#where i had more car trouble but that's another story

[plebeiangoth]

Cool how some spinal injuries from a car crash years ago is ruining my day right now

[erwinsvow]

Heeeey, Shea. How are you?

I just wanted you to know I love your stories. Kook trio reader and shy reader are my favorite. 

I know that's not how it went, but I really think in another universe, Rafe would have trouble getting to date shy!reader because she just wouldn't realize he was flirting hard with her. Maybe a bit of self esteeming issues or because she's inexperiente. But, anyway, I see her being completely oblivious about all his efforts and being like "he's so nice, guys. No, he would never flirt with me. You guys are insane" and everyone else would be like "girl... what?".  

Thank you for your stories, they keep me smiling. <3

- T.

hi t!!! thank you so so much for your kind words, it means so much. i am so glad you love the different readers on this blog! i think your idea is so cute and funny, it suits them perfectly. here's a little bit based on what you sent and i hope you enjoy ♡

since the day you had met rafe—truly met him, not counting the multiple instances where you had passed him in tannyhill attached to sarah's hip when he hadn't even realized you'd been there—you had been a little confused about the newfound attention he was giving you.

you felt it was strange. sarah was always going on and on about how mean rafe was, how badly he treated others and how he never spared a minute to talk to anyone. but she must have been exaggerating. right?

the rafe that you were becoming more and more acquainted with was nothing of the sort. from the time he had driven you home a few weeks ago to now, he had been nothing but nice—offering you a ride everytime you were at tannyhill, asking if you wanted anything when he was on his way out. he even went out of his way to find you at the country club, stopping to say hi even if it was in the middle of one of his golf matches.

it was nice. it was really nice. everything sarah had told you about him seemed to be completely wrong, but then you realized it. rafe was probably trying to be a better brother, and starting with being nice to sarah's friends was likely a good jumping off place.

with this notion firmly stuck in your mind, you proceeded to go about your days, smiling sweetly at rafe when he was being so nice and reminding yourself to tell sarah—her brother was making a big effort, and it deserved to be recognized.

"did i see rafe walk away from the course to say hi to you?" sarah asks, and you look up at her, a little surprised. you hadn't brought it up yet, and in all honestly, didn't know when you would.

your other girl friends look a little closer at you—surprise evident on their faces too. you hate being the center of attention but somehow it feels even worse like this—they're all getting the wrong impression.

"yes.. he's being very nice. i think he's trying to make it up to you, y'know, for being mean like you say he is."

"by being nice to you?"

"by being nice to all of us," you add quickly, looking at the other girls, waiting for them to pitch in.

"he's never been nice to me."

"i don't think he's even ever said hi to me."

"so how exactly has he been nice to you?" sarah asks, and you feel your face burn. they still have the wrong impression and you have no idea how you'll correct them.

"well not much," you lie, clearing your throat. "he just gave me a ride home a few times. and he said hi a couple times here. and got me a soda from the gas station the other day."

"not much?" your friend questions.

"he never asks me what i want from the gas station-" you interrupt sarah, eager to make sure they stop speculating.

"he was just being nice. it was nothing, i-"

"what's next?" sarah asks, cocking her head at you. "don't tell me, he lets you pick the music in his car?" she laughs, and the others do too, but you stare back at her blankly.

"just once or twice," you mumble, suddenly finding your drink and the misty glass far too interesting.

"oh my god. he's totally flirting with you." you whip your head up so fast you think you got whiplash.

"you're insane. that is so not what this is. he was just being nice."

"if any other guy did this, you'd be picturing your future wedding-"

"it's not just any other guy, it's sarah's brother. do you see the kind of girls he goes out with? that's how i know he's being nice, i'm nothing like them-"

you feel incredibly flustered, face hot and playing with your hands like you do when you get nervous. your friends are laughing, and though you know it's not at you, you still hate the feeling, feeling like you might burst from the intensity of the emotions you're experiencing right now. first and foremost—the fact that maybe rafe wasn't just being nice to you.

"yeah?" you hear, though you don't look up. "then why's he walking over here right now?"

[justhereforthemeta]

Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball. 

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché. 

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. 

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967: 

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once. 

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat. 

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution. 

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!? 

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save. 

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Love Drunk

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: being drunk, fluff

Summary: Spencer takes you back home after you drank half the bar.

Square Filled: “do you think we were going to have sex?” (2021) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You're normally not the girl that goes to bars and gets wasted but this has been a really hard week for you. You almost got an innocent person killed when Hotch allowed you to take point, your debit card got stolen on Monday so you had to freeze your account while you wait for a new card to come in, your car got a flat tire, and your mother keeps calling to visit you. You love her but she is truly a bitch. She only wants to meet to pinpoint everything you’re doing wrong and you don’t have the energy for that. 

JJ, Emily, and Penelope offered to take you out to let some steam off but they didn’t know you were going to go as far as to drink half the bar.

“Should we do something?” JJ asks.

You’re practically on top of the bar counter, shaking your ass and reaching for another bottle of alcohol. They have never seen you like this so they don’t know what to do.

“We created a monster,” Penelope says.

“The next round is on me!” you yell and a cheer sounds from the barn counter. “Bartender, another round!”

“Okay, I’m doing something. JJ, call Spencer and have him come down here,” Emily says. She walks over to you and you grin widely when you see her. “Hey, how are you doing?”

“Emily! You’re so pretty. Guys, look how pretty she is! And she’s single!”

“Okay, you’re done. Come on, let’s get some water in you.”

She grabs you by your waist and drags you off the bar counter. You fall into her with a giggle and she gestures for Penelope to help her. JJ is off to the side calling Spencer so Penelope rushes over and the two of them hold you up.

“We’re never doing this again,” Penelope says.

“He’s on his way,” JJ says and walks over. “Did you get water in her?”

“No water! More alcohol!” you giggle.

All three of your friends support you and bring you to the front of the bar where your jacket is. You drove here but JJ will take your car and bring it to you tomorrow. She takes the keys out of your pocket and grabs your jacket as Penelope and Emily bring you outside.

“Where are we going next? We should go to the Space Needle!” you gasp.

“That’s in Seattle.”

“Yeah, let’s hop on a plan right now and go there.” You gasp again. “No, we should go to Niagara Falls. We could take a train right now to New York!”

“We’re never letting you drink this much again.”

“What? I’m a hoot to be around. I’m pretty fucking fantastic,” you pout. You look up and see Derek’s car pull up in front of the bar. “What’s Derek doing here?” Spencer steps out from behind the wheel and a big smile returns to your face. “Spencer! Baby!”

“I’ll put her things in the car,” JJ says.

“You let her drink the whole bar?”

Emily passes you off to Spencer who has to practically carry you.

“Our mistake. She kept crying about her week and before we knew it, she was doing shots with everyone inside. Don’t worry, we covered the bill for her,” Emily says.

“Thanks.” Spencer picks you up bridal style and brings you to the car. JJ opens the passenger door and Spencer gently sets you inside. He makes sure you’re buckled up before closing the door. “Thank you for calling me.”

“Anytime. I have her car. I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

Spencer departs from his friends and gets behind the wheel. You’re playing with the settings of the air conditioning.

“You are trouble.”

“You love me,” you grin.

Spencer starts the drive home while you continue playing with the settings of the car. You start babbling about work and why you were drinking so much, and Spencer stays silent and listens to you. Drunk!You is so cute and amusing. He looks at you to see your eyes wide and arms failing as you explain your story and he can’t believe that you’re all his. Youmarried him. He’s so lucky.

The second Spencer gets you into the house, your entire attitude changes. Maybe it’s because you know you’re alone or maybe it’s because you feel safe inside your own home but you pounce on Spencer as soon as the door is closed. You press kisses to his neck but he tries to get you off him.

“No, we can’t,” he groans.

You hop off him and stumble into the kitchen. You open the cabinet where you know the alcohol is but Spencer immediately pulls you back before you can grab a bottle.

“No, Spencer, we need a drink.”

“No, it’s time for bed. Come on.” You don’t move from your spot so Spencer steps into your space, and you smirk thinking he wants something more from you.  “Are we going to do it right here? I’m always ready for you. Bend me over right here.”

“No.” Spencer’s brow furrows. “Do you think we were going to have sex?”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

Spencer leans down and picks you up by your thighs, causing you to bend over his shoulder.

“Whoa!” You giggle. “You’re so strong.” Spencer takes you to the bedroom and lays you on the bed. You claw at his shirt to keep him close to you.b “Are we going to have--”

“No.”

“Why not?” you whine.

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.”

Spencer holds up three fingers.

“Darling, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Seven.”

“Okay. I need you to stay here. I will get you some water and some medicine because you’re going to hate yourself in the morning.”

Spencer goes to leave but you pull him back down and kiss his neck. He angles his head so you can’t kiss his lips. You slide your hands under his shirt but he grabs your wrists before you can go any further. He pins your hands above you and pulls his body away so you can’t touch him. In your state, you can’t fight him off.

“I said no.” He leans down and kisses your nose. “Goodnight.”

The struggle leaves you exhausted and you relax into the comfortable bed. Spencer leaves you in your club clothes and walks to the kitchen to get medicine and water for you in the morning. Where you can’t, he will always take care of you.

x

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[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 1 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with thier tail between thier legs?

A/N: Mini Series, I guess. Intersex reader, looking for a new life. Smut, Angst, all the fun things. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7K

Come Get Your Fix, Just Whisper It

The sun beat its way through the cracked windshield of the rental truck as you sighed deeply. Your tanned, inked shoulders pushed back against the scratchy fabric of the seat below, the dull crackle of a shitty radio echoing through the cab as the monotonous click of the blinker indicated your intention. The exit sign for 'Foxwood' blurred into view, its faded letters promising escape from the mind-numbing highway.

You hated moving, you really did. But there was something about Foxwood that called to you, something that felt like home, even though you had never set foot in the place before. The GPS instructed you to turn left onto a narrow, paved road, flanked by tall, ancient oaks that stretched out their branches like welcoming arms.

This purchase was made sight unseen, knowing you had to find something quickly before you began your new job. You had done the whole apartment thing and couldn't do it again. So the moment this house popped up for sale, your agent called, and you bought it blindly, knowing you needed it. You had high hopes for the place, something that would hopefully bring a smile to your face, something that could make you feel alive again.

As you followed the winding road, you caught glimpses of quaint, well-kept houses with flowers blooming in their front gardens. The occasional rustle of leaves whispered secrets as you drove deeper into the town. The quiet was eerie but also comforting, like a gentle hush that promised peace and privacy. You knew you weren't far, your friend was up ahead leaning against his car, waiting for your arrival. As you approached the home, you took in your surroundings more carefully. A few neighbors watched as your brakes squealed, signaling that you had come to a stop in the driveway of your new home.

Some children were walking down the street, backpacks in tote, indicating that school had let out a little bit ago. They were laughing and giggling, as they one by one peeled off of thier group and made thier respective way home. The sound of their laughter was like a breath of fresh air, and it made you feel a bit less anxious about the whole situation. The house was a charming two-story Craftsman, painted a soft shade of grey with brown trim. The porch looked welcoming, with a swing that swayed slightly in the breeze. The yard was a little overgrown, but you could see the potential it had to be a lush, green paradise.

As you climbed out of the truck, the heat of the day slapped you in the face like a wet towel. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand and walked over to where your friend, Pietro, was standing. He was taller than you remembered, his hair had grown out into a messy mop, and there was a new confidence in his stance. His grin was the same though, wide and welcoming, as he threw his arms around you in a bear hug. "You made it," he exclaimed, slapping you on the back. "Come on, let's get you settled in."

You followed him inside, the coolness of the house a relief after the sweltering heat outside. The interior was surprisingly bright, with sunlight streaming in through the large windows and bouncing off the gleaming hardwood floors. There was a faint scent of lemon in the air, hinting at recent cleaning efforts. Pietro led you to the kitchen, where a woman was unloading a box of dishes and glasses.

"Hope you don't mind, but I asked sis to help," Pietro said as you both walked into the room. She was stunning, with her hair pulled back in a messy bun and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. She looked up and offered a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Welcome to Foxwood," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Wanda, your new neighbor and occasional pain in the ass." You took her hand, feeling the electricity between you. Her grip was firm, her eyes a piercing green that seemed to see right through you as they ran up and down your body.

"Thanks," you managed to reply, trying to play it cool despite the sudden surge of butterflies in your stomach. "I'm Y/N. I guess I'll be the new girl in town." You sent her a dashing smile before Pietro interrupted.

"Wands moved before I was able to introduce you two when we were in high school. Too quick to get the fuck out of Westview," he laughed, coming behind his sister and draping an arm around her shoulders. Wanda rolled her eyes playfully and shrugged his arm off.

"I don't blame her," you laugh, catching her glance back over at you. "Westview is a shithole."

Wanda arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Tell me something I don't know," she said, her voice light and teasing.

"Well, Wands," Pietro started, a knowing smirk on his face. "This one seemed to run every woman or daughter out of town. She's always been a little bit of a player."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the playfulness replaced with curiosity. "Is that so?" she said, leaning against the counter. "And what brings you to Foxwood, dare I ask?"

You cleared your throat, trying to find the right words. "A new job," you replied, your voice a bit too high-pitched for your liking. "And a chance to get away from all that drama. Start fresh."

Wanda nodded, studying you with those piercing eyes. "Well, I'm sure you'll fit right in here. Everyone loves a good redemption story," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. "And if you need anything, I'm just next door. Now, if you don't mind, I need to head home and get ready for dinner with Agatha." she turned, hugging Pietro before throwing the towel on her shoulder into the sink.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "That old hag?" he teased, earning a playful elbow from his sister.

"She's younger than me, Piet. If that is what you think of her, I would hate to know what you think of little old me."

Pietro's cheeks flushed red, but he chuckled it off, slapping his sister on the shoulder. "Wands, you know I didn't mean it like that. I love you, I'm morally obligated to." he laughed, shying away as she punched him in the chest.

"Ass!" she smirked, turning to you. "Y/N, it was a pleasure, albeit a brief one. I'm just next door if you need any help."

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, leaving you with a strange mix of excitement and nerves. You nodded. "Thanks, Wanda. I'll keep that in mind." You flashed her another smile, moving out of her way so she could walk away from you and Pietro, and you watched as she left.

"No, Y/N. Just...No." Piet's voice cut through the air as you watched her leave. "Don't mess with Wanda," he warned, his eyes serious. "She's had enough bullshit in her life without you bringing your Westview drama here."

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I'm not planning on messing with anyone, Pete," you said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Just here to work and keep my head down." But as you took a sip, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his words. You had a history, and it wasn't exactly squeaky clean.

The rest of the day was spent unpacking boxes and getting the house in order. The place had good bones, but it was clear that the previous owners hadn't put much effort into the upkeep. There were cobwebs in the corners and a layer of dust that had to be thick enough to write your name in. But every time you looked outside and saw the picturesque street, you felt a flicker of hope that this could be your fresh start. Pietro helped you move everything that was left in the truck inside and took it back for you before he went home for the night.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with a warm orange glow, you finally finished setting up the living room. You flopped onto the couch, letting out a sigh of relief that was quickly interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. It was Wanda, dressed in a simple sundress that made her look like she'd just stepped out of a magazine. Her eyes ran up and down your exhausted, sweaty frame, you were in just a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Once she made eye contact with you again, she smiled. "Hey, I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, holding up a tray of food. "I figured you'd be too tired to cook."

