#this is supposed to be helping me go to sleep and all I can think about is Dunyasha

[fru1t4fr0gs]

You and Me - Chapter 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You disappeared weeks ago, vanishing off the grid and from his life like a ghost. While giving you space has been torture, Bucky has somehow been able to survive it. When you’re finally reunited, however, the tension might be enough to break you both.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: PTSD, Mention of nightmares, Swearing, Trauma, Implied Sex, Mention of pregnancy (just a brief misunderstanding), Alcohol consumption, Bucky is down bad, Pining, So much pining, Angst, Reader is Tony Stark's kid but a fully grown adult (we are in charge of the timelines), Tension, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author’s Note: We've finally reached FATWS territory! I figured, to celebrate, I would try out a little dual POV so we can get inside of Bucky’s head. And hoo boy, call this man a tree because Bucky Barnes sure can pine. As always, thank you guys so much for all of your love for this fic! Feedback is always super appreciated!

-

Bucky Barnes sits across from his therapist, and he lies about having nightmares. Again.

He thinks he might be able to handle them better if he hadn’t become so used to you. You, always right there when he jolted awake, soft and warm and comforting, reminding him who he is. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. He’s Bucky. He’s loved. And not just by anyone, but by you.

The first time you woke him from a nightmare was years ago, in Romania, but he still remembers it like it was just last night. When he would otherwise have shot upward and sat in the dark for hours, trying to pull himself back to reality, he was instead met with a warm hand on his arm. Gentle. Kind.

And then he’d looked up, shocked and feeling like some kind of wounded animal. At that point, he basically had been.

Your eyes, in that moment, were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. They reflected the moonlight spilling in through the window, shining with concern and understanding in a way that made him ache.

“Hey, Bucky.” You’d said. And you’d used his name. Not Soldat. Not Winter Soldier. He was Bucky, and you were looking at him with such steadiness and kindness that he wondered how he could have ever doubted who he was. His name sounded so good coming from your lips that he nearly asked you to say it again.

“You wanna talk about it?” You’d asked. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just offering.

He shook his head, unable to fathom the idea of ruining this perfect moment with such darkness.

You nodded, understanding, and he never wanted you to stop looking at him. There was no disgust. No fear. Hell, there wasn’t even pity. For the first time in decades, he didn’t feel like a machine. He felt like a person. Like a man.

You didn’t know it, but from that moment on, if you had climbed up to the roof of the building and asked him to jump, he would have done it with a smile on his face.

Now, with you gone, he sleeps on the floor again, unable to stand lying on a bed without you in it.

And when he wakes, the nightmare continues in a different form, because he wakes to emptiness. Absence.

Dr. Raynor is saying something, and his ears finally lock onto her words when he realizes that she’s talking about you.

“You’ve been doing worse. The nightmares have clearly been worse. You haven’t brought her up in our last five sessions. So, James, I’m going to ask again. And answer me honestly.”

He nearly groans with irritation, already knowing where this is going.

“Where is your wife?”

Bucky hesitates before he answers, the words struggling to find their way past his lips.

“…I don’t know.”

-

“I mean, I just don’t know what I’m doing, Alan.” You pace the room, so restless you might just start wringing your hands. “It’s not that I don’t love him. God, I do. I still do. So, so much, you know? But then he died, kind of, right in front of me. He disintegrated. And then my dad died, and Nat died, and then Steve died. And I was supposed to be part of Stark Industries and help Pepper run it but I can’t do that. I just can’t. I don’t know what I’m doing. I barely knew what I was doing before. I don’t have the- hey! Are you even listening to me? Isn’t the point of this whole thing to try to get me to talk?!”

The officer on the other end of the interrogation table looks like you just tased him awake. You glare. He stutters, nervous, and he looks young and scrawny enough that you’re pretty sure he must be brand-spanking-new to this job.

“You, uh, have the right to remain silent-“ he starts, and you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

“You already did that part. Come on, man.” You sigh, run a hand through your hair, and drop your shoulders in defeat. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. You were arrested countless times when you were younger, mostly for stealing parts or making and selling some kind of illegal tech. You’ve never rambled about your problems to an officer in an interrogation room. You’ve always had a little more swagger than that.

Then again, you haven’t had a lot of human interaction in the past few weeks.

“Look, dude. I get it. You’re new. Just tell me when Sam is gonna get here so I can get out of this room. Not that you’re not great company, but I’ve got a lecture waiting for me that I’d like to just get over with.”

“S-Sam?” The kid asks, looking down at the paperwork in front of him.

“Yeah, Sam Wilson. Government employee and all that. Hero Avenger. Kind of a prick, but in a lovable way. I told you guys to call him when you took me in.”

The kid goes pale, re-reading the name on the paper. “I, um… we called next of kin. It’s usually protocol to-“

“I don’t have a next of kin.” You snap, automatic. You swear you used to be more patient. A little nicer. But you don’t exactly love the reminder that you’re an orphan now with no family. Yeah, there’s Pepper and Morgan, but Pepper isn’t your biological family and Morgan is five years old. You can’t imagine either of their names would be on that sheet.

“Well, not in the…biological sense, but when it comes to that we call the…”

“Oh Alan,” you say, already knowing where this is going. “you didn’t.”

“The…spouse.” He says it like a wince. You stare at him in what might just be a good impression of the spouse in question.

He just keeps going, but he doesn’t have to. You can already feel the featherlight touch of a familiar gaze on your back. “Your, uh…husband? Mr. Barnes?”

“Alan,” you say again, “I thought we were friends, man.”

“I don’t…uh. I don’t know you.” He says helplessly, but you’re already ignoring him and turning around.

And there he is, leaning against the doorframe and looking right at you.

You haven’t seen him in weeks. Your heart does a somersault at the mere sight of him. Leather jacket and gloves, burning blue eyes. Fuck, you missed him. You missed him every minute of every day.

You clear your throat, bravado leaving you like a balloon deflating under his gaze.

“Hey, honey.” You say, trying for casual but just sounding painfully awkward.

He’s doing the staring thing. You can feel poor Alan shrink down in his seat like the two of you just opened fire on each other right there in the interrogation room.

“Would you look less angry if I told you this isn’t the worst thing I’ve been arrested for?”

“No.” He says, simply, low voice sounding very loud in the small room. You missed his voice. You feel an embarrassingly overwhelming urge to run into his arms like this is some sort of cheesy movie. You know he would hold you if you did. His arms would wrap around you immediately, pull you close, and you would hear him murmur that he loves you into your hair, in that deep and wonderful voice you haven’t heard in too long.

You don’t move. You can’t.

You just leave with him, fixing Alan with a glare on the way out of the room that has him cringing back in his seat even more.

-

You look terrible. 

He’s seen you try to function on no sleep before, when the bags under your eyes darken and you get grumpy in the way he’s always found so oddly charming. He can usually fix it, whether it’s gently asking you to come home or physically carrying you out of your lab in what you’ve dubbed his ‘King King impression’. He even stopped one of your furious, hyperactive rants once with a simple smile and a kiss to your nose. Your arms had fallen back to your sides, no longer gesturing frantically, and you had stopped pacing to just thunk your head onto his shoulder.

Now, his fingers twitch at his side to do the same thing. He wants to fix it now. Like he used to. Like you used to let him.

But you left. You disappeared. You pulled back, and you’re finally right beside him but he’s terrified that if he tries to reach out to you, you might vanish again.

The bags under your eyes are deeper than he’s ever seen them. You’ve lost weight, like you haven’t been thinking to eat.

The urge to protect you, to fix it, runs through him like a chill down his spine.

Despite it all, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He’s still surprised by that sometimes, how he can look at you after all this time and be absolutely floored by the fact that you, of all people, can love him. You found him in Romania, that broken war machine holed up and hiding from the world, and you brought back everything he was before. You brought back Bucky, without even trying. Not even that, but you made him a better version of himself. You still do, every day. Even when you’re not there, he can feel your presence like a phantom limb. The past few weeks, he’s caught himself talking to you like you might be behind him, only to turn around to find an empty kitchen. Empty bedroom. Emptiness.

Now that you’re here, even just walking silently beside him, he feels like a part of himself has been reattached. Like he’s finally whole again.

You’re the one who breaks the silence.

“You’ve been using my tech.”

Of course you would know. He never expected anything less. Even so, he feels a thrum of happiness and relief shoot through him at the revelation that you’ve been keeping tabs on him, even while you were hidden away God knows where.

“I have.” He says, glancing over to you. Casually, like he has a thousand times before, his hand moves to your waist, and he guides you so that you’re walking on the inside of the sidewalk, away from the street. That’s another thing that still surprises him - that, whenever he touches you, he feels something like a little bolt of electricity shoot through him. As you grumble something about him being old fashioned, he has to stop himself from reaching out just to touch you again. “I’ve been crossing names off of my list.”

“Oh? How’s that going?”

Memories of knocking a man out cold, of using your device to whip a car around a parking garage, run through his mind faster than a blink. You’re trying for a casual conversation. Avoiding the elephant in the room. If it keeps you here, he can try too.

“You know. Nothing illegal, no one gets hurt.”

“Liar.” You say it affectionately, and his heart skips a beat. What would you do, if he pulled you into that alley over there and kissed you until you were breathless, like he’s been thinking about doing since he saw you in that interrogation room? Would you melt against him, pull him closer? Would you come home with him, and let him show you just how much he’s missed you?

He has to shove his hands into his pockets to keep from doing it. He thinks you might sense his thoughts, too. Whether it’s from the heightened instincts the serum gave you or just the fact that you just know him well enough to read his mind, he doesn’t know. Your cheeks turn a light shade of pink, and you look away. And then he’s really fighting not to do it.

“Bold words from someone I just picked up from jail.” He says, grateful that his voice doesn’t sound as strained as he feels.

Your eyes narrow, and you fix him with a glare that just might intimidate anyone else. He has to bite back his smile.

“I thought that company might be part of a smuggling ring, okay? I just needed to confirm if I was right.”

“Were you?”

“…No. But they did have a much better security system than I expected them to.”

“You need to sleep, doll.”

“I sleep fine.”

“You’re not sleeping.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m sleeping like a damn baby.”

He can’t do it anymore. He can’t do the casual quips. The light jokes. Not when you’re so clearly hurting and refusing to let him help you. His metal arm wraps around your waist, and in one swift movement that lifts you easily off of your feet, he does pull you into the alley.

-

Your body has been humming with energy since the second his eyes fell on you at the precinct. This is not helping.

He’s so close. His blue eyes burn as they look down into yours. You feel that energy crackling between you like an electric current beneath your skin.

“Stop. Stop this.” His voice is low. Firm. Raw with emotion and concern. His face is so close that you can feel his breath against your lips when he speaks. Pine and leather and gunpowder overwhelm your senses and you think you might get weak in the knees like some sort of old-timey damsel. “You’re not sleeping. You’re not taking care of yourself. You left.” You feel his arm twitch around your middle, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you even closer. His voice is more quiet when he speaks again, vulnerability creeping into his tone. “Why did you leave?”

You don’t know what to say. How to say it. He’s too close to think clearly.

“I-“

You sense it first. Your head whips to the side, and you blink the fog away as a familiar voice calls out to you.

“You two. Barneses! Make this man stop throwing his trash into my cans!”

Bucky lets you go, and you have to hold back an embarrassing whimper at the loss of contact.

“We’re not done here.” He says, before turning to diffuse the situation.

-

As Bucky speaks to the man with the trash, Yori focuses his attention on you.

“Haven’t seen you for lunch in a long time.” His tone is accusatory.

“I’ve been…working.”

“You don’t look good. You look tired.”

“Thanks, Yori.”

“You need food.”

You bite back a groan. “I’m fine. I don’t need food.”

“He needs food, then.” Yori says, firmly, gesturing to Bucky. “I need food. I’m hungry. Take the old men to dinner.”

You look at Bucky, who seems to have finished his interaction with Trash Guy. You’re about to lie, make up an excuse and scurry back to your lab to try to lose yourself in another project and forget all about today. But…

Fuck. Bucky. His eyes. They’re open, hopeful, looking at you like he would burn the city to the ground if it meant you would just get a meal with him and your sweet old neighbor like you used to.

