#my photo reel is still filled with these

[yeah-klave]

Sorry, but you used the wrong Robert Sheehan photo.

[madelynraemunson]

pass the salt • e.m. smut

DAD’S BEST FRIEND!OLDER!EDDIE x FEM!READER

part two here

summary: you’re home from college and staying with your dad for the summer, spending as much time as you possibly can with him…and his hot best friend that you’ve never seen in your life.

authors note: okay have you guys ever seen those text posts like “when you say ‘daddy pass the salt please’ and your father and your man both reach for it” 💀💀 well this is inspired by that concept. also i went overboard and this is a LONG BOI

disclaimers — photo credits to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple 🫶🏼porn with plot, reader’s nickname is “sunshine”, reader has female anatomy, race unspecified, divider: @iluvpooks

NSFW — 18+ obv, porn with plot, daddy kink pls keep scrolling if it’s not ur thing, slight age gap (eddie is mid to late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), corruption kink, size kink, masturbation (m&f), p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, teasing, sexual innuendos, extreme flirting, eddie kinda being a perv, praise kink

The sound of breakfast on the griddle summons you downstairs.

Dad never cooks.

For as long as you can remember, weekends at your dad’s have always consisted of Lucky Charms cereal and powdered donuts. That tradition continued even after you started college.

Oh yeah. Someone is here, alright. Someone Dad desperately wants to impress.

Trailing after the commotion, your fuzzy pink slippers guide you down the wooden steps of your dad’s ‘bachelor pad’ and into the kitchen. And when you near the bottom of the steps, you can make out two distinct voices — one belonging to Dad, another belonging to someone who's identity is obscure.

“God, I fucking missed you, Jeff. Missed everyone so much.”

The smells of pancake batter, cigarette smoke, mint, and petroleum fuel reel you in, but not nearly as much as the sight of the man sitting on the opposite side of your dad. He's built, handsome with wavy brown hair, leather, black denim, twiddling a toothpick between his teeth as he listens to your dad speak with a smile on his face. That is, until you come into sight. It then that his intense focus circles in on you.

Funny. You don’t remember this friend. And something in your gut tells you that you won’t ever be forgetting him after this.

The stranger's grin curls into a wonder-filled smirk. You can feel your knees start to buckle.

“Uh oh. Looks like our shenanigans woke up Sleeping Beauty.”

When you get a closer look at Dad’s friend, you observe his faint brown beard — neatly kept and lightly peppered with some gray — delicious lips, shiny white teeth, and grooves along his laugh lines that would deepen with every theatrical cackle he belted out.

You can't help but freeze in your tracks as him and your dad continue on with their banter, reliving their glory days like it was yesterday. Man. What a damn dreamboat.

Your dad’s eyes light up with glee when he sees you.

“Hey, good morning, Sunshine!” Dad cheers. “Thought you’d never wake up. This is my friend Eddie. We were in that band together in high school. Come say hi.”

"Yeah, come say hi," Eddie agrees. feeding into the obvious tension in the room. "I don't bite."

The stranger laughs at his own comment as soon as he utters it.

There’s a charm — a magic — about Eddie that could only be found in Hollywood or the Big City. But of course, you didn't expect any less from Dad's supposed ‘Rockstar Friend’.

When your parents had you at 17, life went on for Dad’s band Corroded Coffin. And although he missed out on the ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll’, Dad insists that tea parties and white picket fences were an ideal trade-off. Because — despite how things ended with Mom — it still meant a life spent with you.

You tell him your name as Eddie offers you his hand to shake. Electricity serges through you when your hand is enveloped by his firm, calloused one. Eddie smiles down at you, his presence all-consuming. It's almost as if he knows it. And as much as you were dying to, you resist the urge to fall into him.

Eddie's no better.

It takes everything in Eddie's power to keep his eyes above your collarbones, reprimanding himself with the utmost tedium. Because heaven knows he'd be TOAST if his best friend found out that Eddie thought that you were absolutely stunning — strutting around the house the way that you do, without a bra underneath that poor excuse of a sleep shirt — a sleep shirt far too tight for your own good. With tight, pajama shorts to match…

Of course, this is all an assumption…Not that he caught wind of it or anything.

“You know…” he mentions. “Your dad has told me SO much about little miss Sunshine.”

“Me, really?” is all you can say behind those fuscia cheeks.

“Really,” Eddie insists. “He never shuts up about you, darling.”

“Hopefully you’ve only heard good things,” you mutter faintly.

And instantly, your dad and Eddie share a laugh.

“Only good things,” Eddie assures you. He nudges your dad playfully.

Your dad doesn’t exactly deny the last part, basically confirming to Eddie that you’ve got a hint of spunk to you. The heat settles at your cheeks as you shy away from your father’s curious friend.

Taking note of how timid you’ve just become, Eddie furrows his brows.

“What — was that an implication that you’re not always good?”

“No comment,” your smile melts into an awkward one.

“Kept me on my toes back then,” your dad reflects with a sigh. “Keeps me on my toes now.”

“You don’t say…” Eddie smirks slightly, gaze panning back over to you.

Eventually your dad leaves you two alone, going into the garage to fetch something that he insists Eddie would like. But little did he know that such thing was already in the room, leaning…reaching into the fridge for some orange juice, not realizing its atmosphere caused your nipples to harden.

Eddie’s eyes proceed to follow you as you strut back to the griddle, flipping some hot cakes over before tending to your messy bedhead.

Eddie probably doesn’t know — or maybe he does, who knows? — that you feel him staring at you. It’s a burning gaze that practically impales you, but you’re too nervous to say anything. You’re better off pretending like it’s something you don’t notice.

You and Eddie continue to help yourselves to breakfast, enjoying the company of each other and your mutual silence. That is, until Eddie speaks up.

“Got some sausage for you if you’d like.”

“I’m sorry?” you sputter, looking up from your food.

Eddie shoots you a weird glance as he holds up some breakfast franks.

“Sausage?” he repeats. “Store was out of beef so I settled for turkey. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” you clear your throat. “I love turkey sausage.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie chuckles, seemingly relieved at how quickly the situation had diffused.

“Cool,” you chuckle with him while taking some links to cook.

The silence returns once more and is replaced by the sizzling of the grill. It’s short lived, however, because soon, the man nearly twice your age speaks again.

“What’d you think I said?” Eddie circles back.

“Nothing, why?”

“You just looked stunned.”

“I just woke up,” you shrug. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

“I can tell,” he smirks. “Get that thing out of the gutter.”

The coming days paved way for some more innocent flirting.

…Like when you make sure to wear the shortest skirt in your closet when running Eddie his afternoon beer in the garage.

“Well don’t you look absolutely darling…” he says as he peers up from his guitar.

“Hehe,” you smirk connivingly. “Thank you!”

“You are so welcome.”

Eddie downs the liquid guilt along with his pride, watching you strut around…the hem of that pleated cotton fabric just barely covering the roundness of your asscheeks. And as you blush a rosy pink when you process his little remarks, Eddie can only clear his throat in arousal, fantasizing about just how badly he wanted to turn your other cheeks that very shade.

…Or when you come downstairs the next day to help Dad manually wash his car.

While he and Eddie are harassing each other with soap and that god-forsaken hose, you decide to join in on all the fun.

“Watch out, Sunshine,” Eddie forewarns. “You’ve just entered the splash zone!”

And with the intention of cooling you off on a hot summer day like this, Eddie teasingly sprays you with said hose, your white shirt becoming transparent when lathered with water. He could see everything. Your erect nipples. Your perky tits bouncing in the sunlight as you jump around in excitement. How glazed your oil-nnuendo’ed skin looked when glimmering in the sun. All as intended.

“You got me,” you surrender yourself to him. “You got me good, Eddie.”

And when you walk away, Eddie mutters slyly to himself.

“Yes, yes I did.”

…And then there’s dessert after dinner.

Eddie watches as you lick your popsicle, his fingers curling at his thighs in arousal as you retract the wrapper before enclosing your lips around the bright pink dessert. And he swears he’s going to blow his pants when he envisions the melted sugar shooting into your mouth with the swiftest hollowing of your cheeks, the quiet suction noise you make with your pursed lips forcing him to adjust the way he’s sitting.

…The final instance takes the cake.

“What’s your major?”

You’re in the home library grazing some of Dad’s old books and vinyls, talking to Eddie while your father gets ready for the day. Meanwhile, Eddie is perched at your dad’s desk, rolling around in his expensive swivel chair and occasionally doing some spins on it to make you laugh.

“History.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You just haven’t found a topic that interests you,” you point out.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says. “Maybe I will eventually.”

Eddie watches as you waltz around in front of him, following your movements with his eyes as you get onto your tippy-toes in order to grab some books on the top shelf.

“Oh my god!” you yelp.

Your plan to entice him seemingly fails when you graze a book that’s halfway off the shelf. It’s already flying off of its platform, headed straight towards Eddie's lap before you can even stop it.

Eddie catches it before any damage can be done, saving Dad’s old campaign book with the hand furthest from you and snaking the other around your waist to prevent you from sinking any further into him.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you gasp in embarrassment. “That book has a mind of its own.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie laughs. “Can’t defy the laws of gravity. Sometimes it betrays us.”

You feel yourself burning up a fever. Excusing yourself from the room, you leave Dad’s library and make your way over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But you’re nearly taken aback when you feel tight, calloused hands wrap around your hips, and like a feather it’s like you’re whisked away into the air, and soon your body is pressed up against the wall.

Slam!

Breathing heavily against each other now — chest to chest, lips so unbearably close you can smell the whiskey — Eddie draws you even closer to him. You both study each other intently. It’s like you’re waiting for the other to say something. Eddie does the honors and speaks first.

“I wasn’t born last night, doll. I was also your age at one point.”

———

To his own despair, Eddie touches himself later that night. Facing your room, he strokes his rock hard cock with his lotioned-up hand, running his thumb across the slit of his head, pretending it’s your tongue giving him a little tease like you did the popsicle.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts quietly. “You like when I fuck your throat, baby? Gonna suck me dry with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You’re playing make-believe just as much. Because at the same time, in your room, you’re a drooling, pathetic mess, riding your wall-mounted toy to oblivion in your bathroom, legs trembling when the thick, veiny piece of silicone slams into the spongy part of your heat, initiating shock-waves all across your body.

“Eddie,” you find yourself blubbering. “EddieEddieEddieEddie…”

You both know it can’t be like this, but that was the mere thrill of it all. And when you both have overcome your peak, just one mere wall apart, the floodgates of guilt outweighs both your arousals the way it comes pouring in.

So, so wrong. But oh, so right.

You’re anticipating…waiting…aching for Eddie to make the next move.

He doesn’t.

“Going to the store again,” Eddie announces. “Hopefully this time they’ll have beef sausage. Need anything?”

Need you, is what you think. But you end up shaking your head, a part of you disappointed that you and Eddie won’t be able to spend some time alone together.

“No,” there’s defeat in your voice.

“Are you sure?” Eddie questions softly.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Okay,” he gives you a grin, one in the form of a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back. You be good.”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes.

——

Eddie leaves the door of his room open that night. Just a smidge. You end up following the sound of his TV that he’s placed at a low volume, making out that it’s Seinfeld just by Jerry’s voice and the laugh track.

Your heart skips a beat as Eddie laughs along with the show, shaking his head at a stupid joke. But he shifts his focus immediately onto you when he sees you at the doorway.

“Having some alone time tonight?” you ask him.

“Mmm…not by choice,” he responds. “Tuckered your dad out after dinner doing P90X.”

Eddie follows a crazy workout routine. He says that it helps with his stamina, especially when he does crowd work during his stage performances. Your mind can’t help but wonder what else he may be using it for.

You snort. “Yeah. Dad wasn’t what you’d call an athlete in high school.”

Eddie laughs at that too. Both you and him know that.

He then pats the space on his bed beside him. “Wanna come watch with me?”

Your stomach does a series of cartwheels when you process Eddie’s question. You know what’s bound to happen if you follow through. And it seems Eddie knows it too. Even if there wasn’t any sexual tension between you both already, the concept of it all would rub anyone that way.

But you still follow through with it. Just like Eddie knew you would.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks you, eyeing you endearingly as you squirm around on the bed.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good…” he replies, voice nearly at a strained whisper now.

You two watch the show in silence for a few minutes, exchanging commentary and pleasantries regarding the show every so often. It’s not too long after Eddie pulls a laugh from you that he starts closing up the space between you both, scooting himself closer…and resting his gruff palm over the base of your knee.

You inhale sharply as he does so. And evident by your refusal to pull away, it’s enough of a green light for Eddie to hike up further.

A soft moan escapes your mouth from the back of your flustered throat, but you bite your lip in restraint.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?”

You shrug sheepishly as Eddie continues to graze your thigh. Your breathing falters even more.

“Don’t be scared,” Eddie coos.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then what’s stopping you from getting on top of me? Hm?”

He’s in between your legs now, the rough material of his denim jeans riding up your sex, teasing your clit with every calculated rub against it.

“And riding my rock hard cock til those pretty legs give out?” Eddie continues. “I see how you’ve been looking at me, doll. It's all over your face how bad you want it.”

“The bed is squeaky,” you answer honestly. “And that headboard is a lost cause.”