Her smile was infectious, and before you knew it, you were inviting her inside. The tray was filled with a mouthwatering assortment of dishes that smelled heavenly—roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. "Wow, this is amazing," you said, your stomach rumbling. "Thank you so much."

Wanda waved off your gratitude with a casual flick of her wrist. "It's the least I could do," she said, setting the tray down on the kitchen counter. "I know moving can be a real bitch."

You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious in her presence. She had an air of confidence that you hadn't seen in a long time, something you had lost amidst the parties and one-night stands back in Westview. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she was near, telling yourself that this was just friendship, and Pietro's older sister- nothing more. But as you watched her unpack the Tupperware containers, her slender fingers moving with purpose, you found it harder and harder to keep that thought in your head.

"Here you go," she set everything out, all you had to do was serve yourself. "You can bring me the containers whenever," she said, before heading back to the door. "Have a good night." she winked before turning to walk out the door.

"Thank you," you called after her, watching as she stepped back into the warm embrace of the evening. The door clicked shut, leaving you with the tantalizing smell of the food and a sudden feeling of loneliness.

You filled a plate, the aroma making your mouth water as you took a bite of the chicken. It was tender and perfectly seasoned, the taste exploding on your tongue. You had to admit, that Wanda had skills in the kitchen. You took your dinner to the porch, the swing groaning under your weight as you sat down. The evening air was cooler now, and the street was silent except for the occasional distant laughter of children playing in the twilight. With the slight breeze that was cooling everything off, you decided to open some windows, and allow the house to air out some.

As you sat there, you couldn't shake the feeling that Wanda had left you with. You had never felt so...seen by someone before. It was as if she knew all your secrets just by looking at you. But you weren't about to let that ruin your first night in your new home. You had a job to start in the morning, and you needed to be well-rested. So, you finished your meal and decided to rest, getting yourself ready for bed.

The night passed quickly, and before you knew it, the sun was peeking through the windows, signaling the start of a new day. You dragged yourself out of bed and into the shower, the hot water doing little to wash away the last of your weariness. As you toweled off, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The person staring back at you looked like a stranger—tired eyes and a rumpled expression that told a story of a life lived hard and fast. You vowed to change that, starting now.

You threw on some clean clothes and headed downstairs, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen. The house was eerily quiet without the clamor of boxes and the banter with Pietro. Thankful that you remembered to set the timer to the coffee pot, you opened the cabinets until you found the one that your coffee mugs had been put into. You poured a glass of the liquid, putting just a hint of sugar in it and taking a swig.

As you sipped, you glanced out the kitchen window to see Wanda's car parked in her driveway. A part of you was relieved she was home; the thought of seeing her again made your heart race. Another part was nervous. You didn't want to give her any reason to think that you were the same old you. You were here for a new start, after all. You stacked up the now clean containers that she had brought you dinner in and neatly put them in a bag before getting yourself ready for work.

You stepped out of the house, the cool morning air kissing your cheeks and making you feel alive. You walked over to Wanda's house, the bag of containers swinging at your side. As you approached the door, you took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that had suddenly taken over your body. You knocked, the sound echoing through the quiet street.

The door swung open, and there she was, dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting shirt that still managed to hug her curves in all the right places. Her hair was down today, cascading over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looked surprised to see you but quickly composed herself. "Morning," she said, her voice a little raspy from sleep.

"Sorry, I know it's early. I wanted to give these back before I forgot." You handed her the bag of containers, trying not to stare at the way the morning light kissed her skin.

Wanda took the bag, a small smile playing on her lips. "No worries, I'm usually up early. I appreciate it." She stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. "Would you like some coffee?"

You shook your head, gesturing to the cup sitting on top of your car. "No, thank you though, and dinner was delicious."

Wanda nodded, her eyes lingering on you for a moment too long before she turned away to set the bag by what you assumed was the entrance to her kitchen. "You're more than welcome, Y/N. Pietro said you're starting work today?"

"Yeah, I am," you replied, your eyes following her as she walked inside and then came back to the door.

"I guess I should have guessed," she insinuated, motioning to the suit you were now wearing. "What do you do, again?"

You took a deep breath, your nerves starting to rise in front of this ethereal woman. "I'm an architect," you said proudly. "Starting at the new firm downtown."

Wanda's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh, really?" she leaned against the doorframe. "That's cool."

"Thanks," you said, feeling a bit more at ease. "I'm hoping to make a name for myself here, maybe even start my own firm one day."

Wanda nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "Well, Foxwood's definitely growing. Could use some fresh designs to spruce the place up," she said with a smile.

You nod, looking down at your watch, realizing you were really cutting it close. "I should get going, I don't want to be late on my first day," you said, taking a step back. "Thank you, Wanda." you smile, stepping backward as you walk toward your car.

"Good luck," she called after you, her voice soothing and genuine. You smiled, before turning around to walk the rest of the way to your waiting Audi. You grabbed the coffee off the roof, settling yourself inside. As you drove off to work, you couldn't help but think back to your brief interactions with Wanda. You had only seen her in pictures, and she certainly grew into her looks.

The office was bustling when you arrived, and the air was thick with the scent of ambition and freshly brewed coffee. You were greeted by your new boss, Mr. Castillo, a man with a firm handshake and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He walked you around, introducing you to the team. Each person you met offered a polite nod and a murmur of welcome, but you could feel the underlying curiosity—who was this new face that had strutted into their well-established dynamic?

The first few days were a blur of paperwork, meetings, and getting acquainted with the projects you'd be working on. You threw yourself into your work, eager to prove that you weren't just a pretty face from Westview. You had skills, and you were here to use them. You found yourself working late, working out, eating small meals, and sleeping. It was this same schedule, on repeat. Before you knew it, Friday was upon you, and Pietro was calling.

"Come out with me tonight," he begged. "You've been holed up in that house and that office all week. You need to live a little. Explore."

"Hello to you too, Piet." You chuckled into the phone, leaning back in your chair at the office. The clock on the wall ticked away the final moments of the workday. "But I'm pretty beat. I don't know if I'm up for a night out."

"Come on, it'll be fun," he said, his voice full of excitement. "I've got a surprise for you."

You hesitated, the thought of a surprise from Pietro sending a shiver down your spine. His ideas of fun tended to land you in trouble. "What's the surprise?"

"That defeats the whole point, Y/N. It wouldn't be a surprise if you knew what it was." His laugh was contagious, and despite your exhaustion, you found yourself smiling. "But I promise, it's nothing crazy."

You sighed, knowing that 'not crazy' for Pietro was still a relative term. But his enthusiasm was infectious, and the thought of letting loose after a week of intense focus was tempting. "Alright, fine," you conceded. "Where and when?"

The whoop of excitement on the other end of the line had you shaking your head. "I'll text you the details!" he yelled before hanging up, knowing you would change your mind if given the chance.

The day dragged on, but the anticipation of the night ahead kept you going. When you finally clocked out, you drove home with a mix of excitement and dread. You knew that going out with Pietro meant you would be meeting new people, and while you weren't necessarily a hermit, you were trying to turn a new page. You threw your coat onto the bench by the door, before stalking upstairs to your room. You sat down on the edge of your bed, peeling your dress shoes off your feet before undoing your tie. As you began to undress, you caught a glimpse of the woman next door. The elder Maximoff, lounged by the pool in her backyard, reading a book in a bikini.

The sight made your thoughts run wild, and your mouth went dry. You tried to shake it off, but the image of Wanda in that bikini was burned into your mind. You decided you needed to hop in the shower, so you quickly turned to get undressed and threw your work shirts into the laundry bin that would soon go to the dry cleaners.

As the hot water cascaded down your body, you couldn't help but replay the moments you had already with Wanda. You felt a stirring in your chest that was unfamiliar, a mix of attraction and something deeper. But you pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. You had a night out to get ready for, and you needed to be on your best behavior. You couldn't have any distractions, especially not from your best friend's sister.

After a quick shower and a change into a black deep-cut tee, black jeans, and a leather jacket, you checked your phone to find the details of the night's plans. "Meet me at The Den at 8," the text from Pietro read. You had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and mentally prepare yourself. You grabbed a granola bar from your snack cabinet and chugged a bottle of water, looking out the back window as you ate the aforementioned snack.

Deciding you would take the bike out instead, you put your helmet on before starting your blacked-out Harley. You smiled at the feel of the familiar rumble between your legs, and made your way out of the garage, propping it up on the kickstand before walking back to shut the garage door.

"Be careful, Y/N," Wanda called out from her porch as you climbed onto your bike. She had changed into a short, floral dress that highlighted her toned legs and a pair of sandals that made you wonder if she had ever worn shoes that weren't designer. You nodded, giving her a subtle salute as you accelerated down the street past her house.

The sun had already set by the time you pulled into the crowded parking lot of 'The Den', a popular local hangout spot. The music thumped in the distance, a bass that you could feel in your chest. The anticipation grew as you stepped off of the bike, straightening your jacket and running a hand through your hair. It had been a while since you'd been out, and the idea of a night free from the constraints of your new life was exhilarating.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of spilled drinks and cheap perfume. The lights were dim, and the dance floor was packed with bodies moving in sync with the rhythm of the music. You spotted Pietro at the bar, his tall frame making him easy to find in the sea of people. He waved you over, a wide grin on his face. "You made it!" he shouted over the noise.

"Barely," you said, sliding onto the barstool next to him. He passed you a beer, already cold and sweating. "What's the plan?"

Pietro leaned in, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "First, we grab a drink or two. Then, I introduce you to the Foxwood nightlife."

You took a swig of the beer, the cold liquid sliding down your throat, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in your stomach. The last thing you wanted was to go back to your old ways, so this night was going to be a challenge. But as you scanned the room, you reminded yourself that you had changed. You weren't that person anymore. You were here to build a future, not rehash the past.

The first few hours were surprisingly tame. You talked with some of the locals, who were surprisingly welcoming despite your outsider status. They asked about your job and your life back in Westview, and you kept your answers vague, not wanting to dredge up any drama. You danced a bit, but it was more about the music than the flirtation. And every time you felt a pair of eyes on you, you couldn't help but look over at the door, expecting to see Wanda walk in.

"Okay, Maximoff. Out with it. What is this "surprise" you drug me out of my cozy night for?" you shouted over the music, now feeling the effects of your beverage choices cloud your brain.

Pietro leaned in, his smile growing wider. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass. He looped his arm around your neck, dragging you out of the bar you were at, and walking you down the street to another. "Welcome to heaven, Y/N." he motioned as you walked up to a padded door, the door swinging open as a bouncer checked your ID. The overwhelming scent of booze and perfume struck you, a remixed version of Deftones pumping through the speakers.

You walked in, Pietro high-fiving some people he clearly knew. "Welcome to Velvet, Y/N." Piet gestured around, the purple and red neon casting a dull shadow among all the dancers on thier platforms, and all in various states of undress. You felt like this could be trouble, but you had agreed to this night out, so you followed him through the sea of bodies to the VIP section. There was a table with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses already waiting. "You know how to pick your spots, Piet," you said, taking a seat.

"Isn't it great?" he smiled, his eyes dancing back and forth from one dancer to another.

You nodded, trying to keep your focus on the conversation and not on the... distractions around you. "It's... different from what I expected," you shouted back. His eyebrow shot up, a look of doubt on his face.

"Don't tell me you've gone completely soft on me, Y/N. You would have been all over a metal strip club like this a few years ago." He said, pouring you a glass of whiskey.

You took the glass with a nod, trying to keep your cool as you surveyed the scene around you. The music was loud, the lights were strobing, and the dancers were... mesmerizing. "I'm trying to not be the playboy me anymore, Piet."

He laughed, leaning over to you. "Just because you don't wanna be a fuckboy anymore, doesn't mean you need to be boring." He nudged you, his eyes still on the dancers. "Besides, I own this place," he stated, in the most nonchalant way possible.

"Excuse me?" You turned to him, questioning if you heard him correctly.

"Yeah, you heard me. I own this." he winked as one of the dancers pulled him into the back.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. This wasn't what you had in mind when you agreed to go out. But before you could do anything, a figure caught your eye. Wanda. Dressed in a tight black dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, her hair cascading down in long, auburn waves, she looked like she didn't belong in this place. You felt your heart drop as she moved through the crowd, her eyes searching for something—or someone. She finally came up to someone, another woman, sitting with her at the table.

"Pietro, seriously?" you muttered under your breath, watching as he took the stage with one of the dancers, throwing money around like it was confetti. You watched as he threw himself at one of the dancers, Wanda laughing and shaking her head at his antics before he was pulled off the stage by another dancer.

"Don't worry, he does this every time he brings someone new to Velvet." A waitress dressed in a skimpy dress said as she came to grab your empty glasses. She had a pixie cut, green eyes, and a piercing smile. "I'm Natasha, by the way," she offered a hand.

"Y/N." you smiled, shaking hers in response.

"How do you know Pietro?" she asked, sitting down across from you.

"High school friends," you replied, watching as Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother's showmanship. She nodded, her gaze following yours. "He said he had a surprise for me tonight. I guess telling me he owned a strip club was the surprise." you laugh, shaking your head as you take another sip of your beer.

"Well, he does love to make an entrance," Natasha chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But he's a good guy, really. Really good boss. One of the best I've had."

You nodded, trying to keep your eyes from wandering back to Wanda. "Yeah, he's... something else," you said, your voice trailing off as you watched her. Natasha followed your gaze and smirked. "So, you're here to see the show, huh?"

"More like I'm here to keep an eye on him," you admitted, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "And maybe unwind a bit."

Natasha leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, if you're looking to unwind, I can give you the VIP tour.”

You sat, thinking as the woman stood before you. "Sure. Why the fuck not?" You smiled, deciding that Piet was right. You really needed to let loose. 

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: it will always be you

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: PG

genre: angst

pairing: Alastor x Reader (slight romantic connotations), previous Vox x Alastor

warnings: previous abuse by a partner mentioned and talked about

summary: when vox has drank a bit too much he shows up on the hotels doorstep, screaming for alastor. but this scene was all too reminiscent for you. (inspired by the audio “veronica open the door please” on TikTok and a tiktok i can not find of alastor and vox… if you know the tiktok please let me know!!!)

Not many understood or even knew the connection that Vox of the Vees and Alastor had. While you assumed that Alastor looked at Vox like an electronic bug on his 1920’s version car windshield of life, Vox obviously saw Alastor as a Monster looking over the hill. If Vox’s meltdown on TV wasn’t enough to go by.

So, it was a surprise when a quiet night at the hotel ended up being interrupted, by said obsessed overlord. You were quietly reading, the doors locked up for the night. Husk was cleaning off the bar, Charlie and Vaggie were discussing activities for the next day, Alastor had a rare moment where he was sitting in the common area reading the newspaper and you sat across from him, reading a book that was recommended to you by Charlie.

