#shot on vide

[danidoesathing]

Ain't no thrills in the afterlife...

Dead Man's Hand in Alive From Whispering Pines and Vide Noir

[chanstopher]

[aturnoftheearth]

when i finally gather enough outside footage to scrap together an empty rescue fix it amv set to vide noir by lord huron. then i will have peace or whatever the fuck kansas said

[maybeillshipit]

I finally watched Vide Noir- pretty cool film! All the dark lighting and overlayed images really add to the surreal quality- it feels like a memory, and it keeps you guessing at what's real. I would love for LH to do more with film in the future (whether it be music videos, special live streams, or otherwise) since it's always such an experience. I'll never ever forget watching POTUWMT live, and it's great to finally see those clips in context. It was a long wait to hear Johnnie swear uncensored, but it was a worthwhile wait indeed.

[puck-luck]

explodin' (like a golf ball) | quinn hughes

warnings: fem!masturbation, fem!receiving oral, a sliver of dom!quinn pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes request: @captainlexaproluvr "quinn catching his gf getting off while watching one of his interviews (then perhaps him going down on her but forcing her to keep watching the video).... yeah" wc: 1470

It’s the black button-up, black dress pants, and pristine white sneakers that do it for you, really. Or maybe it’s Quinn’s perfect new haircut and his big, genuine smile, which he so rarely shows in interviews, that are the minor catalysts in your current predicament. It could be his focus, how quiet he is as he lines up his shot and prepares to swing, to bury that ball as far down the range as he can. 

You realize suddenly that you’re biting your lip hard enough to leave a mark.

You’ve got the video memorized at this point, the way he murmurs out an “Alright” before he swings at the ball, how he freezes in his stance and does a double take when the ball explodes, how he looks around to make sure everyone just saw what he did. 

You find yourself particularly endeared by how excited your sweet boyfriend is, excited to the point that he can barely string together a sentence before starting a new one. He calms down after a moment, his voice returning to its normal, controlled tone as he marvels over the moment to the main interviewer. 

Still, you watch over and over again to see your boyfriend light up like a Christmas display. It’s so rare that you see him act that way in front of the cameras, still a little shy despite his star-status. He should be used to the media by now, years into his career, but he still struggles with coming out of his shell. He overthinks it. But, sometimes, he gets caught off guard and the world gets to see the real him.

It is one of the most attractive interviews you’ve ever seen of Quinn. 

You remember him coming home the day of this shoot, beaming and bragging about how strong he was. You remember him picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder and taking you to the bedroom, so giddy and on a high from his great feat that he needed to get his cock in you and make you feel good. 

And the memories of that make you slip your hand into your shorts, into your panties, and pet over your folds. You’re wet already, just from the thought of Quinn pushing his thick cock into you, hovering over you and watching your face as he causes you to contort and moan recklessly from the pleasure. You jolt as your finger comes in contact with your clit, the bundle of nerves receptive and aching for a repeat. 

The video is still playing, on a low volume but next to your ear regardless, and you can hear Quinn speaking over and over. It’s a recording, but it’s like he’s there, breathing meaningless words into your ear and praising you. 

On a loop, your heart jumps with his repeated “I have… like, come on” because he’s just so precious and such a sweet boy and you want him to be that happy all the time. You want him to be so elated that he’s speechless, that he’s smiling wider than he ever has in front of a camera.

“What’s this?”

Your eyes flash open, finding Quinn in the doorway. His eyes are scanning your body, devoid of emotion and dark. Your fingers still over your clit at the look, then you draw your hand out of your shorts. You rest your hand on your stomach, your shirt riding up so that Quinn can see the soft skin of your belly and love handles. 

“Touching what’s mine?” Quinn asks, his voice low and scratchy. “I was just down the hall, baby, you could’ve called for me.”

He approaches the bed, and suddenly, you remember that his voice is ringing out of your phone speakers on a loop. You go to grab your phone and silence it before he reaches the device first, but you’re too late. He scoops up your phone, planning to just turn it over and place it on the bedside table, but he’s stopped in his tracks when he comes face to face with himself on your screen. 

He watches the video twice, only looking up at you briefly between plays, a smile growing on his face.

“But you already had me here, I see,” Quinn teases. “Have I spoiled you that much, pretty girl? You can’t get yourself off without me talking in your ear?”

“Don’t be mean,” you plead, reaching for him.

Quinn shies away from your touch, opting instead to turn up the volume on your phone and place it, face down, across the room. He returns to your side, chuckling as you stare up at him from your position, then Quinn kneels at the edge of the bed. Your eyes follow him, taking in each of his movements.

Quinn reaches up and dips his fingers into your waistband, gently pulling your shorts and panties down. He reveals your wet pussy, humming in approval as he spreads your legs to get a good look. He pulls you closer, strong hands dragging you by your ankles until your fluttering entrance is a mere breath from Quinn’s mouth. 

“Now you get the best of both worlds,” Quinn mumbles, interrupting himself to plant a kiss on your clit. “I get to take care of you down here, and I can still talk to you from all the way over there.” He nods back at the phone, still repeating the same audio. “I’ve legit never seen anyone break a golf ball before.”

He dives in, tongue first like he’s trying to catch a melted drop from a popsicle before it drips and stains his pants. His hands hold your hips down, keep you from moving underneath him, squirming away from the contact. He groans into your slick, like he’s never tasted anything so lovely before. 

Your hands find his hair, neck craning to catch a glimpse of his focused glare through his eyelashes. He’s staring at you, watching you fall apart under his tongue, and he’s barely done anything at all. 

Quinn eats you out like he always does, like a loyal follower getting a chance to worship his goddess. He stares at you like you’re a masterpiece, painted by the greatest artist in the entire universe, their fame and talent surpassing the boundaries of space and time. You are their creation and Quinn is beyond blessed to have you, to own you.

Because you are his, after all. You’re scrambling beneath him, breathing heavily and whining and cussing and sweating, arching your back and sticking your fingers in his hair, pulling for some reprieve. Quinn will not let up. He cannot bear to part with your pussy, he needs it like air. 

And it needs him– clenching down on his tongue and bumping against his appealing nose with each repeated “Come on” and “That’s a win.”

You’re moaning, helpless to the noises that are falling from your lips. 

Quinn’s eyes are dry, almost looking like he couldn’t care less about the noises he’s pulling from you, the shaking in your legs that he causes with each swipe of his tongue. He looks disinterested, like this is just another thing on his agenda. You’d believe that he considers this a chore just by the looks of his eyes, if not for the fervor with which he licks you out.

It’s the perfect mixture– the plain and confident and quiet Quinn Hughes shown in his eyes, and the brazen, goofy, loving Quinn Hughes in his actions.

You tip over the edge as if leaping from an airplane, falling freely to the ground. The sensations overtake you like wind whipping at your hair throughout the fall. You sigh, grinding against Quinn’s face slowly, just riding out the waves. You drag your lips over the expanse of his lower face, his mouth and nose nudging you softly, reminding you that they’re there. Quinn presses a few kisses to your entrance, clit, and inner thighs before crawling up your body and hovering over your face. He smiles, leaning down to pepper kisses all along your features, making you giggle and squirm away.

“I didn’t know you liked me so much,” Quinn teases, nibbling your lips. “We’ll have to look into cloning. Then you’ll really have two of me.”

“Such a dork,” you reply, caressing his cheek and capturing his lips. He’s strong and solid above you.

“Let's just drill that thing down at like 320?”

You pull away. “Can you go turn that off?” You whisper. “It’s starting to annoy me now.”

Quinn chuckles. He presses his forehead to yours for a brief moment, just long enough for you two to take a breath together. He shifts to the side and leaves you on the bed, tired of his own voice as well. They’ll have to find a new video for next time.

note: i thought the title was funny! but it's probably just lame boooooooooo

ok loving you guys, make sure you sent me more requests for NOT jack or trevor. i'm bored of those requests. i've got plenty. and trevor is like constantly on my mind. so shush. i will get to him.

[oneforthemunny]

Blurb or one shot idea Idk I you have seen those TikTok’s when the wife will send her bridesmaids to give sexy or boudoir polaroids to the husband on their wedding but I feel like on nepobaby would do that to rockstar!eddie during their wedding and just watching him lose his mind and want the wedding to end as fast as possible

this is so funny to me because i could totally see it. specifically at the second wedding in vegas with their friends.

it's really just a big party with this one because, half their rowdier friends weren't invited to the first wedding because nb parent's wouldn't allow it. they had "an image and standard to uphold" and it would be tainted by those "hooligans" showing up lol. so this was a chance for them to get to come and celebrate and it's less pressure. the first one, eddie and nb enjoyed but not really because they were so pressured to be perfect and it was so controlled by her parents, that's why the second one was done.

this one was so much more chill, casual really- well, as casual as vegas can be lol. a lot of drinking, a lot of drugs, just a fun fun time.

somewhere after the ceremony but before they disappeared (read light my morning sky for more lol) nb had got the idea to do something scandalous as a wedding gift. maybe it was bc of the way eddie reacted to their music vide where she was naked (read girls on film for more) or because he used to hang out with a lot of playboy girls... and she saw the copious amounts of dirty mags at wayne's trailer back in indiana, but she decided to do her own dirty little photo shoot. well... sorta, it was her and farrah with a polaroid camera and a dream lol. sure, eddie had a ton of nudes of hers anyway, his own little stash, but she thought this would be better. plus, it had her in her wedding garter from before, with 'mrs. munson' stitched in red on the white lace. and that's all she was wearing lol.

farrah casually dropped it off while eddie's smoking a cigar with his friends. he barely registers the photo until he sees nb's nipples on the first one and is like hold on-

they definitely leave after that. go to their private room while their friends keep partying. eddie keeps it in his safe after that. it might be his favorite gift from her ever lol.

