#so the thing is that i listen to things on repeat
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mee1414 · 3 days ago
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Theyre sharing contacts fr
Screenshot redraw, refrence below the cut
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curryalley · 18 hours ago
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Why don't you ever wanna play?
I'm tired of this piece of string
You sleep as much as I do now
And you don't eat much of anything
I don't know who you're talking to
I made a search through every room
But all I found was dust that moved
In shadows of the afternoon
And listen
About those bitter songs you sing
They're not helping anything
They won't make you strong
So we should open up the house
Invite the tabby two doors down
You could ask your sister if
She doesn't bring her basset hound
Ask the things you shouldn't miss
Tape hiss and the modern man
Cold war and card catalogs
To come join us if they can
For girly drinks and parlor games
We'll pass around the easy lie
Of absolutely no regrets
And later maybe you could try
To let your losses dangle off
The sharp edge of a century
We'll talk about the weather
Or how the weather use to be
And I'll cater
With all the birds that I can kill
let their tiny feathers fill
Disappointment
I'll lie down
And lick the sorrow from your skin
Scratch the terror and begin
To believe you're strong
All you ever want to do is drink and watch TV
frankly that thing doesn't really interest me
I swear I'm going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood
If you don't stop the self-defeating lies you've been repeating since the day you brought me home
I know you're strong
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Bothersome beast, comforting friend
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postracehair · 2 days ago
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gold rush
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max verstappen x reader | 2.4k
max verstappen stands across the room from you at someone else's party. he's not yours, but he could be.
cw: cursing, perhaps overly introspective, allusions to sex, kissing, semi-established relationship without commitment, confessions, being desperately in love with max
a/n: this is a little different from my usual style. i...wrote it in two parts while wine drunk and yearny and listening to gold rush by taylor swift on repeat. it's a lethal combo for a girl, let me tell you. posting in honor of today's qatar win. i really like this one. please be nice to me. <3
--
It's torture.
Standing here across the room, glass in hand, watching.
He just looks so fucking good.
"Fuck me," you mutter. Some deep, animalistic urge tells you to bite clean through the rim of your wine glass. Chew on the shards until they're sand and swallow them easy as anything. It would probably be less painful than what you're currently doing.
Watching.
The object of your scrutiny straightens almost imperceptibly. A minuscule lengthening of his spine invisible to anyone who isn't examining his every move. For someone who is watched more often than not, you're surprised he feels your eyes on him.
But he does.
Max Verstappen turns away from his conversation partner slightly, a barely there shift of his chin to glance around the room. Blue eyes like the fucking ocean or some other cliche you can't think of right now. His focus face, you've called it. That got him to laugh, once, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes driving your heart into a frenzy.
Evaluating, cataloging. Looking for the racing line and finding -- you.
Leaning back on the wall not ten yards from him, wine glass in hand.
You're going to heat it up with your palm holding it like that, he'd told you once. You have to hold the stem.
They teach you that in Monaco? you'd teased.
Flirtations. One of a hundred, a thousand. Nothing memorable for him, you tell yourself. Each conversation an axis-shifting event for you.
It's embarrassing, actually. To want someone this much. To be one of millions.
But you know. You know how he looks in an empty room, how he mutters to himself when he folds his laundry, how he straightens his shoes against the wall of every hotel room.
You know him.
Maybe that's why this is dangerous. You've got ammo, you've got evidence. You know that Max Verstappen is like the rest of the world. A boy who wanted desperately turned into a man who has everything. And still wants.
Is that what binds us all together? The depth of our longing?
Max finds your gaze and holds it. The girl he's talking to -- pretty, smart. You know her peripherally -- keeps speaking, hand not holding her drink waving in the air, eyes focusing somewhere above his hairline.
Lots of people make this mistake. It's all in his eyes, if you can stand to look at them. Everything he's feeling. A challange that, once met, melts into an open door. He'll show you everything if you just step over the threshold, invited or not. Sometimes all we want is someone to bang on the door when we're already in bed. Make us get up, come downstairs. There you are. I was waiting for you.
The eyes tell you everything. You take a long sip of your wine and he watches, jaw ticking. He didn't shave today. The light stubble makes him look older, though you know his heart. Fluttering like a boy's, yearning like a child's. He wants just like you do. If only you knew what and just how much.
I don't know what comes next, he said. His head in your lap, hair soft and golden between your fingers. What else is there?
So much, you said. You traced the line of his nose with the pad of your thumb. That's the best thing about it.
About what?
Life.
There is a world in which you came to this party together. Distant, fuzzy. You mussed his hair with your hands after begging him to leave the gel on the shelf. He kissed off your lipstick before you made it out the door. The steady beat of his heart under your palm in the doorway, a sure reminder of the dip he makes in the universe. Your center, always orbiting around him.
Reality is louder. More crowded, smells like champagne and burnt pastry. It's a room full of people where you can only look at one. Where he's looking back.
You jerk your chin towards the back hallway, the one the leads to the bathroom only the girls go to in pairs. To debrief, to prepare. A secret from the hostess meant for moments of reprieve. At the very least, you'll need one of those.
It you're lucky, one of those will come to you on two legs and stormy eyes.
Could you be imagining it? Wouldn't be the first time you lived in your head a little too long. But -- fuck. The dreams you've had. The way you've looked at your life and slotted him into it. It's almost too easy, a game with no stakes. But the buy in is steep, nonrefundable. How you got here is irrelevant. You have to pay up.
You wind your way through laughing people, velvet dresses and barely buttoned shirts. Sparkly eye shadow and satin bows, well-wishes and chaste kisses. 'Tis the damn season, indeed. 
The hallway is quiet. No one in the bathroom, the door hanging open, light off. You lean back on the wall, glass loose in your fingers. Eyes closed, wondering if you'll wake up somewhere else. Somewhere you want less, somewhere your blood isn't singing, isn't begging you to get closer to him.
"You look nice," Max says. Your lips curve into a smile, a smirk, a grimace. Are they not all the same around him? Teeth showing, muscles out of control. He bypasses all of your sense, worms his way into your bloodstream with just a word.
"Thanks," you manage. Eyes open, now, and fuck, you feel it. Right in the chest, like a punch that digs beneath your ribs and takes its pound of flesh.
Max looks good. You saw it from across the room but here, in front of you, you can see it more clearly.
There's something about him. A boyishness that remains around the eyes, the mouth. Hopeful mischief, maybe. Eternal youth, promise, faith.
God. This would all be so much easier if you weren't in love with him.
He studies you. Takes his time, gaze tracing the lines of your face. Your brows, your lashes. Nose, lips. Lips. His eyes stop there.
"You were staring," he says. Never one to back down from a challenge. Never one to let you off easy. It's a compliment, the way he drags you to the ring. Keep up with me, he's saying. Make it interesting.
"Yeah," you say, slowly. It drips out of your mouth, lingers in the air between you. "You look good."
His eyes flash. You're meeting his expectations. Always hard to live up to those, when the standard he holds himself to is so damn high. He expects you to climb up that mountain, too. If only to show that you're wiling to. That he's worth it. That you want to.
And he does look good. Max values honesty above most things, but his cheeks flush all the same. It's pretty, not that you'd tell him that. Maybe one more glass of wine and you would. It's not an original thought, far from it, but you reach for him all the same, liquid courage loading the barrel and cocking the gun.
You cup his cheek, thumb pressing to the corner of his mouth. Like a marionette with his strings cut, he sighs. You breath with him, leaning in. Everything else fades away, the world turning around the place where his skin touches yours. Palm on his stubbled cheek, eyes locked like you're moored to each other.
This is why you haven't let him go. Because it's like this. It's insane.
And Max knows it.
"What are we doing?" he whispers. His throat bobs and he looks unsure. Not an expression you've seen on him very often, but maybe that's the punchline.
This matters to him. Maybe as much as it matters to you. He leans into your palm and the fingers of one hand curl around your hips, pressing hard enough to bruise. He carefully tugs your wine glass from your grip and sets it on the thin table in the hall before crowding you agains the wall.
"I don't know," you whisper back. You're close enough that he must feel your breath on this lips. It's inexplicable, this feeling -- you should know. You've tried.
He reorients everything, you've said over and over again. It's like I'm seeing the world for the first time, but with him in it.
His breath is hot on your lips. "I need you," he says. "I --" He swallows. Pupils swelling, mouth set. You half expect him to pull on a racing suit and get in the car.
"Max," you manage. It's not a surprise, not really, but it stings the way that only the things you want can. "I--
"Nothing else is like this," he says, sounding more sure than you've ever heard. "No matter what, or who, it's not like this. I'm always thinking of you."
Something inside you crumples. Your very bones, maybe. Your heart, surely. He can't just say these things.
"Don't say if it you don't mean it," you manage. Your throat is thick, tears resting just behind your eyes. It makes sense to no one else, this love. This passion, this soul tie.
"I mean it," he says, voice steady. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask this of you, but I am. I'm asking."
Love me. Stick by me. Tell me you feel it, too.
You close your eyes again, but what appears behind your lids is no less than what's actually happening to you. This is the stuff of dreams, the deepest part of your heart that beats his name.
"I don't know how to do this," you whisper. His lips drag from your pulse point to your ear.
"Me neither," he replies. "But we have to try."
"I've wanted you for so long," you gasp. His fingers have snuck under the hem of your shirt, nails scratching up and down your back. "Max--"
Your name is a prayer on his tongue, a blessing, a benediction. A plea. You've never felt so safe as when he is at your altar.
"Let's go," he says. "Let's get out of here."
The where doesn't matter. The how, the why, the when. It doesn't matter.
Sometimes, things just happen the way they are supposed to. Lovers unite, reunite, and love. Is that not enough?
"Bet you say that to all the girls."
Your voice is hoarse, ragged. The opposite of his well-honed determination, his tunnel vision. You wanted this, didn't you? But you're stalling. Having and wanting are different.
"No," Max says. "Hey, look at me."
For all your talk, you keep doing anything he asks. It's so easy. You are so safe in his hands, even if they burn.
He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth and you open your eyes. Despite the drinks you watched him down they're clear. Ablaze with certainty.
"Max," you whisper. His nostrils flare.
"Just you," he says. "You have me. Just you."
He does this thing, when he's away. You bought him a keychain -- a lion, of course -- on a whim. Figured he'd throw it in a drawer somewhere and forget about it. But then he sent you a photo from a country you've never been to, holding up his keys, the lion dangling in the sunlight.
You get photos from all around the world, now.
Maybe...maybe, you can believe him. Maybe you can take. Maybe dreams can bleed into waking.
What else is there to do? His jaw ticks, lips parted as he exhales. You feel it, warm and shaky. That won't do.
The kiss doesn't surprise him. It's inevitable, a corner he's driven in his sleep, the finish line that always waits for him. Max always knows where he is going and maybe he knew you were on the way here, too.
And god, does he know how to kiss you. You're the one who leans in but he takes the wheel quickly, one hand pressing into your lower back under your shirt and the other dragging up your ribs to settle on your jaw. He licks into your mouth like there's a secret to find, like he can peel back your layers and find your heart in his palms, beating in time with his.
Nights in his bed, slow mornings watching him wake. Phone calls just to hear you breathe, texts and gifts and hints that, if you'd just say so, this could be more. This could be it.
But he's waited. You realize he's waited for you.
"You have me," you say, pulling away with a gasp. His lips chase yours, hovering so close that every word makes them brush. Your hands are woven in his hair, noses pressed together. Almost one person. "Max," you breathe. "You have me."
There are a thousand ways this could go wrong. Even if your world orbits around him, even if his heart is magnetized to yours, a star in the sky always pointing north -- reality is not so kind. It will be hard. No one will understand. People will want what you have, what you will hold dear for the rest of your life.
But it doesn't matter. Because Max -- a world champion, a boy who wanted who became a man who had everything -- is holding you. He smiles so wide it spreads to you, two smiles pressed together in the dim light of someone else's party.
"Okay," you whisper. "Okay, let's go."
He kisses you once more, sloppy, teeth clacking, and grabs your hand. Out of the hall, through the party, barely a word for anyone else. Everybody wants you, you told him once. Hm, he'd said. I don't know about that.
But he gleams. He shines, flushed cheeks and bright eyes as he looks back to check that you're still there. Squeezing your hand in his, a man on a mission. Following that racing line all the way home, all eyes on him. But he knows where he's going.
Out of the party and onto the quiet street, breath floating up and away in excited puffs. Under the streetlight Max looks ethereal. Beautiful, boyish, in love. He's a dream come to life.
Your dream. Looking back at you like he's thinking the same.
He says your name like he's been looking everywhere and finally found you. Reaching the end of the road, throwing the door open and falling to his knees. An answer. The answer.
He kisses you on the empty street. You fall, and fall, and fall.
Together.
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theereina · 2 days ago
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Big Mama | You're Supposed To Know
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC
Wordcount: +2K
Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, angst, verbal argument
Synopsis: When an argument between Terry and Havana sends them into a spiral, love is the last thing on their minds. Terry’s inability to see the situation through Havana’s POV becomes the single catalyst for a bomb that's ready to self-destruct.
Now, Terry must come to terms with the fact that this may be the end, and it’s all his fault. In a moment of desperation, Terry returns home and seeks advice from his parents. His parents give him raw and unfiltered guidance that shakes Terry to his core.
“Will Terry’s indiscretions ruin everything he and ‘Vana have built, and is forgiveness even an option?”
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Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 5 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 6 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 7 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 8 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 9 => 🦋
*Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥
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“’Vana, don't you walk away from me!” Terry yelled behind me as I stormed out of the bedroom.
“No, fuck this! I'm going home! You’re acting like I'm the problem!” I yelled back. I continued to walk into the living room without slowing my pace.
I was on fire. My mind was going 100 miles a minute, and nothing was going to calm me down. I didn't want to talk anymore. Terry's lack of understanding could only be tolerated for so long. He was letting his pride get in the way.
“Come here!” Terry said, grabbing my arm.
“Let me fuckin' go! I'm not doin' this anymore. I'm sick of explainin’ myself!” I yelled as I snatched my arm from Terry.
“Aight, ‘Vana. Calm yo’ ass down. We've been at this all day, and I'm tired. What the hell are you still mad for?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
What was I still mad for? Terry couldn't be this dumb or naïve.
“What am I still mad for? What kinda dumbass question is that? You don't see what you did wrong?” I asked, stepping closer to him.
“Watch it! You gettin’ beside yourself, mama. Keep it civil,” Terry said, eyeing me. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
Anger was the only emotion present in the room as hues of red dominated our auras. Red was all we had the capacity to see at this point. Our eyes veiled in our pursuit of blood. Lacking empathy and compassion in every word we spewed out of spite. There were no white flags in our future.
We were no longer seeking a resolution, instead, we were now struggling to declare a winner. Who was right? Who was wrong? Who did this? Who did that?
Ears were no longer listening as we were too focused on responding. Quick, sharp tongues leave no room for gentleness. Battling it out like two wordsmiths who hate each other, finding value in inflicting pain with the same lips we used to express the deepest depths of love.