You gasped a little at the book, quickly turning the page, enamored with words that were seemingly spilling off. So engrossed you didn’t notice Alastor looking up at you and a slight smile on his face as you continuously reacted to the story you were reading. It was quiet and peaceful, something that was an uncommon occurrence for Hell but a common occurrence for the hotel. That was until suddenly, banging on the door jolted everyone. You quickly look to the door, frozen and not moving. The banging startling you more than anyone else. Your breath short and your extremities going cold quickly. Your eyes wide in fear, as your mind thought you were in trouble again.

When you first arrived at the hotel you were fleeing a horrible relationship. And after a lot of mess and many nights terrified, everything ended up being rectified by Alastor eating said ex, after your ex and his friends tried to storm into the hotel and bring you back to “your home.” After that you decided to stay at the hotel and help as staff, wanting to help Charlie and Alastor since they practically saved you.

Now though, even if it had been almost a year since that happened, the noises at the front door brought you right back to the night your ex had stormed into the hotel. You were trying to breathe as Alastor got up and made his way past you, glancing down for just a second at you, before focusing on the door. Suddenly the banging increased in force and happened multiple times, everyone in the lounge area was on alert, with Husk and Vaggie looking ready to fight. You sat still, trying to breathe knowing that a panic attack would not help right now. Charlie quietly makes her way over to you and rests her hand on your shoulder. Grounding you enough to be present. You smile at her as she smiles back and then looks seriously at the door.

“Who is it Alastor?” Charlie asks quietly. Her questioned is answered almost immediately by the person outside starting to speak.

“ALASTOR-ALLLLAAAASTOOOOORRRR!” The voice, now recognized as Vox, screams out. “OPEN THE DOOR!” He bangs a few more times and you jump, but his bangs get increasingly stronger causing the door to start splintering open. Alastor quickly throws his back against the door as Vox tries to push himself in, still screaming.

“Alastor, open the door please.” He yells, “Alastor, OPEN THE DOOR.” Another pounding against the door and this time what could only be assumed as Vox throwing himself against the door, causes Alastor to stumble forward, his foot bracing against the carpet to stop Vox from coming in. His eyes are wild as Husk and Vaggie join him in keeping the door closed. Husk looks at Alastor, questioning what he wanted to do, Alastor could fight Vox, but that could mean all out war against the hotel from the Vees.

“ALASTOR, I know you’re in there, come out!” Vox screams again, getting angrier. “I know you’re scared, I’ve been there. I can set you free! Come, JOIN MY TEAM! Join ME!” Vox is yelling, pounding on the door, throwing himself at it. There’s glass outside that shatters and Husk mentions that he’s probably drunk. Alastor growls as the door keeps getting pushed against and looks over to Charlie. At this point, you are curled up against the couch, sobbing as Charlie keeps watch on the door and comforts you. Alastor’s eyes narrow.

“Get away from the door.” Alastor instructs Vaggie and Husk and they both back away as does Alastor and Vox runs through the door, ending up in a pile at Alastor’s feet. Vox looks around and sees Alastor.

“So, you finally decided to let me in, huh?” Vox says looking proud of himself, not even noticing the looks of anger or fear of anyone else in the lobby.

“Not by choice. I suggest you leave Vox.” Alastor says, tone cold.

“Now come on, Al, be a pal and just join me. We’d be a great team. We were a great team.” Vox slurs a bit heading over to the bar only to be cut off by Husk. Vox’s eyes widen and he regards Husk for a moment and then turn back to Alastor.

“I said for you to leave. You have endangered the guests at this hotel by leaving a hole in the door, not to mention you’ve damaged the hotel. Which Charlie will be sending you a bill to fix. Get out.” Alastor grinds out, pointing to what used to be the door. Vox looks at him questioningly, and then sees Alastor standing directly in front of you and Charlie.

Vox’s eyes widen and he looks at Alastor crossing closer to him. Vaggie raises her spear but Vox pays her no mind. “Which one of them is it?” Vox asks, suddenly quiet.

“I have no idea to what you mean, but you need to leave.” Alastor says again. Vox growls and grabs Alastor’s coat, “You know exactly what I mean. Is it the Princess? Finally got to climb your way to the top, huh?” Vox slurs, shaking Alastor a bit as Vaggie looks wide eyed at both demons, silently asking what to do. Alastor is still but the only show of anger is his eyes which are now radio dials.

“Charlie, take Y/N and the others out of here, now.” Alastor says, his voice almost unable to be heard through the static that accompanied it. Charlie quickly nods, and helps you up and out, you mildly protesting, asking about Alastor and his safety. Husk’s voice of reassurance that the overlord would be fine reaches Alastor and Vox. Vox stops and looks up at Alastor, “It’s her isn’t it?” Vox says, dropping his grip on Alastor’s lapels. “It’s HER!” Vox screams now, starting to go up toward the stairs the group disappeared. Alastor brings up his shield and stops Vox, one of his tentacles wrapping around Vox’s middle and throwing him to the front of the hotel.

“Leave now Vox, or else what happened last time will happen again, and you won’t fair as well as you did.” Alastor says, herding Vox out and his demon form taking shape.

“Normally you would have already tried to kill me… why are you hesitating?” Vox asked, unsteadily getting back up and wiping at his dirty shirt.

“Because, you are not worth my time.” Alastor growled, picking Vox up again and ignoring his protests, he threw him towards the Entertainment district. Vox’s screams fading into the distance. Alastor returned back to his normal stature and began having his shadows create a temporary replacement for the front door. He brushed off his lapels and straightened his coat, disgust somehow rampant on his face. He would never admit it, but the reason he didn’t make a knock down, drag out fight was he knew it would frighten you. And he had promised, one of the only promises he made in hell, not to scare you or be a source of your fear.

Alastor walked into the lobby and picked up your book and his newspaper, the shield disappearing from view as he walked up the stairs and headed to your room to check on you. It was you, and Alastor feared it would always be you for him.

[s1m0nth3swag]

Can I request milkman X reader where the reader was always getting in trouble some way or another when they were a kid and they always got bored and just telling Francis stories about what they did when they were a kid?

Such as jumping out the window to go out with some friends because they were grounded and bored, prank calling on neighbours, chasing cars while riding their bicycles in a crowded street, climbing high trees and just jumping off of them, getting into playground fights and things like that..........(I did some of those)

Francis was a boring kid and never did anythings for sure, he'd have a freak out if his partner was somewhat of a troublemaker omg

Thanks for the ask, Anon!

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Fluff, GN Reader, Francis being a worried little guy, established relationship, kinda short sorry, Reader is silly

The first time you told Francis about your childhood shenanigans was when the two of you were resting on the couch after a long and hard day. He was comfortably nestled against your chest and inbetween your legs, while you ran your fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss against the top of his head from time to time. He had looked up at you in slight shock and worry after you had asked if he had ever slipped when climbing through windows, for you, that was a totally normal question, for him, it was a reason to be genuinely worry about his partners wellbeing. Afterwards, he was always on edge to make sure you weren't getting too close to any of the windows in the shared apartment. A little too much, in your opinion.

You swore to yourself to tell him your most outrageous childhood stories whenever he least expected it. Partly because you wanted him to understand how normal it was to you, partly because his shocked face was just too funny to you. Genuinely, he looked like you had just told him the world was ending.

The next time you spoke to him about it, you were extra casual about it. "You know, I once beat up an older kid because he threw sand in my buddy's face." You hummed as the two of you were cooking dinner, his arms wrapped around your waist as his head rested on yours while you kept an eye on the stove. Francis had immediately peeled himself away from you to give you that little look of 'what the fuck is wrong with you'. You started giggling, and for a second Francis was relieved. "I thought you were serious." He sighed. "Oh, I am. Your expression was just funny." You responded, a grin on your lips as you leaned up to kiss him softly. Francis groaned in annoyance, shoving you playfully.

From then on, Francis watched you with the utmost care. He was always prepared for more stories - which, of course, was no fun to you since you wanted to catch him off guard. For days, you waited for the perfect opportunity until he came home from work, especially tired. Definitely not up for your bullshit. A perfect opportunity.

You grinned wickedly as he walked through the front door, already sensing his mood simply from the way he slouched and the fact that he hung up his jacket just a little slower than usually - you had grown used to the exact time it took him to walk from the front door to the couch. After living together for so long, it was honestly just habit.

"Francis, love." You called out, the slightest hint of mischief in your voice. He grumbled, knowing you were up to no good, because in all seriousness, when were you ever up to any good (the answer was probably never). "Did I ever tell you about the time I chased cars around my neighbourhood? Or when I broke my leg because I jumped off a tree?" You started, and Francis mumbled something about you being an idiot. You simply chuckled as he walked towards the couch.

You followed him around the apartment for the next hour or so, continuing with your most dramatic stories. At this point, Francis was seriously considering taping your mouth shut, though he wasn't sure if you might already have a story about that. You continued to yap about police arresting you, childhood fights, and whatever else came to mind.

At the end of the day, Francis was more exhausted by you than he had been by work, which was a new low for him, really. Usually, you'd be the one to give him energy, not steal it, and run away while giggling manically - which he honestly thought was a thing you'd do.

At last, he managed to shut you up by saying he'd make dinner and breakfast if you'd just stop talking, a deal you were very willing to take. After all, Francis made such a wonderful house husband - and he wore an apron while cooking, which was honestly lovely eye candy to you. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling. "Thanks, love." You hum, and he sighs in defeat. "You'll be the death of me one day, dear." He responds, though a smile plays on the corner of his lips, and you know he isn't serious.

[lovelytsunoda]

god knows I’ve tried // yuki tsunoda

summary: stranded at her publishers office after the battery in her car dies, there’s only one person she wants to call for a jumpstart.

pairing: yuki tsunoda x lawson!reader

warnings: self-deprecating humor, y/n is very self critical, yuki is her night in shining armour, total lack of christmas spirit, anxiety.

author's note: this resonates so personally with me and i feel so fricking attached to this story and all the people in it. please treat it kindly :)

so go on judge me by my cover, and no I’ll never have another. baby I’ve been bad, but god knows I’ve tried to be good

it's too early for damn christmas lights, she huffed to herself as she left the office, juggling the volkswagen keys that dangled from her fingertips with the large cardboard box between her arms, staring at the lights and tinsel hung up on the light poles. cursing to herself and trying not to drop anything, she fumbled for the unlock button, ready to ditch the box in her trunk.

her volkswagen golf stood solitary and alone in the parking lot, no other cars for miles. if liam was here, he'd be asking where her pepper spray was, god forbid anything happen to his baby sister.

there was only a year between them, but sometimes she swore that liam acted as if there were five.

the cold dug into her skin as she hobbled through the parking lot, trying to keep her head on a swivel as she once again asked herself why she had parked so far away from any other car. she fumbled with the trunk button (which was unresponsive a lot more than it actually opened the trunk), unceremoniously dumping the box so hard that the small red car started to shake.

she slammed the trunk shut, frowning as she ran a fingertip over the small spot of rust that had begun to form where the silver letters proclaimed to the world what kind of car she drove met the painted trunk door.

she opened the car door, slipping into the driver's seat and staring at the overhead door lights, which had not illuminated as they were intended to when the door opens.

"motherfucker." she mumbled. "i'm gonna have to replace the latch, aren't i?" this was not new. she'd had multiple issues with the car, buying it from a dealership that advertised mostly on facebook.

never again, the next car she buys will be certified pre-owned from a volkswagen dealer, not a used car lot.

the latch would need replacing eventually: it had already locked up the door and prevented her from opening her car, even after smashing the unlock button on her keys five times. she rolled her eyes, closing the door and sliding the key into the ignition.

the key turned, but the car didn't start. growing increasingly panicked, she turned the key a few more times, the same ministrations that normally started up the ten year old car.

"fuck!" she howled, slamming her hands down on the steering wheel as the engine refused to turn over again. she reached for the headlight button, feeling her stomach drop to the floor when there was no response from the headlights.

the engine battery was dead.

she was stranded, alone, in a dark parking lot at night.

it didn't get more fucked than that.

she reached for her phone, the screen providing the only light source as she fumbled for the lock button, and making sure her finger hovered steadily over the panic alarm on her keys. just in case.

who was she going to call, she wondered, scrolling through her contacts. definitely not liam, she couldn't trouble him like that. remind him that she'd always need protecting. she could call her best friend, but the likelihood that margot would know what to do was slim. besides, she was probably out with her boyfriend if she wasn't at work.

her finger hovered over a name, and she debated long and hard if it was worth it, if she was really desperate enough to ask him for help. would he come? would he consider it strange that his best friend's baby sister was calling in the middle of the night because she was dumb enough to drain her car battery?

right now, it didn't look like she really had a choice. unless she wanted to call a tow truck and be out a couple hundred bucks.

"hello?"

"yuki, it's y/n. i need your help."

when the headlights of yuki's honda civic type r lit up the parking lot, she could have cried from relief. the dead battery also meant no heat, and she was chilled to the bone, teeth chattering together as she clutched her phone in one hand and her keys in the other.

"thank god you're here!" she blurted, scrambling out of the car as yuki pulled into the parking space on her passenger side. "i didn't know who else to call!"

ah, yes. yuki tusnoda. backlit by his headlights, he looked like a guardian angel. he'd been close with the lawsons since he came to england, being practically adopted when he moved in with liam at milton keynes, like some fucked up version of a college roommate scheme.

not to mention that he was funny, hot as hell, and she never knew if his cheerful, gentle ribbing meant he looked at her as more than a friend. every time he gifted her a casserole dish of something he had cooked, or invited her out when he and liam went somewhere, she couldn't help but think that maybe he liked her the way that she liked him.

in a way that was anything but just friendly.

"didn't you just get something fixed on your car?" yuki frowned popping his car hood open and digging around in his glove box for the jumper cables.

"i changed a headlight last week. the last major thing was the driveshaft, i couldn't fix that myself, had to take it in." she frowned, lifting up the hood of her own car, using her phone light to find the battery cover. "the car is a piece of shit, but at least it's reliable. and the driveshaft was covered by the dealership since it should have been on the safety certification and wasn't."

yuki frowned, untangling the cables before he dropped them to the pavement, peeling off his puffer jacket. "your lips are blue. take my jacket. i doubt liam would like it if let his little sister get hypothermia"

"pneumonia."

"same difference."

"not really." she laughed, pulling yuki's jacket over her own thin flannel trench coat. she hated wearing a thick winter coat when she drove, relying almost entirely on her car's heated seats to keep warm without suffocating.

"if i get sick because i sacrificed my jacket for you, i should hope that you'd be the one to take care of me. you know, since it was your own fault." yuki chuckled, hooking up the cables as y/n tried to keep warm

"fuck you. i could have stayed in the car."

"the car doesn't have heat either."

oh. yeah. she forgot about that one.

"well, i could have stayed in your fancy ass sports car." it didn't matter how she phrased it, she was just trying to butter him up. on a normal day, she made fun of him for driving a honda civic, calling it a 'mom-mobile'.

with the jumper cables fully connected, they both settled into the honda to wait it out. usually, the rule of thumb was fifteen minutes, but she wasn;t sure that she could stand to be in a car with yuki for that long without doing something reckless.

she slipped out of his jacket, moving to pass it to him before he gestured vaguely to the backseat. the heated seats were on, but she could still see the puffs of air leaving her body as she breathed heavily.

"thanks for coming. i didn't know who to call."

yuki turned to look at her, turning down the volume on the radio. it was a shame, too. she was quite enjoying 'teenage dirtbag'. "why didn't you call liam?"