Eddie puts the dirty talk on pause, squirming around to assess the guest bed’s squeak factor. When it checks out, he gives you an understanding nod. You giggle.

Eddie wastes no more time. You watch as he grabs one of the pillows on the bed and wedges it between the wall and headboard. He issues you a sly smile.

“Oldest trick in the book.”

You're back to fooling around shortly after, your aching core burning with lust as you pine for him.

“The boys at school ever touch you this good?” Eddie quips rubbing circles around your puffy, needy folds as you hopelessly cling to him out of pleasure.

“No, Eddie.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He continues to tease, gliding his fingers along your slit before slowly inserting two large digits inside of you.

His calculated pumps into your needy pussy are steady, a pace so agonizingly beautiful that it makes you squeal sweet nothings into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, baby," Eddie hushes you. "Your dad's gonna hear us. Gotta be quiet for me, mkay?"

Your hot, messy, and muffled sounds cease as Eddie soothes your quivering lips with his tender ones.

The wet sounds that ricochet and fill the room in tandem is almost enough to send him over. And Eddie is sure to communicate that… with an abrupt curving of his three thick fingers.

Fuck.

Needing him direly now, you tug helplessly at his pants.

“God, Eddie,” you whimper. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

Eddie laughs at the desperation. He hasn’t ravaged you to his fullest extent yet, and you’re already a pooling mess beside him.

“Well since you said please, sweet girl,” Eddie obliges as he starts to undress himself. “Your wish is my command."

You watch Eddie as reaches over into the bedside drawer for a fresh box of condoms. Looks like the sausage links weren't the only things he went to the store for.

“Oh.”

Eddie chuckles at your observation before shrugging. Can you really blame him? You both knew what was coming.

You watch with absolute lust as Eddie slides the piece of rubber over his long, girthy, throbbing cock. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before, and the snarky, hooded-eye smile as he watches you fawn reveals to you that he knows exactly how to use it.

"On your stomach, babygirl. Will have you all nice and pounded out just like you wanted.”

You situate yourself in prone and spread your legs for Eddie to line himself up against them. He teases his wrapped cock against the entrance of your pussy, and when his soothing countdown is over, your lips part in disposition as you accommodate his ruinous stretch.

A throaty moan spills out of the both of you the moment Eddie snaps his hips in and out of you. Meanwhile, one of his hands lays tauntingly at your stomach, so the prideful man can feel himself wriggling inside you, glazing his shaft with your slick more and more with every pump into your weak cunt.

"Fuck, Eddie... yes..." you mewl. "R-right there, Eddie, please..."

And then it picks up. You can feel Eddie’s hips practically collapse right onto you, his balls slapping against you as he digs further into your body.

"God damn..." the man sighs in disbelief.

He can only beam down at you in awe. You were taking him so good, pussy swallowing him so nice and tight. And when you nestle your ankles between each other to keep him there in prone, the nearly cries out in pleasure, but refrains because he knows your dad is resting — just a thin wall over.

That still doesn’t stop him from going to town though. Practically seeing stars, the broken record of a mouth that belongs to you chants Eddie’s name like it’s all you know. Eddie attempts to keep you contained, offering you his fingers to suck on as he’s railing you dumb.

And when he fucks you through your climax, Eddie continues with his string of lust-filled praises, satisfied at himself that he was able to make you wet enough to soak the mattress.

“Did so good for me, angel,” he praises you as he sucks at your temple. “Always knew you weren’t all that innocent.”

The griddle comes out again on Eddie’s last day. But this time, for a homestyle southern dinner.

You and Eddie were on mashed potatoes and gravy duty at the stove, an ordeal that only opened doors for lots of innuendos on Eddie’s part. Meanwhile, Dad insisted on making the rest, having taken pride in continuing his Mama’s legacy.

“This is amazing, Daddy,” you rave. “I really missed this. Do you mind passing the salt, please?”

And to your horror, you watch as your father and Eddie automatically extend their arms, bumping into one another in the process en route to getting you the salt.

The gentlemen meet each other’s eyes.

“Ohp!” Eddie exclaims, letting out a slight chuckle. “Sorry.”

You try your hardest not to blush. Eddie kicks you from under the table, and softly he oh-so-seductively he mutters,

“I was just tryna help her out.”

[ayumip]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭…

streamer!scaramouche x streamer!reader; modern au

word count: 0.6k

scaramouche and you were famous streamers, and decided to hop onto the “hear me out” cake trend. *gone wrong?* *not clickbait!*

“scara! let’s do this trend!” you called out to him, showing him a video of a couple doing the hear me out cake trend.

“hell no.” he scowled, going back to his game.

“please~”

“no”

“why not! you’re not fun…” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

however, under your persistent persuasion, he reluctantly agreed to do it on stream with you, under the condition that he wouldn’t need to prepare any crazy hear me outs, which of course, you thought it was boring, but whatever!

setting up the camera on your kitchen counter, you greet your chat:

"hi chat! i'm joined with scara today. say hi!" you ushered him, which he reluctantly gave a monotone greeting.

"oh, what's the cake for? we're doing a hear me out cake!" you replied, looking over at the chat, which is going miles per hour as you usually don't do collab streams...well, scara's the exception.

"anyways, lets begin!"

the both of you prepared your sticks, with your respective hear me outs stuck on them. "ill go first! so first, i have omen from valorant, which i think is pretty self explanatory...the girlies that get me, get me" you said, showing the camera before you put it down on the cake. scaramouche gave you a side eye, before retorting with:

"the only thing hot about him is his voice"

"does that mean you admit he's hot-"

"shut up! okay me next." he cut you off with a scoff, which you just giggled at.

"um..." he fiddled around with his sticks in his hand "i have you" he said as he showed the camera, the chat filling with "lmfaos" and "no ways" as he stuck the stick into the cake

"that's just me! why am i a hear me out!" you exclaimed, which he replied with a smirk

"no one can handle you; you're a gremlin"

"but you still love me"

"...its your turn just go!" he said bashfully, looking away from the camera with a slight blush on his cheeks

"okay fine- next i have nico from rio..."

"thats a bird!"

"and?"

"you're weird..." he mumbled, giving you a faux look of disgust.

suddenly, a comment from chat caught your eye: "nico lowkey looks like scara"

"...no because yeah kind of" you mumbled, conversing with chat about how scara resembles nico. scaramouche, looking from afar, was just admiring your animated expressions, your pondering face (which he thought was absolutely adorable, but he would rather die than to admit to your face), and your soft laughs until he was snapped out of his thoughts with you urging him to go next.

"next i have...you, but when you're sleeping"

"...why is it all just me- and besides, when did you even get that photo of me! i look horrendous!"

"exactly why that's a hear me out" he mumbled under his breath.

"hey!" you huffed out, as he let out a small laugh. you looked over at the sticks he prepared, realising most of them are just you, but doing different things, you let out an exasperated sigh.

"you really are obsessed with me aren't you" you giggled.

the both of you continued populating the cake with different characters from different cartoons, game, and actors. before you knew it, you only had one more hear me out left.

"okay...don't get mad at me or anything" you warned

"who can be worse than gill. the fish." he rolled his eyes playfully, slightly amused at who on earth your last hear me out was.

biting back your laughter, you showed the camera and chat who your last hear me out was:

"the last one i have is...um...dottore"

"..." when it finally hit scaramouche who you put on the cake, his mouth was agape; he was shook.

"...that's my UNCLE?"

authors note: i think you guys know which reel i based this on but like lowkey i didnt know what i was writing throughout this whole fic LMFAO i didn't expect it to be this dialogue heavy

[punk-in-docs]

🕸️ Pretty Girls Make Graves 🕸️

Eddie x Pencils - 🎃 Halloween 🎃one shot

2.7k words

Summary: pretty much what it says on the tin. Halloween one shot with our dearest Eddie x Pencils. Enjoy. Pure fluff. A tiny suggestion of smut at the end. Inspired by this lovely photo set & this prompt post that got me off my ass to write again.

Also another shoutout to the gorgeous @tvserie-s-world who made this amazing Eddie x Pencils edit that I’m still gooey over. 🖤

“So, what brings you to my dark and creepy neck of the woods?”Came a cocky taunt as soon as the trailer door swung open after your knock.

It’s usual rusty-screeching melody preceding its occupants flirty remark. The sound of the Smiths comes slithering out the creaking door behind him. The tape you bought that got lost in the avalanche of both your cassettes that slide and slip, congregate on his passenger seat.

He will not smile for anyone. And pretty girls make graves.

The lanky shadow of your boyfriend cuts across the warm yellow glow of the lights that slant out the doorway behind him. His costume makes you grin. Sheer moronic love.

You stood halfway up the steps. Candles flickering and throwing dozy pools orange in Jack-o-lanterns across the toes of your boots. They’re all wonky and have imperfect slanted mouths and jagged eyes. Loping together on the uneven porch steps. Fat orange gourds all drunk with gravity.

The very same pumpkins you’d helped him carve a week ago, after a misty morning weekend trip to Merill’s pumpkin farm. Eddie had the rather dastardly and determined habit of choosing pumpkins bigger and heavier than his actual van tires. You ended up with so many.

Your kitchen has smelt like squelchy pumpkin innards all week. You’re still finding seeds cropping up under the toaster or in the corner of the cabinets. As per Eddie’s way with most things, It wasn’t exactly a neat process.

You can’t help but laugh at his greeting too.

“I distinctly remember making plans to invade the spooky neck of your woods tonight, my little death trap.” You smile as you edge your way up the sloping steps. Holding a huge pumpkin shaped bucket of candy in your arms. The contents rustle as you move.

Everyone’s touting pumpkin buckets tonight. Driving in and even on the street back home, you saw a load of elementary kids walking around the park in their costumes. Ghosts in bedsheets. Aliens. Bats. One very ambitious papier maché pumpkin. Superhero’s. Clowns. Home made astronauts clad in crinkly tin foil and bulbous helmets. All wandering with an adult in tow and buckets clutched in their hands, ready to be filled.

You opted for a simple witch costume. Stripy tights and your dark thrifted docs. A black dress with a little cape tied around your shoulders and a witches hat. You applied dark purple-plum lipstick and dark smudgey grey eyeshadow, and liner. Your eyelids glitter like purple constellations. He finds stars to gaze at so often in those pretty eyes.

Eddie had gone for an Alice Cooper inspired look. Top hat. The dripping dark eye makeup that you’re amazed he managed all on his own. Hair it’s usual long rocker mess. Gothic black and lots of it. A huge goth belt with studs and buckles. You spy a cane grasped by his side too. A fake toy snake looped around his neck. Just like the man himself. He really does go all out.

The fringe benefit being he looks hot as hell to your eyes.

“You’ve got me under your spell, O’ bewitching one. How could I possibly resist.” He opened his arms out to you as you came to the last step.

“Bet you say that to every witch who shows up at your door on hallows eve.” You smile. Unashamedly grab the snake that’s looped around his neck and reel him in by it.

“Only ones who bought me jolly ranchers.” He preens. He can see the multi coloured hue of the wrapped candy in the huge bowl you’re carrying.

At the same time, he plucks the flimsy pointed witches hat off your head so the brim doesn’t get in his way. You unconsciously move towards the same goal together. It’s spooky. Sometimes it’s like you have the same brain. You’re one entity mashed together in a frenzy of melding hearts, music mania and relentless adolescent infatuation.

He lopes forwards and gladly slots his slanting smirk onto yours. Tasting of orange sweet candy corn and beer. His thumb and forefinger meet on your chin. Your hand slid for his neck. Fingertips along his jaw as you share a giddying kiss. You mouth at the plushness of his lips. He does the same to you.

You pull back before he makes you swoon dangerously down these steps. His kiss should come with a warning sign; dangerously addictive metal head. May possess body and soul.

You can tell already that you’ll have to wave goodbye to this lipstick. It’s now smeared all around your mouth and most of his. Now he looks like Alice Cooper doing nine to ten in Arkham Asylum.

“Hello.” You beam. Rubbing smudged purple off his lips. Vamptastic Plum the colour name.

“Hi.” He smirks like a lunatic. End of his nose rubbing into yours where he gazes at you.

He does it a lot. It’s honestly so lovesick you should be kinda nauseated.

When you’re studying. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn or pizza. Every now and again he’ll just rest his chin in his hand and smile all warm and stupid at you. Cheeks bunched and crows feet at his eyes. Even when you have paint flecked across your forehead. Or pizza cheese slung in a string across your chin. Or when you’re frowning at your fingers when you smear your nail drying polish. He loves watching you just be near him.

It always ends the same way. You’ll feel his eyes burning their fond cinnamon gaze into you. You’ll turn and meet his eyes. And that smile lopes even wider. He’ll loop a pinky though yours and kiss the back of your hand. Or your forehead.

“Permission to enter your lair?” You seek.

“Thought only vamps had to ask permission to come in?” He flirts with you. Eyes on your mouth again. Your lips all kiss bruised makes him ache. In fact, makes another sort of serpent twitch in his jeans.

“Misdirection. I am actually a vampire. The witch outfit is a clever disguise to work my cunning way into unsuspecting trailers.” You raise your brows naughtily.

He grins. “Clever subterfuge.”

He slips aside from the door to let you come in. Another kiss pressed to your lips before he lets you sidle on past him. He hangs your witches hat on the coat rack with his spare jacket and Wayne’s denim.

