#writing nonsense at 11 at night

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

There was some post about the enraging purposelessness of mowing lawns and someone commented about using a scythe instead and somehow this got me thinking. What if someone decided to make hay by themselves on their lawn?

Hay is food for herbivores, with different animals having different preferences. It's also good as bedding or mulch for a garden even if the food quality isn't great. So there's a reason for hay.

While I would assume that american prairie is traditionally maintained just by grazing? I know that in europe hay meadows have become part of a specific flower and insect ecosystem that has suffered by evolutions in maintenance. Traditionally you would cut that grass just once, maybe twice, in a year. exactly when depends on where you are and what the weather is like- it could even be as early as may, it could be june, it could be july. (a second haying might be in septemberish.) What you need is a hot week without rain. The quality of the hay as food tends to be better the earlier you catch it, but it's better for the flowers and insects to wait. (and you can still use that hay as bedding or mulch, but even then, there's usually still some good food in there.) There can be ecological benefits to removing the sheer bulk of the spring grass, depending on where you are I guess.

It being an annual task makes it feel less sisyphean, to me, but the trade off is that it's a lot all at once and you do it when it's hot. One must make hay while the sun shines, to quote a historical porn fic that was definitely using that metaphor to talk about taking advantage of a boner.

Anyway, I would not underestimate the humble scythe. I have an old one I use sometimes for places I can't get with a tractor and while it depends on your technique and how sharp you've made the blade, it can be very satisfying the way it sweeps a large swathe. If you're dealing with just a little lawn, you'd probably cut it quite quickly- though probably not very tidily.

The next step is usually turning or tedding the hay- basically it just needs to be turned over. .... a hay fork might do it? I'm sorry, I have a really good mechanical tedder and have never needed to do it by hand.

How long you dry hay for varies on conditions. I sometimes bale hay at 48(ish) hours, sometimes 4 or even 5 days. Occasionally I get lightly rained on and have to wait for it to dry again. It's better if it's fresh, but if it's not dry it will just go moldy.

Hay rakes are a great design. It's a simple thing made of wood, but the angle is just right and it can move a lot of hay. Obviously you don't want to be raking a whole field by hand, but a lawn? You'd be done in like half an hour.

I can't really help you with the manual alternative to baling. I have no idea how people used to make haystacks, but I would guess it involved rolling it kind of like you do a snow ball. (that's... sort of how round balers work, anyway). I imagine that hand rolled hay would not keep as long as hay compressed by a machine, but it probably doesn't need to. You don't need hay that will still be good in two years time. You can give it to a rabbit or something. And put it around your tomatoes.

You would need to store it somewhere dry though.

IDK. I personally find making hay once a year way more satisfying than mowing a lawn every few weeks. But I have also never actually tried to do it all by hand. I just have shitty old machinery and have occasionally had to pick up the slack. (I want a new rake)

[wingedhallows]

hey baby girl!! can we get a vi x reader who broke up but really want to get back together and if you'd like, you can make it smut! i love you pretty girl! 💓

˚୨୧⋆｡𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 modern/ex!vi x ex!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 smut MDNI

˚୨୧⋆｡𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 hi hi!! so i've had so much fun with this! I'm still new to writing actual smut, i hope it's good. thank you to my bby @moodient for requesting this!! love u

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

five years prior

Seven missed calls. Twenty unread messages.

Your phone lights up like it’s trying to scream at you — like it’s trying to make you feel all the things you’ve been trying to ignore.

You didn’t mean to ignore her. God, you didn’t. It’s just… college is loud. Your classes blur into late nights, and the friends you’ve made — new faces, new habits — they’ve filled up the spaces that used to belong to her.

You tell yourself it’s temporary. That she’ll understand.

But then you see it — the last message she sent.

And it stops you cold.

You’re standing in the middle of your dorm room, one leg halfway out of your jeans, caught in that stupid little in-between moment where everything suddenly shifts.

Your heart stutters. Your throat tightens.

“I think we should break up.”

It’s not even dramatic. No punctuation, no begging, no anger. Just seven words that crack through your ribs and echo somewhere deep inside you.

And just like that — she’s gone.

present. 

“It’ll be fun! Now come on.”

Philippa’s nails dig into your upper arm with zero remorse, her perfectly manicured grip tugging you forward like you’re a wayward child instead of a grown adult. You stumble after her, the too-tight dress cinching at your waist with every reluctant step, and you’re already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

Your eyes flick toward the front doors — and sure enough, those guys are there. The ones who hit on you back in second year, still leaning like they own the place, still wearing that smug, basement-party confidence. You quickly avert your gaze.

A massive banner hangs above the entrance to the gym, proudly declaring “Year of 11” in uneven, mismatched lettering. The edges are frayed, and someone clearly went to war with a hot glue gun and kraft glitter. It’s nostalgic, maybe — but mostly, it just feels sad.

You sigh, long and heavy, and let Philippa pull you deeper into the gym.

The place is decked out in balloons and shimmery streamers, with glittery nonsense taped half-heartedly to the walls. Someone put in effort, sure, but it still reeks of prom night — too sweet, too staged, too familiar.

And suddenly, it hits you like a memory pressed between ribs.

Prom.

Your prom. The one you spent with her.

The decorations are different, but the feeling? That ache in your chest — it hasn’t changed at all.

It’s been a while since Philippa fluttered off to go play social butterfly — weaving through old classmates with her usual glass-in-hand charm — and you’ve had one too many margaritas served without a salted rim to keep pretending you’re having a good time.

The buzz in your head, the ache in your feet, the way the past clings to your skin like glitter — it’s too much.

So you do what you used to do, back in the day. You flee to the girls’ bathroom like it’s a bunker. A safe haven.

Nothing’s changed much in here.

The walls are still painted that uninspired pale yellow, a color that’s tried and failed to be cheerful. One of the mirrors hangs at a crooked angle, just like it always has, warping reflections in that vaguely unsettling way. They’ve replaced the stall doors, though — sleeker now, but the navy blue wood doesn’t match the rest of the space. It stands out, awkward and out of place. Kind of like you.

You’re bracing yourself against one of the sinks, trying to breathe, when her voice slices through the silence.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

It hits you like ice — sharp and clean, sliding straight down your spine.

Your heart stutters.

You lift your gaze slowly, like the moment might shift if you move too fast. And there she is, reflected in the mirror — fogged slightly at the corners, but unmistakable.

Violet.

She looks different. And somehow exactly the same.

Her hair is still that impossible pink, like spun candy and rebellion. Her eyes — pale blue and unrelenting — lock with yours in the glass like they never stopped looking.

But there’s a new sharpness to her.

A constellation of piercings gleam beneath the bathroom’s dull fluorescent lights. There’s ink now — a tattoo that kisses her cheekbone and curls along her neck. And still, she’s her. Just... more.

Your breath catches.

You turn to face her, slow and deliberate, the chill of the ceramic sink pressing into your back as if to keep you grounded.

“Violet,” you whisper.

Her name tastes like nostalgia and regret.

And she smiles — not wide, not sweet, but real. You hear the quiet hum of satisfaction in her throat.

“God,” she breathes, voice rough with emotion and something almost dangerous, “how I’ve missed hearing you say my name.”

She approaches slowly — like you’re something sacred.

But it’s there. In her eyes. The hunger.

That raw, aching kind of want, the kind that’s been left to fester in silence for too long. It’s not just lust, not just old feelings. It’s you.

“Vi…”

Her name falls from your lips again, barely audible, but it’s enough.

Her hands find your waist, fingers warm and firm through the thin fabric of your dress, and the contact pulls a sigh from deep within you. It’s instinctual — your body remembering hers.

The corner of her mouth curls, slow and sly, as she leans in, breath brushing soft against your ear.

“Did you wear this just for me?”

The way she says it — like a secret, like a promise — makes your breath hitch. A soft sound escapes you, involuntary and aching, and she hums in satisfaction, like that little noise is all the answer she needs.

One hand trails lower, fingers curving to grip you like she remembers every inch — and wants to relearn it all from scratch.

Your hands clutch the edge of the sink, knuckles white.

She guides you, gently but surely turning you to bend forward over the sink, your ass protruding towards her front. Her touch is reverent, possessive, familiar — a contradiction you’ve never been able to escape.

“Such a pretty thing,” she murmurs, one hand anchoring you by the shoulder, the other groping your ass with a strong grip.

She draws the fabric of your dress up with a slowness that speaks volumes — not just lust, but memory. She palms your ass again but this time her hands trails lower. Her middle finger trails slowly over your already damp and clothed pussy.

“Missed you. Missed this,” she breathes, lips ghosting along the shell of your ear, and you can’t help the quiet, broken sound that escapes your throat in response. “Missed this pussy.” She rasps into your ear.

Then without warning she pushes the strip of cloth from your sticky folds and pushes one finger into your heat. A strangled gasp leaves you as your head lowers onto the cold ceramic. “Look at that - so wet for me.” She whispers more to herself than anything else.

“Vi-oh christ-fuck.” You choke out as she sets a brutal pace. The heel of her palm slams against your bum as she fucks her finger into you. Vi doesn’t waste time to sling the other hand between your legs as well. Her thumb comes to draw circles over your clit with a grumble.

“Ah! shit-” You gasp and Vi chuckles behind you, the sound comes out low and husky as she keeps going. “That’s it, baby. Knew you still had it in you.” She mumbles. Her lips connect with the sensitive spot behind your ear as she drills two fingers into your sobbing cunt.

You’re a gasping, whining mess in her arms and slowly but surely you feel the hot white heat coil in your belly. One of your hands comes to grip at her arm with a chokes gasp.

“Vi-oh god-I’m gonna.”

Vi just grins against your neck, her hot breath against your skin making your pulse spike again.

“Then come for me - come on my fingers, baby.” She murmurs like the smug bastard she is and picks up her pace once more. Her fingers drive into your dripping cunt unrelentingly and before you can babble another incoherent thing, the heat snaps.

Vi slaps a hand over your mouth, a raspy laugh tumbling from her lips as your eyes roll back, your muffled cry of pleasure vibrating against her palm.

“Atta girl,” she breathes into your ear, voice low and wrecked and possessive.

When she pulls back, your chest is heaving, your head spinning — and she’s standing there like she just won a war.

You’re panting as she holds you up, your knees shaking as she lets her fingers slip from your pussy.

You catch the flick of her tongue as she licks her fingers clean, slow and deliberate, like you’re dessert and she’s not done savoring you.

Then she leans in, her breath warm against your flushed cheek, lips ghosting the skin like a secret she’s letting you in on.

“You’re still mine, sweetheart.”

[bernardsbendystraws]

Fresh Air

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Check out my pinned post for more of my writing.

00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 FINAL

Summary: One night at a party seems to change everything. A strange man with a friendly smile and a sleeve of patchwork tattoos seems to make you feel at home for a change. You're finally happy to have made a good friend to lean on - especially when it comes to your not-so-great relationship with your boyfriend. But what happens if you lean too much...what happens if you fall?

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

11: Playing with his Lightsaber

wc: 1300+

What did we have to lose? The more time we spent together, the less I could remember what was holding me back to begin with. It just felt good. I didn’t wanna stop to think anymore, all I could do was roll by each day, clinging onto his arm and blocking out my own thoughts. 

It was an unspoken thing. Everyone knew we weren’t together-together, but they also knew there was something there that wasn’t there before. 

Matt’s arm weighs on my shoulders comfortingly, pulling me into his side as we sit on the couch. It was a really good day. We had rotted in our matching pjs all day, binge watching stupid shows and just being close. 

Manon had been hanging out with Nick more. It was no surprise when she came up the stairs after him, joining us on the couch and rambling on about nonsense. 

“I’m talking to this new guy,” she announces. My eyes perk. A new guy? She hadn’t talked to anyone for a while. 

“Can I see a picture?” I ask, frowning as she gives me a pointed look. 

Matt laughs awkwardly, “Is he really that ugly?” 

With a shake of her head, Manon starts to explain, “No. But, little miss stalker over there,” she glares at me, “-loves to dig more than she should.” 

It was true. I would stalk the guys shamelessly, finding any and all flaws. Dating sore losers in the past led me to be cautious, especially with the people I cared about the most. 

“I mean,” Manon puffs, looking around the room aimlessly, “-we could go on a double date if you wanna meet him,” she says. 

My eyes squint towards her. It’s a set up. She wants Matt and I to take things further instead of just ignoring everything. Did she really find a new guy just to prove a point? 

I’m surprised when Matt hugs me in closer to him. “We could. Do you, um…would you want to?” he asks, a quiet desperation laced in his voice. 

Would it really be so bad? 

I tilt my head to rest on his chest. His heart speeds up, drumming harshly. “I, um - I don’t see why not.” 

The excitement radiating off of Matt is apparent. His heart speeds up even more, his lips planting a swift kiss onto my scalp as he hugs me in tighter. 

I can feel his smile. 

___

Our first official date and we were getting ready together. Unusual, but it didn’t feel wrong. 