"pride, i think. he's always been the favourite, the one that stuck with it, the one that made something of himself. i don't need to admit to him that i need help, that i don't know things. because i do, it just sometimes takes me a little longer to get it, or i give up too quickly."

yuki frowned. "liam worries about you, you know. he doesn't like seeing you upset. and he's always been proud of you, so have your parents."

she shivered, pulling her sleeves over her hands. "it's just always been more upfront with liam. they keep telling me that i give up on things too quickly. you know, i realized the other day that i don't really have any hobbies any more. outside of paint nights with the girls, i don't paint anymore. i don't do any sports. reading is really all i do any more."

"that doesn't define your worth, you know. you've got other things going on right now that are taking up your time." yuki encouraged, fiddling with the heating dial. "hey, speaking of which, what are you doing here so late at night?"

she groaned, tilting her head back. "god, this is embarrassing." she hid her head in her hands before turning back to yuki. "promise not to laugh too hard?"

"why would i laugh at you?"

"i was picking up advance copies of my first book." she turned and looked out the window, at the empty parking lot illuminated solely by yuki's headlights. "i've spent the better part of the last two years working on it, and i'm scared i'm going to fail at it like i failed at everything else."

she felt a warm hand overtop of hers. "that's incredible. that's such a major accomplishment, y/n. why are you doubting yourself? you've made it this far."

she smiled, turning to face him. "yeah, but how many people want to read about a detective in small-town new zealand who lives in a haunted house?"

yuki raised an eyebrow. "you already have my interest."

and what great author could resist going on and on about their latest endeavor?

"okay, so it's about this detective in new zealand, she's just moved to this small town as part of a so-called promotion, but really she was desperate and only took the job because she wanted out of the city, a nice change of scenery and whatever. but after she moves in, she finds out the house is haunted and the ghosts actually end up helping her solve her first big case."

she left out the part about how there were three ghosts: one was a dead rockstar, one was a nineteen-thirties midwife and the other was a dead nun. the witty banter between the group of them was a joy to write.

"she also has a crush on this guy who lives across the street. he's an autobody mechanic, with a collection of classic cars."

who totally wasn't inspired by yuki and his gorgeous brown eyes or luscious black hair. well, her one argument was that book guy was about a foot taller than yuki was.

"hell yeah, i'd read that." yuki laughed. "or i'd watch the movie, depending on how long the book was."

y/n laughed, and it felt good. it felt like it had bene forever since she laughed. "it's a cozy mystery series, so it's supposed to make you laugh, be predictable. i took notes from agatha christie, the best of the best. i just hope that the general consumer market also sees it that way."

"i'm sure you'll do fine. as long as it's not like, five hundred pages long, i can't see why anybody wouldn't want to read it."

catching y/n's eye, yuki snickered. "it's not that long, is it?"

"no, it's just under three hundred. they made me cut the sex scenes out."

she watched yuki's eyes go wide, before she burst out laughing as well.

"i'm kidding!" she giggled. "i'm kidding, there aren't any sex scenes in cozy mysteries."

despite how warm the car was, a shiver went down yukis spine at the thought that the innocent, angelic young woman sitting next him, separated only only by the center console, had written numerous sex scenes.

“would you read it? now that you know how many pages it has?”

“yes.” yuki insisted. “of course I would. Liam’s shown me some of your novellas. you are such a good writer. a real talent.”

she yawned, leaning back against the leather seat with a yawn and a shake of her head. “if this book crashes and burns, I’ll remind you you said that. hey, would you be willing to give me a starred review to print on the back cover?”

yuki hummed for a minute, looking up at the sunroof and then back at the girl sitting next to him. “hmm, great mystery, lovely author, not enough sex and could use more descriptions of food.” he joked, playfully gripping her shoulder.

“yeah, yeah. you think you’re so funny.” she laughed, pushing his arm off her shoulder. “but I’m glad that you’re here. you make much better company than my brother does.”

yukis hand dropped to her thigh, thumb gently rubbing along her jeans. “always. any time you need me, you know I’m a phone call away.”

yeah, bust she wished he was closer than even that. and if she kept staring into his dark ocean eyes, she feared she’d do something she’d regret. something impulsive and reckless and foolish but god damn would it have felt fucking good.

“y/n, you good? you’re kind of staring into space there.” yuki frowned, waving a nimble hand in front of her face, trying to capture her attention.

she chuckled. “not space, just the dashboard lights.”

“isn’t that a meat loaf song?”

she laughed, the sound coming from so deep in her chest as she turned to look at yuki. really, it shouldn’t have been that funny. all she knew was that she really, really wanted to kiss him.

she didn’t wait, lunging across the center console, hands shaking nervously as she rested them on either side of his face, pressing her chapped lips to his.

she had to hold herself back from moaning as yuki kissed her back, his warm hand caressing her sides under her open trench coat.

his touch was soft, safe, and comforting. but it was also electric, and left her wanting more when he finally pulled away for air.

“your car is probably charged”. he said nervously, blushing pink as he wiped away the saliva from his mouth. “I’d hate to kiss and run, but you probably want to get home.”

she rested her forehead against his, laughing softly as he rubbed his thumb over her wrist. “at least take me out to dinner before you kiss me and leave me hanging.”

“it’s a little late for dinner, but how does a late night caramel sundae sound?” he suggested weakly, shrugging his shoulders. mcdonalds was hardly first date material, but he knew he didn’t want this night to end, didn’t want to risk losing this magical moment.

“you drive and I’ll follow?”

“sounds good.” yuki grinned, kissing her again. “but just let me kiss you for a few more minutes to make sure that battery is well and truly charged.”

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @lorarri @cartierre @sidcrosbyspuck @userlando @httpiastri @love4lando @oconso @thatsdemko @monzabee

[toxicanonymity]

Silence can never be bought, only rented.

pt. 2 of 6, 2.5k | dbf!Joel x fem!reader | 18+

picks up after Pt 1 . Story Master List

Joel Miller List

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat. As he pulls his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. The glimpse makes your knees weak.

Thank you @dark-scape for the mini mood boards!

Warnings/notes: no-outbreak AU. Reader confident in string bikini, there may be more to joel than meets the eye. Legal age gap. Masturbation. cumshot. Kinda dom reader. i don't know all triggers, not used to detailed warnings in my usual fandoms sorry

NEXT: PART 3

Catch up on Part 1

-----

It's June in Texas.  You packed your swimsuit this weekend.  You don't know why Joel would wear a jacket in this weather anyway.  Hopefully he doesn't fuck your stepmother while he's breaking it off.  In the big scheme of things, one more time wouldn't make much of a difference. It's more about the fact that he's your property now.  

-

Back at your friend's place, you plug in your phone across the room while you settle in to watch another movie.  Her new sound system is badass, so you don't hear it when your phone rings, but she does. 

She’s a lot closer to it than you are, so you tell her she can send it to voicemail.  She leans over and looks at the screen. 

“Joel." Her eyes widen. "DILF Joel??”

You scrunch your face up.  “Gross, he's like 50.”   

“Okay, what does non-DILF Joel want?”  She rightfully uses finger quotes around "non." In the back of your mind, you always knew Joel was hot.  It turns out, you had no idea.  

You sigh,  “Probably just checking on me while my Dad is away.”  You're tempted to tell her–at least the part where Joel is fucking your stepmother–but for now, you don't.  You enjoy being the only one who knows and could ruin both of them.

“So why not answer?” 

“Guess I just don’t feel like talking.” 

She looks at you sympathetically.  She knows why you came home this weekend.  You needed a change of scenery after things got messy with a guy you were seeing.  “I get it,” she says.  “But I promise you’re gonna be over him before you know it.  Then on to the next,” she smiles.  

If only it were that easy.  You really don’t feel like going back and facing life.  Technically Chad is right, you never defined your relationship or agreed to be exclusive.  But you spent so much time together, and he said he loved you.  You know he’s a chode and not at all worth your tears.  You just hate feeling so powerless.  On the plus side, you've barely thought about Chad at all since the moment you first saw Joel's truck this weekend. 

Your phone dings.  Your friend looks at it.  

“Who leaves voicemail?” she asks. It dings again and her face gets serious.  "Oh, shit.  You should really call him. He said Trouble."

"That's just what he calls me."  You suppress a smirk at the nominal determinism. 

"Oh, yeah. Ugh. I hate that I'm gonna miss the HOG barbecue this year. " 

HOG. . . Hot Old Guy.  She really tickles herself pink with that.  Your dad and Joel cook out at Joel's pool every independence day with a couple of other friends, and you normally bring her.  

Your phone dings again.  She looks at the screen and side-eyes it. 

"What?" You ask 

"You should block Chad." 

You feel a rush of satisfaction followed by shame as you eagerly go over and look at the phone.  

Chad: miss u already. 

In a way, it’s the best possible message, but seeing the dumb way he writes, your shame is replaced by anger.  

"God what an asshole," you fume. You don't respond. 

-

You finish watching the movie, and eventually start catching up on Joel's texts. Come out and talk to me for one minute.  A pit forms in your stomach. He was here? Are you that predictable? 

When it's time to leave and you get to your car, there's a note.  It's the same one you left on Joel's truck, the one that said You're sick. There's a response scrawled under your writing: 

You have no idea.  

Your heart races as you look around the street.   How dare he? And why are your cheeks burning?

You start driving back to your apartment. It’s well under two hours away, it's still afternoon, and you don’t know what you'll do with the day when you get back.  Laundry, you guess.  You can hardly bear the thought of being back there alone with your thoughts. 

-

Instead of 35 South to San Antonio, you find yourself on Joel's street.  Joel is a successful contractor and has a nice house.  Comically high-security, too.  Today, the gate is already disarmed, so you don't have to put in the code or talk to him.   You park in his big wraparound driveway, grab your bag, and head around back.  The pool gate is disarmed, too. You enter the code to the pool house door.  

When you walk in, the air conditioning blasts on and it's freezing.  Kind of obnoxious in a state with a power grid crisis.  You throw your stuff down on the big couch, not bothering to go any further.  You strip down to your underwear, ass facing the window.  Then you put your swimsuit cover-up over your underwear.  Feigning modesty, you take your underwear out from under the cover-up and replace it with your two-piece. 

When you come out, Joel is sitting in a zero gravity lounge chair across the pool in front of the big glass windows of his house.   When you see him, your heart skips a beat, even though it’s no surprise.  It’s like when you’ve been thinking about someone so much they practically become a celebrity in your mind, even if they don’t deserve it.  

You bring your bag out to the deck and sit across the pool from him. He’s wearing the same tight, blue t-shirt and jeans. Now he has on Ray Bans and flip flops instead of boots.

You slather your sunscreen on as he watches.  He doesn't bother pretending not to watch.  You slip your hands inside the cups of your bikini top, lotioning up your breasts.  He adjusts himself, which sends a tingling rush to your core.  

-

Once your sunscreen is dry, you wade into the pool.  You walk around aimlessly, then swim over to his side, keeping your head above water.  When you get to the edge, you rest your forearms on the deck, then put your head down on the crook of your arm and float your legs behind you.  

“Come to give me my jacket?” he asks. 

“I don’t know how you’re wearing jeans, much less a jacket." You lift your head to look at him.

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat.  

He stands up, and as he's pulling his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair.  The glimpse makes your knees weak.  He pulls the elastic waistband up and leaves the boxers on.  He sits down again and crosses his ankles.

You ask, “How’d it go?”

“Oh, about how you’d expect.”

“How long were you fucking her?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re gonna tell me everything I ask.”

“Few months.  Look, Trouble, I’m human at best.  She came onto me.”

“Knew you’d say that.” 

“What if I could prove it?”

You don’t say anything.  He takes out his phone and scrolls for a while, then brings it to the edge of the pool.  You watch his heavy quads quake with each step but avert your eyes while he bends his knees.  You have no interest in seeing his balls or anyone else’s.  His boxers tighten around his muscular thighs as he sits down and lowers his feet into the pool right next to you.  

“There,” he says, handing you his phone.  You can barely see in the sunlight and don’t really care who initiated it anyway.

“Why don’t you just get a girlfriend?” you ask. 

“You wanna set me up?” he smiles.  “Got any single friends?”

“Why don’t you ask Sarah? She’s older than me.”

He grabs his chest like you shot him. Sweat is blotching his softwash t-shirt already.

You hand his phone back.  

"There's one inside for you," he says. "It's on the counter." He gestures through the window. 

"One what?"

"iPhone pro.  Since you can't seem to answer whatever piece of crap you're using." 

"What do I need an iphone pro for?" 

"They didn't have the regular one in blue." 

Your favorite color is a nice touch, but an iPhone isn't going to make this all go away.  

-

"How’s it goin’ with what’s his name?”

“Chad? It’s not.” You hate him for bringing up Chad. You harden your face, but it isn't convincing. 

Joel nods regretfully and there's a long moment of silence.  

“You’re better than him, Trouble."

You don't say anything. 

"Shit, you can have any guy you want.”  

You can't see his eyes behind his shades, but something in his voice tells you how hungrily he's looking at you.  

You still don't say anything. 

Joel stretches his leg and the top of his foot grazes your quad, then your inner thigh.  All your blood rushes to your loins.  You don't move.  He strokes your other inner thigh with the arch of his foot, getting a little higher with each pass.  A tent forms in his boxers and he adjusts himself again.  

“See what you do to guys?” The top of his foot brushes your crotch and you throb.  When he tries to slip a toe inside the fabric, you float out of reach. 

“You’re not a guy, you're a grown man.” 

"Exactly. And he's just a guy."

"A grown man and a pervert." A wave of anger hits you when you remember your stepmother. "And apparently you'll fuck anything."

If he's still listening, he ignores it.  

-

“God damn.  Look at you.”  He shamelessly palms himself over his boxers and suddenly his body is the only thing on your mind again:  The way his naked ass flexed while he looked at you.  The length of his cock slamming into her when he came.  And now it's right there for your taking.  Your core churns needily, slickening itself for what it desperately wants.  Too bad he doesn't deserve it. 

“Yeah. . . ” Your hands slowly reach behind your back to unfasten your top as you sink down into the water. "Look at me," you echo as you take the halter over your head. 

You lie back with your nipples above the water line, lazily floating and barely pushing yourself around in the water, watching him watch you.  

He takes a deep breath and his lips part.  He digs the heel of his palm into his boxers. You grip the deck with one hand.  You hover just far away enough that he can't touch you.  He picks up his phone, swipes it, puts it down. He exhales through pursed lips and adjusts himself again.

"Take it out," you tell him, then lean back,  jutting your tits into the air again.

 "Yes ma'am," he growls. 

He reaches into his boxers and holds his hard cock with the tip pointed toward you. 

"The whole thing." You nod at it.  

He pulls the fabric back. 

"Now take your hands away."

"God almighty," he groans as he complies. He sits back with his hands on the pool deck.  

Big mistake if your goal is to stay in control. This is going to take more restraint than you thought. 

"Take off your sunglasses," you demand. 

The sky is getting cloudy enough. He complies. 

It’s the only cock you’ve ever seen that actually makes you salivate. Thick, slightly tapered, circumcised, prominent tip.  Salt and pepper peeking out from the fabric and creeping up the base.  You recall for the hundredth time how he felt pressed up against you by your car the night before.

