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daisiescomelate · 1 month ago

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Collision

Prompt: Unfortunately, Sylus decided to drop by your apartment for a surprise visit the same day Zayne agreed to stay the night.

Content: Zayne&Reader, Sylus&Reader. no proofread sorry.

masterlist

Credits rolled on the screen and you cheered with a round of applause. Zayne followed your lead with his usual lack of intention to show enthusiasm and a stoic face. As the black screen led to a final musical number with all the crew in colorful outfits, you stretched your arms over your head and rolled your neck to get rid of the stiffness of laying on the floor for so long.

The lights were down and the cortines closed to add to the atmosphere. You sang to the tune, following the choreography you knew by heart with exaggerated passion, pushing Zayne’s arm to encourage him to join you. He didn’t, of course. Instead, he straightened his crossed legs and stood with his socks over the sheets and cushions you had thrown over the carpet to get yet another extra layer between you and the cold tile.

You held a high note holding an invisible microphone to your face, throwing your head back and striking a pose. You then motion to Zayne to take the spotlight for the next line.

“C’mon, Zayne! I know you’re a good singer!” You teased him.

“I prefer to keep my talents to myself.” Mr. Too Cool To Party pated over his dress pants to shape them back into their ironed form. “And lower your volume, you’ll get complaints from the neighbors.”

You didn’t let his attitude kill your mood –but you did quiet down a little bit, just in case.

“What time is it?” You asked as the music died down and the screen faded back to black. The sudden pain and tingly sensation that took over when you moved your leg warned you not to try to get on your feet just yet.

Zayne fixed up the sleeves of his shirt, pulling them back down and buttoning them up. He flicked his wrist so he could see his watch properly, then walked to the closest window and pulled the heavy clothes just a small fraction out of the way with one finger. The sky was a dark mass sprinkled with silver dust. The city lights painted reds, whites and yellows as far as the eye could see.

“Twenty minutes ‘till two.” Said Zayne, letting his finger drop and covering the view back down again. And moving to the stitch on the wall to turn on the lights of the living room.

You blinked.

“Wow.” Almost two in the morning?

You invited Zayne over for a movie marathon. It was a plan you had been postponing for a few weeks since his schedule was often messy and unpredictable. You guessed maybe now that you had finally been able to do it you got a little bit over excited and ‘Just one more movie’ turned into this.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was this late.” You scratched your neck and felt a tweak of guilt in your chest.

“It’s okay. Tomorrow is my day off. Well… today.” You winced. Zayne rarely had a good night of sleep pulling so many extra hours at work. To top it off, you picked him up from the hospital that afternoon after a long shift and he was too stubborn to take a nap. You didn’t even want to think how long he had been awake by now. He was certainly in no condition to drive.

“Do you want to stay the night?”

The question seemed to have taken him off guard because he stiffed before squaring his back again. He coughed and turned his face to look at you from over his shoulder.

“There is no need for that.”

“You have been awake for too long for it to be safe to sit behind the wheel.”

“I can just call a cab for that.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as if to prove he could.

“How long is it going to be until you get home? Aren’t you tired?”

“It’ll be forty minutes at most.” He typed on his password and set a stubborn hand over his waist. You looked at the side of his profile, and bit your lower lip. If there was one person who was more bullheaded than you, that was Dr. Zayne.

You made an effort to stand and walked to his side, trying to pick your face between him and his phone screen to force him to look at you for a second. He ignored you.

“We had plenty of sleepovers when we were kids, it would be nice to do it again. You rarely come to my apartment if it’s not to pick me up for something.” His expression didn’t show any sign of hesitation. You decided to take out the heavy ammunition. Knowing Zayne’s weak spot for puppy eyes after seeing him give in to his smallest patiences’ trickery, you hucked your hands around his arm and with pouty lips –Zayne’s health came before dignity– you attempted an attack.

“Please? I’m worried about you.”

Zayne looked down and away from the screen when you tugged on his arm. The words he was about to say died on his tongue and after a stuttering couple of minutes, an emotion you couldn’t catch flashed across his eyes. Probably the effect of your inexperienced pleading. God, you were sure you looked ridiculous right now.

I do this for your own good, Zayne.

His expression went from startled to a frown, but you didn’t budget. You could see a hint of internal struggle, which meant that it was working, so you squeezed his arm a little bit closer to your chest and waited.

Finally, the struggle gave way to resignation and you knew you'd had won.

“Fine.” He said in a cold voice. He held the bridge of his nose with two fingers and closed his eyes with exasperation, “but let go of my arm.”

You let a triumphal smile spread across your face since he couldn’t see you and you let go. “Great!” You sang, “We’ll have to find you some clothes for you to sleep on. I’m sure I have some oversize pieces at the back of my closet. Let me look for them.”

You ran off to your room, leaving a distress doctor sighing at your back.

No more than fifthteen minutes later, Zayne was on your biggest (oldest) black hoodie, stretched and torn after so many washing cycles, and a pair of gray sweatpants that barely got to his calf. You had retrieved a back up toothbrush from a dark corner of the cabinet –still in its box–, and he was brushing in the bathroom while you finished picking up the stuff in the living room.

“You are too big for the couch, I’m telling you. And you can’t sleep while sitting down, your neck will kill you tomorrow.” One argument had turned into the next. Now you were trying to explain to a six-foot-one man how tall he was. “And you could sleep on the floor if you wanted, but my bed is big. I don’t know why this is such a big deal for y—”

The doorbell rang from across the room giving you a startle.

Shi—.

“Who rings someone’s doorbell at two in the morning?” You asked, annoyed. What a way to scare the living hell out of someone.

You heard Zayne’s voice muffled from the bathroom.

“Probably some kids playing around.” His voice was followed by the sound of water running as he rinsed his mouth.

You scolded and dropped the cushions in their designated spot over the dining chairs. With angry stumps, you moved to the small screen next to the door. The security camera showed the image of the main door of the building.

Empty.

There was no one in front of the glass windows, not even a shadow under the iridescent light of the streets.

They run off. Rascals.

You prompted both your fits over your waist. “Seriously, that’s just annoying. I don’t see how this would be entertaining for anyone.”

“You can’t take in a joke?” Zayn’s voice sounds closer than before. He had walked off the bathroom and was moving to the kitchen area with that signature faint smirk in his lips.

“Oh, shut up.” You shushed him. You heard a low chuckle and the clinking of glass as he looked for something in one of the cabinets. You turned back to the screen, bent over and squinted your eyes, paying close attention for any sign of movement. Nothing.

Fine. You will let it go this time, but next time you would teach them not to play pranks on a hunter’s house.

You straighten back up and turn around. Immediately, someone knocked on the door behind you.

“What—!” You jumped.

“What was that?” Zayne asked from the kitchen.

“I– A neighbor?” You asked, your voice full of doubt even as you said it. You turned back to look at the door.

Oh, fuck. It was the singing, wasn’t it?

You groaned and covered your face, feeling the blood rushing to your face, making it go hot.

“I told you they would complain.” Said Zayne all coky, seemingly having the same idea as you.

“Be quiet. I stopped singing a while ago, this is probably because you were being stubborn about the couch. They probably hear us screaming at each other from one room to the other.”

“Well, I don’t live here, so this is your problem.”

You sighed. You were regretting your merciful soul. Maybe you should have let him fall asleep behind the wheel so he would learn his lesson by himself. No, you slapped your face with both hands. Leave those dark thoughts. One problem at a time.

Taking a deep breath, you faced the door. You fixed your appearance as best as you could before taking the doorknob into your hand and plastering an apologetic smile into your face. You opened the door slowly, and embarrassingly showed yourself from the crack of the door.

The apology dried down in your lips and your eyes went wide when you saw the person at the other side. The shock was such that you weren't able to hold back the surprise pitch in your voice when a word escape you,

“Sylus?!”

“Lower your volume, kitten. It’s late.” He laughed and held a finger to his lips. He stood there in his whole glory, covered in black leather. His jacket opened to show a white shirt with a small stain of blood close to the hem of his neck and his golden pendant hanging over his chest. His red eyes flickering with the light of the common corridor.

You started with your mouth open and let the expression set, seemingly pleased to have baffled you stupid as he often did. What is he doing at the door of your apartment? Your blood rushed again, this time with a more displeasing feeling.

You held the door tight, narrowing the gap that let him see into the apartment as much as you could without closing it right in front of his face.

“There are cameras everywhere in this building. I told you to stop doing this. What are you doing here?” You whispered between greeted teeth, a mix of anger and alarm.

He lowered himself to be eye to eye with you, placing a heavy hand against the door. Not yet pushing it open, but to at least make sure you couldn’t lock him out. He followed you lead by whispering his next words too.

“I missed you, that’s all.” His eyes flashed with amusement. Great, you gave him a great reaction –that sight of infatuation he liked to trigger on you– and now he was hooked and ready to play you around.

You swallow the come back lingering at the tip of your tongue. Don’t entertain him. You kept your expression neutral but firm when you said,

“Not today, Sylus.”

“What, are you tired? You can go ahead and sleep, I just want to sit with you for a little bit.” He moved closer until your noses almost touched. His whispers turn into soft spoken words. “Some pests have been running around causing trouble lately. They’re sneaky and give me a little bit of a headache. That’s why I haven't been able to come and see you lately. I still need to go back to work, so it will only be for a moment. Is that alright?”

You didn’t answer, running possible excuses for him to leave as soon as possible. While he waited for your answer, something seemed to come to mind. He moved back a fraction and tilted his head to the side, curiosity in his gaze.

“You opened the door quite fast. You weren’t asleep yet?” Whatever look you gave him was enough for him to know the answer to that. He laughed quietly and straightened back up, “Are you misbehaving, kitten?”

Deciding the most efficient way to deal with Sylus was to tell him to get the hell out of there, you opened your mouth to tell him off. He would always listen to you if he saw true displeasure in your expression.

In that instant, a voice came from behind your back.

“Is everything alright?” Zayne’s tone was calm, but also somehow worried and vigilant to your ears.

At the sound of the voice, Sylus’ smile dropped. Red lights swarmed in his pupils, turning to the deepest crimson, as black as blood when you gash out an important artery.

“Who is that?” His tone was sharp as knives. Games aside, he didn’t care about keeping his words a whisper anymore.

“I…”

“Are you asking about me?” Zayne’s calm tone turned into stone.

Sylus’ gaze twitched when he heard it again. His eyes clocked on you, almost threatening. He studied you, running his eyes over you from the tip of your toes to your face, looking for something. You tensed under his scrutiny, wondering why it made you feel so vulnerable. This was the hard gaze Sylus would use with the people he considered rats tampering with his trash and ruining his sidewalk. You weren’t used to those eyes looking down on you.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“If it was the noise that bothered you, we apologize for the inconvenience. We will stay quiet from now on, we were setting on to sleep.” Sylus’ attention moved over your head as if trying to see through the door to the person on the other side. “We can talk about this more in the morning if you’d like.” When Zayne finished his statement, Sylus’ slowly moved back to look you in the eyes. There was a lingering note of danger when he repeated Zayne’s words to you.

“...The noise?”

It was as if the cat had eaten your tongue. Sylus didn’t look alright. The sight of it made your brain immediately try to recall the spare gun hiding in a drawer in the kitchen.

A hand wrapped around your arm and pushed you away from the door.

—

Zayne brushed his teeth with his eyes passively staring at his reflection on the mirror over the sink. Your voice came loud from the end of the hall through the opened bathroom door. His expression remained stoic while listening to you talk some nonsense about waiting to share the bed with him from the living room. He deemed for every word of yours to get in one ear and out the next.

Rather than pay attention to your rumbling, he moved his gaze around over your creams and trinkles next to the tap and over the shelves on the side. Your towels hung on the walls, and the tiles on the floor showed small details coloured in gold.

Your soap scented the room, the air clean, light and sweet.

His eyes returned to his double in the mirror. The hoodie you handed him had gone from black to gray from washing, and the sweat pants had a hole on one side over one of the seams. He felt the softness of the worn down fabric and the scent of the softener in your clothes.

“I don’t know why this is such a big deal for y—”

The doorbell rang. His body flinched, his shoulders jumped sending his hand a little too far into his mouth, almost stabbing his throat with the toothbrush. You cursed between your teeth, the sound softened by the distance.

He frowned. He turned his head around, over the pile of neatly folded clothes lay his watch. He reached for it with his fingers and shifted it his way to look at the dial. Two past seven in the morning. Who in their right mind rings into someone’s house at this hour in the middle of the night?

“Who rings someone’s doorbell at two in the morning?” You asked from the living room.

Zayne put down the brush and held a hand to his neck, coughing lightly to get rid of the sting of pain at the back of his throat. He ran his fingers through his hair, regained some composure and washed the frown from his face.

He went on to turn on the tap as he answered,

“Probably some kids playing around.”

He let the water run to wash as best as he could at the lack of a shower. He blindly reached his hand for a towel and got the water away from his eyes. There was still a lingering line of annoyance at whoever had almost made him choke.

The smell of you on the towel took over his system again and his mind railed back to the thoughts he had been fighting and the alarming sensation of a fluttery feeling over his heart. The echo of your words from earlier and the feeling of your body pressing against his arm flooded him again.

He pressed his heart over the fluff of the towel and closed his eyes.

The sensation of heart palpitations might just be early signs of arrhythmia.

He uncovered his face and sighed. Putting the towel away, he moved his pile of clothes over the lid of the laundry basket and walked towards the hall and into the kitchen

“Seriously, that’s just annoying. I don’t see how this would be entertaining for anyone.” You said while leaning forward with your fits on your waist and annoyance clear in your tone. He could imagine your face scrunched up and the pout in your lips and he couldn’t help the smile that escaped him.

“You can’t take a joke?” He said, stepping into the kitchen door.

“Oh, shut up.” You snapped back and his smile grew wider. He moved to look through the cabinets over the counter. The uneven sets of plates and glasses spoke of your habit of hoarding all types of stuff that called your attention for either being ‘cute’ or colorful. He was looking for a pair of glasses that wouldn’t be embarrassing to drink from while you mumbled under your breath to the camera next to the front door.

You were still so vivid at this hour of the night, singing and dancing and cursing so freely. It made him wonder about your sleep schedule and if you were lying during your check ups about getting proper rest. He was about to make a comment about it when the sound of knocking on the door startled him again.

His hands freezed over one of the glasses, almost making it fall out of the cabinet and into the floor. He heard you hold back a scream and his body tensed.

“What was that?” He asked.

“I– A neighbor?” Your voice sounded as if you were trying to reassure yourself. However the idea made sense. Your vividness had come back to bite you. The scandal had been quite a deal. Maybe it would teach you about not having to stay so late at night in the future.

“I told you they would complain.”

You bikered with him and he enjoyed it. He was usually so inclined to mind his own business and stay quiet since he never had the patience for conflict, but since you two came back to be together he had discovered how entertaining it was to tease you.

He heard the door being unlocked and seconds later yet another scream, “Sylus?!”

Zayne turned to look over his shoulder, listening attentively. The name didn’t sound familiar to him, but your tone let clear you knew who they were. A man’s voice answered, dulled by the distance, but he sounded calm.

After your initial reaction the conversation turned quiet. Since you seemed to know him and there was no other striking reaction after your initial surprise, he felt he should be inclined to think that everything was fine. However, he couldn’t shake the wary feeling on his chest.

He put two glasses over the counter and filled them with water. Your conversation was a steady murmur he couldn’t properly pull apart. And when the buzzing of the refrigerator engine rose, he felt the urge to get closer to the kitchen door to try to catch on any word he could.

You were hunching forward with your head picking out the hall through a small opening in between the door and its frame. You held into the doorknob with white knuckles and your shoulders were tense like wire.

The light sense of instinctive wariness turned into something sharper. Then, he heard a chuckle.

A male’s voice, husky and oddly cheery, came from the other side, making the hair at the end of his neck stand on end and his gut kicked with a warning.

He walked slowly from behind you. All he could hear were the desperation in your whispers talking to the person behind the door.

“Is everything all right?”

There was a beat of silence, and all the cheerfulness had been washed away from the voice when the man. The voice was stone cold when he lashed his next question at you,

“Who is that?”

What kind of questions was that?

“Are you asking about me?” He intervened before you could give this man any type of answer.

Another beat of silence, and there was a layer of threat in the man’s voice when he said his next line.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“If it was the noise that bothered you, we apologize for the inconvenience. We will stay quiet from now on, we were setting on to sleep. We can talk about this more in the morning if you’d like.” This wasn’t a situation he wanted to muse over. You had gone completely still at the door. Zayne couldn’t figure out what kind of person this would be for you to not lash out at them by the tone he was using. He walked in strides towards the door, and he had extended his arm to pull you away by the time he heard the next question.

—

“...The noise?”

Sylus saw you disappear inside the apartment and a second later a tall figure positioned itself in front of him at the door.

He licked the sharp edge of his teeth, taking one deep breath to clear the rampage that had been set on his mind. He wanted to keep steady and not act in a rush. Who would have thought that you were actually out there being naughty while he was retained by the lame games of a sneaky dirty gang.

