce had nothing to hold onto from a child that died way too young. 

“My Father and Damian are the only ones that truly know what happened in that room; I didn’t even know at the time that he had pulled the two of them from their afternoon studies.” She continues softly, “By the time I reached them Danyal was gone. I imagine Ra’s wanted to make an example out of him because he had put his body into the pits … only he never came back out. The pits had even taken his body with them.” 

“Did you never question what happened to him?” 

“Ra’s told me it was none of my concern when I questioned him, and he forbade Damian from telling me himself. He had all evidence of Danyal erased after that; he only exists now in the memory of those who knew him.” 

“Would you have ever told me about him?”

“No.” 

“Hm.” Bruce doesn’t do anything more than acknowledging her response before hanging up, and putting the phone down. He wasn’t going to get any more information out of her, and he had more important things to focus on right than interrogating Talia. It seems they’re all just going to have to wait for Damian to learn what happened to Danyal anyway. 

For now though he needs to go back downstairs and make sure they haven’t exploded into chaos due to his absence, but as he exits his office he makes a quiet promise to himself and Danyal. “Even in death you will be a part of this family; I’m so sorry you will never get the chance to know just how much they already love you.” 

Once he reaches the batcave once more he sees Tim and Duke at the computer, Jason laid back with his feet on the center table, and Dick leaning by the med bay door. All of them though stop what they’re doing and look towards him as he enters; waiting for him to tell them what has become of the brother they’ve never met. 

“Danyal is dead.” It hurts to watch his sons lose what little hope they had that maybe by the end of this their brother would be coming home. 

[imababblekat]

Simon sees you sitting curled up in a chair, eyes peering lost at the sketchbook and computer before. He knows that look. It’s a look you often get when the team finally gets some time off, but you brain is stuck in this void of being unable to commit to any hobbies you once enjoyed. You told him about it once, it was offhandedly and you hadn’t delved much into it with due to still being fairly new and not wanting to bother the apparent cold stone lieutenant. Simon paid attention though, and this detail about yourself had been added to his mentail folder of his teammates.

A deep breath huffed out your nose, head drooping into your folded arms, when your ears picked up on the sound of light footsteps entering the kitchen area you resided.

“The usual?”, came Simons gruff voice, large hands reaching into the cabinet for your and his mugs.

“The usual.”, you mumbled in reply, staring at your phone and resisting the urge to start doom scrolling.

It was a battle you lost as you reached out to open an app and scroll mindlessly through its feed, the light clinking of Simon making you both tea behind you. You’re not sure how long he had taken, too lost in the endless information of peoples lives and other nonsensical things scrolling past your dulled eyes, not registering a thing you watched or read. At some point though, your phone had been snatched from your hands, replaced by a warm cup of your favorite tea, Simon pulling out the chair beside you to sit with his own.

You couldn’t even bother the smallest fuss at the large soldier for taking your phone, simpling taking a sip and then blindly staring into the liquid void.

“That bad today?”

You nod with a groan, putting your cup down to splay your hands out at the objects you once enjoyed before you.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought maybe I was bogged down by knowing I had chores to take care of, but even after finishing those I still can’t get myself to do any of my hobbies!”

Simon sipped his tea, dark eyes glancing up at your downtrodden expression. You thought nothing of his silence, having known him for a while now that his silence was him listening. If he truly wasn’t interested, he would have left, hell he wouldn’t have even bothered to make you a drink.

“I just. . .”, you hold your head in your hands, “I don’t feel myself. I finally get a break, and I can’t do anything I wanted to do. What’s the point of having hobbies if every time I try one of them, I immediately become disinterested?”

The Brit beside you stares down into his own mug now, thinking on your words, a silence filling in besides the muffled sound of Johnny bellowing songs in the shower upstairs. Before, he wouldn’t give two shits about something like this, leaving you to figure it out or not all on your own. Of course, being apart of the 141 it was only a matter of time before you became apart of this oddly dangerous family of sorts, and Simon found himself caring for you just as much as he did for the other three, even if he ever expressed it.

“Maybe doing nothin’, is what you’re suppos’d do.”

You quirked a brow at him.

“You? Telling me to do nothing?”

Simon rolled his eyes, sitting back against the creaking old dinning chair.

“Yeah, shocker I know, but trust me, after years of doing this shit, sometimes you jus’ gotta kick ya feet up and do fuck all.”

You look back to your tea before taking another sip, thinking on his words. He had a point though. As frustrating as it was, wanting to engage in activities that would normally bring you joy, it was only natural to not always be motivated to do them, especially with the grueling type of work you all did.

“Welp,” you shrug, closing your lap top shut and throwing your sketchbook atop it, “guess I’m doing fuck all today.”

A light, deep chuckle came from Simon, him always finding it kind of funny when outlandish vocabulary came from your lips. You never came off as the type to say such words, but then again you also didn’t exactly fit into the picture of the intimidating guys you were so close to.

“Good. Relax, ya earned it.”

You smile up at Simon, your eyes crinkling in the corners something that brought him some warmth.

“We earned it, Simon.”

[be4chywritez]

Afterglow | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x roommate!reader

you have a big fat crush on your roommate

request: heyyy, can u do oscar or lando or max w 28 and 36?

prompts: “accidentally” locking other out. (they’re roommates.), and "Quit smiling at me, I can't stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that."

beachy’s masterlist🐚

prompt list🐚

If you had told your thirteen-year-old self that your best friend’s really cute brother would one day be your roommate, she would have absolutely lost it.

But life works in mysterious ways. Oscar had always been a point of interest in your life—not just because you were next-door neighbors, but because you’d been close with his sisters. You were a year older than Hattie, and the two of you got along splendidly.

As university discussions became more frequent, you decided to take a leap, applying to the International University of Monaco. To your surprise, you got in. At seventeen, you packed your bags, said goodbye to the only home you’d ever known, and headed for a new life by the Mediterranean.

Leaving meant parting with your friends, your family, the Piastris—your second family—and the boy you’d secretly been in love with since you were thirteen.

Fast forward to 2023. You’re twenty-two, settled into an amazing job, and living comfortably in your lavish Monaco apartment. Your connection to home hasn’t faded—you still have regular calls with your parents and close friends.

During one of your weekly catch-ups, Hattie mentions that Oscar’s made it to Formula 1. You couldn’t be prouder. You remember her talking endlessly about his journey through F3, and you have no doubt that now, with him in F1, she won’t stop anytime soon.

After hanging up, you return to sketching prototypes for work, the details pulling you back in. So much so, you nearly miss the chime of your phone—nearly.

Glancing down, your heart skips a beat. It’s Oscar.

Hey, can I call you for a sec?

You hesitate for just a moment before typing back a quick Sure and setting your sketchbook aside.

Seconds later, your phone rings, and when you answer, the familiar sound of his voice sends a ripple of nervous energy through you. “Hey, long time no talk,” Oscar greets, his tone easygoing as always.

You clear your throat, trying to sound normal. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How’s everything going with you?”

“Busy, as usual,” he chuckles softly, and you find yourself fidgeting, your fingers lightly tapping against the sketchbook in your lap. His voice has always done this to you—made it hard to focus, made it hard to breathe, if you were being honest.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. You’d known him for years, but now, with him on the line, your thoughts scatter. There’s a beat of silence before you speak again. “Hattie told me you got into Formula 1. That’s amazing, Oscar.”

“Thanks,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been pretty surreal.”

There’s another pause, a moment where you think the small talk is winding down, and you brace yourself for the inevitable goodbye. But instead, Oscar clears his throat. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something.”

You shift in your seat, nerves buzzing under your skin. “Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m moving to Monaco soon,” he starts, and the mention of Monaco—your Monaco—makes your heart skip again. “I was wondering… Would it be okay if I stayed with you for a bit? Just until I find a place of my own?”

Your breath catches, and you sit up straighter. Rooming with Oscar? The idea alone sends a jolt of panic and excitement through you. You’re quiet for a moment too long, and Oscar’s voice cuts through the silence.

“If it’s too much trouble, no worries. I can figure something else out.”

“No, no!” you rush out, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s fine, I mean—yeah, you can stay with me. It’s no trouble at all.”

The words leave your mouth before you can fully process what you’re agreeing to. The thought of sharing your space with him, being around him constantly, sends your mind spinning. But you can’t bring yourself to say no. Not to Oscar.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” he says, his voice light again, like the weight of the request is off his shoulders. “It’ll just be for a little while.

“Yeah, no worries,” you repeat, though inside, you’re anything but calm.

You hang up a few minutes later after more polite exchanges, but as you set your phone down, the reality of what you just agreed to hits you like a wave. Oscar Piastri, the boy you’d been in love with since you were a teenager, was going to be living with you.

And there’s no way you’re going to survive this unscathed.

That was a year ago.

Oscar hasn’t left as he promised. Not that you’re complaining—you like having his company, and you’d say he enjoys yours as well. But you weren’t going to lie: your crush on Oscar hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown, expanding until it was something you could no longer ignore.

You’d gotten better at hiding it, of course. But there were moments—little, fleeting moments—when you’d catch yourself staring at him too long or feeling a spark when his hand brushed yours. And those moments? They were dangerous.

Living with him had brought its own routines, little traditions that had become your favorite parts of the week. Like Tuesday movie nights. It had started casually—something to fill the time—but now it was your unspoken ritual. The only complication was when Oscar was away for races, but even then, he’d FaceTime you, watching the movie along with you through the screen.

Tuesday movie nights had become a guilty pleasure, though you’d never admit it. You told yourself it was just because of the routine, but deep down, you knew it was because of him. The way he would sit close enough for your arms to touch, the way his laugh made your chest tighten. It was torture, and yet, you craved it every time.

And then there was the way he looked at you—so casual, so unbothered. He had no idea, did he? No idea how your heart raced every time he smiled at you or how the sound of his voice made you forget everything else.

You often wondered if Oscar noticed—if he could feel the tension simmering between you, or if he was just blissfully unaware. Sometimes, you thought you caught him looking at you a little too long, or that his teasing smile held something more. But you never let yourself hope too much. Not when he seemed so completely, utterly unaware of the effect he had on you.

