#romeo click and drag

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader  word count: 2.4k notes: part 3 of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack WAYYYYY fluffier than the prequel — a gift to me and all of you. Also I think this might be the last part??? unless any of you have questions or one shots you want to hear about these two 🥹

You’re late to Beau’s baseball game. Not wildly—just enough that your pulse is up, your hair’s a mess, and you feel that twist in your chest that only happens when Jack gets there first.

You scan the bleachers, hand shielding your eyes. He’s easy to spot. Legs stretched out, ball cap pulled low, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. One arm draped across the bench beside him, claiming space.

Of course he saved you a spot.

“Christ,” you mutter, flopping into the seat beside him. “It’s mid-April. Why is it still so cold?”

Without missing a beat, Jack tilts his head toward the parking lot but reaches down at his feet. “There’s a coat in the car, but I’ve got a blanket here.”

He pulls out a slightly-rumpled camping blanket and offers it without looking—like this is just what you do now. Like he’s still the guy who knows when you’re cold before you say it.

You shake your head, tugging the sweatshirt you’ve been holding over your head.

“I’m good. Just needed this.”

Jack turns. Looks. And comically blinks.

It’s the team hoodie. The one the team mom handed out last week. Big enough to swallow you whole. Team logo on the chest. But it’s the back that gets him—ABBOT in bold block letters, above Beau’s number: 4.

You pretend not to notice how he’s staring. Pretend not to feel the way your stomach flips when his mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“God,” he finally breathes. “You could’ve warned a guy.”

You smirk, tugging the sleeves down over your hands. “What, and ruin the surprise?”

“You’re trying to kill me,” he mutters, low and hoarse. “You realize that, right?”

“It’s not like I put your name on it for you, Jack. There’s no player with my last name. I’m supporting our kid.”

His eyes drag down your body again—slower this time. Less surprised. More… appreciative.

“Right,” he says, blinking slow. “Supporting Beau. Totally normal. Not suggestive at all.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being dangerous.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm. It’s a losing game—trying not to feel everything you’re feeling. Want. Nostalgia. The sharp edges of maybe.

“He’s almost up to bat.”

Jack lifts his phone like he’s just remembered he has it. “Gotta document the moment. Hold still.”

You hear the shutter click.

“Send that to Robby and I’m never wearing it again.”

He grins as he taps the screen. “Too late. It’s already in the group chat. Dana’s gonna combust.”

You groan, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. “You’re such a menace.”

But you feel his gaze still on you. Heavy. Intent. Like he’s remembering the nights he used to get to see you in nothing but one of his sweatshirts—and wondering if this counts.

He nudges your knee with his. “You know, it’s not too late to get one with your last name on the back.”

You glance sideways.

“I mean it.” His voice softens. The grin tugs at his mouth, but his eyes are steady. “You wear my name like that again, I might get ideas.”

Your breath catches—just for a second.

You look away, toward the field, voice deliberately casual. “Let’s just focus on the game, Romeo.”

But he leans in, not quite touching, his breath warm against your ear.

“Sure,” he murmurs. “For now.”

And when Beau steps up to the plate, Jack sits back with one arm stretched casually across the bench behind you, fingertips grazing the letters printed across your back.

–

The next weekend is Beau’s half-birthday—his idea, obviously—and while you and Jack didn’t plan a full-blown party, somehow it’s turned into one.

Robby’s manning the grill like he’s auditioning for Food Network.. A couple of interns are tossing a ball with Beau and his friends on the lawn. You’re watching from the shade with a drink in hand.

Jack sits beside you, presses a kiss to your temple like it’s second nature now. And it kind of is.

“You need anything?” he asks.

You hum a soft no, your shoulder brushing his.

Across the yard, Dana lowers her sunglasses and stares you down as she approaches.

“Well, well, well.” Her grin is pure mischief. “Look at you two. Domestic as hell.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” Jack mutters, sliding his arm around your waist.

Dana smirks. “No, I say that like I’m preparing a toast for the wedding.”

You roll your eyes.

“Not yet,” Robby calls from the grill. “But someone got tagged in a very cozy park bench photo last week.”

Jack winces. “Jesus.”

“It’s okay,” you say, leaning into him. “People were always going to talk. At least now it’s about something we’re proud of.”

He glances at you—really looks—and nods once.

Just then, one of the neighborhood moms hustles over, diaper bag slung low. “Do you mind watching the baby for a few? Would love to pee in peace for the first time in years.”

“Been there,” you say, arms already out. “Take all the time you need.”

You settle with the baby, Jack beside you, the baby nestled against your chest. Comfortable silence settles between you.

“Now is this grill a time machine?” Robby shouts. “Feels like we’ve turned back the clock five years.”

Jack chuckles, leaning in to nibble the baby’s socked foot. “Yeah. I miss this age.”

You hesitate, heart in your throat. You’ve been dealing with major baby fever lately—but you never thought you'd get to feel this again. Not with him. Not here.

You bite the bullet. “Always thought I’d have two or three, y’know?”

Jack hums. “Never even thought I’d have one. But after Beau, I figured we’d end up with a whole football team.”

A neighborhood kid runs up and squints at you. “Mrs. Abbot… is this your baby?”

You laugh. “Nope, this is Mrs. Turner’s baby. I’m just holding her. My only baby is Beau—and he’s all grown up now.”

The kid nods solemnly and runs off.

“Tough crowd,” you murmur.

You turn—and find Jack still watching you.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says, but there’s a quiet look on his face, “...you didn’t correct her on the last name.”

“She’s four. It's a bit complex to explain that yes, my son’s last name is Abbot, but mine isn’t.”

His lip quirks. You nudge his shoulder gently with yours.

–

It’s Beau’s Pre-K graduation and he’s somewhere outside, bounding around in his paper cap with the usual crew.

Inside, you’re balancing a lukewarm coffee in one hand and a paper plate of grocery store cookies in the other. Someone’s mid-way through an impassioned pitch about why you should join the PTA next year.

Jack’s at your side—polished enough for a school event, sleeves rolled, one too many button undone, looking every bit like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. Present in a way that feels new. Like he wants people to know he’s here, with you.

You barely even catch the name slip: “So nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Abbot.”

Jack’s hand finds your hip, giving it a firm, familiar squeeze.

You smile without missing a beat.

The conversation wraps. You make polite excuses. You and Jack step out into the hallway toward the playground.

Behind you, the buzz of small talk fades.

“Felt kinda nice, didn’t it?” he says.

You roll your eyes. “I knew you were going to make a comment.”

You turn the corner—and he catches you. One arm braced against the wall, the other slipping around your waist, pinning you gently between him and the cinderblock.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, mouth brushing yours. “They called you Mrs. Abbot and you didn’t flinch.”

You shrug, breath hitching when he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I told you,” he says, lips skating down your jaw, “you keep playing this game, it’s gonna give me ideas.”

“Maybe I want you to get ideas,” you whisper, fingers curling in the front of his shirt.

His mouth finds yours again—firmer this time. Slower.

Footsteps echo down the far end of the hallway.

You both break apart, laughing quietly.

“Down, boy” you say, smoothing your hair. “We’ve got a graduate to wrangle.”

Jack grins, still close. “For the record, Mrs. Abbot has a real nice ring to it.”

You laugh, “There are worse last names to be stuck with”.

But when he laces your fingers together and leads you out into the sun, you don’t let go.

–

It’s the last month of Beau’s summer break when you head out to the lake. Your parents will be there. Your sister and her kids. Jack’s brother and his family are driving in, too.

You’re panicking, of course. Jack is cool as a cucumber. Beau’s bouncing off the walls with excitement about a whole week of cousin chaos.

You gave your family a stern talk before you left. Be nice. You love him. Beau loves him. He’s doing the work. He’s different now. You’re making it work—and yeah, you’re scared—but you’re also the happiest you’ve ever been.

Naturally, you three are the last to arrive. Of course it’s your fault. One final Zoom dragged long and you left straight from Pittsburgh with your laptop still warm in your bag.

The cabin is palatial. Jack found it. He definitely went over budget, but you know he’d never charge your family. It’s just who he is now—present, generous, steady.

You send Jack and Beau to the backyard with the others while you start unpacking.

A soft knock on the doorframe makes you glance up. Your sister walks in and flops dramatically on the bed.

“Okay,” she says. “You didn’t tell me you replaced your ex with a well-adjusted clone. Where’d Dr. McBroody go?”

You laugh. “I know. It’s weird. You guys didn’t know him when we first started dating. He’s… back. The guy I fell in love with. I didn’t think I’d get that again.”

She hums, skeptical. “Then why are you still keeping him at arm’s length?”

“What?”

“Just trying to figure out why you’re still holding back when he keeps proving himself—over and over—from what I’ve heard and seen with my own two eyes.”

You glance out the window. Jack’s lifting Beau to dunk over the older cousins, both of them laughing.

You sigh. “I’m scared. I can’t go through that again.”

She softens. “You can’t live like that. Cut the poor man some slack. Either go all in, or cut him loose. But don’t keep him in limbo. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you murmur, following her downstairs.

It’s a surprise when Jack books dinner for just the two of you on the last night of the trip. At the waterfront place you told him your parents went to every summer.

“You’ve got a house full of babysitters,” your dad says, shooing you out the door. “Go enjoy yourselves. Beau’ll be asleep before you’re back.”

It’s a quick drive, and Jack reaches for your hand over the console as soon as you hit the main road. His palm is a little clammy. Yours too.

“I think this might be the best week of my life,” you say, squeezing his hand.

He’s quieter than usual. But relaxed. Smiling.

At the restaurant, he rounds the car to open your door, hand warm on your lower back as he leads you in.

“Reservation for Abbot.”

“Ah yes—right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Abbot.”

You give him a look. “You paid them to say that.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” he says, smug as he pulls out your chair.

Dinner is easy. Familiar. Dreamy.

“Can I ruin the moment?” you ask.

“Nothing you say could ruin this.”

“I miss Beau. He’d hate it here—no kids menu. But I love our little unit.”

“I love our unit. I love Beau. I love you.” His fingers trace absentminded circles over your ring finger.

“I love you too.”

After dinner, you walk along the beach, your head resting against his shoulder. He leads you to the edge of a quiet pier.

“You know,” he says, voice soft, “we’ve been through a lot. And yeah, I’d change so much… but also nothing. Because it all got us here. And I know we’ve talked about this, kind of, but I still wanted it to feel a little traditional—”

You blink, heart racing. “Jack…”

“Just let me finish—before you turn me down, let me say this. I know I’m not perfect, but I’ve been trying. Really trying. And I think you’ve seen that. I think—” his voice catches. “I think we can do this. For real. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Tears are already slipping down your cheeks. “Jack. Just ask me the question.”

That snaps him out of it.

“Oh—right. Okay.” He drops to one knee, pulling a ring from his pocket. Your breath catches.

“Baby,” he says, eyes shining, “I know I don’t deserve you. But would you do me and Beau the honor of becoming an Abbot?”

You drop to your knees in front of him. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” You kiss him between each word.

He slides the ring onto your finger. You kiss him again, a little breathless.

“Alright,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Let’s get you home.”

In the car, you stare down at your hand.

“This ring is perfect. It looks just like my mom’s. It’s my dream ring.”

Jack chuckles. “It’s not like it. It is your mom’s.”

“What?”

“They knew how much you loved it. They gave it to me.”

You stare.

“We still can go ring shopping if it isn't what you want. But when I told them I was going to ask… they offered it. Thought it might mean more.”

“It does,” you whisper. “They know?”

“Of course they know. And Beau knows. And your sister. My brother. Robby. Half the ER. Even the grocery store checkout lady. I haven’t shut up about it.”

You laugh as he pulls into the driveway.

The house is dark, unusually quiet after a week of family chaos.

You lean across the console to kiss him, half-climbing into his lap. He grins against your lips but gently stops you.

“Let’s get inside first.”

You cock your head. “Since when are you the voice of reason?”

He rounds the car, opens your door, and leads you inside, where the lights flip on and the entire house bursts into shouts of “CONGRATULATIONS!”

Beau barrels into your legs and you scoop him up, laughing through tears as Jack presses a kiss to your temple.And for the first time, you don’t flinch when someone calls you Mrs. Abbot. You just smile, because it’s exactly who you are now.

[vamptizm]

THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x ex-teammate!reader

synopsis: draft night brings the spotlight, but all paige cares about is your new chapter together. you can’t keep your eyes off her and she can’t keep her hands off. between flashing cameras, whispered touches and a whole lot of eye fucking— you can’t wait to leave the after party.

warnings: fluff. nasty smut. dirty talk. switch!paige. switch!reader. oral (both receiving) fingering (p! receiving) strap-on sex (r!receiving)

word count: 6.9k lol

note: this took a while to finish cuz i’m lazy… so sorry but yeah i love former teammate reader like thats my shittt (anyway lmk if u wanna be added to my main/regular taglist) also idk if i properly proof read ts tbh

@brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @xxloveralways14 @prettygirl-gabi

It started in the massive hotel suite Paige had insisted on paying for herself, no matter how much you protested. She'd told you it was a once-in-a-lifetime night — her night — and she wanted everything to be perfect, down to the last rose petal in the oversized bathtub neither of you had touched.

The two of you got ready in separate areas of the suite, your glam teams swirling around you like little clouds of hairspray and lipstick, carefully keeping you from seeing each other before the big reveal. Paige's hair and makeup wrapped up before yours, her naturally striking features needing far less to glow.

It wasn't long before your own team was finishing the final touches. A dab of maroon lipstick. A spritz of setting spray. A gentle hand smoothing a strand of hair into place before sealing it all with hairspray. You sat still under their soft, expert touch, your heart pounding a little harder with every second — not from nerves about the cameras or the crowd, but for her.

A knock. Light, impatient.

"Can I come see the bride?" Paige called through the door, her voice teasing, giddy.

Your glam team exchanged knowing smirks as you bit back a laugh, heat blooming on your cheeks. You rolled your eyes playfully, giving them a nod. One of them called out, "Come on in, Romeo."

The door creaked open. First just her head peeking in, then the rest of her as she slid through the opening — and paused.

The second Paige laid eyes on you, she froze. Her breath caught audibly, her lips parting just slightly in awe. You were still seated, body facing away from her, draped in a black gown with a high slit that sparkled under the lights. It hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto your skin, dipping and hugging at the chest just enough to make her heart stop. Your hair was swept into a loose updo, face framed by soft strands, eyes rimmed in smoky shadows, lips painted a deep, seductive maroon. Femme fatale didn't even begin to cover it. You were art — and Paige was speechless.

And god, you weren't any better.

Your eyes raked over her slowly, shamelessly. She stood tall in a three-piece sparkly suit — a deep and ashy, dark brown that looked like it had been dipped in stardust. It clung to her frame in all the right places, tailored and sharp. Her beachy waves were tousled to perfection, her makeup darker than usual — eyeliner smudged just enough, blush warm on her cheekbones, lips a soft nude gloss. She looked dangerous. And all yours.

You stood, heels clicking softly against the floor, your team slipping out with satisfied smiles. You took a few steps forward until you were right in front of her — so close, you could feel her breath.

Her hands found your waist instantly, pulling you close with a possessive kind of tenderness, her eyes slowly dragging down your body like she was memorizing every inch.

And you mirrored it — gaze trailing over her black chrome nails, the rings on her fingers, the subtle glint of jewelry. You wanted to devour her. To tear every piece off just to see the flushed skin underneath.

But for now, you just stood there. Breathing each other in. A heartbeat before the world would finally see what only the two of you had known all along.

Your hands found solace on her shoulders, the rough shimmer of her suit catching under your palms. You let your fingers trace a line down the structured lapels before resting again, just feeling her there, grounding yourself in her presence.

"The bride, huh?" you teased with a grin, your voice low and warm as it echoed her earlier joke.

Paige's features softened — just slightly, but enough. Her gaze flicked down, and for a moment, you saw her disappear into the thought. You could see it all over her face: flashes of white silk, a crowded aisle, you waiting at the end of it — radiant, hers. She didn't think you could ever be more beautiful than you were right now... but something told her you'd prove her wrong again.

"I mean, it's fitting, isn't it?" she said, the smirk creeping back onto her face as her hands tightened around your waist. "Got my girl getting ready for the world to finally see us together."

You chuckled quietly, eyes soft. "Sure. Maybe one day."

And just like that, her heart stuttered in her chest.

Your perfume lingered in the air between you, thick and dizzying, but it was nothing compared to her — her grip on your hips, the look in her eyes, like she wanted to swallow you whole.

"Wanna kiss you so bad, mama," she murmured, breath fanning hot against your lips. Her voice was rough with restraint, and the weight of it sent a shiver down your spine.

You leaned in, your mouth close — so close — just barely brushing hers without giving in. The teasing was mutual torture. "Can't mess up my lipstick, baby. We've got, what, five minutes before Brittany busts in here yelling at us?" Your hand slid to the back of her neck, nails gently grazing her skin as you held her close.

Paige groaned quietly, rolling her eyes like a petulant child. "Yeah, yeah... whatever," she muttered — but her hands had already moved, trailing down the curve of your waist until they landed on your ass. She gave it a greedy squeeze and kept her hands there, possessive and smug.

You arched into her a little, biting down a smirk, doing everything in your power not to push her back onto the bed and climb into her lap. The tension buzzed between you like static. Just one move would set the whole thing on fire.

Right on cue, Brittany's voice rang from the other side of the suite. "Whatever you two are doing in there, knock it off — we've gotta head out now."

Paige groaned dramatically, burying her face briefly into your neck. "Cockblock," she mumbled, before stealing a kiss just beneath your jaw — a soft, sultry press of her lips that made you melt into her just a second longer.

She pulled back with one last squeeze of your ass. "Can't wait to show you off to the world, pretty girl," she murmured, lips curling into a smirk that made your knees weak.

Finally, the two of you stepped out of the room hand-in-hand like you owned the world — or at least each other.

Brittany stood waiting with crossed arms, one brow raised in that auntie way she had, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She plucked Paige's lip gloss from her bag without a word and dabbed it over her lips.

"Kids," she sighed with a fake huff and a real softness in her eyes.

The orange carpet was buzzing, cameras flashing like stars against a twilight sky. You stepped out first, the flashbulbs catching every detail of your sparkly black gown as reporters immediately swarmed your way—calling your name like clockwork. Rookie of the Year, WNBA champion, former Husky. The attention came with the territory. You didn't love the spotlight, but you knew how to own it when it was time.

Still, this wasn't your night. It was Paige's. You'd made sure of that by insisting she arrive a few minutes after you, allowing her the entrance she deserved—undivided and electric.

And when she finally stepped out, it was exactly that.

From where she stood a few feet away, Paige watched you pose. You looked every bit like a cover star—poised, graceful, devastating. Her heart kicked up in her chest as she took you in. You were a vision, and she was absolutely obsessed.

She wasn't even looking at the cameras when it happened—her body turned toward a reporter, mid-interview, answering a question about the big moment ahead—when her head suddenly twisted, eyes locking on yours as you passed behind her. It was like she'd felt you. Or maybe she'd caught your perfume in the air. Either way, her smile grew wide, involuntarily. And yours matched, just as quiet and private in the middle of all that noise.

It was nearly time. The orange carpet faded behind you, and the buzz of the venue took over as the draft finally began.

You hadn't seen Paige's second outfit yet. All you knew was that it was black—and she'd only told you that because she was desperate to match. You'd teased her for it, but you'd picked your gown with her in mind.

Instead of sitting with your new Dallas Wings teammates, like you were expected to, you were already tucked into a seat at Paige's table—right beside her parents and Geno—while she finished up press duties and changed. She had insisted you sit with them. No words needed to be said. The message was clear: you were hers, and she wanted the world to know it... without ever needing to say it aloud.

"Get out my spot, boy."

You turned at the sound of her voice, just in time to see her shoulder-bump her dad playfully.

And then—your breath hitched. The suit. That suit.

A black Louis Vuitton suit tailored to perfection. The deep V-neck of the blazer dipped low—dangerously low—bedazzled in beautiful black gems, catching the light when she moved. She wore nothing beneath it, and the amount of skin on display was enough to short-circuit your thoughts entirely. You wondered if you leaned just a bit forward, just for a second, would you catch a glimpse of her bare chest?

You already knew the answer.

She sat beside you, casual as ever, like she wasn't single-handedly wrecking your entire existence. "Just a heads up," she said, leaning in close. "I'm mic'd up."

You almost snorted—but you couldn't. Not with the way she looked. Not with her new hairstyle, slightly more neat than before, perfectly intentional. Not with her legs subtly spread and her hand draped lazily over her thigh. Not with that open blazer staring back at you, smug as hell.

You took a slow, measured breath and tried to remember how to think. The lights dimmed slightly and the commissioner approached the stage.

You felt her hand slip beneath the table and find yours, fingers lacing together. Her grip was tight, excited, grounded in something bigger than nerves. This wasn't fear. This was anticipation.

Your eyes met, and she squeezed once.

Then came the words.

"With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft... the Dallas Wings select... Paige Bueckers."

The weight on her shoulders lifted all at once—her mouth tugging into a soft, almost dazed smile. She stood, and so did you, your hand reaching to fix the slight scrunch in her blazer out of instinct, smoothing it down without thinking.

You expected her to hug her family first. Geno second. You figured she'd save you for last, maybe sneak in something later, off-camera.

Instead, she turned and kissed you. Right there. Soft, quick, but real.

