#i probably spent way too much time on this

[niennanir]

This was absolutely -not- my experience living among the Amish as a child where everything is still done the same way it was 200 years ago. Yes you had to wait for the stove to warm to bake, and while you were doing that you would cut beans for canning or peel the potatoes for dinner or set the pie crust for desert or at the very least sweep the floor. I had 5 great aunts, all conservative mennonite, who got up at 4 AM to start coffee and toast before milking at 5AM and breakfast at 7. They made lunch every day and dinner and then they wrapped up the kitchen some time after dinner at 7 and minus meal breaks that was a 13 hour work day and -I- did that every summer. Minus breakfast because I would pretend I was not alive until 8 every morning and my grandmother let me get away with it.

Relaxing? What's that? Has it got something to do with quilting?

These people had no idea what a chair was unless they were eating or shelling peas or sewing. And they were hands down the least anxious most easy going humans I have ever spent time with in my entire life.

Apart from learning how to make jam and dress a chicken I learned a lot of things from my grandmother and my great aunts and I can tell you exactly why everyone is so depressed and anxious. It's not that everyone's too busy. It's that everyone's too busy over the wrong things.

My grandparents didn't own a television until 1967, and they never, ever, had cable. As far as I know they only things they ever watched on TV were baseball and The Price is Right. To the day they died none of them had any understanding at all of what I do for a living because when I tried to explain the internet web site development to them they couldn't get past the fact that I had to sit so close to the 'TV' and there weren't any shows on.

They didn't worry about high fashion, Granma made everyone's clothes herself while the bread was baking. They didn't concern themselves with the latest tech unless it was a farm implement or a kitchen appliance. Their idea of social media was to whistle across the back pasture fence at their in-laws and ask how the cousins with the new baby were making out. There was no FOMO because there was nothing to miss out on as long as you were at church on Sunday.

We're depressed and anxious because we're putting too much importance on things that probably aren't going to matter in ten years instead of enjoying what we have. Humans are sturdy, we can handle a lot of physical labor. What we're not designed for is emotional turmoil.

[hhughes]

𐔌 　 ⁺　 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𓂃۶ৎ

���𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 , after some comments were made by quinn's brothers, you get a little insecure in your relationship and he has to reassure you

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. luke!bsf x quinn hughes. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. teasing. flirting. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. I love writing quinn so much😭 this is a repost that’s slightly edited if it looks a little familiar to you. one of my favs things ive ever written to this day so thanks again to the anon who requested it! <333

you and quinn had been dating a few months now. sneaking around behind everyone's backs including luke. your best friend and quinn's youngest brother.

the four of you were sitting in the living room at the lake house, watching some movie. jack and luke were chirping quinn about some actress that he used to have a crush on. going on and on about how he had a thing for older women because he was such a mommas boy.

you laughed along at first, always finding it so endearing to watch the brothers bicker back and forth. even though you've been around to witness it for quite a few years now...it never got old. your smile quickly faded when jack started making comments about how all quinn's relationships with younger women has failed, and that he should go for someone older this time, cause it doesn't seem like the younger girls can handle him.

you know you shouldn't let these comments bother you. it wasn't that serious and it wasn't directed towards you, but it was one of your, if not the biggest insecurity you had when it came to your relationship with quinn. being four years younger than him. not being enough to keep him interested. these comments from two people who probably knew him the best, didn't do anything to reassure you.

"I'll be right back," you whisper, avoiding quinn's eyes as you make your way to the bathroom.

a few minutes later there's a soft knock on the door and quinn enters, when you answer, shutting the door behind him and coming over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder softly.

"what's wrong sweetheart?" he asks you softly, brushing the hair out of your face as he holds you tight. the time he’s had to spent close to you but not allowed to touch you, having taken its toll on him.

"nothing," you mumble and he puts his hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him and pushing you against the counter.

"don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know everything's not okay and even if I didnt this pout is enough to tell me there's something wrong." quinn says, rubbing circles on your hip and tracing your lips with the thumb of his other hand.

"do you think I'm too young for you?" the words fly out before you can stop them and quinn sighs, knowing his brother's comments was the cause of this.

"age is just a number baby," quinn says teasingly, kissing your lips softly and you sigh.

"quinn I'm being serious," you retort, grabbing both of his hands and holding them in yours, the way they were caressing you becoming a little too distracting.

"so am I. I don't care if you're four years younger or four years older or if you were born the exact same day I was. It doesn't change the fact that you're perfect for me. you know how jack is, especially if he's been drinking, he can't keep his mouth shut. if there's an opportunity to chirp me about something, he’s gonna take it. if they knew that we were together, he would be more careful about making remarks like that. you know both of them adore you and would never say anything to hurt you on purpose" quinn says and you bite the inside of your cheek, knowing he was right.

“and besides, those relationships didn’t work out because they just weren’t the right girl for me baby. not because they were younger. they just weren’t you” he says softly, pressing yet another kiss to your collarbone.

"i’m not ready to tell luke yet." you say and quinn nods, expecting that response from you.

"the longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be." quinn replies and you look down, not wanting to argue about this. again.

quinn sighs softly before taking his hand out of yours and cupping your face between his palms, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"god it's torture seeing you all day and not being able to touch you. kiss you." he says wrapping his arms around your waist and just hugging you for a few minutes. you smile a bit, thinking that this is exactly why he was nicknamed "huggy bear". your guy loves hugging.

"I'll sneak into your room tonight. if you think a young girl like me can handle you," you quip and quinn chuckles, knowing you're not gonna let that go for a while.

"I think you can handle me just fine baby" quinn smirks, slapping your ass as you walk past him, and out the door.

𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. thank you for reading and feel free to drop by the inbox and share any and all thoughts <333

[cinnamonmilf]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨bound୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

summary: your girlfriend thinks you are gonna be the one wearing the handcuffs…uhhhhh

cw: sub!vi, smut with no plot, established rs

It’s been a long day. Completely uneventful and full of missing your girlfriend. You finally hear the rattle of your girlfriend’s pair of keys opening the door. Music to your ears.

You had sent her a text earlier telling her you had a little surprise for her when she got home. She, too, had spent those hours thinking about you, anxiously wondering what you had planned. Knowing you, it was either really good or really bad.

“Babe?”

“I’m in the room!” You respond and your sweet voice already has her feeling a little weak in the knees. After all, she hadn’t heard it in so long (eight hours).

She makes her way on the bed next to you and kisses you with a grin on her face. You indulge in the kiss, deepening it and bringing her closer to you. Feeling your plump lips against hers, your soft tongue inside her mouth and your soft hair through her fingers while she holds the back of your head was everything she needed.

You break the kiss and look at her with starry eyes and right then and there she thinks she could die from how much she adores you.

“You remember the surprise?” You break her trance.

“Hm?” She asks already love drunk and barely processing your words.

You bite your lip with a smile and pull a pair of handcuffs from under your pillow, letting them hang in front of her face.

She raises her eyebrow and a smirk forms on her face. “Where’d you even get those?”

“Online.” You shrug.

She swiftly takes them off your hand, examining them before cockily motioning for you to turn around. You laugh and take them back from her. Jesus, she can be naive.

“I’m not the one wearing them,” you tell her, now being the one smirking.

After (barely any) protesting, you slowly undress your girlfriend down to her briefs and wife-lover. Kissing every inch of her face, neck, shoulders. Vi loves your touch and you are aware of how weak it makes her; it gets her going.

“Turn around for me,” you ask softly. She complies, obediently putting her hands behind her. You are gonna have so much for for her.

You turn her back around and lie her down in her back. She’s completely at your disposal. And there’s something about seeing your ridiculously strong girlfriend this vulnerable for you that goes straight to your cunt and damps your lacy panties.

You take your time. Trailing her body with kisses. Kissing, sucking and biting on the inside of her strong thighs and relishing on the way she bites her lip trying to hide her not-so-subtle pants and whines every time your mouth even grazes her skin. You can tell her underwear has a [growing] wet spot by now, but you can’t help but torturing a little bit more.

Red and purple marks start appearing all over her body. Each of them a reminder that she is all yours. Only you could ever have her like this.

She has a growing wet spot on her briefs by now. You probably should’ve given her what she wanted by now, be nice. But how could you help yourself when she looks so pretty all desperate for you, though?

“Please,” she finally says. Her brows are furrowed and her lip is nearly bleeding from how much she’s been biting into it.

“Hm? What do you want?”

She whines. She’s can’t take it anymore and all she can think of is your tongue inside her finally relieving her from the all-consuming ache she is feeling right now. She needs you so fucking bad.

“Please, baby. Please, I need your mouth.” God, she’s pathetic.

“Here?” You ask before licking a stripe over her soaking cunt through her underwear.

She moans, loud. “Fuck, yes! Please.”

Honestly, how could you say no to those glossy puppy eyes?

You finally discard her briefs and give her what she so desperately craves. You wrap your arms around her legs and lap at her pussy. She’s so fucking sweet. The way she further soaks your face only encourages you to keep going.

You look up to see her and all you can think of is how beautiful she looks like this: so whiny and sweaty and completely fucked out.

You shift one of your hands from the back of her legs to the hem of her shirt, lifting it up to get access to her perky tits. She’s so sensitive, the moment you squeeze one of them and begin playing with it, little “Fuck, so good”’s and “Just like that”’s pour out of her.

She can’t even touch you. Her cheeks are fully flushed and she can’t stop herself from saying your name over and over, it’s all she can manage to say at this point.

Her legs begin shaking, closing around your head. “Fuck, babe, s’too much.”

You chuckle. “Can’t take it? Hm?” You mock. And she hates to admit it, but it only turns her on more.

She pleads for you to slow down, but you aren’t having any of it. You keep working your mouth on her, putting two fingers inside her. She fucking loses it.

One thing about Vi: she’s loud. You have her moaning and begging and, quite frankly, on the verge of tears. It’s nothing short of adorable.

You can feel her getting close. Her walls beginning to clench around your fingers, her eyes fully rolled back, her mouth muttering nonsense.

“I need to cum. Please.” Oh, you know.

“Come for me, beautiful. Want you to come in my mouth.”

That’s all she needed. She lets out a pornographic moan, wanting nothing more than to tug at your hair and push you impossibly closer to her. All she can do is be a good girl for you and take it.

She completely lets go, welcoming her climax in the safety of your touch. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a pretty sight. If you could fuck her all day long, you truly would.

Once you let her ride out her orgasm on your face and fingers, you take them out of her to taste her one last time before kissing her. Softly cupping her face and letting her melt into you.

You kiss her cheek and she opens her eyes to see you…and the grin you are already trying to hide from her.

“Can you give me one more?”

-

a/n: hello :3 i’m so sorry this is bad, i am rusty AS FUCK. i haven’t written anything in like eight months but i swear i’ll get my talent back as i keep practicing lmfao. i’ll keep writing for ellie (obvi) and also caitlyn but yeah this is my first time writing for vi so i hope it doesn’t flop too much. anyway love u !

tagging my bae @sunflowerwinds

[violetwifey]

𝑼𝒏𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒅

𓂃 ࣪⋆💿˚ ༘ synopsis:

roomate!vi helps reader to untangle knots in their hair and even braids it 💗

Today was one of the worst days you’ve ever had. You find out that you’ve failed a test you spent 2 solid weeks to work on. Your mom calls you to lecture you on how you rarely come home during the weekends. Some idiot sitting beside you in class would not stop chewing his gum so loudly. The list goes on.

You were so relieved to finally be walking back to the dorm— eager to wash the day off with a hot shower and lay in bed as you eat some hot ramen, watching your comfort show till you fall asleep.

The door opened with a creak as you stepped inside. You took off your shoes to put it on the shoe rack. As usual, you saw Vi— your roommate— doing her workout in the living room. Normally you would tease her— telling her how she cares way too much about her body, or how she was slacking a little. But you had no mood for any of that today.

So instead, you walked straight to your room. Vi found that suspicious. She looked up at your closed door while doing her last set of pushups but decided that you were probably just tired and needed some time alone.

But then she heard it when coming out of the shower.

A sharp, frustrated noise. Followed by the sound of the brush hitting the vanity. Then another frustrated grunt. Then—

A muffled sob.

Vi’s reaction was immediate, her body moving before her mind caught up. She pushed open the door, and the sight before her broke her heart. You sat in front of the mirror, wrapped in a bathrobe, damp hair wetting the back of it. Your hands trembled as you tried to push the brush through the tangles of your hair.

When it didn’t work, you put more force. The more you struggled the rougher you got. Your shoulders were shaking, your eyes glassy with tears.

Then, with a sharp inhale, you snapped. “Why won’t you just—” Your voice cracked as you yanked the brush harder, only for it to snag painfully. “God, I hate this—I hate everything—”

Vi didn’t think. She just moved.

She was at your side in a heartbeat, gently prying the brush from your fingers before you could hurt yourself anymore. “Hey, hey, stop,” she murmured. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep going like that.”

You wanted to yell at her. Scream for her to just leave you alone. But when she said, “Lemme do it”, in the most softest voice you’ve ever heard from her, you couldn’t find it in you to protest.

She crouched behind you, one knee pressed into the floor, her hands hovering just above your shoulders as if giving you the chance to say no. And when you stayed silent, she took it as permission and gently gathered your hair in her hands, separating it into manageable sections.

“Just relax, yeah pretty?” she murmured, her breath warm against your neck.

The first touch of the brush was so different from how you’d been handling it—so careful. She started at the very ends, working through each tangle slowly, making sure not to tug too hard. When she hit a particularly stubborn knot, she didn’t yank like you had in frustration. Instead, she worked through it with her fingers first, twisting the strands apart with delicate precision before running the brush through again.

“You gotta be gentle,” she said, almost to herself. “Your hair’s just mad at you for manhandling it.”

You let out a weak laugh, but your eyes burned with fresh tears. Not from frustration this time, but from how impossibly tender she was being.

She kept going, section by section, brushing in slow, careful strokes. Every once in a while, she’d smooth her palm over your hair, as if to soothe both you and the strands she was tending to.

“There we go,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “Not so bad when you take your time, huh?”

You nodded wordlessly, too overwhelmed to speak.

She paused, setting the brush down for a moment, and you thought she was done—until she ran her fingers through your hair, combing through the strands with a softness you’d never expected from someone like Vi.

“Better?” she asked, her voice still quiet, still careful.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah… better.”

Vi hummed, satisfied, and then—before you could brace yourself—she stood and wrapped her arms around your shoulders from behind, pulling you into her chest.

Vi’s arms were warm around you, and the weight of her presence was steady, comforting. You could still feel the dampness in your eyes, but the raw, exposed feeling that had been gnawing at your chest was slowly starting to fade. It was as though Vi’s gentle hands had somehow untangled more than just your hair.

She pulled back just slightly, giving you space but still holding you close enough that her presence was unshakeable. You glanced at the mirror in front of you, your hair finally free of tangles and knots, now soft and shiny.

“Better?” she asked again when she noticed that your tears stopped coming, her voice still low and careful.

“Yeah,” you breathed, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You felt embarrassed, but at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the tenderness Vi had shown. “Actually… could you, uh… could you braid it?”

Vi raised an eyebrow, but there was a small, surprised smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You want me to braid your hair?”

You nodded, a little hesitant but somehow trusting her. “Please? I don’t know… it might make me feel a little better.”

Vi studied you for a moment, and just as quickly, her smile softened. She reached for the brush again, setting it aside on the table, before bringing a chair, moving to sit behind you.

“Alright,” she said, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Let’s see what I can do.”

Her fingers brushed through your hair one more time, gathering the strands with ease. There was no rush, no teasing, just a calm rhythm as she worked her way through, braiding your hair with careful concentration.

The feeling of her hands in your hair, so skilled yet gentle, made you relax even further. The tension in your shoulders melted away with each smooth tug of the braid. It was intimate—more so than any teasing moment you’d shared—and something about it felt… different.

When she was done, she tied the end with an elastic and gently tugged at the braid to make sure it was secure.

“How’s that?” she asked, her tone soft but still with that playful edge.

You reached up, feeling the braid resting against your neck, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “It’s perfect, Vi. Thank you.”

She paused for a moment, and you caught a glimpse of something warm in her eyes, something that wasn’t teasing or sarcastic. Just… warmth.

“Anytime, pretty,” she said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Next time, you’re not handling it all by yourself, alright?”

You nodded, your chest full for the first time in a while. “Alright. Next time… I won’t.”

And in that moment, with the comfort of her hands in your hair, you felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.

i'm alive <3

anyways, this is day 187629843 of questioning the universe why vi isn't real.

also, i really want arcane friends in this app, cus none of my friends watch it in real life even when i suggested for them to watch this masterpiece. one of them even said they found it boring. the audacity? but to each their own...ig?? their loss! 😛

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. two

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credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

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⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: One TMZ headline later, and the internet is in a full-blown meltdown. You should’ve known that sneaking out of Ellie Williams’ hotel at sunrise was a disaster waiting to happen. Now the whole world thinks you and Ellie are dating, and there’s only one way out—lean into the chaos. A fake relationship was never part of the plan, but if anyone can pull it of, it’s the two of you… right? 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 6,8k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: unserious and chaotic as HELL lmao, fake dating, mostly dialogue, memes and brainrot stuff, LOTS of cursing, pet names, fluff if you squint, use of y/n, modern au, smoking weed, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

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TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’s MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, internet, because today’s tea is so hot it might spontaneously combust. Early this morning, global pop sensation y/n was spotted making a very interesting exit from The Four Seasons—an exit that screamed, “I made some choices, and I’ll be dealing with the consequences (happily) later.”

Let’s paint the picture: baggy jeans (very much not hers), an oversized tee (suspiciously familiar), last-night heels, and, most importantly, the kind of walk that suggests she just lived through an... experience.🔥

VIDEO ATTACHED: y/n stepping out of The Four Seasons with the posture of someone who just discovered new life-altering truths about herself.

And now, the cherry on top? The hotel in question just happens to be the same one where rock’s reigning heartbreaker and The Fireflies' frontwoman, Ellie Williams, has been staying during the band's sold-out tour.

Yeah. Let THAT sink in.

THE NIGHT BEFORE: PURE CHAOS

Last night, the musicians were first spotted together at a private club in West Hollywood, and the energy? Dangerous. We’re talking intense eye contact, whispered words, and a proximity that had no business being that close. 👀

Sources inside the club (who, let’s be real, were probably staring way too hard) claim the two were “all over each other the entire night.” And then, like clockwork—both gone. Together.😏

PICTURE ATTACHED: y/n and Ellie at the bar, drinks in hand, leaning in so close they might as well be sharing oxygen.

Fast-forward a few hours, and one of them is leaving a luxury hotel in borrowed clothes, while the other is nowhere to be seen. Hm...

THE INTERNET: INSTANTLY UNHINGED

It’s not every day that the two of the most famous artists on the planet accidentally break the internet with a single walk of shame. It took exactly 0.2 seconds for Twitter—sorry, X—to collectively lose its mind. #YNxEllie shot to the top of the trending list faster than lighting, and the reactions? Pure, unfiltered, internet gold.

Some fans are calling it the rock-pop crossover event of the decade. Others are in full denial, muttering “it’s just a one-time thing” like a prayer (lol, sure). And then there’s the fanfic writers, who are already on their second chapter about this very moment.

Meanwhile, our two leads? Radio. Silence.