Sylus’ eyes were set on the man’s chest at the door since he was way taller than you. And when he felt like he had a hold of his temper again, he slowly slid them up to see the man’s face. What he found there made the last of his temper untwine and his posture relaxed. He couldn’t help but arch one of his brows with curiosity.

The doctor.

Sharp jaw, black hair, green eyes, constipated expression. It was a face he could recognize easily since he had got to see it too often in pictures and files Luke and Kieran collected for him. Someone many would call a prodigy. A cardiac surgeon at Akso Hospital, well known and respected by both his teachers and pairs. Level-headed, serious, pragmatic.

And a wimp.

Sylus’ irritability washed away from his eyes and his gaze recovered the glint of amusement.

Granted, this was the first time he met the Doctor in person, but he had seen enough of him to feel like they were old acquaintances. To Sylus’ eyes the cold expressions were nothing but a façade. It might be something that spooked others away from looking for too long in his direction, but to someone like him that wasn’t a barrier of any type. The man was actually a lot more transparent than one might feel.

Kieran had quite the hand for photography, and enjoyed capturing good images with feeling. Sylus had seen a significant amount of pictures of the shy side glance looks the Doctor sent your way when you weren’t looking. His feelings for you were clear as day, and by the light in his eyes, Sylus could tell it was an old type of love.

When he learned you and the Doctor had met when you were children the look made even more sense. It also gave Sylus some reassurance. To him it was obvious: Doctor here had a childhood crush that had rutted too deep into his heart, and after holding it in for so many years, and giving his shy personality, he was probably never going to confess in his lifetime out of the possibility of you saying no.

“We were too enthusiastic about our movie night earlier. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I presume we all have work tomorrow. It would be better to discuss this at some other time.”

With context about who your visitor was, it was clear to him that he had nothing to worry about.

The Doctor’s eyes set on Sylus and discreetly looked him up and down. Should he have known he would come to meet your childhood friend he would have chosen some better clothes. He moved his hand to cover a strain in his shirt from the altercation from earlier with his jacket. A virtuous fellow like him would certainly disapprove of his attitude, and Sylus had always considered first impressions to be very important.

The contempt in the Doctor's eyes didn’t stroke him as a surprise. What a shame, Sylus sighed. He always thought that if he played his cards well he and the Doctor could strike up a good friendship since they were both smart men and shared very similar… taste.

Sylus took a second to assess the situation. From behind the Doctor’s back, you slide him a warning glance. The poison in your eyes made his heart flutter like a teen with his first crush. Biting back a smile, he decided to show some mercy just this one time. The Doctor was not wrong, it was pretty late at night and you should take some rest now.

Leaving your eyes he moved to look straight at the doctor’. With a motion he knew his type would dislike, he lifted up his chin and looked at him from above.

“Well, I’m glad you are aware of your mistake.” His eyes deflected to you so the Doctor would catch it. “My neighbor here was too stubborn to admit it.” The Doctor’ nails pressed against the wood of the frame.

Upon closer inspection, Sylus noticed the virtuous doctor’s clothes and the way his pants barely covered his shin. Well, he had never been offered clean clothes when he stayed at your house. Favoritism games were not fun, dear.

By his expression, Syrus feared the good doctor might decide to start throwing punches. As fun as it could be to help him start a criminal record of his own, he was sure you would scold him for it. So he decided to cut the conversation short.

“Fine. I am tired myself.” He turned on his heels and looked over his shoulder to throw you a wink. “I will discuss this with my neighbor some other day, when we have both cooled down.”

If the man had a reaction, Sylus decided to miss it. The only thing that got to his ear was a muffled sound and your voice whispering the Doctor’s name.

The apartment door closed behind him with a click. He could only imagine the Doctor’s questions for you if he even dared to pronounce them.

His phone ding with an incoming message and he pulled it out of his pocket. Kieran had updates on the gangster’s location and urged him to go back to work. With a heavy sight he stepped down the hall into the elevator. The night hadn’t gone as he had planned it too, but he got to see you at the very least.

He still wasn’t worried about the doctor’s slender, well taken care of fingers and where they might try to stick to, but just in case, because he was a cautious man, he pondered if he should send Mephisto to make sure you didn’t get yourself into any trouble.

#lads sylus #lads zayne #lads #love and deepspace #sylus #zayne #x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #zayne x mc #zayne x reader #🍰 short fic

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 5 months ago

Text

Tide

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Frankie Morales is capable of almost anything... except not cumming in his jeans when he thinks about you, the pretty clerk at the grocery store he always buys his giant jugs of laundry detergent at. Warnings: Smut thoughts, Frankie's POV and internal monologue, premature ejaculation, so much cum talk, addiction recovery, laundry detergent, this is so ridiculous but I also tried to make it super sweet. Words: 1,200

A/N: I'd probably classify this as a crack fic... but with heart. This is SOOOOO indulgent and ridiculous. I don't know what @luxurychristmaspudding unlocked in me but this is what's released. I know this is my *4th* story in a week, but I couldn't help myself. Also, shout out to the JM Discord and all of the tenants who join in the luxuriousness of this level of depravity.

Masterlist

🚁👖🤍Frankie🤍👖🚁

It keeps happening to Frankie over and over and over again. Recovery has been a challenge, abstaining from all of his previous vices means he’s no longer numbing his mind… and body.

Nobody should ever cum during a prescription commercial and yet… he does. The swimsuit hugged the woman’s curves a little too close, plus she had the same color hair as you. His mind couldn’t help floating to thinking about you in a swimsuit.

Aye dios mio, get a hold of yourself man.

He’s too embarrassed to bring it up to his doctor. The notion of ever mentioning it to the Delta Force boys terrifies him, although he knows deep down they’d lend a sympathetic ear. They’ve killed, fought wars, and climbed out of the lowest points of their lives together… but the thought of letting his secret out? Awful. He shudders at the thought of telling his fellow Narcotics Anonymous attendees: “Hi, my name is Frankie, I’m an addict and I can’t stop cumming in my pants.”

He tries to think of the worst things, mental images that should scar even the scariest of humans, thoughts about death, rotting produce, weird looking insects, and yet, it still happens.

___

“Hi, how’d you find everything today?”

He blinks towards your tag though he’s already memorized your name, it repeats through his mind whenever he climaxes… he wonders to himself how your sweet voice would sound repeating his name.

Uh oh, quick, think of a bee sting, everyone’s going to die, burnt pizza.

He shakes his head, the thoughts of you wrapped around him flying out of his head with each subtle knock.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Fuuuuuuck, you really had to call me sir, didn’t you?

“Y-yeah, sorry, long day. My name’s Frankie by the way.”

Focus, don’t look at how her hand wraps around the shampoo bottle, soldier.

“Hi Frankie, nice to finally have a name to the face.”

Of course you say his name in the sweetest way. He presses his fingers into the flesh of his palm as hard as he can withstand, he prays you don’t see the way his nostrils flare.

Be strong.

He’s been captivated ever since he first saw you working in the mom and pop market across the street from his apartment. You’re always friendly and smiling, he swears he feels your eyes on him every time he leaves yet he’s too scared to look back and confirm for himself. He wishes he knew how to small talk and somehow step over the threshold of this case of shyness he has with you.

Why bother? I’ll just end up disappointing you, never leaving you fulfilled.

He’s so ashamed.

“That’s a big bottle of detergent, you must do a lot of laundry. You have kids?”

“I do… a four year old, but she lives with her mom,” he answers, lifting the giant jug into his cart, his cock twitches when he feels your eyes on his biceps.

Stay cool, you can do this, you’ve literally overcome worse… and cummed over less.

He wonders if you notice just how much laundry soap he buys… he’s confident that you have no clue you're the only reason why his washing machine is constantly working overtime.

“Oh, I love that age,” you mindlessly muse scanning a cereal box. “Is she as cute as her dad?”

His spine turns to jelly… he feels the phantom getting closer.

Trash compactors, mom and dad’s divorce, elephant seals.

“Everyone says she has my eyes.”

“Then she must be,” you wink.

Not a wink, not a wink, not a goddamn wiiiiink.

He quickly pulls his head down, sticking his card in the chip reader, resisting the urge to think of his now aching cock pushing into you.

STOP. STOP. STOP THINKING FRANKIE.

Focusing on the pin pad breaks his spiral. Relief spreads through his tense body knowing this run in will be over soon, he can go home in peace, his pants surviving this moment.

Your fingers brush against his hand when you hand him the receipt, his favorite part of buying groceries. He’ll stand in your checkout lane no matter the size of the line for the split second of skin to skin contact. It’s all he can afford to let himself have, any more would surely stain his jeans.

___

“Hey Frankie!”

He turns at your voice, his breath hitching when you walk over to him while removing your name tag.

“Want to go next door and grab a drink?”

“I’d love to… but I, uh,” he lifts his hat nervously tussling his hair, “I’m in recovery.”

“Oh,” your voice and face falter, “I’m sorry, um–”

Don’t let this moment pass, you can do it.

“I know a really good ice cream place, a few blocks down, I can meet you there?”

Ice cream means licking. Frankie, you're an idiot.

“Oh, um, that sounds amazing but I don’t drive.”

“I can take you… if you’d like.”

“Yeah?” your smile grows wider. “That sounds amazing.”

“I just need to drop these off, and then I’ll meet you outside in twenty?”

“Awesome!” You squeeze his hand wrapped around the cart handle. “I’ll see you soon.”

Your touch scorches his skin, he blinks watching your ass sway while walking through the doors to the backroom.

1-2-3, a gush of hot liquid releases against his jeans, his knuckles turn white as they clutch the cart handle.

Jesus Christ.

Frankie picks up his bags, holding them close to his crotch and leaves the grocery store. He better hurry. Thank god he just bought more detergent.

___

In hindsight, he’s thankful for his little grocery store indiscretion. He’s carefree and relaxed as he falls even harder for you over chocolate sundaes. You ask for extra rainbow sprinkles and laugh at all of his jokes.

This must be what it’s like to live normally.

___

“That’s me,” you point to a small bungalow unbuckling your seatbelt. “Thanks for the ice cream Frankie."

“This was really fun,” he turns towards you, shocked at how close you’re leaning towards him.

Kiss her. No, wait, don’t kiss her. Yeah, definitely don’t kiss her.

“It was,” you lick your lips and lean even closer.

He can smell you now, you smell divine. Like ice cream and floral perfume.

You place a soft kiss against his lips and pull away.

Frankie’s body tenses, a pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, he spurts against the cotton of his briefs. Doe eyes rounded with embarrassment stare at you.

“Sorry,” whispers out of his downturned lips.

“Oh,” your face fails at hiding a smile, “Frankie, it’s okay. Really.”

His head knocks against the headrest, face frozen in a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Frankie,” your hand clasps his chin forcing him to look at you. “Honestly, it’s okay. It’s actually… kinda hot.”

Right then and there he knows he’ll never shop at another grocery store again.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #crack fic #francisco morales #frankie morales smut #francisco catfish morales

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theplaid-wearingmoose · 7 months ago

Text

Pic credit: @cupcakeinat0r

Warning: Rough sex, overstimulation, dumbification-ish?, name-calling, breeding kink

It started with you making your way to Miguel's office to drop off your mission report and some food from the cafeteria since you were certain he hadn't eaten today. Just before you reached the door, Lyla appeared in front of you. "Hey girly. You here for the boss?" She asked. "Yeah Lyla, I know he probably hasn't come out for food today. Plus I need to drop off my report." You answered. Lyla gave you a sheepish look. "Ummm just be careful...or maybe come back later? It might be better. He's not doing so hot. It's uh...his time of the month?"

You paused at first. You were so busy taking care of anomalies you forgot to check the calendar. Miguel's spider DNA gave him a mating cycle. The first time had taken you by surprise and your muscles ached for 2 weeks. Since then you'd been careful to time it properly and stretch but saving the multiverse from sudden collapse was becoming more and more difficult lately. You totally forgot about Miguel's "heat".

"Oh...um..maybe I'll still go check on him. Just so I can make sure he doesn't hurt himself." You reasoned to her. Lyla shrugged. "If you say so. Don't say I didn't warn you though, girly." You smiled and waved her away playfully as the door slid open in front of you. Miguel's office felt unusually cold, like he had turned the AC on full blast plus some. You didn't even have a chance to speak before hearing Miguel's voice shouting. "LYLA I told you not to let anyone in here!"

Your spider sense pinged just as you saw one of Miguel's huge monitors flying towards you. "Miguel! What the hell, it's me!" You shouted, catching the monitor before it took you out. The force of it did send you back a couple inches but you were otherwise unharmed. You swung up to his platform and set the monitor gently on the floor. "Oh...I-I'm sorry, hermosa. I didn't know it was you." He apologized. He was hunched over in his chair, his large frame curled almost into a ball. He didn't even look up at you but you could see him tense up as you neared him. "You shouldn't be here, querida. It's not safe. I don't wanna hurt you."

You put your hand on his back and Miguel bristled like a cat. "Amor, estoy serio! If you don't leave, I don't think I'll be able to control myself." He warned, his tone was harsh but also pleading. You stood firm. "I'm not afraid of you, Miguel. And I'm not fragile either. You know I can handle it. It'll hurt you more if you don't." You placed your hands on his shoulders and started to massage his muscles when he shot up from his chair and whirled around to face you. "You don't know what you're asking for this time, querida. I tried to take a suppressor and..it didn't work! It only made it worse." He growled. You could finally take in the sight of him fully as he towered above you. His hair was disheveled and sweaty, his normally maroon-colored eyes were a blazing, almost glowing, red. He was breathing heavily and his hands were clenched in tight fists like he was using every ounce of strength to keep them to himself.

You raised your hand to his face, concerned, but Miguel caught your hand in his tightly. "Miguel-" "Why do you insist on torturing me, amor? Don't you understand that the closer you get to me, the more I'm having to restrain myself?!" He pulled you to him and pressed his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. "Dios mio...you smell so sweet, princesa. I bet you taste even better." He growled against your skin. Arousal coursed through you as you felt his hard length press against you. "Miguel...I can take it.." You spoke, trying to reassure him, your voice barely making it above a whisper. He leaned close to you, gripping you by your jaw. "I won't be gentle, hermosa. I can't." He rasped. You nodded and gasped as he began to grind his hips against you. One hand ran up the back of your neck and tangled in your hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, Miguel yanked your head back and latched his mouth to your neck. You cried out as his fangs sunk into your skin, marking you as his. He sucked on your neck before pressing his lips to yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. His other hand ran down your body, squeezing and groping your flesh as he went. He stopped just under your bellybutton and gripped a fistful of your suit. Your eyes widened as you felt a tug and heard the rip of the material.

You pushed on his chest, trying to protest his destruction of your suit but he grabbed your wrist, pinning it behind you, and smothering your noises with his kiss. Breathing heavily, he released you long enough to growl out "I'll make you another suit, querida" before shredding the material on your chest, freeing your breasts. He wasted zero time sucking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth before rolling the other one between his fingers. You let your head roll back and threaded your fingers through Miguel's hair. His warm tongue flicked across your nipple, making you whimper in pleasure.

Miguel stood up straight and pushed you back against the table. Turning your body away from him, he got on his knees behind you. "Bend over for me, princesa. Let me taste you." He demanded. You bent over the table, your ass and dripping pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel groaned as he massaged your ass. "Fuck, you're so wet already, amor. You're driving me crazy."

You choked out a loud moan as Miguel shoved his tongue inside you without warning. His hands dug into the meat of your ass as he wiggled it against his face. "Oh f-fuck, Miguel! Your mouth feels so good!" You whined. Miguel hummed as he sucked on your clit and flicked his tongue over your wet hole. Two of his large fingers replaced his tongue inside you and began pumping inside you fast and hard. Your legs were already beginning to shake and you knew Miguel wouldn't have mercy on you just yet. You felt yourself coming undone as he ate you like an ice cream. You couldn't help but rock back against his face, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

Laughing quietly to himself, he stood and wiped his face before cleaning off his fingers one by one, savoring your taste. He went back to rubbing your clit in circles as he positioned himself behind you. He pushed on your back until you were completely flush against the table. You heard his suit turn off and squirmed against him in anticipation.

A loud scream was pulled from your throat as Miguel fully sheathed himself inside you. Giving you absolutely no time to adjust, he began fucking you at such a rough pace, the monitors began to shake from the force of his thrusts. "Ay carajo, bebita...you're so fucking tight....gonna fill this pussy up so good, querida. You're gonna make such a beautiful mama." Miguel moaned. You couldn't form any words. Every ounce of your strength was going to keeping yourself upright. You gripped the edge of the table and held on for dear life. You could see your face reflected in the monitor in front of you, the orange lights illuminating your fucked out expression. Your lips were slightly puffy from Miguel sucking on them and your eyes were half open. Miguel noticed you looking into your reflection and smirked.

"You like watching me fuck you, amor? You do make such a beautiful sight. You can barely keep your eyes open, can you? Do I make you feel that good, baby? Answer me."