Your nipples harden and his cock bounces on its own.  He inhales deeply through his nose, his chest stretching his sweaty t-shirt. You wet your lips and he exhales loudly.  You approach his knees and rest your hands on his thighs, letting your nipples graze his shins. His phone buzzes and he ignores it. 

A bead of precum grows at the head of his cock.  He clenches his jaw.  

“Go ahead,” you tell him as you back away.  He gathers the precum with his thumb and begins to stroke himself slowly.  He’s proportional - His massive hand is a good fit.

“I’m gonna put this back on in two minutes,” you tell him, dangling your swimsuit top in your hand. 

He shakes his head slowly.  “Yeah, you would.” 

He looks down at himself then back up at you.  His eyes darken.  The vein on his hand makes you weak - his big, masculine hand wrapped around his thick cock. . . 

His breath becomes ragged, his eyelids get heavy. 

You disappear below the water, and when you resurface, you come to the edge of the pool between his legs.  You plant your hands just above his knees and inhale his musk from several inches away as you watch.  

“Thirsty?” he breathes. 

“Hell no.  Just wanna see what a sicko's cum looks like.” 

He smirks, then it fades. The dark, hungry look on his face makes you breathe heavier, throb harder, and twitch.

His ass clenches and he points the tip directly at your neck, then he groans as a hot, white rope meets your collarbone and the halter tie.  A few more ropes gurgle into his fist.  

“Gross,” you say.  But you ache for him so badly.  “You know, a gentleman always asks.” 

“I'm a sicko, remember?" He dips his hand in the pool, shakes it around, then wipes his hands on his boxers and puts his dick away. "Give me a minute." 

-

You dip your head under the halter tie of your bikini top to put it back on, but you let  it float, not covering your breasts. He pushes himself up and grabs his phone.  He looks at it and says under his breath, "gotcha, pendejo.”  Then tells you, "I've gotta make a call."  He pulls on his jeans but leaves them unbuckled.  Somehow, that’s even hotter than his pantsless look, but you’re miffed that he got dressed so quickly. 

You would've made him take off his shirt, but you love the way it stretches with every move he makes.  Half of it is dark with sweat now.  His back is a sight to behold as he walks over to the watertight, faux wicker box with the dry towels.  You squeeze your thighs together and clench around nothing.  

He pulls out two perfectly folded towels and you wonder out loud, "Are you fucking your maid, too?"

"Not this one," he says matter of factly.  He drops a towel on the deck near you, then goes into the house. 

-

He stands in his large window, spreads his feet as he does something on his phone, then looks at you as a water jet blasts into your thigh right at crotch level.  

How devious of him.  

You shift your hips slightly, just like he knew you would, and try to manage your best poker face as you let the jetstream carry you over the edge. You close your eyes before they roll back in your head.  Your core implodes and your whole body pulses as a much-needed orgasm is wrenched out of you.  Your mouth falls slack and you open your eyes in time to see him watching you with his phone to his ear.  He smirks as the jetstream fades, then walks away. 

-

You lay your head in the crook of your arm and let your bikini float near your breasts as you recover, with the occasional aftershock.  Then, you hear his truck start up and drive away.  Asshole.

[vintageshanny]

Waiting for Love - Part One

He’s a Married Man

I felt inspired and started a brand new series! It’s a bit different from anything else I’ve done, and I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback! ❤️

Content: Story starts in summer of 1970, marriage problems, infidelity, smut (lighter in this first chapter but still there), fun Elvis-y things, 18+

Read the full series here!

Early July 1970

Vivien walked slowly past the Graceland gate on her way home from work. She always told herself that if she didn’t actually stop and wait, she wasn’t one of those crazy obsessed fans. She was just a normal curious person. Who walked five blocks out of her way every day in a pathetic attempt to catch a glimpse of Elvis Presley. There were a few other fans milling about, but it was too hot for a huge crowd. Right as she was about to cross over the driveway entrance, a big black car came roaring down the street, barely slowing to turn into the drive where the gate was starting to open. Vivien’s jaw dropped open as Elvis himself leaned out of the passenger window with a big smile.

“Hey, honey, didn’t mean ta scare ya. Got a crazy driver here,” he said, pointing a thumb over at the stocky man behind the wheel. Elvis gave Vivien a quick glance up and down and smiled again. “Were ya waitin’ for me?”

Vivien smoothed out her knee-length skirt and quickly glanced down to make sure none of the buttons on her short-sleeved blouse had popped open. She was always having trouble with that third one down. The one that would reveal the most, of course. So far, so good. “Oh, um,” she stumbled over her words. “I, um, was walking home from work, but it is nice to see you though.” Her face turned red as Elvis chuckled.

“It’s nice ta see you too, honey. It’s too hot ta be sittin’ out here talkin’, but why don’t ya come to the movies with us t’night,” he said it as more of statement than a question. “A group of us are goin’ to the Memphian. Just come in the side door at 10:00 and say Joe invited you.” The driver rolled his eyes at this, but neither Vivien nor Elvis seemed to notice.

Vivien tried in vain to keep her cool as she exclaimed, “Oh, wow, okay, I’d love to.” As she pushed her glasses up on her nose, she made eye-contact with Elvis right as he was also adjusting his own tinted glasses. They both laughed, and Elvis gave her a little wink.

“Okay, honey, I’ll see ya t’night,” he called out as the car continued up the winding driveway. Vivien was pretty sure her smile was lighting up the whole city as she continued her walk home.

As soon as she got inside her apartment, she picked up the phone. “Roxanne, I need you to come over right now. It’s a fashion emergency.” Ten minutes later, her best friend arrived at the door from her apartment two buildings down, panting and out of breath.

“I got here as fast as I could! What’s going on? Hot date?” Roxanne asked as she barged in and flopped on the couch.

Vivien bobbed up and down excitedly as she squealed, “I’m going to the Memphian with Elvis Presley!”

“What?! When?!” Roxanne exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and then sinking back down onto it in shock.

“Tonight! I told you my walking by the gate every day would pay off eventually,” Vivien announced triumphantly. “And you have to go with me! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind; he said it would be a big group.”

Roxanne’s face dropped a little bit. “I can’t tonight!” she wailed. “Michael made us reservations for this fancy anniversary dinner, and he’ll kill me if I bail on him. Especially for another man. I’ll just have to live vicariously through your stories about the night,” she sighed dreamily.

“Has it been one year already? I didn’t know you had it in you,” Vivien teased.

“Oh, very funny, goody two-shoes,” Roxanne retorted. “At least I’ve had something in me.” Vivien blushed at that dig. She’d always been holding out for something really special. “Speaking of that,” Roxanne continued, “are you gonna try to hook up with him tonight?”

“Who? Elvis?” Vivien asked with shock.

“No, the pope. Of course Elvis! He invited you personally, he probably thought you looked cute in your little secretary outfit,” Roxanne said with a knowing wink.

“N-no, he-he’s a married man,” Vivien sputtered out. “I’m just excited to be around him and maybe talk to him. I bet he’s so interesting to talk to.”

“Hmm,” Roxanne tutted disapprovingly. “Well, I think you should go for it. I heard that marriage has been on the rocks since the beginning anyway,” she said as Vivien shot her a look. “I’m just saying, you could be waiting in the wings. Now let’s find you something to wear.”

*************************************************

At 9:55pm, Vivien stepped off the bus two blocks from the theater, feeling severely overdressed in a low-cut sparkly cocktail dress and red kitten heels, her wavy dark brown hair pulled back off her face with a jeweled hair clip. Well, that’s what she got for asking Roxanne’s advice. She should’ve known she’d be sent out into the world looking like a good-time girl. Roxanne also told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was not to wear her glasses. Despite the fact that she wouldn’t be able to see the movie, or probably even recognize Elvis from across the lobby, she followed the advice and tucked them in her purse before heading toward the side door of the theater as instructed.

A red-headed man was acting as some sort of security guard right outside the door. Vivien told him she was invited by Joe and he held the door open for her to go in. She was surprised to find that the side door led directly into the darkened theater. Patton was just starting. She squinted down the aisle looking for any familiar faces but found nothing, so she nervously sat down in an empty seat, wondering if she would even see Elvis at all. Her nerves, plus the fact that everything on the screen looked fuzzy, made it hard to even focus on what was happening in the movie. She decided to sneak out to the lobby and see if the concession stand had anything that might settle her stomach, which had been doing flip-flops since she stepped off the bus. She rose and quickly scurried down the aisle, trying not to block anyone’s view of the movie.

Vivien pulled her wallet out of her purse to pay for her 7-Up and noticed she had brought a copy of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, one of her favorite books. She decided maybe she’d just find a spot to sit and read until the movie was over. Maybe she could catch Elvis’ attention on his way out. She wandered the little lobby looking for a spot to sit and ran right into Elvis coming out of the bathroom. His driver from earlier was standing next to the door. Vivien thought maybe she imagined it, but it looked like Elvis’ face lit up when he saw her.

“She is here!” Elvis turned to Joe and glared at him. “I told ya ta bring her ta sit with me when she got here.”

“I told Red to let me know when she got here! I said she had long dark hair and glasses…” Joe’s voice trailed off as he realized Vivien no longer matched his description.

Elvis started laughing as he realized what the problem was. “Why’d ya take your cute glasses off, honey? How’s anyone supposed ta find ya?”

Vivien smiled shyly. “Bad advice from a friend, I guess,” she said, fishing in her purse for her glasses. “Plus I didn’t know you’d be looking for me.”

“Hey, whatcha got there? The Prophet?” Elvis asked excitedly, noticing the book peeking out of her purse.

“Oh, yeah, I never go anywhere without a book,” Vivian admitted, feeling silly. Elvis looked at her, his eyes literally twinkling with delight.

“That’s one of my favorite books! You should come visit me tomorrow, I’d love ta talk to ya about it.” Elvis had now moved so close that their arms were touching. Vivien could hardly breath, so intoxicating was his presence.

“Are-are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, I’d love to talk to you more, but I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no imposition, honey, I’m always up for some good conversation. Plus the guys’ll be busy tomorrow, right, Joe?” Elvis gave him a pointed look, letting him know they should make themselves busy. “I’ll be wantin’ some company. You don’t want me sittin’ there all lonely, do ya?” Vivien felt goosebumps raise on her skin as Elvis ran the backs of his fingers down her upper arm.

“No, of course not,” she whispered, suddenly unsure of exactly what he was asking. “I’d love to keep you company.” She felt embarassed at how flirty she was being with this married man, but she also couldn’t seem to stop smiling at him. It was all so surreal. Elvis pulled her in a for a tight hug, his arms wrapped all the way around her so that his fingers were brushing along the sides of her breasts. The affection he displayed had her weak in the knees.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow, honey. Come by around three. After breakfast,” he smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek. He started to walk away and then quickly turned back, asking, “What’s your name, dear? In case ya try ta go incognito again.”

“Vivien,” she said with a smile. “What’s yours?” Elvis tilted his head back and let out a loud burst of laughter before walking away. Vivien was floating so high that she almost didn’t wonder why he no longer wanted her to come sit with him. She supposed he’d found a new seat mate when he thought she wasn’t there. Maybe his wife?, she wondered. But then why would he be looking for me?

After the movies were over, Vivien hoped to say goodbye to Elvis again, but he was surrounded by fans, and she felt silly interrupting. She observed that he was affectionate with almost everyone, and worried she had read way too much into their conversation. Does he even really want me to come over? Since he had insisted, she decided it would be rude to not show up, but she tried to get her expectations in check. Plus, he’s a married man, she reminded herself.

*************************************************

The next day was Saturday, thank goodness, because Vivien had given no thought to her work schedule when agreeing to these outings. She wondered if Elvis even kept track of the days of the week like normal people had to. She had already decided not to call Roxanne until she got back from Graceland later. She didn’t want anyone else’s thoughts getting in her head; she was confused enough on her own. Unsure of what to wear or how fancy she should look, she decided to just be comfortable in some black capri pants and a red and white striped shirt that hugged her body in the way she liked. She slipped on some sandals, grabbed her book and purse, and headed out the door.

It was much more pleasant outside than it had been the day before, which was a relief. Vivien thought how awkward it would be to show up with sweat dripping down her face. Whoever was at the gate must have been expecting her, because they opened it right away and told her to just knock on the front door. Elvis answered the door himself, wearing crisp white pants and a satin-y red shirt with arm garters. His feet were bare, which made her heart flutter for some reason.

“Vivien! Perfect timing! I just finished gettin’ dressed,” he smiled. “Come on in.” He led her into a beautiful living room with a massively long couch. She noticed a framed photo on the coffee table of him, Priscilla, and their cute little daughter.

“You have a beautiful family, Elvis,” she commented when he noticed her staring at the picture.

“Oh, thanks,” he said, sounding a little dismissive of the compliment. “‘Cilla’s out of town right now. She went to visit her parents with Lisa.” He seemed to be answering a question that had been hanging in the air, unasked. Vivien just nodded and tried to look like this fact didn’t both excite and worry her.

“I brought my book. Is there any particular chapter you wanted to talk about?” she asked, hoping to guide the conversation away from absent spouses.

“All of it!” he said excitedly. She noticed he had a copy sitting on the coffee table as well. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable, honey. You can take your sandals off and just set your feet here.” He indicated the space on the couch next to him. Feeling a little self-conscious, Vivien curled up so that she was leaning slightly away from him but her bare feet were next to him. While they talked, Elvis would occasionaly rest his hand on her ankle or rub his fingers absent-mindedly over the top of her foot. It was very soothing. He didn’t seem to be aiming for anything more, just a soft, gentle affection. When the phone rang, he excused himself and said he’d be right back. He seemed slightly agitated when he returned.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Vivien questioned, noticing his tense demeanor.

“Yeah, honey, ever’thing’s fine,” he drawled. The butterflies in Vivien’s stomach flew into overdrive at the way the word “honey” always dripped off his tongue like the sweet sticky substance itself. Elvis sighed and continued on without any prompting, unable to keep his frustration to himself. “It’s jus’ ‘Cilla, she’s always got-got-gotta be so suspicious of me,” he vented, his irritation clearly growing. “She c-c-can’t believe I’d jus’ be talkin’ ta someone about books and stuff that she’s not even interested in. It’s always gotta be somethin’...nefarious with her,” he emphasized each syllable of “nefarious” and rubbed the back of his neck as he leaned back next to Vivien on the couch.

She swallowed nervously and nodded, trying not to be distracted by the way his chubby penis flopped loosely against his thigh when he leaned back, clearly uncontrained by any underwear. She actually wasn’t sure if it was chubby, but it looked like it would be, and she’d been sneaking enough glances at it to feel like she had an idea of what it would look like if he exposed it to her…Vivien was pulled out of her less-than-wholesome thoughts by the realization that Elvis had followed her eyes down to his lap and seemed to be reading her thoughts as if they were comic strip bubbles showing next to her head. Instead of the bravado he sometimes exuded, Vivien was surprised to see him blush and rest his hand on his lap in a way that blocked her view.