Unknowingly, we both wanted it to stop, but that meant someone had to lose. Unfortunately, I was stubborn, and so was he. Neither set of lips yielded long enough for a reprieve. This was nothing more than a senseless act of immaturity. Both of us were unaware of just how fierce and passionate the other could be when we felt unheard or misunderstood.
“Civil? Keep it civil?! You can't be that dumb, Terry? You don't see nothin' wrong with what you did… Better yet, what you didn't do?” I asked, poking him in the chest.
“Don't do that!” Terry said as he lightly grabbed my hand. “Just stop it, ‘Vana! Use your fuckin' words and talk!” he said, putting my hand by my side.
“Don't fuckin' touch me! You obviously don't care! I've talked all damn day. I've used my words. I've cried. I've… I've… I'm done!” I said, turning on my heels.
“What did I just say?! Stop walkin’ away and talk!” he yelled again.
My movements stopped. I was beyond exhausted. We had repeated the same conversation over and over. Each time getting an even worse result. This fight would not end tonight or maybe ever.
With a heavy heart, I decided for both of us.
At this moment, I would rather walk away than continue to fight. Even if I felt like I was right, we were too far gone. There was probably no coming back from this. Trust was gone. Communication was broken. Feelings were hurt. Lines were crossed. Too much was said, and too much was left uncertain. My heart was damaged. Maybe, I wasn't built for this.
“I'm not repeating myself again! If you think you're right, fine. Fuck it. I don't care anymore. There's nothing more for me to say when you're supposed to know…. Hell… How don't you know?” I said, opening the front door.
I walked out the door, half expecting Terry to stop me. When he didn't follow me, it only reinforced my decision.
After all of that, I was forfeiting this battle.
I conceded. He won.
“Son, tell me what happened?” Rochelle, Terry's mother asked earnestly. She leaned over and kissed Terry's head, hoping to comfort him.
One thing Ms. Rochelle didn't play about was her baby boy Terry. She had yet to meet Havana, so this was a bit of a problem, considering her baby had shown up teary-eyed and distraught over a girl she had never met.
“She found out about what happened between me and Taylor. I was gonna tell her at first, but then I didn't see the need to. It ended right there. It ain't like I kept communicatin’ with her,” Terry said, leaning back in his seat on the couch.
“What you mean by that? What happened wit’ you and Taylor? Mae Ann told me Taylor said she saw you a few days ago. Is that it, or is there more to this story?” Rochelle said, rubbing Terry's back.
“I mean… yes and no,” Terry shrugged.
“Son, spit it out,” she said, rolling her eyes. She could see straight through Terry. He was trying his hardest to repress his feelings, but Rochelle knew Terry was at war inside his head. What she didn't know was that Terry’s internal monologue was growing more chaotic by the second.
“I met up with Taylor after she texted me. She asked me to go with her to Eli’s grave. I mean, we were together when he died. So, I felt like maybe she just needed a friend. So I went—,” Terry said.
“Terrence Richmond! I'm starting to see why this woman was pissed off. You met up with your ex, and didn't think to tell her that? Even if nothing happened, that leaves way too much up for interpretation. Use your brain, baby!” Rochelle said, crossing her arms.
“Well, I didn't want her to get mad at me or get the wrong idea,” Terry said, sinking into the couch.
“And how did that work out, huh?” she said, leaning up to grab Terry's face and forcing him to look at her. “Look at me,” she continued.
“I just thought it would be best if she didn't know. I know ‘Vana. She woulda tried to kill Taylor. Hell, she'd probably woulda tried to kill me, too!” Terry exclaimed. Pausing to gather his thoughts, Terry tried to figure out the best way to tell his mother the rest of the story. “To be honest, Mama, that ain't even the worst part. Taylor kissed me, and… uh… tried to… uh… touch… y’know,” Terry said, nodding towards his groin.
“Unh unh! Terrence, did you at least stop the girl?” she asked loudly. The more her son talked the more she understood Havana’s sentiment. She would wring his father's neck if he didn't tell her about something like this.
“Yes, of course I did. We were in my truck which made it worse. I pushed her off and held her back as best I could, but I was driving. Plus, she kept tryin', so I dropped her off at Julie's. I promise, Mama. Nothing happened. I just honestly didn't know what to do after that,” Terry said, letting his face fall into his hands.
“Nothing happened, my ass! So, you mean to tell me that you let this girl kiss and touch all over you, then expected your girlfriend to be okay with it? Wait a damn minute… I thought you said you didn't tell her,” Rochelle said, knitting her eyebrows together.
“I didn't… She did,” Terry mumbled under his breath.
“Who did? Who is she? What are y—. Terrence! I know damn well you didn't let Talyor tell her first. Come on, honey. This ain't right, and you know it. You should've known this wasn't gonna end well,” she said, popping Terry upside his head.
“Rochelle!” Terry’s father, Franklin, yelled as he entered the room.
“Go ‘head. Tell your father about the mess you done got yourself into. Franky, you gotta hear this,” Rochelle said, shifting in her seat.
Franklin sat in his recliner, facing Terry. “Boy! Talk! Ain't no sense in hangin’ ya' head,” he said, leaning up to get Terry's attention.
Terry sat in silence for a moment. He started the story over, telling it from beginning to end. The more he talked, the more he realized how disappointed his parents looked and the worse he felt. It was becoming more evident to him that he fucked up. Havana had every right to be mad.
“Chelle, can you give us a minute? I think this might be one of those conversations, baby,” Franklin said, rising from the recliner.
“Alright. Please, talk some sense into this boy,” Rochelle said, standing.
Franklin approached Terry's mother kissing her on the cheek. Rochelle left the room and left the two men alone. Franklin knew that this was a conversation that needed a Father's touch. His mother could only understand to a certain extent.
“Son, listen. Before I even start speaking, do you even know what you did wrong?” he asked as he sat back in his recliner.
“Yes. I just… I just didn't think it was that serious. I never wanted to hurt ‘Vana. I love her too much. I thought I was protecting her,” Terry said, looking at his father.
Franklin stared at his son. The look on Terry's face was all too familiar. This was the face of a man who knew he messed up but didn't know if he could fix his mistake. He knew his son well enough to see that whoever this girl was she had Terry's heart— all of it.
“That’s a start. At least, you know you were wrong. Listen to me, son. When it comes to women…., or better yet, when it comes to love, omission is lyin’. It doesn't matter what your intentions were. You let another woman tell your woman something she didn't know about. What makes it worse is that Taylor ain't some random woman, she’s a woman you gotta past wit’. That’s gonna immediately throw some doubt in there no matter how much she trusts you. I can only imagine how Taylor spun that story. So, of course, her initial thoughts are gonna be all over the place. She’s gonna question why you weren't the one to tell her, and if nothing happened, why'd you hide it? You left too much unanswered, son. Then, you let another woman answer for you,” Franklin said. He could see the wheels turning in Terry’s head.
“I know, Dad. It’s just that I don't even think she wants to see me, let alone talk. ‘Vana was more than pissed. She looked hurt. I shoulda followed her. I shouldn't have let her leave. She was right there—,” Terry said, sniffling.
“Son, what I'm about to say is gonna hit you like a shot of whiskey with no chaser. Stop thinking like a man and think like a lover. Don't you dare call that woman tryin' to talk over no phone. Go find her, and let her know how you feel. Meet her wherever she's at, pour yo’ heart, hit yo’ knees. Do whateva you need to get yo’ woman. But before you go over there, you gotta come to terms with something. She don't have to listen, and she for damn sure don't have to forgive ya’. All you can do is let her know how you feel. Hell, show her how you feel. You want that girl bad enough; you won't give a damn about how you look in that moment. Look at me, Terrence! When you get done, her heart should be full, and yours should be empty. Do you understand me?!”
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A/N: Remember, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.
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h0neylevi · 2 days ago
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Chapter Two
After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.
General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.
chapter warnings: brief discussion of human trafficking
word count: 3.2k
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“Where did you find him again?”
“On my way home last night on the subway.”
“... And he was–”
“In the full scout uniform, yeah.”
Your friend and fellow nurse, Allie, pauses in the wake of your words, eyes fixed on the door at the other end of the hall where one of the hospital’s doctors took Levi to be examined.
They’ve been back there for over an hour now, and you’re starting to get nervous. If this goes badly, you’re never going to live it down with your coworkers.
“Is he hot?”
Your jaw hangs when Allie’s words register, and you turn back to her with an incredulous look.
“I told you all that and that’s what you take from it?”
She raises her hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’m just saying, if the universe decided to drop a man into my lap that thought he was Erwin Smith, I would take advantage of the situation.”
That, oddly enough, makes you laugh.
“He isn’t Levi Ackerman,” you say once you’ve calmed down. “He probably just hit his head on the way from a costume party and got confused.”
On the other side of the nurse’s station, Allie groans and gets up. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I’m being realistic,” you defend.
“We see weirder things walk into this hospital every day.”
“I think an anime character come to life would surpass anything we’ve ever seen.”
With a defeated little sigh, she grabs a file and rounds the corner. “Well, whatever he is, I have to get back to work.” She taps the file on your shoulder as she passes. “Have fun with Beyblade. Let me know what Paul says.”
Just as she starts down the corridor, the door at the end of the hall opens and Dr. Paul Holloway exits the exam room. His expression is solemn as he gestures for you to join him.
“Thank you again for doing this on such short notice, Dr. Holloway,” you greet him. “Did you find out anything?”
He looks down for a moment at the clipboard in his hand. “Well, the only thing really to note is that he doesn’t seem to know what year it is or where he is, but all of his tests and scans came back normal. Cognition and reflexes otherwise seem to be just fine.”
He rifles through the pages for a moment before continuing. “There are no drugs in his system, and no significant injuries that I could find that would cause this sort of temporary amnesia, so I would have to refer him out to a specialist if you wanted more answers. But as of now, my only guess could be that maybe he was trafficked and escaped. Possibly in a fugue state for so long that he has no recollection of how he got here.”
You listen intently. That wouldn’t explain the clothes you found him in, but it’s worth considering all the same. Large cities were usually hubs for human trafficking. It’s more likely than Allie’s theory at least.
Dr. Holloway seems to sense your thought process. “He should recover his memories soon, but I would suggest maybe filing a police report. I’m sure he has a family out there somewhere who’s missing him.”
You consider it. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I’ll mention it. Thanks again, Dr. Holloway.”
“Of course.”
You wait quietly as he opens the exam room door again and beckons Levi out.
He’s just as passive as ever when he sees you waiting. With a departing nod, Dr. Holloway continues down the hall to another exam room.
“So,” you begin, “how are you feeling?”
“Like a test subject,” Levi grumbles, falling into step with you. “Four-Eyes would love this place.”
You turn to look at him. “Huh?”
“Nothing,” he quickly says. “So, are you satisfied now? I can go?”
You walk through the nearby exit door on the side of the building and onto the street.
“Well, Dr. Holloway didn’t find anything wrong, so I guess you’re welcome to go wherever you like,” you say. “But I really think you should go to the police. I think something really bad has happened to you, Levi. They might be able to help you.”
While you speak, Levi looks around, studying the cars as they pass and the tall buildings.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” he sighs. “I think I’m too far from home to go back.”
The recognition that bleeds through his tone makes you curious. “Do you remember where you’re from?”
“It doesn’t matter.” His mouth twists into a frown. “It’s definitely not around here.”
You want to keep pressing but ultimately decide against it. It isn’t as if it’s any of your business, but you feel a sense of responsibility for his well-being. You were the one who found him, and if you have the means to help him get to where he needs to go, you’d be willing to offer. It isn’t as if you’ve got anything else going on in your life, but you can only do so much when he doesn’t want you to pry into his personal life.
“Well...” you trail off, unsure. “I need to get some groceries but once we get back to my place, I can wash your clothes before you leave. That’ll give you some time to decide what you want to do.”
To your surprise, it doesn’t take him long to agree.
“Okay,” he nods. “Let’s go.”
**
The supermarket isn’t far from your apartment, so you get onto the city metro together. It’s a familiar route to you, but it’s clear that Levi isn’t accustomed to the amount of people that cram themselves together into the narrow space at once.
There aren’t any seats when you climb on, so you’re forced to stand together in one of the corner exits. At the very least, Levi remembers to grab onto one of the handrails just before the train starts moving—an action that he still seems to find disgusting despite the necessity.
“What?” you laugh at his pinched expression.
“I think I preferred it the way it was last night,” he remarks, not doing anything to hide his distaste while looking around. “How often do these things get cleaned?”
You blink. “Uh, I don’t know. Probably only when something seriously hazardous happens. Like blood or puke.”
The look on his face only grows.
“Don’t worry. I have sanitizer in my bag. I can give you some when we get off,” you promise. “I never got rid of the habit from covid.”
The way Levi’s brows furrow suggest that he doesn’t know what either of those things are either, but you just shake your head, wordlessly promising to explain later.
Once you’re off the train and back out onto the street, you move to the side to pull the aforementioned bottle out of your bag. Levi watches quietly until you reach and squeeze some of the liquid into his upturned palm.
He lifts it closer to his face. “What is this?”
“It’s sanitizer,” you say, rubbing your hands together. “Just rub it in like this. It kills the germs on your hands that you can get from touching random surfaces.”
He follows your example, albeit a bit more slowly, and you set off again down the street.
The rest of the walk is done mostly in silence. Thankfully, Levi doesn’t seem to mind. He chooses mostly to walk along beside you, occasionally looking up at skyscrapers as you pass them or balk at the occasional interaction on the street. There’s a sense of wonder and curiosity that settles on his face, smoothing out the stern glare that you’ve seen him wear since you first found him on the metro.
It really is like he’s never seen anything like it before, and you wonder again about his history. He doesn’t seem afraid of anything, merely curious as he walks, and he carries himself confidently. Like a soldier…
No, that was Allie influencing your thoughts. There’s no way this man was the Levi Ackerman. Even if he had his hair, his stature, the same sullen expression, and similar mannerisms to ones you’ve seen in the anime. It’s an impossible thought. You’re not even considering it.
“What are you staring at?”
You blink and realize that he’s looking at you now and holy shit, his eyes are even that shade of blue-grey.
You turn forward again just as a crosswalk changes for you to go. “Nothing,” you say quickly. “You just… remind me of someone.”
He doesn’t reply—most likely because he doesn’t care—but you’re grateful that he doesn’t pay it any mind.
But by the time you’ve entered the supermarket and grabbed a cart, your curiosity outweighs your hesitation.
“Can I ask you something?”
Beside you, Levi scans the produce aisle you’re approaching with passive interest. “That depends.”
Ignoring him, you press forward. “Is there some reason you won’t tell me what’s going on?”
You speak and he turns to look at you, his brows furrowed.
“I mean, it’s pretty obvious that there’s more to what happened than you’re letting on,” you continue. “And I know it’s none of my business, but…”
“You’re right. It is none of your business.”
The comment stings more than you expect, but you try to quickly brush it off. You don’t know this man, and in a matter of an hour or so he’ll be gone. You’d promised yourself that as long as he was healthy, you wouldn’t meddle.