No wry Instagram stories. No cryptic tweets. No emergency PR statements. Just Ellie, cool as ever, casually liking a meme about getting your clothes stolen from “the girl you spent all night ruining.” 😭🙃

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

We wait. Impatiently.

Is this just an iconic but questionable decision? Will y/n post a cryptic thirst trap in retaliation? Will Ellie respond with an even more cryptic Instagram story? Or are we witnessing the birth of music’s next power couple?

One thing’s for sure—this is a story we’ll be watching very closely.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

What do YOU think? Drop your theories in the comments below! ⬇️🔥

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@: this isn’t just a hookup. this is the lesbians Super Bowl. 

@: tears in my eyes. full body worship. standing ovulation. whatever it’s called.

@: “mysterious walk of shame” NAH SHE CLOCKED IN, DID OVERTIME, AND LEFT WITH A RAISE 💀

@: not her texting the driver like “can’t feel my legs send help” 😭 icon.

@: someone check on the poor girl ellie this wasn’t a leave her paralyzed challenge

@: THE SECOND PIC. YALL. THEY LOOK SO GODDAMN FINE I’M CHEWING DRYWALL AND DRINKING THE DUST 😩

@: i need them to either hard launch or drop a sex tape at this point because my soul is restless

@: this is the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen and I was THERE for korrasami and caitvi.

@: i just KNOW Ellie’s strap game goes absolutely feral and that walk was all the proof I needed #cravethat #scientificallyproven

@: pop mother got her back blown OUT

@: #elliehititrawandnowshestrending

@: they are either deeply in love or just HORRENDOUS at sneaky links. either way, I win.

@: tmz trynna act like we don’t instantly recognize Ellie’s entire wardrobe on her lmao

@: she defo picked those on purpose and you can't convince me otherwiseeee

@: the way we all clocked those clothes immediately like homegirl has worn that same fit 67 times this year and counting

@: Ellie dresses like a divorced dad at Home Depot but somehow y/n wearing her clothes is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen

@: one-night thing my ass. drop the collab album. drop the wedding invites. drop the baby name.

@: I have no idea what's going on but I support them!

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The studio is cold. Too cold.

You lean against the massive soundboard, eyes heavy with exhaustion as the producer fine-tunes the levels on your latest track. The bass hums through the speakers, deep and rhythmic.

You got home, showered, and walked into the studio like nothing happened. Like you weren’t still replaying everything in your head—the heat of her hands, the weight of her body, the way she— Nope. Not going there.

The only thing keeping you upright is sheer force of will and the coffee clutched in your hands, now lukewarm but still packing enough caffeine to keep your legs from betraying you in front of the expensive equipment.

But something feels off.

Nobody is looking at you.

Nobody is saying anything.

The thing is, your team is never quiet. They talk about everything—schedules, brand deals, what the fuck you’re eating for lunch—but today? Nothing. Just silence.

Not a single offhand comment. No teasing about the all-nighter you clearly pulled. Not even a glance in your direction.

Your producer is laser-focused on the track, nodding along like it holds the meaning of life. Your sound editor keeps his eyes glued to the screen, like looking anywhere else might kill him. And your assistant—sweet, terrible liar that she is—won’t stop sneaking glances at her phone, then at you, then at her phone again, like she’s watching a train wreck in real time and trying to figure out when to break the news that you’re the train.

Slowly, you set your coffee down, reach for your own phone, and unlock it, already feeling the creeping dread claw up your spine.

The second your screen lights up, it’s over. Notifications flood in. X. Instagram. Texts. Group chats blowing up like a damn stock market crash. Millions of mentions. Your name trending in bold, blaring letters.

And then you see it.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N'S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

You suck in a breath—a sharp, audible gasp that cuts through the eerie silence.

Your assistant makes a tiny, distressed sound. Your producer visibly flinches, finally daring to glance at you. Your sound editor—wise, blessedly silent—just pauses the track.

Your fingers move faster than your brain, scrolling in blind panic. Pictures. Too many fucking pictures.

The first one is a grainy, low-lit shot of you and Ellie at the bar—bodies too close, drinks in hand, faces inches apart. The kind of tension that crackles even through a shitty phone camera. The next? A ruthless side-by-side comparison of Ellie’s Instagram post from last week. Same shirt. Same jeans. The exact ones you walked out wearing.

And then—because the universe is a cruel, twisted place—the final nail in the coffin.

A video.

Of you.

Sneaking out of her hotel.

You hit play, and instantly regret every life choice that led you there. Because why the fuck were you walking like that?!

Not just suspicious. Not just guilty. But the kind of unsteady, post-life-changing-experience walk that has the entire internet foaming at the mouth, legs barely cooperating like you just left the scene of a particularly intense crime.

Your soul exits your body, ascends to the ceiling, and refuses to come back down.

Your phone starts ringing. And you already know who it is. For a brief, fleeting moment, you consider launching the damn thing across the room.

Because of course it’s Rachel.

Your manager and professional-life mastermind. The woman who negotiates your million-dollar deals before breakfast. And, apparently, the bane of your existence right now.

You push through the studio doors without explaining a damn thing, the cool air outside hitting your face like a slap. Your head is pounding, fingers digging into your temples like you can physically massage the embarrassment out of your skull.

Your phone still vibrates in your hand. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before answering. The second you do, her voice explodes through the speaker.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

You flinch, yanking the phone away from your ear like it might physically protect you. It doesn’t. She’s still yelling, still fully spiraling, and honestly? She has every right to. Because you’re trending. Hard.

And not for your music.

“Before you say anything—”

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS? My phone has been BLOWING UP since 6 AM. Do you understand what you’ve done?!”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. Here we fucking go.

“Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry, I never meant for that to happen I didn’t know there were paparazzi outside the hotel! I—”

“THIS IS PERFECT.”

“—know I fucked up”

You pause mid-spiral. Blink. “...Wait, what?”

“You heard me! This is GOLD. This is EVERYTHING. Your fans are losing their minds, the internet is eating this up, and you know what that means?”

“…That I need to delete my existence?”

“That this is going to take both of your careers to the next level.”

Your head is spinning. “Whoa—slow down. The fuck you mean?”

Rachel lets out an exaggerated sigh, like she’s explaining shapes to a toddler. “You need to be interesting. She needs damage control. You both need the press for the upcoming albums. This relationship is everything you need.”

“Relationship?” You nearly choke. “Rachel, we just hooked up. It was a one-time thing, nothing else.”

“Oh... just a one-time thing?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

She says it so casually you instantly know she’s about to ruin your life.

“Then fake it.”

“WHAT?”

Your soul leaves your body. Again.

“A fake relationship!” She repeats, like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.

“Oh my god. No. NO. That’s—that’s fucking stupid!"

“Oh, come on, girl.” Rachel groans. “You would be shocked to know how many celebrity couples are fake. Like, 90% of them, and people still eat that shit up like it’s their job. It’s the most effective PR stunt in the history of PR stunts.”

“I don't care! Even if it’s fake, I don’t wanna be in a relationship with her!”

Rachel, clearly unimpressed “Be so fucking for real right now.”

“Listen” she continues, slipping into full Hollywood mastermind mode. “It’s the perfect rockstar-popstar trope that people are gonna LOVE. Some staged dates, some Instagram stories, show up to a few award shows together, write some songs about her for the album—blah, blah, blah. Then, when you both get what you want, you drop a statement about breaking up on good terms because of ‘busy schedules’ or ‘long distance’ or whatever. Boom. Done. Headlines. History.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face, but you can already feel her words getting to you.

“Okay…that does sound kinda iconic...”

You hear her scream.

“BUT” You snap. “I seriously doubt she’s gonna be on board.”

“She has to be. That girl needs to clean up her image immediately. If she wants to keep her career afloat, she needs to say yes." Rachel doesn’t miss a beat. "Honestly, it even benefits her more than it benefits you.”

You press the phone tighter against your ear, your free hand rubbing over your face over and over again as if that’ll somehow erase this chaos unfolding in real-time.

But honestly?

What could go wrong?

So you exhale sharply again.

“Fine, fine. We’ll… debate it.”

“PERFECT! Tell me how it goes!”

There’s a short pause, just long enough for you to think—maybe—this conversation is about to take a serious turn.

And then—

“…So, how was she in bed?”

You nearly drop your phone. “RACHEL.”

“What?! It’s a valid question! I mean, I saw the walk.” A beat. Then, way too smugly “People are even making edits of your limp.”

Okay.

This is officially the worst day of your life.

“We are NOT doing this.”

“Oh, we are ABSOLUTELY doing this.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. There's no escaping this.

“Was it life-changing or life-threatening? Did she break your back or fix your scoliosis?” 

You stare up at the sky, silently begging for divine intervention. None comes. So, with the weight of someone who has lost everything, you exhale.

“…she made me see fucking Jesus.”

Silence. A beat.

Rachel screams so loud you nearly throw your phone at the window.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT.”

“HANGING UP NOW.”

“NO WAIT!—DID SHE—”

“BYE.”

You slam the End Call button so fast it’s a miracle your screen doesn’t crack.

Blissful, beautiful silence.

For exactly three seconds.

Buzz.

Rachel: COME BACK WE ARE NOT DONE.

Buzz.

Rachel: do I schedule a chiropractor or a priest? 😭

You turn your phone off. Permanently.

────────────

It was late, the kind of night where the city hummed low in the background, neon signs bleeding color into the streets.

And Ellie Williams was trying to have a normal band practice.

Trying.

But it was pretty fucking hard when Jesse and Dina were staring at her like she’d just announced she was quitting music to become a full-time televangelist.

She adjusted the strap of her guitar, already irritated. “Can you guys, I don’t know, say something instead of fucking looking at me like that?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting...” Jesse said as he leaned against the drum set, taking a slow drag of his cigarette and grinning like the absolute menace he was.

Dina, perched on an amp, smirked. “Yeah. Just giving you a chance to come clean before we bring out the receipts.”

Ellie scoffed, trying to play it cool. “What receipts?”

Dina wiggled her phone in the air, smirk widening. “Seems like you’ve been very busy, rockstar.”

She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The fuck are you both talking about!?”

Jesse and Dina exchanged the look. The kind that made Ellie’s patience thin by the second.

Jesse sighed dramatically, putting out his cigarette on the plato like he was about to drop the biggest bombshell of the century. “Alright, since you’re playing dumb—”

He pulled out his phone with the enthusiasm of a man whose sole purpose in life was witnessing Ellie’s downfall. 

“Lemme just read the best part real quick—” And clearing his throat like he was about to give a Shakespearean performance:

“‘Global superstar y/n was spotted leaving Ellie Williams’s hotel early this morning after a rumored all-night rendezvous. Fans immediately noticed the pop star's unusually relaxed wardrobe choice—’”

Dina whistled. “‘—baggy jeans and an oversized tee, both belonging to a certain someone who was seen wearing them just last week—’”

Jesse shook his head, flipping his phone around. “Nah, this is crazy. This is some Oscar-worthy shit.”

Ellie groaned the second she saw the TMZ photo—you stepping out of the hotel in her clothes. And then there was her, leaving an hour later, hoodie up like it could shield her from literally everyone, rubbing the back of her neck like some dumbass who just realized they fucked up in a romcom.

She looked guilty as hell.

He zoomed in on her face, laughing. “Yo, you look like you just realized you caught feelings.”

Dina snorted, scrolling through her phone. “Oh, they are EATING this shit up. Listen to this” —dramatic inhale— “‘They are either deeply in love or just horrendous at sneaky links. Either way, I win.’”

Jesse howled. “‘Someone check on the poor girl—Ellie, this wasn’t a ‘leave her paralyzed’ challenge.’”

Ellie groaned. “You guys—”

“OH MY GOD.” Dina gasped. “SOMEONE JUST MADE A SIDE-BY-SIDE.”

Jesse leaned in. “Caption?”

“‘WHAT IN THE SCISSOR OLYMPICS. GOLD MEDAL PERFORMANCE.”

He collapsed against the drum set, howling even harder. “Nah, this is crazy. You really let her walk outta there like that?! You KNEW what you did. You knew EXACTLY what you were doing.”

Ellie covered her face with her hands. “I hate it here.”

Jesse was thriving, nearly bouncing on his feet like a kid on Christmas morning. “Dude. You bagged y/n. Like, THE Y/N. Pop princess herself. That fine-ass woman writes songs so good they make people crash their cars.”

Dina nodded solemnly. “I crashed twice to ‘Stay.’”

Ellie shot her a look. “First of all, you shouldn’t have a license.” Then at Jesse “Second, can you fucking NOT? We just hooked up. That’s it.”

He just snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the 40 million people who liked the tweets about it.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve been mistaken for a death rattle. “This is so fucking bad.”

Jesse ignored her, grinning like an absolute menace. “Like, do you even understand the cultural impact of what you’ve done? This is like—” He gestured wildly. “—punk rock meets Billboard Hot 100 hookup of the century!”

Dina smirked. “And judging by the way she was walking? You bodied that shit.”

Ellie scowled. “She was wearing heels all night!”

Dina arched a brow. “So were you gonna say that, or are you just making that up now?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it. Dragged a hand down her face.

Jesse cackled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She was this close to walking out.

Then, like a gift from hell, her phone started buzzing.

Your name flashed across the screen. Gasps.

Ellie panicked, immediately shoving it in her pocket.

Dina’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—DECLINE Y/N?! Are you fucking STUPID?!”

Jesse shook his head, dead serious. “No, no. Let her cook. Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”

Ellie groaned, yanking her jacket off the chair and making her way to the door. “Practice over. I hope both of you trip over a flight of stairs and eat shit all the way down.”

“Aw, so sweet of you!” Dina beamed. “We’re gonna start picking baby names as soon as you leave.”

Ellie didn’t even look back—just flipped them off on her way out like a parting gift.

The door slammed shut loudly.

A beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wall—

“AND JESSE STOP SAYING LET HER COOK THE MEME DIED MONTHS AGO.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO IT DIDN’T!”

────────────

Ellie had barely stepped out of the studio, muttering “Fucking kill me” before calling you back. As soon as you answered, she was quick to be the first one to talk.

“Before you say anything—this is not my fault.”

Your voice came through immediately. 

“Ellie.”

Tone flat. Dead serious.

She hesitated. “…Yeah?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks. Like, full-body malfunction.

Her entire fucking life flashed before her eyes. Marriage. A house. A tiny baby wrapped in a flannel onesie. Joel crying at the babyshower. Dina and Jesse as the weirdly invested godparents.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, fuck off!”

You howled with laughter. “Not even a little panic? All I got was a one-second existential crisis?”

“Dude. Biology exists.”

Though, if she was being honest, you had her for a solid half-second. She could already hear Joel clearing his throat, preparing for his father-of-the-bride speech, could already see Jesse and Dina clicking through a PowerPoint titled "Ellie Williams: Accidentally Domesticated—A case study."

You scoffed “See, this is why you’re no fun.”

“This is why you're deranged.”

“You love it.”

“No. You need therapy.”

“I have therapy. On Thursdays. Shoutout to Linda.”

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you actually need something, or was this just a drive-by psychological attack?”

“Oh, you know. Just the minor issue that the entire fucking internet thinks we’re dating?”

Ellie groaned, unlocking her car with a beep. “Technically, we could just ignore it—”

“Ellie.”

“…Yeah, yeah. What’s the damage?”

“Well” you started, voice syrupy sweet, “Not only do I look like I did the world’s sluttiest walk of shame, but people also figured out those were your clothes. And, fun fact! They say you dress like a divorced dad from Home Depot.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“No, I don’t think you understand the severity of it.” Your voice got increasingly dramatic. “People have shipping spreadsheets. They have theories. Someone made a Google doc analyzing our astrology compatibility. Ellie, we are trending #1 WORLDWIDE.”

Ellie ran a hand down her face. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Someone said—direct quote— that this is ‘the lesbian's Super Bowl.' ”

She paused. “That one might be true tho.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “Alright, so what’s the move? Damage control?”

A pause. 

“Well…” you said, voice a little too careful, “my manager thinks we should… lean into it.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Another pause.

Then, your voice, even softer now. “Can we… talk in person?”

Ellie immediately clocked the hesitation. “Why do I feel like I’m 'bout to get scammed?”

“You’re not! I just… I’d rather explain in person.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “…Fine. Where?”

“My place.”

Ellie frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because there’s paparazzi crammed outside the Four Seasons, dumbass.”

…Fair.

She exhaled. “…Yeah. Alright.”

“Cool. I’ll send you the address.”

A beat. Then—

“…Wait” Ellie muttered. “How the fuck did you get my number?”

Silence.

“…Contacts.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean? Who—”

“Doesn’t matter.” you cut in, then cleared your throat. “Anyway. Can you, uh… give me my dress back? It was custom.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“…Ellie.”

“It might still be on the floor.”

A sharp inhale. “You little shit.”

Ellie smirked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“On my way, pop star.”

──────────── Ellie had barely knocked twice before the door swung open.

And there you were.

Standing in the dim light of your penthouse, arms crossed, drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Your hair was slightly messy, like you’d been curled up somewhere before she got here, and your skin glowed just right under the soft, golden hue of your apartment lights.

“Hey”

“Hey”

She exhaled, stepping inside as you shut the door behind her. She barely had time to take in the space before she realized—this was money.

The penthouse stretched wide, the kind of design meant to make people feel small. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, headlights cutting through the night far below. The furniture was sleek, modern—gray couches, glass tables, designer pieces that looked both expensive and comfortable. A grand piano sat near the window, it's lid closed and a guitar leaning against it, used enough to make Ellie smirk.

But it was the small things that caught her eye. A candle burning low on the counter. A glass of wine next to a notebook cracked open on the coffee table, filled with lyrics. Scribbled, messy. Some lines scratched out, others rewritten in the margins.

“Jesus” she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Could’ve warned me I was walking into a fucking palace.”

“Says the millionaire.”

Her eyes flicked to you—leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like you were amused by her reaction.

She huffed.

“So.”

“So.”

The silence stretched, just a little too thick. A weight neither of you wanted to touch.

Then, finally, you exhaled.

“My manager thinks we should fake date.”

Ellie snorted “Yeah, no shit.”

“She says it’ll be good for both of us.”

She hummed, sauntering over to the couch before sinking into it like she owned the place. Her legs spread wide, hands rubbing over her jeans, shoulders sinking into the cushions. She looked up at you, unreadable.

“And? You wanna do it?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”  Your fingers tapped against the counter, your teeth dragged over your bottom lip. You looked… conflicted. “It’s just—ugh. The thought of staging something like this is so gross.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “Pretending to be into you in public? It just feels—”

A beat.

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

You hesitated.

And there it was. The shift.

“Pretending?” she repeated slowly.

You scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Ellie tilted her head, gaze flicking downward—brief, barely there—before dragging right back up like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Do I?”

Your skin flushed, irritation prickling down your spine. She was too comfortable—slouched on your couch like it was hers, fingers drumming against her knee, wearing that look. That lazy, lopsided smirk that made your stomach clench and your heart do backflips.

You muttered. "Cut the bullshit."

Ellie watched you, green eyes sharp, the corner of her mouth curling like she already knew what you were thinking—like she could see straight through you. And maybe she could.

That was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just some business deal, some harmless PR stunt. 

This was Ellie fucking Williams. 