“W-w-where were we?” he stuttered, thumbing through the well-loved pages of The Prophet, pretending not to notice the way Vivien’s racing heartbeat seemed to make the whole couch shudder with desire.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Vivien blurted out against her better judgment, causing Elvis to look up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape. “I mean,” Vivien began to ramble nervously, “if I were, um, if you and I, I mean,” she fought back at the tears of embarassment that were welling up in her eyes and started again. “If I had you, I wouldn’t probably like you talking to another woman much either,” Vivien cringed at her awkward wording. “I’d want you all to myself all the time, especially to talk about things you’re so passionate about,” she finished with a whisper, looking down nervously at her red-painted fingernails.

Elvis nodded his head slowly, considering her words. “W-w-well, ‘Cilla ain’t like that though. She ain’t interested in these things. Sometimes I feel we have nothin’ in common…” his voice trailed off sadly as he seemed to be contemplating all his life decisions in this moment. Then his soft lips tugged up into a crooked smirk and he looked over at Vivien slyly. “How often do ya think about havin’ me?” The bravado was back.

Sneaking just the tiniest peek back down at his crotch, Vivien racked her brain for a witty answer that wouldn’t sound ridiculous and came up with nothing. “It sure looks nice out,” she quickly changed the subject with a glance out the window.

“It sure does, honey,” Elvis chuckled. “We should take a break from the book and go for a swim.” Vivien flushed at the thought of seeing Elvis’ body in just some swim trunks.

“Oh, um, I don’t have a swimsuit with me,” she explained as he sized her up appraisingly.

“That’s okay, dear, I think I have somethin’ for ya,” he said, jumping up and hurrying upstairs. He came back five minutes later with a beaming grin and a little red and white polka dot bikini. “I bet this’ll fit ya okay.” Something in his cheeky grin told Vivien that he wouldn’t be too upset if it didn’t fit quite right. It looked very tiny.

“Oh, Elvis, I can’t wear your wife’s swimsuit,” Vivien protested, but he had clearly already made his mind up.

“It-it’s fine, honey, she ain’t gonna miss it. She had ten of ‘em up there, brand new, I jus’ cut the tags off.” Elvis grabbed her hand and pulled her along to the room leading out to the pool area. He nodded to the changing area and told her to just meet him out at the pool when she was ready. Vivien wriggled herself into the little suit and nervously eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. Everything essential was covered, but a soft little roll of skin was squeezing out from the suit bottom, her butt felt too exposed, and her breasts were spilling out slightly from the molded cups on top. She bit down on her lip, trying to make a quick decision. If she got right in the water, the ill-fitting suit wouldn’t be too noticeable. She decided it would be much more embarassing to have to get dressed again and go tell him that the suit was too small.

Elvis let out a low whistle from his lawn chair as soon as she stepped outside. So much for sneaking right into the water, Vivien thought as Elvis jumped up and circled around her. Her heart started racing at the sight of him in little red swim shorts and a striped shirt. She sinfully wondered if there was any chance of something flopping out the bottom of the shorts.

“Damn, baby, I like the way you fill that suit out,” Elvis murmured as his eyes stayed a second too long on her overflowing bikini top.

“It’s a little too small,” Vivien couldn’t stop herself from pointing out.

“Nah, honey, it looks perfect.” That crooked smile sent the butterflies on another flight. “Now the rule is, to enter the pool, ya have ta go off the diving board,” Elvis announced with a mischievous smile.

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Vivien responded, thinking of all the body parts that could come flying out of her suit upon impact with the water.

“C’mon, Vivien,” he teased, giving her bare sides a little tickle with his long warm fingers. Her skin felt on fire from his touch. “Don’t be a party pooper. I’ll even go first!” He peeled off his t-shirt, causing a strange tingle to shoot through Vivien’s core, tossed it aside, and sprang into a messy dive, his long legs flailing a bit in the air. He surfaced, spitting water in the air like a fountain and beckoning her to come in. Vivien set her glasses on a little table by the chair, walked gingerly until her toes were at the edge of the diving board, took a deep breath, and plunged in, hoping for the best.

As she came up for air and pushed her dripping wet hair out of her face, she caught the flustered look on Elvis’ face that made her realize that her fear had come true. She glanced down to where his eyes were fixated on her chest, his lips hanging open slightly as his tongue subconciously slipped out and licked them. Vivien let out a little yelp when she saw that one of her nipples had escaped out of the bikini top and she quickly moved to tuck it back where it belonged. She covered her face in embarassment as Elvis swam closer to her. He pulled her hands down from her face and drew her into a gentle hug.

“Hey now, honey, ‘s okay. I wasn’t even lookin’...too much,” he said, trying to stifle a laugh as Vivien swatted at him.

“It’s not funny, Elvis, I’m embarassed,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye.

“Aw, honey, you ain’t never gotta be embarassed around me. And it’s jus’ us here, okay? Good thing all the guys had errands to run today, ‘cuz I want ya ta save that show only for me, okay?” Vivien finally smiled a little at that and nodded. “Would it make ya feel any better ta see my nipples?” Elvis joked, pushing his chest out in an exaggerated fashion. Vivien laughed and blushed as she eyed his torso, willing her eyes not to keep going down further, but that little trail of hair leading down past his belly button was just so enticing. “Hey, my nipples are up here,” Elvis teased, catching her under the chin with his tanned fingers. Vivien’s head was swimming at how flirtatious things had gotten since she’d admitted that she had thought of… “having him.” He’s a married man…hold it together, Vivien, she whispered inside her head. As if sensing her nervousness, Elvis quickly changed the subject, pulling her over to lean against the wall of the pool. “I’ve been talkin’ your ear off all day about my problems. Tell me somethin’ about you, honey.”

“Um, well, I’m 21, I work as a secretary at a law firm, I was named after Vivien Leigh,” she started out tentatively, wondering how much Elvis was really interested in anything about her life.

“Really? Vivien Leigh?” he exclaimed, his rapt attention giving her the confidence to continue.

“Yeah, my mom really loved Gone With the Wind,” she said with a laugh. As she talked about her family, Vivien took note of how Elvis’ eyes and nose crinkled up so cutely when he laughed, how the drying hair of his sideburns curled up and tucked into his ears, how the hint of gray at his temples sparkled in the sunlight. As he reached over and brushed a stray hair out of her face, a little shiver ran through her body.

“Is the wa-wa too cold, honey?” he asked, looking concerned. “Lemme help ya onto the ledge here so you can warm up in the sun.” He lifted Vivien onto the ledge and leaned in between her legs as he sat her down. “That better?” She nodded and her breath caught in her throat as she stared down into his sparkly blue eyes. “Vivien, you are beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned in and pressed his pillowly lips to hers, slipping his tongue gently into her mouth. As he moved his lips down to the soft skin of her breast that was spilling out of the bikini top, her brain was screaming at her to stop him, but she couldn’t stop her body from responding to his every touch. He pulled the cup down a little bit, popping her nipple back out into the warm sunshine. Vivien let out an involuntary little gasp as he touched his tongue to her nipple and then sucked it into his mouth. As he rubbed his thumb over the saliva he left on it, he whispered, “See you ain’t gotta feel bad around me at all, honey. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He tucked it back into her top before leaning his head down and kissing her thigh. “Mmm, honey, you are drivin’ me crazy in this little suit. I see your cute little beaver wants ta come out and visit me,” he murmured as his fingers traced up Vivien’s inner thighs and rubbed gently at the dark wiry hairs escaping from the elastic of the bikini bottoms. Elvis hooked his long index finger into the elastic and tugged it to the side. He let out a groan as he slipped his fingers through the wetness. “You’re glistenin’ for me, Vivien,” he said with a smile.

“Elvis, I, um, ohhhh,” Vivien let out a load moan as Elvis slipped a finger inside of her. He tried to pump it, but her whole body seemed to tense up and his finger was meeting too much resistance. “Elvis, I’m sorry, um, I’m,” she started to explain her embarassing lack of experience, but Elvis shushed her gently. He straightened her suit out and pulled her back into the water, into his arms.

“Shh, ‘s okay, honey. You’re a good girl ain’t cha? I can feel it,” he whispered as he rubbed her back soothingly. “We ain’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“It’s, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just, um, I care about you Elvis. I don’t want to be something nefarious for you. I want to be something good.” Elvis looked a little shocked and - delighted maybe? - that someone would care enough about him to reject him, in a way. There was a warm glow on his face as he looked at Vivien tenderly.

“Can we jus’ be friends for now then? I really love talkin to ya, honey,” he said softly. “And, like I said, we ain’t gotta do anything you ain’t ready for. I jus’ want your company.”

Vivien nodded and looked up into his eyes. “I’d love to be friends. I think you’re a really special person,” she added, causing Elvis to blush.

After they were dressed and saying their goodbyes, Elvis promised to give her a call to come back and talk about the book some more. He leaned down and pressed a soft sweet kiss to her lips. “Not nefarious, just friendly,” he whispered as he pulled away with that lopsided smile. Vivien smiled and nodded, even as the gentle poke from something firm and definitely chubby below his belt told her that wasn’t quite true. And next time, she wasn’t sure she’d have the wherewithal to stop him from exploring her in any way he wanted. She walked away from the mansion feeling giddy, confused, thrilled, and terrified.

Tag List (please let me know if you want to be added or removed): @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love

[heartsforvin]

Heyyy loveee!!!🫶🏻

All your latest stories have been so beautiful and interesting, I love them!!😮‍💨

dad!Vinnie lives free in my head forever was so beautiful😭🫶🏻 If it's not too much trouble you could do another one where it's Vinnie and the Reader's daughter (or son) first day of school As if it were her first day in life and they take her to class and everything becomes emotional because her baby has grown quite a bit🥹💕

I hope you can do it if you want obviously, I send you all my love and I hope the work becomes less burdensome 💌🫂

ALL GROWN UP

this is sooo cute 🥹

thank you for the request !!!!

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; a bit sad, crying, use of pet names, pure fluff otherwise !!

summary; it’s your son’s first day of school and you can’t help but be an emotional wreck at the fact your baby’s growing up

ever since your son was born you dreaded the day he started his first day of school. he was a pretty easy newborn and toddler, so you figured the first days of school would go smoothly, right?

wrong. well, it went smoothly for your son and husband, but for you not so much.

you woke up to vinnie peppering kisses all over your face as he whispers for you to get up.

“c’mon, baby, i got wes all ready.” he told you as you slowly sit up and rub your eyes.

yawning, vinnie slowly drags you out of the bed. you slip on your slippers as you and vinnie make your way to the kitchen.

“mama!” your five year old son exclaims as he sees you enter the kitchen with his father.

you smile and ruffle his hair as he finishes up his breakfast. “what’cha got there, bubba?” you ask him.

“dad made me french toast with strawberries,” he replies with a smile. “said i need a good breakfast for today.”

you smile and nod. “first day of school, you excited?” you ask as you take a seat next to your son.

meanwhile, your husband is plating up more french toast with strawberries just for you. he hands them to you and kisses your head.

wesley nodded as he finished chewing his food. “so excited!” he exclaims.

he soon finishes his breakfast and vinnie goes to help him brush his teeth. you finish up breakfast yourself and decide to get dressed.

about ten minutes later the three of you were finally ready to leave. you helped your son slip on his shoes and vinnie helped him with his backpack before you headed out the door.

☁︎·̩͙✧

your foot anxiously shook against the car as the three of you were on your way to the school. vinnie held your hand, squeezing it occasionally to try and calm you down.

“you’re more nervous than wes,” vinnie lightly chuckled as he took a quick glance at you. “he’s gonna be fine, babe.” he reassured.

you smiled at vinnie then took a glance at your son in the backseat. he was kicking his feet while looking out the window.

you knew he was going to be fine. he’s never had a problem with other kids, and was honestly the most extroverted five year old you’ve seen.

ten minutes later you arrive to the school. vinnie parks the car and the two of you unbuckle and turn to face your son.

“you ready, bubba?” vinnie asks wesley as you watch your son grab his backpack.

the boy gives you both a smile and basically out of the car before he can respond. you and vinnie smile to each other before getting out of the car.

vinnie grabs wesley’s hand as you hold your hand in his, the three of you making it to the entrance of the school.

once inside and guided to the classroom, you can see the smile on your son’s face widen at your excitement.

you’re excited for him, proud of him, but a little bit of you is sad at this milestone. it’s a bittersweet moment to watch your son grow up, learn new things, experience life. part of you wishes you could just hold onto him forever.

rounding the corner, vinnie notifies you that the room you’re looking for is the second door to your left.

the three of you stoped a few inches from the classroom to say one last goodbye to your son before the end of the day.

you and vinnie crouched down to wesley’s height and smiled up at him. “you’re gonna do great, wes. mama and i wanna hear all about your day when we pick you up, okay?” vinnie says.

wesley smiles as he tugs on his backpack straps, ready to go into the room and finally start his first day.

he turns his gaze to you and sees that you’re crying. “don’t cry, mama.” he says as he hugs you tightly.

you hug him tightly even if the backpack on him is in the way. you laugh lightly before you kiss his head.

“i’m just so proud of you, baby,” you inform your son as you hold his face in your hands. “you’re gonna do great and meet some great friends, you got it?”

wesley smiles and hugs both you and vinnie. “i got it,” he smiles. “can i go now?”

you chuckle softly and ruffle his hair before you and vinnie tell him you love him. before you know it your son is in the classroom and the door is shut.

you and vinnie look into the window as he hugs you, kissing your cheek as he reassures you your son will be okay.

as the two of you walk back to the car hand in hand. its quiet for a minute before vinnie speaks up.

“you know what this means,” vinnie speaks. you already know where this is going, you playfully roll your eyes at him but let him continue. “now we have more time for ourselves.”

you laugh and hit his chest. “you’re insufferable,” you tell him. “you’re lucky i love you.”

vinnie laughs as he holds you tighter, the two of you getting into the car quickly after.

“as much as i love him, im glad it’ll just be us for a few hours now.” vinnie says as he starts up the engine.

you laugh again. “that sounds terrible, vin,” you tell him. “but i’m glad we do too.” you smile before kissing him.

you knew your boy would be just fine at school, that he’d make good friends and learn good things. you knew you’d be fine, too. you just might need a little more time than others.

hiii !!! i loved writing this , it was so cute !!! i hope you all enjoyed reading it !!!

oh also !! for some reason tumblr isn’t showing some of your guys’ users that are on my taglist. so i swear im not forgetting you, it just won’t let me tag you for some reason 🥲

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @forevergirlposts , @leqonsluv3r , @bernelflo , @visualbutterflysworld , @louloulemons-blog , @lovingsturniolo , @violet0182 , @laylasbunbunny , @hallecarey1 , @kriissy4gov , @supabhad , @slvthrs , @kayleiggh , @st4rswrld ,

[talaok]

Hi, babes!!! I don't know if you're going to see this request hahaha but if you know the trend in tiktok where the girl is describing on how she got a brazillian wax with a man, I don't know how joel would react thru a video with reader. Thank youu, I always adore your stories!

a/n: Ok, I had no idea this was a thing but I did a little research for you babe and I gotta say that shit's funny. anyway here is how I think no-outbreak!Joel would react.

"hi babe" you kissed him as you got in his truck

"so how did it go?"

You had to stifle a smile as you got ready.

"it hurt, but not as much as I thought it would" you explained "Although I think mainly it was because the guy was very good, he was obviously an expert"

and there it was.

