#they would’ve got me hook line and sinker

[xeniums]

heeheeeheee james mcavooooyyyyy

(was he absolutely demented and toxic and hulk-level angry in the movie? yes. was I very thankful for the copious amount of tank top wearing? also yes.)

[atyourmerci]

♡ Hook, line, and sinker (sub!abby // follower req)

Basketball!abby X nerdy reader

Next chapter

♡ ♡

Summary: Abby is the head captain of your college basketball team, a known player in more ways than one…but you knew her dirty little secret

Warnings: smut, MDNI, porn smidge of plot, sub!abby, top!reader, cunnilingus, fingering if you squint, abby is sub inexperienced, abby is a whiny little sub, author enjoyed thoroughly, no y/n, no physical description of reader

A/N: first req!! So thank you for sending it in. Hopefully this will hold y’all off till I can get out a full fic :// (this was supposed to be a drabble and I got carried away oopsies). Psa wrote this at 2am so it’s probably a MESSSS

♡ ♡

She was dangerous force, intimidating just by the sheer sight of her. She was the kind of girl that people walked on the other side of the road when she was coming, afraid of what would happen if she snapped. Hell even the girls on the court would run from her, and not in the way the game was supposed to happen, they just knew she broke bones.

Abby was brutal, she was a hard hit, she was uneasy to break… she was a fucking whiny sub.

No one knew that of course, none of the girls she tossed around like dolls as she rammed into them emotionlessly, it would ruin the reputation she had built, right?

But you knew.

She was embarrassed you ever saw that side of her, but fuck did she need you. Only you could let her beg and plead to let her cum after denying her over and over again. Only you were allowed to see that pretty pink pussy drenched in slick that ran down her muscled thighs. Only you ever made her cum.

The situation she had you in was less than practical. Abby begrudgingly asked for your help in physics since you were undeniably the smartest in the class…oh if she would’ve know the things you’d teach her. 

You weren’t her type, she liked easy girls, the ones that threw themselves at her so she never had to even try, open up to anyone. Some girls had pressed for more, to which she’d move on to the next.

You…you were difficult, hard to read. She was surprised you didn’t use the chance of meeting with her to study to get a good fuck out of her. You were strictly business, even when you couldn’t stop thinking about what she would look like with her legs wrapped around your head.

♡ ♡

That day had started just like the others, abby sprawled out on your tiny dorm bed while you sat neatly across from her, textbooks giving needed separation between the two of you. She always felt the need to dominate every space she took up. If only you could just break her���

“I- I don’t fucking get this. I’m not going to.” Abby says dragging her large hand cross her face. She was usually frustrated when she came to you, but today was the worst you’ve ever seen. She’d leave in a much better place than you had started, but after 3 hours there had been an unusual lack of progress.

“You’re not using your head,” you say growing impatient. You let out a sigh of equal frustration, knowing you’d have to break down the first wall of unspoken territory with her, “what’s wrong with you, you seem off today.”

She returns a scoff back at you, head tilting up to meet your eyes, “I’m fine.”

You shake your head knowingly back at her, “Abby you-“ you begin to protest as she cuts you off defensively, “I said I’m fine. Now are you actually going to teach me? Or would you like to keep interrogating me?”

Your mouth opens in anger. She wants to play this game, let’s play. “Don’t come at me because you were too busy fucking the entire woman’s soccer team last night to be prepared for this midterm.”

“Why the fuck do you care what I do,” she barks back with just the same vengeance.

You laugh at her blatant assumption, “I didn’t say I did.”

“Then why are you breathing down my neck,” she says narrowing her eyes on you, in an almost curious gaze, still laced with anger.

“I just think you should worry about yourself more than making half of Yale’s female population come.”

She returns a breathy laugh, shaking her head turning away from you, “and you don’t think I get off?”

You cross your arms with a testing gaze on the profile of her face, she couldn’t even look at you talking about herself that way. “I know you don’t.”

“And how the hell would you know that.”

“You’re so fucking tense I’m sure you haven’t gotten off in years, can’t even let yourself do it.” You watch as she twists her fingers around themselves nervously, still unable to meet your eyes.

“Y- you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says unsure, barely above a whisper.

Any assumption you had made had been completely checked off now, and you were ready to completely destroy her. Before you could make out a rational thought your hands were at the textbooks in front of you, the separation between you and your weary opponent. You moved everything off onto the desk next to your bed, closing the once necessary gap.

“Come here,” you say as she finally meets your gaze again. “W-what?”

“You heard me, lie down completely,” you demand, and she reluctantly agrees, unsure of her fate.

You make your way to the side of her, brushing your bare knees against her side which causes her to flinch as her fists are closed tightly next to her.

You place a hand on her abdomen first, trying to ignore the chiseled muscle beneath her black tank, “have you been touched here?”

“Yes.”

You then move your hand to the bicep caged around the outline of your legs, she was sure not to make direct contact, “have you been touched here?”

“Yes.”

You move the same hand to her cheek, cupping the sharp line of her jaw, her eyes now drowning in yours, the anger that had held her down now disappearing. “Have you been touched here?”

“Sometimes. N- not often.” Her gaze falters, fluttered down out of your reach at the vulnerability.

Your hand drags down to her neck, this time you let it roam, dragging your fingers across her pulse, “and here?”

“No.”

You click your tongue at her, “shame,” bending down on your knees to scatter slow kisses up the throb in her neck. You feel as she squirms slightly beneath you, “such a sensitive area, really,” you say returning upright, dragging your fingers down to her raised nipple, hardened by your kisses.

“Here?” You lay light circles around the heightened bud as her mouth falls open, quickly closing it with her top teeth on her lip to make sure she doesn’t crack.

She shakes her head rapidly in response, eliciting a giggle from your throat as you move to her other nipple, sure to give it just as much attention.

You let your hand drag down to the seam of her sweats, toying with the exposed skin between her shirt and pants with your fingertips. You watch as her teeth let the grip of her lip go and her head fall back to the ceiling.

The tips of your fingers ease under the sweats over her boxers, inching your way in till your hand cups her mound to which she lets out her first groan of satisfaction “Have you been touched here, Abby?”

“Fuck- no. never.” Her chest rising and falling heavily now, unable to catch her breath.

“You want me to touch you there abby?”

“Please- please touch me there,” her fist that was caged around your bent legs now gripped into your thigh, large hand almost completely engulfing your leg.

“Well since you asked so nicely, take off your pants. Only your pants.” Within seconds she had them down to her ankles, ripping them off and discarding them to the floor. Her hand returned to your thigh, eyes now trained on you.

You moved your hand back to her mound, covered by her black boxers. You began rubbing down to feel how soaked she was, pooling already. You wouldn’t give her much, not yet, only rubbing slow and soft stripes up and down to hear her breathy moans from the stoic woman.

“Does that feel good?” You ask her doe-eyed as she stare’s pathetically up at you, so needy for anything you’d let her have. “Y- yes.”

“Take off your boxers.” With the same enthusiasm she rips them down at your command, returning her gaze back to the ceiling, still embarrassed at her vulnerability but unable to stop herself.

“Open up those legs for me pretty girl,” you say rubbing your palm up her thigh.

“You can’t talk to me like that… I- I’ll come” she breathes out, bucking her hips slightly into the air to no sense of relief.

“I haven’t even touched you yet,” you let out a small giggle at her admission, continuing to rub in her inner thigh.

“Y-ou don’t h-ave to- I’m close enough.”

“Awh pretty baby, all from some talking?”

She continues to buck her hips in hopes that your hand will meet her in the middle. “Please touch me before I finish.”

She had been so good, so pliable, so you honored her wish by placing your fingertips to her raised clit, soaked by her arousal. “Oh fuck!” She yelps, raising her hips into your touch, the hand on your thigh digging crescents into your soft flesh.

“So swollen, just for me?”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck- don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” she begins to plead. You know she won’t last much longer. And you had to taste her.

You whip your legs around her backwards to straddle her, getting a perfect view of her sopping wet cunt, pretty pink lips coated in white slick. You lick a fat stripe down her slit, tongue pointing into her leaking entrance to get a taste of her.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck” she begins to babble as you lap at her hole. She moves her wide hands to grasp at your covered ass in search of stabilizing herself.

You return to her swollen bud, immediately sucking it into your mouth, pulsing it systematically as you hold her wavering thighs open.

“I- im- FUCK-“ she begins to shake under you, whimpers flying out of her as she bucks into your mouth, riding out her early orgasm.

She continues to shake as you try to suck every last bit of her climax out of her, letting her revel in her pleasure. You wish you could talk her through it now, but you’re sure she’ll let you do it over and over again.

As cries of overstimulation flood her voice you let off her clit with a pop, eliciting one last whine from her throat. You return next to the half naked brute, right back to where it started.

She hops of the bed and lazily returns her clothing back to her body.

“No one hears of this. No one.” She says with a pointed look, deep into your eyes.

Ah, the reputation must be upheld. Whiny fucking sub.

Follower req by: @ghgygd

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow

[ryebread0605]

Breeding kink with Lilia plz I’ll kneel for it

OH BOY ANON YOU GOT ME HOOK LINE AND SINKER I AM AN ABSOLUTE FERAL WHORE FOR BREEDING 

This is also gonna be a response to another ask that wanted Lilia with a female reader

Hope you enjoy! 

 (Ik it’s short I’m so sorry my brain just blanked on how to write Lilia)

When you got news from Silver that something was wrong with Lilia, you probably should’ve stayed to listen to what exactly was wrong. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be pinned to the former general’s bed currently. His hard on was pressed to your ass, your chest against the soft mattress as he grinds into you. The feeling was something that caused arousal to pool in you and you were sure the fae could smell it.

“M-my dear,” the former general began with a shaky voice, “I’ve been thinking recently..” his hips ground against your ass harder, more desperately as he groaned softly and leaned closer to you so he could whisper the next words into your ear, “I’m ready to raise another child”

If you weren’t already aroused, that would’ve opened the floodgates immediately. The image in your head of your belly swollen with his offspring, part fae and part human, giving Silver a sibling, sevens it sounded heavenly. You hadn’t even known that was something you desired, always fearing pregnancy in the past. And yet, this felt right.

“Lilia, a-are you sure? I mean, with me?” Your face was flushed red as the man chuckled softly and gently bit your lobe, 

“My dear, I wouldn’t want anyone else to mother my child. But, do you want this too?” His words held his restraint, he oh so badly just wanted to take you now but he couldn’t possibly do so without permission. It was completely against who he was, the values and morals he held, to force you into this major decision. But with a nod of your head and a feeble ‘please’, that restraint snapped.

The sound of his balls against your ass, both your fluids running down your legs as he had you on all fours, one hand holding your hips up while the other pressed your head into the pillows. You didn’t mind it at all, however, as you could barely think about anything other than his cock moving in and out of your cunt at a rapid pace one wouldn’t expect from the fae. His grunts and your moans were loud enough for everyone to know what you two were doing, you could only hope out of some miracle that Malleus had taken Sebek and Silver out of the dorm as otherwise you two would get another very lengthy lecture from a very flustered Sebek and be ignored by Silver (not because he is angry, he’s just embarrassed). 

With one final groan, he stilled inside you again and painted your fluttering walls white. Panting heavily with sweat coating almost every inch of his body, he pulled out with a slight pop and lay beside you on the bed. With a love drunk smile, you lay your head on his chest and kiss the numerous hickeys lining his neck as he runs his finger along the bite marks on yours. 

“So, are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” He wriggled his eyebrows at you teasingly as you laughed and playfully slapped him, a bright yet tired smile on your face as you kissed his cheek. You weren’t nervous at the idea of being pregnant anymore, as long as it was his baby in you and him by your side throughout this journey

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Irresistible

Summary: rafe cameron for first time spots you in the crowd. Thinking he is winning you over but your boyfriend ruins plans

Pairing: Cocky rafe cameron x reader

Warnings: cocky rafe, flirting

----

The party was packed. The kind where bodies pressed together in a haze of sweat, alcohol, and bass-heavy music, drowning out any coherent conversation. It was exactly the type of scene Rafe Cameron thrived in—except tonight, nothing held his attention. Not the bottle of beer in his hand, not the familiar faces trying to pull him into some half-assed conversation.

And then he saw you.

It was almost too cliché—how his eyes found you in the crowd like some kind of gravitational force had yanked him in your direction. But he didn’t care. You were laughing, head tilted back slightly, your eyes shining under the dim, shifting lights. Everything about you was effortless, and it was enough to make Rafe forget whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing.

You weren’t trying to get attention. You already had it.

And now you had his.

Rafe didn’t think twice. He never did. His feet carried him toward you before his brain could catch up, pushing past clusters of people until he was close enough to catch the faint scent of whatever perfume you were wearing. Close enough to notice the way your lips curved slightly at the sight of him.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Let me guess,” Rafe started, his signature smirk already in place. “You just got here. Because there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed you before now.”

Your eyes flickered to his, clearly amused. “That was smooth. Is that your go-to line?”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, you just bring out my best work.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t walk away. If anything, you leaned in slightly, and Rafe took that as an invitation. He reached for the drink in your hand—without asking—bringing it to his lips before taking a slow sip, his gaze locked onto yours the entire time.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re that guy?”

“What guy?” he asked, still holding your drink hostage.

“The one who takes girls’ drinks without asking. Do you steal hearts the same way?”

Rafe grinned. “I don’t have to steal them. They usually just hand them over.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe his audacity. But you still let him keep the drink.

“Cocky,” you mused. “I’ll give you that.”

He leaned in, just enough to make it feel like the two of you were in your own little world. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You studied him for a moment, tilting your head slightly like you were sizing him up. “You don’t take rejection well, do you?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Rafe shot back smoothly. “Never had to deal with it.”

You let out a small hum, like you were considering whether or not you wanted to challenge that. He could see the flicker of amusement in your eyes, the way you let him have his fun without fully giving in. It only made him want you more.

“Let me guess something about you now,” he continued, stepping even closer. “You like the chase.”

You exhaled a small laugh. “What makes you think that?”

“Because if you didn’t, you would’ve walked away already.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think. “Or maybe I just find you entertaining.”

Rafe smirked. “That’s just a nice way of saying you like me.”

“You’re really full of yourself, huh?”

“Only when I’m right.”

Your lips parted slightly, like you had a quick-witted response ready, but before you could say anything, someone behind you called your name.

Rafe barely noticed them. He was too busy watching your expression shift slightly, like you’d just remembered something important.

You glanced back at him, your smile never faltering. “This was fun,” you said lightly. “But I should probably get back to my boyfriend.”

Rafe’s smirk froze.

His grip on your drink tightened slightly before he quickly placed it back in your hand, his expression unreadable.

“What?” he said, blinking as if he hadn’t heard you right.

You patted his chest lightly, your fingers lingering for just a second before pulling away. “Don’t look so surprised, Rafe. You didn’t really think it’d be that easy, did you?”

And just like that, you were gone.

Rafe stood there for a moment, watching as you disappeared into the crowd like some kind of fever dream. His jaw clenched, his ego bruised, but instead of frustration, all he felt was intrigue.

Oh, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

[darthannie]

kinktober day two: somnophilia with raymond leon

pairing: Raymond Leon x f!reader word count: 712 warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, somnophilia, basically dbf (dad's business friend) a/n: Writing somno is a challenge for me but I'll accept it every time. Enjoy!

Kinktober Masterlist

Your father had more than enough time to set you up for centuries. He gave you 50 years as a gift for your 25th birthday. That was around the time you met Raymond Leon. He was a timekeeper hired by your father to investigate a string of time theft going on in his company.

He spent a lot of time at your house, working out of one of the offices your father had set up on the estate. He was never home, so the house was completely void of anything stopping you from being with Raymond. 

You and Raymond had set up an arrangement. Not quite a relationship, but you were his and his alone. He wasn’t the doting man you’d always wanted, but there was a thrill that ran through your body whenever you were around him. 