But after everything you’ve done for him, it still feels unfair to treat you so dismissively. He acts like you’re a nuisance more than the person who cleaned him up and gave him a place to sleep out of the cold.
The ensuing silence is tense. You push your cart forward, suddenly eager to get out as quickly as possible. The faster you get home, the quicker he leaves. If that’s what he wants after everything you’ve done, he can have it.
You’re moving through the selection of deli cheeses when Levi speaks up again.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says in a low voice. “I wouldn’t believe it myself if I wasn’t witnessing it with my own eyes.”
You look around, following his gaze as it skims over the refrigerated walls of pre-packaged meat and cheese.
“What are you talking about? It’s a grocery store.”
He huffs. “That doctor said the year was 2024.”
You change course, leading the way into an aisle of canned goods. “Yeah?”
It’s quiet for a long moment. Levi’s arms are crossed over his chest as he follows along.
“I don’t know how it happened, but I’m not from here.” He pauses for a moment as you pull some cans from a shelf and place them in your cart. “I’m not from this time.”
You stop for a moment and look at him. On his face is the same look he had the night before, that same sincerity when he told you he’d been looking for some sort of headquarters.
You can’t help it. You chuckle. “You’re talking about time travel.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
You continue down the aisle and turn into the next one. “Levi, there’s never been a recorded instance of time travel…ever. It’s never happened.”
Levi rolls his eyes. “See? You don’t believe me.”
“It isn’t about believing you. It’s impossible.”
But even as you say it, you don’t feel entirely convinced that it’s true.
Improbable, sure. Very unlikely. Insane that you’re even considering it, but the more you think about it, the more the pieces seem to fall into place.
The way you found him, his clothes, the way he looks around at everything like he’s seeing it all for the first time. There’s no indication that he has a serious head injury, so you can’t fall back on that anymore. And the trafficking? Well… You’ve been trained to look for red flags, and nothing about his situation seems to fit with that explanation.
Plus, there are the coins you found in the pockets of his clothes this morning. Copper and silver ones bearing symbols you don’t recognize. The silhouette of a woman in a crown.
You’d looked up every conceivable country that you could think of that might fit the bill and nothing had matched.
There’s no way that what he’s saying is true though, right? If you believe him, you’d have to believe all of it—meaning that he is Levi Ackerman and that the events of Attack on Titan are real.
No, that’s silly. In all of recorded history, there’s never been a single event that coincides with the existence of man-eating titans. Belief in giants is a fringe theory not backed by actual evidence.
But, still. Just to humor him.
“What time are you from then?” you ask.
“854.”
You stop and stare at him. “You realize that’s…over a thousand years ago, right?”
With his mouth in a thin line, Levi nods.
You continue to stare, waiting for a break in his composure. The inevitable laugh that will surely come, marking this entire conversation as a joke, but it never comes.
“You’re serious,” you finally say.
Levi blinks. “You believe me?”
God, what do you believe? “I…” You bring your hands to your face. The middle of the pasta aisle is not the place to be weighing the possibility of time travel. “No,” you finally say. “I mean, I don’t know…can you prove it?”
Levi raises a brow. “How am I supposed to prove it to you?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one claiming to be over a thousand years old.”
“I’m not claiming to be—” he cuts himself off with an irritated sigh. “You’re just as bad as the brats back home.”
Something in your patience finally snaps.
You start walking again, needing space. “You know, you could stand to be a bit nicer to me considering all I’ve done for you.”
For a long moment, there’s only the rattling sound of the cart’s wheels as they roll down the aisle.
“I am grateful,” Levi finally says, surprisingly still following next to you. “But I didn’t ask you to interfere.”
“Well, most people wouldn’t have just left a man to bleed all over the metro. I’m sorry I have basic human decency.”
“Basic human decency would have been pointing me in the direction of the nearest sink,” he points out. “You let me sleep on your couch.”
You turn to glare at him. “I’m sorry, are you complaining right now?”
“I’m saying that I don’t like owing people,” he says.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have done the same thing for anyone.”
Levi doesn’t look like he completely believes you, but at least he lets the matter rest. 
He follows you the rest of the way through the store in thoughtful silence.
Left to your own devices, you grab things without thinking, relying on muscle memory to lead you to the items you usually buy. It isn’t as if you deviate much from your favorite meals, so the rest of the process is quick.
By the time you’ve grabbed everything you need, your mood has improved enough that you feel a bit remorseful for doubting him.
Even if it was a weird idea, Levi appeared genuine. Like Dr. Holloway had said, he’d probably regain his memories soon. If he really didn’t remember anything about modern life, he was going to need someone to help him.
Maybe he shouldn’t leave so soon.
It isn’t until you turn around to speak that you realize you’re alone. A quick look around the aisle confirms that Levi’s nowhere to be seen. That’s odd. When had he wandered off?
You begin searching back through the aisles and after a few minutes, you spot him. Standing in front of the long, neat shelves lined with tea and coffee. Something akin to dread settles into your stomach at the sight.
He glances over as you approach and places a box back on the shelf. A beat passes before he clears his throat and says, “I’ve never seen so much tea in one place before.”
“Do you want some?” you ask, glancing at the box he put back—a black tea blend. He doesn’t respond, simply skimming over the labels again with a peculiar glint in his eye.
You don’t wait for an answer and pluck the box off of the shelf. He doesn’t stop you as you place it into your cart.
It’s a truce. An apology and an acknowledgment that you’re helping him all in one.
You turn your cart back around and lead the way toward the front. “I’m all done. Let’s go.”
**
The walk back home isn’t as tense as before, but it isn’t exactly comfortable either.
You keep watching Levi every chance you get. He appears more thoughtful. His gaze lingers just as it always has on the buildings and the people walking past. Cars, billboards, restaurants, all of it.
It’s got to be overwhelming. Not that you're believing him, but if he believes that he isn’t from this time, it has to be a shock to see so many unfamiliar things at once.
“What are you thinking about?” you finally ask.
His expression remains passive as he takes a deep breath, like he’s grounding himself. “Everything just looks so…”
“Artificial?” you supply when he pauses, but the look on his face tells you he’s confused by the word you use. You try again. “Uh, not natural?”
“I was going to say clean.” His voice goes soft as he looks around again. “The air is clean.”
Not sure how to respond, you turn forward and continue down the street.
It doesn’t take much longer to reach your apartment.
Levi helps carry the bags of groceries upstairs and into your kitchen, where he stands awkwardly as you unload everything into their respective spots. Luna, still curious, climbs onto the table nearby, making Levi scowl.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t shoo her away when he decides to take a seat, and he even goes so far as to let her sniff him as he looks out of the window.
You smile when you hear her chirp. A noise that you know she makes when she feels like she’s being ignored.
“You can pet her, you know?” you look over your shoulder to tell him.
He meets you with a bored look. “I know. I don’t want to.”
As if she can understand him, Luna meows again.
After you put the last item away in your fridge, you move to sit at the table across from him.
“So what are you going to do?” you ask.
“I don’t know,” he replies, and for the first time, he sounds truly at a loss.
“Well, you’re welcome to keep staying here for a bit longer,” you say, petting Luna when she slinks over to you. “Until we figure something out.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “We,” he repeats.
You meet his gaze evenly. “Look, I don’t know where you came from or how you got here, but you’re here now and you’re still a human being. As long as you’re open to letting me help, I will.”
He seems to think on it for a moment before agreeing. “There are worse things in the world, I suppose.”
And you think that’s as close to a thank you as you’ll get.
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devildomwriter · 21 hours ago
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Marshmallows For Toasting | Belphegor & Beelzebub x Reader
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.7K Words | GN! Reader | CW: Slightly Suggestive
You leaned into Beelzebub’s shoulder as you held your stick over the crackling fire. Beelzebub hummed happily as he ate the marshmallows right along with his stick. You sighed and wiped some goo from the corner of his lip.
He blushed and thanked you, his stomach growling again.
“How can you be so hungry after digesting so many sticks…?” You questioned and he looked apologetic as he began eating marshmallows right from the bag instead of spending time toasting them.
You were so lost in thought you didn’t notice your marshmallow had caught on fire.
“___,” Beelzebub managed to say after gulping down some water to wash down the sticky sweets.
“Hm?” You questioned and he pointed at your stick. “Oh, shoot!” You exclaimed and took it away. You blew the fire out and immediately held the stick to Beelzebub’s mouth.
His eyes sparkled, “really?”
“I’m not a fan of pure carbon…” you chuckled and he immediately ate the burnt marshmallow.
You admired your hungry giant happily chewing when you felt a hand run across your head.
“Hm?” You questioned when you felt Belphegor embrace you from behind.
“Having all the fun without me?” He asked, pretending to pout.
“Hi Belphie,” Beelzebub greeted his twin with delight.
Belphegor kissed your forehead and played with your hair as you handed him a marshmallow and stick.
“So….” He began, “Why are we roasting marshmallows inside? And…why are we using real sticks?”
“Watch for a second,” you advised and he watched Beelzebub pull out more marshmallows from the bag, stuff them onto a stick, and proceed to eat the whole thing before toasting them.
“Oh. That makes sense…but why inside?”
“Lucifer doesn’t trust us to not set the yard on fire,” you admitted and he rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I blame him though,” you said under your breath and Beelzebub tilted his head in confusion as Belphegor laughed.
“So what made you two want to roast marshmallows?” Belphegor asked you as he scooted closer into your side.
“Beelzebub wanted to. I was listening to some Christmas music and they mentioned marshmallows for toasting and chestnuts for roasting. We don’t have chestnuts so we’re roasting marshmallows.”
“I see. Did you go out and buy all of these, then?” He asked as he looked at the dozens of empty bags of marshmallows of all brands, sizes, and colors.
“I had no choice,” you said and Belphegor nodded in agreement.
“Did you use your card?” He prodded and you shook your head.
“Of course not. I used Lucifer’s.”
Belphegor clutched his stomach as he laughed. After he stopped, he patted your back proudly, “That’s my ___.” He grinned and kissed your cheek.
Beelzebub stopped chewing for a moment and downed another glass of water. He stood up and walked away from his pile of uneaten marshmallows to sit down next to you.
“Me too,” he said with puppy eyes and you chuckled and nodded, leaning towards him.
He kissed your cheek and gave a small lick at the corner of your mouth.
Belphegor frowned, “me too,” he repeated and also licked the corner of your mouth.
Your face flushed and you began heating up. Scooting away from the fire didn’t help as the twins remained glued to your side.
Beelzebub began nibbling your neck and Belphegor trailed kisses from your cheek to your collarbone.
“G-guys, not here,” you stuttered and they gave you curious looks.
“What do you mean not here? What do you want not us to do?” Beelzebub asked worried he’d upset you.
Belphegor was faster on the uptake mad grinned mischievously, “Yeah, ___. What is it you’re thinking of?” He teased and wrapped an arm around your waist.
You turned a deeper shade of red and Belphegor smiled triumphantly at his twin.
“Hey, there’s still a while until dinner,” he pointed out while making eye contact with Beel who nodded. “Why don’t we head to our room for a little bit?”
Beelzebub suddenly caught on and nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm. We can have more marshmallows after, and maybe Satan can pick chestnuts up from the store too.”
Belphegor chuckled at his brother’s priorities and looked back at you. Now both brothers stared at you eager for a response. You nodded shyly, “Th-that sounds great.”
The twins smiled at you and Beelzebub scooped you up into his arms, his brother following closely behind as they carried you off to have some fun in their bed.
The marshmallows remained uneaten for several more hours…
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icallhimjoey · 1 day ago
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Almost, Always
♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 
Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?
CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating
Author’s note: i want to thank @lfdybadgirlsdiw again, bc she sent in a small request that mentioned 'former lovers that keep going back to each other, even if they are seeing other people' which then sparked this whole story into existence 🖤 i also want to sincerely apologise to all the girls that have reached out and taught me that none of us lead unique lives (which in this case is terrible, but also, really comforting) thank you for reading! i hope you enjoy this last part, and i'd love to hear your thoughts!
Wordcount: 7.2K
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part one - part two - part three - part four - part five
The world felt muted. Dull, and empty. Deeply hollow, and completely void of colour.
There was only so much shit a person could take before enough was enough, and finally, after accepting the bare minimum from Joe for far too long, you decided you no longer wanted it.
The sky hung heavy, and the beginnings of what would eventually feel like an endless winter promised to keep the mood low and bleak for the rest of the season. There was an under-skin discomfort only the passing of time was going to be able to shed.
You broke up with Joe.
It fucking sucked. There was confusion, and deep hurt. Anger. Defeat.
And yet, you felt weirdly proud of yourself.
“It’d be better for you to leave him.” Emily had told you time and time again. Finally, you’d listened. You knew she was going to be so proud, which gave a small sense of relief.
Everything else felt bleak, though. Like time had stopped on the moment of impact. Hands of the clock frozen in time, forever showing the point at which it truly landed for Joe.
Joe hadn’t felt like this for a long time. Didn’t know if he had ever felt like this before, if he was honest. There was a difficulty in processing the shock, in accepting there was even a shock to begin with, but he knew you were right. It was why he couldn’t stop saying it.
“Don’t feel bad, you’re right. You’re right.”
It felt wrong to be right, and you didn’t want to be right ever again if this is what it’d be like.
The little sliver of pride inside of you wasn’t getting the attention it deserved in the moment, but that was okay. You’d get to it later. And maybe, one day, Joe would too.
“Will you,” Joe broke the silence, voice hoarse and throat in pain. He cleared it, which didn’t help much, and hopefully finished, “Will you stay the night?”
You’d been sat in the quiet dark for quite a while, just listening to each other breathe. It started with Joe perched on the very edge of his sofa, leg shaking as he tried to come to terms with what you were saying.
You’d sat down next to him then, and he’d immediately pulled you close, hands gripping and trying their best to hold onto whatever there was for him to hold onto still.
Just was a shame there wasn’t much left for him to grasp.
“I don’t think I should.”
You wanted to.
Badly.
But you genuinely didn’t think that would be a good idea.
You felt how Joe shifted a little, arms moving to wrap you up differently from how they had been. He was unsure of how to hold you, but tried his best to find a way that made you want to stay.
“Yea. No… you’re right. You probably shouldn’t…”
If you weren’t absolutely determined, the soft brokenness of Joe’s voice would’ve made you give in instantly.
“But will you?” Joe tried again.
“Joe…”
“I know, I know, please, don’t…” Joe faltered. There were a lot of things Joe didn’t want you to do. Please don’t say it. Please don’t repeat yourself.
Please don’t leave.
There was a stillness that had taken over the room - the world - when Joe realised that you weren’t joking. A stillness where even the wind outside hesitated to stir. You weren’t saying shit just to get a reaction out of him. You weren’t trying to get him to say words you wanted him to say. You’d been serious from the second you’d walked into Joe’s flat, and Joe felt stupid how he had just… immediately dismissed you. How he hadn’t even really listened as you spoke to him.