And so, you kept pretending. Pretending that your feelings were buried, that living with Oscar was perfectly normal. But every day, it became harder to ignore the truth: you were still in love with him, and no amount of time or distance could change that.

It was another Tuesday night. Oscar got home earlier than usual, greeting you with a tired smile that made your heart do an inconvenient little flip. You felt oddly underdressed as he looked at you, even though you were in the comfort of your own apartment—cozy sweats and a tank top, nothing out of the ordinary. But something about the way his eyes lingered made your skin feel too warm.

You tried to shake it off, busying yourself by pulling out snacks from the cupboard for movie night. The crinkle of the chip bags was enough of a distraction—until Oscar walked back into the kitchen, out of his workout clothes and now wearing jeans and a simple white t-shirt.

You raised an eyebrow. Jeans? For movie night?

“So, I know it’s movie night,” he began, leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the granite. You watched the way his fingers flexed on the stone, trying not to think too much about how good he looked—like you hadn’t seen him in casual clothes a hundred times before.

“Yeah?” you prompted, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you glanced up to find him already staring at you. His gaze was soft, but it sent a nervous flutter through your chest.

He rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. “Meredith from PR asked if I wanted to go for drinks.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you forced your face to stay neutral. You knew you shouldn’t feel this way—shouldn’t feel the sudden green wave of jealousy swirling in your stomach—but there it was.

“Oh,” you managed, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I get it. We don’t have to do movie night.”

Oscar’s lips curved into a small pout, and you had to look away because, God, that look was going to be the death of you. “I know you want to do movie night,” he muttered, almost as if he didn’t want to disappoint you.

You kept your eyes on the snack bags, pretending they were the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s fine,” you said, though your voice was quieter than you intended. “You should go. It’s no big deal.”

There was a brief silence, one that stretched just a little too long for your liking. “Can we do movie night when I get back?” Oscar asked, and the hopeful tone in his voice made it impossible for you to say no.

You hesitated for just a second, your heart already betraying you. “Yeah, sure. What time will you be back?”

“Ten,” he said, and you nodded, already telling yourself that it was fine. You’d fill the time with work. That project needed attention, anyway.

Oscar smiled again, this time a little more relaxed, as grabbed his car keys and wallet. “I’ll see you later, then,” he said, heading for the door.

You forced yourself to smile back. “Yeah, see you later.”

As the door closed behind him, the apartment suddenly felt too quiet. You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, and tried to push down the uncomfortable knot of jealousy twisting in your stomach. You shouldn’t care this much. He was just your roommate. Just Oscar.

But the pang in your chest told you otherwise.

You tried to shake off the unease, focusing on your project instead. Time passed in a blur of work until you wrapped things up around 9:30. Twenty minutes to spare.

You leaned back, glancing at the clock and then at your reflection in the nearby window. Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself reaching for your makeup bag. Just a little—subtle mascara, a swipe of lip gloss. You told yourself it was because you were bored. But deep down, you knew the truth: you wanted Oscar to see you.

A glance at the clock.

9:48.

You padded into the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard once again. You pulled out some of Oscar’s favorites—chips, biscuits, a pack of his beloved Tim Tams. You reached to the back of the cupboard, fingers grazing the last pack of Tim Tams, and popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

The machine hummed as the kernels popped, the comforting sound filling the silence. You found yourself glancing at the clock again.

9:59.

The popcorn was done. You set it on the counter to cool slightly, and grabbed a few blankets from the couch, arranging them neatly. Tonight was your turn to pick the movie, and you had already decided on La La Land. A few sparkling waters from your last grocery run sat ready on the table.

And then you waited.

You sat on the couch, scrolling through Instagram to pass the time. The soft glow of your phone lit up your face, but the anticipation thrummed beneath your skin, distracting you.

10:15.

Your popcorn was cold.

10:25.

Condensation from the sparkling waters was beginning to leave small rings on the coffee table, pooling at the base of the cans.

10:30.

You sighed, the weight of disappointment settling over you. The TV screen remained frozen on the movie selection screen, your remote still in hand. With a frustrated click, you powered it off and got to your feet. Slowly, you folded the throw blankets, placing them back where they belonged. The cold popcorn went straight into the trash.

Sitting back down on the couch, you stared at the wall for a long moment, a heavy feeling growing in your chest. Why were you waiting for him? Why did it hurt so much?

In a snap decision, you stood up and walked to the front door. You pulled it open, crouching down to check beneath the mat for the spare key. Your fingers closed around it, and you slipped it into your pocket.

Oscar never bothered to take his apartment keys when you were home, always joking about how you had “Oscar tingles”—how you’d somehow know exactly when he was coming home and be ready to open the door. It wasn’t tingles at all, though. You just… waited for him.

Except tonight, you weren’t going to wait anymore.

After locking Oscar out, you settle on the couch, arms crossed tightly, trying to ignore the guilt creeping in. Sure, locking him out might have been petty, but he deserved a little consequence for coming home late. Still, your phone buzzes again—his name flashing on the screen.

“You locked me out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, debating whether to reply. After a beat, you type:

“Oops. Thought you had your keys.”

“I didn’t take them because you’re always here.”

You hesitate, knowing you can’t leave him out there forever. Letting out a sigh, you slowly rise, dragging your feet toward the door. When you open it, Oscar is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking at you with that familiar easy smile.

He doesn’t seem irritated at all. In fact, he’s grinning like this whole thing is some kind of joke.

“Took you long enough,” he says, stepping past you with a shrug. “I was starting to think you’d make me sleep in the hall.”

You force a smirk, stepping aside. “Maybe you would’ve learned something out there.”

As he walks by, you notice his shirt—rumpled, his collar slightly crooked. Then, you see it: a faint smudge of lipstick near the edge of his neck. Your stomach drops, but you swallow down the sting, forcing yourself to play it cool.

Oscar heads for the couch, oblivious as always, and stretches out comfortably. You stay near the doorway, arms crossed, your gaze flicking over him as you try to keep your voice light.

“Rough night, huh?” you ask, eyes lingering on his collar and the mark on his neck.

Oscar frowns a little, looking down at his shirt before brushing at the smudge casually. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Meredith’s friends get a little… enthusiastic when they’re drinking.” He chuckles, seemingly unaware of the effect his words have on you.

You force a smile, your voice sharper than you mean. “Clearly.” You gesture vaguely at his collar. “Looks like someone really went for it.”

He glances down again, this time actually noticing the mess of his collar, and shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d care about my wardrobe choices.”

You laugh, though it’s hollow. “Oh, I don’t. Just thought you might want to… tidy up a bit. Wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Oscar, still completely relaxed, glances over at you, confused but not concerned. “What wrong idea?”

You stare at him for a moment, caught between wanting to scream and laugh at his complete obliviousness. Instead, you force out a sarcastic reply.

“Nothing,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Just looking out for your reputation.”

Oscar, unaware of the storm inside you, smiles softly and turns his attention back to the couch. “Right. So, still up for that movie? I did say we’d watch it.”

You swallow down the surge of frustration, nodding even though your chest feels tight. “Sure. Why not?”

You head to the kitchen, not to grab the snacks you’d laid out earlier—those were already thrown out when the disappointment set in—but to busy yourself with something, anything, to avoid looking at him. Your chest feels tight, and your head is spinning.

You settle back on the couch with Oscar, and though you’ve tried to compose yourself, the weight of everything unsaid presses down hard. He’s right there—so close—but he might as well be a million miles away.

The movie starts, but you can’t focus. Your eyes flick to the screen, but your mind races. Oscar is relaxed beside you, oblivious, a faint smile on his face as he settles into the film. Meanwhile, the tension inside you is almost unbearable.

And somehow, despite everything, he remains blissfully unaware.

You’re about halfway through La La Land when you suddenly feel Oscar’s arm settle around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your skin, and for a second, it feels like everything stops. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and your heart skips a beat.

Without thinking, you shrug it off. “I, uh… I think I want some crisps.” The words tumble out of your mouth, and before he can react, you practically leap off the couch, heading straight for the kitchen like your life depends on it.

You tell yourself you’re just hungry, but your racing heart and flushed cheeks betray the truth. Your hands tremble as you fumble with the cupboard door, staring blankly at the shelves.

Suddenly, you sense him behind you. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“You okay?” Oscar’s voice is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in it.

You nod, even though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Y-Yeah, totally fine. Just, you know… snack cravings.” You don’t dare turn around, because you know if you look at him, you’ll probably combust.

Oscar steps even closer, his breath now ghosting over your shoulder. “You sure?” he asks, his tone soft, as if he can sense something’s off.

And that’s when it happens. You can’t hold it in anymore. The dam breaks, and the words spill out, fast and frantic.

“No! No, I’m not okay! Because I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen, okay? And it’s driving me absolutely insane because you are so damn clueless and oblivious, and I thought maybe after you moved in, my feelings would just—poof—disappear, but they didn’t! They got worse! And then you come home late with lipstick on your neck, and your stupid rumpled shirt, and I try to pretend like I don’t care, but I do, Oscar! I really do! And you just keep acting like we’re—like we’re buddies, and I can’t—”

You stop, panting slightly from the rapid-fire confession, and that’s when you notice it.

Oscar is smiling.

Not just smiling—grinning. A huge, cheeky grin spreads across his face, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Your face flushes even hotter, and you glare at him. “Quit smiling at me! I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

Oscar’s grin softens, but he doesn’t stop smiling. Instead, he takes a step closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your tongue as he suddenly pulls you in, pressing his lips against yours. It’s not the gentle, tentative kiss you might have imagined. No, this is full-on, heart-stopping, world-tilting, toe-curling. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, and for a moment, you completely melt into it, into him.

But then, reality crashes back down. You shove him back, eyes wide as you remember the smudges of lipstick, the crumpled collar, the late night out.

“What about—what about the girls from the bar?” you stammer, stepping back, heart still racing from the kiss.