His dark hair and light eyes did a number on you. The first time you felt his hands touch your smooth skin was a day you’d never forget. Since that day, he had you, hook, line, and sinker. And because of you, he had all the time in the world. 

On one particular day, he found you asleep in your bed under a fleece blanket. That’s a shame, he thought. He had expected you awake and waiting but, making the most of it, he thought he’d play a little game. He wondered how long it would take for you to wake up. 

He removed his trench coat and reached for your blanket. He dragged it off, slowly revealing your naked body. He breathed out and blood rushed down to his dick. He took this as an invitation, a bright green light telling him “go”. 

He started by softly grabbing your breast, feeling your soft skin in his hand. He pulled down his pants and started stroking himself, contemplating his next move. You breathed out softly and hummed. She must be dreaming, he assumed. 

You rolled over onto your side, arching your back and making your ass more prominent. He would’ve thought you were awake if it wasn’t for the way your wrist went limp when he picked up your arm. 

Now with the assurance you were fast asleep, he got bolder, and spread your ass so he could get a better look at you. He laid on the bed next to you to get in the just right position where he could put the tip of his cock in you. 

He hummed at the feeling of him stretching you out ever so slightly. He tried his luck and pushed in slowly. He got as far as he could before stopping as you began to stir. 

You stretched out your arms slightly and yawned. Raymond felt you clench around him. You were in a daze and unaware of what was going on. He pulled out and slowly, slowly thrust back in. That earned him a soft moan from you. 

He shifted his body in such a way that he was now over you, watching your face as he fucked you. You were coming into consciousness as he picked up speed. You breathed in, about to say something a little too loud, and Raymond put his hand over your mouth.

“Shhhh. Go back to sleep,” He cooed.

He removed his hand and laid down behind you, lifting your leg, and spooning you as he thrust deep inside you. He held your arms close to your chest.

You moaned quietly and he placed his hand over your mouth again. You didn’t know if what was happening was real but you didn’t want it to stop. You let him fuck you in your drowsy state, not opening your eyes again. 

He pulled out and came on your thighs. He looked down at the mess he made and was satisfied. He laid with you for a while, dragging his thumb back and forth on your arm.

After a few minutes, he got up and got himself put together again. He threw a washcloth on the bed and checked his time. He walked over and grabbed your arm, giving himself an hour for good measure.  

He leaned over to your ear and said, “When you decide it’s time to wake up, clean yourself up and get dressed. Your father’s here.”

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylumm, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting, @queenofstresss

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

[sufferthesea]

Flash Fiction Friday #11 (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Word: Movie 

Pairing: Javi x f!Reader, Javi x You

Warnings: Brief mention of canon-compliant violence/drugs

Life with Javi was so different than most people imagined. Most of the world saw him as a cruel and violent drug lord, and some saw him as nothing more than a thug. You knew better. Javi wasn’t violent or cruel or a thug. He was, unbelievable to most people, the sweetest man you’ve ever met. Relaxed, gentle, funny. You’ve hardly ever seen him in a sour mood, and it’s almost never been pointed at you. 

Today, however, it is. Not because of all the drama with his cousin, or the dangers or his line of work, or even out of jealousy on either side (sometimes you got jealous of his bubbly personality, and sometimes he got jealous of your beauty), but something else entirely. 

Javi is mad at you because you told him you don’t like a particular Nicolas Cage film. It’s not your fault. You genuinely enjoy his films, but this one film just didn’t do it for you. 

Okay, that wasn’t fair. You actually do like the film, and you don’t even mind Nicolas Cage’s notorious overacting. Your issue is – 

“His accent is horrendous!” 

You aren’t actually angry about it, and you can ignore it most of the time, but you secretly enjoy how you can ruffle Javi’s feathers this way. He is undeniably cute when he gets upset. 

“His accent is flawless,” counters Javi, gawking at you from his couch. 

Usually, the two of you cuddle during your move nights, but if there’s a particularly beloved Nic Cage film playing, Javi banishes you to the second cough so you won’t distract him. Perhaps that’s why you feel the need to needle him about Nic Cage’s accent in Con Air. You’ve been craving Javi’s arms all day, and you were patiently awaiting your movie night so you could lay on top of him and fall asleep halfway through some arthouse flick. 

But, no. Javi chose Con Air – a film you’d seen a million times before you ever got with Javi – and you knew you were doomed to a night on the couch by yourself. That was probably the last straw for today, anyway. 

So, you laid out on the couch, faithfully watching Nic Cage attempt a Southern accent, until you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to pick a fight. The only thing that had come out was a huff and a comment on his horrible accent. You knew you’d said the wrong thing (or the right, since you wanted a fight) because Javi paused the film and slowly raised himself up off the couch to stare at you in disbelief. 

Hook, line, sinker. 

You now defend your position on the actor’s notorious accent. This is far from a hill you’d actually die on, but the way Javi is so flustered, his cheeks pink, eyes aflame, body animated … If he looked like this during any film that didn’t have Nic Cage, you would’ve already forgotten the film and dragged him to the bedroom. But it was during a Nic Cage movie, which meant that you and Javi’s heated argument could only end in him watching the movie by himself, or you apologizing and finishing the film together. Either way, the film will be watched. There’s no ending where the film is forgotten in your passion (or anger). 

“Apologize right now!” Javi shouts, eyes wild. He is completely disheveled. 

“Apologize? To you?” 

“No, of course not. To Nicolas Cage.” 

“Apologize to Nicolas Cage?” 

“Yes! You insulted one of the greatest actors of our generation. Of any generation!” 

“Javi, you know most people agree with me, right?” 

Javi gasps, scandalized. “No one agrees with you! Nicolas Cage is a master of accents, and you’re just jealous you aren’t.” 

You nearly choke on your own scandalized gasp. “Jealous?! Are you kidding me?” 

“You’ve always been jealous of his acting abilities. It’s not his fault he was born with skills so few others have. But we can’t live our lives filled with envy about it, when he would want us to simply enjoy his talents.” 

“Javi–” 

“No! I can’t stand being torn between my two great loves. Please, mi vida, don’t do this to me.” 

You stare at Javi in disbelief. This joke has gone far beyond what you originally intended. 

“Javi,” you say cautiously, gently. “You know I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just teasing.” 

“Teasing? Mi vida, you hurt me.” He places a large hand over his chest, wincing as if his heart is actually sore. “Why would you do such a thing? What did I ever do to you?” 

“Nothing, Javi. I was just trying to rile you up.” 

“Rile me up?” His large brown eyes are shining with confusion. “But why?”

You really don’t have an answer. You can blame is on something – PMS, jealousy, liking how Javi looks when he’s passionate about something – but he deserves the truth, even if he doesn’t understand it. 

“I … was bored.” 

Javi’s face falls and his bewilderment is replaced by genuine hurt. “You were bored by the movie?” 

“Movies aren’t very fun to watch by yourself.” 

“You aren’t by yourself, amorcita. I’m right here.” 

“Javi–” You sit up and motion to him then to yourself. “We’re on two separate couches. This isn’t watching a movie together. When we watch films. I want to be beside you. I want to be able to touch you, for you to hold me. I don’t want to be on the other side of the living room.” 

“Mi alma …” 

“Sometimes it feels like you love Nicolas Cage more than you love me.” 

He looks like a kicked puppy. “Why didn’t you say anything? I had no idea you felt like that.” 

“I was worried about … I dunno. Sounding silly. Being jealous of an actor. But it’s true. It feels like you’d rather focus on him than on me.” 

Javi sits up properly and motions for you to move to his couch. You do so a bit reluctantly. Javi’s large, strong arms wrap themselves around you and you instantly feel foolish – and comforted. His warmth seeps into you and you curl up into his side while he plants a kiss to the top of your head. He murmurs in Spanish against your hair but it’s too soft for you to understand. 

“What?” 

“I said, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. How long have you felt this way?” 

“Only recently,” you say, though it’s not quite true. “I really shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“No! You should’ve said something sooner! I would’ve done something about it!” He hugs you tighter, nuzzling into you. The scruff on his beard tickles your forehead and nearly makes you cry. How’d you get such a sweet guy? And why can’t you just keep your mouth shut when it comes to Nicolas Cage movies? It’s not like he chooses them every night. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaning into him. “I just wanted your attention, I guess.” 

“You have it, amorcita. Always.” 

You hug Javi hard and lean up to kiss him. “Do you want to finish the movie?” 

“Not if it’s going to upset you.” 

“It won’t, I promise. And I apologize whole-heartedly to Nicolas Cage.” 

Javi can’t hide his grin as he hugs you again. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s finish the movie, and I’ll let you pick the next one.” 

You don’t tell him, but you’re already planning on picking a film that neither of you like – that way, you’ll have Javi’s full attention and won’t even have to compete for it. Besides, you owe him a real apology, and it’ll take at least the length of one full movie to do it.

[tragedy-peanut-gallery]

rank jaehaerys's and alysanne's children from best to worst

Gladly!!

1. Gael. She’s a horrifying footnote in history but she’s MY horrifying footnote in history!!!! I cry every time I think about her so she gets immediate fav

2. Viserra. There was probably something horribly wrong in her life that made her fall for that incest thing hook line and sinker…. Idc, they could never make me hate you bbygirl <3

3. Vaegon. Look. He may be an asshole butttttt…… who cares, objectively hilarious that he said no to both the incest AND the throne because he hated his family. Lol. Lmao even

4. Daella. Also a very horrifying sad story :( jaehaerys I will see you in HELL for allowing your teenage autism-coded daughter to be terrorized without any empathy for her!!!!!!!!!

5. Saera. She’s also an asshole but idc, objectively iconic. Product of her parents’ neglect who are surprised when said neglected daughter acts out in increasingly dangerous ways like…….. ough. Good on her for cutting her family out of her life and making her own empire. She still deserved way better tho

6. Maegelle. Something was probably horribly wrong with her to be covinced to gaslight her mom into forgiving her asshole husband <3

7. Aemon. Idk I don’t hate him butttttt….. he’s just a guy imo. I respect him for not forcing his wife to have five thousand kids and I wish he lived just so he could let Rhaenys be queen after him. I have a hard time believing he was Caraxes’ human like. HUH

8. Alyssa. I think I like the version of her in my head way more buttttttt…… tbh she still deserved way better than what she got. What the fuck were you cooking with her George

9. Daenerys. She was just a little kid. Little baby :’( would’ve been nice if she could’ve lived to be queen in her own right but that’s not the story she’s in rn :(

10. Aegon. Dead baby

11. Gaemon. Dead baby

12. Valerion. Dead baby

13. Baelon. HATE HIS ASS!!! Idk he was probably a normal guy before but he absorbed the “overthrow your brother’s descendants and cause a succession crisis to put your own kids on the throne” grindset through the VisenyaVhagar pipeline and I still believe it to this day. Also slept with his sixteen year old sister when he was twenty??? Ik this is asoiaf but idc I can pick and choose what to be icked out by and this is criminal offense side eye to me. Would’ve been more interesting if he was weirdly in love with Aemon imo

[stuckinmymind22]

playlists | stay/is it over now? + better man

Chapter 1

pair: portgas d. ace x afab reader (she/her)

modern au | multimedia | musician ace | more info on story

tags: fluff fluff and more fluff, cursing, group chat alert, luffy cameo, goofy ace, also they’re both fucking stupid lowkey (she said like she didn’t write them that way) lowkey imply ace and reader are sluts (good for you!!)

mdni: please - look i can't tell you how to live your life but this isn't for you pls avoid thx

wc: 7.7k (i said it would be shorter and it's the same fucking length 😭)

excerpt:

“You wanna go back to my place?” Ace asks. After the words leave his mouth he seems to have realized the potential implications of them. His face reddens and he trips over his words, “N-Not like that - I -” You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability.  Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

a/n: AHHHHHHH sorry it took so long i want to say it wont happen again but i am not predictable. also it turns out i really like the word mischief (thank you thesaurus or else it’d be in here 16 times)

we're working really hard on not second guessing every single thing i write, but i am in the trenches lol somethings might be cringe but that's part of the process idfk

important: theres a lot of text messages (well i feels like a lot) and i did my best to add in alt text so i hope that works if anyone needs it. lowkey starts off a bit choppy bc there's a lot of texts but it'll get longer i promise (this'll also happen again though)

song(s): there's a lot of songs in this chapter, so i made a list but they'll still be linked when used.

just a note that the songs don't necessarily reflect what happens in the chapter

stay - post malone is it over now? - taylor swift better man - 5 seconds of summer

here's the playlist for everything

He remembered, that’s the first thing you think when you hear the line. It’s a question about last night’s show. Because you told him how you were dreading it. Not only did he remember, he cared enough to ask. 

Holy shit.

A confusing feeling blossoms in your chest when you figure it out. You don’t want to not read into it too much, but there’s a portion of your mind that is running wild. You're unsure of the exact intention behind it but it’s got you hook line and sinker – not that you are going to admit that to anyone, not even yourself. 

Truth be told it is something you never would’ve thought of doing, talking with lyrics like this. Ace found a love language that you didn't know existed, much less one that you’re already fluent in. The platonic kind, you hastily tact on to the thought.

Knowing he’s already near his phone (judging by his quick response time) you’re calling him before you even notice you’re doing it. To your surprise, Ace picks up before the second ring, leaving you no time to second guess your actions. “You know you could’ve just asked me to call you, or call me yourself,” you tease, forgoing a greeting. Once he answered, talking to him came naturally, despite your initial nerves.

“Well hello to you too,” Ace laughs. His voice sounds even better than you remember, somehow. “And I know, but this is more fun,” the mischievous twinge in his voice has you wishing you could see his face in more than your mind’s eye. “So are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess,” he teases.

“I don't know, maybe you should ask,” you push back. Ace sighs exaggeratedly but relents. “I’m so glad you asked,” you giggle. You go on to tell him about the night before, which, luckily, went better than you expected.

Unaware, or uncaring, of the passage of time the two of you talk for nearly an hour before the call comes to an end. Your heart’s racing, you need to tell someone about this.

note: i completely forgot about kaya until i was adding the alt text to this and i dont wanna redo it, so please forgive me

Despite Ace making an effort to show up early, when he arrives at the cafe you agreed to meet at he finds you waiting there for him. You spot him quickly and wave him over wearing a big smile. He tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say playfully, bumping his shoulder as he stands next to you entering the line.

“It’s a small world,” Ace shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets, “Whatcha gonna get?” 

“Why? You wanna copy me, Cowboy?” you tease, eyes flickering to his hat. 

“Cowboy?” he questions, amused. “It suits you,” you shrug. Ace can’t help but recognize how this mirrors one of your first interactions when he called you doll for the first time. 

The banter between the two of you flows freely, until you sit down at a table in the back corner of the cafe and your demeanor starts to shift.  Ace watches you as you stare at the table and play with your hands. He can’t help but wonder what’s on your mind, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen you nervous like this before. Whatever inner turmoil you were experiencing seems to disappear and you look back at him with a disarming smile.

“I don’t think I asked this, but how long have you been performing? I mean seeing you play - it’s clear you’re a seasoned vet when it comes to crowd work cause that kind of skill doesn’t appear overnight,” your singing of his praises has Ace becoming flustered. He’s never been good with compliments.

It isn’t hard to see that he isn’t as confident in his abilities as he pretends to be. Logically, he knows that what you’re saying is true, but something in his brain refuses to believe it. Either way his cheeks flare up and he avoids your eyes until the red in his face has died down. 

“I started playing shows a few years ago, in my late teens. Playing really wherever I could and I did that for a couple of years,” it’s at this point he looks at you again, “I had to quit for a few months but other than that it’s been nonstop since I started.”

“Was that when you joined the navy?” you ask. Ace is a little taken aback by your question, he didn’t expect you to remember something he told you in passing the first time you met. This time, Ace is able to hide the blush he felt creeping up his neck. He can’t help but feel ridiculous, he isn’t like this with other people. Besides, you’re friends, just friends.