“Okay, fine. Dinner. Then I have to get back.” You say with a sigh, already beginning to make your way towards the restaurant near your apartment building.

You sense Bucky’s smile behind you.

-

-

“No one lived past ninety.” Yori says, pushing a newspaper into yours and Bucky’s faces to show you the obituaries.

As much as you’re still trying to bolt out the door, this feels…normal. Nice. Familiar. It’s easy to fall back into old habits, leaning into Bucky in the crowded little restaurant, ordering the same thing at the counter that you always do, cracking jokes with the two of them about their shared ‘grumpy old man’ personality.

“So young. Such a shame.” Bucky says around a mouthful of food, and you snort with laughter that you can’t manage to hold back.

“I think you look great for your old age, Sarge. Not a day over eighty.” You tell him, and he looks at you with amusement sparkling in his gaze.

You look away, unable to meet that look. There’s so much love there. Not just from him, but bubbling up in your own heart like it might overflow and drown you.

“Lots of tension between you two, tonight.” Yori says, blunt as ever. “And I haven’t seen you in a while.” He looks at you with prying eyes. “Are you pregnant?”

You choke on your water.

Hard enough, in fact, that Bucky shoots to his feet and puts his hand on your back, like he’s preparing to give you the fucking Heimlich.

You try to wave him off, eyes watering, but he doesn’t move. Protective as ever.

“You are, aren’t you?” Yori says, enthusiastically patting your shoulder. “Congratulations. It’s about time. You two are crazy. A little one might calm you down.” He looks at you, and you’re too busy trying to catch your breath to cut him off. “Makes sense why you look like you haven’t slept in so long, too. Babies take a lot out of you. I remember when my wife-“

“Three orders of sake, please.” You half shout over the counter, voice sounding a little too high pitched to be anything less than embarrassing. You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, that gentle touch of his gaze feeling like a full-on tug in his direction, and you finally turn to face him.

“Nope. Not pregnant.” You say, unable to look him in the eye as you turn back to grab the drinks.

When you hand Yori his shot, he looks disappointed.

When you turn to hand Bucky his, you could swear that he does too.

And that look makes you take your shot a whole lot faster. Makes you order more.

And then more.

Yori eventually goes home, patting both of you on the back and making a comment about marital relations that you choose to ignore, and then it’s just you and Bucky.

He sits beside you, silently, patiently. You feel the alcohol begin to cloud your mind. You order another round.

-

You’re drunk.

He feels like a complete jackass for letting you get drunk. For watching it happen. For matching you, shot for shot, and being so distracted by the fact that you’re here sitting in front of him again that he completely forgot that, unlike him, you can get drunk.

But every time you ordered another sake, eyes challenging as you handed one to him, he took it with you. Because you were talking to him again. Not about anything serious, not explaining exactly where you’ve been or why you left like you did, but just talking. Like you used to. You tell him about your plans for a new robot, about a weird looking pigeon you saw on the sidewalk the other day, about a smoothie place that sells what you swear is the absolute worst smoothie in New York.

He feels bad for not listening more intently, but he’s too enraptured by you. By the way you gesture with your hands as you speak, by the animation in your eyes. Shit, he even missed the cadence of your voice. He wants to bottle this moment and hold it close to his chest. To look at you for hours.

No, what he wants is to take you home, back to your shared apartment, and trace every inch of your body with his hands and his lips and his teeth until you promise to never disappear again-

“And that’s why I think I should just keep doing crystal meth, you know? It wasn’t so bad when I tried it, and it helps me get a lot of work done.”

He blinks, your words whipping him out of his thoughts, and stares at you now with wide eyes.

“I knew it.” You say proudly, grinning. “You’re not listening. You’re doing the thinking-staring thing, not the listening-staring thing.”

You’re clearly expecting him to smile. He doesn’t. He just looks at you, and the longing he feels must be reflected in his expression because the proud grin falls from your lips and you turn away, clearing your throat and taking another shot. You reach over and take his too, and the moment slips through his fingers.

-

When you step outside, you stumble. You didn’t realize how much you drank until you actually stood up, and you suddenly find yourself trying to blink the dizziness from your vision as the cool air hits your face.

“Shit.” You grumble, frustrated by your sudden lack of clarity, before you feel an arm wrap around your waist.

“C’mon, doll.” You hear, and you instinctively relax. “Let’s get you home.”

Home. Home sounds nice. You don’t really have the words to explain to him that home is the man standing beside you, helping to guide you down the street back to the apartment.

“M’tired.” You finally admit as he opens the door to the building. Despite what you’ve been saying, you really haven’t been sleeping.

“I know.” His voice is so gentle. So warm.

You almost trip on the first step, and in less than a second you’re being lifted into the air. Bucky lifts you with one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, and you don’t have the wherewithal to argue. Your own arm slides around his neck, holding yourself close to him as he ascends the few floors to the apartment you haven’t entered in weeks.

He sets you down once you reach your room, and you let him help you into a pair of his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts before you collapse into bed.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you register that the bed doesn’t feel like it’s been slept in.

But then you feel a familiar weight slide onto the mattress beside you, and a vibranium arm reaches out to tuck you under the covers.

You roll over, twisting your head on the pillow to look at him. And he’s looking right back at you with those lovely blue eyes.

Home.

-

Bucky would do anything, break anything, kill anything in the world to kiss you right now.

But he can see the haziness in your eyes. The exhaustion. And you’re finally back. You’re home, and you’re looking at him in that way you have that makes him feel so unbelievably warm. It took so long for him to believe he might, just maybe, deserve that look.

“You’re doing the staring thing.” You murmur, sleepy and just a little bit slurred.

He can’t help it. His hand reaches up to cradle your cheek. He’s gentle. Careful. That distant part of him is still terrified that he might break you. He spent so long fighting, killing, causing pain. And you are just too precious to hurt.

You turn your face into his hand. Kiss his palm. But it’s what you whisper next that makes his heart ache.

“I love the way you look at me.”

He has to grit his teeth to keep tears from pricking at his eyes. He gives in, then, just a little, moving his hand from your face and wrapping it around you to pull you closer. He tucks you into his chest, and the feeling of your sigh - like you’re relieved by it - makes him hold you tighter.

“You and me.” He whispers into your hair, the words a quiet plea as he listens to your breathing, cherishing every moment he gets to hold you close to him again.

“You and me.” You whisper back.

He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

He doesn’t dream.

And, when he wakes, you’re gone again.

Previous Chapter

Taglist: @vicmc624, @saucysasha2035, @iyskgd, @intothesoul, @capswife, @otterlycanadian, @phoenix666stuff

[bucketsofmonsters]

A Matter of Time - Chapter 3

Timothy Timepice x Reader, Timmy x Reader

Slow burn, At least for one of them it’s a slow burn, Timmy doesn’t really do slow, Gender neutral reader, Afab reader, Anxiety, Enemies to lovers, Or I guess people who bicker a lot to lovers, Rating will change soon, Reader will be domming both of them so if you’re not down for that, don’t get too invested, eventual smut, insomnia

word count - 2k

Masterlist

You had seven alarms set. 

The first was at 11 a.m., an hour before your meeting. It was more to ensure you were awake than anything, if you were being completely honest. 

The next was at 11:30, half an hour before your meeting. That was when you really needed to start getting ready. 

After that, you had one at 11:35. Just in case you’d missed the one at 11:30. 

The alarm at 11:40 was your alert to stop whatever you were doing and make sure everything was in place. 

You did not remember what the 11:45 alarm was for, but you were relieved that you’d set it because sometime in the last five minutes, you had fallen asleep. 

11:50 was your alert to enter the room, staring down the cat clock with determination. The ticking of the seconds as it looked in either direction seemed like they might be taunting you. 

At 11:55, your alarm told you to assume the position, ready to move at exactly noon with not a second to spare. 

At 12:00, you heard your alarm blare the second a well-dressed cat boy appeared in front of you.

He looked quite pleased with you, and you knew right then and there that the objects knew what happened when they weren’t sentient. That was the face of a man who had just watched you prepare to summon him for 10 minutes while alarms blared in your ears. 

You whipped around as soon as he was there, turning off the alarm as quickly as you could. 

“I’m sorry I upset you,” you blurted out, and his face shifted from his quiet smugness to being a little nervous. “I really didn’t mean to. And it’s fine if you don’t want to show me your schedule. I won’t ask again.”

The idea that you’d hurt him, that one of these people you’d basically brought to life was now worse off for meeting you, had been eating you alive all night. You had gotten very little sleep during your designated sleeping time, despite your best efforts. 

“You’re doing much better with your schedule today,” he said, completely ignoring your words. 

Your apology would not be stopped so easily. 

“It’s just, I’m so curious about you guys. It wasn’t about your schedule, not really. So you don’t have to worry about that. Well, if you were worrying about that. But also, you can always tell me to fuck off. The last thing I want is for you to feel trapped, especially since you can’t really exist without me. Not that you’ve had any issue telling me to fuck off. Although you do it in a fancier way, obviously. Not to imply you don’t.”

“I have never told anyone to fuck off,” Timothy huffed. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “That really isn’t what I wanted you to get from that.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “And perhaps, an apology of that nature was not required of you. Regardless, even if it was, you really should apologize with more dignity.”

You bit back the urge to get snippy with him moments after apologizing. “Right.”

“I mean, really, did you practice at all? It was quite a mess.”

“Careful,” you warned him. “I can still take it back.”

His eyes narrowed. “You must stop taking things back like this, it is rather unbecoming.”

I didn’t take it back,” you clarified. “I just threatened to.”

“Oh, and that’s better then? Admitting to being a brute who runs around threatening innocent people?”

You shrugged. “I don’t think it’s exactly a particularly dangerous threat.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself," he said with a huff. “And it is serendipitous, I suppose. My intentions towards you were much the same.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, are you going to apologize to me?”

Timothy eyed you angrily. “I suppose I potentially overreacted yesterday. It was a rare display from you of interest in things of value and I should not have discouraged it so strongly.”

You couldn’t begrudge him for his bad attitude, especially after how you’d behaved immediately following your own apology. “Thank you.”

“You will note,” he added haughtily, “that my apology was clear, rehearsed, and precise, unlike the rambly mess you presented. Half marks! Now, have you come to appreciate the wonders of your schedule yet or are you still in the denial phase?”

You were unsure why you came to visit Timothy so often when he consistently drove you insane. Perhaps you had developed some sort of fast acting Stockholm Syndrome. 

“It has been very helpful,” you said, taking the jabs at your character with an unprecedented amount of grace. 

“Helpful? That’s all you have to say?”

“I don’t know, I liked not having to choose things to do for myself so I think I would like it less if I had to make my own, but certainly your schedule was good. It was very helpful, even. Is that enough?”

His tail swung rhythmically behind him and he looked quite pleased with himself. “So you did follow it then?”

“Yeah. Well, I did cancel the appointment before this to make sure that I was on time to meet with you.”

Timothy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you insinuating that my schedule did not account for your time well enough to allow you to attend all meetings promptly and in a timely manner?”

“I did almost nod off before, so it was really for the best.”

Timothy’s nose scrunched up. “I gave you a more than adequate window for sleep, you should not be nodding off.”

“Listen, I tried,” you insisted. “Sleep is just hard for me these days.”

Timothy’s brows raised and he gave you a knowing look. “Frankly, the better question seems to be what is not difficult for you.”

At this point, you could hardly remember why you’d decided to visit Timothy in the first place. 

“At least I don’t have a stick up my ass,” you muttered, intentionally loud enough for him to hear. 

He reeled back in shock. “Excuse me? How dare you?! You are a hooligan; a cur; a rowdy, despicable creature. I never should have even attempted to redeem you from your delinquency. You are beyond saving.”

You rubbed at your temples, none of this quite going to plan. Right now, you just wanted to get out of there. “Listen, I’ve been asking all the… object-people-whatevers if there’s anything they want to do or have. It didn’t seem fair that you’re all stuck here so I thought you could all tell me if there’s anything you wanted and I could go out and grab it. So if you’ll just do that, then I can get out of your hair. Or, out of your fur, I suppose.”