You barely had time to register it before she pulled you into a tight embrace. And even though it hadn't been planned—hadn't even been discussed—it felt right. Natural. Easy.

Your arms wrapped around her in return, smiling against her shoulder, eyes a little wide but heart so full it nearly ached.

She moved on to her parents, to Geno, before finally making her way to the stage. The camera flashes picked up again as she accepted her Wings jersey and posed for photos, a confident grin painted across her face.

You looked up at her, your heart swelling in your chest as a tear slid silently down your cheek. You were the epitome of heart eyes. She looked radiant up there. Like she belonged. It was everything she'd worked for — and now, everything the two of you would take on together.

Her name echoed through the stadium.

Paige Bueckers. Dallas Wings.

You smiled, wiping at your cheek, still staring up at the stage like she hung the moon. Because to you, she always had.

Paige got swept up the moment she got off that stage — pictures with fans, videos, congratulatory hugs from just about every recognizable face in the building. You'd hung back with your Dallas teammates at first, still giddy with adrenaline from the draft and high on the electricity of it all. Your Wings hat sat perched on your head, pride swelling in your chest as you hugged, dapped up, and jumped with your new team. Nobody in that building was more thrilled to have Paige in Dallas than you.

After that, you found yourself surrounded by your UConn girls—Nika, Aaliyah, Aubrey, KK and everyone else. Screaming your lungs out together when Kaitlyn's name was called, jumping up and down with Aubrey when hers followed. Paige had jogged over at some point, catching the tail end of Kaitlyn's stage moment, joining your crew just long enough to plant a quick kiss to the side of your head and recording a few moments. It was chaos— but the best kind. And through it all, your eyes kept drifting back to her.

The after party was in full swing by the time you and Paige made your entrance, each of you having slipped into something a little more relaxed but still striking enough to turn heads. Her oversized, shimmery white button-up caught the dim lights just right, while the soft gray checkered pants hung low on her hips. Your outfit — hair down, a sparkly two-piece that shimmered with every step and pushed your chest up like a gift-wrapped secret — had her nearly stumbling the moment she laid eyes on you again.

Later, under the haze of neon and soft bass rumbling through the floor, you found yourself dancing with Nika and Aaliyah, swaying your hips to whatever song was flooding the space. Paige stood just across the room, still holding court, still playing it cool — until she wasn't. Her eyes kept finding yours like magnets. Your thighs squeezed every time they did. You couldn't stop thinking about the way her lips felt on yours. The way her hand had squeezed yours under the table. The way her eyes had traced your body in that black gown like she was starving.

When she started handing out shots, you knew what time it was. You weren't much of a drinker, but for her? Tonight? You'd drink the whole damn bar.

Paige made her way back to you with a devilish glint in her eye, already holding two shot glasses in one hand. She handed you one, but when you went to lift it to your lips, she stopped you with a cocky smirk.

"Nah, lemme." She tilted your head back with her fingertips, pouring the liquid down your throat like she owned you — and she kinda did. You coughed, laughing, a stray drop sliding down your jaw. Her tongue was on you before you could wipe it away, licking the trail down your neck with a low hum of satisfaction.

"Fuck," you whispered, eyes fluttering. The heat between your legs had long since stopped being subtle. Your panties were soaked, your body begging for hers.

She stayed glued to you after that — one arm slung around your shoulder, or curled protectively around your waist. Her chin pressed to your shoulder while you talked to others, her fingers occasionally brushing over the skin peeking between the hem of your top and the waistband of your skirt. You tried to stay composed, but her touches were calculated. She knew exactly how to unravel you without anyone else catching on. At least not yet.

By the time the clock hit 2 a.m., all hope of keeping things low-key was gone.

You were dancing on her now, her front pressed tightly against your back as your hips rolled in slow, hypnotic circles. Your ass ground into her hips every time the beat dropped, her kissing the tattoos on your arms, and hands gripped your waist like she was holding on for dear life. One slipped lower, guiding your body against hers until you could feel the heat of her through her pants. Her lips were at your ear, whispering the nastiest things that made your knees weak and your breath stutter.

You didn't even care who was watching.

It had been over a year of private kisses behind closed doors. Of lives where you had to stay away from each other, hidden dates, stolen glances, fake stories. Tonight? You were done hiding.

You turned to face her, lips brushing hers with every breath, your hands sliding up the firm line of her chest, palms resting against the shimmer of her shirt. "Take me home," you whispered into her mouth.

She didn't say a word.

Just grabbed your hand and led you out the back door, that same smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

The second the elevator door clicked shut behind you, Paige had you pinned to the nearest wall.

Her mouth was on yours with a hunger you hadn't tasted in weeks — not like this. Not publicly buzzed, not in celebration, not with months of restraint finally breaking like a dam. Her hands gripped your thighs before sliding up, catching under your ass to lift you effortlessly. You gasped against her lips as your legs wrapped around her waist.

"Wanted you all night, ma," she breathed into your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. "Looking like that... fuck were you thinking?"

"Thinking about you taking this top off with your teeth," you whispered, fingers tangled in her hair.

Her laugh was low, dangerous, sending a shiver straight through you. "You're not making it to the bedroom if you keep talking like that."

"Then don't make me wait."

She didn't. She carried you through the hallway, her hat tilted backward on her head, your body wrapped around hers like it belonged there. Which it did. You barely registered being pinned to the still locked door, too distracted by her mouth nipping at your jaw, her hand slipping between your legs, pressing through the thin fabric of your skirt. You whimpered into her mouth as she pressed her fingers harder against your core, smirking when she felt just how soaked you were for her.

The second the hotel room door opened, you guided her towards the bed, pushing her backward and watching her fall onto the bed, legs sprawled, shirt half open.

You took your hat off slowly, teasing, eyes locked on hers the whole time. Then you climbed onto her lap, straddling her with a slow grind that made her hiss through her teeth.

Her hands were on your hips immediately. "Don't start something you can't finish."

You leaned down, your lips brushing hers again. "I plan on finishing all night."

You kissed her hard, desperate, grinding against the firm heat between her legs. Her hands pushed up your top, fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach, then higher, until your bra-covered chest was in full view.

"Fuck," she muttered, pulling the fabric down and burying her face between your breasts. Her tongue flicked over your skin, her hands squeezing, kneading, touching like she was trying to memorize every inch.

You whimpered, your fingers digging into her shoulders. "Take it off. Please."

She obliged— unhooking your bra with one hand and carelessly throwing away to the floor. Immediately, her lips wrapped around your nipples, sucking and tugging on them, gently grazing them with her teeth.

Paige sat up, your legs still wrapped around her and now it was her turn to toss you onto the bed and on your back. The girl crawled over you, her eyes studying you like you were a deer and she was the starving lion waiting to tear you apart.

Her tongue trailed down your body, slow and dangerous. The blonde pushed your skirt up to your waist and when she finally kissed the inside of your thighs, you almost cried. But she didn't dive in right away. She teased. Kisses, nibbles, her nose brushing against the wet patch of your panties.

"You smell so good," she whispered. "So fucking sweet."

You whimpered again, arching into her touch. "Paige..."

And when she finally pulled your flimsy panties aside and dragged her flat tongue up your slit, you forgot how to breathe. Once. Twice.

She licked you like she was starved—fingers digging into your thighs, as your back arched and your hands scrambled for something—*anything*—to hold on to. That Dallas Wings hat still backwards on her head. She wrapped her arms under your thighs and pulled you closer, locking you down, owning the way your body responded to her. You could barely squirm as she dipped her tongue deeper into you. She moaned into you when you tugged her hair, the vibration making your legs shake.

Paige's lips tugged at your folds, your pussy slick with a mixture of your arousal and her spit, and every single time she wrapped them around your clit, it elicited yet another whine from you.

You mindlessly pushed her head closer to your pussy, feeling the tip of her nose against your clit while her tongue circled your entrance, dipping in and out — letting your wetness seep into her mouth.

"Tastes so fucking good." She mumbled against you absentmindedly, sending more tingly vibration up your spine. She could stay between your legs for hours, just lapping at your soaked pussy.

She didn't stop. Not when you gasped. Not when your voice cracked. Not when you almost crushed her head with your thighs. Not even when you came on her tongue, thighs trembling, mouth open in a silent cry.

You barely had time to recover before she was climbing up your body again, her mouth shining with you, her eyes dark and blown.

You were still catching your breath when she pulled away—her lips red and swollen from kissing you, eyes low and dark with desire. Without a word, Paige leaned in to kiss your jaw, then your neck, and finally your shoulder.

"Said you'd finish all night f'me, yeah?" she whispered, kissing your swollen lips again. "Wait here, I got something for you, baby."

You did as told, legs still a little shaky, heart still racing as the heat between them pulsed with anticipation. You watched her disappear into the walk-in closet of the suite, her shimmery white button-up shirt sticking slightly to her back from the sweat of your bodies pressed together on the dance floor all night.

When she returned, your breath caught in your throat.

The shirt was completely unbuttoned now, hanging loose and exposing her chest. Her pants were still on, but unzipped, just low enough to reveal the black harness hugging her hips, snug against her skin. And in place — her surprise — bold and thick, gleaming slightly from the lube she'd clearly already applied. She stood at the foot of the bed, letting you take it all in.

"Y'gonna let me fuck you?" she asked lowly, voice raspy from drinks and desire. Her eyes were on you — predatory, hungry.

You couldn't speak, only nodded, lips parted slightly as your thighs pressed together unconsciously.

Paige stepped forward slowly, her hand gripping your chin gently, tilting your face upward. "Told you I wanted to show you off tonight," she whispered. "But honestly? I fucking hated how everyone had their eyes on my girl.”

She flipped you over onto your stomach with little effort. Her hands found your hips, tugging the already hiked-up sparkly skirt a little higher, exposing you. She bent you forward until your chest met the sheets, arching your back just the way she liked it.

"You kept teasing me all night," she murmured behind you, dragging her nails down your spine. "Dancing on me like that... talking all sweet, acting innocent. You thought I wasn't gonna do somethin’ about it?"

You whimpered at the feeling of her lining up behind you, the blunt pressure just barely pushing against your entrance. "Wanted you to."

"You got it, baby."

Her hand slid up your spine, slowly, tracing the curve of your back like she was memorizing it. You felt her press a kiss to the small of it, soft and warm, just before her palm smoothed over your hip and her other hand settled firmly between your shoulder blades, holding you steady.

The first push was torturously slow — just the tip, easing in with deliberate patience. You gasped at the stretch, your body instinctively trying to push back for more, but Paige tightened her grip, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"Nuh-uh," she said, her voice dark and low, lips brushing against your ear as she leaned over you. "Y'gonna take it slow first, yeah? Want you to feel every inch."

And you did.

Paige didn't rush. She rocked her hips in gentle, controlled thrusts, just deep enough to make your breath hitch every time she bottomed out. The wet sounds between your thighs, the soft pants leaving your mouth, the way your fingers gripped the sheets — she drank in all of it, eyes locked on the way your body moved beneath her.

"You're fucking dripping," she muttered, almost to herself, voice thick with awe and arousal. "Knew you'd take me so good."

And then, just when you started to settle into the rhythm, thinking maybe she'd keep it tender tonight, she pulled almost all the way out—then slammed back in with a force that knocked the wind out of you.

Your moan was immediate, raw, punched from your throat. Face pressed down into the mattress, ass up high for her.

"There she is," Paige growled, hand fisting into your hair and yanking your head back just enough to keep you gasping. "That's the sound I wanna hear."

"Makeup's getting all over the sheets." You barely managed a coherent sentence.

Paige only chuckled, "On my life, i don't give a fuck."

She didn't hold back after that.

The slow, sensual strokes were over—replaced by quick, deep thrusts that had you clawing at the sheets, crying out her name. One hand stayed gripping your hip tight enough to bruise while the other slipped around to your front, finding your clit with practiced ease.

"Such a good girl," she murmured against your neck, voice ragged, "taking all of me like that. Look at you. Fuck—look at you."

"Eyes up, ma," Paige grunted, roughly grabbing your chin and turning your face toward the floor-length mirror just a few feet away. "Want you to see how fucked out you look when I'm guts deep inside you."

The sight had you whimpering. Your sparkly skirt was bunched around your waist, your thighs trembling, and Paige — shirt open, chest bare, pants low on her hips — looked like a goddamn dream behind you. One hand gripped your hip, the other pressed flat against your lower back, keeping your arch deep as she thrust into you again, hard enough to make the bed shake.

You chased her eyes and you saw her watching your pussy swallow her strap, her lips parted and eyes filled with lust.

"Fuck, baby," she groaned, watching her hips slam into you in the reflection. "Look at you takin' it so good. Dripping all over me, makin' a mess."

Your eyes fluttered but Paige's fingers gripped your jaw again, more demanding this time. "Nah, keep 'em open. Look at what I'm doin' to you. You see this? You feel how deep I am?"

You nodded, broken sounds spilling from your mouth that didn't even sound like words anymore.

"That's right," she purred. "You're mine. My pretty girl. Fuckin' mine."

She slammed into you again, rougher, and the mirror caught the exact moment your body gave out just a little, arms trembling under your weight. Paige growled behind you and pulled you upright by your chest, your back flush to her front now, her length still buried inside you.

"Can't even hold yourself up, huh?" she rasped against your ear. "I love you like this. So fucked out for me. So needy. You were waitin' for this, weren't you?"

You nodded frantically, breath hot, your hands clawing at hers where they gripped your body.

"Use your words," Paige demanded. "Tell me who got you like this."

"You, mama," you whined pathetically, helpless and aching. "Only you."

"Damn right. I fuckin’ own this pussy."

Paige was so fucking wet and her clit throbbing, begging for stimulation but there's only so much she could do while focusing on digging deep in you.

She bent you forward again, one hand now tangled in your hair, the other wrapped tight around your waist as she started pounding into you, relentless. You met her eyes in the mirror — dark, focused, full of hunger—and that look alone had you spiraling.

"Wanna feel you cum on me," she muttered, her voice deep and filthy. "Right here, on this dick. Make a mess f'me. Can feel you gripping my shit, mama."

The knot in your stomach began to tighten impossibly at the sound of Paige's sinful words and the squelching sound of your sopping cunt. You hadn't even had the chance to warn her before the rope snapped, your mouth falling open in a high pitched moan before it went silent. There was no doubt that you'd made a mess on her, just like she wanted it.

"That'sss it, mama," she grunted lowly, blunt nails digging into the skin of your hips. "Just creaming on this dick, hm?"

After the high, you collapsed onto your back, chest heaving, your lungs chasing air like you'd just run miles. The room spun just a little — not from the alcohol, not even from the high — but from her. From Paige. The way she looked at you like you were the only thing that existed in the entire damn world.

Paige's hand found yours almost immediately, her fingers weaving through yours, grounding you. Her other hand smoothed over your stomach, slow and gentle, tracing mindless patterns as she pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek.

"You're okay, princess," she whispered against your skin, voice warm and low and so full of something deeper. "Breathe for me."

You did, exhaling shakily as her lips moved across your jaw. She brushed your hair back with a careful touch, thumb caressing your cheek. You leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut, your body still trembling slightly from the aftermath.

"Still with me?" she asked, softer now, teasing but laced with love.

You nodded, letting out a short, breathy laugh as you sat up. "Barely."

That earned a quiet smile from her, and she pulled you close for a moment, your head resting against her chest as she kissed your temple and held you there.

But not for long.

You shifted, slowly, your muscles still warm and loose. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye and one last deep breath, you flipped the two of you over — her now beneath you, laid out again in all her glory.

Paige grinned up at you, winded in a different way, hands automatically resting at your hips. "Oh," she murmured, clearly amused, "we're not done, huh?"

You leaned down, your lips brushing hers just barely. "Not even close."

She stared up at you, her eyes hungry, her chest rising and falling just a bit faster now.

You took your time, letting your hands trail down her arms, then her thighs, coaxing them apart with slow, teasing pressure. She let out a soft breath, already pliant under your touch.

"You always look so fucking sexy. It's not fair." you spoke, as you began to work her pants lower — slowly, watching every flicker of expression on her face. She groaned under her breath, tilting her head back as the fabric dragged against her legs.

"Only for you," she breathed, her voice low and wrecked.

Once her pants and your skirt were discarded, you kissed your way up her thighs, gentle but purposeful, trailing soft touches over her hips. Her fingers tangled in your hair before you even got all the way up, desperate to feel more of you, to ground herself in the moment.

"You're killing me, mama," she rasped, the nickname slipping from her lips like a prayer.

You smiled against her skin, your breath warm against her stomach as you moved higher, the tension between you crackling like fire.

You pulled back slowly, your body tingling, your breath a little uneven. Paige whined quietly at the loss, eyes fluttering open, chasing your touch even as you sat up.

But instead of diving right in, you just... looked at her.

The room was quiet again, save for the heavy sound of her breathing. The sight before you made your chest ache — and something deeper burn.

Paige lay sprawled across the bed, her legs parted slightly, her arms loose by her sides like she'd completely unraveled for you. The oversized white button-up clung to her in the most sinful way, the fabric open and exposing every soft curve of her chest and waist. Her skin practically glowed in the dim lighting, flushed from heat and wine and everything you'd just done to her.

Your eyes traveled down her body slowly, drinking her in. The black boxers she still wore clung to her hips in a way that made your mouth go dry, riding low, the waistband stretching slightly over her stomach. She looked like a Calvin Klein ad, if Calvin Klein ads were made to ruin you.

"You're so..." You couldn't even finish the sentence, voice catching in your throat. Your fingers trailed lightly along the hem of her waistband, dragging just a little.

Paige's lips parted, her eyes hazy and wild with need. "Say it."

You let out a soft laugh, the pads of your fingers dipping just beneath the band now, teasing. "Perfect," you whispered. "You're perfect like this."

She smirked, but it was weak — dazed. "Then what are you waitin' for, ma?"

That was all it took.

You leaned back over her, your lips brushing her jaw, your hands firm on her hips now as you tugged the boxers down her legs — slow, like you wanted to savor every inch of skin as it was revealed. She lifted her hips for you without needing to be asked, letting you strip her bare, bit by bit.

Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, chest rising and falling in quick, eager breaths, legs open and waiting.

And when you crawled between them, her hands reached for you again — like she couldn't stand another second of distance.

It started out with you pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin of her inner thighs, teasing her torturously slow, trailing your way up higher inch by inch. You couldn't refrain from looking up at her with an infuriating grin.

You were eye level with her cunt in all it’s glistening glory— how could you possibly deprive yourself any longer?

The last bit of oxygen in her lungs was lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her to spread her folds, tongue darting out to lick a fat, painfully slow stripe up. Her wetness coated your tongue, slick and warm, and you couldn't help but groan before burying yourself into her.

Paige's back arched off the bed slightly, her hands twisted tightly in the sheets as you settled between her thighs. Her breath hitched and the sound that left her lips had you clenching your eyes shut for a second — like it physically hit you.

"Fuck—baby," she gasped, one hand flying up to push her hair back. "You tryna kill me or what?"

You hummed against her, teasing, "Just making up for lost time. Fucking missed this pussy."

Her thighs instinctively tightened around you, and her head fell back against the pillow, the open collar of her button-up slipping further down her shoulders, exposing more of that skin you'd already memorized. She looked wrecked — flushed, glowing, utterly undone. You wanted to etch that image into your mind forever.

The tip of your fingers teased her slick entrance, stretching her out with just the tip of two digits before fully sliding them into her. Moving your head side-to-side, your tongue laid flat against her, digits curving where she needed you most.

"Mama," Paige rasped, voice deeper than usual, breathless. "Right there—shit, right there."

You glanced up at her through your lashes, your smirk impossible to hide. "Yeah? You like that?"

She nodded, biting down on her bottom lip, then whined when you pulled away for a moment just to breathe.

"Say it," you whispered, fingers plunging in and out of her at the perfect pace. "Tell me how good I make you feel, Paige."

Paige's hands tugged at your hair with just the right amount of desperation. "So good. Like I was made for this," she panted, eyes heavy and glassy with need. "Made for you."

You didn't reply with words — you didn't need to. The way your mouth returned to her, slow and intentional, said everything. She cried out, her voice turning into soft curses, muttered praises, her thighs trembling.

"God, you're so fuckin' good," she near to whined. "My girl. All mine."

Her hips began to stutter and you knew she was close — could hear it in her voice, could feel it in the way her hand gripped your shoulder the longer you hit that spongy spot over and over, clenching around you.

"Don't stop," she begged, "please don't—"

You didn't.

The room was dimly lit, but the large mirror across from the bed reflected the scene perfectly — her sprawled out, makeup melting, skin flushed and glowing under your touch. She caught sight of it and groaned softly.

"Look at you," you whispered, glancing up. "Can't believe how good you look falling apart for me."

Paige let out a soft, broken sound—her head tipping back, hand reaching blindly for yours and interlocking. Her legs curled around you, heels digging into the sheets, trying to ground herself against the slow, deliberate way you devoured her. She looked a hot mess, but in the most angelic way possible.

" 'M s-so close— f-fuck." The girl stuttered, too deeply lost in pleasure to form a perfect sentence.

"I know, pretty girl. 'S okay, you can let go for me.”

Every flicker of touch had her unraveling — every movement echoed in the mirror, in the shallow breaths she let out, in the way her back arched off the bed.

And when she finally shattered, trembling and gasping your name, it was with a kind of reverence—like you were everything she'd been waiting for.

