#the way my heart drop when I realised half of it was gone

[chouchoutrains]

Percy x Rani Meet Cute Comic (WIP)

I got lazy with it (especially after HALF OF IT was deleted) but yeah here is what I have. Finally some Rani crumbs LMAO but yeah idk if I should finish it, this is only part 1. Maybe I will UGH idk anyways here it is

yeah based off the spring!mc meet cute with my boy Percy LMAO I’ll be doing a normal comic strip for the other LI’s this was too much stress for my tiny brain.

I do hope you guys like what I have though, I think the relationship between Rani and Percy could be interesting. I will be uploading Elio’s and Jamie’s later this week maybe? I’ll have doodles in between too :D

[rosyblooom]

losing ur interest | op81 smau

PAIRING: oscar piastri x fem best friend!reader WARNING(S): kinda angsty SUMMARY: oscar spent the better half of his teens and early twenties pining after his best friend, y/n, with no luck. however, by the time y/n finally sees him in a romantic light, his love is long gone.

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yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, and 91,740 others

yourusername did i jump in the water fully clothed for my bestie only to get one nice shot?? yes yes i did that and u would do it too for a free dinner! 😌

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username she was an employee! and she was gonna get employee of the month period y/n !!!

yourusername yessir🫡 username 🤣🤣

username so... where is this picture you speak of🧍‍♀️

oscarpiastri 40 cad of food for 1 pic...😐

yourusername not my fault u're so unphotogenic x username oscar bby the public would like to see it pls 🤲🧎‍♀️

username prettyyyy

landonorris the camera guy always gets the short end of the stick smh guess who paid for my food🤨

yourusername uhm... so anyway the weather was soo nice😋 landonorris woow

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption: This picture alone is NOT worth a fully paid meal! 2/10 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

oscarpiastri

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tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri Two best friends in a room, they might...

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username KISS OMG THEY MIGHT FUCKING KISS YESS PLS😭

oscarpiastri 👀👀👀 yourusername ahahahahahaha😂 username ouch...my heart hurts for osc🥹💔 username alright y/n it ain't that funny😐

username AHHJKSH they're so cute omfg

username slowly realising best friends to lovers ain't ever gonna happen with these two😩

landonorris finally give photo credits???🤨

username oop yourusername never 😙❤️

username the way y/n didn't even like the post omg crying and fucking throwing up

username 😭😭 username sigh... nobody talk to me rn 😞

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 11,840 others

f1gossipofficial Y/N L/N, Oscar Piastri's long-time childhood best friend, was spotted entering the paddock today! Despite being a fan favourite, she hasn't attended many races and tends to keep to herself.

Nevertheless, fans are thrilled to see Y/N supporting Piastri at this year's Australian Grand Prix!

Best of luck to all drivers today!

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username y/n on insta: 🤪😆���️ y/n at a gp: 🤐😊🙈

username LMAOO ...why is this me tho🥲 username she's so real for that lololol username ntm on my girl now, she's just shy🤣🫶

username it's so clear oscar's in love with her omg

username she's not tho☹️

username imagine if oscar wins today👀👀

username she looks so prettyyyyy <3

username ew she's just there for the money and fame🤢

username "long-term childhood best friend" what's not clicking??? yall just be saying anything smh

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: alright boys, time to get on ur zoom 🏎️ ]

[ tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris ]

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oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption 1: When your best friend buys you pizza to make you feel better after a crash 😊 ] [ caption 2: Nevermind she dropped it 🤦‍♂️ Actually feeling worse now! ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

A few months later...

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: the best type of mattress 😌 ]

[ tagged: oscarpiastri ]

ynfanpage

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tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

ynfanpage guys have you noticed how giddy and touchy y/n's become around oscar ever since his crash at the aus gp??? these are some pics she's posted since then👀👀👀

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username OMG YES IVE BEEN DYING TO TALK ABOUT IT

username what do you wanna bet she realised she was in love with osc that day??🥺

username IMAGINE. that would actually make so much sense!!! best friend to lovers at last omfg 😍🫶 username my nonna always said "sometimes u have to almost lose someone to realise how much they really mean to u"🥹

username Y/N IS IN THE FUCKING LIKES WTF‼️

username probably by accident🥲 username BUT WHAT IF IT'S NOT AN ACCIDENT??? maybe we'll get a hard launch soon omgg

username they're sooo dating lol

oscarpiastri

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tagged: yourusername, lilyzneimer + more

oscarpiastri Made some new friends at the beach today :)

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username the vibes in these are immaculate🤩

yourusername same time, same place? :)❤️

landonorris where was my invite???

oscarpiastri Non-existent 😊 username lmaoo why are they like this🤣🤣

username is that y/n and osc in the third pic??🧐

username idk but lmk when u figure it out babes

lilyzneimer super fun! nice meeting you guys 💛

oscarpiastri You too 😆

username idk oscar responding to everybody but y/n's comment rubs me the wrong way...🤨

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lilyzneimer posted to her story!

[ caption: 🍝💛💛 ]

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yourusername

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yourusername beach x (ty lovely waiter for taking my pic for me)

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lilymhe prettiest! 💕

yourusername youuu <33

username where's oscarrrr

username she's so fake😒 how is she super shy at the gp and then so outgoing here smh??

username lmao maybe bc this is her own insta?? like duh she feels comfortable on her own page wtf

landonorris alone?🤨 where's your shadow

yourusername u're so...😭 username LMAOO referring to oscar as her shadow is crazy??💀💀 username i'm cryin🤣🤣

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[ caption: 😊❤️ ]

[ tagged: lilyzneimer ]

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: girls night in? yes, yes pls :) ]

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0:02 ㅇ──────────── 3:17

no part 2!

[happyhauntt]

a grey day — spencer reid.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: spencer meets the newest member of the department.

─── pairing: spencer reid x autistic!medical examiner!reader.

─── warnings: fluff, reader is autistic & a mom, spencer's iq gets slashed to sixty when he talks to pretty girls and it's my favourite thing. no use of y/n. reader is performing an autopsy so mentions of blood but nothing too graphic.

─── word count: 1.3k.

     YOU KNOW IT'S A GREY DAY before you even manage to open your eyes.

     And really, you’re expecting it  ━  this whole week has been filled with pale pink and lime green with solid, unwavering turquoise blobs in the middle, because you started your new job on Monday and the apprehension, the excited, the nausea, they've all been stirring up inside you for days now.

     Waking up to a grey day doesn't hit you as hard as it usually would.

     Still, you feel sluggish when you drag yourself out of bed ten full minutes after your alarm has gone off. The shower is a no-go this morning  ━  if you’re honest with yourself, the shower is a no-go most mornings, when your skin feels soft and sensitive and your brain can't cope with the idea of a barrage of hot water raining down on you  ━  so you slap on some deodorant and spray some dry shampoo in your hair, tugging it up into a rough ponytail.

     You take your time with your makeup, though; strawberry lipgloss and lots of concealer, a heaping of eyeliner and your favourite gold hoop earrings are exactly what you need to feel better. When you step out into the hallway wearing your comfiest black jeans and a jumper that's probably smart enough to pass the dress code, hearing your daughter giggling in the kitchen, the grey day lightens a little.

     It gets even better when your sister-in-law presses a travel mug of iced coffee into your hands.

     "Jackie, I fucking adore you," you say around a mouthful of delicious, soul-quenching caffeinated goodness. You’d half-expected Jackie to have something planned. Four years of living together means that Jackie tends to know about your off days before you do.

     The other woman suppresses a smile, coupled with a sharp look. "There's a three-year-old right there!"

     You snort, waving your hand nonchalantly. As if you don't have this conversation every single day. "Nellie knows not to repeat what I say." You turn to your daughter, your heart swelling three sizes as the little girl at the kitchen table looks up from her drawing. "Nell, baby, what am I always telling you?"

     "Don't go home with strangers."

     "Well, yeah, but I meant the other thing."

     The little girl brightens, revealing a missing front tooth. "If Aunt Jackie won't say it, then I shouldn't say it."

      You giggle, scurrying over to drop a kiss on your daughter's forehead. "Exactly right, my little love."

     When you turn back toward the kitchen counter, your sister-in-law's face is painted with an affronted look, her mouth half-open. "I can say bad words!"

      You wrinkle your nose. "I'll believe that when I see it."

     By the time you leave the house, sliding into your car with a second cup of iced coffee in hand, the day has lightened to a pale blue. You hope it will stay that way.

     "YOU LOOK SO TIRED, DUDE."

     Well, alright, he'll admit it wasn't the first thing he was expecting to hear when he entered the coroner's office. It's been a while since he ventured down to the morgue, sure, but Dr. Peterson has never talked to him like that before, and he's fairly certain not that much has changed in the three-or-so weeks it's been.

     And Spencer's observant. He prides himself on being able to notice things, tiny details other people seem to miss, things that are so obvious to him that he can't comprehend how normal people can't see them.

     So if anyone asks, he'll never admit that it took a full twelve seconds before he realised that the girl in the white lab coat, elbow-deep in an open chest cavity, is definitely not Dr. Peterson.

     "Uh..."

     It's the most intelligent response he can muster in the moment.

     "It's okay," you add, hardly bothering to look up from the corpse. "I'm tired too. And you're not the worst-looking guy in the room." You jerk your head at the dead guy on the table. "Although I'd say that's a pretty low bar, all things considered."

     "Where's Dr. Peterson?"

     "He retired. Or got a promotion, I think? Not totally sure." You shrug, raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought I'd met most of the department already, but I don't recognise you.” You tell him your name, squinting at him through your plastic glasses.”I’m the new... coroner, medical examiner, pathologist, dancing monkey? They didn't totally specify the position when they offered it, which I think says more about me than anything else."

     Spencer blinks. He's not totally sure he's ever met anyone who could talk nearly as fast as him before. "Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit. Nice to meet you."

     "Oh, cool!" The liver in your hands gives a wet squelch as you drop it into a metal dish. "I'm under the BAU! I answer to your Section Chief, um, Agent Strauss? She's a little harsh, huh? I'd, uh, shake your hand, but..." You hold both hands up, mimicking a surrender, showing off the blue medical gloves slick with blood.

     An inkling of a smile creeps onto Spencer's face. "I don't shake hands."

     "That's fair," you say with a shrug. "Can I help you, Dr. Reid, or did you get lost looking for the cafeteria?"

     “No, actually.” He remembers the files he was supposed to show you and reaches into his satchel. The intensity of your gaze is like lasers on his skin and he can’t help but fumble, almost sending a stack of documents scattering across the floor.

     When he looks back up at you, cheeks flushed rosy, your stare hasn’t wavered even slightly. Amusement lingers in your eyes.

     He clears his throat and holds out the files as if they are a peace offering. He doesn’t quite understand whether a battle has been fought, but he definitely feels like he lost one. “Hotch— uh, Agent Hotchner sent the Howard County ME’s report on the Richardson case. He wanted you to look it over and sign off before they file it for the District Attorney.”

     You nod at him. The corner of your mouth quirks a little at his stuttering. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so immediately endeared to somebody before, but there he is, blinking at you like a deer caught in headlights. It’s so adorable.

     “Sure, I can do that,” you say. “Just pop it on the desk over there and I’ll get on with it when I’m done here. Can’t get any bodily fluids on the paperwork, y’know? That’d be a nightmare.”

     The volume of your laugh startles him, and he jerks slightly. The sound of it is loud and warm and it should really freak him out, considering you’re wrist-deep in a cadaver and cackling like a maniac, but it doesn’t. It’s actually kind of sweet.

     “If that’s all, Dr, Reid, I’d like to finish rooting through this guy’s insides so I can sew him back up.” Your words are an obvious dismissal, but he doesn’t feel offended, not with the kind smile still adorning your features.

     He nods and backs away. His feet feel a little numb. “Sure thing. I’ll, uh, catch you later. Have fun!”

     “I’m sure I will.”

     You sound like you’re about to laugh again. Have fun, really? He knows he’s fairly inept when it comes to women, but have fun? He scurries out of the morgue and back into the land of the living, and as Spencer boards the elevator all he can think is that he’s so glad Derek wasn’t there to witness that.

     He’s certain he’d never live it down.

     Meanwhile you resume your autopsy with an odd, fuzzy feeling in your chest. You start to hum beneath your breath, a song that must have played on the radio while you were driving to work.

     Your grey day feels a little pink at the edges.

[iridescentxstars]

-> 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 .ೃ࿐ [ — bangchan ]

➳ published: 13.07.24 ➳ credit: banner & divider: @aaagustd || beta: @wooahaeproductions ➳ brother's best friend!au || genre: smut || rated: m ➳ pairing: brother's best friend!bangchan x reader ➳ summary: it's been a few years since you saw chan, your older brother's best friend and the first guy you ever had a crush on. a few years can change a lot of things, unexpectedly, especially when a fantasy becomes reality. ➳ word count: 3.2k ➳ warnings: age gap (7 years), masturbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism ➳ author's note: i don't think i've ever written an age gap before like this so let me know what you think. ➳ taglist: @byunparklimchoi @djeniryuu @sanjoongie @honey-andmilktea (please let me know if you want to be tagged in future works)

your thoughts and feedback are always welcomed and are always appreciated. let me know what you think of my work so i can continue to give works and know they are enjoyed.

It was an accident.

You need a change of clothes and know that your brother had kept some of your clothes in his room from your last visit, so you went to grab them. All you want is to get changed. All you have to do is head upstairs, take the first left, and head into the first room on the…

Mm.. mmm…

You freeze, hand on the door handle, mid turn. Did you hear that right? Your body temperature rises, thoughts running rampant through your mind as you try to wrap your head around what you had just heard. The sound is unmistakable even if you are trying to figure out whether you’ve finally gone crazy or not.

Ah… fuck…

Swallowing thickly, you turn your head tofind Chan’s door ajar and see the sensual red lights spill across the threshold, stopping at your feet as if tempting you to take a step closer. You’ve always had a crush on Chan, the actual cliche of it all not being lost on you when you finally realised and accepted those feelings while doing everything in your power to chase them away. You dated, compared everyone to him, and always managed to find your way back to him when your heart got broken.

Like that… yes…

At twenty-four, you are a catch. Beautiful, stunning, drop dead gorgeous but Chan never really paid attention to you like that. Why would he? Your older brother is his best friend and there is nothing that could come between them, their bond is unbreakable, and you? You’ve always been the rosy-cheeked little sister with your hair in pigtails, missing a front tooth, chasing after the teenage boys to be included. At twenty-four, you are a woman who has men chasing after her but there’ll always be one man who’ll take the podium alone.

Chan.

You tell yourself you never stood a chance because he’s known you since you were a kid, the seven year difference between the two of you being as much of a deterrent as the lisp you had when you lost your other front tooth. You tell yourself that Chan has never seen you as a woman and that the right thing to do when hearing the faint wet sound coming from his room is to turn around and walk in the opposite direction. You tell yourself that you don’t want to know, that it’s wrong listening to him without his knowledge…

…hss… ngh… good girl…

His door is open. Too open to be an accident. It’s not like he’s rushed into his room and slammed the door but it didn’t catch… It’s… open enough that from across the hall, you can see the foot of his bed, his shirt thrown carelessly onto the computer chair you can see half of– God, you need to walk away.

Yes. Smart.

You let go of the door handle and turn to leave, only to find your feet fighting against the logic being communicated from above. Keeping out of view, you stand with your back against the wall beside his door and clench your eyes shut as if it’ll either hide you from anyone coming up the stairs or keep you from listening to the filthy sounds coming from his room.