[white-poppie]

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘-𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑

A shrill shout causes you to dart your attention in the direction it came from. You leave all the work you were occupied with and run towards the source of the sound, which was the master bathroom.

You knock on the bathroom door, panicking, where your lover is supposed to be taking a bath. All kinds of scenarios ranging from scalding hot water burning his skin to him slipping and getting a concussion, keep running in your head, "Babe what's wrong?"

You hear hurried, wet footsteps thumping on the marble-tiled floor. He opens the door with a loud bang, making you flinch. He is standing in front of you, wearing nothing but his bath towel around his waist, leaving his torso for you to marvel at.

"What's wrong?" You ask, looking into his restless eyes.

He rests a hand against the doorframe, water dripping down his body and creating a puddle. Whatever the matter was, it was far more critical than drying himself or looking decent.

"Spider," he says breathlessly, "there is a spider in the bathroom."

You blink. Once, twice, thrice and then stare at the man in front of you. You say the S-word again to confirm if you are hearing correctly or if you've turned into a sixty-year-old grandma, "a spider?"

"A spider," he says and nods aggressively, "get it out of there."

You don't know whether to be amused or irritated. Is there a camera anywhere? Is he filming a prank?

"What do you want me to do?" You ask, keeping your hands on your hips.

"Kill it," he says with wide eyes and you can't help but grin a little at this absurd situation of a behemoth of a man being scared of a tiny spider.

"Aren't you the man here?" You muse, playing along a little as he stands there, half-naked.

His brows furrow and he stares at you in offence. "Oh so now patriarchal standards come into play? In this situation? We are in the twenty-first century! And what about 'equality' and this 'willpower' you talk of when I say I'll pay for our dates? However, you either split the bill or make an advanced booking and now I have to make an advanced booking before your advanced booking."

"Okay, Okay I get it." You say exasperatedly and walk into the washroom and ask him to point at the tiny predator, "How big is it?" You say and immediately think of a 'that's what she said' joke, but he is too stressed to notice.

He makes a gap between his index and thumb and implies that the spider is about half an inch big- Wait hold on, that's one huge spider.

Your eyes widen as you finally understand his fear. You remove your slipper and wield it like a weapon and look around, "where is it?"

He stands beside you but sweatdrops as he realizes the spider is nowhere to be found. "It's not there anymore."

You look around the bathroom, panicking from your position and find the spider nowhere.

You then look back at your beloved with a mutual understanding of what to do next, "pack your things we are leaving."

KURAPIKA, Leorio, SHINICHIRO, Benkei, BAJI, GOJO, Getou, MELLO, Matt, Kuroo, BOKUTO, SAKUSA, LEV, OIKAWA, ASAHI, Atsumu,

A/N: But spiders are not that sc- *is shot dead.*

-- Fanfictions

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[carolmunson]

we better make a start (older!modern!eddie)

continuation of orange colored skyorange colored sky setlist

inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i go to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. tw: outside of an age gap, not much. super fluffy it borders on gross. eddie is in his late 30s/early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. music inspo: everywhere - fleetwood mac

Wednesdays at two… You wished you’d met this guy in the fall when you still felt cute getting off the train. It was like being in a sous vide every time you got on and off, walking back out into the hot sun of the city. Would your hair frizz? Was your makeup melting? You were at least smart enough to wear bike shorts under your skirt to avoid the rubbing of your thighs – hopefully he wouldn’t notice. Your feet hurt in your 90s looking wicker sandals but at a passing glance in a store window you figure you don’t look half bad. You look infinitely better than when he first saw you in your ‘errands ugly’ clothes. Maybe he’d even think you look cute. Y’know – if he’s even there. Why’re you meeting up with some random stranger anyway? A sick flare of nervous embarrassment slides through your chest like a snake – this is stupid. He probably forgot about it. Whatever, you wanted to pick up a couple things anyway – it’s totally fine – this isn’t weird at all – and if he’s not there? It doesn’t matter. Who cares? You’ll be fine. You’ll go home and sift through a never ending collection of left swipes and ‘haha not much, just chillin naked. wbu?’ messages on whatever dating app you feel like opening that day. 

A block and an escalator later, you’re in the depths of the shopping center where Trader’s is. You swallow the sick creeping up in your belly — this is so stupid — but it doesn’t take long for you to spot him at a small table near the coffee stand across from the store. His hair sits in a low bun this time, most of his wavy curls spilling over and framing his face. He looks nice, black tee shirt that he might’ve pressed, smarter looking black chinos with a belt he likely got at a vintage store. The silver buckle looks pretty and polished, shining like the rings on his fingers and the rim of the wire glasses he had perched on his nose. He’s typing away on a laptop, black iced coffee melting next to it that he occasionally reaches to sip.

“Um…You’re Eddie, right?” you stammer out as you walk toward the table. He looks up from his laptop, the glow of this screen reflecting back in his glasses. He stops to look you over, straw still in his mouth. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he grins, a breath of relief puffing out of his nose, “Didn’t actually think you were gonna show up — was sort of a shot in the dark.” He stands up, hand outstretched for yours to shake, “I never caught your name.” 

You take it, his handshake is firm and you can make out some of the tattoos on his fingers and hands. You introduce yourself and he mumbles a ‘nice to meet you’, your name sounds nice coming out of his mouth. “This feels like a business meeting,” you laugh, “Like I’m here for an interview.” He laughs back, “I did just come here from a meeting so I might still be in work mode, sorry.” He takes off his glasses, hanging them off the collar of his shirt. He packs up his bag, a well worn Jansport backpack covered in patches like the vest he had on the last time you saw him. You could tell it was old since there was a patch right at the center that read ‘METALLICA 1997 - Poor Touring Me’. A few other concert patches with ranging dates, 2003, 2009, 1998 littered the black canvas, you smile at it. 

“1997?” you ask, “Metallica concert at what – nine? Your parents were cool with that?” 

He looks down at it and his cheeks go pink, letting a breath puff out of his lips that makes them push out and motorboat, “What year were you born?” “‘92,” you answer, “Why?” 

“Jesus,” he mumbles, rubbing his face with a tight smile, “You’re a young thing, aren’t you?” 

“How old were you in ‘97?” you ask while you both make it through the double doors of the grocery store. He grabs a basket and raises his brows with another big breath. “Seventeen,” he says, “Got this backpack two days before that show actually.” “You still have it?” you ask, trying to do the math in your head of how old he is and how long he’s had it. “Jansport has a lifetime warranty,” Eddie smirks, “I’ve been putting it to good use.” “So why’re you back here,” you ask, following him to the back aisle where the bread is, “You just went food shopping a few days ago.” “I went for my neighbor,” he explains, grabbing two baguettes, “He fractured his foot and hasn’t been able to get up and down the stairs. Been running errands for ‘im in the meantime.” “Oh,” you smile, “That’s nice of you.” “Thanks,” he says, “You like bruschetta?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Well,” he starts, “I didn’t really think that Trader Joe’s was an ideal date so I thought I could ask you out here and also get some stuff for it ahead of time.” “Oh,” you repeat, heat creeping up on your cheeks, “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well if you’re free tomorrow afternoon…” he begins, but gets sidetracked. He sneaks behind you to grab some yogurt covered pretzels, “I saw you grab these the other day and got some too, they’re fuckin’ delicious.” 

The spicy suede scent he had last time is replaced with a bright citrusy cedar, it matches his overall disposition. Your mouth waters when you inhale. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he starts again, “If you’re free tomorrow afternoon, I’d love to treat you to a little something cute in the park. It’s supposed to be not so swampy.” “Like a picnic?” you ask with a hint of a tease. “Yeah,” he says, a glow of pink perking up on his ears hidden by his hair, “Something like that. If you’re into that – like – if you even want to go on a date with me.” “I showed up here. I feel like that’s answer enough, right?” “Right, right.” The conversation quiets while he tosses a few more things in his basket. “So what was your meeting for?” you ask, watching him look over the cold cuts and cured meats in the open refrigerated section. He was one of those, a ‘stand-and-starer’ instead of just knowing what to get. You try not to grind your teeth. “Oh, new client meeting,” he says, like you know exactly what he’s referencing. 