“Need me to park your broom?” He jests.

“Left it in the car with my black cat. You’re safe.”

“How many more witchy jokes could we stretch this out too?”

“I reckon I’ve a few left knocking around…” you guess. Placing the bucket of candy on the kitchen counter. Hopefully Eddie doesn’t pilfer the whole lot before Wayne’s home. You hope he leaves his uncle a treat or two. And doesn’t scarf the lot like a damn seagull.

This trailer hugs you any time you enter. You thought that when you and Eddie started dating. And you still think it now. Capital H home. This place. Filled with his and Wayne’s memorabilia. And a few more other things tonight;

You haven’t seen your boyfriend as much of late. He’s been out hitting the teenage party circuits with his metal lunchbox. Making a healthy chunk of change by the looks of it. He’s strung up plenty of decorations to help pep this place up with Halloween spirit.

There’s pumpkin paper garlands arced in loops up high. Orange and black twisting streamers over the mug shelves. Fake rubbery bats hanging down from the kitchen island cupboards. Dancing skeletons hanging on the little spare space the walls have to offer. The coffee table is cleared of its usual junk and absolutely heaped in candy and snacks.

Butterfingers. Butter popcorn. Pretzels. Red vines. Cheez balls. Mallomars. All of which happen to be your favourites. He has two cold beers side by side. And a fat tight joint sits waiting in the ashtray too.

He’s even bought those fake filmy cobwebs to spread in a few places with fake plastic spiders - to join in with the real ones dusted around in forgotten corners.

All your tensions melt down right to your toes. All is right with the world. Halloween night. No school tomorrow. And Eddie. And a whole uninterrupted night of movies and bliss. You’ve lost count of the amount of times a movie night has ended up getting dirty on his couch. Tape flicking to the end whilst you’re attached lip to lip with wandering hands.

You sigh gladly as you stand to toe off your shoes. Putting them aside. Heat slides into your stomach all squirly and scorching as he stands from behind you and his hand reach around and skilfully undo the cape around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you comfy my temptress of the night. Beer?” He seeks. Throwing your cape over his shoulder. It lands nowhere even near the coat rack.

“Yes please my lovable nightmare.” You sass. You walk over to the couch. Spying an absolute mound of VHS’s ready to go by the TV. The colour seemed to dip in and out sometimes. The set was old. Eddie had to whack the side sometimes to get it to behave. You find it more endearing than a set that worked seamlessly.

You pluck pieces of popcorn out the bowl and throw them onto your tongue. Crunch them down as you sit with your knees tucked under you.

Eddie kills the music and slings himself down next to you on the lumpy couch. Frame squeaking and rattling as he settles.

“Damn. You got a great selection, Munson. What did you do, bribe Harrington with your soul to score all this?” You remark as you peer at the videos on the coffee table.

1941 Wolfman. Christopher Lee’s Dracula. The Fog. Halloween. House on Haunted Hill. And Friday the 13th. You loved old school movies as much as he did. The old swelling suspense of a good black and white.

“Nothin major. Just a little selling of my body and charms. Deviant sexual acts. Just so you know I’ll have raw knees for a month.”

“Mm you filthy slut.” You hush. Impressed.

“Finest slut in the Midwest.”

“So I’ve heard.” You grin. Leaning in to kiss him. Seemed too infeasible not too. He cups the back of your head as you do. Keeping you close as he dares. Sweet kiss like icing sugar dusted across your lips.

He makes a small ‘mmm’ noise before you pull back.

“Besides. I consider The Fog a film that makes me think fondly of our very early courtship.” He remarks.

Snoopy bed shorts. A tin of Campbells. His lunatic escapades of climbing in your window late at night.

“And, well, only the best for you, Pencils.” He grins.

You tilt your head. A sigh caught in your throat.

“You must’ve busted your ass to get all this. You didn’t need too. You know I don’t need all this. I’m happy just to watch crappy reruns with you and order a pizza.” You tell him.

Concerned about the cash he would’ve laid out for tonight. The decor. The snacks. The primo shit from Rick. All must’ve cost a pretty penny.

“You’re worth every damn cent. When you’re dating a spooky awesome girl you gotta put in the ultimate spooky effort.” He tells you. Gripping his beer bottle and leaning back.

You clink your beer bottle to his.

“Please tell me you overcharged those meathead jocks for your product.”

“…. And then some.” He winks.

That’s my boy. You couldn’t be more proud.

“I’ll drink to that.” You murmur. Taking a pull on your cold beer. Cool heaven sliding down your throat.

“Thanks to Tina’s party last week, I mean, man, I scored big time. So many stoners invited. Walk in the park.” He smiled.

That deserved a kiss. Which you gladly give.

“Kinda love you for that.” You suppose. But there were no two ways about it - you were completly head over heels for him.

“Good to know.” He supplies. Hand rubbing your back.

“We better put a video on before I maul you.” You threaten with a great deal of flirt. Dragging your purple painted fingernails down the front of his top.

“Mmm kinky.” He grins. Leaning over to press a spitty kiss to your cheek. Before diving for the pile of VHS.

“Ok, roughly how long do you wanna argue about which one we watch first?” He seeks.

You narrow your eyes. Taking a sip back of your beer. “Depends if I win or not.” You look at him all cunning.

“House on haunted hill?” He bargains. Crouching and pointing the VHS at you.

“Don’t point that thing at me.” You smile. Stealing another handful of popcorn. Eating it with a grin.

Let the bickering commence…

~

The credits rolled to your third film of the night. Halloween the 1978 original. Orange twinkle lights flicker in the warm yellow lights near the kitchen. The rest of the trailer in dozy darkness. The sounds of kids trick or treating and laughing, batter against the trailer side in the night air.

You magnanimously let him pick the film. Maybe you’re growing soft in your old age.

This found you and Eddie slumped down together on the ratty couch. Limbs tangled. Joint smouldering in the ashtray. Verdant smoke in the air. Beer bottles empty. Only popcorn kernels left in the bottom of the bowl. The snacks had been pilfered and pinched at your leisure.

Eddie was pressed down onto you like a lanky weighted blanket. Snoozing happily with a belly full of beer and cheez balls. Socked feet hanging off the end of the couch. Hands slung all over you like a gangly octopus. He’s currently letting out content little breathy snores with his head cushioned against your boobs. A little spit of drool by the side of his mouth.

He’d nodded off sometime around Michael Myers fifth victim with the boyfriend and the blonde pigtails. You’d been carding your fingers through his hair. Scratching his scalp. Made his eyes flick back in his head.

You swear he was one step away from twitching his foot in contentment like a canine at the work of your hands. Made his brain short circuit.

More so when he was on Indica. Just the kinda hit he needed for a slow sleepy and spooky night in. You can’t deny you’re fighting the effects of it yourself.

A couple of puffs. Eyelids drowsy. Your limbs feeling like cotton stuffed pillows. Indolent and slow. And now you’ve got your perfect metal head keeping you pressed down.

“Guess the party circuit wiped you for six, huh babe?” You smile. Thumbing his cheek. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

You shift your leg up. Which tumbles his knee more into your lap. He snuffled. Nuzzling his head further onto you. His breath was all sugary red vines, and fruity weed.

You kept on stroking his hair. Leaning forward to nuzzle a kiss to the crown of his messy hair. Apple shampoo and that lost tang of American spirits.

“Edward?” You ask.

You get a sleepy, sticky gurgle from him.

“I’ve got a really nice bra and panties set on under this dress, y’know.” You whisper at him.

Another mumble. You smile and rest your cheek on his warm head.

“You’ll have to let me move to put the next movie in, babe.” You tell.

“No. S’comfy.”

Then you hear him grumble. “Boobs.”

“Great boobs.”

You chuckle. Honestly.

“Knock yourself out. Munson. You smile.

Shifting down to let sleep come and gently take you too.

“Oh, and Happy Halloween.” You add. Letting your eyes close. Letting the static at the end of the video ebb you softly into dreams. Along with the sound of wind kindly rattling the roof. Brushing along the walls outside. All the trick or treaters have been coerced indoors. Safe inside with their candy spoils.

Much later on. You hear the rustle of clothes and feel the heat of his breath. The warmth of his limbs leeches off you when he moves. Coldness sneaks in.

You wake with bleary-sticky eyes to those brown ones staring back at you. Cheeks all flushed. The tell-tale sign of a tented zipper bursting at his crotch.

That dripping eye make up looks smeared and downright dangerous. He looks absolutely ravishing and you suddenly shake off your tiredness to see him looking so good like this.

“You said something about a bra, Pencils…” he smiles. “Be a shame not to show it off now-“ He beams. Waggles his brows.

“Heard that did you?” Your brow crooks.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

This is for everyone; but especially for @tvserie-s-world @lunatictardis @heyndrix @callmeloverr @joequinnswhore @atabigail @thewrathoffemalerage @lurkingprincess @songforeddiemunson @palomahasenteredthechat @babybluebex

[20doozers]

heeeyy it's me again

I noticed you're a little inactive/unmotivated at the moment but if you find the motivation pleeeeeeease make a fic about Bill's newest story in the bathtub. pleeease🧎‍♂️

★Relaxing bath★

TW: m!reader, taking a bath with bill, fluff, some teasing, a bit of touching, brief smut but not full on sex (sorry!), pet names like “Schatz”, set in a different location from the actual inspo cuz idk where he was

Between festival season and lots of other appearances and photo shoots bill found himself in his favorite hotel in Paris with his boyfriend for the weekend. The day had been spent cuddling and the two had gone out for dinner an hour earlier. But now as bill stood nude in the steamy bathroom, the large bathtub infront of him filling with water as he waited for his boyfriend to join him to take a bath together, something the two men hadn’t done in a long time.

Bill hummed and shed his bathrobe, stepping into the large tub and sinking into the warm, soothing water. There was a two small tables next to the bath, one held a few candles and the other held Bill’s phone, an ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, and a bag of lavender Epsom salt that bill had sprinkled in when starting the bath for that truly relaxed atmosphere. Bill grabbed his phone and made an Instagram reel, one with him holding a cigarette, still waiting for m/n to return with the wine.

When bill sat his phone down he heard footsteps and looked up to see his boyfriend entering a bathroom, two wine glasses in hand and his own bathrobe untied and barely covering anything as he approached and handed bill a glass of wine.

“Mmh I really do forget how much I love when we take baths together, I forget how handsome you really are under all of those clothes.” Bill practically purred, reaching out to tease a hand along m/n’s stomach as m/n chuckled and swatted Bill’s hand away lightly.

“Likewise, but you’re half naked most days and roam the house in only a thong so truly i can’t complain.” M/n hummed, leaning down to kiss Bill’s head before shedding his own robe and stepping into the tub aswell, sitting next to bill as he took a sip of wine.

The bathtub was large, big enough for probably four people to fit, but bill had booked a ‘lovers suite’ so it wasn’t very surprising how large the bathtub was. The water was warm and the room smelled of lavender and the vanilla scented candles bill had lit, along with a soft tinge of cigarettes from the lit cig in Bill’s hand. Usually m/n would scold bills smoking but tonight was a night to relax, not to argue.

M/n took one last sip of wine before setting it on the small table with Bill’s phone, humming and wrapping an arm around Bill’s waist to pull him closer for a kiss. Bill rolled his eyes and sat his glass down as well, accepting and reciprocating the kiss sweetly, letting a tiny bit of the lust seep through. The kiss got more and more heated between them before m/n’s hand sneaked between Bill’s legs and casually fondled Bill’s balls causing bill to pull back with a small mix of a gasp and squeal.

“M/n!” Bill whined, huffing when m/n laughed at him. “It’s not funny you asshole!”

“Oh c’mon bill just relax, you wanted to fuck earlier.” M/n hummed, bringing his hand up to gently rub Bill’s side.

“Please?” M/n pouted, giving bill puppy eyes until he obliged and kissed m/n again.

“Fine, but I don’t wanna do any work tonight.”

“Deal.” M/n murmured, pulling bill into a more passionate kiss as one hand gripped Bill’s waist and one rubbed Bill’s inner thigh, so much for just relaxing.

Sorry for taking so long on that request!And sorry it’s so short! I’ve been struggling to pump out bots and fics recently so please don’t be mad at me guys😓 love you guys!

Tags: @itsmealaiahh @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @billskeis @divinelolita @cherry-rawr @d0wn-in-the-morgue (LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED TO MY TAGS!!)

[luvingshidou]

Can you do a part 2 of the bllk boys reacting to their gf doing ballet but with isagi, ness and nagi?

SUREEEE 🫶🫶🫶

CHARMED

bllk boy x fem! ballerina! reader part 2

established relationship

thank u anonnn💗💗💗

probs ooc

ISAGI YOICHI

Isagi was coming back to both yours and his apartment after a long day of practice. He was exhausted and just wanted a hot bath, and to cuddle up with you, he did text you that he'd be back home very soon. Oh, how he wished he was already in your arms. After another while of walking, Isagi was at your front door. He got his keys out and began opening the door. As soon as he did, he saw you standing in front of him ballet gear still on. For a minute, he froze up not knowing what to say. You've never told him about this????

"Sweetheart, you do ballet????" He asks as he walks up to you, closing the door behind him.

"Y-yes." You muttered quietly, nodding almost sheepishly, your cheeks becoming red out of embarrassment.