It had been a few days since you’d seen each other, and you’d secretly been collecting and saving bravery. You’d avoided Joe for a few days whilst you kept busy, storing all the courage you could find in a secret spot inside of your body, waiting for it to be enough to drive you into just fucking saying it already.
Joe hadn’t questioned the stupid excuses you’d come up with to not see him a couple of nights in a row. Hadn’t questioned it at all, didn’t seem to really care about it either, which only added to your valour. To the ‘he doesn’t even give a shit’ narrative that you needed to believe with your full heart, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have decided to spontaneously text him, “on my way over” before flying out the door.
If you could stop your hands from shaking, that’d be great, but you were going to do this. You were going to ride this wave of determination, without or with a shaking body.
When you stepped into Joe’s flat, sick with nerves and heavy tension, Joe was hunched over a messy open drawer of a side cupboard.
“Have you seen my earphones? Wired ones?” he rummaged through with both hands.
No hi. No hello. No I’ve not seen you in days, come here, let me kiss you silly.
Have you seen my earphones.
The real important stuff.
“My wireless ones, the left bud has stopped charging itself…”
And you knew exactly where Joe’s wired earphones were.
For a second, you debated giving in. Debated using this as your out. Debated smiling, rolling your eyes all fondly, being the helpful girl Joe needed in this moment. It was tempting to forcibly forget about the one sentence you’d repeated inside of your mind over and over and over again since you’d walked out your door.
Fingers rubbed over the hems of your sleeves as you stood in the doorway still, and you felt where you’d rubbed literal holes into the fabric. 
“Pay a fucking fortune for nice ones and still, it’s the same bullshit, nice or not, it’s…” Joe finally turned his head to look at you when you remained silent. He watched you for a second before he stood up straight.
“Hey… you okay?” he frowned, hands fiddling with whatever junk he’d found instead of what he was looking for.
“I don’t… I don’t think I’m very happy anymore…”
There.
The words were out.
You’d said them, and even though you’d expected the world to maybe crack open and for everything to immediately go to absolute shit... nothing happened.
But you’d said the words, and the tiniest littlest speck of gratification popped up inside of your chest.
You had to actively remember how to breathe, but if you’d leave right now, at least you had said those words.
“All right,” Joe frowned a little, and cast his eyes back down to whatever his hands were doing. “What needs changing then? You can turn the heating up, if you want.”
Joe’s casual dismissal felt sharp as a blade, severing any hope of fixing this. Of saving it. It was completely mismatched to how tense you felt.
“No, I’m not…” you felt your knees shake as Joe continued rummaging. Suddenly, you were way more nervous to say those exact same words once again. “I’m not happy. Anymore.” You had to swallow straight after, mouth dry, tongue thick.
“All right,” Joe made an annoyed face at a random electrical wire he found, and continued, “So what needs changing then?”
His slight annoyance fed everything bad inside. Joe was unknowingly coaxing you into the exact right headspace for what needed doing.
“This.”
Joe still wasn’t looking at you.
“This what?”
Part of you wanted to show your frustration. The anger. Wanted to clench your fists and exhale roughly through flared nostrils to show him, to make him see. You wish you wanted to raise your voice and fight. But the unrelenting defeat of the moment rooted itself deeper inside of your body. The lack of care coming from Joe, the attention he wasn’t giving you, the dismissal of what you’d just told him, because his wired earphones were obviously so much more important than you were... it all combined into nothing more than a simple shrug.
You remained calm, protectively flat, and just… shrugged.
“This.”
You repeated yourself once more, and when Joe didn’t even seem to properly hear you, you looked at the open door that lead to the hallway which had his bedroom at the end of it.
You knew where Joe’s wired earphones were.
What followed were slow and measured footsteps that carried you over into Joe’s bedroom where you found the wired earphones in one of his bedside tables before you slowly made your way back over to him.
With a soft hand, you reached for one of his and held it in yours, palm up, to place the earphones into.
“Oh! Where did you find–”
“I think I need to stop thinking that things are going to ever be different…”
You looked Joe in the eye, and it was like he only then noticed what he was looking at. Like the earphones being found closed a chapter, and now there was attention for you and, oh, you didn’t look very happy.
“It’s never going to be different… is it?”
You looked very sad, actually.
Sort of drained of life.
Really tired.
“Hey, are you all right?” Joe discarded his earphones to the side and grabbed hold of one of your elbows, pulling you a little closer.
“Things aren’t going to ever be different, are they?”
You saw how Joe copied the knit of your eyebrows, face going from a little confused to very suddenly filled with deep worry.
“Wait, what do you mean?”
“Like, with us. This.” You stepped back, just slightly, creating distance.
“Are you… are you being serious right now?” And Joe stepped forward, moving right along with you to close that distance again.
“I think...” you sighed, eyes closed but back straight and chin up. Strong. “I think I need a change.”
“Baby… a change like what? What are you talking about?”
One of Joe’s hands cupped your cheek, thumb pushing underneath your jaw, taking the weight of your whole head as he tipped your head just right for eye-contact.
“Joe, I’m not… this isn’t what I want.”
“Me?”
No.
“Us.”
“Oh…”
Joe’s eyes moved between yours, searching for the slightest little bit of softness you still had for him.
He found it easily.
“I’m sorry.”
But he hadn’t expected the compassion there to be sympathy and pity for the situation you were placing Joe into.
At first, there’d been a surge of angry confusion. Of Joe stepping back and jokingly accusing you of being daft. Of telling you that your heart had frozen over because he probably hadn’t turned the heating up high enough. He asked if you’d eaten. If maybe you’d been drinking. Anything to make sense of what was going on, of why you’d walked into his flat on a random evening to tell him things he didn’t want to hear.
Then, there’d been yelling. Hurried large steps got paced around his living room, his arms flying about in unrestrained wild gestures. “You keep referring to past mistakes! You always say you forgive and forget, but you’re not forgetting shit!”, “Have you been hanging out– did you just come straight over from Emily? Has she been planting shit into your brain that you– you can’t actually be fucking serious right now!”, “God, this is so fucking annoying! You’re being annoying!”, “Are you sure this is what you want to do? The worst. Just the fucking worst!”. Joe’s voice went up as he screamed, cracking when he got too passionate, and you wished that had been new information to you.
Eventually, there’d been a weird composed faux acceptance that felt like a manipulative tranquility that Joe adapted to simply show you that you didn’t actually want what you were asking for. A childish, ‘Fine, I’ll give you what you want, see how it sucks?!’ just to prove to you that you were wrong.
When you didn’t budge, and it all finally really landed, everything changed.
Joe turned soft.
Went from frantic movements to suddenly sighing the deepest sigh he’d ever sighed to slowly making his way over to you, hesitating slightly when moving in to hug you, but then going for a full both-arm-tight-wrap-up when you didn’t flinch away.
After about a minute of tightly embracing, you heard Joe sniff close to your ear, and you realised he was crying.
“Joe, I’m sorry, I–”
“No, no.” Joe pulled back, used his sleeve to quickly wipe at his face before going, “No, look at me. Look. You’re right. I’m the one- no, look. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t– you’re right, you’re…” Joe moved both his hands into his hair, a flash of panic, and had to take a few steps as he inhaled deeply.
“You’re not annoying.”
You saw how his jaw clenched. How he rapidly blinked to keep further tears at bay.
“I don’t know why…” Joe started, sitting down on the edge of his sofa as he rubbed a hand across his face. “It just… it never even occurred to me that you had the option to… to go anywhere. But you’re right.”
You didn’t care about being right. It didn’t feel nice to be right about something so devastating.
Looking at Joe, broken boy unsure of where to steer his thoughts and his emotions, you knew this wasn’t what you wanted. This wasn’t what you’d envisioned for the both of you. But, to be fair, almost nothing about what you’d become together had come about because you’d envisioned it that way.
You moved to sit down next to Joe and got immediately taken a hold of.
“Will you stay the night?”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Yea. No… you’re right. You probably shouldn’t... but, will you?”
“Joe…” you couldn’t tell him you would. Couldn’t reply with the ‘I will’ he wanted from you.
“I know, I know, please... don’t…”
If you weren’t going to stay the night, at least Joe would have this. Long quiet minutes, sat on his sofa together. Touching. Staring into nothingness. The longer he could keep you there, the better.
He found new ways to hug.
Different ways to hold.
Arms moved, swiped, squeezed and felt, mapping your every inch in a desperate bid to remember.
Joe took hold of the back of your neck in the exact way he knew you liked, thumb pressing into the dip at the base of your skull, rubbing small circles there.
And you gave him that.
Gave him this moment, frozen in time, just before you’d eventually walk out without plans of ever returning.
“You do know,” Joe started off, voice barely there in a whisper, words pressed into the skin just behind your ear. “You know that I really do love you, don’t you?”
And the world shattered.
The first real and sincere I love you that you’d ever gotten from him.
That wasn’t meant to hurt like it did.
“You know that right?”
All you could do was give a small nod that Joe felt with his face as you fought with all of your being to not burst into tears.
“I love you.”
The cruelest goodbye present you hadn’t asked for, thrusted into your lap at the worst possible time, and you had no other choice than to just simply accept it.
“Yea... love you, too.”
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You can see him in the reflection of the window that the treadmills are aimed at, leisurely strolling into your line of sight. Towel over his shoulder, wearing his grey hoodie, wired earphones already in his ears, and eyes on his phone as he seems to sort through a playlist.
It’s been a day.
One single day.
One day since you’d woken up on his sofa.
One day since you’d said yes to a morning coffee that you probably shouldn’t have said yes to.
One day since you’d called the guy in your flat and had to explain why you’d left him in your bed on his own in the middle of the night.
One day since Joe sat across the table from you, coffee in hand, and listened to you stutter through vague excuses.
One day since you’d groaned at yourself for being so fucking stupid, and asked Joe, “What the fuck are we doing...”
One day since he’d shrugged and regretfully told you he wished he had an answer to that question.
To all of your questions, for that matter.
Joe showing up to your gym isn’t coincidental. It simply can’t be. It makes no sense for Joe to go to the gym that’s right around the corner from your flat.
There’s also no way he hasn’t seen you.
There’s not a chance he doesn’t know you’re here.
This is what Joe does, what he did just a short while ago, and he goes about it in almost the exact same way.
His slow pace gives him away.
The fact that he stops just as he has passed you, giving the free treadmill next to yours a quick glance as if he’s only just decided, yea I can do a bit of cardio here, why not, gives him away.
The moment his fucking awful purple pumas touch the machine next to you, you stop looking at him in the reflection. Eyes straight ahead. You keep them firmly trained on yourself instead, and keep a steady pace.
Yea. You hate the gym.
But you’re here to work out, and work out only.
Not to socialise.
Not to potentially run into someone.
Not to prove to someone, to anyone, that you’re a person that goes to the gym now.
No.
You’re there to work out. Guilt has been slowly eating at you until the anxiety of it all, the extreme criticism aimed at yourself, became too much and physical exercise seemed like the only healthy way out.
The only healthy way through.
You’re working out to feel better about yourself, about the choices that you’ve made, and you fucking hate every single second of it. But, you’re only about halfway through what you’d set out to do, and the plan is to fucking finish it. To do the full routine, no ifs ands or buts.
From your peripheral vision, you can see how Joe turns the machine on and how he throws the screen of yours an obvious glance.
Then, he sets the speed to just a little faster than yours.
Idiot.
For a little while it’s easy to ignore him. Makes sense, since you’ve gotten a lot of practice over the years. You could look right through him if you wanted to, face blank, eyes all hollow. Sometimes that was just what he deserved, and you remember how it always felt shockingly good to push his buttons by simply pretending he wasn’t there.
You’re an expert in driving this man insane.
But driving him insane isn’t the end goal here – instead it’s trying to hold yourself together, to harden yourself just enough, to not let him drive you insane.
So you ignore him.
Focus on your breathing. The whirring of the treadmill. The miles you’ve already run. How may more you have to go. Your own heartrate. The position of your feet.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
Breathe in, in.
Breathe out, out.
God, you fucking hate running, but there’s something that itches you about the fact that Joe put the speed of his treadmill a half mile per hour faster than yours.
And it’s not a fair race – which is what this fucking is now: a race – because he’s just wandered in and you’ve been going for a while already.
But maybe that’s actually good.
This guy’s not warmed up. Just got on the treadmill and started bolting.
Idiot.
It doesn’t take long for Joe’s breathing to pick up. For it to become audible to you, and you know he’s not going to be able to keep this up much longer. 
Just when you think Joe’s going to reach over and lower the speed of his treadmill, you decide to double down on this inevitable win and press the plus button twice.
Twice.
And fuck, you immediately regret it. The burn in your legs is merciless. An unforgiving persistent ache, yet the burn in your lungs is worse.
In, in. Out, out. In, in. Out, out.
Some of the sweat that’s dripping down your face gets stopped by your eyebrows, yet some also gets past and goes straight into your eyes, but fuck off, you’re winning.
You can do this.
You can pretend you just wanted to run extra fast for a minute. Maybe two.
Four minutes.
You manage four minutes before your start getting scared your legs are going to turn into actual jelly. For fear of tripping over your own feet and launching yourself backwards across the gym floor, you have to slow it down.
The second you do, Joe does as well.
It feels like your lungs have forgotten how to absorb oxygen, but you’re walking, and it’s fine. You did slow down your treadmill before Joe did, but you ran faster than him and, all together, ran for much longer, so it’s a win.
You’ve won.
You’ll die on this hill– you won and Joe lost and he is a loser.
There’s another moment where you can see Joe glance over, and even though you’re both at a walking pace, he still goes to adjust his speed so it’s higher than yours. Then, he removes his earphones.
Time to acknowledge his presence.
“You don’t go to this gym.” You manage to say before Joe gets a chance to get a word in.
Shit, you’re panting.
“I don’t?” But so is Joe. “Weird place for me to be then.”
You give him a look.
“Why are you here?”
Joe pulls a face he always pulls when he’s about to make a joke. It’s a stern face that’s hiding a smile so well, it just looks like he’s a frowning asshole.
“Hmm. Why... am I here?” he repeats seriously, pensive, like the answer escapes him. Then he looks around and uses an arm to showcase the gym he’s in, like it’s obvious he’s there to work out. It makes you feel like he’s making fun of you, which immediately stirs up animosity inside you.
“Well,” you start collecting your things. Towel, water bottle, phone. “Good luck. Get swole, or whatever.”
And you’re off.
“I’ll see you for a coffee, after!” Joe calls after you, and when you turn your head, you see him smirk as he wipes his towel across his forehead.
“No thanks!” you make yourself sound as polite and upbeat as you can whilst turning him down.
Joe watches you walk away, past some of the rowing machines, and he sees how other guys glance a look at you.
He doesn’t blame them.
If he’s honest, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing here, just that he wants to be near you. If that means going over to yours unannounced just to see you cross the street and enter the gym, rushing back home to get his own kit and making his way back over to get a guest pass, and then super casually accidentally ending up on a treadmill next to you, well, then... that’s what he’ll do.