Timothy seemed incredibly suspicious of this offer. “Anything I want?”

“Within reason,” you quickly added, not wanting to bite off more than you could chew. “Like, I don’t know, do you want cat toys or something?”

Timothy looked at you like you’d lost your mind. “Cat toys?”

“Yeah,” you said, already feeling a little silly about the suggestion. “Cat toys, or whatever.”

“What exactly do you think I would do with cat toys?”

“I don’t know, play with them?”

Timothy turned his nose up at you haughtily. “I do not play.”

“Fine then,” you huffed. “Don’t ask for anything, I don’t care. I’m just offering it to everyone.”

“Right. Well, I think I will manage without cat toys, but if I may make a suggestion, you may want to invest in a calendar. But no, I do not require anything from you. Now, if there is nothing else you wished to discuss, I will bid you good day.”

You didn’t even manage a wave before he was gone. 

The next morning, you got him cat toys. 

You’d honestly only meant to get him a set of teacups as an olive branch (that you were sure would inevitably lead to another fight), but you hadn’t been able to resist the urge. 

Your next appointment from your schedule with Timothy was not today but tomorrow. You figured it was best to avoid angering him anymore than you already had, so for today you just continued on as planned.

You mainly did deliveries all day, giving everyone what they’d asked for. Their reactions ranged from grateful to seemingly still upset at you. You tried to remind yourself that when they reacted poorly, it wasn’t really about you. They were usually overwhelmed with or angry at the situation they’d been thrust into. 

Except, perhaps, for Timothy. You were fairly sure that snippiness was entirely about you. 

The next day was much the same. The days had begun to bleed together and, although you were loath to admit it, your schedule was the only thing keeping your head on straight. 

You’d translated most of it onto the brand new calendar on your wall, but the busy days quickly morphed into blank ones. Maybe you could ask Timothy to make you a new one when you saw him later. At noon, you reminded yourself.

Until then, you just continued your rounds. 

Your guilt and racing thoughts had begun to be eroded by waves of monotony as you slowly got used to your new routine. Regardless of why, it was getting easier, and that alone was a blessing. 

At 11 o’clock, you pulled out the tea cups, grabbed your calendar, and after a moment of deliberation, the cat toys, and set them on the counter. 

You had once again canceled anything you had the hour before seeing Timothy, set on not being late. You had an 11:45 alarm to make sure you were where you needed to be, but it proved to be unnecessary as you were already sitting in the room, ready to go, when it rang. 

You blinked heavily, the minutes passing incredibly slowly. You weren’t sure how they passed so very rapidly when you weren’t where you needed to be but when you were here, they inched by. 

You blinked heavily again. Why was the clock so blurry?

You blinked your eyes harder, trying to clear the fog from your vision. 

1:35

You’d fallen asleep. 

You jumped up, grabbing your glasses and summoning Timothy without a second thought. You had to do it as soon as you could, not give him any more late minutes to be furious at you about. 

As you locked eyes with him, his face grew panicked. 

“No,” he hissed. “You cannot be here.”

“Look, I know I’m late but I have gifts for you! Surely that must make up for it a little!”

“No. No, no, no,” he said, his voice growing increasingly insistent. “You need to leave now.”

Before you could respond, Timothy tensed up, his hair standing on end like a frightened cat before he collapsed to the floor. 

You rushed over to his side. By the time you reached him, he had begun convulsing. 

You desperately tried to remember what people had said you were meant to do when someone had a seizure. Were you supposed to put something in their mouth? Or maybe it was that you should never ever put something in their mouth. 

You pulled him towards you, laying his head in your lap as he twitched, trying to keep him from banging his head on anything. Could clocks get concussions? 

Then he went still, though to your relief you could still feel his breaths coming, slow and steady. 

His eyes opened slowly, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen it. 

He grinned lazily up at you and softly said “nya” before nuzzling further into your lap. 

Well shit. Maybe he had hit his head before you got to him. 

You pulled back and he sat up with a pout, turning to face you with his nose scrunched up. “Why did you kick Timmy off? Timmy was comfy.”

Timmy?

“Timothy?” you asked tentatively. “Are you feeling alright?”

“No!” he protested. “Not Timothy, don’t mistake Timmy for that stuffy old cat.”

“Are you… not Timothy?” you asked, feeling like you might be feeding into something bad. Surely this, whatever this was, wasn't healthy. How did you test someone for a concussion? 

“Oh,” Timmy said, his face falling. “Timmy did not mean to snap at master. No wonder master knocked Timmy off their lap, Timmy is a bad kitty.”

Master? Bad kitty? You managed to respond with an awkward, “Uhhhhhh, it’s fine.” It felt wrong that Timothy was seemingly not there to make fun of you for it. 

He perked up instantly. “Master is not mad at Timmy? Does that mean Timmy gets presents? Timmy heard master say they brought presents.”

“Um, yeah. They’re just… they’re right there,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the table. 

Timmy sprung up instantly while you stayed on the floor, shocked.

The calendar was dumped on the floor instantly, the teacups being picked up instead to be investigated. 

Timmy made a displeased little noise, setting them back on the table with a huff. “Tea is yucky. Timothy doesn’t even like it, he just pretends. Timmy doesn’t see the point.”

“Right. You just- or, Timothy said he wanted nicer cups,” you tried to explain. 

“Timothy will not like them because Timothy hates everything. This is our present?”

You shrugged. “There’s cat toys on the table.”

Timmy’s eyes lit up instantly, gaze flicking to the aforementioned toys. One clearly caught his interest as he was now lurching across the table to swat at the small, shiny, crinkly ball that you had gotten as a joke. He batted it to the floor and then dove for it again, capturing it before throwing it away again with a giggle. 

You began to come back to yourself as you watched him play. “Sorry, who are you?”

Timmy looked over at you for half a second before deciding you were still less interesting than the crinkly ball was. “I’m Timmy! Timmy has a condition. Half the time, stuffy old Timothy is out and he obsesses on his schedules and his timeliness and half the time Timmy is out!”

Suddenly everything started to make a lot of sense. “That’s why Timothy was so averse to letting me see his schedule! He was trying to hide you from me.”

He batted the toy at you and you smacked it away, watching as he then chased it in delight. “Yes! You are so smart, master.”

“Sorry, why do you keep calling me that?”

“It is what you are,” he said. “You bought Timmy from that awful store with the used things and now you own our clock.”

“Yeah, alright,” you said tentatively. “Well, this has been a lot. When does Timothy come back?”

Timmy shrugged. “You have to check his schedule. I don’t worry about that sort of thing. But you shouldn’t worry about him anymore, you should come visit me! Timmy is much more fun,” his words were soft and playful but there was something almost sharp in his gaze when he glanced over at you. 

“Right.” you said. “And how do I know when you’ll be… you?”

“Just come when Timothy says not to and I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting eagerly, master.”

“You really don’t need to call me that,” you insisted. 

“Okay, master. Timmy is tired, goodnight.”

[gothghostiie]

Hiiiiiiiii

Woop I know you don’t always answer asks and I’ve sent several other ones but can I please have soap content?

It can be literally anything I just need a speck of thing please it can be like one sentence if you so wish I don’t care I’m just absolutely feral for him and I need something

PLEASE

-📺

Im normal :3

I apologise beloved, I have not been feeling very creative/motivated lately, even tho I really want to write 😭 you're getting something from my wips that I thought of a few weeks ago

cw: reader is unsure but ends up enjoying it, fingering, oral (reader receiving), spit as lube, praise, gn!reader (some mention of genitalia but I always mention both), abrupt ending

Nurse!Soap who works in a big hospital. he's beloved by all his colleagues, from cleaning staff to the doctors, they know and love him. and how could they not? He's a kind man, always in a good mood, accommodating to the point people think he can read minds, and he just does good work in general. the patients love him too, he's a pro at cheering up kids and the elderly people absolutely adore his charm, he's made more than one heart monitor beep a little faster with his cheeky grin.

so when you get into the hospital, naturally, he's assigned to your room. lucky for Johnny you, it's a single room (for now, the empty bed on the other side does make you feel a bit uneasy in all honesty), giving you some well needed peace and privacy to rest properly. if it wasn't for Johnny. Johnny has decided to take his job a bit too serious with you, checking in on you whenever he can, making sure you have everything you need. he's a sweetheart and you truly like him, if not for his caring personality then for his good looks, at least you've got something to look at during all the boredom. you're truly starting to wish you'd be getting a roommate, but the bed stays empty. soap even offers to push the beds together to give you a bit more room, but you just laughed and shook your head, ignoring the split second of disappointment on his face, thinking you've just imagined that.

it's a quiet night on the ward, yet you're lying awake at 2am, unable to sleep. you just switch between staring out of the window and at the ceiling, trying to figure out which will make you go insane slower, when the door pushes open slowly. in the dim light you see a mohawk poke inside, soap raises his eyebrows in surprise when he sees you looking back at him. "hey.. what are you doin' up so late?" his tone is gentle and a little teasing, hes giving you a toothy grin as he walks inside and closes the door behind him, you miss that he locks it quietly.

you smile at him with a sigh, telling him you cant sleep and you dont know why, youre tired enough for it after all. he walks closer and sits down on the side of your bed, placing a hand atop of the blanket, feeling for your thigh and 'accidentally' putting it far too close to your crotch. he frowns at you with pity, cooing something along the lines of "poor thing" while his hand inches a bit higher. "you know," he starts, "I could give you something to help you relax a bit." he offers, his tone low, like he's not supposed to say that.

you shake your head, you don't wanna take any more meds than you already do, you don't quite love taking the amount of pills you already do, and you could really stand to miss out on any injection, no matter how gentle soap is with them. but when you tell him that, he chuckles quietly and scoots closer. "I'm not gonna give you any more meds, love. gonna do something real nice for my favourite patient, alright?" you hesitate, eyeing him over once, his blue eyes have a twinkle that you can't quite read to them. before you can answer him he pulls back the blanket, exposing your pyjamas. you look at him startled, he smiles. "don't worry. Just lie back and let me take care of you, yea? that's my job after all."

you don't know why, but you listen to him. you lie back, your hands gripping the flimsy bedding a bit too tight, your hands getting damp. Johnny just smiles down at you while pulling your pyjama pants down to your knees along with your underwear, exposing you to the cold air, making your eyes widen. "johnny-"

"shh, it's alright, I promise. I'll be gentle." he winks at you, running a gentle hand over your cock/pussy. "look at that.. youre ready for me, aren't you?" he watches you twitch, smiling wider. "yea, you are." he starts touching you gently, getting you hard/wet, cooing praises at you. your mouth hangs open as you watch him, not even noticing that his free hand wanders, only realising when he's slipping his fingers into your mouth. he just grins at you. "get them nice and wet, alright? that's all you gotta do for me." he holds eye contact, giving a small, encouraging nod, smirking when he feels your tongue run over and between his calloused fingers, covering them in your saliva. he smiles as he pulls them out, watching it string between them. "good job.." he coos, shifting around to reach down, and press two slicked up fingers agaisnt your tight hole.

you gasp, tensing up, but he just chuckles quietly. "shh, it's alright. Just take a deep breath, and.." he pushes them inside, stretching you open slightly, grinning at the whine coming from your throat. "there we go.." he merely gives you a moment to adjust before he starts curling them inside you. soft moans spill from your lips, you immediately try to hold them back, not wanting anyone to hear through the paper thin walls of the hospital. one of your hands finally releases its death grip on the sheets to cover your mouth - soap immediately frowns. "nono, let me hear you. come on." he tries to coax you, gently placing the hand that was playing with your nub/cock before on your wrist, giving it a gentle tug, but you don't give way. his frown deepens, then he sighs. "You really that ashamed of your pretty little noises?" his fingers push deeper, moving faster. "ashamed someone will hear how well I take care of you?" soap tuts at you, rubbing his thumb over your wrist gently. "guess I'll just have to make sure you're louder."

with that he lets go of your wrist and dips his head down, placing a kiss on your clit/tip before wrapping his lips around it and suckling softly. your eyes widen and your hand presses down harder on your own lips, inhaling sharply through your nose. he smirks, humming approvingly before letting his tongue swirl around it, your hips twitching again. it's getting harder and harder to hold your whines back, your hands starting to hurt from how hard you're holding on, how are you're trying to shut yourself up, but johnny doesn't let up. not now that he has you right where he wanted you since you first got here a few weeks ago, not now that he can feel just how sensitive and desperate you are after not having touched yourself the whole time (he just knows you haven't, you're far too scared of someone (him) coming in and catching you in the act), not now that he can feel you clench around his fingers, not now that he knows how good you taste on his tongue. he'll only stop once he's made sure you've come undone, once he made sure you're tuckered out and ready to sleep, he's a good nurse after all.