Paige was still catching her breath, chest rising and falling steadily. Her skin was flushed, glowing, lips parted as she blinked up at the ceiling, stunned and speechless in the best way.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh before slowly making your way back up her body, dragging your fingertips across her skin as if memorizing every curve, every freckle. She shivered at your touch, still so sensitive, and let out a soft laugh.

"Aight," she mumbled, her voice hoarse and blissful. "I actually can't feel my legs."

You grinned, settling beside her on your back with a deep exhale, heart still racing. "Good. I was aiming for temporary paralysis."

That earned you a playful smack to the arm, and Paige turned to face you, her cheeks still a little pink. She reached up to brush some damp hair away from your face, fingertips feather-light as she trailed them down your cheek.

"You really don't play fair," she murmured, eyes searching yours. "Ruin me every time."

You leaned into her hand and smiled, lips brushing her wrist. "You ruin me too, you know. It's very fair."

The two of you lay there for a moment, sharing slow breaths in the quiet, your bodies tangled under the sheets. Paige eventually pulled you closer, her arm hooking around your waist and her leg draping over yours, keeping you snug against her.

"I should've worn something uglier," she teased, burying her face into your neck. "didn't expect you to eye-fuck me the second I sat down."

You giggled, carding your fingers through the back of her hair. "Don't know what you expected when I could almost see your tits."

There was a long, blissful silence after that — the kind where words weren't needed, where the warmth of each other's presence said everything. Paige traced slow circles on your back with her fingertips while you lightly tickled her side, making her squirm and giggle before settling again.

Finally, she whispered against your skin, "We really did it. Same team, same future. You and me."

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. "You and me."

Wrapped in each other's arms, hearts steady and slow, you drifted off with the quiet hum of music still playing from outside the bedroom and the promise of so many more nights like this ahead.

[verstappensrealwife]

Pinch me - Charles Leclerc x fem!Reader

[ charles leclerc masterlist  /  f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... max's infedelity leads to charles' dream come true. ʚɞ angst, smut, fluff  ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 3200 words ʚɞ warnings: not exactly smutty per-say but they have sex and thats obvious, max cheats on the reader, mon chéri. lovesick!charles.

Click here to be tagged in my works.

-୨♡୧-

Nothing in this world was perfect. But Max Verstappen… he was closest to it.

Around him you were a love-sick puppy, ready to do anything he asked of you. You’re friends told you being with him was silly and that you should ‘really be with someone who’s not so… hot headed, like Charles!’

Pfft! As if.

Max Verstappen, cold and aggressive on track, gentle and caring off the track. He held your hair back when you were throwing up, opened every door for you, pulled out your chair.

And yet still, that bastard fucking cheated!

You were ready to surprise him after he had won once again in Japan, only his assistant knew you were coming, prepping you with a spare keycard and a big smile on her face as she led you to the room, before disappearing back down the lift.

You pushed the card into the slot, waiting a moment before the green light flickered and a quick beep sounded as the door unlocked with a click.

“Max~” You sang, walking into the room. You couldn’t see the bed yet, but you heard the banging and hushed whispers of rushing around. God, did you feel your lungs collapse inwards. There he was, barely dressed while some woman you couldn’t see the face of under the covers hid herself.

“I- Baby let me explain because-”

“Because it’s not what it looks like? Because I think this looks like you are fucking someone else!”

He stuttered, not really having any words, he just kept looking at you, then at the woman in the bed who still hadn’t sat up, then at you again. No words, just mumbles on incoherence tumbling from his lips.

“Fuck you.” Is all you said, walking out the room without a second glance. Taking a deep, shaky breath as you slammed the door shut and walked towards the elevator, tapping your foot impatiently, adrenaline rushing through you. You had to get away from him. Like, now.

Your heart was pounding so loudly it felt like it might burst out of your chest. The glossy hotel corridor stretched endlessly in both directions, dimly lit and eerily quiet. Each second waiting for the elevator dragged like an eternity, the weight of what you'd just seen pressing down on you like a physical force. The mirrored doors reflected your tear-streaked face, and you quickly wiped at your cheeks, willing yourself not to break down just yet. Not here.

“Are you okay?” Someone was standing next to you, you barely registered it, you didn’t even bother to look who when you heard the voice again, “mon chéri?”

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. In the whirlwind of betrayal and heartbreak, logic wasn’t your guide—it was pure instinct. Without a second thought, you turned and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close, and pressed your lips to his.

And, to this day, he won’t lie that that moment was better than winning any grand prix- yes even Monaco. He loved you, and had done since he saw you wander around the paddock, confused where red bull was, and why you were near Alfa Romeo. 2018.

6 years of loving you, loving you in complete silence. 

it was so completely obvious, except to you.

Charles was the cause of plenty of yours, and Max’s arguments, if you even lingered near the Monegasque, Max threw a hissy fit.

Charles stood stiff at first but he came to his senses very swiftly. You, the most amazing woman he’d laid eyes on, was holding him by the nape of his neck and pulling him impossibly close. It was a dream come true- literally. He dreamed about you alot more than he’d care to admit.

He couldn’t think straight, his thoughts plagued by your lips, your hands that were scratching into his neck, your boobs which were squished against his chest.  When you pulled away, he looked completely euphoric. His eyes were still closed, his lips parted and his face bright red. He didn’t move until he felt a sharp sting on his arm—his own pinch. He’d done it to make sure this wasn’t another dream, and when he finally opened his eyes, you were still there. You were watching him, your head tilted in concern as you noticed the red marks on his skin.

He smiled shyly, “Sorry.” He then quickly mumbled as reality crept in, remembering Max was your boyfriend. He wasn’t sure why he apologised, you kissed him.

“He cheated.” You said, voice raw with emotion.

“Oh.” Charles frowned, though the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him. He tried to stifle the surge of joy bubbling inside him, knowing it was wrong to feel this way when you were hurting. But he couldn’t help it. His heart thudded in his chest, and he struggled to suppress the giddy feeling threatening to consume him. “Sorry again then… about the break up.” he added quickly, his voice soft and full of poorly disguised excitement.

Sorry? No, he wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.

“Sorry I kissed you,” you mumbled, the weight of everything catching up to you. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. Maybe you’d just complicated things even more.

“Don’t be, please,” Charles said, his voice cracking slightly. He sounded so vulnerable, so raw, a little pathetic. “I love kissing you.”

That made you laugh, a quiet, shaky sound that felt almost foreign coming from you in the moment. You reached up, your thumb gently brushing over his lips to clean off the faint smear of your lip gloss. He leaned into your touch ever so slightly, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Wanna go somewhere?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes widened for a split second before he nodded, his smile tentative but genuine. “Anywhere you want,” he said, his tone full of unspoken promises.

Inside Max’s hotel room, chaos reigned. He was frantically throwing clothes at the woman still tangled in the sheets, barking at her to get dressed. His own appearance was a disaster—boxers pulled on backwards, his t-shirt inside out, and his joggers nowhere to be found. He swore under his breath, his hands shaking as he struggled to get himself presentable enough to run after you.

Finally, he wrenched the door open, stepping into the hallway. His eyes darted down the corridor—and then he saw you.

You were standing with Charles at the elevator, the two of you close, your body language unmistakable. Charles was looking at you with an intensity that made Max’s chest tighten—a look filled with pure adoration, the kind Max couldn’t remember ever giving you. You, on the other hand, seemed shy, your gaze flickering down to the floor before peeking up at Charles when he coughed awkwardly.

The elevator doors began to close, and Max finally snapped out of his stupor. “Wait!” he called out, stepping forward, but it was too late. The heavy metal doors slid shut with a final clang, cutting off his view of you and Charles.

He stood there, frozen, his blank stare fixed on the now-empty space at the end of the corridor. The reality of what had just happened—and what he’d lost—sank in with a crushing weight.

Charles was undeniably needy, his every touch and look giving him away completely. He had no problem with the way you grinded against him on the dance floor, your bodies moving in perfect sync as if no one else existed in the crowded club. The whispers you breathed into his ear sent shivers down his spine, his hands tightening on your hips instinctively.

Maybe it was cruel, using him as a rebound. But even if it was, Charles didn’t care—not even a little. He would have let you break his heart a hundred times if it meant you’d let him kiss you again, taste the sweetness of your lips, and feel the heat of your touch.

He had zero protests when your lips found his over and over again. Kissing him in the club, kissing him in the backseat of the taxi as it sped through the neon-lit streets of Suzuka. And certainly no protests when your drunken giggles and unsteady footsteps carried you both toward his hotel room, which, by a cruel twist of fate, was just one floor above Max’s.

The elevator cameras would have plenty to show. The way your nails dragged down the back of Charles’ neck, just shy of breaking skin. The way his hands roamed your body with an almost desperate reverence, like he couldn’t believe this was real. Both of you were lost in each other, oblivious to the world beyond the bubble you’d created.

When the door to his room finally clicked shut behind you, it only took seconds for you to stumble onto the bed, your laughter filling the quiet room. Charles landed above you, bracing himself on his forearms as he looked down at you, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, and his eyes glassy from the alcohol—but more than that, from the way you made him feel.

The laughter slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing. Your chest rose and fell as you looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, lingering there like he couldn’t resist.

“You’re so perf—” Charles started, his voice soft and full of wonder.

You quickly clapped your hand over his mouth, cutting him off. “Not perfect,” you corrected firmly, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

He nodded, his lips curving against your palm. When you removed your hand, he tried again, “You’re so… ideal?”

His attempt made you laugh, a sound that felt so genuine and lighthearted, a sound you hadn’t heard from yourself in far too long—certainly not with Max. The moment lingered for just a second before you pulled him back down to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that deepened, a kiss that felt like escape and discovery all at once.

Slowly, the two of you undressed, taking your time as if savoring each reveal, every touch, and every inch of each other. Charles’ hands were warm and reverent, exploring the shape of you like he wanted to memorize every curve. His attention was unwavering, his gaze soft yet searing, and his touch a perfect balance of gentle and demanding. You couldn’t help but notice the little things, like the slight asymmetry of his abs or the way his lips quirked into a small smile whenever you traced your fingers over his skin.

Charles was mostly quiet, save for the soft whispers that passed between you. His words weren’t meant to be reciprocated; he didn’t care if you didn’t feel the same way. For him, it was enough that he had you in this moment. In this moment, you were his, and he was yours.

He moved with a mix of tenderness and passion, always attuned to you. Every sound you made was like a symphony to him—your gasps, your moans, the way you whispered his name. He cherished every reaction, making it his mission to learn exactly what made you tick, what made you come undone.

For you, it was overwhelming, the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel. You couldn’t get enough of him—his body, his voice, the way his movements felt like they were made just for you.

The night stretched on endlessly, filled with shared laughter, whispered praises, and stolen breaths. By the time you both succumbed to exhaustion, you were lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest, your leg draped over his waist. His hand traced absent patterns on your back as he stared at the ceiling, listening to your soft breathing.

Even after you drifted off, Charles stayed awake for a while longer, his eyes fixed on you. He admired the peaceful expression on your face, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He didn’t want the moment to end. He knew it was fleeting, but he couldn’t help hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

When he woke, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The second thing was you, still there. You were lying on your side, scrolling through your phone, the glow of the screen reflecting off your face.

“Good morning, mon chéri,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. He said nothing for a moment, just stared at you like he was trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. His eyes darted over your freckles, the curve of your lips, the way your messy morning-hair framed your face.

“Hi,” you replied quietly, your cheeks warming under his adoring stare.

For a moment, everything felt perfect, but then the weight of reality settled in. The guilt crept in, cold and unwelcome. You’d just slept with one of Max’s friends, and co-workers. Yes, Max had cheated, and yes, he deserved every ounce of karma, but still. You weren’t someone who hurt people. This wasn’t who you were—or at least, who you thought you were.

Your smile faltered as the conflict brewed inside you.

Charles noticed the shift in your expression almost instantly. His brows furrowed slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow, concern flashing in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine care.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you stared at the sheets tangled between your fingers. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I feel… guilty. About everything.”

“Guilty?” Charles echoed, his hand reaching out to rest gently on your arm. “Why? You did nothing wrong.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face for answers you weren’t even sure you wanted. “Didn’t I? Max cheated, yeah, but… I just slept with one of his friends. I feel like I’ve stooped to his level. And you… I used you, Charles. That’s not fair to you.”

Charles shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You didn’t use me,” he said firmly. “I wanted this, more than you know. If this is what you needed, then I’m glad I could be here for you.”

“But—” you started, but he cut you off, his hand gently cradling your cheek.

“No buts,” he said, his thumb brushing over your skin. “You’ve been hurt, mon chéri. It’s okay to want comfort, to want someone who will treat you the way you deserve. If that’s all this is, I’m okay with that.”

His words made your chest tighten. The sincerity in his voice was disarming, and the way he looked at you—it was so different from Max. Where Max had been possessive, Charles was supportive. Where Max had been quick to anger, Charles was calm and understanding.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “You’re too good for me,” you whispered.

Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, I’m not. I just see you for what you are: an amazing woman who deserves more than she’s been given.”

The vulnerability in his words left you speechless. You didn’t know what to say, so instead, you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the silence filled with unspoken emotions.

Finally, you pulled back, a small smile breaking through your conflicted expression. “Thank you,” you said softly.

“For what?”

“For being you.”

Charles smiled in return, his hand still resting on your cheek. “Always.”

The morning carried on quietly. You both got dressed, sharing little touches and smiles that felt intimate but light. The guilt lingered at the edges of your mind, but so did a strange sense of peace. Charles made you feel safe, cherished, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were walking on eggshells.

As you slipped on your shoes, you glanced over at Charles, who was leaning against the desk, watching you with a soft expression. “I should go,” you said, though the words felt heavy.

He nodded, his smile bittersweet. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, standing and walking toward him. “But I think I need to figure out what to do next.”

“I understand.” He hesitated before reaching for your hand, squeezing it gently. “If you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand in return. “Thank you.”

As you left the room and stepped into the hallway, your thoughts were a jumble.

The next few weeks at the paddock were... tense, to say the least. Charles found himself hyper aware of Max’s presence at all times. The Dutchman, with his usual confidence bordering on arrogance, seemed oblivious to the anxiety brewing under the surface of the Monegasque driver’s composed demeanor.

Charles avoided him like the plague. If Max was walking down the pit lane, Charles would conveniently busy himself with his engineers or slip into the Ferrari motorhome. If they were in the driver’s briefing, Charles kept his responses short and avoided eye contact. The mere thought of what had happened—what Max might suspect—had Charles living on edge. He wasn’t exactly guilty, but he wasn’t entirely innocent either. And the last thing he wanted was a confrontation.

But more than anything, he yearned for you.

Each weekend, as the Grand Prix circus traveled from one city to the next, Charles found himself scanning the paddock, hoping—no, desperately hoping—that you’d show up. He knew it was selfish, but even just a glimpse of you would settle his nerves, even if it was from afar.

At the drivers’ parade, his eyes wandered to the crowd, scanning faces without meaning to. He barely heard the questions thrown at him by reporters, his thoughts always drifting back to you.

He was distracted, no doubt about it. His performance on track was fine—he could drive fast even in his sleep—but his mind wasn’t entirely on racing. In quiet moments, he replayed that night over and over, the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d touched him, the way you’d laughed. It was both his greatest comfort and his greatest torment.

-୨♡୧-

Winter break 2024.

he’d finally begun to accept that maybe it was time to let go. Maybe you wouldn’t come back, not to him. Maybe that night was all he’d ever have, and he should be grateful for it. His thoughts consumed him so entirely that he didn’t notice the figure coming around the corner until it was too late.

He collided with someone—hard.

“Merde!” he muttered, stumbling back. His hands instinctively reached out to steady the person he’d bumped into. “I’m so sorry—”

His words caught in his throat as he looked up and realised who it was.

He pinched himself. 

Ow.

-୨♡୧-

:D :D :D pls like+reblog plsplspls i thrive off of attention.

---

tags: @i-wish-this-was-me @alex-wotton @yasdiazepam @ricciardosheart @random-fanfiction @hales-in-universe @lexy9716 @canyonmoon-2 @nichmeddar @carlossainzapologist @elieanana @cherry-piee @ethereal0810 @tallrock35 @montanajgbn @redivyvivi @Ellie24_20 @evie-119 @fadingcloudballoon-blog @jadelovesyou00 @lexy9716 @bibblemiluvr @Lili4n @Blakesbearsblog @Armystay89 @jnicole_44_4 @yasdiazepam @jewel_diva @maymustdie @Sarakay-gvf @lilypat @sturmatt @angstynasty @nina-or-anna-or-nora @thatredcar @stylesmoonlight12 @justaf1girl @wishesofficial @Coolcalmandc0llected

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[ashthesalamipiece]

i hope you’re taking requests right now!! but i have an idea for maybe hawks or bakugo where they took a picture of something intimate and instead of just saving it or sending it to someone they put it on their story or something by accident. i feel like that would be so funny how panicked they would be 😭

Feathers and Fiascos

It all started with a harmless selfie.

Well, harmless in theory.

In reality, it was a photo of Hawks—real name Keigo Takami—flat on his back, absolutely wrecked, with your legs draped over his shoulders, his hair tousled, and a look on his face like he’d just seen God.

And you?

You were in the frame, too. Sort of. More like, your hand holding the phone was, and one of your thighs. That was about all Instagram got before the blurry, NSFW chaos of post-coital bliss kicked in. His tongue was out. There was a feather stuck to your chest.

He took the picture with a smug grin, murmuring, “For posterity,” before collapsing back onto your body with a satisfied sigh.

“Don’t send that to anyone,” you warned, already half-asleep.

“Babe, I’m a Pro Hero. I’m discreet.”

Ten minutes later, the scream from the other room nearly gave you a heart attack.

“OH NO NO NO—”

You bolted upright, dragging the sheet with you. “What? What happened?!”

Hawks looked like he’d seen a ghost. Or worse—Endeavor.

“I—I posted it. To my story.”

“You what?!”

“I thought I was saving it to my camera roll and—WHY IS THERE NO UNDO BUTTON FOR LIFE?!”

Cue the descent into chaos.

---

1 Hour Earlier...

The pro hero agency group chat was alive with the usual banter.

Endeavor: “Team meeting tomorrow. Be on time.”

Mirko: “Not if I break my ankle fighting this villain. Again.”

Edgeshot: “Remember to submit your patrol reports.”

Mt. Lady: “Omg who’s watching Hero Housewives tonight??”

Then, suddenly, a ping. A new story.

@hawks_official has posted a story.

The thumbnail?

Blurry skin tones. A shock of blond hair. A bare foot. A very unfortunate angle.

Mirko clicked it.

Immediately spat out her protein shake.

“YO WHAT THE HELL—”

She screen-recorded it before it could vanish.

Mt. Lady opened it while waiting for her iced latte. She screamed so loudly, a barista dropped a blender.

Endeavor opened it.

Dead silence.

Then:

Endeavor: “Takami.”

Hawks: “I CAN EXPLAIN—”

Mirko: “Bro that was your entire soul leaving your body.”

Mt. Lady: “Is that a feather stuck to her—OH MY GOD I NEED TO WASH MY EYES.”

Edgeshot: “...That was the most flexible leg positioning I’ve ever seen. Impressive.”

---

Meanwhile, you were trying to fix the damage while Hawks hyperventilated into a pillow.

“Keigo, calm down. It was only up for a few minutes—”

“Long enough for Mirko to save it. She’s going to meme me into oblivion.”

Your phone buzzed.

Mirko: “Tell Birdbrain I want royalties if I use this as my new reaction image.”

Another buzz.

Mt. Lady: “Girl... y’all good? Because from that angle he looked like he saw heaven and got dragged back.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to have to wear a disguise next time I go to the grocery store.”

Hawks groaned. “They’re never gonna let me live this down. This is gonna be a panel at the next Hero Con.”

You tried not to laugh, but failed miserably. “At least they know you’re flexible.”

“Flexible?! Babe, I was folded like laundry. Laundry. And I moaned!”

You wiped a tear from your eye, cackling. “Oh my god, you did moan.”

Hawks flopped down dramatically. “I’m retiring. Effective immediately.”

You kissed his forehead. “You’ll live. Eventually.”

Another buzz.

Dabi: “LMAOOOOO.”

Hawks stared at it. “I don’t even KNOW how he saw it. He’s BLOCKED.”

“Not from chaos, apparently.”

---

The next day.

The pro meeting room was dead silent when Hawks walked in.

All eyes on him.

He sat down.

Someone snorted.

Edgeshot handed him a small trophy that said “Most Enthusiastic Hero 2025”.

Mirko winked and whispered, “Nice arch, Romeo.”

You owed her a drink for that one.

Endeavor stood at the head of the table, glaring.

"...Next time, Takami, check your privacy settings."

[edenspoem]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy���faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[g1rld1ary]

love's light wings - neil perry x fem!reader

wc: 967

cw: smoking, you meet neil at a party and he recites shakespeare to you

The air was cold and fresh on your face as you leant against the first floor balcony, a welcome change from the overwhelming heat from the party inside. Donna by Ritchie Valens was playing inside, muffled behind the closed door. You hummed along to yourself, unafraid of being heard. It seemed like your whole school was crammed inside the house, or at least was during the peak of the party. Through the course of your smoke break you’d watched people start to dissipate, couples leaving giggly and hand in hand, unaware of you watching from above. You frowned, taking another drag from the cigarette. You were stuck at the party until your friend’s dumb boyfriend decided he was ready to drive you both home. Maybe you did want a boyfriend, if only for the perks.