“Ugh. This doesn’t feel right,” I exclaim, tugging on my shirt as I stare at myself in the mirror. Nothing was fitting right, not even the couple of options I had brought over, thinking at least one of them would be good enough.

Matt comes up from behind me, nuzzling his face in the side of my neck while his hands gently massage over my hips. “I think you look pretty. What feels wrong?” he asks, letting his head rest on the crook of my neck. 

I can feel his breath on my neck. His lips graze over the skin, a shiver of delight crawling over my shoulders as my skin prickles. What did he even ask?

“How about,” he walks over to his closet, I find myself missing the warmth of his touch, watching as he pulls out my favorite hoodie of his, “-this?” he suggests. 

My lips curl into a smile. Matt hands me the soft fabric, his eyes softening as he looks down at me. The blue in his eyes seems so vibrant, so electric. I can feel something igniting in my chest just from his eyes staring into mine. 

“But - we’re going on a date,” I point out. 

Shaking his head, Matt starts to unfold the hoodie. “Doesn’t matter. You always love wearing this and I…well, I love seeing you in my clothes, all cozy.” 

Effortless. It feels so effortless. 

I don’t bother asking him to even turn around before peeling the shirt off. His eyes bulge at my appearance. My hand reaches for the hoodie, quickly pulling it over my body.

“I, uh…” He’s speechless. Scratching the back of his neck and clearing his throat, I can’t help but feel a tinge of satisfaction from his flustered behavior. I love being able to make him so… nervous. It’s a boost of confidence I’ve never seemed to get from anywhere else. At least not this intensely. 

The doorbell rings. Right on time. I nudge Matt’s shoulder with my own, grabbing my bag as we both start to walk towards the door. 

Manon is standing at the door, an unfamiliar man standing next to her with dorky glasses and a nervous smile. My eyes squint at the man before offering a small wave, “Hi, you must be Ashton, right?” 

He swallows thickly, nodding as his cheeks paint with a soft pink. Oh, he’s adorable, he doesn’t even look like he could hurt a fly. What was she scared of with me stalking him online? 

This really was a set up. 

“Yeah, yeah, greet each other in the car, let’s GO!” Manon says, turning around and practically sprinting to the car - presumably Ashton’s. It’s not super fancy. What catches my eye the most is a sticker on the bumper - a Star Wars sticker. 

I bet she enjoys his lightsaber. 

___

“C’mon, you got it,” Matt whispers. 

The feeling of his body caging mine from behind is comforting. I felt absolutely clueless, the sound of arcade games all playing over each other making it even harder to focus. This was the type of thing that made me anxious. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I couldn't seem to really care if I was doing it right or not - at least I was having fun. 

“Yep, anddddd….” I hear his tongue click on the roof of his mouth as he helps me drag the claw handle to the dispenser. Watching the stuffed moose fall down into the hole makes my chest flutter with excitement. “There!” he shouts, hugging onto me from behind as the buzzer goes off. 

For a moment, I forget everything and anything. No lingering thoughts of guilt or anxiety. It’s just us. 

Ashton and Manon had already left a while ago. They were cute together, still freshly enticed with each other, but it was definitely apparent that there was a lot of hope for the future. Especially when she won him a Yoda keychain. It was adorable how his face lit up and the shyness faded enough for him to hug her tightly. 

Matt hadn’t even let me carry my purse. He slung the bag over his own shoulder, not caring about the strange looks he got for carrying a ‘girl’ bag. His motive was frustratingly admirable. He wouldn't even let me have the opportunity to pay for something. 

Although, he still was attentive. My chapstick had been slid into my hands every time I started rubbing my lips together. 

Game after game, he made sure to help me, knowing I never really played them as a kid. I’m not worried about the stares from other people, wondering why a woman of my age didn’t know what game was what. All I’m worried about is how long this will last. How much time could we ignore the truth of the situation? 

Hayden had already begun shit talking on his podcast. Rumors had already started, people placing awful comments on my posts. But, I just couldn’t find it in myself to care. Not when everything felt so perfect. So right. 

“Wanna head home? Sleepover or…?” Matt trails off, pulling out his phone to order an Uber. 

“Sleepover.” I answer

I should go home. I should sleep in my own bed, alone. Freshly out of a relationship and with the guy I technically cheated on with, but I couldn’t help it. This was undeniable. 

It was irresistibly, perfectly wrong.

[froggybells]

Sign of the Times

Kyōjurō Rengoku x wife!reader

a/n: i am an angsty teenager and i need to write about this because it’s been on my mind (also spoilers ahead!!!)

word count: 1.3k

part 2 —> here!!

synopsis: after surviving the death of your husband and birth of your child, you were summoned out of retirement to the Ubuyashiki Mansion in order to train the next generation of demon slayers.

-

As you clung to your son, a tense feeling filled the room. You look down at his small face, no more than 11 months old, yet he’s already survived the loss of his father. Holding him tighter, you slowly made your steps towards the Uzui mansion.

“Suma! Maki! Hina!” You yelled out as you reached the door. Judging by the barreling footsteps coming towards you, your arrival was anticipated.

“KYAAAA!!!! Y/N-CHAN!!!” Suma jumped at you, with tears running down her face. Her movements were quickly halted by Makio, grabbing her by the back of her shirt. “Are you dumb or something?!” She screams at the other girl, “She’s holding her baby! You can’t just jump at her like that!” She scolds.

With all the fuss around you, your son, Ryuuji, begins to cry. “Oh nice going Maki, you made him cry!” Suma says, with more tears flowing down her face.

“Both of you hush!” Hina says in a whisper-yell. Gently caressing your sons face as he calms down, you finally spoke. “Thank you all for taking care of him while I head out,” you slowly bow, to which the three smile.

“Nonsense, Y/N-san!” Hina says cheerfully as she takes the boy from your arms. Just as she does, Tengen walks through the door.

“Y/N! I see you brought the boy! Is he ready to begin training?!” Tengen smiled. Hina protectively cradled the small child, “No!” She said, “He’s still a baby! He can barely walk!” You laughed.

“No Tengen, and I’ll be damned if you’re the first one to put a sword in my baby’s hand!” You swat at him playfully. As Hina went inside with the boy, he slowly but surely waved at you. His chubby little fingers waved around, and his eyes, just as bright as his fathers, gave you a sure smile.

“I can’t believe they called you and not me!” Tengen sulked. You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well I still have both my hands! I can fight if I need to!” “You don’t need to stoop so low!” He gritted.

Standing up straight, Tengen looks at you. “How are you holding up?” He asks, playing a (his only) hand on your shoulder.

You shrug. “As well as I can. Some days are harder than others. Senjuro is a great uncle. And Shinjuro stopped drinking ever since Ryu started walking. They’re all like triplets, it really does make me laugh sometimes.”

“Ever since Kyo died, it’s like there’s this pit in my stomach. I waited for him, y’know. I was up that whole night with a crying baby, staring out the window, waiting for him. I think Ryu knew when he died. Cause he went quiet for a while. Like he knew something was wrong. He was only 4 months old, and he could feel his father slipping away.” Your eyes began to tear up.

“I still wait for him sometimes. I’ll wait at the front door, and listen for his footsteps. Like this is all a nightmare. Like I’ll wake up tomorrow and he’ll be there next to me like he always was.” You wiped your eyes as Tengen stared at you.

You both sighed.

“You are so strong Y/N. You always have been. You were the youngest Hashira. You survived that. You survived the death of your mother and siblings, you survived countless demons, you basically mastered Sun-Breathing, you pushed a whole freaking baby out of your lady bits!” You shoved him at that last part. “You’re surviving this right now. One day, your son will grasp the notion of what you have been through, and he, as well as everyone else, will know that you might just be the Strongest.”

-

“Man, why can’t I ever run into any upper ranks.” You hear Sanemi’s disappointed voice. “It’s probably your nasty attitude that they can sense.” You laugh as you walk into the room. A chorus of each Hashira speaking your name erupted.

“Y/N! You’re here?!” Mitsuri gleamed as she quickly rushed to hug you. Sanemi scoffed at your comment, “Look who showed up out of retirement spitting insults!”

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be here. Where is your son?” Gyomei said with tears in his eyes. “He is safe.” You reassure.

Everyone simply stared at you.

“It’s been 7 months guys, you can stop looking at me like I’m a wounded puppy.”

“No offense Y/N, but things like that don’t blow over so easy-” Giyuu began, but was cut short by Shinobu. “I think it is great that you’re out and about!”

The conversation was suddenly halted as the Masters wife entered the room.

-

“Good morning Kyo.” You smiled at the man laying next to you. His bright eyes beamed right back at your. “Hello my flame! Are you ready to take on the day?” You had been married for 3 years already and his enthusiasm never seemed to falter.

Each day he would look at you and shower you with praise as if it was his first time seeing you.

“I’ve been called away on a mission tonight.” He says, scooping up your son in his arms. The small boy grabs his fathers fingers, letting out a loud giggle. “I might let someone else handle it. Seeing as you are free tonight. Maybe some family time?” The small boy now went for his fathers hair, but the Flame Hashira just smiled.

“Kyo, I can’t ask you to do that. If you were chosen then that means it must be important.” You sighed, standing up and walking to your boys.

“Very well.” He said, pulling you into a tender embrace. One arm holding your son and the other holding you. “In two days time I shall be home,” he kissed your forehead, “Then we can have our family time”

You smiled. “In the meantime, you have other families to be saving.”

As he headed towards the door, he took one last look at you.

“Goodbye Y/N. I shall see you two soon. Don’t forget that I love you!”

“How could I every forget that?” You said. A hearty laughter escaped your husbands lips.

“See you soon, my family.”

[604to647]

✨Anniversary and Follower Milestone Celebration and Giveaway!✨

A little over a year ago, I returned to my old photography blog and repurposed it to what you see today - purging all my old followers (including the sex bots 🥹) and started from scratch and now... OMIGOD?! 😭😭😭 I've recently passed a follower milestone that seems unbelievable to 1 year ago Emily who screenshot when her post got 11 notes and sent it to Mr. 604 so excited (oblivious that one of those likes was me liking on accident 😂). I love you all so dearly for visiting me and reading my silly stories - every interaction and follow has been treasured. Sometimes I still can’t believe y’alls kindness towards me 🫣🥰

At this time last year, I also started writing my first fic, which has turned into my longest running series: Safest with You. Some of you have been with me and this series since the very beginning and I couldn’t be more grateful - the first one shot, Carnival Fright Night, was posted Oct. 13/2023 and Ch. 1 followed on Nov. 10/2023. Now one full year later, we've wrapped it up with the Epilogue😭😭😭

To celebrate, I would love to do two things:

1) A Giveaway! Everything in the first pic (full description below the cut) will be sent to one lucky winner! You don’t have to follow me or have read any of my fics - all you have to do to enter is say something nice about someone in our community. You can leave it in a comment or a reblog of this post, or send me an ask (with 🎁) - BAM! You’re entered 😁. No one needs to follow me - I just love it when people hype each other up and spread positivity 💕

2) Nonsense Outros. The first piece of writing I ever posted wasn’t actually a fic but song lyrics 😂🤭 specifically, Sabrina Carpenter Nonsense Outros inspired by Pedro characters 😂 They are silly and challenging to write and I want to do some more! If you want, please send me an Ask with 🎶 for a character or a link to a fic (it can be yours, someone else’s if they’re ok with it, or you can request one of mine even!) - I will read it (if I haven’t already!) and write you an Outro for the PBoi in the fic/character (or try, anyways! 😁)

You can do both if you want! And as many times as you want 🥰 until Monday, December 2, 2024.

Thank you thank you all again! 💋

It’s been a great year here with you all 🥹🥂🥂

Giveaway prize includes: Din Djarin magnet, postcard and washi tape, Barón Tovar Takes a Wife holographic keychain, Safest with You washi tape, one (1) copy of Pedro fan magazine, one (1) copy of Vanity Fair 30th Hollywood Issue, one (1) customized Pedro photocard holder (I will make you one based on your fave colours/themes and I also have a bunch of photocards for you to choose from or I can make you one from a photo you send!).

I am happy to pay for shipping and will ship internationally from Canada (when the strike is over), but yes it means you have to provide me an address. I am active in a collectibles trading community on IG and can provide references if it makes you feel more comfortable in doing so👍🏻.

Winner will be selected randomly via the Excel random number generator in the first week of December 2024. This giveaway isn't administered, sponsored, endorsed by, or associated with Tumblr.

Tagging a few lovely people to help spread the word and/or may be interested 🥰😘:

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @yopossum @almostfoxglove @sawymredfox

@inept-the-magnificent @jeewrites @jessthebaker @nerdieforpedro @joelalorian

@magpiepills @secretelephanttattoo @joelmillerisapunk @holacia3 @galaxyedging

@tuquoquebrute @whirlwindrider29 @pedroswife69 @pedges-world @ghotifishreads

@penvisions @jobean12-blog @auteurdelabre @angiewatson @morallyinept

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[crossingthedreams]

wake up — marcus acacius x f!reader

a/n: this is short, angsty and heartbreaking. i can’t bring myself to write more than this because marcus acacius is already causing me pain before the movie is even released. anyway, i’m late (obv), but here is @angstober day 11 — wake up. enjoy!

masterlist

word count: 460

warnings: angst. death. implied smut. 