A menace. A woman who flirted like it was her second nature. Who carried herself with the kind of reckless confidence that made people love her and hate her in the same breath. She was sharp, fast-mouthed, and annoyingly charming when she wanted to be. She kissed like she had something to prove and fucked like she knew she was amazing at it. 

She was the kind that didn’t just leave bruises—that left marks.

And now, you are supposed to pretend to be hers. In public. In pictures. In interviews. She’d make it look effortless, like every lingering touch and stolen glance meant everything.

Meanwhile, you’d have to grit your teeth and pretend she wasn’t already under your skin—pretend you don’t know exactly how this will end.

Ellie’s voice pulled you back.

“We can set rules.”

You blinked, exhaling sharply. “Rules?”

She nodded, resting her elbows on her knees. “Yeah. Lines we don’t cross. Shit we don’t do. Make it easier.”

You considered that. It did make sense. Setting boundaries meant this wouldn’t spiral into a complete disaster—just a controlled one.

“…Fine.”

Ellie grinned, tilting her head. “Great. Rule number one—no catching feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the counter and taking a sip of your wine. “Oh, trust me, Williams, that was never a problem.”

What a goddamn lie.

Ellie chuckled, dragging a hand over her jaw before settling back into the couch. She watched you a second too long, eyes flicking over you like she was deciding whether to call you on your bullshit. That fucking grin still lingered—lazy, amused. 

She was enjoying this.

You exhaled slowly, setting your wine glass down with a quiet clink. “I got my own rules.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

You leveled her with a look. “No strings attached.”

Ellie blinked, then snorted. “Starting off strong.”

“I’m serious,” you said, arms crossing. “No getting weird about anything. We do what we have to do in public, but behind closed doors, it’s our business. No jealousy, no possessiveness.”

Ellie tilted her head, her smirk growing. “So basically, we can do whatever we want?”

You hesitated.

A fraction of a second too long.

Then nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a shift in the air. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. Ellie’s eyes dragged over you—slow, measured, her expression unreadable.

“…Can we still fuck, though?”

Your face didn’t waver, but your stomach clenched, a tiny, unwelcome knot forming deep in your gut.

“Yeah. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

The words landed firm, like a line drawn in the sand, but even as you said them, they felt a little off. Like something rehearsed, something you were trying a little too hard to believe.

Ellie let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Jesus, babe. You’re ruthless.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not even a little.” She stretched out, arms draping over the back of the couch, looking maddeningly at ease. “Just didn’t expect you to be the one setting that rule.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because deep down, you weren’t sure what would piss you off more—her calling you out on your bullshit, or the fact that she might actually be right.

Ellie hummed. “Fine. No strings attached. What else?”

You rubbed your temple, thinking. “Public stuff needs to be controlled. If we’re going to be seen together, it needs to be intentional.”

Ellie nodded. “So, no sneaky paparazzi pics of us at, like, McDonald’s?”

“Exactly.”

“There goes my dream of getting papped in the drive-thru with you.”

You ignored that. “Next—if one of us wants out, we end it. No bullshit.”

Ellie’s smirk softened slightly. “Fair enough.”

The mood had shifted—just a fraction. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a warning sign, but at least your shoulders didn’t feel as tight anymore.

You reached for your wine again. “We also need a reason.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“For why we’re suddenly together,” you clarified.

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Easy. We met through mutual friends, started talking, made it official recently.”

You nodded. “Good. Vague, but believable.”

Then Ellie grinned. “So when’s our anniversary?”

“I’m breaking up with you already.”

Ellie threw her head back, laughing. “Damn. Cold as hell.”

You just smirked, watching the wine swirl in your glass, but the humor faded when Ellie leaned forward slightly, her gaze a little sharper now.

“So, just to recap,” she said, voice steady. “No feelings. No jealousy. We can fuck, but it doesn't mean anything. And if one of us wants out, we’re out.”

“…Yeah.” You swallowed, the weight of it settling between you both. “...Are you actually okay with this?”

Ellie leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand over her jaw.

Was she?

She’d done PR stunts before—appearances, interviews, the occasional fake chemistry for cameras. But a fake relationship? That was a different level of commitment. A different level of risk.

At the same time… she wasn’t exactly in a position to say no. She needed something to get the media off her ass. Headlines about bar fights, reckless behavior, and being a bad influence were piling up like a rap sheet. A carefully controlled narrative—a shiny, clean distraction—might be the only thing that kept her from burning out entirely.

But then…

She looked at you.

Drop-dead gorgeous. Smart as hell. Sharp tongue. A little mean in a way that made people want to prove themselves.

And yeah, sure—this was fake. But Ellie wasn’t fucking stupid. Fake or not, this was the kind of shit that got under her skin, settled in deep and refused to leave.

She’d made plenty of bad decisions before, walked into things knowing exactly how they would end, knowing they’d chew her up and spit her out. That was the thing about trouble. It never felt like trouble in the moment. It started as a game, as a deal, as something simple—until one day, it wasn’t. Until it had its teeth in her, until she was in too deep to pretend she didn’t care.

And this?

This had all the makings of that kind of mistake.

But she still exhaled, still ran a hand through her hair, still met your eyes without hesitation.

“Yeah” She sighed “I’m in.”

“Alright,” you murmured, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a slow sip. Then, with a smirk just shy of reckless—

“This is officially the worst decision of our lives.”

Ellie leaned back like she had all the time in the world, legs spreading wider, her grin all sharp edges. “What you mean? This is already the most stable relationship I’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, reaching for your wine again. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. The bar is in hell.”

You closed your eyes for a second, exhaled, then took another long drink. “God help me.”

After a few minutes, Ellie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt, twirling it lazily between her fingers. She glanced up at you, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Ellie shrugged, biting the tip of the blunt. “What? It’s part of the rockstar lifestyle.”

You scoffed. “And I’m the popstar, so technically, I should be saying no.”

Ellie pulled out a lighter, flicking it open with a metallic click. “Live a little.”

You exhaled. “Fine. But if TMZ catches me high, I’m blaming you.”

Ellie grinned, bringing the lighter to the tip of the blunt, the paper curling as it burned. She took a slow, practiced drag, holding it deep in her lungs before exhaling smoothly, the smoke swirling toward the ceiling. Then she passed it to you.

You hesitated for a half-second before bringing it to your lips, inhaling. The burn was familiar, settling in your chest before you exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the dimly lit room.

Already, the tension from earlier—the ridiculous fake-dating rules, the push and pull of whatever this was—started to fade into something looser, easier.

Ellie watched you, her smirk deepening. “Damn. You’re not new to this.”

You took another hit before passing it back, lips quirking. “Told you. I just have a better PR team than you.”

Ellie chuckled, shaking her head as she took another drag.

Somehow, the conversation had spiraled.

You were both slumped against the couch, trading the last remnants of the blunt back and forth, locked in a heated debate over whether or not you’d survive a zombie apocalypse.

Ellie scoffed, waving a lazy hand. “C’mon, you wouldn’t last a week.”

“Excuse me?” You sat up, pointing at her. “I would absolutely outlive you.”

“You literally have, like, five personal assistants. You don’t even carry your own bags.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t fight!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright. How would you kill a zombie?”

You blinked. “...Guns?”

Ellie groaned, shaking her head like you had just personally offended her. 

“What?!”

“You’d run out of ammo in, like, a week.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay, smartass. What’s your genius survival plan?”

“Baseball bat. Blunt force trauma. Reusable, no reload time.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s so gross.”

Ellie shrugged. “Yeah? So is dying.”

You huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m sure that if I were in a zombie apocalypse, I’d be the immune one.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, flicking the blunt towards the ashtray. “Oh, shut up. I'd be the immune one. And the main character.”

You huffed, dramatically flopping back against the couch, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh. Ellie grinned, stretching her arms behind her head.

“All that contract negotiation made me hungry.”

You snorted, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “You literally agreed to everything in under five minutes.”

“Exactly,” Ellie sighed. “Exhausting.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “What’s the most unserious meal we could possibly order right now?”

You barely had to think. “Taco Bell.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “God, I fucking love you.”

You shot her a dry look.

“Platonically. Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as she tapped aggressively on the app. “What do you want?”

“Crunchwrap Supreme, two Doritos Locos Tacos, and a Baja Blast.”

Ellie blinked. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I take my Taco Bell order very seriously.”

Ellie hummed approvingly. “Respect.” She added your order to the already absurd amount of food in her cart and checked out.

By the time the Taco Bell arrived, you were both fully slumped into the couch, heavy-limbed and loose from the high. Ellie tossed the bag onto the coffee table with zero grace, nearly knocking over your very expensive candle.

“Jesus, be careful” you muttered, steadying it.

Ellie unwrapped her burrito with a crinkle of foil, smirking. “What, scared I’ll ruin your rich-person aesthetic?”

You leaned back, exhaling. “Yeah, actually. I have a brand to uphold.”

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she took a bite. The two of you ate in a comfortable lull, the only sounds coming from the low hum of music playing from your speaker and the occasional rustle of food wrappers.

In that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time—at ease. Because being with her was effortless.

No need to pose, fake a smile, or worry if your hair was in place. You could just exist. And there was something dangerously comfortable about that, something weirdly domestic. Like slipping into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized you’d been craving.

Ellie spoke suddenly, pulling you back, like the thought had just slipped out before she could decide if it was worth saying.

“So, why’d you start doing music?”

The question landed between you like a weight, unexpected and heavy.

You paused, mid-bite, blinking at her. She wasn’t even looking at you—just lazily pulling apart her quesadilla, like she hadn’t just cracked open something raw and unplanned.

You swallowed, shifting slightly. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“It’s the only thing I was ever really good at.”

That got her attention. Her fingers stilled against the tortilla, her eyes flicking up—steady, unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you set your food down. “I mean, growing up, I sucked at everything else. School, sports, whatever—I just never stuck with anything. But music?” You tilted your head, feeling the thought click into place. “That made sense. I liked how it made people feel. You write something, and suddenly, some stranger out there feels understood in a way they didn’t before. Like, for three minutes, they’re not alone.”

Ellie’s chewing slowed, her gaze lingering. “Yeah.” Her voice had dropped, more thoughtful. “That’s kinda the whole point, huh?”

You hummed, watching her. “…What about you?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into the couch, stretching like she was trying to shake something off. “Not that different, honestly.” One arm draped over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the cushion. “Joel was always into music. Taught me how to play guitar when I was a kid, and it just kinda stuck ever since.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Joel Miller? That’s your dad, right?”

A nod. “Yeah. He’s—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “—intense. But in a good way, mostly. He gives a shit. Probably more than I deserve.”

Your brows knitted together. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Ellie let out a quiet chuckle, but it was dry, almost automatic. “Nah. Just being honest.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest feel tight.

You thought about pushing, about pressing your thumb against that tiny crack she’d let slip, but something told you she’d just deflect, maybe make some stupid joke to steer the conversation away.

So, instead, you sighed dramatically, letting the moment pass. “I think I’m too high for all this deep shit.”

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Same.”

You grinned, swirling your drink. “Okay, new topic—what’s your favorite song?”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Dunno. How’s that one song of yours go? That’s that me espresso?”

The room went still.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A deep, soul-crushing betrayal settled in your chest, a wound so profound it might never heal. Your breath caught, fingers gripping your shirt like she had physically stabbed you.

Ellie, still chewing, barely spared you a glance. “What?”

Your hands trembled. “That’s Espresso.”

Your voice dropped an octave. Near-feral.

“BY. SABRINA. CARPENTER.”

Ellie paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. “Wait… that’s not your song?”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Ellie shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, y’all sound kinda similar.”

You shot up so fast from the couch it screeched against the floor. “I HOPE YOUR AMP SHORT-CIRCUITS MID-SOLO.”

Ellie’s laughter rang through the room, loud and unbothered. “Jesus. Touch some grass.”

────────────

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm draped over your waist.

The second was the godawful dryness in your mouth, the kind that only came from bad decisions the night before and even worse hydration choices.

Squinting against the morning light, you shifted slightly, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Your head ached, limbs heavy, the air still thick with the scent of weed.

And then, as you turned your head—

Ellie.

Dead asleep beside you.

Face buried in the couch, hair a disaster, breathing slow and steady. One arm thrown over your waist like it belonged there, her entire body half-pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing just enough of the tattoos trailing down her back to make your already-dysfunctional brain short-circuit.

It should be illegal to look that good while sleeping.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of the way her fingers twitched slightly against your stomach. Desperate for a distraction, you forced your gaze to the rest of the room.

The coffee table was an absolute crime scene—wrappers, crumpled napkins, open sauce packets, empty Baja Blast cups, and one lonely, half-eaten quesadilla clinging to life.

You groaned softly, rubbing your face, before muscle memory had you reaching for your phone.

And that’s when the real nightmare started.

Rachel (25 Missed Calls, 17 Texts).

Your stomach immediately twisted into knots.

Dreading whatever mess you’d apparently caused, you clicked the messages.

Rachel: WAKE UP Rachel: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP Rachel: CHECK TWITTER RIGHT NOW.

A cold dread crawled up your spine.

With the kind of slow, creeping horror usually reserved for slasher films, you opened Twitter.

And there it was.

Trending.

#y/nandEllie

#HARDLAUNCHOFTHECENTURY

Your entire body locked up.

“What the fuck?” you croaked, voice barely functioning.

Next to you, Ellie shifted, groaning as her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in just a fraction before she mumbled into the cushion, voice thick with sleep, “Why’re you talking?”

You didn’t even process the fact that she was literally holding you because you were too busy trying not to pass out.

Instagram. You need to check instagram.

And then you saw it.

Your most recent story.

A photo of Ellie.

Sitting on the couch, head tilted down, scrolling on her phone. Messy hair, tattoos on full display, one leg tucked up like she owned the place. In front of her? The entire ungodly Taco Bell order. Wrappers, bags, napkins—absolute devastation.

And the caption, in bold, unhinged letters:

she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.

One hundred million people have already seen it.

“FUCK!”

Ellie shifted again, her fingers skimming your stomach as she let out a sleepy groan. “Dude” she mumbled. “What now?”

You turned to her, shoving the phone directly in her face, voice pure horror.

“You let me post this?!”

She blinked at the screen. Then blinked again. And then, as if the universe hadn’t already humiliated you enough, she started grinning.

It was slow at first, creeping across her face, her shoulders starting to shake—before she full-on lost it. Ellie fucking cackled. Like, sleep-rough, chest-shaking, burying-her-face-in-the-couch dying.

You smacked her arm. “THIS IS FUCKING SERIOUS!”

She barely lifted her head, still grinning like an absolute menace.

“We smoked another blunt, got drunk, and thought it would be funny.” She stretched lazily and patted your thigh, voice rough with amusement. “So, I guess we’re official now.”

You smacked her again.

────────────

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taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ I HAD SO MUCH FUN W THIS ONE LMAOOO. I went so full out with brainrot memes i realized how much i need to touch some grass. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[buckysgrace]

now daddy!steve hcs?

OOOOOH interesting thoughts hmmmmm.... thank you for this!!

Also a baby hog. Probably does a lot of cosleeping (ik that's like a no no now but)

He's definitely over prepared. He has read up on books, magazines etc to find out everything he needs to know to prepare for the birth and welcoming of his little baby

Definitely see him being a teen parent idk just fitting in a way

Gives his baby all the love and attention that he never felt like he got <3

Also looooves to show his kids off. He's very very proud of them (and you of course hehe)

Gets up every time the baby cries, even if it's your turn. Also very good at changing diapers he has made a sort of game out of it to see how fast he can do it (and if he can do it without gagging this time lmao)

His babies have to have lots of hair of course, also covered in lil moles like him as they get older hehe

also very cute if they have his big cute head hehe

Robin of course would constantly be complimenting him for managing to make something so cute

Lots of family road trips!! he will turn this car around damn it

I can see him sort of becoming overwhelmed at the first 2-3? like ok yes still big family but lets wait a few years before we start going again lmao

Cries when he gets to cut the umbilical cord hehe. Also very very excited for the skin to skin contact so he can bond with his lil baby

Would sing them them to sleep in the rocking chair. He also ends up passing out but it's fine

Idk why I picture him having fussier babies but I do?? Really struggles and feels awful the first few months until the little baby finally gets settled :)))

Ya know he's searching for matching shoes with his kids too, most definitely lmao

takes them to all sorts of events for holidays and everything else lmaooo just wants them to get the most out of it

also loves to blow raspberries on his babies to get them giggling hehe

Gets his hair pulled a lot by them :/

lots of nose kisses hehe

Loves to play with them but sort of does it in a dangerous way? and not as in the kids getting hurt, as in he's the one accidentally getting beat up by them lmao

His children are definitely huge bundles of bursting energy hehe. Always needing to do something.

His kids are runners lmao. Almost all of them. Y'all look away for a second and they're sprinting smh

and at least one of them is a biter too omg

Is ashamed to admit that he tried to backpack leashes a few times lmaooo but in his defense they were cute!! Only stopped using them because the children liked to run as fast as they could, only to see how far they'd fly when they got yanked back lmao. They thought it was hilarious, you guys did not.

Probably buys a lot of toys for them within the first few years until he realizes that most go to waste?? so then he's more particular and careful about his selections lol

Also I can see him being a lil overbearing at first?? Just very concerned with the first few over keeping hands clean, what they're eating, etc etc. I think he eventually develops a nice balance tho??

Also spends a lot of time making sure they're being safe and healthy (like putting sunscreen on for example or making sure they're staying hydrated) but forgets to do that for himself lmao. Ends up with the nastiest sunburn ever

Definitely curses for the first time in front of them too when one of them accidentally hits his reddened skin

Tries to get interested into everything his kids like so he can be involved too?? Or at least show that he cares??

loooooves to show off on the trampoline too and his kids think it's so cool?? lots of time spent learning how to backflip. and roughhousing omg

Does his best to help them in school as much as possible, but he's definitely panicking the whole time lmao. Love the idea of him trying to teach himself and his child math late at night

Overall he's a very, very good daddy hehe.

[b3ach-bunn7]

SWEET BOY

Shinsou Hitoshi gets the practise room on odd days, and you the even ones. You’ve never met him, but the notes he leaves on the music stand keeps you interested.

Noquirk!au, band au, guitarist Shinsou

—————————————————————————-

There’s only two practice rooms in UA.

It’s no surprise. UA is a sports school. That means about ninety percent of their extracurricular funding goes to new basketballs and volleyball nets, and not to the suffering music department. You're not too fussed by it. You suppose two rooms are better than nothing. The only reason you use them is because you and your slightly overzealous friend, Hana, are both auditioning for some prestigious music school in the summer. You need as much practice as you can get, and luckily being a senior means that you can kick out the younger students if you need to use them.

Only this year, there's a new stupid sign up sheet. Apparently now, instead of the usual first come first serve system, you have to sign up for a room and get allocated them in advance. Your friend Hana grumbles beside you, and you adjust the violin case that’s wearing heavy on your shoulder. 

“This is so stupid. These should be first come first serve. Why do I need to sign up?” Hana snaps.

You smile slightly, quickly scribbling in your name under hers. “Look, nobody has even signed up apart from us. And… Shinsou? Who’s that?”

Hana peers at the sheet over your shoulder. She shrugs. “God knows. Probably some loser first year who thinks he can play piano.”

“Hana.”

“What?”

You nudge her shoulder. “Don’t be rude. If we’re lucky we’ll only have him to share rooms with.”

“Whatever. Let’s go get food, I'm hungry.”