Oscar blinks, and then understanding dawns. “The lipstick?” He reaches up, brushing a finger over the spot you’d noticed earlier, and then laughs softly. “It was Meredith’s friend. She tripped, spilled her drink, and kind of… crashed into me. PR disaster, but nothing else.” He shrugs, completely calm as always. “I didn’t mention it earlier because, well, I didn’t think it mattered. Guess I should’ve explained, huh?”

You stare at him, still processing what he’s just said. The knot in your stomach starts to loosen, but your heart is still racing for entirely different reasons now.

Oscar steps closer again, his smile softer but unwavering. “You’re the one I want to be with. Not some random girl from a bar. Just you.” His voice is quiet, but there’s no hesitation in it. He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You feel your breath catch, the weight of everything you’ve been holding in for so long starting to lift. But instead of saying anything, you just stand there, staring at him, your mind a mess of emotions. His hand gently finds yours, and even that small touch sends another spark of warmth through you.

For once, Oscar isn’t oblivious. He can see the worry in your eyes, hope and doubt swirling in your mind. “Hey,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand gently, pulling you out of your head. “It’s always been you. I thought you knew that.”

You blink at him, still trying to believe it’s real. But the way he’s looking at you, so calm and sure… it’s hard not to believe him.

And maybe, just maybe, this isn’t as complicated as you’d made it out to be.

[gatorbites-imagines]

gator ! hey ! before you write the fic, can you add creampie, breeding kink, do anything with merman!zoro tits ( bro is 110 cm 😔💪�� ) , biting, fingering ( zoro received ), scratching ( reader/oc received ) and more if u want to add. oh and, reader/oc voice is nice, deep and soothing. btw, if you don't do oc just make is male reader ! thanks gator !!

Merman Roronoa Zoro x male reader

ficlet

I was struggling with what fish to make Zoro, as I always base my merpeople on real fish and sea life. Like, seal merman, clown fish, seahorse, octopus, etc.

For Zoro I was thinking about a tiger shark, a grey bamboo shark, a billfish or a koi fish. I think this counts as an au, since I have no idea how the strawhats would work as merpeople.

I ended up going with tiger shark, but I really want to write about koi merman Zoro as well, if anybody is curious. I really want to try centaur au stuff, like, tiger centaur Zoro or smth.

You were a fisherman, most men on your tiny island were. The island was actually pretty big, but terrible terrain meant people only got to live near the coasts, and only one half of the island. The other half was still a mystery to most, only the most daring and strongest went there and returned.

The island was surrounded by many sharp rocks, dangerous reefs and deep underwater pits, meaning it took talent and training to survive it. but this also meant very few people left the island, and even less visited. This caused your people to be very self-sufficient, meaning you had to be as well.

As an orphan, you were raised by the collective of the village, all children were. Your father was last to the sea, and your mother to the battle that was birthing you. After all this time, it was hard to remember anything about your father, other than the stories he told you of the other side of the island.

You still remembered the tales of mermen, one specifically, who had been half manta ray, half man. Thinking about it, you might still have your father’s old sketchbook with drawings of this merman, with his strong features and red facial tattoos. What was his name again? Dragoon? Drake? Something like that.

Maybe your fathers stories had filled your head with fantasies, but you had always dreamed of reaching the other side of the island like your father once had. And as an orphan, you didn’t always have an adult to corral you back into place, or to teach you self-preservation. One way or another, you were always out in the ocean, in whatever floating device you could make.

As you grew older, you still dreamed of exploring and seeing what few others ever got to see. But, with age came responsibility, and duties you had to fulfill. You had to hunt like every other man on the island, you had to held build, craft, kill. Whatever was needed to keep your village going.

This also meant that there was an expectation that you would find a wife and marry. The island didn’t look down on men being with men, or women being with women, but you were still expected to sire children. This was something you just couldn’t do, it went against everything you knew and felt.

When the pressure became too much, when the demands became too heavy, you finally uncovered your fathers old boat and sailed out in the cover of night. The boat was something you had worked on for years, like a passion project of sorts. It looked similar enough to his, but with your own flair and touch.

Whatever watched over the oceans must have favored you this night, as you were able to sail through the dangerous and mostly deadly rock formations and reefs. Growing up, you were told stories by the village elders, that monsters of the sea would destroy the boats if the rocks didn’t. That they would drown the sailor and eat his body.

Nothing happened on your trip, even as the night grew dark, and you lost all sight in front of you. At times it felt like the waves under you were leading you in one direction or another, like something was under the ship, pulling it away from rocks or tricky waves.

The boat was pushed towards a small private beach, one surrounded by large walls of jagged rock, palm trees sticking out of the sand and even climbing the rocky surroundings. It was easy to pull your ship to land, sailing so closely you could jump out and drag it all the way. It was only years of sailing that let you tell yourself that it was seaweed on your ankles, and not somebody’s fingers as you passed through the salty water.

It was hard to keep track of time so late at night, but it must have been hours of sailing with no breaks for food or water. Enough that you let yourself wander up to the sandy beach and throw yourself down on your back, a loud shaky sigh leaving your lips. You were just so tired, tired of duty, of expectations, of everything the village expected of you. It was as if more was demanded of you as an orphan, as you had no family to mourn you or protect you. The village may be communal, but blood still meant so much.

You must have fallen asleep, as you awoke to something touching your chest. Or not something, but a hand. It made you snap awake, ready to jump back and strike at whatever animal might have been attacking you, only to freeze as your eyes met a single eye staring down at you.

The man was hovering over you, or well, you thought he was a man. Until you noticed the smattering of scales and discoloring in his skin, the sharp teeth between his plush lips, and the earrings hanging from one ear, seemingly made from what looked like straightened fishhooks.

Glancing down to noticed the lack of legs on him, instead, there was a large tail. On his ribs were gills, but there was also a pair on his fish half. Did he have two sets of lungs? Or was it all connected? The low rising sun made his tan skin shimmer from the salty ocean water still hanging on him, his chest rising and falling, making it obvious that he could breathe air.

“I- hello?” you squeak out, wanting to facepalm immediately at the way your normally deep voice cracked. The merman had a scar over his eye, and across his chest, slicing through his very impressive pecs. Maybe they were so big because he had to use his arms to swim or steer? Seeing a merman made all the curiosity brew inside you.

An almost embarrassing noise left you as the merman leaned down and sniffed at your neck, a deep barely audible rumble coming from his chest as his strong nose nudged against your chin. “I smelled you” he rumbled, making you jolt at the words, having not expected him to be able to speak or understand you.

There was a strange accent to his words, like your language wasn’t his first, or even his second, like it was something taught by someone else. But it… was kinda cute honestly, even as his strong hands kept rubbing against your chest through your clothes.

“Knew you would come… my” and then he rumbled something in a language you truly could not comprehend, something that made his gills flutter as they gurgled along with his throat. A merman language, perhaps? But the word felt important, and maybe his hands traveling down your torso only added to that meaning.

“I- huh?” you choke out, only to twitch as his sharp teeth nipped at your neck. Not enough to break skin, but you could feel them, dangerous and deadly, nibbling at you like you had seen the cats in the village do to one another.

“Zoro” the shark merman grunted, pushing himself up on his hands as he lugged himself further up, his tail pressing down on your legs as your hips slotted against his underbelly. You could feel your crotch rubbing somewhere between his pelvic fins, the now named Zoro shuddering and letting out a breathless little gasp as you felt yourself hump against something that gave, like a slit of some kind.

“Zoro” you mumbled, feeling nothing but brimming want and something hot and burning in your chest as your hands explored up and down his back. It felt so strange to feel where his human torso melted into the shark underbody, the texture was like it was melting together. The discoloration on his human skin matched that of his shark half, like it was all blurring together.

You choked out your own name as Zoro pressed down harder against you, growling as he started trashing his fish half, trying to hump harder against you. But god was he heavy, enough to leave you lightheaded and gasping, as you started to lose feeling in your legs.

“Z..zoro, please. Move” you grunt, eyes fluttering shut as your vision started blurring from the heavy merman pressing down on you with all his weight. Zoro rumbled and finally looked down, only for his one eye to widen comically as he saw how close you were to passing out.

Air rushed into your lungs as Zoro rolled off of you, ending up on his side, showing you his torso but also his underbelly. Looking down you saw the slit you had been grinding against between his pelvic fins. It looked puffy and wet, whatever slick he was producing making his slit look almost soft to the touch.

“Touch me… please” the merman huffed, looking so cute as he pouted, even with the scars and sharp teeth. You had so many questions as you crawled closer, but those questions could wait for later as you settled down beside your partner for the time being, though the weight in your chest made it feel much more permanent.

His lips were as soft as they looked as you kissed. Zoro was clumsy and messy as you kissed, a little yelp leaving him as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, trying your hardest to avoid his teeth. Maybe merpeople didn’t kiss like this? You would have to ask later.

A powerful shudder ran through Zoro’s entire body as you started kissing down his chin, letting the kisses morph into bites as you traveled down. A strong hand clutched at the back of your head as you kissed and licked at his chest. For some reason he had nipples, you had always imagined merpeople wouldn’t have any since they were fish, right? But Zoro proved you wrong, and boy were they sensitive.

The bites seemed to excite Zoro more than anything, enough for Zoro to claw at your back. A pained yowl was ripped from you as Zoro’s sharp nails dug through your shirt with easy, tearing into the vulnerable flesh of your back, the scent of blood immediately filling the air as you lurch back.

Zoro’s pupils were blown wide, his face stuck in a half confused look as you jump back, immediately trying to somehow stop whatever was hurting. It seemed to confuse Zoro for a moment, only for him to come back to himself enough to pull you back towards him. There was a spark of fear inside your chest, wondering if he was about to eat you.

But Zoro simply turned you around, pulling your shirt off you so he had access to your back. There were apologetic rumbles from his chest, and just as apologetic gurgles from both sets of his gills as he licked at the claw marks on your back. His spit seemed to act like some kind of numbing agent or glue, stitching the wounds shut. They weren’t healed or anything, but they weren’t bleeding anymore.

Zoro looked so apologetic and sorry when you rolled back over again to look at him, the large merman somehow looking small and scared. It was hard to find it in yourself to be angry, instead you leaned in and kissed his collarbone, before biting hard into your pec, enough to leave a mark.