“For what? If you don’t mind me asking.” He reaches for a package of salami and prosciutto before turning to you, “Do you eat meat?” You nod while he continues to pick up and compare products, “New client for my side gig.” “Which,” he says, tossing his selections in the basket, “If you can believe it, pays a shit ton more than my main gig.” “What’s your big money side gig?” you laugh, following him to the next aisle. “I’m a web developer,” he says, squatting down to look at granola. He hopes you don’t hear the way his knees crack, the way his face winces at the slight tightness in his joints. In Eddie’s defense, he didn’t get a chance to stretch this morning – normally he’s much more limber – he promises. “Like making websites and stuff?” you squat next to him, your own knees cracking. You hope he doesn’t hear it. “Just like that,” he says. He reaches in front of you, grabbing your arm to steady you as you wobble to move out of his way. His grip is gentle but firm, the spots beneath his fingertips buzzing with electricity, “Careful there, sugar.” A smile spreads deep across your face while your eyes make friends with the floor under you, both of you rising back to your feet. His keys jingle on the same carabiner from before, clinking against a silver chain that you’re pretty sure connects to a wallet in his back pocket. He has Nike Killshots on today, the white with a black check instead of the navy. Everyone and their father has the white and navy. “Do you like it?” you ask, holding in a giggle while he grunts getting up. “Writing code and doing graphic design? Sure,” he shrugs, “Got into it really ahead of the game. You were probably still in grade school.” You roll your eyes and he snickers, “But mostly, I make websites for trust fund kids who use daddy’s money to start new businesses. So it’s sort of like my side gig is uh…” “Exploiting the rich?” you grin, he grins too, “Super punk.” He shakes his head while you both walk out into the produce section, “No, no, super metal.”

“What’s your main gig?” “Oh, come on – don’t break my heart,” Eddie’s dramatic flare shines through when he leans up against the flat edge of the pillar holding up the bananas. He holds his free hand to his chest, looking at you with a faux forlorn face that makes his brown eyes shine. Now that you’re really taking stock, you see the thin silver hoop hugging his right nostril – something about it makes your heart thump harder in your chest. “The tattoos don’t give it away, huh?” he asks, passing the basket to the other arm, both biceps flexing against the well tailored t-shirt’s sleeves. 

“A tattoo artist?” you wager a guess with a grimace and half shrug. “No,” he says, the word covered in a soft laugh, “But I’ve been in my artist's shop enough that I might as well get paid to be there.” “I can see that,” you nod, pulling a bunch of bananas from behind him and cradling them in your arm, “So what is it then?” “C’mon, it’s obvious,” he smiles, “I’m a rockstar.” 

“Are you?” you ask, your laugh bubbles out of you and it makes the back of his neck get hot. You’re too pretty to be flirting with him in Trader Joe’s but he can’t stop trying to make you laugh and smile. 

“Well,” he shrugs, kicking off the wall, “Sort of.” “Sort of a rockstar?” your brow lifts while you scan some of the fruits, hand reaching down to a display in front of you, “If you’re doing food food, how about I do dessert?” 

“Peaches, huh?” he asks with a smirk, wrinkling his nose, “A little messy, don’tcha think?” 

“They’re nectarines,” you correct, putting a few in one of the produce bags, “They’re not the same.” 

“Hm,” he shrugs, letting his finger trail over the smooth waxy skin of one of the nectarines in the display, “Whatever you say, Peach.” “Pfft,” you shake your head the same way he did to you, tying off the bag while you try to ignore how the butterflies in your stomach multiply at him calling you Peach. “So if you’re doing dessert that means you’re free tomorrow, then?” he raises his brows, waiting for your answer while you both walk to the checkout line, “You never said if you were.” “Yes I did,” you protest. His tattooed hand reaches out for the nectarines and bunch of bananas you’re holding. You look down at them and then back up at him, Eddie gives you a look, encouraging you to hand them over.

“No, you said you’d go on a date with me – gimme these, I got ‘em–” he beckons you with his hand to take them until you relent, putting them both in his basket, “And trust me, I’m glad you’re down to go on a date with me. But I just wanna make sure you’re around tomorrow so I know to turn on my charm in the morning.” 

“Oh, it’s not on right now?” you flirt. Eddie’s smile gets boyish and shy, tucking a loose salt and pepper collection of strands behind his ear. He’s too blushy to respond, thankful that the Trader Joe’s worker directs you both for the next cashier. He hands you your bananas and nectarines and you plop them into your canvas bag while he finishes up, walking together out of the double doors. 

“Um, could I - uh – damn why am I so nervous to ask you this? What am I, sixteen?” he thinks out loud to himself, furrowing his brow at his own ridiculousness, “Fuck, could I um – get your number?” 

“You already asked me on a date and you’re nervous to get my number?” you tease, “For real?” 

“Long story, I’ll tell you one day,” he says, handing you his phone. He tucks in his lips while you take it, watching eagerly while you put in your information. You save it under ‘Peach 🍑’ with your real name in the second line. 

“Oh what, did it happen all the way back in the 70s or something? Hard to remember?” Your mean girl tone of voice has a hold on him that thrums in his chest. 

“So you’re one of those girls, huh?” he releases his lips, tip of his tongue pressing against one of his canines, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes his phone back when you offer it to him, taking a quick second to shoot you a text that just says ‘eddie m.��� Your phone dings in your hand, going to save his number while he watches. 

“M’gonna put it in as ‘Sort of Rockstar’,” you giggle to yourself. “Please don’t.” “Too late.” 

You drop your phone into your canvas bag, giving him a final once over. He does the same and his stare almost makes you nervous with the way his brown eyes soften when they find your face. Not one for awkward silence you reach your hand out like he did when you met outside of the store. “Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie,” you say, a lightness to your voice that has him swooning. His hand takes yours, big and slightly rough, calloused fingertips slightly brushing your wrist. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, giving you a firm shake, “Same time tomorrow? At the park?” 

“Sounds good.” 

“I’ll um, I’ll text you. I’ll drop a pin,” he offers. 

You’re both quiet for a moment, anxious with anticipation for tomorrow – for a real date. You say your goodbyes, your ‘see you tomorrows’. Only to both start walking the same direction towards Target. 

“Oh,” you laugh, “Are you going to Target, too?” 

He laughs back, slightly hoarse and rough, smokey sounding, “I am. Should I wait a little? Don’t wanna cramp your style or anything. I know we just said goodbye.” 

“No, no, we can go together,” you smile, big and bright, “We can both decide on what I’m making for dessert.” 

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[spenceragnewfics]

can you please!!! do Spencer with a taller lady 🥺 thinking about how obsessed he would be with their long legs

I loved this idea and knew exactly what I wanted to do! I hope you enjoy!

SHORT KING AND HIS TALL QUEEN | Spencer Agnew x Tall!F!Reader

Summary: Y/N, a tall woman who has struggled with insecurities due to childhood bullying and societal judgments, had almost resigned herself to a life of loneliness. Her perspective began to change when she met Spencer at a party in LA. Despite their height difference, Spencer's genuine interest and love helped Y/N overcome her fears.

Word Count: 815

All her life, Y/N had felt some shame being a tall woman. As a young child she was bullied in school for being taller, that lead to her having a lot of insecurities as she got older. She never really dated in school because most guys either didn’t like that she was taller than them or they couldn’t get past her the assumptions put on her by her classmates.

While the bullying slowly came to a stop, the damage was done. Y/N felt as if she was a loveless monster because she was born to be a bit taller than some people. This feeling continued into college and even after she graduated, she had almost settled on a life of being single until she met Spencer.

She was visiting a friend in LA and was introduced to him by her friend at a party. She couldn’t miss the excited look on her frined’s face before they rushed off. “You must be Y/N, I’ve heard a lot about you from Beth.” He yelled over the music as he put his hand out. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Spencer.” She said and shook his hand.

The two hung out the rest of the night. They talked, took shots, danced, and sang along together the whole night. The night slipped away, feeling like only mere minutes compared to the hours they hung out. Y/N was the one to leave first, needing to get home to take care of her dog. They exchanged numbers and it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship turned relationship.

At first, she was nervous about dating Spencer. He was much shorter than her but he didn’t seem to care, if anything, it seemed to make him more interested. It took her a bit to get used to the stares they would get in public, but she got over it and started to ignore them. Everything seemed to go fine, until she was in a Smosh video. 

Y/N is not an influencer, not by any means, but she does have an amazing sense of humor. Spencer really wanted her to in a vidoe because he thought her humor would mess well with some of the games cast and her opportunity came after Amanda called out last minute because of a family emergency.

The filming was smooth as she knew everyone, having come by the Smosh office plenty of times since her and Spencer started dating. She never even thought anything of the small jokes the cast would make during the vide about her and Spencer dating after they introduced her as his girlfriend at the start of the video.

That was a couple of weeks ago, now, she’s sat on her couch in shorts as she reads the comments on the video she was in and feels her heartbreak. Spencer is sitting next to her with her legs in his lap as he watches some random movie on the TV when he notices her change in body language.

“Babe, everything okay?” He asks, running a comforting hand up and down her legs. She doesn’t say anything, her eyes focused on the comments in front of her as her thumb continues to scroll.

Spencer leans over to see what she’s looking at then rolls his eyes before slipping her phone out of her hands. “Spence! I was ready-” He interrupts her by putting his lip against her’s. His hands find home on her hips as she wraps her arms around his neck. The kiss is full of love and passion, his lips moving against her in a slow and gentle motion to show his need of her.

He pulls away and rests his forehead on her’s, “Don’t read the comments on videos. If you do, then only pay attention to the good ones. The people who write hate comments are lonely assholes who have nothing better to do in life than hate on other people.” He says, squeezing her hips.