.

You try not to cringe at Hana’s very over dramatic reaction to the schedule two days later. She doesn’t really have any shame in yelling in the middle of the corridor, and you tap her shoulder impatiently at the looks you start receiving from around you.

“Hana. Please, chill out! It’s not that serious.” You urge, trying to push her away from the notice board she is very angrily staring at.

“No! He put us on seperate days!”

You look back at the sheet, in the scrawny handwriting of Mr Hamada.

UA Practise room timetables:

Odd days of the month: Hana Ushijima in 3A and Shinsou Hitoshi in 3B

Even days of the month: Sato Akiro in 3A and Y/N L/N in 3B

“It’s not so bad. You're sharing a room with Sato, he’s nice!” You try to smile encouragingly but Hana is not impressed.

She grips your shoulders and shakes a little. “Let’s ask Hamada if we can move days. So we can practise together.”

As horrible as it sounds, you don’t really want to move days. Hana is your best friend but she’s also a lot, especially when it comes to your music. You can only practise with complete and utter calm and silence, and she prefers to chat the whole time and comment on every piece you play.

“I’ll talk to him later.”

You’re not actually going to do that. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

.

Your first day in the music room is spent considerably annoyed. 

You said your goodbyes to Hana, after assuring her you were definitely going to talk to Hamada today, and welcome the silence as you click the door to room 3B shut. You can hear the distant sound of chatter and commotion pouring in from the open windows, and you make quick work of shutting them all. You only have half an hour before you have to get to English, and the sound of prepubescent teens fighting over a football outside is not going to make that time any slower. 

The room isn’t anything special. It’s not that big and only consists of an old piano that’s always out of tune, and a guitar hidden in a fabric black case that’s falling apart a little. The furthest wall from the door is covered in drawing and notes from students, and you won’t sit and lie that a thirteen year old you hadn’t scribbled her own messages on the wall.

And then you see it.

The wrapper of what you recognise as the schools way too overpriced sandwiches thrown on the stand for sheet music, and a tissue. Irritation immediately spikes in you, and you frown.

You know it’s that Shinsou kid. Who else? The teachers never come in these rooms, and clearly the cleaners don’t either. It’s just rude, frankly. It’s common courtesy to not litter, especially in a room shared by top people. It’s literally one of the rules in these rooms. You think about throwing it away for a second, because there is a trash can literally outside the door, but you decide against it. This Shinsou kid can clean his own mess.

But you can’t stop thinking about it.

When you take your violin out of its case and pick off the hair that’s sticking to the top. When you wax your bow, place the cool wood on your shoulder. You have to balance your sheet music on the windowsill because of your righteous decision to leave his rubbish on the stand. The piece is one of Bruch’s, and you try your hardest to run over it as best as you can, but you just can’t. His stupid mess rings in the back of your mind like an incessant fly. You’re annoyed he left his stuff there and you’re even more annoyed you’re so annoyed about it. A vicious cycle.

After twenty pretty unproductive minutes, you pull out your own lunch. You sit in the rickety chair in the corner of the room and stew as you eat the bento your mother made you. It’s then you decide that you can be petty too. You rip a paper out of your maths notebook and leave a note, balancing it against the stand alongside his rubbish.

Dear Odd day musician,

It’d be nice if you didn’t leave your rubbish on the music stands. You’re not the only one using the music rooms, and you can clean up after yourself.

Sincerely, Even day musician

.

Dear Even day musician,

Thank you so much for the little note, but that was not rubbish. I had a riff written down on that tissue. Also, please kindly do not leave your negative Even day vibes all over this room. You’re not the only one using the music rooms, and you can clean up after yourself.

Sincerely, Odd day musician.

You have half a mind to go and find this Shinsou guy and shove this note up his ass. He’s thrown the wrapper away, but you see now that the tissue, that he still hasn’t moved, has messy scribbles on it he’s considering notation.

You decide that after you practise your violin you’ll write a reply. It feels stupid and a little childish passing notes back and forth like this but you don’t think you’ll be finding yourself coming back on odd days to yell at him for his mess. The sound of your music leaks out under the door and vibrates in your chest. It’s loud and grating and you put your violin down faster than you should’ve.

You love music. And the violin. You just don’t think you see yourself dedicating your whole life to it, contrary to the beliefs of just about everyone you know. It just feels like you have to do it. You get perfect grades, and the teachers love you, and you’re known around school. You don’t really know how or why, but it’s just who you are. And the next step is some prestigious music school that your mother can brag about to all your aunties.

It’s fine. You like the violin. It will be fun.

You grab a pen and more paper from your bag. You sit in the same rickety chair and scribble another note.

Dear Odd day musician,

Apologies for my mistake. Did the wrapper of your panini also have a riff on it, or was that in fact just your trash? I think my even day vibes are quite positive, and I don’t see how I can stop leaving them all over the room.

P.S: If you clean up after yourself, you won’t have to read any more of my ‘little notes’.

Sincerely, Even day musician.

.

“We’ll be in there in like, ten.”

Hana’s voice sounds tinny out of your phone speaker. You’re laying down on your bed, violin and school bag beside you. The collar of your shirt itches your neck and you tug at it.

“Did you braid your hair like I told you to?” Hana asks and you hum in reply.

“Yes. Took forever.” You mumbled, hands twirling around one of them.

“Yes, well. It’s worth it. You look cute.” 

You don’t want to look cute, you want to look sophisticated. You tell Hana that and she laughs. 

“Sophisticated is overrated. And TestsuTestsu will like it. He’s got a crush on you, you know.”

You frown. You sit up, fixing the back of your hair. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He so does. He’s always looking at you in chem.”

You stand up as you hear the rev of an engine outside. You hoist the violin case on your shoulder and the hard case digs into your back. Your brain thinks of a tissue on a music stand and angry notes.

“I don’t care. He’s too loud.”

“Whatever. We’re outside.”

.

You wait anxiously for the lunch bell to ring. Today you’ve got a egg sandwich that sits heavily in the back of your backpack. You’ve got about an hour until lunch and until your small peace in the practise room. You have orchestra first, though, and everyone waves hello when you walk in, and Mr Hamada grins loud and bright.

“Y/N! I’ve been meaning to ask you. We’re having a school open evening, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to perform a piece?” He asks, bounding over to stand in front of you.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” You smile brightly and you hope he believes it.

It’s the last thing you need to have another performance to practise for. Your mind flits to your audition, the English essay you haven’t completed and the notes on the music stand.

“Great! It’s this Friday. Is that enough time for you to practise?”

This Friday is three days away, you want to yell. But you just nod, hands itching around the neck of your violin. “Yes. That should be good.”

Mr Hamada gives you two thumbs up and makes his way to the front of the room. Hana pokes your shoulder.

“Lucky. You always get the performances.”

You sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “I don’t even want it. I just can’t say no to people.”

Hana rolls her eyes. “Sure, sure. You know you love the attention.”

You wish you could tell her you really really don’t but Hamada’s voice rings across the room to silence you all and you raise your violin.

Orchestra can’t end quickly enough. You wave your goodbyes and rush your way over to the practise room. You place your stuff on the floor and you sit, sighing. You look down at your violin and curse. You can’t be bothered today. Especially not after the hour you just spent with Hana whispering too-mean jokes in your ear every time the girl on clarinet messed up. You pull out your phone and find a recording of you playing and let it ring across the room. At least this way anybody walking past will think you’re actually using this room for good.

You breathe a little lighter. Your eyes dart to the guitar in the corner and then your latest note to Shinsou. This is weird, but you stopped caring a while ago. It’s sort of fun, if you’re being entirely honest with yourself.

Dear Mrs Even,

I’m struggling to understand why you are so bugged by my wrapper. Surely the time it would’ve taken to throw it away would have been much shorter than writing me another angry note? I know you are well known at UA for your perfect grades and perfect attitude and perfect violin plucking, but instead of being mad, get inspired! Maybe write a violin number called “Mr Odd Day’s trash.”

Sincerely, Mr Odd.

You read the note twice to make sure you're not seeing things. You ball it up in your hands and lunge it at the wall. You watch it skid across the tiled floor and, after a few choice words, pick it up and throw it in the bin. You take it back. This isn’t very fun. What does Shinsou know about anything? You’ve never even heard of him before this whole music room problem. You whip out your own notebook and start furiously writing.

Dear Mr Odd,

I apologise that my annoying and perfect vibes have ruined the serenity of your music room. Please enjoy the remains of my egg sandwich. Maybe write a song about that.

Sincerely, Mrs Even

You feel better when you drop the crusts of your sandwich on the music stand. A little voice in the back of your head warns you that Hamada might see them and you’ll get in trouble, but your revenge feels more important than that.

Your leg jogs up and down and the chair creaks below you. Your eyes flit to the guitar in the corner of the room. Without thinking, you reach over and grab it. The case is worn out and old, the fabric peeling, and you unzip the case. The guitar is used and worn out. The strings are not cut at the top and it’s heavier than your violin. It sits across your lap, and you strum. 

You mess around with the strings until you find the E major scale and you pluck the notes gingerly. The sound is deeper and louder than your violin, and you waste away the rest of your lunch break playing the guitar instead.

.

Dear Mrs Even,

Have you been playing the guitar?

Sincerely, Mr Odd

.

Dear Mr Odd,

No. I play violin, not guitar.

Sincerely, Mrs Even.

.

Dear Mrs Even,

This is sad. The guitar is crushed and so am I. My band could’ve used another.

Sincerely, Mr Odd

.

The next day you and Hana check out Shinsou’s instagram page.

You’re not interested in him. If anything he’s annoying, with his stupid notes and surprising intuition that you’d been playing the guitar. You’re just… curious. You feel like you know him, even though you’ve never seen his face before. Until now, of course.

You’re both laying down on Hana’s bed, stomachs down on the mattress. Her covers are soft and there’s a lavender candle burning on her bedside table. You tug her laptop closer so you can see properly. 

“Do you have a crush on him?” She asks.

“No! I’m just. I’m just curious who he is.”

Hana hums suspiciously. You watch her click around on different profiles, searching for his. You lean your head on her shoulder. 

“I spoke to him, you know. I saw him walking into 3B and I asked him if you could swap days and he said no. That he liked the ‘odd days of the week’.” She rolled her eyes but you smiled slightly.

“Yeah. Sounds like him.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t know him.” 

“Shut up and open his profile.”

She clicks it, shin_sou.h04, and you both lean in. 

He’s cute. He’s got that rugged, nerdy sort of look you find unfairly attractive. He also looks sleep-deprived and a little emo, so it’s a perfect combination. The fact this is the guy you’ve been leaving notes to leaves a little tingle in your stomach. Hana hums beside you as she scrolls through his page.

“Hm. He’s okay. He’s in a band. He plays-”

“Guitar, yeah.”

Hana looks at you suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

You falter, face heating. “You know. His guitar, he always leaves it in the music room.”

She doesn’t say anything. The silence makes your skin hot, so you snatch the laptop out of her grasp. “He’s in a band. That’s cool. I want to be in a band.”

“No, you want to be in an orchestra. Our auditions are literally so soon.”

“They are in three months.”

“That’s very soon.”

You pause on one post in particular. He’s standing next to a boy with bright blonde hair, teeth shining as he grins widely into the camera. It’s clearly been shot on an old camera and the quality faded the edges, but they still look good. He looks good.

Hana drags her laptop back. “You so have a crush on him.”

“I do not!”

.

Dear Mrs Even,

I’m no fool, you know. Once again I sense your even day vibes lingering all over my guitar. So I may or may not have done the stalkery thing of coming to room 3B on your day, and there I hear it. Under the sound of your (recorded?) violin playing, the up and down scales of my guitar. So that begs the question: has my influence made you turn from a life of violing? That band position offer still stands, you know.

Sincerely, Mr Odd.

.

Dear Mr Odd,

Fine. I am playing the guitar. It’s a nice breath of fresh air after all this sucky violin playing. Don’t get me wrong, I love it and all, but. I’m sort of sick of it. I’ve been playing ever since I was four, and even though I have no idea how to play it, the guitar is fun. Just don’t mention it to anyone. I’m supposed to be performing tomorrow at the open evening assembly and I should be practising for that but. That’s neither here nor there.

Also, thank you for the band position offer. However, I am in the school’s orchestra and I already have my work cut out for me as is.

Sincerely, Mrs Even.

.

The auditorium is noisy with the sound of a few dozen people chattering. Your eyes scan over the new prospective students and their parents, your violin sitting heavy on your lap.

You don’t mind performing. Contrary to your recent aversion to violin, you love music. You love everything about it, especially the complicated melody of the song you’d picked for tonight. It felt like your responsibility, as someone who played music, to share it with the world, and you were glad you could at least do that much. 

You listen as Principal Nezu rambles about the upcoming tours and whatever else principals talk about, before he turns to you.

“And now, a piece played by our own Y/N L/N.”

You smile. The audience breaks out into applause and you swallow. You know Hana is sitting there somewhere, promising to wait for you after so you can get boba, still a little jealous she didn’t get the part. Your eyes flit to the audience for just one more second to look for a purple-haired guitarist. You don’t see one, though, so you raise your violin. Your eyes shut. You lift your bow and begin.

.

The next note is not left on the music stand. Instead, it slips out of the bottom of your locker, and you scramble to hide it before Hana can see. Unfortunately though, the world is quite against you, and she sees it just before you slip it into your backpack.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” You say, quickly zipping up your bag.

Hana reaches forward and tries to grab it. “Come on, show me!”

“No, Hana-“

“Just give! Is it a love letter? From your big fat lover Shi-“

You shove her and she laughs. Your little back and forth is catching the eyes of a few people nearby and you think you’d die if this somehow got back to Shinsou. You shush her, quickly shutting the door to your locker.

“Okay! Shut up, people are going to hear!” You hiss, shoving her shoulder again.

“Alright, alright! What is it, though? Another performance offer?” She drawls and you roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

You slip the note out of your bag. You open it, and just like you suspected, it’s from Shinsou.

Dear Mrs Even,

Your letter makes me sad. Nobody should ever hate their instrument. Music is beautiful, and it should always be played and loved. Which is why I was wondering... if you’re sick of violin, I could teach you how to play guitar? You can come to the music room on one of my days and I’d be glad to show you the ropes. If you think that isn’t weird or anything. I’ll leave my number at the bottom, so just text me if you’re interested.

Sincerely, Mr Odd. 

Your face heats as you read the note. He wants to teach you guitar? He wants to meet you in the music rooms? He gave you his number? 

You don’t care. You don’t. It’s not like you have a crush on him, regardless of what Hana seems to think. You just think he’s kind of annoying. But in a funny way. And he’s attractive, but that’s pretty much it. You don’t care.

Hana gasps at the look in your face. “Wait, is it actually a love letter?”

“Not a love letter. Just a letter.” You shove it into your pocket before she can read it.

Hana huns under her breath. “From who?”

“Nobody.”

“You lie. Just tell me!” You start walking towards class and she dashes after you, linking your arm in hers. “I promise I won’t make fun. As long as he’s not ugly.”

You huff. “Shinsou isn’t ugly, he-“ 

You curse under your breath. Hana gasps for what might be the hundredth time today. 

“I knew it!”

“It’s not like that!” You whine and she laughs.

“Sure, sure. Did all our instagram stalking make you fall in love?”

“I hate you.” 

.

The note burns a hole in your pocket as you sit in maths class. You think about what to text him. If you even should text him, instead of working out the difficult looking quadratic formulas on the board in front of you. Your teacher drones on, his voice low and monotone. Your legs jogs under your table, and against your better judgement, you’re pulling your phone out of your bag and hiding it behind your water bottle.

You feel a little rebellious. You're not really supposed to be on your phone in class, and the thought rings in your head as you copy the number from the letter. It takes you another two minutes of convincing to send a message.

You: Hello

You: Is this Shinsou?

Was that too much? The grammar probably is. Hana always says that your texting is too formal. Maybe you should’ve mixed in an emoji.

Shinsou: gasp

Shinsou: y/n texting in class???

Shinsou: is my favourite goody-two shoes rebelling once again??

You: Unfortunately 

You: This is your bad influence

Shinsou: aw shucks x

Shinsou: im flattered im so influential

You: Don’t get too ahead of yourself

Shinsou: you always text this fancy?

You: Yes

You: Is that a problem?

Shinsou: nah its cute

Shinsou: does this mean u want a guitar lesson

You: Yes

Shinsou: YIPPEE

Shinsou: today is my day so u can come on down

Shinsou: and ill teach you a lesson

You: It sounds like you're going to beat me up

Shinsou: LMAO

Shinsou: i never hit women…

You: Wow… U are so woke

Shinsou: thank u I LOVE WOMEN!

.

You end up telling Hana, because you're not really sure how you’ll explain yourself if she sees you walking into the practice rooms with Shinsou. She drinks thoughtfully out of her apple juice as you both walk slowly to the music rooms. The corridors are basically empty, and you smile at a teacher who catches your eyes as she enters her classroom. Nobody questions why you and Hana are inside during lunch. You’re not supposed to be, but you guess it’s one of the perks of being a ‘goody two shoes’, as Shinsou calls it. The thought of him fills your stomach with another bout of nerves, and you swallow.

“I’m nervous. Should I be nervous?” You ask, and Hana shrugs.

“No.” She pauses. “Well, maybe. I think he likes you, so. This could be considered a first date.” She ponders and you groan.

“I look like shit! This can’t be a first date.” You say, gesturing down at your clothes.

Hana rolls her eyes. You arrive sooner than you’d like and Hana pulls you back before the two of you can walk in. She fixes your jumper, wipes off the mascara from beneath your eyes. She fishes around in her pocket and holds out her lipgloss and you dutifully put it on.

“Just chillax. You overthink too much. And you look cute.” She raises her eyebrows. “And I’m sure Shinsou will think so, too.”

You sigh. “Thanks, Hana.”

She gives you a reassuring smile. “Remember I’m next door.”

“Aw, thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need anything.”

She takes the lipgloss out your hand. “No, not for help. I mean if you two start fucking in there, don’t get too loud. I need to practise.” Your face burns red and Hana laughs, walking off. 

“You- Shut up.” You hiss, shoving her as she walks into her own practise room.

You look at room 3B. It’s on the end of the corridor and luckily far away enough that not only does Hamada never come check on them, but also nobody would see the fact there were two people in the one-person-only rooms. 

You take a deep breath and walk up to the door. Should you knock? Or maybe just walk in. That could be rude, though. Technically, this is someone else’s room, considering the fact today is Shinsou’s day. But he invited you so that probably means he doesn’t care if you walk in. Knocking feels too formal, anyway.

Luckily, your questions are answered for you when the door swings open, and Shinsou is there. 

He’s tall. Taller than he looks on Instagram, at least. He looks a little more sleep deprived in person, but the way he grins down at you makes his whole face look wholly more attractive than you feel is fair. He’s wearing an old band shirt and your eyes dart down to the chain that sits against his collarbones.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs Even in the flesh.” 

You smile slightly and walk in. The room feels smaller with the two of you in it, and the door clicks shut.

You hum. “I’m only here to make sure you aren’t littering again.”

Shinsou’s voice is deep, and he runs a hand through his hair. “You wound me, Even. And here I thought you were here to learn.” His fingers drum against the neck of the guitar.

You drop your back on the floor and lean against the wall. Shinsou sits on the chair. The guitar looks better in his hands then it does yours, like it belongs. He strums it once.