"Y-yes, Miguel you- ohmygod- you make me feel amazing. You're so deep inside me...fuck, you're gonna make me cum soon!" You cried. Miguel laughed darkly. "Oh you're gonna cum a few times for me, cariño. As many times as it takes." He growled. Hooking his arm under your knee, he lifted one of your legs onto the table, angling himself so he could fuck deeper into you. His pace sped up and the feeling of his cock so deep inside you had you screaming. The monitors not attached to the ceiling toppled over and crashed to the floor of the platform but Miguel kept his pace as if he didn't even hear them. You didn't even have time to announce it before your orgasm hit you, soaking Miguel's cock and stomach with your wetness. Still his pace did not slow. If anything, it spurred him on even more. "Así baby, cum all over me, princesa. Fuck you're such a good girl for me.." Miguel groaned in approval.

Grabbing your hair, Miguel pulled your head back and pressed kisses to the side of your face as he continued fucking you. "Que linda...eres tan hermosa, amor." He murmured, his gentle words a stark contrast to the rough movements of his hips. "Tell me you love it, princesa." "Ohhhh I l-love it s'much! S'fucking good!" You slurred, your brain foggy from the overstimulation. You were so blissed out you didn't realize your mouth had been hanging open and drool had fallen from your tongue. Miguel smirked when he noticed. "Oh princesa you're drooling, huh? Am I fucking my baby stupid? This cock too much for my dumb little whore, hm?" All you could do was nod and whimper in response. "Oh pobrecita..." Miguel crooned.

He reached around you and rubbed your clit as he slammed his hips against your ass. Your moans and whimpers grew loud as another orgasm washed over you, your nails clawing at the table.

"M-Miguel please...I c-can't." You sobbed, your legs shaking, dangerously close to giving out. Miguel bent over you and nibbled gently on your ear lobe. "What happened to 'I can take it, Miguel. I'm not fragile, Miguel'?" He taunted. You let out another sob of pleasure as he lifted your leg back onto the table and smacked your ass before gripping it tightly. "Don't worry, princesa. Gonna fill that pussy up soon, gonna put a baby in you and make you a mama. Fuck, amor, you're gonna look so beautiful all swollen with my babies. Gotta fuck it into you deep, baby." He moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at his words. "Fuck yes, cum inside me Miguel. Please fill me up! I need it!" You begged. Miguel cursed and gripped your hips hard enough that surely bruises would be there later. Sweat dripped from his hair and a thin sheen of sweat made his chest glisten.

He pounded into you hard, chasing his release. Your screams of pleasure filled his ears and soon he was seeing stars as his release finally hit. His whole body shuddered as he emptied his load inside you, coating your walls in his warm, sticky cum. With a loud grunt, he pressed his hips flush against your ass, making sure he was totally spent before pulling back out of you. Your legs gave out completely and you collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Miguel quickly joined you, pulling your trembling body against his sweaty chest. Panting against your skin, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and brushed your hair away from your face. His actions were gentle but as he kissed your cheek, he murmured in your ear.

"Get your rest now, amor. I'm not even close to done with you."

#miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x reader smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader smut #miguel o'hara x reader

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nn-ee-zz · 8 months ago

Note

I don’t really have a lot to ask I just want to say I love your art style! It kind of reminds me of like Eldritch Horror meets Celestial Divinity type of thing so with that said I was wondering on how you came to this type of art style you do and how long did it take you to experiment until you found the style that you wanted? Sorry if that sounds kinda confusing 😅 thanks for taking the time to read this and have a good rest of your day!

Thank you! I did not found my artstyle, my artstyle found me. Here is a timeline of my digital art/illustration journey

2014 - The beginning

I finally took my tablet and bit the bullet that was digital art. I remember specifically forcing myself to draw (because it was not fun) because I wanted to learn digital art no matter what it took.

2016 - Experimental

Boldness seems to have dominated this phase, not because of the themes but because I rendered without any under sketch (example above of how the first draft looked like vs the end)

2017 - The breakthrough

It was only from here that digital art began feeling RIGHT. The most important things I've learned were how to render texture variation (especially softer things like hair and fur) and how to color a drawing from greyscale. I was slowly settling onto my desired artstyle

2019 - Happy accident

We were tasked to design characters based on chess pieces during college. 1 week deadline. With the mindset that no one will see my designs except my teacher and I, I did things boldly and rendered them (trad ink plus digital shading) to emphasize shape and design, rather than texture variation.

I began mixing traditional lineart with digital rendering.

2020 - Fallen from heaven

My friend and I decided to attempt to design angels based on widely popular tumblr emoji mashups. It was the first time I colored one of my character design drawings, using similar methods to the ones I've learned in 2017.

2017 - 2024

I cannot name nor describe my artstyle nowadays. I haven't seen many people with something similar either. I use what I've learned in all my phases; the spontaneous boldness of 2016, the texture variation of 2017, the sharp shapes and design mindset of 2019, the mix of traditional and digital from 2020. It all melted together and keeps evolving.

The way I approached art changed too. I was so worried about making things beautiful and technically outstanding when today I only worry about making things interesting and readable.

#art ask #long post #digital art #art timeline #art progress

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peppermintquartz · 5 days ago

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Hondo calls Deacon after dinner. "Hey. Kinda need to talk with you?"

"If it's about what you were asking me in HQ earlier this week, I'm not talking about it with you, Hondo."

"I saw you with Rocker today."

Hondo can't believe what he is saying even as the words spill out. The image of Deacon kissing Rocker's hand is seared in his mind and he still feels thrown by it. The sheer concept of Deacon divorcing Annie is already so far beyond what Hondo thinks is possible, and he's currently awash in disbelief that Deacon is actually cheating on his wife. He won't be able to work with Deacon until they have a proper conversation.

Deacon inhales sharply. Then he says, "Text me a location, I'll see you there."

---

Deacon arrives ten minutes late.

"You and Rocker?" Hondo says as an opener.

"Yes," Deacon says.

Hondo rubs a hand over the top of his head. "Hell... Deac, why? How and why?"

Deacon tilts his head and studies Hondo coolly. Then he says, "I'm gonna need a drink to get through this." Standing, he goes to the bar and grabs a beer, bringing one along for Hondo as well.

When he sits down again, he doesn't look at Hondo for a long moment. It's uncomfortable. Hondo can't recall the last time he was uncomfortable in Deacon's company. Finally, Deacon exhales, low and resigned.

"Listen, Hondo. Me and Donovan... It's not something either of us expected, but it is how it is. If you're gonna tell me to break it off, that it'll hurt our careers - his more than mine, let's be honest - and all of that... We've already gone over it."

"Donovan," Hondo echoes flatly.

"Yes, Donovan." Deacon's gaze is as steadfast as it has always been.

"Wow." The beer is cold in his hand and he sets it on the table, cocking his head to look at the beads of condensation roll down the side of the bottle.

Deacon takes a long swig of his beer. Then he leans forward on his elbows. "Hondo. How long have you known me? Hmm? Do you think I would do anything this serious without having considered alternatives? That I haven't tried any other avenue?"

"That's not what I am trying to say, man. I'm just... I'm just shocked. You and Annie have been together ages, and-and I always thought of you two as, I don't know, the ideal."

For the first time since Hondo confronted him almost a week ago, Deacon looks tired. "i thought so too. It happened so suddenly and I wasn't prepared for... for this storm. I've prayed, fasted, gone to confession. Therapy. Hell, Donovan kept telling me to go back to Annie, and every damned time, when I was hurting or scared or upset or just... pissed off, I think of him. I think of him. And I feel better."

That's not something Hondo expected to hear. "But you love Annie," he says, hoping that means something. "Don't you?"

"I do," Deacon says. Resignation colors his expression and his tone. "I will always love her. She's the mother of my kids, and she has been my staunchest supporter and I have been happy to support her in her career too. And honestly? I would've forced myself to remain in the marriage, for the kids if nothing else, but it's come to the point I dread going home. I dread it."

"So you hooked up with Rocker? Deac, it's a crisis in the marriage, that's not worth cheating on Annie."

A strange expression flits over Deacon's face. He narrows his eyes and asks, "How long do you think I've been with him?"

"Two months? Ten weeks?"

"Over a year and a half."

"Almost two years?" How has he missed the signs? Or did Deacon and Rocker really manage to pull the wool over everyone's eyes? It has to be the latter because there was no way, no way, that gossip of the two of them in an affair wouldn't set HQ on fire. "Since when?"

"Since Sydney. You know, the one Hicks said you weren't allowed to attend after all that drama in Thailand?" Deacon leans back in his seat and he traces patterns in the condensation on the table.

"Did he seduce you? Did he, uh, I don't know. Did he get you drunk, or-or something?"

Deacon chuckles. "Wow. You're really trying to paint him as the bad guy, huh." He sighs. "Sorry, but, uh, I was the one who jumped him. The only thing he did wrong was not to punch me in the mouth after I kissed him." Deacon blows out a breath and laughs quietly again. Then his expression grows pensive as he regards Hondo. "He's not the one to blame. Every time he pulled away, I went after him. Hell, at some point he could've torpedoed my career by arresting me as a stalker. I chased after him. Couldn't stop thinking about him and couldn't cut ties with him. I don't know how to explain it."

There's a lot Deacon isn't saying. Hondo drinks his beer in silence for a while, trying to digest the information. "You said he pulled away."

"Yes, several times." With a small shrug, Deacon adds, "He went out of his way to schedule opposite shifts from 20-Squad. We fought about it. At one point I wanted to quit SWAT because I couldn't bear it. He talked sense into me, and then he made me promise to go our separate ways, told me to really work on my marriage."

Hondo raises his eyebrows. His eyes fall on the empty space on Deacon's ring finger.

"I tried. But every time I held Annie or kissed her or, heck, even just holding her hand... It didn't feel right, not anymore. Sleeping next to her while thinking of another was a special kind of torture." Deacon takes a long gulp of his beer and shuts his eyes. "I feel like such a failure admitting that out loud."

What can Hondo say to that? He doesn't have the right words for this. Nichelle would know how to approach the matter with more tact.

"I tried to focus on giving Annie what she needed, what she wanted. Focused on the kids. But I soon realized it was too late for that. The the affair was over for more than three months - a hundred and eleven days - when I finally decided that I was done lying to myself. I can't live a lie for the rest of my life... so I decided on divorce."

Hondo shakes his head in disbelief. "Really? You'd give up on your marriage and your family for him?"

"Hey. What's that tone? 'For him'?"

"Deac. It's Rocker. He's always been, like, mini-Mumford. He's competitive and cocksure and he snipes at us whenever he can."

"And he always shows up for us when we need him. And don't act like we don't like poking him in his sore spots either, okay? We're no angels." Deacon scratches the tip of his nose. "You only see him at work, Hondo. I'm not gonna go into details, but he's a completely different guy out of the uniform."

"I'm taking your word for it," says Hondo, slightly chastened, and then adds with a little smirk, "And I am not interested in hearing about him out of his uniform."

"Shut - You know I didn't mean it that way." Deacon's laughing now, shaking his head. Then he shrugs and rolls his eyes. "Okay, I did mean it that way. A little bit."

"Ah, no, I don't need to hear any of that."

That weak joke cracks the ice that was growing between them, and somehow Hondo breathes a little easier.

"But... is divorce really what you want?"

"It wasn't an easy decision to make. When I decided I had to tell Annie, I sat in my car and cried. I was a wreck. All I wanted was to go home to Donovan and I couldn't. So I cleaned myself up, got back to my house, kissed my kids as they slept, thinking that maybe, maybe looking at them, I could change my mind. And then I saw Annie in our bedroom and I knew I'd passed that point. You've no idea..." Deacon's stoic mask slips a little and the heartbreak is evident. "I love her. I do. But I can no longer bear to be with her. So I told her I wanted a divorce."

Hondo can't wrap his head around it. He loves Nichelle and he means to keep loving her as his wife for as long as he can. He can't picture walking away from Vivienne either.

Deacon clears his throat. "And the next day, she asked me again, if I meant it. And I still did. I still do. I wish... I wish it had never come to this." His lips twitch. "I fled the house and I went straight to Donovan's and for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe." He scoffs and shakes his head. "All those times when I judged people for not upholding their marriage vows, for infidelity... And now I'm an adulterer, about to live in sin with my boyfriend."

Hondo hissed in a breath. "Divorce is one thing, but... Deacon, your faith means so much to you. The church - annulment of marriage is a really difficult thing for Catholics, right? And the kids. They're gonna be so confused," he says. "My father walked out on my mom and us for someone else, and we hated him for decades. I don't want that for you."

"I don't want them watching me grow increasingly resentful of their mother and of my marriage, Hondo." Deacon sighs. "As for the church, well. There are ways. I'll try to find the best way to give Annie the best chance at love in the future, with someone who'll love her the way she deserves, the way the kids deserve. As for my faith? Well, God will decide. If He says that I'm to be damned for my sins of loving Donovan, then let it be so."

From anyone else, it may sound melodramatic. But Hondo knows that Deacon genuinely means it. His friend has devoted himself to his faith for decades, and his roots in his belief are strong; for him to make this decision must have been harrowing.

"Custody?"

"I'll let Annie decide if she wants full or partial custody. I don't plan to fight her on anything, as long as I still have visitation rights at the very least." Deacon smiles bitterly. "It's a relief, being able to talk openly about all this." He clinks the neck of his beer bottle against Hondo's. "Thanks for, I don't know. This."

Hondo chews on the inside of his cheek. "So today, at the cafe with Rocker... You plan on coming out with him."

"We're talking about it. And he's..." A smile that's light and tender spreads over Deacon's face. "He tried to talk me out of the divorce, like you. But he's also happy about me choosing him. He's not exactly sure how to feel." He sighs. "I've put him in a tough spot for almost two years. I hate that so much. He's not meant to hide in the shadows and I selfishly forced him there."

"Does Annie know it's Rocker?"

"Not yet. She knows it's a man I'm involved with. But she will, soon, once Donovan and I decide how to proceed from here." Deacon looks at Hondo. "Or do you plan to tell her?"

For a moment, Hondo deliberated the choice. Eventually, he shakes his head. "I think that's something you need to tell her in person."

"Yeah. Yes I do." Deacon sighs. "I know I'm destroying something I've built for over ten years. I know Annie and the kids are gonna hate me and Donovan for a long, long time, if they ever forgive me." His mouth twists.

"So why do it?"

"Because I know that it's not a mistake. Nothing inside me - my mind, my heart, my conscience - says it's a mistake to see it through." The older man sighs. "I'm not trying to convince you. I'm not trying to convince anyone. I just know this is what I'm supposed to do. What I do regret is putting them through all of this. I feel guilty that I am choosing my own happiness over theirs, and ashamed I waited until I could no longer bear it to force this upon them."

Hondo finishes his beer. "I don't know if I can support you through this, Deac. I really don't."

"You don't have to." Deacon pauses and considers his words. "Support Annie and the kids. Especially the kids. I don't know if Annie will let me talk to them once I start the paperwork, but I need them to understand that I will love them with every fiber of my being till the end of my days." He reaches across the table and wraps his hands around Hondo's wrist. "Please."

"I can do that. Nichelle and I can both do that."

Deacon tightens his grip and smiles. "Thank you."

#the divorce arc #hondo harrelson #deacon kay #rockon #swat cbs #the hondo - deacon friendship is so important to me

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girlkisser13 · 5 months ago

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daylight

"and i can still see it all (in my mind)" "all of you, all of me (intertwined)" "i once believed love would be (black and white)" "but it's golden (golden)"

pairings: addison montgomery x fem!reader

warnings/tags: slight angst but mostly fluff.

summary: addison’s in love with you.

the seattle rain drummed against the hospital windows, a rhythmic backdrop to the chaotic symphony within. addison stood in front of the or board, scanning the names and cases, but her mind was miles away. specifically, it was in the warm, inviting space that you occupied in her heart.

the day had been relentless, filled with back-to-back surgeries and consultations, but none of it compared to the emotional turmoil she felt every time she saw you. the brief moments you stole together were the highlights of her day, yet each encounter was shadowed by the unspoken tension of addison's crumbling marriage to derek and mark's obvious feelings for her.

"addie," a voice pulled her back to reality. she turned to see mark, his usual cocky grin in place. "lunch?"

"not today, mark," she replied, forcing a polite smile. she turned on her heel, heading down the hall towards a quieter part of the hospital where she knew you would be.

she found you in the lounge, sipping coffee and staring out at the rain. her heart ached at the sight of you, making it almost hurt to breathe.

"hey," she said softly, stepping inside. you looked up, your eyes lighting up briefly before dimming with some internal conflict.

"addison," you greeted, your voice steady, though your eyes betrayed the turmoil within. "shouldn't you be with derek?"

she winced at the mention of her estranged husband. "derek and i... it's complicated."

"it always is," you replied, standing up. "but you still have him. and mark... he clearly has feelings for you."