Either Joel had had a heart attack or he was having trouble processing your words.

And again, you bit your tongue trying not to laugh.

"Guy?"

"What?" you pretended not to understand

"you said the guy was good."

"yeah, that's what I said baby" you nodded, "he was just very gentle and everything"

"I'm sorry you mean a guy waxed you down there?"

"yeah, what about it?"

"a guy!?"

You let out a small laugh "Yes baby, a guy" you mimicked his comically panicked tone.

"I-" his wide eyes examined you, as if he could find some answers on your body.

"what, are you jealous?" you teased, smirking

"I mean I think I have a right to be... what kind of salon is his?"

"It's a salon like every other" you spoke softly, stroking his cheek as you admired his pretty brown eyes widen more and more

"How did he look?"

You giggled "I mean... good, I guess"

"you guess? Babygirl you're killin' me here" he sighed

"Babe, what's the big deal it's just his job"

"The big deal it's that he saw what only I'm supposed to see"

You snorted "Yeah but he just saw" 

"he better" he cocked an eyebrow, trying to look threatening and failing miserably.

"I'm taking you home right now" He started the car

"why? we were supposed to go out to dinner"

"change of plans sweetheart, I think you need a little reminder of what's mine"

You rolled your eyes as your lips drew a smile

"settle down cowboy," you pecked his cheek and trailed your mouth up to his ear "Not for another 24 hours"

"goddamnit doll, I don't think I've ever hated another guy more"

[ladyyatexel]

Hey, what's up, hello, I'm Xel, I truly have Donald Duck levels of bad luck and yet I do not have the rage button that makes things work out if I throw a tantrum, which feels like yet another failure of media, what is the deal with this.

The deal is:

Temp job had to let me go instead of make me permanent because the economy scared the 5 people over 65 in that department out of feeling safe enough to retire

None of my applications are getting interviews and I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Donald Duck tantrum did not assist me in this realm.

Holy shit seasonal depression I can't get out of bed like.... A Lot.

I have a convention to go to in February where I am selling art in the art show and where I will see many of my friends the only time per year.

I'm scared of everything haha wow 😬

I'm am an artist who just feels too upset and worried to art

I'm having trouble getting everything together and maybe will feel better with some level of stability? I need to do a lot of paperwork. It is proving hard. I have the Tumblr popular suspicions about my level of neurodivergance. (Fun story: I told members of my my family that I have thought in the last two years especially that I might have ADHD or Autism or something, and my cousin said, "Oh, honey *just the last two years?*" Obliterated.)

My abusive dad recently joined a cult and my grandmother thinks he'll try to contact me after 15 years and I'm fucking scared of him and that is Affecting Me in A Way boy howdy.

I do not have the money to pay rent even a little bit! I'm trying to get January and February taken care of maybe? So I can try to exist for this period of time and maybe not have a breakdown or get evicted or something?

Some real not awesome medical junk happening also because why not.

SO, I'm doing Tumblr's favorite thing and being a starving queer artist with brain worms who needs help. If you are interested in helping me out and making a donation to the "Why don't my Donald Duck tantrums solve my problems" fund, I would be Really Grateful.

I am on Ko-Fi, which is really just a funnel to PayPal, over here.

$2500 would keep me on solid ground. I'll try to keep a tally here in a read more along with a expenses tally if that would help you feel better about me! I know I've had to ask frequently in the last few months, so I understand thinking I'm full of it.

I have a commission to finish currently and a few buttons and things that need to be mailed. You could also ask for button and commission, but I am doing prep work for my part of the art show in mid February, so I'm not available until after then for that!

My grandfather used to do a Donald Duck impression that was really good and it convinced me that either he WAS Donald Duck or that old people all knew how to do this because they all talked like this in the era Donald Duck was from.

Here is Ko-Fi again. If there's something you'd like to see me post or unearth in atonement, let me know. If you'd like other places to aim your dead green American presidents, I can give you that too.

Thanks for reading and/or reblogging! Tell me how Donald Duck's freakouts impacted you. Take care of yourselves!

Rent is $710/month, so 1420 is January and February.

65 for the internet, 130

65 for car insurance, 130

65 for electric unless I can get the assistance plan up again, same 130

250 to survive at the con maybe?

Also just like food until i can get the foodstamps stuff sorted??

Gas???

Anyway, that's an idea of what and why, if that is helpful.

Jan 8:

We are at $460!

Thanks!

[okiedokrie]

Begin Again

Summary: This is your first date since breaking up with your ex in eight months. You spent all that time thinking that love isn't worth the trouble anymore, because it only causes pain, misery, and endings. But on a Wednesday, in a cafe, you watched it Begin Again.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Characters/Pairing: Joshua x gn!Reader

AU/Trope Info: Non-Idol!AU, Strangers to Dating

Word Count: 700 and some change

Warnings: Reader wears heels, lmk if i miss something!

A/N: i miss joshua hong, divider by @okiedokreations

Looking in the mirror, you do a once-over at your outfit. As you let out a shaky breath to calm your nerves down. You're getting ready for the first date you've been on since you broke up with your ex-boyfriend, finally getting the confidence to wear the heels you used to love before dating him. You never wore them because he hated them, but it felt freeing to finally have them on.

Grabbing your coat and keys, you turn the lock to your apartment before getting your earbuds out, your favorite song playing through them. Another thing you missed during your relationship with your ex, you'd never have the opportunity to play your songs around him, ‘I never get your song choices’, he'd say.

Arriving at the cafe where you'd meet your date, you half-expected him to be late, like your ex always was, instead he got here early. Standing up from his table to eagerly wave you over with a large smile. This brings you comfort immediately, offering him back a shy wave and small smile.

Just as you were about to pull out your chair to sit down, he jogged around the table to pull your chair out for you, motioning for you to take your seat. Pushing your chair in to help you get seated, he offers you another gentle smile, “It's nice to meet you.” He said. He doesn't realize how nice it is to be treated like this, he probably thinks it's the bare minimum, but compared to your ex, his company is already a lot more enjoyable. 

“This is so nice, thank you for choosing this place, Joshua. It's so nice to meet you too.” You said, trying to quell your excitement for this date. It's already going so well, the conversation between the two of you flowed easily, carrying an air of light-heartedness you haven’t experienced in a long while.

“Really? James Taylor? That's amazing! I've never met anyone who had as many, or maybe more, records from him. He's amazing, I actually learned to play guitar just to cover his songs!” Joshua beams with excitement, doe eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as you mirror his excitement, eagerly asking when you'd be able to hear him play. He offers you a second date at a bar he plays at regularly, and obviously, you accept.

You tell more stories about your life, it felt extremely freeing to talk about your interests openly like this, and Joshua is such a good listener, he nods along, eyes focused and present, just enjoying watching you talk about yourself. He seemed so interested in whatever you liked too, openly commenting that he's going to take note of everything you say for your next date. You feel a little shy, being seen for the first time in over a year.

You tell each other more and more, funny moments in your lives that leave a lasting, happy memory in your mind. He throws his head back, laughing loudly like a little kid, full-belly laughter that was so contagious you couldn't help but laugh along. You think that this felt nice, for Joshua to think you were so funny. It's a little strange too, your ex never seemed to think you were funny at all.

The date ended sooner than you wanted it to end, Joshua, ever the gentleman, offered to walk you to your car down the block. You had such a great time with him, it was like feeling a weight being lifted from your shoulders with just how easy it was to be around him. 

You almost brought him up, your ex, how you were comparing Joshua to him the entire time, but Joshua starts to talk about his favorite movies, the ones his family watches every single Christmas, and how he loves Christmas in general. And you genuinely wanted to just talk about that.

And for the first time, what's past is past.

You've been spending the last eight months thinking: all love ever does is break and burn, and end.

"Hey, do you wanna catch a movie sometime?"

But on a Wednesday in a cafe, you watched it Begin Again.

[ghibli-collector]

Another interesting article about the new Ghibli film Boy and the Heron with great insights into Miyazaki’s relationship with Joe Hisaishi and Toshio Suzuki making films over the years. Again it has a few spoilers

What’s it like to work with Hayao Miyazaki? Go behind the scenes.

News of Hayao Miyazaki’s retirement can’t ever be trusted.

The Japanese animation master’s repeated claims that he’ll give up filmmaking are a response to the strain that creating each of his largely hand-drawn universes entails. At least that’s what Toshio Suzuki, a founder of Studio Ghibli and Miyazaki’s right-hand man for the past 40 years, believes.

"Every time he finishes a film, he’s so exhausted he can’t think about the next project,” Suzuki explains. "He’s used up his energy physically and mentally. He needs some time to clear his mind. And to have a blank canvas to come up with new ideas.”

A decade after 2013’s "The Wind Rises” was heralded as Miyazaki’s final film, the 82-year-old auteur’s newest feature, "The Boy and the Heron,” is being released in the United States after major success in Japan over the summer, where it opened without any traditional publicity.

Though the director hasn’t given any interviews about "The Boy and the Heron,” Suzuki, 75, who is also a veteran producer, and Joe Hisaishi, 72, the longtime composer on Miyazaki’s movies, describe in separate video interviews the master’s working process and how their collaborations have evolved — or not — over the years.

Suzuki is casually dressed and speaking, via an interpreter, from Japan, where he sits next to a pillow emblazoned with Totoro, the bearlike troll that serves as the studio’s logo. He says the new fantasy film is Miyazaki’s most personal yet. Set in the final days of World War II, the tale follows 11-year-old Mahito, who, after losing his mother in a fire, moves to the countryside, where a magical realm beckons him.

"At the start of this project, Miyazaki came to me and asked me, ‘This is going to be about my story, is that going to be OK?’ I just nodded,” Suzuki recalls with the matter-of-factness of someone who’s learned it would be futile to stand in the way of the director.

For a long time, he says, Miyazaki worried that if he made a movie about a young male, inspiration would inevitably be drawn from his own childhood, which he felt might not make for an interesting narrative. Growing up, Miyazaki had trouble communicating with people and expressed himself instead by drawing pictures.

"I noticed that with this film, where he portrayed himself as a protagonist, he included a lot of humorous moments in order to cover up that the boy, based on himself, is very sensitive and pessimistic,” Suzuki says. "That was interesting to see.”

If Miyazaki is the boy, Suzuki adds, then he himself is the heron, a mischievous flying entity in the story that pushes the young hero to keep going. Director Isao Takahata, Studio Ghibli’s third foundational musketeer, who died in 2018, is represented onscreen by Granduncle, a wise but weathered figure who controls the fantastical world Mahito ventures into.

Suzuki first met Miyazaki in the late 1970s, when the animator was making his first feature, "Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro,” an amusing caper. Back then, Suzuki was a journalist hoping to interview him.

But Miyazaki, who was working on a storyboard, had no interest in talking and ignored him. "Out of kindness, I thought it was a good thing to introduce his works to my readers, and for him to be very cranky and disrespectful, I was very angry,” Suzuki remembers.

He stuck around the studio for two more days of silence. On the third, Miyazaki asked him if he knew a term for a car overtaking another during a chase. Suzuki’s reply, a specific Japanese expression for such action, finally broke the ice and kick-started their long-term relationship.

"Miyazaki still remembers that first meeting, too,” Suzuki says. "He thought that I was a person not to be trusted. And that’s why he was very cautious about talking to me.”

Over the years, Suzuki has become increasingly indispensable for Miyazaki. "He always tells me, ‘Suzuki-san, can you remember the important things for me?’ And then he feels that he can forget about all the important things not concerning his films. I have to remember them for him,” Suzuki says.

Best friends more than mere collaborators, Miyazaki and Suzuki talk every day, even if there’s nothing urgent to discuss, and make it a rule to meet in person on Mondays and Thursdays. "What we talk about is very trivial most times, I guess he feels lonely or misses me, but it’s always him who calls me. I never call him,” Suzuki says, adding with a laugh, "Sometimes he even calls me in the middle of the night, like at 3 a.m., and the first thing he says is, ‘Were you awake?’ And obviously I was not. I’m in bed!”

In contrast, Hisaishi, the composer who first worked with Miyazaki on the 1984 feature "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind,” has a strictly professional relationship with him.

"We don’t see each other in private,” Hisaishi, wearing an elegant sweater, says through a translator. "We don’t eat together. We don’t drink together. We only meet to discuss things for work.” That emotional distance, he adds, is what has made their partnership over 11 films so creatively fruitful.

"People think that if you really know a person’s full character then you can have a good working relationship, but that doesn’t necessarily hold true,” Hisaishi says. "What is most important to me is to compose music. The most important thing in life to Miyazaki is to draw pictures. We are both focused on those most important things in our lives.”

On "The Boy and the Heron,” Miyazaki didn’t provide Hisaishi with any instruction. The musician watched the film only when it was nearly completed but still with no sound or dialogue. At that point Miyazaki simply said to Hisaishi, "I just leave it up to you.”

"I feel he was just thinking that he could rely on me and expected me to come up with something,” Hisaishi says. "I feel like I was very much trusted to do this.”

For all of their previous collaborations, Miyazaki would bring on Hisaishi to discuss once three out of the four or five parts of the storyboard for a new film were ready. That the process changed this time was possible only because of their shared history.

"It’s as if we’ve been Olympic athletes making a film once every four years for 40 years,” Hisaishi says. "It’s been a long time of training and performing. When I look back I’m amazed that I could write music for these very different films.”

In his contemporary classical work, Hisaishi had been working on minimalist compositions with repeating patterns, and he took that approach to the new film.

While he maintains they are just colleagues, every January for the past 15 years, Hisaishi has composed a small tune, recorded it on a piano and sent it to Miyazaki as a birthday present. This tradition has now become the seasoned musician’s lucky charm.

"After about three times I thought, ‘This has probably run its course,’” Hisaishi recalls. "I didn’t send one the following year. That whole year I wasn’t able to work very well. It was sort of a jinx that I had not sent him something, so I started sending him the music again for his birthday,” he adds with a laugh.

Both Hisaishi and Suzuki say their interactions with Miyazaki have not changed much over the decades. On the contrary, the men have become staunch creatures of habit.

Asked why his profound connection with Miyazaki has endured so long, Suzuki says: "I don’t necessarily agree, but he once told me, ‘I’ve never met someone so similar to me. You are the last person that I will meet like that.’”