“No, I’m here for that, too. Can’t turn down free lessons.”

He huffs a laugh. “You gold digger. You’re just using me for my incredible guitar skills.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’m literally in a band. That’s like all the proof you need.”

“So show me.”

Shinsou sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. “So bossy. Didn’t expect this from timid Mrs Even.”

You frown. “I’m not timid.”

Shinsou tilts his head. “You’re a little timid.”

“No. I- Okay, just play.”

And he does. It’s nothing long but it’s also nothing simple. You learn quickly enough that he’s a rhythm guitarist, and the practised way his hands fly across the guitar is incredible. And he loves it. You can tell by the way he plays, the ease on his face. It fills you with a little jealousy, but. You love the music too much to focus on that.

He finishes and you clap. “Alright. I’ll admit it. You’re good.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m here all night.” He holds up his hands and you glance at his hands. There’s way too many bracelets that clink against the guitar.

“I like your bracelets.”

“Thanks. You want one?”

You laugh slightly. “What? No I wasn’t-“

“Have one. I’ve got hundreds of these.” He shrugs and tosses you a beaded bracelet you just about catch.

You pull it onto your wrist, and pull up the sleeves of your jumper. It’s dark green and streaky and cool against your skin. “Thank you.”

He stands, holding out the guitar to you. “You ready?”

You nod. You walk forward and when you grab the guitar your fingers brush against his.

“Should I be nervous?”

“Nah. Your fancy violin fingers should be trained enough to play guitar easily.” 

You sit down in the chair, and place the guitar in your lap. Shinsou pulls over the cajon drum in the corner of the room and sits across from you. He’s close enough that you can smell a woodsy cologne and the smell of fresh laundry on him. 

“Alright. Lesson one: lighten up.”

You give him a pointed glare and he laughs. “See? So much tension in those shoulders. Relax, sweetheart.”

You swallow roughly. “I thought I was timid. Not tense.”

He grins, all white teeth and dimples. “You can be both. Cute, too.”

Your cheeks flush. “Shut up and teach me. You’re so unprofessional.”

“Apologies, apologies. Okay, so you look less tense. I can work with this.” 

He taps the long end of the guitar. “This is called the neck. And these lines separate different frets.”

You nod. It’s kind of like a violin, except your instrument isn’t separated by frets and lines. You just have to remember where the notes are. You tell Shinsou and he nods.

“Us guitar players aren’t as clever.”

“That I can agree with.”

“Shut it. Okay, so chords are simple. You press your fingers on the right strings really hard and you strum.”

You nod again. He nods too, hair bouncing.

“Okay, so. Press your middle finger here, pointer there and index at the bottom string.” 

You follow his instructions. “Like this?”

“Kind of. Just.” His hands inch forward but he stops. He look up from your hands to your eyes. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” 

His hands are long and slender and soft when he pulls your thumb lower on the neck of the guitar. You feel the rough edges of his callouses as he presses over your own fingers, his other hand strumming the guitar once.

“Look at you. Fast learner.”

You smile. “Thanks.” He strums it again, other hand leaving yours.

“That’s a G chord.” You say, and he hums.

“Impressive.”

“Hm. I’m much more musically inclined than you, I bet.” You tease and he huffs.

“Show off. Come on, let’s keep going.”

You play three more chords, and with all four in total, Shinsou tells you you’ve learnt a song. It’s only after three runthroughs and his humming that you realise what he’s taught you.

“Is this Creep by Radiohead, you emo?”

“Bingo!” He cheers. “You know good music.”

“Everyone knows that song. Though I do like Radiohead.” You say, balancing the guitar against the wall.

You aren’t playing and Shinsou isn’t teaching anymore, but he doesn’t move any further away. Your knees brush against his and you smooth your skirt over your thighs. 

“You do? I assumed you only listened to classical music.”

“No. Well, I do. But I listen to other stuff, too.” 

The mention of classical music has you glancing at your violin. You’ve started just leaving it in the music room. You wonder if Shinsou has ever picked it up. His eyes follow the trail of your own.

“Ah. The dreaded violin.”

“Stop. I like it. I do.” 

Shinsou looks at you curiously. You feel a little watched. Like he’s looking right inside of you.

“I don’t know. I love music. Really. I live and breathe it, but recently violin just feels like a job. I don’t get to love it anymore. It’s play this, learn that. Whatever to impress the people at the audition, the parents at open evening.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Sorry. I don’t mean to ramble.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I get it. Well, not completely. My mum doesn’t love my passion for music so I think that makes me love it a little more.” 

You huff a laugh and Shinsou smiles a little. 

“But you’re very good. At violin playing.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “When have you seen me play?”

“At the open evening.”

You think back to the night, the quick piece you’d played and the fact you’d looked for him and found nothing.

“Really? I didn’t see you there.”

He leans forward closer. “Aw. Were you looking for me, sweetheart?”

“No. Though I’m sure the bright purple hair would’ve been hard to miss.”

Shinsou cracks his knuckles and you wince at the sound. “I messed up the times, but I caught you at the end. You’re amazing. Really.”

You stir a little at the compliments. With the most grace possible, you get them a lot. But it sounds a little better coming from Shinsou, especially when he’s looking at you so intently.

“Yeah, well. I have been playing since I was four.”

“Stop doing that. Making excuses. You’re good because you’re good. Even if it’s getting annoying it’s obvious you love to play.”

You flick his leg. “Alright. Fine. I’m good. At violin and guitar.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.”

Your finger lingers on his knee a little. You’re about to say something, and so is he by the way he sits up a little. But the door to the music room opens suddenly, and Hana pops her head in.

You stand up suddenly. Shinsou waves at Hana while you try to look like you’re not doing something you shouldn’t be.

“If you two are done.. whatever you’re doing in here, me and Y/N have got Math.” 

“Hey, neighbour.” Shinsou says and she nods curtly, stepping out to wait for you.

“She’s a pleasure.” Shinsou raises his brows and you smile.

You pick up your backpack and pull it over one shoulder. “She just needs to warm up to you a little. She’ll like you if I like you.” You walk over to the door.

Shinsou stands too. “So. Do you like me then?”

You look back at him, hand still on the doorknob. “Hm. Still deciding. Might need a few more guitar lessons before I can know.”

He grins. “Good. I’m free every odd day of the week.”

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

This fic was very confusing to write.. lots of different media forms.. I was trying something new and I hope u like it!

I was tryna go for nerdy ochestra girl x emo band guy cause Shinsou is lowkey giving that if I’m being really honest with myself and I want SHINSOU if I’m being honest with myself

I hope u all enjoyed.. I will deffo be writing a part two, but it’s currently Ramadan so my posting schedule will probably be very sporadic..

LOVE U ALLL

[pricegouge]

an increase of interest and sweet, encouraging asks and also these posts (i, ii) have led me to do the unthinkable: write a little extracurricular for haul, can you even believe it?

went in a bit of a different direction here. i've gotten a lot of asks about past victims and while i don't really wanna get too bogged down in the specifics of their time with the boys, i thought it might be fun to see how different price is from simon when he's hunting so. here's a different doll not knowing what's good for her.

cw: prostitution, coercion, kidnapping. implied murder. unedited cause i'm freaking out to be touching this again lmao. MDNI

You know something's wrong with him. Beyond the pale, beyond the knowledge you could never introduce him to your mother. That you're used to, well-versed at. It's something worse, something unsettling. something that clings to you long after he leaves, the very cells he sheds infecting, spreading.

Within and without.

You'll be like on of his soon if you're not careful - that pack of rabid dogs that follow him. It disturbs you, how easily you can see yourself among them sometimes, glinting eyes and too-sharp teeth. One more desert predator, runt of the pack and yet a par of it.

Better never to know. Better to leave it like this - small doses. Better to let him fuck you in a truck stop shower so you can scrub yourself clean after, pretend you remain unchanged by him. Ignore all the evidence suggesting otherwise, the undeniable ache and the trail of come he always leaves to trickle down your thigh.

You should know better, but it's hard to remember when his thick cock is driving up into you in one slow drag, splitting you open cruelly just to hear you cry about it.

He like them, your tears. Too much, probably, but you like the drag of his tongue on your cheek too, hot even in the tepid spray of hard water. You feel the rough scrape of his beard at your temple and wonder - is he actually infectious, or were you always predisposed? Was this something you were always capable of? Letting a customer add your services to their tab? Take you out back with their to-go bags and their travel-sized toiletries? You like to think nit, like to blame John and that strange quality of his, the way he can somehow manage to make you feel less-than and wanted for it all at once, sells you some unspoken promise of betterment if you just play along.

You sweat you know better, but you've said that before. It's how you wind up back here, always back here, his bulging bicep wrapped around your throat as he grunts in your ear.

He's pressed against your back as closely as he can be, so tight you imagine the runoff can't even slip between you. But that can't be right because he's slick against you, streams of soap finding their way down your spine through the follicles of his thick chest hair, coating your skin to let him work against you in slick, slow grinds. You can feel his belly settled against the small of your back, forcing you to arch your spine just so, let him fuck in deep to the very end of you, cock head leaking against your cervix.

He'd asked you if you were on some sort of contraceptive once, much too late for it to have mattered. You'd told yourself you wouldn't take his money again when you'd caught the look of disappointment on his face, but you'd told yourself a lot of things.

It's hard to feel shame, in the moment, at least. And maybe that's the worst part - the fact that you ache for him when he's away. Empty, hungry. But if there's something wrong with him that means there's something wrong with you, right? That means the long nights spent with your fingers stuffed in your cunt just wishing for something thicker are just as bad as this: bellied up against a dirty shower stall with a strange man's cock buried so deep inside you you're sure it'll take this time, that seed of doubt that makes you want to climb in his truck when he inevitable offers. Why settle for lot lizard when you could just be his?

Of course, he never phrases it like that, never admits he'll keep you. And maybe he won't but he'd take you Arkansas, maybe, where his plates are from. North, where he's headed tonight perhaps. Usually you see him returning form out West and you wonder… He doesn't have to keep you. You don't need to hear him say it. Cause whatever's wrong with him, it's catching.

But he doesn't ask, not when he's still panting like a bellows in your ear, rocking his hips against you aimlessly as he works you both through it. He doesn't ask when he slips free and immediately cups his callused palm against your cunt, groaning when he feels his own spend leaking onto his hand. He certainly doesn't ask when he makes you lick it clean, salt and the heavy tang of grease which Irish Springs will never fully cut through. You think maybe he'll ask when he goes to shove the money in your hand, as is his usual. But he doesn't, so you do, your own stomach acid boiling up your esophagus as you try (and fail) to keep the desperate edge out of your voice.

And John, well. You did know there was something wrong with him.

"What's is to you?" he grunts, hand snapping back out of your reach when you go to take the proffered money.

"But… you said -?"

"Know what I said. Don't worry, I'll take care of you," he soothes, a balm for the fear you hadn't even been able to voice. "Just… maybe it'll look different now?"

"How do you mean?" you hedge, and John steps closer, blots out the flickering overhead light. Behind him, the door to the shower room opens and rapidly closes, the soft pad of boots treading back down the hall confirming your would-be voyeur had wanted nothing to do with this scene.

At least your reputation remained undamaged.

"I mean. I'll keep you fed. Clothed. Keep you out of the elements. You really gonna make me pay on top of all that?"

"Oh," you wilt. "I guess not."

John's eyes crinkle when he grins at you encouragingly, that same deceptively endearing quality that had first drawn you to him all those months ago. He pulls you against himself, lets you bask in the warmth of his soft, furry chest as he continues to soothe your fears. "But don't worry, not gonna let you put yourself in a bind, hm? You still got something saved from my last visit, yeah? And if you ever need some more, we'll find you some work." He swats you on the ass before you can protest, leaning away to collect his flannel. "Now get dressed. Running behind schedule and I'm already gonna have to skip a stop in Oakley."

"That why you didn't take the time to stretch me open properly?" you ask, cheeky - testing your boundaries. You're pleasantly surprised when he just huffs a laugh, leans close to grown in your ear about how he'll never have to stretch you open again.

It's surreal following him out, ducking behind his broad frame to let him weather the stare of the would-be voyeur. John doesn't flinch so neither do you, head back to your post behind the till with the same confidence you've seen among his boys. A runt still maybe, but part of the pack now.

"Where're you off to?" John asks when he sees you slinking off in the wrong direction. You wait until the other driver disappears down the hall to unlock the register, grinning at your partner as you lift a few hundred from it.

"I know what 'some work' means," you say by way of explanation, and frown when it fails to earn any sign of chastisement.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, love," John warns instead, eyes rolling warily to the overhead security camera.

You wave him off, a loose fiver fluttering free of your fist. "Take this," you order, shoving the hills into his chest. More spill free but the ducks to collect them as you pull up the feed on the laptop behind the counter. "Retired truckers don't know much about security," you impart wisely.

"That so?" he drawls, voice rich with a humor you don't quite understand.

"Yeah, word to the wise - always have a live feed backed up to a separate, private location." to illustrate the importance of this, you cut the feed and then proceed to delete all evidence of the night's recording. It won't stop Roy, the owner, from knowing who's shift if was but it would keep John safe from all but that other driver who apparently already knew enough to keep his head down any way.

When you peel yourself away from the screen, John's eyeing you with a sort of appreciation that makes your tummy flip, a low simmer of excitement building just there, just where you feel him most when he's inside you. Infecting. Spreading. "Clever doll, you are," he praises as you step back around the counter. He hands you your loot back, now properly shuffled into a neat stack. "I'll have to remember that. Now go on out to your car and get what you need. I'll just be a minute, he says, nodding to a display of beef jerky like there's nothing of more value to him in the whole store.

It seems to take him forever deciding, but when he comes back the other trucker still hasn't left.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

How did you like her interview in People? I wonder, when this attempt fails, what mask will she put on next time...

I'm reading the article now...typing my thoughts here in real time.

People was on site when Harry was still in Vancouver for the Invictus Games - meaning that Meghan 1,000% lined up this article after she forced Netflix to postpone the release from January 15th, along with the NYC billboard and her NYC trip. Meaning she had ZERO PR planned for the original launch date because there's no way - with how much this article cost and the price of billboards in Time Square - Netflix would've just eaten the cost.

"Mama, don't work too hard" -> The real Prince Charles: Future king is a workaholic who 'falls asleep at his desk and wakes up with paper stuck to his face' says Harry (November 2018)

“I love that that is something that Archie, Lili, H and I all have together. It means a lot to me.” -> Devaluing phase!

The Sussex name, she adds, “is part of our love story." -> just say yessssssssssssssss AGREE WITH ME DAMMIT. Seriously - aside from Taylor Swift (who is contractually obligated by her fans to keep singing Love Story), is there any woman over the age of 19 who keeps bleating on about her love story the way Meghan does?

“As a woman, a mom and a wife, to be able to find yourself again...is a wonderful feeling.” -> Too bad instead of finding this grace towards another woman, mom, and wife, you went for the jugular and talked about her hormones.

this time there’s no mention of anything royal -> Reading between the lines: they're completely cut off and don't have anything to share but they're going to make you think it's their choice.

“Whenever Harry visited set, he was always super polite and friendly,” -> tracks with Vanity Fair. Also this is not Meghan saying Harry's name; it's a Netflix staffer.

“My husband met me when I had The Tig, and I see this spark in his eye when he sees me doing the thing that I was doing when he first met me,” she says. -> Sounds more like "thank God now she'll leave me alone" relief

Chinese food delivery is a favorite, “but even when I get takeout, I will try to plate it beautifully,” -> “It’s so beautifully arranged on the plate, you know someone’s fingers have been all over it.” -Julia Child...aka keep your filthy paws off my food unless you wash your hands (with soap) in front of me.

In the process, Meghan says, Montecito has become protective of the Sussexes: “Once you know us, I think you want us to have the same normalcy as parents and for our children as they do, despite however unique our situation is.” -> Royal expert reveals how 'protective' Norfolk locals help Kate and William enjoy date nights (September 2021)

The family’s sprawling estate is their sanctuary, which is why Meghan chose to film her show in a nearby rental that echoes their own space. -> But she has noooooooooooo problem inviting People Magazine into her bedroom where her child is sleeping.

so I’m normally up at 6:30 -> So much for that 5am go-getter lifestyle, huh?

“My husband and Archie both love fried eggs," -> in this economy?!

I want my kids to have those same formative memories of things that I cook. We call them Mama Meals...[a]nd it’s the same roast chicken I’ve been making since they were little.” -> Reading between the lines again...it sounds like a blink-and-miss-it confession that she doesn't cook as much as she claims to. Are they ordering takeout that much? Do they have their own chef or meal kit service? No shame if they do, but if you have a special name for the meals your mom cooks...she's not cooking that much. Also this would've been much better if she said she was making roast chicken since before they were born, you know, considering how it's their engagement story. Well, one of them. She probably forgot that, let's be honest. It's hard to keep them all straight.

They would also come with my husband -> still can't bear to say his name.

“Being able to have my own little girl, as I’ve spent so much of my life championing the rights of girls and women, and to be able to see this as a multigenerational story — Archie is of course included in that, my husband is of course included in that — but I love the heritage feeling of it and knowing this is something that I can create in front of my daughter and teach her what it’s like to be a working mom,” she says. “This is something that hopefully can be part of her legacy too.” -> Maaaaaaaaaaybe if you want her to have ownership...name something after her? You named your charity organization, production company, and podcast company after her brother. What does she get? A name scandal.

rinse and repeat,” -> Hey, remember when she had this phrase in nearly every single PR article? Remember when this was her username in the DM comments section?

“Anyone who has children will tell you, it’s a huge evolution as a woman during that time.” -> Hey, you know what would be really cool to show your evolution as a woman? Apologizing to Kate for insulting her because you didn't know how exhausting a motherhood journey could be.

“And my gosh, in 10 years, Archie will be driving!” -> Really? That's what you think of? Your kid being your chauffeur in 10 years?

Why are all the photos exclusive from June 2024?

So overall thoughts: This is a classic People story. Someone launches a new chapter of their lives, and they sit down for a "my life now" intimate tell-all interview. Like so:

I did a google search of "People magazine my life now", clicked over to Images, and these are the top results. That's 12 People covers of "my life now" intimate tell-alls. This is not groundbreaking in any way, shape, or form. Well, the amount of photoshopping on the cover photo is probably groundbreaking.

And lastly, once again proving there's never an original bone in Meghan's body:

Kate wears a hat on the cover, so Meghan wears a hat on the cover.

Kate brings her dog to the photoshoot, Meghan brings her dog to the photoshoot.

I'm honestly shocked Meghan didn't bring out her bike for this one too.

[saltynsassy31]

*drags myself through the floor and slams this down*

I present to you

FULLMETAL BARTENDERS AVIAN AU (name pending)

(Rant as to why I chose the White-throated Needletail as Blurr's bird and some minor AU lore under the cut)

And that's not all! It comes with a FULL FLEDGED COMIC!!!!!

I spent a whole fucking week on this

I haven't done a comic in 4 years now, I can't believe this is my come-back XD. Though, on that note, know that I probably won't be pumping out any more comics - not any time soon, at least. But I do got more stuff planned for this au! If you ask about it, I'll 100% rant about it LOL

Tw// ⚠️mild gore in the 3rd panel⚠️

While exploring the woods with his team, Swerve had an unfortunate encounter with a crazed hunter. In an attempt to escape, he got injured, but it seems he wasn't the only one caught in the crossfire...