"mark and i are just friends," she insisted, stepping closer. "and derek... derek and i are over. we just haven't figured out the logistics yet."

you shook your head, stepping back. "addison, i can't be the reason you don't go to either of them. i won't do that to you. or to myself."

"y/n," addison's voice broke, a desperate edge to it. "you have to understand. ever since i met you, i haven’t been able to think about anyone else. i haven’t even looked at anyone else since we’ve met. i don't want to think about or look at anyone else now that i’ve seen you. my life used to be in black and white, you brought the color."

tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at her, the sincerity in her words cutting through your defenses. "addison, i..."

"no," she interrupted, taking your hands in her own. "listen to me. i've made mistakes, so many mistakes. but loving you? that's not one of them. you’re the reason i wake up every morning with a smile. you’re the person i want to come home to. please, don't push me away because of derek or mark. they don't matter to me. you do."

you felt the walls you had built around your heart begin to crumble. "addison, this isn't fair to anyone. least of all to you."

"fairness doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "love does. and i love you, y/n. more than i've ever loved anyone."

you searched her eyes, finding only truth and vulnerability there. with a trembling breath, you nodded. "i love you too, addison. i always have."

she pulled you into a tight embrace, the weight of your shared feelings lifting as you held each other. in that moment, nothing else mattered. not derek, not mark. just the two of you and the rain outside, washing away the past, making way for a brighter, more colorful future.

you both stood there for what felt like an eternity, the world outside ceasing to exist. when you finally pulled apart, addison gently cupped your face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear.

"what do we do now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"we take it one step at a time," she replied, her tone resolute. "i'll talk to derek, make it official. and mark... i'll handle mark. but you and me, we start now. no more hiding. no more pretending."

you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "okay. but i need you to promise me something."

"anything," she said, her heart pounding.

"promise me that no matter what happens, we'll face it together. i won’t let you do this alone."

her eyes softened as she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "i promise. together, always."

as the two of you left the lounge, hand in hand, the rain continued to fall, but it no longer felt like a barrier. instead, it was a cleansing force, washing away the uncertainties and paving the way for your new beginning.

#grey’s anatomy #greys anatomy #grey’s anatomy fandom #greys anatomy fandom #grey’s anatomy fanfiction #greys anatomy fanfiction #grey’s anatomy fic #greys anatomy fic #addison montgomery #addison montgomery fanfiction #addison montgomery x reader #addison montgomery x you #addison montgomery imagine #addison montgomery smut #taylor swift #lover #daylight #spotify #Spotify

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misscherrys-world · 2 months ago

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Showering together

Kai Anderson fluff.

It’s pure and clean, just a silly thought I had yesterday when I took my shower with new products. Also English isn’t my first language.

𝔐𝔬𝔫 𝔭𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔡𝔢 𝔳𝔲𝔢

I walked down stairs slicking my hair up in a bun, coconut oil smell filling up the air while I headed to the kitchen. Kai was supposed to be out today so I took advantage of this moment to take care of myself a little before he comes back. I always take care of my looks and smell.

“What are you doing?”

I jumped slightly clearly was taken off guard. I looked behind me to the blue hue sitting on the couch chewing on god knows what.

“Why do you smell like an island?”

I panted trying to calm myself from the scare I just had.

“I’m oiling my hair.. you were supposed to be out. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

He titled his head slightly “Oiling your hair? What the hell does it supposed to do?”

I sighed and leaned over the kitchen counter. “It what makes my hair shiny and soft.”

He stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen counter with a frown. I thought he despised how I smell right now.

“Does it work on my hair too? It wouldn’t affect the color, right?”

I was dumbfounded by his question but I shook my head. “No, it wouldn’t.. do you.. want to try it?”

“Hell yeah! And I here thought your hair is soft genetically!”

“Okay fine here..” I gave him the bottle. He looked at it then at me. “What?” I asked confusingly as he looked at me without saying a word.

I smiled with realization. “You want me to do it for you?”

“It’s not like that.. I just don’t know the right amount and stuff you women do” He replied smugly trying to hide his true feelings. He wanted to feel my hands working their way through his hair tenderly, massaging his scalp and his nape.

After 2 hours I took him to the shower with me to wash it off.

“Stay still I have to wash it very well.” I opened my expensive shampoo bottle. The heavenly scent of it filled the bathroom as I massaged his hair with the white frothy product that coated my palms.

“I didn’t know you got that expensive shit they’re trying to convince people to buy, it’s a total scam!”

“It’s not a scam, Kai. It’s a shampoo that won’t fry your hair off. You will see after the shower.”

He huffed as we both waited 15 minutes for the hair mask to work it’s magic.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this! I have important stuff to do! I have followers waiting for my instructions!”

“Come on, it will be worth it, trust me.”

I dried his hair with the hairdryer after I sprayed the heat protectant all over it. “You didn’t have to force me on using that lotion over my body I feel like a glazed mess, everything is slippery.”

He continues complaining about everything but I knew deep down he was enjoying the luxury and royal treatment.

“We are done, Kai. Tell me how to you feel?”

He groaned “Finally!” He opened the closet to wear something nice and clean. I made sure all of his shirts were clean and ironed.

I sat in front of the dresser’s mirror combing my hair when he reached out for my chin and pressed his lips softly against my forehead then cheek. This is his way to say thank you to me when we are alone.

“Next time you do this make sure.. I’m here.. okay?”

I smiled warmly at him knowing that he really like it. I nod my head assuring him that I will take care of him.

He left the room heading to the basement where he had a meeting with his little minions. He’s in a good mood.

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klbwriting · 10 months ago

Text

Finally Home - Jason Todd Blurbs

Meeting the Family/Going to a Gala

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Jason is slowly introducing you to the family but Bruce invites you to an art exhibit to meet them all at once

Notes: took the weekend off, felt like I was forcing myself to write too much and needed a little break, I'm hopefully going to get some more writing done today to make up for it!

Jason had been trying so hard to slowly introduce you to his family. There were so many people and all of them were what Jason would call ‘way too involved’ in his life, mostly because he tried so hard to keep them out of his life. He had started with Barbara because he thought you would like her the most. You were both into technology nerd shit and he knew it would drive Dick nuts if Barbara got to meet you first. Then he’d moved to Tim, one to annoy Dick again, and two because again, tech nerd shit. Finally, he had introduced you to Dick who just happened to have invited Bruce over for dinner the same night Jason was bringing you. Great, if Jason wasn’t so sure you were going to be his last partner, he would have sworn he was never introducing anyone to Dick again, but too late now.

“You must come to the art exhibit I am hosting at the manor,” Bruce had said, making Jason nearly choke on his dinner. You smiled politely and agreed, throwing a reassuring smile to Jason. He swallowed and forced a grimace. Bruce had gotten your information to send the invitation and when Jason dropped you off you bit your lip, clearly bothered by something.

“What?” he asked as he walked you to your door. You looked down, looking a little hurt. “What’s wrong?” Had Dick or Bruce said something? If he found out who hurt you he was putting a bullet in them.

“Well, I just, don’t know why you don’t want me to meet your family?” you said. He realized then that he had hurt you. O great, self-flagellation it was then.

“What do you mean? I am introducing you,” he said, trying desperately not to have to say what he was really thinking. He felt so guilty for feeling this way. But you were so different from the others, so not what they would expect from him. It was almost comical someone like you being with him.

“Are you ashamed of me? Embarrassed? Am I not good enough for them?” you asked. Your eyes were so sad, and you sounded so incredibly hurt, near tears even. Jason gently took your face in his hands, making sure you looked right at him. You were so different, so incredibly out of his league.

“No, no no no no, God you’re too good for them. They don’t deserve you and neither do I,” he said. “I honestly was afraid you would meet them and realize what a damned loser I was and want to run the other direction.” You stared at him.

“For being so incredibly smart and reading so many books, you Jason Todd, are an idiot,” you said, leaning up to kiss him deeply. He kissed you back, still holding your face gently, the warmth of your skin keeping his heart beating. He swore without you he would go back to being dead. “I love you,” you whispered when you pulled back and he couldn’t fight the grin on his face.

“I love you too,” he said. “So, you really want to go to that Wayne art festival thing? You’ll have to dress fancy and I’ll have to wear a suit.” You looked him over slowly and raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t wait to see it.”

Jason knocked on your door, dressed in a fine blue suit, hoping that it was the right shade to match your outfit. You had said sapphire so he that’s what he told Bruce when asked for the color for the tailor, and that’s what color he hoped he was wearing. He heard a shuffle on the other side of the door before it opened and he saw you. The most amazing and most gorgeous person he had ever known. Your outfit was sapphire as well, bringing out your eyes, and Jason felt his jaw go slack for a moment. Then your laugh brought him back.

“I guess you like the look?” you asked. He nodded and offered you his arm. You took it and headed to the party.

The entire evening Jason couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You looked so natural and confident, even Damian seemed to like you and he was a demon incarnate. You were stunning in every sense of the word and Jason had no idea how he got so lucky that someone like him, so broken and damaged, had managed to find you, let alone keep you. When he had a moment to leave the boring conversation he was in with the Kane’s he walked over, sliding an arm around your waist.

“May I steal my partner for a few moments?” he asked Stephanie and Cass. Both of them shook their heads.

“No, they’re ours now, we like them” Cass said. Jason shrugged; well guess he was making a scene then. He lifted you up bridal style and carried you towards the gardens, setting you down outside, feeling the eyes from the main room still watching. You had been too shocked to react at first but now you laughed at his antics.

“That was rude Jason!” you said but couldn’t stifle your laughter. He set you down, keeping you close.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, nodding back towards the party where people were back to mingling again. Only Bruce seemed to be watching closely, Jason could feel his eyes on him.

“Well, I don’t understand the art…” you said. Jason let out a grunt.

“No one understands the art and you know that’s not what I was asking about,” he said. You smiled a little.

“I love them, I love all of them, not as much as you, but they are great,” you said. Jason let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He knew that they all adored you, how could they not, but you loving them was just as important. He could say all he wanted that he wasn’t a ‘real’ member of the family, that when he died that connection died, but he knew he was lying. They were his family and now you were too.

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x gender neutral reader #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jasontoddblurbs

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totally-not-here-for-the-smut · 11 months ago

Note

@fox-daddies here 🦊🦊

Could I get Hc for the M6 walking into their room to find Mc laying completely naked in bed because their way too hot to do anything.

For a moment I thought by hot you meant "Too sexy to do anything", but I realized you meant it's a hot day, or at least I hope so? ANYWAY

Vesuvia's summers can be hard to tolerate by the ones who aren't used to it. Today the wind seems too tired to blow, and the sun is so bright that the sea is as blinding as the sun. You took a refreshing bath, but couldn't force yourself into your clothes again, so you just threw youself on your bed, directly under the open window, hoping for the faintest breeze to slip into your room when...

[Spicy♧•••♧ahead!]

... Muriel enters the hut. He's drenched in sweat too, and first thing first, he gets out of his clothes and tosses them aside before slumping on the bed next to you, eyes closed. You hear his heart pounding in his chest, tired by the heatwave just like him, as his hands reaches yours, brushing it with the tip of his fingers. You stay like this for hours, until the merciless sun finally gives in to the sunset.

Then his hand reaches for your waist, pulling you on top of him.

... the door slightly opens, and Portia's witty face peaks trough the crack. Her smile widens as she sees you, and after a quick glance behind her she slips inside closing the door behind her back. "I guess milady's flowers can wait..." she whispers as her lips brushes your hand. "Or maybe she'll come looking for me. But would you be sorry if she were to find us like this?", she winks.

... Lucio enters the room, looks at you from behind his sweat drenched hair covering his forhead, and announces: "great idea". In a matter of seconds he joins you, his cold metal hand sending the best kind of chills up your spine. He looks at the sky-colored canopy over the bed, looks at you with that familiar child-like light in his eyes and whispers "Make it cloudy". Points up. "The canopy. Make it cloudy! Make it rain! Can you???".

You wonder how this man can be so silly and so genius. With a snap of your fingers, a single drop falls on the bed. Then another, and another, and another one. Lucio starts giggling, then laughing, taking you into his arms and kissing you through his laugh. "Oooh, you're the best!"

... Julian comes back home. "What a day!" he huffs, before starting to ramble about what happened at the clinic. You smile silently. Keeping the bed on the right of the door has its perks with Julian. "... and then a kid reached for the leeches -why do they do that, do leeches looks like candies?- and almost knoched it over when..." he abruptly stops.

"Oh dear" -his tone changes- "it looks like you got hit by a heatstroke... yes, the temperature of your skin shows it, and your lips too". You feel his dramatic sigh on your neck. "I must proceed with a deeper check..."

... Asra climbs the stairs of the bedroom. He smiles. "Here you are! What a weather today, uh? I really can't think of a way to refresh myself". You don't think he's messing with you: Asra and you are so used to such level of intimacy. He sits on the bed. A mischievous smile crosses his lips. "Unless..."

You let out a scream in surprise as you feel the bed dissolving into cool water under your back, before the water covers your mouth. You hear Asra laughing from the other side of the surface, right before diving in next to you.

... Nadia enters your bedchamber. She is followed by a couple of servants and has a big list of things to do into her hands, and she's instructing her helpers about the heatstrokes prevention program. They stop in front of the bed. "O... Oh. I, hem, I thought you were at the shop...", she mutters, before realizing there are people there with her. She turns towards them, and manages to put together a crumble of dignity. "You're dismissed. I'll send for you when I'll be done with some... ehm... urgent matters".

The servants bow and run out, embarassed. Nadia turns "Oh I'm sorry, so sorry my dear, I didn't mean to embarass you...". Her flushed face is so funny that washes away any embarrassment from you. "I will make up for it", she continues, "Just ask, may I go to get you something to... I don't know, to eat? Another bath, or maybe you want to go on vacation somewhere? A poem! I can apologize with that, for sure, or sing...?" She stops when she notice the look into your eyes. There's no need for clarvoyance to understand what kind of apology you'd like right now!

#love this prompt!#also so happy to reply to my good fox appreciator #the arcana game #the arcana #the arcana muriel #muriel of the khokuri smut #muriel of the khokuri fluff #the arcana fluff #asra the arcana #asra alnazar fluff #nadia satrinava #nadia satrinava fluff #julian devorak #julian devorak smut #lucio morgasson #count lucio #portia devorak #portia devorak smut

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intern-seraph · 3 months ago

Text

forget-me-not (Chp 1)

also on ao3

Summary: For the first time in your seven years alive, you meet someone new in your small town. Little do either of you know that your brief friendship will bind you together long, long after you are forced to part ways.

A/N: hi :)

shoutout to matcha twstjam for being my cheerleader thru this insane, ongoing journey

For those who have been following me on my socials, i'm sorry you know that this fic has been in the works for over a year as of last month. I was originally intending on publishing it only when it was complete, but it very quickly grew way out of hand and I realized that it would definitely not be complete any time soon. Still, I wanted to put it out into the world! So I decided to publish the first chapter! When will the rest come out? Who knows? I certainly don't lol ALSO the presence of forget-me-nots in the actual fic is, at most, debatable lmao i just thought it was a cool and fitting title

Anyways, I have a deep, desperate need for more jewishness in fan content, so I'm filling that dearth myself.

————

You peer out from behind the gnarled oak tree at the edge of the town park. Its trunk is almost half as wide as you are tall, and its boughs are so thick and heavy that the branches droop under their own weight. Once, there was a rope swing that hung from one of the thicker branches. It was destroyed in a storm a few years ago, and nobody has bothered to replace it since. As one of the few children living here, you don’t mind its absence much. After all, you only ever come here to read. Usually you sit on the other side of this very tree, enjoying the shade and the rustling leaves. However, today someone’s taken your spot. The stranger seems to be only a few years older than you, dressed entirely in black. Their clothes shimmer as light filters through the leaves, and you know that the fabric must be fine and expensive. Slivers of their pale skin peek out from the ends of their sleeves and the hem of their robe. It’s a far cry from the homespun woolen garments and rough, sun-kissed skin of your neighbors. The most bizarre thing about them, however, are their spiraling black horns.

You hug your book to your chest, unsure of what to do. You’ve never seen this child before, after all, and you know all of the other kids in town (all four of them, that is). Even worse, you just know that whoever this is must be rich and therefore important. Why are they here, of all places?

“Um…” You tiptoe over the tree’s massive roots and draw closer to the stranger. “Are you from around here?”

The stranger startles, and you yelp as the world burns bright green for a moment. With a grunt, you fall back and land squarely on your butt. You lie there for a second, blinking away the spots in your vision before your throat begins to tighten and tears form at the corners of your eyes. Beside you, the stranger’s blurry face appears. Your sniffling turns into sobs, and you cover your face with both hands as you start crying.

“H-hey,” says the stranger, touching you lightly, “don’t cry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You wail even louder, rolling onto your side and curling up into a ball. The stranger pats your shoulder stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, voice breaking. “Please don’t be scared.”