The noise Zoro let out definingly wasn’t human, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t shark either. “Payback” you snicker, pulling back as Zoro started wiggling, trying to adjust himself in the sand of the little beach you two were on.

Zoro rolled further onto his side, almost onto his back. Not far enough to really be on his back, he wouldn’t want to beach himself. But enough to give you a perfect view of his excited slit and the way it bulged. “Please?” he panted, which sounded a little weird when you heard the flexing and wheezing of his gills, but it was hot in its own way.

You really had no idea what to do with a shark merman lover. You couldn’t kiss him at the same time as you touched his slit. You couldn’t even reach his chest as you wiggled your way down, seating yourself somewhere between his pelvic fin area, and anal fin, giving you perfect access to where he wanted you the most.

It must have looked pretty awkward from the outside, a human straddling the lower tail of a gasping and moaning merman, as you started exploring the slit in front of you. It was so gummy and weird, it was clammy and almost cold. Not cold enough to freeze but cold compared to a human.

The noises Zoro let out got louder as you carefully sank your fingers into the gripping slit, a loud obscene squelching filling the small beach as you started working your arm and wrist. You had no idea what you were really searching for, watching carefully as Zoro arched and wiggled, his tail fin wiggling and slapping against the sand as your fingers brushed against something inside the slit.

Zoro watched you the whole time, his pupil blown as you bit at his bottom lip till it bled as he moaned and grunted, cursing and letting out those nonhuman noises that made your crotch ache. “Mine, mine. My other half” He whined, voice going high pitched as his one eye rolled back, hands balled into fists as your fingers kept petting against whatever you had found inside him.

His head dropped back into the sand as he cried out, a noise you could just hear made his throat ache from how raw it was, as that slick clear fluid spurted out of his slit around your fingers, coating your arm and his underbelly.

As Zoro’s chest rose and fell in powerful motions, a weak tremble rushing through his body, there was an insistent pushing against your fingers. As you pulled your soaked hand out of his slit, something else pushed its way out. At first you wanted to panic, only for you to freeze as you watched not one, but two shafts slide out and slap against his underbelly.

They were coated in that slurpy glossy fluid, his tail still jolted and thrusting as his two cocks arched and lurched. You were almost dizzy with want as you glanced up at him, feeling sweat gather on your brow as your eyes met Zoro’s, that feral hunger back in his eyes. You had a feeling that a human like you wouldn’t be able to keep up with a mermans stamina, especially one looking as aroused as Zoro. But boy, did you want to see if that was true or not.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can I request a Xavier Thorpe x reader where Xavier is really affectionate towards reader & Bianca is super jealous. Like they’re all in class and reader sits down next to Xavier and he pulls her chair closer to him & kisses her and plays with her hair throughout the class and Bianca gets jealous so she tries to use her powers to get Xavier to like her again but it doesn’t work because he’s so in love with reader.

Please. Ily

(Girl idk, I just be daydreaming lmao)

I decided to add my own twist to your request as I don’t like it to be too cheesy. I hope you still like it

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Textbooks in hands, you walked into Miss Thornhill’s classroom. Your eyes searched for an empty seat, the corner of your mouth lifting when seeing Xavier was sitting alone. His head was down, his gaze focussed on his sketchbook — as always. 

You walked around the table to get to the empty seat. ‘’What are you working on?’’ you asked, putting your things down. 

Xavier looked up for a short second to acknowledge you, then returned his attention to his drawing. ‘’Hey,’’ he greeted. ‘’Just something I saw in a dream. Getting the image on paper helps figuring if it’s linked to being psychic or a regular dream.’’ 

‘’And which one is this one?’’ You peaked at the sketchbook, seeing an old house with a gated fence.

He shrugged, using his finger to blend the pencil marks. ‘’I have not figured it out yet.’’ 

The bell rang, signaling the start of the lesson. Miss Thornhill walked in front of her desk, the heels of her red boots clicking on the tiles, instructing the class to open their textbooks to page 394. 

You grabbed yours and flipped through the pages, but before you could get to the right page, you felt your chair moving as Xavier was smoothly pulling it closer to his. Sitting at the same table wasn’t close enough for his liking. 

The small gesture awakened a pang of jealousy in Bianca, who was sitting at the table right next to yours. Her siren eyes were pointing daggers at you, in her heart still considering Xavier hers although they had broken up. 

After class, you gave Xavier a quick kiss before parting for lunch to meet with Enid and the other girls from Ophelia Hall to talk strategy for the coming Poe cup tournament. The Black Cats were going to win this year!

‘’For the costumes, I was thinking we could—’’

Enid’s words got drowned as you saw Bianca coming up to Xavier, her neck bare. You never thought she would use her powers on him to get him back — it was twisted —, but love makes you do crazy things. You weren’t too worried, though. Xavier was safe from her persuasiveness. You had made sure of it by giving him a necklace with a special stone.

But you were very curious to see the look on Bianca’s face when she’ll realize her powers weren’t working. 

Excusing yourself, you crossed the quad. 

‘’It’s not going to work,’’ you told Bianca, surprising her from behind. ‘’I understand that rejection hurt, but if you have to go as low as forcing someone into love you, maybe you should check your morals.’’ 

‘’I don’t know what you’re talking about...’’ She gave you an innocent look. ‘’Xavier and I were just talking.’’ 

‘’I saw you, Bianca. You were going to hypnotize him. But, as I said, it’s not going to work.’’ 

The siren narrowed her eyebrows, still denying what she tried to do. ‘’Did you spike his breakfast with a love potion?’’ Her eyes flickered to Xavier, trying to turn him against you. ‘’She practices witchcraft, you know that, right?’’

‘’Love potions don’t make people fall in love. It only makes a person infatuated with another,’’ you corrected, shutting her accusation. 

Bianca’s mouth curled into a smirk, not letting go. ‘’You seem to know a lot about the subject. Are you sure you haven’t used one before?’’ 

Having enough of the argument, Xavier tried to break it. ‘’Bianca, that’s enough!’’ he told her, his green eyes more than serious.

—

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[thehoneybeehive]

James "Bucky" Barnes Headcannon

CW: Fluff, SFW, just cute ideas I cant get out of my head

Once this man is comfortable with you, you are not going to be able to get rid of him. He is by your side every free moment, always clinging to or touching you in some way. 

Relating to that, this man is secretly the biggest cuddler. He definitely had issues with physical contact when you first started dating due to his past, but over time his walls break down and he becomes nothing more than a clingy little puppy. You can't sit on the couch without his head in your lap, can't brush your teeth without an arm around your waist and a chin on your shoulder, can't... well, you get the idea.

Is never bad at whatever new hobby he picks up. Part of his recovery is trying new hobbies, an attempt to feel more 'normal' again, but what you didn't expect when he started this next step was him being amazing at anything he tried. Woodworking? You have a new chessboard by the end of the month that looks like it's professionally made. Drawing? There is quickly a sketchbook full of sketches that look like they were drawn by Monet (what, are you surprised? He watched Steve draw all the time growing up). Pottery? You have a whole new dinnerware set before you even realize your old ones are gone.

There is one exception: knitting. He tried it in an attempt to lower stress and ease the arthritis settling in his hands (Years of battle and missions have ruined his joints). You assumed it would just be another thing he is amazing at until he presented you with his first project... a scarf? It took a stuttering guess from you and a pouty reply from Bucky to figure out it was supposed to be a shawl and luckily he just laughed with you when you giggled at the mangled mess of string. Bucky gave up on knitting after only one project, but the shawl still lives on the back of your reading chair for years to come.

This man smells amazing. He may leave his laundry on the floor but his personal hygiene is impeccable. You can bet he wears some basic bitch tom ford cologne but god he pulls it off like nothing else. It smells the perfect mix of the artificial scent and his own.

As much as he claims to have forgotten what it was like to date, how he claims to have lost his 40s charm, you see it. It's in the way he is always shrugging his jacket off and around your shoulders before you even process you're cold, it's in the way he never lets you pay (unless we're talking about that one time he lost his wallet and you paid for lunch, it's still a sore subject, even if he secretly liked it), it's the way he leans in the doorway with a cheesy pickup line and bouquet of flowers every date night even after years of marriage. He may not be as smug or sure of himself as he once was, instead of a smirk a soft blush coats his cheeks with every smile you throw his way, but the love behind his gestures never wavers.

[mandy-asimp]

Needed me

Emily Prentiss x fashion designer!reader (they/them)

Warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending

A/n: they dragging babygirl through hell this season 😔

"I'm sorry, but she is not my responsibility anymore. I can't be there to tell her it's going to be ok when she couldn't do that for me." They grumbled as they sat across from Rossi.

He sighed, "she's dealing with a lot."

"And I wasn't?" They didn't let him get further. "I get that you all are going to support her, she's your teammate. But you all didn't know her as your fiancé. The absolute love of your life who for the love of fucks, left you at your lowest."

The old man wasn't going to give up. He believed that there was still apart of them that would cave. "Y/n, you know I wouldn't have flown out here if I didn't think it was serious. She needs you."

It was them who sighed now. Standing up from the table. Leaning across to kiss the old man's cheek. "I'm sorry Dave. Unless she is at the point of tears and just giving up, I will not be roped back into it. Not again. I deserve better. I'll see you around."

And they were off. They never looked back to that table, knowing they were too close to facing...but they couldn't help but wonder what was so bad. Then there was what she did, how it flashed so quickly.

She came home that day to find her fiancé in tears. Body racking with sobs. "Babe? Baby what's wrong?" She was quick to drop her stuff and come crouch in front of her.

"Everything I've worked for it's gone." They got out between wiping away tears that seemed to never end.

Emily frowned, "what? Y/n, what happened?" She was trying to think of anything this bad. Had they been told bad news? Something someone said?

They picked up their phone and with shaky hands pulled up the news, a video of a burnt down building. "The studio...everything in it. All of it...this sets everything back..." they calmed their sobs to hiccups and a few more tears. "I'm absolutely ruined. This was supposed to be it. This was the break I was gonna get and then actually get to enter the real fashion world. I was going to go somewhere and I was going to make it," they spewed out so many worries. Mentions of how much time they'll need to restart, how this was the such an important thing.