.

.

Okay

So when you look up what the fastest bird in the world is, Google with show the Peregrin Falcom

But there's a catch

The Peregrine is only fast when diving

When it dives to catch its prey, it can go up to 389km/h

Which yeah, pretty fast

But when casually flying, it only goes up to 120 iirc

The Needle Tail?

It can go up to 170km/h

Some have even recorded going over 300! (Close to the Falcon's dive, I believe)

Additionally, these birds only fly. Their habitat is literally listed as "the air," and some even believe they sleep while flying! They only ever land to brood and mate, and then they're off again. Their legs are so short that, if they ground, they can't fly again because it doesn't give enough room to flap their wings.

It fits Blurr perfectly!

It also has a blue-ish colour pattern I can work with lol (it's green, but it looks blue, lol)

Though, also, he isn't 100% like the Needle Tail, just based off of it. I still want avians to be sorta their own species and doesn't have to be exactly like their bird counterparts cuz they aren't them, they're their own thing.

That said, Blurr is one of the shortest from Avians population, still.

They're pretty big.

Another trivial detail of the design!

I was stuck between having his arms be his wings or have them be separate

Until I saw a drawing where they had both, and I realised, "Wait, why isn't that done more often! That's so cool!"

So that's sorta what I did

It's mainly to catch small prey when grounded and to stay better perched up on trees since they're much bigger and having extra fingers helps a lot. Or when they're climbing against a tree to pick up fruits, it gives them an extra boost and can better hang from it

But they're pretty much useless besides that lol

Just neat lil design choice

Other lore stuff. The time in which the au takes place is vaguely modern? But with fantasy aspects? I still haven't decided lol

Technology exists, but not in the way we have it sort of deal, idk, this au is pretty bare bones right now, so go wild with it XD I don't mind it, I love brainstorming it with people. I know this au isn't as big or complex as some others out there, but it's fun, and I hope yall like it too fjsjajaj

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 87: Alexander's Reason

Previous > Masterlist tw: mind control, hypnotic induction

October 1925

"Excuse me, are you Oliver Pines?"

Oliver looked up at the nurse, a middle-aged woman with a kind smile. He knew that he must be puffy-eyed from crying. Hopefully she would assume it was due to the pain. "Yes, that's me."

"I wanted to speak with you. Quietly, if you don't mind." There was no real privacy in the ward, but she sat on the edge of the bed close to Oliver's face. Her fingers reached down to turn his head gently, and brushed against the scars on his neck.

She knew.

Terror and guilt flooded him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize --"

"Shhh, keep your voice down. I'm not going to hurt you."

He thought he deserved it if she did, but did his best to quiet himself anyway, stifling his sobs like he was a boy again.

"You're one of theirs, aren't you? You belong to a vampire," she said in a hushed tone.

Oliver nodded.

"I thought so. I saw the puncture wounds noted in your file, and after what happened last night… did you hear?"

"I heard enough."

"Was that your master? The one who was in the hospital last night?"

"No, but… yes, in a way. He was here for me. It's my fault."

The nurse looked sympathetic. "I don't think anything those bastards did is your fault."

"How do you know about them? The vampires?"

"You're not the first patient we've seen with bite marks on the neck, and this isn't the first time those bastards have visited us, either. Not all the nurses believe, and the doctors won't listen to us, but I used to work the night shift. The night nurses know."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"I can call in the vampire hunters' guild. They'd probably be willing to station someone in the area tonight."

"No!" said Oliver, surprising the nurse. "The vampire hunters can't help."

"Sure they can. They're experts at --"

"No, they can't help me," Oliver insisted. "Not against this vampire. I was already with a hunter, and I think she might be -- gone. I don't think there's a hunter who can stand against him."

The nurse sucked in a breath. "You've gotten yourself in some real trouble, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry. If you gave me back to my master, I think --"

"We're not going to do that. You need care and rest. We're not just going to hand over one of our patients to a bloodsucker." She patted Oliver's shoulder. "I'll contact the guild and let them be the judge of whether or not they can handle it. With any luck, you'll be free, and there'll be one less monster in the world."

Oliver could tell he wasn't likely to dissuade her, but at the very least he could let the hunters know what they would be up against. "If you do talk to the guild, please tell them that it's the Maestro."

"The Maestro?"

"Yes, make sure you tell them that."

"All right. I will. You just focus on healing up, okay? Do you need any more medicine for the pain?"

"Yes, please," he said miserably. The medication would put him to sleep, and it would be better for him to sleep now than during the night, when he might need his wits about him. As the nurse left, he hoped that no hunter would be foolish enough to come, that they'd hear the Maestro's name and know to stay away. He didn't want another hunter dead or ensorcelled on his account.

He thought of Vivian. He wasn't sure if it was better if she were alive or dead. If the Maestro had found her, it might be more merciful if he decided a hunter was too much trouble to keep as a thrall.

Oliver, seemingly, would never be too much trouble.

---

Thanks mostly to some strong medication, Oliver spent the entire afternoon in and out of sleep that did not bring him rest, only truly waking to eat the bland meals he was given and answer a doctor's perfunctory questions. But as the sunlight through the windows turned golden and then red, his anxiety began to rise to a fever pitch.

He dearly hoped the Maestro would not visit him a second time. At some point, one of the nurses had picked up the rose from the floor and put it in a cup on his bedside table. Oliver didn't know how to explain how it was so hateful to him, so he was reminded of his terror every time he happened to glance to the right.

If any vampire were to come, he hoped it would be Alexander. He knew he should hate Alexander for putting him in this position, stalked by a sociopathic monster who thought nothing of casually killing an innocent woman. But another, treacherous part of him just wanted to go back. Back to a fogged and hazy mind, back to dulled pain and fear, back to a comfortable seat by the fire in the library where he could feel safe even though he wasn't. Despite having nothing to do for the past several days and nights but rest in bed, he was completely spent.

He thought of how gentle Alexander's voice and hands were as he lulled Oliver into a trance, how it felt for the vampire to wrap around him when it was time to sleep. If he were truly trapped, if he couldn't escape, at least he would have a warm and comfortable home to go back to. At least Alexander would treat him kindly. He was in need of a kind word and a gentle touch.

And then, there was the truth that ran just below the surface of his thoughts, the one that he'd been struggling with ever since Vivian had undone his enthrallment, the one that filled him with embarrassment.

Because the real truth, deep down in his heart, was that he had enjoyed being Alexander's thrall.

Of course he knew it was probably still the remnants of the spell at work. The effects of hypnosis that strong couldn't be easily undone. Knowing that his feelings may be artificial didn't stop them from consuming him, though.

Even back in the bookshop, one of his greatest joys was to help patrons with their requests, to feel useful. He had always loved being helpful. Alexander had made him feel like that all of the time, looking at Oliver as though he were something precious. He may have been treated like a plaything, but at least he'd been a wanted, cherished plaything. And most humiliating of all was how he'd been so quietly pleased when he was praised for being a good thrall, as if it were his life's calling, just like Lily had told him.

Oliver burned with shame to think of it. He'd insisted to Vivian that he wouldn't be one of those rescued thralls who went running back to the arms of a vampire, and even then he suspected he was lying to himself. Honestly, he'd looked forward to helping out Alexander a bit too much even when he was merely one of the bookshop's patrons, eager to assist a fellow book-lover. And now that he knew how lonely Alexander was, and how much he appreciated Oliver's company…

But no, he still couldn't trust Alexander, no matter how much he secretly wished he could. Alexander may not glory in torments the way his sire did, but he was still keeping Oliver a captive. And even though Alexander seemed to be a captive and victim of his sire, he had still enlisted his sire's help in finding Oliver. Otherwise, how else would the Maestro know to infect his mind with those specific nightmares at that specific time?

It seemed unlike him to willingly involve his sire in a situation that might see them both harshly punished. Perhaps there was an explanation, although Oliver doubted he'd get to hear it before he was ensnared once more. He hoped, at least, that Alexander wouldn't harm any hunters that might be near the library, and that he hadn't killed Vivian.

If only things could be different between them. If only he would listen to reason, and let Oliver keep his wits, and somehow free them both of the scourge of his sire. If only Oliver could simply enjoy the fond closeness and the vast library in peace, and perhaps see his bookshop again one day. If he could have those assurances, then he could be content to return to Alexander, regardless of how shameful a hunter like Vivian might find his condition.

The pain was beginning to return to his leg, the strong medication wearing off, when he first heard the strains of song. The sun had been fully down for half an hour, and Oliver's mounting dread gave way to a surprising relief as he heard the voice.

It was Alexander's song, of course, rich and enticing. He was being ensnared once more, but at least there might not be any more pain that night.

The melody grew in strength, and drowsiness stole over Oliver, his eyelids beginning to grow heavy and droop. He heard a symphony of yawns from around the ward as the other patients began to fall to the spell. Alexander was putting them all to sleep so that he could enter freely, no doubt, which would be a mercy to them -- a deep sleep free of pain. Oliver had no real desire to fight it, allowing his eyes to shut and his mind to drift off peacefully.

"You may slowly come awake, Oliver, but continue to feel no pain."

Oliver's eyes fluttered open. He was sitting partially upright, and Alexander was clutching him tightly, holding him as though he were a precious treasure to protect. The familiar scent of his soap surrounded Oliver as the vampire buried his face into Oliver's shoulder, which was growing damp with tears. And his injured leg felt as though it were far away, only connected to Oliver by the thinnest of strings, his focus sliding over it.

"I'm sorry," said Alexander, who sounded as though he were choking back a sob. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you and keep you safe. I was terribly worried about you."

He sounded so genuinely upset. Despite Emily's insistence that Alexander couldn't possibly care for him as more than a meal, Oliver couldn't bring himself to believe that. He sank fully into the comforting embrace, allowing himself to be absorbed into Alexander's arms.

Alexander pulled back slightly, and Oliver found himself looking into those deep eyes, like diving into an ocean. He was unable to look away, his memories of the mesmerism stirring in his heart, whispering to his mind that it would be so easy to lose himself in those eyes. It was only with herculean willpower that Oliver managed to blink and tear himself away.

"How is your injury?" Alexander asked.

"It's a severe knee fracture, the doctor said. They performed surgery on me when I first arrived." Oliver looked forlornly at his plaster-encrusted leg. "He said that I'll be in a wheelchair for a while, and might not ever walk without assistance again."

The fierce look in Alexander's eyes caught him off guard. "Then I'll have to take care of you in any way I can," he said. "I know that my manor isn't well equipped for it, but we'll make do. We can move your bedroom and bathroom to the first floor, rearrange the library so that you can navigate it more easily… I suppose I'll have to carry you up the stairs to my room when needed… and of course I'll have to arrange for a fine cane for you, for when you're well enough to stand. I'll get in touch with Edith, she'll know where to purchase wheelchairs and canes."

Oliver couldn't help but be relieved that the vampire was willing to try and care for him in this situation. Even though it wouldn't make sense for Alexander to abandon him, not after how much he'd paid and risked and how much he seemed to value his thrall, a small but significant part of Oliver had been quietly insisting that he was a burden now, not worth the trouble.

Alexander's gaze strayed toward the rose in the cup, and from the look on his face Oliver could tell that he instantly grasped the meeting. "My sire was here."

"He was," said Oliver tersely, suddenly reminded of the main reason he couldn't put his trust in Alexander. Somehow, Alexander's sire had learned where Oliver was.

"What did he do? Did he harm you?"

"He didn't harm me any worse than I had already been harmed," said Oliver. "Did you tell him where I was?"

Alexander groaned, and if the forlorn look on his face was an act, it was a very good one. "I wouldn't have told him anything if I had been given a choice. Surely you know that. He thinks that your capture makes me even more of an abject disappointment, and I'm sure he intends to punish me at his leisure. On top of that, I certainly didn't wish for him to torment you. Please believe that."

"Then how did he know?"

"The worst possible timing," said Alexander. "The night after you were captured, just as I had woken from the sleeping potion and was preparing to go out and find you, I had an unexpected and unwelcome visitor."

"Your sire."

"At the stroke of midnight, as always. He came to deliver an invitation, and he noticed right away that you weren't present."

"Couldn't you have told him I was asleep in my bedroom, or sick, or…"

"He can always tell when I'm lying," said Alexander miserably. "On top of that, he could tell you were missing by your smell, or lack thereof. He was furious, of course -- but for once, I feel like I deserve it, considering I failed to protect you. I know my words might not mean much, but I truly am sorry, and not just about that." Alexander gripped both of Oliver's hands earnestly. "I've failed in my duties towards you as your master, and I do intend to rectify that. I don't want us both to be trapped under my sire's thumb forever. I managed to apprehend the hunter --"

"Vivian!" said Oliver. "What have you done with her?"

"We haven't harmed her at all. She's with Lily now."

His heart sank, thinking of the strong, determined hunter, now helplessly under Lily's spell, perhaps even memory-wiped like Miriam. His mind traveled back to the time when Alexander had brought him to Lily's home, of the terrified man that Oliver had falsely reassured, how Lily thought nothing of dragging a man on a leash to be hypnotized. "I think she would consider becoming a thrall a fate worse than death. Isn't there any way you could let her go?"

"Lily will be very gentle with her. She seems quite well suited to being a thrall, despite how she might feel about it now," said Alexander easily, as though he weren't discussing condemning a woman to servitude. "And then, there's you." He touched Oliver's cheek, gazing into his eyes. "She lifted much of my spell on you, didn't she?"

There was no real point in denying it. "She did. She made me very keenly aware of my… situation. How I've effectively been captured and enslaved."

Alexander recoiled slightly at this, as though the thought had never occurred to him, and the look on his face almost made Oliver want to take back his words. "…Were you really so unhappy with me?" he said quietly.

Oliver looked away. "No. I wasn't unhappy."

He gripped Oliver's chin, drawing him in. "Then just let me --"

"Wait!" Oliver knew that any protest would be futile if Alexander desired to put him under again. As soon as he began to sing of obedience and loyalty, as soon as Oliver looked a little too long into those eyes, the struggle would be lost. But still, he had believed that Alexander could be reasoned with. He had to try. "Can't we talk about this first?"

"Oliver…" he said with a truly pathetic expression. "I know that this life isn't what you would have chosen, but…"

"You never gave me the chance to choose," he said. "You told me before, when you put me under your spell for the first time, that you wanted loyalty, and not obedience. But you never actually let me give you loyalty that wasn't coerced." Oliver wrung his hands in his blanket. "I know the position I'm in. I know that you have all the power over me, and that you could take my mind at any moment. I know that I have every reason to be angry with you… but I have nowhere to go, and no one to return to but you. And despite everything, the truth is that a part of me did miss you."

"You did?" said Alexander, latching onto that one statement as though it was the only part he cared about.

"What I'm trying to say is, I would go with you willingly. You don't need to ensorcel my mind. I won't try to escape -- as though I even could. You have my word." Olive was all too aware that he had no actual leverage, and that this was the only card he could play.

"You…" Alexander was clearly having trouble processing this. "You wish to stay and serve me without being enthralled?"

"I do," he said firmly. "I'm offering you my service of my own free will, or what remains of it."

"But why would you want that? You won't be happy," said Alexander.

"I think I could be happy in your manor, even without being ensorcelled into false bliss," said Oliver. "But I also think, perhaps, that keeping my mind at least somewhat intact is more important to me than being made happy. I suppose my mind is really all I have, now more than ever. I want to feel things. I want to have choices, even if I still choose to serve you. I want to think."

Alexander took a long time before responding. "I was much younger than you, when I was taken," he said finally. "I was still in my schooling, throwing all of my time and energy into music, which I loved more than anything. I had a family and friends. I had a future."

Oliver's breath stilled. He'd never considered that the vampire must have once been human. He was surprised that Alexander even remembered what it was like, so long ago.

"I hated my master -- who became my sire -- more than words can say. He stole me away from everything and everyone I loved. But unlike me, he rarely touched his thrall's minds."

"He didn't hypnotize you?"

"No. He conditioned me to obedience in much harsher ways. He did nothing to dull my mind of the pain and the grief. I spent years in misery, losing all hope, and then he killed me and made me into his kind, so that I could inflict the same suffering on others." Alexander's eyes were rimmed with tears when he looked back up at Oliver. "My master never showed me mercy. I want to give you mercy."

"Mercy?"

"I know it's selfish. I know I tore you out of the life you had. I know I'm keeping you a captive. But even still… even with everything I've done… I can't bear for you to hate me," he said. "That's one reason why I can't free your mind, Oliver. Because I don't want you to despise me the way I despise my sire, and the only way to do that is to bend your thoughts towards contentment. It's the best I can do for you."

Oliver leaned back in his hospital bed. "I don't hate you, Alexander."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I thought that I should, given what you've done to me, how you've put me in terrible danger. But I still don't." Oliver sighed. "At the end of the day, perhaps it's because I've been dreadfully lonely, too, with only books as my freedom. Maybe Lily was right all along, and I really am just well suited for serving a vampire. Maybe I just enjoyed having someone care for me, even if it was an illusion."

"It's not an illusion," said Alexander firmly. "I do care for you. You're the only thing that's brought me any real joy since Fitz left."

"I want to believe that, but it hurt me, when your sire was tormenting me and you did nothing in my defense. Even if there's nothing you could have done, I --"

Alexander was looking truly miserable now. "No, you're right. I know full well that I need to find a way to keep you out of his clutches, and not fail you the way I failed my dear Fitz." He sighed. "Because he is my sire, he can compel me to his wishes as easily as he can compel you. So any resistance I offer must be carefully considered, lest it bear no fruit but punishment."

"I understand," he said reluctantly.

"The last time I truly stood up to him -- he took Fitz, and he tortured us both. I don't want that to happen to you. That's why I must obey him until I have a solid plan. Rushing and failing would be a surefire way to expose you to immense harm." He stroked Oliver's cheek fondly. "And if I do fail, I want you to have the chance to escape."

Oliver nodded. As terrified as he was of the Maestro, Alexander was right that confronting him must be done carefully.

"You're an ideal thrall, Oliver," said Alexander, gently stroking the side of his face, and Oliver couldn't help but lean into the touch. "I had gone so long without a good thrall that it was taking all of my restraint to not capture and ensorcel any decent smelling person on the street, much less a prize like you."

"But you don't have to do that. You don't have to ensorcel me."

"I could never be around you and restrain myself. It was difficult enough when I visited your shop. Now, that I know the sort of thrall you are, it would be unbearable torture."

"You could still have my blood, if you needed," said Oliver desperately, not wanting to think about how enjoyable the feedings had seemed before Vivian pulled him back to his senses.

"Your blood is only a fraction of what makes you desirable." A predatory look was in his eye, and Oliver was pinned by his gaze. "It's the way your eyes fog over when you're falling under my spell, the way you sway in a daze, the smile on your face when you're deep in entranced sleep, how you call me 'sir.' I've only seen one other human fall to me so beautifully. That sensation, the power I can hold over you, how effortlessly you drop into docile bliss… that's worth an ocean of blood."

Oliver's mouth went dry. He had been right that Alexander truly did care about him -- but when he suggested Alexander could be reasoned with, he'd been wrong, so wrong. He wasn't merely interested in Oliver's blood or his companionship. He wanted Oliver's mind and soul under his sway, and the hunger on his face made it clear that no compromise would be possible.