“Yeah, I got pretty big over there,” he admits. “I even had a few labels approach me, but I wasn’t interested in working with them. One of them’s super persistent though. Like annoyingly persistent. I said I wasn’t interested and they didn’t let go. They’re a big one too, so not even me moving across the country stopped them from knocking at my door.” 

“They’re still bothering you?” you raise an eyebrow. Shit, he was not supposed to tell you that. “If they’re that interested in you, you probably could get a good deal.”

“I’m working on it,” the words slip out of his mouth before he can think about them. Shit. He really wasn’t supposed to say that. Why did he tell you that? You barely know each other. 

But then again, he’s always been a pretty good judge of character and for some reason he trusts you. Now that the cat’s out of the bag there’s no point in trying to hide it, plus he’s been dying to talk to someone about it.

Ace leans in, scanning your surroundings before whispering, “I’m not supposed to be telling you this, so you gotta swear yourself to secrecy.” Wearing an endearing, goofy grin he extends his finger. A pinky promise.

Donning a faux seriousness you nod in agreement.  You’re barely able to contain your amusement as you swear yourself to secrecy. Something in Ace’s stomach flutters at you playing along with the bit, but he simply chalks it up to sharing information he’s not supposed to.

After the promise is made Ace tells you that “for some reason” this big label is dead set on signing him. You know the reason they would do that, you think it’s blatantly obvious too. You aren’t sure if he’s being coy saying that or if he doesn’t see how talented he actually is (it’s both). Because of their interest he has been given the upper hand in negotiations, which for an unsigned, relatively unknown artist, is practically unheard of.

He knows he probably shouldn’t go into the details but you look so cute intently listening to him like this. Plus you did pinky promise. “It is still in talks, so nothing is set in stone yet, but I’m not supposed to be discussing it,” he clarifies, you nod in understanding and he continues, “To be honest, I’m not even sure I’ll take the deal, even if they give me everything I want. I really like to be independent and not having to answer to anyone.

“However,” Ace’s tone turns mischievous and his eyes light up, “it is fun to see how far they’ll go.”

“So you’re trolling them,” you question, clearly amused by his antics. “Basically,” he confirms with sparkling eyes and a shit-eating grin. “But who knows? I might take them up on the offer” he feigns sincerity, pausing for a moment. You raise an eyebrow, knowing more is coming. “...Eventually, probably not though.” There it is, the roguish smile slips back onto his face. You shake your head but fail to hold back your laugh.

“‘s kinda annoying that they don’t leave me alone. And I’m doing fine without ‘em. I’m nearly halfway through my first album, just gotta get back in the studio – it’s been a while,” Ace chuckles.

“I don’t think I’ve been in a studio in years,” you confess. 

“You make music?” he questions, a little surprised you didn’t bring that up earlier, although you haven’t known each other too long he supposes.

“I mean kinda?” you say more as a question. “I really enjoy production, I actually went to school for it.” 

“For real?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm, “that’s where I met Luffy and Usopp actually. We took a class together and Usopp’s the one who got me my job.”

“You should come into the studio with me sometime. Maybe you can show me the ropes or something,” Ace says so casually with a charming smile that it nearly takes your breath away.

“I don’t know, I’m definitely out of practice,” you confide.

“So?” he questioned, “I’m sure it’ll be easy to pick back up.”

“We’ll see,” you smile, leaving it open ended.

Your conversation wanders and by the time it dies down your drinks are long gone and so is your reason to stay, but neither of you truly want to leave each other’s company. A rare semi-awkward silence envelopes the table as the two of you independently rack your brain for some way to prolong your time together, neither of you aware that the other is doing the same.

“You wanna go back to my place?” Ace asks. After the words leave his mouth he seems to have realized the potential implications of them. His face reddens and he trips over his words, “N-Not like that - I -”

You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability. 

Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

~~~~~~

It isn’t until you are both standing in front of his door that the nerves really hit Ace. He doesn’t usually bring girls home, especially not just to hang out. Now that he’s thinking about it he has never brought a girl here since he moved in a few months ago. You’re kind of uncharted waters to him, he admits to himself. But there’s no going back now, besides, he wanted this– he wants this.

You can see the tension build in his shoulders as thoughts race through his mind. Ace opens the door, moving to the side to let you in first. You’re curious what’s got him stressed but you decide not to question it, instead you direct your attention to the interior.

The apartment is pretty standard for a single man in his twenties. It has all the necessities, a couch, a lamp, a TV (with its own dedicated stand, so that’s impressive), and a small coffee table. If anything it was above average out of the many similar places you’ve been to. The only things out of place were the guitar precariously perched against the couch and a litany of notebooks. Evidence of his songwriting. He moves the notebooks and guitars out of the way with great care.

“Um, what game do you want to play?” Ace questions, consciously trying not to be awkward. 

You rack your brain for a game, it doesn't take you long to settle on one. It's a popular one that you're quite good at - there's the added bonus that it's competitive and you and Ace have a score to settle (not that this compares to drinking but it is a competition so it still counts in your mind). 

“You’re in luck,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Little do you know that you picked the one he wants to play; it’s one of his favorites too. As he is pulling up the game he tosses you a controller. “I should warn you that I am pretty good at this one,” he teases, “But don’t worry, I’ll let you warm up. Give you a fighting chance and all.”

You scrunch your nose in mock offence. “I’m not worried,” you assert, holding your head high, “I don’t even need a warm up, I’m ready to kick your ass right now.”

“I like the confidence,” Ace responds, “but I haven’t played for a while so please.” He isn’t exactly lying, he hasn’t played the game in a while, but he isn’t exactly telling the truth either – he does genuinely want you to have a fighting chance and he knows that this way your pride won’t get in the way. Your eyes soften and you relent to his request.

After choosing characters and picking one of the easier maps you start playing. Despite being the one who claimed he needed a refresher, Ace is very talkative. The things he’s bringing up aren’t even related to the game, still you entertain him and answer his questions, finding it amusing that he’s unable to keep his mouth shut.

Somehow, you don’t notice how Ace keeps stealing looks at you – he can’t help it though. You’re sitting cross legged next to him, your knee just barely brushing against him, drawing his attention with every slight move you make. It doesn’t help that you look so pretty focused like this, your tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. Once again, you’re confusing him. 

He tries talking to take his mind off of it but not only did that not work, it also made him awful at the game. In the first practice round you absolutely annihilate him. There is no other way around it. You tease him for it too, asking if he needs more time to warm up. Ace has no shame in taking you up on that offer, this time stepping up his game. He’s doing pretty well, your skill levels start to seem pretty evenly matched. Feeling more confident he risks a glance at you, and yet again his performance falters. This time he snaps out of it quicker, making a comeback and even winning the round.

“You ready to play for real, Dollface?” Ace challenges.

“You ready for your ego to get bruised,” you retort with a playful glimmer in your eyes. “I don’t see that happening, Doll,” he teases back. “You never know,” you say. Ace laughs, shaking his head.

“Best two out of three?” he questions. “Sure,” you agree, “but it won’t matter either way, I’m gonna crush you.” You know you’re not that good at the game but it’s fun to talk shit idk.

 It doesn’t take long for the competition to heat up, both of your competitive natures coming to light. Playful smack talk becomes the backdrop of the rounds with both of you occasionally bumping the other to psych them out. Round three things start to get really tense, you’re tied and so the winner takes all.

Ace manages to take the lead by a rather significant margin, “Looks like I’m winning this one,” Ace beams, his victory seeming imminent. 

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” you push back. The comment takes him by surprise, throwing him off of his game. His brain pauses, did you just admit that you also find him attractive? 

“Oh so I’m hot stuff now?” he teases. He watches you freeze as embarrassment takes over. “I kinda liked Cowboy,” he continues, with a fake pout.

“It’s not like it’s a lie though,” you say, making momentary eye contact, “might even be more fitting.” Okay now you doubled down on it. Ace is definitely reading into it now. Even after he recovers from the initial shock he doesn’t refocus on the game, his attention now centered on you. You (unknowingly) take advantage of his distraction and manage to pull ahead and win the round. 

Going to rub your victory in his face you notice that he is out of it.  You realize that he was playing half heartedly and demand a rematch. You want to win fair and square. Ace complies and he wins the next one. You try to walk back the rematch claiming the victory was valid, but (predictably) he fights back. Best two out of three turns into best three out of five to best five out of seven. Eventually, you stop keeping score at all.

Laughter echoes throughout the room, both of your antics and tactics for winning getting more and more ridiculous. You can’t recall the last time you laughed this hard. You really like being around Ace, and that might become a real problem, but for now you push that to the back of your mind. It’s an issue for later, for now you want to concentrate on the present and enjoy his company.

Although you’d started at a respectable distance, that gap’s been closing slowly without your awareness. Following another win you turn to gloat and you realize exactly how close you are. Ace’s freckles are much more visible from here. Automatically, your brain starts painting constellations on his cheeks finding patterns in the dots speckling his face.

Your eyes fall down to his lips and stop their journey. It is clear that something has shifted. There is an unknown gravity that is pulling you in. You’re so close now, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. If you lean in just a little bit more –

The sound of the front door slamming open brings you back to reality. Eyes grow wide in joint surprise. Luffy’s greeting rings out through the room. Before he can suspect anything you move away from Ace, trying to bury your disappointment.

Ace, whose back is towards the door, shakes his head, muttering a curse at his brother before turning around. “Luffy, what did I tell you about slamming the door,” Ace shouts, chastising his brother. “Sorry,” Luffy laughs, kicking his shoes off.

You take the moment of refuge to process what just happened, well what almost just happened. It’s good that this happened actually, you reason with yourself. It would only complicate things in the long run. Imagine if things go south and you were forced to see him at work, no thank you. 

Ace gives up on scolding Luffy for his repeated unannounced visits as the younger boy walks away into the kitchen. Hold on, why is Luffy here? “Sorry about him, he has keys to the place, which I regret giving him, and likes to show up and raid the fridge,” Ace makes a point to say the last parts louder, clearly intending for his brother to hear. Luffy’s boisterous laugh echoes from the kitchen.

Luffy must’ve caught onto the fact that Ace had company over because he exits the kitchen with curious eyes. Actively eating out of an open tupperware of leftovers, he scans the room catching sight of you on the couch. In classic Luffy fashion, he greets you excitedly – mouth full of food. Then he looks puzzled. “Why are you here?” he asks point blank. His abrasive questions are nothing new to you so you don’t take it personally.

“She’s –” Ace starts off, not getting far before Luffy cuts him off. “Oooo, video games! I wanna play!” Luffy exclaims. He quickly annihilates whatever it is he’s eating before returning the dishes to the kitchen.

Ace knows that Luffy isn’t the best at recognizing social cues and it isn’t even his fault. However, that doesn’t stop Ace from being annoyed. He is ready to throw him out by the scruff of his neck when Luffy reemerges. Luffy, still full of excitement, stands nearby seemingly waiting for permission to join.

Realizing Luffy would be a good buffer and help prevent whatever the hell nearly happened, you readily accept his involvement, but ultimately leave the decision up to Ace. Ace wants to say no, he really wants to say no, but you expressing your willingness for him to join and Luffy’s fucking puppydog eyes (Ace always has been a sucker for them, especially knowing that they are earnest everytime) has him caving really quick.

“Yay!” Luffy exclaims, running over to grab a controller. Luffy, for his part, is pumped to be hanging out with both of you guys. You’re two of his favorite people in the whole wide world, why wouldn’t he want to hang out with you together. He plops down between the two of you eager to play. You can’t help but chuckle at his extreme joy.

At first Luffy doesn’t play the game seriously, choosing to goof off. At one point he gets up in the middle of a match to go get (steal) more food, walking right past Ace who yells at him prompting Luffy to laugh. During his absence you and Ace focused on fighting each other, ignoring Luffy’s character – turns out that was a mistake. Luffy comes back, mouthful of food and manages to beat you both. And not by a little bit he destroys you both, claiming victory for the first time that night. In hindsight it was slightly suspicious that he was losing so badly when you remember him being somewhat decent at the game (as in he doesn’t die in 30 seconds, not that he wins).

After that the gloves are off, it turns out that Luffy is now good at the game, like really good. He goes on a winning streak. You’re rotating who is picking the map for the rounds and no matter what is chosen it’s like Luffy has the home game advantage. You and Ace grow increasingly more exacerbated, accusing him of cheating despite none of you knowing how one could even cheat at this game. He keeps laughing at the incredulous looks on your faces. 

Luffy bags nearly half a dozen rounds before you start to do something about it. When it is Luffy’s turn to pick the map, Ace catches your eyes. Somehow you two have become masters at silent communications. Immediately you know that he wants to form an alliance to take his brother down. With your joint effort you manage to take him out. Both of you cheer in victory, seemingly forgetting that the match wasn’t over until Luffy brings it up. And the game is back on.

Luffy doesn't win a single round after your joint effort to take him out, but he laughs at how competitive you and Ace are. You end up going back down to a two player game while Luffy watches, periodically leaving for more food (you’ve stopped questioning how he does it at this point). Luffy eventually announces his departure – citing his hunger as the reason, which Ace knows means that he cleaned them out again.

And just like that, you and Ace are back to being alone.

Some of the tension from earlier bubbles its way back up to the surface, and it’s clear that the both of you feel it too. Even after forcing the energy to go away it still lingers; it’s background radiation now. Despite your feelings, both of you are pretending that you’re “just friends.”

Ace is the first to break the silence, offering you something to drink (scolding himself for forgetting to do so earlier). Luffy might eat all their food but he knows better than to drink all their alcohol/but at least he leaves the booze alone. You gratefully accept his offer.

However, you were not prepared for what watching him use a bottle opener would do for you/would awaken in you. Why the fuck is that sexy when he does it? You feel insane. It is not normal to have that reaction and it is definitely not normal to feel that way about a friend. The problem is worse than you thought, you have to nip it in the bud. Have you seen his arms? Dear lord. Even your thoughts betray you. Annoyingly, you can’t stop imagining the feeling of his lips.

The worst part is he’s none the wiser for it, but you intend to keep it that way. You beat the horny demon back with a stick (insert bonk meme). With some effort you are finally able to force the thoughts away at least for the time being. Once you return to normal, you realize he’s talking to you.

“-- I don’t know how he did it. He used to suck at that game and whine every time he lost, I can’t believe he wiped the floor with us.” You’re quick to catch onto the fact that he’s talking about Luffy’s insane winning streak

“I wasn’t expecting it either. Last time we played this at game night he was pretty bad at it. It’s crazy how fast he turned that around,” you say, slipping into the conversation as if you were attentive the whole time.

~~~~~~

“You’ve never seen it?” Ace questions, eyes wide. After getting some food delivered, the two of you had gotten onto the topic of your favorite movies and you have never seen his favorite. You confirm again that you don’t know the movie. He shakes his head, “That ain’t right, we gotta fix this.” A chuckle leaves your lips, but you don’t protest. Ace is already pulling the film up when he pauses and checks the time, “Ah shit, it’s getting late. D’ya think you have time for a movie?” he questions with a hopeful gaze.

Checking your phone, you determine you have at least a couple more hours before you’d get uncomfortable walking home. “I got the time,” you say and watch as a faint smile blossoms on his lips – the very lips you were staring at earlier, dying to kiss. 

Calm down, you scold yourself.

“Okay, wait right there,” he says before dashing away sporting a childish grin. God, he is not helping your cause. He runs into the kitchen and moments later you hear the hum of a microwave. First you were horny and now you’re acting like you’re in high school. You need to pull yourself together. His footsteps pad off to somewhere else but you are no longer paying attention to him, at least you’re trying really hard not to. 

The description of the movie starts to look real interesting, you read and reread it until you can think straight. By the time that happens, Ace is already on his way back with a big bowl of popcorn and a comforter, shutting off lights as he goes.