Emily though, she froze up. There was so much happening she didn't know what to do. She's never witness them spiral out before. Within the four years, they knew how to keep themselves calm. Even if they couldn't, it's never been this intense. It scared her.

She knew it was a reasonable response to what had happened. Their entire future just went up into a crisp. Everything in her wanted to try and comfort them, truly she wanted to figure it out together.

Yet, the few bricks of the wall she'd built had more impact. She fell back behind it and regretted her next choice before it even happened. After that, Emily swore she blacked out because when she realized what happened, she was in a hotel room alone.

Y/n was just as shocked. The woman they were about to confess their undying love to just walked out. Not a single word said, but just gone. Even when they tried to ask questions, she gave them nothing.

For an entire week, Emily didn't try to reach out or fix anything. Instead she read every text that came through. Even the one that said all her shit would be on the curb for her. The one that set in what she did was calling off the wedding.

That was only a few years ago. The two had completely moved on, or at least Y/n tried to. Never wanting to look back on how much pain was caused, but apart of them wouldn't let themselves fall in love again.

But here they were. Sitting in the apartment, trying to sketch their next line, and only being able to think of Emily. Rossi came and he wouldn't have if it was serious. If they were to go to her, it would be unwrapping the bandages on a wound that hasn't been fully healed.

"No. You are stronger than this." They whispered to themselves. Staring at the sketchbook once again.

If they did...there would be a chance for closure. It would be nice to know why she ran. Why she couldn't just stick it out. They would've been the most badass couple. The FBI unit chief and a famous designer.

If they did...they would get the chance to finally express their anger. But it wouldn't be the right time if she's suffering. How is she suffering? What is going through her mind?

"Fuck." They shouted before getting up. Heading into their room to start packing a suitcase. Dialing Dave at the same time.

"Rossi"

"When are you flying back to Virginia?"

"I'll have the car there in ten. Thank you Y/n."

The call ended quickly, and Y/n was left to grumble. "Oh thank you Y/n! Thank you for having to be the damn adult once again. Thank you for willingly putting yourself through hell for her!" They had a nasty taste on their tongue as they spoke. It's honestly what silenced them.

Throwing a few outfits into a suitcase with the basic needs, they zipped it and began to pack a second bag. Grabbing everything needed to continue working on their summer line. This was done more carefully, with more precision on where everything went in.

Their eyes scanned over the packed bag, making sure everything was in there right. Right before Dave texted the car was out front.

One more sigh was let out before the apartment was locked up. The start of what might be either the biggest, or best choice made.

~

Emily was in her office. She was lost. She was loosing her mind over this case. Her wack-ass neighbor had hit a nerve she would've never expected.

It was just a mess now. Whoever was behind all this was winning and she couldn't figure it out. She was just fucked.

"Hey...how bad?" Rossi had popped into the room. Watching as the woman pulled out a box of cigarettes and lit one. "That bad?"

"Restricted duty until they see fit, so the BAU is yours." She tried to act calm, trying to keep it together infront of him.

Rossi huffed, "I don't want it. I'm not fit for it."

Emily pinched her nose. "None of us are! Hell! Me most of all. I need you to step up here Dave." She just needed him to make this easier.

"There has to be something?"

"This is happening." She shook her head and turned her back, her purse being a lame excuse for a distraction . The walls couldn't stay up as she felt herself begin to crumble.

A soft hand on her back made her gasp. She expected to turn and see Rossi, someone who she could only go so far with. Yet, her eyes were met with Y/n. She couldn't help it. Her legs gave out as she just sobbed into their chest on the floor.

It killed Y/n to see her like this. Emily was known for her tough demeanor and being able to keep it together at work. But that's what the team knew. Y/n knew her as their fiancé. They saw her breakdown at least once a month from the case build ups.

This however, Y/n could tell this was months on months of a build up. This was a low point, one that they would be there for.

It was half an hour before Emily could get out anything. Her brown eyes, wide and glassy, looked up to them. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was weak and defeated.

"I was told you needed me." Was all Y/n answered with. Naturally, their thumb wiped away the tears. "Why don't you sit on the couch and I'll make you some tea, hmm? Then you can tell me what's got you so...low."

The older got up and moved towards the couch. Y/n leaving the room to make the drink, remembering how Emily liked it like it was their own preferred. Within five minutes they were back and handing over the tea.

They stood, leaning against the desk. "Was it Brian again?"

"How did you...?" The question trailed off as Emily took her first sip. Trying to not let the warm feeling rush through her. They remembered her tea flawlessly.

Y/n glanced out the window, "I saw him lingering on the way in." Emily laughed a little at that. "But really....are you ok?"

"I've failed as a team leader. This job has corrupted me into breaking laws and lying to my team. I'm chasing with nothing but a conspiracy theory. I sounded crazy to the biggest conspiracy theorist in Virginia. I've been benched because of him. I just...I don't know what to do anymore." She so easily confessed. Her head falling into her hands for what felt like the millionth time today. "This can't be how I go out."

Internally, Y/n battled with going over there and holding her or keeping this distance. It put them back once again. They wouldn't be able to live with themselves if they did what she did, it just wouldn't make anything right. So they went over and held her again. This time placing an understanding kiss to her temple.

"It's not. I mean, it will be if you let it. And trust me when I tell you, you're going to want to let it. But that's not Emily Prentiss. She has been through so much worse than some theorist. This will be a fresh start. A chance to start anew. You will take it, and you will figure out this case. You will get your guy or whatever you call it, unsub? This is not your lowest. It's gonna feel like it, but it's just a low before the high. It's all going to be ok." They spoke from their heart. Even as it ached to be back in this position. Even as tears fell from their own eyes.

They were sharing her pain without wanting to, but needing to. Needing to let her know this wasn't it. Needing to let her know that someone was her to share her burdens again.

For the first time, both felt connected entirely. Beating with one heart. Thinking with one mind. Feeling with one body.

That night they had fallen asleep on the couch in her office. Holding onto one another like it would all go away as long as they were together.

Y/n had woken randomly, searching for any source of time. Rubbing their eyes as it was two in the morning. Emily didn't have to be back her till at least eight. They let their eyes fall to Emily. How she seemed so peaceful lying on top of them. She needed this more than Y/n had thought.

So, without much debate, Y/n was carrying the sleeping beauty and her bags out. Doing everything to prevent her from waking, which wasn't hard as she was out cold.

They drove in silence back to where they were staying. Knowing that if it came to it, they could drive to get her an outfit. The silence gave them time to really think. What were they doing? This is the exact opposite of what they were expecting.

Was Emily going to easily fit her way right back? It wouldn't be fair. She caused them the pain and yet they still love her. They would, without a doubt, let her as well. All she had to do was ask. It was just unfair, and they were going to live with it.

~

Emily stirred in the nice duvet. Confused as it wasn't hers and far too nice to be a hotel. She knew this duvet. She slept in it many times before.

"The coffee is being made. And breakfast is on the way." That voice she missed hearing in the morning.

She hummed while stretching, "how long have you been up?" She finally opened her eyes and seeing Y/n in sweats and a baby tee. Their casual lounge wear.

"Since maybe five. These sketches don't finish themselves unfortunately." They sat down at the desk that was perfectly illuminated by the sun at anytime of the day. "Oh, also your team is coming here tonight. You're taking the day according to Dave. He said it's his order and you should follow it."

"Why are they coming here?" She swung her feet out the bed. Her head turning to take in the room. "You kept your apartment here? What about living in New York?"

"My home in New York makes this look like a doll house. Smallest is the home in California. I move with the seasons." They simply explained. Frowning when Emily laughed.

"You're such a snob. Three houses? Really?" She got up and came to look at the sketches. Not saying anything as Y/n just began sketching again.

She couldn't help but stare at them. They made that concentration face still. Where the creativity would float in their eyes as the rest of their face was resting.

Y/n could feel her eyes on them. It wasn't anything out of their routine. Oh how they fell so easily into the routines.

"I'm a big fashion designer. I'm constantly doing something somewhere else. It's like you, Ms. FBI. Always away doing something," they hummed. Never once did they look up to her, they seemed to be battling the inevitable.

Emily didn't say anything, she just took in the sketches one more time and was off to the bathroom.

Both in their own thoughts and silence. Neither one knowing how to approach the situation of each other. Emily not knowing how to go about work. Y/n not knowing how to go about the designs. There were many thoughts floating in the air.

They let the silence stay around as they waited for breakfast to show up. Emily still clueless on why the team was coming. And she could've asked, but the thrill of a surprise put together by Y/n seemed to make her against it.

Y/n had been trying to sketch within the silence, but knowing Emily was only a few feet away made it hard.

"Babe! I'm home!" She called into the apartment. Noting how quiet it was. "Y/n? Are you even here?" A text saying 'study' came through, leading her through the quiet home.

When she pushed open the door, she found several mannequins with different outfits all lined up. "Isn't it beautiful?" Y/n hummed from the table of gems. They seemed to have been hand sewing each one on.

"Stunning. You didn't have all this done before I left?" Emily came to get a closer look. Being able to see the glimmer of proudness in Y/n's eyes. "What's it inspired by?"

Y/n didn't answer, instead just took int their work. Each outfit was inspired by their favorite memory with Emily. Between outfits they wore that night, or how they felt in the moment. The line was a collection of their love.

"Alrighty, leave me in the dark till it's released. Are you hungry? I imagine you've been to busy working to eat?" Emily left, getting comfortable.

Y/n looked over the sketches one more time. Sighing and dropping their head with a loud bump. They hadn't struggled this hard with sketches since when the two had first split.

They pushed up from their spot and headed into the kitchen. Rubbing their eyes to try and see anything clearly. They lost focus as they stared at the working coffee pot. This trip was already off on a different path than they wanted.

"If you want...I can leave." Emily's voice broke into the silent kitchen. Her head hung low and her hands picking at each other. She looked out the window briefly, bracing herself to meet the others stare.