"I don't want to be enthralled to the point where I lose my memory and my wits become dull and sluggish," Oliver protested. He at least had to try.

"I won't do that to you. I enjoy your wits."

"I also don't want you to compel me into obedience if we disagree, or drag you to Lily if my thoughts become inconvenient."

"I'm not doing this to harm you," said Alexander with a kind tone that contrasted with his argument. "It's what's best for you as a thrall. You won't suffer. I can give you anything you need. I can make you happy."

Oliver swallowed. "You try to compel me to happiness, even when we're both being stalked by a monster who delights in torture. I don't want to be happy. I want to have my wits about me."

"And I owe it to you, and to myself, and especially to my dear Fitz, to be rid of him once and for all," said Alexander. "Until then, I will continue to relieve your pain, and ease a bit of my own in the bargain." He directed Oliver to look into his eyes, those sharp blue eyes as deep as the ocean and as treacherous.

"Please, Alexander," said Oliver, barely managing to look away.

"Shhh. It's all right, Oliver. It will be all right. I'll help you forget your pain and your fear." And he took Oliver's face into his hands and sang, his deep and melancholy voice echoing across the hospital ward. It was a deeply soothing sound, full of relaxation and peace and the quiet calm of servitude, and despite his feeble effort at resistance, Oliver's mind was being lulled away effortlessly.

"Please…"

"Quiet now, Oliver. You have nothing to fear, nothing to struggle against, only sleep. Deep, sweet sleep, where you can be so quiet and listen."

He wanted so badly to rest in those eyes, to forget why he was fighting. Oliver was leaning forward, eyelids fluttering, sleepwalking back to his doom. It was all too familiar.

"You're an excellent thrall, so quiet and docile and perfect for me, just for me."

"…Thank you, sir."

"You can sleep, now, a sleep free of pain, and know that I will return each night to sing your pain away. I promise you that. I won't leave you alone and in pain in this dreadful place. But for now, I want you to return to me. Remember your enthrallment, your deep and docile obedience, and return to me, your master."

Oliver nodded, drifting away, his mind falling back into the depths so easily, so naturally, right back where he belonged, a book slotted into his proper place on the shelf.

Previous > Masterlist

This chapter took me SO LONG to write, with three rewrites along the way! It's an extra long one, so I hope you enjoy! I'm going to get back to answering asks as well... Next week (hopefully): Fitz and the Maestro are getting along very well.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

[utilitycaster]

On the last episode of Divergence, it made me so happy to watch when Liam heard Brennan say "By road's end" and I could see his brain connect it with "Byroden" and I was once again really touched by the... tenderness, I suppose, with which this miniseries is treating that period of time and the world of Exandria.

I don't intend to use this ask as a place to just shit talk c3 because even tho i AM a hater at heart it just feels more than pointless to do it now, but after years of watching a group of characters actively refuse to engage with the world and its history having these 3 episodes go out of their way to show that history happening and how the people of Exandria cared for each other feels really refreshing and I was wondering if this is something others have felt too or if I'm just bitter at this point

So: I do think it's kind of bitterness, which isn't like, bad, but isn't necessarily helpful either.

I will personally admit that like. how do I put this. I love how Byroden was developed and portrayed in EXU Prime by Aabria and Aimee, but I've never particularly been that deeply attached to it (though understandably Liam would be). The twins' story is much more about Byroden as a place they cannot go home to and so I suppose I never felt a need to go there, because what's important about them is what Vex found in Whitestone and Vax in Zephrah (and both of them in Emon).

The above paragraph may seem a little like a digression but I think it's worth bringing up because, much as I adore Campaign 2 for spending so much time establishing the place of Wildemount, Fjord's story is no less strong for us not seeing Port Damali in the same way Yasha's is no less strong for us not seeing the Iothia Moorlands during the course of the campaign. As characters, Vex, Vax, Fjord, and Yasha all are so rich and interesting and develop so thoroughly over the course of their stories that we don't need to see every little piece of the world. And I don't think the problem with Campaign was lack of care; I think it is, again, lack of preparation combined with a highly specific intended...plot's not the right word even, but setup, that played to the characters' weaknesses and for which insufficient guidance was given. I think the cast and Matt all love Exandria, and it's just...they were trying to collaborate on a story where most of them didn't know what the fuck was going on and were stuck playing people who didn't particularly care what was going on. I think the cast would have loved to have explored the Shattered Teeth, but they couldn't! I think they'd have liked to have spent more time in Yios, or the Feywild, or Isslrya, or on Ruidus, and they kept being shoved from place to place to place. It is not lack of care; it's just that this was a story that needed to be told very differently. I do place the bulk of the blame on Matt because this is a DM-ing problem, and the problem was that Bells Hells engaging with the world wasn't rewarded with any kind of payoff because payoff probably would have derailed this whole moon plot or made the campaign 300 episodes long, so Matt didn't reward it, so the cast stopped doing it.

For what it's worth this is why I am generally optimistic if cautious about future works; because while I'll admit that some of Bells Hells' character concepts fail to impress me, I don't think the cast came in with the intention of playing indecisive and selfish idiots; it's just that they were not really given much to work with. Even Laudna's unbelievably unsympathetic behavior in the finale feels less like "I'm an asshole here to break things" and more on a Doylist level of Marisha trying to make some conflict happen for once. To be clear, it still makes me think the character sucks, but it was just a poor alignment of DM and player goals that never got resolved and would have been so easy to avoid that it's impossible to excuse, and Divergence seems to have had a much more robust planning stage. That is ultimately it.

[bm571158]

Free Now LN4 (Part 41)

When Lando woke up the next morning the pounding in his head was on a par with the concussion after Monza. His head quite literally felt like it was going to explode, although he supposed it was probably well deserved after the amount he'd had to drink. There was a horrible moment of disorientation as he tried to work out where he was, before a moment of relief when he realised that it was just Flo's spare room. He burrowed his head further into the pillows, trying to block out the little bit of daylight that was now starting to peek in through the curtains in Flo's spare room. Even the smallest amount of light felt like it was way, way too bright for what his head could handle.

He kicked his legs out from under the covers, deciding he was far too hot, the cool air feeling good against his skin. As he tried to get himself comfortable he became aware of why he was so warm, daring to open his eyes just enough to find Lottie wrapped around him, her head resting on his chest as she slept peacefully.

His arms were wrapped around her, and as he looked at her his hold on her tightened just a fraction, holding her that little bit closer. He didn't dare move any more though, he didn't want to wake her up and have her pull away from him. So he closed his eyes again instead, letting himself drift back off to sleep in the comforting knowledge that she was back where she belonged.

For now, anyway.

By the time he woke up again the second time his head ache had reduced to a dull pain, and the sun had risen higher in the sky, the light through the crack in the curtains much more persistent now. He had no idea what time it was, he didn't care, he was vaguely aware of the sound of a few people moving around downstairs. He assumed a few stragglers from the party that had spent the night on Flo's sofa that his sister had probably woken up and decided to kick out.

He held his breath as Lottie started to stir in his arms, preparing himself for the heart break when she was inevitably going to wake up properly and pull away from him. It was going to be just as painful as watching her walk out of his apartment the first time.

But she didn't pull away, she froze for a moment, but the relaxed in his arms, peering up at him through her lashes. "How's the hangover?" She asked with a knowing smile.

"Not to be dramatic but I actually thought I was going to die earlier." He groaned, burying his face in her hair as she laughed.

"I'm not surprised at all." She laughed.

"What was I drinking?" He asked. "Please remind me not to ever drink it again, whatever it was."

"I mean I personally watched you consume quite the quantity of vodka and I don't think you even mixed it with anything. I can't vouch for what you had before I found you though." Lottie laughed quietly. "To be honest seeing how drunk you were I thought that you'd have been worse off this morning."

"Getting to wake up next to you makes it better." He mumbled.

Her breath caught in her throat, his words forcing her to acknowledge the way she was pressed up against him, legs tangled with his and her face just inches from his as she looked up at him. At some point during the night he'd obviously woken up and realised that he was still fully dressed, stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the covers with her. As a result, she was now laying against his bare chest, her fingers tracing idly over each defined muscle on his stomach without her even realising she was doing it.

He didn't say anything, afraid that whatever he said was going to break the spell the two of them seemed of be under and ruin it. He hardly dared to breath as he fingers continued to trace over his skin.

She looked at him for a long moment, and he could see the confusion and indecision in her eyes. The internal battle that she was having with herself was written all over her face.

And then just as he was about to speak, her lips crashed into his. He froze for a second, because it really wasn't what he thought was about to happen, but as her fingers tangled into his hair he kissed her back enthusiastically.

He had no idea how long they'd been there like that, completely lost in the feeling of her lips on his, the occasional noise of satisfaction that would escape her. His hands began to wander, fingertips skimming over the soft skin of her body, tracing every curve of her body as if to check it was still just as he remembered it.

Somewhere along the line she'd ended up straddling his hips, not that he was complaining, but the way she was shifting around on top of him was about to give him a whole other issue to deal with.

"Lottie." He groaned, finally breaking away from the kiss. Her lips just trailed across his jaw though, teeth nipping lightly as his ear. "Lottie..." his protest was weak at best, and as he said it his hands on her hips were actually holding her in place, her hips grinding down into him of their own accord. "Fuck... Lottie...."

She sat up, and he was absolutely convinced that she'd suddenly come to her senses and was about to pull away from him, but instead she dragged her shirt over her head, looking down at him. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop." She breathed.

He couldn't form words as he looked up at her, sure that this had to be some kind of alcohol influenced dream that he was about to wake up from any second, because how many times had he had this exact dream? And now here she was, in the flesh, and he wasn't even sure he knew what to do.

As he looked at her, a slow smile spread across her face and she leaned into kiss him again, slower this time as though she was savouring the moment. His hands began their slow trail across her body again, roaming freely now she'd removed the clothing that had been in the way. Her hips still rolling against him in a tortuous way, as though begging him to take control and do something.

He wasn't sure he dared though, so afraid that if he made one wrong move, said one wrong word she'd be gone before he even had a chance to think about what he'd done. But as he kissed her back the part of his mind that had been anxious this was a mistake seemed to cease to function, and all he could think about was how much he wanted her, how much he'd missed her.

His hands slid down her body, sliding down her thighs and toying with the edge of her underwear in a way that had her letting out a breathy moan into his mouth.

"You want this?" He asked quietly, holding his breath as he waited for her to answer. He didn't even want to think about the possibility that she might say no.

"I want you." She breathed. "I've missed you, Lando... please..." she sounded needy and pathetic to her own ears, but she was too far gone to care. All she could think about was how badly she wanted him.

Before he could get any further though the door to the bedroom burst open. "Alright, get up! You're not staying- oh my god, OH MY GOD...Ewwwww." Flo froze in the doorway, covering her eyes for a second, before spinning around to leave and slamming the door behind her. They could still hear her cursing about how she'd never be able to unsee that again as she walked off down the stairs.

Before Lando could say anything Lottie collapsed against his chest in a fit of laughter, and he couldn't help but laugh along with her as he wrapped his arms around her.

"She's going to kill the both of us." Lottie laughed, shaking her head. "I feel so bad."

"She'll live." Lando shrugged. "She shouldn't have walked in here like that."

"Well she probably wasn't expecting me to be-" she cut herself off, not really knowing what she was about to say.

"Fucking her brother?" Lando smirked.

She smacked his chest, shaking her head at him. "Stop it."

"What if I don't want to stop?" He smirked, hands trailing over her body again.

"Lando..." Lottie protested. "Your sister is downstairs..."

"So?" He asked. "You weren't worried about her earlier, and I can guarantee she's not going to come back in here again now."

She hesitated for a moment, before leaning into kiss him softly. "I'm sorry, I should go and apologise to Flo. It's her birthday..."

"I'll go." Lando suggested, sitting up with a reluctant groan and looking for some clothes to put on. Lottie didn't argue, just curling up under the duvet again as he scrambled around to get dressed.

He stopped in the doorway, taking one last look back at Lottie curled up in the bed, before he headed rather awkwardly down the stairs to find his sister.

"Happy Birthday?" He offered awkwardly, standing in the doorway as he watched his sister trying to clean up the mess that had been left by the party the night before.

Flo turned to look at him in utter disbelief. "What the actual fuck is going on with you two?! I am so confused, never mind the fact that I can never unsee what I just saw... I mean you have quite possibly ruined my birthday for the rest of my life by the way."

"I think you might be being a little bit overly dramatic here." Lando laughed, stepped past her to make himself a coffee.

"I'm honestly going to have to bleach my brain." Flo cried again. "I mean what is even going on with the two of you?! One minute she's refusing to come to the party because she thinks that you might be here, the next minute the two of you are...."

Lando just smirked at her as Flo trailed off, not even wanting to say it out loud.

"Stop it!" Flo yelled, launching a towel at his head. "I'm going to have to burn those sheets."

"Nothing happened." Lando shrugged, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Yeah only because I had the misfortune of walking in on you." Flo rolled her eyes. "So what, you two are talking now? Or you got drunk and ended up in bed together?"

"I don't know." Lando admitted. "I was really, really drunk."

"Please tell me the two of you didn't get really drunk, have sex and make this whole thing even more complicated than it already is?" Flo sighed.

"We didn't..." Lando told her. "I just... I think we both got a bit carried away this morning. Waking up next to her like that, it was like being back to normal."

"Well what are you doing down here with me?" Flo asked.

"Saying happy birthday and checking you weren't too traumatised." He offered. "You good?"

"I'm good, but you'd better have got me a really good birthday present to make up for it." Flo laughed.

"I may have forgotten to get you anything." Lando confessed as his sister launched another towel at his head. "I'll make it up to you, I promise! Its just going to be a little bit late! And you might need to tell me what you want."

"Unbelievable." Flo laughed, shaking his head as he made a quick retreat out of the kitchen and back up the stairs to find Lottie.

He had been half expecting her to have got out of bed, that she'd be getting ready to leave and about to tell him the whole thing had been a huge mistake, but instead she was laying exactly where he'd left her. She blinked at him sleepily as he walked back into the room, closing and locking the door behind him this time, but just patted the space beside her indicating for him to get back in beside her.

He didn't need to be asked twice, stripping back out of his clothes and crawling into bed beside her. She curled back into his side as he got himself comfy, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her again.

"You know..." she said quietly. "What you said last night, it's not true."

Lando froze, because he couldn't remember saying anything to her the night before. The possibilities of what could have come out of his mouth while he was drunk and his guard was down were literally endless. He could feel his face flushing at the thought.

"You can't remember, can you?" She laughed, and as worried as he was about what he might have said, the sound of her laughter put a smile on his face.

"I don't remember much to be honest." He confessed. "I didn't want to come, mum made me and I decided I'd just drink enough that it wouldn't matter that I didn't know anyone. I can't remember the last time I got that drunk."

"So I could tell you that you said anything." She chuckled mischievously.

"You could." Lando agreed reluctantly. "But I'm already imagining the absolute worst myself, so why don't you just put me out of my misery? Do I need to apologise? I'm so sorry."

"You don't need to apologise." Lottie laughed, looking up at him. "You said that you were losing everything, that you'd lost me and you were going to lose the championship too. None of that's true, Lando."

He wondered if she could hear the way his heart was hammering in his chest as he processed her words. "Which's one's wrong?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"You haven't lost me." She said quietly. "I've been... I've been going to therapy, I didn't think I needed it. I thought once I was physically okay I'd be better, but turns out I was wrong. I'm trying to do better, I'm working on it. I think I said what I said, pushed you away because it scared me. It still does scare me. I need some time to work on me, but when I figure it out... you haven't lost me."

She shifted a little, allowing her to press a soft kiss to his lips before she continued.

"I still love you, Lando. I just need to figure out how to love the new me too." She whispered. "And as for the championship, you and I both know a couple of good races and you'll have that lead back. It's not over, not even close. You can still do it, and I believe that you can do it. And when you win it, I'll be there to watch. I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that." He agreed, giving her another gentle kiss, his arms tightening around her for a bit. "Can we... can we just stay here for a bit?"

"Sounds good." Lottie agreed sleepily. "Lando?"

"Yeah?" He yawned.

"I love you." She whispered.

"I know." He smiled. "I love you too."

[theplantsthrowawayblog]

Save The Last Dance For Me.

NOW PLAYING: Michael Bublé — Save The Last Dance For Me

SYNOPSIS: It’s your last night as an engaged couple. So, obviously, he takes you out on the town to celebrate.

Established Relationship || AgedUp!Sero X Fem!Reader || SongFic Fluff

A/N: Dudes i spent too long making that header graphic. also this was a shit idea i got this morning so now you get this. listening to a sero playlist, this song showed up, IMMEDIATELY got a fic idea. have fun reading this crap lmao. uuuhhh as for ages, both of you are 24-26. Sorry for it being Fem!Reader. I will absolutely try to make something GN! in the future i promise 😭 he’s probably gonna be ooc ugh

“Now you can dance every dance with the guy Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight And you can smile every smile for the man Who held your hand beneath the pale moonlight”

“You ready?” He asks, grinning at you. All his. You had been for the past few years — seven years together, three spent engaged. But tomorrow was the day the knot was officially tied, and you were properly married. You nod excitedly, stepping out of the car after he opened the door for you.

What better way to celebrate than a night out?

“But don't forget who's takin' you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He laughed from the bar, watching you. You were having fun. That was all that mattered. He knew you were his and his alone; your loyalty had been tested so many times when he went off with his hero work. You hadn’t cheated. Not once, not ever. So, he didn’t care what you did.

Sero watched you with a smile, feeling his chest ache with sheer love. It was hard to think you’d be his wife in the morning- But that was just the truth. And he was thankful for that.

“Oh, I know that the music's fine Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun Laugh and sing, but while we're apart Don’t give your heart to anyone”

You were dancing. It was fun. Sero didn’t care what you did. You loved that about him. He was so confident in just letting you do what you wanted. Which, he was right to be confident in it- You were his. You knew it, and you loved him.

You could feel his eyes on you. You liked that fact. Your freedom was something that made him feel good. Seeing him all smiley the way he always got… It was nice.

“And don't forget who's takin' you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He remembered your first date. It was back in U.A.’s halls; you’d been dumped, and he’d comforted you. He just sat there and rubbed your back in small circles, letting you cry and rant about your ex. Sure, it wasn’t a “date”, but it was what got his number in your phone. Originally, it was so you could call him when you needed comfort.

It was hard to think that the sad girl he’d found in the hallway was becoming his future.

“Baby, don't you know I love you so Can't you feel it when we touch I will never, never let you go I love you oh, so much”

You remembered the official first date. He’d taken a walk around campus with you, then took you to a boba place. You nearly started snickering. It felt like so much back then. Compared to the current lifestyle you two shared, that first date was so simple.

“You can dance, go and carry on 'Til the night is gone And it's time to go If he asks if you're all alone Can he walk you home, you must tell him no”

You flopped into the chair next to your soon-to-be, grinning at him tiredly. “Do you wanna dance, pretty?” Hanta cooed, holding out a hand for you to take. You did. You smiled as he pulled you up and out onto the floor.

“'Cause don't forget who's taking you home And in whose arms you're gonna be Save the last dance for me”

You could smell his cologne as he spun you once, twice around. It was nice. “You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He asked you softly, his raven hair brushing around with the movement of your twirls. You looked away with a tiny smile, barely pulling back to offer a small nod before moving close again. He just laughed.