[chococara25]

The Long Shadow of Action

Actions has consequences. What if Eddie didn’t just kick Buck out of his house, he also removed his guardianship over Christopher because how can he trust someone who let Bobby die to protect his son? (He doesn't realized how his actions would have long term consequences to everyone involved.)

WIP to this idea

Buck was at the HQ trying to cancel his transfer request with the HR department when one of the secretaries told him that Chief Simpson requested a meeting with him. Was he in trouble? Was this about leading the military on a wild goose chase using stolen government and municipal properties?

Buck frantically tries to figure out a way to absolve everyone in that incident (Tommy doesn’t deserve a suspension just because Buck begged him for help) when Chief Simpson finally spoke, slapping down a thick pile of files in front of them.

“These are the offers I got just this week from over half the captains in the district, all fighting to have the first pick on you. I know for a fact that with your current certifications, you are overqualified to be in 118, especially without having a proper partner.”

Buck, floored by the files, could only listen as Chief Simpson continued. “And with your success training firefighter Panikkar with your high standard, even the Academy had approached with an offer for you to train future heavy rescue operators. Even the fire marshal department had made an offer after your short stint with them, where your analytical approach in enforcing safety standards puts you down as one of our best fire marshals. The point is, firefighter Buckley, you have the potential to rise high, and I hope you will take the chance to do it.”

“I don’t know what to say, Sir. Surely my record with the LAFD… I sued LAFD once!”

“Firefighter Buckley, I think we all can agree you have just cause for that lawsuit. And the fact that you turned down the settlement offer and only requested to be allowed back to work with LAFD speaks well of your dedication to the calling. And the achievements you've garnered throughout the years only show how valuable an asset you are for LAFD.”

Noticing Buck’s indecisive looks, his voice gentled. “I think Captain Nash would agree with me, we were in talks before he passed away, on the possibility of you being trained to be a captain. He was thinking about retiring in a few years and hoped that you would be his replacement.”

“Bo - Captain Nash did?” Buck blinks, not sure what to say. “Erm, can I-can I think about it? And get back to you in a few days?”

The Chief nods. “Of course. I truly hope you give this serious consideration, firefighter Buckley. This is a good opportunity for you.”

Buck needed space and some time to think about the offers.

And yet, coming home to Eddie packing up his things haphazardly into boxes was the last thing he expected to see.

“What are you doing?” Buck froze by the front door, staring in increasing horror as he took in the stacks of boxes waiting for him in the hallway.

“Hey, Buck!” Eddie still struggled to wrestle one of the boxes, not noticing Buck’s furious look. “Chris and I are moving back to LA, so I’m gonna need my house back by this Friday because our stuff will be here by then.”

“But I’m subletting,” Buck said. “Where am I supposed to go?” Buck tried to hold onto his temper. This is his house now; he has a contract and everything.

“You’ll figure it out.” Eddie waved his hand vaguely. “You can sleep on the couch if you need it.”

Read more on AO3

Tagging: @jamieroyjamieroy @verschlimmbesserung @readingshadowstothemoon @thecarrott @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @911coded @fenrirscarsback @rcmclachlan @rinsfanfics01 @peppermintquartz @bidisasterevankinard @ladyeyrewrites

[studio-dreamie]

NOT YOU TOO - z.chenle

zhong chenle x fem!reader | love island au genre: angst, sexual content , wc: 2.1k author's note: based on love island usa s6 ep 20-22 and the iconic edit bc i keep going back it since this new season sucks :/

you wake up feeling lighter than before. for the first time throughout your whole time at the villa, there was no bright light to forcibly wake you, instead, you got to sleep in. one of the many beautiful things of the hideaway. you turn over, expecting to see your partner, only to be greeted with a cold, empty spot.

a puzzled expression graces your face. you instantly get out of bed, comforter still covering your naked body, wary of the cameras that watch you every second of every day. walking past the game dice with raunchy positions, lingerie, and handcuffs scattered along the floor. you reach the chair that was supposed to have both of your morning clothes, only to find yours.

as you change, you hear a knock on the door. instantly thinking it’s your partner, you respond "chenle?". only for the door to be open by one of your cast mates and closest friends in the villa: giselle. “y/n, you need to come outside” she said in a rushed tone. “oh, okay!” you respond, even more confused than when you woke up. you put your mic on and head outside, following giselle closely.

you walk out, expecting cheers, only to hear silence. you follow her towards the firepit only to see your lovely host, ariana madix. “fuck” you internally curse. “hi y/n, thank you giselle” ariana said. “hi ariana” you responded shyly.

“well ladies, how are you feeling” she asks trying to lighten the tense mood. “scared” you instantly answer, and the other girls nod and agree. “we never know what to expect when you come here!” daisy, a short blonde-haired walking ball of sunshine, stated. ariana lightly smiled at these remarks. “well you might not like what I have to say, girls”, the smile now slowly turned upside down. “ladies, as you can see, the boys are missing from the villa. the reason they are not here is because the boys have gone on a mini break….to casa amor” she said. “no!!!” a few of the girls exclaimed, groans from all sides of the firepit, including yours.

“but, the boys were given a choice. they could either stay in the villa with their current couple or go to casa amor.”, your hopes raised up a little. he wouldn’t leave you after last night, would he?

as she went down the firepit, she told each girl what their counterpart decided. once she reached down to y/n who was all the way at the right end side, your hope of seeing chenle had diminished. “y/n” ariana called, “yes” you responded with a small smile. “chenle has decided to go to casa amor” she said with a small amount of pity on her voice. everyone looks over in sadness. “of course he did”, that was all you could say.

“but, don’t worry, the boys are not going to be the only ones having fun— 6 new boys are headed to the villa as we speak!!” our beautiful host said, instantly changing the mood from gloom to excitement. a sentence that caused an uproar from the girls, and you also clapped. but, in your heart, you knew there was no one else.

the girls were in the glam room, preparing themselves for the new boys to come. as they’re doing their make up, they couldn’t help but discuss the situation at hand; all of your couples decided to leave and test their connection. you listen in, putting your two cents when needed, until ningning asked “y/n, how about you?”

“i am feeling insane too” you said with a heavy sigh. “like for us to do that intimate shit, for him to make me wake up by myself the next morning, and if he were to come in with another girl in three days, god i couldn’t bear it”, you continued. “you don’t know if he’s going to come back with someone, y/n” somi says reassuringly. “yeah you guys are literally one of the strongest couples in the villa” daisy said. the other girls noise in agreement. "i don’t know, guys, i’m just so scared”.

at that exact moment, a manly voice yells from outside “hellloooo”. all of the girls' eyes widen as they head to the balcony, only to find 6 handsome boys looking up at us. some of the girls scream, others jump up and down, you just smile.

the girls go downstairs and introduce themselves. “hi i’m y/n” you say to all, hugging some, handshaking the others. you went in for a handshake for the last man, only for him to take your hand and give it a soft kiss. “i know who you are, my name is george,” he says. the girls saw this and began cheering.

the day went on, conversations prolonged, everyone was getting to know each other a little better. until a text notification was heard, and the whole villa froze in silence. “i got a text!!” daisy screamed excitedly. “girls, you will be going head to head with casa amor in raunchy races. #getdownanddirty #dontholdback” she read. the boys cheered as the girls went straight to the fire pit in a good mood as well. one of the boys, juyeon, walked to the front and gave a pep talk, “i want yall to get freaky, i want yall to get nasty, we are not about to lose this challenge” hyping everyone up and letting his competitive side show.

texts such as “kiss the islander your interested in, kiss the islander you think is the most attractive, from the same area, etc” were asked. the girls followed their sentiment and gave it their all. however, casa was still in the lead. “kiss the shortest islander” george read, he scrambled to find the shortest until you stood up and said “me!”. he smirked immediately pinned you down to the floor and hungrily started kissing you. you didn’t expect such a reaction but can’t do anything except reciprocate. george took your legs and hooked them above his shoulders to thrust on you, which caused even more cheers and sounds of surprise from the other islanders in the villa.

you were finally able to pull away. you smiled at george and looked at the other girls in surprise. you looked over to giselle and ningning and mouthed “what the fuck just happened?”. they both shrugged and giggled in response. ningning got the text this time, stating casa amor got the point. “what the hell?” “no way.” “what are they doing over there to beat that?” “who even is the shortest boy over there?” somebody asked, you answered “chenle”.

ningning took your hand in hers and rubbed her thumb up and down. the challenge continued, a few more make out sessions were shared, a lot of laughter and cheers. at the end of the night, the girls went back to the glam room to take their makeup off. you and giselle took your pillows and blankets from the air conditioned room to the bed in soul ties. they didn't pay much mind to the mosquitoes as the itch they give does not compare to how wrong it would feel to share a bed with another man.

y/n confessional "i miss chenle so much oh my god.” your eyes start tearing, “this is so embarassing, i'm not a girl who cries over guys all the time, i swear i'm not. but god, i just can't help it." you start sniffling, "i haven't felt this way in so long, someone that makes me feel comfortable and loved. it's such a foreign feeling for me, but he made it feel normal....if he comes back with another girl, i might go batshit crazy"

within the past few days, you realized how nice and caring the six new boys are. but none of them were chenle. they would make you breakfast and a coffee every morning. but chenle knew that you didn't drink coffee and would always make you a smoothie instead. the boys would wait for you downstairs and shower you with compliments. but chenle would wait for me while staring in awe. once I came down the steps, every night he would take my hand, twirl me around just to see the full outfit.

you shared your drinks, still a bit tired from the challenge earlier today, which the villa did win! giselle, ninging and y/n were casually conversing with one another mainly talking about the new connection between ningning and one of the casa guys named wonbin. the conversation got interrupted once they heard dani scream, "I got a text!!!". all three looked at each other shocked and with excitement before heading to where dani was.

"girls, congratulations for being the winner's of today's challenge, here's your prize!" dani exclaimed, as three more text notifications went off. three videos. all the girls huddled around the phone and clicked on the first video. water hitting the tiles of the shower floor and there was somi's partner, mingyu showering with another girl. he goes in for a peck as they continue to shower together. somi couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly, “there’s no way..” she said with a dead tone.

dani clicked on the second video, but this time it was about yangyang, the guy giselle was coupled up with. he was sitting on a bench with a girl on his lap lying on his chest. he continues to touch her shoulders, as he begins speaking in german. she responds back and the camera begins to pan off somewhere. the only thing being heard is the smacking of lips and heavy breathing. you looked over to giselle and you could tell she was seething in anger. "this bitch, that motherfuckin bitch," she said as she walks off. you were about to follow her until you hear dani say, "wait, y/n" giving you an unreadable look. you look at her with furrowed brows until you understand, there's one more video left.

she presses play and you see the face you have been longing for the past few days sitting on a beanbag with a girl right next to him. “nah i can’t do that to y/n” he started, “it’s casa amor.. how will you know what you have is strong if you don’t test it out” the girl said seductively, tilting her head while biting her lip a little bit. chenle couldn’t help but have a smug smirk on his face, “you’re a dangerous one you know that,” he said. “do you like them dangerous” she asked slightly swinging to bring attention to her breasts, “maybe” chenle responded, “do you want to kiss me” she asked straightforwardly. “maybe” he said before leaning towards her bean bag. she lean towards him as well until their lips meet in a battle of dominance.

after ten seconds, the girl decides to straddle chenles lap and continue kissing him, biting his lip, and shoving her tongue down chenles throat(which he gladly accepts), all while slightly grinding on him. you can hear cheers from the other boys and girls in the background. their lips parted away, however their bodies stayed in that position. chenles hands were at her hips, playing with the string of her bikini bottom. “fuck” he said looking at the string, “what” she responded while giggling. “that was good, like really good, like i want to do more really good,” chenle said in a daze, only looking at the fiddling string. she couldn’t help but smirk at this answer and respond “well let’s share a bed tonight and do even more”. the screen paused, the video ended.

complete utter silence. no one had anything to say. not even y/n. she was too sick to her stomach to bare any type of words. "y/n, oh my god" dani said looking over in pity. you looked at dani for a split second before you walked away going straight to giselle and ningning. giselle's cursing could be heard from the other side of the island, while ningning was sitting down looking at her friend pace back and forth. they both looked towards the clacking heels that were walking towards them and saw you approaching with red teary eyes. "what happened??" ningning asked. you started to sob, barely being able to breathe and talk properly. "baby, what happened" giselle said calmy. you started take deep and slow breaths which helped articulate your words. "the third video was chenle" you croaked before going back to crying. y/n's friends look towards each other in shock. the three girls hug each other, two of them seeking comfort for their bruised heart.

y/n confessional "what is wrong with me? it's like the moment i have sex with a guy, they get tired of me. like i hate it. it feels like that's all im good for." you say using your hand to wipe your nose, "and chenle knows this too, i told him! i told him everything, all of my insecurities, and he still decided to do this."