Neil wasn’t typically one for a party. He hadn’t been to a real one at all until he’d been brought along by Knox, who’d gotten a plus one from Chris. He’d enjoyed it, mostly, but he’d never learnt how to handle his liquor which was why he was out in the snow alone, throwing up into a bush. Youth was on his side and he recovered quickly, still feeling some of the effects of too many drinks. Then he saw you. You, leaning up against the balcony like an angel, backlighting from the house creating a halo effect around your body. Neil wondered if you were even real. Smoking peacefully, Neil thought you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl he’d seen in his entire life.

“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun,

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.” The lines tumble from his lips before he could even consider it might be a bad idea. If he was sober he would have been mortified, both at the utter reveal of his soul, and that he’d spoken to a pretty girl, just like that.

You’d never had Shakespeare recited to you before. You’d studied Romeo and Juliet in school, of course, but it only properly clicked when a boy was reciting it to you as if it had come from his own heart.

“And you’re Romeo in this scenario?” You called down to him, amused by his dazed expression. He nodded eagerly.

“See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

O, that I were a glove upon the hand,

That I might touch that cheek!” You giggle at that, glancing at your glove-covered hand.

“Do you have a name, Romeo?”

“Neil!” He yelled, waving adorably. You returned it with great amusement. “Neil Perry.”

“Why haven’t I seen you around before, Neil Perry?” There weren’t that many schools in the area, and you were sure you’d found all the cute boys already.

“I go to Welton,” He replied, “I only see the sun once a year.” You laughed loudly at that, tipping your head back joyfully. Neil watched in adoration.

“You should come by more often, Romeo. This is more interesting than anything the airheads in there can provide.” You nod your head back to the house where people you didn’t like where doing things you didn’t enjoy. You’d only come for your friend anyway, and what had that gotten you? Well, it had brought you to this, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.

You opened your mouth to say something else, introduce yourself maybe, when the balcony door flung open and your friend’s boyfriend was yelling something about needing you for a drinking game — not enough people to make even teams. You sighed, rolling your eyes with all the strength of your annoyance and glanced back down to Neil. He didn’t look angry, just genuinely upset to have to stop your conversation.

You hesitated in returning back inside, leaving Neil with a taste of his own medicine.

“So Romeo would — were he not Romeo called —

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,

And for that name, which is no part of thee,

Take all myself.”

You hardly had time to witness Neil’s shocked, euphoric expression, but kept it in your mind as you participated in whatever dull, alcohol-infused game you’d been forced into.

It was over an hour later when you next saw Neil, surrounded by a small huddle of strange boys you assumed were also from Welton. He actually lit up when he caught sight of you, literally creating his own light source. You reddened under his gaze, unused to the attention.

Neil liked you even more up close. The soft yellow lamp cast your face in the most ethereal light and your red swing dress was endlessly flattering. Your smile sent arrows straight through his heart, making it hard to pretend he was listening to a word Charlie was saying.

“Juliet!” He approached you eagerly, ignoring the teasing from his friends. You didn’t think you were into being called by another girl’s name, but it was strangely okay when it was Neil doing it. You introduced yourself properly anyway, charmed by the way Neil tried out your name softly, smiling as he did.

“Don’t leave me waiting,” Was all you said as you pressed a slip of paper in his hand, the contents being your name and phone number. With a quick peck up to his cheek you left, following your friend out to her boyfriend’s car and the cold winter air.

The next morning the phone rang minutes after you’d woken.

[pinkaditty]

Starstruck Coral Part 2 (Romeo Lucci x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

*tiptoes back on2 my blog only 2 trip and slide over a comically placed banana peel and alert the entirety of my waiting readers*

well. here’s part 2 LMFAOOOOOO i was inspired i guess! let me apologize for… my usual shenanigans… there’s always more than 1 ghoul involved, i fear! its bc im insane. yea.

a/n: sorry i disappeared and have just been reposting or giving out occasional queued posts. idk man i went off grid 4 a minute bc i had a break off of work and spent that entire 4 day weekend playing otome games and relaxing. then it was back 2 work and i just felt tired all the time 😭 BUT i finally managed 2 lock it down and finish it. thank god. hopefully my inspiration comes back full throttle soon. 

also this may or may not have a part 3. i have a soft idea 4 it but honestly it might just be me dragging it out idk… ill think abt it. 

summary: pt 2 of starstruck coral series. romeo can't get you out of his head. neither can the other ghouls.

cw: mc kinda gets around. sorry. guilty pleasure u can pelt me with stones all u want its how i like it! warning 4 lots of making out and graphic descriptions of it, as well as some petting in some scenes. NOT PROOFREAD sorry :(

MINORS DNI NO SMUT BUT STILL SUGGESTIVE!

Looking for Part 1? Click here!

Romeo knows from the first time you kiss him that he’s not the only one. 

Peach-flavored gloss smears across his lips as he hurriedly wipes them with the back of his hand, rushing away from the chapel for the third time that week. He can feel the sticky residue clinging to the edge of his lips and he knows there’s no way he’s gonna be able to get it off of his face without a mirror. Maybe he’ll get lucky and nobody at Sinostra will ask questions. He’d barely managed to salvage his reputation (and yours, by proxy) after that rather suggestive picture Kurosagi had made sure was all over WickHive. Though, he might be digging his own grave with how often he slips away to visit you, now that he thinks of it. He’s not one for pink or peach colors due to how it clashes quite terribly with his hair, and much prefers darker colors, like reds or purples. However, he can’t say he minds the lighter, more refreshing taste of peach lining his lips for once. If he flicks his tongue out to taste the edge of his lips, it’ll be like he’s kissing you all over again. 

That’s gross though, so he’s not doing that. He’s not so low that he’ll let his urges get the best of him yet. 

He does, however, absentmindedly flick his tongue along his lips, wetting them as they’re exposed to the cool night air. He’s wasted a lot of lip gloss today, and he doesn’t want to arrive at Sinostra with dry lips. 

He can almost still feel your lips moving against his, your hands curling into the collar of his uniform, wrinkling it like hell. He sure does mind you wrinkling it, and makes a point to fist his hands into your collar as well. He should've seen it coming when that only spurs you on, further creasing his perfectly ironed blazer. He'd soon find his neck covered in kiss marks, his crisp white collar stained with salmon-colored gloss, a forget-me-not that felt quite flirty for someone like you. 

The way you pulled at his hair, sighed against his lips, and brought him in closer immortalizes itself in his mind. He couldn’t believe what he had done, for the third time that week. He may as well have been referring to himself when he warned everyone at the bar to keep their hands off of you. He tries to tell himself again that it was an accident, a fluke, he wasn’t thinking right and something about the night air made him crave closeness in any form. And yet, despite knowing he has a number of women and men to choose from on campus, his feet always lead him to your door, like he can’t bring himself to go elsewhere. He figures it must be that damn lipgloss or the way you hold him or the way you smile, gloss smeared across your lips and your teeth peeking through a teasing smirk. Whatever it was, he’d found himself there again tonight, seeking heat, or tension, or something else he couldn’t name. 

But he could tell from the first time. Despite how he can't get enough of it, despite the sweet taste of your lips, despite the surprisingly perfect way your lips slotted against his, he knew for a fact he wasn't the only one. 

He can't explain why, but that bothers him. No matter how many times he gets to sign his name on your molars with his tongue, he wouldn't be the only one doing that. A burning curiosity seems to eat at him. Who was first? Who came before him? Would that person come again? And why was he so worked up about this, anyway?

He wipes his lips with the back of his gloved hand again absentmindedly, further spreading the sticky salmon-colored peach-flavored gloss. He shivers as he feels the residue stick to his chin, knowing this would be a pain to wash off. 

When he finally reaches Sinostra, he’s rather unpleasantly greeted by Ritsu, who’s dissatisfied expression makes Romeo want to blow his face right off with his pistol. Unfortunately, said pistol was resting in his room, and Ritsu would just harden his body with his stigma anyway. 

“Why are you back so late? The more time you spend drinking at that bar, the more you potentially ruin Sinsostra’s reputation! Need I remind you it’s already strained?” The emphasis Ritsu puts on the word ‘strained’ makes Romeo want to strain his windpipe. He can’t decide if Ritsu is a daddy’s boy, what with how much he loves law, or a momma’s boy, what with how much nagging he does on a daily basis. Perhaps he’s both. “And what is that all over your face, anyway?” Ritsu’s expression crinkles in disgust as Romeo breezes past him on his way to board the cruise ship that housed Sinostra’s dorms. Ritsu follows after him, and Romeo wonders how to shake him off. “If you’re going to be sleeping around, the least you could do is remove the evidence from your face. It would help you save face, you know—” At the mention of ‘saving face’, Romeo feels his eye twitch. He didn’t need a reminder of that damn picture anymore. 

Ritsu doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Romeo whirls around, pointing a finger directly into Ritsu’s chest, his face contorted in anger. He already has the perfect retort in mind, meant to embarrass Ritsu and keep him off his tail the rest of the night. “You want to protect Sinostra’s reputation so bad? Tell your assistant to stop leaving kiss marks where they’re visible.” Romeo’s smirk cracks into a teasing grin when the color drains from Ritsu’s face, only for it to promptly rise again, coloring him as red as his Sinostra brooch. 

He sputters for a moment, tripping over his own words before spitting out a desperate defense. “Wh-What are you even talking about?!” He practically spits the words out, backing away hurriedly from Romeo. “MC wouldn’t—!” He appears to be desperately searching for an excuse or way to defend you, but he quickly falters, probably realizing he doesn’t know nearly as much about the honor student as much as Romeo would, having been lip-locked with you only half an hour earlier. 

Before he can come up with any other excuses, Romeo turns on his heel and storms deeper into the halls of Sinostra, not even turning to observe the distress on Ritsu’s face. He smiles, however, when he hears a perplexed groan behind him. 

He’s grumbling to himself, out late again and headed straight back to his dorm. Dealing with Professor Hyde on Taiga’s behalf could not possibly be more frustrating. All he wanted was to go back to his dorm, take his daily luxury bubble bath, and curl up in his bed, ignoring the endless noise coming from the casino down below. As he’s on his way back, however, he comes across two familiar figures. One of the figures had a shock of red hair, was stumbling quite a bit, and leaning most of his weight onto the other figure, who seemed to be able to hold him relatively well. Romeo watches for a moment, furrowing his brow in confusion. Haru’s never been one to need help making his own way back, and if he did, he’d usually stay at Obscuary. Of course, not that it was any of his business. He’d happily turn the other way and continue on his way to Sinostra, plans for the evening orchestrating themselves in his mind. 

It wasn’t until he heard a familiar laugh that he took further interest. It sounded quite a bit like yours whenever you’d open your door to find him on your doorstep again. A knowing, teasing laugh. Romeo stills as he hears it, turning his gaze back to the walking couple. He didn’t know if Haru was doing this for show or not, but him leaning all over you did an excellent job of stoking Romeo’s jealousy. Romeo didn’t know why he was jealous or angered at this, but just knew he had to put a stop to it. He finds himself rushing to you, veering off his path just slightly. His steps pound against the stone pathway, and before he can think better of it, he hoists Haru’s free side onto his shoulder, removing most of his weight from your side. 

Romeo glances at you, thankful his assumption was correct, and notices the look of surprise flitting across your face before your Starstruck Coral-colored lips pull into a pleased smile. “Oh, thank you Romeo!”

“Whatever.” Romeo scowls, turning the other direction so you wouldn’t notice his flush, ignoring a laugh from Haru. “Let’s get this idiot back to Jabberwock.”

Most of the walk there is silent, save for Haru’s mindless drunken humming and equally mindless rambling, and your chuckling at it every now and again. Romeo’s mood progressively sours as the walk continues, peeved at the noise coming from Haru, at the added weight of his body, and at the way he seemed to soak up your attention like a sponge. Romeo knew he hardly had room to complain, considering all the times he had employed a monopoly on your attention, but still. After all the time spent monopolizing your attention, he couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t feel occasionally entitled to it. He always wants more of it, and that’s proved in how his feet drag himself against common sense to your dorm at least once a week. Every time Haru exhales, Romeo can smell the anomalous drinks on his breath. It makes him gag. Leave it to Haru to completely overdo it, like he does every time. 

When you get to the Jabberwock dorm's entrance, Romeo wastes no time in wrestling himself from Haru's side, leaving him to lean into you before he can regret it. He watches as Haru sags into you again, and he has to bite back a rude comment as Haru's head knocks into yours, and the two of you giggle with amusement. Nausea wells up in his throat at the sickening display. He covers his mouth with a hand and turns away, waving the two of you off. He had to get away from you two before he could taste bile. 

“I'm leaving. Leave him at the door, he'll find his way in." Romeo's words had a hint of experience, having dealt with a drunken Haru before. He doesn't think much of it when you don't immediately shrug Haru off, nor when you call after him to thank him. He hardly acknowledges you and simply waves his hand behind his back, unwilling to subject himself to another glimpse of Haru burying his nose into your neck and you nearly buckling under his weight.

As he trots off, he can't help overhearing your small giggles and Haru's satisfied hums. He’s tempted to tell the two of you to knock it off and make up some excuse about disturbing people this late, but it’s not like anyone hangs near Jabberwock’s corner of the campus regularly anyway. He feels ridiculous, coming up with excuses to deflect and absolve himself from any involvement. Usually, he’s not one to steer clear of letting everyone know what his opinion is on any given thing, but for some reason, he didn’t want to reveal his discomfort with Haru literally all over you. And he had been, quite literally, all over you—it was ridiculous, the way he leaned his body into yours, his lips hovering near your ear and his hair tickling your forehead. The vision makes Romeo shiver; it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth and a crease in his brow. He didn't want to think about Haru invading your personal space, even if that was exactly what he was doing as Romeo walked away. Romeo hears you giggle again, a sound that sounded suspiciously similar to the smacking of lips, and then Haru's satisfied hums again. He wonders what's going on when his dilemma from a few days ago resurfaces: He's not the only one, is he? 

A sickening feeling settles within him. His trot slows to a halt. Of course it'd be Haru. Of course, of all people, it'd be Haru. He’s willing to bet that if you didn’t fear death, it’d be Rui too. Every time he sees the two of you, it’s quite obvious both of you have roaming eyes and wavering resolve. He’s more often than not awkwardly inserted himself into the conversation, trying to find any kind of reasonable excuse for pulling you away from him. But of course, of course it was Haru. He should’ve known from the way you calmly sat in front of him a few weeks ago, letting his fingers trace the side of your face until they reached your lips. For you to be so comfortable with such intimate physical contact, clearly Haru’s been… touching you for some time now. Romeo grates his teeth together at the thought. Before he could think better of it, he whirls around and heads back towards you and Haru, hiding behind a nearby wall and peering around the edge, watching the two of you. 

He doesn’t know what he expected, but what he sees sickens him anyway. 

There you are, in a liplock with Haru. Your hands are holding his cheeks and pulling him towards you; not that that’s needed considering how he’s leaning into you, his arms wrapped around your waist. Romeo shivers uncomfortably as he watches Haru’s hands roam, his fingers pressing insistently into your ass, getting rather close to lifting your skirt. Romeo sighs, more out of relief than disappointment, when you shoo his hands away and break the kiss, though his discomfort bubbles back up when you giggle at Haru’s pouty expression. 

“Not here.” You wag a finger in Haru’s face, playfully poking his nose. Haru’s face falls, his hands moving to settle on your hips instead as he continued to lean into you. Romeo felt his own hands twitch as he imagined holding you the same way. 

“But whyyyy?” Haru whines, still pouting as he looks at you. Romeo can’t see your expression, but assumes it must be one that implies you aren’t budging as Haru groans and plops his forehead into your neck with a small “hmph”. When you stiffen shortly after, Romeo tries not to let his imagination run wild with what Haru could possibly be doing with his tongue or teeth right then. “You could stay, y’know…” Romeo figures he’s lucky Haru’s whining so loud, or else he wouldn’t be able to hear that, what with how Haru’s face seemed glued to your neck. 

You giggle and stroke Haru’s back. “Hah, no can do, sorry! I’ve got class early tomorrow.”

Haru lifts his face from your neck and pulls you into him further, pushy as ever. Romeo finds himself gripping the wall he’s hiding behind as a way to stifle his sudden urge to pull you from Haru’s grasp. “Then skip with me.” Haru’s words are interrupted by drunken hiccups, which makes it hard to take him seriously, but his expression turns determined. “If they’d let anyone get away with it, it’d be you, y’know.” He moves to press his forehead against yours. The volume of his voice lowers considerably, and Romeo has to strain to hear him. “I could just say I pushed you into helping me at Jabberwock. ‘S not like anybody would know…”

Romeo stiffens. Go figure. 

Romeo’s surprised (and relieved) when you shake your head, turning Haru down. “Maybe next time. I need to learn as much about anomalies as I can.”

Haru groans, pulling you in even closer. “Come onnn,” his words are drawn out and increased in volume. He hiccups again. He pulls your hips flush against his, letting out a throaty exhale and pressing his forehead further into yours. Romeo’s grip on the wall turns knuckle-white. His hands slide over your ass again, holding you against him. “I still haven’t kissed your other pair of lips yet…” Haru’s voice drops to a dejected whine and a pout forms on his face.

Romeo retches and turns away, hiding himself behind the wall in case he was heard. That line wasn’t just cheesy, it was also gross. Perfectly in line with what he’d expect from Haru. He must be more drunk than Romeo had initially thought, considering how he was being more physical and pushy than usual. Sure, that was it. That had to be it. Romeo finds himself beginning to stagger away, one hand covering his mouth as though he could spew chunks any minute now. Haru being super drunk and too far out of his mind was the only excuse he could come up with that made sense. It just wouldn’t have made sense if Haru had said that because he’d done that before. That couldn’t be possible, right? Haru couldn’t have gone further than Romeo already, right?

Romeo pauses and finds himself chewing on his thumbnail through his glove. He was already a fair distance from the wall he had been hiding behind. He couldn’t even see the two of you anymore, but he knew you were still there. He gnaws harder at his thumb and turns away, shaking his head. He had to get a grip. Why did he even care? It doesn’t even matter. So what if Haru got ahead of him? So what? Romeo hadn’t spent the past few weeks dubbing every visit he made to your place a complete mistake for nothing. He’d done it to avoid you, to get over you, to get to a point where he would feel okay going more than a few days without your sticky lipgloss smeared across his face and neck. It would be fine. Surely, it would be fine. 

He pulls his thumbnail away from his mouth and licks his lips. There is a very distinct lack of the taste of peach-flavored gloss on his lips. 

He couldn’t help the envy that welled up within him when he reminded himself that Haru has tasted more.

The following afternoon, Romeo has made it his mission to confront you. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to gain from that, if he hoped to gain anything at all. Hell, for all he knew, there might be nothing to gain. Maybe he was sending himself on a wild goose chase as an excuse to see you again and hash out his residual complicated feelings from the previous night by forcing his tongue down your throat. The mere thought of losing himself in you again has him gulping down saliva and his body rapidly warming up. He shakes his head, groaning at the unwelcome sensation. What was happening to him?

As he rounds the corner towards the chapel, his pace slowly quickening, he catches sight of green hair ducking into view, exiting the chapel. The figure waves at an unseen figure inside the chapel, before turning away and heading down the stairs at a relaxed pace. Romeo tries not to immediately go on high alert, but finds his heartbeat rising anyway. He manages to prevent himself from immediately halting out of shock. Kusanagi notices him as he approaches, and waves, heading towards him.

Romeo groans internally. Great, the campus heartthrob wanted to speak to him. And right after he’d seen him exiting your dorm, no less. Romeo swallows down as much negativity as possible and puts on a neutral, if not irritated face. 

“Hey, Lucci.” Kusanagi seems completely at ease, his pace slow and his posture relaxed. He has an easy smile on his face in tandem with his greeting. Romeo can’t shake it, but something feels uncanny about his appearance. His gaze flickers to Kusanagi’s lips. No sign of lipgloss. Romeo feels some tension leave his shoulders. 

“Kusanagi.” Romeo greets him stiffly in return. “Did you have something to say to me?”

“Yeah. It’s about Hoshibami still eating all the anomalies he comes across.” Kusanagi’s smile turns lopsided, and his eyebrows crease in something between annoyance and resignation. He reaches for his neck without thinking about it, rubbing the back of it absentmindedly before flinching and moving his arm to his hip instead. Romeo could only sigh, feeling himself groan internally. He’d been trying to get him to stop eating everything with reckless abandon, but hadn’t had much luck. If Taiga was going to do anything, it was his own thing. 

He nods to Kusanagi, a sign for him to continue. “I’m considering putting him in a muzzle,” Romeo grumbles in response. Kusanagi lets out a sudden laugh, before shaking his head. 

“I’m sure there’s a more tame solution to that. Why don’t you try…”

Romeo logs out of the conversation, nodding along with Kusanagi’s words but failing to absorb anything of value. While he would like to consider muzzles for Taiga, his thoughts wander to Kusanagi’s appearance. Something still rubbed him as uncanny. He wasn’t wearing his tie, and his sleeves were rolled up, which was normal. Kusanagi tended to value comfort over elegance, anyway. His clothes didn’t appear any more mussed than usual, at least from the spare glances Romeo was able to catch without awkwardly seeming like he was observing Kusanagi. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t place it. Well, whatever. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with you and Romeo was just being paranoid. 