Only, it wasn't on her. Instead Y/n moved around to get coffee, their back to the woman. "If you want to, I can drive you. But by no means are you gonna get kicked out." Two mugs got pulled down. They were matching ones Emily had gotten for them once upon a time ago.

They frowned to the memories of both mugs. There was a moment with a sigh. They forgot how much they avoided coming here and how they left everything almost the same.

The coffee was poured and the mug was handed over. Now they met each other's eyes. Emily wearing a frown as Y/n tried to keep their shit together.

"Unfortunately for me and fortunately for you, I couldn't kick you out even if you stabbed me. But I wouldn't try, we both have too much to loose for that." Y/n kept their distance still. Eyes either on Emily or anywhere else in the house. It was getting quiet again and it wasn't enjoyable. They rubbed their eyes again, "I need to get back to work. Feel free to make yourself comfortable but not too loud."

They were off and back in their study before Emily could even get anything out. "What about breakfast?" She called out and after, following herself.

Y/n flipped over their phone, "it's about ten minutes away." Their voice was cold and stale. Short of the comforting Emily had heard last night.

It confused her. "You are so confusing." She mumbled. Her head shaking just a bit at the cold demeanor.

"Funny coming from you." Y/n shot back almost instantly. A nasty taste washing over their tongue again. They sucked their tooth before turning around. Eyes immediately locking Emily in. "If this is confusing for you, let me tell you what's confusing for me. The fact that when my entire future burnt into literal crisps, the only thing you, my fiancé at the time, quite literally walked out and said nothing. For a week you then ghost me, mind you I was the one you were marrying in less than a month, and then after years of not looking back, David Rossi shows up. You know what THE David Rossi asked me? To come help you. And here I am, trying my absolute best to keep my shit together so you don't have to worry about another thing. Because you know what Emily? I care for you enough to be there for you." They spewed everything out, hands being thrown around in dramatics as their chest heaved.

Emily was too stunned to speak. What was she to say? Y/n was right. She left when they needed her the most and left without a word. And yet, here they were giving her nothing but what they always have, love.

"I'm sorry," was all that she could manage.

They only scoffed, "whatever. Breakfast is almost here." Y/n shook their head and sat back down at the desk. "You can put my food in the fridge."

"Y/n..." Emily sounded broken, even more than last night. It killed Y/n, but they deserved their reason, and she knew that.

Cautiously, she moved in closer. Coming to Y/n's left and sitting down on the floor. Her knees bent just enough to rest her arms on.

"I panicked...I had never seen you break down like that before..I didn't know how to respond and I just fell behind a wall and did what I always did..I ran from it instead of facing it. And it wasn't fair to you. I truly have no excuse for what I did, except I was a coward." She spoke quietly into the air. Feeling tears prick her eyes as the feeling of guilt and embarrassment kicked her hard. "I only can say sorry, and I say it knowing it will never be enough to make up for all of the pain I may have caused you."

Both had taken the next moment to sit in silence and process everything. Y/n had tears falling from the moment Emily had sat down next to them. Emily had let her tears fall once she finished.

A few beats had passed and Y/n had let their hand fall to Emily's head. Sliding to her cheek as she looked up. "You Emily Prentiss, have caused more pain than I can bring up again. And I hope you have learned from it. I hope you didn't do it to anyone else and you won't do it to anyone else." They had this frown she had never seen, one she knew she had caused.

"I'm so sorry Y/n.." she quietly cried leaning into the touch. Feeling the warmth of the designers hands. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," they hummed as tears fell down their rosy cheeks. "I know you are."

~

Hours had gone by. Filled with nothing but tears and sniffles. Emily had moved from the floor when she began sobbing, into Y/n's lap. Her face buried into their neck as they shushed her to asleep.

Y/n had tucked her back into bed and continued to work on the designs. Pulling out the old sketches from their scrapped line. Staring over each outfit that was designed after their love.

The mannequins were in the studio, locked in a specific room. They questioned if now was the right time to bring them all back out. If it was, they knew it was ready to be launched, giving them more time on the line that sat unfinished.

They picked up their phone, "Jackie? I need you and Joana to bring me Project L.E.P. The key is in my desk, bottom left drawer, hidden under her picture, tied with a red ribbon. It's hard to miss, the ribbon has L.E.P in gold on the end."

"Are we launching it?!" The assistant grew overly excited. "Oh! Y/n you have no idea how wonderful this is!"

"Is that Y/n?" The other assistant, Joana came into the room.

Y/n assumed Jackie nodded, "yes! They want us to bring L.E.P to their home."

"They're launching it? But then that would mean Em- Oh my God!" The phone was snatched and it was Joana now. "Did you guys talk?! I want to know everything! How did you lay it down?!"

"Joana." Y/n simply cut the assistant from bombarding with questions. "When I see you, I will answer your questions. I need that line, bring the truck with them all. We're going to review them."

"Yes boss!" They both said before hanging up. Y/n knew they were geeking out in the studio at this point.

They assumed it would be at least half an hour before the two got there. Giving enough time to finally take a well needed break and eat something.

While they warmed up the breakfast, Emily had stirred awake. She laid in the bed, taking in the familiar smell of Y/n's shampoo on the pillows. She began to think over everything they had said.

They said it was unfortunate that they couldn't kick her out even if they wanted to. What did that truly mean?

Emily realized, they've already gone through the hardest conversation, this one would be nothing. She swung the covers over and began to look for Y/n. Checking the study first.

Her curiosity for the better of her. She came close to the desk, looking over the designs. There were a few that had yet to be finished, and then there was one in red that really caught her eye. She picked it up, scanning over the paper and realizing she's seen it before. On the bottom had L.E.P written in gold. Emily couldn't place where she's seen it, but she knew for a fact she had.

Placing it down, she left to the kitchen next. Finding Y/n dancing slightly to their own tune. She watched as they prepared their food before acknowledging her entrance.

"Would you like yours as well? I can heat it up?" They offered without even looking over before grabbing the second meal. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good...I do have a question though," she came in closer. Leaning against the counter while staying out the way. Y/n looked over, showing she had their attention. "When you said..."

"I meant it." They knew her thoughts better than anyone. Emily swore in another life they were either a profiler, or a mind reader. "If you want to stay, I'm not going to stop you. If you want to leave, I will drive you. I'm here because you needed me, and I think....apart of me still needed you. If I wanted to be over you, I would've been. I know I would've been. I would've cleaned out everything that ties to you, but I didn't."

"When we ended...I thought that everything was going to go to shit. My career was caught in a fire, my relationship was ending, and I began to spiral. I began to just accept that this was how I was going out. Would never be a big fashion designer, never have a love life, nothing to live for....but I thought of it as letting you win without a fight. And that wasn't how I wanted you to win."

"I don't deserve you," she had whispered. Her head tilting and her silver waves fell to the side.

It was the first time Y/n had actually taken her in entirely. How she aged and yet was still the most beautiful woman they had ever come across. It made them want to just kiss her and tell her that she was welcomed home always.

"And yet...you have me." They sighed, hand coming to cup her cheek. "And maybe thats why I've been so confusing. Because I'm supposed to be mad at you, I really really want to..but anytime I try to, this nasty taste fills my mouth. Like I don't mean anything bad I try and say. And I don't."

"Y/n..." she furrowed her brows. This was more confessing than she had expected. "You don't have to tell me anything-"

"Damn it Emily," they groaned. "I'm not telling you this because I think you need it, I'm telling yo this because I need it. I'm being selfish. I'm loosing my shit with you just standing here. Do you know how easy it is for you to walk right back into my life? When I said I was going to love you forever, I meant it. I meant it with everything then. And I'm going to mean it with everything now." They had their own tears now. Finally caving into the painful feeling of being in love.

Emily was stunned, but she wasn't going to miss her second chance. She pulled Y/n in by the pockets of their sweats, standing on her tip-toes to meet their lips in a passionate kiss.

They both felt airy as they got lost in the feeling of home. Holding each other so impossibly close that it was undeniable they were staying together.

Once they pulled apart they just stared at the other. Both trying to find some answer to what they were feeling. Was there anything to say now?

Y/n came out the trance first, a smile gracing their lips. "Why don't we eat? Jackie and Joana are gonna be here soon and will probably want to question us."

"What are they bringing you?" She held Y/n there for a little longer. Enjoying the closeness and safeness. "Fabrics?"

"Project L.E.P." Was all they answered before heating up the other box of food. "I think I'll release it before the one I'm working on now."

Emily watched them move, "what does the L.E.P mean?"

Y/n was quick to shrug. "It's just the name that Jackie and Joana gave it." They dismissed the topic. Eyes trained to the microwave as it counted down the minute. But the small smirk they held told her they knew exactly what it meant. "I got you your usual."

They handed over the box and the two prepped before heading to the couch. Sitting knee to knee as they ate and watched whatever was on.

It was an enjoyable moment, and one Y/n would remember. And that's when the next line came to them. They tried to be subtle to finish up their food before rushing into the study. They grabbed a sticky note, it was red, and they scribbled on it before slapping it against the window.

Soon designs started to be taped up to the windows. The evening sun peaking through the papers. The ideas began to flow and make sense again. They felt relieved at the feeling.

The front door had opened, and the two assistance were quickly to make their presences known.

"Oh my! Y/n! You dog!" Jackie's voice filled the entire apartment at the sight of Emily. Her head snapped to Joana. "This is so not real!"

Y/n forgot how young her assistance were compared to them. They walked out shaking their head. "How many mannequins did you bring?"

"We figured you still had six here, we actually know you do because you never returned them. So we brought the other six. Then each piece is stored in its own bag and box." They stood tall and in line. "We just need to grab everything."

"Well let's get to it. Six mannequins and twelve boxes are not getting up here that easily. Em, you'll stay up here and make the trips from the elevator back. Joana you'll be on elevator duty. Jackie you're unloading and I'll carry everything to the elevator."

It was the perfect team work. And within no time they had everything upstairs and the three were working on setting them up facing the window. Emily, having no hand in sewing or fashion just watched the three move in harmony.

Joana and Jackie worked to just get the outfits on the mannequins as Y/n did touch ups. They worked until the night fell. And it was perfect.