Finally, your crying peters out. You hiccup as you wipe your tears away on your sleeve. “I-I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say. The stranger remains silent. “That was magic, right? I scared you and you used your magic…”

“That’s okay. Are you hurt?” The stranger extends a hand into your field of view and hauls you up onto your feet with little effort. Now that you can see clearly, you lean closer to examine his face. He’s a boy around your age, you think. His cheeks are round and soft but you can see where his baby fat is starting to recede. His lips curl into a small pout, accentuated by the embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks. You can’t help but gawk at his electric green eyes. They’re so distinct that, without taking his horns into account, their color and slit pupils alone would tell you that he’s not human. When he notices you’re staring, he shifts back in discomfort. You jolt and giggle abashedly.

“No, I’m okay. Uh, who are you? Are you from around here?” You start to circle him, eyeing his odd features with interest. Are those scales crawling up the back of his neck? Why is the back of his robe moving so weirdly?

“No,” he mumbles. He holds something close to his chest. A book! “I’m… from really far away. My grandmother brought me with her to do some —” his nose scrunches up “— official business. But that’s boring so I left.”

“Won’t your grandma be worried?”

He puffs up like a particularly proud pigeon. “Nuh-uh. I’m big and strong so I can take care of myself!” As he speaks, the thing moving under his robe finally lifts enough to reveal itself: a thick, scaly black tail. It swishes from side to side as he practically preens. Cute. “What about you? You’re here all alone!”

“I know everyone here, duh.” You crouch down and pick up your book, then trot over to sit in your usual spot now that it’s empty. The stranger pouts at you, puffing out his cheeks. You turn your nose up at him. “This was my spot first.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. You can sit next to me, I guess.”

He blinks slowly at you, fingers tightening on his book, before he breaks out into a brilliant smile and plops down at your side. You take note of his sharp fangs. Part of you is tempted to touch them, but you restrain yourself well enough. “What’s your name?” asks the stranger.

You give it to him immediately, pausing to spell it out letter-by-letter just to show off. He nods, but when you ask him the same question, he balks.

“Is it okay if I don’t tell you? I don’t wanna… uh…” He waves his hands for emphasis. “I don’t want my grandmother to hear about me.”

“Well then what should I call you?”

“Hmm…” He furrows his brow and scrunches his eyes shut. Then, he gasps and beams at you. “Nickname! You can gimme a nickname!”

“A nickname, huh? How about…” Your voice trails off. You stare at him, pursing your lips. First, you glance up at his horns, then his tail (thumping against one of the oak tree’s roots), then back up at his horns. “Horn…ton? Yeah, Hornton!”

“That sounds weird.”

“Too bad! You’re Hornton now!”

Hornton rolls his eyes. He opens the book in his lap, clearly trying (and failing) to look smart and above-it-all, but you can see the pointed tips of his ears turning red. Giggling, you follow his lead and open your own book. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch his petulant expression melt into contentment while he reads. He’s cute like this. He’s cute in general — which is a thought that makes you want to gag — but you especially like his sweet little smile. Although you were loath to share your spot beneath the tree, he does make for good reading company. That is, he’s quiet and doesn’t take up too much of your personal space. Before you know it, the sun is setting.

You dog-ear your page and nudge Hornton. “Hey, it’s getting late. You should go back to your grandma.” Hornton jolts, but doesn’t react as violently as he did earlier. His tail thuds against the tree trunk.

“Oh, yeah. I gotta go!” He doesn’t move, only fidgeting with his robe. “Uh, thanks for sitting with me.”

“Why’re you thanking me? It’s no problem.” You pause and look away. Feeling your face grow hot, you say, “Will you be back again?”

“C-Can I?”

“Yeah! I mean, you’re a pretty decent reading buddy, so… yeah.”

“Yes! I’ll be back tomorrow!” He smiles so broadly that you think it must hurt.

“Cool! I’ll be here after noon, that’s when our classes are over.” You stand up and start patting your clothes to get rid of any dirt. Then, you turn and give Hornton a grin of your own. “‘S nice meeting you! See ya!”

He waves timidly, eyes wide and almost shimmering. You don’t give it too much thought, you just start sprinting back down the dirt road leading into town.

—

“Mister Crowley!”

You slam the front door open, practically vibrating with excitement. The schoolmaster yelps from further inside your house, then rushes over to greet you. He’s pouting, feathers positively ruffled. Gently, he grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a once-over.

“Now, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“I was at the park!” You grin and hold up your book.

Crowley sighs and shakes his head. He wags his finger at you as he starts walking you to the dining room. “Now, child, what have we said about staying out late?”

“Uh… tell you?”

“Indeed! I have been very generous with allowing you free reign of the town! Nevermind all your tchotchkes and trinkets! If you’ll be gallivanting around like this in the future, make sure to inform your very magnanimous guardian beforehand! I was about to send the entire neighborhood out to look for you!”

He probably wasn’t. You know him well enough to know that. But the concern is appreciated. “Sorry,” you say.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again,” Crowley mutters. He pulls out your seat at your little dining table and returns to his own chair. Just at a glance, you can tell that he’d tucked in to his dinner before you came home. As you pick up your fork, a soft little body butts up against your calf. You squeal with delight and duck under the table to scoop up Grim, your bratty street cat. He mrows petulantly, but lets you cuddle him. It had taken a week of relentless begging for Crowley to let you take Grim in, and you had to pinky promise to take good care of him. Then, your friends got the bright idea of trying to bind the cat to you as a familiar (despite your lack of magic), and while it hasn’t worked yet, it certainly helped warm Crowley up to the idea. Something about his sweet baby becoming a beast tamer. You’re not sure what that is, and you’re definitely not a baby, but if it works, it works.

The air is filled with the quiet clink of silverware. After a while, you speak up. “I met someone today.”

Crowley nearly chokes. He pounds on his chest, coughing into his fist. It takes a second for him to recover. “You what?”

“There was a boy at the park,” you explain, “we read together.”

“What did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

“Nothing, we already know everyone in town.”

His mouth opens and closes silently. Then, sighing, he shakes his head. “Well, yes, but you were supposed to say that we don’t talk to strangers.”

“He wasn’t scary or anything,” you lie, remembering how you startled each other.

“Very well! Be careful, though. If something were to happen to you, I don’t even know what I would say, er, do!”

You pointedly ignore that slip-up in favor of finishing your meal. Pushing your chair away from the table with a screech, you grab your dishes and your cat and say a quick “good night!” to your guardian.

—

First thing in the morning when you and Crowley arrive at the schoolhouse, you’re accosted by Ace and Deuce. It’s mostly Ace doing the accosting, really, but Deuce joins him in hanging on your back like the world’s heaviest and most annoying koalas. You shake them off and whip around to start wrestling with Ace. Deuce takes his loss better, choosing to sit on the grass and watch you and Ace play fight. Crowley clears his throat several times, probably to get your attention, but you’re preoccupied and he gives up quickly in favor of unlocking the door and stepping inside. There’s a holler nearby, a series of rapid footsteps, and another heavy body falls on you with a grunt.

“Epel!” you wheeze out, squirming on top of the also-squirming Ace. “Can’t breathe!”

“Oh!” Epel rolls off of you, and you roll off of Ace. “Sorry, looked like you were havin’ fun!”

“Was fun,” Ace mumbles, “until you two crushed me.”

“Oops.”

“You didn’t die, though,” you say before you get up. “Also you started it!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“How do you guys do this every morning?” says Jack as he trots up to join you all on the lawn. He rolls his eyes in a remarkable impression of his mother when she’s scolding all five of you. “We’ve gotta go to class.”

“Ace started it!” you repeat.

“Whatever, c’mon.” Jack hauls both you and Ace up by your forearms while you both giggle. He shakes his head, marching you both into the schoolhouse with Epel and Deuce hot on your tails.

"Ah, there you are! I was wondering what was taking you all so long. Take your seats! We have Professor Trein visiting from the city today for our lesson."

Ace groans as he flops into his seat. You lean over and smack his shoulder. Deuce takes his own seat beside you, trying his best to look enthused.

Professor Trein works in the capitol as a history professor for the university. While he's nice enough (and his familiar Lucius is cute and fluffy), every time he comes to give a lesson at your schoolhouse is somehow more boring than the last. You sink down in your seat, ready to daydream until class lets out. When Professor Trein takes Crowley’s place in front of the blackboard, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Without looking at him, you take the slip of paper Ace passes.

‘my mom wants u to come to a party tonite’

Aside from a time scribbled beneath the words, there’s no other information. Great. History lessons with Professor Trein followed by a party where you’ll be stuck at the kids’ table. Again. At least you have a few hours to hang out with your new friend after school.

—

After class, Epel hands out little brown sacks full of apples to everyone. “Ma ‘n Pa said that they’re ‘not fit to sell’ or somethin’, and Meemaw said I should give ‘em to all of you.” You sling your sack over your shoulder, say your “see you later!”s to your friends, and march off to the park.

Beneath your tree, Hornton is waiting. You sprint towards him, grinning, and he looks up at you with wide eyes before returning the smile. He has his book in his lap, open to a different page than he left on.

“Hi,” you say shyly, hugging your sack of apples to your chest. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not really. I mean, maybe? Dunno, I didn’t really notice.”

You sit next to him and set the apples between your splayed legs. Fishing a plump red one out, you wipe it on your blouse and offer it to him. “Here!”

“Why do you have apples?” He eyes it curiously, hand hovering over it.

“My friend’s family has an orchard so he gave us all some after class.” You wave the apple around. “Take it! They’re good!”

Hornton takes the apple. He inspects it in the sunlight for a moment, then takes a bite. His eyes light up as he sinks his teeth into the apple’s hard skin, and he demolishes the fruit in less than a minute. Licking the juice off of his lips and fangs, he mumbles a messy thanks. You just smile and bop your temple against his. As you pull your novel out of your bookbag, you take another apple from the sack and shine it on your trousers. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy Hornton staring longingly at the sack.

“You can take another if you want,” you say.

He jumps, green eyes going comically wide. Cheeks flushed a bright ruby-red, he snatches another apple from the sack and rubs it clumsily on his very expensive robes.

“Do you like apples?”

“I do now,” he replies. He’s visibly struggling to keep his attention both on you and the book in his lap.

Curious, you lean over his shoulder and try to make sense of the foreign words in his book. Your brow scrunches up. “What’re you reading?”

His body goes tense the moment you touch him, but he doesn’t flinch away. When you glance up at his face, his expression is more severe and excited than you’ve seen yet. “It’s about arky… archee… uh, it’s about buildings and art! And this is the chapter about gargoyles!” He jabs an excited claw against an illustration of a beastly statue whose jaw hangs open. Water pours down its chin. The page (and the ones preceding and succeeding it) is clearly more worn than the rest of the book. “We have a bunch at the — I mean, at home — and Grandmother saw that I really liked them so she gave me this book!”

“What’s a gargoyle?”

He looks at you like you just confessed to murder. Shaking his head, he flips back a few pages. “They’re ‘ornamental stone carvings of animals or people that project from the side of a building and serve as the spout of a gutter.’ You’ve seen one before, right?”

“No.” You lean in closer to inspect another illustration. “They’re weird.” He stares at you, aghast. You roll your eyes. “Cool weird. We don’t have these out here.”

"Oh… that's a shame. Maybe one day you could come see the ones in my home."

You peer up at him. "Maybe. I gotta ask Mister Crowley."

"Who's that?"

"I live with him. He's weird."

"Cool weird?"

"Weird weird." You nudge him with your shoulder. "Do you live with your grandma?"

"Yeah."

"So it's you and her and your parents?"

Hornton goes completely quiet. He fingers the gilded edge of the page. Softly, he mumbles, "They aren't here anymore."

"Oh. Mine too. That's why I'm with Mister Crowley."

“... Do you know what happened to them?”

You shrug and pluck another apple out of the sack. As you wipe it on your trousers, you reply, “Nah. I dunno if Mister Crowley knows, either. He says he found me in a box left outside the school. There was a note, but it only said my name.”

“Oh.” Hornton looks away. “That’s sad.”

“I guess.” You shrug again. “If they didn’t want me, I don’t want them neither.”

He stares at you, wide-eyed. All he manages is another quiet, “Oh.”

Scowling, you take a bite out of your apple. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Let’s just read.”

“Okay. I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He seems to wilt at your curt statement. You add, “Really, it’s fine. Please, I wanna get through another chapter before I have to go.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Yeah, some party at my friend’s house. It’s not even for him, so I dunno why I’m invited, but I think his mom invited everyone in town.” Another bite. You look over the words on the page, not really processing them. “So I gotta go in a couple hours.”

“That must be nice,” Hornton sighs. “Getting invited to parties all the time.”

“What? No, it’s boring. It’s just boring grownup stuff most of the time. It’s only fun when it’s a birthday party, and there’s only four other kids in town so those never happen.” You emphasize this with a long groan.

“Really?” He thinks on this for a moment. “I guess it’s like the parties Grandmother throws.”

“What kinda parties?”

“Uh, they’re… big and fancy, but there aren’t any kids at all. And I can’t go dance or talk to people. And… um… it’s a lot. I don’t like them that much.”

You watch him as his voice shrinks and his head droops. Gently, you bop your temple against his. He perks up a little. With a small smile, you say, “Maybe I can invite you to my birthday party this year. It’d be fun!”

For a moment, you’d swear his eyes water. He beams at you, reaching out to grasp your hand. “I’d like that.”

—

The party at Ace's house is full of tipsy adults while you and your friends drink your juice in a corner. Well, everyone except Ace. His mother parades him around to talk to the other adults who apparently know him. None of you envy him — he looks miserable.

It turns out that the party is for Ace's brother. He emerges from a side room with his girlfriend on his arm and introduces her as his fiancée. When Deuce gives you a questioning look, you lean over and tell him that that means they're going to get married. The adults cheer and sing and dance for hours longer; the celebration only pauses for bedtime (which is fine with you, the party was boring anyways).

The next morning, Crowley wobbles out of his room with most of his weight held up by his cane. He has a faint green tinge to his face, but that doesn't stop him from walking with you to the schoolhouse. This is all, of course, just to announce that class is canceled for the day. You gather with your friends and, after a brief argument, decide to play in the park together.

That's how you find yourself nearly tripping over a familiar figure sitting beneath the oak tree. Hornton looks up from his book, gasps, and reaches out to help steady you. You wheel your arms around haphazardly for a moment before you breathe out a sigh of relief. Then, you take in Hornton's face and gasp.

"Oh! You're here today!"

Before you can give a proper greeting, Ace hollers your name. Both you and Hornton turn to look at the four boys coming to join you. Ace stops, bare toes curling in the grass. He eyes Hornton warily, the sloppy heart painted around his left eye scrunching up. "Who're you?"

"Uh…"

"He's Hornton and he's my friend," you say for him.

"'Hornton?'" Epel repeats. He snorts. "That's a stupid name."

"It isn't my real name," mumbles Hornton.

"Your name is stupid, Epel," you snap. You cross your arms and stick out your tongue. He returns the gesture.

"You guys are children," says Jack. Epel appears comically devastated at the deadpan insult. You huff softly.

Deuce snorts. "You're the youngest!"

"By a month!"

"Your friends are loud," Hornton whispers. You nod. He picks at the page he's on, a tiny film of gold foil flaking onto his black claw. "Should I go?"

"No!" Your friends turn to stare at you. Hornton blinks slowly, pink tinting his cheeks. He smiles bashfully, shrinking a little into his robes. Ace, meanwhile, gets that certain spark in his eye that instantly makes you shoot him a glare in warning. He grins, showing off one of his missing baby teeth, but keeps his mouth otherwise shut.

"Wait, is this the kid you mentioned yesterday?" Deuce asks. He peers over at Hornton. "I thought you were kidding."

"Why would I kid about that? That'd be weird."

"'Cause you're weird," Epel mutters, and you lunge for him while he shrieks with laughter and ducks away.

"You've got pointy ears," says Jack, his own fluffy white ears swiveling towards Hornton before he turns to look at you, "kinda like your dad."

Ew. From your spot on the grass wrestling with Epel, you sit up. "Mister Crowley is not my dad."

"But you live with him?"

"So?"

"I live with my Meemaw," Epel adds. "She's not my mom."

"See?"

Hornton observes your conversation. He tilts his head and hums thoughtfully. "I live with my grandmother, that doesn't make her my mother."

"You talk funny."

"Epel!"

"What? It's true! He talks all fancy like Professor Trein!"

"Fancy?"

"Fancy!"

You roll your eyes and shove Epel. Ignoring his indignant squawk, you scurry over to sit beside Hornton. "Wanna hang out with us?"

He stares at you, mouth agape. Again, he smiles shyly. "You're really inviting me?"

"Duh," Ace drawls. "Why else would they ask?"

Hornton tucks his book into his robe. A tiny green light sparks at his fingertips for a moment as he does so. Then, he stands up. He holds his curled fists close to his chest, guarding. Ignoring his nerves, you grab his hands and use him as leverage to stand, too.

"Whaddya wanna play? Or talk about?"

"Uh… I don't know?"