"Oh??? How long have you been doing it for???" Isagi asks, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Four years, sorry for not telling you, Yoi." You say, still very embarrassed by him catching you in your ballet gear.

"Hmmm, it okay, baby!!! Plus, I can watch my pretty girlfriend do all those beautiful spins and twirls!!!" He says, smiling down at you.

"Yoichi, you don't even know if I'm good." You say, looking up at him as he kept on smiling at you.

"Huh, I don't need to???" He says, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for a hug.

ALEXIS NESS

Ness was cleaning around the house while you were sleeping after a long day of studying and working. He wanted to help you out since you were usually the one cleaning most of the time while he was at practice. After ironing one of your dresses, he was about to hang it up in your wardrobe, but that's when he saw a pair of ballet shoes hidden behind some of your clothes.

Why were they there??? Maybe one of your friends left them here??? Do you not trust him to tell him that you do ballet??? Ness mind was racing with different scenarios, most of them just being him overthinking. Ness decided to forget about them and was about to put them back when you came in the room.

"A-ah, angel!!!" He said, his voice filled with uncertainty as he hid the ballet shoes behind him. "How was your sleep???"

"Good." You mumble groggily, stretching your arms. That's when you noticed the ballet shoes that Ness was hiding behind his back. Fuck.

"Baby, where did you find those ballet shoes????" You ask him, slightly surprised that he even found them.

"Uhm, they were in the wardrobe, darling." Ness replies. That's when you remember the last time Ness nearly caught you practing, so you chucked the shoes at the back of your wardrobe. "Do you not trust me enough to tell me that you do ballet???" Ness asks, his lips curling into a frown.

"Baby, no, I— I just know you're busy, I don't want you to waste time by watching me perform." You say, wrapping your arms around him to give him a hug.

Ness hugs you back, his frown turing into a smile from your warm embrace. "Darling, I want to see you perform, I want to see how pretty you'd look."

NAGI SEISHIRO

You and Nagi were cuddling together in bed. He was on his phone scrolling through Instagram while you were watching him look at reels and photos that had the humour of a 12 year old teenage boy. When a video of you performing competitively at a competition came, Nagi instantly knew it was you, but the way you moved had Nagi mesmerised, you moved so gracefully.

"Angel, you move beautifully." He murmurs, still staring at his phone. "Why didn't ya tell me???"

"Cause you'd probably find it a hassle to watch me perform, lazyhead." You sigh, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Well, not if you perform like that." The tall white head mumbles lazily, putting his phone down for once and began to look at you.

"Ah, so the lazy genius wouldn't mind going to watch me perform??? Wouldn't it be too much of a hassle for ya???" You ask, smirking slightly to yourself in amusement.

Nagi wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a cosy embrace. "When it comes to you, pretty I don't mind if anythings a hassle." Nagi mumbles as he began to smile slightly at you.

[florawrites-blog]

You sat on the couch, flipping through the pictures on your phone from earlier in the day. One photo caught your eye—a shot of you smiling, but something about it didn’t feel right. You stared at it for a moment before your fingers nervously brushed your lips.

“Do my teeth look crooked in this pic?” you suddenly asked, turning to Heeseung, who was sitting beside you.

Heeseung, ever attentive, immediately perked up. His brows furrowed in mock concern, and he leaned in closer.

"Omg, let me see," he said, playfully exaggerating his words.

He moved closer, his face now just inches from yours, studying you like he was on a serious mission. You grinned widely, baring your teeth so he could take a good look. But instead of the teasing comment or reassurance you were expecting, Heeseung’s expression shifted. His playful demeanor softened into something more tender. He placed two fingers gently under your chin, lifting your face slightly, causing your breath to hitch.

His eyes locked with yours, and suddenly the air felt different—warmer, more intimate. You blinked, wondering what he was about to say. His face leaned even closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. But instead of speaking, Heeseung did something completely unexpected.

He kissed your teeth.

Your eyes widened in shock, your mind reeling from the strange, unexpected affection. You blinked, utterly confused, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Who even thinks of something like that?

Heeseung pulled back slightly, a mischievous grin on his face as if he knew exactly how surprised you were. He scrunched his nose in that cute way he always did when he was up to something.

“Mmm, nope. They’re perfectly alright,” he said, his voice light with humor. “You look like a piranha—" He paused for dramatic effect, his grin widening. "Even better, my piranha."

You couldn’t help but burst into giggles, the absurdity of the moment melting any insecurity you had. Heeseung’s laughter followed yours, warm and carefree. Before you could recover, he leaned in again, this time until your noses were brushing against each other, the space between you nonexistent.

Your giggles quieted as you both lingered there, faces so close it felt like time had paused. The warmth of his smile, the sound of his laughter, and the softness in his eyes made your heart swell with affection. It was impossible not to feel happy when Heeseung was like this—teasing, affectionate, and always knowing exactly how to make you feel like the only person in the world.

Your noses brushed again, and you giggled softly, still trying to process how you went from worrying about your teeth to Heeseung kissing them.

“Who even thinks of that?” you asked, shaking your head with a grin.

“I do,” Heeseung whispered, his voice filled with laughter as his forehead rested against yours.

And in that moment, with barely an inch between you, both of you giggling like little kids, you realized that no one could ever make you feel as light and carefree as Heeseung did.

[1-800-papaya]

Not so southern

Jay Halstead x Baker!Reader Warnings: Mentions of death and loss of parent

A Letter. A deathbed confession. It wasn’t something Y/N had ever expected a mere month after the death of her mother. She’d barely returned to Chicago after the funeral, barely returned to the cafe; she’d barely returned to Jay.

The open letter lay still on the table of the couple’s home. Y/N sat frozen, her eyes locked on the carefully written words floating in a river of unanswered questions in her mind. Her mother truly knew she had to leave an impression. But could she call the woman who had raised her her mother? Was it right to attach that title to a woman who had kept a life-altering secret from her? It was sitting at the table, her mind reeling that her newly minted husband found her later that afternoon.

Jay groaned as he dragged his tired body. The day didn’t seem to end, and a tough case was always twisting and evolving into something ugly and demented. When, Voight had finally allowed his detectives to leave and gather their strength, Jay had all but leapt from his desk and rushed out of the district. Though his partner’s tired, teasing smiles didn’t escape his eyes. The routine that had developed over the last two years wasn’t something Jay enjoyed breaking, but the light and warmth he longed for was not dusted in powder sugar or smeared in chocolate behind a counter.

The small two-story home’s door never felt so heavy as when the day dragged on like an endless tunnel. Jay could tell straight away that something was wrong. The house was cold and still. The only movement was Luna slinking to greet him. While Jay loved Y/N’s two furballs, Milo grated Jay’s last nerve most days; Luna and her subdued personality were more his speed. There was no warm feeling that filled each visitor; no delicious gooey chocolate smell filled the air.

“Hi Lu, do you know what’s going on? Hmm, Sunshine?” no response. Jay’s nerves grew. He knew she was home; her precious bronco was sitting in the driveway. Jay wondered aimlessly through the house before finding his loving wife sitting still like a stone statue.

“Y/N/N, love”, Jay’s voice was soft as he gently approached the young woman. Kneeling beside her, Jay watched as she turned slowly, and his concern grew when he noticed the rivers of silent tears that were running steadily down her cheeks. “What’s wrong”

Y/N didn’t trust her voice. Everything in her life felt like it was betraying her like it was wrong. Silently her shaking hand reached for the letter, a piece of paper that felt as heavy as concrete. She didn’t trust her wobbling voice to convey the news her ‘mother’ was telling her from beyond the grave. She looked away as reality started to sink in and her sobs became audible, breaking her husbands heart as he read his late mother-in-laws words.

Dear Y/N, I know now that my days are numbered, and I can feel life leaving me as my strength drains more each day. As such, I have a secret, my dear, that I feel I need to tell you now. It is a secret I once told myself I would’ve told you by now, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do so. This is much harder than I thought. I hope you will forgive me for keeping such information from you, dear. You are adopted. Your father and I loved each other but could not have children. When we saw your little face, we fell in love. The orphanage was overrun and loud, yet you were sound content…so peaceful. Now, I know this is quite shocking, and we may never be given the opportunity to talk, given my health. But I want you to continue to be yourself, darling. Do not let this change you. I saw how happy you are with Jay. Mary has shown me a lot of photos you sent of your wedding. I know you may have questions, so I have spent my recent spike in free time doing the work for you. Your original birth certificate will be sent alongside this letter. I do hope we see each other again before I leave, but if we do not, please do not linger too much on this information. You have quite a life ahead of you with Jay, live it, if not for me dear, but for yourself. Love Mum

Jay instinctively reached for the other piece of paper sitting neatly on the table—a birth certificate—an Illinois birth certificate. His eyes scanned the document. Shock filled his very being when he fully registered the names written in the father and mother of child boxes. Camille and Hank Voight. His wife was the daughter of his boss. Within seconds, his eyes flickered up, and his body moved quicker than his thoughts. Wrapping his arms loving and tightly around Y/N, Jay offered comfort and affection that she accepted without hesitation.

“I still love you, Sunshine”, Jay mumbled into his wife of barely two months’ hair. Y/N didn’t say a word, not that Jay needed a response. The house stayed still and silent for most of the night; she became numb and motionless as Jay moved about and eventually carried her to their bed, reassuring her that nothing between them had changed.

Tag List @smoothdogsgirl

[roosterforme]

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Your weekend is over and you say goodbye to Bradley, but you both hope that it won't be another ten years before seeing each other again. Bradley was desperate for more of you, and this time, he'd make sure to do whatever he needed to get it. He just needs you to fulfill your end of the deal first.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, swears, and angst

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

You didn't want to move. Ever. You just wanted to lay here on top of Bradley on your bed in your little house. Keep him with you forever. 

This moment was too perfect. His hands rubbed your back underneath the soft fabric of his Grateful Dead shirt, and he was singing to you. He was singing the lyrics of your tattoo, with something extra added on.

You don't know how easy it is to love you, Sugar.

Part of you wanted to fall asleep like this, absorbing his body heat, and his voice, and his love. But you didn't know for sure when you'd get to see him again. You didn't want to think about the possibility that you might not. 

Because admitting that you loved each other ten years ago and saying you still felt that way now.... well, that didn't necessarily mean that you and Bradley would be able to mesh your separate lives together into something you could both live with. Although, this weekend that you got to spend reunited with him did feel more serendipitous than you'd like to admit. Your mind was still reeling, still searching for the logic in this situation.  

When Bradley stopped singing and you felt his fingers at the back of your neck, you sighed and let yourself enjoy this moment. After you pressed your lips to his scars, you asked him, "Will you send me those selfies you texted to Nat?"

Bradley studied your face, and even with the soft lighting, you could tell his cheeks were flushing with color. "Sure." He kissed you gently and then slipped out from under you to retrieve his phone from the bathroom while you located yours under a pile of discarded clothing on your floor. 

"What is it?" you asked, when he sprawled out on your bed once more. "You're blushing right now, Beer Boy."

He handed you his unlocked phone and cleared his throat as you crawled over next to him. "You can send them to yourself. I already saved them to a folder."

"Okay," you said, taking his phone and looking at the wallpaper, which was a picture of his Super Hornet. "Which folder?" 

You tapped on the photo gallery and it opened to neatly organized pictures with labels and dates. He had things pertaining to his aircraft, one labeled 'House Projects', and then you saw one that made you suck in a short breath.

There was a folder labeled 'Sugar' at the top of the gallery. 

"You have a whole folder of...me?"

He just nodded, his brows furrowed now. "The passcode is your birthday. Text whatever you want to yourself." You could tell he was trying for a tone of nonchalance, but it wasn't translating as cool as he probably thought it was. You typed in your four digit birthday, and the folder opened.

At the top you saw the selfies he had taken just a few hours ago, the ones he sent to his best friend. You started to select them, but then decided to scroll down to see more. 

"I thought you said you had one picture of us that you showed to Nat and Bob," you whispered, but Bradley just shrugged.

The folder was filled with candid shots of you from ten years ago at frat parties and in the library study room. There were some where you were smiling and biting your lip, others where you were concentrating on a textbook and paying him no mind. He had even taken a picture of his bedroom door at some point, on which he had written 'SUGAR what's your number?'

"Bradley," you whispered, but he was running his hand through his hair and looking at the ceiling. The pictures you had taken to make Phoebe jealous were all there, too. You and he were in the kitchen at the Beta house, enjoying your fake spring break together. There were photos of you kissing and licking his lips, one of you sucking melted chocolate off of his fingers, and several of Bradley touching and kissing your bare breasts. 

"I took those to make Phoebe jealous," you whispered, looking at him while he still avoided your gaze. "I thought you would have deleted them."

He shook his head. "Couldn't bring myself to. Couldn't delete any of them."

You paused for a beat, looking at a selfie of the two of you a few weeks before graduation. He was standing behind you with his arms wrapped around you and his chin resting on your shoulder. You both looked unbelievably happy. 

"Did your other girlfriends mind that you kept these?"

Bradley rolled his eyes at you. "Why do you think it has a passcode? None of them knew about it."

You bit your lip and inched closer until your knees were bumping his side. "Do you have a folder for each of your other ex girlfriends, too?" you asked softly. 

Bradley finally reached for you, pulling you so you were straddling his lap and looking down at him. "You see any other folders in there?"