"Y/n you've outdone yourself still. Are we really ready to release project L.E.P?" Joana walked around the designs and took in every seeming detail. "Truly a genius."

Y/n had a glimmer of pride in their eyes. "Yeah. I think it's time." They only broke away to look at Emily who sat on the couch. "What do you think?"

She had dropped her gaze to look at the twelve outfits. "They're absolutely beautiful. They have been since when you first had them all laid out." She stood to come next to them. "Are you ready to release them?"

Y/n inhaled with a smile, exhaling their worries. "Yeah." They grabbed Emily's hand. "I am ready." They were confident.

"So...what are you gonna call it?" Emily went closer to examine the detail as well. The room was silent as everyone thought of something.

Jackie hummed, "mmm what if we keep L.E.P?" She threw out. "It holds meaning, it's cute, it's secretive, secretive is sexy."

"L.E.P in gold writing, your writing. We tease it with close up pictures first. Then we host a big launch party and have them all come out on a runway." Joana began to plan everything out. Already seeing a vision.

"But what is L.E.P?" Emily butted in. Getting silence and all eyes on Y/n, who was looking down to Emily.

"Loving Emily Prentiss," they only could smile even kinder at the reveal. "It'll be the start of a collection. The E.P collection. It's bright, it's new, it's warm and giving. That's how it'll start."

The doorbell had rang. "That must be your team. You two are dismissed. Thank you for the help today. Start your magic and fill me in in the morning. Love you both," they bowed their head. Watching as the two assistants began to pack up.

"Um, Y/n? I have nothing to wear?" Emily glanced down at the big t-shirt and sleep shorts.

"Your outfit was laid out on the bed before we even started touch ups. You go change and I'll greet everyone." Y/n shooed as they moved to the door. Opening and being greeted first with Dave.

"How is she?" He placed a kiss to their cheek before leading everyone in. They all seemed worried at first.

"She's better today. And that's what matters." They hummed. Moving towards the kitchen to begin cooking for everyone.

Stopping at the instant gasp and whispers. The team had seen the designs lined up. "Wait..your the Y/n? Like designer Y/n?" Penelope stared in awe at the outfits.

"Guilty. That's the next line. I guess a sneak peak." They shrugged, smiling as Dave began to prep to help cook. "You can get close, everything is set in stone at this point."

Just then Emily had walked out in a one-of-one dress. Y/n had designed it and worked the first night to make it for her. Telling themselves that it was either a goodbye gift or a welcome home gift.

She looked stunning, and Y/n could take their eyes off of her. Their best model walked into and began to get wine glasses down.

"Emily, you never mentioned Y/n was a fashion designer?!" Penelope was still caught on the fact. Earning a laugh from Y/n.

"Ouch, four years and almost married and you didn't tell them about my job?" They came near Emily, crouching next to her to get out some seasonings.

Emily looked down to them, taking in the moment of being taller for once. "She would've flipped out. I also figured she would've down a background check on you without my knowing." Both glancing to the bubbly woman.

"I...I didn't because I wanted to respect her boundaries." She got out, looking to everyone else who seemed to have knowing looks. "Don't tell me..."

"We all...kinda knew." Tara broke the news, hugging the friend as the look of betrayal washed over her.

Y/n had shrugged from their spot. "I had no part in this." They cleared their name.

~

That night the team had laughed, eaten, drank a few bottles of wines, and enjoyed a nice round of desserts.

A few months has passed and Emily and Y/n began to work things out. She appreciated Y/n's efforts as well even with all the press and media.

There had been an article that really stood out.

And why did you name it L.E.P?

Well....when I had made it I was with this amazing woman. Each piece was meant to represent a moment of our relationship.

And why are you just now releasing it?

We had honestly gotten into a fight a month or so before our wedding. We ended up splitting and I just couldn't come to scrap it. So I locked it into a room until now.

And what made you choose now?

Because she needed me and I realized I would always need her. And this is my gift to her. A token of my love with what I was meant to be doing. Fashion. And what better way than to express love through fashion?

Emily had came over and smothered Y/n with all the love she could after reading that. It made her look at the entire line differently and hold it near to her heart just as well.

They laid next to each other in bed, just staring and having a wordless conversation. But Emily could see it written on Y/n's face. They loved her. And that made her see everything worth fighting for.

"I love you." She had whispered before realizing.

Y/n smiled. "I know." They switched to a cocky smile. Pulling her closer by the waist and bending her just slightly back. "And I love you too. Always will."

They shared one of their most passionate kisses that night. It sparked a new sense of love. Mature, mannered, and workable. As long as they had each other, it would always be workable.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 25

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

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

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

This lewk but silverfox

You wait out in the sun until you feel its sear. You glance over at the house then the yard and stand. You leave your sketchbook on the table.  

You’re restless, not just because of the unexpected events, but because your run-in with Peter, and your turbulent return. You take the glass of lemonade and take a gulp, nearly choking on it. It’s sickly sweet, to the point you can’t even swallow it. 

You spit your mouthful back into the cup and keep it with you. You just want to go home and hide. You want to be out of the way.  

You head go down the deck steps and drift along the hedges. You glance again at the glass doors. Cautiously, you pour the lemonade behind the bushes. The flavour alone has turned your stomach. 

You wander along, pondering the fence. Could you just go home? Is Steve coming back? They probably won’t even notice. It’s their day, not yours. 

You come back up the wooden stairs and cross the deck to the glass door. You shade your eyes and try to see through. You back up as you see Steve appear. He opens the doors from the other side and smiles down at you. 

“What’s up, sweetie?” He grins down at you, his eyes narrowing on the empty cup in your hand, “thirsty? Want some more?” 

“Um, no, thanks,” you hold out the cup. “I’m going to go home. To my mom’s house.” 

“Ah, sure,” he accepts the cup hesitantly, “you feeling tired?” 

You nod and hug yourself. He steps out and slides shut the door. He touches your shoulder, rubbing it firmly, and you take a step back. 

“How about I walk you around?” He offers. 

You shrug and turn back. You grab your book from the table as he follows. The empty cup clacks down on the table as he passes. He catches up with you at the bottom of the deck steps and he walks you up the side of the house, sure to reach over you to pull the gate open. He lets you through as you focus on your destination. 

“Hey, sweetie,” he calls after you, “just wanted to say, this is home, right?” He looks up at his house and you blanch. 

“Oh?” You frown. 

“We didn’t get to it but yeah, no point in having two houses between us. Just gotta pretty up that old place and put it on the market,” he explains, “it’ll help pay for your mom’s care.” 

“Uh, right,” you teethe the inside of your lower lip. 

“Better start packing,” he winks.  

“Mhmm,” you hum flatly. 

“Anyway, you go get some sleep but if you need anything, you know where to find me,” he says. 

“Sure,” you murmur and turn away. 

You slink around the fence and down the pavement. You turn up your mother’s walk and keep your head down. As you get to the porch, you look up and stare at the front door. Everything is changing and you’re terrified. 

🏠

You put your sketchbook on the dresser, too uneasy to open it again. You have all this energy that you can’t center. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re stuck in that strange limbo brewing with dread and impatience. You want the change to happen already just to be done with it. Just to know what awaits you. 

You change into pajamas and tuck into bed. You only lay there an hour before you give up. You just can’t sleep. It’s so strange to be there all alone. Even if you know your mom’s just next door. 

You get up and tramp out to the front room. You turn on the television and find an old movie playing on the public channel. You lay down beneath the old quilt pulled down from over the back of the couch and one of the deflated cushions that came with the furniture. 

You yawn but you’re still painfully awake. You focus on the screen, your eyes glazing over with the shifting colours, as the low drone tickles your ears. The night hazes on in the glare of the television. You’re kept at the threshold of sleep by your anxiety, drifting slightly only to wake again, head pulsing and eyes itchy. 

The house feels alive as you hear new noises. Or ones you never noticed before. The breeze has a tree brushing against the eaves and the crickets seems to be louder than usual. And the walls and floors are obscured as you can’t see past the glow of the TV. 

You force your eyes shut and try to will your mind to stop. It's too much. You lay paralysed, trapped between the urge to get up and go to your bed and the exhaustion that keeps you from moving.  

A low, creaking sound crawls over you. What is that? It’s just your imagination. You’re overthinking it. Maybe it’s the TV, you’ve lost track of the plot. You blink at the screen as you hear a click which doesn’t align with the scene playing out. Your heart lurches and your eyes widen. 

Is that the back door? You’re trapped in horror. You don’t know what to do. Someone is there. You can hear them coming down the hall, stopping just short of the front room. Another whisper of hinges. They’re in your room. Oh god! What do you do? 

The retreat and their footsteps close in on you. The figure fills the doorway and you stare at it, trying to pick it out of the fuzzy darkness. You sit up and whimper, “please, don’t hurt me.” 

The silhouette looms, unmoving and unspeaking. You can hear it breathing. You shudder and brace yourself. 

The light flicks on and stings your vision. You cower as Steve stands in the shine of the overhead bulb. You gasp and bring your hand to your chest, trying to calm your heart. His eyes gleam oddly a his jaw squares and you see him force the tension from it. 

“Sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles, “I was just coming to check in.” 

You blink and look around, “what time...” 

“I know it’s late, sorry. Your mom’s been up and down all night and I finally got her asleep. I wanted to make sure everything was okay over here...” he steps up and frames his hips, “you didn’t lock the doors.” 

You stare at him. You didn’t. You forgot. The realisation scares you all over again. 

“You okay?” 

You nod and gulp. You’re not. His eyes flick down then up. You pull the quilt up over your chest as you feel the cotton of your tee shirt grazing your hard nipples. The chill in your spine has yet to recede. 

“You don’t have to stay here,” he offers, “if it’s too much.” 

“I...” you watch him, trembling as his eyes keep that glimmer. They look dark, as if they’re dilated. You wet your lips with your tongue. “I’m okay, I’m just...” your gaze skitters over to the TV, “watching a movie.” 

He clucks and steps into the room, “oh, what are we watching?” 