“That’s easy for you to say, Spence. All these people are saying, are things that just confirm what my bullies used to tell me.” She says, her eyes getting watery as her insecurities start to show. “Like I said, they’re assholes.” He says before kissinf her neck and slowly moving his lips down until he is kissing the exposed skin of her legs.

“I want you, because you’re an amazing girl. You love so hard and you are so fucking hot, like oh my god. These legs!” He practically moans as he continues to kiss up and down her legs. She smiles to herself, relishing in the feeling of his lips on her legs as she thinks over his words.

Why does she care what random people say? She has a loving boyfriend and friends who love her for her and that’s all she could ever want and need.

[girlystories]

L'appel du vide (The call of the void)

— pairings: Henry Bowers + Patrick Hockstetter x female/daughter of a cop/new student reader

Summary: after your parents divorce (because your mom is kinda crazy) you move to your dads hometown, back to Derry, and your cousin richie. Additional warnings: depictions of animal cruelty, patrick hockstetter (enough said) Words: 3.5k

previous part here

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Chapter 2: Bigmouth Strikes Again

𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 wasn't in a good mood that day, to say the very least. His dad had dragged him early to school for some reason. He didn't know why, and he didn't care. What he did know is that it disturbed his routine. 

He usually woke up by his dad's noisy way of getting ready for work – groaning from the living room, where he slept, and he'd demand his morning beer. If he even bothered, Henry would eat something as he waited for Belch to pass by his house to pick him up – a farm located at the outskirts of Derry. He'd get on his seat – which was of course, at the front, and they'd talk shit. Like they always did, although Henry chose most of the time to remain silent, always too moody in the morning. On the ride they would blast music, driving recklessly around town while the townsfolk would shout curses at them to turn the damn volume down. 

But not today. And he was pissed. On the way to school he was resting on his seat with folded arms, looking out the window and refusing his eyes to meet his father's. 

When he arrived he was about to wait at the parking lot for Belch and the others to arrive, but his old man shot him a glare, and he instantly knew what he meant. With his head low, he reluctantly walked up the stairs, turning his head around and seeing his oh-so great son-of-a-bitch dad watching him like a hawk, his stoic and hateful eyes hiden behind his round sunglasses. 

How much he wanted to fucking punch him right then and there, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't want to admit it, but he was weak against him. He could never manage the courage to stand up for himself, proving his point in being a paper man.

To his utter luck, he was seen by the headmaster, not managing to sneak past his office. He was given a lecture about his attitude and lack of presence, as expected. 

When he was finally let to go, his immediate next destination was back outside to meet up with the others. It was the time they usually arrived, anyway. Ten minutes before the first bell rang and they had to attend their homeroom class. 

"What the fu–"

Just as he was about to walk outside the building he felt someone collide with his chest. If the many and unnecessary nuisances until now wasn't enough, this instantly managed to form a vein on his temple as he clenched his fist. Today was his unlucky day it seemed. He stopped himself from punching whoever it was just as he met the girl's gaze. 

They both shared the same look of surprise. He studied her from head to toe, from the way she styled her hair – which looked somewhat messy – to her slightly parted lips and unironed clothes. 

For some reason he didn't know what to say. She seemed... familiar, but he quickly knew she was new. He'd never seen her at any of his classes before, or anywhere else at school. Was she even the same age as him? His eyes then looked behind her to the distance, seeing the all familiar blue Trans-am parked at the usual spot. Their spot, to be in fact. 

He grounded his jaw, frowning his eyebrows, as he pushed past her, not caring a bit if he pushed her or something. He almost didn't notice Tozier hiding behind her, clinging on her jacket. He snorted at that. He'd mess with him later. 

"Get outta my way," he threatened. 

The others were resting their weight against the Trans-am, invested in their good ol' morning chit-chat, some smoking, some not. He approached them with his head low, staring at his shoes, his hands shoved inside his jean pockets. 

"Someone's in a good mood," Belch was the first to acknowledge him, noting his already grumpy attitude mockingly as he elbowed Vic to the side, who grunted in response and rubbed his side. 

Henry shot him a glare. "Shut your fucking mouth," he said and grabbed his pack, shoving a cigarette between his lips and searching for his lighter. 

"Fucking hell," he grumbled. 

Patrick handed him his significant zippo – which was probably stolen from his grandparents. Henry took it and lit his death stick, exhailing a satisfied cloud of smoke, happy for something to easy his nerves and tremendous headache.

"Thanks."

"Did your dad give you shit again?", Vic asked after a long pause. 

He didn't respond, taking another drag. "The headmaster saw me and wouldn't shut up again about the same ol' shit. Be careful in case he sees you too."

"Well, I don't think he has a problem with me. My grades are decent enough."

"That's because you're not afraid to cheat, Vic," Belch remarked. 

The bleach-blonde boy scoffed in response. "I don't cheat, asshole. I, for one, have a goal I want to pursue."

"So do I, smart-ass."

"What, you mean becoming an Olympic player or something?"

"Fuck you, man. You know damn well how much I want to make it to the American League."

"Whatever."

Patrick cleared his throat as he stared forward to nothing in particular, holding back a laugh, while Henry was about to start yelling at them to shut up from beside him. "Are ya done?"

"You're one to talk, Pat," Vic grumbled under his breath, folding his arms.

He looked at him for a moment, letting out a snort of laughter. The icy stare ignored by Vic who looked down as he kicked a stone with his boot. Patrick threw his finished cigarette and patted Henry on the shoulder as he eyed his watch, passing him and starting to make his way to the building's back entrance. He was always first one to separate their morning meeting, despite Henry being the self-proclaimed leader of the group. 

"Meet ya after class."

Without waiting for a response he pushed the door, walking slowly inside. He placed one hand inside his pocket, while the other ran through his mid-length hair that hang around his face. 

Henry's warning forgotten, he passed the principal's office with ease. Patrick rolled his eyes when he heard his name called just as he was out of view. He could just continue his way, pretending he didn't hear him, but allas, he walked into the office. 

"What is it, Mr. Corbin?", his voice dramatically switched into a much innocent one than he intended. His eyebrows lightly raised as he held his hands together in front of him. 

Mr. Corbin took off his eyeglasses, stopping his work on whatever papers he had held in front of him. "Your grades," he started, sighing as he captured his facade. "You've been held back one grade. Are you on your way to make that a yearly end goal? You need to step up, Hockstetter."

Patrick stared back at him, his eyes void of all emotion. He had had this conversation with his parents countless times before. It mostly began after 7th grade, when things got more serious. They would constantly nag about his future – especially his uptight and anxious mother. He didn't care really, only choosing to live in the present. He was mostly out of touch with reality, always going with the flow. If he would magically share a similar life like his parents, that'd be fine. If he ended up tossed aside and unsuccessful, then so be it. 

"I've also been informed about your attitude outside school. These aren't news, I'm afraid. You and Bowers lack motivation, without a care what you'll be doing with your life in the future." 

Patrick was always twisted from a very young age, despite him not seeing it that way. He would get that sort of thrilling feeling through his veins whenever he viewed any kind of discomfort on another, more so when he inflicted it himself. It was so intriguing for him, from the way that rabbit moved so rapid and swiftly, trying to get out of his grasp. When it's escape went unsuccessful it started to make noises. Patrick would study it with round eyes, which eventually were followed with a wide smile. At that age he didn't attempt to kill it yet, and let it go. He didn't see death as a real thing, until he stumbled upon a starved kitten, it's ribs visible and it's legs weak. 

He tilted his head as he stood over it, the kitty meowed at him, it's high-pitched cries filling his ears. At first he found it terribly annoying, but then he came to enjoy it. It was suffering without the care of its mother. He kneeled on the concrete and the small cat saw this as a welcome to come closer. He tried petting it for a moment and it started purring in a weird way. His fingers run along it's dry fur and he gave more attention on its neck as he grew bored. He stopped and he felt a rush of adrenaline when the cat started meowing louder as he grabbed its neck, it's legs trying to scratch him to get back down. 

The corners of his mouth quirked up in an eerily smile, his eyes shinning slightly. He felt the same feeling when he squeezed the rabbit long ago, but this time he didn't stop and increased the pressure. The kitty stopped moving and it's jaw hang open, it's yellow eyes wide – too wide. He had to compose himself for a moment, releasing his hands as it fell sharpy. He was a god. A chuckle left his lips but he stopped when he heard a hault of steps from behind him. 

It was a young boy that seemed of close age range by his height. He expected him to turn back around and run away, but he didn't. Patrick held a cold gaze. 

"What do you want?" he asked. 

The boy – surprisingly approached him. "What you did was pretty cool."

Patrick didn't expect that. He smiled again. "I do it all the time," he lied but it was mostly the truth. 

The boy looked at the dead cat, then at Patrick. "I'm Henry."

"I'm Patrick."

Henry grinned, revealing a missing tooth. "Cool, wanna join me and my friends? We're on our way to throw paper towels that old lady's house."

"The one with the crazy mole on her nose?"

Henry nodded. Patrick thought about it first. He didn't really have any friends, so this was certainly a change. 

"Sure, why not?"

After that he became a member of the group, soon to be the Bowers Gang. At first he wasn't as welcome, being one year older, but they became so close, they were particularly like brothers. 