BY CARLOS AGUILAR

THE NEW YORK TIMES

[joon4eva]

forg_tful — kim namjoon.

summary. where namjoon's forgetfulness gets him into trouble.

genre. established relationship ✰ angst ✰ fluff

word count. ~3,482 words

tags/warnings. angst; lots of it, crying, namjoon is a green flag idc, oc is whipped, apologies and a happy ending, oh also here's this to give you an idea of how i pictured joon towards the end of the story

masterlist :)

"sorry"s and "i forgot"s seemed to become part of your daily conversations.

tonight was the night you'd been waiting for, the evening you finally introduced namjoon, your boyfriend, to your parents over dinner. to your relief, everything went smoothly and your parents adored him.

however, despite the outward success of the event, frustration bubbled deep within you.

the reason for this internal turmoil stemmed from multiple factors. first and foremost, you were late to the dinner; an issue in itself.

but what added fuel to the fire was that your tardiness was a direct result of namjoon forgetting about the event altogether.

this wasn't simply a matter of being late - it went much deeper than that.

you had done everything possible to ensure he would remember – leaving sticky notes on the fridge, setting calendar reminders on his phone – but to no avail.

in the beginning, namjoon's forgetfulness was almost endearing – he would forget where he'd put his keys or the name of that movie you both watched last weekend. but eventually, this tendency seeped into larger aspects of your relationship, causing him to miss important dates or appointments - moments that mattered a lot to you.

it seemed like you were constantly having to cut him some slack and reschedule plans, hearing apologies aplenty.

but somehow, namjoon always knew how to make it up to you - showering you with kisses and sweet gestures, making incredible plans for recompense on another day, or even demonstrating his love physically in ways that left you dizzy and unable to walk straight for days afterwards.

but this time felt different.

this time, it felt like his apology was more of an afterthought than a genuine act of remorse. it felt like he simply didn't care – as if your frustrations were utterly inconsequential to him.

before leaving for dinner, shit really hit the fan; heated words were exchanged at lightning speed through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.

his defensive attitude made it apparent that he simply believed another quick apology would be enough to sweep his negligence under the rug.

as much as you tried to suppress it throughout the night, frustration eventually took over your usually sunlit demeanor.

somehow, both of you managed to plaster on fake smiles upon arriving at your parents' house, pretending that everything was fine between you.

every warm smile felt forced and every tender touch unnerved you.

you could barely bring yourself to look at him the whole night, and every time he tried to make a reassuring or affectionate gesture by holding your hand or wrapping his arm around you, you subtly but firmly rebuffed him.

by some miracle, your parents remained oblivious to the storm cloud hanging over the two of you.

somewhere deep down, you knew you couldn't simply let this go – not this time.

and so, this brings us to where you find yourself now – in the car with namjoon in the passenger seat as you both return home in silence.

the quiet is deafening, your demeanor frosty, and your eyes stubbornly focused on the road ahead, while namjoon's eyes occasionally dart towards you nervously. at red lights, your vision blurs as you stare resolutely at the world outside, acutely aware of his silent presence beside you.

namjoon, usually so adept at reconstructing bridges burned in anger and patching emotional wounds with well-timed humor, seemed at a loss for how to approach this situation.

this time, it appeared he couldn't simply laugh and charm himself out of this.

he exhales deeply, running a hand over his face. "i really am sorry-" he begins, but you cut him off, your voice barely containing the pain you felt.

"namjoon, please. i don't have the strength to listen to another one of your apologies..."

he blinks at you for a moment, wordless. his heart aches with guilt as he sees just how upset you are - more than he had ever seen before.

he opens his mouth as if to say something more but ultimately decides against it.

"i just want you to care, namjoon," you murmur through quivering lips, tears balancing perilously on the edge of your eyelashes. "that's all i want. am i asking for a lot?"

sudden honking from behind startles the both of you as the car behind you grew impatient with your delay at the green light.

with a jolt, you press on the accelerator, driving on towards home as fresh tears threaten to escape from your eyes, your throat growing increasingly tight with unshed emotion.

with a quiet sob firmly concealed behind clenched teeth, you bite your lip and try to focus on the road ahead – unsuccessfully fighting against a flood of fresh tears cascading down your face.

namjoon quickly averts his gaze, allowing it to wander aimlessly beyond the confines of the car, seeking solace in anything but the heart-wrenching sight of your sadness.

the elevator ride up to your apartment was filled with deafening silence - one where neither of you dared utter a single word as if doing so would shatter what little remained between you both.

as soon as the apartment door creaked open and you stepped inside, your resolve seemed to enter shaky territory.

for a brief moment, you stand still just inside the doorway, your clammy hands still clutching onto the keys.

your eyes follow namjoon as he takes several steps into the entrance. he removes his shoes and coat, seemingly on autopilot.

however, he soon pauses his actions and turns to face you, visibly aware of your eyes scrutinizing his every move.

"i think…" the words caught in your throat, "i think i'm going to spend the night at my place." your voice was barely audible, even to yourself.

namjoon's face registers surprise, and he stops in his tracks, eyes studying you intently for any sign that might reveal your thoughts.

after a brief pause, he moves to slip his coat back on again, his brows furrowing in concern.

"okay. i'll come with—"

"no, namjoon," you interrupt him firmly. despite the hitch in your voice barely rising above a whisper, there was no doubt how serious you were. he stops moving – his face reflecting his surprise and confusion.

namjoon has always been inseparable from you; there hasn't been a single night he has spent away from your side since you've been together.

"i could take the couch if that's..." namjoon starts again tentatively.

"just… let me have this space tonight. please."

his broad shoulders tense and he lets out a shaky sigh, turning his head away for a brief moment so that you wouldn't see the hurt that flickered across his eyes or the subtle gestures as his fingers came up discreetly to wipe at them.

he turns back to face you again and there's a vulnerability in his gaze – his normally confident exterior now replaced by feelings of insecurity and genuine fear at what this separation might mean.

as if propelled by instinct, namjoon crosses the distance between you both faster than you can react. he wraps you tenderly in a warm embrace, his arms enfolding your body against his firm chest.

his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as if trying to protect you from the world or, perhaps, himself.

as you lean into him, the warmth of his body seems almost too much to bear – like walking on hot coals or holding fire in your hands – yet you know that it's exactly what you're yearning for.

his arms draw even tighter around you, and he lowers his head to press it lightly against your hair; the familiar scent of your shampoo wafting towards his nostrils.

he exhales tenderly before murmuring your name softly. with a voice strained by raw emotion, he whispers hoarsely, "i love you," allowing each precious syllable to crack the tiniest bit.

"and i'm sorry. i know i messed up. but please remember that i love you."

—

the drive back to your apartment is hazy, almost as if your body transported you there without any conscious effort from your mind.

your hands grip a duffel bag stuffed with essential toiletries and a few changes of clothes, enough to last a couple of days.

the thought of turning back and returning to namjoon crossed your mind multiple times. the lingering sensations of his arms wrapped around you were still so vivid; his heartbeat pounding against your chest felt as if it was still happening.

and as difficult as it was to admit, by the time you had managed to finally step through the door and leave the house, a part of you had already forgiven him.

when you unlock the door and step inside your old apartment, you notice that everything is exactly as you left it; eerily clean along with the darkness that envelops the space, the accompanying emptiness, and the lack of life within.

the emptiness is almost palpable, with a barren fridge and clean empty shelves serving as a stark reminder of the life you've temporarily left behind.

the only reminder of your presence in this apartment is the furniture that you bought brand new when you first moved in - before namjoon had ever asked you to live with him.

rather than feeling like home, your apartment appeared abandoned and forgotten; a place where no one had ever taken residence.

with a flick of a switch, dim light fills the living room casting shadows on the surrounding walls.

you stand there, rooted in the center of your living room, as a memory suddenly resurfaces:

you and namjoon had been dating for nearly nine months at the time. by then, both of you were comfortable enough with each other to spend nights together at each other’s homes; so much so that it almost seemed natural for your things to mingle together.

you were both sitting cross-legged on your couch together, warm cartons of chinese food cradled in your hands while letting a cheesy romantic comedy flicker across the tv screen on netflix – his selection no less.

the remnants of dinner were almost gone when namjoon ventured deep into the takeout bag and emerged triumphantly with two fortune cookies clasped tightly between his fingers.

handing one over to you, he flashed a warm and playful smile - the kind that seemed to make his dimples more prominent than ever.

"i'll open mine first," he declared confidently.

you watched him fondly as he eagerly cracked open the cookie, listening intently as he read aloud:

all things are difficult before they are easy.

he pondered the words for a brief moment, then, in true namjoon fashion, nodded to himself and adorably popped both halves of the cookie into his mouth.

reclining against the couch cushions, he gives you a playful wink and motions for you to proceed. "your turn," he mumbled through his self-satisfied grin.

you broke your own cookie, feeling the small slip of paper between your fingers, and your eyes raced across the message before they stopped dead.

the words printed there sent your stomach tumbling, your heart performing dizzying backflips inside of your chest:

your fortune: move in with me?

you glanced up at namjoon just in time to notice him observing you intently, a smug expression dancing across his face – it was clear he was enjoying the sight of your reaction.

"well?" he asked innocently, feigning ignorance as he leaned in closer to where you sat on the couch.

"what does it say?"

—

in a fit of frustration, you spin around, clutch your duffel bag tightly, and trudge towards your bedroom with heavy, slow steps.

pulling on your pajamas and brushing your teeth almost mechanically, you finally crawl into bed – but sleeping alone feels alien to you.

the chill of the empty sheets envelops you, and try as you might to shake it off, it's an uncomfortable sensation that clings to your skin. your heart grows heavier as blankets enshroud your shivering form in a futile attempt at comfort.

when morning arrives — or perhaps it's afternoon by now — you find yourself even more exhausted than before if that's possible.

the sunlight filtering through your curtains causes a strain on your groggy eyes as they slowly crack open.

with one arm stretched out from beneath the covers, you reach for your phone — clinging to a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, namjoon had called or left a message while you were asleep. reality's cold slap stings as your screen is devoid of notifications.

although space was something you thought you wanted – needed even – it was never something that felt so crushing with its absence filled by namjoon.

groaning slightly, you sit up in bed and stretch before rising unsteadily on weary limbs.

coffee – that's what you need right now.

you were sure that you didn't have any cream though, but perhaps the bitterness of black coffee would suit your current mood; it's almost as if the scent of it was already lingering in the air.

you groggily shuffle down the hallway with bleary eyes. except for an odd denim jacket tossed on the counter, nothing seemed out of place.

your eyes widened at the jacket as you halted abruptly: buttoned cuffs, oversized, and slightly faded.

it was namjoon's.

your eyes quickly dart to the entrance, where a pair of shoes that couldn't possibly be yours were thrown carelessly next to the door.

your heart skips a beat as adrenaline momentarily jars you awake.

the sound of rustling emanates from the kitchen, and with bated breath, you walk towards it. cautiously, you approach and peek around the corner.

there stands namjoon with his broad back overshadowing everything else in view.

he's clad in a crisp white tank top, toned arms on display and muscles subtly rippling beneath the fabric. his back faces away from you as he appears wholly engaged in some task at hand.

you rub your tired eyes and squint, trying to recall whether yesterday's events were merely figments of your imagination or if they genuinely transpired.

you remember everything vividly: it really did happen.

absentmindedly perched on your kitchen counter are two mugs; namjoon smoothly fills each with coffee while he hums to himself.

what catches you off guard is the presence of your favorite hazelnut creamer next to the mugs - something he clearly must have picked up for you - as well as an all-too-familiar takeout bag from your favorite bagel shop.

the creamer— so delightful that on one occasion, you could have sworn you were hallucinating when you swung open the refrigerator door, only to find that namjoon had stocked it with multiple bottles. they were meticulously arranged in such a way that they occupied the majority of the uppermost shelf.

"so you won't have to worry anymore about running out too quickly," he had explained that day.

a mixture of emotions bubbles within; anger competes with relief, anxiety dances with affection.

you wanted this, didn't you? your secret desires brought to life with his unexpected presence, yet simultaneously neglecting the boundaries you had asked for.

it was difficult to deny how alluring he looks in that tank top, the very image of domestic perfection as he prepares your morning coffee and a fresh breakfast spread.

and then he turns around, clutching both mugs in his hands.

he freezes, seeming equally startled by your sudden presence – as if he wasn't expecting to be discovered just yet.

his lips quirk upwards in a hesitant, yet warm smile as his eyes take in the sight of you—sleepy, tousled hair, and the adorable pout that comes with a still-drowsy state. "good morning," he murmurs softly.

"hi."

the two of you stand there for a beat, the awkwardness of the situation settling like a thick blanket around you.

the question spills out of you without warning:

"how did you get in?"

he glances down at the coffee mugs still cradled within his grip, cautiously responding, "you always leave a spare at our place. i thought it would be nice to talk over breakfast."

your voice falters as you try to respond, but any words that might have come forth dissolve into the swelling lump forming in your throat. instead, you opt for a subtle nod before turning away and leading him towards your small balcony.

as you step outside, the bright morning sunlight makes you squint, still adjusting from having just woken up not too long ago.

you take a seat with namjoon at the small table on the balcony, silently munching on cream cheese-slathered bagels and sipping coffee, which slowly helps lift the fog of grogginess clouding your mind.

your eyes occasionally flicker towards namjoon, whose pensive gaze seems fixed on some far-away point in the distance.

a somber cloud seems to hang over him and a sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that he's here to bring an end to something.

"i fucked up yesterday,” he says, breaking the silence, “i know that.”

your head turns to look at him, saying nothing.

"i'm sorry," he begins softly. "i know i can't make it up to you now, but i genuinely am sorry."

namjoon's eyes remain locked on the same distant point as before, and as he continues to speak, they're filled with a profound sadness that seems almost unbearable for him.

his voice begins to tremble ever so slightly as he starts to explain himself further. "i've always been forgetful; it's among my most significant flaws. but i want you to know that it's never been out of carelessness when it comes to you. sometimes, my mind just gets overwhelmed."

he takes a deep breath, glancing at his hands before turning to look at you and adds, "i promise i'll do better; not just because i need to but because i love you. and the fact that i was in bed without you last night made me realize just how much i truly hate being apart from you."

pausing for a moment, he reluctantly allows his hand to hover over yours before gingerly placing it atop your own.

"i understand if it takes time for you to forgive me – i'm not asking for it right now," he admits quietly, his voice wavering slightly. "all i need is a chance to prove to you that i can change and be there for you when you need me."

namjoon then slowly removes his hand and looks away, giving you space to consider his words while fidgeting with the coffee mug handle.

you release a heavy sigh and look away too, trying your best to hold back tears. "oh, namjoon," you murmur, forcing a weak, watery chuckle.

this man, you think to yourself, will be the end of you. gently, you reach out and take his hand once more, interlacing your fingers with his.

"you cannot do that to me again."

in response, he turns his head to look at you once more - tears brimming in his eyes as they drink in every detail of your face. his expression softens with love and relief as he nods earnestly, "i won't. i promise."

holding namjoon's hand firmly in yours, you slowly stand up from the cozy, cushioned chair, beckoning him with a subtle nod of your head, signaling him to follow suit.

he rises from his seat, his tall figure towering over you as he instinctively stretches his arm wide, then gently pulls you into a tight and loving embrace.

his arms envelop you while his cheek tenderly rests on the top of your head. sighing contentedly, you nuzzle your face into the comforting fabric that covers his chest.

"namjoon," you quietly ask, snuggling deeper, "have you slept?" you can hear the slight rustle of fabric as he shakes his head.

"nope," he replies, his voice resonating through his chest.

he presses a tender kiss onto the top of your head before continuing, "you know i can't sleep without you." his words bring a smile to your face and a chuckle bubbles up within you.

"let's go back to bed, then."

you both walk back inside your apartment and into your bedroom where everything feels warmer than it did just yesterday: the bed that awaits you; the covers that promise to envelop the two of you in their cozy embrace; and namjoon himself, whose presence brings solace to your heart.

and as you lay down next to him and rest your head upon his chest, namjoon's heartbeat fills your ears—slower and steadier than it was the day before.

the sound is a soothing lullaby that leads you both to fall into a deep slumber, allowing you to sleep better than you have in what feels like an eternity.