Catching Chan in the act was an accident but this? This is you playing with fire.

Chan had come back from the gym, having gone straight there after work and while he knew that you were going to be over, visiting while on holiday for university, he didn’t know that within the last few years of barely seeing you – you would have become an attractive young woman. It hit him like a freight train and while he felt like he was betraying your brother for lusting over you in his mind, part of him certainly liked the way those sinful thoughts were playing out.

You’re his best friend’s little sister. When you were thirteen, he had you drool all over his shoulder when coming back from the beach, he remembers doing your hair before the school play where you were playing the female lead, and he remembers sitting with you in the kitchen as you devoured three chocolate oreo ice cream sandwiches when you had your heartbroken for the first time. Chan knows as much about you as your brother does because he watched you grow up.

He should not be acting like this. He’s better than this, or so he likes to think he is.

It didn’t help that you were helping your brother clean his car, a water fight ensuing when Chan closed his car door and greeted you two only to see that your shirt was soaked. You looked so cute, blushing slightly and smiling up at him as you folded your arms over your chest to hide your breasts from his eyes that had made their way down. “Hey, it’s been a while.” He says, gaining composure after licking his lips and looking back into your shining eyes. You throw yourself at him and Chan chuckles as you wrap your arms around his neck, your chest pressed against his as you wet his shirt. His hands land on your back to give you a small squeeze. “Careful now, petal, Jax might think that you’ve missed me more than him.”

Pulling away, he doesn’t miss the colour in your cheeks darkening as your brother clears his throat and Chan chuckles as he lets you step out of his reach. Fuck, you felt so nice in his arms. Your body has grown into that of a woman with soft curves in all the right places and it’s only because Chan isn’t the type to push anything unless he knows he’s not mistaking the signals that he let you go. “If you want, we can clean your car, too?” You smile up at him and Chan hums softly in thought before returning the warmth in his own smile.

“Sure,” he passes you the keys, the words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue but he’s smart. Smart enough not to risk a right hook from Jackson. “I’m heading in to shower.” A simple lie falling off his soft lips – Chan showered at the gym. He needs to stop looking at the shirt clinging to your body and teasing him with thoughts of you. Escape seems to be the only way to keep his sanity. “We can catch up afterward, hm?”

He can’t get into his room fast enough, the door left open in his haste as he pulls his damp white shirt off and throws it in a random direction. He wants to erase the image of you from his mind as he runs fingers through his slightly messy black locks, trying to keep the image of you pure, sweet, innocent – failing miserably in doing so.

Where the fuck did this come from?

He’s always known, Chan thinks about it, he’s always known that you’ve had a crush on him because he saw how you’d behave when you started going through puberty and avoided being near him for the longest time. A girl who was always so happy to give her big brother and his best friend a hug, who would hold Chan’s hand whenever you crossed the road, and who would squeal with joy when he’d give you piggyback rides. You never shied away from his affections until you were fifteen and couldn’t look him in the eye.

He figured it out quickly but never once did he mention it because he didn’t see you like that. Sweet, innocent petal who shines as bright as the sun. That’s what you’ve always been to him and he thought that he’d always think about you that way until…

Were you even wearing a bra? The way your nipples pebbled against your shirt… “Fuck.” He groans, collapsing onto his bed and closing his eyes while taking deep breaths as if it’ll erase the sinful thoughts plaguing his mind.

He can hear the laughter coming through his open window and Chan knows that the only way that he’s going to be able to survive spending the rest of the evening with you is to get off before facing you again. He’s lying to himself, praying that he can believe it as he closes his window curtains and sets the mood to help get through this easier. Chan’s not one for masturbation, he’s not opposed to it either but he’s always preferred mutual satisfaction over solo pleasure, however, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Like fucking his hand while thinking about taking you on the hood of his car.

Ambient music plays, the hexagon LED lights set to a sensual red as he lays his head on the pillow with his eyes closed. His large, calloused hands run over his body, gliding along the dips and rises of his abdomen slowly before moving back up; he’s painting a picture in his mind, a fantasy that he usually wouldn’t play with considering he’s not one to be touched during sex but wouldn’t you be curious? Wanting to map out his body with the same need that he’d have to learn yours, watching to know where to touch, what pressure to apply, and committing every inch to memory. 

To know it like it’s his own.

Mm… mmm…

He’s working himself up, fantasising about everything his mind can play as his heart races and his body temperature rises. The way you’d feel beneath him, how wet you’d be as he plunged his fingers deep into your core so that you were well and truly worked up. “Ah… fuck,” Chan bites his lip as he palms his erection, the hardness evident in his grey sweats and he looks down at how much of an effect you have on him in such a short amount of time. His imagination goes wild; his large hand being replaced by your smaller one as it rubs slowly over his clothed cock and the ache that comes with wanting to stroke himself grows with the fire in his abdomen. “Like that… yes…”

Chan has been one for delayed gratification. More so his partner than himself but it’s not unusual for him to drag it out… especially when his prize is on the other side of the door.

“Hss… ngh… good girl.” He breathes out as he grips the throbbing member wanting to be released. His hand pauses for a moment, so close to reaching inside and releasing himself as he opens his eyes and hears movement on the other side of the door. A smirk plays on his bitten lips as he realises you’ve caught him and tried to hide. He doesn’t know when you had made your way upstairs but it seems that your timing couldn’t have been better because Chan is only just getting started and nothing fuels the man more than knowing the effect he has on someone else.

If there’s no indication that you’ve tried to run away then he knows you’re caught up in him as much as he is caught up in you.

Moving slightly so that he can release his thick cock, the member slapping against his abdomen now that it’s not restrained, Chan reaches beside him and grabs the lubricant next to his bed. Usually, he’d use some proper lube but it’s been a while since he’s masturbated alone and a man has to use the resources around him.

Unless… fuck, his cock throbs at the thought of being buried deep inside you.

Using just enough to allow for a smooth glide, Chan wraps his hand around his cock and begins to stroke, groaning at the feeling and knowing that you’re listening. Are you wet? He wonders, thinking about you standing there in the hallway rubbing your thighs together. How long would you last before you’d need to feel some friction in between your legs, feel some stimulation against your engorged clit while having your nipples pinched and pulled?

How long until you’re begging him to fuck you?

You can hear the lewd sounds coming from his room and from the way he’s moaning, you know that those wet noises are his hand stroking his cock. You don’t know what to do. You do know what to do actually, it’s simply that you aren’t moving.

Escape. Rush back downstairs and tell Jax that you’ll get changed later for any reason that you can think of that doesn’t involve mentioning Chan masturbating.

Except you stay pinned to the wall.

Listening.

Biting your lip.

Imagining the sight.

“Just like that, baby,” You listen to the way Chan speaks, the deepness in his usually dulcet tones stoking the fire that’s building inside you. Clenching your fists, you close your eyes as you’re trying to will yourself away from the wall but all that happens is you moving towards the door and peeking around into his room.

Your eyes widen at the sight before you. You had already figured out that you’ll be unable to look Chan in the eyes again, but this is the moment that it finally sinks in that you will never be the same again. How could you be normal after this? How will you even be able to think about anyone else again when this is all that’ll be in your dreams?

Trying to avoid looking directly at his cock, your eyes move to his face, contorted in pleasure as Chan’s brow furrows and he bites down on his soft lips. Oh, how you’ve thought about the way they would feel against yours, the closest thing you’ve ever come to feeling his lips against you is when he’s kissed your forehead. It’s always been difficult not to wonder how they would feel trailing down the curve of your neck, the way his tongue would trace along your jugular as his hands ghost over your chest, not quite touching but teasing enough that…

A soft whimper leaves your lips as you clench your thighs together because now your gaze is wandering from those bitten clouds of lust down to his chest, body showing off that he does work out and take good care of himself and along his arms. You can see the shadows of his veins, something you’ve always noticed about him, the way his veins are always prominent in his arms and hands. You know exactly how his hands feel from the times you’ve played with his hands, trying to steal the bracelets that adorn his wrists only to have him wrap those large hands around your wrists.

Hands that are now wrapped around…

“Oh my–” 

You didn’t mean for it to come out so loud, you didn’t mean to bring attention to yourself but how were you meant to keep your reaction subtle, quiet, when Chan’s thumb was circling the tip of his cock and you imagined it being your tongue instead? How were you meant to keep yourself from nearly falling through his door when Chan let out the deepest grunt as he rolled his hips like that as he fucked his hand and made you want to be riding him?

Simply put, how are you meant to remain sane when in this moment, you’ve lost all sense of rationality?

There’s no denying that Chan caught you, that you brought attention to yourself and his eyes are on you, burning with an intoxicating mix of sex, lust, and sin. He holds your gaze, not letting go of his throbbing cock as he moves so that he’s now stroking himself while he plants his feet on the ground and sits on his bed to give you a full view. Abdomen tensed, free hand placed behind him so he can lean back as he rolled his hips.

“So pretty,” he says, barely loud enough for you to hear it but the world has faded enough so there’s nothing else that could steal this away from him. “How about you come here, princess?” You take a cautious step into his room, and then another, and that’s when your fate was sealed.

There’s no turning back now…

“Yo!” You hear Jax call your name and you freeze. Chan pauses, eyes on yours to keep you glued to your spot. “Have you changed yet?”

It’s not wise, Chan knows this, it’s not wise to tempt both of you into the abyss that’ll consume you the moment you succumb to it but what is he meant to do? You look too tempting for him to pass up a chance even if it means being caught. It's a risk that logically he wouldn’t make if it was anyone else, but if he’s always thought you deserved the world, why not make you feel on top of it?

“So pretty,” his lips pull up at the corner as he takes you in. Your shirt is damp, see through and he’s sure that you’re cold and needing to change from the goosebumps erupting over your skin but it could be whatever is charging the air between you. He sees the way your tongue peeks out and wets your lips before slowly being dragged back inside and without saying the words, Chan knows you’re thinking about wrapping your lips around his cock.

Fuck, maybe next time.

“How about you come here, princess?” He uses his free hand, the hand that propped him up, to reach out and encourage you closer. It shouldn’t be making his cock twitch with the way you’re so obedient, so caught up in the moment that you aren’t thinking about anything else other than him – until the moment is hit with a cold shower called reality.

Jackson.

Chan watches the conflict in your eyes as you think about the consequences of this and while that should be his thought as well – he’s not letting you get away. He’s quick, pants pulled back over his cock as he makes his way to you, pinning you against the wall. “Where are you going, princess?” Chan looks down at you, his messy hand wrapped around your waist while his other tilts your chin up so that you can see the desire in his eyes. “Do you not like what you see, hm?”

You stutter, “n-no, it’s just…” wow, you’re adorable, he thinks to himself. As you shake your head and try to figure out the reason why this could be a bad idea, Chan pushes his knee in between your legs, and almost as if your body is already under his control, you grind against him. “What if…”

“Good girl,” Chan whispers, lips so close to yours as you try to say coherent thoughts while grinding on his thigh. “Give it a minute, hm?” You nod and Chan doesn’t know whether you’re agreeing because he’s right and Jackson will leave, whether you trust that he wouldn’t lead you into trouble, or whether you’re just as horny as he is and don’t want to ruin the moment.

Whatever the reason, whatever it is that keeps your back against the wall, grinding and making him want to take you right now, he’s thankful for it. It doesn’t take long for the front door to close, and your brother decides to carry on without you. Chan looks proudly at your flushed cheeks as you try and reach that high you desperately want. “That’s a good girl~.” He praises and watches the way it affects you, “now, I think you deserve a reward. What do you think?”

You moan, biting your lip, “mm, yes.”

Chan tilts his head victoriously, a glint in his eyes, “Yes what?”

“Yes, please.”

[cxvii666]

WHY'S THIS DEALER? TAKING THE PISS?!

cw: recreational drug use, bad language, reader is a dealer (loosely based on my last encounter with a fem plug), idiots in love, 21st century love at first sight,

- eventually will be a multi part fic im prolly gonna upload on ao3 but for now standalone

(i make myself laugh)

it's all denki's fault.

i mean it's normally denki's fault, (with a mixture of himself, kirishima, and mina, depending on the context, the situation, or, who bakugou is most mad at), but this time, it is DEFINITELY ALL DENKI'S FAULT.

"dude cmonnnnn. i already promised everyone i'd score for the party."

trust denki kaminari to make promises he can't keep.

so this is where hanta sero ends up, on the corner of the road, in miserable weather, freezing his ass off, waiting for this dealer. it's just gone half ten and hanta's not a fool, so when he saw the "i'll be der for 10" message pop up on his phone, he didn't leave his dorm till quarter past. but now his vape is dead, his phone is on like 10%, and his fingertips are cold, so yeah, he's a little bit pissed off. pissed at himself for not buying a new geek bar, pissed at denki for begging and whining and promising to 'let him have first draw', and pissed at this dickhead for taking their sweet time.

it's a new guy, the dealer. well at least, the number denki gave him was different than usual and their style of texting was nothing like the guy he usually picks up from. hanta likes to think he's relatively chill dude, but if this fucker, who charges even more for a 3.5, doesn't hurry up, he's gonna crash out.

after another slow ten minutes and another "yh man im almost there" text, a car finally pulls up in front of him. he stamps out what's left of his roll up and pushes himself off the fence he was leaning on as the car window slides down.

hanta fumbles and nearly drops his phone out of his hands when he sees you, sat in the drivers seat.

pretty half lidded eyes stare at him, he thinks he hears kendrick playing from your aux but he can't be sure because he's so caught up in you. fingers tapping rhythmically against the wheel, you look up at him through your lashes and call out slow and tired,

"sero, yeah?"

and, oh my god, his family name has never sounded better than it did coming from your plush lips.

he nods dumbly before realising that you probably can't see him very well in the dim lighting of the side road. "yeah. yeah, that's me," he coughs out, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

you face breaks out into a shy smile directly contrasting the cold stare down you'd be giving him before unlocking the car.

"omg, cool! sorry for making you wait so long! i know it's cold, d'you wanna hop in the passage seat rq?" and hanta doesn't even have time to internally debate the pros and cons of getting into a complete strangers car, because his feet are already carrying him across the road and into your front seat.

as he settles into your passenger seat, you slide your chair back the slightest and start rummaging around in a clearly well loved black leather handbag. hanta tries to still, or at least calm, his beating heart. you look strangely familiar, like he's met you in a dream or something. he takes a deep breath and remarks how your car smells faintly of oranges and you begin, "so who gave you my number?"

"kaminari-"

"wow" you laugh, your top lip curling slightly, teeth showing, hanta thinks your so pretty, "you know kaminari? damn, that guy's in my prac maths class and he's-"

suddenly hanta cringes internally, mind flashing back to a scene, maybe a couple days ago, of him and denki hitting blinkers at the bus shelter outside campus, talking about something stupid, them joking about hanta's apparent lack of game (which is not true at all), and denki saying something about some pretty girl in his class who he smokes with sometimes and, in his words, was, 'exactly y'er type bro'.

"he's one of my roommates." is all he says though his lazy smile tenses slightly, no way denki planned this, right?

you hardly notice, rambling about your maths module, and the lack of work that got done between the two of you. you're trying to keep your voice even and not take too many glances at the hot guy, sero hanta, kaminari's cute roommate, who you had instagram stalked literally on the way over, while you were stuck in traffic, because you'd seen him on the blonde's story. it was some badly taken photo of a group of four guys all sat on top of each other on the same couch, two of them laughing, four beers and an open pack of amber leaf on the table. but sero, cheesing at the camera, sat on the thigh of a different blonde who seemed literal seconds away from punching his lights out, had caught your eye.

so to have him here, in your car, right next to you. so close you could practically smell him, and he smelt gooood, the standard stoner boy scent that you expected but with a mix of something spicy, lord-

when you finally look up to him from where you've been digging in your bag, phone in hand, hanta shuffles with the dead vape in his pocket trying to make it less obvious he'd spent the better part of five minutes just staring at you.