Joe doesn’t know what he’s doing.
What you’re doing.
Why he’s been excited every time he’s seen you over the past couple of months. Why he’s been sad every time you parted ways again.
He doesn’t know why you keep coming back after you ended it all, but what he does know is that it must mean that it’s not over.
Not fully.
There’s a door there, still open enough for him to squeeze through, and yesterday, he realised he would actually rather hurt himself whilst struggling to get through your door, than pick any of the other doors that girls are holding wide open for him.
Joe watches you make your way over to the weight machines and you decide to pretend Joe’s not really there. Decide to pretend that there’s not something dangerously delightful about seeing Joe all sweaty and out of breath.
You get on with your work out routine.
Do the leg press for a bit. Some leg curls. Some extensions.
Nothing for the arms.
You have no upper body strength, and Joe’s watching. You’re very much doing your best to pretend he’s not there, but, you still find yourself secretly checking if you’re being watched.
And you are.
You ignore the furious blush on your cheeks and tell yourself it’s just because your exercising. The heat you feel in your face is just there because you’re moving. S’got nothing to do with Joe, who’s in your peripheral vision the whole time.
He’s strategically moving across the gym floor, standing in front of mirrors that reflect the best views of you, and yea, sure, he’s holding weights in both his hands, but he’s not really doing much, is he? He’ll curl an arm up every couple of seconds, but there’s barely any effort there.
Which makes sense.
Joe’s busy watching.
He’s watching you work out as discretely as he can.
He knows you’re aware of it too. Knows you’re following his whereabouts. Sees you check over your shoulder a little more often than seems normal to check your surroundings. Knows you’re having the absolute worst time because you hate physical exercise like this, but he watches as you power through.
Watches as you seem to finish up.
Watches you leave for the changing rooms, and he quickly does the same. Drops the weights he was still holding right where he’s standing and rushes to get his things because he wants to be ready and waiting by the door when you walk out.
You’re faster than expected.
Joe’s only just left the men’s changing rooms, zipping up his jacket, when he sees you emerge from the women’s.
You see him too.
Of course you do.
But you look right past him as you leave the building, and Joe has to scramble to get the door before it smacks him in the face as he follows you out.
“That was a quick shower.” Joe muses, following your tail.
“I shower at home.” You simply answer, looking for traffic both ways.
“Yea? Can’t tempt you into getting a quick coffee together somewhere?”
Joe dashes after you as you cross the street and comes to walk next to you.
“I’ve got coffee at home.” You dismiss him, but Joe hasn’t given up half his morning for you to suddenly use your sound, responsible mind. Not after yesterday.
“Oh, great. Even better.”
For whatever reason, even after all the interactions you’ve had with Joe post break-up, this feels like the first time it means something. Maybe it’s because it’s been a literal single day since you woke up next to him on his sofa, or maybe it’s because it was a little difficult to look at yourself in the mirror after.
You stop walking abruptly and it takes Joe two whole steps to realise you’re no longer next to him.
“What are you...” you falter, brow furrowed as you look at him.
“Doing?” Joe finishes for you, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m doing what we do– what we have been doing.”
He says it so plainly, like there’s not a million things wrong with that. Like he hadn’t invited you over to stay the night at his flat when there was a whole other person in his bed, likely wondering why the fuck she woke up on her own, just like the guy you’d left in yours.
You’re terrible people, and what Joe is meant to do, is self-loathe in his own time until the feeling has faded enough for a new bout of dumb decisions. You know, like you’re doing.
“You can’t just–...”
“Can’t what?”
Your eyes fall to Joe’s stupid trainers, his faded ugly purple pumas, and you hate how you like that he wore them.
This is never going to be over, is it?
You know with every fibre of your being that you shouldn’t.
But, fuck.
You want to.
You really, really want to.
“Don’t you feel bad?” you ask, hoping that at least Joe will confirm that you’re not overreacting.
You should feel bad.
The both of you.
There’s the slightest moment of introspection from Joe that you see across his face before he smiles at your rosy cheeks and goes, “I do. But not... not about this. What does it matter if I want to go and have a drink with you? Hmm? Who cares about that?”
Well.
Probably that girl that slammed the door of his flat yesterday. And, you also kind of hope that he cares, but it’s difficult to sort through and articulate your thoughts and feelings about that in the moment.
“Do you feel bad?” Joe asks, a hand reaching over to touch you on the arm.
“I feel terrible...” you admit on a heavy exhale. You also feel sweaty and sticky and gross.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yea, well... you should be. Because it’s your fault,” you show the slightest of smiles and fall back into step. “And because your shoes are ugly.”
Joe watches you walk away for a bit, trying to wrap his head around it. Around you. Finds that he was right before: he just wants to be near you, still.
He just wants to be near you always, actually.
He’s lucky you’ve got the same issue.
It’s why you let Joe into your flat.
Why the first thing you do when you get in is make Joe a coffee since he was so adamant about having some.
When he sees that you’re not making yourself a cup, he goes and does it for you. Makes you the perfect cup of coffee, exactly how you like it, and you have to really hide how giddy that makes you feel. Can’t give away how that means something to you. So instead, you make him laugh when, in lieu of sugar, you slide a salt shaker across the table, just because you think Joe needs to know that he’s welcome here, but that he’s not really... welcome here.
“You’re so annoying, my God.” Joe shakes his head, fondness practically dripping from the words as he smiles. He’ll make you a million more cups of coffee if it means you’ll make him laugh like that.
In turn, you laugh at jokes Joe makes about you going for your shower, telling you that you must be exhausted and he’ll gladly help out and hold you up. You know, no big deal, even though he remembers that your shower is small and barely fits two people in.
“We’ll just have to stand really close together.” you quip, joining the bit.
“It will be so awkward for me, but I’ll self-sacrfice, not a problem.”
You laugh together, and Joe drinks the coffee you made for him, and you drink the coffee that he made for you. There’s a moment of silence before you semi-seriously say, “I’m really not meant to have you over.”
It’s complicated. It’s fine, but it’s not.
“Yea... you probably shouldn’t. You’re right.” Joe flirts. “You’re right.”
“I don’t know what I was expecting though...” you sigh, leaning back in your seat. “We’re not to be trusted, I don’t think...”
Joe eyes you for a short moment, then leans forward a little and carefully says, “You’re allowed to set your expectations aside every once in a while, you know... we can just enjoy our time. Nothing wrong with that.”
You can’t help but smile, because the sentiment is sweet, but unfortunately, it doesn’t really work like that. Before you know it, you’ll be back right where you were before, kicking yourself over placing yourself back in that same crappy situation.
A grimacing discontented nose-scrunch does all the talking for you.
“All right,” Joe says on the back-end of a sigh, slapping both legs as he gets up, already heading towards the door. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
You put an arm out and get a handful of his sleeve before he gets even close to leaving, and Joe turns his head to grin at you like you’d played directly into his trap.
Which, you probably just had done.
Had been doing.
“Oh?” Joe startles playfully. “Am I wanted, then?”
The handful of shirt gets pulled into your direction until Joe’s standing really close, and you have to tip your head back all the way to look up at him.
“Do you want to hear me say that I want you?” you challenge his neediness as one of his hands finds your cheek. You know exactly that’s what he wants to hear.
“Is that hard for you?” he challenges your obduracy right back, thumb softly rubbing the skin under your eye, knowing full well how hard of a time you have with sharing your feelings in the moment.
It’ll never be lost on you how there’s so little you can hide from one another. It’s comforting in the most perilous of ways.
It helps that Joe is very upfront about his wants. He’s in your living room for a reason, which makes it a little easier to admit to a truth you can no longer deny.
You wouldn’t have invited him over if you didn’t want him here.
Obviously.
It’s a big ask to set expectations aside in the long-term, but in the short-term, temptation and comfort always seem to win all too easily. Hence the handfull of fabric you’re still holding.
That doesn’t meant that Joe deserves the satisfaction of hearing you say that, though.
“No.” you smile, eyes casting downwards. “But… do you want to know what is hard for me?”
Without any hesitation, you let your hand find the bulge in his jeans, and Joe flinches at the contact, his other hand immediately around your wrist to control your next move, grip tight, like he’s using it to not lose his balance.
“Don’t.”
With his eyes shut, he exhales a slow breath.
“Oh?” your eyebrows shoot up in the same way his had done earlier. “Am I wrong, then?”
Joe has to bite back a smile, and there’s a moment where you’re just staring each other down, your hand touching growing parts of Joe, and his hand keeping it right in place. It’s hard for him to look away from your eyes and the sparkle they look at him with.
It’s a big ask to set expectations aside... when you haven’t really got any to begin with.
Joe’s voice comes out a little gruff when he says, “How about that shower?” all lowly, giving a slight nod up in question as he bites into his bottom lip.
The only way out seems through.
But, just before you give in all over again, something pipes up in your mind that turns you solemn. Something Joe said the night before.
“You um...” you swallow thickly and slowly remove your hand from Joe’s jeans. “You said we weren’t the best, before...”
This dance between heartfelt earnestness and teasing banter is becoming a little confusing, but, to be fair, everything about you and Joe is confusing.
Joe’s hand on your cheek is warm, and you let the words you’d just said linger. Let them speak for themselves. You haven’t asked Joe a question that needs an answer, but you wait for him to figure out what you mean all by himself.
Why should you go have a shower with Joe if he doesn’t think you’re good together? If things can’t be better than before?
“Before...” Joe repeats and then slowly lowers himself next to your chair and leans on a knee so he’s more at eye-level with you. He’s choked with tenderness for you, especially when you look like this, not unlike what you looked like when you barged into his flat a night ago. “Before, yea. But that was–...”
Then.
This is now.
Joe’s hand is still on your face, his steady touch unmoving, but now his fingers curl under your jaw and around your ear, and it burns your skin. You want to allow yourself to enjoy the gentle touch, but you can’t. Shouldn’t. Your wants are too risky.
Anxiety swells and you can feel how your fingers are searching out a bit of fabric to run along, but you’re not wearing long sleeves. It’s why your next question comes out all choppy.
“Will it b-be different?”
Your question implies a whole lot. Implies a want for something new. For something better. Something different. And, perhaps most terrifyingly, it implies a want for something together.
You think if Joe is going to be completely honest with you, he should tell you no. However, logically, you also understand there’s a current heavy throbbing in his underwear that might influence things slightly.
Still.
You want to hear his answer.
Want to know what he’s really doing here.
What his expectations are.
Joe can’t predict the future. But you desperately want him to.
“It can be.”
Instant disappointment.
In Joe, and within yourself.
It can be.
It’s the most non-committal answer Joe could’ve given. It’s guarded. Evasive. Without clear indication or attitude of feeling.
You hate it.
But then you watch as he slowly grabs hold of one of your hands and guides it to the sleeve hem of the hoodie he is wearing where your fingers immediately find home and rub to their hearts content. It’s embarrassing how your shoulders instantly relax.
Joe clears his throat, cradling your face in both of his hands now, and adds, “It should be.” which he makes sound like a promise.
It should be.
It should be because you are both older and wiser and have learnt lessons and have grown. It should be because you are new people, with old habits but with new intentions.
It should be because you really want it to be.
It should be because Joe is really going to try.
That’s all you want.
All you need.
It should be makes you whine and drop your head fully into Joe’s hold.
It should be has you accept Joe’s lips that press firmly against yours.
It should be allows you to be picked up and lead over to your bathroom where you both undress at lightning speed.
It should be has you under the stream before the water’s even fully warmed up, standing really close together, and not just because the shower’s small.
Emily’s absolutely going to kill you.
But she’s allowed.
She can murder both you and Joe together, and you’ll continue doing what you’re doing right now in whatever the afterlife even is until the end of time itself.
Time can stop, for all you care.
Joe touches you in the shower until your legs can quite literally no longer carry you, and then Joe touches you in your bed until every single cell of your body is violently shaking in pure delight.
It should be different.
It will be different.
And different starts right fucking now.
“I love you.”
Joe pants the words heavily into your skin. Into your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. Wants them to settle there and never leave. He seals them in with kisses, and repeats mumbling praise that he hopes will cling onto you for a while as well.
You’re convinced he’s just saying things because it feels right in the moment. Because he wants to prove to you that he’s right.
You lay together, bodies on top of each other, and it takes longer than feels normal to come back down from what you’ve just done. Joe holds you in place on top of him, both his hands wrapped around your arms, and when you try to move, when you try to let yourself slide off and fall onto the mattress next to him, he only further strengthens his grip.
“I love you.” He then says more clearly, and he sounds like he’s admitting it to himself just as much as he is to you. Like it’s something that he needs to hear himself articulate more than it’s something that you might need to hear.
It’s unbelievable that he’s here, right now.
He fully thought you’d be done with him by now, yet, here you are, wanting more of him. Different. Yes. But more all the same.
“Love you, love you, love you.” Joe punctuates with kisses.
Joe finds that he’s still as full of emotion for you as he was when you were still together, but there’s a huge difference in voicing it. In saying things aloud for other people to hear.
For you to hear.
“Yea,” you smile, tickled by the tone of Joe’s repeated confession, convinced you’ve pulled the words straight from his dick. “Yea you do.”
There’s no way Joe is thinking with his brain right now.
A soft scoff comes from him before he tries his best to sound like a schoolteacher as he demands, “Say it back.”
You huff a laugh to that, still feeling a little floaty and too far gone for a coherent response. All you can think about is how Joe’s still inside of you, and how he is keeping you there.
Then one of his hands lets you go, but is quickly followed by a well-aimed poke to your side that has you squirming. Joe remembers all your vulnerable spots, knows exactly where they are, fucking dick.
“Say it back! Say, I love you too, Joe.”
In your giggling, you manage to sit up a little and glare down at Joe, but you’re smiling, which completely ruins the effect, and it turns him a little soft inside. You then lean back down a little and give him a peck by his ear which serves to shut Joe up.
He decides it’s enough of an answer, close enough to an I love you said in return. He knows you do, anyway.
In your next move, you snuggle into him, cheek rubbing into his skin, and, fuck, Joe’s done for.
“Yea… yea, you love me too.”
“Shut up.” You whisper, giggles stuck in the back of your throat that you try your best to contain, ones that Joe lets out easily.
“Too bad you’re so annoying.”
“Yea.” You squeeze Joe tighter and let your teeth scrape the skin of his chest. “I’m the worst.”
There’s no phone buzzing on the bedroom floor.
There’s no other people hiding in a different room in your flat.
No... Jessicas, or whatever. No Jaspers.
You’re in the centre of your bed together, no sides picked or chosen, and the temperature inside reflects neither icy Antarctica nor the Amazon rainforest.
It should be different.
Better.
It already is.
Are you risking making the same mistakes all over again? Yes. Are you willing to still go ahead and give this a try? Also yes.
“Will you stay?” Joe quietly asks, silently and warily bringing up how vulnerable he felt when you broke it all off months ago.
You move your head to look him in the eye for a second.
“I should.” you whisper back, reassuring you in same way Joe had reassured you.
“Will you stay?” you repeat Joe’s question, but know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.