You didn't need to scroll to know he only had a folder of you, so you shook your head and started selecting all of the pictures in the 'Sugar' folder to send to yourself. 

"It's just you," Bradley whispered. "I've only ever been in love with you."

You hit send and leaned down to kiss him while your phone lit up across the bed. 

"I can't fucking believe I could have been texting you this whole time," he said as you kissed his cheek. "I figured you'd blocked me permanently. Or that you had a different phone number. I thought you were probably married."

You laughed and asked, "Would you have really texted me?"

"Hell no," Bradley replied, holding you against him. "Couldn't deal with the disappointment of you not remembering who I was."

You kissed him for a long time. Eventually you both slipped under the blankets, rolling onto your sides and sharing the softest touches. Every gentle brush of his lips against yours felt like the promise he made to you, felt like he would wait to hear your answer after you visited both schools.

"You think I could forget you? I've only ever been in love with you too, Bradley."

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

Every time Bradley pulled you close to him, you lit him up with your laughter. "I don't want to leave," he whined over and over again as you and he made breakfast together on Sunday morning. He couldn't stop touching you through the soft fabric of his old shirt. "Fuck the Navy. I'm staying here."

"You don't mean that," you said with a smile. "Don't you miss your friends? And your Super Hornet?" You were being coy now, and he didn't know if it was because you were going to miss him too, or because you wanted to know where you ranked.

Bradley groaned dramatically. "I don't miss Nat. She was downright sweet to you when you were texting last night. But she's never that nice to me. And I guess I miss flying, but pretty soon, I'll be doing that every day for six weeks."

"That's true, I suppose."

While you tried to plate some pancakes, Bradley whispered, "I'd rather be doing you every day for six weeks."

You giggled and looked up at him over your shoulder. "You always were smooth, Beer Boy. Too smooth for your own good. But does that mean you'll be thinking about me at night? On the aircraft carrier? When you're tired and unable to sleep?"

His eyes drifted closed. Now he had a whole arsenal of images he just knew would be circulating through his mind; 21 year old Sugar and 31 year old Sugar. Both too sweet for him, but exactly what he wanted. 

"Not only then. I'll be thinking about you a lot. Waiting to hear from you as soon as I dock back in San Diego."

You fed him bites of pancake while he caged you in against the kitchen counter. "How will I know when you get back? Do they tell you the date ahead of time?"

"Yeah, but sometimes it changes according to the weather and mission parameters. I'll text you as soon as I can. Don't worry about that. You can tell me about the schools, and we can talk on the phone and catch up."

"Okay," you agreed, setting the food off to the side and wrapping your arms around him. And now Bradley was feeling guilty again. He shouldn't be talking to you like this right now. There were too many things up in the air. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't thinking of ways to get a transfer to Florida if you picked Miami. He couldn't live without you now. 

He took your face in both of his hands, running his thumb along your swollen lips and smiling at the dark smudges under your eyes. Neither of you had slept much last night, and Bradley had been kissing you almost nonstop. "I love you, Sugar."

Your eyes drifted closed briefly before you nodded against his hands. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"I don't know if I can stop now."

"Don't."

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

After you ate, you spent hours in your bed with Bradley, talking and touching each other. Your words grew softer, and you found yourself clinging to him a bit more as the morning turned to early afternoon. You were laughing, and he was kissing your shoulder when suddenly a soft sob escaped your lips. 

He pulled back to look up at you, but you just shook your head. "I don't want you to leave."

Then he was looking at you like he was in agony. "I would stay if I could. You know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Our timing kind of sucks, but maybe we can figure it all out. You're smart, Sugar," he murmured as his lips found your tattoos. "You'll figure it out and let me know where I stand." When you opened your mouth to tell him you could figure it all out right now, he kissed your lips. "But not yet," he added. 

Did this man really think you'd fall in love with Miami more than you loved him? You almost laughed, but then he was sucking on one of the spots on your neck that was still tender from last night's activities. 

"Bradley," you whined softly. He was hard and pressing against your clit just right. His tongue and lips were soothing your neck only to be met with his prickly mustache. 

"I need to leave soon, baby. Tell me how you need it."

The most unholy moan left your lips, and you were surprised you could sound that needy. "Slow. Just go slow."

He nodded against you, sliding through your silky wetness and entering you so leisurely, it somehow felt filthy. When you tried to press up against him to take him faster and deeper, Bradley scolded you.

"No, no. You're getting it slow, Sugar. It's what you need. I need it, too."

"Fuck," you gasped, winding your fingers in his pretty hair while he spread your pussy wide, squeezing your thighs. "Bradley."

And you knew this might be your last time with him like this. At least for a while. 

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

Bradley was in heaven, basking in the little sounds you made just for him. You had told him he was the best and that you still loved him. But he wanted to be your only one.  

As he worked his thumb softly along your clit, he paused his ministrations each time he felt you clench around him. "Please." Your voice was soft and broken, and after he'd taken you close but not all the way a few times, you were begging. "Bradley."

He responded by kissing his name on your lips and tasting your tongue. He swiped his fingers against your clit just the way you liked it best, and you anchored yourself to him with your fingers tugging on his hair.

"Shh, nice and slow," he grunted next to your ear, and once again you were clenching around him. Your moans were building like a crescendo, and soon he was panting just like you were. "I love you. I'd wait forever to be with you again."

He watched a tear leak from the corner of your eye, and he kissed it away as you came on his cock. Bradley rocked into you slowly, watching you squeeze your eyes shut as he filled you up, rubbing his lips and mustache along your neck. 

Finally you were looking up at him again, and he was just as mesmerized by your beautiful, expressive face now as he had been in college. Your voice was soft and spent as you whispered, "I love you, too, Beer Boy."

But he knew it was time to leave you. The idea of being away from you again had him panicking like it did before. What if you changed your mind while he was gone for six weeks? Completely out of contact with you? "I'm not going anywhere, Sugar. But I do need to leave."

"I understand." You smiled softly at him, and then your lip quivered as your eyes filled with tears. Bradley withdrew himself from the comfort of your body and wrapped you in his arms. 

"I'll text you when I get back. You can let me know when you're able to call me, and we can figure this shit out, okay? I'll text you before I even text Nat, and she's the one who's supposed to pick me up."

You laughed softly against his ear. "Promise me you'll be safe when you're deployed."

He kissed your temple. "Sugar, you know I can't promise you that. But I can promise you that I love you now, and I will still love you in six weeks no matter what happens." He held onto you until the last possible minute, knowing he'd miss his flight if he waited any longer. 

When he stood up and started to gather his clothes, you tracked his movements with your eyes. "I'll come to the airport with you. I can Uber back," you told him, jumping out of bed and pulling on the tie dyed shirt and some shorts. 

Bradley watched you move around your bedroom, slipping on shoes and grabbing your purse before tucking yourself against his chest. 

"We're just prolonging the inevitable, baby."

"I don't care," you replied defiantly. "I'll get an extra thirty minutes with you."

The way you could make Bradley's heart soar left him grinning. "Alright, Sugar. Let's get me to the airport."

The ride was quiet, but you held his hand in both of yours while he drove, and he sang a few Grateful Dead songs. "Sing me my song," you demanded softly, kissing his fingers. 

Bradley laughed softly. "You know, you're so perfect, Sugar, it probably was somehow written with you in mind." And then he sang for you until he pulled into the airport to return his rental car. 

You kept a firm hold on his hand until you walked him as far as you could go without a boarding pass. When Bradley set down his bag to give you a proper goodbye, your lips were immediately on his. "I love you, Beer Boy," you whispered between kisses. The brush of your lips against his mustache had him holding you tight against him, and he dug his fingers gently into the back of your neck. He kissed you so hard, you were moaning into his mouth, swiping his tongue with yours.

"I never stopped loving you," he panted, breaking away and resting his cheek against your forehead. "You seemed like a mirage the other night, at the bar. I never thought I'd get a chance to look at you again."

You laughed softly. "You can do more than look at me, Bradley. Anytime you want."

Bradley wanted a commitment now. He could feel in his very bones how right that would be. But this wasn't the time for it. "Remember what you promised me."

You nipped along his jaw, saying, "I'll look at both schools, Lieutenant Bradshaw. And then I will report back to you when you are once again on dry land."

"That's my girl," he crooned, and your gaze met his with so many unspoken questions and answers. "I'll be thinking about you. Just like I always do." He kissed your cheek and then pressed his lips to your mouth in one final kiss before getting in line for security. You stood there in his favorite shirt and watched him until you couldn't see him any longer, your arms wrapped around your midsection while you cried. 

He used his phone to call you a ride back to your house and texted you the information. You wrote back right away. 

This was the best weekend of my life.

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

You were so antsy to talk to Bradley. You were thinking about him all the time now. As you sat on your desk in your office, eating a sandwich and looking at your packed boxes, you wondered if he was eating dinner. Or maybe it was the middle of the night where he was. Maybe he was thinking about you, too.

This room reminded you of him, and he had only been here once. This desk especially reminded you of him. When you passed Ted, the security guard on your way in earlier, you thought about Bradley while Ted blushed and greeted you softly. 

And that's how it had been for the past two weeks. You had Beer Boy on your mind almost nonstop. Sure, he'd popped into your thoughts pretty frequently over the last ten years, but this was overpowering. Now that you knew you could reach him by phone if you wanted to, you hated that he was deployed and out of contact. 

You sighed, giving in to your urge once more to scroll through Nat's Instagram page. You had already memorized every post with Bradley in it, but it didn't hurt to look once more. And then you told yourself it would be okay to look at all of the photos that had been in his secret Sugar folder. 

You had to tip your head back and press your lips together to keep from moaning, because just the thought of Bradley keeping those pictures for ten years made you want him badly. 

And then started the vicious cycle of hating deployments. 

"Fuck," you groaned, tucking your phone away. You would drop your boxes off with your friend Veronica, and then you had another week in Virginia before you started your adventure. 

First stop, Miami.

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

Bradley was laying in his tiny bed aboard the USS Ronald Reagan, thinking about you. He wondered if you were in Miami or San Diego yet. He wondered if you had visited either of the schools. He wondered if you had made a decision and how he would fit into it. 

He was halfway through his deployment, and it had been so boring. Even though he desperately wanted to talk to you, he had decided to give you some space while he was gone. So instead, he'd used his one facetime call to talk to Nat, but he had spent most of it catching her up on his weekend in Virginia.

"You're still in love with her," Nat had said with dreamy eyes. 

"Yes. I am still in love with her. And I've given her the power to break my heart a second time. Nat, I won't survive."

But in typical best friend fashion, she had been able to calm his nerves and tell him he needed to focus on work for now and give you some space. He would give you as much time and space as you wanted or needed, if he just knew for sure he could see you again.

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

They parted ways, and I want to cry. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[thefrogman]

Fishing for Follows

I don't really like Instagram.

It does a bad job of displaying photos as an artist intends. So artists have to adapt their photos to conform to how Instagram works. Any photography that involves high resolution detail get shrunk down and compressed and usually seen on a tiny screen. But if you do want to see it on a proper screen, the desktop version of the site still shrinks your work and dedicates half the page to comments. Put the comments underneath! They want you to use their crops and their shitty filters. And for some reason, everyone uses reels now instead of just a regular post. Timers make me anxious! I don't like the pressure of having to consume the content in the time alotted. Sometimes my brain works slow and I just want to process what I'm seeing. And then if I want to come back and see that thing again, IT'S GONE! Why do you all like self-destruction so much?

Oh and there is no real community sharing infrastructure so if you want to build any kind of following it's like twice as hard.

Instagram kinda sucks, is what I'm saying.

But I am trying to be a legit photographer again and Instagram is where all of the photographers seem to end up.

And if I want to get clients at some point I will be asked, "what's your Insta?" from people wanting to vet my work and see if I have chops.

So I am trying to curate a collection of my best work.

Due to being a full time caregiver for both of my parents, I had to quit photography for a few years. Most of my work was captured before 2017, but it is all edited in 2024. So, I was not nearly as good at lighting, but I can mostly make up for that with my much more advanced editing skills.

Like, I took this photo of a shoe with a full studio setup and fancy lights.

Cut to present day, my studio is now a storage room, my fancy lights are gone, and all I have is a tiny front room and two inexpensive video lights.

I feel like I did more with less.

I spent these past 6 years studying the blade.

My brain is filled with so much knowledge.

And once I rebuild my studio, I'm going to photograph some cool shit.

And so... if you don't mind...

Would you please follow me on Insta?

Do I really have to say it like that?

Can I just say Instagram? Embrace my age a little?

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE (iv)

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 1865

part 4 this has some very minor mentions of body image stuff if you dont like it you could just skip over it ://

part i part ii part iii

Yn’s arrival in Monza carried a sense of self that had been slowly rebuilding all season. She moved with renewed confidence through the paddock, her head held high, embodying the fierce passion and easy-going charm that had once captivated fans in her junior days. Here, under the electric atmosphere of Italy’s temple of speed, she felt herself settling in, embracing the spotlight rather than shrinking from it.

Press day buzzed around her, a mix of genuine questions and the probing kind that often skirted on invasive. She answered with a cool, unwavering smile, handling questions about her race performance and strategy with ease. But some journalists were still hung up on the idea of her supposed transformation, finding subtle ways to question her ambition and intensity.