Mr. Corbin dragged a hang over his features, a headache starting to form. He waved towards the door, finishing: "that's about it. If you and Bowers get send here one more time, I'll have to take drasting measures. You'll get a pass this time. Mainly because it's your first time, Hockstetter. Now get your ass to class."

Satisfied, Patrick fixed his slouched back and turned around. He instantly noticed the unfamiliar girl next to the doorframe, her curious round eyes watching their interaction with keen interest, like a show being presented for her. Only she didn't applaud, and instead stood there awkwardly. Though she didn't quite fear him, it seemed, but Patrick knew that he'd have to give a good first impression then. That'd change her image of him for sure, he mused. 

He walked out the office with long steps, slowing down only as their eyes met and he instinctively licked his lips when he saw that it worked. 

He didn't care in hearing what the principal shouted at him just as he made his way to class, his mind only on the new victim he found and how he'd proceed next. The corners of his mouth quirked up into that same eerly smile. 

 

   Just as soon as lunch period came, [Name] went to take a seat at a table in the cafeteria, grabbing with her a weird looking sandwich and a soda. The school food definitely wasn't considered a five star meal, but she didn't have much of a choice, since she forgot to bring her own food from home. 

She didn't really care much about not having anyone to sit with, although some company would be nice. She would go sit with her cousin and his friends but she couldn't really find them in this crowd. Despite the town being small, the school was pretty packed. 

Just as she was about to take a bite of her sandwich, she felt someone being pushed against her back. She groaned in annoyance and turned around, ready to cuss whoever hit her. 

She stopped when she noticed a boy trying to stand on both his legs, though unstable. In front of him was the large looking guy she saw with Victor in class before, who wore a hat and a sadistic grin. He was about to make another move on him but turned his head around when he heard his name from the other side of the room – Belch, [Name] heard and looked over at the origin of the call, who was an annoyed looking Henry Bowers. [Name] also noticed Victor and Hockstetter with him. As expected. She still couldn't believe that he was possibly one of Richie's bullies. 

Belch glanced back at the guy who was pushed on [Name] with a piercing glare, though he didn't pay any mind on her. He then turned around and left, going back with his friends, who pushed the door opened and left the cafeteria. 

[Name] looked around, wondering if anyone else saw the whole thing happened, but everyone just went on with their businesses, except maybe like three people, but they still said nothing. She raised a brow. Why didn't anyone do or say anything? Do they control the school or something? She couldn't believe it. People fucking sucked here. She looked back at him, who tried to wipe the dust off of him. His clothes were messy and hang around his body, but he quickly fixed them, along with his posture. He cleared his throat. It took a while for [Name] to notice they initiated contact, and she grew awkward knowing that she was looking at him the whole time. 

She decided to break the silence. "You okay?"

He rose his eyebrows – almost surprised – and tried fixing his brown hair, which was not as easy without the use of a mirror. "Uh, yeah."

The awkward silence around them rose once again as he stood behind her while she had her head still turned around. It was growing sore by the second and she drew a leg over the seat, taking a more comfortable position. 

"Who the hell was that?" she asked. 

He seemed more surprised, as his mouth fell agape for a split second. "Hold up. You don't know him?"

"Um, no?"

He let out a laugh, almost not believing her words. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "Should I?"

"I mean, no but-", he continued to stare at her with a look of surprise. "You honestly don't know of the Bowers Gang?"

She didn't know how to respond, then she said, "Well, actually, I'm knew here."

Her words seemed to bring some sort of understanding as he let out an 'ohhh'. Without asking he sat next to her and stook out his arm. "I'm Aiden."

She shook it. "[Name]."

He leaned against his palm, the edge of his elbow just barely touching the table. "So you're new, huh? How come of all places you choose good-old Derry?"

"I used to live here a long time ago," she said. "For now I'm living with my relatives while we search for a house to rent or buy."

"Relatives? Who? I might know 'em.'"

"I don't know if you do, but I'm Richie's cousin and –"

Aiden's eyes widened again. It was pretty amusing how easily surprised he got. 

"You're Tozier's cousin? As in Trashmouth Tozier?"

"Hey, I'd really appreciate you not talking bad about my cousin."

He ignored it, continuing, "No fucking way, dude. That guy doesn't know when to stop."

"So?", she asked as her eyes narrowed. 

He waved his hands dismissively. "No – I'm just saying. He's just a pretty easy target amongst the Bowers Gang."

Just as [Name] was about to ask more, a voice called Aiden from the distance. Two girls waved at them and approached them. 

"We've been looking everywhere for you," the blonde-haired girl said as she gave him a quick hug. 

"Fucking Huggins thought it was funny to push me while I was about to leave," Aiden rolled his eyes. "But he immediately left. I don't care either way."

"Ugh, just ignore them. They're just dumb."

The brunette's focus was at [Name]. "Hey, you're the new girl, right? I think we share English together," she pointed out. 

She titled her head, trying to recall seeing her. "Really? I didn't really notice you. Sorry."

"Oh, where are my manners?" Aiden said. "This is Jamie and Evelyn", he pointed first at the blonde then the brunette. 

[Name] shook their hands, while she revealed her name to the girls. "I'm new here," she added. 

"And she's Tozier's cousin," Aiden interrupted with a grin. 

[Name] sighed at that as she opened her soda. "I still wanna know about that Bowers guy."

The girls sat at the other side of the table, sharing a look and then looked back at her.

"Well, it's best to say to not mess with him or the rest of his gang. Unless you're unlucky then you're fucked. It's best to just not be an easy target," Everly said. 

"It's almost like the whole town fears them," Jamie added. 

[Name] raised a brow. "How come they target my cousin?", she looked at the boy next to her. "Or Aiden for that matter."

He sighed. "It's... a long story."

It would be a lie if she said she wasn't curious, but decided not to push it. "Okay, well," she said between bites, "They better not mess with Richie again."

Everlyn leaned close, "I don't think you're in control of that. I'd advice you to tell Richie to just avoid them as much as possible."

[Name] frowned at that, but she didn't say more. There was something she could do, right? She took a sip of her soda and licked her lips. 

Jamie nudged her friend's shoulder next to her, "Hey, let's invite her to Frank's party," without waiting for a response she looked back at [Name]. "Wanna join us on Friday? It starts at 8 pm."

She stopped chewing as she glanced at the three reluctantly. She really wasn't in the mood for that, wanting to relax the first week. 

"Come on! It'll be fun! We'll introduce you to other people. That way you'll make friends or something." She placed her hands together in a pleading manner, flickering her long lashes. "Pleaseee? Evelyn will give you a ride."

Evelyn shot a disapproving glare at her, mostly because she didn't bother asking first, but it went unnoticed by Jamie. 

[Name] shrugged. "Sure, I guess?", she rubbed the back of her head. "But I'll leave as soon as I get bored. I'm not really in the mood these couple of days."

Jamie rose from her seat and walked over to her, squeezing her into a hug. "Yay! I swear you won't get bored. And if it makes you feel better I won't leave your side."

   Evelyn was kind enough to give [Name] a ride back home, but she didn't really mind since she gave the other two a ride as well. She thanked her as she shut the door behind her, seeing Aiden wave at her while Jamie blew a kiss from behind the window. 

She walked in the Tozier residence and called out if anyone was home. She heard no response and she shrugged. Richie would be with his friends while her dad, and uncle and aunt would be at work. She threw her backpack and shoes off, going to the kitched and opening the fridge. Groaning at the vague options and the rumbling sound from her empty stomach she opted with a bowl of cereal. She sat at the living room, the blanket embracing her comfortably as she wore her pajamas. She should probably have better done her homework or study for that history test, but she really needed some sort of peace. She wasn't really paying attention to the movie, or the random commercials but she was almost shaken up by the sound of her door opening. 

It was her dad. He seemed to be in a really good mood – if the wise smile he had wasn't obvious he greeted her with enthusiasm. 

She quirked a brow, muching on her cereal. "Why so happy? Not that I mind."

He took of his boots, "We're having a barbecue tomorrow!", he exclaimed simply. 

"Huh?"

"Cancel any plans for tomorrow if you have any."

[muddyorbsblr]

a sizing mishap

See my full list of works here!

This story (and in turn this entire collection) wouldn't have happened if I weren't inspired by this comment from the amazing @lokischambermaid. Thank you for the thot!! 💖🫡

Summary: You hand Player #6 his uniform but it's the wrong size…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: 18+ | smut-ish at the end (minors & pearl clutchers, don't try me. not today); language; side-eye worthy behavior from less than minor character at the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: trust the process, and let me know if you caught on to the hints 😉

It was slowly and surely getting a touch too stuffy in this tiny room you were stationed in for the day. You knew that it was the misfortune that would befall the newbie on the crew but it didn't ease your frustration any. No amount of guzzled water or time spent holding your handheld fan down your shirt could help the fact that the entire room felt like you were slowly being cooked sous vide.

And as if your predicament wasn't uncomfortable and mentally taxing enough, you had to do an inordinate amount of moving about from scouring through the piles of jerseys and shorts to hand off to the various players because most of them hadn't even bothered to fill out the order forms with their size weeks prior to today. To make things even more interesting, some of the men thought themselves charmers and attempted to flirt with you while you were already under enough undue stress.