_____________________________________________

part two coming soon!!

[yukioos]

hiii I love your work so much I’ve been literally scrolling through the blog hehe anyways I was wondering if you could do more of keigo and todoroki reader and how they go on a date and endeavor catches them i literally love how you write i honestly don’t know how to explain it but your amazing😭❤️

your father, enji todoroki, catches you and keigo on a date (pt 2 of this)

after hawks left your residence after giving you his phone number, you panicked for around half an hour, ranting to natsuo about the situation. he didn’t help in the slightest besides telling you to text him. so after thirty minutes, you finally did.

the days passed quickly, and suddenly it was 5:30pm on wednesday. the wednesday when you’re supposed to be going out, on what you would call a date, with the number two hero hawks.

and once you’re done with your outfit, you of course, are buzzing with excitement, and natsuo can tell. he’s raising his eyebrow suspiciously, silently asking, ‘what are you up to?’

but you blush and whisper, “i’m going on a date with keigo!”

his eyes widen and he gasps, “huh? when did you two decide on this, y/n? if endeavor finds out, he’s gonna kick both of your asses!”

“whatever,” you playfully roll your eyes, still grinning, but he asks, “do i look good though? do you think he’ll like my outfit?”

he scoffs, “he will, without a doubt. after all, you saw how he was looking at you when he came over.”

your phone buzzes, and it’s a text from keigo saying, ‘i’m outside, but you can keep getting ready for another fifteen minutes or so. feel like we should be five minutes early, the restaurant isn’t too far away.’

you squeal and jump, and natsuo knows you’re ready by how excited you are. he escorts you to the door, and before you leave to see keigo, you self-consciously ask, “wait, does my hair look okay?” playing and messing around with it a bit.

natsuo rolls his eyes and grumbles, “shut up,” then pauses, “you look great. if he does something weird, call me and i’ll pick you up.”

you nod and walk out of the house, finding keigo sitting in his car, anxiously gripping the wheel. once he sees you, dressed up in all of your beauty, he thinks he sees an angel, but he shivers at how natsuo is glaring at him from the doorway. keigo gives him a wave, but natsuo stills.

what an awkward guy.

but when keigo jumps back into reality, you’re walking toward the passenger seat, and he runs out of his way to open the car door for you.

he observes you up and down, “you look beautiful.”

he smiles at you, though not the type of smile he gives your father, not the one he gave to your brother. this one’s different, though you can’t tell how. maybe it’s more genuine?

but your cheeks flush, and you murmur a soft, “thank you, keigo,” and he grins. his name sounds good coming from your mouth.

the drive is faster than you expect, and you hardly have time to talk. when the two of you arrive at the restaurant, he guides you in with a large, warm hand on your back, and he opens up the tall door, gesturing for you to enter first. it seems he’s not a gentleman just for show, then.

and when you’ve hardly waited even a few minutes, you’re seated quickly, and have a great view of the city. you’re high up, on one of the top floors, staring at some of the skyscrapers, and watching how people walk around in the city, how people live their daily lives.

and keigo notices all of this, how you stare at people below, and quietly observing waiters and customers on dates in the restaurant. it seems like you’re a people watcher like him.

he states the obvious, “you’re a people watcher.”

“huh?” you’re snapped out of your thoughts, coming to reality where keigo sits across from you.

“you’re a people watcher,” he repeats, “i’m one too, though not all heroes are, but since i’m up in the sky most of the time, it just so happens to be a pastime of mine.” he hopes he’s not being too awkward, that he’s instead trying to make conversation with the woman he was losing sleep over.

“it’s clear that your whole hawks act is fake,” you say, staring into his widened eyes, “but you get the hero work done, you’re a show off, you flirt with like, every girl you see,” you pause, laying your cheek on your fist, “but you’re a gentleman, and i don’t think that part’s fake. i want to see what you’re like beneath all that fake stuff.”

silence fills your table, and for a minute, you think you’ve gone too far, maybe you are too honest.

but keigo widely grins, “you’re blunt.”

“is that a bad thing?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and giving him your own teasing smile.

“no, but don’t expect to know everything about me in one night,” he apologetically says, eyebrows furrowing together.

“i know,” you nod.

heavy footsteps stomp onto the floor, and for a second, you think maybe a villain has infiltrated the building, but it’s a familiar sound, a familiar vibration on the ground. keigo’s eyes are slightly widened in surprise before he stares at you with a hopeless look in his eyes.

and you hear the voice you’ve dreaded hearing your entire life, “what is happening?”

you slowly turn your head, and it’s your father, fuming, with smoke coming off his body. he’s too warm, burning, and you’ve already begun to disgustingly sweat. this is exactly what you’ve wanted to avoid.

“so? are either of you going to answer me?” he asks, crossing his arms intimidatingly.

“we’re both adults, endeavor. you have no business being here.” you snap.

for a moment, enji doesn’t retaliate. he stays still, glares down at you, and it’s like the stare he would give shoto if he messed up during training when he was younger. but enji can’t make a huge difference here. he can’t make you leave while you’re in public.

keigo taps his fingers on his thigh, watching the stare down between you and your father before endeavor’s eyes shift to him.

keigo tries with all of his might not to look intimidated, to stare back at him with the same cold-hearted look in his eyes. but he can’t bring himself to do it. he knows endeavor won’t do much. he can’t make either of you leave, the most endeavor can do is interrogate keigo if they cross paths at work tomorrow.

but endeavor’s furious about this whole situation. the hero that’s directly under him, hawks, is on a date with his daughter who clearly hates his guts. he doubts hawks would ever lay a finger on you, would probably rather protect you, but he’s an annoying little shit. what would happen if you began talking about your childhood, what endeavor did to your siblings? it would be terrible publicity, and he would lose his job.

he can’t focus on just himself.

so he gives both of you a glance before he mumbles, “daughter,” then pauses, glaring at keigo’s eyes, “hawks.” he huffs and stomps away with his fists at his side, trampling around like a toddler having a tantrum.

you finally let out the laugh you’ve been holding in, and it’s the first time you’ve laughed in a while near the presence of your father. you tilt your head back and put your hand on your stomach, it’s already hurting.

your giggles fill the space and keigo smiles, starting to giggle as well. your laugh is easily contagious, and he wishes he’d heard it sooner.

“we’re so screwed,” you bellow, hunching over and laughing so hard your head hurts, and tears are springing in your eyes. endeavor looked so mad, and you know you’ll remember this forever.

hours pass by, and now, the restaurant is almost closing, your plates are cleared, your stomachs are full and warm, and you’ve learned much about keigo, though you know he isn’t fully trusting you yet, not ready to let you in.

his wings flutter softly when he enjoys food, sometimes he even lets out a soft moan and nod of pleasure. his wings shed a ton, though he tried not to move his wings around too much, not wanting the waiters to have to clean up after his mess. he has a cute little frog blink, though hardly noticeable to those who don’t pay attention. he bird watches, though that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. he knows every bird easily by their calls, and can mimic them well. he pointed out a few flying in the sky during your dinner, which easily impressed you.

but keigo’s somewhat sad to take you back home. he doesn’t want to leave you, he doesn’t want you to leave him yet. you already know much about him, you’re observant. he didn’t fully expect you to be like that, so blunt and honest, though not completely rude.

and once he’s back at your house, standing at your doorway with you, his eyes are saddened, and there’s a small pout on his face, hardly visible because of the darkness.

he states, “that was my first date.”

your eyes widen in disbelief, and you give him a suspicious glance, slowly backing away, “there’s no way,” you pause, “you know how to get your way with women, i don’t believe you.”

he chuckles, nervously scratching the back of his neck, “no, really,” his wings flutter, “you’re the first woman i’ve been on a date with, and i enjoyed it, a lot. i hope you did too.”

“of course i enjoyed it, are you kidding?” you bellow, “is it too early to be asking to go on a second date? you’re probably busy though, should see your schedule first.”

he disappointedly sighs, “i’m not sure when i’ll be free again, but i promise i’ll keep you updated.”

“thank you, keigo,” you grin, and he pats your head, rubbing your hair comfortingly.

he apologizes, “sorry, i have a mission to go to in a few hours, but i’ll check up on you occasionally, alright?”

your eyes widen. a mission in just a few hours? why the hell would he go on a date with you if he had to do something important in less than a day?”

“alright, keigo,” you wave to him as he walks back to his car. his wings flutter out, when you say his name, making a large, beautiful display.

“bye, y/n! i’ll see you soon! hope you don’t get too scolded by your dad!” he smiles big, right wing waving out the window at you.

you roll your eyes and scoff, “same goes for you!” you wave back to him and watch him pull out of the driveway.

when he arrives at his apartment, he passes out, limbs sprawled on the bed after he changes into sweatpants. though, you’re the last thing on his mind before he falls asleep.

and as soon as you open the door, you’re tiptoeing through the hallways, trying your best to avoid confrontation with endeavor. natsuo is asking you intricate and long questions, questioning you about keigo himself and also how your date was. unfortunately, before you’re able to answer a lot of them, you’re drooling on your pillow, not even changed out of your clothes before you were knocked out.

i’m so sorry it took me so long to write this!! i hope you enjoy. i really like natsuo so i decided him n reader are defo gonna be close especially after the whole touya incident

so glad you love my writing though, and i’ll be working on a satoru post as well!!

[universchae]

Jo Yuri x reader where reader surprises her on set while she’s filming squid games

the one i wait for

― JO YURI X READER

established relationship, soft domestic vibes, fluff, comfort, flirting, little bit of angst

Yuri always texted you late—

Hours after wrap, when the rest of the cast was asleep or partying.

You'd get a picture: her in full costume, tired eyes, a peace sign that always leaned a little left.

"Miss you. I’ll call if I don’t pass out."

She rarely called. She was always too exhausted.

So when the production team whispered about “VIP guest access,” and you remembered how she hadn’t seen anyone she loved in weeks—

You booked the flight.

---

You stood on the edge of the soundstage, hidden behind the equipment trucks. The sound of a scene playing out echoed across the concrete—grunts, shouting, bodies dropping on sand.

She was in character. So different from the soft-spoken girl who used to cry during sad dramas with her head on your chest. Now she looked like she could kill a man with her stare.

But then…

She caught you.

Eyes mid-scene, adrenaline high—

And they flickered. Widened. Froze.

---

The director shouted “Cut!”

And Yuri was running.

Helmet off. Jacket flying.

Straight into your arms.

“You—what—what are you doing here?!” she half-laughed, already crying.

“You were supposed to be working!”

You pulled her closer. “Work can wait. You can’t.”

She buried her face in your neck, trembling from relief.

“God, I missed you,” she whispered.