“...And if you do try that, I hope it ends up working for you.” Romeo tunes back into the conversation just as Kusanagi’s ending it. Maybe his luck had marginally improved. Kusanagi nods at Romeo before moving around him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Gotta get going now, but keep me updated if that muzzle ends up working.” Kusanagi’s eyes glimmer with mirth before he continues walking past, shoving his hands in his pockets. Romeo rolls his shoulder uncomfortably, turning to watch Kusanagi as he left. He wondered for a moment if asking him why he’d stopped by here at all would be worth it, or if it would end up giving Kusanagi too much of a glance at what preoccupied his mind. 

Romeo watches as Kusanagi walks away and reaches up to rub the back of his neck again. He frowns when Kusanagi flinches again, pulling his hand back to his side and quickly wiping the tips of his fingers on the front of his jacket. The tips of his ears turn pink. And that’s when Romeo notices: Kusanagi’s left earring is missing. Immediately he grates his teeth, closing his hands into fists, trying not to jump to conclusions. This would be one hell of an assumption—assuming Kusanagi’s earring is gone because of you, and in turn, assuming you’ve left something on the back of his neck—as a reminder. Romeo knew that—if what he was assuming was true—you didn’t leave that there just because you could. 

Kusanagi is oblivious to Romeo’s turmoil as he finally turns the corner, and Romeo remains watching him, feeling his face burn with anger and envy. He swiftly turns his gaze back to the chapel, staring up at its dilapidated glory. He wonders if, the last time he’d been by, he should have left something of his. Something flashy, something loud, something unmistakably his so that anyone who came by would know. Hell, he wonders if it would’ve been better to leave a hickey on the side of your neck. Curse him for getting so enamored with the way your skin glistened with perspiration that he hadn’t thought of defiling such supple scapes with a bruise. Not to mention the entire campus would’ve caught on to it much sooner if he had dared. But now, it was different. He’d do anything to do it now—kiss you harshly like he’d done before and swallow any protests you’d have and leave a mark. A reminder. That’d show Haru. And Leo. And Rui. And Haku. All of them. 

He’s too far gone to wonder if he’s getting ahead of himself now. It doesn’t matter. In his head, he knows why you’re leaving marks. And it’s to rile him up. Or, so he assumes—or wants to, at least. Part of him hopes he’s important enough for you to go to such lengths. 

But, of course he was. 

Scowling, he stalks off, passing by the front of the chapel, slowing his pace as though hoping to be seen through a window, and hoping to catch a glimpse of Kusanagi’s earring on the steps to prove him wrong. His eyes flicker towards the steps and back each step, checking as thoroughly as he could.

No red earring. 

Romeo clenches his jaw. It’s definitely inside the house. He mentally postpones his confrontation of you until tomorrow. He couldn’t do it today, not when he’d learned he had more than one competitor. 

Romeo is making it a point to avoid the chapel until the later hours of the day. And he wishes he could call himself successful.

The wind picks up as he finds his footsteps lingering longer than they should before a turn that would take him directly towards the chapel. He can see it’s peak, the cross shadowy against the sanguine sunset, like a warning. An omen, even. The day’s been getting colder, and the piercing wind says so, whispering warnings and pushing him away from the chapel, away from you. 

He curses himself and takes a step forward anyway, the call of destruction far more alluring than the safety in biding his time. 

With every soft click of his shoes against the paved stone path, something in him twists and writhes. The red of the sky should be a warning. The direction of the wind should be a warning. The way he can feel himself preemptively fill with dread should be a warning. So why does he not heed these warnings? Why does he continue straight forward, eyes still set on that damned cross, his heart thrumming in his chest like he’ll find salvation in all the wrong ways? Maybe it’s the desire that couples with the dread filling his stomach. Maybe it’s the remnant glitter from days past left on his chin. Maybe it’s the inevitability of it all. He would have to come here, eventually. He had planned to when it was dark, but maybe a red sky would have to do. It wasn’t like he could turn on his heel now. …Well, he could. But he didn’t want to. And he wasn’t going to. 

As he approaches the corner on which the chapel lies, he allows his gaze to drop from the cross at last, surveying his surroundings. Not many students lingered outside at this time. usually getting dinner or slinking back to their rooms, letting night fall slowly and peacefully. The only sounds around were the whistling of the wind through the trees and the clicking of his shoes on the stones. The eerie silence leaves him with his thoughts as he turns to gaze at the jagged stone wall of the chapel. His mind flashes with memories, each one more concupiscent than the last. Romeo feels heat crawl up his neck as he remembers the traces you left on his skin. He wishes he held you tighter those nights, enough to leave a bruising grip. There was no guarantee it’d show, but maybe it’d have been a better reminder to you that he was the reason for all the attention you received. In his mind, you owed it to him anyway. Or, at least, that’s how he haphazardly chose to justify his anger, pushing the thought from his mind. 

He arrives on the corner, at last, feeling saliva collect in his mouth and his breathing pick up as he gazed seemingly longingly at the door. It was now or never. He wipes at his lips absentmindedly and swallows down his collecting saliva, feeling shame and arousal build within him as he walks to the door.

He only takes about two steps before a familiar figure rushes out, quickly slamming the door behind himself and looking around frantically, only for his panicked eyes to fall on Romeo. 

Kurosagi. 

It takes mere moments for the shock to pass and give way to anger, and he notes the same emotion flashing on Kurosagi’s face as well. What luck he had, truly.

Romeo found himself at a standstill, facing Kurosagi, but not daring to approach him, Kurosagi doing the same. Kurosagi’s face was flushed, reflective of his rush, and potentially indicative of the activities he’d been up to only moments earlier, if Romeo dared to go that far. Though, further examining Kurosagi, it seemed he wouldn’t have to. The smears of sparkling gloss across his face, missing tie, and long, thin bruise on his neck were enough for Romeo to connect the dots. He scowls, heading up the stairs and fisting a hand in Kurosagi’s uniform before he could react. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Romeo speaks lowly, his voice bordering on a growl. The hostility in his voice surprises even him, but he can’t be bothered to wonder what he’s so angry for. 

“Woah, the hell’s your problem?” Kurosagi shoves himself out of Romeo’s grasp, smoothing out his uniform where Romeo had carelessly wrinkled it. His expression pinches into a frown, and he crosses his arms, looking Romeo up and down. “Sorry your girlfriend’s not loyal, but I don’t see how that’s my problem.” 

Romeo has to stifle the urge to punch Kurosagi as his face curls into a smirk at his own remark. “She is not my—”

“Whatever.” Kurosagi blows him off, rolling his eyes and absentmindedly licking at the glossy residue on the corner of his lips. “Say what you will, but I doubt anyone would believe you.” 

Romeo huffs, turning away. “That’s a lot of talk considering you’re the one who started that abhorrent rumor.”

Kurosagi laughs, pride seeming to leak from his pores. “I did! But I also started a rumor that she was my girlfriend a while ago!” Romeo’s eyes flutter open in shock for a moment, before he remembers that old post. Kurosagi had, indeed, “jokingly” laid claim to you some time ago. “If anything, all these rumors paint me as the broken-hearted lover, trying to win his girlfriend back!” Kurosagi flutters his lashes and smiles cheekily, his eyes narrowing with mirth at Romeo. 

Romeo’s hands curl into fists as Kurosagi struggles to keep his giggles under control. “Not to mention—” Kurosagi starts, his voice shaky with laughter. “I don’t think it helps your case that only one of us looks ‘lucky’ right now, Ro-Ro.” He pulls out his phone, brandishing it like a threat. “I’m tempted to commemorate this moment.” 

Romeo knows he’s overreacting when he reaches a hand towards Kurosagi’s phone and murmurs, “Tiris—”

Kurosagi immediately shoves his phone back in his pocket, scowling at Romeo. “Damn. No need to go nuclear.” Kurosagi bites his tongue before a smile spreads on his face again, clearly having thought of another remark to get under Romeo’s skin. “If anyone saw how you’re acting now, they’d think you’re quite the jealous boyfriend!”

Romeo stiffens and crosses his arms, turning away as Kurosagi blows a kiss towards him. “That one’s from your girlfriend~!” He trots down the stairs before Romeo can react, laughing to himself. Romeo boils with anger, wondering if it’s even worth it to retaliate. 

“Does it not even bother you?” He calls after Kurosagi anyway, watching him turn around with a bored look on his face.

“Eh?”

“Does it not bother you that you’re actively in competition with nearly every other ghoul on campus?” Romeo knows he’s overexaggerating, but still. Regardless, the comment seems to get under Kurosagi’s skin. His expression darkens for a moment before he looks back up at Romeo, his jaw clenched unusually tight. 

“It’s fine…” Kurosagi’s gaze shifts off to the side, staring at the stone path instead of at Romeo, a frustrated look on his face.

“Liar,” Romeo calls out before he can think about it, feeling his face curl into a triumphant smile.

“You didn’t let me finish.” Kurosagi’s eyebrows twitch downwards in momentary irritation. He looks away again, his entire face stuck in a frown. “I don’t care. So long as I’m her favorite, I don’t care.”

‘Liar,’ Romeo echoes in his head again, watching as Kurosagi turns his back, ending the conversation and walking at a hurried pace away from the chapel. He’s one pathetic liar, and it’s written all over his face. Romeo ignores the parallels that has with his refusal to admit his own infatuation. 

Finally, he was alone, at your door. He could only hope you hadn’t heard all that had transpired. Romeo feels his head swim with indecisiveness at the last minute. He faces your door, feeling the sun burn his back. He felt laden with the weight of a thousand sins, which was probably underestimating all he had committed at this rate. He’s never been one to linger too long, however, and he doesn’t want the last light of sunset to feel like a burden. He curls his hand around the doorknob, not really caring what state he finds you in, and pushes in the door. 

He hears a comically loud groan as soon as he opens the door, and assumes it’s you. He scoffs in mock response, closing the door behind him, as you stumble into the room, holding a black and yellow tie. Kurosagi’s tie. 

“Kurosagi,” you start, wagging your finger in the air and holding your head in your other hand. “I told you, don’t come back here until—” You look up, making eye contact with Romeo. He stiffens, analyzing the look on your face, which appears blank, until curling into a knowing smile. He notices your lipgloss has been recently fixed, small clusters of telltale glitter sticking to your chin and cheeks. “Oh?” He watches as you wipe your hand against your chin, as though attempting to hide evidence. As though that would be possible. “It’s you.” 

He tries to ignore the teasing lilt to your voice, his eyes dropping to the tie you held. “Yes, it’s me.” His voice comes out rougher than intended, but he can’t be bothered to fix his words. He notices the tie is tied in an odd fashion, almost like… a collar?

He notes how you shift, hiding your hands behind your back and smiling at him. Your smile almost seems suspiciously genuine, your eyes seeming too earnest and soft to be true. “I’ve missed you.”

‘How crude,’ Romeo thinks. He feels like a fool for being drawn in regardless, wanting to slide his lips against yours again and forget the past week in its entirety. Instead, the images of all he’d witnessed and suspected in the past week come flooding back. He’s tempted to believe your display, but he knows he can’t. Not when it’s only partially true. 

“Me, specifically?” He asks, feeling his residual anger broil forth. He couldn’t tell if this was anger at himself for not claiming you earlier, anger at you for breaking a nonexistent promise, or a mixture of both. It made no sense to be angry at you. There had been very little communication and neither of you had made any effort to show affections outside of those sporadic nights, regardless of their intensity. But, at the same time, how could he be mad at himself? Why claim you earlier on, anyway? He’d had little interest in holding you close, he was sure, it was only mere infatuation. He wasn’t sure when his mere infatuation had turned into heated ardor, but the transformation had occurred nonetheless. He didn’t know what to be angry at, or angry for. He just knew he was angry. “...Or did you simply miss having a hookup?” His words don’t sting, but he says them with enough seething resentment to get the point across, he thinks. His face drops into a frown as he says it, no longer willing to save face by keeping himself neutral.

He watches as you roll your eyes, and can’t help but feel somewhat put off by that. You seem to drop your earlier earnestness, that quickly replaced by an exasperated expression. “You know better than that. Kurosagi himself just walked out.” You gesture vaguely to the door, Kurosagi’s tie still in your hand. Romeo bites his tongue. Fair enough, but that only served to confirm his suspicions. He still can’t pinpoint why this bothers him. It should hardly be a problem. It’s not like either of you had made a promise. So why? Why did this bother him?

“You know,” he starts before he can think to stop, the words tasting bitter on his tongue before he spat them at you like scathing attacks, “I should be getting far more thanks from you than just this.” Romeo’s expression drops further into a scowl. “You have me to thank for all the attention you’re getting now, anyway!” That’s right. You owed it to him. Right?

With the way your expression progressively darkens, Romeo almost regrets his wording. Your eyes flash with a unique anger, your jaw hard set. There’s a moment of heavy silence in which Romeo’s words linger in the air, before you respond, souring the mood even further. “So, what? You feel entitled?” You look up at him, and despite himself, Romeo flinches. 

“That’s not—” he starts, but his words die in his throat when you take a step towards him.

“You feel like I owe it to you, in some part?” You step towards him again. Despite himself, he instinctively backs away, replacing the distance between you as you close it. 

Romeo swallows, beginning to realize the hypocrisy in his own words. It wasn’t like him to falter or wilt in the face of blame. Normally he would deflect, and he wasn’t above deflecting onto the objects of his affections. Yet, there was nothing to deflect here. He’d been caught in his own hypocrisy. All he could think to do was hide from you. But there was nowhere to hide here. 

He can’t back away from you fast enough before you catch him, his perfectly ironed blazer caught between your nails again. This felt eerily similar to your last meeting, but in starkly different contexts. He feels his breath catch in his throat, feeling himself at a loss for what to do. Your fingers crawl from his blazer to his buttoned shirt, and he feels helpless to stop your advances as you force one of the buttons open. “What do you want from me, Romeo?”

Your question feels honest and expectant at the same time, as though you’re curious but you know the answer anyway. And yet, he himself can’t settle on one particular answer. To be yours? To be your favorite? To collect his due? To feel like he can put all his swirling anxieties from the past week to rest? Perhaps a mixture of these, or none of them at all?

As you force open another button, he wonders if he’s on a time limit. He realizes this is completely unlike him. He feels frozen like a deer in headlights, waiting for the inevitable crash that would scatter his truths all over your wooden floors and leave a shell of himself to be picked apart by you. This all felt completely unreal. He had to get ahold of himself before this went any further. 

He grips your wrist, forcing his resentment to bubble up again. He glares down at you, feeling heat rise in his cheeks as reality comes crashing down on him. He tosses your hand away carelessly, scoffing at you. He takes a step back, replacing the distance, and reaching up for his buttons to put them back in place. “Nothing you could ever hope to give—”

He’s not sure what his heel hit, but before he knows it, he’s tumbling backwards, losing his balance and falling flat on his back. He blinks, staring up at your ceiling before he sees you. You hardly miss a beat, kneeling over him and caging him in with your arms before he can even let the shock wash over him. 

He growls in frustration, feeling somewhat defeated when you only smirk at him. He looks away from you indignantly, his cheek touching the floor, only to notice something glinting at him from under the nearby couch. He strains to look at it for a moment before its shape finally clears, red string and glinting metal hook winking at him from just behind the leg of the sofa. Kusanagi’s earring. 

He can’t bring himself to feel a mixture of disbelief, disappointment, and anger for long. You grab his chin and turn his gaze back towards you. He doesn’t bother resisting, but he does glower at you. If he’s going to be humiliated, he figures the least he can do is resist via emotion. Not that his front would last long, anyway. 

“Let me remind you of something, Romeo.” Something about the gentle tone of your voice and the ease of your smile sends unwelcome shivers down his spine. He raises his shoulders, on high alert, despite knowing you aren’t much of a threat.

He feels your fingers carefully start to undo his tie, and he can only sigh internally, figuring he’s in for it. He cannot deny the way his heart accelerates in his chest all the same, or the way saliva gathers in his mouth again. He’s excited, but hell will freeze over before he admits that to himself. 

“I’m about to die.”

The reminder feels like a slap to the face, and for a moment, he almost confuses your words for a slap to the face. He looks up at you incredulously, wondering what motive you could possibly have for bringing that up now. As though noticing his internal questioning, you smile, tilting your head at him. You successfully loosen his tie, slowly untying it.

“I am also very greedy.”

Oh.

“I am a very greedy person who’s about to die soon.” Your smile seems to cut into your cheeks a little too wide. Romeo begins to connect the dots. His confused expression melts into understanding.

“One would never be enough.” You hold the two loose ends of his tie in front of him, pulling him closer to you. He follows, holding himself up by his elbows. 

“You alone would never be enough.”

Somehow, the words hurt so much more than he expected and so much less than he wanted. 

Of course. He wouldn’t be enough for a dying girl with a hunger for life. Who could?

“Kiss me?” You smile at him plain and true, as though your own words hardly have any effect on you. He’s wholly tempted to smile back.

How could he deny you?

a/n: well. idk i hope this was good. im a little too sleep deprived 2 tell. i fear i genuinely cannot tell if this is total trash or total heat so regardless. i hope u enjoy.

shameless reminder that i love likes, comments, asks, and reblogs!!!!! please please lmk what you think!!!!!!!!! im always excited 2 see how u guys respond 2 my writing <3

I ALMOST 4GOT the way leo's tie is tied and the bruise around his neck are indeed a reference 2 pavlov's ghoul yea <3

ok my head hurts gn

also tagging @aayakashii ur man makes a guest appearance here

[justwhisperingfantasies]

The Girl At The Rockshow Part 2

Characters: Jensen Ackles (xreader). Steve Carlson. Mentions of other bandmates. Made up BFFs. Made up friends of Jensen's.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Ended abusive/controlling relationship. Let me know if I forgot any.

Summary: Getting dragged to that live show might have been the best thing that ever happened to you. Now you get to spend the day with Jensen as he shows you around Austin.

Word count: 7,000 words

A/N: I know this one is a little longer, but I couldn't stop. I had fun writing this one. Hope ya'll enjoy it. 💗

Part 1

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{}Jensen’s P.O.V{}

He stood there and watched the Uber pull away in shock. It had been such a long time since someone had enticed him like she did. When the tail lights faded into the night he walked over to his bandmates smiling. 

“Hey there Romeo,” Steve said. 

Jensen rolled his eyes. “Are we ready?  Where’s Carl?” 

“Right here,” Carl said, getting into the driver's seat. Jensen and Steve got in the backseat of the SUV. 

Jensen could feel Steve’s eyes on him. He turned his whole body to look back at Steve. “Sup?”

“Are you gonna see her again?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin. 

“We are supposed to have lunch tomorrow and I told her I’d show her around Austin.” He paused and his eyes went wide. “But dumbass me forgot to ask her what time and where to pick her up”

“Dude.. “ 

“I had some drinks and I was taken off guard when she kissed me I blanked. I have her number though.”

“ Tell me more, Tell me more…” Steve started singing the song from Grease. Barely able to get the lyrics out before laughing. 

Jensen was not amused, he tightened his jaw and his lips went in a straight line. “Are you done?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, found her contact, and hit the call button. “Hey (y/n) It’s Jensen,” He said when she answered. 

“Jensen…?”  

She giggled when he sighed into the phone. “ Ya know, Jensen Ackles famous actor, rockstar, and the guy that totally swept you off your feet tonight,” he said with a smile. 

“Ahhh, that Jensen.” He rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Isn’t there an unwritten rule with guys having to wait 3 days before calling the girl?” 

He clicked his tongue. “You know what you’re right. I’ll talk to you in 3..”

She laughed. He absolutely loved that sound. “ I was just kidding. What’s up?”

“Well, I have this problem. I have a date tomorrow with this sassy little thing..”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem. She sounds awesome.” She laughed again. 

“Can I finish?” He bantered back and took her silence as a yes. “ She never told me where and when to pick her up.”

“Oh, now that is quite a pickle there, Mr. Ackles.”  She said sarcastically. “ When would be a good time for you to pick her up?” Hey, can you hold on a sec?”

“Sure?” The phone went silent. He looked at Steve. “ I’ve been put on hold.”

Steve gasped dramatically “The audacity!!” 

“Right!!”

“I heard that,” she said giggling. “ And I’m supposed to tell you to bring Baby? Apparently, I will just love it.

He smiled. “ I can do that. I’ll see you at 11. Text me your address?” 

“Are you gonna tell me what bring Baby means?”

“You’ll see.”

She huffed making him chuckle. “Fine. I do have one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“What are you wearing?” His eyebrows raised. 

“Well considering I’m still in the car I’m in the outfit you just saw me in.” He paused. “ But if you want I could call you back when I get home.” He said in a playful tone. He heard a sudden burst of laughter then the cutest snort ever. “ Ma’am, did you just snort?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about sir,” she said embarrassed. He could see her cheeks turning pink in his mind. “ But I was talking about tomorrow.”

“ Oh, I’m coming in the orange tux from Dumb and Dumber. “ She laughed again. “Top hat and all sweetheart,”

“ Please!! I would love to see Jensen Ackles walking about downtown Austin in that!!”

“I bet you would!” he said and both of them laughed into the phone. 

She caught her breath “ In all seriousness could we make it like a jeans and t-shirt kind of thing?”

“That sounds perfect.” 

“Ok. I’ll see you at 11.”

“It's a date,”

“ Goodnight again, Mr. Ackles.”

“Goodnight (y/n)”

He tapped the red icon with a big smile on his face. 

“Awww,” Steve said in a cutesy voice. 