"speak of the devil." you shake your phone at hanta to take and on the screen is a recent chat between you and his best friend as well as a snap of him clearly drunk yelling at the camera from five- five minutes ago??

"he's so unserious." you laugh again, and take your phone back from hanta typing out a quick response then clicking your phone off. "you wanted an eighth yeah?"

hanta nods dumbly, still kinda shocked that denki pulled this off without him realising, and you pull out a little plastic bag with a couple nuggets inside and hand it to him.

he goes to grab the cash in pocket but you stop him with a gentle arm to his shoulder.

you drop your arm quick enough, overthinking your next actions but say anyway, "don't worry 'bout this one, yeah-"

"-what? nah 's fine i've got cash," he trails off, you're looking at him, beautiful wide eyes.

"no i've already made up my mind," you grin slowly at his slightly flustered state and for a moment neither of you talk. the song has long sinced changed and your radio is now playing an old rnb track he doesn't recognise but he finds himself relaxed in your presence.

"besides, i made you wait for so long, and," you continue quickly, your smile even wider, as hanta tilts his head to hide his flustered face. "you're a friend of a friend, right?"

when he finally makes his way back to the party, denki's there, cheesing like an idiot, and when bakugou asks why he took forever, and he parrots him "yeaah, sero, what took you so long?" slick as shit, hanta can't even bring himself to be pissed.

yeah it was denki's fault, but the weight of your number, your actual number, with your first name and a '<3' next to it, in his phone makes it worth it.

he throws the baggie of whats left of the bud to his 'friend' who is still wiggling his eyebrows and steals a vape off the table.

"dude stfu or i'm never picking up for you again."

[longing-for-the-past-times]

wisdom teeth

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 1,472

synopsis: Simon comes home from a mission only to find you in bed, sick and in pain. Your wisdom teeth are coming out and he does his best to care for you

notes: as always, i suck at writing a good synopsis; inspired by this request- not proofread, hope you enjoy :) ; and yes, when two of my wisdom teeth decided to come out in the world last spring I could barely open my mouth without being in pain- I hope no one else has to go through what I did

warnings: a little too self-indulgent? fluff

masterlist

Simon knew something was wrong when he spent nearly an hour nursing his cup of Earl Grey, and you hadn't joined him yet. While it wasn't unusual for you to sleep in sometimes, it was still the morning after he'd returned from a mission and you would usually be fussing all over him. Ghost knew he was being irrational, but with each passing second his mind couldn't help but spiral into darker and darker thoughts. What if he had done something to upset you? You didn't greet him last night either - merely cuddled against his chest when he joined you in bed - was it something he said on the phone? Or rather didn't say? Didn't he call you too often? Or perhaps you might have met someone else..?

"'m sorry, S'mon. I might spend'he day'n…"

A small curse left his lips as he shook himself out of his thoughts. The tea had long gone cold by the time he eventually got up from the table and threw the remnants down the kitchen sink. His stomach was basically growling, protesting at the prolonged hunger it had been objected to, yet Ghost did not head for the fridge or the cupboards: he may have drunk his tea by himself, but, when he was home, he would never have breakfast without you by his side.

So instead, he headed for the bedroom, quietly opening the door and half-entering the room. He had to squint as the blackout curtains were still obstructing any ray of sunlight that might have entered inside otherwise, his expression morphing into a frown upon hearing the faintest of groans coming from the bed.

Traversing the room in two steps, he laid on the carpet, by your side of the bed, gently placing a hand on your forehead. His heart dropped at the foreboding feeling of you having a fever, too focused on the situation at hand to notice the soft way you began to rub your head against the cold skin of his hand.

Ghost, on the other hand, did not realise the cause of your distress. Seeing you in pain was causing him pain too and his tired mind, still set on the military mindset he had instilled during the last mission, was looking for a culprit.

"feels so good, love", you mumbled with your cheek still squished against the pillow, your eyes involuntarily making contact with his.

You've been together with Simon for more than two years and sharing an apartment for a year now, but the sight of his handsome face, unconcealed by any mask or balaclava, still left you out of breath and at a loss for words. That morning was no different, his worried expression filling your heart with even more love and joy towards him, so much that you swore you could feel it burst at the seams. You relished in the soothing sensation of his palm being pressed against your flushed skin, but at the same time, you couldn't help but smile at him in an attempt to reassure him you were fine.

In fact, you weren't. And you forgot that, at least for the last few days, any movements that involved opening your mouth, no matter how minor, were instantly accompanied by sharp waves of pain, coursing through your entire being. So, for the hundredth time that week, your smile was quickly replaced by a pathetic whimper and a hand helplessly pressed against your cheek, as if it would make the pain go away.

"Who did this to you? Just say the word and I-"

His concern was so raw and real that it made your heart melt like it was a chocolate bar left in the sun. You had missed his overprotective attitude and the scary dog privileges it brought with it and in that moment, the realisation that all of it was back hit you hard. So hard that in fact, you started laughing- your loud chuckles quickly turning into sobs of pain as your jaw was protesting against the sudden movements.

Your eyes were closed in an attempt to dull the pain that engulfed your entire face, but you could feel Simon's distress rolling off him in waves. So you blindly reached for the phone and opened the notepad application, typing in what you were unable to say out loud at once:

"Wisdom teeth are coming out."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Simon took a moment to assess the situation. A rush of relief surged through his veins as it was all clear then- the prolonged sleeping periods, the fever, why you couldn't open your mouth without being forced to close it immediately after. A selfish part of him was relieved that it was something he could physically deal with, and his protective instincts really started to kick in.

Pulling the curtains was not a solution as the brightness of the daylight would only make you feel more overwhelmed, but the room still needed some light- and the bedside lamp was not a solution as the bulb would have also been too bright. You would also need something to calm you, but not pills because they would interfere with the painkillers he also made a mental note to get and-

"I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head, love! :)"

He had to squint to process the text when you shoved the phone into his face, his lips curling up at the sight of the smiley face you typed at the end. Urging your face to morph into something that remotely resembled a smile, you extended a hand towards his face and caressed his cheek with your thumb, in what was meant to be a silent confirmation that he was on the right track and nothing that he would or wouldn't do would upset you in any way.

"I'll be back in 30 minutes at most!", he solemnly declared as he pressed his lips against your forehead, a small tendril of hope bubbling in his chest upon the feeling of the fever starting to fade away. "Why don't you try to get some rest until I come back and then we'll see what we can do!"

You could only nod in confirmation as he pulled another blanket from a drawer and draped it over the one you already used, making a show out of tugging you in.

---

When you woke up again, the pain wasn't entirely gone, but the air in the room had somehow shifted. It took you a moment to bounce back into reality, your eyes slightly widening at the faint light that illuminated the previously dark room.

Fairy lights were hanging over your head.

And the soft notes of a piano song could be heard from outside the room.

"How are you feeling, love?", Simon's deep Manchester accent resounded somewhere in your proximity, and you almost jumped out of bed when you realised he was once again sitting on the floor, half leaning against the bed. His mask was, once again, out of sight, and his blonde strands of hair were tousled, likely from the many times he kept running his hands through his hair. Your eyes involuntarily stopped on the faint scar that split the left corner of his lip in half and, for a brief moment, all the pain and distress you found yourself in were gone, your heart filling with an overwhelming amount of love and adoration towards the man standing in front of you.

"So I brought you some painkillers, but before we try them I suggest a cup of this calming tea mix I found at the store-"

The sentence was left hanging in the air as you shook your head in disbelief and cupped his face in your hands, planting a soft kiss on his lips. If Ghost was caught unawares by your sudden display of affection, he did not let it show, but instead, he laced his hands against your neck and deepened the kiss, closing his eyes at the close contact you found yourselves in. Loudly expressing his feelings was not one of his strengths, and deep down he could not believe he had managed to find someone like you, who could understand him so well.

"Welcome home, Simon!"

"I think I'm feeling better already…", you quietly mumbled once you broke the kiss, your lips gently brushing against his cheek. Closing your eyes as well, you grazed your nose against his face, finding comfort in his scent. He may have been home for a day, perhaps he took a shower too, but the distinctive smell of gunpowder, mixed with sweat and cologne, was still there. And you did not mind it at all.

That time your jaw did not hurt as bad as your mouth curved into a smile.

[jamiesfootball]

“Roy?”

“Hm?”

“I don't want you to die before me.”

“The fuck?” Roy jerks right out of his half-slumber. He tries to sit up, but Jamie flexes his calves and traps Roy back down against the sofa. With a pillow stuffed against his chest in a death grip he looks pathetic, like someone's just told him his favourite puppy needs to be put down.

Roy huffs. “I’m not dying.”

“I know,” Jamie says sincerely. “But you’d tell me if you were, right?”

Roy rolls his eyes.

“Roy,” Jamie insists, and God help them both, but there’s real stress in his voice.

Roy pats one of the calves holding him down. “Yes. I’d fucking tell you. You’d probably be the first to know beside my sister.”

The muppet nods, at least not arguing with his being placed behind Sarah. Roy has a brief moment of deluding himself that that’s it for Jamie’s tangent into mortality logistics, before the prick adds with all the subtly of a hammer, “You’re almost fifty.”

Fuck.

The sigh that escapes isn’t entirely free of weight. His age isn't something Roy can ignore these days, not with how his body has started to hold him back more and more. Sure, he’s still fit. He’s able to do 5ks for charities without much effort, but not without restraining himself down to a steady job. His heart's in fine shape, a history of strict nutrition guidelines has left him with a habit of eating well. As far as his doctors are concerned, he’s fit as a whistle, with no pressing concerns that should keep him up at night.

But he feels old now, in a way he didn’t even five short years ago. When he looks around, the signs of his age reflect back. His hair isn’t as thick as it used to be, still thicker than most but he can feel the difference when he washes up at night. His skin’s lost some of its elasticity, a paper-like consistency creeping in around his joints. Strangers have started to hold doors open for him when he's out on his own. More than a few times now, he’s been asked by a fresh-faced juvenile if he qualifies for a senior discount.

It's not just him either. His niece is almost an adult, long weedy limbs beginning to steady into a permanent shape. She's looking at universities, her exacting list of demands narrowed down to an aggressive handful of final round picks. His little sister’s hair has gone grey, streaked and wild. It's been years since Roy's needed to step in to cover a last minute emergency. Sarah's become a hit on the lecture circuit, and years of extra shifts have given her a cushion of stability that she can rely on outside of her brother.

And Jamie, sulking at the other end of the couch, has crows feet the flutter from the corners of his eyes whenever he smiles. He’s not smiling now, but Roy can still make out the faint outline of them below the skin. The sight of them has become a familiar ache; when they first met, Roy already had those.

Somehow, Jamie’s still not the age that Roy was when they first met.

At some point he’s gone from patting the calf under his hand to holding it close, warm and heavy and familiar from hundreds of evenings spent watching the highlight reels on Sky Sports.

He gives it a quick squeeze. “Let me up.”

Jamie swings his legs off of his chest. Then he shimmies around, and before Roy can complain, he crawls over to collapse against Roy’s side. Roy lets his arm drop around his shoulder, holding him close with an ease that’s taken years to weave under his skin.

He wouldn’t trade it, not even for youth. Not even for more time.

“You realise it’s not fair the other way around, right? Me watching you die before me.” Awful, the way his throat goes thick at the mere thought. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere any time soon. Short of being hit by a bus, you’re stuck with me.”

Jamie exhales. He’s tense, and without thinking Roy rubs his arm.

“Not saying I wanna die any time soon either. I’m just saying, it’s shit you’re likely to kick the bucket first.” His forehead digs into the bone of Roy’s shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d-“

He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath.

While he tries to compose himself, Roy does the same. Still sounds rough to his own ears when he points out, “This conversation sucks.”

Jamie snorts, a little wet and more than a bit thick. “Your fault, you grumpy old bastard. What were you thinking, being born fifteen years sooner than me like that?”

“Probably that someone had to be ready to look out for your sorry arse when you showed up.”

Jamie wriggles, his arms snaking their way around- one between Roy’s back and the cushions, the other curled over his front like a safety belt, until they meet around the other side, one lapped over the other.

“Yeah,” says Jamie softly. He hugs Roy like if he holds on tight enough, he can give a few years back. “Thanks for that by the way.”

Fifty years pin Roy down against the weight of the living; mentally, he vows to do everything in his power to hang on for another fifty more.

“You’re welcome.”

[mellowsadistic]

“Seriously, Daddy? I have to wear this shirt?”

“It suits you, baby," Juliana's boyfriend told her, glancing up from his work and looking her over briefly. "It makes you look sexy.”

Juliana blushed, angry at herself for the pleasant fluttering she felt in her tummy. “It makes me look ridiculous!” she insisted. “And I do not love diapers!”

But her boyfriend was totally focused on his laptop again and she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. She huffed angrily and looked around for the rest of her clothes. Daddy always laid them out for her in the mornings.

She frowned when she saw the short shorts he’d chosen for her. There was no way they'd fit over her nappy! “Um… Daddy? I think you’ve made a mistake.”

“Oh?”

“These are my old shorts,” she said.

“I know, sweet-cheeks," he said, not looking up from his laptop. "I always liked the way you looked in them.”

“But… but... but Daddy, they don’t fit anymore, remember? They won’t cover my… my…” She felt her stomach drop when she realised he knew exactly how the shorts would look on her. “Daddy, no!”

“It doesn’t matter if they don’t hide your diaper, baby girl," he said, typing a final few words on his laptop with a flourish before shutting the lid. He turned to smile at her. "What matters is you look pretty as a princess for me.”

"I'd look much prettier in panties," Juliana suggested, but it was a half-hearted effort. She knew he'd never let her wear big girl underwear again. They'd had too many fights in the days before he'd started her on diaper discipline, and even she had to admit their relationship was much more stable now, and happier too... she only wished it hadn't come at the price of her potty privileges. Nappies were yuck!

"I don't think so, darling," her boyfriend said gently, getting up and walking over to stand above her. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. "I think your perky little butt looks hot in diapers. I know you don't like them, but that makes it even more special that you wear them for me. I'm so proud of you for giving up the potty, baby."

Juliana fought the happy smile tugging at her lips. That shouldn't make her pleased. He was praising her for going to the bathroom in her own pants for God's sake! What was the matter with her?!

He bent down and kissed her on the forehead, and Juliana shut her eyes, revelling in his love and approval. “Shorts on now, diaper-butt,” he ordered, straightening up again, and Juliana jumped to obey.

The shorts went up her legs easily enough, but after that they were a problem. She had to tug hard, jumping up and down on the spot to try and squeeze her thickly diapered derriere into them. Eventually she managed to stuff her padded bum inside, stretching the denim fabric as taut as it would go, but she couldn’t get the zip to do up even an inch, leaving much of her nappy still exposed - and that wasn’t even factoring in the obvious diaper bulge or the plastic waistband sticking a full two inches out of the top. Juliana pouted. She was going to look so stupid sitting around the house like this all day.

“Good girl,” her boyfriend cooed, putting the shy smile back on her face. “Shoes on next, baby."

Juliana’s smile vanished at once. Why?” she asked. Surely he didn't mean...