“Wake up”, you nudged the man who laid beside you, smile growing wider with every muffled, sleepy sound he let out. He shifted on the bed, his arm pulling you closer to him as he mumbled nonsensical gibberish. You could only laugh, your body nestling in him. 

Nestling close to him, face side by side to your husband’s for the very first time.

You felt a hand in your stomach, and then you were turned to straddle your new husband. 

Your hair falling like curtains molding your face, as his own fell on the pillows like a halo. His hand caressed your bare back, reminding you of how he made you his in more ways than one. 

As your chests pressed against each other, you felt your hearts beating in unissound. 

He smiled softly and finally opened his eyes, those brown orbs immediately finding your gaze. You bit down on your lip, a little anxious. The two of you had met a few times before your wedding day yesterday, but would he still like the sight of his wife on a new day? 

“Good morning, caríssima”, his voice was raspy, but his tone was kind. He was the perfect epitome of what a Roman man should be: strong, protective of his homeland and caring to his family.

A hand reached to take a lock of your hair away from your voice. Much like you now moved his hair away from his face, with the memories of your first night together passing through you, still.

He was still beautiful, even with all the bruises, cuts and dry blood. The smell was awful, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

The medics and soldiers brought him quickly back to Rome after his injuries, but it wasn’t the injuries that worried them. The infection seemed to spread quickly in other men, and the General himself had shown the first symptoms already. In a matter of hours he could perish if nothing was done.

That was still your husband but, at the same time, it wasn’t. 

“Wake up”, you murmured, bringing your face closer to his. His eyes were closed, and his mouth half open. His hair was still soft in between your fingers as you caressed him. 

He didn’t move. 

The tears you were fighting began streaming down your face. No, no, no, no, no, you thought. 

You shook Marcus’ body, grasping his shoulders. Behind you, a soldier vaguely made a move to stop you, but his comrade stopped him. You didn’t pay attention to it. 

“Wake up, wake up, wake up”, you were still shaking him, tears flooding. Your strength faded as reality slowly hit you. 

You sank to the floor, face side by side to your husband’s for the last time.

[ambiguouslady42]

Roman Holiday

Pairing: Agent Twilight/Loid Forger x (implied) Chubby Fem! Reader

CW: Fluff, smut (fingering, PinV), angst

WC: 7K

Summary: You're a royal princess on a Commonwealth tour in Europe. Your last leg of the tour is in Rome. One night you snap and decide to run away. The mysterious Agent Twilight finds you, unaware that you're a princess. He takes it upon himself to show you around Rome, unaware that his life is about to change. FYI: this is very self-indulgent

Tags: @lazyjellyfish300, @pixelcafe-network, @himenoakuma; dividers by @/bronzewasp

If you see a mistake, no you didn't.

You're on a Commonwealth tour for your country. You've been on this extensive tour of Europe for nearly a month. Your days are packed with meetings, parades, and greetings from morning to night. You smile from ear to ear, never commanding that this must cease immediately. The last leg of your tour brings you to Rome. Your feet ache from constantly standing and wearing shoes with uncomfortable heels. The outfit changes are draining; you can't wait for the same dress that you wore for the meeting with some diplomat or other royal to dinner. The press is constantly waiting for you to slip up so they can write whatever slander about you.

On this particular evening, you lost your shoe while slipping it off to let your foot be free of the constraints of discomfort. While greeting the 100th person at this ball tonight, you lost your shoe in the shuffle to accept the hand of the individuals to dance with you. You remained calm, and your face never shifted into shock or fear, always keeping the façade that everything was perfect in your royal world. As far as the public knows, the princess loves the royal engagements and always has a smile on her face.

You desire privacy when you're back in your sleeping quarters at the Italian Embassy. The decor is regal, but you were hoping it was plain and normal like the bedrooms seen in films. Your secretary goes through your appointments for the following day while you sit in bed eating your milk and crackers. You weren't fond of this snack, but whenever you made an effort to speak up that you would like to skip your bedtime snack, the consensus was, "You speak nonsense, you enjoy your bedtime snack." You are trapped in the monotony of routine, and you feel desperate to fly free like a bird.

"At 11 am, we need to go down to meet the journalists from various parts of the world. At noon, we will head out to speak to the Prime Minister, and at 12:30 pm, you will have a tour of the parliamentary building. At 1 pm, we will make our way to …"

"PLEASE STOP. I'm so exhausted. I just want to do nothing, I can't do this anymore!" This was a moment of weakness for you. You didn't want to endure any more of this routine. If you had to be honest with yourself, your deepest desire was just to have a day outside in Rome and do whatever your heart desired.

"Come now, princess. Finish your milk and crackers, it'll make your feel better." You were repulsed just looking at the glass of milk and the tray of crackers.

"You're not listening to me, I don't want to do this anymore. I want to die!" You sob into the pillow to let it be known just how tired you are.

"I'll go get the doctor," your press secretary says.

It doesn't take a long time for them to return with the doctor. You roll over to see the doctor there with a needle.

"What's that?" you say meekly.

"It'll make you feel all better, it's a new drug to help people relax. I think this is all you need." The needle pricks your skin, but you don't feel it. You wonder if it's from exhaustion.

"There, that will make you feel all better. Sometimes, all you need is rest. Good night, princess."

Your press secretary removes the glass of milk and crackers from your bedside table, curtsies, and then quietly leaves the room. She leaves the light on for you; you're afraid of the dark. You don't feel anything, so you wonder if this drug even works at all. A lightbulb illuminates in your head. You get up from your bed and walk over to the window. You see the people enjoying their night with music, dancing, and drinking. You want to be just like them, free of duty and just living your life on your terms.

You quickly get out of your nightgown and dress into a plain white-collar shirt, a skirt, and the most comfortable shoes that you have in your collection. Your feet still ache, but you don't have a choice right now. You look around to see if anyone is standing guard by your door; it's empty. You stealthily move to the next part of the embassy, where you can find access to the nearest exit. You keep looking in both directions, double-checking that you remain unseen. At last, you're outside but not out of the woods yet. You hide behind a wall and see one guard. When the guard turns around to walk in the other direction, you move to get closer to the gates. Alas, you find a truck that's going to exit the grounds. No one is in sight, so you hop aboard in the back, concealing yourself with the random goods that are stored there. A whistle is heard, and you hear a door slam and the sound of an engine starting. You're moving! The creaking of the embassy gates is loud. You hear a clink when it closes. You take a small peak, and you're dancing internally; You're outside. You have no idea where you're going, but you're free at last.

Meanwhile, on the Roman roofs, a figure is standing. He removes a mask and takes a deep breath. "I know HQ is short-staffed, but I need to stop accepting three missions in a day." He sighs and takes a deep breath in. Agent Twilight, a spy, is not here on holiday but on back-to-back missions. He is also exhausted, but if you want to achieve world peace, spies can never take a day off. As a spy, he needs to remain unseen and invisible to the public. He has been jumping from abandoned building to another these last 48 hours, to just rest his eyes for 2 hours before continuing to move to his next target. He's used to this, but he feels it the way that his back aches and his head hurts. "I really should try to get some rest tonight. I'll leave tomorrow, unnoticed."

He moves down to the streets in a civilian's outfit that consists of a green 3-piece suit and a suitcase; he's just a tourist on holiday. As he is walking by, he notices someone hop off the back of the truck.

"Strange…that seems like suspicious behaviour. That's none of my business. I've completed all my missions for today…but just to be sure."

You're unaware that you have eyes following you. You're moving and looking around at the people enjoying their drinks and cigarettes in cafés. Just as you're twirling and taking in the sights, you begin to feel very drowsy. The world looks like it's spinning for you. You keep moving, unsure where you are or where you're going. Away from the crowds, you find a low wall and sit on it. "Maybe I'll lie down here, just for a few minutes," you quietly tell yourself.

You suddenly don't feel the cool air blowing or the hardness of the concrete. You can hear some sounds, but it wouldn't be enough to wake you at this rate. The spy caught up to you, he is standing right over you.

"Miss, are you alright?"

Going deeper and deeper into your sleep, you can't find the words to respond. You grunt and smile.

"Miss? Can you hear me?"

You grunt again.

"Christ. This woman is drunk," Twilight says aloud.

You begin to roll over, and he grabs you. "No, no, we don't want to do that! Here, let's try to stand up."

He quickly grabs you, and you lean on him. You can smell something wonderful against you, but your eyes are too heavy to open. Your arms are limber and lack the strength to hold on to anything. He starts to shake you.

"Where do you live? Come on, lady."

"Who is this stranger trying to wake me up?" you kept thinking.

"Come on, wake up." The shaking becomes more persistent.

"I live at the Colosseum."

His eyes roll. "Seriously, where do you live?"

"I already told you, I live at the Colosseum."

"This is going nowhere. Okay, Twilight, think. You've been with countless women before for a mission, but she's not a mission. She's just a stranger. What's the right thing to do here?"

He sees a taxi driving by, and he hails it. The cab driver asks where to. "Take her wherever she lives." He gently sits you down in the backseat.

"Signora, where do you live?"

"I keep telling you, at the Colosseum."

"Signore," the cab driver calls out. "I cannot take her anywhere; where does she live?"

Twilight hops onto the cab with you. This time, he tries to gently ask you where you live. "Come on, miss, I need you to try to remember where you live."

Your sleep has defeated you, and you can no longer hear the questions being asked of you. Twilight admits defeat to himself, sighing that he must find a hotel to sleep in tonight. It was his plan anyway, but now he's stuck babysitting some random stranger.

"Please, just take me to a decent hotel in the area," he states with resignation.

The cab driver just nods and begins to drive. Twilight looks over to you and sees you asleep against the window. "She will not be my problem tomorrow, I'll make sure of that."

The drive is short, and both of you arrive at a decent-looking hotel. To add to his frustration, he is forced to carry you inside. It was embarrassing having you lean on his arm while he's trying to just get a room for the evening. The concierge seemed indifferent, likely because it wasn't the first time a couple like this has strolled in like this on hotel grounds. "Can you please just deliver tomorrow's paper to the room?"

"Of course, signore."

After carrying you, he opens the door to the room. It's spacious, with one large bed, a desk with a chair, and a beautiful view of the city from the window. He gently lays you down on one side of the bed while he looks around the room. You can never be too sure if there are wiretaps present. He opens up the suitcase and finds a pair of pajamas to change into. The moment he's about to change, he makes one final effort to wake you.

"Hey, can you hear me? Hello?"

"Mmm. What is it?" You open your eyes just slightly. You see a man with the most beautiful eyes, but you can't quite make him out clearly.

"Can you open your eyes and listen to me?"

You make an effort to open your eyes. "You need to change and put these on."

"What are those?" Your brows furrow, and you close your eyes again.

"They're pajamas."

You're not conscious enough for this, but you're aware that you're not small enough to wear these.

"They're not going to fit."

"I assure you they will," He tries to comfort you.

"What if they don't?"

"Just try them on, come on, get up." He helps you up to find the bathroom. He opens it for you and closes the door.

You lean against the door and start giggling to yourself. You slowly begin to get out of your clothes and attempt to put on the shirt. One of the buttons in the middle opens up due to your bust, but at this moment, it doesn't matter. These bottoms do not fit due to your waist-to-hip ratio. You don't feel shame but just giggle because this has never really happened before. All of your clothing is bespoke and made for you.

"If it's not too much trouble, could you please close your eyes while I exit. The bottoms did not fit, and I am not decent."

"My eyes are closed; I'm not going to look." You walk, and your eyes are closed too. You bump into something, and that's when he intervenes. "Okay, miss, let's get you to bed." He opened his eyes; he tried to be a gentleman in this moment, but he did take notice of the buttons that remained open. He tried not to let his gaze linger any longer than needed. He gets to lie down on the side of the bed. You immediately go to sleep face down. Your long locks cover up your face. For a moment, he wants to move your hair out of your face, but he resists. Twilight walked to look for an extra pair of pajamas; he did not have any. He notices the pair of pants you left near the sink. Well, he could just wear those, but that would mean he'd have to be indecent above the waist. "I don't have time to think about this, Maybe if I wake up before her, I'll get dressed. It'll be like this never happened."

His chiseled chest and biceps are exposed as he walks over to his side of the bed. "I don't sleep anyways, but this bed does feel nice right now." He closes his eyes, and for once, the exhaustion defeats him.

The sun is shining bright the following morning. He is the first to wake up. You have not moved from your spot. He wonders if you'll wake up anytime soon. He looks for his watch to look at the time; it's 11:45 am. He gets up to open the door to pick up the daily newspaper for the day, as he requested. On the front page:

The Palace Says: The Princess is Suddenly Ill. All Engagements in Rome Are Cancelled.