Jensen’s face hardened as he looked at Steve and pointed 2 fingers at him. “Shut up.” His phone buzzed. It was (y/n) sending her address. He smiled again. 

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{}Reader’s P.O.V{}

“Are you sure you don’t wanna just see how the sundress looks?” Mac said walking into your bedroom to plug her curling iron in. She used the plug next to your nightstand so you didn’t have to get up. 

“No, we agreed on jeans and a T-shirt.” You said you sit on your bed while Zoey Sweet brushes makeup on your eyelids. Zoey, nothing fancy, right?

“(y/n) I got you. Just a soft neutral smokey eye. A hint of bronzer and mascara. That’s it.” 

“Are you nervous?” Zoey asked

“No Z, not at all,” you said in a sarcastic voice. “ Of course, I’m freaking nervous.”

“There,” She said sweeping one last time. “Let me see them open.” you opened your eyes. “Don’t think of him as Jensen Ackles. He’s just a guy. “ she grabbed the mascara. Turning back around to find you and Mac both blinking hard at her with blank stares. “I’m just trying to help, you seemed pretty confident on the phone last night.”

“Yeah, I also had alcohol in my system last night.” You said. “Maybe I should do some shots.” Mac raised her eyebrows. “That was a joke,” you said as you rolled your eyes. 

Zoey finished your makeup and you took a couple of sips of coffee before Mac started on your hair. “How much time do I have?” 

You looked at your watch, “It’s 10:20.” as you said it the butterflies in your stomach came to life. 40 minutes. 40 minutes and he would be here. The butterflies got bigger. 40 minutes and you would be going on a date with the man known as Jensen Ackles. “I’m going to throw up.”

“(y/n) Relax..”

“How? 40 minutes Mac.” you checked your watch “ 39 minutes now. He will be”

“Stop.” She sat the curling iron down and took your hands “ Deep breath in.” You both took a deep breath in, and you held it with her. “And out. Then again.” you both repeated the process 2 more times. “Better?”

“Yes.”

“Now stop thinking about it.”

“Easier said than done.” 

“Play a game on your phone or something.” She handed you your phone and then started on your hair again. You opened the Sudoku app you had on your phone and focused on the puzzles. You got through 2 puzzles. 

“All done,” Mac said hitting the off button and setting the wand down. “ Go look.” 

You walked into your bathroom. You looked good. Your hair was in perfect loose curls, The smokey eye was the perfect combo of sexy and natural, and Your white deep v-neck fitted t-shirt with your favorite pair of skinny jeans that showed your curves off. Zoey and Mac were both in the doorway nodding in approval. 

“You look really good, babes,” Mac said. 

“For sure. You are gonna blow him away!” Zoey agreed. 

“Thank you.” Said hugging them. You checked your watch. “15 minutes.” Mac rolled her eyes. You grabbed your locket. “Here one of you help me.” Mac stepped forward put it around your neck and clasped it. “Thank you.”

“No problem?

“Downstairs?” They nodded and got up. You grabbed your cup and led the way. You went to the kitchen while Mac and Zoey went to the living room. You put your cup in the sink and spun around heading for the living room. Halfway there your phone buzzed.

Jensen: Gonna need a gate code there sweetheart. 

You: Shit. Sorry its 431139

Jessen: appreciate it. See ya soon 😉

You smiled as you walked into the living room. “What?” Mac asked. You explained how you forgot to send the code. “So he’s here?” Just then you heard a humming. It sounded like the humming of a muscle car’s engine. “Yep, he’s here.” The butterflies came back as the humming stopped. 

“Deep breaths!” Mac said. You took a couple, but it didn’t help. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You jumped as the doorbell rang. “Do you want me to get it?” 

“No, I got it. Just catch me if I pass out, k?’ She smiled at you. 

“ Who is it?” you yelled as you walked toward the front door.

“I'm reaching out about your car’s extended warranty.” you heard through the door. 

“Really?” you turned the handle and opened the door. “ Is that the best you..” you lost your words when you saw him in that backward baseball cap, and fitted shirt with Family Bussiness Beer Company printed on it. Jeans hugging him in just the right places. “Got”

He smiled his big dazzling smile. 

“Well I was gonna say FBI, but then I remembered you’re too cool for Supernatural, so you wouldn’t get the reference.” He winked. 

“ Like I don't get enough shit for not knowing supernatural huh?” He chuckled. You stepped back and gestured a welcome in. 

“Nice place.” He said as he stepped into the house.

“Thanks.” The 3 of you said at the same time making him raise his eyebrows. 

“You want a drink or anything?” Mac asked him. 

“I Got one in the car, thank you though.” Mac smiled at him. 

“Let me just grab my purse and we can go. Yeah?” 

“Sure. No rush.” Jensen Looked over at Mac and Zoey who were gazing out at Baby. He chuckled. “ You can go say hi if you want.”

“For real?” Zoey Asked. He nodded. They Ran out the door.

You heard Jensen let out a whistle as you stopped in the doorway. You rolled your eyes as you pulled the small crossbody over your head. “Oh come on, You know you look good.” He smiled and your cheeks got warm.

“Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself, Mr. Ackles.” you winked at him and his smile got bigger. “ Where’d everyone go?”

“They went out to see Baby.” 

“Freaking nerds,” you said in a playful tone. 

“Not nerds. They just know good TV.” You both chuckled. “You ready?” You nodded. He gestured for you to go first. His hand found the small of your back as he followed you. 

You stopped at the top of the steps and your eyes went wide when you saw her. A 1967 shiny black Chevy Impala. “That's baby?” 

“Yep that's her,” he said shutting your front door and walking up to stand beside you. 

“She’s pretty!!”

“Thank you. She's a very important part of Supernatural. She's Dean's car.” 

“They let you keep one?”

“Actually Jared and I both got one. Jared Padalecki. He played Sam. Dean's younger brother.”

“Didn't He play Dean Forester on Gilmore Girls?”

“Oh of course him you know.” He scrunched His lips. 

“I'm sorry I watched it in high school.”

“Yea yea.,” He said smiling. 

“You guys about done yet?” You yelled over at your friends as you walked down the porch steps. 

“Can we take a picture real quick?”  Zoey asked as she stuck her lip out. 

“Of course” He walked over to them holding his hand out. “ Here I'll take it.”. Zoey handed him her phone. He snapped a few of them smiling leaning on the front. 

You walked over beside him “ Here make their year. “ You said taking the phone and nodding him in their direction. He smiled and walked over, standing between them he wrapped his arms around their shoulders. Their faces went red as they smiled. You snapped a couple “ You guys good?”

“For now,” Zoey said as she walked over to take her phone. And started swiping through the pictures. 

Jensen and Mac stood there for a minute. He turned to her. “ I thought something came up today?” 

“Oh, I lied. You’re welcome.” She said then her face went hard. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

“Thank you.” He looked over at you and smiled. “ Trust me, I won’t”

“Yes, Zoey you look hot next to Baby,” You said as she showed one of the pictures. “ I should probably go now huh?”

“Remember, he’s just a guy.” she smiled at you. “Have fun, my dear.” You gave her an excited smile and walked over to him. 

“Have fun, Be safe,” Mac said as she started to walk away. 

“Yes ma’am,” He said leading you to the passenger side of the Impala. He opened the door and gestured for you to get in.

“Aw what a gentleman,” you said sitting down on the bench seat. 

He shut the door and then leaned down to the open window “And don’t you forget it.” he said smiling.  He walked over to the driver's side and got in.  The car hummed to life as he started it. “Seatbelt.” He said as he looked down at your lap bet. You wrapped the straps around your hips. You tried to adjust it to your size but the strap wasn’t budging. “That’s Jared’s fault.” He leaned over to help you. Your heart pounded out of your chest the side of his face just inches from yours as he pulled on the strap.” He spilled something on it a while ago and jammed the clasp up.” You took a deep breath and looked out the window trying not have have a panic attack. He finally got the strap to tighten.”There.” Your breath hitched when he turned his face to yours, He cleared his throat and quickly leaned back into his seat. You took a deep breath. 

“Uh, You hungry?” He said putting the car into reverse. 

“Not really,” you said still trying to breathe normally. “ but if you’re hungry, we can go get something.” 

He turned his body putting his arm across the top of the seat. The car started rolling backward as he looked out the back window. His fingers resting on your back made your heart flutter. Once the car was on the road he turned back and your heart sank a little when he took his fingers off your back, wrapping them on the steering wheel. He shifted the car into drive. “ There’s something we have to take care of first.” He said with a smile and then drove away from your house. 

As he turned left out of the complex you looked down to a white box sitting in between you and him. You leaned to take a peak. It was cassette tapes. “ Cassette tapes?” you pointed to the box. 

He chuckled. “Yeah, uh it’s. Never mind.” He said rounding the corner the corner as earlier. You gave him a puzzled look. “Supernatural.” 

“Ah,” you said looking back at the tapes. “Can I pick one?”

“Well driver usually picks, but go for it.” He said with a smirk. 

You fingered through the tapes of Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica, and more. They were all solid bands. There was one labeled Dean’s Mix. You thought why not as you took the tape out of its case and stuck it in the tape player. Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd. His fingers started to drum on the steering wheel as the drums kicked in. “Mama told me when I was young… “ He sang quietly. “ Don’t like Dean, but you’ll listen to his music huh?”

You shrugged your shoulders “I’m just trying to see if he’s worth my time.” He let out a laugh as his head lifted slightly. Going through the round-a-bound you started humming the song. 

“So we can add Lynyrd Skynyrd to the list of likes. What else?”

“Piña Coladas”

“Really?” He tilted his head. 

“Mmhm.” you nodded. “Oh, you know what I really like…”

“What?” He looked at you

You turned to him and smiled. “Getting caught in the rain.”  

He shook his head. “Damnit you had me there for a minute.” you chuckled “ Seriously though. What other bands do you like?”

“Well, are you talking classic rock, 90s rock, today’s stuff?”

“70s,” he said slowing down for traffic There was a stop sign up and a decent-sized line of cars waiting. 

“ Ok, the 70s you got Led Zeppelin, Blue Öyster Cult, Creedence Clearwater Revival, REO Speedwagon Eagles, Aerosmith has a few decent songs,” 

“Aerosmith?” He said pulling up and then stopping 

“Had a few decent songs yes.” He laughed and you continued. “Genesis Misunderstanding is one of my favorite songs of all time. There’s The Doors, Van Halen, Chicago, ZZ Top, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Love Tom Petty my dad was big on him. Do you want more?” You asked. You guys finally made it to the stop sign.

He looked to see if he could go. “Absolutely.” He smiled at you while turning right. 

You took a deep breath in. “ Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here brings a tear to my eye” You held you’re hand up “ In a good way.” He still had a smile on his face.  “The Who, The Police, Fleetwood Mac, Blondie, Heart, Queen, Deep Purple, Although I only know a couple of songs from them.” 

He looked at you with amusement in his eyes. “Any more?”

“ The Rolling Stones, Ramones Grateful Dead, Rush,” you put your hand up to your chin thinking if you missed any.  “Oh and Kiss”

“Really?” He said in shock. “Kiss?”

You let out a small sigh. “Yeah, My mom was a really big Kiss fan…” you looked out the window and managed to hold back the tears. “ You wanna cover the 80s?” you turned back his way. 

He smirked. “Give me your number one from the 80s.”

“Well, that's easy.” He raised his eyebrows. “ Metallica.” He nodded in approval as he drove under bridges with highways going all different directions. “Well that all looks very complicated,” you said pointing out the window. 

“It can be, Thank god for smartphones. huh?” He said smiling at you

“Yea, no shit.” You smiled back. “So who’s your number-one band from the 80s?”

“I’d probably have to go with Metallica too, but there were other good bands that came out in the 80s,”

“Like?”

“Like Mötley Crüe, Bon Jovi, Warrant, and  Cinderella.” You nodded. “Alright. So you just like rock?”

“Ha. Not to sound cliche, but I like music.” You pull out your phone and read off some of the various artists from all types of genres currently in your playlist. 

He smiled at you “ I like it.”

“Full disclosure, I might have thrown a couple of Radio Company songs in there last night.”

“Really?”

“What can I say? Steve’s got a great voice” you said giggling. He smiled. “ I guess the other lead singer isn’t so bad.” 

He chuckled, “Well, thanks. " You giggled again. Stopping at the red light, he put his left hand on the wheel, draped his right arm behind the bench set, and stretched his shoulders. You held your breath, thinking he was putting his arm around you, and felt disappointed when you realized you were wrong. He turned to you, “ So you had time for music in college, but not TV?”

You brought your index and middle fingers to your temples, then started rubbing circles on them. “I will watch it.”  He laughed. 

“No pressure, sweetheart.” you huffed and he laughed again.  Just then Paradise City by Guns N’ Roses started playing. 

You sighed loudly. He looked at you and bit his lip to hold back a smile. “Do you care if I fast-forward it?”

“With that attitude, I’m not telling you no.” 

You hit the button. “ Not an attitude, an annoyance.”

“Well, we found one for the dislikes. Can I know the reason?” The light turned green and he turned left onto E Oltorf St. leaving his arm over the seat.

You found the next song. “They aren’t bad, but I just don't like the way they treat their fans. Makes me furious. Entertainers would be nothing without fans. No offense.”

“None taken, " he said" I agree 100 percent,”  

“So are you gonna tell me what this super important thing we have to take care of first is?” 

He smiled. “You will see” he brought his right arm up and laid his hand behind you on the seat. 

“Oh come on Ackles. Not even a hint?”

“Nope.” He shot you another bedazzling smile while slowing down for another red light.

“No Fair.” You lightly slapped his outer thigh with the back of your hand. “Are we close at least?” 

“Ouch!” you squinted at him. He smiled again. “About 3-5 minutes depending on traffic. Though I think I need a hospital now.” The light turned green and he let off the break. He turned right when he made it to the intersection. 

“Ya big baby, would you like me to kiss it?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “ It would probably help.” and then glanced at you from the corners of his eyes. As he slowed down for another red light. You put your hand on the seat between you, staring him in the eyes you started to slowly lean down. His jaw tightened. You watched his leg muscles tighten when you got close. You pressed your lips to the spot where you slapped and then patted it.

“Better?” you asked bringing your upper body back up to lean on your seat. 

He cleared his throat. “Much, thank you.”

“No problem.” The light turned green. As he gave the Impala gas he readjusted his hand that was behind you. His fingertips were on your shoulder and the butterflies made another appearance in your stomach. Waiting For a Girl Like You by Foreigner started playing. Oh, what a great time for a sappy love ballad you thought to yourself. Jensen started singing. He made it through 5 green lights. You sat there silently enjoying his incredible voice. The next light turned red before he could get through it “Holy cow. They sure do like their red lights,” you said as he came to a stop.

“You're tellin’ me.” he continued singing.

You looked across the intersection to find a store with a big red boot sitting on the awning above the door. “ Allen’s Boots,” you said out loud. 

“Allen’s caught your eye huh?” He smirked. 

“Yeah, I should probably look into buying a pair of boots. They might kick me out of the state if I don't.”  He laughed and slightly lifted his head again. It wasn’t that funny you thought. He inched up and the arrow turned green. He turned and parked along the street by the boot store. “Uh, I don’t have to right this second.”

“Actually I was planning on coming here. I was gonna tell you the first thing you have to do is buy a pair of boots since you live in Texas now.” You both laughed. He turned the engine off and rolled his window up in kind of a hurry. You grabbed the handle and started rolling yours up. He pushed the lock of the door down when he got out and came over to your side of the car. You opened the door. He gently pushed it back closed and opened it for you. 

You rolled your eyes. “ I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that all day,” you said as you got out of the car. He pushed the lock down and shut the door. 

“We’ll see.” he stuck out his right elbow in your direction. “ Come on, cowgirl let’s go get you some boots,” he said in a southern accent. 

You laughed and locked your arms in his. “Yee-haw.” He laughed as you guys started walking towards the front of the store. He grabbed the door handle. “I won't run around the car anymore, but if I’m next to you I’m gonna open the door for you. I won’t budge on that one.” He said as he opened it. 

“Deal. Thank you,” you said as you walked through. You stopped and looked at the store. It was huge. Boots boots and more boots. With a cowboy hat section and what looked to be a bar in the back. He stopped beside you. 

“Hey Jensen.” An older man walked you to him with his hand out. Jensen took his hand and shook it. “ Arthur. How’s the wife and kids?”

“Good. Good. Everybody’s good. How’s your folks?” 

“They are good. Dad is still building that shed. Mom is still complaining about the wood sitting around.” He said with a smile. Arthur laughed and then looked at you. “ This is (y/n), She just moved to Texas and is looking for some boots.” you stuck your hand out and Arthur shook it.

“I know just the ones, We just got them in yesterday. Follow me.” Arthur said then turned and started walking. 

“After you,” Jensen said as he gestured with his hand. His hand found the small of your back again as he walked beside you. 

Arthur led you two to the far right wall and passed the hat section. He stopped and picked up a pair of brown hooch boots with a white flower design embroidered on them. He handed you the boot. “Aw, I love it!” You gave him your size and he headed to the back to find a pair. 

Jensen held his hand out “These are sharp, cowgirl.” He said looking at the boots  “ We can look around more if you want.”

“We can, but I’m still buying them.” he smiled. “Oh and maybe a hat.” you winked. 

“I think you’d look mighty fine in a cowboy hat, little missy.” He talked in a Southern accent again. 

You giggled. Arthur came back out with a box. You slipped off your sneakers and put the boots on. You walked to the full-length mirror at the end of the aisle. 

Arthur turned to Jensen. “Well, she’s pretty.”

Jensen smiled. “More than pretty Arthur.” you started walking back down the aisle and Jensen looked you up and down smiling his bedazzling smile again. Your cheeks got hot. 

“It's been a while since I've seen you smile that big kiddo.”

“I know Arthur, I know.” you made it back to the men. “Whatcha think?”

“I’ll take them.” 

“Anything else for ya darlin’?”

“Arthur, Could you pick me out a cowboy hat to match?” You asked and Jensen chuckled. 

After Arthur found the right one for you he led you guys up to the register. “ Louise, give her Jensen’s family and friends discount ok?” He took your hand in his again. “It was lovely to meet you, my dear. Keep him outta trouble, would ya?” 

“I will try,” you said. Arthur chuckled as he walked away. 

You turned to the lady at the register. “Howdy little lady. Hey Jensen. How’s your mama?”

“She’s good. Louise, (y/n). (y/n) Louise.” you got in his back pocket and took out his wallet.

“Nice to meet you, Louise,” you said and then turned to Jensen. “Put it away.” he smiled. “I’m not kidding Jensen.” your voice got serious. He put his wallet away. 

Louise smiled. “Nice to meet you too darlin’” 

She gave you your total “ Shoot I forgot his discount, hold on.” She gave you your new total and you slid your card out of your wallet. Jensen tried to put his hand up to the reader, but you slapped it away. You inserted your card and paid for them yourself. “ Ya’ll have a good day,” Louise said as she handed Jensen your bags and then held out your receipt to you.

“You too,” You and Jensen said at the same time. He chuckled and you both headed for the door. Jensen pushed throw the door and held it for you. 

“Thanks,” you said. And started for his car.  

“Anytime.” he walked next to you. You were irritated and he noticed. “ You alright?”

“No, I have my own money, Jensen. I don’t need you buying me stuff.” you stopped at the back of the car and turned towards him. “ You know I’m not in this for your money or the things you can buy me right?” you looked down.” And I damn sure don’t need your parents’ friends thinking that.”

“Hey,” he put his fingers under your chin and lifted your face to look at him. “ Nobody was thinking that.” Your heart fluttered when he slid his hand to the side of your face. 

“And if I thought for a second that you were in this for my money, I would not be here,” he said with his mossy green eyes still staring into yours. 

You sighed. “I might have overreacted,” you said as you leaned into his hand  “I'm sorry, I just don't want you or anyone else thinking…” He put his thumb on your lips. 

“ Sweetheart, I get it. You don't need to apologize, I promise nobody is thinking that.” His thumb slid to your cheek and stroked up and down as your cheek turned pink. “Ok?”

You nodded. He smiled “Alright then, Let’s get these boots on, cowgirl.”

You smiled and walked over to your door. He unlocked it and then opened it.  He got the boots out of the box and cut the tags off as you sat down. You kicked your sneakers off and he slipped the boots on your feet. “ Perfect fit,” he said as he winked. He put your sneakers in the empty box and put it back in the bag. “Do you wanna wear your hat?” he said smiling.  

“Thank you. Just the boots for now,” you said. He nodded and stood up. He shut the door after you swung your legs into the car. He knocked on the back window. You turned and unlocked it. He put your bags in the backseat and got in the driver's seat. He rolled down his window and you did the same. 

He started the car and turned to you. “You hungry yet?”

“Nope. Kind of thirsty though. You?”

“Not yet. Hope you don’t mind, I'm taking over the radio,” he said as he got an object out of the glove box. One end was an insert to a cigarette lighter and on the other end, it had a screen. He plugged it on and dialed the radio to match the numbers on the weird cigarette lighter object. He then started tapping on his phone “It's a Bluetooth adapter.” 

“Hey driver picks the music right?” he laughed. “But why not put a newer radio in?”

“I don’t know. Just didn’t feel right. Plus Dean would hate it” He smiled. You rolled your eyes. “What do you want to drink?”

“Mmm, Iced coffee sounds good.”