"Do you guys think you'll ever get married?" Deuce blurts out. All 5 of you turn to stare at him. He goes pale before blushing furiously. "Wait, no, I mean —! Since Ace's brother's gonna get married I was thinking about it!"

You hum. "I'unno. Maybe? Mister Crowley cried last night when I asked him if I'd ever get married."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna get married," Jack asserts. His tail swishes with excitement. "My mom and dad said that I'll know when I found 'the one.'"

"What does that mean?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. But they've been together for forever."

"True. Ace?"

He makes an exaggerated gagging sound. Complete with gestures. "No way! My brother and his fiancée are so gross with each other all the time! It's weird."

"It's gross 'cause he's your brother, dummy."

"And?"

"My mom's not married," Deuce says, plucking at the grass. "She says my dad was a… uh… a 'good-for-nothing scumbag'. She gets all sad when she talks about him, so I dunno about getting married."

"My Grandmother told me that I have to get married one day." Hornton shrugs. "But I don't really think about it."

"So you've never thought about your wedding?" you ask.

Ace shoves you. "You're the only one who has! You're always reading those kissing books."

"So?"

"Kissing books?" Hornton repeats.

"They're called romance and they're good!"

"Real life is grosser," says Ace. You shove him. "Hey!"

"What if we did our own wedding?" Jack interjects. Everyone pauses to look at him. "It can be like training. For when Ace's brother has his, I mean."

"Yeah but who would be who?" Deuce glances over at you, then Hornton. "Why don't you guys play the people getting married?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah! Me 'n Ace 'n Jack 'n Deuce will put up the… the thing!"

"Thing?"

"A chuppah! We gotta make a chuppah!"

"We gotta get some big sticks!"

"I think I saw some branches over on the other side of the tree."

"Nice, Jack! Hey, you 'n Hornton should make some rings! We'll be right back!" Deuce scurries off with the other boys, leaving you and Hornton standing in a stunned silence.

“What?”

“I guess we’re playing wedding?” You shrug and start looking for wildflowers. Hornton watches you with wide eyes. You glance over at him. “C’mon! Help me make the rings!”

He crouches down next to you. Giving you a helpless look, he holds his hands to his chest in hesitation. “Um… how do we do that?”

“We’ll get some flowers and tie the stems! Like making flower crowns! Oh oh oh! We should make flower crowns, too!”

“Oh. I’ve never made a flower crown before. Can you show me?”

“Yeah!” You kneel next to him with a fistful of brightly-colored wildflowers. Hornton watches in rapt attention as you slowly weave their stems together, forming a ring just big enough to fit you as a bracelet. He claps when you present it. Then, without a word, you reach up and drop it onto one of his horns. Hornton sits in stunned silence for a moment before he blushes and mumbles a quiet thanks. He takes the leftover flowers and carefully weaves a crown for you, this one large enough to actually be a crown. His brow furrows as he finishes the crown and then places it on your head. Giggling, you touch the petals. “Thank you, honey!” “H-Honey?”

“Yeah! That’s what the ladies in my romance books call their gentlemen! If we’re getting married I should call you that!”

“Oh!” He smiles, shoulders hunched, then grabs one of the few remaining flowers. “Here, uh, honey. I’ll make your ring.” He winds the stem around your left ring finger, sticking his tongue out in deep concentration. Once he’s knotted the stem, he uses a claw to snip off the excess. Without your prompting, he holds out his own left hand for you to do the same.

“We match!” you whisper-shout, holding your hand next to his.

“Mhm!” His tail thump thump thumps behind him. “Wait, let me try something…” Hornton leans over and touches your flower crown and ring. A bright green light envelops the both of you, and you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. Once it fades, you crack open one eye. The flowers seem unchanged.

“What’d you do?”

“I tried a spell my Grandmother taught me. It’s s’posed to keep plants from withering!” He twists the flower ring on his finger. “I mean, I don’t know if I did it right, but if I did then we’ll always have these!”

“I like that.” You take off your own ring and cradle it in your palm. “I like it.”

A holler from Epel breaks your focus, and you turn to look at the oak. Beneath it, the boys have stuck four massive branches in the ground. Now, they’re arguing over who will give up their jacket to use as a canopy. Beside you, Hornton sighs and takes off his cloak. With a flick of his wrist, it floats up to rest atop the branches and shade the ground beneath it. The boys shut up, seeing the matter settled.

“Okay, I think we gotta start with… uh…” Deuce frowns and scrunches up his nose. After a long moment of deliberation, he looks at the rest of you helplessly.

“You gotta give each other your rings!” Ace shouts.

You tilt your head. “But we already did that while you were getting the sticks.”

“Then give them back and do it again!”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you gotta!”

You roll your eyes but slide the flower ring off your finger. Hornton does the same, cradling his delicately in his palm. You drop yours in his hand and take his. Pinching the stem between your fingers, you glance over at Ace. “Aren’t you supposed to say something?”

“I’m not the one who’s… uh…” His nose scrunches up as he thinks for a moment. “Mom called them an o-fish-ant?”

“You’re not a fish,” Deuce supplies helpfully.

“It’s ‘officiant’, stupid,” you interject. “Did you guys even pick someone for that?”

“I’ll do it,” says Jack, “‘cause if I don’t, this’ll never be done. And then I’ll miss lunch and my mom will yell at me.”

“You’re taking this way too seriously.” Ace folds his arms behind his head. “We’re just playing!”

“A wedding’s a wedding.”

“Whatever, do your fish thing!” “It’s ‘officiant’!”

Jack clears his throat. You and Hornton turn to give him your rapt attention. His nose scrunches up and one fluffy ear flicks at the air a few times before he begins speaking. “Uh, we’re gonna… start with you giving each other your rings.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “... Go on. Do it.”

You raise your left hand dutifully, and Hornton slides the flower ring onto your finger. You do the same for him. Both he and Jack look so serious about this that it’s hard not to giggle. “Okay, now what?”

“Um…”

“Oh! I remember one’a my cousins got married and she walked ‘round her husband a bunch!”

“That sounds weird.”

“It was! But she did it!”

“How many times did she do it?”

“I dunno.”

“Wouldn’t you get dizzy?” Deuce mumbles.

“I mean, she seemed fine.”

You glance at Epel, shrug, then look back at Hornton. “Wanna do it?” He nods eagerly. Again, you try not to giggle. Hornton beams. “Okay, I’ll go first! Epel, how many times should I do it?”

“Uh… I dunno, until you start getting dizzy?”

“Bet I can do more than you,” you whisper to Hornton. He stares at you, wide-eyed, then grins so sharply you barely recognize him.

“Bet you’re wrong.”

You both laugh. Taking a deep breath, you start to walk around and around and around Hornton. He spins with you, wobbling. Meanwhile, your friends count every lap. One, two, three, four — you get to seven, and decide to tap out. Hornton puffs out his chest and, a little green in the face, starts circling you, instead. He also makes it to seven.

“Aw,” you mutter. “It’s a tie.”

“I totally could’ve beat you if I went first.” You stick your tongue out at Hornton. He giggles to himself. Then, he turns to Jack. “So, uh, what next?”

“Umm…” Jack’s face screws up in contemplation. His ears swivel back and forth for a moment, before he hesitantly replies, “Uh… you’re married now?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” you say.

“Aren’t we s’posed to… kiss?”

You stare at Hornton, who appears just as flustered as you now feel. “I think so.”

“Wait!” Ace reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small pinecone. He sets it on the ground between you and Hornton. “You’re supposed’ta crush it first!”

“Isn’t it supposed to be glass?” Jack asks, and Ace shoves him. “Hey!”

“Do you wanna go get glass to step on?”

“... No.”

“‘Kay, then pinecone it is!” He gestures enthusiastically at the pinecone. “Crush it! Go! Go! Go!”

You squeeze Hornton’s hand, giggling, and in unison you both lift a foot and crush the pinecone under your feet. It gives a loud, crackling crunch, and its little seed pockets burst and go flying. Your friends hoot and holler in celebration.

“‘Kay, now you need to kiss!” Ace declares.

Hornton turns beet red. “Kiss?”

“Like, for real?” you squeak.

“Uh, yeah, otherwise it’s not a wedding.”

You fidget with your ring, face hot. Hornton stares at you with wide, uncertain eyes. All the while, your friends (well, everyone but Jack) chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You’re the one to take the initiative. Squeezing your eyes shut, you lean in and give Hornton a brief, chaste kiss. It lasts only for a second, and from his startled squeak, it’s almost as if he expected that nothing would ever happen. Behind you, Epel and Ace gag dramatically.

“Ewww, you actually did it!” Epel shakes you by the shoulders and cackles through his words. “Gross!”

“You wanted us to kiss!” you protest. Before you can say more, he lifts you on his shoulders. Your words become a shrill squeal, and you can see Ace and Deuce struggling to lift Hornton, as well. “EPEL! PUT ME DOWN!”

“You’re married!” he crows. “You kissed someone!”

For his part, Hornton buries his face in his hands while Ace and Deuce finally manage to lift him up together.

“Uh… mazel tov,” Jack mumbles.

“We’re not actually married!” Even as you say this, you can’t help your rosy cheeks, nor the way your heart races as you meet Hornton’s electric gaze. He smiles bashfully as he grips Ace and Deuce’s shoulders for balance.

Hours later, after you and Hornton and your friends have spent the rest of the day dancing together and chatting and playing tag, you and Hornton are the only ones left at the park. Everyone else went home as the sun began to set. You run your fingers over your ring’s petals, fascinated by their softness.

“Did you have fun?” you ask, voice small. “I know my friends can be a lot…”

“Yeah.” A faint flush brings life to Hornton’s pale face. He smiles, and the sun casts him in gold. “I haven’t had this much fun in forever. Thank you.” For a moment, he hesitates, then he reaches to grab your hand. “Um… will you be here tomorrow?”

You nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Mhm! Do you… wanna read together, maybe?”

It’s as if the sun is rising again when he beams. He gives your hand a squeeze. “I’d like that.”

Though you’re loath to leave, you force yourself to give Hornton a squeeze in return before you pull back. “I gotta go before Mister Crowley starts worrying. Bye, Hornton.”

“Goodbye.”

—

When you go home, you can’t stop yourself from spinning the flower ring on your finger. Crowley asks you what you’re giggling about over dinner, and all you do is grin and show him the ring and crown. He rolls his eyes, muttering about children and their whimsies (whatever that means), and shoos you off to bed once you’ve finished and cleaned up. Before you crawl under the covers, you take off the flowers and place both pieces delicately on your nightstand.

The next day, once school is over, you run to your oak tree. You’re wearing your ring again, unable to stop looking at it and its perfectly-maintained petals. With an excited shout of “HORNTON!” you swing around to the other side of the tree.

And it’s empty.

Your heart drops.

‘Maybe he’s doing something with his grandma?’

The next day, you approach your tree again, less enthused and more nervous. He’s not there.

‘I thought we were gonna play together again.’

Day after day, you check your tree. Day after day, you’re greeted with no sign of the boy you’d started to befriend. Spring turns into summer. Ace’s brother gets married, and all you can think about during the ceremony is a scaly black tail thump thump thumping against the ground. When the leaves of your oak tree begin to turn gold and orange and red, you stop checking.

The ring and the flower crown remain just as pristine as they were the day they were made. You leave the crown on your dresser and wear the ring to class every day.

Years pass. You grow up. Your friends start taking extra lessons after classes a few times a week to train their magic. A new teacher from the city starts to visit, a young man named Divus Crewel. He teaches chemistry and alchemy, and you take to it like a fish to water. The private lessons you get from him almost help to soothe the beast of envy that grows in your chest every time you leave your friends to their magic classes. By the time you turn 13, the ring no longer fits. You keep it and the crown in a little wooden box tucked lovingly beneath your bed. Sometimes, you take them out and marvel at how little they’ve changed. Your friends, however, change just as rapidly as you do. Their magical prowess grows at a startling rate. You content yourself with cheering from the sidelines and working on your alchemical skills. Ace and Deuce try to bind Grim to you as a familiar first when you’re 16 (It doesn’t work, but your hair briefly catches fire). They next try when you’re 18 (It almost works. Crowley says it may have to do with your utter lack of any magic. You try not to feel resentful.). At last, on your 19th birthday, they succeed. It’s quite possibly the best gift you’ve ever gotten; Grim’s life is prolonged for as long as he’s bound to you.

By 20, you and your friends (by some miracle) all get accepted to the university in the city, the same one that Professors Trein and Crewel teach at. You start working under Crewel as a student alchemist (He says you’re one of his most promising students, especially because you have no magic to use as a shortcut. For once, you don’t wilt at the mention of magic.). You see your first real gargoyle on one of the older campus buildings. You take a photo, your mind conjuring up a fanged grin and excited electric green eyes. ‘Does Hornton still like gargoyles?’ you wonder as you save the photo. Years later, at your graduation ceremony, you take another photo of the gargoyle. Now, it’s decorated with a few fabric-flower leis that your fellow graduates managed to get over its head. ‘Look, Hornton, the gargoyle is celebrating, too!’

You return to your hometown after receiving your degree. Crowley graciously allows you to stay at home (although you suspect he might just like having another hand to help around the house) while you continue your work as an alchemist. Crewel has hired you full-time as a lab assistant. Every day you take the train into the city for work. Sometimes, when you get all caught up in your head and the novelty of watching the world pass by through the window, you find yourself reaching for your left ring finger to twist a ring that isn’t there.

‘It’s been almost twenty years,’ you chastise yourself, ‘why are you still thinking about that boy?’

Despite your age, your experience in romance is limited to the cheesy romance novels and cheap bodice-rippers that populate your bookshelf, interspersed between your textbooks and notebooks. For some reason, you could never bring yourself to try dating. Every time the thought comes to you, you feel the phantom sensation of a soft stem wrapped around your finger. Your friends tease you about it. Ace calls you a dweeb. Epel says you’re acting foolish over a stupid game you played as children. Deuce laughs and does a pantomime of your fake wedding. Jack just shakes his head knowingly. He’s the most understanding about it — wolves mate for life, and he gets why you would take a play-wedding to heart. That doesn’t stop him from getting a jab or two in on occasion, though.Some days, you pull the box out from under your bed and look at the flowers. As always, they look just as perfect as the day they were picked. Now that you’re older, you’ve learned more about magic. The spell required to make and maintain such perfect preservation requires both skill and a wellspring of magic. The amount of magic alone would send most experienced mages into overblot. This only stokes your curiosity. How did Hornton, a child hardly older than you, cast such a spell with ease? Who was he? It’s a question that haunts you. It’s a question you know you’ll never get an answer to.

#malleus x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x yuu #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst fic #twisted wonderland fic #my writing #seraph speaks

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13a07s · 7 months ago

Text

Nail Appointment

(Kentaro Kyotani)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to 27kira_dax27]

Requested by: Myself :)

Word Count: 3,570

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

I know it's common that people think Mad Dog is a distance lover but I disagree. I think he'd be a clingy, 'always proving what's his' kind of lover

Choking

Biting

Hickeys

Kentaro having no PDA shame

Mentions of Social Anxiety

This is not a Oikawa hate account; love the man, he's just an ass in this fic, okay? :,(

———————————————————————

"Puppy?" I mutter, my focus on my nails. My polish chipped at some point today, leaving a gap in the honey-colored paint I got to match my boyfriend's eyes.

Instantly, Kentaro is behind me, his chest to my back and his hand around my throat. The rings decorating his ring and pointer fingers are pressed into the skin of my neck, gentle enough to indent the flesh but light enough not to leave a bruise. "Don't call me that," he grumbles, tone harsh but his head dipping down to be closer to my voice. "What do you want?"

"Kyotani!" My pup's teammate - Yahaba - yells with a stern look on his face. "You shouldn't grab at your partner like that. Would it kill you to act like a gentleman?" Kentaro ignored his teammate, a soft growl and a tightening of his hand around my throat as he rolls his eyes.

"My nails are chipped," I mutter, his attention instantly on my hands.

His free hand jumps up, gripping my fingers. Kentaro holds it up to his eyes, forcing my fingers to spread wide as he looks over my nails. "You're expensive. Stop being such a goddamn klutz," he groans, rubbing at the chipped nail.

That sends Yahaba into another lecture, chewing my boyfriend's ear off about lacking respect for me and talking down to me in 'such a degrading manner'.

Again, Kentaro ignores him, dropping my hand to tug his phone out of his pocket. His thumb rubs up and down my neck, his fingers routinely flexing against my skin as he taps away at his phone. "Shut up, Yahaba. Your voice is obnoxious," he finally grumbles, showing me the screen of his phone.

As I look over the screen, the two second-years bicker back and forth. Kentaro scheduled me a nail appointment for after school; four-thirty to be exact. It's Monday, which means it's an off day from practice, so he'll probably come with. Usually, he takes me to get my nails done on Fridays; his other off day of the week.