After setting down the popcorn on the table, Ace plops onto the couch. “Come closer, I don’t bite,” he teases, lifting up the edge of the thick blanket. “Unless you want me to,” he winks, it could just be the lighting but his eyes seem darker than before. Your breath catches momentarily at the insinuation before a chuckle runs through you and you scoot over to join him underneath the blanket. 

Now satisfied that you’re all settled he presses play and promises you a cinematic masterpiece. It's hard for you to focus on it at first (or anything really), especially when you realize how close you are to him. In reality, you’re not much closer than you were playing video games, but under a blanket it somehow felt different.

It doesn’t take long before the story draws you in, pulling you away from your confusing thought processes. Ace, however, did not account for how distracting you would be. Oftentimes he found himself watching your reactions to what was happening more than the movie itself. He wants to think that it’s because he knows it so well he doesn’t need to look to know what’s happening, but that’s not true. 

Not too long after the film started you catch Ace looking at you. “What?” you question with a laugh. He silently dismisses your question with a smile, turning his attention back to the screen. Shrugging it off you do the same. 

Forcing himself to look at the TV instead of you turns out to be a good idea. This way you can no longer distract him. Ace falls back into the familiar storyline, getting absorbed by it. 

A little bit past the halfway mark of the film you start to grow sleepy. At some point you got even closer together, now you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your eyelids are getting heavy. His smell is oddly comforting, between his blanket and the source the scent envelopes you. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open so much that you don’t even notice when you give in to the exhaustion.

A weight falls on Ace’s shoulder out of nowhere. It doesn’t take him long to realize what it is or rather who it is. He’s ready to tease you about it too but his heart melts hearing your soft rhythmic breaths and seeing the peaceful look on your face. He isn’t sure what to do, but he is pretty sure that it follows the cat rule; he is now stuck there until you wake up.

Ace tries to go back to the movie, but he is hyper aware of your head on his shoulder. With nowhere to go and no way to escape you he is forced to face how he feels about you.

In all honesty, you confuse him (to put it bluntly). 

You’re friends, he knows that. Yet he wants more - at least he thinks he does. This doesn’t feel like it’s strictly platonic, there’s too much chemistry for that. Shit, he nearly kissed you not even three full hours ago. Troubling enough, he still wants to, and he has for a while now.

 Ace tries to figure out what you are to him - what he wants you to be to him – but he can’t quite make sense of it. He’s never really wanted someone like this before and that scares him. Your dynamic is something right outside of his familiarity, he understands most of it but there’s some parts that are confusing.

He knows that he thinks you’re hot, and if earlier meant anything he’s pretty sure you find him attractive too. That part he understands. He also gets the whole friendship thing. What he doesn’t understand is why you using him as a pillow makes him so happy. Why did his heart race when you sent him back songs asking him to coffee? And most of all what the hell possessed him to tell you about his family?

Back at the cafe you had gotten to talking about your childhoods, which prompted you to ask him about his family. The question was innocent enough, it was clear that you just wanted to get to know him, but it came with baggage you couldn't have possibly known about. He normally doesn’t like talking about it but he felt comfortable with you for some reason. Some information about it he felt comfortable enough to share with you freely. He told you about his mother, the neighbor who had offered him refuge when he needed it. Hell, he even touched on Dadan and his life before his brothers. Then you asked about his dad. Once again you had no idea of how the topic of the man leaves a bitter taste in Ace’s mouth. As soon as you noticed how uncomfortable he was, you completely switched the subject. You did it naturally too, like you were trying to cover up the fact that you were giving him an out. You were so quick to bail him out of a conversation he wasn’t comfortable with. It made him like you more, trust you more too, enough that he was willing to circle back to the topic.  He has been pushing the boundaries of what he’s comfortable with sharing already, so what’s a little bit more he reasoned to himself. Also, with how well the two of you get along, you were probably going to find out about it eventually. “I don’t talk to my father,” Ace stated emotionlessly, jumping head first into it during a lull in your conversation. You were clearly surprised by him bringing it back up, but you let him talk. “I’ve actually never met the man and never want to. I could if I did, I know where he is and how to reach him, but I have no desire to have anything to do with him,” a hint of bitterness seeps into his tone, contradicting the indifference he exhibited earlier. “Why?” your voice was small, the question seemed to have slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, when you registered you had said it you clamped your hand over your mouth. “Ummm,” Ace hesitated, “he’s in prison, like famously so,” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, no longer keeping eye contact. You could tell that he was debating whether he wanted to continue or not and you reminded him that he doesn’t have to tell you anything. That only strengthened his resolve. “I took my mom’s last name to not be associated with him. It’s funny that I’ve never had any contact with him and he still managed to fuck up my life,” he said with a half hearted laugh. He wasn’t entirely sure if he had the courage to tell you his name, but he ripped that bandaid off regardless, “His name’s Gol D. Roger.”  Your eyes widened in surprise. Of course you knew the name, he braced himself for impact, or questions at least, but it never came. Instead, he got a look of confusion from you, “You didn’t do any of it so I don’t really care who he is.” Your reaction reminded him a lot of Luffy’s when they were kids, maybe that’s why he felt safe telling you. “Sorry about not having a dad though,” you said, catching him off guard. He snorted, but in the way that coffee ended up going down the wrong pipe and in his nose. “Oh my god, are you okay,” you laughed. Ace responded with a weak thumbs up and you pat him on the back until he got his breathing back under control. 

Ace tries to think back on the day as a whole, but he keeps coming back to that moment. He couldn’t figure out what that moment alone means, let alone all of the other things too.

He has virtually no experience with romantic relationships, in fact they are so foreign to him that the thought of one doesn’t even cross his mind. He’s racking his brain to try and come up with an answer. The closest thing he can come up with is a friends with benefits situation. He’s done it before and it has worked (granted it has also failed miserably), but is it even worth the risk?

While he knows he’d be down for it, Ace has no clue if that is something you’d even consider. For all he knows you could be in a relationship. Fuck, what if you’re already seeing someone. He’s never asked, he’s never even thought to. This idea could be dead in the water already. Plus you’re probably not interested in him anyways.

Even if there is something between you two, Ace knows better than to make a move on you (despite how much he kinda wants to). You’re too entwined in his life at the moment for that to be a good idea. For starters you work at the place he now will have regular gigs at. And not simply work there but you are on the production team meaning you’d have regular contact. Not only that, but you’re one of Luffy’s good friends. He heard all about you before he even knew he was gonna meet you (Luffy called Ace a LOT while he was away, keeping him updated on his life in almost excruciating detail). If things were to get messy his brother would be stuck in the middle of it all, and Ace doesn’t want to do that to him. On the other hand, because you are so entwined in his life, will he even be able to hold himself back?