“I got you Darlin” He hit play on his phone and misunderstanding started playing. You raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s been in my head since you mentioned it.” He picked up the white box and set it on the back seat. Leaving his elbow on the bench seat between you and resting his fingers on your shoulder again.  He started singing along as he drove off. The song ended and he put into the parking lot of Jo’s Coffee. You both got out and walked up to the window. 

You looked at the menu. “Oh, can I get an iced hazelnut latte? Please.” 

“And I'll have an iced coffee with cream and sugar please.” He pulled out his wallet. “Can I pay for your coffee?” 

“You can get this one I guess. I'll get the next one.” He smiled and handed his card to to cashier. 

While waiting on your order you look you hear someone say “Oh my god it’s Jensen Ackles.” you smiled and looked up to see where it came from. Your eyes found a group of giggling teen girls. “No, We are not bothering him, He’s on a date.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. You smiled and motioned the girls over. You looked to see if he saw. “ I saw that.”

“Saw what?” He smirked. The girls walked shyly walked over. They got to you and started giggling. He smiled. “Hello, Ladies.” 

The two on the end nudged the middle girl forward. “Mr Ackles. We know you're on a date and I'm so sorry for bothering you, but can we take a picture with you?” 

“Jensen and you're not a bother at all. I'd love to take a picture with you.” He smiled at them. 

“Here I'll take it.” You said putting out your Hand. The girl handed you her phone as Jensen stepped over to them. He got in the middle of them and put his arms on their shoulders. They got beat red. You took a step back and held the phone up. “Ready? 3. 2. 1.” You clicked the camera 5 times to make sure they got a good. You handed the phone back to the girl. They shook his hand and thanked him. 

“Miss,” The barista said and pointed at the 2 coffees sitting on the ledge. “Thank you!” you said as you grabbed them. Jensen was walking back over to you. “Well, that was freaking adorable,” you said handing him his coffee. 

“Thank you.” he took a drink of his coffee.” If you liked that, you should definitely come check out a con.”

“I went to Comic-Con once,” you said as you two walked back to the Impala. 

“Uh. You've been to Comic-Con?” he asked over the impala as you guys opened your doors. 

“Yep.” You say down in your seat.

He sat down with a puzzled look on his face. “ So obviously not with Mac or Zoey?”

“Nope,” you said and shut your door and he did the same. You sighed. “ It was with my ex.”

“Ah. I’m guessing he’s the complication you mentioned last night?” He said as he started the car and pulled out.

“Yeah.” You kept your eyes forward and sighed. “That’s the reason I didn't want Supernatural after I dropped my residency. He was very controlling,  jealous, and occasionally mentally abusive. There was no way I was gonna watch that TV show with the beefcakes in it that Mac is obsessed with.”

“I’m sorry (y/n) I shouldn't have been so pushy…”

“Stop. You didn’t know.” you turned to him. “Besides It was awhile and things seem to be looking up.” You winked at him. He smiled then grabbed your hand lacing his fingers through yours. He raised your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. You thought your heart was going to explode and then laid your hands on his thighs keeping them together. Once your breath settled you asked. “What’s next on the agenda?

“ Barton Springs.” He looked over at your confused face.

“That was easy. I was expecting a you’ll see or it's a surprise..” 

He snickered “Well you caught me off guard. I was mapping places out. It’s about an hour's drive to the other place I want to show you, but the place I want to take you to lunch is about 15 minutes away. So we can go to Barton which is right down here, Then grab lunch, Then go on a tiny road trip.” Rambling, thinking out loud Jensen was now one of your favorite things, so adorable. He noticed you staring. “What?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You’re cute when you ramble.” 

He smiled a shy smile and swear you saw a hint of pink on his cheeks. “Not rambling. Just thinking out loud.”

“Call it what you want Ackles, It was adorable.” He smiled again and squeezed your hand. 

He turned off on a side road and then left again. He stopped at the booth to pay for parking and he untangled his fingers from yours and laid your hand on his thigh. You squeezed. He flinched as his eyes went wide. You laughed. “Jensen Ackles is ticklish?”

“Not ticklish, Unprepared.” You squeezed again. Nothing. “See Not Ticklish.” The attendant handed him his change and drove toward the parking lot. You slid your hand down to his knee and squeezed he flinched again and took your hand in his pinning it on his thigh. “Alright, You’re done.” He said with a smile. 

“For now,” you smirked. He shook his head still smiling. He pulled into the parking space and turned the engine off. You both rolled up the windows and locked the doors. He met you at the back of the car. He laced his fingers in yours again as you walked through a small grass area, up to a sign that said Open, Canoes, Kayak, SUPs, Picture I.D, And Credit Card required. “Are we canoeing?”

“Maybe.” He looked at you. “Would that be a bad thing?”

“No. I’ve never been, but always wanted to.” You said excitedly. He smiled. 

As you walk down the wooden stairs to the beach he gives you a run down on canoeing. You would be sitting in the front and could set the pace. You walked up to the rental counter and pulled out your wallet.

“Put it away, sweetheart.” His voice was stern.

“No way, you paid for coffee and parking. I’ll pay for this and you can pay for lunch.” He blinked at you with a blank stare. You turned toward the guy behind the counter. “Hi, we’d like to rent a canoe please.” 

“Sure thing. I just need your I.D. and a credit card. Fill these out.” he said sliding a clipboard across the counter.  Jensen sidestepped and stood behind you getting out of the other customers.  You tried to focus on getting your ID and card out of your wallet as he put his hands on your shoulders. You handed them to the guy and picked up the clipboard. You held it in front of you and started reading. Your pulse accelerates and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears as Jensen leans over your shoulder to read the paper. Your breath hitched when his hands moved down to your waist. 

“You alright there, cowgirl?” He whispered. 

“Yep, just having some trouble concentrating.” He chuckled. You somehow managed to read and fill out the papers. “Here,” You held the pen up. “ You have to sign a waiver.” He took the pin with his right hand and signed his name while you held the clipboard for him. “Ok done.” you laid the clipboard and pen on the counter. 

“Alright, Go pick out your life jackets and an instructor will meet you over there. “Have fun.”

“Thanks,” Jensen said. He grabbed your hand again as you started walking to the hut with the life jackets. He picked one out for you and helped you put it on. Then he picked out his own and put it on. 

“Hey Jensen.” You heard from behind you. 

“Hey, Derek. How’s the water today?” He greeted the young man. 

“Great as always,” Derek said standing beside you. 

“Derek this is (y/n), (y/n) Derek,” Jensen said as Derek stuck out his hand you shook it. 

“Well you know what you’re doing so I think we can skip most of this stuff. I assume (y/n) will be in the front?”

“Yeah, I already went over everything with her on the way down.” 

“Alright. Let’s go pick out your boat.” Derek said as he turned and gestured toward the canoes.” you guys picked one out, Derek and Jensen carried it over to the water while you carried the paddles. “Alright Jay, You get in first so you can balance the weight while she gets it.” Jensen got it making it look easy. Then Derek helped you in. “Be safe and have fun.”

“Thanks, Derek.” Jensen steered the canoe away from the shore. “Like I said you control the speed. Go as slow as you want.”

“Ok.” you got your phone as the boat floated down the creek. It was absolutely beautiful the trees with the water and the bright blue sky. You took pictures here and there. You made it to the city and the view was breathtaking. You snapped some more pictures and then switched the camera around. Jensen was looking at the view you snapped a couple of him. He started making faces as he realized what you were doing. 

You put your phone back into your lap. 

“Um if I have to take canoe selfies so do you.” You laughed and picked your phone back up. You snapped one of you guys smiling and then one of you both making a silly face. And then he carefully came up behind you on his knees. He wrapped his arms around you and smiled. Which made you smile. You snapped the picture and he carefully went back to his seat. “Alright, I heard your stomach growl. Time for lunch. 

“But.”

“No buts. Food.” 

He explained what you had to do to turn the canoe around. You did it and you were headed back to the rental shop. Derek saw you guys coming in. He came over and helped you out. Then helped Jensen. “How was it?” Derek asked you. 

“Amazing. I will definitely be back.” Jensen smiled. You returned your lifejackets, stopped at the rental counter for your cards,  and headed for the car. Jensen put his arm around you when you made it to the top of the stairs. Heart pounding you wrapped your arm around him and walked to the car.

He stopped you both when you got to the driver's side. He got his keys out of his pocket unlocked and opened the door. He held his keys out to you. Your jaw dropped as he gestured for you to get in. You sat down. “Wait I’m driving?!

“Yep.” He said shutting your door. 

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[kore-arts]

Au where Janet Drake lives

Tim was relaxing with Dick on the hedge between their houses when they both heard it.

Now Tim had a grin, knowing he wasn't the Drake who released that growl and shriek as he heard the click click of the heels he and his mother favored. Now if he could just figure out what she said, his mandarin being rusty. He giggles as he jumps down with grace to follow the beautiful fury his mother trailed

But Dick's hair rose on his arms. His eyes wide as he watches what had to be a demoness push open a gate that even he never knew was there. No alarms, no surprise yet to be seen on the gardener's face.

But Tim's reaction was… reassuring. As he follows his brother by emotion and vigilante bond his heart races.

Tim knew his mom. Janet Drake, the Dragoness of Artifacts and Business. Her eyes honed in on the sunbathing Bruce as she steadily walked with grace. Ah she screeched Bruce's name. He hides a grin as he perches on a chair, his mother long used to his eccentricity while in a comfortable place. Bruce's eyes are wide, truly caught off guard as Janet taps her nails on the seat she took. Her hat shading her face with her blood red lips twisted in displeasure.

“Do tell me dear Bruce. Whenever were you going to let me know my son is following you officially” Janet's nails click as her fire like tone wrapped around her words.

Tim… did not expect that. He already told her. His eyebrow raises as Janice grins

“I- wait. Tim, you didn't tell me that your mother was Jannie?!” Bruce exclaimed “whenever did you move back?”

Tim mouths ‘Jannie’ the nickname, feeling weird. Dick does the same and they look at each other.

He blinks slowly before it hits him

“Bruce. Please don't tell me you thought I was just a random kid named Tim Drake” Tim groans as Janice looks even more disappointed

Bruce's eyes look away.

Tim decides to be a menace and his mom nods in approval “Bruce. Bruce, did you even think about where I learned my detective skills? My ability to stalk you for years?”

Dick's little ‘’what the fuck' goes ignored

Bruce does look ashamed. His face red but not from the sun “I thought you just were a natural”

Janice and Tim both laugh at that. Both knowing that talent was earned not given at birth.

Tim presses on “oh and what about my knowledge of the Arkham Family? or how I already knew tiny bits of the league?”

“History hyperfixation?”

Tim blushes, yeah thats true. But he still shakes his head “No you Deaf Bat!”

Janice shakes her head “I understand you keeping me away because of the night activities Bruce. But no calls? I just have to see our boys on the hedge like the family version of Romeo and Juliet?”

“Hey! The hedge is comfy” Tim and Dick say at the same time. Tim winning the Jinx and getting handed ten bucks as Bruce sputters

“Jannie! No no! I thought you cut me off! Jack said so”

Janet's scowl deepens into something murderous. Her hair spilling out like black ink as she takes her hat off and holding it as she holds back her fury.

Dick's confused shout startles her “Uh! Little explanation here?”

Her eyes blink slowly as she looks at a shrugging Tim.

“Oh. That's right, you never actually met me. My maiden name was Janet Arkham-Woosan. I am one of Bruce's cousins. Albeit what most would say I am a Bastard born out of an affair in a very tiny village. Not that my sister is any different.” Tim giggles as Dick's face slowly cycles throughout emotions. Janet gently ran her hand through both boys' hair.

Bruce shoves his hands in his face and slowly drags them down “Jack's lucky to be dead.” It's a whisper before he straightens “well. It's lovely seeing you Jan. But yeah, This is my son Dick, The rest are inside”

Tim smiles and helps her stand “you gotta meet Cass! Oh and you'll adore Damian! He's such a serious little guy, almost killed me three times! Oh and Babs!”

Dick stares at Bruce as Tim practically drags his mother into the Manor

Bruce shrugs “Janet and Sandra were probably the two most important people to me other than Alfred. I did wonder where Tim got his penchant for the more subtle things. I am glad to see her. Honestly it wasn't even us finding out we were blood related that connected us as teens.” Bruce looks happy and haunted at the same time “we separated still, I was still out to discover myself and train. And they had a different path to that.”

Dick nods as he walks alongside Bruce “and that was? She looked weirdly familiar”

Bruce hummed. “Let's just leave it as Janet was not her birth name and Barbara is going to be even more surprised then I was to see her”

Dick startles hearing a shriek

“Lady Shiva?”

“Oh you've worked with my sister!”

[galacticbratwrites]

Stay

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Pairing: Taiga Hoshibami/Fem!MC

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 939

Description: Sleeping in on a Sunday doesn’t go as planned. Lazy kisses, kissing for hours. Idk just enjoy the drabble

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

“What if we stayed here?” His lips dipped low again, murmuring teasing promises into her jawline. Again.

She ran a hand through his hair again lazily, pulling him closer to her. This time, they lay on her bed, lazy kisses back and forth for hours. It was a Sunday—no classes. She’d woken up to him poking around her room.

“We could,” she mused softly, entertaining him for a second before scowling in realization. “They’d send Romeo to drag us out,” she said with a soft sigh, her breath catching as his lips trailed lightly over a particularly raw-looking bite on her shoulder.

“I’ll kill him,” he said as he inhaled deeply, tongue flicking out to soothe any lingering irritation caused by the earlier havoc he’d wreaked across her skin.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulder, a silent reminder of other conversations they’d had. She knew he cared for the vice-captain, under all his bullshit.

“Gentler,” she reminded. Someone needed to keep Taiga’s violent impulses in check, and it turned out only one girl could.

Maybe that’s why he’d come to visit her today.

He grunted, sharp teeth nipping at her skin in silent protest. He’d play along anyway.

“I’ll lock the door.”

“Haru can pick locks.”

“They couldn’t drag me off of you,” he said as he ceased his attention on her bites. His eyes fixed her steadily, and she knew she held his focus.

When he kissed her again it was dizzying, his warm body pressed against the length of hers, blankets tangled between their legs as the air left her lips, her response swallowed by his ever-hungry mouth. He set a slow pace, his tongue trailing against hers teasingly before he pulled away.

He pushed himself back to rest on his hands in a sitting position, then reached for her wrist and pulled her to sit up from where he’d had her lying for hours now.

The moment he’d noticed her awake and aware of her visitor, he’d pinned her to her bed and littered her skin with a volley of hickeys and bites, settled between her legs and kissed her until she couldn’t think straight.

That was around noon. Since then, the sun had dipped much lower in the sky, golden hour sending her bedroom ablaze with the cathedral’s stained glass window artistry. Taiga’s hair and clothes were mussed from hours of kissing until all she could taste on her lips was him. As he finally sat straight, one of his suspenders long fallen off his shoulder, he looked a disheveled mess of red, black and white, and she could almost see why people thought his eyes were yellow as they blazed down at her, hotter than fire. Kiss-swollen lips and razor-sharp teeth made a deadly combination.

Finally given room to move, she took action, straddling his lap and pressing her torso to his as though they could fuse into one being. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she scooted in closer, the softness of her thighs gripping against his hips tightly. It was a rare second to catch him off guard. To give him attention in return. Maybe, just—

She bit down, not with much pressure, on the space where his neck and shoulder met, immediately releasing the bite to smother it with kisses in apology.

She didn’t expect the urgency of his ringed hand fisting in her hair, yanking her back harshly to look at her in awe, pupils blown wide as though she’d just given him catnip.

“Fuck, kitty, it’s like that? You need me that badly?”

It was like she’d finally spoken his language, and something clicked into place for him. He moved differently as his hand tightened in her hair, more commanding this time as he brought her lips to his.

Faster. He moved faster as his hand crushed the small of her back closer to his body. The room fell out around her as his hands moved again, slipping down her sides to find the edge of the oversized shirt she wore, pushing it up to reveal the shorts she wore beneath, and swiftly hooking his fingers beneath her shorts and underwear.

She gasped, and he bit her lip, a bit harsher than he meant to. His kisses were sloppy now, force unmeasured as desire raged beneath his skin.

“…you’re bleeding,” he said, and the little restraint he had left was gone as she felt all clothing rip free of her lower half.

“And you’re insatiable.”

“You like me hungry.”

“We can’t stay in here forever,” she said as she leaned back, pulling her sleep shirt up and over her head to reveal the rest of what he was craving. “Eventually I have to get out of bed.”

Her words didn’t hold much weight to him, considering he was about to get what he wanted anyway.

“Mhm, sure,” he relented, but this time instead of kissing her, he stopped with his face an inch from hers to observe her expression as he gripped her thighs harshly, digging his nails into her soft, naked skin.

She gasped as the pain brought her senses alive, thighs tingling where he’d dug into them. Satisfied with her reaction, he let go, hands smoothing out to rub waves of soothing pleasure over the skin he’d nearly punctured. “If ya can manage to think of anything other than me and this bed for the next few hours, I’ll believe you.”

It was a challenge she’d lose, she knew, but she kissed him again anyway. Unfortunately for him, she would still have to go to classes the next day—no matter how sore she’d be.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Same anon from last time, but skskfjd I have so much to yap about?? Especially about my personal favs

The last Ritsu fic just make me think of Leo version, for some reason. Because like, this man, this guy, this Satan spawn if he was sent to the future and somehow, miraculously ended with Leo, he straight up the type to go into denial.

Like, him?? Leo?? The 600k influencer?? Where all of his fans is dying to be with him and a much better option (dramatic ass) somehow ended up with the NPC?? He's having an identity crisis because did he lose his taste in people already?? He blame Darkwick for not allowing to leave all the time because he ended up settle down for the "Honor Roll" or the "Useless NPC"

He probably think or believe he ended up with MC because she must've been desperate to be in a relationship. Of course, he's the Leo after all, everyone would wanted to be with him, even the basic NPC themselves. (Spoiler alert; he's the one who fell first and hard. Who's the one into the chick now, Leo?)

The diabolical streamer gets married?? (No click bait)

Leo wakes up in an unknown yet familiar room where he discovers some things about the future

Wc: 2,1K

Notes: it's implied you two were about to have sex.

No beta, if I have to close the document again I will die. Who would have guessed rewriting the same thing three times would make you fed up with it? /S

If leo is kinda ooc let's just say the anomaly made him more mellow jsjs

The thumping pulsation of his heartbeat inside his skull, pushing against the bone seeking to burst, does an unsurprising better work at waking him than any alarm clock, the pain ripping the sleep away from Leo in each of its quick waves.

One of his hands falls between his eyebrows, applying force against them that rolled down his temporal to the occipital where it pooled as honey-thick pleasurable pressure, even though it did an underwhelming job at soothing the ache to say the least. It's unlike any hangover he had ever gotten.

“Why in hell does my head hurt so fucking much?” It isn't like he has been drinking lately, ever since coming to darkwick the only chance at getting drinks was when he gets an R&R accepted, which Alan hasn't done in a good few days. At one point he thought that obscuary’s bar might sell him booze, given Romeo's complaints about a ‘drunk’ Haru, but they were just anomalous drinks that mimicked it so he wouldn't get a hangover either way.

Extending his hand towards the nightstand Leo starts patting around trying to find his phone to call Sho so he gets him some aspirin or something. After a few failed attempts he reluctantly starts opening his eyes slowly only to see that his phone wasn't there. Did he forget it at the bar? Or maybe sober designated driver Sho decided to take it away so he wouldn't embarrass himself?

Before he can even start cussing his friend out a whiff of sweet chocolate catches his nose. Could it be that he finally caved in and made him the trendy chocolate pastries shaped like dachshunds he has been asking him to? He always refused to, saying things like ‘cooking isn't the same as baking’ or ‘it’s really precise, I can't just throw things in a bowl and hope it works out’ but it seems he is humoring Leo again.

Now in a better mood, he peeks a leg under the unusually nice and heavy comforter and starts looking for his slippers still laying down. When he finds one he sits up and follows the smell.

Dragging his feet across the tiled floors Leo doesn't notice how different the floorplan -or everything really- is to Vagastorm, the white paint on the walls pristine rather than dirty with dubious substances and the hallway has a lingering scent of bergamot and sage clinging to clean AC cooled breeze, totally different to the drowning rust and oil hanging in suffocating hot air. Strangely enough he doesn't notice either how naturally he navigates without even one though forming, almost as if he was familiar with it.

Stopping just under the arch leading to the dining room, his enthusiasm falters as the white plate on the glass table was holding, disappointingly, not his pastries but cut up brownies with some red flakes over, maybe chili flakes? It would still be a spicy dessert so curious he reaches a hand over but before his fingers even graze it a playful voice scolds him like a little child.

“They are still hot! I don't want you whining about stomach ache”

If ghouls weren't more sturdy than humans Leo is 100 percent sure he would have gotten whiplash with the way his head snapped towards the right, surprised at your presence. Despite what he might have normally done, going on and on about how much of an obsessive fan you were for hanging out around his room and how he would make Darkwick get a restraining order on you, something inclined him to do nothing, almost feeling like it was obviously natural for you to be here.

It isn't until you start walking towards him, a playful smirk on your face, that he notices that there is a baby no older than ten months hanging on your hip.