You sit up complete and fold yourself into a ball in the corner of the couch. He nears and sits on the other end. You glance at him and force the lump from your throat. 

“Um, I didn’t get the title. It’s an older movie.” 

“Ah,” he lifts his arm over the back of the couch, “mind if I join? Can't sleep.” 

“Er, I guess...” you mutter. How can you say no? He's already sat down. 

“I don’t mind if you stretch out,” he says and pats his lap, “put your feet up, it won’t bother me.” 

You shake your head, “I’m fine.” 

“Mmm,” his eyes reflect the light of the screen as he stares ahead. He’s watching it but something about his expression, the stone in his cheeks and the lines in his forehead, suggests that he isn’t really taking it in. “Thought you’d be knocked out, kiddo. After a day like today.” 

You don’t know how to reply so you don’t. You turn your attention to the movie. The black-and-white images are softened at the edges despite the remastered edition. You lean your chin in your hand and try to follow the dialogue. 

“Not exactly how I imagined my wedding day, either,” he says as his fingers twiddle on the back of the couch. “Funny how life is full of surprises.” 

“Mhm,” you hum, rubbing your cheek nervously. 

“Or my weddings night,” he scoffs as he pinches the fabric along his thigh, sucking his teeth, “I suppose I’m not what you expected either?” 

“Huh?” You flinch and look at him, “what do you mean?” 

He inhales and lets it out slowly, “just... you know... it’s all happened so fast, didn’t it?” 

“Oh, right,” you turn to the screen again, “I... yeah.” 

“Don’t worry, sweetie, we can figure this out,” he coos, “as a family.” 

[izvmimi]

cw: selfship content. married with named children. fluff.

Izuku has been pacing around the kitchen for the past five minutes, and you, devilish as you are, are pretending not to notice, content with your late night snack of hot chocolate and lightly buttered bread.

The kids are all asleep, or at the very least turned in for the night, and things have been overall peaceful in the Midoriya household for the past few days, so whatever has your husband in distress is unlikely to be that bad. Additionally, he has an expression he makes when the situation is more embarrassing than dire, and that's written all over his face at the moment.

You bite into a particularly crunchy part of the bread and the sound appears to echo - Izuku looks at you and you return his gaze with your mouth full, blinking innocently, then burst out laughing when he frowns.

"Fine, I'll bite. What's wrong, baby?" you ask.

Izuku stops pacing then stands still facing you, one arm crossed over his chest and his other hand balled into a fist under his chin.

"Did you know Izumi had a crush on..." his voice was already hushed, but now it falls into a barely audible whisper, "... Ami?"

You blink. That's all? you wonder.

"Well, yeah..." you reply. "He's uh... been like that since he was 8?"

"What?!"

Izuku looks betrayed for a moment, then moves over to you quickly, pulling out a chair to plop down on.

"Okay, but his sketchbook is literally filled with portraits of just her!"

You drink the last of your hot cocoa, then smile at him, resting your hand on his wrist posed on the table.

"Sounds like his dad."

Izuku turns pink at the ears, but then he shakes his head, trying to focus.

"It's not the same!"

You sigh. "Are they tasteful at least? They seemed fine when I saw them."

Izuku's mouth opens and closes quickly. "W-What do you mean tasteful?"

"I mean he is 15."

"___! They're okay, he's not a pervert!"

You tilt your head to the side. "Exactly, so what's the problem?"

Izuku looks at you with incredulity, shocked by your unbothered manner. "You know, perhaps the 10 year age difference??" Izuku starts. "What if he gets his heart broken? It's not like it can happen!"

You take another long look at him, then laugh again.

"Don't burst a blood vessel, it's just puppy love. He'll get over it."

"I didn't get over my first crush!"

"... Honey, how old do you think I am?" you ask. He sighs then sidesteps your statement, knowing he sounds ridiculous, then presses his head against the table. You push your plate and mug aside now, then take his fingers in yours, and he turns his head to the side to look up at you.

"You know, it's not weird for your teenage son to have a crush on a pretty girl, especially when she was his babysitter most of his life. It's harmless."

Izuku frowns.

"It's not weird I promise. Plus, it won't last." With that last part you lean just a bit closer to whisper, "I heard him on the phone with someone else, he has a crush on another person in his class right now, which I also know because he actually starts caring if I iron his shirts for school."

Izuku seems briefly relieved, then again bothered by this additional info.

"Why doesn't he tell me anything?" he asks.

"Teenagers don't tell anyone anything, don't worry about it." You say, squeezing his fingers. He gives you a half-smile, then you decide to change the subject.

"By the way, Atsuna needs to get stuff for cheerleading, so you can you take her tomorrow? I have some errands I need to run."

"Cheerleading? When did she start cheerleading?"

Izuku looks genuinely dumbfounded, following you as you get up to put your dish away.

"Two weeks ago." You snap your fingers. "I need you to keep up."

He pouts, and you actually feel a little bad.

"I'm kidding," you insist, but the damage is already done. You lead him back to a seat in the kitchen, and he frowns again, tapping his foot anxiously as he sits.

"I'm a shit father," he mumbles, and your heart aches for just a moment. You shake your head then cup his face in your hands. Izuku looks at you and you soften then kiss him.

"No way. You're just doing a ton at once right now. Let me take care of things for now, and then we'll catch up this weekend, okay?"

His hands circle around your wrists, and he's not completely convinced but he nods.

"You do such a great job, I wanna pull my weight," he murmurs and kisses you again. You let his kisses warm you more than the cocoa and press your forehead against his.

"You pull yours too, baby. We can't give 100% to everything all the time so I'll cover you and you cover me, okay?"

He nods.

"Thank you," he adds. You move out of your seat into his lap, and caress the side of his chin, feeling the roughness of his unshaven face, tired but still handsome.

"I'm taking more days off," he promises.

"You don't have to," you insist.

"I don't have to, but I want to."

You laugh but it's just a breath through your nose, and press yourself closer to him so that your face buries into his chest.

"#1 Pro Hero wants more days off so he can give his son the Talk? That will go over well with the Hero Commission."

Your sarcasm hits a little too close to home but he gently grips your fingers again and pulls them to his mouth, kissing the finger tips.

"Izuku, your husband and the father of your kids, wants to spend more time with the beautiful woman he married and the children he helped create," he states. You look into his eyes and he looks determined to make a change and you smile, accepting his resolve.

"Thank you."

---

Your phone rings in the late evening on Sunday, and you can't help but be amused as you pick up. The second you say hello, you can already hear screaming on the other end of the line.

"Is there a reason Deku is suddenly off the patrol schedule for an entire month?!"

You stifle a laugh.

"Why don't you ask him, Kacchan?" Calling his name like your husband does only serves to aggravate him more.

"Very funny. Tell him to pick up the fucking phone."

You glance over at your husband who is busy helping your youngest daughter, Ai, braid her hair down for bed in the living room. Ai holds a mirror and tells him where to part her curls, and Izuku's tongue sticks out as he tries the style on the video on the TV screen. Despite his slight confusion, he looks happy as Ai observes his work and gives him plentiful encouragement.

"When he's no longer busy. Bye! Hug the wife and kids for me!" you say cheerfully as you hang up.

[wisteriaiswriting]

Befriending Scout and Sniper

Words: 466

Request: Hi! Huge fan of your writing!!! (Tf2) I was wondering if it would be possible to request a male reader who’s a new mercenary, around high school age, who took the job to leave an emotionally abusive and toxic family life. They’re finding it very hard to adjust to life with them because of their anxiety around an entirely new group of people. At first, they barely speak two words to them, maybe a few communications on the battlefield, but Sniper and Scout get them out of their shell when they find out some similar interests, especially in art (with scout) and nature (with sniper). Once they  become better friends and talk more frequently, their confidence gets a lot better and the mercs realize they’re a lot more chill than they originally seemed.

Requested by: 🪣 anon

“That seems like everything…” Miss Pauling was flipping through her small stack of paperwork, pausing suddenly one on. “Oh, actually, there’ll be a new guy around, I’ll be back with his details.” Glancing over at Medic during the last sentence before leaving.

“Oh yeah! Hopefully he’s not some old geezer like you lot.”

***

Days later Miss Pauling returned, this time with someone new in tow. And it turns out Scout was right, you were nowhere near the others in age, probably younger than Scout himself. Luckily most of the other Mercs were busy doing whatever they were doing, leaving Scout and Sniper to welcome you.

“Hey dude, let me show ya’ around even Snips will join us!” Throwing an arm around your shoulders while pulling you closer, “Mate–” “I’m good.” Gently but quickly removing his arm, “I’ll go set up my room.”

The two watched you pick up the few things you had brought, which was much less than either of them expected. Surely someone of your age should have more stuff, but what do they know?

***

Even as the weeks passed and the fights started up again, you barely changed. The main difference was now you had an official uniform. Giving a few call outs here and there but you were almost a second Spy with how quiet you were.

Today the team decided for whatever reason to get out early, it might’ve been the fact they lost last time but who cares? A few mercs were hanging around one spot, talking about whatever, Sniper and Scout were up in Sniper’s normal spots. Scout had started rambling about a new comic when Sniper spotted you.

You, who was sitting next to a flower, likely the only one. A small sketchbook was open in your lap while you were drawing, which somehow caught Scout’s attention. “Yo, they can draw? I gotta see what they’re doin’!” “Scout, the match is about to start, you can bother them after.” “Ugh, fine!”

***

“Yo, Y/N!” Just as you were about to leave the locker room, you heard the already familiar voice of Scout, or as he insisted, Jeremy. “You gotta show me what's in your sketchbook, I saw you drawing a, what was it?”

He was really thinking about it, “Mick said it was a… desert pillow?” “Willow, a desert willow.” “Yeah, that. He wouldn’t shut up about them when he saw it. You two should talk more, actually, MICK!” “Quiet down you, what do you want?” “Y/N really knows his flowers, you two should be friends.”

“Just because we like plants doesn’t mean we sh–” “Yeah, well…” Almost instantly you zoned Jeremy out, looking over to Sniper, only to see him doing the same. “Let’s get outta here.” Following him out leaving Jeremy ranting to no one.