He chuckled. “Why do you think, silly girl? We’re going out.”

“No!” she said at once. This was going too far! “No way! I’m not going out like this!”

"Little girl...” her boyfriend said warningly. “Calm down and do as you’re told.”

“No I will not calm down and do as I’m told!” Juliana shouted. All the warm contentment she'd felt had gone in an instant. “I’m not going to be seen in public like this!“

“Sweetheart, diaper discipline is a lot more common nowadays. Chances are you won't be the only girl in town wearing baby pants today."

"I don't care! I'm not doing it!"

"That's enough, Juliana," Daddy said, raising his voice. "You behave yourself or you'll be getting a bare bottom spanking before we go out!"

Juliana hesitated for half a second, but then she stomped her foot in indignation. She didn't have to put up with this! She wasn't a child, and he wasn't her Daddy! "No!" she shouted, with as much determination as she could.

For a moment, her boyfriend just looked at her. Then he took a seat on the bed. There was a hard look on his face. “Here,” he said, pointing at the floor in front of him.

Juliana didn't move.

"Come here."

She swallowed. Her body was trembling. "I said n-"

“Right now, little girl!”

Juliana wet herself. She could feel the warmth spreading through her nappy as her bladder emptied itself in fear. Her hands moved, almost on instinct, to her bottom. She'd pushed him too far. She started to walk automatically towards him. She hadn't even finished peeing yet; wee-wee was still streaming into the thirsty padding between her legs as she toddled over to where her boyfriend sat. She was the one standing above him now, but she didn’t feel powerful at all.

"Shorts down," he instructed.

She did as she was told. It was easier to get them off than on, and with a quick tug, they were sliding down her legs.

Daddy probed the front of her nappy with his fingers, pressing the piss-soaked padding against her sex and making her wrinkle her nose in disgust. "You've peed yourself," he said.

"Yes Daddy..."

"But your diaper's not going to leak yet. You can wear this again when we're done." He ripped open the tapes on one side, then the other, and her sodden nappy fell heavily into her shorts with a wet thump.

Juliana's bottom lip wobbled. “Daddy,” she said, so quietly she could barely hear herself. “Please…”

But he just stared at her with that hard look in his eyes, and pointed to his lap.

“I’ll be a good girl,” she whispered. “I promise.”

“I know you will,” he said calmly. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

She started to cry. "I'm sorry!" she wailed.

"I'm sure you are, baby," said her Daddy, guiding her over his lap with her bare bum facing up, "and a sore, red bottom is going to help you remember that sorriness."

It did. Fifteen minutes later, Juliana was bawling her eyes out over his knees, kicking her legs and shrieking, her blazing red bottom jiggling with every smack. "DOBBIT DADDY!" she sobbed, her words barely audible through her tears. "P'EASE! I BE A GOO' GIWL!"

"Are you going to wear what I tell you to wear without any fussing?"

"YES, DADDY!"

"Are you going to throw anymore tantrums about going out in public?"

"NO, DADDY! I P'OMISE!"

And then it was over. In a few moments, Juliana was flipped around, and she was being cuddled in her boyfriend's arms, getting her aching bum-cheeks caressed with tender fingers. "That's my good girl," her Daddy crooned. "That's my little angel. We'll go out and do a little bit of shopping together once I've got you dressed again, okay? I want to get some new shirts, and you need more diapers." He kissed away a tear on her cheek. “Then we’ll get ice cream. How does that sound?”

Juliana hiccupped. “Can I put it on my bottom to cool it down?”

Her Daddy laughed. “No baby, ice cream is for eating. But I’ll put something soothing on your bum when we get home, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

He kissed her on the lips and she kissed him back enthusiastically, desperately. Her hands reached for his belt, but he laughed again and brushed them gently aside. “That will have to wait until after we get back too, baby."

She made an indistinct fussy noise. She felt so needy. She didn’t want to wait that long... But Daddy was sure to get even more turned on by the sight of her walking around town with her nappy showing. Maybe she could convince him to change her in a public toilet, and while they were there...

After a bit more cuddling, she allowed him to tape her back into her soggy nappy and pull her shorts over them once again. Despite the public humiliation she knew she was about to endure, despite the throbbing pain in her buttocks and the feeling of pee sloshing about in her pants, she smiled as he took her by the hand and led her out the front door. She loved her Daddy so, so much.

[dreamwatch]

Exposure

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #24 - Prompt: Behind The Scenes | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: scars, ableism, facial differences seen negatively by others (a photographer) | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, photoshoots

It was inevitable, honestly.

Their first professional photoshoot, not just Matty’s brother, Brian, with the family Pentax, shooting in black and white because it’s ‘artistic.’ Usually they didn’t put photographs on the flyers, just their logo, but once they moved to Indy a couple of independent labels came for a sniff of the goods and they wanted photos. Thank you, Brian, your services to photography will be forever remembered.

Once they were signed though, the label wanted professional photographs, which was fair, because honestly Gareth’s garage didn’t make the sexiest back drop. So anyway, here they were in a studio in Indianapolis getting their photographs taken, with a real professional photographer.

He doesn’t know a lot about this kind of gig, but he knows guys on TV get their makeup done all the time on account of the lights making their faces shiny, so at first it’s like, whatever. But then they’ve got them all lined up, real Metal Hammer pose, cloudy blue and gray backdrop like some extreme high school portrait, and the photographer is eyeballing him. Like hard stares. And he’s not looking him in the eye. He’s looking at his cheek.

Then the guy’s in a huddle with the makeup artist, and she’s looking at him and the photographers looking at him, and now they’ve got the assistant there. 

“What the fuck is the hold up,” whispers Gareth, and the boys mutter but Eddie says nothing because he knows. He knows and he’s dying a little inside.

Then the huddle is broken, and they’re getting moved around and now Eddie’s facing a different direction (‘we can just flip the neg’) but that’s not working for them either, and the studio lights are getting dimmed on his side, and his heart is racing, and the makeup girl is in his face, “Sorry,” she says, and she’s being gentle, likes she’s trying to be respectful, but she’s painting this shit on his face, on his neck, and he can see the shock, the way her eyes go wide when she starts to move the collar of his shirt and she realises it goes further down and that’s it—

“Can you—“ he snaps, ducking backwards.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” she says all sheepish and apologetic, and she probably means it but he doesn’t care, he’s done, he wants out.

The photographer wraps it up, and he’s talking but Eddie’s not listening, he’s gone, out to the Jeff’s car waiting by the door, but they’re up in the studio playing rockstars, like they’re not driving to gigs in shitty vans, and he’s had it actually, fuck this.

He walks for an hour and then stops at Molly’s and has a few beers. And it feels stupid, at this point, like he’s over reacting, it’s a scar, and they’re in the image industry, and of course they’ll try to hide it. So what? So fucking what?

It’s dark when he finally comes up for air and heads back to their dank little apartment. The guys do that thing where they’re being casual but watching him out of the corner of their eye, but he shoos them away, he’s fine, thanks, nothing to worry about. Gets himself a sandwich and then goes to his room to sleep the day off.

He’s half asleep when he hears his door click, the dip of the bed as someone sits down. He opens his eyes, checks his watch, it’s a little after two in the morning, and when he flips over in the bed Steve Harrington is sitting next to him.

“Heard you had a day.”

“Who called you?” he asks.

Steve kicks his shoes off and slides up the bed, back against the headboard. 

“Gareth. He told me what happened. It fucking sucks.”

Eddie sits up, pulls himself next to Steve. “You drove all the way here to commiserate with me on my sucky day?”

“I drove all the way here to make sure you were okay,” Steve says, like it’s nothing, like Eddie can’t feel his heart squeezing tight at the words.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, needs to process it, what to say.

“I just wasn’t expecting it you know? Which is fucking stupid, and all, but you know, when have I ever been known for my smarts?” he jokes, half assed, because none of this is funny. “It’s just… like, it was so… they looked at me like, how do we fix this? How do we make this go away? Like I was ruining the shoot with my…” he gestures to his cheek, to the jagged red scar that runs all the way down his neck.

Steve listens, because he’s good at that, doesn’t butt in even when you know he’s trying to think of ways of fixing everything.

“And like the thing is, if we make it, it’s gonna be a thing you know? It won’t be the last time.”

Eventually Steve chips in. “I know mine are easier to hide, so I don’t like, know how it is, exactly, but… but people see them and then they’ll forget about them. People look out of curiosity, you can’t stop that, but then they just, they’re not bothered, you know? Like, your fans—“

“Fans?’ Eddie scoffs.

“Yeah, fans! They’re not gonna give a fuck, man. I know that doesn’t really help, not right now, but…  I think it’ll get easier.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Eddie says under his breath. He rolls his head to the side, making eye contact for the first time.

Steve kicks his jeans off and they climb under the covers, Steve’s back against his.

“You know when you’re rich and famous, first thing you need to do is get a bigger bed. This is ridiculous.”

Eddie can’t help himself, lets the giggles take him, feels Steve’s arm wrap around his waist and pull him close. He finds himself being infinitely grateful to his friends for knowing what he needed, and infinitely grateful for Steve Harrington.

[wobblesthecowgirl]

Bleed For You

Arthur Morgan One Shot

You are kidnapped by the O’Driscoll’s and Arthur does everything he can to get you back.

This was my first time being kidnapped.

After leaving camp to get a few groceries from Valentine, I was swarmed with O’Driscoll’s; easily six of them, and as strong as I was, I couldn’t take on six fully armed men. They quickly ragged me off my horse, causing me to drop my hat and purse, and hogtied me. My horse tried to follow, and unfortunately was shot without mercy.

They tied a dirty cloth around my mouth due to screaming too much, and punched me multiple times on the ride back to their hideout. Tears stained my face as I realised the severity of my situation. How could anyone find out where I was? I was going to end up dead or worse and no one would knew where my body was.

“Look! She’s crying!” One of the men laughed, pointing at me as their horses raced faster, the sun setting. Their chosen location to hide was an old, worn down cabin, the smell was atrocious as they had hung up meat on the walls like some kind of butchers. They aggressively took me off the back of their horse and grabbed a chunk of my hair to drag me inside, throwing me onto a chair and tying me up.

“Now then,” one of the men with a long scar on his face began, taking off the cloth that muted me, “we are gonna ask you a few questions about your little Van Der Linde gang, and you’re gonna answer them. If you want to leave here without any wounds.”

“I’m not dumb! You’ll kill me either way!” I shouted, choking back more sobs as they smiled widely, chuckling and slapping each other on the chest.

“We got a smart ass over here!” Another man scoffed before kicking me in the shin, causing a yelp to escape my lips. The sun had completely set now and the only light I had was the lanterns in the cabin. The scar man grabbed my hair again and forced me to look at him.

“First question. Where is Van Der Linde hiding?”

I responded to his question with a spit to his face before snarling, “I’d rather you just kill me now. I’m not ratting him out.”

He removed the spit from his eye, a large frown plastered on his face, as he swung back and socked me in the jaw, then again on the nose. I felt the warmth of my blood trickle down my nose, and the taste of iron filled my mouth.

“Let’s try that again. Where is your-“

“I said I ain’t telling you!” I shouted louder, struggling in my restraints. This went on for ages, more punches and a few cuts from a knife, and more refusal on my end. I knew I would end up dying here either way, so dying being loyal was far better than dying and potentially killing others.

“I’m not telling you shit!” I screamed, the blood had been smeared across my face at this rate, and my clothes had been torn to be able to cut my skin.

“That’s it! I’ve had it with this little bitch!” Scar man pulled out his knife again but this time for different intentions. However, as he approached me, loud gunshots suddenly fired outside. The handful of men who were torturing me quickly rushed to the window and their eyes widened.

“Shit, come on.” They grabbed their guns and rushed outside, as more gunshots alongside screaming could be heard from the now open door. Did someone come to rescue me?

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

When she didn’t return straight away, Arthur’s stomach dropped. Surely she was ok, she had just gone to get a few groceries for Pearson, a simple trip into town and back. So what was taking her so long? His leg was fidgeting as he watched the sun start to set, and he inhaled his cigarette faster than usual.

“Dammit.” He cursed as he threw his half used cigarette on the ground and stomped it out, before whistling for his horse.

“Where are you going, Arthur?” John asked as he watched the older man hastily getting ready to leave.

“I’m going to see what’s taking that woman so damn long.” He huffed as he snapped the reins to make his horse dash off, steering towards town. As he got closer, his heart dropped. There laid. Y/n’s hat, purse, and her horse she loved dearly, dead in a pool of blood.

“No, no, no.” He panicked, looking around for any sign that she could be injured or in the same state as her horse nearby. When he couldn’t find her, he didn’t know what to think. He noticed that her horses satchel had been raided for its contents, and he had the feeling she had been taken. All he had to do was find her. Don’t worry girl, I’m coming.

He followed some hoof tracks, silently thanking Charles for his lessons in tracking, and raced into some deep woods. He wasn’t a religious man, but kept praying he would find her alive, and ok.

He heard some men talking and slowed his horse down, before hopping off and sneaking towards the light, now being covered in the night’s darkness. He saw a few men stationed outside, a fire lit and drinking beer. There was a worn down cabin with light inside, and he saw a few men walking around inside it.

“I’m not telling you shit!” A voice screamed and Arthur felt his heart burst. That was her voice. In a fit of rage, he immediately began to shoot. In a few seconds, three of the men had clean bullet holes between the eyes, as more men scrambled to get to their guns but were too slow. Four more men came tumbling out the cabin, as they shot at Arthur , grazing his arm and torso. He managed to take down the three with guns, but was grabbed by the last man. He tore Arthur’s gun out of his hand and threw it, before punching him in the face. The pair began to punch and kick, leaving one another a bloody mess, and the man pulled out a knife that had dried blood on it. That was enough for Arthur to find the last bit of strength in him. Even when he got slashed and hit, he managed to get the last blow, snapping the man’s neck and killing him instantly.

He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly, then snapping back to his senses when he remembered what he was here for. He ran towards the open door and his eyes fell onto her. She was sat limp, only being held up by the tight rope, and her hair was a mess from being pulled and tugged. Her once neat clothes were covered in blood splatters and tears, and under those tears were fresh cuts that could get infected without the proper care. She looked up and her eyes filled with tears upon seeing who it was.

“Arthur…” she cried meekly, her nose had swollen slightly and her face was smeared in blood, across her cheek, around her mouth and under her nostrils.

“Oh, honey…” He ushered, making his way over and untiring the rope, holding her up with a careful hand. Once she was freed, he stayed crouched , so that he was eye level with her. Seeing her so hurt, he was angry with himself for not keeping her safe, for not finding her sooner.

Y/n raised a hand slowly until she found his bicep and held onto him for support.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Arthur wrapped his arms under hers and picked her up, treating her as if she was made of glass, before moving her into a bridal position. He walked out the cabin, keeping an eye out for anyone else, and whistled for his horse. His adrenaline was still high, his eyes darting around for others, then back to her to make sure she didn’t lose consciousness, and so forth.

She looked up at him with half open eyes, and whispered, “you’re hurt.”

He looked down at her and gave her a small smile.

“You’re worrying about me? After all that?” It was true, he did look just as bad as she did. His right eye had swelled up till he could hardly see out of it, his lip was cut, and blood was splattered on his white shirt. The only difference was that it wasn’t his blood. He held her closer once he got on his horse, one arm around her and the other on the reigns. Arthur took her chin in his hand and moved her head gently to inspect her wounds, then moved her arms and checked her all over.

“They hurt you a lot… but I think you’ll be ok.” He muttered before making his horse set off, slower this time.