The fact that he just paid three days ago to get done is what he's mostly irritated about. Maybe I'll be able to convince him to let me pay for the redo. "Hey, Puppy?" Instantly, his attention is on me again, dropping the fight he's in the middle of. He lets out a grunt, squeezing my throat in acknowledgment. "I'll pay for my appointment."

Kentaro lets out a grunted laugh, all five fingertips rubbing against my throat now. "Over my dead body. I pay for your nails, end of discussion."

"Kyotani!" Yahaba yelps again, face reddening the longer the bickering goes on. "Stop being so rude to your partner. You're such an ass. You deserve better, you know that?" He asks, focusing on me as he rambles on about my boyfriend's 'lack' of softness.

"Ken-Chan is perfect." The nickname gets me a huff, a turned-up nose, and a tighter grip from Kentaro.

"Disgusting," he grumbles, his hand finally falling away from my neck. It lands on my shoulder, gripping me as his head lowers. "Have you eaten?" He husks out lowly, his grip tightening on me. I shake my head no, a low grumble filling my ear after I answer. "Did you eat breakfast?" Another head shake and disapproving growl. "Dumbass, no wonder your stomach has been upset all day."

I'm let go, my little bulldog storming away to find me some food as he grumbles about my lack of eating. Yahaba shoots after him, another lecture warming up as he trudges after my boyfriend.

I'm not left alone for long, not that I'm really alone. Kentaro's teammates are littered around the lunch table, a few of their partners mixed in as well. "Less Mad Dog-Chan!" His captain's voice rings out, pulling my attention away from my phone. The playboy is beaming in front of me, his favorite fangirl of the day wrapped around his arm. "Where's the Og Mad Dog at?"

"Probably sticking his foot up your ass," I mutter, sending the captain a strained smile. I don't have a problem with anyone that has an issue with my boyfriend. He comes off as mean, has a bad attitude, and can be quite intimidating, so I get why most people don't get along with him or have bad vibes around him. Despite that, I can't help that I don't click with Oikawa. He annoys me. His ego, his player vibes, his cockiness, his ego again; I just can't overlook how he acts.

"Oh La La, you little poodle. You got teeth too, don't you?"

"Ya, and she uses them on my neck every night," Kentaro growls from behind me, the suddenness breaking my defiance instantly. I can be a hard ass now and again, but he's a hard ass ninety percent of the time. "Jealous much?" He grumbles, his hand back around my throat, squeezing it enough to cut off a bit of my airway.

"Knock it off," Kentaro's ace and arch-rival butts in, smacking the captain upside his head. "You knock it off too," the older boy adds, shooting my pup a glare.

Kentaro grumbles, head bowing down again to nibble on my neck, his teeth sliding against the skin right above his fingers. "Dumb shitty-kawa. Sizing up my baby, calling you a damn poodle, dumb ass little," he cuts off his ramble with a soft growl, snipping at my skin a little harsher.

"Ken-Chan," I whisper, tugging my head away from his teeth.

He grumbles a sorry, his tongue quickly lapping at the sore spot before he jerks away from me; no more teeth and no more fingers pressed into my neck. "I got you a salad - don't start bitching," Kentaro cuts himself off, ending my pouting fit before I can start it. "I got you a chocolate bar and one of those stupid cold coffee things you drink."

The food is laid in front of me, my pissy boyfriend sitting sideways on the bench as he continues to simmer over his fights with Oikawa and Yahaba. Reluctantly, Kentaro rests his head on my shoulder, shooting glares toward his captain.

I pop the salad open, working on opening my utensils and mixing the contents and sauce of the salad. Every few bites, I hold a fork full toward him. Kentaro grumbles during everyone, insisting he 'doesn't need that rabbit food' but eats every bite I offer.

Slowly, his simmering ends, my pup loosening a bit as things settle down. When Kentaro is finally settled, his head shifts, chin on my shoulder so he can stare at my profile. His arms stretch out, one in front of me and the other one behind my back. His joints pop and crack as he stretches, the front arm resting across my hips as the back one toys with my skirt, fingertips balling up the material of my waistband so he can cling to me.

He uses the hold on my skirt to pull me closer, the leg closest to him being shifted onto his lap. Kentaro's mouth is attached to my neck again, a bit of teasing rising but quickly shot down by a glare. He sucks gently, his canines sliding against my skin now and again as he enjoys himself.

I swear my boyfriend has an oral fixation, the hickeys coating my thighs, chest, and stomach being proof of that. If Kentaro wasn't worried about ruining my perfect school record, I'm sure my neck would be littered in proof of his mouth too. "Talk," he orders, snipping at my neck again, careful not to nick me like he did before.

"I think I'm going to do teal for my - "

"No."

"- I suppose I can do the honey color again. Maybe I'll get yellow with black stripes on my ring fingers to match your hair," I ramble, doing what my boyfriend wants. Kentaro isn't much of a talker but he enjoys listening, so our conversations are usually me talking nonstop with him offering grunts or short answers in response.

He happily settles back to gently sucking and nibbling on my skin, one hand clinging to my skirt tighter as the other one starts toying with my waistband. Clingy, moody, pooch of mine.

————————————

A long huff is pushed out of Kentaro's nose as he holds the salon door open for me. A salon isn't his place, my edgy boyfriend standing out like a sore thumb surrounded by so many women, the soft music, and the pastel pink vibe of the place.

Despite the space unofficially being a 'women only' place and relatively safe, he's still attached to me. His hand is loosely settled on my stomach, opening me up to be enveloped by the rest of him, head on a spiral, and his usual resting bitch face present.

"Welcome... in," the receptionist greets, starting cheery but the tone quickly falls when her eyes slide over to Kentaro.

Her eyes jump around my boyfriend, taking in the piercings littered across his eyebrow, his nose, and the dozen or so punched into his ears. She doesn't know - I sure do - about his tongue being pierced too. Outside of school and volleyball, Kentaro is always decked out in black and gold. Gold piercings, gold rings, and his gold chain necklace.

The jewelry paired with his eyeliner, his full black outfit of a hoodie and ripped jeans, his perfectly polished combat boots, and the dyed blonde hair give off an irking vibe. One that is making the receptionist nervous.

Instinctually my hand shifts backward, fingertips wrapping around the chains hanging out of his pocket, one keeping his wallet clipped to his pants and the others being his 'edgy' jean chains. His hand slides off my hip, wrapping up in the chains so his fingertips can rub against mine.

"We have a four-thirty nail appointment. It should be under Kyotani," he grumbles, jerking me closer to his body. Despite his hardness, Kentaro is pretty good at calming down my social anxiety.

"Um... the... the appointment is for... one person?"

"Ya," he grumbles, bitch face shifting into more of a 'you're dumb' expression.

"You should get your nails done with me," I murmur, yanking on the chains as I turn my head up to look at him.

"I'm not doing that pussy shit," he rumbles, flicking his eyes at me before settling on the receptionist.

"Please?" I try pushing, adding a hint of a whine to my tone. "We could get matching nails. You could do black with yellow strips. It would be cute."

"No."

"Pretty please?" I repeat, adding more of a whine to my voice. I drop the chains from my hold, my arms wrapping around his neck to tug him closer to me. A growly sigh rumbles in Kentaro's throat, a pissy look stamped on his face as one of his eyes twitches. "For me? Please?"

He jerks a bit, standing up straight but leaving my arms wrapped around his neck. "Could I change the appointment to a double manicure?" He mumbles, gently dragging me forward so we're closer to the desk.

"Sure," the receptionist peeps out, clicking at the computer for a few moments. "It'll be a few moments until we can take you back," she whispers, tone super soft as she motions towards the waiting chairs.

I'm jerked in the direction of the chairs, Kentaro dragging me toward the waiting area. He settles into a chair, full man spread going on as he tugs me backward. I'm left between his legs, sitting in his lap with the wallet and phone in his pockets being pressed into my ass. He has no shame, hands shoved under my shirt and rubbing just above the waistband of my pants.

It doesn't take long until his mouth is attached to my throat, sucking just below the start of my jaw. His fingers jab into one of the hickeys poking out above my waistband, small waves of numbing pain aching from the force. My nerves are on edge, glances and judgmental looks being aimed our way. All of which are shot back a glare from Kentaro.

"Mr and Ms Kyotani?" A voice calls after a few minutes, another long huffy sigh flowing from my boyfriend.

He stands up, pushing me out of his lap as his hands push on my stomach, stopping me from any possibility of falling over. "That's us," I chirp, waving at the masked lady as I try shoving down my anxiety and the soft buzz of being referred to by my boyfriend's last name.

The lady nods, motioning us forward. Kentaro leads me, his arms tightening on me when we pass a male nail tech. He shoots the uninterested man a glare too, as jealous as ever. "Damn jerk, can't keep his eyes to himself," he grumbles, nipping at my earlobe.

"Maybe he's just staring because you're trying to crawl into my skin," I coo, trying to loosen his hold on me. Kentaro gives in, letting his arms hang loose on me as we finish the walk.

"One here, one here," the lady orders, tapping the spot in front of her and then the spot in front of the nail tech next to hers. We settle into our chairs, my hands instantly jumping up to lie on the small table. Kentaro's eyes flicked toward me before he repeats the action. "What are we doing to your nails today?" The lady asks, settling into her chair before she snatches my hands, looking them over.

"I want them a sort of pale yellow, as close to his hair color as possible," I start explaining, nodding toward Kentaro. "Then two horizontal black lines on both my ring fingers. He wants black with the same ring design but in the yellow of my nails," I finish explaining, turning toward his nail tech to fill her in on his request. Both ladies nod, leaving us long enough to fetch the colors I asked for and whatever else they need.

"This is dumb. I'm going to get so much shit from the team," Kentaro bitches, slouching in his chair with his hands still pressed flat to the table.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. It's fine, puppy," I hum, shrugging my shoulders. It would make me a bit sad if he bowed out now after agreeing to get his nails done with me, but I want Kentaro to be happy. Bickering and teasing from his teammates over his nails being painted won't make him happy.

"It's not fine," he barks, glancing around when heads shoot our way. "You asked me to do it so I'm going to do it," he grumbles, tone a lot softer this time. "And stop calling me that."

"Would you prefer asshole?" I tease, a smile crawling on my face.

"Don't call me that either," he pouts, slouching in his chair more with his arms crossed over his chest. "Puppy is fine," he grumbles, sparing me a glance as he keeps up his half pissy half pity party act. "I can't believe I'm doing this dumb shit."

"Then don't do it."

"I already told you I'm doing it," he barks again, his tone still a lot softer than before but as bitchy as ever. "I have a gross want to make you happy. If making you happy looks like dumb cheesy ass matchy girl nails then that's what I'll do."

"It will make me happy."

"Good," he grunts, some of the tension in his body loosening at the knowledge that his actions are bringing me joy. The tension isn't gone for long, the tightness of his shoulders reappearing when the nail techs make their way back to us. "This is so dumb," Kentaro mutters, straightening up and placing his hands on the counter again.

"Thank you," I murmur, sending him a soft smile. He sends me a grunt in response, a twitch of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

————————————

I'm in a bad mood as soon as my baby's classroom door closes behind me. I hate school, I hate Tuesdays, I hate my teacher, I hate not being in my baby's class, I hate having to wait for break to see my baby again, and I hate that Yahaba and Shitty-kawa are waiting for me in the hallway.

"So, it seems our Mad Dog went to the groomers yesterday," the team's captain teases, his phone waving around in his hand. He has my baby's Snapchat pulled up; more specifically the annoying finger heart picture she had me take with her after our nails were done.

Maybe it's not that annoying. It was un-annoying enough that I saved it and set it as my new lock screen. Okay... maybe I didn't find it annoying at all. Maybe I didn't even find the nail appointment annoying. Maybe the nail appointment was so un-annoying that a tiny, teeny piece of me wants her to ask me to get matching nails next week too.

Oikawa on the other hand is the most annoying thing in the world. But, I don't see Iwaizumi anywhere so maybe the situation isn't all that bad. "So what if I did? Pissed off you don't have a girl to get your nails done with?"

"Oh, Mad Dog-Chan, your naiveness is adorable. I could ask any girl in the school to go get her nails done with me and she would," he gushes, a mix of condescending and fake sweetness lacing his words.

"Really?" I ask, a grin crawling on my face. I have him beat out on this one and I don't even have to get physical. My baby is going to be proud of me for handling my obnoxious captain 'maturely' instead of 'physically' this time.

"You know it, Kyo-Chan," he chirps, a mirrored grin on his face.

I let out a "hmph" stepping backward to push the door to the classroom I just left open. "Hey, baby?" I call, turning sideways so I can see her. My baby's head perks up, full attention on me instead of getting her supplies out for her first class of the day. "Do you want to go get your nails done with Oikawa?"

Her nose curls up instantly, eyebrows pushed together in a 'are you fucking serious' sort of expression. "Ew, no, gross," her answer spills out, covering some of the mixed excitement and jealous chitter chatter of Oikawa's fangirls.

"I didn't think so," I mutter, stepping forward again and letting the door swing shut behind me. "I guess you won't get a yes from 'any girl in the school'," I taunt, sending the cocky setter another snug smirk before I start walking away. Yahaba quickly joins next to me, muffling his laughter.

"Your nail polish looks streaky. Maybe stop being a cheapskate and go to a better nail tech," Captain yells after us, a bit of huffiness in his tone.

"A cheapskate doesn't spend sixty dollars at a nail salon, dumbass, they just do it themselves," I yell over my shoulder, flipping him a perfectly black painted bird.

That makes Yahaba's laughter spill over, filling the hallway with the joy-filled sound. It wasn't that funny but I do have to admit, I like proving Shitty-kawa wrong. "I swear," he pushes out between chuckles, "the captain and you could fight over what color the sky is. You just don't know when to walk away from a fight, do you?"

"No, I don't, especially when he wants to be an ass about something I did with my baby. It made her happy, why the fuck does he have a stick up his ass about it?" I grumble, shoving my hands into my pockets. Once I noticed what I did, I tug them back out, not wanting to hide the matchy girly shit I did for my Baby.

"Maybe he just likes getting a reaction out for you. Have you ever thought of that?" Yahaba asks, his laughter done but a smile still on his face.

I shrug my shoulders, Oikawa's teasing still rattling around my head. I have thought about it, I know he only does and says shit to get under my skin, and I know I fall for it every time, but it's his fault. He pushes every button possible until I snap. Pressing a button about my Baby instantly makes me snap, so that's on Shitty-kawa, not me.

"He just needs to leave shit alone. So, what? I went to a nail appointment with my baby. It doesn't affect his life any, so he should just leave it alone." Yahaba shrugs, his smile growing on his face. I don't know why he's so giddy about my Baby and me. It was one dumb nail appointment, who gives a shit?

Me. I give a shit, because she spent the whole afternoon smiling, because her eyes were glued to our hands anytime they were wrapped together, because it made her happy, and that's what I live for. To see her smile, to make her happy, to her hear scream my name after a successful spike. It's almost gross, but I can't help the calm feeling that washes over me when I remember how damn smiley she was when she first saw our matching nails. Next week I'll have to remember to schedule a two-person nail appointment.

#haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #kentaro kyotani #kentaro x reader #kentaro oneshot #kyotani x reader #kyotani oneshot #mad dog x reader #mad dog oneshot #Haikyuu mad dog

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merowkittie · 1 year ago

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Art Therapist!Reader x Task Force 141

Summary: Today we’ll get to look at the first client, John Price.

Notes: I should comment that I’m not sure if I want this to go in a platonic route or a romantic way so we’ll see from here. Might make the readers decide. <3

I hope i capture all of the boys good, because I’m still fairly new writing for the cod men.. sorry if they’re very ooc </3

Oh boy.. writing this took a minute and I’m so not impressed with this one but trust.. this will get better :)

Do reblog, like, and comment to lmk what you think about this!

Thank you, sweets! 🎀

Part One. Client One: John Price.

The clack of your heels were heard through the halls as you smiled brightly, excited to get to know one of your new clients.

You had two sheets on a clipboard in your arms, a notepad in the other and a tote bag in your left arm.

You had some things you’d like to discuss with him, comforts, favorite snacks and tea. These are important you know! You always got the jitters when you had a new client.

Walking into your small office you sat your bag down on the side of your chair, and placed the clipboard and notepad neatly on your desk.

A sigh left your mouth and you rolled your neck around, trying to crack it and find relief.

“Mm.. ok, where to start..?” You mumbled to yourself as you looked at your bag and nodded.

Starting to unload everything you put your thermal cup filled with peppermint tea on your desk, a sketchbook, coloring book, and coloring pencils neatly into a pile.

Next you pressed the button on your work phone to hear all of your new voice mails and put lights on, in the dimly lit room.

You had two lamps that brightened the room with a nice yellow hue and a flower lamp on your desk that shined a pink light.

“Ms. Kate left a voice message, it says, ‘Good morning, you said 9:30 but we’ll be there a bit earlier than that. He’s adamant about being early to things. John is a very— He’s a man that likes to stay on the move you know? Keep that in mind. He likes his hands full. Anyways, see you around 9:20– 25. Thank you, Again.’ —”

You laughed at her comment, knowing well you like to have your hands full too and can’t stay doing nothing for too long.