"People still believe in royalty?" he questioned to himself. He takes a look at the front page picture. A young woman wearing pearls and a tiara and a charming smile. "Let's hope she gets better soon, I suppose."

He sits on the desk, reading the paper quietly. You slowly begin to open your eyes, and you notice a difference in the lines on the bed. "This isn't the bed I went to sleep in last night." You look around and notice that the windows look different from the ones in the embassy. You look around some more, and then you see a man not wearing a shirt.

"Ahh! What are you doing in my room?" You're frightened.

He sees your face. "Shit, right. I was supposed to be dressed before she woke up. Remain calm, it's reasonable for her to react this way."

He chuckles, trying to simmer down the situation. "Apologies, miss. Do you not recall what happened last night?"

You try to remain calm, but your heart is racing. You're also distracted by the fact that an extremely handsome gentleman with tousled blonde hair is not wearing a shirt. However, he must not know this fact yet. "Oh no," you thought. "I'm also not wearing pants."

"Did we?…" You use your fingers to ask the obvious, but you have no memory of last night.

"Oh. Not at all. You have no memory of what happened?"

"I only remember that I got a shot in my arm, oh…"

"Yes?"

"I was given a stress reliever of some sort last night, and now I'm remembering…I ran away."

"Where are you running away from?"

"From a school trip. It was much too stuffy, and I was seeking freedom."

"You don't often hear of people running away from school trips."

You change the subject for a moment. "Would you mind closing your eyes and turning around for a moment? I must get changed."

He nods, staring at him directly as you grab your change of clothes. You slam the door to let him know that you are out of sight. Twilight goes back to focusing on the newspaper when he takes a look at the picture again. He realizes who was the start of his woes last night; you're the princess. He also realizes that you have no idea who he is, so for appearances sake, you can't know what he does. He has to think quickly to come up with a lie.

You come out of the bathroom dressed in yesterday's wardrobe. Your hair is pinned back, and you smile at him.

"Ah, much better. Thank you so much." You hand the shirt back to him, neatly folded. You try not to stare, but this is the first opportunity that you're alone with a man. Although he is also staring at you. "Got to admit, she is very adorable." He clears his throat to distract himself.

"If you don't mind..pr…I mean, miss, I need to get changed."

He quickly gets up and moves to grab his suit and change in the bathroom. You sit at the desk and notice the newspaper. It's your face on the front page cover. You twiddle your fingers, wondering if he has recognized you by now. If he did, he might take you back, and you can't have that.

Twilight steps out of the bathroom. While he was changing, he came up with an identity and a backstory to not blow his cover. He must not tell you that he is a spy.

"How impolite to not introduce myself. I'm Loid. Loid Forger."

You're unsure if you should tell him your regal name, but you can't do that. After a couple of seconds, you tell him your name.

"Lovely to meet you, miss," he says as you're both shaking hands.

"You said you ran away because you wanted freedom. What would your ideal day look like to you?"

"Oh, Mr. Forger, well, if I could, I'd go to an outdoor café, take the time to explore the sights, and then see where the day takes me. No real concrete plans or schedule, just freedom to do what I please."

"It's Loid. You know what? We can do that today."

"Don't you have work?"

"For today, I don't work. We're on holiday."

Together, you make your way out of the room. "Loid" goes to the front desk quickly to extend his stay in the room while you wait by the door. While they're processing the paperwork, he thinks to himself, "I know it would be good to return her to where she needs to be, but I don't see the harm in keeping her out for another day or so." The room is secured once more for the evening, and you head out.

You take in all the sights; people are out and about, eating, drinking, and smoking. "Is this what real people do every day?" you thought to yourself. You see a gelato stand and wonder what it'd be like to have gelato as the first meal of the day. "Do you have any money?" Loid asks.

"Me, money? No, I've never carried money before."

"How about this? I'll cover whatever costs for today."

"If you can, just tell me the final total, and I'll find a way to mail you what I owe you."

"If you'd like that, sure."

Both of you get a scoop each in a cone. The sun is blistering today, but the refreshing treat allows you to focus on how wonderful it all feels to be outside and not stuck in some stuffy, royal engagement. You walk side by side together, window shopping, and you see a barber shop. You see a couple of models with different styles of short hair, and look at the mirror and imagine yourself with short hair. You decide to walk inside. The barber immediately sits you down on the chair. "I want my hair to be short," you instruct.

"How short?"

"This short." You guide the barber with your hands to where you want it below your ear. You've always hated your long hair; it's such a hassle when getting ready for any event. The moment your hair falls on the floor, there's no going back. The barber works on styling, making sure that the cut perfectly frames your round face.

Meanwhile, Loid is outside and studies how you're reacting to the changes in your hair. You look petrified, but somehow you manage to smile and laugh. He doesn't necessarily know how to remain relaxed in this moment, but there truly isn't any harm in letting you have a little fun. He goes to stand in the shade and waits for you to signal him so he can pay for your haircut. However, once you're done, you run up to him.

"He just let me have a free haircut, but get this. He invited us to a party on a boat tonight. Doesn't that sound grand?" The dimple on your face is noticeable to Loid as you mention the details of where this party will be. You mention that there will be a live band and that they'll be playing different kinds of music. He is not listening very well, as his attention is on how happy you are at this moment. At this point, as you're about to walk, he offers his arm. While you're curious about the gesture, it feels natural in the moment, and your arm locks with his. You walk some more, and there's a shop that allows people to rent Vespas.

"What if we rent a Vespa to take a look at the sights?" He asks

"Oh, sure! I don't know how to ride one, though."

"I can, don't worry."

There's a thrill about having to place your hands on someone's waist while riding on a motorbike. He needs to have faith that you won't try to do anything while holding on to him, but you need to trust that he won't try to do something reckless while driving. He's driving around and pointing out the sights to you as you hold on gently. The breeze feels wonderful as he drives around, but your heart is racing because you're touching a man. You can feel the muscles on his torso, and it causes your face to feel hot. While driving around, he gets flagged by a traffic officer.

"Wait, here." Loid gets off to talk reasonably to the officer, and you're looking around. You decide to sit at the front and fiddle with the gears on the Vespa, and it moves forward.

"Ahh!"

Loid immediately sees you jetting off on the bike and runs after you to get on. He is now the one holding on for dear life. His eyes are wide as he's trying to see where you're driving towards. He tries to take a handle on the gears, but you place your hands on top of this.

"No, no! Please let me try!"

There is screaming and laughing coming from your end as you clumsily navigate the bike through the town square. You start to run through café patios and accidentally rip someone's painting. You try to remain on the main road but struggle to keep the balance. Loid is squeezing on to your waist as you drive, hoping that this isn't his last day on Earth. Sirens are heard, and he looks behind to notice that you have the police chasing after you. You got your bearings on driving the vehicle, but it was a little too late. You were pulled over and taken into custody.

The police don't recognize who you are, but Loid manages to smooth things over. He shows the police a fake ID showing that he is a member of the secret police and that you're his newlywed wife on your honeymoon. The police officer laughs, doesn't even challenge the validity of the identification. You're both off the hook, and you both walk towards a local cafe.

"What would you like, signora?"

"Can I have a glass of champagne, please?"

"Champagne? Whatever for?"

"Today is a celebration," you say with excitement.

His lips curl upward, and he doesn't try to discuss with you. You're happy; that's what matters.

"I'll just just have an espresso, thank you."

You both just look at each other for a moment. You're in awe of how kind he's been to you and doing everything you've ever wanted. Meanwhile, he's basking in how radiant you look, a smile so bright that the sun should be ashamed. Your short hair does compliment you; how rude of him, he hasn't complimented you.

"Your hair looks lovely. Do you like it?"

"Oh! Thank you! I love it! It feels a lot lighter and perfect for those pesky roy…"

He knows that you were about to tell him about your royal engagements. He knows who you are, but he doesn't want to ruin the day. When he thinks about it now, he has never really felt this relaxed, even with the Vespa incident.

Your drinks are served, and you decide to make a toast. "To a perfect day. Cheers."

"Are you married?" you ask him

"Me? No."

"You've never told me what you do for a living."

"I'm a doctor. I just happen to be on a trip, that's all."

"Oh? When is your trip over?"

"Tomorrow night."

"I suppose we have to make tonight the best one yet."

You don't know how long you'll be away from the embassy, but so far, you haven't been recognized by anyone, to your knowledge. The one person who knows who you are is sitting next to you, wondering why a royal princess ran away from her duties. After all, is it his place to ask what it's like to be royalty?

The sun starts to set. The night is young now, the party is soon to start. Loid settles the bill, with the both of you making your way to the docks to go to the party. He immediately notices the number of secret police present. He can identify them by the suits they're wearing, along with a certain type of hat. They could fool anyone, but they can't fool him. You remain unaware that you are being looked for.

You go up to greet the barber, who asks you to dance right away. Loid looks from a distance, paying attention to the way you dance. He notes that you move very stiffly, but that's probably due to the type of dances that you've been exposed to as a royal. You try to loosen up and end up laughing from being unable to relax with the music playing. The tune changes to something slower, and Loid cuts in. "May I have this dance?" You nod.

His hand rests on your waist, just the way it did earlier while you were on the Vespa. You're standing very close to one another, your breath hitching from how close you are to him. Due to the height difference, you look up, blushing from how handsome he truly is. The way that his hair is parted, his eyes have a soft gaze as he looks at you. You rest your head on his chest as the music sways you. The song ends; you clear your throat as you go around to greet other strangers. He goes to the bar to order a drink but keeps an eye on you. Another song starts with someone new dancing with you. You're not allowed to excuse yourself, so you're suddenly very uncomfortable, trying to keep a polite smile. ,

"We've been looking for you, princess."

The moment you hear the word, you try to get away, but the grip tightens. Loid immediately recognizes that the individual is part of the secret police.

"Excuse me, I need to talk to her right now," Loid makes an effort to politely interrupt the dance.

"That won't be necessary," the policeman says.

Your eyes look at Loid in horror, begging him to get you out of this situation. Loid understands, using force if necessary.

"I think she doesn't want to dance with you," cutting in between the two of you.

Loid shoves the man, starting a scuffle at this party. Punches are being thrown from left to right. Loid takes an opportunity to punch the man, but it escalates into a full-out brawl. Backup shows up, and the barber intervenes to help. You feel guilty that it's come to this, but you're not ready to go back. Two other policemen grab you to get you off the boat. Loid sees you trying to free yourself, but it's to no avail. He rushes to tackle one of the policemen while you are now able to push the other into the water, throwing a life raft just in case he can't swim. Loid grabs your hand, now running to try to get away. You are being chased by a group of them. You're able to outmaneuver some of them, but then eventually, one finds you and tries to grab you. Loid quickly punches him into the water, allowing both of you to keep running. Suddenly, another swarm is coming directly towards you. Feeling cornered, you decide to jump into the water to run away; he jumps in with you. You start to swim to the other side of the shore, away from all the commotion.

As you walk onto shore, you're shivering. It is freezing now compared to how hot it was earlier today. You break into laughter as his arm wraps around you; today, indeed has been an adventure.

"I know you're cold; come here." He takes you into an embrace, but you still don't stop laughing. He joins you in the laughter, noting the absurdity of the events that just took place moments ago. There is a pause as you gaze at each other. You start to lean in closer; he follows. You take a final look at his eyes right before you close yours. His lips press to yours. Your heart beats harder than any drum you've ever heard of. Your palm finds his face as you melt into the kiss, not wanting this moment to end. He releases you from the kiss and holds you tightly, with your lips accidentally making contact with the pulse point of his neck. He sighs, out of impulse and lack of control.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I…"

He leans forward again to kiss you, the hold on you becoming tighter. The kiss becomes hungrier, with your wet clothes clinging to your skins. Your hands travel to feel the nape of his neck while his arms wrap tighter around that perfect waist of yours. There's a pause, not one to stop but to indicate that both of you want this to go further than a kiss. He stands up and grabs your hand to hail a taxi. His leg shakes as he knows what's about to happen, but he is ever the gentleman; he needs to make sure you want this too. You've had kisses before, but you've never felt this type of excitement around the opposite sex.

You make it back to the room, standing at a distance from each other. You make the first move, kissing him again for a third time. This kiss feels different from all the other ones you've had. You feel pressure pooling in your stomach; something is building up, and you want it to be released. You remove his jacket, slowly starting to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. He unbuttons your top, wanting to press all the gentle kisses against your skin. He feels like a dog because he honestly was curious what it'd be like to kiss you between your breasts. However, you're not stopping him, giving him the consent that he needs to continue.

You're both topless at this point, moving towards the bed. He lays you down gently, pressing kisses on your neck. He's careful to not bite or suck on it, can't have a princess covered in love bites. On the other hand, how wonderful would it be if he was able to claim a piece of a princess for himself. He controls himself, focusing on caressing the nipples of your breasts as he remains attentive on kissing your lips. You have a beautiful smile, but he craves to be the one to make you smile right now. You're smiling in between each kiss, moaning as his fingers pinch your nipples, and you're suddenly craving more. You close your legs, trying to relieve the ache. He catches this, and he prevents you from trying to keep them closed. His hands move to go underneath your skirt, gasping as his hand finds your warmth. You pause the kiss just to look at him.