“I’m so sorry, love. I should’ve gone with you or-“

“Arthur,” she interrupted him, and somehow managed a smile, “I’m ok. I’m so glad you found me, I thought I was going to die. But you saved me, be proud of that.”

He smiled back at her, leaning in close, and placed a long kiss on her forehead. She giggled, then coughed.

“Does it take me being kidnapped and nearly dying for you to be all lovey with me?”

He let out a laugh, his hand that held her closer began to rub her shoulder, “I’ve always wanted to, I guess I’m just hoping you don’t remember this tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I’ll forget , that’s not how this works.” Y/n patted his arm gently, as he leaned in closer to her face again, but this time hesitated.

“May I..?”

She nodded, still exhausted, but she couldn’t say no to something she had been wanting for a long time.

He placed a gentle and loving kiss on her lips, as she kissed him back softly. When they pulled apart she looked into his eyes which were full of tears.

“Don’t ever leave my side again, Missy.”

She rested her head on his chest, drowsiness washing over her as she mumbled, “I won’t. Thank you, Arthur.”

[horoscope1078]

It was a bright, sunny morning when Gavi pulled up in front of your apartment.. the engine of his sleek car humming quietly. He had offered to give you a ride to work since your car was in the shop and he was more than happy to help. Plus it gave him the perfect excuse to spend some extra time with you.

You stepped out of the building, looking fresh and ready for the day and smiled when you saw him waiting. Gavi couldn’t help but feel his heart skip a beat. You were effortlessly stunning even in your simple work attire.

“Hey, thanks for picking me up.” you said as you slid into the passenger seat.

“No problem at all.” Gavi replied flashing a grin. “Ready to go?”

You nodded buckling your seatbelt. “Yup, let’s do it.”

As soon as you were settled Gavi revved the engine, eager to impress you with his driving skills. He wasn’t known for being the most cautious driver but he played football at a high speed, why not drive the same way?

He pulled out of the parking spot with a bit more force than necessary and the car shot forward, making you grip the door handle tightly.

“Uh.. you’re in a bit of a rush this morning, aren’t you?” you said, half-laughing though your eyes were already wide.

Gavi glanced over smirking. “Just making sure you get to work on time!”

You sped down the narrow streets, weaving in and out of lanes like Gavi was dodging defenders on the pitch. The car swerved as he overtook a slow-moving vehicle. His foot was pressing hard on the accelerator.

Your laughter turned into a nervous chuckle. “Ok.. maybe we can slow down a little bit?”

But Gavi was too caught up in the thrill of the drive. He barely noticed the growing panic on your face as he took a sharp turn without really braking. The tires screeched against the asphalt and your hand immediately flew to the dashboard to steady yourself.

“Gavi! Seriously!” you exclaimed as your voice rising a little.

“What?” he said grinning. “You don’t trust me?”

“I do, but..” you cut herself off as Gavi zoomed through a yellow light just as it was about to turn red. “Oh my God!”

He laughed.. glancing over at you, clearly thinking this was all fun and games. “Relax.. I’ve got this under control.”

Your knuckles were practically white as you clung to the seat. Your heart was racing, not from his charm but from sheer terror. You tried to focus on the scenery outside but it was all a blur as you zoomed down the road like a rocket.

Gavi meanwhile, looked completely at ease. He was tapping the steering wheel in time with the music playing softly on the radio, utterly oblivious to the fact that his reckless driving was making you feel like you were in the middle of a high-speed chase scene from an action movie.

The car hit a slight bump in the road and your stomach dropped. You let out a squeak, clutching the seatbelt across your chest as if it would somehow keep you grounded. “Gavi, seriously.. please slow down. I’d like to survive this trip!”

He glanced over. His grin was faltering for a second. “I’m not going that fast, am I?”

You shot him a look that said otherwise. “Yes.. yes you are.”

Reluctantly Gavi eased off the gas and the car’s speed decreased slightly. “Alright alright.” he said still chuckling. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let out a long breath. Your heartbeat was slowly returning to a more normal pace. “You’re like.. an f1 driver in disguise.”

He grinned, taking it as a compliment. “I take that as a good thing.”

“Not when I’m in the car with you.” you muttered as you were still gripping the seat. “I swear, I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

Gavi finally realised that maybe he’d pushed things a bit too far. He glanced over at you, seeing how tense you still were and immediately felt a pang of guilt. He had just wanted to impress you, to make the drive fun but clearly he’d gone overboard.

“Sorry..” he said more sincerely this time. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just.. I don’t know, trying to show off a little.. I guess.”

You turned to him, still shaken but smiling a little now that the car had slowed to a reasonable speed. “Well.. mission accomplished. I’m definitely impressed, just not in the way you were hoping for.”

Gavi laughed embarrassed. “Yes.. probably not my best idea. I’ll drive like a normal person from now on.”

“Good.” you said relaxing slightly. “I’d appreciate that.”

You drove the rest of the way at a much slower pace though Gavi couldn’t resist the occasional playful rev of the engine which made you give him a warning look. But there was a lightness in the air now and even though you had been terrified moments ago you couldn’t help but smile at how ridiculous the whole situation had been.

As you pulled up outside your office building, Gavi parked the car gently, making a point to be as smooth as possible. He turned to you with his usual grin back on his face. “Well.. you made it. Safe and sound.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt, shaking your head with a laugh. “Barely.”

“Come on.. I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

“You were.” you said stepping out of the car and leaning in through the window. “But I’ll let it slide this time. Thanks for the ride Gavi. Even if it was a little.. thrilling.”

He laughed, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “Anytime. I’ll work on my driving skills for next time.”

You gave him one last smile before turning to head inside and Gavi couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He might have scared you half to death but at least you were still smiling and that to him was a win.

[filmbyjy]

COLLIE DUTY

SYNOPSIS > being the new CEO to the ‘Sim Corp’ was hard and stressful. jake didn’t have much time to spend with layla and so he decides to get a dogsitter, you. though, you were originally already his secretary. how will dog sitting bring you two closer?

EIGHTEEN - jake’s rizz

WARNING: uh. idk if there is any? let me know I’ll edit this chapter to add it in

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

you couldn’t lie, your heart dropped the moment jake sent those very mysterious and ominous texts. it scared you and you did not look forward to the final results. what if he was going to scold you again? no, what if he was gonna cut your pay? you needed to buy a new outfit for your sister’s wedding soon. actually, you didn’t have to buy a new one, you have plenty of outfits that would look nice if you just figured out a combination to put together. however, where is the fun in that? new clothes always made everyone look fresh!

as a wise man (named park jongseong) would say. either ways, you shouldn’t worry about this. you looked straight down your phone and shot a quick ‘okay, sir’ text to jake. which you realised, why are you even putting effort to the man who was blatantly being mean to you? right, he has the authority and the source of your income. now, imagine jake being your sugar daddy-

wait. where did that come from? god, you were long gone.

you had quickly put on your shirt and pants, threw your hair in a ponytail (or if you have short hair, just a half ponytail) then left your home with your valuables. the drive to jake’s house wasn’t that far, he lived in a gated community with a really sweet security guard guarding the gates. his neighbours were a sweet elderly couple who lived with their cat and dog. very cute. they were super adorable too. when you started working from home at jake’s house, the elderly couple actually thought you were jake’s girlfriend.

they meant no harm but it still got your heart tugging a little. they apologised for the slight mistake and kept complimenting you and jake about how sweet he was and that you and him would definitely look like a cute couple. either ways, you made it and parked at the street outside of his home. a two-storey home that not only looked cozy but was cozy inside too. well, until you enter his office and room. that place is completely so cold in some way. maybe it was the way the furnitures were just industrial and his bed was a huge king sized bed where he was alone.

“oh, (name) sweetie.” the elderly lady smiles. you smiled and bowed at her.

“hello Mrs.Matilda, are you out here to view the outside and just chill?” you asked her.

she laughs, “oh dear, it’s as per usual. my husband is currently sleeping so i don’t want to disturb him. you look different in a casual outfit, you look so sweet and innocent. are you here to babysit layla again? i am sure, jaeyun is home today though?”

“ah, umm he asked me to see him so i am here for him today.”

“oh? you youngsters have a very different way asking people out for dates. back in my day, my husband just surprises me with a bouquet of flowers and asks me out.” she laughs heartily.

“oh, umm. he isn’t asking me out-”

“Mrs.Matilda, you’re awake.” jake says. you turned to look at him. he smiles at Mrs.Matilda. his outer appearance looks way different than how he is normally at work. in fact, he really looked like a puppy. his hair down with bangs covering his forehead. the way he tilted his head in curiosity and the pout he had, god he was so adorable.

“oh, jaeyun dear.” Mrs.Matilda smiles at jake. jake goes over to hand her some biscuits.

“my mom came over yesterday and made these. she wanted to give it to you yesterday but you weren’t around when she wanted to pass it you.”

“oh my, thank your mom for these. my husband will definitely love this even more.”

“any time.” jake turns to you. “let’s go in.” he grabs your hand and pulls you in gently. your eyes widened because he literally intertwined your hand with his. hands clasped and everything. not a single warning???

Mrs.Matilda smiles as she watches this and you could only look at her confused as jake pulls you inside his home.

jake brings you inside his home and you were instantly greeted by Layla. She wags her tail happily once she sees you, she also barks happily and tries to jump on you. it makes your heart burst at how adorable she was.

“aww, what good girl~” you cooed at layla as you gave her a bunch scratches and pats seemingly forgetting jake was there.

jake on the other hand, seemed to have just watched you. it gets his heart racing a little. seeing his two favourite girls-

ehem, his favourite girl and uhh. okay, who was he lying to? his favourite girl and the girl he likes interacting.

“oh, right. why did you call me here?” you asked jake.

jake’s brain short-circuits. he just realised you weren’t in your normal secretary smart outfit that you usually wore. instead you were in something casual. you looked so domestic. very wifey material.

“uh. right.” jake points to heaps of papers. “I need help clearing that. I-I know this is your day off but-”

“don’t worry. I’ll help. I understand it’s hard being a CEO and clearing all this approval letters and stuff.”

“right. I also need help with this project i’m working on with umm jay. he said he placed the research in the file so like I just need some help reviewing it. since it’s better to have two pairs of eyes to like get opinions.” jake says.

“mmm, alright. let’s get to work, I guess.” you say.

just as you scanned the many files and papers on jake’s desk, you can’t help but feel him stare into your soul. it was obvious he was staring at you but for what? you didn’t know.

“mr.sim, are you okay? is there something wrong with my face?”

jake’s eyes widened, “no not at all. I just umm…can you not call me mr.sim when we’re alone like this?”

it went dead silent after he said that.

“umm but you’re my boss?”

“we aren’t technically in the office right now and we’re the same age?”

“yeah, but you’re still my boss.”

jake sighs, “okay then. as your boss, I want you to just call me jake when we’re outside of the office.”

you wanted to say something but jake cuts you off, “I will cut your pay if you call me mr.sim or sir when it’s just us.”

you quickly shut your mouth after. you knew was joking about cutting your pay but like in some way, it sounded really real.

“okay, s- jake.”

“mmm, good girl.”

you froze.

DID JAKE JUST CALL YOU A GOOD GIRL??

a/n: OHOHOHO >:) sim jaeyun you naughty naughty 😈

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[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Twelve

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: I've been procrastinating on this update for a while I won't lie, but I really wasn't sure where I wanted to head with it. Hopefully this reads well, felt like the right move! AH it's actual stress. Hope you all enjoy:) Thanks for all the love this series has gotten, means a whole lot x

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy @helloitsme1223

Masterlist

I’d always been intrigued by ceilings. And I know that sounded so stupid, which was why I had yet to admit it out loud, to anyone. But I don’t know… I supposed after having stared up at so many of them my entire life, from my childhood bedroom to the hostel I’d wound up in shortly after leaving home, then to my friends' living rooms and the hotels dotted all over the world, that it just made sense for me to find a certain sense of comfort in them. In having a roof over my head.

I realised that it was also the reason as to why I was currently hiding away in my room at Marshall’s, sprawled out on top of the duvet so that I could peer up at the blank canvas which loomed above me.

The day spent with Marshall had been, well in one word, perfect. It had given me the chance to see a whole new side to him, and forced me to come to the conclusion that the man was nothing if not a rubix cube; a complexity made up of so many sides.

He’d truly followed through on his word and shown me the entirety of Detroit and everything the city had to offer. I’d enjoyed it all, the museums, the culture, the theatre, the people, but what I’d enjoyed most of all, was seeing his love for the place he called home. His city. It seemed to loosen him somewhat and unstick that silver tongue of his, allowing me to get a deeper insight into the man that stood behind the facade, behind the stoic persona the public saw and the Dad Rosie adored. It was like I’d been handed a pile of secrets, however small they’d been at times, and silently been asked to guard them. As though they were my own.

But as nice as the day had been, I’d had a lot of shit playing on my mind. 

See, my message to Lottie had gone unread.

I checked the screen for the umpteenth time in the last half hour, almost compulsively, before I let it fall back onto my chest, hardly even feeling the thump it made. 

I had texted her at least a dozen more times since this morning and had yet to hear a single word in return. It was doing my head in. I hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything since we’d driven back, because, as much of a distraction as Em had been, every hour that had passed by without hearing anything had me on edge, worry weaving its way around my ribcage.

I was just about to check again, maybe send another message, or try calling once more, when a knock sounded. I was startled by it, in truth, not having expected the sudden break in my silent solitude. But as I went to answer, mouth poised to call out, I was left to watch the door to my room slowly creak open instead. My brow furrowed at the sight of the intruder.

“Z, you okay?” My voice was full of concern, strained even more so by the sight of the red rimmed eyes the girl bore when she came into full view. My heart skipped a full beat at the slight sniffle that followed her entrance, her hand caught on the door’s handle, before she just started– sobbing.

My eyes widened in an instant and I almost tumbled off the mattress in my haste to sit up on the bed, arms opening as Rosie’s feet carried her across the room, not even second guessing the action.

“Oh, lovely. What’s gone on?” I found myself murmuring into her hair the moment she dropped into my embrace, her knees crowded against my thigh as she began to cry into my shoulder. I pressed a hand to the back of her head, cradling it carefully as I struggled to find the right words needed to remedy this situation. Dumbfounded by it, in all honesty. “Rosie, love, talk to me.”

Her sniffling only continued, shoulders shaking as she hiccuped around another cry. I wondered then where Marshall could possibly be, if he knew the state she had worked herself into, bewildered by the fact that she’d come to seek comfort in me instead of him. If he was still hanging around the house somewhere, or if it was him she was so upset about, wondering if something had happened in the short time I’d been gone.

“I just–” She hiccupped in turn after a short moment and I felt myself relax just a tad at the sound of her voice, glad for it even as it jumped around another hiccup again. I soothed her gently in an attempt to coax her to carry on, thankfully she did, “I just had the worst day.”

My heart broke for her. Hearing how defeated she sounded, as well as the fact that it was something no one ever wanted to hear from a child, especially one as lovely as Rosie. 

So I took a deep breath after swallowing down the bitter tang her words had left me with, then shifted to try and chance a glance at her face, dipping my chin slightly. When I managed it, I was surprised to note the angry red splotches which stained her cheeks and just how upset she really looked. It felt like there was more to the story than just having had a bad day.

“I–” Rosie sniffed heartily and lifted a hand to rub at her right eye, which only appeared to infuriate it further, “Sorry,” She seemed to force out, breath escaping her, “for bursting in.”