You just got into his life and he already likes having you around so he wouldn’t want to spoil that either. Friends is probably all it could be – friends who find each other hot, sure, but friends nonetheless. But why doesn’t that sit right with him?

~~~~~~

Not long after you leave, while he’s picking up (mostly after Luffy), Ace hears keys in the door. Sabo’s home. Honestly he didn’t even realize he was gone. 

“Where were you?” Ace asks his brother as he enters their shared apartment. In all honesty his brother’s unusual absence slipped his mind.

“How was your day?” Sabo questions, ignoring him entirely. Ace does not like the way he said that, like he knows something. Nevermind that he rarely asks that in the first place.

“You first,” Ace stands his ground. 

Sabo sighs but gives in, “I got dinner with Luffy then we went to his place.” Knowing he was with Luffy, Ace suddenly understands his tone earlier. There is no way that Luffy didn’t tell him about your presence, the kid isn’t exactly known for keeping his mouth shut. He now knows exactly where this conversation is headed and that there is no escaping it. Ace sighs in defeat, bracing himself for the interrogation. 

“You like her, don’t you?” Sabo smiles, no longer under the pretense of asking about his day. Ace, annoyingly, has to hold back a blush, he just hopes the tips of his ears aren’t betraying him by turning red. 

“I mean, kinda. She’s a friend, y’know,” Ace tries, really just wanting to get out of this. Sabo levels Ace a look, clearly not buying it. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he caves.

“You know you can’t lie to me, why are you trying,” Sabo says. 

“I’m not, she’s just a friend,” Ace insists, he knows full well that he is, he just wishes that it was the truth and that these weird feelings he’s having would go away. At least that would make things a hell of a lot easier. Going for you is a bad idea and he knows it. He just wishes he wasn’t looking for/craving trouble.

Sensing that Sabo didn’t believe him, he gives in, “Fine, I think I like her, I don’t know. It’s weird plus it’s a bad idea. Also no way she goes for me, but still.” Unspeaking, Sabo prompts Ace to continue. Annoyingly, he realizes that talking this through is probably going to help. Ace makes his way to the small dining table they have in the living room with a heavy sigh. When he looks back at his brother, he looks more vulnerable. 

“I fucking told her about my dad, Sabo” Ace confesses, hands running through his hair. Sabo’s eyes widen in surprise, it looks like it’s even more than he (and Koala, his long term girlfriend, who knows all about this) thought. The blond takes the seat next to him waiting for him to continue. Ace is fiddling with his hands. 

“I’m not even sure why I told her,” Ace starts, fiddling with his hands. “She didn’t even care, no comments, no questions, no nothing,” Ace looks Sabo in the eyes, conveying things that he doesn’t even understand yet. Sabo is well aware of how Ace has been treated due to his biological father, he has witnessed it first hand, right away he knows how big of a deal this is to him.

Ace’s tone and body language shift away from the earlier vulnerability, “But nothing’s gonna happen. It’s all platonic. She’s just really easy to talk to.” He isn’t sure who he is trying to convince, Sabo or himself.

Understanding that he wants to drop the dad topic (even if they’re brothers it isn’t something he loves to talk about) Sabo grows mischievous. “And hot too, right?” he teases.

Ace’s head snaps to him, freaked out that he can tell that. How does he know that? The question is implied. Sabo laughs, accomplishing his goal with Ace’s deer in the headlights look, he’d love to leave it there but he chooses to explain further, “After the party, when you got home, you would not shut up about her. Your ass was hovering over the toilet talking about the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. I should’ve recorded it, it was embarrassing.”

“Bastard,” Ace scoffs, but his face is inflamed.

“It got pretty graphic too,” Sabo goes on, completely ignoring Ace’s comment in favor of imitating some of the things that he said until Ace’s face was bright red. 

“Shut up!” Ace protests, he is so glad you’re not here to see this, but Sabo continues mocking him.

“I almost left you alone to choke and die,” Sabo laughs, right now Ace is kinda wishing he did.

A notification from Ace’s phone pulls him from the conversation (thankfully). It’s a text from you. Sabo also knows it’s a text from you, he can tell by the way Ace is looking at his phone. This is just proving his point, the one he danced around because, knowing his brother, leading him to a conclusion works so much better than telling him point blank.

There’s not anything more he can do so Sabo leaves for his room. Oh wait, he learned something. “Hey Ace,” Sabo calls out from behind the cover of his door (just in case), successfully getting his attention. “She’s single by the way,” he continues wiggling his brows. 

“Shut up,” the protest from Ace is weak, his attention clearly back on whatever you were saying. 

this one got messed up, pretend those heart hands are at the bottom

BONUS:

they both wingmaning ace independently tbh

we were so close to escaping the y/n curse but then the texts came and i couldn’t figure a way out of it

a/n: so about the bottle opener thing…. i can explain… arms 🤤 ngl i forgot i put that in there until i was "proofreading"

in my headcanon the video game was super smash bros (v silly of me to have a hc about something i wrote)

btw someone needs to stop me there is a slim (large) chance that im gonna make reader have a drunk tattoo (nothing bad probably like doodlebob or a random shape) jus for a joke that isn't really funny

i literally i too much to say i'm making a whole debrief for this 😭

thank you for reading ily 💕

pls like & comment! let me know your thoughts | © stuckinmymind22 | dividers by @enchanthings

[sea-and-storm]

EXILE -- Reed Stoneshore

“You deserve to feel safe,” his sister sighed as she tossed the small purse of gil in Reed’s direction. “And happy.”

His hand shot out to catch it, but the sudden movement caused a flare of pain in his barely-healed gut that contorted his face into a grimace. Seeing the reaction, Lyra's expression turned apologetic.

She seemed so sincere that Reed might have actually believed it.. but he’d known ever since they were young that his elder sister was nothing if not the spitting image of the father he so deeply resented. That she was still trying to convince him - of all people - of how much she cared for him while simultaneously exiling him from their shared home was proof enough of that.

“Piss off,” he hissed as he shoved the purse into his pack along with the meager few belongings he owned. That she had been the one to have to retrieve them for him while he was abed, all because he was being nursed back to health by her as well, made his temper flare hotter than the forges at Naldiq and Vymelli’s.

“I mean it, Reed,” she insisted, though impatience was beginning to worm its way in through the cracks of her act. Lyra never could stand it that Reed could so plainly see through her chocobo-shite when the rest of the bloody world seemed to fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Do you now?” he challenged, starting forward down the pier towards the awaiting ship and physically pushing past her as he did - and bit back another grimace as his weakened body protested at the shove. “No, what you’re meanin’ is that Mother, our sisters, and you deserve to feel safe an’ happy – and you think that I’m goin’ to ruin it for all of you ‘less you ship me off to the bloody New World.”

He bit back an annoyed groan at the sharp, clipped sound of the heel of her boots against the dock as she followed hot on his heels - clearly incensed by his provocation. Though she might’ve been a far sight better at suppressing her temper than he, his Dutiful Sister still had her tells for those that knew where to look.

For a mercy, at least, she at least had the kindness - faked or not - to refrain from wrenching him around to face her as she grabbed his arm and forced him to a stop.

“Gods damn it all, Reed!” she hissed, her voice low to keep from attracting attention from the porters and deckhands coming and going along the busy pier. The ship she’d booked passage for him on would be disembarking for Tuliyollal soon, and fortunately for her, all were too busy with their final preparations to stop and listen to the heated bickering of two siblings. 

“Everything I’ve ever done for you, I’ve done because I love you - despite your best efforts to dissuade me from it - because I want you to be part of this family again! But I don’t know how to bloody help you anymore because you won’t let me!” Her fists curled at her sides to stop the trembling in her fingers. “So if I’ve got to make you get a fresh start halfway around the damned world so that you can get your head straight and get over hating Father for–”

There it was.

He would’ve laughed at the predictability of it - of her inability to keep their father out of any argument the two of them ever had - if he wasn’t already seething.

“I’ll get on your fuckin’ ship–” Reed cut her off with a snarl, roughly shoving her back and away from him. Though between having yet to see his strength fully return and Lyra’s fancy new training from the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss, she didn’t so much as sway before steadying herself. “--and I’ll go to the New World if it’ll get you to quit your bloody sham of givin' a damn about me.” 

His voice dropped to a low growl, quiet enough to pass only between the two of them. “But you’d best believe that if I find that sorry sack of chocobo-shite that threw in with the Garleans and left his ‘precious family’ to rot, I’ll relish every gods-be-damned moment of openin’ his throat myself!”

Lyra’s face twisted in barely contained fury, freckled cheeks bright red from the effort it took to bite back the truth she so stubbornly held tight to her chest from escaping. What Reed wouldn’t give to hear her - just once - admit that she hated him.

Yet as always, it seemed he would be denied the satisfaction.

“You are the most incorrigible bastard ever born, you know that?” she hissed, stepping back and throwing her hands up in frustrated surrender. That, at least, caused a flicker of smug satisfaction within him. “Go on, then! Go and ruin your life all over again, if that’s what you really want! Gods know you’re sure as shite good at that!”

Reed had nothing more to say. Nothing that would’ve made any difference, anyroad. Wordlessly, he turned, stalking off towards the merchant ship that would be carrying him to this ‘new life’.

This time, his sister didn’t pursue him. Only a soft, colorful curse escaped her before he could hear her turning, the fast staccato of her steps growing fainter as she stormed away.

But the irony of the moment didn’t escape him as he made his way to the ship at dock’s end. It had only taken about twenty years, but finally, the two eldest Stoneshore siblings had agreed on something.

Without a doubt, Lyra was right.. Reed knew he’d likely find a way to ruin this fresh start, too.

[sock-to-the-third]

Off Rock [pg147]

By Kieran Shea

I’ve previously read Koko Takes a Holiday and Koko the Mighty. I never got around to Koko Unchained but I thoroughly enjoyed the first 2 books. I had Off Rock in my read later list at the library for so long I forgot why I had it there in the first place.

If I had known, I would’ve been ecstatic. As it is, that’s probably for the best that I didn’t so I could judge the book on its own merit.

Let’s start with the good stuff.

The opening

*chef’s kiss* hooked my ass line and sinker. A nice action packed intro to make you wonder how the hell this regular jo miner, Jimmy, got into this mess. I especially love how the landing space ship shifts the fight. Also there’s something so satisfying about watching Jimmy get his ass handed to him.

Setting

As much as I enjoy a complex setting with unfamiliar culture and vocabulary, sometimes I just want to see “random dude gets into trouble.” Let the writing speak for itself and have minimal thinking like you’d have watching a Hollywood blockbuster.

Ignoring the weird gendery stuff, I like the criminal underground built up, how the mining operations works, the tech. It seems like Shea put some legit effort into thinking through some of the mechanics and how it’d mesh with the story.

Jock

He has such a fun introduction ripping off a couple of new hires. I love how Jimmy’s perspective brings up how nobody initially comes to Jock’s defense but when a new hire calls him on “cheating” and then makes a move that the very atmosphere shifts since Jock is your go to guy for contraband. Ironically, contraband literally could be something as basic as a plant for a terrarium since the company takes years to acqusition things from off station.

Another point, I love how Jock illustrates the gaps that come from companies being jackasses.

When there’s a market, somebody’s gotta fill it.

Leela

Leela Leela Leela. Where do I start? She’s a staunch company manager who’s got asperations of moving up in the food chain. Previously dated Jimmy and I got to say I do like their banter. Jimmy has this suave way about him that Shea excells at writing good back and forth that excels the story.

Thing is that Leela doesn’t have like any life outside of Jimmy. Literally when the only other character whose interesting who interacts with her— part of the conversation is about her ex.

If she doesn’t have much to do with Jimmy outside of being a pawn, I wish that Shea gave her less screen time.

Piper

I love her. Hard core fella who knows how to scare a bartender shitless into getting her peaches. Then there’s also scenes with her having this cute pendant from her future hubby who she’s doing this job for.

The more I think about it, the more I’m confused why she had so little time on the page. She’s super fun to read about and I love how she shook up things.

Zaafer Daavi

The only non-white person with page time and man do I love him. Loves the fuck out of sweets, polite, thoughtful and makes me really wish he had a friend to beat the shit out of Jock because omfg, that asshole.

Also he made a little storyline out of candy before eating them. Very endearing.

.

Basically, this has alot of good bones but it didn’t really pull together in a way that maintained my focus.

Still, dialogue was fun and I like how Jock’s background informs how he acts. Idk. I really like how his charactsr comes together. I feel like too often we get bogged down in the bad. I do the same thing in my own write- come reading it six months later I fall in love with the story again.

This story might not be my cup of tea but for a light heist flick, it took a shot and I can respect that.

[joe-moi]

https://www.tumblr.com/joe-moi/735900849956634625/httpswwwtumblrcomjoe-moi735899706701529088l

have you seen the photos of him when he was in hs/college theater ☹️ he had the lamest glasses and the worst haircut. he would have had me in a tizzy i love a funny nerd

this is such a funny thing to think about. Because I totally would not have gone for the dorky theater kid in high school or college. In college, I was like hooking up with athletes. I think the one thing about JK that would’ve got me hook line and sinker would been if he said that he played hockey. Which is why so funny that as I’ve gotten older, I’ve fallen more for the kind of dorky guys.

[rqgnarok]

dial drunk - tommy miller

fandom: the last of us (tv show and video game)

wc: 2,703

warnings: alcoholism and mentions of alcohol abuse, drunk character, maybe PTSD? pre-outbreak. no use of specific pronouns. 

summary: tommy calls you in the middle of the night, hammered and asking for a favor.

inspired by noah kahan’s dial drunk. author’s note at the end.

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

Tommy knows the drill.

He’s been here enough times to recognize the officer pulling him over, asking after his wife and kids as he steps out of the truck on unsteady feet. He’s all Southern charm and pleasantries as he fails his breath test and is unable to walk in a straight line for the officer to see. 

“Come on, man,” he says, aiming for placating and pretty much landing it. He’s not his mama’s favorite for nothing, getting out of trouble Joel would’ve been grounded over when he was his age with big cow eyes and flimsy excuses. “Paperwork’s shit, right? Lemme make a call and someone will take me off your hands for the night.”

The officer tightens his mouth into a grimace, unconvinced.

“Look, if this gets nowhere then I’ll ride with you nice and quiet,” he bargains with as much honesty as one can convey when being the youngest boy in a nice Catholic Texan family. There aren’t better credentials than those when pleading your innocence. “I’ll even play it up in front of your boss to make you look good, yeah? Just one call, promise.”

Hook, line, and sinker. The officer’s shoulders drop a little and he’s offering his cell phone for Tommy to call. “One call. Then you’re done.”

“Yessir.”  

Tommy grins innocently as best as he can with double the legal limit of alcohol in his blood and a phone between his ear and shoulder. The man stands there with his arms crossed looking like he’d rather be anywhere but bringing his ass in for a DUI at two AM on a Wednesday.

“‘lo?” you call sleepily, finally picking up. Tommy doesn’t restrain his victorious grunt. “...Tommy?”

“Hey, sweets,” he slurs a little, clearing his throat. “Sorry for wakin’ you. I need a favor.”

“Tommy,” you say again, tired. If Tommy were any less drunk, he’d realize it’s not lack of sleep that has you sounding like that. He’s shitfaced and thinking about the monumental kick in the ass waiting for him at home when Joel realizes he hotwired and stole his truck to get a drink at the nearest bar. 

“I know, I know, listen,” he cuts you off before you can say anything else, sneaking a look at the officer’s crossed arms and disappointed stance. “You remember the way to the precinct, right? From last time?”

Last time, when Tommy got into a brawl outside a bar he was not supposed to be in, and accepted your worried fussing with barely concealed annoyance, gripping your wrists and taking your hands off his bruised face. You’d driven him to your place because he’d promised Joel to steer clear of trouble for at least a few months, and his breath still reeked of alcohol by the time you came to pick him up.  

You told him then you weren’t doing this again. But you always say that. And you always come when he calls.

Your moms had grown up together in Texas and were ecstatic about the fact that their two littlest ones would come into the world so close together. You and Tommy were inseparable because the universe had dictated it– and nothing could interfere between you. Not his dad dying when he and Joel were still too young, not Tommy having to repeat fifth grade and no longer sharing a classroom with you, not you going off to college and Tommy joining the army straight out of high school.

But then he came home. And he came home different.

The shit he’d seen overseas was nasty, but that’s not what drove him to drink himself stupid every night. At least that’s what he thinks. Soon his habits began seeing the light of day; vodka mixed in his morning coffee and hidden in a water bottle during lunch with the boys at the construction site. Life became a blur when he was drinking and an agonizingly slow nightmare when he wasn’t.

Joel wasn’t the first to notice but he’d been the first to say something about it. Next time you come to my home reeking of a cheap ass bar in front of my kid I’m kicking your ass out. I’m serious, Tommy. This shit has to stop. 

And Tommy had believed him. So he turned to the next person he knew that would do anything for him. You came home from college despite your dreams to outrun this town, and soon it was your number he had memorized even when his brain called it quits and left him alone in his blackouts.

“I do,” you say, and Tommy’s already thinking about sleeping it off on your sorry excuse of a couch. It’s a slow night, only a couple of drunken bums sleeping off their hangovers in a quaint police station in fucking Arlington, Texas. But Tommy would take your couch any day, even if it means fucking up his back for the rest of the week. “But I’m not coming to get you, Tommy. Call Joel.”

“Sweetheart,” he croons into the phone, low and mellow like he’d talk to pretty girls at parties in high school. The same ones you’d go to only because he begged you to come with, acting like a jealous boyfriend when someone wouldn’t leave you alone. “Please. I’ll pay you back, you know I’m good for it.”

He’d put a possessive arm around your waist, standing behind you and smiling icily at whoever was pestering you. We got a problem here?

There’s silence at the other side of the line, sheets rustling. Tommy can picture you sitting up, phone to your ear, biting the inside of your cheek nervously. 

More like Joel is, but hey. He took the big brother act to heart the second Tommy was born. He’s been bailing him out of shit as long as Tommy’s been alive, why would tonight be any different?

Joel, who’s always told him, first jokingly and then not so much, that you were too good for Tommy. Too smart, too kind, with too much integrity for someone like his little brother. 

The older Miller had taken a liking to you pretty soon after Tommy did; wiping the dirt off scraped knees and your tears from chubby child cheeks after placing a bandaid with gentle, unsure fingers. Giving you a ride when you insisted on walking home, leaving the back door open for you whenever being home got too rough for you. 