"Is this okay? We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"I want to, but i'm…I've never done this before."

"Don't worry. If at any point I do something and you want me to stop, I will."

You nod and kiss him again. His fingers travel to find the elastic of your underwear to tug and remove them. You gasp as his hand rests outside of your sex and starts to stimulate it. You moan and then pause the kiss as you've never done that before. He chuckles and moves to press his lips on your nipples. His hot tongue on your cold nipples is euphoric, with his hands and fingers making their way inside of you.

You gently tug his hair as the kisses become licks and nibbles around your breasts. When one finger finds its way inside of you, you gasp. The finger curls inside of you, causing you to whine.

"Please, please, I need more."

He inserts one more finger inside of you, and the pace quickens. The pressure that was building up is reaching a peak where you feel you can't contain it any longer. He laps your nipple faster, making eye contact with you. You can no longer control yourself, your back arches, and you feel relief. Your body is full of aftershock as he removes his fingers from you; he kisses you to create relief for you. He's so gentle to the touch, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close to you. He sits you up, looking at you.

"Do you want to take it further? We can stop if you want."

You look down and notice that his length is showing.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You feel bold and decide to sit on his lap and kiss him once more. You want to show him how much you desire him. You grind against him; he releases a soft moan. You pause and nod. "I think I want to keep going, if that's okay with you."

"Yes, it's completely okay."

He tries to find the zipper on your skirt so he could take it off you. Once he finds it, he motions to help you stand up so he can take it off. He pauses so he can remove his trousers, along with his underwear. You're both naked, and he takes control now. He lays you down and presses kisses along your soft tummy. He takes a few small nibbles from the side of your ribs, kisses your hips, and then kisses your abundant, angelic thighs. You react with whines and gasps every time, pushing him even further to the edge. He positions himself on top of you, directing his length towards your sex.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

He cups your face to kiss you as he enters you. You cry when you feel the pinch inside of you. "Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?" You shake your head as he continues to kiss you and goes further into you. The pain subsides; he starts to thrust gently. Your cry shifts into a moan as you feel the same pressure building up again. His tongue dances with yours; your hands start to travel to feel the rest of his body. Every time you touch his skin, he feels his body is on fire, wanting to give you everything you've ever wanted. He pushes harder into you, and this time, you moan very loudly. He smirks, feeling proud that he could bring that out of a royal princess. Faster and harder each time, you moan each time.

"Loid! Loid! Don't stop!"

He knows that's not his name, but saying his alias name makes him wish he could tell you everything about him. You want to tell him right now that you're a princess, but you don't this moment to be ruined. In this moment, you wish this was the only man for you. His hands grip tighter around your hips, and he can't hold back. He thrusts harder and faster, you're both moaning now from the pleasure.

"You feel so good right now, but where do you want me to finish?" He struggles to ask.

"You can't finish inside of me, sorry!"

He hears enough and continues to pump into her and pulls out the last second, releasing himself on the sheets. You're both out of breath as you lay next to each other. You giggle from how amazing this moment felt. You crawl towards him to kiss his lips. This intimate moment deepened something that had started last night. Your only wish is that it could last forever.

You both discuss how you're going to clean up. He lets you take a shower first before going to bed. Loid decided to turn on the radio to a news program. As you step out, you hear your regal name. "Her Royal Highness is yet to be seen; her country and her people depend on the success of this tour. With the last leg on pause, the country is feeling the anxiety and wondering if Her Royal Highness is in good health." You move to turn off the radio, and your expression tells Loid what he needs to know.

"I have to tell you something," he says.

The tears are welling up in your eyes. "Please, not now or today or ever. I don't want this day to end."

He holds you close, kissing your cheeks and your forehead. Initially, he thought this was just going to be another day with another stranger (who is a princess), but now he dreads the idea of never seeing you again. He experienced so much life in a day; for the first time in a long time, he felt he lived his life to the fullest. He doesn't want the night to end.

"I have to go now…" You sniffle. You grab your clothes and change. Loid proceeds to change and then makes a phone call to get a rental car at the last minute. He wants to make this last trip with you very personal.

He drives in silence as you sit with your hands clasped together. You know that this is over and that you'll never have a day like this ever again. He drives you to the designated area where you told him to drop you off. He makes it and then turns off the engine.

"This is it…I don't know how to say goodbye," your voice cracks.

"So don't," he says quietly.

You move your hand to open the door, but at the last second, you leap to embrace him. You can't help but release all the tears all at once. He holds on tighter, knowing that this will be the closest he'll ever have you again. He presses a kiss onto your lips one last time, so he can commit them to memory. He hopes that someday he'll be the reason you smile when you look back.

You release yourself from his embrace and walk towards the Embassy. He continues to look onwards and waits. After a couple of minutes, he turns the car on and leaves, only left with the memory of today.

You come back to your Personal Secretary asking you where you've been. A royal maid is present to get you out of your clothes.

"What did you do to your hair? What will they say?"

"As your princess, I demand that you stop asking me these questions. It's late, and we do have a long day tomorrow after all. You are all dismissed."

When you're left alone, you sob into the pillow to allow yourself to free yourself of this pain in your heart. You hope that he won't forget you at all and that he'll think about you once in a while. In the end, all you want is for him to be happy.

The next morning, you appear for a press conference. A majority of journalists are asking about you're well-being and if you're in better health today. You remain calm and unemotional; you've been trained to answer each question with eloquence and never to show any bias to one country.

"I'm here today for the people of my country and to represent my family in good faith. Thank you all for your kind wishes."

The last question comes from a journalist in the back, "Princess, is there any part of this tour that was your favourite?"

You look around and reflect on this question. Suddenly, you see him again. He's standing in the back. He remains unemotional, but the moment you make eye contact with him, his eyes become glassy. You can feel all the emotions from the day before come back, but you take a deep breath and remain calm. "Each country is significant..Rome." There is shock and chatter when you make this statement. "My favourite part of this tour was Rome. I shall cherish it and remember every moment for as long as I live." You kept eye contact with him as you made this statement. He knew that you meant him. You bid farewell to the press as you're on to the next part of your royal engagements. You look at him one last time before being escorted out.

That was the everlasting moment - The final moment where they will ever see each other again. All the small and significant caresses and kisses are just a memory now, never to be relived again.

He walks away, knowing that the only life he has is that of a spy. However, he's so grateful to her for allowing him to let himself go, even for one day.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

I Can Show You Lies

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 11

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

6.6k words

Warnings: Language, angst and pining, Vigilante Shit & Roy's very understandable reaction, mentions of an almost-hookup, Roy is still an idiot

A/N: I hope you enjoy the angst! I can't believe I'm almost done with this series... Thank you for being so wonderful as always ❤️

“Uncle Roy, did you get all these bracelets last night?”

Roy glanced over his shoulder from our spot in the kitchen to the living room, where Phoebe was. “Yeah,” he called to his niece before turning to face me again. “Thanks,” he continued, grinning down at the tickets on the counter. “She’s going to lose her shit.”

My own smile grew as I looked over at Phoebe, sitting crisscross on the living room floor and sorting through the friendship bracelets Roy had been sporting the night before. “I’m a little offended you felt like you had to ask,” I teased as I took a bite of one of the cookies I’d brought over with a pair of concert tickets. “I thought you bringing her would be a given.”

Before Roy could answer, Phoebe’s little voice cut though our conversation. “Uncle Roy, why does this one say ‘Daddy’?”

Cookie crumbs sprayed onto the counter as I tried and failed to hold back a laugh. Roy shot me a dirty look, his face furiously red as he stammered out a couple syllables of nonsense.

“Uncle Roy!” Phoebe ran into the kitchen, clutching the bracelet in question. “Are you two having a baby?!”

My face was probably as red as Roy’s now. I eyed the manager, wondering how the hell he wanted to navigate this one.

“No one’s having a baby,” he growled, hastily taking the bracelet from his niece and stuffing it into his pocket.

Her smile faded into a small pout. “Oh,” she sighed. “I would’ve liked having a baby cousin.”

At least this time I didn’t have a cookie in my mouth to spit out. Roy paused for a moment, eyes flickering briefly to me, before snatching the pair of tickets from the kitchen counter.

“Here,” he said simply as he handed them to Phoebe.

There were a few seconds of silence in the kitchen as she scrunched her nose and cocked her head, studying the tickets she clutched. That silence was pierced by a high-pitched shriek as Phoebe threw her arms around her uncle, who now wore that smile he only ever had for her. He laughed and hugged her back, planting a little kiss to the top of her blonde hair.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she was gushing, sounding like she was about to border on hyperventilating at any moment.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled, releasing her slightly; he was probably hoping she’d take a breath or two, I realized. When we locked eyes over the top of her head, his smile softened. “D’you think there’s someone else you’d better thank?”

In an instant, Phoebe’s arms were around my waist as the little girl beamed up at me. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Thank you so much. This is going to be the best night of my life!”

Unable to help myself, I hugged her back tightly. “You’re so welcome, Pheebs. I hope you have a good time tonight.” I glanced back at her uncle, who was watching us with that familiar fondness on his face. “Both of you,” I added with a grin.

~

“Wembley, you are looking beautiful tonight!”

The crowd cheered boisterously for the popstar, who smiled as she took in the sold-out arena. Roy was impressed; her energy was just as strong as the previous night, her awe and amazement genuine, as though this was her first time performing for a full stadium as opposed to her second night in the row.

When Roy managed to tear his eyes away, he looked down at his niece. The look on her little face was magical. She was completely entranced with the show- the lights, the dancers, the music, her- that she barely even looked at Roy. He smiled to himself, remembering his own catatonic state the previous night; this must have been what it was like for Keeley and Jamie. This concert really was impressive, he told himself. That was why he’d been so enraptured, of course.

Onstage, the singer strummed her guitar casually, beaming at her screaming fans. “You know,” she was saying, “I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors lately. And, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to clarify something.” The song she began to play was familiar, bouncy and fun, sending the entire stadium into an uproar.

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives

When Roy glanced down, his niece was positively gleeful, singing along to every word of the pop hit from the singer’s previous album. He felt a strange surge of pride at how familiar he was now with her discography. A smile on his own face, he turned back to the stage just in time for the first chorus, her pretty voice almost drowned out by the fans who sang along.

You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile Like a child when our eyes meet, darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you

Roy bopped his head along, almost tempted himself to sing along; maybe, just maybe, by the end of this tour he would be, he pondered. That would be fucking something. Surely their publicists would be thrilled at that image, of Roy Kent singing along to these silly love songs that weren’t as silly as he’d initially believed them to be.

And now I love high tea, stories from Chelsea, and from Richmond You can find me in the pub, we are watching football with his teammates

The stadium practically shook with excitement at the lyric changes. Roy’s cheeks were red-hot from the sight of all the eyes- and camera phones- that turned his way immediately. His face burned hotter when he caught that cheeky grin onstage, clearly smug over the reaction her surprise had garnered from her fans. Roy laughed and shook his head when their eyes met; he could admit when he’d been bowled over.

But God, I love the English- And he laughs at all my jokes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, it's just not fair of him To make me feel this much

Fucking hell, Roy thought, tearing his eyes away from the singer to marvel at the crowd. Has Wemley ever been this loud in its entire history?

He vaguely knew the song she’d switched over to; it was by another singer, another American popstar, he recalled. It was a cute song, one that Phoebe really liked, based on the way she bounced and sang along. He’d heard that this was a common thing at her concerts, covering songs by friends or singers she really admired, as well as mashups. And, if the crowd’s reactions were anything to go by, this would end up being a fan favorite.

I'd go anywhere he goes And he says I'm so American Oh, God, I'm gonna marry him If he keeps this shit up I might just be in lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-lo-lo-love

Her eyes were on his, sparkling and joyful. Fuck, she was perfect up there, singing and smiling. Something in Roy’s chest ached as he watched her, that weird ache he’d begun to feel back at the lake, the one that popped up in her kitchen and at the quinceañera. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, or what he should do about it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he liked it.

But damn, he couldn’t help but admit to himself as she basked in the audience’s deafening applause. He sure as hell liked watching her.

~

The Liverpool crowd was deafening, just as loud as the fans at Wembley had been. The first three shows in London had streamed all over TikTok; it was fun to see people so excited to share their experiences, but I had worried about it taking some of the surprise away for other fans. If the Anfield Stadium audience felt any disappointment, they sure as hell weren’t showing it. They screamed and cheered and cried just as much as that first night at Wembley did.

One of my stagehands, one who’d been touring with me for years now, handed me my guitar with a smile and a wink, the way he always did. I slid the strap over my shoulder and smiled into the microphone, letting the sound of the stadium sink into my heart. I didn’t care how many times I did this or how “used to it” I was supposed to be; every little moment made me wonder when I was going to wake up from this fantasy.