I chuckled lightly at it, immediately waving the apology away. “Don’t say that, you’re more than welcome to barge in whenever you like. Especially if you’re upset, Z.” I assured her, taking in the devastated expression that still marred her face, my small smile fell into a concerned frown, “You wanna talk about what happened?”

She seemed to think it over for a long second, gaze straying away from me as though she was embarrassed by her reaction now that her cries had died down somewhat, but I kept her close, dragging a hand up and down her arm. It was that, I supposed, which had her agreeing to the ask and so I shuffled the pair of us backwards so that we could ruin the mountain of pillows Marshall had adorned the bed with, the same ones I’d picked up off the floor when making it that same morning.

“As much as I hate them, they do come in handy when you just wanna melt into the mattress for a while.” I mentioned as we settled, flashing the girl a soft smile when she looked over at me. “But I don’t know why there has to be so many.”

“You don’t like pillows?” Rosie giggled wetly, another sniff following suit as she pulled her knees up, pooling effortlessly into my side. 

I shook my head, wrinkling my nose a tad. “Just the one’s fine. Gives me a neckache otherwise.” To further exaggerate my point I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck and grimaced, which proved to make Z laugh a little more. It was with that in which I found myself relaxing a little further, enough so that I could patiently wait her out, wanting to give her the time she needed before she spoke again.

It worked.

“I love school,” She murmured, eyes downcast, “and I love my friends. Just sometimes– it's hard.”

I couldn’t help it, I frowned at her words. 

“What do you mean?” I wondered as I peered back down at her, then got to watch as she wrung her hands, her own gaze caught on the anxious motion as she replayed it over and over again.

“There was a new kid that started on Monday. We did what we always did when someone new starts, but usually Ms Gabris picks one of us to show them around the school. This time it was me.” Rosie started to explain, dragging in a ragged breath as her lower lip quivered before she finally found the strength to carry on, “I really liked him at first. He was so nice and real funny too. He even liked the same shows I do, right? And so we spent the rest of the week sitting next to each other in class, and then in the cafeteria, I even introduced him to my friends at recess and they all seemed to like him, too.” 

She exhaled heavily, sniffling away again, and so I waited to listen in closer, solely focused on her.

“But then today, well, he started to act all weird around me. I waved at him before class started, just after you and Dad had dropped me off, but he just looked away. I figured that maybe he hadn’t seen me, but when I got to homeroom, he’d switched seats. Like, he actually chose to sit next to Dean Dimitriou and he’s just the worst!” She exclaimed, the very real and amplified huff which followed the cursed name brought a small smile to my lips but I did my best to dampen it before she could see. “I tried to talk to him about it, I really did, I was just so confused, but he ignored me. And then Ms Gabris was telling us all to start our work, so I had to run back to my seat before I got in any trouble. By the time recess came around though, I guess he’d decided to stop the silent treatment.”

My brow furrowed at the way she had ended that particular sentence and I felt an odd sense of anticipation fall over me. “What did he do, Z?”

Rosie rubbed at her eyes once more, pressing the back of her hand to her nose before it dropped to her mouth to muffle another cry. My resolve was quickly crumbling. “He was just, so mean. I– I didn’t even know what to say or do. I was just sitting with Kelsi under the oak tree, talking like we always do, and he came up behind us. I didn’t even know he was there until he shoved me off of the bench we were sat on.”

“He what?”

Rosie’s eyes flashed upwards to meet mine upon hearing the heat that had rolled through my question and so, even as I regretted the sudden anger that had fueled the words, I got to watch the way she fell completely apart at the answer she gave me in turn. 

First her lower lip wobbled, then the skin between her eyebrows wrinkled, and finally, her eyes flooded once more. “That wasn’t even the worst part.” She spluttered, chest heaving as she crumpled back into my side, “The stuff he said, it was just– I don’t think I’d ever even heard some of the words he’d used. He was so nice to me all this week and then, then suddenly he just changed. He started saying these things about me, about how ugly and stupid I was, then about–”

My hands had since flown up to soothe her, an arm wrapped around her trembling shoulders whilst the other had taken her smaller hand in my own, my grip tightened a fraction then as I prompted her on, “About what, Z?”

“Dad.” The word was practically whispered, what with how hollow her voice had become, and yet, I couldn’t help the sharp breath it pulled from me. 

I chewed on my lower lip to keep from pushing her further on the revelation, eyes now caught on the door instead, realising then that she had sought me out because she hadn’t wanted Marshall to see her so distraught, to know that ultimately this was because of him. It made me ache with an unfound sort of pain.

“The things he said, he just didn’t stop, El. He made Dad out to be so horrible. He called him name after name, even said he was evil. That he should be locked up in jail instead of taking care of me.” She choked then on the words as they escaped her, enough so that her next sob was accompanied by a plethora of coughs. “Why would he say that? I just don’t get it.”

My eyes slipped close for a split second, hand rubbing over her back as I tried to withhold my temper, knowing it would do nothing for her right now. 

“I was so confused by it all. And then, before I could even leave to go home he was waiting for me at the doors.” Rosie revealed, her cheeks long since stained by shimmering tears and flushed by the emotions which wracked through her. “He tripped me up just as I was walking out and then when I didn’t actually hit the ground, he pushed me. Actually pushed me. I knocked my head on the railing by the main stairs and scraped my knees, but even then, he still carried on. I was so shocked I couldn’t even cry. I just tried to ignore him and all the things he was saying as I got back up. But, El, he looked so happy. Like he really thought that what he was doing was okay, like it was right. I think that’s what scared me most.”

I wrapped her up in my arms, unable to do much else, unable to find the words. It brought me back to earlier last year, to the days I’d spent with Lottie in situations similar to this one. To when she had hated going to school and had been terrified to step foot in a classroom. It broke me, tore me apart in truth, because it still continued to baffle me just how nasty children could be.

I was unsure how long it took for Rosie to calm down again, to ease up on the tight vice she had on my arms as well as wipe her cheeks, but it must have been a while. I’d managed to get us into a more comfortable position, staring up at the ceiling once more whilst my head warred with my heart over how to best deal with the situation. I knew I’d have to tell Marshall, that much was obvious whether Rosie wanted to or not, but it was the knowing of how it would simply destroy the man that was killing me. It was the one thing I knew wholeheartedly that he had tried his very best to avoid happening once he’d realised just how corrupt this way of life could become. His girls were his world.

It must have been a way of realigning fate because as soon as I’d thought about just how I was going to attempt to talk to him about it all, there was yet another knock and the man himself was stood there by the door that had since been left ajar upon his daughter's entrance. He peered around it, expression clouded by obvious confusion as he stepped inside but when Rosie lifted her head at the unexpected sound he’d made, the confusion he wore immediately vanished and was painted over by such an extreme colour of shock.

“Baby? What’s gone on, what’s happened?”

Marshall’s voice was so soft as he all but flew across the floorboards to meet his daughter’s wary form, but the worry was there, the fury, the fear.

“Bean, talk to me. What’s up, why you been cryin’?” He pestered further, slumping onto the side of the bed to pull her close, his face crumbling the second the girl started crying again. His eyes jumped over to find mine, widened with such alarm and full of a thousand questions, but before I could even react, answer him, he was pulling away from Rosie and trying to get a good look at her face. It was then that he noticed what I had yet to, her knees.

“You’re bleedin’, baby.” The words fell from his mouth like sludge, whilst his stare caught on the vivid scrapes her skin bared, thumb dropping to hover just above the grazes but not quite touching. “Z, what happened? You fall or somethin’?”

His eyes flickered over to me once again when he received no imminent reply and so I swallowed thickly before choosing to shuffle a little closer to the girl, sitting up now so that it wasn’t much of a stretch when I reached out to take her hand in mine. Rosie allowed the gesture easily, something that drew Em’s attention before he was cradling the underneath of her knee in his palm, his voice strained when he spoke again.

“Babygirl, talk to me please.”

The pleading appeared to work a whole lot better on the girl, who’s sobbing had started to hiccup, but it was only after she’d shot me a weary glance which I answered with a goading nod of my own that she tried to explain it all. 

Her voice wobbled throughout, pausing and stuttering as she told him a majority of what she had told me, unable to meet his eyes the further she went on, her gaze caught once again on the wringing of her hands.

Marshall’s face drew blanker and blanker the longer the story went on too. And as Rosie continued to describe what had occurred, I could only observe how the man beside us crumpled under the weight of her words. It felt like I was floating somewhere outside of my own body the longer I watched, witnessing the way Marshall’s shoulders grew hunched, how his hands started to shake and his jaw tightened. 

And yet, despite it all, despite everything he felt, the anger, the guilt, he still reached out with the most tenderest touch to envelope his daughter in his arms.

“I’m sorry.”

I had to look away upon seeing the devastation which marred Marshall’s face the second Rosie spoke, her words echoing almost around us.

It took a second, or maybe a minute, before he could finally answer her, his own voice rough and drained, “Don’t gotta be, nothin’ to be sorry for.”

Rosie only seemed to sob harder at that and it was then that I met Em’s gaze from over the girl’s shoulder. I wanted to reach out, stupidly apologise too for God only knows what, but the dampness which clouded his eyes had my entire body stilling.

I didn’t understand it. The fact that he was allowing me to see him this vulnerable. Marshall was always so guarded in his emotions, stoic and solemn when it suited him, enough to make his gentle smiles and tepid laughter seem like gifts. So the sight made me question everything I knew about him, why he would allow me to witness him like that.  

“People are weird.” Marshall continued on, and it was hard for me not to listen to his voice as he continued to keep me trapped in his stare, his hushed words blanketing over his daughter, soothing her in a way mine couldn’t. “Ain’t got nothing to do with you, Z. Ain’t nothing you did, you hear? Some kids, they hear stuff their own parents say, what the adults around ‘em think, they internalise it, use it. Whether they know if it’s right or not. They mimic what they know, ‘cause the people lookin’ after them couldn’t be wrong, could they? It’s why I’m always so careful ‘bout what you hear. You get me?”

Rosie’s soft nod broke me from the staring contest I'd inadvertently been a part of and I sucked in a sharp breath as the girl withdrew ever so slightly from her Dad’s hold to look up at him. Marshall dragged his eyes away from mine to greet hers. He sighed softly. 

“But listen, if they think for one second I’ma allow some snot nosed little brat to treat you like that, they got another thing comin’. I swear it, Z. No one gets away with something like this. It’ll be resolved, I’ll make sure of it.” Em added in a tone that carried no arguments, his hands moving to wrap around her fidgeting fingertips. “Can’t promise people won’t say stuff like that to you again though,” He mentioned rather reluctantly as his eyes flickered away for a split second, something heavy lining his tone, “And for that, I’m sorry. But, I can deal with this properly. Make sure that this kid leaves you alone from now on, ‘kay?”

Rosie still appeared cautious, probably thinking of the consequences that could possibly follow if the kids in her class knew that she’d gotten this new boy in trouble, but Marshall’s gaze held firm and she could do nothing more than nod around another sniffle.

Em reached up to wipe under her eyes then, his palms cradling her pinkened cheeks before he brought her close enough to press a slow kiss to the top of her head, holding her there for as long as he could. She slotted herself easily into his arms once more afterwards and I smiled softly at the picture they made. 

“Feel like I sorta intruded on your lil girls moment.” Marshall said after a moment had passed, clearing his throat in a way that told me he’d been struggling to hold back his own emotions. He smiled though when Rosie’s head turned against his chest, her doe eyes peering out from under the shelter of her father’s chin to take me in. He shucked her shoulder, “I was waitin’ on you to come home, went lookin’ and everything when I didn’t hear you.” He added, prodding her side just enough to erupt a quiet laugh from the girl and have her squirming to get away. 

“Dad.” Rosie huffed in warning, batting the man’s hands away from her as she scootched back a notch, far enough to have her pressing against my side now.

“Z.” Marshall mimicked in the same drawn out tone, earning another soft chuckle that had his shoulders slipping just an inch. He smiled as he watched her, but ultimately let his face settle into something more subdued, “I ain’t messin’, girlie. You shoulda come and found me.”

His words were met by the prominent scrunch of her nose. “I found El.” Was the defence she made.

I couldn’t help the amused quirk my mouth formed as I draped an arm over her shoulders to show that I hadn’t minded in the least, pulling her in close and allowing my worry to unwind now that I knew she was doing better. Em levelled the pair of us with a long stare, but ultimately resorted to shaking his head when he was met by the same gesture in turn. Z peered up at me then to share a smug smile, her eyes were still a little too pink for my liking but it really did further enhance the blue of her irises.

Marshall’s slight exhale recaptured our shared attention and I wasn’t all that surprised to see that Em was focusing on Z’s knees now that the initial storm had passed us. The slight tick of his jaw told me that he was still holding onto a cage full of feelings, but his touch was as gentle as ever, Rosie was none the wiser.

“Gotta clean these up, kiddo.”

It earned him a hefty grimace in response, which made me chuckle to myself before I squeezed Rosie’s shoulder in a show of compassion. “It’ll be quick,” I promised, “Just a quick once over and then we can plaster them babies up.”

She laughed lightly and eventually nodded, but it was as she went to stand that she squealed, not having expected the way Marshall went and scooped her right up. “Dad!”

I couldn’t hold back the snickers that climbed their way up and out of my mouth upon seeing the way Em didn’t bat an eye at the loud exclamation, nor the way Rosie pounded on his shoulder in hopes to be let down. 

It was only as we reached the doorway, laughing away, that I realised I’d been following the pair and suddenly, feeling like an intruder, I fumbled slightly in my gait. Something which Marshall appeared to pick up on because he paused at the top of the stairs to look back at me, raising a brow and smirking ever so when he gestured his head over, “You comin’ or what? Gonna need some help here, this patient seems like the real aggressive type.”

“Am not!”

Rosie’s evident mirth was drowned out by Em’s heavy sigh, “Denial, too.” He teased whilst somehow managing to keep up his stoic charade, “Guessin’ they just be letting anyone in these days.”

So I’d followed with a blithe smile, chiming in on the joke as we descended the staircase and made our way into the kitchen to where Marshall seemed to keep a First Aid kit on hand. I quietly figured that I should probably remedy the lack of my own when I got back to London, especially seeing as I could be as clumsy as a newborn foal most days. Did everyone have one, was that typically expected?

But true to my word, Em made quick work of cleaning the grazes on the girl’s knees and covered them up with a couple of plasters (“Band aids!”) dotted in comic book characters. Something which had earned Marshall a raised brow even when he’d avoided my stare, obviously feeling sheepish at having been caught out. He checked on her head afterwards too, crouching ever so slightly to look in her eyes now that she was perched up on the counter.

“How many fingers?” He asked for the third time now, crossing his own eyes as he wiggled a hand before her.

She giggled, “Five.”

“ER, wrong!” Marshall sounded, creating his own buzzer as he dropped his hand to his side in mock disappointment.

“Am not!” Rosie argued back, narrowing her eyes at him, the gesture lost upon seeing the strength of her smile.

“Are too,” He shot straight back anyway, “It was four fingers and one thumb.”

“You’re so annoying,” She claimed but seemed far too amused by his antics to be truly irritated by it all, “And I’m fine, it’s just a bump!”

Em hummed doubtfully, though he still pressed another kiss to the side of her head before he pulled away to put the rest of the kit back in its box. “Gotta be careful with stuff like that, baby. Head’s a precious thing.” He resorted to telling her and I was evidently reminded of the story he’d shared earlier in the day, about the time when he’d been hit hard enough in the head to have left him lying unconscious in a hospital bed. He patted her knee carefully to send her on her way, “Go on, go get changed. We can order out, okay? Your pick. That sound good?”