The time on your clock stated 9:15, so they’d be here soon. There wasn’t much else you needed to set up in your cozy office but you decided to fluff out the pillows on the couch across from your desk and prep your notes.

Finally, after you killed some time drawing in your sketchbook you heard a knock on your door. There was quiet chatter.

“Come in please!” You called out, closing your sketchbook and looking up towards the door.

In walked in who you assumed was Kate Laswell and behind her was a handsome gruff looking man. He was very well built, a nice beard and mustache and he looked around the same age as the woman. He also had a nice ass but you shook your head away from those thoughts.

Standing up your walked around your desk and grinned widely, you stated your name and then, “It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you. I’m very excited for todays session if you couldn’t tell..”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m hoping this goes smoothly.” The man, who you’re sure is John, smiles at you and nods approvingly.

“Yes, you won’t give her a hard time right?” Kate jokes and he shakes his head and raises his eyebrows.

“She should be worried about Soap. That man is a twat sometimes.” You chuckled along with him and waved your hand dismissing that.

You pointed to the couch and asked them to have a seat so you could talk to them about basics first and grabbed your notepad and a pen, sitting in your chair.

“Before we start, I want to re-introduce myself. My name is y/n, and I’ve been doing art therapy for three years. I have a degree in arts and a degree in counseling/therapy.” You waved your hands around as you talked.

Kate and John nodded at your words as you spoke and they seemed pretty impressed with what you said.

“Kate Laswell, John Price. It’s nice to meet someone enthusiastic like you.”

You smiled at the comment and then let the two settle in on the couch. Tapping your fingers in your desk you spoke again.

“Ok so, I’m sure you may have questions that you wanted to ask personally! Some worries and concerns?” You tilted your head to the side and smiled, “Or would you like me to give you a brief explanation on what I strive to achieve with art therapy?”

“It’s be nice if you explained it better.. I feel like this is too childish for a man like me.” John commented.

“Mhm, I understand what you mean. A lot of people believe that but it’s all about what works for YOU. Art is a form of expression that anyone can use. Why not incorporate that into helping others and finding yourself too, Hm?” You aided.

It was a bit silent in the room after what you said. John nodded his head, his arms crossed over his chest and pursed his lips, turning to face Kate.

“I like you. Hopefully the boys will too. God knows we need this type of energy with the line of work we’re involved in.” Kate sighs, “I’ll take my leave, and be back around.. 10:30?”

“Yes! 10:30 or you can come around 10:25. Either works for me, If it works for you,” You got up and extended your hand, “Thank you, by the way. I live my life as optimistic as possible and like to bring that into the workplace.”

Kate nods and shakes your hand. Her hold is firm and strong, she’s a kind woman.

“John, play nice.” She said, facing the older man, before leaving and giving you a smile.

After she left you looked at Price and clapped your hands together.

“Well, now I have some personal questions for you. These are about boundaries but I hope you do know we might have to cross them once in a while ok?” You sat on top of your desk this time moving your notepad and pen onto your lap.

John folded his hands on his lap and looked at you in your eyes. It was silent for a moment yet again, though you didn’t mind. If he needed time to formulate his words you’d give him all the time in the world.

He opened his mouth then closed it, with a huff he said, “There’s not many boundaries I have, I’m sure you’re supposed to start slow when doing these sessions, yea?” you nodded, “So I believe you won’t be asking too much about me yet, so when the time comes.. I’ll be somewhat of an open book.”

He smiled at you slightly, tight lipped and tapped his fingers against his knuckles.

You took a breath in, then let it out. Humming at his words you write down on your note pad:

‘Price. Little to no boundaries at all. Open book maybe by the third sesh.’

His eyes watch your fingers as you’re writing, he’s a bit tense, not really knowing what to do. He can already imagine Simon being worse than he is right now.

“Ok so! I do have a question that Ms.Kate didn’t really specify, and I forgot to ask. Is there a problem that’s bugging any of you? Or is this just to maintain a good mind set— or close to an ok mind set?” You put your hands out, trying to elaborate in a more understanding way, “For example, keeping your anger in check, having an outlet to let out heavy emotional burdens.. those types of things?”

John ran his fingers through his beard and tapped his foot on the ground, thinking on what you said. He didn’t exactly have any thing bugging him, he’s been working in the military for well around 18+ years and that’ll get you used to the atrocities you see.

“I’m pretty sure Kate had the latter in mind when doing these sessions. I know I don’t have much bugging me, I’m about ready to retire sometimes,” he joked with a laugh, “It’d be nice to have an outlet from what we do every now and then.”

You laughed with him and nodded your head. His words resonated well with you. Anyone knew that working in the military/army would drain you. Could leave you mentally unwell after years.

So you strived to understand and learn each and every one of these men. To hopefully be able to aid them in different, helpful ways.

“Well, im glad you think so! Now, I actually have something I want you to do today. It’s very simple.”

Pulling out a coloring book and some color pencils, you held them out in front of you, “So, we won’t be doing anything too big— yet! I have a coloring book here that goes based off of mood. It’s also a journal. I want you to write in this everyday, starting today, ok?”

John raised his brows at you and you raised yours back. He scratched his beard and looked down at the coloring book with different mood faces on it. He took a copy of one book and a pack of coloring pencils you offered after.

You opened up the book to the first page and pointed to the happy face. Underneath the face were lines and a quote that asks you why you were feeling the emotion you were feeling.

“Currently I’m feeling happy, I’ll take a yellow pencil and color that face in.” You explained simply, “I’m feeling this way because I’ve had my favorite tea, my cat cuddled with me this morning, and I’m looking forward to my new clients.”

Once you finished you turned the book around and showed John. “That’s all you have to do. Nothing too long, but if you prefer to do that I don’t mind. Just don’t give me a word or two. I want one to three sentences.”

You watched as he began to do what you did. He colored in the neutral face with a brown colored pencil and underneath he wrote two sentences explaining why he felt that way.

For the rest of your session you introduced yourself more and had him give you tid bits about his life and line of work. In your mind you wanted to have this space be as personal but comfortable as possible.

You talked a bit about your life as well, giving him insight into your day to day life and how your other sessions go sometimes without disclosing private information about your other clients.

Soon enough the time came to when he had to leave and your session ended.

As Kate waited by the door, you put your hand out towards John, “I hope to see that book filled out. If anything is bothering you after today, write it down and we can go over it, yea?” He nodded his head shaking your hand, and let out a gruff ‘yes’.

He left with that and you were alone in your office thinking over this mornings events. It was slow paced and simple. You didn’t like unpacking a lot of information on the first day. Over time they’d get more comfortable and the art part of this would help them express how they felt without speaking. Actions are always far bigger than words.

You cracked your knuckles and went back to your chair, looking through your schedule planner, tomorrow you’d have a man by the name of Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.

Huh, what a name.

Tag list: @speckledemerald @mxtokko

If you want to be notified when more parts of this series comes out please lmk and I will add you to the tag list <3

#reader insert #black reader #cod mw fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 price #john price x black reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #cod mw art therapy au ୨୧

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the---hermit · 1 year ago

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18|10|2023

Today I was more productive than I expected to be. I have been struggling a lot with focusing, and today it wasn't an exception, but I still crossed out all the tasks of my daily to do list. Autumn is definitely here, the temperatures got very low, and we also got the first rain today. Tomorrow it's going to be a bit annoying to commute if it will rain again, but I am not too mad at finally having proper autumnal weather. I am walking around the house wrapped in a blanket at all times, but that is my regular form for most of the year. I am still feeling a bit stuck with my crochet project, so I am trying not to force myself, because it's a hobby and not a job, but at the same time I would like to pick it up again because since my energies are so low I am spending more of my free time watching digital screens and it's not ideal. The thing is that I would normally read in my free time to shut off my brain and relax, but right now I am way too tired to also read in my free time. I end up listening to podcasts which are fun, but if I am not crocheting while doing that I am either playing some mindlss games or coloring on my tablet, which is still a digital screen, and my eyes aren't happy about it. I am thankfully getting a bit of reading done with graphic novels since I have decided to reread the first five volumes of Something Is KIlling The Children, but I feel like I haven't found the right balance for my free time yet.

Cozy hobbit autumn activities and productivity:

read first thing in the morning

daily Irish practice on duolingo (after creating yet again a review plan to go alongside the units I have not worked on yet. Because of course right after I was done with my big review they changed everything and now everything looks different and there is some vocab I never worked on)

listened and wrote notes for a lecture of my power practices and men theories class

finished reading and highlighting the article I had to read about The Merchant Of Venice

updated my reading journal

worked on a series of future bookish posts

continued listening to the mistholme museum podcast (which I am really enjoying! I found out about it quite randomly because it was recommended to me on spotify, but now I am really invested in it)

packed my backpack for class tomorrow and picked out an outfit already (being nice to future me so they won't have to worry about it tomorrow)

reorganized my sweater drawer

📖: The Book Of Lost Things by John Connolly, Something Is Killing The Children vol.2 by James Tynion IV and Werther Dell'Edera

#studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #univeristy #student life #historyblr #journal #studying #productivity #journaling #cozy hobbit autumn #knife gang #mine #the---hermit

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shootingstarpilot · 1 year ago

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In Which Obi-Wan Meets Stitch Properly

Happy Friday! Today's been A Day, so to make myself feel better, I wrote a lil scene referenced in Chapter 11 of how to bring him home:

Stupid.

It wasn’t even during a battle. Not on the ground, where the noise is everywhere all the time and where he tucks himself back and away and pulls on ‘81 for a bit, because ‘81 knows not to flinch at loud noises and or tap his fingers and Stitch can keep being a good medic while ‘81 takes the brunt of the noise and the darkness and everything else.

It’s effective. ‘81 had gotten him out of Kamino. ‘81 keeps him and his brothers alive on the battlefield. But being ‘81 is exhausting. So he stops being ‘81 on the ship once he realizes he doesn’t have to be. Because no one tells him that he’s tapping too much or talking too fast or being too stupid, and he can walk up to Helix or Needle and ask for a hug and get one.

(‘81 doesn’t get hugs.)

So he’s not prepared at all when he wanders into the engineering bay just in time for the sharp snap of a backfiring engine to crack his brain open like an egg.

He backpedals instinctively, all thoughts of routine physicals dropped along with his composure on the engineering bay’s floor, and the whole world goes snapshot-blurry.

Boots skidding across the floor.

A door that won’t open.

His own breathing, too loud.

A door that won’t open.

His own heartbeat, too fast.

A door that won’t open.

Voices approaching–

And then, finally, a door that does.

He flings himself in– glimpses a bucket, a mop, cleaning supplies– yanks the door shut behind him, and tries to fold down onto the floor. If his head’s between his knees, then that’s a few more layers between him and everything that’s too loud. But the engine’s vibrations tear all the way through him and splinter him all apart into a hundred thousand million tiny pieces–

He tries to back into a corner but the vibrations are in the walls too and hit right behind his shoulder blades–

He skitters into the middle of the room but the noise sneaks in through his feet and crawls all the way up and empties him out until there’s no room for shame or embarrassment or anything of himself at all, so he stands in the middle of the room with his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut and tries to pretend he doesn’t have feet because eventually things go quiet again, they do, it’s just a question of how long it takes and how much of him gets peeled away in the meantime–

A different kind of quiet settles over him.

Not the raw type of quiet that usually arrives after the noise has worn itself out.

This is a solid quiet. As if someone has built a wall between him and the noise and has told it very sternly to stay out.

The vibrating roar of the engines has dulled into an almost imperceptible hum. Like how it should be.

He can’t hear his hammering heartbeat anymore, and his breathing is comfortably muffled.

He pries his eyes open carefully, in case someone actually managed to put a blanket over his head.

No one has.

But there’s a blanket on the floor in front of him.

He bends down and picks it up.

It’s brown. Brown is a quiet color. And it feels nice on his hands.

He considers it for a moment, and then drapes it carefully over his head.

Oh. That’s much better.

In the dark and quiet, he has enough room to breathe properly.

And as he works on that, a slow, simmering shame begins to kindle uncomfortably behind his ribs.

That–

That wasn’t good.

The last time he’d let that happen had been on Kamino. An alarm had gone off in the barracks. A false alarm– the announcement came over the comms, calling off evacuation protocols– but the shrieking whine hadn’t shut up, and Stitch hadn’t been very big then so he’d opened his mouth to drown it out himself, and then Fractal had tackled him and dragged him under the bunk and pressed his face into his shirt so he could scream quietly and he’d squeezed him tight enough to force out all the noise that was trying to fill him up and–

He cuts the rest of that thought off, and breathes it out.

Then he breathes out the hiccups, and the ache behind his eyes, and the prickling numbness in his feet.

This time, when he peels the blanket off his head, the lights don’t hurt anymore.

He stares at the wall.

Then he shakes out the blanket, intending to fold it up, until he sees something that stops him short.

The blanket has a hood.

He stares.

Sleeves, too.

Then he remembers–

They don’t have brown blankets on the ship.

He looks down.

The thin line of light under the door is partially blocked.

Someone is sitting outside.

He looks again at the blanket-that-is-not-a-blanket.

At the blanket that is a cloak.

Clone troopers do not wear cloaks.

After a moment, he gives up on trying to fold it, and wraps it around his shoulders instead.

Helix says that General Kenobi can be trusted. Helix says to stay with General Kenobi because he brought troopers home safe. Helix says that General Kenobi stopped the decommissionings and that he wouldn’t ever send anyone back to Kamino, not even if they were–

Not even if there was something really wrong with them.

(Helix says that General Kenobi is kind.)

Stitch takes a deep breath.

“We are learning,” he tells himself sternly, “how to be more than afraid.”

He opens the door before he can think better of it.

General Kenobi looks up.

Stitch hesitates before settling down cross-legged onto the floor next to him.

“Hello, sir.”

“Hello, Stitch.”

His voice is very gentle. Not loud at all.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, sir.”

Then, belatedly–

“How are you feeling?”

The General smiles, and Stitch relaxes. “Quite all right, Stitch. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly.

They sit in silence for a long moment until something occurs to him.

“Did you make it quiet?”

“I did.”

“Oh. How?”

“Nothing in your head, if that’s what you’re worried about,” General Kenobi says easily, and Stitch hastily remembers to worry about that and then remembers to be relieved that he doesn’t have to. “I have a friend who gets… overstimulated. Have you heard the term psychometry before?”

Stitch shakes his head.

“It is, in essence, the ability to read impressions by touch. Very useful, when used carefully, but occasionally he will glean something by accident, and sometimes those things are… overwhelming. We– myself and my friends– learned when we were much younger what would help. Creating a bubble of sorts would muffle other stimuli and give him time to reorient himself.”

He gives Stitch a sideways look, and says pointedly, “He’s quite the fierce fighter, and I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

Stitch ducks his head, feeling a burning flush crawl up the back of his neck.

“The– the bubble,” he says haltingly. “Did you– when you make it– with the Force?”

The General lets it slide. “I did.”

Stitch makes a face, and General Kenobi laughs.

He can’t help it. The Force doesn’t make sense, especially not General Kenobi’s, and it bothers him. Helix too, he knows.

He doesn’t think it bothers Needle.

(But then again, he doesn’t think anything manages to bother Needle.)

The General shifts up onto his knees and closes his eyes, and the world–

Stitch doesn’t know how to describe it.

It settles back into place. Quietly. With no itching. And the noise makes sense again.

“Thank you,” he says, remembering, and really means it. “And– here–”

He pulls the cloak off his back and offers it up.

General Kenobi gives him a considering look.

“You could keep it, if you like,” he says. “I have more.”

“It’s not mine, sir.”

“What if I gave it to you?”

Stitch opens his mouth, and then pauses, scowling. Technically, it would be his, he knows, but not– not in the right way–

The weight vanishes from his hand.

“You don’t have to,” General Kenobi informs him gently, slipping his arms into the sleeves. “It was just an offer. But thank you for giving it back.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Would you like me to comm someone?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“All right,” the General accedes easily. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Please don’t be bleeding,” Stitch ventures, and feels immensely pleased with himself when General Kenobi lets out a sudden bark of laughter.

“I’ll try my best.”

Stitch stays sitting against the wall for some time after General Kenobi leaves.

Thinking.

It’s only when voices approach from down the hallway that he levers himself to his feet and makes his way back to the medbay.

One week later, Needle comes in with their deliveries from the recent requisitions order and gleefully informs Stitch that there is something in it for him.

Stitch, bewildered, accepts the package.

After some unsubtle encouragement from Needle, he opens it carefully.

Headphones.

Good headphones.

And the tag–

The tag says his name.

They’re his.

(Properly.)

Later, Stitch concludes that General Kenobi sees the whole galaxy the way Helix sees him.

He thinks that’s a lot of people to love quite so much.

#shoulder the sky #anyway being '81 is 100% stitch's way of describing masking #i have strong feelings about masking-related trauma #also known as “in which i bully stitch to make myself feel better”

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