“Liverpool,” I started, the simple few syllables sending the stadium into pandemonium. I laughed and shook my head. “Being here is so unreal. I mean, you’re only the home of the biggest band in history!” The mention of the city’s musical history garnered more shouts and cheers. “And I would be completely remiss if I didn’t take the opportunity to pay tribute to them and share one of my favorite songs with you.”

I closed my eyes and gave a little strum, smiling at the light, easy sound, one I’d played countless times in my bedroom as a teenager.

Here, making each day of the year Changing my life with a wave of his hand Nobody can deny that there′s something there There, running my hands through his hair Both of us thinking how good it can be Someone is speaking But he doesn't know she′s there

Through the lights and blur of faces I managed to find Roy’s eyes, a familiar anchor now that made my smile grow instinctively. I shook my head at him as I sang, hoping he’d recognize the look in my eyes, the one I always wore when he was around. His own grin widened as the song went on, and I swore I saw him mouthing along to the words. Somehow, in a stadium of thousands of people, it felt like it was just the two of us, the way it had been by the lake, where the rest of the world didn’t matter as long as we were together.

Knowing that love is to share Each one believing that love never dies Watching their eyes And hoping I′m always there I will be there, and everywhere Here, there and everywhere Mmm-mmm Here, there and everywhere

As the stadium burst into cheers and applause, I kept my eyes on Roy, who wore that stupidly bashful and adorable grin that made my insides scramble. Unable to help myself, I blew a kiss in his direction and mouthed the three words I couldn’t help but think every time I saw him-

“I love you.”

~

Roy should be used to the knowing smiles at this point, he realized. For months now, the Greyhounds had smirked and winked at him whenever her name, her music, her pretty face appeared. So, he really should have known they’d spend half her concert with their eyes on him rather than the stage.

She’d generously offered to host the Greyhounds at any show they wanted to attend, probably assuming they would want to see her at Wembley. Instead, Richard had joked about everyone coming to France for the Paris show, Jamie had said something about wanting to take April to see the Eiffel Tower, Colin commented that he and Michael were planning on something special for their next holiday, and the next thing Roy knew, about half the team was booking flights and hotels to see her opening night in Paris.

Roy wasn’t sure how many of her shows he was supposed to travel to- especially with pre-season training looming on the horizon- but he was keen to fit in as many as he could. Initially, he’d grimaced at the thought of seeing the same show over and over, convinced that it would eventually grow tiresome to keep rewatching it. But, not for the first time, the pop star proved Roy wrong. Between the energy of the crowds, her adlibs and surprise song performances, and, honestly, her magnetic showmanship, Roy found himself just as enthralled as he’d been that first night at Wembley.

And he had to admit, seeing his team so mesmerized was pretty fucking fun.

“Roy, you must really love those costumes of hers, no?” Richard chuckled, elbowing Roy in the side. “Does she ever bring them back after a show?”

All Roy could do was roll his eyes and blush, hoping that was a believable enough response for his player. As he watched her strut in the dark blue bodysuit she’d suddenly appeared in- this one’s new, Roy mused with a quirked eyebrow- Roy couldn’t help pondering that last bit of Richard’s teasing. Those bodysuits were flattering, he admitted. Each and every one was custom-made, after all, designed to show off both her fluid dance moves and her gorgeous figure. He’d stumbled upon some photos and videos online of people- men and women alike- gushing over how good she looked and calling Roy a lucky man.

Yeah, he admitted with a dry chuckle as he watched the lights change for the next song. If this was real, I’d probably insist on seeing those fucking outfits at home.

But he didn’t have time to scold himself for his admittedly dirty thoughts, or to linger on what those thoughts could mean. Not when the music started and the dancers appeared back onstage with- chairs?

On Roy’s other side, Jamie leaned close. “Don’t remember this part,” he said, echoing Roy’s own thoughts.

Before Roy could confirm the striker’s comment, his mouth went completely dry.

Shrieks and screams filled the stadium, along with the sultry music, but Roy honestly couldn’t hear any of it. Not over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out every noise in the packed stadium- except for her voice.

Draw the cat eye, sharp enough to kill a man You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Once again, he knew the eyes of his teammates- and probably a lot of other people- were on him. But, fucking fucking fuck, he could only gaze at the vision onstage.

She stood center stage in that shimmering bodysuit- with so many damn cutouts he wondered if she was sewn into the thing- looking like sin itself with that red smirk of hers. One boot stomped onto the seat of the chair in sync with the music, showing off those thick, powerful thighs that Roy couldn’t help remembering feeling wrapped around him. Her movements, while smooth and confident as ever, were methodical now, copied by dancers Roy’s fuzzy brain barely registered.

I don't dress for women I don't dress for men Lately I've been dressing for revenge

Her hand traveled down her front slowly, tantalizingly, bringing Roy’s wide eyes down its seductive path that ended before it could land anywhere truly scandalous. The smile she flashed was sinful and teasing- and aimed right at him.

Without missing a beat, she turned and plopped herself into the chair with practiced ease, bouncing enticingly with her legs spread, the way Roy suddenly wished she would bounce on-

Whoa, he warned himself, swallowing hard and forcing himself to blink. Don’t fucking go there, Kent. He wasn’t sure what he was more worried about: crossing lines that had already been violated, or his… arousal becoming obvious to anyone who glanced at his jeans. More than ever, Roy Kent needed to get his imagination under control- and fast.

But it was as if she was trying to thwart his attempts to keep his cool. She stood and strutted as she sang in that sultry voice, the sequins on her costume shimmering as if they were trying to keep his attention on her suggestive movements. Hips that dipped just so, coquettish winks over her shoulder, open-mouth smirks; Roy couldn’t stop watching her even if he wanted to.

And she looks so pretty Driving in your Benz Lately she's been dressing for revenge

Oh fuck, she was doing that hand thing again. An involuntary gulp travelled down Roy’s throat as he once again forced himself to blink, briefly wondering what kind of dazed expression he wore; he’d be seeing it soon enough on social media, he thought wryly. There was no fucking way his every reaction wasn’t going to end up all over the internet.

She hovered over the chair, her back to the crowd, and slowly lowered herself back over it. Lower, lower, lower… and down with a satisfying bounce, her ass perfectly curved as she arched her back.

Don’t get mad, get even

Roy’s face- hell, his entire body- was white-hot as his jaw slacked, watching her turn over her shoulder to sing directly at him, adding a shameless wink as she continued to sing. She held his eye firmly for a moment, as if this were a private show, just for Roy, rather than a stadium filled with screaming fans who only grew louder with every erotic little movement.

So on the weekends She don't dress for friends Lately she's been dressing for revenge

She rose from her seated position, her movements slow and enticing, keeping Roy’s eyes glued firmly on her backside. He marveled at how truly sexy she was up there. Thinking back to the previous concerts, to the events where she was all dolled up, to the sleepovers where she wore pyjamas and sweatshirts, even to that night that he kept trying to push out of his mind, Roy had known all along that she was beautiful and attractive. But fuck. She was glowing up there, confident, moving flawlessly. She looked like any man’s fantasy come true.

Fuck it, he thought, shaking his head and grinning at her. She kind of looked like Roy’s fantasy come true.

~

April giggled as she scrolled past another video. “Holy shit, look at this one.”

I rolled my eyes and attempted to take her phone. “Stop,” I whined as she pulled out of my reach. My cheeks warmed as I glimpsed yet another video of me dropping onto the chair during “Vigilante Shit”, a sight that was apparently trending online.

“You look great,” my assistant insisted as she perched her phone on my nightstand and out of my reach. “Believe me.” She offered me a wicked smirk. “Roy Kent seemed to think so too.”

My face was warm as I laid back on my bed. “Oh hush,” I scolded, trying to hide a growing smile.

Her smirk widened. “Jamie said Roy looked absolutely wrecked when he saw you up there doing that chair dance,” she went on, as though I hadn’t just shushed her. “He barely blinked the entire song, just kept watching you do that little chair dance.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. Dating Jamie Tartt had made April bold, I realized. She had never teased me this much during my other relationships. But for some reason, here she was, sitting in my hotel room after a night out with the Greyhounds following the show, giggling like a schoolgirl over my fake boyfriend.

She went on. “And you’ve seen the videos of him during the concert, right?” She fanned herself. “I think Mister Roy Kent might have lost his damn mind watching you, babe.”

“Sure,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Kent, interested in me. That’s a laugh.”

April studied me carefully for a moment, as if she was considering her next words. “What if he was? Interested in you, I mean.”

The words caught in my throat. Sure, I’d spent months with this man on my arm, kissing and fawning over him for the world to see. And for a few weeks now I’d been singing songs about him, teasing an album about him. But I had yet to tell a single living soul how I felt about him. How could I? Nearly everyone in my life thought we were in a serious relationship, clearly blissful and in love. The only people who knew the truth about me and Roy were Lanie, April, and Keeley Jones. Lanie was out of the question; she’d kill me for complicating the plan and mumble something about shitting where I ate. And Keeley Jones? The thought of telling Roy’s gorgeous model girlfriend- the one who got away- that I had feelings for Roy made me feel like my head was going to fall off.

So that only left April.

I swallowed hard and turned my gaze to closed curtains, as though the greige material was the most interesting thing in the world rather than April’s implications. “If Roy Kent was interested in me,” I repeated slowly, knowing that I’d never get this cat back into its bag, “it would not be the worst thing in the world.”

April shot up faster than the fireworks my brothers set off in the streets after the Dodgers won the World Series. “Excuse me?” she squeaked, eyes wide. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” I scoffed, sitting up. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Does that mean…?” She quirked an eyebrow at me expectantly.

For a moment, the two of us simply stared at each other, neither willing to break the silence. We’d engaged in countless staring contests just like this over the years, with victories shared pretty evenly between us. But this time, I was determined to take the win, desperate to prolong the way I kept my feelings for Roy to myself.

Sure enough, the corner of April’s mouth finally ticked upwards. “You finally gave in, huh? I wondered how long it would take.”

My friend’s smile was impossible to resist. “Guess I did,” I chuckled, running my fingers through my unruly hair.

Before I could get in another word, April grabbed me and pulled me in close for a hug. “I knew it!” she gushed, laughter in her voice. “I knew from that first match I went to with you that this would happen.” She let me go, choosing to simply take my hands in hers, reminding me of childhood sleepovers with friends, chattering about crushes and chisme. “When did it happen?” she demanded. “How’d you realize you liked him?”

Unable to help myself, I shifted on the mattress, straightening my shoulders and thinking back. “When I met his niece,” I finally murmured, feeling my entire body soften as I remembered that night. “He was so soft and gentle with her.” I sighed dreamily. “And… and we ended up sharing his bed that night- Not like that!” I quickly added when I saw her eyes light up wickedly. “But I did wake up with his arms around me,” I admitted. “And I realized… I think I could love him.”

“Love?” April’s smile widened. “All of those songs were for him, weren’t they?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with suspicion and joy.

“Maybe,” I murmured with an eyeroll. It was pointless trying to play coy now- but it was kind of fun. “The man is kind of… inspiring.”

April shook her head. “I’ll bet,” she purred, waggling her eyebrows. She sobered a little, giving my hands a squeeze. “And Roy? How does he feel?”

My smile faltered. “I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “We, um, nearly had something happen in L.A., after the quince. But then he just kind of left.” I blinked rapidly, trying not to dwell on that night. “And then we came home, and after a while we went back to normal. Which is good.” I cleared my throat.  “We’re friends. And that’s good.”

“But you don’t want to be friends, do you?”

I shook my head. “It’s good enough for me,” I assured her. “I… I’d rather have Roy as my friend than not at all.”

April studied me for a moment, her head cocked thoughtfully. “But what if…” She pursed her lips. “What if he does feel the same way?” As I opened my mouth to refute her, she continued. “I mean, Jamie talks about Roy. A lot actually. It’s a bit concerning sometimes.” She let out a fond chuckle and went on, “And he cannot stop saying how in love Roy is. How he’s always got your music playing, how Jamie’s seen him just casually scrolling through Tweets and TikToks about the two of you, how he lights up when you’re around. How he hasn’t seen Roy like this in a long time.”

My voice came out so small I hardly recognized it, especially after singing in front of a sold-out stadium. “Should I tell him?”

“That’s up to you,” April said slowly. Leave it to April to choose now to stop trying to tell me what to do. “But,” she added, “I think either way, you can’t lose Roy Kent.” She squeezed my hand. “I think you’ve got that man for life.”

~

Some small part of Roy was almost dreading the second Paris show. Not that he was tired of seeing it; on the contrary, the show only seemed to get better with each performance. He found he not only had, well, fun, but he had a sense of pride watching her grow in confidence each night, looking more and more at home on that stage and the joy that radiated from that pretty face when she saw her fans’ passionate reactions to the new work she premiered. No, Roy could watch this show every damn night and never get bored.