A reporter cut through the murmur with a pointed question: “Yn, some fans feel you’ve changed since moving into Formula 1. They say your intensity now is… well, a bit harsh compared to your easy-going reputation before. What do you think about that?”

Yn took a measured breath, holding the reporter’s gaze. “I think everyone grows and adapts,” she replied, her tone steady. “I’ve had to become tougher—this is Formula 1. You don’t get to this level by staying exactly the same.” She smiled, tilting her head slightly, knowing her response might surprise them. “But I’m still me. Maybe they just don’t know the whole me yet.”

Inside, however, Yn felt the familiar weight of their criticisms. Headlines seemed to dissect her appearance as much as her performance. She’s always known what it felt like to be looked at but not seen, to feel reduced to surface-level perceptions. Later in the garage, she scrolled through social media, seeing how her every move was scrutinized, with articles speculating on her appearance and attitude. A headline caught her eye, dissecting how she looked and speculating on her dedication. It stung, yet Yn brushed it off as best as she could, knowing what mattered most were the hours she put in, the passion and drive that defined her journey.

During a break, she slipped outside for a moment, breathing in the cool air and finding a rare sense of calm. Standing by the paddock entrance, she felt a nudge on her shoulder. Yuki, with a comforting grin, extended a cup of coffee toward her.

“All good?” he asked, his eyes bright with the same familiar warmth she’d come to count on.

She chuckled, taking the coffee. “Am I that transparent?”

He shook his head, nudging her gently. “No, you’re strong as hell. Just don’t forget that,” he replied.

Yn smiled down at the coffee, grateful for Yuki’s support. In Monza, she felt a freedom that hadn’t been there for a long time—permission to be herself without apology, knowing she had someone in her corner.

The weekend drew out a renewed side of her, and fans were quick to notice her lighthearted interactions with Yuki. TikTok and Instagram filled with reels and montages of the two sharing inside jokes, quiet encouragements, and lingering glances. Their connection sparked countless posts:

@GridGoddess: If Yn has a #1 fan, it’s Yuki for sure 🥹 #YukiYn

@RaceRomantics: The way they just… get each other? God when will it be my turn?!

@PitStopParadise: Can’t believe people judge her she’s literally my GOAT.

Amid the noise of judgment, Yn also felt a quiet source of strength growing, both from Yuki’s presence and her newfound resilience. She realized that her journey wasn’t for validation from fans or critics, but for herself.

That night, she and Yuki found a quiet corner at a small Monza restaurant, sharing stories over dinner as if it were just them against the world. When a few photos of them laughing surfaced online, fans noticed the quiet bond between them—an understanding that went beyond words. She deserves someone like Yuki, a fan tweeted, someone who’s her equal on and off the track.

With race day approaching, Yn’s focus intensified. Every lap around the circuit, every second shaved off her time, felt like her own triumph, undiluted by headlines or opinions. As she put on her helmet before practice the next day, she caught Yuki’s eye, and he gave her a confident nod.

Race day in Monza held a restless energy in the air, heightened by the sharp roar of engines and the flash of flags. Yn felt a pulse of determination beating through her, gripping the wheel with an intensity she hoped would carry her through the demanding laps ahead. As the lights went out, she carved her way through each corner, holding off fierce competition and securing a spot within the points. By the time she crossed the finish line, she could feel the relief of a race well-executed, even as she knew the spotlight would focus just as much on her demeanor as her results.

She made her way to the pit lane, pulling off her helmet and savoring the sounds of her team’s cheers, the satisfaction of another solid performance in the books. But as she looked around, her eyes fell on Yuki, who had also finished within the points but seemed to be reeling with adrenaline. His helmet was off, and his expression held a smirk of satisfaction that was more defiant than usual. Yn couldn’t help but laugh; she’d heard his radios during the race, the frustration and raw emotion that bled through his exchanges with his engineers. He’d been more aggressive on track than ever, pushing boundaries and holding his ground in a way she admired.

Yn walked over to him, smiling as he caught her eye. “Pushed it a bit today, huh?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Yuki shrugged, smirking in return. “Didn’t hear them complaining when it got us into the points,” he replied, unbothered. “Sometimes you have to ignore the noise and go for it.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Guess so,” she said, both of them knowing how different the reaction would be if she’d been the one shutting down her engineers with the same bite or cutting through the grid with that kind of aggression.

But as they made their way back into the paddock, social media was quick to start dissecting the race. Fans and analysts alike noted the sharpness in Yuki’s demeanor over the radio, his unabashed intensity on the track. Comments trickled in about his fierceness:

@F1Hearted: “Yuki’s intensity out there—exactly what we need. He was just defending his position like a champ.”

@GridGoddess: “Seeing Yuki hold his ground? No one could say he wasn’t going all-in today.”

@RaceForGlory: “Yuki letting out some heat on the radio… we love a driver who knows what he wants.”

But alongside these supportive voices, Yn saw a few familiar phrases creeping into her feed—posts from those who’d noticed the contrast. No one was labeling Yuki’s behavior as “too much” or “emotional.” No one was implying he lacked the control to handle the pressure. The familiar double standard sat in the back of her mind like a shadow, a reminder of how different things could look when she was the one showing that level of intensity.

@F1RaceQueen: “Funny how when Yuki goes full throttle, it’s ‘passion,’ but when Yn does it, they can’t wait to call her ‘too emotional’ or ‘out of control.’”

@EqualSpeed: “Imagine if Yn spoke to her engineers like that? Guarantee they’d be all over it in the media by now.”

@PitStopPrincess: “Yuki’s aggression: ‘Driven.’ Yn’s aggression: ‘Emotional.’ When are we gonna let her race with the same freedom?”

Yn didn’t need these comments to tell her what she already knew. She’d felt the double standard for years—how her every move, every calculated risk, came under scrutiny, analyzed and picked apart with an intensity that often felt like it wasn’t even about her driving at all. Sympathy’s a knife when they only want to use it to cut you down, she thought. Yet somehow, her every success only sharpened the blade.

Later, she found Yuki relaxing in the hospitality tent, still carrying that sense of accomplishment despite the edgy drive. She joined him, pulling out a chair and watching as he glanced over, eyes glinting with amusement.

“So… intense race today?” she asked, unable to hide a grin.

“Had to be,” he replied, shrugging. “They’ll get over it. We’re here to drive, not win any popularity contests, right?”

She smiled, but her gaze softened. “If only it were that easy. Sometimes it feels like we’re driving two different races, you know? You can go out there, push the limits, and they see it for what it is. For me… they don’t just want to watch me drive…”

Yuki’s face fell for a moment, and he gave her a sympathetic nod. “Trust me, I see it too. It’s messed up… the things they say about you, about how you handle yourself.” He sighed, crossing his arms. 

She took a breath, “I’m learning to tune it out. Most of the time, anyway.” She glanced up at him, managing a small smile. “But thanks for seeing it.”

Yn would be lying if she said that she wasn’t even just a little bit jealous of the other drivers on the grid. Sure, they too got their fair share of criticisms, but they were also afforded a lot more freedom than she was. They could push boundaries, show frustration, and even make mistakes without it being dissected into a commentary on their character or capability. They weren’t labeled as “emotional” or “out of control” for a bit of aggression or a curt radio message. Instead, their passion was seen as intensity, their mistakes as just a part of the game.

She knew it was because they were men, that their presence on the grid was never questioned, never viewed as something “out of place.” No one saw their outbursts as a threat or their ambition as too much to handle. They were allowed to be fierce, even volatile, because it was accepted as part of what made them great competitors. Meanwhile, she had to fight not only for her results but for the right to be seen as a competitor at all—without every emotion or misstep being judged under a microscope.

Sometimes she wished she had that same freedom to just drive, to let herself be ruthless without second-guessing every reaction, wondering how it would be spun or if it would become a talking point. She wanted the same unspoken allowance to be aggressive, to be a risk-taker, without it being a commentary on her “femininity” or a challenge to her professionalism. But instead, she had to keep a tight hold on every word, every expression, every surge of frustration, because the world was waiting, eager to box her in or define her by anything other than her skill.

The jealousy wasn’t rooted in resentment toward her fellow drivers but in a longing to be given the same space to race freely, to know that her drive, her ambition, her mistakes, and her success could simply be hers. And as she watched the other drivers on the grid, it became clear: she wanted nothing more than to be seen as one of them, an equal, no qualifiers attached.

[shy-taylorsversion]

Savior Complex - Chapter One

(Photos do not reflect the reader's appearance and are just for vibes)

Pairing(s) - Negan Smith x Reader, Daryl Dixon x Reader

Chapter Summary - Reader wakes up in the hands of the Saviors, still reeling from previous events.

Word Count - 1.2k

Warnings - Events of the lineup, mentions of violence and injuries, canon typical violence, explicit language, disassociation

A/N - Story is actually starting now, really hope y'all like it :) Also my formatting on here is terrible so i apologize if it looks wonky.

There was blood in her eyes.

It stuck to her face in half-crusted streaks. Small beads trickled down into her eyes, stinging and causing them to fill with moisture.

From pain or reflex, she wasn’t sure.

There was a distant thought that she was injured. She reached up to her temple and wasn’t surprised when it was wet and sticky, covered in crimson.

A small gash from what she could make out, if it was hurting she couldn’t tell.  A throbbing sensation from the back of her head caught her attention, she reached around to feel and winced. It was soaked, more blood.  Congelaed and sticking to her hair and neck.  She wiped her fingers on her jeans though the blood clung to the creases of her skin.

<p>   She was in a weird limbo between the solid world and something more, an in-between of corporal and spirit.   Floating in a way that made her cold, and body numb, like a limb that had fallen asleep. </p>

The memories of the night. She thinks it was night, it had been dark but maybe it had been early morning. The memories, they came in flashes and outbursts of disjointed violence and wretching screams.

  Leather, blood, a baseball bat, and more blood.  Glenn’s face, Maggie’s sobs. Flashes of red, hair this time. Immediately there was more blood. Headlights in the darkness, specs of dust floating around them.

Them.

Their faces were there, some of them. She’d only seen a few before the darkness came.

Rick, she was next to him. And Carl, oh Carl.

Daryl, she’d seen him. Her eyes found him in the midst of it all, she’d seen it for the first time in a while but it was there. 

Defeat. Fear.

It had laced its way over his face and seeped into her even across the lineup of horrified and grim figures. She’d wanted him to look at her, needed to know they’d figure it out and it’d all be okay but he never did.

Then the man was there, talking and laughing. He made jokes, vulgar and revolting.

The man with the bat. His name felt important, like she’d already said it, heard it a million times. But it wasn’t there, it was just his face.  Those dark eyes, that cruel smile, and even crueler words.

He kept talking through the whole thing, every swing of the bat was followed with a remark. He’d made a show of it, killing her friends, raining torment down on everyone she loved.

Abraham, Glenn

There was a detached sort of surrealism to realizing they were dead.

Silent tears streamed down her face the first time, screamed and kicked and fought before the next because Daryl had lunged himself toward the man who’d just killed Abraham. Then he was hauled back, and grabbed by men she didn’t know the names of either, and the man was yelling, a cold humor in his voice. 

  She’d moved without her own accord, leapt to her feet the second their hands had touched him.  Yelled for them to stop, to not touch him, let him go.

There was no plan in her mind, didn’t think about how she couldn’t physically overpower them. She couldn’t stay kneeling in the dirt, she couldn’t let them hurt him.

The man cackled then, said something about the show they were putting on for him but how much more difficult it’d all be now. 

She’d known she’d fucked up the second she’d moved, broken the rules he’d stated in the beginning. It hadn’t sunk in how grave of a fuck up she’d made until he’d slammed the bat onto Glenn’s head.

Everything after that was a blur, shouting and pulling. Someone grabbed her that time, held her there while the man finished his macabre performance and then there was a slam against her, pain radiating through her skull, someone yelled, and then the darkness came.

The first inkling of feeling came then, not from the pain or fear but at the memory of Glenn and his final promise to Maggie. Guilt curled itself deep and heavy into her stomach, burrowed and made itself home there and somehow left her even colder than before. Glenn was dead, and Maggie probably was too, their baby.

It had been her fault, she shouldn’t have moved. She’d killed them.

She shivered in the dark, held back the tears that formed.

<p>   She needed to focus. She inhaled and let it out, she couldn’t do this right now. She could break down when she got home, could cry and scream until that pit in her stomach had unraveled some. But not until she knew the rest of them were alive. </p>

  She was in the backseat of a truck, hands and feet unbound. She caught the reflection in the window, a blonde woman sat next to her with a gun in her hand. It wasn’t pointed in her direction but the threat was there, make one wrong move.

She didn’t know where they were, endless stretches of road and blurs of trees passed by them, and a wave of nausea fell over her.

A heavy fog settled over her mind, like the fog a few mornings ago before dawn when she watched as Daryl walked back through the gate.

Daryl.

He’d been next to her at the end when they’d held them both back. She hadn’t seen where they’d taken him, it happened too fast.

Somehow it was a fast-forwarded slow-motion, not happening in real-time. The whole night seemed to exist on a different plane. 

  Part of her wanted to believe she’d wake up soon, at home and in bed. The scent of tobacco floating throughout the room and a presence next to her, warm and inviting.

But she knew this was real.