“Oh, I know that the music's fine Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun Laugh and sing, but while we're apart Don't give your heart to anyone”

Your laughter rang through the night as he pulled you back to the outside, your fingers locked with his as you ran. What for, he hadn’t said. He just tugged you along, grinning and giggling like a kid.

“And don't forget who's taking you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He pulled you along the sidewalk, over to an old building. It looked abandoned and worn with time, but Sero continued to guide you through it, heading for the staircase. You looked at him quizzically. “Just trust me,” he smiled, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them. He was excited for whatever his surprise was.

“So don't forget who's taking you home Or in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

Each step was taken two at a time; for you it was out of curiosity, for him it was from delight.

When you finally got to the abandoned rooftop, he’d set up something small — not much, but it was still beautiful. There was a radio, which was playing love songs, with a picnic basket set aside for later.

“Oh baby, won't you save the last dance for me Ooh, you make a promise That you'll save the last dance for me Save the last dance The very last dance For me”

Abruptly, he pulled you close, dipping you low to the ground. You gasped, not ready, but managed to keep yourself from falling. He just smiled down at you.

“Tell me, wifey. Did you save the last dance for me?”

[sequinsmile-x]

Crest

“It’s our honeymoon,” he says, gripping her thigh even tighter, his fingertips pressed against sunkissed skin that somehow looked even more gorgeous than normal. Impossibly softer and smoother because of her almost pathological insistence on sunscreen and aftersun. She’d spent days rubbing it into his skin as well as her own, diligently making sure she was covering every part of him that was exposed as she joked about the tan lines the immobiliser would leave him, “I want to have sex with my wife.”

AKA - the one where Aaron injuries his shoulder on honeymoon and Emily is distracted from the doctor's advice by her husband's beard.

A one shot in my series of unrelated kissing prompt fics

-x-

Hi besties,

I cannot believe I made it 21 prompts into this series before I wrote a smutty one. I also cannot believe it's been 10 months since I wrote smut...no wonder I feel rusty at it.

This one is 'jaw kisses'. And the thought process essentially went 'jaw kisses = Bearded Aaron. Bearded Aaron = smut.' And here we are hahaha

Feeling oddly anxious about this one, probably because it's been so long since I last wrote smut, so please do let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Words: 3.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

From the moment Aaron proposed, Emily wanted to plan the honeymoon.

She wanted to get away from everything with him. To have a rare, uninterrupted week or two with the man she loves. There was something endlessly romantic about it, a side of her that only Aaron could bring out - his smile and the way he’d look at her forever making her stomach flip like she was a teenage girl in love for the first time, not a woman in her 40s in love for the last. 

Aaron lets her plan it. He doesn’t say anything - baring a quick raise of his eyebrows when he sees how much it’s cost her - and he doesn’t ask any questions, seemingly aware of how important it was to her that it was a surprise. More than once in the lead up to their wedding, a beautiful simple day that cost significantly less than the 10 day vacation they left on the following day, she wanted to tell him her plans. Wanted to show him the pictures of the private beach villa she’d booked in the Bahamas and see the delight in his eyes at the beauty of it, but she’d kept it to herself, waved off any playful attempts he made to pull the information out of her, her teeth sinking into her lower lip every time he tried to coax the information out of her during sex. 

It was worth it when they got to the airport and he learnt where they were going. It was worth it again when she told him they were flying business class, and once again when he saw the villa they’d called home the last 10 nights. It was beautiful - an almost perfect start to her married life with the man who was absolutely perfect for her - and she would miss every part of it when they went home. 

She smiles at Aaron, briefly taking her eyes off the road as she turns to look at him in the passenger seat, her eyes flicking to the immobiliser on his left arm. 

She’d miss almost every part of the honeymoon. 

When they get back to the villa, they head straight to the bedroom, both tired and achingly aware of how early they had to leave for the flight home. She smiles at him as he sits on the bed, and she opens the sliding doors that lead out to the porch and the ocean view before she joins him. She slips onto the bed next to him, sighing contentedly as her shoulder bumps against his good one. They usually slept on the opposite sides, but they’d switched as soon as they came back from the hospital, the doctor’s warning that he should refrain from strenuous activities ringing in her ears as she slumped onto the side of the bed he usually slept on.

If she couldn’t have sex with her husband, she was damn sure going to snuggle with him. 

He rests his hand on her thigh as soon as she’s settled, his sigh content as he kisses her temple, “I’m going to miss that view.” 

“Me too,” she nods, her eyes fixed on the moon and its reflection on the water. Her eyes drift shut as she listens to the crash of the waves on the shore, her head on his shoulder as she wraps both of her arms around his good one, “I’ll miss this.” 

He takes the opportunity to look at her. To study her tanned skin, the patch of freckles on her shoulder that she’d told him she got one summer when she was a teenager and less diligent with sunscreen, and how she seemed to just glow here. How the beauty he’d always been drawn in by - even before he was hers and she was his - seemed more ethereal in their own little bubble of paradise. She was all long limbs, tanned skin and flowing dresses he’d never seen before but would buy her a thousand of if it meant he got to see her in them more often, no matter how impractical they would be in DC.

He runs his hand up and down her thigh, his palm disappearing under the olive green linen, the slit in her dress giving him access to her skin. He feels her thigh tense beneath his palm, and she turns her head to kiss his jaw, her lips catching on his beard.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mr Hotchner,” she mumbles, kissing him again before she pulls back, a sparkle in her eyes that he’d always been powerless in the wake of, “We both know what the doctor said.” 

“It’s our honeymoon,” he says, gripping her thigh even tighter, his fingertips pressed against sunkissed skin that somehow looked even more gorgeous than normal. Impossibly softer and smoother because of her almost pathological insistence on sunscreen and aftersun. She’d spent days rubbing it into his skin as well as her own, diligently making sure she was covering every part of him that was exposed as she joked about the tan lines the immboilser would leave him, “I want to have sex with my wife.”

She hums sympathetically at him, linking her fingers through his as she lifts his hand to her lips, stamping a kiss against his knuckles, “You’re hurt.” 

He sighs, his forehead against hers as his disappointed exhale skips across her face. She’s not unaffected either. He looks good with a tan, and he’s grown out his beard on her request. He looks like he did when she returned from Paris, although a little thicker around the waist - no longer bordering on being too thin after months of neglecting his own needs in a subconscious attempt to punish himself for the choices he’d made for her. When she’d seen him as she stepped into the conference room, standing there in his casual linen clothes and his arms crossed over his chest, the sharp pull of desire in her belly had been the first thing other than fear that she’d felt for months. She’d had to shake it off, pretend she didn’t keep looking at his beard and the way it spread down past his jaw onto his neck, that she didn’t wonder how it would feel scratching against her skin. There were more important things to worry about, and by the time Ian was dead and she was thrust back into her life months after dying to save it, Aaron had shaved, and he was back in a suit - a stark but much needed reminder that he’d already slot back into his normal life and she had to try to find a way to do the same. 

Since then, since their relationship moved from friendship, to partners and now to husband and wife, she’d told him more than once how much she’d liked the beard. She’d press her palm to his cheek to feel the first appearance of his stubble against her skin before he’d shave in the morning, and she’d playfully lament his desire to be neat and tidy - even though she loved that too. It meant he was hers to undo, hers to see at the end of the day when he took off his tie and rolled his sleeves up to make them dinner.

He looks the same as he did in the conference room close to two years ago, but he’s happier and healthier - except for the immobiliser holding his left arm to his chest - and he’s hers. She doesn’t have to imagine how it feels to feel his beard scratch against her skin, and she knows exactly how it feels to sink into his embrace. 

She just wished more than anything that her amazing, handsome, stupid, husband hadn’t attempted surfing a few days ago and dislocated his shoulder as a result. She’d watched from the shoreline - keeping to her word that on this vacation she’d simply sunbathe, read her books, drink cocktails and have sex with her husband - as he fell from his surfboard, disappearing into a wave that had made her nervous the moment she’d seen it. 

His instructor had pulled him out of the water, and she knew the moment he was close enough to the shore to stand that he’d hurt himself, his left arm held delicately against his chest with his right. He was embarrassed, and she knew that, which was why she was already preparing herself to defend him to their friends when they get home, to stop any mocking in its tracks as soon as they found out that he - their fearless leader - had attempted to surf for the first time in his life for no reason other than to try and impress his wife watching from the shore. 

“We could be careful,” he says somewhere near her hairline, and she pulls back to look at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she feels her resolve start to crumble, “It’s our last night here.” 

She smiles, and he knows he’s won, knows that she wants him just as much as he wants her, and she kisses his jaw again before she hikes up her dress and hooks her leg his. She settles against him, her nose knocking against his as she settles in his lap, her hips bracketing his. She hooks her arms around his neck and kisses him, moaning into it when he wraps his arm around his, his palm wide and warm through the thin material of her dress. 

She pulls back, her forehead resting against his. She tries to catch her breath, her hand on his cheek as she scratches his beard, the rasp of her nails against it rolling through her chest, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He smiles at her - all dimples and charm she would have once thought he wasn’t capable of - and she knows whatever meagre attempt she was making at fighting this was already lost. 

“You never could.” 

He surges forward, his hand insistent on her back as he pulls her closer. She feels warmth crackle between the two of them, a summer storm she’d never get enough of as his thumb and pinky finger somehow skim both sides of her waist at the same time. She wraps both of her arms around his neck, tasting the delicious groan that escapes him as she rolls her hips against his. The kiss turns into a mashing of teeth and lips as she smiles too widely as his hand drifts down to her ass and squeezes, pushing her hips closer to his. She chuckles as she pulls back just enough to speak

“Insatiable,” she mutters, as if she’s any better, as if she isn’t reaching between them to undo his pants and help him get them and his boxes down far enough for him to spring free of them. She swallows down his moan by kissing him as she wraps her hand around him, the way he clenches his teeth and grunts out her name enough to make goose pimples spread across her skin. 

“Em,” he mutters, frustration at only being able to use one of his hands, at not being able to touch her in the way he wanted to chasing the arousal around his blood, “Sweetheart.” 

She shushes him, the sound comforting and soft as she kisses his cheek and then his jaw, leaving a trail down his neck until she reaches his bare skin just above the collar of his shirt. He grasps at her, his blunt nails digging into her flesh through the thin material of her dress as she pumps him up and down. He tugs at her dress, desperate to feel more of her as he pulls it up over her thighs until it’s gathered around her hips. He groans again, his forehead against her collarbone when his fingers are met by nothing but her, his fingers pressed against paler strips of soft skin that had been hidden from the sun by her bikinis. 

“No underwear?” He asks, his voice rough and gravelly, and she smiles at him, her eyes darker than usual as she shakes her head. 

“I didn’t want panty lines.” 

It’s only a half-truth, and they both know it, but it doesn’t matter because he’s running his fingers through her, his thumb catching on her clit as she leans forward, her forehead against his good shoulder as she tenses, pleasure and desperation crackling up her spine. She lifts her head to kiss him, on edge after days of not doing this even though she’d wanted to, and she raises her hips, using the hand she still has wrapped around him to guide him into her. She gasps at the familiar stretch of him, her breath chattering against each of her ribs as it shudders out of her, and her eyes drift closed. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, opening her eyes - unaware she’d closed them in the first place - to look at him, “Fuck you feel good.”

He kisses her cheek as he rolls his hips up against hers. He trails his lips down her neck, his beard rough against her skin as he gently tugs at the thin straps of her dress down just enough so he has full access to her collarbone. He stamps a kiss there before he presses his face against her skin, breathing in the sun and the sea and her. 

“You’re perfect,” he says, unaware he’s even speaking, his trail of thought pressed somewhere between her collarbone and her heart - the place he called home. “So perfect.” 

They get lost in each other, fall into a rhythm they’d perfected a long time ago. It’s intimate and soft and everything she’d tried to avoid in sex before him. With anyone else, she’d feel exposed even though she was still fully clothed, but with him, it’s like he actually sees her for who she is, not who he wants her to be. It’s empowering. Makes her feel loved and safe and secure in a way she’d spent a lifetime chasing, unsure she’d ever catch it up until she was standing toe to toe with it. 

She gasps, every nerve ending starting to fizz as she feels herself getting closer. He looks up, sees her framed in the moonlight filtering in from outside, and he rolls his hips into hers, his hand sneaking between them as he runs his thumb over her clit. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers, his cheek nuzzling against hers, well aware of what the feel of his beard against her skin did to her, “Come for me.” 

It’s a combination of everything, of him and the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore and the reverence of his touch. She can feel him everwhere, can feel his love passing from his chest to hers, and she gasps silently as she tips over the edge, her mouth open against his cheek as he follows her seconds afterwards, his one good hand firm on her hip. 

She pulls back to look at him, her smile beautiful and soft before she kisses him, her fingers trailing through his hair. She hums as she rests her forehead against his, “I should go to the bathroom.” 

He nods and kisses her one more time before slipping out of his lap and walking the short distance to the ensuite. She snags one of his shirts from their half-packed suitcase on the way past, and she changes into it as she cleans herself up. Once she’s done in the bathroom, he’s waiting outside, his hand on her hips briefly as she passes him in the doorway, her eyes flicking to his shoulder.

“Need help?”

He shakes his head at her and kisses her forehead, “I’ll meet you in bed.” 

She slips under the covers and makes a mental note to try and find out where the resort buys their sheets, determined to get them for their bed at home. It doesn’t take Aaron long to join her, and once he’s lying down, she snuggles up against him, her head on his right shoulder. She looks up at him and cups his cheek, dragging him in for a kiss.

“You’re okay, right?” She asks, “Your shoulder-”

“It's fine,” he assures her, resting his cheek against the top of her head, “You realise when we get home, you’re going to have to help me shave?” 

It was one of the first things she’d thought about once she knew he was okay and they were back at their villa, her eyes fixed on his injured left shoulder and his dominant arm strapped to his chest. 

“Yes,” she grumbles, “It’s like having to be responsible for the modern day burning of Alexandria.” 

He laughs, loud and beautiful, and she looks up at him, her fake grumpiness gone the moment she sees his smile. He kisses her quickly, “I’ll miss this.” 

“Me too,” she replies, “And not just the beard,” she looks out at the view of the beach, “I’ll miss all of it.” 

“I’m looking forward to going home though.” 

She tilts her head to look at him again, and something about the wistful look on his face makes her bite the inside of her cheek, sure her face would ache if she smiled any wider, “Yeah?” 

He nods and looks down at her, “I’m looking forward to starting our married life together. To raising Jack. To having a baby or two with you. I’m just…looking forward to it all.” 

It warms her from the inside out, and it’s like she can see it all laid out in front of her. Images of her future with him - with Jack and children whose faces she couldn’t quite picture yet - dancing across the surface of the water with the moonlight. Bright and beautiful and theirs, and all of a sudden, she doesn’t mind that their honeymoon is coming to an end because it’s just the start. A wave crashing on the shore of their life together before it’s pulled back out to mix in with the rest of it, a memory they’d always have to look back on fondly. 

She likes to think they’ll come back here at some point, with Jack and a baby in tow, and create new, different memories. Her long days in the sun spent rubbing sunscreen into her children’s skin and stopping tiny hands from trying to eat handfuls of sand, instead of reading her favourite book and drinking frozen cocktails. 

“I’m looking forward to it too,” she says, stamping her lips against his, “All of it.” 

She settles her head on his shoulder and sighs contentedly, eager to soak up these last few minutes before she’d have to get up to close the sliding doors so they could sleep. Their flight was early, and she wanted to make sure they weren’t rushing so Aaron didn’t hurt himself any more than he already had when he inevitably tried to insist he carried their bags. A thought occurs to her and she chuckles, the sound muffled against him, and he runs his hand up and down her arm. 

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” 

“Nothing,” she replies, chuckling again as she looks up at him, “I just realised how much convincing it’s going to take to make the team believe you didn’t come home from honeymoon with a sex injury.”  

[not-magdi]

-a deal‘s a deal pt. 2 / ben shelton

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 850

Reading time: 3 min

Requested: no

MASTERLIST PART ONE

Ben could barely contain his excitement as he stood outside the restaurant, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had been on plenty of dates before, but this one felt different. He had spent way too much time picking out his outfit, making sure he looked effortlessly put together—dark jeans, a fitted black button-up with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his forearms.

But none of it compared to the way his breath caught in his throat when Magdi finally arrived.

She stepped out of the car, wearing a simple yet elegant dress that fell just above her knees. It wasn’t overly fancy, but on her, it might as well have been a designer gown. Ben had always thought she looked good in her physio uniform, but this was something else entirely.

“You’re staring,” Y/N said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Ben shook himself out of his daze, grinning. “Can you blame me?”

She rolled her eyes, but he could see the slight blush creeping onto her cheeks.

He opened the door for her, leading her inside the cozy, dimly lit restaurant he had carefully chosen. It wasn’t too extravagant—just intimate enough to feel special but still casual enough that Y/N wouldn’t feel pressured.

They were seated at a corner table, away from the main bustle of the restaurant. As soon as they sat down, Ben leaned forward on his elbows, smirking. “So… on a scale of one to ten, how surprised are you that I actually pulled this off?”

Y/N huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Honestly? I’d say about an eight. I really didn’t think you’d go through all that trouble to win a date with me.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, reaching for her menu. “I mean, you could have had anyone. You didn’t have to make a bet just to get a date.”

Ben frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Yeah, but I wanted you.” His voice was casual, but the sincerity in his eyes was impossible to miss. “And I knew if I just asked normally, you’d probably keep saying no.”

Y/N bit her lip, avoiding his gaze for a second. She wasn’t used to someone being this upfront with her—especially him.

“Besides,” Ben continued, nudging her foot under the table. “I like a challenge.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” he teased.

They ordered their food, and as the evening went on, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about everything and nothing—their careers, their favorite travel spots, random childhood stories. Ben made sure to throw in a few playful remarks, enjoying the way Y/N laughed more freely as the night went on.

At one point, she shook her head, smiling. “I’ll admit, this is a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”

Ben pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “You thought it wouldn’t be fun? Y/N, I’m hurt.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just meant… I wasn’t sure what to expect. But you’re actually kind of—”

Ben leaned in slightly, smirking. “Go on.”

Y/N huffed, looking away dramatically. “—kind of charming.”

Ben grinned. “Kind of? I’ll take it.”

By the time they finished their meal, the atmosphere between them had shifted. It was lighter, warmer—like something had clicked into place.

As they walked outside, the cool night air wrapped around them. Ben stuffed his hands into his pockets, glancing at Y/N. “So… does this mean I get a second date?”

She pretended to think about it, making a humming noise. “Hmm… I don’t know. I did only agree to one.”

Ben scoffed. “Oh, come on. You had a good time, admit it.”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

Ben groaned dramatically, but he couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his lips.

They reached her car, and for the first time that night, a small silence settled between them. Not awkward—just charged.

Ben took a step closer, his voice softer now. “I had fun tonight.”

Y/N nodded. “Me too.”

For a second, he hesitated. He wanted to kiss her—badly—but he also didn’t want to push too far.

So instead, he reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and when she looked up at him, there was something unreadable in her expression.

Ben smiled. “Guess I’ll just have to win another tournament for that second date.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Guess so.”

She got into her car, and Ben watched as she drove off, the small grin never leaving his face.

Yeah. He was definitely winning his next tournament.

———

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