What had Roy’s palms feeling clammy was knowing he’d be seeing that dance again. During the late dinner the Greyhounds had shared after the show, the guys had teased Roy nonstop, eliciting soft chuckles and eyerolls from him and the popstar who snuggled close to him at the table. Roy’s chest tightened with every joke about that little bodysuit, every wink shot their way, making his mind wander back to her bedroom in Los Angeles, to her arms around him and her mouth desperately on his, to all those things he was still trying to shove into a small corner of his brain and forget about.

But fucking hell she made it impossible, grinding on that chair again, putting on a damn burlesque show that made his skin go hot. At least this time he didn’t have to watch it in front of his entire team; no, tonight his only company was Keeley, who’d insisted on flying out after seeing all the clips of “Vigilante Shit” that Jamie kept sending her the night before.

Keeley’d said it was because she needed to see the sultry performance in person, something every single Greyhound understood. But, if the blonde was being honest, she wanted to see Roy. She’d had her suspicions for a while now, but she needed to see up close and in person how her ex reacted to seeing that gorgeous woman moving around in ways that made even Keeley’s mouth go dry.

And oh, Roy did not disappoint either. Keeley caught the way his jaw slacked and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he watched her plop onto that chair. If nothing else, Keeley mused with a smirk, her friend was clearly attracted to the beautiful singer. That much was obvious.

Roy managed to get his heart rate back down in time for the surprise song. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her strum her guitar, reminding him of those afternoons by the lake, of that late morning in her backyard, moments he realized he held close to his heart.

Moments that might be more special to him than he’d even let himself believe.

“I want to share a really important song with you,” she told the already screaming audience. “You know, when you meet someone, it’s the scariest and most exciting thing in the world. You’re so thrilled to find someone so amazing and wonderful, but there’s that gnawing feeling of… ‘they’ll never like me back’. And living in that limbo is the most wonderfully hellish thing.” She laughed and shook her head. “And everything just feels so… Delicate.”

Roy’s ears were bombarded with screams as the crowd recognized the title, one of the songs from the new album. He allowed himself to add his own clapping and shouts, thrilled to get to hear yet another song that she’d kept hidden from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Keeley, her mouth wide with glee and her phone ready to record; but, not for the first time, he ignored the sight of his ex-girlfriend in favor of focusing his attentions on the popstar who began playing the new tune.

This ain't for the best My reputation's never been worse, so You must like me for me We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

She swayed to the music she played, looking bashful in front of the thousands of people screaming and cheering for her. Her voice was tender and vulnerable, as sweet as Roy remembered it being those afternoons at the lake, in their own little world of laughter and music. Some of the happiest afternoons of his life, he realized. Just the two of them, the cat, and her pretty voice.

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

Roy stopped fighting his usual statuesque instincts and let his body rock back and forth to the music, the way he had in her kitchen while cookies baked in the oven and a Selena song filled the house and her fingers intertwined with his.

Another memory locked in his heart.

Third floor on the West Side, me and you Handsome, you're a mansion with a view Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Long night with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

Something in her voice changed, carrying an almost desperation, something strangled, something that made the muscles Roy’s throat freeze up, making it impossible for him to swallow all the feelings that refused to stay squashed anymore. All he could think of was the image of her in her bed, the smell of alcohol floating in the space between their mouths, the shots he’d taken all night whispering doubts in his ear, telling him that the desire in her eyes was drunkenness and months of pretending, nothing more.

But when her eyes found his in the crowded stadium, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, those doubts were wrong. Because she was singing, right at him, eyes sparkling with something Roy knew his held, too.

Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep Are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time

Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. Roy’s heart pounded in his chest so hard he pondered if he should call a medic.

What the fuck was he doing? This woman- this beautiful, talented, intelligent, fun, sexy as all hell woman- was serenading him in front of thousands of people. The past few months with her had been some of the best he’d ever had- months of laughter and joy and affection.

He loved her. Fucking hell, he loved her. Of course he did. He’d been in love with her for a while now, if he was being honest. How could he not be?

Isn’t it delicate?

Yeah, he realized as he added his clapping to the cheering crowd. It was delicate. Really fucking delicate. He couldn’t just dive in; he needed to get this off his chest and talk to someone, get some advice.

“Keeley,” he huffed in the model’s ear. “After the show, can we talk?”

~

See you at dinner!

I reread the text from Roy and fought the silly grin that grew at the sight of his contact name on my phone. After the show he’d suggested we grab some dinner, saying I should take my time getting ready because he needed to talk to Keeley first. (“Some stupid PR shit,” he’d grumbled with light eyeroll.)

A late-night dinner in some cozy Parisian restaurant after performing one of the most vulnerable songs I’d ever written? Seemed like just romantic enough to be the perfect opportunity to tell Roy how I felt about him.

I took a deep breath as I entered the restaurant, thankful that neither of our publicists had insisted on tipping off our location to photographers. No one paid any mind to me and my racing heart as I scanned the tables looking for-

Roy sat with his back to me, with Keeley perched on the chair next to him. Neither seemed to notice me, too engrossed in whatever somber conversation they were in the middle of.

I pondered what was the least obvious way to get Keeley to leave so I could be alone with Roy. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her, she’d actually grown on me quite a bit, but I couldn't handle having to fake my way through a casual dinner. Not when I had my feelings for Roy weighing in my chest.

“Keeley,” Roy was saying as I got closer, “I just don’t know how to fucking do this anymore.” His growling sigh had me stopping in my tracks. “All this fucking pretending, I… fuck.”

The model patted Roy’s arm sympathetically. “You’ve gotta tell her,” she said softly. “You really have to just tell her.”

Roy shook his head. “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he hissed. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

My hands began to shake as I took a step backwards, turned, and briskly walked out of the restaurant. I tried to get my breathing under control as I flagged down a taxi and climbed in, mumbling the address for my hotel.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

Stupid, stupid me.

I stumbled into my hotel room, finally allowing the tears to fall as I slammed the door behind me. The feeling in the pit of my stomach was all too familiar as I flopped onto the bed, not caring about the mascara stains I’d leave behind on the pillowcase.

I was trying to win you back. I never got over you.

How dumb could I be? I really thought Roy felt something more than friendship for me. Really? After that night in L.A., how could I be so damn foolish? A few smiles, a couple of compliments, some tipsy encouragement from April, and I really tricked myself into believing that Roy could love me too.

As I turned onto my back and let the silent tears stream down my cheeks and onto the pillow, I made a decision.

Friends with Roy Kent was no longer enough.

~

“You’ve gotta tell her,” Keeley had told him. “You really have to just tell her.”

 “Fuck am I supposed to say?” he had argued. “I mean, I only did this in the first place because I was trying to win you back, Keels. Because I never fucking got over you.”

After a moment, Keeley gave a twinkling little giggle. “But you did,” she pointed out. “Just like I knew you would.”

She admitted it: this had been her plan all along. She knew from the moment she met the pop star that she was something special, and that she and Roy could be something special together. All Keleey had to do was give a few little pushes- sleepovers, a vacation, an album full of love songs- and watch the obvious attraction take its course.

As Keeley explained the plan she’d deviously masterminded, Roy glimpsed his phone; a text, saying the popstar was really tired after her show and would be staying in.

“Go get her,” Keeley had laughed, seeing Roy’s disappointed face. “Hurry up now, or I’ll steal her from you.” She fanned herself playfully. “I mean, after that chair dance, Roy-o…”

So now, Roy strode down the hotel hallway, clutching the sunflowers he’d nicked from a closed flower stand on the corner; he figured the fistful of euros he’d left behind would more than cover his theft. Maybe it was a little cheesy, bringing sunflowers for the woman he called Sunshine, but to hell with it. He’d listened to enough of her music to know she liked cheesy and romantic and all the other silly things Roy suddenly wanted to be.

It felt like an eternity before he was finally in front of her door. Scrounging up every ounce of bravery he had, Roy knocked, two quick, hard raps, praying she was still awake and that he wouldn’t have to pound on her door like a werido-

The door opened quickly, revealing the popstar, in those familiar cozy pyjamas Roy found so damn endearing. His entire body softened at the sight of her, his excitement fizzling slightly when he caught sight of the streaks running down her cheeks. But dammit, he was a man on a mission and he just needed to fucking say it.

“Sunshine,” he breathed, his entire body trembling. “Listen, I-”

“Go away, Kent.” Her tiny, sharp voice stabbed at Roy’s heart.

His face fell, but he took a miniscule step towards her. “No, see, I’ve gotta tell you-”

“Just leave,” she said harshly. “Like, back to London.” She shifted, leaning in the doorway, her body blocking Roy from entering the room. Her eyes refused to meet his. “We’re done with this. We did our jobs, I got the press off my back about Everett, so congratulations. We can be done with this whole charade. So just… go home.”

Roy couldn’t believe a single thing she was saying. “But Lanie and- and Keeley-”

Something in her face darkened. “Yeah, I think Keeley will be just fine,” she all but spat. “So, why don’t you go so ask her to book you a seat next to her on the next flight out to London, hmm?”

What the fuck?

“We have that preseason match coming up,” he tried again, growing more desperate with each word out of her mouth. “You’re still coming, right? Even just as my friend- we’re friends, right, sunshine? Real friends?”

The dry laugh that came out of her mouth lodged a pit in Roy’s already turning stomach. “Friends?” she repeated. “Roy Kent, let’s be fucking honest about one thing, nothing about any of this has ever been real.” She shook her head, gripping the door so tight her knuckles turned white. “I fucking heard you, man.”

Roy winced at her words, at her tone, at her stony expression, and could do nothing but blink at the furious popstar.

She went on, “I was going to that restaurant to tell you how I felt about you, maybe turn dinner into a real date.” He now realized the streaks on her face were from crying- because her tears were flowing like a pair of rivers. “And I got to hear you tell Keeley Jones all about how you only did all of this to win her back. Well, congrats. You’re officially single again, so go fucking get her.”

With a finality that stole the breath from Roy’s lungs, she shut the door, leaving him with a bouquet of sunflowers and maybe a broken heart.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme@alicedsworld@222333777@thegivenvoid @tortilla-maria1@treblebeth@maackiimoo@di-essere-amato@sortzz@i-am-mrsreckless @dreadfuljas @klaudosh @adri4na

[starcravin]

"I heard you like magic? I got a wand and a rabbit!"

thinking about robin.. just imagine being her servant/maid, hired by sunday to help her, only for her to call upon you at night when touching herself simply isn't enough.

cw ; N$FW, minors dni, hcs under the writing but theyre kinda bad, i'm sorry!! dom robin, afab!reader no gender specified, toys, fingering, cunnilingus, orgasm denial, reader is shy, reader wears a maid dress :3

i might turn this into a fic.. lmk what y'all think :3

"[NAME], over here!" Robin's voice brings you out of your mind, and you turn your full attention to her. You could always recognize her voice, no matter which volume it was. "Miss Robin—! My- my lady, it's terribly late, what are you doing up at this hour..?!" Your yell was barely a whisper, but just quiet enough for everybody else not to hear you. It was 11:48 at night, at which everyone else was asleep, but the popstar was still dressed in her normal attire, not for bed. Robin smiles, hushing you by reaching for your hands. "It's fine— just come on! It's been days!"

The memories flooded in as your face reddened just thinking about it. She was right, it was days since you last met in her room without anybody else knowing. Nobody knew she had a thing for her personal servant.

"Miss Robin.. I can't, I have many chores to finish before morning, I can't be fired now.." Robin takes the broom from your hand, leaning it against the wall. "I'll cover for you! I just.. need you,"

• She's so pretty.. touching you in all the right places

• Eats you out perfectly, tongue lapping at your clit while she listens to you try to stifle your moans, as to not let anybody in the estate know.

• Puts a pretty vibrator under your dress.. touches herself to the sight of it lol

• Will pull you over to her room, locking the door and holding up a new toy she got her hands on.. don't worry though, she'll let you touch her soon, too!

• What do you mean you have chores? That's nonsense! You can go back to mopping the floors when she's done with you!

• Also gets you pretty lingerie.. insisting that it's part of the uniform :3

• Edges you, insisting that you don't cum all over your uniform.. you still need to work, silly!

• You can handle cleaning but can you handle her FINGERS? (no you cannot lol)

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭Destination(!): Middle of Nowhere — Toji Fushiguro

Synopsis: A long drive—a little crush and a hot dilf, not much can wrong- only that you were drunk and he was no less of a bastard.

— Word count: 2.2k

— A/n: Nobody come at me ok? This was meant to be full smut and just a drabble but here I am 💀 and this is like a piece I’m writing after a decent while so stfu ok- as is Toji ain’t my boo

— Warnings: smut!! MDNI!! Toji x Fem! Reader (reader is at least 19); age gap (reader is the age of Megumi and they’re not in college <3); stupidly fucked sense of alcohol consumption and hangover (for the sake of plot); degradation; spanking; idk basic nonsense- exhibitionism; usage of word "daddy" (twice)

“That’s what you fuckin’ like huh?” A sharp slap landed on your ass, whimpers barely contained as you sobbed as his fast-set pace—“Gettin’ fucked at the side of the highway?”

Days spent saving the money so carefully, so long—it had to be a night well spent.