Your therapist was definitely going to hear about your exchange with that former tatted up boybander who answered your question of "Size, Sir?" with an overconfident "More than big enough for you, luv."

At least you were proud of your deadpanned response of "Somehow I highly doubt that" that made him grumble out his actual answer of "Medium". Another uninterested look that carefully examined his torso and legs and you made the executive decision to hand him some sets in a size XS instead.

"This isn't a Medium. Can you even read?" he snapped at you, waving the uniforms in his clenched fist.

"It's your size, sir," you shot back, your tone still deadpanned and unwavering despite the temper he was showcasing. "If you don't believe me you're more than free to try it on behind that curtain there. If I'm wrong then I will gladly assist you and hand you a set in the next size up."

It only took a few minutes for him to stomp behind the curtain, try on the uniform, and then stomp all the way out of the tiny room without another word. Guess you handed him the correct size after all.

You had a few minutes to breathe after that first wave of players walked through, allowing you to prepare yourself for the sweat-inducing task of moving about the piles once again when the next batch came in and told you they didn't input their sizes, either. At this point, you jokingly told yourself that you'd outright kiss the first one who actually had a size next to their name on the sheet.

"Name?" you called out when you heard the door open again, already facing the surplus of extra unlabeled uniforms to thumb through the piles.

"Douglas," the woman answered, chuckling when you let out a sigh of relief finding a size next to her name on the chart. "I take it some of my teammates didn't give you their sizes in the form?"

"Try nearly all of them so far," you huffed to confirm. "It's been so bad that I was telling myself that I'd kiss the first person who actually had a size next to their name on this damn thing." You waved the printed papers of the chart around to punctuate your point, making her laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Well I think you'd be better off saving that promise for the one coming after me, assuming that he filled out the sizing form. Trust me, you'll probably want to pass on lil ol' me. Then again he might not be up for it considering he does have a very pretty lass that--come to think of it, from what I know about her, kind of looks like you…?"

"Now I'm intrigued," you teased, turning around to the comparatively small pile of labeled uniforms and handed her the one with "DOUGLAS" written on the top. "There you go. Good luck out there."

"Thanks. And good luck to you too it's like a brazen bull in here, bloody fuck."

You waved her off, already holding your tiny fan down your shirt again and just trying to take deep, slow breaths to try and lower your body temperature somewhat. The sound of the door opening again nearly had you whining to any deity listening to give you at least fifteen minutes to cool down before having to deal with another conveniently forgetful soul. "Name?" you all but sighed out.

The effort it took for you to fight back a face splitting grin at the name and buttery smooth voice that reached your ears should have gotten you some form of accolade in the realm of sheer Herculean level restraint. "Hiddleston."

You perused the charts, pursing your lips to keep yourself stoic upon seeing that the field beside his name was, in fact, not blank. "Just a moment, Sir." There was a very faint mumbling coming from the towering man a few feet from you while you retrieved his uniforms from the pile of labeled bundles, an expression nearly as stoic as your own on his face when you handed him the parcel. "There you go."

He gave you a soft smile, holding you captive in an oceanic gaze that you had to practically pry yourself away from and at least pretend to busy yourself with the paperwork on the little desk.

Suddenly all the bravado you had facing all those hubristic men from earlier melted away, as if karma had literally deflated it out of you as some warped retaliation for your earlier behavior. He didn't even have to do fuck all anything and you could feel your pulse skyrocketing and your body overheating that had nothing to do with the current climate of the even more seemingly cramped and overcrowded room.

But then he spoke.

"Erm…I truly hate to be a bother but…this isn't the correct size."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, showing him your visible shock. "That--That can't be. This came straight from the suppliers, they're the ones that labeled these all."

"I understand that but…these are a size Small. I distinctly remember leaving instructions for y--For my partner to input a Medium."

Another look through the chart had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. "It…it says Small," you choked out, visibly struggling to meet his eyes again. "I'm--I'm so sorry, let me see what I can do, I'll make a few calls and-and--"

"No no no, hey hey…" he called out, placing the parcel back on the table before placing his hands on your arms in a gentle hold. "Calm down. It's alright, just breathe." He started running his hands up and down your arms, the motion calming you almost instantly, before sneaking a glance at your little nameplate on the table. "Y/N, just breathe for me, sw--Breathe for me, alright?"

The motions of his hands began to guide you through your breathing, feeling your racing pulse begin to mellow down. "I'm--really sorry about that, it's just I'm new here and this is gonna get me in some serious trouble if I end up fumbling and blundering like--"

"You're going to be alright, it's not that big of a deal, really," he told you in a reassuring tone, squeezing your shoulders lightly before letting go and picking up his jerseys and shorts again. "It's only one size down, I'll make it fit." His free hand twitched toward you briefly, some bizarre part of you instinctively itching to reach for him in turn, but your more rational mind decided against it and sat back on your little seat.

"There's something off about you," you rambled, shuffling the papers of the chart once more and reaching for a pen. "You're way too understanding and mild-mannered for this industry."

He hesitated before taking the pen from you, holding your hand in his as he asked, "Would you mind if I tried it on? Just to be sure." There was the slightest twitch in his eye, as if he was about to wink before he made the split second decision not to, and all you could do at that moment was look up at him with the most foolishly dumbstruck look on your face.

"N-Not at all. Go--Go right ahead, there's a curtain over--Ohh okay then that…works…too," you mumbled to near incoherence as he proceeded to undo the buttons on his thicker overshirt, shrugging the garment onto the floor before giving his light blue button down the same treatment.

Get a hold of yourself. Pick your jaw off the ground you're embarrassing yourself, you hissed inwardly, reminding yourself that you were about to be in the presence of a lot of shirtless men this entire weekend throughout all the practices and promotional events, not to mention the game itself on Sunday. But none of those guys look like this. Look like a literal god among men.

All the while he never broke eye contact with you, holding you hostage in a stormy gaze as if daring you to look away while he effortlessly pierced through the plastic that contained the jerseys. You did your best not to fixate your eyes on the sinewy, well-defined muscles that were moving fluidly with every minute movement of his hands, holding his gaze with all the confidence you could muster.

He made a show of unfolding the shirt in slow, deliberate movements, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a smirk when he noted the visible movement of your neck from a strained effort in swallowing and calming yourself. It was only then that he put the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric stretching taut across his chest and threatening to burst at even the most minute flex of muscle.

The internet is about to have a field day and I am about to get kicked out of this committee, you thought to yourself. And on your first year, no less. You should've known it was a bad idea to agree to the invitation just because your boyfriend encouraged you to.

"It's not too bad, is it?" He swung his arms around to test his range of motion, before raising his hands above his head in a stretch, causing the borderline illegally tight fabric  to ride up on his abdomen, exposing his lower stomach.

You could barely hold in your composure as you choked out, "It looks…manageable." You held out your pen in his direction again. "You just uhm…need to sign on the chart."

He approached you with a certain sway to his step that vaguely reminded you of a wolf stealthily assessing its prey, fingers slowly brushing across your skin as he took the pen from your hand and uncapped the pen by placing the cap between his teeth. When he finished signing his name on the chart, his eyes never left yours as he recapped the pen and placed it back into your hand, his large palm engulfing your entire hand in a warmth you couldn't even bother to complain about despite the stale humid air of the room.

"There you are, darling," he rasped. "No harm done. You won't get into any trouble with your superiors because of me, don't you worry your lovely little head." You watched with bated breath as he turned around and bent at the waist to pick up the discarded shirts, putting that ass that the internet shamelessly thirsts over and stares at for hours on end mere feet before your naked eyes.

I have no idea if my job is cursed or if it might just be the best thing that ever happened to me, you thought helplessly to yourself, watching as he stood back upright and turned again to face you, giving you a small wave as he exited the room.

You fought the urge to hold your tiny fan down your pants after that exchange.

The sound of your phone chiming with a new message brought you out of your stupor, a smile finding its way onto your face as soon as you saw your boyfriend's name on the screen.

"Are you alright? Have you eaten since you got there? Make sure you're drinking lots of water, I hear it's going to be sweltering today. I love you and I miss you already, goddess."

Just the mere thought of how he'd taken the time to type out the message despite how busy you knew he was had you biting your lip to try even slightly to prevent yourself from letting out a stream of giggles like you were back in school all over again. You could feel the ache in your heart as you began to feel your own yearning beginning to intensify after his message.

"I just have a few more people to hand off their uniforms to and then I'll go get some food. Thank you for checking in on me. I love you and I miss you more than you know."

The rest of the day was thankfully a bit more merciful towards you. Once you'd handed out all the uniforms and put all the surplus jerseys and shorts into a merch pile for audience members to purchase before entering the stadium proper and perhaps have the players sign at the end of the game, the hours up until training was over were spent outdoors coordinating with press photographers, making sure that security was on peak alertness in case anyone managed to sneak through the cracks, and confirming that everything was in place for some hot sauce challenge that would take place tomorrow.

You also made a note to take one of those bottles home since you were running low. Only if you could, of course.

When the fields were empty and you were locking down the press room for the night, you heard someone walk into the otherwise quiet room. "I had the most interesting conversation with some of the other players today." The sound of the man's rich, velvety voice had your heart violently pounding in your chest. "About you."

You took a few steadying breaths before you addressed your unexpected visitor, your back still turned to him as you finished writing down the names on the media passes for tomorrow morning. "And what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Hiddleston?"