One of his hands snakes around to hold you by the back of your neck.
“I will.”
the end
---
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@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby
@gri959, @hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns
@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719
@mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles
@notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @pinchofhoney, @prettiestboyreid
@readergf, @royale1803, @skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac
@solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle
@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo
taglist currently full, apologies!
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on-the-clear-blue · 2 days ago
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An idea I had about the Bat fam and what kind of music they would listen to
Alfred: prefers silence but on nights where he needs something in the background, surprisingly, Alfred is a fan of country music, preferint older artists but he is favorable to some newer stuff as long as it isn't stadium country.
Bruce: Old punk and metal, like the kind he heard at a punk bar he got in with shitty ids, in the late 80s high on acid with Harvey, this man thinks Nirvana was great but thought they didn't go hard enough.
Dick: as a child? Show tunes, if Disney put it out this man was humming it while kicking goons asses, later on in life? Dick has blossomed into musicals, but like, the kind your not thinking of, Dick belts out songs from Cats all the way to "Veronica open the please! Veronica open the door!" While banging on Tim bedroom door.
Barbara: Is a major fan of Lo-Fi, loves it since it is music but the lyrics don't distract her from doing her work, will play it in the library when it's slow
Jason: he grew up on the streets and that doesn't get a lot of options to listen to music...except in stores where they play the days top 100, he gets Vietnam flash back during Christmas time and he hears Mariah Carey, after his death and resurrection, he found rap and fell in love, loves all the lyricism and word play, has played Not Like Us on repeat for the last week even after the beef was done.
Cass: hard core death metal...and classical music. She does ballet dances to both. Nuf said.
Tim: as a child he was the kid who ripped fanaf songs off YouTube and played them as his ring tone, he still has those songs in rotation but has added folk punk and really obscure bands he finds with like 3 listeners...also is a fan of yacht core music...
Steph: Taylor Swift Girly, shares Dicks love of showtunes, huge BTS stan (while dating Tim she repeatedly "left" Tim for Jimin when ever they argued...Tim still has beef with him to this day)
Duke: Oldies, I can see him going through his parents old vinyls and tapes after they got jokerized to feel close to them and now he learnt all of Elvis's discography.
Damian; Anime songs. Cried the first time his listend to Blue Bird, listens to J-rock when he is painting, and even though he will try and hide it, he has a secret love for Bollywood music as well, probably was introduced to it while doing an early assassination with the League and kept with it as he left.
(Plus a few that I could think of)
Kate: she strictly listens to Alpha male work out music Playlists, heavy on the dubstep, can and will bench press your body weight to show you that no Chad SHE is the alpha here. (As well as Girl and red and Rio Romeo)
Bernard: listens to fan made game songs, meme songs (has all of the polish cow dance song memorized) chronically online taste, also has worked in kitchens so has a deep knowledge of rap and rock.
Roy: Dad music, loves a good jam sesh rocking out to KISS but because of Lian he now is immune to Baby shark being used as torture.
Jon: is a literal child. He is 12 and thinks that skibidi toliet is the best thing that has graced this world, he will tell Lex Luthor that he has Ohio Rizz, then do the griddy in the air and fly away.
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femingrab · 3 hours ago
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"You are still doing the exact same thing I just complained about.
Also, wossname said "degenerates", specifically. "Abusive" is another kettle of fish.
You're trying to move the goalposts."
You're ignoring the feminist arguments from women like myself on this post while focusing on the words of some dumb antifeminist who calls women "retarded".
"See, here's the thing. I don't really care about the gender ratios when I'm condemning abuse.
If something is abuse, it's abuse, whether men or women are doing it, and whether men or women are victims.
I'm not sure why you thought this would be a counterpoint to me. I have no idea what the actual stats are, and you have provided no actual source.
I also don't assume an abusive man hitting a woman is necessarily motivated by misogyny, any more than I would assume the reverse. This is just something that's widely taken as axiomatic, with no actual evidence."
Majority of violence is done by men, fact. And it's statistically-proven. Much of the world is patriarchal and men often use violence to control women. Women are often killed for refusing what men want. This is nothing new.
And these are just the western nations where we're supposedly "free".
BDSM scenes are also heavily male-dominated. It's why you see mostly male doms and female subs in their communities, in porn (which is often catered to men), BDSM paraphernalia ads, etc. BDSM in general also heavily caters to male gaze and features misogynistic languages used against subs, male or female. Even femdom puts men's pleasure above those of women. It's a poor subversion of male dominance, based on men's hypersexualized idea of female superiority that is mostly just what men usually do, but by a woman in hypersexualized clothing. In either case, I wouldn't encourage it. This is not a good gotcha and it doesn't erase or excuse systematic violence against women and girls. I can't tell if you're admitting BDSM is abuse or not. You seem to be flip-flopping.
"For one thing, bisexual abusers exist."
Yeah, I know. There are violent men of any orientation and many attack each other, too. Your point? The small percentage of female abusers wouldn't make it any less male-dominated or abusive.
"That's nice. Also, irrelevant. Also, wrong."
I'm begging you pro-BDSM morons to pick up a dictionary for once in your life. You can even Google this. Literally named after an abusive, rich white man who raped women and kids and continued to do so from prison. There's nothing progressive about it at all.
"I didn't say or imply anything about being "liberating", and neither did anyone else, so I don't know why you're bringing it up.
Wait, no, I do, it's so you can score points and bring it right back to "men bad". Based on wild stereotypes.
Including, as you lot often do, ignoring how many women are freaks. Who do you think buys most romance novels, the most profitable book genre?"
'I don't care if it's antifeminist. BTW, women with trauma who seek out abuse during sex are freaks. Listen, woman, I know better than you about what's sexist or your own life experience.' Try saying that about any other kink like raceplay or ageplay and see where it gets you.
Yes, there's questionable literature written by and for masochistic women, but is it anything like having a guy choke you to death while he rapes you? Be serious.
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jesuistrestriste · 3 days ago
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okay this is so random, but I've been listening to mr.saxobeat on repeat for like 3 days (i luv nostalgia) and I thought of art. like imagine art at the club with reader and they're dancing on each other, the reader is whining and grinding on art while he's kissing on her neck and then they get home and have some steamyyyy hot sex like WHEW ( idek if fantasy is the right word but whenever I get a boyfriend, one of the things i'd love to do is go to the club with him and just dance on him and have a good ass time but men suck lol)
ughhhh yea:/ getting him all worked up on the dance floor and then letting him take all of the frustration out on you once you’re back home ..
i feel like if you take him to the club, he’s all over you. it’s a chance for him to just completely let loose with you; buying you whatever drink you want and kissing gulps of it into your mouth—licking the sticky remnants off of your chin when it dribbles down—before he buries his face into your neck and pulls your hips to his.
his biceps are flexing while he hold you flush to him, moaning against your warm skin and trying to grind against your body. he’s rolling his half-hard cock into your ass from behind after you’ve flipped around to dance with him like that. the music pounding in your guys’ ears, the colored lights pulsing in your vision, while you cling to each other to keep yourselves upright. it’s all heavy breathing and low groans after awhile. . .
and art’s a complete mess by the end of the night, basically sweating pure alcohol and arousal.
it’s a miracle that he didn’t cum in his pants before he could get you two a taxi and go home to fuck you sloppily against the apartment door as soon as it shuts. his hand cupping your jaw as he whines and breathes into the back of your neck, “need this, needed this, fuck fuck fuck, god-!”
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shitapril · 1 day ago
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okay so you know that little video daniel made for max congratulating him on his 4th world championship ? that got me very much in my maxiel feels so here's a little piece (drabble ? no idea) that i wrote about it. this is my first time writing anything rpf so please be nice (i'll delete this in like a day lol)
also vid i'm referring to : https://www.instagram.com/reel/DDABqM6sNfW/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
Max didn’t particularly understand why the team thought this was a good idea. Apparently winning a fourth world championship warranted a round up of all the people that had the fortune, or perhaps misfortune, of being his teammate, as well as the people vying for a spot next to him in the future. Whatever, if the team wants to take time to make videos for the internet without pestering him for his involvement, Max can make the effort to watch them.
It felt a little cruel, to ask for well-wishes and congratulations from the people who once had just as much a chance as he had at this victory that was now his alone. Not once, not twice, but four times in a row. Okay, so maybe they didn’t have that much of an equal chance, not with the team’s blatant coveting of his imminent glory in the sport, but Max didn’t waste time with notions of guilt or sympathy. The nature of their sport didn’t allow for such frivolities.
Daniel was a stark reminder of the team’s partisanship. Because Daniel was suddenly there, and he’s calling him a bad man, and he’s just saying things that don’t mean very many things, and then suddenly he’s being painfully sincere, and Max isn’t so sure he can handle it. That was just Daniel all over again – so genuine, so empathetic, so happy.
He has a wide, blinding smile on his face, and it seemed to reach his eyes again. His skin was flushed a healthy pink, as if he’d been in the sun again. His accent sounded a lot stronger than the last time he spoke with him and suddenly Max missed him so much. Sure, there was the odd text here and there, but it hadn’t really been Daniel and Max for a while now.
He thanks the team, short and a little absentmindedly, but makes sure his gratitude is conveyed. Somehow, the team always seemed aware of his affection for Daniel, sometimes to his own detriment.
He thought of those nights, when he would stay up with Daniel after another team debrief, and they’d dream about winning world championships. Daniel would offer him one of those honey toffees he always carried around, and max would refuse because they were so sweet and really how could Daniel stomach all that sweetness and Daniel would just shrug and grin and continue to regal him with his on-track antics. And Max would listen, as if he hadn’t watched that very moment on repeat on his little, battered iPod a hundred times. Daniel seemed so sure then, and Max truly believed he would do all those things he confessed to Max he wanted to do. Surely he would win a World Championship, he’d win two, maybe three, hell how many ever he wanted. Max had only hoped he’d be there next to him, to share his victories with him. And perhaps his losses too, maybe even a life together. Max had really, really hoped.
But now he sits in his driver room, left alone to prepare for another race, one that almost seems futile because he’s already won the championship. Not once, not twice, not even thrice, but four times, and Daniel hadn’t won, no, not even once. Daniel wasn’t even here anymore.
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olderthannetfic · 21 hours ago
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www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/768526246295502848/i-feel-sad-when-you-as-a-tactic-for-telling-a
I have thoughts about this! I’m that anon who was panicking because I had received some AI “art” that I didn’t want! And I got advised by OTNF and others to ignore the “gift” and if anyone tried to start shit, to tell them AI art “makes me sad” and keep repeating that without further information so as not to give anyone the chance to make me justify myself. (It worked a treat btw, thanks OTNF and everyone else who commented! 🙏)
I thought about it and why it works a lot after that. I realized that’s called “weaponizing feelings” and I had not thought to do it because it’s not part of my character? Communication style? Something.
So like any weapon, I realized that it would work better in some situations than others.
Like lots of people pointed out in the comments, this wouldn’t work on them either because they wouldn’t notice, or think it’s their problem, or at most will find it mildly irritating. I think that’s because they’re just like me and don’t normally do “weaponization of feelings.” It’s just not how some people operate.
But this tactic works amazing in environments where everyone is playing the “feelings game” like it is in anti- and anti-like circles. They operate on disgust, kneejerk reactions, fear, guilt, “moral superiority” etc and so being seen to “inflict” a bad feeling on a “good person” makes YOU the bad guy and so you'd avoid it at all costs. And thus this tactic works in ALL environments where people play that game.
And if you've been in such environments a lot, then, even when the “I'm sad when you__” comes from a close friend or family member, you can still end up taking it as an attempt to play feelings games instead of a genuine sentiment and attempt to have a honest conversation. (Or when said family member or friend has been manipulative or emotionally detached or something in the past.)
So yeah, thinking about this advice I got here really put into perspective for me a lot of behaviors that seemed odd before!
(Also, I think there’s some therapy talk involved in this exact phrasing! The good old advice about making I-statements like “I feel sad when you…” instead of “YOU are being a bitch/abuser/annoyance when you…” so as not to come off as a bad person.)
--
Exactly. Weaponizing feelings is disingenuous and annoying, at least to me, but it's also the language some people understand. My instinct is that the context where you're getting AI art is also going to be one where this is the local lingo. And the I-statement is indeed key. It's claiming the biggest victim seat for yourself, and we all know that the person with the most pain must be listened to absolutely. The bigger the victim, the more sanctified the opinion.
Specifically, some AI-sharers are likely to either pull "I'm sad you didn't thank me for this art" or, when challenged, "I have to use AI because [disability wank]". The latter is absolutely the kind of thing you can head off with "Wah, my feelings!" as long as you get there first.
In person or on my tumblr, I'm more likely to point out when someone's playing the feelings game and tell them they're being. manipulative to try to ignore a boundary (or whatever the situation is), but that requires control of infrastructure (to block them from the space) and a tolerance for them getting angry. If you just want something to go away, this isn't always the best tactic.
You don't owe some annoying rando your honest opinion or an in-depth discussion.
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caker-baker · 22 hours ago
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Due Diligence
The lights were sickeningly bright, even from behind the curtains.
The hero’s PR manager snapped her fingers in front of their face. “Hey. Hey. Pull it together.”
“I don’t do these.” They felt their heart in their ears, beating rapidly. “I don’t do meetings, the questions, I can’t, please don’t make me–”
“Hero.” Their manager’s voice left very little room for sympathy. “I know. But this is what happens when you get popular, they look to you for information.”
“Popular?” The hero repeated, the sweat on the back of their neck turning cold. “I’m not a celebrity! If I do this, I’m going to screw it up, and it’s like you said, I need to maintain a reputation.”
“Yeah, well, strong and silent isn’t working for the general public anymore.” She looked down at her tablet. “You have ten minutes to get whatever this is together. I’ll get you some water or something, just–” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “fix this.”
The hero had thought they wanted to be alone. They thought so terribly wrong.
They could feel themself begin to struggle for breath, and reached desperately behind for the wall, arms shaking as they slid down.
Press conferences, they asked for no press conferences, and there was an agreement. They would save the day, they would leave the scene. Strong and silent type, sturdy and dependable.
But the minute they opened their mouth out there, they would stutter, they would say something they’re not supposed to, they would mess it up, they knew they would.
Reputation could make or break, and with the hero’s public speaking ability, it would break.
People would stop looking to them for help, would start thinking of them as awful and horrible when all they wanted to do help. Quickly, quietly, just help.
“What a mess.” A voice spoke from the dark.
Though their arms still lacked a sense of firmness, they managed to pull themselves back up.
“Good, very good.” The voice said. “You were compressing yourself, making it harder to get air.”
“You.” The hero managed.
“Me.” The villain grinned, approaching them slowly.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re still tensing your muscles.” Their arms shot out, placing their hands on the hero’s shoulders. “Relax these.”
“Why?” The hero shoved them off. “So you can fight me while I’m vulnerable?”
“No, so you can go out there and speak without losing your head. Do you want that?”