Rosie all but beamed at the offer as she slid from off the counter top to do as she was told. It was only when we’d heard her telltale steps on the stairs that Em slumped once more, the fight of having to pretend around her slipping out of him like water through a storm drain.

“Could kill that kid, I swear.” He muttered harshly into the quiet, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he reached out to shove the antiseptic wipes he’d used back into the box. Fists clenching around nothing but air when he withdrew.

I acted before I could think things through, stepping closer to press my forehead to the back of his shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort. I felt him tense at the sudden touch and waited a moment for him to pull completely away when he surprised me by slackening once more, only he unwound a little further this time around.

“It’s not on you.” I reminded him gently and lifted my hand to trail a fingertip down the curve of his spine. His breathing stuttered slightly, barely even audible to me, before he scoffed, closing the kit with a loud click. I let my fingers press a little harder into the thin fabric of his t-shirt, unwilling to be brushed aside. “It’s not on you, Marshall.” I repeated into the silence of the kitchen, wanting to be heard. 

He sighed and I felt, more than heard, him swallow back the biting words that I knew wanted to escape, “Fuckin’ feels like it.” Is what he settled on.

My eyes caught on the small trail I’d been making, it had started out with a soft line drawing up and down at first, but now I was circling over each knob of his spine without much thought. 

“‘Course it does, Em. Doesn’t mean anything more than that though.” I exhaled softly, “You’re a good dad, the best even. But stuff like this happens with all kids, if it wasn’t down to your notability, then it would’ve been down to something else.” 

The assurance wasn’t lost on him, I knew that much, but it was also one thing to hear it and another to allow it the space to sink in.

His palms came to rest on the top of the counter as he let go of another heaved breath, “I knew it would happen though, should’ve prepared her better, should've let her know. But I didn’t want–”

“Didn’t want her to fear other people?” I figured.

“Yeah,” He blew out hopelessly, his shoulders moving with it. “She’s already been affected by all this, I didn’t want her growin’ up sheltered, feelin’ like she couldn’t trust her friends, the people that are meant to look out for her. You know?”

I lifted my head away from the curve of his shoulder but allowed my hand to linger on the small of his back, “You can’t shield her from it all. As much as it hurts, you’re gonna have to let her learn. Sometimes it’ll end in tears, but at least you’ll always be here for her when it happens.”

He was quiet for a long moment before I felt him start to shift beneath me, I let my hand drop and lifted my chin to look up at him, his position between the counter and I made all the more obvious in that moment. “But I wasn’t there this time.”

Frowning, I was confused by his words. “You were. I just literally watched you patch her up and stop her tears, Marshall. If that’s not being there, then what is?”

He shook his head minutely, but where I expected him to dip his chin or glance away in a show of huffy resentment, he didn’t, instead his gaze held strong. “She didn’t come lookin’ for me.” He stated, voice barely above a murmur but determined, “She found you.”

I didn’t quite know how to respond to that, because his words didn’t feel accusing. No, they somehow sounded both soft and heavy at the same time. “Marshall,” I tried, but nothing appeared to follow it. His smile was small but genuine in that next moment and as he reached out for me, I could do nothing but hold still.

His fingers dragged their way down the length of my arm to capture my hand in his own, I withheld a shiver at the featherlight touch but kept watching, unsure of what it meant, of what he wanted. He squeezed the digits ever so slightly in a fist and stepped closer so soundlessly that it was almost like he hadn’t moved at all, as though he’d always been there. Just a breath away.

Slowly but surely, he raised his other hand too and I felt my skin warm beneath it when he moved to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I blinked at the sudden shift and couldn’t deny the way I watched his eyes flicker downwards before they jumped back up to look me dead on. 

“I like these.” He murmured, voice still as gruff as it had just been when his fingers moved to trail over the curve of my jaw, “Dotted with stars.” His mouth quirked up ever so slightly, gaze caught on the freckles which littered my skin. 

My breath caught in my throat at the blatant caress, the weight it held, but I didn’t dare move, my own hands twitching to reach out and touch. But it was his next sentence that knocked the air from my lungs, because I didn’t think anyone ever had, or ever would, say something like it to me again.

“You really are made up of constellations, ain’t you?”

Somehow, he’d managed to shuffle even closer. His shoes knocked against the sides of my socked feet. I held my breath. Waiting.

His thumb skirted over the corner of my bottom lip and the breath I’d been holding left me shakily, fanning across the back of his hand. I lifted my eyes carefully, surprised to already find him watching me and my every move. It seemed as though his head tilted right after, he was leaning in, heavy stare jumping back and forth between my own glazed eyes. I thought… I thought–

Footsteps.

Just like that and he was withdrawing. Quicker than a cat caught near water and straightening up like nothing had even occurred at all the second Rosie came spinning into the room, her eyes bright and smile beaming.

I swallowed, throat dry, but tongue practically salivating. I wanted to reach out again, to press the action. But my head was addled, whirling with what had happened, what could have. Then before I could even react Rosie was sliding up beside me, talking a mile a minute about what to have for dinner. Right, I reminded myself, the takeaway.

I didn’t dare chance another glance in Marshall’s direction as I let the girl drag me over to the drawer full of flyers and menus they had, nodding and smiling when appropriate but my mind was still stuck on the feel of his hands, the weight of his gaze.

Another issue to add to my ever growing list of worries, I supposed. 

I was entirely fucked. I knew it too, because I couldn’t for the life of me get my pulse to calm down even as I rattled off some sort of order through the phone, only meeting the man’s eye for a splintered second when I’d fumbled my way through typing out the restaurant's number. He knew. He had to have known how affected I was and yet he looked away, lips pressing into a firm line. I wondered what would have happened if Rosie had only taken a minute longer.

Constellations, he’d claimed. Made up of stars. 

How was I supposed to act after having heard something like that?

How was I meant to continue on not knowing if he’d really meant it?

[sserpente]

A/N: Can you believe that I couldn’t bring myself to watch the Loki Season 2 Finale more than once yet? Maybe this little piece of fluff will help us heal a little more!

Words: 837 Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON 2 FINALE, fluff

Christmas felt off. Yule felt off. You’d set up your tree, you’d decorated, you’d bought all the Christmassy food including half a dozen bottles of mulled wine and you were listening to Christmas music non-stop. None of it worked. Something was missing. Someone.

The promise that had hung from Loki’s lips remained heavy and it had clawed its way deep into your heart. You’d talked about it one night, resting after hunting down an actor-turned-TVA-agent. About your future together. About where you would go and what you would do once all of this was over.

That was before everything fell apart. Before Loki realised that the only way… no, stop.

Right now, you were baking Christmas biscuits—you were forcing yourself to. Christmas music was blasting from your phone in the background, the warm air in the kitchen smelled like vanilla and gingerbread and outside, it was snowing, making you appreciate the warm and flickering candlelight coming from the wreath on the dining table even more. You were supposed to be happy, you ought to be joyful, no? He had sacrificed everything, sacrificed himself in order to protect… to protect… it was all so complex it went above your head. All you knew was that thanks to the cheeky God of Mischief, the multiverse was free.

Thanks to him, you were alive and well, thanks to him you could live a life you’d always dreamed of having. And yet, it meant nothing without him. And yet, all you wanted to do was to break down, ram your fists into the ground over and over, and wail for the loss of your one true love.

Yule, Christmas, whatever you wanted to call it, wasn’t the same if the one person you wanted to spend it with was gone. But you knew he could see you. You knew he was watching over you. And it wouldn’t be fair to let him see your grief after what he’d done for you all.

So you swallowed it down, again and again, and, humming along to the Christmas songs, focused all of your attention on the cookie batter. It was his favourite kind. The only kind you’d be baking this year.

“Hmm… this does smell delicious. I do hope they’re all for me…”

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you flipped around, flour landing everywhere around you in the process like a smoke cloud.

For a moment, you simply stared at him, lips parted, eyes filling with tears. “Please… please tell me you’re real.”

Loki smirked, extending his arms—a smug invitation for you to hug him. “Why don’t you find out, love?”

It was all he needed to say. You all but flung yourself into his arms, face pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. No illusion. No duplicate. Him. He was actually here.

“Loki… oh gods, Loki…” The tears came before you could stop them. Worsening your sight and making you sob, you hugged him so tightly you feared to cut off his air supply. “But… how… how? How is this possible?”

“It appears that not only have I become the new temporal loom but… my powers have been feeding on the multiverse and vice versa. I became stronger and stronger until I realised I would be able to move around within it freely. I tested it, carefully, for what felt like an eternity until I was sure the threads of all the realities wouldn’t snap on me.”

“So… you’re saying the entirety of the multiverse is still flowing through you right now?”

“It is indeed. You just can’t see it.”

“You’re not going to… explode on me, right?”

“And turn into golden glitter?” He lifted your chin up, smirking and you chuckled but when his smile faltered, yours did too.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “For what?”

“For leaving you. For being the reason you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

Once again, your heart dropped to your stomach. “You… know?”

“Of course I do.”

“I was trying to hide it so hard…” Loki wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, a gentle smile tugging on his thin lips.

“I know,” he said, pressing you close. “I came here as soon as I could to be sure it would be safe to do so.”

“You… haven’t seen anyone else yet? What about Mobius?”

“Mobius is with his family, setting up a Christmas tree with Jetski decorations.”

You giggled.

“No. You were the most important. And I want to spend Christmas with you just like I promised I would. And I see you have already made sure to set the mood.” He looked around, noting all the decorations around you.

Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “There’s no Christmas mood without you.”

Loki pulled you back toward the door threshold leading to the living room. You looked up at him, gaze wandering up to where you’d put up the mistletoe. And as far as kisses went… this one was the most magical and wondrous yet.

A/N: I'm really bad at reposting my Insta and Clock App stuff on here too and it's a New Year's resolution to change that next year so that you guys will be up to date as well but basically... I've published too books in my absence in case you were wondering why it got so quiet, lol. Aaaand I'm currently working on an English (my first English series!) paranormal Dark Romance series with demons and witches so if that's something you're interested in, do follow along, yes? ♥♥♥ We're all mad here! :D

PS: Loki becoming the wireless battery of the multiverse is my headcanon, thank you.

[alistairtheyrin]

the bard of riverbrook farm, pt. ii

la belle dame sans merci, frank bernard dicksee

aemond targaryen x lowborn!reader

masterlist | ao3

summary | help with the harvest comes from the most unlikely source - the one-eyed man from the inn - and your curiosity about what he is hiding beneath his courtesies only grows.

tags | secret identity, soft romance, bard!reader, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, discussions of trauma related to war, gender-neutral pronouns

wordcount | 3.8k

likes, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated 💞 lyrics are not mine this time but from A Storm of Swords

The band of wandering men left empty-handed by the war moved on in the end, what work there was in the village done, what hospitality could be afforded to them spent.

You didn’t even realise the man with one eye from the inn had stayed until he came wandering up the lonely track to your farm.

You were bent over, pulling up carrots in the field, stopping only to mop sweat from your brow, and your back was aching. You always bit back on your complaints, though, because your parents were working on the next row over, swapping the baby in her wrap between them whenever it got too much to bear in the summer sun.

Your father was the first to notice a stranger's approach and passed off your gurgling sister so he could approach the man.

“Ho, stranger,” your father called, letting the one-eyed man know he was spotted in case that was enough to deter him. You recognised him from the inn, though, and felt a hint of a smile on your lips. No, you did not think this was some common thief.

“Ser,” the man, strangely formal as ever, inclined his head. Even when he raised his voice to be heard over the distance and the wind, his tone did not change from that calm, collected way he had. “The innkeeper in town said you might need an extra pair of hands for your harvest. I came to offer my services.”

Good Beck, always sticking his nose in, you thought, holding back a roll of your eyes. You made your way down the field, your half-full basket on your hip, and came to your father’s side. “I remember you,” you said, “from the inn.” You could still sometimes feel the ghost of his lips on your hand.

His eye met yours. He looked glad to see you but not surprised. “The bard,” he said, “have you finished your song yet?”

“Not quite,” you said, biting your lip to stop you from smiling.

Your father, for his part, looked wary. “You fought in the war?” he asked, and the man nodded. He did not ask what side. It was generally accepted that you did not ask that question in these parts when the peace remained new and uneasy. 

“Another pair of hands would be good,” your father said wearily, “if only so that one of us could focus on the babe instead. But I don’t have much to pay you.”

The man shook his head. “Food and shelter is all I ask for, ser.”

Your father hummed, noncommittal. “I don’t much like the idea of strange men under the same roof as my wife and children,” he said. “No offence meant, but you could be anyone. You understand.” Your heart dropped a little at the dismissal, but you noticed he was holding his shovel close to his body and sizing up the stranger. It made sense - men like this stranger were often bad news, driven to desperation by war or indulging depravities that had always been there, lurking just under the surface and only coming out now that the world had gone to hell.

“No, ser, I understand - I did not mean shelter under your roof. I could bed down by the plough horse. I was not clear in my speech; I apologise,” the man said, “but if it is still a no, I will be on my way.”

That spiked a slight panic in you, and you grasped for words. “For what it’s worth, father, he was kind at the inn,” you said hurriedly. “He wanted to ask me about my songs, the ones I write myself, but he was very respectful.” The man gave you a grateful half-smile for that.

Your father hesitated, considering both your words, just as the stranger was shifting to go. “Stop,” he said. You could see him thinking. The door to the house was always barred at night, and you and your mother had carried blades concealed in your clothes since the war broke out. It might be worth the risk, to get an extra pair of hands on the field and get this sowing of carrots up before any started to soften. Most would need to travel to Raventree Hall before they were sold, and the steward would not pay the full price unless they were fresh. Your father looked back at your mother, who was bouncing the baby on her hip, and she gave him a slight nod. “Okay, we’d like to have you on for the next moon or so. There’s a spare stall in the stable where you can bed down if you’ll help me clear some equipment out of it.”

The one-eyed man was visibly relieved and offered your father a hand to shake, which your father grasped firmly. “Thank you, ser,” he said.

“I’m no ser,” your father said, but he looked a little pleased to be addressed as such.

“There’s broth on for tonight,” your mother added helpfully, calling down the field and shading her eyes from the sun with her spare hand. “Bread was fresh yesterday.”

“Sounds perfect,” the man said, and for all the light in his eye at that, he seemed to say it genuinely.

Your father was clapping him on the shoulder and leading him off to the paddock that housed the small stable when you stopped them with your voice. “Wait! What was your name?”

The man stopped dead in his tracks, and you may have been mistaken, but you thought you saw his jaw go a little tighter and his eye a little wider. He wavered, then cleared his throat. “Uh, Luke,” he said.

Your mother and father did not seem to notice his hesitation, but you narrowed your eyes at him, and he had the good grace to swallow hard before he was led away.

Luke, you thought, testing the name on your tongue. You had a feeling that getting to know each other would be very interesting indeed.

— ∞ —

“You know, if you were going to lie about your name, you probably should have thought about that before someone inevitably asked what your name was.” It was the height of the day, and you were irritable, the collar of your shirt becoming damp and yellow with sweat, the basket on your hip growing harder and harder to lift.

It had been a few days since the man - Luke - arrived, and you had already learned to like having him around. He was an able young man, strong, and his pace of work meant that sometimes both your parents could afford to rest when the sun reached its peak. You were glad - they were not so young as they once were, and neither of them got to spend enough time with the babe anyway.