That man knew you’d be the best thing to ever happen to his brother in his entire life. Too bad the idiot didn’t realize it, pushing your limits until you couldn’t take it any longer. 

“I’m not bailing you out of jail, Tommy,” you sigh, annoyance creeping over the hesitation in your tone. You were never good at saying no to him, even when you were both in diapers and Tommy wanted your dinosaur plushie so bad he threw a tantrum until his mom took him in her arms. “When I said last time was the last time, I meant it. I’m sick of this shit.”

“Come on,” he scoffs, saying your name in a way he knows you hate, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “I’ll give you a kiss and everything. You still like that, don’t you?”

“Fuck you,” you snap on the other side of the line. He knows you well enough to know what buttons to push. Reminding you of your first kiss is a trick he’s never, never pulled on you before, though. “Don’t fucking say that, don’t use that against me.”

You’d been seventeen and without a date to the prom. The guy you were thinking about asking had laughed in your face when you offhandedly mentioned going together and Tommy had refused to let you sulk alone. He’d climbed into your room through your window and wrapped his arm around you the second your lip wobbled, tears wetting your cheeks.

Tell me who I have to kill, he’d said before you ever told him what was wrong. He’s always been like that, hot-headed and protective, especially when it comes to you. Willing to fight anyone who’s ever slightly wronged you but not realizing when he’s done it himself.

You laughed into his shirt, snotty and miserable as he tightened his grip around you. Come on, sweets, fuck that guy. Like he’s even good enough for you.

You confessed with a burning embarrassment how you’d seen yourself kissing him– more out of the need to get your first kiss over with than actual want– and Tommy’s face had gone through a bunch of complicated emotions before settling on something sweet, shy, resolute. He’d thumbed at your chin thoughtfully, fingers just barely brushing over your bottom lip. 

Tommy had his first kiss when he was thirteen with Amy Hill behind the church his mother dragged them to every Sunday morning, but you’d never seen him that nervous. He failed to look into your eyes as he stuttered out his suggestion. If you wanna get it out of the way then maybe– I don’t know. Why not do it with someone who actually cares about you?

You’d looked at him in scrutiny as if you’d never taken a good look at him before. He self-consciously thought about his fair skin and his freckles, if his hair was still a mess from football practice, and if his breath smelled somewhat okay after having that sandwich for lunch. 

You offerin’, Miller?

Yeah, he’d said instead of something stupid like haven’t you heard? I’m a catch. He murmured bashfully, finally meeting your eyes. Yeah, sweets, I guess I am.

He’d licked his lips and drew a path with his fingers from your temple to behind your ear before cupping the side of your jaw, breath hot. Just– punch me in the face or something if you don’t want to.

You hadn’t. He’d closed the gap between you and you kissed him back slowly, hesitantly, diving back in again after he drew away. He was too short of breath for a chaste kiss that had lasted a couple of seconds, and the second time around his tongue flickered past his lips. Your hands on his shirt tightened in response, a helpless sound leaving your mouth that neither of you had been expecting. 

He hadn’t known about your crush then. Maybe that’s when it first started, some Tuesday night with a kiss in your childhood bedroom, but Tommy doesn’t remember ever becoming aware of it. He just knew, suddenly, and enough things had happened in the in-between from then to now for him to consider using it against you.

His drunken brain thinks differently, though.

“Don’t be like that, sweets,” the nickname had never bothered you before, born out of Tommy watching too many old movies one night the babysitter failed to show up and Joel fell asleep on the couch. You’d never questioned him when he started calling you that, probably liking it a little too much for it to be a friendly thing between you. “You can act all high and mighty next time, alright? Just come pick me up before Joel realizes he ain’t got a ride for work tomorrow mornin’.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you curse vehemently. You haven’t been to church in the years you’ve been back from college, much to your mama’s dismay. “You know what? Whatever. That’s Joel’s problem now, not mine. Call him.”

“I’m asking you for a favor,” he says through gritted teeth, suddenly irritated. His characteristic charm is gone just like that. “Why are you being so fucking difficult?”

“I’m done watching you wreck your life, Tommy,” you say with finality. He scoffs pettily. “I’m not picking up again, tonight or ever. Call Joel.” 

A click. Then nothing.

He says your name and the dial tone laughs back at him. And Tommy–

Tommy can’t actually believe it. He takes the phone off his ear and stares at it, dumbfounded, like looking at it long enough will get you back on the line. 

He hears the officer blow air out his mouth and the evening suddenly comes into sharpening clearness; the cold November air biting at his face, the taste of whiskey in his mouth. His hands are sweating from where he’s gripping his phone, the tag of his jacket is rubbing uncomfortably against the back of his neck. 

You’ve never hung up on him before.

“That it?” the officer asks with the lack of patience that’s characteristic of the night shift. 

“I– what? No, no,” he shakes his head, already dialing again. “Just– just give me a second.”

“Night ain’t young, man,” he grumbles, already reaching for his cuffs. Tommy takes a step back, suddenly out of his depth. “One call. Time’s up.”

“I’ll– I’ll go okay? I’ll go, just let me– let me call again,” the trembling of his fingers has nothing to do with his current state– Tommy feels like every single drop of alcohol has vaporized from his blood and now he’s left cold and in trouble and alone.

Fuck. Fuck, you’d never hung up on him before.

He calls again, once, twice, before the officer finally loses his patience. “Alright, kid. Whoever you’re callin’ they don’t wanna answer. You can have your one phone call at the precinct. Get someone else, though, huh?”

Tommy doesn’t want to. Tommy shouldn’t have to, a sudden rush of self-righteous anger washing over him with enough force to gridlock his entire body with tension. His jaw tightens and teeth grind together, his shoulders straighten into a taunt, painful line, holding onto the phone so tightly it shakes, the shapes of it making indentations on his skin.

How dare you? How fucking dare you? Friends since fucking birth, does that mean nothing to you? Now you’re throwing him away like a fucking dirty rag? 

Call Joel, you had said, and Joel is enough of an asshole to keep Tommy in the can overnight to teach him a lesson, but you? You two have always looked out for each other, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go–

“I don’t have all night, buddy,” the officer gets his hands on him to take back his phone and beckon him to the car. Tommy flails as an automatic response, fighting back against the unwanted touch. But whether he feels like it or not he’s still drunk and in the blink of an eye he’s got his face against the hood of a police car, red and blue lights hurting his eyes, and a tight hand around the back of his neck keeping him somewhat still. 

The officer mumbles something about Tommy causing more trouble than he’s worth and ain’t that a popular opinion tonight? “You’re gonna cause yourself any more trouble, son?”

Tommy snorts. Son, like the guy’s not just a couple of years older than him. He’s pretty sure they crossed paths once or a hundred times back in high school. 

The ride to the precinct is as uncomfortable as it gets. The heat in the car isn’t working so Tommy’s freezing his ass off in the back of the car, handcuffs digging into his wrists. His nose is bleeding all over his clothes, and hurting like a bitch where the officer had to punch him when Tommy’s fight response wouldn’t quit. 

And you, in the back of his mind. He pictures you asleep after his little interruption and his anger is enough of a fire inside of him to drown out the disbelief, the blatant hurt that threatens to kill him more than his broken nose does. 

He’ll pop the thing back into place later in the cell but this? You? As the hours pass by and clarity regains its home in his awareness, he doesn’t see a way around this. A scenario in which he calls again and you listen, where you talk to him and he doesn’t feel like you kicked him to the curb over fucking nothing. A few drinks. A favor. Best friends, his ass.

He’ll keep calling, though. Even if he has to spend the night in jail because you don’t pick up. He’ll dial drunk until he dies, just for you. 

______

tommy u silly little goose

since noah’s album came out last week i’ve had this song on repeat and i desperately wanted to write a fic about it. idk why my mind instantly went to tommy. i’m thinking of a post-outbreak sequel but i won’t confirm anything until it’s actually in the works. 

thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it! the lack of tommy fics is astounding to me, especially since gabriel luna is one of the most beautiful and talented men i’ve ever seen. 

reminder that commissions are open and support is always appreciated!

<3

[p0orbaby]

Hello, can you write a OTM drabble about Wanda and Reader's first date?

The Beginning

warnings: alcohol, allusions to sex, Wanda being a massive flirt

a/n: why haven’t I written this before??? An elite request

word count: 954

-

First impressions were everything. They took milliseconds to form and years to corrode. They were the foundation of relationships, and bad foundations cause cracks.

You were off to a terrible start.

There were excuses you could make, sure. Stories to justify your lateness. Traffic, work, wardrobe malfunctions. But those wouldn’t be of any use by the time you’d get there.

The foundation had surely already crumbled to the ground.

Even the host gave you a look of contempt when you gave him your name. Still, upon noticing the flushed skin of your cheeks and slightly out of place hair, not a scrap of sympathy was offered.

You’d like to think that it was because time was money in a restaurant like this. Reservations stretching months in advance. Empty seats treated the same way as a skipped bill. Though you were smart enough to know that wasn’t the case for you.

First impressions also stretched to the wait staff.

-

You couldn’t help but be acutely aware of your sweating palms. The brisk walk from your car wasn’t helped by the fact it was parked a block away. The world seemingly against you in every aspect. You wiped your hands anxiously down the sides of your dress.

The waiter that seated you did a relatively good job at ignoring the empty chair and half drunk wine. But having to stick to policy, did inform you that if food wasn’t ordered within twenty minutes they would have to ask you to leave. Naturally you asked for the wine menu.

It was when you were mulling over the Chablis and the Chardonnay that you saw her. It was like a movie. One of those cheesy romantic ones where the main character turns around and sees the love interest in slow motion. Hair blowing in an artificial breeze. Light hitting their skin perfectly with not a squint to be seen.

Her auburn hair brushed her shoulders. Gentle ripples of ember, curled delicately. Intricately. As if sculpted especially to reflect the candle light emitted from the centerpieces of other diners tables.

With each step you noticed more of her. Smooth skin. Not a blemish in sight. Appart from a few freckles decorating her face. Beauty marks living up to their name.

But it was her eyes that had you. Hook line and sinker.

You’d never seen anything so green. Emeralds and fresh grass would fight for the chance to be so vibrant. Large and welcoming. Every emotion she had would shine through those eyes. All you wanted to do was make her smile and see if they crinkle at the corners.

You stood as she approached, ready to greet her with your hand outstretched. Completely prepared to be ignored and be left standing alone, embarrassed and ashamed. But when she grabbed your hand and leant in to kiss your cheek, your knees buckled.

“Sorry I’m so late, I-“

“It’s fine, seriously. Anyway it gave me time to tell them you’ll be paying. And just to let you know, I’ve got a real craving for lobster”

You were in love. From that moment. When her warm hand was in yours and her soft lips that left a lipgloss mark on your cheek. That playful smirk that will be forever ingrained in your mind.

You were a goner.

-

The end of the night came too fast.

After easy conversations about college, work and various embarrassing stories about mutual friends, you found it difficult to want to leave.

Yet the cold air of the evening eventually hit your face. Tampering down your smitten induced blush with less efficiency than you would’ve hoped. Perhaps you could blame it on the one too many glasses of wine.

“Well, now Clint can add matchmaker to his list of unexpected talents” Wanda said so casually you nearly didn’t catch it.

It took you aback, in all honesty. Her confidence. Her ability to make you speechless with just one sentence.

“Do you not agree?” she proceeded.

“Yeah, no, he should definitely add that to his resume, for sure”

You didn’t even register the fact she had gotten closer to you. The noise of her heels barely audible over the cars passing. It was only when you could smell her perfume up close that you supposedly snapped back into action.

“What I’m trying to say is, I think we should do this again. If you want to?”

“I want to” you rushed out. “Or we could go for a drink somewhere, now I mean”

There was that smirk again. The gloss on her lips barely removed through her eating and drinking.

“As much as I’d like that, I fear if I drink any more, I’ll want to fuck you. And I’m afraid I don’t fuck on the first date”

Jesus Christ. You’d died and gone to heaven. You could feel the arousal strumming through your body at just the thought of her being in your apartment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

She cut you off with another kiss to your cheek. Almost the same as the one in the restaurant, but this had a promise attached to it. A heavy sense of anticipation lining the edges.

She pulled back too soon. Missing the warmth of her. Your eyes fluttering open to find her writing her number on a receipt she pulled out of her purse.

“I don’t fuck on the second either. But for you I might make an exception”

You were overwhelmed. Voice caught in your throat as you watched her walk away. Zoning in on how the hem of her skirt brushed her legs with each step.

You had to catch yourself before the lipstick clad receipt slipped from your fingers and flew away in the breeze.

[wttcsms]

phillip graves fic concept... NOW HEAR ME OUT OKAY, YOU HAVE TO BECAUSE IT’S ALREADY IN MY DRAFTS:

reader is the daughter of a powerful general. as the only daughter of his, you’re sheltered, treated like a princess locked up in a tower. never really had a good relationship with your father since he spends most of his time at work + he’s always so controlling of your life, always keeping you under a watchful eye that you feel more like a prisoner than the pampered princess his soldiers consider you as. enter in a young phillip graves, 25 years old and making a name for himself that will only grow to strike fear in his enemies. phillip is close with another general who wants to take your father down & of course, wanting to prove himself and climb the ranks, phillip will do anything he can to see his own favored general succeed, collateral damage be damned. 

unfortunately, you happen to be said collateral damage. 

SO I’M THINKING!!!!! that phillip basically starts getting close enough with you to the point where you trust him with your whole heart; even worse, you love him. and once he’s gotten you to the point of no return, the moment he realizes he’s got you hook, line, and fucking sinker, he gets you to betray your own father and expose his own transgressions that will make it impossible for him to come back from. after exposing your father, you expect phillip to at least take care of you in the aftermath; after all, your family’s name and reputation have been tarnished, you have no real world experience to fall back on, and he’s the love of your life. of course he would take care of you. he promised he would. but they call it whispering sweet nothings for a reason. everything he said was a lie; you didn’t mean as much to him as he swore you did. he used you. he betrayed you. and now he’s abandoning you. 

some tags + inspo: slight age gap (reader is 19, graves is 25), manipulation, loss of virginity (oh girlie, you gave him everything :(, didn’t u), jealous sex (for someone who supposedly only wants to use you for the mission, he sure is possessive 🤨), literally inspired by miss taylor swift’s “all too well (10 min version)” + her “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve” so you know this fic is gonna be a BITCH 

[insult-2-injury]

Take a Seat- Chapter 5

After a skirmish up top, your failing shop falls under the watchful gaze of the Eye of Zaun. And his blue-haired gremlin daughter.

Silco x Fem!Reader | Total WC: 34k | Eventual Smut | Slow Burn | Eventual Romance | Angst | Found Family | Fluff |

AO3 Link

Prev Chap | Next Chap

It was a few days after the explosion. The roof was already repaired, a Band-Aid slapped over a wound that you sensed was much deeper than the general public realized. This early in the evening, the bar was as empty as it ever got. You could get used to this, you thought, the lulling sounds of gossip and laughter in a steady flux, like a boat tossing side to side. It was chillingly easy to forget, at times, that the Last Drop was the heart of one man’s massive criminal empire. And that said man, the backbone of it all, lived quietly upstairs.

You were cross-legged on a barstool, chatting with the pink-haired bartender. Cecil was her name, and she’d been working there for a few months. Surprisingly, she quite liked the gig, never having found a reason to fear for her life other than the all-embracing threat of working under Silco, but she’d said she’d never had to deal with the intimidating man, nor did she see him except for rare occasions when he materialized on the balcony like a ghostly specter. But never did he set foot on the bar room floor during business hours.

You shared with the older woman that you’d be watching Jinx there on Friday nights now and as you spoke the words aloud for the first time, you realized how suspicious it sounded that you’d entered Silco’s office with a target on your head and come out fifteen minutes later with a job. She didn’t push the subject.

“So, Sevika, huh?”

“Oof. You noticed?”

You steadied yourself with two hands on the counter, where you’d been pivoting back and forth incessantly for the past ten minutes.

“You kidding? That tension was thick.” You placed a fist under your chin to look at her earnestly. “That was exceptional flirting, don’t get me wrong. You would’ve had me hook, line, sinker. Super unfortunate it ended in a death threat. Sevika is just…” You scanned the bar, paranoid. “Weird.”

“Well, I won’t be trying that again in a hurry.”

Cecil smiled lightly but you got the impression she was still generally unsure of you. You suppose you couldn’t really blame her, considering.

The woman walked over to serve a cheap beer to a glum-looking man who had just slumped down at the opposite end of the counter, and you admired the compassion in her eyes as she leaned over to murmur to him.

You hardly knew Cecil, yet there was an inherent trustworthiness about her, a rare kindness she possessed in its purest form. She appeared, on the surface, the direct antithesis of Sevika, so you’d been surprised, to say the least, at her romantic interest in the hostile woman. Yet, somehow, when you’d really considered the pairing, it had potential, like two neighboring magnets of opposite poles.

If you could just get them close enough.

In the distraction, you found yourself side-eyeing the shadowy upper levels of the bar, not fully understanding what you expected to find, what you wanted to find.

It wasn’t a Jinx day, but you’d found yourself antsy the past couple weeks, becoming more intolerant of spending all your time alone. It appeared, unsurprisingly, that the more you ventured out of your house for socialization, the more you felt starved for more, as if you had to atone for years lost. On the whole, it was probably a good thing that your machines were becoming less and less interesting to talk to, but it did mean it took more convincing to yourself in order to sit still and work at them for the long hours you did.  

Cecil clapped the man on the back once and strode back over to you, propping herself up on her forearms as she leaned in.

“Seems everyone’s having troubles on the relationship front.”

You settled your cheek into your palm and looked at her crookedly, contemplating. “I think you should try again. Death threats don’t mean much, really. She threatened my life just seconds before yours, maybe it’s her love language.”

Cecil laughed, the sound rich, like a dark cup of Noxian coffee. You grinned back at her.

“So, you’re saying I should keep pushin’.”