The more time she spent thinking, piecing the events together the more evident it became. 

Her already fucked up life became more fucked up the second they were cornered and forced to their knees. 

Though how she was still alive? That was less obvious.

“Daryl?” Her throat was dry, voice croaking with the word. She didn’t look at anyone as she asked, letting herself focus on the fibers peeling up from the truck’s seat. “Where is he?”

No one responded at first. The men in the front didn’t acknowledge her presence, too entranced in their conversation to notice. The woman next to her shifted, clenched the gun tighter but turned her head.

“In the other truck.” It was short and to the point. She sounded stiff, almost annoyed.

Panic was steadily rising, building in her chest the more she took in her surroundings. The roads were unidentifiable, it was daylight but trees always looked like trees, no matter where they were. She was unarmed and injured, her head throbbed at the reminder.

 The world was swimming around her, the nausea never subsided. The sunbeams sent an ache through her, making her squint.  Her body was giving out by the second, consciousness slipping from her grasp.  Head hitting the cool glass of the window, she let her eyes slip shut.

She grabbed onto the last semblance of awareness and asked her final question.

“Is he alive?”

The woman responded, a smile laced through her voice.

  “For now.”

She nodded to herself.

She could work with that.

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat for nearly two years. At what point do you choose to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

A/N: Happy Monday! I hope everyone had a Harry-filled weekend! I know I did! I’m realizing that the more I write this, the more angst is coming through—which I’m not mad about—Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.6K

Tag List: @howling-wolf97 @sassamanda77 @babegoalsreads @palmettogal508 @indierockgirrl

@lizsogolden @sexymfharriet @pologoonies

Warning: Strong language, minor angst, eventual smut, emotional.

After the photoshoot, I caught the next flight to London, where I was meeting up with Annie and Kevin, who were already setting up base for our short stay. I had no idea Harry would be there when I walked into the studio to say goodbye to Alessandro. I certainly didn’t expect to do an impromptu photoshoot in my underwear, on full display for everyone—including Harry—to see, and eventually the whole world.

Leaving Italy felt like moving a mountain; at least, that’s what the exhausted ache in my body was portraying. When I imagined my first trip to Italy, I never expected to walk away feeling physically and emotionally drained. I had no time to process what had just happened or what the outcome would be. Instead, I found myself revisiting my past, trying to remember moments when time seemed to stand still—moments when I would have allowed myself to succumb to the gravitational pull that Harry had on me.

I thought it was all in my head, but then I kissed him—I fucking kissed him—It felt like being sucked into a vacuum chamber of our own demise, the kiss stealing my breath, carving open a sliver of space that only we existed in—it was just the two of us and the static of our bodies, exploring the curves and plains of one another. I found myself savoring each second, knowing that each moment that passed would become a memory I could take with me wherever I went—because I had to leave, and I knew that I would have to let whatever was unfolding between us go.

The entire plane ride was me trying to convince myself it wasn’t real, that none of it was real, but the second we stood in front of the screen, watching Alessandro skim through the photos, I saw it—It was there in the placement of a hand, or the way the camera caught a smile, a fleeting look, a chased kiss burdened with desire. It was honestly the sexiest photoshoot I’ve seen in a while, and that was the scariest part—to know that there would be proof of its possible existence, something I couldn’t hide from. 

As Harry had coaxed, I kept pushing myself to imagine that I was someone else, pretending we were playing our respective roles. Yet, as the shoot continued, I found that I was unable to separate the two, maybe even unwilling. 

Now, I was reeling in the aftermath, knowing it had only been hours since his hands had been all over my body, and I was lost in it—a daydream of our making—My sore lips served as a pleasant reminder that his lips had pressed against mine, and every time I drew my lips together, a ting of panic stirred in the pit of my stomach—mortified at the thought that we weren’t the only ones in that room. How many times did Alessandro interrupt a shot when it got too intense? How many outfit changes had we gone through? Each set being thrown to the floor, becoming part of the scenes unfolding before us—more evidence to feed that soft creep of guilt lurking around the corner in my mind.

When they finally called the shoot, my whole body ached with every movement, a dull throbbing at my center from fighting to find purchase. Our want became this incessant push of his rock-hard dick against the silk fabric of my panties, leaving me unfulfilled with a growing appetite of need—it brought me back to the curious time before sex, before clothes came off—when every make-out session became two bodies fumbling into different positions, desperately grinding at the surface, trying to remedy that deep set yearning within—and there in the bed that they rolled in at some point during the shot, we lay catching our breaths.

I needed one last glimpse of Harry stretched out on his back, the rise and fall of his chest, the gloss of sweat that cast a sheen glow across his inked skin. I needed these moments like I needed the air filling my lungs, and when he turned on his side, his head resting in the palm of his hand, his face said it all—a dizzy sense of euphoria spreading into a soft grin. I wanted to poke each dimple dipping into his cheeks and wondered if I was still allowed or had that sliver of space seal shut before I had a chance for closure, and why would I need closure in the first place?

That thought brought me back to reality like a door slamming shut—the startling realization that it wasn’t real. Everything that happened between us was for the sake of the photoshoot. The thought tightened my chest, a queasy churn in the depth of my belly gnawing at the back of my throat. I felt naked—exposed, on display for everyone’s amusement—and as I sat up, I looked down at my body, adjusting the straps of my bra as if it could hide everything I just did, everything we just did. 

“Everything okay?” Harry asked, and I straightened, swiping a thumb over my sore lips. When my hand returned to the bed, Harry reached over, running his finger over the smooth stone of my ring, slowly stroking it back and forth—He was so calm about everything—I mean, I’m sure he’s used to this. I know he just finished a movie with my friend, Florence. I’ve heard the stories, and they sounded steamy. That’s what this was; it was work, and this was a job.

“Yeah—” I answer softly, clearing my throat, “I’m okay, you?” I lie.

He looks up, his brows knitting together. “I don’t know…” he forces out as if the words are caught in his throat. I’m at a loss for what to say next because maybe I feel the same way, which should be weird. Perhaps he felt the same connection I did, and something about it felt like an ending. Soon, we’ll go our separate ways, and the thought of that hurt, tugging at the newfound longing, blossoming through my chest, rooting into unspoken desires I would carry with me for months to come.

I wasn't sure if he was looking for an answer, but as he searched my face, all I could do was shake my head, swallowing down the knot that was burning my throat because this wasn’t real. These feelings aren’t real, and when he swipes his finger over my ring again, I have to pull away—I have to pull away from him physically and mentally because this cannot be a thing.

“Shiloh…” he whispers. I look at him then, his hand reaching for my wrist as I scoot myself toward the edge of the bed. Alessandro calls out then, and I look away. 

“Come guys—come look at your gorgeous work!” 

When I glance back over at Harry, there’s something about his expression that’s almost pleading, desperate even, and I feel it—I swear I do—and it’s starting to sting, and I don’t trust myself right now. I’m afraid to look around; I’m so scared of what this might look like.

I’m embarrassed because I don’t usually lose control. I’ve always had a realistic grasp on most situations—everything in my life has to be calculated and controlled. It’s the only way to hold any sense of normalcy—especially with work. I can’t give everything, or there would be nothing left for myself.

These are my thoughts as I lay in my hotel bed at three o’clock in the morning, in London, where I should be resting peacefully, but all I can think about is Harry. How lucky he was to be able to go home and fuck his girlfriend. I wondered if their sex was amazing if she utilized his body the way I desperately wanted to during that shoot—and each time I circle back to that thought, I imagined how good it would have been, how good we would have been.

I would have given anything to slide down his thick cock until it filled my walls—that aching stretch that has no words, that “ouch, this hurts so fucking good,” kind of stretch that you know would hit just the right spot, and it’s primal, and you’re needy for it—and god what you would give…

I knew I had to be up in less than four hours, but there was no way I could function tomorrow without relieving the tension seizing my whole body, and as I dipped my hand into my underwear, I thought about how wet he made me. The slick dampness of the silk—I thought about the way the thin material traced the perfect contour of Harry’s dick. The way the silk effortlessly slid against his hard cock, driving a hunger, and when I pressed down onto him, solid and warm, I wanted the challenge he would bring. 

Each movement was meticulous and taunting; we couldn’t make it too obvious. I kept obsessing over the way he would wrap his arms around my waist or drag my hips ever so slightly, lining me up with his stiff bulge, then pulling me down hard and slow, staying perfectly still—The head of his dick pressing through the smooth silk, teasing my opening. The look in his eyes was enough to make me come, and I was getting so close.

So close as I imagined, his delicate fingers pushing into me. That’s all I would need. The idea of him getting to feel his work, the way he worked me up—for him to know how many times I nearly came undone in his arms because I was so fucking close, so many times, and as I squeeze my eyes shut, my lower belly tightening at every thought, I release him, coming harder than I’ve come in so long, moaning out a gasp of relief as I ride out the wave of pleasure, repeating his name over and over in my head, like there could be no other.

And as I come down, I’m hit with a strange mix of emotions. I can’t get that pleading look on Harry’s face out of my head. What the hell did he mean by “I don’t know?”—What was I supposed to do with that? It was confusing; it felt unfair—Should I feel guilty for wanting him? Did I cross a line? How fucking stupid am I to make anything out of this—He has a fucking girlfriend.

It’s humiliating that thought alone—what am I doing? 

My stomach is sick at the idea of him pushing into his girlfriend. I’m not this kind of person; I will ride for a woman before I even give a man a second thought. It’s not like me to be this disrespectful. I hate this feeling—that feeling of being used and discarded. I’m ashamed, and maybe I’m being dramatic, but this is what it feels like, and now there will be proof—and his girlfriend will see.

Alessandro was so taken by the photo shoot that, in the strange haze of it all, I had to open my dumb fucking mouth and suggest posting a glimpse on social media; of course, this is where my mind went—because when a good marketing opportunity arises, why not utilize its gain? And everyone agreed. Alessandro was already writing out ideas in his notes app, thinking of a fun, sexy way to promote this new prospect.

I had to take a cold shower, my body on fire, my mind spiraling over every detail. I knew eventually, I would have to succumb or be miserable. I had a feeling this was tearing open a new chapter and that this was just the beginning— awakening a new version of myself I hadn’t even begun to explore.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and the steady thunder of knocking on my hotel door woke me. I thought I would cry when I checked the time, muting the caller and my alarm. I knew who it was, and as I forced myself from the bed and stumbled to the door, I could hear Annie calling my name from the other side. 

“Dude, answer your phone!” she gripes, pushing past me. She was already dressed and ready to take on the day I was already dreading.

Annoyed, I scoffed, closing the door to follow after her, “Please, Annie—I think I have a headache coming on…” which took me by surprise because it’s not like I spent my night drinking, but that was what this felt like—a hangover—making me a groggy, sluggish, grump of a human, that has no business going out into the world today.

“Did you drink after the photoshoot?” Annie asks, and it takes me right back to yesterday; and I slumb onto the bed, wanting to spill my guts, but for the first time, I feel like I need to keep whatever I’m feeling to myself—at least until I can sort out exactly what I’m feeling.

“No…” I say, dragging out a heavy sign. The room is bright, the golden sun beaming through the floor-to-ceiling window, and it’s beautiful, but everything is a blur as I stare out the window, numb to it all. It feels like just another hotel window, and when Annie calls my name, I catch sight of Big Ben. 

But instant of taking in the sight, I look to Annie, “I don’t want to do it today…” I tell her.

“Today is the fun day, remember?” she says, lying on the bed, and I shake my head, rolling onto my back.

I’m gazing at the ceiling when she gives me a gentle nudge—and this is the worst part about my job. I can’t just call out, not when everything has been organized with my team and anyone else involved. “Today, all we have is the podcast interview…and it’s with Gemma. It’s going to be so chill. I bet you could even wear sweatpants; it’s that chill…”

I laughed a lazy laugh, “I won’t wear sweatpants…” 

“I know—I’m just saying that this will be a breeze, and then we get to hangout in London, dude…LONDON,” She pushes

I swallow hard, feeling ridiculous that she even feels the need to convince me, but all I can give her is, “Yeah—” I croak, my voice horse, my throat burning, and I don’t know if it’s the exhaustion taking over, but the next thing I know, I’m crying—big, hot, dreadful tears spilling over into my ear.

“Shiloh, are you crying?” Annie is on her knees, scooting closer, worry filling her tone, “Did something happen yesterday?”

I lie, “Nothing happened…” I whisper, swiping at my eyes, but the tears are like a faucet I can’t turn off, and I’m losing it, my breath hitching every time I try and force out words—and then I’m sobbing, rolling into the pillow as my entire body shakes.

“Listen…” Annie starts, lying her head next to mine on the pillow. You get to hang with Gemma today. This has been a long time coming, right? “She says as she rubs small circles into my lower back, attempting to calm me down.

I nod my head, wiping my face against the soggy pillow. When I turn to peek over at Annie, snot drags across my face, and I push myself up, burying my face inside my shirt, not wanting her to see my hideous crying.

“I think I’m just tired,” I murmur through my shirt. 

When I finally unburied my face, she gave me a soft smile. “I’m sorry…” I apologize.

“Don’t apologize. You moved a mountain in the last couple of days and somehow did an extra photoshoot? which…I need details, by the way; you didn’t tell me anything…so mysterious…” she jokes.