“Don’t disappear when I wake up, okay?”

You kissed her temple.

“Not going anywhere.”

---

She didn’t let go of your hand.

Not while the crew clapped her on the back.

Not while a wardrobe assistant asked for her boots.

Not even when her manager gave her a look like, “We’ll talk about this later.”

You followed her through the maze of trailers until she tugged you into her own—door slamming shut behind you like it couldn’t close fast enough.

Then silence.

Just the two of you. Finally.

The inside was tiny: half-made bed, water bottles, a script marked up with neon tabs, and her scent lingering everywhere—soap, hairspray, something sugary and worn-in that always clung to her hoodies.

“I still don’t believe it,” she whispered, standing just inches away now.

“I thought maybe I was hallucinating. Or sleep-deprived.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along her jaw.

“Nope. Very real. Very here. And very in love with you.”

That did it.

Her arms wrapped around you with such forceful tenderness, you nearly stumbled back. She didn’t cry this time, but you felt the tension in her shoulders—tight, heavy, like she’d been holding it in for days.

“Everything’s been so intense,” she murmured against your chest.

“All these long nights, and I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Couldn’t tell anyone how lonely it felt, even with so many people around.”

You kissed the crown of her head.

“I’m here now. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

She looked up, eyes shining—but softer now. Safe.

---

You ended up curled together on the small trailer couch, her head in your lap, script forgotten at her feet.

Your fingers played with the ends of her hair while she talked—about the latest scene, about co-stars she liked, about a stunt that almost made her vomit from nerves.

“But I kept thinking,” she said quietly, “what would you say if I messed up? And the answer was just… you’d still be proud. That helped.”

Your heart ached.

You bent down to kiss her.

Slow. Deep. Like you could pour reassurance through your mouth.

“Always proud. Always yours.”

She sighed against your lips. “Stay tonight?”

“Try and make me leave.”

---

The next morning, she left you sleeping in her trailer.

But not before pulling the blanket up to your chin, brushing her lips against your forehead, and whispering,

“Don’t open the door for anyone but me. I’ll bring snacks.”

You pretended to still be asleep. Just so you could hear her say I love you like it was a secret too precious for daylight.

---

Later, you wandered near the set, dressed lowkey enough not to raise alarms—but your VIP tag hung just under your hoodie, courtesy of her manager, who had sighed deeply and said:

“If she doesn’t see you today, she’ll drive us all insane.”

The scene was tense. They were filming one of the more violent moments. Fake blood. Sand. Screaming.

And then there was Yuri, crouched low with a prop weapon, eyes fierce, adrenaline buzzing in her bones.

She didn’t spot you at first.

But the second “Cut!” echoed—

Her head snapped toward you like she felt you there.

---

She jogged over, grinning so hard her cheeks flushed. “You came again.”

“Miss me already?” you teased.

She looked around. Crew busy. Cameras pointed elsewhere.

And she kissed you.

Quick. Messy. Absolutely not approved.

“Every second you’re gone,” she whispered.

---

Between takes, she stole glances.

During breaks, she made excuses to walk past where you stood.

Once, while fixing her costume, she muttered:

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I will drag you behind the props tent.”

You grinned. “You won’t. You’re professional.”

“I’m dangerously in love and full of caffeine. Don’t test me.”

---

At one point, she motioned you over under the guise of “helping her fix a strap.”

Instead:

She pulled you behind a set wall, out of sight.

Trapped you between stacked crates and whispered against your lips:

“Just a few seconds. Please.”

The kiss was slower this time. Hungrier.

When she finally pulled back, breath shaky, she murmured,

“You feel like home.”

You cupped her cheek, thumb brushing a smudge of makeup from her jaw. “Then let me stay a little longer.”

---

The final scene wrapped at 2:43 a.m.

Confetti cannons. Cast group hugs. Staff clapping, yelling, hugging.

Someone brought out a cake that said “Game Over – Thank You!” in pink icing.

But Yuri?

She looked like she couldn’t breathe.

Not from sadness. Not even joy.

Just from the need to find you.

---

You were waiting near her trailer, bundled in her coat, sitting on the steps with a half-eaten granola bar and a nervous flutter in your chest. You stood as soon as you saw her approaching—still in costume, still streaked with fake blood and sweat.

Her eyes locked with yours like she’d crossed oceans.

“It’s done,” she whispered, a little stunned.

And then she just fell into you.

Arms around your waist. Forehead against your shoulder. A long, shaky breath that sounded almost like a sob.

“It’s done. I can finally go home.”

You held her tighter.

“You are home.”

---

She didn’t want to go to the wrap party.

Didn’t want to do interviews. Didn’t want to post online.

Just wanted to disappear with you.

So you did.

---

In your hotel room, she stood under the shower too long—letting the warmth soak her bones, letting the exhaustion hit. And when she came out in your old hoodie, towel-drying her hair, you were already in bed with arms open.

She crawled in without a word.

Laid her head on your chest.

And exhaled.

“I was so scared I’d forget how this felt.”

“What?”

“Peace. You.”

---

You stroked her hair gently, letting silence settle.

She broke it with a whisper:

“Will you still love me now that I’m not strong and cool and perfect?”

You blinked. “Yuri… I love you when you’re tired. When you’re messy. When you cry during nature documentaries and eat cereal with chopsticks.”

She laughed into your shirt. Soft. Grateful.

“Good. Because I’m really fucking in love with you.”

---

You fell asleep holding her. Her hand resting over your heart. Her breath slow and even.

And for the first time in months—

She wasn’t waiting anymore.

She was already exactly where she wanted to be.

[ohsohoney]

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

Part Twenty-Two

Eminem x Musician

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

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

Notes: A long one.. But the two weeks in Detroit have finally come to an end. Really loved writing this one, did it in one single go and got so caught up in it. Warnings, really soft/tame smut and a whole lot of feels!! Hope you enjoy it:)

taglist: @thelastemzy @helloitsme1223 @geekchic48 @antisocialsocialclub5

Masterlist

Marshall had been shocked by the sniffles and the tears when he’d finally returned to our table. Well, the almost tears. His face would have actually been quite hilarious if it hadn't been so obviously alarmed, in truth. But he’d kept quiet, only sending me a startled sort of glance before Rosie had darted back over to the three of us, plastering herself to the table whilst she started to rant and rave about the new cotton-candy flavoured ice cream that the diner had started bringing in. I supposed that was what Marcie had to have said to have her running like the devil was on her tail.

It didn’t take us long before we were all wrapping up the visit though, Marshall walking Marcie towards the old beat up Chevy that she had parked in the far back, whilst I settled a tired looking Z into the backseat of his Bronco. She seemed happy enough, smiling as I dragged a seatbelt over both her and the lapful of desserts Marcie had once again packed up for us.

“Ready for bed?” I couldn’t help but ask, laughter trickling into my tone at the sight of her trying her very best to keep her eyes open.

Still, she shook her head stubbornly, widening her stare before she turned her head against the seat’s headrest. “’m stayin’ up all nigh’.”

Her voice seemed to fall into a soft drawl from how tired she was, accent more prominent now than ever. I simply smiled and reached out to soothe a hand over the top of her head, flattening the fly-away’s that had escaped from her plaited hair. She was too old for it, in truth, but she still allowed the gesture, even leaned into the touch.

“That so? Already planning to spend your Friday nights out on the town?” I teased quietly, though unable to imagine her any older than she was right now, “How you thinking of escaping your Dad, hey? That drop from your bedroom window won’t be too cushiony.”

Rosie’s eyes closed as she shook her head, but when they opened her stare was softer and more honest than I’d seen before. “C’n sleep when you leave. Don’t wanna miss an’thin’.”

My breath hiccupped somewhere in the back of my throat and I had to fight to keep from showing how much her words had affected me. I ran a final hand over her head before I gave her a small smile, “You’re not going to miss anything, lovely. I’ll be back before you know it. And you can call anytime you like too, whether it’s at four in the morning or two in the afternoon. You know that right?”

She shrugged slightly and the sight broke me a tad.

“Z, I’m not gonna drop out of your life just because I’m not going to be around like I have been.” I told her, leaning against the frame of the door now, “If anything it’s just going to make us closer; we can call, text, Facetime! Might even use a carrier pigeon to switch things up a bit.” 

Her giggle lightened the mood a tad, but when she peered back at me I was heartbroken to see the slight flash of hope falter in her eyes. “You promise?”

I had to take a shaky breath before I reached for her, easily wrapping her up in my arms as she moved to rest her head against my chest in a way that had my lower lip wobbling. “I’ll promise time and time over again. Keep sayin’ it til you believe me, yeah?”

One of her arms came up to loop around me in return and she squeezed ever so tightly, “I believe you.”

And as I pulled back, I was thankful to note that the apprehension she’d held had lightened a bit. I pressed a quick kiss to her temple but shucking her chin and leaning back out of the car, “Good. Otherwise, I’d have to steal that muffin you had your eye on.”

She laughed brightly. “You wouldn’t.”

I winked before turning back to find Marshall stood just a way away, his boots scuffing the gravel beneath his feet. I blinked at the sight of him, feeling caught, before I swallowed down my pride and tried for a smile, stepping away from the door so that he could take my place.

I heard his low murmurs as I moved to round the front of the car, though couldn’t pick up much of what was said before a set of headlights slowly rolled on closer. I glanced backwards and chuckled when I spotted familiar red hair and a ring clad hand waving away from the front seat. 

I waved back and admired the car as the woman pulled out onto the main road. 

“Yo, you ready?”

I startled at the words, spinning back on my heel to peer over the hood of the car at Marshall who was now stood by the driver's side door. I looked around the lot one last time, taking it all in, before I dipped my head in a barely there nod, “‘Spose so.”

He looked at me for a long moment and I wondered, however briefly, what he saw, if he might say something. But then he mimicked me and reached for the door’s handle, sliding into his seat without another word said.

The engine kick started before I forced myself to follow him, the leather seat creaking beneath my weight as I reached up to buckle myself in.

Simple man by Lynyrd Skynyrd came on low when the radio stuttered to life, its hazy yellow glow illuminating the dimmed cab. I glanced over my shoulder and laughed quietly when I spotted an already conked out Z, she was gone to the world although she’d made sure to keep her tight hold on the dessert box.

Em shifted gears and soon enough we were following Marcie’s tyremarks out onto the road.

It was late now, late enough that Rosie should’ve been in bed hours ago and only a handful of cars had passed us by. It made me think though, ponder on the day we’d had, the duck which still sat in the backseat, the food we’d shared, the laughter… the memories.

We got to a small intersection before I finally spoke up, shuffling in my seat, “Thank you, by the way. Don’t know if I’ve said it enough.”

There was only the quiet sound of Lynyrd’s voice and the tick-tick-ticking of the car’s indicator until, “Nothing to thank me for.”

I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth now, one which I hid by turning my head to glance out the window. “You know what for, Marsh. For putting me up, including me in everything, for the trips, the baked beans, even. For today and for yesterday, for introducing me to your daughter.” I told him genuinely, hoping he’d see and hear the sincerity in my words, even if the idea terrified me, “For inviting me here in the first place.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, so much so that I started to doubt that I’d get any sort of reply back at all. But then he turned and I saw the look he wore, how his eyes flickered between mine before they were back on the road once more. “You’re welcome here always, you hear? With us, with me.”

I swallowed thickly, unable to do much else. He’d rendered me quiet once again. 

It was then, in that next moment, in which he reached out to settle a hand over the one I had resting on my leg. He engulfed it, then squeezed. I couldn’t help but squeeze back. The touch consumed me.

I couldn’t bring myself to remember how many hours I had left of this.

…

By the time we made it back home, it was nearing the early hours of the morning. I helped lock up the car and then the house whilst Marshall carried a dozing Z up to her bedroom, transporting the dessert box onto the kitchen counter before I made the effort of grabbing a couple of water bottles and following the pair up the stairs. 

Rosie’s lamp was turned on as I approached her doorway and so I only peered in for a second to make sure all was okay, though it seemed as though the kid must have stirred some time between the car and her bed because she was whispering drowsily to her father, who was perched on the side of her bed frame.