You pursed your lips, reconsidering. As someone with a more recent habit of prancing around the limits of Death’s patience, maybe you weren’t the one to ask for advice about how far to push things. Your head jerked slightly as you again stopped its unconscious turn toward the crime lord’s lair, like a lamb, oddly intrigued by the idea of its own slaughter.

“No. Probably not.”

Cecil considered you, then tapped the bar with two curved fingers before straightening.

“You’re awfully confusing. But I like you.”

She snagged a honey-colored bottle of whiskey from the shelf, shaking it in silent question. You shook your head and made a gag face.

“Hate the stuff. Sorry.”

“Don’t drink?”

“Oh no, I do,” you blurted. “Just not looking for anything strong right now.”

“You sure? I can-“

“Nope, nope I’m good.”

Cecil gave you a strange look and then flipped the bottle expertly, placing it back before tossing a rag over her shoulder and turning back to you.

“So, what about you, darlin’? You got a partner down here?“

“Oh, no. Nothing even close. I’ve been kind of a hermit recently.” You cut your words short, feeling, unreasonably, as if you’d just given a deeply personal truth away.

Cecil looked at you deeply.

“Well, it makes sense now why you burst in here talkin’ a blue streak.”

You slapped your palms over your eyes and clawed your fingertips dramatically down your face. “I know. It’s like a disease.”

Cecil snorted.

“No problems here.” She grew serious suddenly, her voice lowering. “Hey. I wanted to say thanks for the gift. You didn’t have to do that, and I’m still not sure why you did. But I won’t be scraping the barrel for this month’s rent.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Cecil nodded. You propped yourself on your elbows as you leaned toward her, deadpan.

“No, I really mean that. Don’t mention it to anyone.”

__________

You were on time. Extremely on time.

Taking every possible obstacle into account (roadblocks, unexpected crowds, kidnapping, the subsequent, time-consuming escape), you’d left your house an hour early, your satchel still packed with the same candy and games as last time.

For the second week in a row, you weren’t greeted at the door by your notably impatient, blue-haired friend. Earliness aside, you couldn’t help but feel troubled. You wondered, in heart-pounding anxiety, whether you’d gotten something wrong, checking your watch several times.

Shoving your way through the swaying crowd to the lesser populated side of the bar where your booth was located, you were remiss to find that it was occupied by a man and woman. The latter was side eyeing the bathrooms as the former chatted away obliviously. By the looks of it, you were near certain it was a first date gone bad.

You did a lap around the bar, hoping they’d get up and leave of their own accord. Cecil’s presence put you slightly at ease and you felt exceedingly grateful that she worked this shift, even though it was too busy to chat with the incessant flow of thirsty customers. As your time approached, you leaned your elbows back against the bar counter, scanning the room for Jinx and her flying, sentient braids. Noticing your nervous glances, Cecil offered to make you a drink and you declined with a stiff shake of your head.

Craning your neck around to where you were meant to be sat in less than ten minutes, you cursed loudly, the words swallowed up by the hungry bass rattling the walls and floor beneath your feet.

Silco had said it had to be that one. The bastard stated that rule explicitly yet hadn’t reserved the booth in any discernible way, and now you were meant to fight for it. Irritation rose to a low simmer in the pit of your stomach as something told you he hadn’t just overlooked this possible outcome.

Grumbling, you rolled your shoulders back and approached the table, branding a placating, apologetic smile on your face.

“Hey guys.”

The woman looked up at you from where she’d been staring dully at the surface of the table, the life in her eyes seeming to flood back.

“So sorry to butt in here.” You shot her a knowing look. “Truly. But there’s been a mistake, this table is supposed to be reserved for me and my friend. I-“

The man interrupted you, waving his hand in the air as if you were a pesky fly.

“No, no, no.”

“…Pardon?”

“We just sat down. You and your friend can find another table.” You recoiled at the man’s unwarranted cockiness.  He turned back to his date, who was starting to look as repulsed as you felt.

Attempting appeasement, you placed your palms lightly on the surface of the table.

“Listen, I understand the frustration. Really, I do-“

“You need to get out of our face. There’s a booth right there.”

So much for appeasing.

“Here’s the thing,” you snipped. “I need this one.”

The woman started to get up, gathering her things. The man gestured to her. “Sit back down, she has no right to-.”

“It’s reserved,” you interrupted, taking a page out of his book.

“I don’t give a shit what it is.”

The wood of the table clacked as you tapped your knuckles against it. A meanness began to corrode its way through your chest cavity and your lip curled nastily.

“I’m doing your date a service. She’s been eyeing the exit ever since you opened your mouth.”

The booth squawked as the man stood up. You stumbled backward a few steps. In a second, the man was in your space, finger pointing at you furiously, attempting to intimidate through bullying what he couldn’t with his stature. Your hand danced across the outside of your pockets instinctively, feeling the indent of the pocketknife within. In your periphery, his date threw her purse over her shoulder and rushed out, cursing softly.

“Relax,” you said, forcing yourself to stop in your nervous retreat as he crowded you so closely, your nose scrunched at the cloying smell of his hair gel.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

The perks of your new reality struck you then, your arms dropping loosely to your sides as something powerful and undefined began to lap at the edges of your consciousness.

“I’m going to ask one more-“

“It’s reserved by my boss,” you said abruptly, heart pounding in anticipation as you lined yourself up for a home run.

“Oh yeah? And who’s that?”

You closed the space between you further, inches from his face, hardly believing your own gall.

“Big eye symbol hanging outside this place, you seen it?” Never had you seen anyone’s face drain of color so quickly. You drove the nail home. “That guy.”

You exhaled as he took a troubled step back, looking you up and down, fear and residual anger dueling on his features.

You grinned. “Sorry about the date, but she wasn’t going to fuck you anyway.”

He seethed, lips curling into a snarl before he turned to stomp away, before he could do anything stupid. Your eyes tracked his movement with a heady self-satisfaction.

You turned to claim your prize, and shrieked, hand leaping to your chest.

“How the hell did you manage to sneak by?”

Jinx concluded a wild round of applause from where she was perched on the table, legs dangling off the edge. The wide grin on her face was eerily pronounced under the flare of the purple and blue strobes.

“That was amazing.”

“Really?” You wiped your sweaty palms down the front of your pants. “I totally just used your dad to save my own ass.”

“Uh-uh, no way, you were cruel as a cucumber.”

The mis-phrase made you smile up at her, and you decided you never wanted to hear it spoken the correct way again. Coming to a stop in front of her, you wriggled your bag off your shoulder and plopped it onto her lap.

“I think I looked like a deflating circus balloon.”

“Only a little.”

Jinx rifled through the bag, eyes glimmering with a manic kind of joy.

“You bring the best stuff. No wonder my dad is keeping you around.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion, and a little bit of annoyance at the idea of him keeping you around. “Meaning?”

“Just surprised is all. He’s picky about people.”

There was no trace of mischief on Jinx’s face. If anything, she seemed completely oblivious to the impact of the casual, cryptic words. What they implied, you weren’t sure and knew, at least for now, that you didn’t want any clarification.

Not appreciating the direction your stream of consciousness was flowing, you dammed it back with silliness.

"Alright, let's go, you clown," you said, latching your fingers onto the wooden framing that arched over the booth and swinging your way in, landing in a gargoyle-like crouch. With zero hesitation, Jinx followed suit, laying backwards onto the table and rolling sideways until she toppled, her forehead smacking against the leather upholstery so loud that you both fell into a bout of keeling laughter. Her twig-like legs kicked wildly into the air from where she lay across the seat.

Catching your breath, you snagged a box off the counter and crossed your legs beneath you. “Ever play Candyland?”

She popped back up, her hair wild and staticky, strands reaching out in every direction but her head.

“Only with my dad.”

You snorted again, heart warming at the bizarre, yet sweet visual. You couldn’t help it: mothers doting on their children at the marketplace, fathers with toddlers high on their shoulders, cackling with glee. Ruthless crime lords playing a game of Candyland with their adoptive daughters between high-stakes criminal dealings. You’d never had anything of the sort, at least in your formative years, but had wanted it more than anything.

“Is he any good?”

“No.” She frowned. “But I think he lets me win.”

You hunched your shoulders and lunged toward her fiercely.

“Well, I won’t. I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”

Fireworks exploded in Jinx’s pupils, her lips curling into a cunning, feline smirk, eerily resemblant of her father’s.

“Bring it on, knife girl.”

You played Candyland for a bit, both of you cackling as the other lost a turn or were sent back to the start. You stood up at one point, bashing your fist down on the table, sending pieces flying, as the two of you got into a heated, but playful argument over the fact that you had once again lost, despite the game being entirely chance-based.

It was about an hour in when you’d made your first mistake.

“I’m sorry about last week.”

It was a simple apology. Clearing the air. Or so you’d thought.

Jinx’s shoulders stiffened imperceptibly. “No biggie.”

“Biggie.” You placed your palm gently on your bag, where Jinx was fishing at the bottom for candy like a cat rooting around the inside of a cardboard box. She peered up at you, eyes glazed over slightly. “I should’ve let you know I was going to be late.”

“I wasn’t mad.” Her voice had a hard edge to it.

You studied her agitated expression and immediately wished you hadn’t said anything. From her eyes alone, you could tell you were treading some delicate line, that just one more snap of an invisible rubber band had the potential to send her skyrocketing somewhere unreachable.

“It was an accident.”

You concluded, then and there, that Jinx did, in fact, have a propensity for exploding things and had used the Last Drop as her personal demolition zone last week. And based on Sevika’s reaction, you could assume that it hadn’t been the first time she’d flown off the handle. You thought back to what Silco had said. That you’d put her into a state of distress.

You lifted your palm from the bag as she stared at you with bladed eyes.

“I know it was.”

The rest of the night, Jinx was noticeably quieter, that same crackling, electric energy she possessed very much present, but manifesting differently. Her impossibly expressive eyes painted a portrait of the state of her mind, two live wires of different voltages, forced together repeatedly in a flurry of sparks. She would be poking her tongue out, giggling at your silly faces, and the next moment her eyes would be glassed over, glancing around uncertainly, as if trying to place where she was. Then, you’d have to reel her back in again.

Once, you’d asked her if she wanted to call it quits early, but she’d shaken her head, beaming at you eerily. “What, you a quitter?”

Later on, you spotted one of Silco’s crew lumbering toward you and you knew he’d come to fetch Jinx, that the night was coming to a close. Jinx noticed, too, a pout plumping her bottom lip.

She slid down in her seat, like she’d suddenly morphed into a blob of gelatinous goop.

“Next week, you bring something to do, huh? Since my games are too easy for you,” you said.

Two blue eyes popped over the edge of the table, shining at you dangerously.

“Anything?”

“I mean.” You were already biting back your words. “Within reason.”

What that meant to Jinx, you had no clue, but she hopped up out of her seat excitedly.

“I’ve got some ideas! See ya next time!”

Jinx waved at you emphatically and made to skip away, but paused abruptly, turning back around. Her searching gaze danced across your face for a moment before she lunged forward, nearly knocking you backward in an unexpected hug. You were as stiff as a sheet of plywood, the contact unfamiliar and strange, arms raised awkwardly in the air as you made startled eye contact with Silco’s crew.

There was a long moment where you didn’t respond. Didn’t know how, really. It wasn’t that you didn’t like hugs, you had just never quite gotten the hang of how to properly receive one. Relaxing slightly into the young girl’s hold, you delicately encased her.

You felt, more than heard, the quiet muffling into your shirt.

“Hm?”

“You’ll come back?”

You rested your chin on top of her head and glanced toward the balcony, wondering what Silco truly thought of the girl's immediate attachment to you. That same sense of protectiveness surged in your chest.

“I’ll see you next week, Jinx.” You emphasized with a squeeze, before releasing her into the swelling crowd of the bar.

The warmth of Jinx’s hug quickly dissipated from your skin and you found yourself sitting and staring at the spot the girl had occupied, unable to comprehend how a simple hug left you feeling more bereft, lonely. Time by yourself really had done a number.

You’d half expected the crew man to be carrying your payment, but all he’d done was shrug when you asked him what you were supposed to do. You considered not going upstairs at all, forfeiting your weekly stipend altogether, the idea of it suddenly seeming distasteful, wrong, after the vulnerability Jinx had just shown you.

You sighed, placing your head in your hands, losing yourself in thought.

____________

Back and forth. Back and forth. It was the slow, steady pacing of a predator.

You knocked.

The creaking of the floorboards paused.

“Come in.”

Your legs turned to jelly, toes curling into your boots to steady yourself outside of the tiger’s den before entering.

At his jarring nearness, your heart catapulted recklessly across your ribcage. He wasn’t close by any means. He was across the room in fact, yet he felt inches away, nothing between you and him this time. No desk. No balcony railing.

Silco’s slender frame stood at a diagonal, still slanted marginally away from the door, as if he’d frozen mid-step. The same crisp maroon shirt clung to his form, a brown, exquisitely detailed waistcoat hugging his torso down to the tops of his narrow, streamlined hips, where his left hand was perched loosely.

On the couch, an intimidating overcoat of the same two colors, emblazoned in gold detailing, lay neatly, as if he’d returned just recently from an outing. There was nothing about the man that wasn’t expensive, that didn’t feel masterfully crafted.

Silco hadn’t acknowledged you yet, his head turned just a fraction, side profile cutting severely through the gentle, bathing glow of the Undercity behind. You admired the way his aquiline nose jutted out, giving him a haughty, yet undeniable charm.

It was as if he had been erected right there in the middle of the room, an unmoving, ethereal statue. He required no words to intimidate, the force of his presence was enough to claim ownership of any room in which he merely stood.

Silco’s unseen arm lifted as he quietly took a sip of the drink you hadn’t realized he was holding. You felt an urgent, all-encompassing need to break the silence as you watched his lips capture the glass, throat bobbing.

“Hello.”

Only his orange, burning eye was visible as it darted over to seize your inquiring gaze. Your skin prickled as it trailed down your figure lazily, sizing you up as a spider would, deliberating on the contents of its web. His eye rolled back up to meet yours. The scarred corner of his lip quirked slightly.

“Hello.”

You toyed briefly with the idea of performing a dramatic pivot and marching back out his door and down the countless number of stairs you’d just climbed. But instead, you shut yourself in, noticing for the first time, the thick, golden deadbolt locks that adorned each double door, at the very top and bottom. Safeguards to keep people out. Or in.

Silco sighed, almost bored, eyes dropping to his drink that he swirled lazily in his hand. “I suppose you’ve come for your pay.”

He placed the half empty glass down before finally moving, prowling the front edge of his desk, dragging the tips of his fingers absentmindedly as he went, as if picking up dust. He pinched his fingers, holding them up to the light dispassionately as he rounded the side of his desk.

Something dangerously on the brink of disappointment poked at you sharply. The money, the moment it hit your hand, would officially end the night.

“You might get an anonymous complaint,” you said.

Silco stilled, seafoam green singling you out this time.

“Oh?”

“I had to break up a really uncomfortable first date. To get that booth.”

Slowly, he turned, leaning his hip into the desk and hinging one ankle across the other, his half-lidded eye glazed with indifference.

“And you wish for what, a congratulations?”

“No, no.” You adjusted your tight grip on the bag you were holding. “Just wanted to cover my ass in case there were any wild accusations.”

“Such as?”

“Like that I weaponized your name. Or something.”

His orange eye flashed.

“A hypothetical, I take it.”

“Most definitely.”

Beneath dark brows, Silco observed you steadily. You swallowed dryly, his burning scrutiny tracing the quick movement.

Ages passed before he reacted. From where his palm rested on the desk, his index finger tapped once in affirmation of something before he pushed himself to his full height, stalking over to a well-stocked drink cart, where he grabbed another tumbler.

“That bad?”

You grinned, despite his back being turned.

“The woman was about ready to lobotomize herself with her own straw.”

The clink of glass on glass in the quiet room was startling as he poured from a dark-colored decanter. You wished you could see his face.

 “I suppose I should thank you for saving me the mess.”

“No need.”

In the silence that followed, you took the opportunity to glance about the room. Under the blinding tunnel vision of your nervousness, you’d never actually absorbed any of your surroundings. It wasn’t a revelation that the man had a theme, crimson and gold, but the office, through a fresh lens, was surprisingly colorful. A blue, diamond-patterned rug beneath the gold talons of his desk. A soft, rose-shaded leather couch with a large painting above it, depicting a tumbling boat crashing across treacherous waters. A beautiful gramophone sitting on the dark wood of a side table next to his desk.

It was a collector’s den, with a variety of antiques that spoke of his taste for collecting the finer things and putting them on display. You smiled softly at the mug Jinx had painted, sitting proudly at the very front and center of his desk.

The sound of a decanter being corked brought your attention back to Silco, who, to your utmost surprise, was turning with two drinks in his hand.

“Must you linger in every doorway? Or just mine?”

You blinked at him owlishly.

“Just yours, honestly.”

Your eyes fell questioningly to the second glass in his hands.

“Is that…”

“No. I was so thirsty I fashioned myself two whiskeys,” he said impatiently. “Take it.”

It didn’t appear as if he had any intent to harm you, but it was always prudent to keep your wits about you when in the presence of a wild animal. And that’s what he reminded you of, a beast you must always approach with caution, lest its jaws surprise you by clamping down.

Your nose twitched irritably, and an arrogant curl of his lips told you he could sense your restraint. Where he drew his lines, you had no idea. Best to take these things one step at a time, much like your current, literal approach toward Silco’s outstretched arm.

You tilted your head up in false bravado but couldn’t help the way your knees quaked as they jerked you forward across the room and toward the looming man.

You tilted forward to pluck the drink from his hand, the side of your index finger grazing against his in your haste. With a small shock, your hand jerked backward, liquid sloshing lightly, a droplet landing on your exposed wrist bone. You took a step back, stomach pitching at the way he carefully scrutinized you down his nose.

”Thank you,” you muttered.

”You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t help but avert your eyes, his voice closer than ever.

Silco made his way to his seat, a whisper of amusement on his face, and so did you, feeling thoroughly humiliated by your uncharacteristic submissiveness.

Silco settled into the pompous highback, swirling his drink in his palm. “Any other hypotheticals I should be made aware of?”

You dropped your bag onto the ground at your feet, reeling at the fact that he was indulging you in conversation. “I told him you’re my boss.”

“Is that so untruthful?”

“I don’t know. It seems kind of…” you looked at him, conflicted. “Ingenuine.”