The hero’s jaw tensed, a sign that they didn’t want to hear anything the villain had to say, but they nodded nonetheless.
“Then listen. Unclench your jaw, take a deep breath in, now hold it, very good.” The villain once again placed their hands on the hero’s shoulders. “Breathe out, keep the pattern. You need to relax the shoulders, your back will do the same subsequently. Hey, the breathing pattern, keep it. Yeah? There we are.”
With one final steady breath out, the hero’s arms firm again and their stance solid, they wrapped their hands around the villain’s wrists, and removed their hold on their shoulders.
“I need to return you to the authorities.”
“Mm, no, you need to focus on what you’ll be saying to the swarms of reporters. Believe me, they’ll be asking bait pieces. Just remember that there’s no shame in taking your time to answer the question. They’ll think of you as thoughtful, and that’ll help with the strong and silent thing you have going on right now.”
Stepping back, the hero did a once over.
“Oddly sound advice. Why?”
The villain also took a step back, glancing to the hallway where the manager had disappeared to.
“I did want to shake things up a bit. Scare you, scare the public, but it looks like she,” The villain nodded towards the hallway. “got the scaring you part down. Expertly done, if I may add.”
“But the public?” The hero crossed their arms, eyes blazing. “Still want to try something?”
“Oh, relax. Don’t get yourself worked up. Seriously.”
The hero said nothing, continuing to scrutinize the villain, waiting for them to strike.
A strike never came.
“I appreciate your due diligence.” The villain admitted quietly. “And the people in this city like to tear people like you and I apart-”
“We aren’t the same-”
“But they don’t always think so. I appreciate your due diligence. I…appreciate that it’s tough work. I don’t want to see them turn that, or you, into something perverse.”
The hero raised a brow, then snapped to attention, as did villain.
Quick clicking heels, their expectant manager coming back.
“Breathing pattern, if you need it again, lean back and keep away from the mics. Time to consider an answer is good, and if you can throw in a thoughtful pose during that time, you might end up on the cover of a glam magazine, or get yourselves some very loyal fans who’ll fawn over your looks.”
“My look-?”
“I’ll be watching from the comfort of my home. Break a leg, Hero. Due diligence.”
The villain melted back into the small slips of darkness the studio allowed, very good at that trick apparently, something the hero would have to take note of in the future.
“Okay.” Their manager’s voice cut across the hero’s thoughts. “This is good, this is better.”
Handing them a bottle of water and a rag, she made a motion across her forehead.
“Dab off the sweat. You ready?”
“Strong, silent, and sturdy doesn’t work for the public anymore?” Looking back to where the villain was, the hero nodded. “Then let’s see what does.”
Due diligence.
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pdriesta · 1 day ago
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a lifetime of us — 5
an —a series of blurbs from past or present, following the main couple from “a lapse of us". i have not stop thinking about pedri this day he looked too good
masterlist
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pedri adjusted his varsity jacket as the bright lights of the martínez y hermanos set surrounded him. the show was a mix of laughter and chaos, and he’d agreed to it partly because fer had pushed him to—and partly because he knew y/n loved watching it. though he wasn’t usually one for interviews, this was different. the hosts made it feel more like a casual chat among friends than a grilling.
y/n, meanwhile, was curled up on their couch at home, wearing one of pedri’s hoodies and scrolling through her phone absentmindedly while the show played in the background. but the moment pedri appeared on screen, she perked up, smiling softly at the sight of him. she let out a small laugh, shaking her head.
“the jacket,” she muttered to herself. “i knew he’d wear it.”
she hated to admit it, especially after complaining about his recent haircut, but he looked good—too good. the sharp lines of his jaw were more pronounced with his shorter hair, and the jacket gave him a relaxed, boyish charm that she couldn’t ignore.
on the screen, the host josé yanked pedri into a playful handshake, pulling him toward the couch. “our golden boy! how’s it going? still keeping spain’s midfield alive?”
“just trying to keep up,” pedri joked, his dimpled smile making the audience laugh.
“trying to keep up?” josé repeated, feigning offense. “listen, if you’re trying to keep up, the rest of us are crawling.”
pedri laughed, leaning back into the couch, his natural ease slowly kicking in.
the conversation moved smoothly—jokes about his training schedule, stories from barça’s locker room, and memories of growing up in tenerife.
“so, your family,” josé began, steering the conversation. “you talk about them all the time. we love that about you. any funny stories from back in the day?”
pedri hesitated, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “uh… yeah, plenty, but—”
“don’t hold back, we’re all friends here!” josé pressed, grinning mischievously.
“okay, okay,” pedri said, chuckling. “there was this one time when my brother and i tried to teach y/n how to play football. she—” he stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d said too late. “so, this is a story from when i was about… twelve, maybe? and my brother fer and i had this brilliant idea to teach y/n how to play football.”
“oh, we’re already off to a great start,” josé interjected, rubbing his hands together. “please, continue.”
pedri laughed, nodding. “yeah, so y/n came over one weekend. she didn’t know much about football back then—she was more into her watching rather than playing—but fer and i were determined to turn her into the next big thing.”
“ambitious,” josé commented, earning a chuckle from the audience.
“ambitious is right,” pedri agreed, shaking his head. “so, we go to the little field near our house. fer’s in charge of explaining the rules, but he’s overcomplicating everything, like, going into offsides and tactics before she’s even kicked a ball. y/n’s just standing there, looking at us like we’re speaking another language.”
“and you didn’t simplify it for her?”
“of course not,” pedri said, grinning. “we were kids. we thought she’d just magically get it. so, i tell fer, ‘just pass her the ball.’ and he does—hard. like, way too hard for someone who’s never played before.”
josé burst out laughing. “oh no.”
“oh yes,” pedri said, smirking. “the ball hits her shin, and instead of kicking it, she kind of just… stumbles forward and falls flat on her face. fer and i freeze because we think she’s about to cry, and we’re both terrible with tears.”
the audience roared with laughter, and josé wiped a fake tear from his eye. “so, what happened next?”
pedri shrugged, his smile widening. “she doesn’t cry. she gets up, dusts herself off, and says, ‘well, at least the grass is soft.’”
the crowd’s laughter grew louder, and josé leaned forward. “legend. an absolute legend.”
“yeah, but then she turned to fer and said, ‘you’re terrible at teaching. pedri, you do it.’ so, of course, i have to step up. i’m showing her how to dribble, and she’s actually getting the hang of it. then fer decides to ‘test’ her by pretending to tackle her.”
“let me guess—chaos?”
“absolute chaos,” pedri confirmed, laughing. “he tries to swipe the ball from her, but she panics and just kicks it—hard—straight into his stomach. he drops to the ground, groaning, and y/n’s all like, ‘was that good?’”
the audience erupted, and josé clapped his hands together. “okay, she might be my favorite person now.”
“she’s everyone’s favorite,” pedri said, grinning. “but yeah, after that, fer refused to play with her for a week, and y/n kept bragging about how she ‘beat’ him.”
josé leaned back, shaking his head in amusement. “and now, years later, she’s your girlfriend. that’s one way to make an impression.”
“it definitely was,” pedri admitted, his smile softening as he thought about her. “and honestly, she’s still just as stubborn. but i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
the audience cooed, and josé smirked. “ah, young love. but back to your family—does fer still bring this up?”
“all the time,” pedri said, rolling his eyes. “he’ll never let me forget it. and every time we play a family match, he makes sure to remind y/n to aim somewhere else if she’s going to kick the ball that hard.”
josé doubled over laughing, and the audience joined in, clearly delighted by the story. “pedri, i think we need a full documentary on your family. the people need this content.”
“i’ll think about it,” pedri joked, his smile widening. “but only if y/n agrees to tell her side of the story.”
“oh, we’d love that,” josé said, leaning toward the camera. “y/n, if you’re watching, please. we need you on this show next.”
the crowd buzzed with interest, and josé’s eyes lit up. “so, y/n? should we talk more about her”
pedri flushed immediately, running a hand over his face as the audience laughed. y/n, watching from home, nearly dropped her mug.
josé leaned in, grinning. “you’ve said the magic words, pedri. tell us about y/n. there are rumors, you know.”
pedri let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. “there are always rumors.”
“but this one,” josé pressed, pulling out an old picture of pedri and y/n from a las palmas instagram post. y/n was tucked under his arm, her bright smile aimed at the camera.
another photo came up—this one of her holding the euro trophy with pedri, her other arm wrapped tightly around his waist.
“this one’s famous,” josé said, tapping the screen. “so, who’s the mystery girl?”
pedri’s cheeks were visibly red now, but his smile was soft. “that’s y/n.” he paused, glancing at the photo. “she’s my girlfriend.”
the audience erupted in a mix of applause and teasing whistles.
“how long has this been going on?” josé asked, clearly delighted.
pedri leaned back, a shy grin spreading across his face. “practically forever. i’ve been in love with her since we were kids.”
josé clutched his chest dramatically. “oh, my heart. since you were kids? when did you finally confess?”
“i was 16,” pedri said, laughing as josé mimicked a swooning motion.
“she must’ve been worth the wait if you held out that long.”
“she was,” pedri said simply, his voice earnest enough to make the audience fall quiet for a moment.
josé softened, his smile turning warm. “you’re making all of us believe in love again, pedri.”
pedri ducked his head, a hint of pink creeping onto his cheeks. “it’s not about all that,” he said softly. “she’s just… always with me, even if people don’t see her. when i’m on the pitch, i play for her. she’s my everything.”
at home, y/n pressed a hand to her chest, her cheeks warm as she listened to him speak.
josé, never one to keep things serious for too long, immediately broke the moment with a playful jab. “so, does this mean y/n watches our show?”
pedri grinned, glancing directly at the camera. “she does.”
“y/n, if you’re watching,” josé said, waving, “you’ve got a good one here. don’t let him get away.”
“she won’t,” pedri said, smirking, his confidence returning.
y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling, already texting fer: you’re going to tell him he embarrassed me on national television, right?
but deep down, she wasn’t embarrassed at all. her heart felt full, knowing that even under the bright lights, pedri wasn’t afraid to say what she already knew: she was everything to him, just as he was everything to her.
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© PDRIESTA 2024
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alex-thegiraffeboyy · 1 day ago
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Chapter 7: Nocturne (Interlude)
Bewitched masterlist
Summary: You and Vi spend the day together and have heart-to-heart conversations. They also remember how easy it is to be with each other.
Words: 4.0k
Warnings: Mentions of death, quick mention of injury, lots of feelings on display and overall lots of love for Vi because she deserves it.
N/A: I was late? Yes, I did. But I think it was worth it
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You still can't believe Vi is with you again. It seems almost impossible, something out of a dream.
You hug her tightly, fearing that if you don't she might disappear again. She thinks the same.
So you stand there for a while, holding each other until you feel ready to pull away, just long enough to see each other's faces. They both let out a laugh when they see their faces covered in tears. Puffy eyes, dripping noses and shaky smiles.
But there is no vision they would like to have more than this one right now.
Ekko watches them a few feet away with a smile before deciding to leave them alone, knowing they'll both be fine.
You notice Vi's tattoo on her cheek and can't help but let out a chuckle as you gently stroke it "I knew your ego was big. But I didn't think so much." Vi laughs, but at the same time she doesn't seem to be there, her gaze roaming over the scar on your left cheek along with the missing piece of your ear. But you don't notice.
"What can I say? It's a quick way to get recognized in prison" she comments in a distracted voice, raising her arm to stroke the scars on your face. You panic and can't help but tense up. You know she's going to ask you, but you wish he wouldn't. "What happened?"
For a moment you don't know what to say, you stand still with an uncomfortable look, you rock a little to the side, pursing your lips, not knowing if you should tell her at this point. "I'm sorry if it's too personal, I just-" just as you remember, Vi still tends to have verbal barfs when something makes her anxious. You don't let her finish, shake your head and smile at her as best you can. "I think it's too soon for that" you reply softly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze "We'll have time to talk about these things."
They catch up a bit. You ask her about what she meant by being in prison and she tells you the short story "We'll have time to talk about these things" she repeats with a smirk. You roll your eyes and laugh with her. You are about to ask her about how she managed to get out when Ekko returns with a hurried step towards you.
"It's the enforcer" he announces dryly, he directs her gaze a moment towards you before looking harshly at Vi "She's getting more and more upset" you hear the woman curse under her breath, while you, confused and somewhat annoyed look at the two of them, trying to understand what they're talking about.
"What?"
"Listen, let me explain" Vi puts her hands on your shoulders and you look at her seriously before looking at Ekko as well. Your brows furrow on your forehead as you look at him, you let out a sigh and the sight reminds you of when you were kids and you scolded them for playing too hard at wrestling, they both always had this weird grimace of regret, embarrassment and seriousness, which almost makes you smile if it wasn't for the seriousness of the situation.
"I hear you."
"She got me out of prison" the seriousness in her voice leaves no room for doubt. Your jaw tenses, but you still hear her "She's here for Powder, but I'm not sure why."
You stand still processing her words. The fact that Jinx is involved doesn't make you feel any better. You look over Vi's shoulder so you can see Ekko, who nods in your direction, confirming what she just told you. Vi can tell the hesitation in your gaze by the way you look at everything but her "We can trust her."
"Vi..."
"She saved my life twice today. Without her I'd still be in Stillwater or I'd be in a hole at the bottom of Zaun" You look at her with wide eyes, pressing your lips together at her powder blue gaze, as piercing as you remember it "I owe her" you let out a heavy sigh and click your tongue.
"I guess we'll just have to see."
🦋
It turns out that the enforcer's name is Caitlyn, and, besides being a cute and rich girl, she also seems to be a good person.
So after untying her the four of them take a walk around the lair while they talk about Caitlyn's mission, who until after Ekko shows her the hextech gem would have the strength to tell them everything.
A couple of hours later you realize that night has begun to fall, which reminds you that you should, in fact, be helping in the kitchen, but just this once you decide that you will give yourself the day off from that self-imposed responsibility. From your spot under the tree you can see families coming out of their 'homes' to go down to the communal kitchen. The shelter fills with even more voices and life than at first. The night lights come on and a soft smile spreads across your face. This view always makes you happy.
Maybe if you were a little more attentive you'd notice that Vi is watching you.
"Where is everyone going?" asks the blue-haired girl next to you. The air gets cooler and cooler and the aroma of food begins to waft through the air.
"It's almost time for dinner, everyone is going to the communal kitchen" you reply quietly, still looking with a smile at the children running past you, some of them recognize you and Ekko and wave to you before walking on.
"Speaking of food..." Vi's hesitant voice hangs in the air for a moment before everyone turns to look at her "Could we eat some too? I'm starving" A chuckle escapes your lips, and rolling your eyes you rise from your spot.
"Let's go before it's over."
🦋
After managing to get your portion of food in the kitchen, as the four of you look for a table to sit at, Scar approaches to the both of you, telling that he needed to talk to you both and asking if you could give him some time, so Ekko and you agree, knowing that you need to update him on the plan you want to make tomorrow anyway.