I smiled at the sight, and it was almost as though he knew someone was watching because Em peered up a second later and caught my eye. Holding up the water, I gestured down the hall and so he gave me a small but grateful nod before turning back to his daughter, who’s eyes were drooping once more.

I ended up washing my makeup off and changing into an oversized tee by the time Marshall had made it back to me, his hat gone and worn hoodie already bundled up in his hands. He tossed the latter towards a basket sat by the door to the wardrobe, making a perfect swoop as it went in.

“Z okay?”

He looked up at me as he rubbed at his eyes and padded on closer. His hands found their way onto my waist and he nodded slowly before letting his head drop to my shoulder. I allowed myself to reach up and run a careful hand over his nape, letting it linger there before my thumb began to trail back and forth.

“Ready for bed?”

His hold on me tightened a fraction before his hands moved to glide over the small of my back. I pulled away ever so slightly to get a better look at his face, his eyes were heavy when they met mine but I only had that second to take them in before he was cupping my face and pulling me that much closer.

He tasted of the espressos he’d been drinking tonight and the mint he’d been chewing on in the car, he hadn’t shaved in a day or two so his stubble tickled my cheeks although his thumbs were there to soothe the scratch, and he held me like the world was slowly falling apart and we only had these last few minutes left.

In a way, I supposed we did.

He took a breath, knocking the tip of his nose against mine as his eyes stayed fixed on my mouth. “I need you.” He admitted, so quietly I almost hadn’t heard him.

Maybe it should have taken me by surprise, maybe it shouldn’t have, but either way I found myself pressing closer, lowering my voice to match his, “So have me then.”

His eyes, blue as they often could be, were warped when they jumped up to meet mine, swallowed whole by a ring of dark blue and overblown pupils, the only ounce of light found was from the bedside lamp which sent a rippling wave through them. Like lighting in a storm.

He gripped me tightly, tenderly. Pulled and tugged, but softened each of his movements with an ever gentler kiss. His mouth trailed my jaw and my neck and then my collar. His hands roamed before they were toying and then lifting at the hem of my shirt. He blew out a breath, eyes caught on my figure. And I knew I would have felt self conscious at any other time, with anybody else, my body was the farthest thing from perfect, but with him, I could hardly think past the greed in his gaze. He made me feel wanted, for the first time.

The sheets crumpled beneath us. He worked slowly, meticulously, until I was writhing beneath him, him still half dressed whilst he had me pinned. He worshipped every inch that he could find, mouthing and sucking, touching and trailing. I had to grab him to pull him back up to me, needing the taste I felt I’d been deprived of. He allowed it for a minute or two before he was gone again. Hand in the table dresser, trousers being shucked off. I tugged at his shoulders when he returned, pulling and tearing at his shirt, wanting it off, breath catching at the skin I was greeted with, the small scattering of barely there scars and the tattoos he was dotted in. 

I pleaded with him then. I remembered it.

I’d never done that before.

He soothed me though, took me slowly and gently. Before we were both lost in the movement, pleasure muffled between kisses and heavy breathing. He held me, nipped at every inch of skin he could possibly reach, nosed at my collar and panted over my chest. 

He kissed me as he came and the room spun for a minute or seven. 

He took me in his arms afterwards, curled up around me as though he could better shelter me that way, keep me there for longer than he should. The clock was ticking.

His fingers trailed over my shoulders and stooped down to my lower back, tracking the curve there and then the freckles I was painted with. He counted each of them, I heard him mumbling numbers under his breath after a while but my eyes had grown heavy with exhaustion and I was fighting to stay awake.

“Why’d you call me?” I asked him, all too suddenly. My voice sounded lazy, even to me. But he understood the words, even without any context.

Still, he paused, as though thinking about it. His fingers continued to graze. 

“I don’t know.” 

I opened my mouth to argue with him, to call his bluff, but all that came out was a soft yawn, one which had my eyes feeling that much heavier.

Thankfully he continued on without much prompt, though there was a smile in his voice this time around. 

“I never thought much of spontaneity. I did shit ‘cause I wanted to. Did it ‘cause I had to. Even though I spent most of my early career bein’ exactly that; actin’ out, playin’ the charade that wasn't all me.” He paused then, maybe mulling it over, thinking back. “Bein’ a father changed me, yeah. But rehab and addiction did too. Made me realise a whole load of shit, put life into perspective. My ex did the same, my mom, my brother too… even Dre.”

His arm came to rest at my waist, knee pressing against the backs of my own.

“Gettin’ old though? That was the real kicker. Saw my babies changin’ and growin’ up, realised I couldn’t just do anythin’ I wanted no more. Couldn’t go out and act up, start fights, or blow my shit. So I started drifitin’ into it, easing into the thought that it was okay to get older. To live without wanting to die all the time. That little switch in me that had me acting before I had a chance to think? I guess it switched off at some point.”

My head shifted and my face pushed further into the plush pillow beneath me, my fingers playing with Marshall’s own. My eyes were closed now, but I was still listening, unable not to.

“Then,” He began again, only to pause before a soft chuckle tickled the skin on the back of my neck, “Then I saw this video of this chick everywhere I looked, in my emails, my messages, my timeline.. On my daughter's laptop, Dre’s phone, the media. And it was like I couldn’t escape her.”

“Sounds like a real bitch.” I countered, smiling stupidly when I felt another trickle of huffed air trail over me.

“You just changed somethin’ in me. Set something off. Probably flipped that switch back on.” Marshall admitted, and I couldn’t help thinking that maybe it made things easier, him telling me all of this without having to face me. “I don’t really know what it was, but for the first time in a long time, I jumped before thinkin’. I called Dre, he gave me Mila’s number. And, well you know the rest.” 

I finally moved to link our fingers at that, squeezing a tad before pulling his arm further around me so that I could settle our hands over my heart.

“You know what I think?” I asked around another small, tired yawn, practically whispering now, “That call was the best thing that coulda happened to me.”

A silence rang out between us then, but by the time I’d admitted it my eyes had already fallen shut and my breathing had evened.

–

“Z, come on! Your food’s gettin’ cold.” 

“I don’t care!”

“Z, quit playin’. I ain’t heatin’ this up again! I don’t even think you’re supposed to.”

“I’m busy, just gimme a sec!”

“Rosie, I swear to God. I ain’t shoutin’ up this staircase again! You got two seconds to get yo ass in that chair ‘fore I come up and make you sit in it.”

“Two seconds, Dad!”

I chuckled quietly to myself at the pair's loud dispute, tossing yet another t-shirt onto the pile I’d since made on Em’s bed. Turned out that, even after a few days of sharing a bed, most of my belongings had somehow ended up in the man’s room, articles of clothing, slippers, and makeup alike. I’d trodden back to the room I’d been gifted earlier this morning only to find most of my stuff missing when I’d opened my suitcase to start packing.

And wasn’t that a thought. 

Two weeks ago I didn’t think I could have lasted this long, probably having annoyed Marshall to the point of him booting me out, or something work related having cropped up at the last minute that went and sent me packing. But here I was, dreading leaving.

It had only been two weeks. I kept reminding myself.

Maybe once I was away from it all, things would fall back into place, into perspective.

But it was with that thought in which I was reminded of Marshall’s short speech last night.

Perspective was a funny fucking thing.

I sighed heavily, looking around the space one last time before my eyes caught on the door to the far left of the walk-in wardrobe. I’d yet to see inside, though when I’d been given the three second room tour by Em earlier in the week he’d just waved it off, claiming it as a storage room for his collectables.

That in itself had intrigued me when I’d heard, but I’d never really gotten round to pestering him about it.

The door was open ajar now, as though someone had popped in and out but hadn’t caught the latch when closing it behind them. I found myself tiptoeing over to it before I could think better of it, and was blinking back my surprise upon what the door revealed.

Rows upon rows of comic books took up most of the wall space, all filed away in glass cabinets that went from the floor to the ceiling; an easel was settled in the far corner, a half finished painting abandoned on it; a ginormous cork desk took up the centre of the room just beneath an overgrown light, the table’s top littered with stains and chips and an assortment of tools; and on the far wall, a row of artwork sat in black frames and was in line with a set of balcony doors which bathed the room in a natural light. 

It was a gorgeous set up. One that had me completely surprised. 

I knew that Em liked art, had spoken about it enough, however briefly. But this was, incredible. 

It was only by chance that I happened to wander over closer to the desk, taking in the scraps of paper and ideas that had been left to sit there. It was just past a scattering of coloured pencils that I paused, fingers hovering over a sketchbook which had been left open.

On the page laid out before me was a sketch, not something quick or rushed, but carefully constructed. Something which had taken time. Something which had my heart hammering in my throat. Because looking down at it, I could not deny that it was a picture of me.

Well, a picture of me last night, curled up around the duvet more than I was under it. 

And, I’d been drawn before. But never like this. Never in a way which spoke so much volume. So many words.

I didn’t dare touch it. 

But my hand hovered anyway, trailing a ghostly line over the curve of my spine and the led of the pencil which darkened around my face.

I couldn’t help but wonder if this was how he really viewed me. If to him I looked this beautiful.

It made no sense. And yet, I couldn’t quite tear my eyes away.

…

Messages  Lottiebug 🐞 Can’t wait to see you!!!!

I smiled at the message, even though a part of my heart was breaking.

It had only just come through as I’d been pulling onto the driveway, so I texted her back really quickly, mimicking the one she’d sent me, telling her how much I had missed her too.

“Lia!” I heard my name being dragged out, so I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and turned just in time to spot Z’s head poking out from around the front door frame.

I slammed the trunk of Marshall’s car shut behind me, grateful for the fact I hadn’t been caught unloading it.

Letting the car lock behind me, I trailed my way back up the driveway, a brand new suitcase in hand. “I thought you were watching a film?”

“We were, just went to the bathroom before I heard the car.” Rosie explained, swinging on the door now enough that I had to try and stifle a laugh. “Where’d you go anyway?”

“Just needed to grab another suitcase, bought a lot since I’ve been here and didn’t wanna miss any of it.” I replied to her, using the same excuse as I had on Em, before I carefully manoeuvred the luggage case into the entryway, “She’s a bit ugly but she’s got character, right?”

Rosie giggled, though agreed with my statement on the suitcase. “Last time I saw something that yellow was when I puked in the nurse’s room.”

I couldn’t help the snort that escaped me, but I ended up shaking my head at her just as Marshall himself rounded the hallway. The man lifted a brow between the pair of us and in turn I simply waved him off, dangling the car keys before tossing them his way. He caught them easily.

“Thanks for letting me drive your baby. Promise she came back in the same condition she left.” I teased, earning myself an exaggerated eye roll before I went to grab at the case again, “I’m just gonna take this and finish up, should have enough time to wrap up the song and maybe watch a film after?”

Both Mathers’ faces dropped a little at the reminder, but where Rosie’s mood dampened completely, Em took on a smile and nodded at me before looping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Don’t fall in that thing.” He joked half-heartedly, but it was just stupid enough to make me laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. I make no promises.” I called back to him as I made my way up the stairs.

It was only once I’d closed the door to the bedroom that I reopened the suitcase and took a glance at the contents inside. I’d taken a chance, trying to get the item here before I left. If it had arrived any later I would have had to involve Marshall in my plans, but thankfully, the posting system hadn’t failed me and I’d been able to pick up the parcel without much issue.

Now, all I had left to do was sneak into Z’s room and hope that the girl didn’t go in there until after I’d left.

Fingers crossed.

…

The song, for all it had made me suffer. Had finally been completed.

I hadn’t been lying when I’d said to Marshall that I’d make quick work of packing, not really wanting to think about it, let alone actually follow through with the task. So I’d been in the studio not twenty minutes later, headphones on, Marshall at the decks, and Z bouncing on the balls of her feet right beside him.

When the track drew to a final close and a familiar voice echoed through the speakers, I couldn’t dim my grin.

“Think we finally got it.”

I heard Rosie’s whoop from within the booth and looked over to see her dancing around her dad. I laughed to myself as I tucked the headphones back on the mic stand and blew out a long breath.

It was finally done.

Only a few hours now before I boarded my plane.