Silco’s eyes fell in silent scorn to the way your nails clanked restlessly against the glass in your hand. “Elaborate.”

“The title. It implies that I’m working for you… Which I guess I am. Or that I’m doing this for money... Which, I guess I am.” You slapped your palm noisily against your forehead at how stupid you sounded. It was exceedingly difficult to form an intelligent sentence while his eyes burned into yours, so you found yourself glaring, exasperated, at the silk, white tie cinched perfectly against his throat. “I just can’t help but feel lousy accepting money to hang out with Jinx. Because if I had the money to spare, I’d do it for free. It feels like I’m being… dishonest or something.”

Silco’s head cocked as he scrutinized your words, a peculiar emotion knitting his brows together before his features smoothed into an icy indifference.

“Were you hoping I’d soothe your conscience?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling no different than any of his antiques, your restraint on full display for the impudent man.

“If I needed my conscience soothed, I’d go to Babette’s.”

"Ah yes, if you're seeking honesty, go to Babette's." You were taken aback by the acid in his tone, his eyes flashing wrathfully.

“Detestable Yordle,” he growled low. Your fingers tightened on your glass. “Impossible to dispose of.”

It was abundantly clear there was bad blood there, but you barely contained a snort at the visual of the tiny, wise-cracking woman getting under Silco’s skin. He was at a loss, though. Babette’s would go belly-up without, well, Babette.

“I hear she loves fresh peaches if you're ever looking to make nice."

The look he gave you could freeze hell over twice. "Make nice."

"Bad choice of words." 

He sighed, tilting back into his chair, leaning one elbow on an armrest while he studied you heatedly over the rim of his swirling glass.  

You readjusted the nervous grip you had on your own drink, finding yourself at an unusual loss for words.

“So.” The lull in conversation made it suddenly necessary to fill the silence. You gestured with your head over to his coat laying on the couch, “Do anything interesting today?”

Right away, you blanched, realizing how suspicious you sounded.

Silco's good eyebrow cocked slightly.

“Don’t answer that. I regret the question.”

With deliberate leisure, he polished off his drink, setting it on the desk with a soft thud that echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. The chair creaked as he crossed his legs.

“Is that why you're here, then?” he asked softly.

The room dropped several degrees.

“To share a drink? Infiltrate my good will?" A corner of his lips lifted into a lethal smirk, chin dipping. "Clever. Perhaps I should've been keeping a closer eye on you."

Your narrowing gaze darted between orange and green. He couldn't possibly think...

”Hm?" His head tilted, prompting.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“You should be. Sorry.”

The seconds drew out like taffy and you felt the first bead of perspiration on your forehead as you sat with a growing nervousness. He stared at you, calculated, like a cat would, curiously batting a mouse between its paws.

"I haven't done anything," you whispered indignantly to him, leaning in, as if the real accuser was pointing at you from across the room.

"I know." Silco sniffed dispassionately. “You’d make a terrible spy.”

There was a long silence before your shoulders dropped. You weren’t foolish enough to say it out loud, but you made sure he saw the sentiment clearly in your eyes.

Asshole.

Silco’s soft chuckle reminded you of the first roll of thunder before a storm.

There was a lull of silence while you clenched your cup tightly with both hands on the desk, ears burning with annoyance at having to hold your tongue. A mysterious heat was bleeding out of you, concurrent with your adrenaline. Instead of using words, you held his gaze, nails clanking out a purposefully loud, frenzied tune on the outside of the gold-rimmed glass.

Silco frowned, and then looked in disapproval at your untouched drink. You practically huffed, raising it to your lips. You thought you were prepared, but the liquid rolled down your throat like a freight train and you just barely managed to swallow a single sip, grimacing like you'd just taken a shot of lemon juice.

"Holy-" you began, coughing. "That's really strong."

Silco hummed, eyes glittering.

"I think I'd manage alright," you dared to finish, drawing his attention away from your display. You cleared your throat of the burn, voice hoarse. "As a spy."

"You read like a picture book."

There was a long pause.

"Interesting, at least? Good plot?"

"No.”

It was your turn to frown.

It wasn't long after that when you felt your banter easing to what felt like a natural close for the night. You thanked him for the drink and excused yourself, not wanting to overstay. The man had a city to run after all. But as you turned, he called your name softly.

A money pouch dangled between his fingertips and he noticed the way your lips twisted with no small amount of guilt. Silco tilted his head sharply toward the couch.

“I was overseeing the disposal of an old friend.” His gaze honed on your hands fiddling at your sides and then rose again. "River."

His unwavering, expectant stare heated you like a coal forge, growing uncomfortably warm the longer you stood inside it. As you studied him in kind, you wondered whether he felt the same ineffable pull. Or if this was just a part of his magnetic craft.

His words were strangely affirming and you drifted back, allowing him to drop the pouch into your open palm. You stood staring at it for a long moment, before raising your eyes to his, allowing your lips to slowly curl into a sly smile.

“How mundane.”

You received a vicious smirk.

“And tedious.”

_________________

When you were younger, the older kids at the orphanage had allowed you to tag along on their criminal escapade to the Piltovan Zoo after hours. Ecstatic to be included, but quietly nervous, you’d clung onto your brother’s arm as you’d stood before the enchanting, golden arches of the admissions gates, your friends dancing in the fountain out front, water raining down from a marble elephant’s trunk.

You'd felt invincible, evading the night guards and climbing your way over high walls so as not to set off alarms. Safely inside, you’d followed Stefan to the koi pond, where you'd sat, watching the fish flail their plump bodies across the water for bits of bread.

At a low growl, your head had turned to the shadows.

You’d peered around, finding the older kids still laughing with the howling chimpanzees and their babies, who poked tiny fingers through the cages. Stefan remained hunched over the pond.

The darkness called to you like a siren. Quietly, so as not to alert your brother, you’d ventured alone toward the shadowy enclosures in the back, your friend’s laughter growing dim as you’d tip-toed toward the source of the snarling fury.

A light flickered feebly over the head of a lone female tiger, pacing back and forth. Back and forth. Scattered around her were bits of newspaper, a silicone ball, ripped and toothed way past its expiration date. A pull-rope, intended for stimulation, was hung untouched along the concrete wall. But still she’d paced, shoulders rolling hypnotically, hunched low.

Climbing over the first glass partition, you had sat cross-legged in front of the metal cage, a sense of familiarity drawing you into her delicate solitude.

“Hello,” you’d said, fingers lacing through the bars, head pressed hard against the cold metal.

The tiger had paused in her distressed musings to pin you with her gleaming, yellow-eyed stare. Licking her chops, she had hung her head, and you’d watched, enamored, as she had approached, coming to a halt before you.

In a moment too swift for the human eye, she had lunged, her snout jamming against the bars in a clash of teeth and metal. You’d never thought to scream, just gasp as the creatures nose huffed inches away from yours.

Scooting backward in heart-pounding anxiety, you’d studied her from the floor as she did from above, paws framing where your head had been, her claws oddly retracted.

And then she’d resumed her pacing, as if it were her born duty.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Throned at the top of the food chain, utterly alone. Unchallenged. Bored to madness by a brain too intelligent, too hungry. 

You think you understand now.

<3 <3 <3

I'm still pretty new to tumblr so if you enjoyed and/or feel inclined to help me get my writing out into the ether, I'd be ever so grateful. But if not, I am still just very happy to be here existing in such an amazing fandom.

Here's the AO3 link if you want to kudos or comment or check out my other works! Your feedback means the world! Thank you!

Stay unhinged, my friends

Love, Sulty <3

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@of-the-argonath hi

[tsukidrama]

maybe a jealous Annie in Off The Beaten Path

placated by plaits

off the beaten path (a trnt side story)

ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢѕ ᴀᴘᴘʟʏ

setting: building the cottage

ao3 | the road not taken | cottagecanon

← previous | next →

author's note: testing out how the people (that means you) feel about other relationships besides annie/reader

word count: 2.4k

Annie is chatty. Very, very chatty, when she’s comfortable. It takes you by surprise at first, because you’re so used to constant silence from her. After the initial shock, you quickly become endeared with it. Every word that comes out of her mouth is something that you deeply want to hear, no matter what it’s about. 

You’ll listen to her ponder the pros and cons of different materials with hearts in your eyes enraptured just because she talks about it with such passion. After a while, you come to the conclusion that it’s the least you can do to give her an audience. 

She spent four years with nothing but her thoughts, and you genuinely want to hear every word she has to say. Sometimes it even feels overwhelming, how much you want to know. It doesn’t feel like there’s enough time in the world to cover everything. 

The two of you have so much to tell one another. There are so many things that you want to talk about with her, from the big conversations about her wants and needs, to the stories she’d never told you, to the tiny details that don’t really matter. You want to hear every opinion she has about every little thing; oftentimes you’ll sit enraptured at the most mundane of topics. 

She goes on for hours about drywall and insulation, and you hang onto her every word. You’re honestly not sure what you’re doing half the time. You observe what Annie is doing and copy her, and as long as Annie is still talking then you figure you must be doing it right. 

Whenever you do inevitably fuck up, she just teaches you how to re-do it. Other people, she is not so patient with. Somebody else fucks up, she bans them from the project and does it herself, as demonstrated when Connie is sent down from setting roof tiles to help you, Pieck, Jean, and Armin finish up the deck. 

Whenever your friends are there, too, you quickly realize why they didn’t come more often. Annie herself doesn’t seem to fully be aware of it, but a certain green-eyed monster comes out in a way that you’ve never really seen before. She has to know that she’s got you hook line and sinker, but even little things seem to set her off. 

It’s a pretty hot day. The summer is coming to a close, though with the different climate and lack of predictability you end up regretting that this is when you chose to do heavy work. Annie and Reiner are still up on the roof while the rest of you either work on the stairs or the railing on the back patio. 

You and Pieck finish up with the railing before anybody else. After the final nail had been driven into the last post, you sigh in exhaustion (overdramatic maybe, since you had the least exhaustive task). The dark-haired girl next to you sets aside the toolbox and the two of you walk back over to the shade, where you eventually end up sitting on the makeshift brick counter. 

Both of you chug water until you catch your breath. You tuck a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, happy you wore it out of the way to begin with. Pieck, on the other hand, whose loose hair is plastered all over her face with sweat, was not so fortunate. 

Just looking at her makes you feel like you’re cooking. “Would you like me to braid your hair for you?” you offer. 

She perks up. All at once, she tries to start combing through it, pulling back all the loose and frizzy strands to make it somewhat workable. “Oh, would you really? I’ve stopped trying at this point. It’ll all fall out in half an hour if I put it in a ponytail,” she admits. 

Braiding hair has always been something that you’ve been called upon no matter where you go. Everyone wants their hair done, but far fewer people actually knew how to do it than you would’ve expected, so therefore you were voluntold to braid at many a sleepover or party throughout your life. 

You smile, and the familiar pride of being able to help swells up inside of you. “Yeah, of course. Sit on the grass here.” 

Pieck complies, folding her hands in her lap as she sits cross-legged in front of you. You don’t have a brush or anything, so you just use your fingers to comb out the worst of the tangles she didn’t get. 

It’s not too bad, actually. The biggest obstacle in your way is the slight dampness of sweat that leaves her hair sticking to itself. You don’t want to break the hair up into too many pieces, but you want everything tied back, so you section her hair into a top and bottom half. 

Braiding the top part is easy enough. It gets a little sticker when you’re trying to separate the strands as your fingers struggle to hook strands from the bottom section, but you end up with a solid result. 

It’s not particularly pretty, but it’s a structurally solid braid. All of her hair is tied back, even if it’s a bit lumpy. Pieck sits still throughout the process, eyes closed happily all the while. It takes an extra couple of minutes for you to thread the b

Jean walks over right as you’re tying off the end of the braid. He watches you loop the 

“Wait, can you braid mine, too?” he asks. There’s too much of a hopeful look on his face for you to bear to dash his spirits. 

If you’re going to let him down, you want to do it easily. “Is it long enough for that?” 

“Not if you do one on each side,” he pleads, wringing his hands. Alas, the puppy dog eyes win you over. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? 

You sigh in resignation. “Okay, fine.” 

Pieck scoots over on the grass as Jean comes over to take her place. He’s more helpful than you anticipated, finger-combing through his own hair to smooth it out. 

Genuinely, you don’t expect it to hold. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that if you start small, two braids does trick quite quite nicely – perhaps just barely so, but his hair is indeed long enough to stay in place. It’s not quite as easy as you’d like, but you do manage to keep it going a good inch or two past the base of his scalp. 

He shifts and turns his head, then smiles when he makes eye contact with Pieck. She returns the smile then giggles, which in turn, immediately makes him blush and bury his face in his hands. And even though you really can’t blame him – you’d probably have the same reaction if she looked at you that way too, but it makes you drop his hair. 

You’re debating whether or not you should chastise him, but he apologizes before you’d even get the chance. He fans his face in attempt to cool himself down. Surely he doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone… 

“Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly, “I’ll be still.” He puts his head back into place. 

To his credit, he does stay in the same position despite the fact that he’s still pretty visibly flustered. He blinks, averting his eyes from Pieck and trying to hold himself together. 

You twist his hair underneath itself one strand after the other, switching how you hold the loose hair throughout. There isn’t much hair left at the bottom, so the hair ties you use to secure the ends overlaps on itself so many times that it bunches up. It looks a little bit like a pom-pom, but it holds. 

Pieck picks a tiny yellow flower from the grass nearby, and leans forward over Jean. She threads the stem through a segment of the braid just behind his ear, taking a moment to adjust it before she sits back down aagain. Her fingers graze his jawline, lingering for just long enough that it makes you stare shamelessly. 

The chemistry is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Honestly, you’re so enraptured by whatever is going on right in front of you that you didn’t even notice that more people are approaching until you hear Annie’s voice. You smile as you turn to look at her, only to see her frowning. 

“You’re braiding hair over here? And you didn’t come get me?!” She has her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face while Reiner trails behind her by a few feet. 

You’re still so distracted that you don’t register that she’s upset with you until you try to wave her over, and all she does is narrow her eyes in response. Her nostrils flare as she exhales hard, her eyebrows knitting. You might mistake her expression for anger if it wasn’t for the tell-tale tears glistening in her eyes. 

No, it’s less rational than anger. It’s that jealousy again, rearing its ugly head. Poor thing… 

Pieck giggles again. “It’s okay, Annie, I asked her to. Jean and I were being demanding.” 

Yet still, the blonde girl pouts. “I wanted to be a part of it.” 

“You’re not too late! Here, come on,” Pieck waves Jean over, and he crawls out of place to go sit next to her – right next to her, you can’t help but notice – oh god, all you want to do is do a double take. No, that’s not your focus right now. 

Annie. She needs validation. She still looks displeased, though when you see her lower lip wobble you realize it’s just insecurity. She just wants your attention and she doesn’t know how to ask for it. 

“Come over here,” you invite her, gesturing Annie to the now-empty spot in front of you, “it’s your turn.” A big smile blooms on your face. You wiggle your fingers to invite her closer, raising your eyebrows. 

She scowls for a minute, and just shifts her weight. Finally she seems to consider it seriously when Reiner gently nudges her shoulder. He chuckles nervously when she glares at him, but he still encourages her. 

“Hey, if you don’t go down there then I’m gonna take your place. I want my hair braided too,” he jokes, ruffling his hand through his cropped cut.

Finally, Annie cracks. A smile slips out, and she shoots you a look out of the corner of her eyes. She seems nearly embarrassed  

As she sits down, she pulls her hair out of its updo and shakes it out. Even though she doesn’t make an attempt to comb through it herself, you’re more than happy to take that up yourself. Out of the three of them, her hair is the easiest to work with. 

It’s also the messiest of the three but fine enough that it untangles as soon as you pull at the knots. Both Jean and Pieck had much thicker hair, so Annie’s is a breeze. The braid takes shape easily and quickly, enough so that you feel like it’s too soon to end the experience. You unravel the braid so you can spend more time playing with her hair.

You grab the strands at the top and separate them out. Pieck’s hair was too thick and Jean’s too short, but hers is perfect for more of a waterfall look. The length makes it stay in place easily. You continue on while taking your time making the hairstyle look pretty, much more so than you did with the others. 

You take time to carefully weave the strands evenly, symmetrically. You tie the band at the base of the braid, then pull at each link of the braid to fluff it out a little. Once you’ve fiddled with it until you’re content, you take the braid and drape it over the side of her shoulder. 

“All done, beautiful,” you announce. You let your fingers trace down the back and sides of Annie’s neck softly, and as you do, you shoot Pieck a pointed look. The message comes across perfectly: I saw what you were doing. I see you. 

She simply smirks and arches an eyebrow at you, and leans back on the heel of her hands. Instead of backing down, somehow she gets even more bold by resting her free hand on top of Jean’s thigh. He hardly reacts when her fingers slide upward, though you certainly do. 

You think about that interaction for three days straight afterwards, and every time you see the two of them together after that. Even months later you’re unsure about what’s going on between them. The looks and lingering touches certainly continue, but their relationship seems platonic at face value. Over time, you come to the conclusion thay Pieck seems to enjoy teasing you with the knowledge of this little secret just as much as she teases Jean. 

After you’ve all rested up, you all get back to work in the few remaining hours of sunlight, with the three whose hair you braided keeping the hairstyles for the remainder of the evening. You’re proud of yourself, both because of the pride your friends have in hairstyles you gave them and because you were able to find a way to bring everyone together in an unexpected way. 

The exterior of the house is fully bricked up and left to cure over the next few days. Gutters and channels for water to drain out of the yard are dug out and paved. Roofing goes up and scaffolding comes down. Even though the inside still looks pretty rough, for the first time when you look at the house it actually looks like a house.