It was such a day today - the two of you were deep in the fields, pulling up the crops and loading your bounty onto a cart - and Luke gave you a bewildered glance. He was starting to do that more and more to you in answer to your pointed questions. “I’m lying about my name, am I?” He asked as though it was not already a foregone conclusion.

You huffed out a laugh. “Given how you positively shit yourself when asked the most simple question a person can ask you about yourself, I would wager so.”

“So you’re a gambler as well as a bard?”

“You can’t answer a question with a question,” you pointed out, huffing as you lifted your now-full basket onto your hip.

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t ask me a question; you just levelled an accusation at me,” he said, but there was no heat in it as he left his own basket for a minute to take yours off your hip and carry it to the cart for you. You did make to protest, but the sun was blazing, and you rather liked the way his shoulders could be seen shifting through his shirt as the sweat-soaked fabric clung to them.

“Fine,” you sighed, “why did you lie about your name?”

He gave you a look, rubbing at his cheek a little where his eyepatch sat with dirt-stained fingers. You wanted to tell him to take it off - it was chaffing him in the heat, and you had seen worse injuries over the years than a lost or damaged eye - but you didn’t want to push your luck. “My name - the name my mother gave me, it’s… recognisable. I told you I don’t know if I could face going home. If someone from my past heard my name being used around here, I don’t think the choice would be mine anymore - to stay or not.”

You thought that over and nodded. “I suppose that makes sense,” you said. “Many folks are running from their pasts ‘round these parts.”

He sighed. “You have an unforgiving way of cutting straight to the heart of the issue. Has anyone told you that before?”

“Mm,” you hummed, smiling. “It’s a useful skill in a bard. People have a way of burying a lead and telling themselves stories, but they’re rarely motivated by anything other than what’s in their hearts.”

He was watching you with something unnameable in his eye.

“Who is Luke, then?” You asked, not letting up for a second.

The look of levity on his face darkened at that, and you almost regretted pressing the issue. “A boy I killed,” he said simply.

You didn’t know what you expected, but you certainly hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. “You knew him?”

“We were family,” he said, passing you back your now emptied basket, but he looked a little distant now. “We found ourselves on different sides of things. He took my eye. I killed him. It was an accident, but it was still my fault.”

You nodded, a heavy feeling in your gut settling. Everyone had done things they weren’t proud of during those years. Every stale crust of bread or overripe apple you stole to feed your family could have been the one that starved your neighbours to death. “So you use the name… what, to keep him alive?”

He considered this. “I suppose it’s something of an apology, yes. I was a boy then - rash and angry. Now that I’m a man, I realise that no matter the wrongs he visited on me, he didn’t deserve to die. If I keep his name with me, I hope he lives on through me, yes, and I hope, wherever he is, he knows I have not forgotten him and what I did.”

“That seems like all you can do,” you said.

“Mm,” he looked away, “it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Everyone has done things they can’t make up for,” you pointed out.

He gave you a rueful smile. “I fear I have done more than most.”

— ∞ —

The next time you made your way down to the tavern, lute strung on your back, he followed you.

You pretended you hadn’t heard his footsteps until you were halfway down the village path. Then his boot struck a stone, sending it skittering, and you turned to look.

He was watching you, head tilted, and the look in his eye betrayed an appetite.

“You know, you could have just asked to come with me.”

He smirked, slowly drawing up to you. “I’m not much good at small talk. Thought it better I didn’t bother you.”

You hummed. “I like it when you bother me,” you said.

It felt like a leap of faith, but he was there to catch you.

The music fell from your strings and your lips so easily that night, flowing like honey, like gold, and you had the entire inn swept up in a reverie. There was dancing and laughing and singing along, and Good Beck was toasting to you over the bar and sending you mead faster than you could drink it as he struggled to keep up with his orders.

Your shadow, Luke, watched you from the back of the room all night. He’d bought a pint but didn’t seem to be drinking it, and he was surrounded by people but didn’t seem to be talking to them. He just… watched. Like you were some enrapturing creature singing a siren’s song.

You closed up with your own song, the newest one you’d finished. You’d written it by the fireplace in the evenings, gently rocking your sister’s crib with the toe of your boot. The warm glow of the embers brought to mind the glow of the day, the way his skin glistened, and how he smiled and laughed when you spoke even though he didn’t want to, like he couldn’t help it.

My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head, a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,

and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,

and guard you with my sword.

And how she smiled and how she laughed,

the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,

no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,

and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,

and me, your forest lass.

The song was the warmest of embraces: wildflower blooms in the air, the tickle of grass on your skin, and soft, hot kisses on your neck. You closed out the tune on your lute, and when you looked up, your regulars were roaring their approval, and other villagers were clapping for you. You pulled in ragged breath after breath, struggling after the full set, and when you met Luke’s eye, you didn’t want to fool yourself, but you thought him similarly… breathless.

You made your way from the little stage, lute on your back, free pints in hand, and jerked your head to the door, hoping he’d get the message. Fresh air was a must after a full set, as you were often overheating, and the smells and sounds of inside would become oppressive.

You set your tankards on an overturned barrel and sat down on the riverbank, away from any revellers also seeking fresh air. The brook was low right now—there hadn't been a proper rain in a moon—but the trickling sound was still soothing, still enough to reset the thudding rhythm in your chest.

“Just as mystifying as the first time,” his voice and cadence were becoming deeply familiar at this stage. You looked up, and he was setting himself down next to you, giving you a soft smile.

You waved away his praise with a hand and took a deep drink of your mead. It was sharp and sweet and cutting. “You should be ashamed of yourself, following me out here with a drink to ply me and sweet words on your lips; it’s so obvious,” you jested, and his cheeks went a delightful shade of pink.

He held up his hands. “I recall you beckoning me and supplying the drink. If anyone has ulterior motives, it is you.”

“You’re a strange one,” you said, looking away for a second to follow the path of two village girls stumbling home over the wooden bridge downstream, having overindulged in Good Beck’s homebrew. This place was a different world from what it had been only years ago. You didn’t think you could ever fall out of love with it. “What sort of conscripted village boy uses words like ulterior, anyway?”

He laughed. He’d left his pint he hadn’t been drinking inside, so you pushed the tankard you hadn’t managed to get to towards him. He made a face as he sipped but went back for more all the same. “When did I say I was a conscripted village boy?”

“You didn’t,” you said, with a slow wave of realisation. “I just… thought. The book thing - you’re educated and all that.”

He grinned, and his face in profile was something to behold. You didn’t think you’d ever found a nose so pretty. “Educated, but that never saved me from being a fool.”

“It never does,” you pointed out. “Sometimes, educated people are worse for being fools than farming folk. You’ve got all this extra… shite in your head that helps you make excuses for why you’re doing foolish things.”

“Concise, to the point,” he noted with a dry humour in his voice, drinking deeply from his tankard now. “How did one of the farming folk come to know what ulterior meant if it’s such a graceful, airy word?”

He had you there. You smiled and averted your eyes, taking another drink. It was like a game. Take a drink when the other person proves they’re fit for you, and you see how evenly matched you are in all the ways you never expected to be. “My mother is a clever woman, trained in a mummer’s troupe. She knew the plays, knows how to play this,” you said, tapping the lute strung to your back. “She gave up the mummer’s life when she was younger than we are now - she fell in love, found out she was having me. She says she wanted to build something solid, something permanent, and she wanted to do it with my father.”

He hummed. “My mother was just a girl when she had me, too. She was not in love with my father, though, and he was not in love with her,” he said. “It must be nice… to know you were made in love.”

You wanted to kiss him, then. Burned to. Being made in love was blessed, yes, but it was nothing you could not learn later if only you were willing to. You held back, though, if only because he looked sad and you did not think it was the right time. You reached out a hand instead and rested it on the back of his neck, sweeping your thumb over the base of his skull. He responded to your touch, pushing into your palm, and you smiled. 

“Why do you shave your head?” You asked. You’d seen him the other morning, studying his reflection in a bucket of water, scraping stubble off his scalp with a well-kept razor and a bar of soap. It had only been enough hair for you to see that he was fair-headed, but you’d thought that already with his pale skin and piercing eyes.

He screwed his eyes shut for a second, then peered at you sideways, trying out a half-smile. “Would you believe I am already balding horribly? My family is cursed with it, indeed-“

You burst out laughing at that, a terrible snort slipping out, but it made him snicker with you. “Shut up,” you said, “no, you’re not.”

“You’re so heartless, mocking my plight. My grandfather was bald as a coot at four-and-ten, I’ll have you know.”

You snorted again, and he was laughing into his mead, and it was beautiful. As you laughed, you lay back on the riverbank, pushing your mother’s lute to one side for now and pillowing an arm under your head. The night sky was twinkling down on you, broken up only by the glowing light spilling out of the inn, and you sighed. “I’m guessing it has something to do with you being recognisable.”

He sighed and lay down next to you. “Yes.”

Who is recognisable by their hair? You longed to ask, but you knew he would not answer. You rolled onto your side and used the hand not pillowed under your head to reach up and trace his cheek, under where his eyepatch sat. “And why do you never take this off? Even in the height of the day, when it chafes your skin.”

He watched you, either struggling to choose his words or struggling to find any words at all. “You would not mind if I took it off?”

You shook your head. “It causes you pain,” you said, “and I have seen… things.” You swallowed. “I have seen enough of war to know what is ugly in a person - cruelty, vengeance, rabid desire. No injury of the flesh could ever compare to that.”

“You say that as though I have no injury of the soul to match my injury of the flesh,” he said, quiet, solemn.

“I have seen nothing of it!” You answered, sharper than you intended, but you were so sick of him painting himself in such dark colours when you had yet to see anything of the sort. “I see a man tired and worn down by a life that has not been good to him and dealing with that as best as he can—the same as any of us. Only gods and kings are perfect; even then, it’s all just stories. You are doomed to fail if that is what you aspire to. Just… set your sights lower. If you make yourself feel good and you make others feel good… what else matters?”

He swallowed hard. “I…” he stuttered, “I have never aspired to something so humble, yet so terrifying.”

You were cupping his cheek, and the glossy look in his eye was breaking your heart. “What do you want? Right now?”

Maybe the mead made you so bold, or perhaps it emboldened him to choke out an answer.

“You.”

You pressed your lips to his cheek. “You have me,” you murmured.

He reached up, slowly at first, then faster, and pulled you closer. “Am I not… taking advantage? Of your parents’ hospitality?”

You smiled. He was sweet. “My parents only wish to protect me from wandering hands I do not invite. I am not a blushing maiden whose virtue must be guarded by a shining knight. I am just a soul, and I wish to be cherished, like all souls.”

His kiss was as sweet as a sigh, like waking up warm and comfortable with the sun breaking through the window. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you close, almost on top of him, arms twisting around you like he was afraid you might vanish if he did not hold on.

He was shivering under your lips and the tips of your fingers, and you wrapped yourself around him, chasing off the cold. He kissed like he was savouring something incredible—slow and lazy, nearly forgetting to gasp for air. By the Seven, he was so severe, so earnest, he even kissed with seriousness and earnestness. Your breathing was haggard, and he broke the kiss at last, your lips shining and only an inch from his. He held your cheek, ran his thumb under your eye, and pressed a kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“Good?” You asked, your voice wavering and unsteady.

He smiled and kissed you again. “Glorious.”

a/n: experimenting with focusing on the writing more than the editing, so this might be pretty rough - let me know if you spot anything that needs fixed/improved!

taglist (dm/reply to be added): @dracaryxzs

[backtothefanfiction]

Turn Around | tasm!Peter Imagine

Summary- After his jealousy and protectiveness over you got the better of him the night before, Peter is desperate to make things okay again.

Warnings- slight angst, hint at potential assault, one curse word

Word Count- 858

A/N- Just a quick little Peter Parker x Reader imagine because I’m always in my Spider-Man feels, but it’s feeling a little intense right now and I couldn’t find something to fix it. Enjoy.

‘Turn around. Look at me. Just turn around and look at me.’ It’s his only thought right now as he stands at his locker staring at your back across the hall.

Last night had been hell. He’d barely slept. The empty look in your eyes and your deafening silence ringing in his ears, his only company.

It had all gone so wrong.

‘Just look at me, please, just look at me.’

Your giggle echoed off the lockers and floated on the air towards him but he knew you better. Could hear your breathes, the quickened pace of your heart. Saw the way your fingers picked at the sleeves of your jumper as you held your books tighter than usual to your chest.

Maybe you’d never get over this. Maybe last night was a step too far. Maybe he should have never told you his secret in the first place. Maybe you’d still be looking at him.

Your friend looks at him. She glances between your face and his. There’s pity in her eyes, or is it confusion. He realises she’s trying to help him, to get you to follow her gaze but you won’t.

“Yo, Parker!” Flash Thompson’s voice echoes down the hall.

Peter hesitates for a brief moment. Maybe your own curiosity about what Flash would want with him would make you turn around. You don’t. He watches your shoulders rise as you hold your books even tighter to your chest and fight the urge.

“Hey, Parker.” Flash’s voice grows softer as he approaches Peter. “What are you-“

“Is he still looking over?” You ask the red head stood before you.

“No.” She responds, checking once over your shoulder and then back to you.

At her words you finally feel able to relax, a large sigh exhaling from your chest as your eyes fall to the floor before you. Your eyes close as you attempt to compose yourself in this brief moment when his eyes aren’t staring at your back, but it doesn’t work. You are instead met once again by the image of him from the night before, burned onto your retinas.

“Hey, is everything okay? What’s going on with you two?” Janie asks you, her tender hand resting against your arm.

You shake your head. “I… uh I, I can’t really talk about it- not- ready to talk about it yet.”

“Did you guys break up?” She presses.

“No, I mean, not yet at least, I just…”

“Did you have a fight?”

You almost flinch at her choice of words.

You had never seen Peter like that before. The way he hit that guy. Laid into him like he was a fresh cut of steak he was preparing for the grill. And as if to pour salt on the wound, he still crept in through your window and expected you to patch him up like nothing happened.

You didn’t even notice the guy following you. Didn’t think he was intentionally following you. But when Peter dropped down into that alley he saw red- Red. There was so much red. The guy in the alley- him in your room. The way you left him on the rooftop.

“Yeah, something like that.” You finally say to her, voice small and timid. You turn your head slightly, taking a small glance, not towards his face, but his feet. His familiar chucks, scuffed and worn from years of skateboarding. “I, uh, I’ll meet you in English.” You say shakily to Janie with a half hearted smile.

“Yeah, okay.” She replies, eyebrows furrowed, her voice full of concern. “You gonna be okay?” She asks you.

“Yeah, I just need some air.”

He turns his head to watch you walk away. ‘Turn around. Please just turn around.’ He’s practically begging at this point, as he only half listens to Flash talk about his girlfriend and this supposed photoshoot he wants Peter to do of her for him.

You still don’t turn. Fuck.

He slams his locker shut. “Uh yeah, sounds good Flash.” His words are rushed and he’s sure he’s gonna get a slug in the arm for cutting Flash off mid sentence and just walking away from him, but he could deal with that pain. It was the pain currently in his chest he was struggling to deal with.

It didn’t come from no physical wound, even though the look in your eyes felt like he’d been sliced open with a knife. He couldn’t make it go away, unlike the gashes on his skin that healed over night. Not until you turned around and looked at him again. When he is able to erase the pain he saw in your eyes. Those innocent eyes he felt stared straight into his soul. That didn’t see the poor little orphaned boy. Could see past the mask and bravado he used on the streets. No, somehow you have a way of seeing through all of that and bring back out the little boy who loved playing hide and seek and eating peanut butter jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

He had to make this right. He just needed you to turn around.