…

“Lies! It’s a great movie!”

“You’re the liar. I’ve seen this exact script play out on every other romcom I’ve ever seen.”

I frowned deeply, brow furrowing with the intensity of it. “Marshall. It’s funny, it’s witty. It’s cute! For God’s sake. They’re literally meant to be.”

“It’s called Sweet Home Alabama, I know you ain’t from ‘round here but that ain’t a sayin’ people use lightly.” Marshall defended, his arms crossed where he was slumped on the couch opposite me, though I could still make out his slight smirk.

“I know what it means.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him. “Or what it can mean. But there’s nothing like that about this film–”

“He pretends to be her cousin.”

“Yeah, ‘cause Bobby Ray does! It’s messy! Her fiance is right there!”

“Her cousin.” He repeated.

“Marshall. He lets her go off to find herself after they lose something so special! He knows he can't compete with what she wants, so he builds something she can come back to! Even if there’s a chance that she never does!”

“They fight the entire time. She legit goes back home only to divorce him.”

“But she’s the one who ends up not signing the paper!” I argued, shaking my head at him now as I kept myself from getting up out of my seat. “You’re missing the whole point.”

“Fine. They’re perfect. It’s a great movie. The best. Happy now?”

The shit eating grin he wore bested Rosie’s quiet snickering, and so I merely huffed, slumping back into the cushions, unwilling to defend my case any further, except for… “It is a good film.”

“And I can sing.” Marshall deadpanned, causing me to once again roll my eyes. But then he was pushing himself up onto his feet, eyes wandering over to the clock on the wall. He licked his lower lip before turning to face me, “Best be gettin’ ready to leave. Don’t want you missin’ your flight.”

The mood, once full of fun and humour, suddenly grew very solemn at his words. Even as Marshall continued on like nothing was askew, tugging on a hoodie and then tapping on Rosie’s leg to get her moving, “Go grab your shoes.”

Z didn’t say much, just looked my way like a kicked puppy and then followed the order.

I tried to catch Marshall’s eye, but he was doing everything he could to avoid it. Eventually, I sighed too and slowly peeled myself up off the sofa. 

I moved through the house like a spectre, padding along until I reached my two suitcases which sat idle in the entryway. One silver, the other yellow.

…

The drive to the airport was once again in Marshall’s monster of an SUV, its blacked out windows eliminating most of the sun which sat high in the sky behind a row of greying clouds. I wondered if it would rain.

I took to the backseat with Z, the pair of us chattering away about this and that, taking silly pictures with my camera, and annoying Em about the radio. Marshall drove quietly, though he chimed in here and there. Whenever I caught him looking back at us in the rearview mirror, he’d look away, but my gaze would linger just long until those blue eyes of his flickered back.

By the time we made it to the drop-off zone, I only had about an hour and a half to get through check in. Not that I cared much, if I made the flight, then I made it. If I didn't…

Marshall parked up in an open bay, not caring for the three signs which warned us of fines as he unloaded both my suitcases and started wheeling them through the entrance. Z and I trailed behind, her hand in mine.

There were crowds of people gathered everywhere so it was easy enough to slip by unseen, Em was donned in his usual getup and I’d taken to keeping my hood up over my eyes.

It was only when Marshall came to a stop that everything really dawned on me, the fact that I was leaving finally settled in.

Or rather hit me like a freight train.

Marshall didn’t turn, just gripped the suitcase handles tighter.

Rosie mimicked the action with my hand.

I felt my stomach roll, unsure if I was going to be sick or not.

I went to open my mouth, to say something, to be the strong one here, but I couldn’t seem to unstick my tongue from the roof of it. Marshall finally turned then, eyes catching mine and I noticed how much emotion he was holding back just by keeping the small smile he wore on his face.

“Marsh..” I tried–

He let go of the suitcases to wrap me in his arms, uncaring for the people around us, hiding me away in the cave he’d created.

I wanted to crawl inside his chest then, to make a home there and stay. I felt sick and dizzy with the thought and fear plagued me all the same, but– 

But, but, but…

There was always a but with him. An if, a when.

I choked back a soft sob, clinging to the back of his jacket now with a tensity which marvelled even my own distracted mind. I didn’t want to go.

“It’s okay. We’ll be okay. You jus’ gotta go home for a bit, baby. We’ll see eachother real soon.” Marshall murmured into my ear, though his grip never lessened. “Won’t even notice it.”

“But I am home.” I whispered, and I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me until he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, until he dragged his nose down over my temple and pressed his lips once more to my cheek, and then my jaw.

He cupped my face in his hands, “I know. But it won’t be long.”

I nodded, startled by the wetness in his eyes, the way his voice had tightened. I nodded, knowing I couldn’t speak.

He dipped his chin to look at me, to meet my gaze. “Go on.”

He didn’t kiss me the way I wanted him to. But it didn’t matter because I knew him as well as he did me, instead pressing his lips to my brow one final time before he let me go completely, allowing room for Rosie to crowd my middle.

I squeezed her back with all the strength I had, hoping and praying that this wouldn’t be it. That I'd finally get to keep something good. 

But then Em was pulling her away.

And I was picking up my cases.

And one step became two, and so on.

Until I reached the point where they couldn’t enter.

I looked back, stare stuck on the duo that hadn’t dared move.

Marshall lifted a hand in a wave, the other holding his daughter close, before he dropped it to his heart. 

I swallowed, but forced myself to copy the action, clutching my chest as I turned and continued on.

I didn’t dare stop, in fear that I would turn back.

That I wouldn’t get on the plane.

I kept walking until I could physically walk no more, head stuck in the clouds as I queued and waited, as I checked in and offloaded my luggage, as I boarded and buckled up.

It was only once we’d taken off that I allowed the tears to fall.

I didn’t dare make a sound, staring out the window at the city below me, the city that wasn’t quite home but held it. The city which now kept two parts of my heart within it.

The lights flickered in the cabin, it was an evening flight and the airhostess was saying something about them staying dimmed now, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the city below. Off of its own blurring lights which glowed and burned brightly enough to keep my attention even as we ascended higher into the air.

–

I didn’t really remember much of the flight. 

I got on and the next second it felt like we were landing.

I had a cold coffee sitting before me that I didn’t remember ordering, let alone receiving. Hell, I didn’t even like the stuff. And the end credits of a film that had been stuck on. I only reached out to touch it for something to do whilst everyone else started to gather up their belongings, but couldn’t help the way that my heart clenched in my chest at the title I was met with. It was the same film we’d been watching before I’d left.

“Miss, are you okay?”

I blinked and my head swivelled over to my left to find a flight attendant smiling sweetly at me. I blinked again before nodding, trying my hand at a smile which felt more like a grimace, though the woman before me didn't bat an eye.

“Yes, sorry. Was just waiting for the cabin to empty out.”

“No worries, need any assistance getting your things?”

I smiled, more sincerely now. Wondering just how stupid I had to have looked to her, how out of it I must have seemed.

“You’re alright, thank you though.”

She nodded, a polite thing, then wandered off further down the aisle to where a slumbering man was still snoring happily away. The sight took me back to my first day in Detroit, to my own embarrassing landing. I forced myself to look away.

I was stepping off the plane and then I was stumbling through security before I knew it. Grabbing my bags off the conveyor belt and then heading through the gate not long after that.

London. 

It was weird to be back. 

Felt as though I’d been gone longer. Maybe even a lifetime.

“EL!”

My head snapped up at the sound of my name and I aimlessly looked around for a familiar voice I hadn't heard in so long. I couldn’t quite find them though amongst the throng of people cycling through the doors behind me. I turned in circles stupidly for a long moment, right before I was being barrelled straight into, nearly swept off my feet.

“Jesus!”

“Not quite.” A loud laugh roared in my ear before I was being manhandled once more, pulled back just far enough to look into the face of my brother.

“Danny?”

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

God I wish we knew more about Dunyasha

[kaisollisto]

(Based off of the reality of having a metal ring in your back as a constant reminder of your fate and how that affects you as a person set in the Switzerland arc)

“Does it hurt?” 

Ava’s pressed face down into the pillow sleep curling around her limbs. She hums, she can’t remember what she says, she’s exhausted. Her arms are tangled beneath her pillow. She holds her fingers tightly between each other, her bones ache from the pressure but her hands no longer shake. Ava hasn’t experienced this before, a fear that haunts her at night. (She finds she cannot stop dreaming about dying. It’s stifling in the cover of night trying to figure out where she is.) 

She slowly opens her eyes and squints in the darkness. Beatrice is facing her a furrow in her brow that Ava knows she’s doing unconsciously. Ava’s lip quirks a smidgen, Beatrice looks funny. It’s a bit silly to her, Beatrice no doubt working out a solution to an unknown problem that Ava has yet to see in the middle of the night. In her sleepy state she wants to laugh at the imaginary cogs churning in Beatrice’s head. 

Beatrice scooches closer and Ava panics, her skin can taste the dust of Bea’s forearm. She hoists herself up on her elbows, turning to face Beatrice. “Wha?” Ava’s shaking off bits of sleep from her mouth when Beatrice repeats herself. 

“Does the Halo hurt?” 

She doesn’t know if she wants to answer that. Ava peers over Beatrice squinting at the harsh light of the digital clock on Beatrice’s side. Ava loves it, it reminds her of the early 2000’s and the aesthetic of waking up to an alarm to go somewhere. The clock blinks an innocent 1:43 Am, and Ava debates on letting her head thump back down. 

She turns her body on her side, she can feel the halo shifting in her back and it makes her want to throw up. The sides of the halo press against her shoulder blades and Ava resists the urge to yank it out. She grits her teeth and settles ignoring the skin of her back pulling tight to accommodate for the ring. Beatrice is still expecting an answer and Ava can’t lie to her, she pulls the covers of the sheet up to her chest hoping to bide more time for an answer. 

"Everything hurts Bea," Ava smiles, "getting my ass handed to me is hard work."

Beatrice frowns displeased but looks at her through her lashes, it's unguarded, the stress and worries of the world stay out of their room in the dead of night. Her lashes are so pretty and Ava wants to curse the soft glow of the moon. There’s just enough moonlight to illuminate her eyes but overshadow her freckles. Ava swallows down the taste of defeat, she can’t win, she thinks. 

Her gaze is soft, Beatrice is looking at her and it’s different yet the same. The same feeling in her chest constricting her lungs, the same soft gaze of Beatrice. Beatrice who likes what she sees in Ava when Ava can barely see where she begins. She doesn’t like to dwell on it, the truth of the matter being what belongs to Ava.

If she closes her eyes she can pretend just a little longer. She can give herself the hope of the future and what comes after all this. She can put down the fighting and the artifact and live. Ava doesn't want to think about it anymore, at least not tonight when Beatrice is here with her. 

Beatrice is soft. She knows it from hours and hours of training. She's felt it when Beatrice corrects her form, in the way she talks. She speaks from a place of care like she has turned the harsh words in her brain over and over to soften the syllables spoken to Ava. And Ava doesn't linger on it, the meaning behind it, (Ava didn't think she'd make it this far, finding a person who cares quite like Bea does.)

And Ava's got it bad, she knows she's fucked because Beatrice doesn’t say anything about her language and Ava can't not tell her the truth. She looks down, her hand fiddling with the bed sheet underneath them. 

"It doesn't hurt," if she thinks about it she can feel the fibers of the cotton between the pads of her fingers. "But it's very uncomfortable." She doesn't want to find the response in Beatrice's eyes, content to hear it from her voice. The soft British lilting accent that holds her just as soft as a touch. 

She waits, she can picture Bea’s mannerisms with her eyes closed but maybe she should check just to be sure. Ava peers up at Beatrice and she’s suddenly closer. Her eyes really are pretty, there’s a depth to them that Ava wants to spend an ungodly amount of time studying.

“Can I help?” (part 2)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Some (late) holiday photos of the boye~!

[hermitsdump]

does impulsive tattoo shock migraine out or do I need to waterboard myself first

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

okay, umm…

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Mental health is reaching new lows rn ngl

[keeps-ache]

why's all the colorful stuff always in the kids' options oTL

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~