The sound of his footsteps slowly approaching you had a thrill running up your spine, making you abruptly stand to attention when you felt large hands rest on your waist. "One of them told me about how you were tempted to…what was it again? Ah yes…you said something about kissing the first player that actually had their size on the chart?" You bit back a smile, looking out the window to double check that nobody was lurking and trying to peer into the room as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Now Douglas told me that allegedly it was her, and she passed it on to whoever came next. And if memory serves me right…I believe that would mean that immensely fortunate player was…myself."

He'd leaned in so close at this point that his lips were grazing the shell of your ear. "This is highly unprofessional," you mumbled, barely able to contain your smile now.

"I don't care. I've been thinking about you all day." Fingers ghosted up the length of your spine while his nose traced a line from the shell of your ear down to a very specific weak spot on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You went nearly limp in his hold the second you felt him press a soft kiss to that same spot, his free hand deftly undoing the ribbon you had holding your hair up before weaving his fingers through your hair. "Take this as me officially breaking character. I've missed you, goddess."

The groan he let out against your skin turned you into putty in your boyfriend's arms. "One day," you giggled out. "You lasted barely one day."

Over the last few years since you'd gotten together, whenever you were both signed on to a project, you tried to commit to this bit of "staying private and professional" throughout the course of the project, so as to not draw too much attention to the fact that you were involved. It had come to the point where it collectively slipped the mind of the general public that you two were actually still, in fact, happily together and borderline maddeningly in love. And it also granted you both a comfortable enough sense of privacy, which you were immensely grateful for and neither of you ever dared take for granted.

On previous projects, he would 'break character' within the course of a few hours, and you had a feeling that the only reason it took him nearly a day this time around was that you two weren't around each other as much due to him practicing for the game, and you running around the entire facility.

"I have to be honest, though," you started, letting out a squeal as he abruptly turned you around in his arms to face him, pulling your body flush against his. "For a second there I thought this would be a first and I would break character. This afternoon." It was a good thing that he was currently holding you upright with the way he was looking at you through hooded eyes, his chest heaving through that one size too gloriously small shirt; if you were left to stand on your own, your knees would've buckled the second he touched you. "If you kept up that goddamn striptease for even two more seconds I might have caved."

He smirked at you when you a tiny yelp slipped through your lips as he placed his hands on the backs of your thighs and easily lifted you into his arms. "I'll have to try a bit harder next time," he whispered, walking until you felt your back make contact with the wall. "I believe you owe me a kiss, sweetheart."

You crossed your hands behind his neck, leaning in to give him the quickest peck to his lips. "There you are," you teased, letting out a stream of giggles against his lips when he grabbed the back of your head and pressed you against the wall before pulling you in for a deeper kiss. He let out a desperate sounding moan into your mouth as his arm around you tightened and his fingers tangled into your hair. As if he couldn't possibly get enough of you. Or as if you hadn't seen each other for months.

"Where are you staying?" he rasped when he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath.

"I have a room that I'm sharing with 2 more members from the committee--"

"That won't do," he cut you off, pressing his lips to your jaw and kissing a trail down your neck. "You're staying with me. I already despise the mornings that I wake up away from you, it's cruel and unusual punishment if I go to sleep tonight alone knowing full well that you're here in another room." You stifled a moan when he proceeded to suck a bruise onto your neck, already anticipating the questions from your fellow committee members in the morning when they catch sight of it.

"I uhh--ohh fuck--I'll need to get my things," you stammered, leaning your head back and arching into his kiss to expose more of your neck to him. "My clothes--"

"You won't need them, darling," he retorted, smirking against your skin when you let out a squeak trying to feign protest against his words. "Say yes," he pleaded between kisses. "Stay with me." He kissed his way up to the corner of your mouth. "Don't deny me the simplest joy of getting to wake up with you in my arms."

Those were the words that did you in. "Okay, okay yes," you breathed out, your moan muffled by him once again capturing your lips in a kiss that threatened to steal you of every last breath you had left.

Neither of you seemed to care in the slightest if you crossed paths with anyone on your way to his suite, Tom adorably refusing to let your feet touch the ground as he carried you down the halls. "There was one more thing that some of the players mentioned…Something about you being able to assess their sizes and giving them their correct fitting instead of the size that they told you they were?"

Dammit, the boybander told on me, you grumbled to yourself, meeting your boyfriend's gaze with your worst attempt at an innocent smile. "Aaaand…what about it?"

"You've known my measurements since they sent in the roster form," he started with a knowing smirk, causing you to purse your lips and basically out yourself that you knew exactly where he was going with this.

"I did…"

"Did you intentionally input the wrong size?"

Biting your lip before letting out a fit of near uncontrollable giggles told him more than a spoken admission ever could. "I might have…"

"And I would also be right to assume you had everything to do with the swapped out trousers in my bag?"

Your giggles got louder, practically giving the entire floor a homing beacon signal to where you were, take one look at your current positions, and give them a vivid idea of what type of noises they would expect to hear throughout the night.

"I had to do it," you managed to say between laughs. "For Tumblr."

You held on to him a bit tighter when he went to unlock his door, pressing the keycard to the scanner and balancing you on a single arm, and giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss yet another particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. He let out a seductively dark chuckle against your skin when your giggles had morphed into moans.

"Naughty little goddess," he rasped, tracing his lips along your shirt's neckline as he laid you down on the bed and then proceeding to kiss a path down your clothed torso until he reached the hem of your shirt. His hands traveled up your body, working the fabric up and over your head, kissing and licking and biting at a leisurely pace at every sliver of skin that was exposed to him.

Once the shirt was up to your raised hands, he hovered his face above yours, capturing your lips in another languid, decadent kiss that had you sighing against him as a warm contentment washed over you. You'd only realized now how much you actually missed him since having to leave your home yesterday to come here and begin preparations with the rest of the committee. All day you were so caught up with finalizing every meticulous detail you had control over it was almost like your mind didn't allow you to feel how much you were yearning.

"What am I going to do with you, my darling little menace?" he murmured against your lips, your combined moans filling the room as he licked into your mouth, your tongues meeting in a tangle long practiced and perfected over the years. You quickly tossed your shirt aside to free your hands and pull him closer, giving him the perfect leeway to unclasp your bra.

"Whatever you want," you gasped once you both pulled away, the silliest grins on both your faces as your hands fumbled for the hem of his jersey. "I love you and I've missed you more than you know."

"Shouldn't have said that, my love," he growled, pushing you back down on the bed so that your back was flat against the mattress, a near filthy moan escaping you when he hooked your legs around him and rolled his hips into yours. "There's a lot of pent up energy in me." He proceeded to summarize what he'd spent the day doing, punctuating each item with a thrust of his hips. "Running." Thrust. "Dribbles." Thrust. "Shooting drills." Thrust. "Endorphins are running amok. You understand, don't you, darling?"

"Let me repeat myself," you said breathlessly, crossing your ankles and pulling his hips to yours and making him let out the most delicious stuttered moan. "You can do whatever you want."

A/N: Suddenly those reblogs I did of 'one look and they'll know' are making sense, huh? 😉😈 Welcome to the Soccer Aid 2023 Hiddles collection! As of writing this Author's Note, there are going to be 5 stories in this collection, the next one being 'a tale of ice baths and hot sauce' which covers the Elementals challenge video, and I'm already working on it as we speak. 🫠

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-zie @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee

[danidoesathing]

Vide Noir + Strange Trails

[cedarxwing]

The sequence where Hannibal is taken into custody and processed for evidence in "The Great Red Dragon" (3x08) was originally going to feature the ceiling of the Norman Chapel in Hannibal's memory palace crumbling! This would've been a callback to Hannibal's love of church collapses:

"I collect church collapses. Did you see the recent one in Sicily? The facade fell on sixty-five grandmothers during a special Mass. Was that evil? Was that God? If He's up there, He just loves it." - Shiizakana

Instead of the cheerful choir boy music, the script describes a performance of Vide Cor Meum, which played when Hannibal first visited Will in prison in Savoureux (1x13). It would've been fitting to have it play during Hannibal's imprisonment! It also would've created a sadder, more romantic tone.

In the collapse of the "foyer of his mind," Hannibal happily sits among the grandmothers gathered for the "special Mass." It's ambiguous if he's accepted that he's about to get crushed too, or if he's immune to being pulverized in his memory palace. Either way, it would've been a powerful symbol of his submission to Will's design. He's having fun, giving up control!

The final sequence that we got communicates all this pretty effectively, but the roof collapse + Vide Cor Meum would've been soooo dramatic and fun.

Another roof collapse got cut from "...And the Beast from the Sea" (3x11) script. This one happens in Dolarhyde's imagination, and would've drawn a parallel between his loss of control and Hannibal's:

I assume all of this got cut for time, CGI budgetary reasons, or to keep the 3x08 scene more lighthearted. A shame, because I think it would've added another layer of meaning to this shot, later:

Hannibal is counting down the hours to the murder of Will's family, raising his hand to the moon just like Will did in 3x09. Is he also imagining the collapse of his prison cell ceiling? Maybe he's in the Norman Chapel, enjoying the roof collapse there?