Now beside him, your hand combs his bed hair, raking his scalp with the blunt end of your nails, the few times his ashy gray hair tangled around your fingers and got pulled, his nerves and spine trembled slightly. Even if he reasons pulling away –He cares so much about his hair, spending a good amount of money and time on it only for a nobody NPC to spread skin oils on it?!– the surprising ease that came with your touch urged him to stay and rest against the warmth

“Did Emmy wake you up? it's unusual for you to wake up so early” looking through his eyelashes, the black minimalist asymmetrical clock with cherry red arms points to 7:30. How come he woke up so early? When he spends the night editing or doxxing he barely can stand at 12:45. The sleep still hanging to his yellow eyes reminds him of when Alan bangs on his door to force him to train “were you editing that video up late?”

“Video?”

Putting your daughter in the highchair you start tinkering inside the kitchen, cutting some berries and fruit, grabbing a plastic bowl shaped like a panda and putting a dollop of yogurt before sprinkling chia seeds “weren't you doing a summary video for our anniversary? Your fans are kind of pushy about it, and I know you defend them saying they are mostly teens but…”

Tuning out the rambling as background noise, Leo's yellow eyes meet matching ones on the high chair, looking up to him with such an innocent love he can feel awkwardness seeping out of his bones, seeing something so small and weak put so much trust on someone who regularly scams rich old men.

“But I guess it's whatever” coming back to the table you settle the bowl in front of the toddler and face him again, now slightly worried “are you feeling alright, Leo?”

“I must be missing too much sleep lately” the words leave his mouth before he can even think about them

“Sho mentioned sending you some things for it if you wanted them”

“Hmm… guess I should see if I can finish it already” Leo reaches for his phone that was laying on the table and unlock it as he walks to his study, a big desk with a three monitor setup and a green screen. Throwing himself on the couch Leo opens his Whatsapp and sees that his chat with Sho has a bunch of notifications, most if not all videos.

Leisurely scrolling through the miniature one of them catches his eye.

It's an off centered video inside his Vagastorm dorm, very obviously taken as a prank on him.

Both of you are laying down on his bed and seeing something on his phone.

“I don't like that one, you look weirder than usual” without giving you a chance to refuse he scrolls to the next picture.

“We have gone through 45 pictures, what is the fuss about?”

“A makeup brand wants to send a PR package for Valentine's so you need a proper headshot” scrolling away 5 or more photos in rapid fire he sighs into your shoulder.

“Why don't we take a few in my phone?”

“No way, your camera sucks”

“If it's so much of a drag why not just decline? It isn't like you need some spare cash ”

“If I don't post -anything- for Valentine's my fans are going to think we are going through a hard patch and you already saw how weird they can be” it is very obvious for you that he means last Valentine's when a swarm of fans chased after you two like paparazzi. Even then he digs his head deeper in the junction of your neck and his arms hug you closer.

“Is that all?” You ask teasingly and he mumbles something into your skin “hum? I didn't catch that”

“I want all those bastards to know you are mine”

For a second it almost seems like the video froze but suddenly the half of his body he can see is dragged off screen to the right side of the bed.

“Aren't you too sweet to be the demonic influencer~~?” The phone's audio managed to catch some soft mwahs.

“Stop slobbering over my face I have to meet-! Oh~ I don't mind this too much actually”

And the video cuts to black.

A curse towards his friend slips from his mouth before wondering why exactly he has a slight memory of the event like staring at a rock under muddy water.

Sighing and turning off his phone Leo's devilish yellow eyes turn to the monitor displaying the screensaver. It isn't even one second before his natural curiosity takes over and wants to start snooping, wanting to see any future trends or blackmail he could use -would it even be snooping if it's his own computer?- and as soon as the wireless mouse moves the oh so famous video pops on the editing app.

The frame he left it at was the ending of the wedding ceremony, just after the telling of vows. At the beginning it is quite far away, just enough to distinguish who they are by rough features but as the couple -or some reason it's less embarrassing to say couple than say you and him- get closer to kiss so does the camarographer, quickly panning closer until both of your faces are encased in the frame. His caramel eyes dripping with such sweetness it reaches out from the screen to his tongue and makes him sick.

“Aww, looking kind of sour over here” your hands smooth the shoulders of his pajamas before digging each thumb under his shoulder blade attempting to undo years of hunching over work and making him sit up straight “feeling kind of jealous I haven't been paying much attention to you lately?”

Sliding a hand up the column of his neck, the nails softly scraping the skin making him sigh and almost inaudible “NPC” Through half open eyes Leo sees your face getting closer and how your lips curve into a smile.

“Back to that stupid name like back at the academy? Last time I checked I was LI” hot lips climb up and around his neck and behind his left ear “reminiscing about those times now? How about we reenact something else from back then?” slowly he moves his head to the side, Instigated by the thumb pressing on his cheek. Instinctually he opens his mouth.

Something wet enters his mouth and his hair is pulled up dragging his head above water.

“dude, are you okay?!” Sho yelps, patting him harshly on the back to get the water out of his lungs “I knew this wasn't a good idea”

Roughly Leo elbows Sho let him go and he sits on the floor feeling his lungs and nose burn each time he breathes in.

As his sight stops being obscured by thick black fog his surroundings get clearer. It was supposed to be an offhanded mention by their teacher but, after the class insisted, he took them to an exceptionally big marble bird pond he claimed a person could see their future in if they dipped their head in yet he refused to allow any of the students to do so.

Unsurprisingly Leo's curiosity got the better of him and Sho fell alongside him, sneaking in to see if it was true.

Just behind Sho someone he wishes didn't have to see in a while appears, you.

“What is the NPC doing here?”The question fell from his lips almost like a hiss.

“Alan saw you two leaving Vagastorm after curfew and asked me to check” given how Leo seemed still too winded to stand sho tells you to help him drag him back to their dorm. As you hunch besides him and slide his arm behind your neck you notice something under his shirt “Leo, you have a cut there!” it isn't weird noting how he was positioned and the somewhat sharp edge of the birdpond.

Your fingers dance over the thin but long cut just above his clavicle, the white skin irritated red.

Regardless of how innocent this touch around his neck was, it was impossible to separate it from the previous sight into the future with the current one.

Now with newly gained strength he swats your hand away “don't get so handsy so quickly, NPC” and slides both arms over Sho's shoulders who just sighs and carries him princess style.

“Bye, senpai” Sho shoots you a quick goodbye before going away with Leo who he notices is far too quiet than usual but as he looks down he finds him blushing and even his ears dusted with cherry red “why are you even red faced? It isn't even the first time I hold you like this… Oh don't tell me-”

“Shut the fuck up”

“First bet you lose”

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

Rhyme as Romance in Theatre

Rhyme between two characters is a tool in theatre to show how compatible they are or that they're on the same wavelength or something similar. Possibly the most famous example is the sonnet that Romeo & Juliet form when they first meet in Shakespeare's eponymous play, included here for reference:

Steamy! Two characters meet & they fall into the same meter? Not only that but they rhyme with each other? Not only THAT but they form a perfect sonnet of all things? Bravo, Mr Shakespeare...

But I'm not here to talk about them. I'm here to talk about a far more overlooked instance of stichomythic rhyme in a romantic tragicomedy that conveys the same ideas — that two characters know each other VERY well & are highly compatible — but that also involves a Whole Third Guy.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the love triangle of all time, allow me to introduce the three romantic leads from Edmond Rostand's play Cyrano de Bergerac: Cyrano, Roxane, & Christian. (For those who are familiar, feel free to skip the indented text.)

Cyrano & Christian are both in love with Roxane, who has known Cyrano since childhood but who is in love with Christian. Cyrano, who has kept his feelings for Roxane hidden from them both for fear of being mocked for his large nose, offers his poetic talent to help the handsome Christian, who is awful at wooing women, win Roxane over. (And if this means Roxane finally gets to hear how Cyrano feels, even if the words aren't attributed to him, well, would that be so bad?)

The two gentlemen team up, deciding to be each other's half in forming a romantic hero fit for the ages — Cyrano the eloquence, Christian the beauty. And it works! Roxane talks to Christian (who has memorised lines from Cyrano) and reads Christian's letters (ghostwritten by Cyrano) and falls in love with him! Or is it technically with Cyrano? Both? Neither? Hmm...

Which brings me to the poetry.

The fast-paced exchange here is not a meetcute as it is in Romeo & Juliet, we are well past that & over the half-way mark of the play by this stage. In this exchange, Christian & Roxane have gotten married only moments ago but the two lads are being sent off to war... Cyrano is trying to drag him out of Roxane's arms & Roxane keeps yanking Christian back, the childhood friends sharing this exchange over their tug-of-war with an interestingly silent Christian stuck in the middle:

(The top extract is the original rhyming French in lovely alexandrins, by Edmond Rostand. The first English translation is faithful to the original text literally but does not rhyme, by Charles Renauld. The second English translation is more liberal and does rhyme, by Anthony Burgess of A Clockwork Orange fame.)

Now, I have to admit that the presence of rhyme in and of itself is not so particularly interesting in this exchange because ALL of the play Cyrano de Bergerac is written in verse (!!) but there IS something in this exchange that does not appear in Shakespeare's sonnet...

Cyrano & Roxane are not only having a full conversation while dragging Christian back & forth, they are not only rhyming at the same time, but they are also finishing each other's lines & prompting each other's rhymes simultaneously. A wonderful combination of stichomythia & rhyme 🥳 (Romeo & Juliet features a milder version of this, in which each character gives a complete quatrain before they start matching rhymes a line at a time to show us that they're clicking the longer they speak.) You can see it most clearly in Burgess's translation above, in which the lines are spaced out to make the meter clearer, that they pick up where the other left off & finish the line in a rhyme before continuing.

Even better, almost all of Cyrano de Bergerac is written in couplets, as anglophones can see with "try/dry" at the top of Burgess again. However, Burgess takes his translation one step further in its rhyme scheme during this exchange. By the end, Cyrano & Roxane have completed a full ABAB quatrain. A quatrain may not be as technically impressive or as romantic as a sonnet but it is more so than a couplet, and hey, they're being dragged off to die in a war! The quatrain is appropriately short to squeeze in during the hectic rush & leaves this moment of poetic & therefore cerebral connection between Cyrano & Roxane as the last words we hear before the act ends.

(Let me praise Burgess briefly in this aside. There is one more instance of him deviating from the original couplet rhyming scheme during one of Cyrano's monologues. Cyrano gets caught up in a daydream of Roxane's beauty and Burgess has him slip into a Petrarcan sonnet without even realising it... Aww <3)

The most intriguing part, however, is the content of their conversation. Cyrano & Roxane are not flirting about holding hands & kissing the way Romeo & Juliet are. They are talking about a Whole Third Guy.

Christian — poor Christian — is the subject of this conversation! While being dragged around like a rag doll! Roxane pulls him towards her & begs Cyrano to promise to keep him safe during the war. Cyrano pulls him towards HIM & does his best to make those promises, only becoming still at the final one for obvious reasons (💌).

When I said "love triangle" at the start of this post, I really meant it! This is not a jealousy angle, with two guys who dislike each other fighting over the same girl. The play, for better or worse, does not let any of the three couples be Together & happy for more than a few moments, but to me that is only further support to the threesome argument...

If you need further convincing, know that the next time we see Cyrano, he is A) in between delivering a love letter to Roxane & writing her his next one, & B) fretting over Christian going hungry & calling him handsome.

And if you STILL need further convincing, please enjoy the 2015 production's blocking of the stichomythic promise exchange:

(Roxane in the gown, Christian in the cape, Cyrano in the nose!)

[levantesdrawings]

Illustration for a Ronin AU I've had in mind for a while. (Please, click on it for better resolution.) (Sasuke has long hair in memory of Itachi.)

Some Au snippets here. I'm still working on it. 😺

There will surely be innacuracies despite my efforts, I apologize in advance. 😿 And yes, there are some Romeo and Juliet vibes, I know. 😹

The Uchiha Clan (a poweful Samurai clan) fell out of favor with the Daimyo, who feared their growing fame among the population, and was therefore disbanded. This led to the Uchiha rebellion against the Daimyo and other loyal clans but of course ended in a massacre and Itachi's death on the battlefield in the attempt to stop the conflict.

Left for dead by his opponents, Sasuke managed to drag himself away from the battlefield and began a life as a ronin. The last of his clan, with nothing but pain and despair, he swore that one day he would get his revenge.

But the loss of his family and his people was not the only wound that Sasuke suffered. With the Uchiha rebellion the betrothal with Hinata Hyuga, daughter of one of the most noble clans in the nation, was broken.

At the beginning of their engagement they knew nothing about each other., but Hinata quickly won Sasuke's heart with her patience and kindness. Some time after the massacre, it was to her that he returned in the dead of night, when the pain and despair became too heavy a burden to bear.

They truly fell in love during those stolen moments, with Sasuke not knowing that the Hyuga were secretly a Shinobi clan and that there was an order from the Daimyo to the Hyuga Clan to track him down and kill him. This is because his body was not found on the battlefield. Something that Hinata never did, warning him instead.

[chrysalispilled]

Inarticulation

(feeling weird again! did this instead of doing something that’d make me feel so much worse, so i’m pretty proud of that! i also love the Rio Romeo song so theres a fake little title)

There’s a faint beep from outside Olivia’s office. A shadow of a person looms at the frosted glass door, their open hand hovering over the sensor that denied access. The doctor squints, her sharp gaze scrutinizing how the figure’s hair was so unkempt it seemed like a halo around them, before she shrugs and clicks a security pop-up on her computer. The day had been a drag, why not humor this visitor.

The doors slide open with a sharp hiss, causing the young woman on the other side to jump with her surprise. It’s Lucielle, in almost comically large cargo pants, a small tank top, and a speckled fur coat hanging off her shoulders. Olivia reacted with similar shock, freezing up on her yoga ball before both women smile. Lucielle’s is sweeter, more practiced, as she waves when walking in. Olivia’s, however, is awkward; she looks exhausted, her brows furrowing as she lets out a breathless chuckle.

“Heyyy..” The mutant at the doorway greeted kindly, allowing the doors to close automatically and adjusting the messenger bag on her shoulder.

“Lucy?!” Olivia stands swiftly, the ball getting kicked back and rolling under her desk. She nearly trips when she rushes forward, her lab coat billowing to her knees and falling loosely at the rolled up sleeves. They meet in the middle, slipping on the shiny tile floors into a flourish of a hug. Olivia feels quite desperate, her long arms squeezing tight as her hands practically claw for the mutant to come closer, to drown in her. Lucielle gives a small laugh, squeezing the hug herself, her eyes clenched tight.

Olivia doesn’t let go, and her words spill out without a second thought. “You thought of me! You thought of me enough to come over, are you serious?!” She practically cackles, “What about your work though? Your degree work? The bookstore?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, that’s for sure,” Lucielle answers simply, barely breaking away from the hug to look up at the exhausted smile on Olivia’s face. Even with seemingly more on her plate, her worry was directed to Olivia. “I should be asking you that! You’ve barely slept, I’m scared you haven’t been eating, is there anything I can do?”

As the mutant spoke Olivia faltered, she loosens the hug and let her gaze fall to the floor. Her face went slack with a hint of a frown. “Ah, well, no it’s been fine.. You have no need to worry!” And just like that, her professional mask slips back on: a still weak smile and a stronger stance as she attempts to hide her exhaustion. “I’m more surprised you took the time to come here than anything.”

Olivia steps back, her brows knitting together and her eyes flitting up and down her little friend. She does glance to her computer and steps back to put a nimble hand on the corner of her desk, but she keeps a polite smile on her face. Lucielle slings her bag down, the buttons on its flap quietly clinking together. She drops it and lets it droop, more interested in taking a small step forward.

A few seconds of awkward silence passes between them, barely broken up by the fans of Olivia’s computer. Until the selkie asks, “Are you available for a break? Or should I schedule an appointment?”

Lucielle rolls forward on a wheeled stool, stopping a collision by propping her leg at the base of one of the many counters surrounding the office walls. Olivia sits in a similar seat, her elbow resting on the white countertop as she gently puts her glass of water back down. Her posture is practically ruined, but Lucielle isn’t one to judge.

“I couldn’t be luckier,” Olivia continues.. She had finally gotten a time to just let loose, she may have been on the clock but rambling to this young woman was a release she didn’t know she needed. She ranted to her employees, almost berated many of her team, but knowing that this person actually listened was nice. Her emotion led to lashing out, she usually took it out on Spider-Man but it could weigh her down if she didn’t have an outlet.. And it built up quite quickly. “If I told anyone else they’d write me off as crazy- Again!”

Impressively, she wasn’t complaining about what she saw as incompetence of her workers, nor the mistreatment from her boss. Rather, it was about how she knows she’s lost herself. How she wants so much, how she’s so close to achieving it all, how she’ll keep going, but mainly how tired she’s become. Lucielle nodded along, chiming in now and then, but never wanting to overstay her welcome. She added on her understanding, sympathizing with her own stories to try and lighten the mood. It was like two old friends reconnecting, a duo you’d see at a cafe or a park, drunk or eating, spilling their hearts out.

Lucielle had ditched her sealskin coat, it laid draped over her bag on the counter next to Olivia’s lab coat. She moved to stretch, pulling her hands over her head in a much more relaxed manner than earlier. “Mmh, no, I’m lucky,” She says with a small catlike yawn, showing off sharp canines- That make Olivia remember the first time she saw them, that feeling of wanting to get close to her and just learn, just learn everything she could about this woman. “I know you, and you trust me. That must mean something.”

When Olivia was surprised, she looked like an owl: wide hazel eyes boring through you and tightly pressed lips. She was impressed to say the least, the mutant reciprocated her care and she didn’t want to recall the last time she felt that. She’s about to respond, but-

“And I trust you.”

Olivia feels like she might pass out, almost lightheaded in her shock. She rests her forehead on her hand, and sighs weakly. Lucielle rolls a bit forward on her chair, clasping her hands in her lap as she leans forward and tilts her head to the side. “Oh, shit, did I say something wrong?” Lucielle mutters. She was prone to overthinking, fearful that anything could be her fault and that she could’ve done better.

The doctor begins to laugh again, quietly, but genuinely. She shakes a bit with it, unable to contain herself before sitting up. She’s smiling again, and looks more put together than when she was venting, but as she runs a hand through her hair Lucielle can still feel how tense she is. The selkie frowns some, but can’t properly bring herself to say something.

“I- I really can’t see how! I’ve told you so many times that you know what I’ve done, what I do for a living.. And you’re still here! I don’t want to drag you down with me, the last thing I need is you getting hurt because I told you too much or-“

The villain’s voice began to shake, but she’s cut off by the boldest action she’s ever experienced. A short peck of a kiss from the other woman, silencing her in a split second. No one had ever done something so out there, almost outrageous, but she’d be lying if she didn’t like it. It doesn’t last long, and Lucielle pulls back with one hand on the counter beside them. And she just smiles again, her freckle peppered cheeks rising and her gaze lighting up when she sees the doctor’s shock. She was almost smug, like she found the only proper way to shut the head scientist up, even if her breath trembled with the boldness of the act.

Olivia was always so put together, stoic and cold to anyone in her way. She even tried to be that with Lucielle, although a bit more charismatic, she hated showing weakness for too long. Now, she couldn’t stop it. A few blinks and a few quick breaths later, she can still barely think.

Lucielle was about to sit back when Olivia’s hand on the counter reaches up to her’s before she can. That hand holds fast when it gets to her forearm, and she tugs the mutant forward on the wheeled chair, right into another warm hug. Olivia almost falls back herself, as the movement pulls Lucielle right out of her chair. She wants to say something more, some form of thanks, but she realizes the words were kissed out of her when she buries her face in the crook of the other woman’s neck.

[one-wing]

also further, geppetto literally used np as a guard dog. one of the first trailers of the game shows him dragging his heavy case, the case np is stored in, with him, and the next scene showing him clicking it shut amidst a pile of defeated enemies. when you rescue him on elysian boulevard, the case is with him in the carriage, and when you exit the opera house after fighting romeo, the case is with him again, and he remarks its good that p didnt need his help (<- an old man helping against a massive powerful puppet?). theres also of course the familiar sound of np's steps and blade being unsheathed at the end of the dlc, though the camera focuses only on lea. while none of this is ever shown explicitly on screen, all instances are implied to be np. i think this illustrates further how geppetto sees carlo as an ideal and a tool, literally showcasing his entitled attitude to his own son.

[mybiggaybooktour]

Join the team for @lou-wilham & @ellebeaumontbooks's July tour of Benvolio & Mercutio Turn Back Time before July 1st.

To sign up to be a host click HERE.

Verona has 99 problems—including a time machine.

All Benvolio has ever desired is a peaceful life alongside his spirited—albeit quarrelsome—roommate, Mercutio. But as the story goes, the course of true love never did run smooth, and when tensions between the Montagues and the Capulets reach a boiling point, Benvolio and Mercutio are dragged into the mess Romeo makes of all their lives.

Then an older version of Benvolio crashes into their lives, offering the opportunity to change fate, Mercutio does as he always does—seizes the chance. There's just one problem: no deal is without strings, and this one involves a deadly secret that Mercutio is determined to take to the grave.

What follows is a lively adventure through the ages, replete with love and heartache. Amidst the chaos, this inseparable duo will unravel the true depth of their friendship.

A riotous romp of a retelling of Romeo & Juliet. Side effects of reading may contain laughter, heartache, and a need for more. This light, sci-fi fantasy is the perfect shelf companion to The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian, Something Fabulous by Alexis Hall, and The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by KJ Charles.

Genre: Adult LGBTQ Scifi Fantasy Romance

Representation: Gay, and panexual main characters

TW: Character death, drug use, blood, gun violence