"Go ahead, I'll be there in a sec" and with that you walk in the direction of the two girls. You let them know that you both need to go take care of some business, but that you will see them after dinner.
"Don't worry, I promise we'll have time to talk" you tell Vi when you notice her fidgeting and not knowing how to ask for some of your time.
But as you spend time catching up with both boys all you can think about is that you want dinner to be over so you can talk to the pretty girl with the ash blue eyes.
🦋
"How do you know them?"
"Hm?" Vi raises her head in confusion, looking at the enforcer with a blank stare.
"Yeah, how do you know them? The firelight leaders, I mean."
Vi chews her food as she tries to locate the table where you guys are sitting "Sunshine and little man were adopted by my dad's best friend" her gaze lingered once she found it, looking at your profile and the serious way you seemed to handle the topic you were talking about, after a moment she decided to lower her gaze back to her plate "Sunshine was my best friend and Ekko was my sister's."
Caitlyn is silent for a moment, glancing back to where Vi had left her gaze seconds before, finding the three of them engaged in a conversation that, from their expressions, seemed complicated. "Why Sunshine? She doesn't seem like a very... Warm person, you know?"
Vi let out a frustrated sigh, still staring at her plate "You ask a lot of questions, you know?"
"I thought we were past the part about not wanting to know anything about each other?"
She doesn't answer right away, so there are a few seconds of silence with the sound of voices and trays clattering in the background.
.
.
.
"When we were teenagers she was the only person besides my dad who was always there to take care of me, even when I insisted it wasn't necessary" Caitlyn almost failed to hear her, her voice being so low what is almost a whisper, a sigh that comes out more like an airy laugh escapes through her lips as a soft smile escapes the corners "And whenever we saw each other she had a smile on her face. Always so focused and kind" her gaze, now softened now turned to you again "My own little sunshine."
🦋
An hour later everyone is returning home, happy and with full stomachs. You keep your promise and join the two girls in front of the mural with the faces of their former friends. As you get closer you can hear the voices of both girls, but you don't understand what they are saying.
From a distance you can see that Caitlyn is making a skeptical gesture to Vi, and that Vi looks embarrassed. But you can't find out any more because they both hear your footsteps, turning to look at you.
You feel uncomfortable, as if you're interrupting something, and your heart can't help but squeeze a little. Once you reach them you clear your throat as you see them giving each other strange looks.
Again, awkward.
"I guess you guys are tired, so we'll lend them a room to stay in today" and not wanting to linger a second longer in that feeling you start walking towards an area where they have built some single rooms for some of the shelter residents.
You can hear them whispering behind you, so you assume they want to be alone, so you walk as fast as you can.
"Well here it is" you stop in front of one of the wooden doors and carefully open it, letting them see inside "I asked one of the guys to leave them a couple of sheets and a change of clothes, but I showed you where I sleep, so.... You both know where to find me if you need anything" You press your lips together for a moment, and bid them goodbye with an awkward 'goodnight' in a hurried manner. You don't take more than two steps before you feel someone tug you by the elbow, though.
And maybe it's out of habit or because you're unnecessarily anxious that the first thing you do is try to hit the person who just stopped you.
To your good fortune, Vi has good reflexes.
"Shit" she barely manages to deflect your punch, while you open your eyes like saucers, looking at her with great regret and embarrassment, you begin to apologize nervously. "Hey, it's okay, I'm sorry, I scared you and I... Uhmmm..." Vi lets out a tired sigh and it takes everything in her to be able to look you in the eye "Can I sleep with you?"
🦋
"Sorry for the mess, I don't usually expect visitors other than Ekko."
Getting to your room - though more like a small apartment - was awkward. To say the least. You talked a bit, yes, but you both have so much to say and tell each other that you just don't know how to begin. Not that the situation wasn't helping them much either.
What you might call the living room is full of tools. There are scattered on the floor some prototypes of your inventions, paints, pencils and a few other things. In one corner you have a large table full of plans, sketches and parts, an invention left half done. You push some things aside as you walk by, leaving a space clear enough for Vi to pass through without any problems.
Once in your room you light some oil lamps and approach the space where you keep your clothes. Vi follows you closely, observing every detail of the place where you live. She notices that you have pictures taped to your walls, and realizes that some of them are memories from when you were teenage.
"I think I have a couple of things you could use for the night" she murmurs more to yourself than to her, while Vi continues to look at your work with curious eyes. But there's one that catches her eye. One that, curiously, is not stuck on your wall, but on the small table next to your bed. The sheet is no bigger than her hand and it's a bit crumpled, so she take it carefully.
It's the image - draw - of the two of you, at fifteen years old sitting on the roof of the place you two used to go to every afternoon. Your place. It's done in third person, as if someone is watching you both from the entrance to the stairs to get to the roof. Her expression softens and she allows herself to smile for real. But it is as she is about to put the drawing back in place that she realizes there was another drawing underneath that sheet. A portrait of her. She's surprised to see herself - albeit in her younger version - looking at it with the most joyful and sweet expression she could imagine (Later she will realize that you always draw her with expressions similar to that). She didn't even know she could make an expression like that when she was that age. She always wondered how you saw her through your eyes.
She thinks she has an answer now.
But it's not just the portrait that makes her wonder and feel her breath catch, it's the details. On the corner of the sheet you have some Violet flowers glued, on one side you have carefully written "My pretty beautiful Violet" with a little heart at the end.
She feels her eyes sting and can feel tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She also realizes too late that you have been trying to talk to her.
"Vi? Is everything..." Your question is half-asked when you look up at her and realize where she is. Of what she's holding in her hand. And where she's looking. Holy shit.
You don't move from your spot, but your heart beats as if you've just run a marathon to escape from the enforcers. And at that moment, heart in hand, you decide to start this conversation you've been trying so hard to have.
"A few years ago, shortly after the... accident I started to be afraid of forgetting things" you tell her quietly. You are afraid now, you are afraid of what she might feel "Their faces, our memories... anything about you guys" while what you say is not a lie, you dare not confess that above all else, you were afraid of forgetting her and everything you once went through. "I think that fear became stronger after the accident with Jinx" it's too late when you realize what you just said, you forget how easy it has always been to talk to Vi. Even now.
That seems to make Vi completely reconnect with her surroundings, causing her to carefully put down the leaf in her hand to its original place "What happened?".
You inhale sharply, knowing you won't be able to avoid this topic much longer. You watch her turn to you, looking at you gently and firmly. You exhale before giving her a small smile, you get up from your spot on the floor and lay the clothes you had picked out earlier on the bed "You'll want to get comfortable before that, it's kind of a long story."
You go out to change in the living room and then wait quietly for her, and when she gives you the okay you indicate where to leave her other clothes as you settle on the bed, patting the empty side next to you so she can settle in as well. You stand there for a moment, looking at each other and observing the changes in your features. Vi mutters your name under her breath. Not the sweet nickname she has always called you by. But by your real name "Tell me what happened these years" her request is almost a plea and you can't help but avert your gaze and grimace "Please..." you close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm down, and she takes your hand with a firm gentleness. So you tell her everything.
You tell her about the day of the explosion, about how you went to look for them and only found bodies, remains and ashes. How you thought they were all dead. This leads you to tell her about the first year, where you and Ekko tried to survive by selling some things from the store until you realized that no one went there anymore because there wasn't much to sell (and because almost everyone who had money spent it on shimer). You tell her about when you and Ekko found the tree that started the dream they had and how excited was when they found it. You also tell her about your time working at the brothel, some of your experiences, but mostly the information you got from there. Information that you both then used to help each other create the firelights and to inform yourselves of everything you needed to know about current life in the lanes.
"I should have been there" Her voice is filled with anger and guilt, the hand she holds tightens against yours as her thumb gently caresses your knuckles "Maybe if I had managed to stay we would have gotten ahead the four of us. We would have found another way to create the firelights. Maybe—"
"That's a good way to go crazy" you mutter as your own thumb makes discontinuous shapes on the skin on the side of his hand "I could say the same thing about if I'd gone with you to rescue Vander and we could go round and round about what would have happened, but we'd never get anywhere."
But telling her about life as one of Babette's girls only leads you to telling her about what happened with Jinx. From the client who told you about her to the moment Ekko ran into the den with you in his arms with an open bullet wound in the side of your face.
Vi feels her body tense, she doesn't know how to react to everything you just told her. Part of her wants to believe it's not true, that she's in a really bad dream and you're not telling her this. But the scar on your face... The look she saw in her sister's eyes when she was shooting at the firelights....
"I'm sorry" Vi doesn't realize you're saying something until you repeat it again. Over and over again. Even though it's more sobs than coherent words. Tears running down your cheeks unable to stop "I'm sorry I didn't take care of her like I promised. If I had been there for her... If I had found her sooner..." you say between hiccups and sobs. Vi can't blame you. She would never "I-I've tried" you hiccup "a few more times, but..." and you can't say anything else without it coming out unintelligible, so you just deny and rub your eyes in embarrassment.
Vi's heart breaks and she pulls you to her chest to hold you there, as if trying to keep all the pieces in one place "You said it yourself" she murmurs against your hair, her hands caress your back, while yours cling to her clothes "It's a good way to go crazy" her voice is low, maybe you wouldn't hear it if it weren't for her speaking next to the shell of your ear "I don't blame you for anything" your breathing slowly calms down, leaving a few sighs and sobs in its wake "Thank you for trying".
It takes you a moment, but you manage to reply "It's the least I could do".
It takes you a while to rearrange your thoughts and regulate your emotions, but you both hold each other and spoil each other in the process "Thank you for telling me about all this", you can only reply with a soft hum. As you pull away from Vi's chest you can see the stain of your tears on her clothes. An embarrassed moan leaves your lips "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll get you another" but Vi doesn't give you a second to get up before pulling you back to her side. She drapes her arms around your shoulders and waist as her legs tangle with yours, imprisoning you against her. "You're not going anywhere" she murmurs against your neck, pressing her face there.
You can't help but laugh, and even though you're ready to debate changing clothes, you hug her too "But-" "But nothing. Stay here with me" Vi lets out an exhale as she gently squeezes you against her body before softening all contact, dropping a little of her own walls as well "Please."
You understand the connotation of her words, the unspoken request that sneaks into the corners of what she just asked of you; 'Don't leave me. Not again.' It is the same request you dare not make to her "My clothes are literally in that corner, Violet" you tell her in a teasing tone, pulling her towards you so that she is lying on your chest. For a moment she's surprised, she's afraid of hurting you, she knows she's all muscle and it's heavy, but you don't let her move an inch and she realizes how comforting and comfortable she finds this position. So she stays like this "I don't give a fuck" she replies in a soft voice as she settles on top of you "You're impossible" you reply with a giggle, stroking her fluffy pink hair, smoothing it and brushing it away from her face with gentle caresses, she lets out a sigh of satisfaction "Not that I see you complaining".
They both stay up for a few (many) hours talking and catching up a bit. Vi tells you about the day of the explosion and how she was caught. You hold her through the story, every time her voice breaks, every time her body trembles as she tells you about seeing her brothers' bodies, about Vander's death, about how fast it all happened... About how she took it out on her sister... a part of you now understands why Jinx was so upset when she saw you. But you don't blame Violet. They were just kids. A little girl who had just lost everything.
She tells you a little about how life in prison was, the beatings, some entanglements with some girls (Vi always firmly remarking how little it always meant - In return you will also tell her about some quick relationships, clarifying the same thing), some fights she won, some she lost.
They joke and tease each other, and for a moment seem to remember how easy it has always been to be by each other's side.
And it is in the midst of laughter that Vi admits how much she has missed you and how much she needed you those seven years. Needless to say, you reciprocated the feeling.
You both stare at each other again, at this point it seems inevitable. You like to see the way she has changed over the years. How long her eyelashes have become, how sharp her face has become. You love every new scar and freckle. Violet always seemed beautiful to you. Even now (a hell of a lot more now, I'd like to say).
But you haven't been together for more than a few hours, so you decide not to think too much about it.
Now they switch positions, Vi puts you on her chest and rests her cheek on the topside of your head while you settle into the crook of her neck. You both have not been able to keep your hands off each other, always caressing, rubbing or touching some part of each other's body. Right now is no exception. Violet keeps one arm around your waist while the other crosses your back. You on the other hand embrace her around the waist.
Sleep begins to take hold of you, so you snuggle against each other and say goodnight to each other in tired murmurs.
And for the first time in many years, you both rest peacefully.
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the-tmnt-ficfinder · 7 hours ago
Text
Ficfinder finds: the canary continuity
Rottmnt Fanfic Series Summary: the one where donnie ninja turtle should probably check his carbon monoxide detector
the canary continuity: Appraisal and Ratings
(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)
Disclaimer: This fanfic is a three part series, and isn't completed as of yet. As such, this post will update as the fic updates. This fic is written by @qoldenskies, so go show them some love and support!!
The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.
Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛
"Plot is five out of five!! The plot for this series is highly intense, and full of some really good plot twists!! As it progresses, it gets more and more heartbreaking!!"
Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛💛
"Suspense/Mystery is five out of five!! Right off the bat, this series has such a unique plot completely filled with mystery!! The way this story is written, you won't figure out what's happening, till the author says so lol"
Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛
"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! Oh man, this fic is made entirely of angst and hurt!! The entirety of the plot revolves around angst heavy topics and the multitude of scenes are hurt only. Absolutely a fic to cry and feel traumatized to."
Fluff/Comfort: 💛🖤🖤🖤🖤
"Fluff/Comfort is one out of five!! This series has almost ZERO levels of comfort, with only minute levels of comfort in part three. This fic is mainly an angst fic, so any brief moments of comfort there are, is rare."
Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛💛
"Emotions Conveyed is five out of five!! The emotions written in this series are so incredibly intense!! The way they're portrayed, and the content of the plot are absolutely going to leave your heart shattered!!"
Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛💛
"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! This series has a serious amount of tension and loads of drama!! All of it in the beginning is sibling related, though as the story progresses, the drama devolves into the plot."
Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛
"Triggers are five out of five!! This series is very heavy on the dark topics and themes, and is not for the faint of heart. Some of the main triggers of this fic are domestic abuse (very very heavy on this one!!) psychological abuse, extreme sensory overload, suicidal thoughts/behaviors/actions, extreme trauma response, extreme food issues, solidarity confinement, and attempted murder. I repeat, this fic is very very triggering!! Keep safe out there, and remember to read the tags!!"
Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛
"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! Such a wonderful style to read!! Its smooth, poetic, and easy to follow!! It has no unique texts, and no images in it so far."
Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛🖤
"Legibility (Audio) is four out of five!! Once again, extremely wonderful!! The entirety of the series is great for listening to, (as I've listened to each chapter) and the only thing that makes it a little hard to listen to, is S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N'S name is often spelled out loud rather than his name being said like a proper name."
Length: 💛💛💛🖤🖤
"Length is three out of five!! Currently this series has a word count of 138.5k words and has three parts to it. As this series is not yet finished, this post will update as the fic updates!!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The canary continuity series
Part 1: caged lungs
Part 2: miners eulogy
Part 3: clipped wings
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