[wizardfrog69]

Hellloo!! Please can you do a one-shot where fyodor and his s/o had a little fight (like normal couple) and s/o got upset about his talk and she start avoiding him and doesn't even sleep in the same bed as him (for 3 days) because she still upset and when he is in front of her she make a serious cold face - _-! What will fyodor do in such a situation!!! Please i need to know!!! Aghhh!! I neeeed to knoooooooooow😭

Thanks for the request!!

'•.¸♡Just a little fight♡¸.•'

Fyodor x reader

Fluff

Masterlist

Enjoy!

Fyodor had an argument with you three days ago, ever since you have been avoiding him and even sleeping on the couch! He could tell you were pissed off at him, but he seemingly didn't care. He wouldn't try and talk to you or make up for the fight you had, which made you even more pissed off and sad. It made you feel as if he didn't care about you.

On the other hand, Fyodor, once he had to sleep alone the first time in a long time, felt weirdly lonely. He didn't like this lonesome feeling dragging him around, but why did he feel this way? He liked being alone, others would just descract him, especially you, so why wasn't he happy to be alone again? He kept contemplating these thoughts, but seeing you ignoring him, he couldn't see your cute smile and hear your adorable laugh. You wouldn't tell him what your day brought you, and the intern informed him on the world around so he could plan his little evil schemes.

"Why did he miss you so much?" Was the only thought on his mind as he kept ignoring you, and he did nothing to mend the relationship. He could tell you felt more and more hurt day by day. What was going on???? Fyodor was very confused, which interfered with his work, so he decided to make you stop.

One night, you were in the living room reading a book next to the lamp. You weren't really into the book, but it had good reviews, and you were only on the second chapter. The soft sounds of footsteps hitting the floor caught your ear. You could tell it was Fyodor, so you looked up and took off your reading glasses (if you wear them, idk). There was something odd about him as he just stood there in the doorway staring at you, he was so stiff and awkward.

"What do you want?" You speak in a brusque manner at him. He looks like he's about to say something, but he's too stubborn to say it, so you go back to reading. "Sorry." A voice you haven't heard in three days spoke up. You looked up at Fyodor with vide eyes. Shock is an understatement to what you felt at that moment. The word sounded so foreign. You didn't care that it didn't sound genuine, and it felt forced. He still apologised. How?

Before you could say anything, Fyodor left as he thought you didn't accept his so-called apology and he had other things to do. When he was walking away, he suddenly felt a pair of familiar arms and a weight on his back. It worked! His apology worked. He felt a weight break off his shoulders. But that meant he was wrong. He thought the apology wouldn't work. Next time, he won't let you be so pissed off for so long as it clearly messed with his mind.

"You could have said it earlier, you know." You teased him a bit and kept hugging him. You forgave him a long time ago. You just felt hurt that he kept ignoring you.

That night, you made sure to cuddle all of the cuddles you missed over the past two nights.

༺♡༻ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ༺♡༻

Sorry for leaving again.

Also, this account is over a year old now! Yay! Thank you all for your support, and I should have made this a separate post, but idc.

Thank you to everyone greatly.

Have a good night/day and stay hydrated and do something you love!

—With lots of love, Azrael the wizard frog :)

[catboydogma]

happy 4/20 new part of vide noir is up

i remain king of posting at weird ass times

In the Dream, Fox was sinking slowly no matter how he tried to keep his chin up. If he could just get the rest of his mission over with then, he knew, he could let his limbs crumple, his spine cave in on itself, the grave-clammy hands shoring up his shoulder blades creep over his throat to cover his eyes. In the Dream, he followed a straw-haired man with a blade of yellow light between his pale hands deeper and deeper into Coruscant, the smoke-filled levels indistinct and nondescript around him. In the Dream, he slipped from shadow to shadow like smoke. Like something liquid. Fox felt brackish water rise around him, boots soundless as he treaded and waded through the silt-eddying currents. There were no more natural water sources, and especially nothing like running water this far down on Coruscant. But Fox could smell it. His shining black armor passed through the water without a ripple. But he could feel the salt-sand grit of it at the back of his mouth. How long had he been half-swimming in the dark like this? The Jedi shook Fox off his tail, then doubled back when Fox was still trying to figure out whether he should keep slogging forward or report back to the Chancellor’s office and swallow the consequences as best he could. He turned back around and the Jedi was there again, behind him now, studying him with a strange twist to his mouth. “Huh,” the Jedi said, straw-pale hair shining faintly in the bioluminescent lamplight from a distant street corner. He still held the hilt of his sword in one hand, but the fingers wrapped around it were lax. “I thought you were—never mind. What can I do for you, trooper?” Fox didn’t answer; the Dream demanded no words of him, which is what he liked best about it. He brought his blaster up and got one, two, three shots off. The Jedi jerked back and then forward. The strident light of his sword igniting hurt Fox’s eyes, even behind the visor: nothing so bright belonged in the Dream.

read more on ao3

[monsterbeetlebug]

Never steal from Micah Bell

Fem reader

Tw: mentions of guns, violence, fire, blood, sexual tension.

Tilly came running into camp. She was full of panic. Eyes vide and out of breath. She started screaming that you had been kidnapped by a gang. They had been after all of you for some time. They managed to get their hands on you wanting to get info on where the Van der Linde gang was residing. Everyone dropped their stuff and came running to Tilly. Asking of everything she knew. Miss Grimshaw took her away to clean her up as the fellers started talking. Dutch, Hosea and Arthur was scrambling about to gather their stuff. They quickly turned around when they heard the sound of hoves racing away. They all stood frozen looking confused between each other as Micah raced away. He had never shown any interest or care to save anyone but himself. Micah rodes as fast as he could. Rage was fueling him. The reflection of the sunset was like flames in his eyes. There was no mercy to be shown. Nobody who steals from Micah Bell had a life ahead of them. His laugh erupted. He felt like he would go insane if anything happened to you. "Ain't no one stealin from me who gets to stay alive."

You were locked in a small shed. Left in the dark small room. They had roughed you up a bit trying to get you to speak. Your head hanging down as you focused on sounds outside. You had shot up as you heard an all too familiar laugh and yelling. Micah! The cold bastard actually cared enough about you to come and save you. "I'm going to burn this place to the ground! Time to meet with your maker boys!" His maniacal laughter came through as you heard glass breaking and shots fired. You could see the slight glow of fire from outside. There was screaming and gunshots all around.

Then suddenly, it fell silent. No talking. No footsteps. Only the crackling of fire growing. You feared the worst. Then, the door of the shed swung open. Your eyes widened, and relief filled you. There before you stood Micah. The glow and sparks from the fire wild behind him. The dark silhouette was disturbingly impressive. His eyes felt cold and dark. Blood was splattered across him. Luckily, it wasn't his own. You jolted up and ran towards him. You hugged yourself around his neck. He hugged back and patted you back. "You came for me, you cold bastard, you actually came." Micah let out a soft chuckle as you pulled apart. He looked at you with eyes that told more than his words. "Couldn't let them get away with stealing the only thing I care more for than my guns." You felt a tingling sensation go through you at his words. You hugged him tighter with your head under his chin. Smiling to yourself hearing those words. That evil asshole actually has some feelings beneath is vile exterior. Something he would never show to anyone else, especially not back at camp. He couldn't let them know he actually had a heart. He would never hear the end of it if they found out he was a human after all.

Micah grinned to himself feeling how close you held onto him. He held you just as thight back. Feeling relaxed knowing you where safe with him again. He slowly slid his hand down your back to place it on your butt. Softly squeezing. You felt a cribling inside. A warm feeling that was building. He placed a kiss on your head before he moved to kiss at your neck. He let out a hum of appreciation. Your breath got heavy as you closed your eyes. You could feel him grow harder against your stomach. He pulled away and placed a kiss on your forehead. A soft smirk visibleas he spoke. "C'mon, let's get you out of here, we'll finish this later doll."

He gave you a pat on your butt as he helped you up on his horse. Then suddenly you heard a stampede of hoves arriving. It was all the fellers from camp. Arriving just as you were about to leave this place. They saw you sat on top of Baylock like a trophy. All safe and content. Your cheeks stilled flushed red from Micah's actions. They looked at the burning camp behind you. Half the place was burned already, and things had begun falling down. Arthur looked angry at Micah. "What tha hell, Micah?! Was it really necessary to burn the place?" Micah led his horse towards them with a prideful saunter. His sleazy grin taking it's usual form. He leaned a bit back and put his hands out to his sides, exaggerating his words. "You're late to the show boys. Everything's dealt with, and I've saved our dear damsel in distress. But I didn't take you for a slow guy in a rescue Cowpoke, or should I say slowpoke instead?" Micah mocked Arthur as he passed by everyone. You couldn't help but find it funny. You tried your best to hide it so Arthur wouldn't get more upset than he already was.

Micah eventually hopped up behind you. Making sure you were sat close to him. You could feel his still hard member pressed up against your back. Making sure you could feel how much he craved you. As Baylock started trotting away and back home, he put a secure hand on your thigh. Stroking at your inner thigh. It made your warm tingle feel like a flame stared inside. Melting you closer to him. He needed to feel you to know you where there. That you where safe within his hand. He had a grin on his lips. With a rough but loving voice he spoke. "Let's get you home and taken care of princess."