Slumping back down on the bed, I exhale, “I don’t know…I’m still trying to figure that out.” I say, forcing myself to get out of bed. 

“You’ll be the first to know, trust me—” I tell her on my way to the bathroom.

When I look back, she’s rolling her eyes, “Okay, cryptic much…”

A/N: Emotions are strange, and a crush can be confusing, but is it a crush or an idea that Shiloh is holding onto? I guess we'll find out...

Thanks for all the support you guys are giving! It's amazing!

Previous Chapters<-

[moonshynecybin]

thinking about FCO Rosquez at their first PR-forced public dinner (like a week or two after the announcement, Wednesday or Thursday night) and how their conversation is supposed to go when Marc was dying to talk to Valentino all winter (still has a string of unanswered texts in his phone) but now he’s closed off and Valentino wants to make this work but can’t have them fight in public or be silent for an entire hour, do we think they find a middle ground or Vale just talk about random things on his own or they somehow ignore everything and are able to tell each other about their winter or subjects that have nothing to do with MotoGP or—

court mandated date night nooooo poor marc :(

this is so nuts to think about... like even outside the insane emotional reality of getting outed and the violence of public scrutiny and like. marc having (once again !) his ability to control his own narrative ripped away from him by his association with valentino— which is his LEAST favorite thing (i do think he blames himself for the photos though... like maybe if i wasnt such a whore we wouldnt be in this mess :((( which. marc buddy naur.) on TOP of that he is having a romantic candellit dinner with his ex situationship that he is still in love with. one million points lightning damage. so everyone is extremely strung out at this shitty little date night table (michelin restaurant lbr) and marc has justtttt gone dark on his whatsapp thread with valentino. maybe he is trying to maybe exert some control over his life here in small ways... put up SOME walls in clumsy self protective fashion...

but VALE is like okay. so if this thing between us is public he doesnt want it or want me. interesting. okay im cool im fine im good np who cares i hate him anyway (girl.) and he's also um. kind of reeling from the abrupt reversal of the status quo here tbh. marc has never played hard to get ever ever not once in his entire life. no self preservation on that man 5ever. he's literally always been there giving vale flattering attention and being in love with him !!! so vale is kind of off-balance here being met with some version of the marc marquez freezeout, not sure how to react but missing marc's attention. and he chooses to compensate as he does with most roadblocks in his life: full charm offensive. (he also, in some selfless and tender corner in the back of his mind that he is trying to ignore, just really and truly knows marc is FREAKED and misses seeing him laugh. he wants the evil jajajas.... he will do anything for the evil jajajas....) so he is trying. SO hard to get him to crack a smile. lowkey causing a scene in the restaurant by being such a clown... but marc isnt really biting. is still responding, like they ARE having a conversation, but its nothing like it used to be. clearly he is just being polite. smiles twice ALL night—all wan and pale and beautiful and so clearly exhausted—and vale's mouth gets all dry and his ribcage feels like its going to implode. and of course in response to this he is like wow. my heartburn is going crazy. damn. [chugging wine].

like looking to real life, as awkward as rosquez have been in their years of estrangement, they have always had to share space. for 6 years in that paddock ! that's a lot of years of small talk ! they can have and will do it if necessary... so as the night drags i think marc talks about riding and the season to fill in the gaps... goes home and gives himself a list of regimented rules to stick to when interacting with valentino (i see him texting exclusively the PR thread more as his classically unpracticed self protection style than like. a deliberate fuck you to that end. i cant drunk booty call vale if karen from PR is also there type stuff). that being said, eventually i do think he makes elaborate excuses to BEND these rules bc he still wants valentino's attention. and also his tongue in his mouth. hes like okay! i am only kissing valentino in front of tv cameras if we both podium! and then they DONT share a podium and hes like. okay! it would be WEIRD if i didnt kiss vale after i podiumed even if he didnt! because thats what i would do if we were actually together! [starts jogging across the paddock like a dick-seeking missile.]

[bitterbutblue]

kokomi my love

when she loved me ☆ kokomi x reader

~ the amount of sad fucking relationship reels i got last night made me sad so now im projecting fuck u isntagram reels algorithm u made me CRY AT NIGHT

inspired by twenty five twenty one, 500 days of summer, u know the drill. if u guys want a full twenty five twenty one inspired long fic (with chapters) i am also down to write one.. i will cry writing it though

song: when she loved me - lyn lapid ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

The summer she fell for you, she wishes to never think about again. Whenever a specific song comes on, she wants nothing more than to go back in time but also wants to destroy the very stereo the music is playing from. She finds herself haunted by her own movements, how they mimic yours and how she still thinks about what you would do before she does anything.

"Don't throw it-"

Laughter rang through the empty violet forests as you threw your head back, uncontrolled and raw. She found herself smiling at the sight of you, so loose and so happy. She couldn't help the laughter that began bubbling out of her own lips as she covered her mouth with her hand, doubling over. She didn't know why she's laughing so hard, she didn't know what was so funny but seeing you so unbridled filled her with giddy she hasn't felt since she was a child.

"That was ridiculous." She giggled and the way you grinned at her had her smile softening- the previous laughter dying on her lips as she feels an overwhelming wave washing over her. It felt like a lyric of a song she doesn't know the tune of, but it's a lyric she can hum from the beats of her heart. It felt like a way back to a home she has not yet entered, it felt like you. You finally composed yourself, running a hand through your hair as the beam of moonlight lit you up like an angel in the night.

"Nothing wrong with that, right?"

You walk up to her, picking up the jacket that had been laid on the ground, used as a blanket to sit on and dusted it off. You wrapped it around Kokomi, buttoning it up snuggly for her as she fit her arms through the oversized sleeves of your jacket, the warmth from the jacket and heart causing her to overheat from an overwhelming feeling.

She has that moment in a picture frame in her heart, like a photo album that had been abandoned and recently found, still dusty but holds a fortune of memories that warm you up. Except this photo album was cold, desolate. Found in a junkyard, memories of strangers and who they once were.

"Nothing wrong with that."

It's a sickening feeling in her gut, churning and spinning and she orders for Gorou to turn off the damn stereo as quickly as possible. He just obliges, not saying anything. She throws down her quill, shaking away whatever memories she has of you. Her eyes dart over her desk, with papers once organised but now strewn all over the place, a lingering memory of the evening you tidied her desk for her hits her hard and fast before suddenly fading into what it was- the past.

"You can't live like this."

A soft voice echoed through the chambers of her desk- she looked up, bleary eyed and you just sigh. You walked up to her, wrapping your arms around her from behind her chair as she leaned into your touch, visibly exhausted. Her shoulders sagged downward, her head resting against your chest as she let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding in.

"I'm doing just fine."

"Really?"

You nestled your head on top of hers as you took one of her hands into your own, interlacing your fingers together.

"It's late. Let's go home?"

''I can't." She mumbles, eyes closing as exhaustion finally settles in between her bones, filling themselves in every crevice and every little nook and cranny of her body.

"Yes you can, darling." You whispered, squeezing her hand softly "They can't have their leader collapsing on them from exhaustion, can they now?"

Like a siren's song, she found herself drawn to your voice. She couldn't even stop herself from nodding as she moved subconsciously, her body just following the sound of your voice as you led her out of her office.

The next morning, she found her office tidied. Her papers organised into a neat stack with sticky notes labelling which papers are which. She picked up the note on her desk and she felt herself grinning ear to ear as she readthe contents on the paper.

Good morning, my love! I organised your desk for you, hope that's okay. If you need anything just text me, love youuu <3

Her desk has been a mess since that day. She had no energy in her to organise her notes or to sort her files. She finds it too difficult to do now, her lack of energy every day being too much. Getting out of bed is hard enough, and she's really not in the mood to have to clean everything when she function with it being a mess just fine (albeit a little harder to get through).

She hasn't had the time or energy to go home, to take the walk down the desolate and empty streets just scares her now with the build up of what has happened. She finds herself taking another way, a route where she won't have to relive the worst of it all.

"Why?"

The broken expression on your face had her swallowing in guilt.

"I'm sorry."

"You say that every time-"

You turned away, taking a shaky breath in as you tried to calm yourself down and Kokomi just stands there like a coward.

"This is exhausting, Kokomi."

She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers as she drops her work bag onto a chair, unsure if she should approach you or not.

She should've approached you that night.

You instead turned around angrily, facing her again and the pained look in your eyes had her looking away now because it ate her alive, knowing that she caused you this much pain.

"Couldn't you just let me know earlier? You keep disappearing on me, I keep worrying about if you died out there or not-"

"I will-"

"You said that last time."

She looked down.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that."

She found herself not going to bed that night, sitting at the kitchen table as she listened to your muffled sobs through the door.

When Gorou tells her it's late, she just nods. The last thing she needs is to lie in an empty bed and feel the coldness of the night wrap its arms around her as an attempt to comfort her or to soothe the once-sharp pain, now faded into a dull thud with each thump of the heart. When she sleeps, she tucks her head into her arms, the hard wood digging into her elbows but the minorly uncomfortable pain is better than having to be overly consumed with her thoughts in the comforts of a bed.

She wakes up to a cup of tea in front of her and for a minute her heart leaps until she's hit with reality once more. She sees Gorou's handwriting and just wishes it was yours for a split second.

Kokomi, take care.

She screwed her eyes shut as she took a deep breath in, refusing to let you see the tears behind her eyes. You just stood opposite her, looking down at your shoes as tears fell down from your face and onto the ground.

"Was this my doing?"

The silence was broken by her shaky question as she finally brings herself to look up at you and she can feel her chest caving in again at the sight of you.

"It's not your fault."

Your voice was strained, as if you were using every atom in your body to try to make yourself sound as put together as possible.

"We've just grown so apart with all that's happened."

She has to stop herself from shaking, the entire world seems to be trembling until she realised it was just her.

"I don't want to say who's right or wrong. There isn't a right or wrong."

The evening chill that once held memories of cuddling under the stars is now just a sharp pierce through her skin, a blade running itself through each crevice of her beating and bleeding heart.

"We're making things difficult by blaming each other."

She bit down on her lower lip, trying to hold in the sob.

"You and I, we still care a lot for each other."

The words in her chest build up like word vomit.

"Did we have to come to this?" She whispered

"We were already coming to this."

She gasped when she felt a tug on her jacket, looking to see you buttoning up her jacket once more- your eyes filled with unshed tears as your trembling hands slowly slid each button through slit. A shaky gasp is let out as you tried not to sob, but it comes out choked as a tear falls and she couldn't stop herself. The shatter of her heart rang through the night as she feels the tear fall down her face, hot- burning a mark on her skin. She bit down on her lower lip once more, trying to stifle the sob but it still comes out and hearing your silent cries only made it harder for her to hold it in.

The dam breaks fully when she feels you pull her into a tight hug, and she knows this is the last time she'll feel your arms around hers like this so she holds on tight. The dam breaks and she sobs, loud and messy. The way you trembled had her feeling like she was going to shatter any minute. She held you as close as she could, arms tightening around your waist and hoping that maybe for the last time you two could just become one again.

"Let's not put ourselves through this again." You said softly, and she could feel your tears seep through her jacket- the jacket you buttoned for the last time.

She could only nod as she lets out a loud sob for the last time, and maybe the last thing you remember of her is the way she cries.

"Goodbye, Kokomi."

[wildlife4life]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the always lovely and amazing, @spotsandsocks @malewifediaz @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @wikiangela @daffi-990 @elvensorceress and @bigfootsmom Thank you all so much and I'm super excited for all your upcoming works!

Last night ya'll... I'm still reeling and pinching myself because the whole Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce lyric change and kiss! OMG! So in honor of my favorite player basically winning on his bye week, I have unpaused from NFL Buck and bring you this.

Buck's first in season game back from his leg injury had every nay sayer and Watson advocator go silent. 432 passing yards, 45 rushing, 4 touchdowns, and a solid 32-10 win over Aaron Rodger's Green Bay Packers. Astonishing. A fairy tail ending from a horrible beginning. It took every fiber of Eddie's learned military patience and control to hold himself back from running down to the field and personally congratulate Evan. "Squeeze him extra tight for me." He told Maddie, before she stepped off the elevator towards the family waiting area. Eddie adjusted his grip on a sleepy Christopher and watch his reflection slide in with the closing doors. "He won daddy. With his bad leg." Christopher murmured in his shoulder. "I knew he would." The smile that had fallen earlier at the reminder of Eddie and Evan's closeted situation, returned hearing his son's bright optimism. "Never a doubt mijo." Later, in the privacy of their own home, Eddie stared up at the red door canvas photo that gave them their beginning. 'Just walk in.' A motto Buck took to heart during his recovery. Just walk into the doctor's office, you won't know what the prognosis is until you do. Just walk into physical therapy, even if you think there is no point. Just walk into team locker room, you and the team need you in there. Just walk into the stadium, show them all Evan Buckley is the starting quarterback. Just walk in the front door and kiss the man you keep hidden, but loves you so much that he values the reasons to stay hidden. Just walk in. And Evan continues to do so. He walks in their front door. Eddie turns to him, steps forward, throws his arms around those broad shoulders, and kisses him like he wanted at the stadium. All consuming, filled with love, and oh so damn proud.

Hehehehehehehe. YES I am giddy through and through, and I hope you all enjoyed! All things NFL Buck can be found here.

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