“Gumi’!” You sounded out again, the skirt rested so low on your waist—the top barely holding up too, you grinned as your friend made his way to your car, disgruntled a face.

“Why the long face lover boy?”

Not a word, motioning just his head for you to focus on the body in the periphery—it was similar to your Friend, well, at least by the face of it and some mannerisms.

Megumi’s father after all, was the book definition of what a dilf is—you couldn’t help but giggle at the way the older man flicked off his son—usual banter, you presumed.

“What happened now?”

“I was running late, so I made eggs—he wanted to eat some cereals or whatever,” you chuckled at the annoyance his tone held still—“and he couldn’t have made it himself?”

A deadpan that Megumi passed you, “is it not obvious the only thing he can make is women pregnant left and right.”

Another gaze, yours flickered to his father- shyly looking away immediately when your eyes seemed to catch—he was, in most senses, scary.

But hot—because how else would you explain the sudden flutter of the nerves as your eyes caught sight of Him, pants resting low on his hips—no shirt, fuck was he hot.

Another laugh, unassuming as your car revved away.

-

The concert was fun, mostly.

Besides the time that you lost sight of Megumi, besides the creeps that you caught along the way, besides getting your drink almost spiked- yeah.

What wasn’t fun, it was simply realising that you did not in fact have a ride to go back anymore. But as it was, absent father or not, he made for a decent chauffeur- because there at 11:30 at night he stood with his car.

“How the fuck do you lose your car keys?” His voice was rushed, Megumi’s—staring daggers at you, you simply chose to giggle, too drunk to register anything properly.

“I lost you at the concert- I think losing is a simple concept,”

A scoff- Megumi could not deal with this anymore.

“Remember when we lost our virginity-? That motel was so shady, and the bitch you were with-” words punctuated with hiccups and giggles, Megumi groaned, ears burning when his dad replied with “Hah?” To your words, apparently having heard everything.

A hand shoved to cover your mouth, Megumi grimaced-“don’t mind her, she’s drunk, I need you to take her home- ours,”

A short silence followed the info, “take her? Where will you be?”

Megumi paused, “I’ll stay off at a friend’s t’night—need you to take her back,”

A scoff—Toji’s, “can’t the brat stay with you too? M’busy,”

“He wants to get railed,” you hollered from behind—warning yourself a gruff smile from Toji, not that you’d care at the moment- “off y’er rockets, both of you,” a mumble Toji passed, then a scoff.

“Alright,” he finally muttered, not without making Megumi beg thrice, compensating the night drive by leaving the apartment alone to his father for three days further, “stay with her while I back the car- don’t lemme catch ya fuckin’ some whore when I get back either,”

“Don’t ya worry Mr. Fushiguro—ain’t gonna let him get STD so fast,”

Another short chuckle, hm, the ride could after all be fun.

-

“Thanks dad,” Megumi muttered another his breath- fastening your seatbelt, not daring to meet his dad’s eye, all too aware of the smirk on his face.

“The chick’s hot,”

“That’s why I’m leaving with her and not- oh,” Megumi paused mid-statement realising it was you his father was referring to, not the girl he was leaving with, he bit his lip hard.

“Don’t try your shit with her, don’t mess with her,”

A smirk, “how would you know,” Toji shrugged, “I could fuck her roadside and you wouldn’t know,”

A lick of his lips, “which is why I’m asking you to simply not do it,”

Flick of his head, “I’ll do what I want,”

Megumi watched as his father’s gaze lingered upon your form, it was simply too easy- especially the way Toji’s eyes held a hungry look.

And just like that, you—half passed out, beside Toji swerved away, Megumi would’ve perhaps minded a little more, had the girl beside him not been actively trying to kiss his face off- not that he minded.

Ps. One thing about Toji, he did do what he wanted after all.

-

The ride back home was smoother, partially because you were almost passed out, and there was no traffic to hinder your way either—and yet, hours it took the both of you to reach.

After all, there were stops made continuously, here and there- “ya hungry?” You muttered suddenly, 15 minutes into the ride, the silence all so overbearing—a mindless “huh?” Toji passed, a mere snicker you offered “hungry? I am,”

Toji stared blankly at the road—he wasn’t sure, a small smirk made its over still, “you don’t typically talk so much,” and true he was of course—but that was mostly because Toji always shivered your timbers, which rarely mattered when you were as drunk as you were.

“I’m typically never this hungry either,” a gruff scoff he passed, “Gumi’ didn’t feed ya or what?”

A silence you let pass over the two of you- he sighed taking the worse of the cases, “whatever I’ve got me some cash, sure, whatcha’ wanna eat?”

“Whatever pops up on the road first,”

A smirk, Toji looked over the convenience store that seemed to be approaching—“I like decisive girls like you,”

A giggle you passed, so drunk, “wanna know a decision I’ve made?”

A cocked brow met your gaze as Toji pulled the car over the side of the road—“you’re one man I wanna fuck,”

A cough and a widened set of eyes fretted Toji before the smirk could even wipe you across the floor, a short silence met you- sober you would’ve already climbed over the lay on the road ready to be run over, the sheer embarrassment.

A small chuckle the older man offered, “y’er not so bold usually eh?”

“You’re scary,” your voice came out as half a whine,

“eh? And I’m not scary right now?”

A giggle again—“you’re much more fuckable right now, especially with how you were in the morning- been on my mind since,”

Oh?

Oh.

The vision of himself in just a vest and grey sweat-pants, understandable, he shrugged—“gotta be honest doll, you look way more slutty than I did,”

An amused smile he held as you giggled again—“yeaaaah?” Your words dragged, “S’pretty skirt ain’t it? Gumi’ thought it was too short,” a small pout that you held with end of the statement.

A snort Toji passed—“Gumi? An idiot, a doll like you deserved to flaunt that ass in as short of a skirt you like, don’t ya?”

Your head bobbed in compliance, slowing only when his hand came to rest way too high on the plush of your thighs—it felt hot.

Hot in the way it seemed to creep up your skirt, hot in the way the hem of your skirt tickled you—hot in the way his gaze held yours, hot in the way Toji knew exactly what he was doing.

A lick of your lips, a lean in from him, a lean in yours—“you were hungry, yea?”

And just like that, Toji did exactly as he pleased.

-

Toji stared, jaw stacked as his eyes remained stuck on your form, bent over—legs spread, all just to tease him while you pretended to be confused about flavour sandwiched you wanted to grab.

A hum entered his ears, you bent over further—your panties, the fishnets all on display —“I don’t like the mayo they used in this,” a whine as you wiggled your ass, his eye twitched.

A step forward, he stood directly behind you, crotch pressed to your ass, a hand on your back which kept you in position—“and I don’t like the way you’re acting,”

The store was empty, you smirked—grinding back into him, “you seemed to like how I was back in—”

-slap!

A sharp inhale, yours, a sting that you could feel building up on your ass—“hey! What are you-”

-another harsh slap fell on the same spot, the fat of your ass squeezed suddenly, “what do you think y’er doing?” Almost a growl—the store was empty, he was using it to his advantage.

A smile rested on your lips—“trying to decide on what I wanted to eat but…” despite the dull warmth you’d just felt you grind into him yet again—your intentions were clear, all too drunk to even care about being humped in the middle of a convenience store—as you seemed to be at the moment.

Toji realised all of this— in the sound of your gasp as he pulled at your hair roughly, back arching as he brought you close enough to his mouth as he leaned down himself—you could feel his hardening dick pushing against your ass—“but what?”

A smile, almost innocent that you flashed, “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore…” a bite of your lip—then another hitch as you felt him spank you yet again, all too done with you.

The heat radiated through your body, “you think it’s funny huh? Grinding’ into me like a whore?”

A moan escaped you, his fingers roughly pushing at your clothed pussy, skirt hiked up- your face heated up at thought of someone walking in—fingers feeling around your wetness as it spread, “wearing such a fuckin’ short skirt—I can practically see your slutty pussy when you bend,” another sharp slap, you whined at the absence of his fingers from your cunt.

“Ofc Gumi’ let ya go—such a whore, poor boy had to take care of you huh? But that’s ok—daddy’s better than him at dealing with bratty ones like you,”

Shameless, in the way you moaned—not caring about the store manager who was probably watching through the store camera—you smirked.

“Yeah?” You grinned up at him, “what’ll you do hm? What does “daddy” do?”

A hard stare he passed, suddenly pulling away from you entirely, let alone for the hand that grasped your hair, “think I prefer you better when you’re quiet and crushin’ on me,”

A mischievous smile that you held—“you should gag me then,” he couldn’t help but roll his eyes, and smile at your words—you were adorable, he wouldn’t deny that—he pulled you away from the shop slowly, back to the car, not without winking at the guy working at the store—all too aware of the breathy moans he’d let out stroking himself, watching the two of you too.

As for gagging you, Toji would.

-

Fifteen minutes the both of you rode in silence—sheer fear that his words had held, “not a peep,” he’d whispered as he closed the door for you, a hard glare followed as the engine was turned on.

Fifteen minutes gone by, you were wet—turned on simply by the silly ministrations in the store, your cunt was practically begging to be touched.

But ah—for someone too afraid to even breath loudly at the moment, to touch yourself seemed off the plate, but the thought may enticing nonetheless.

“Feelin’ horny?” His voice rasped—and oh boy, you were—“same,” a short smirk has evident in his voice, “no touching or sounds till you’re at home though,”

And quite Instantly and regrettably, “Please…” you whispered, hand reaching over to stroke his thigh once —just as quick the car was pulled aside, Toji’s face remained blank.

“Get out,” he murmured, breaking the moment of silence—his gaze was hard, “huh?” Was all you could manage, “ya heard me doll, out. Out and your hands on the hood,”

And as if on a spell, there you were- bent over, it was chilly, pleasantly so—waiting all so impatiently, squirming, he sat in his seat, light shining all upon you- his star of the night.

Slow, taking forever it seemed, that he stood up- walked off, you dared not to move, staring in the little awkward position that he held you in, as he stretched in his leisure.

He didn't seem to come close, not once- or at all, not a single word —“Mr. Fushiguro…please?”

A smirk- fast spread to a grin- “shy again? We gettin’ sobered up? Not so quick doll,” and yet, with all his teasing words, not a single step taken to help- you squirmed, ass sticking out, it was tempting but Toji was a man of will power.

“Please,” you muttered meaninglessly- and the moment continued for a decent two minutes- nothing made sense, you knew he was merely teasing- but oh how the riddle onto whatever that would make him crack was unrelenting.

And perhaps, when he couldn’t take it further, “what’s my name?”

A hesitant, “Mr. Fushiguro,” you dropped off yours lips- he smirked, a step closer- your panties, soiled already we’re almost dripping now and you were sure no piece of groundbreaking porn would ever get you this worked up again- “No. What is my name?”

And as if a light bulb got switched on- “Toji,” you whispered- he was finally close enough though, close enough with his hands on your tits, roughly squeezing and slapping them, “what was that?”

You purred softly, the way his hands pushed your spine, arching your back further- fingers brushing against your hip, “Toji,” his name rolled off your tongue again, louder- he snickered.

“That’s the name you’ll be screaming alright? Why will you scream it doll?”

And yet again, all logic flew off you as you felt his hard-on press onto your ass, “because I’m a slut who deserves to be fucked shamelessly on a highway,”

A final cackle that Toji held- a slap to your face, soft- “such a good fuckin’ whore.”

All of this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[haguenauisforlovers]

♡ kiss and make up in haguenau ♡

HAGUENAU IS FOR LOVERS A Webgott Valentine’s Week Fan Event Feb. 12 - Feb 18, 2025

It's happening!! D-11 to Haguenau Is for Lovers: A Webgott Valentine's Week Fan Event. Become the fujo WW2 wife and pull up a cuck chair, write your sick fics and create beloved shit posts in celebration of two haters who are obsessed with each other: Joe Liebgott x David Webster. (Thank you so much for the support so far! Mwah!)

Need a refresher about the event? Click ‘Keep Reading’ for rules, FAQs, and The Good Stuff. Or head over to our Navigation post.

What is it?

A week-long Valentine’s Webgott fan event where you can create beautiful and sick things for every tiny interaction between the two in the land of lovers, depression facial hair, and night patrols: WWII Haguenau. ‘Haguenau is for Lovers 2025’ starts on a Webgott Wednesday and will run from Feb. 12 - Feb 18, 2025. This fan event would like to thank this post by @randlemartin for being iconic, and for literally providing the title of it all.

EVENT DATES TO REMEMBER

Prompts poll open: Dec. 18, 2024

Prompts poll close: December 26, 2024 

Prompts reveal: Dec. 28, 2025

Fan event start: Feb 12, 2025

Fan event end: Feb 18, 2025

FIC SUBMISSION DATES TO REMEMBER

AO3 Collection open for Submissions: Feb 12, 2024

Fic collection reveal: Feb 14, 2024

Fic collection close: Feb. 18, 2024

*This page will begin reblogging posts with @haguenauisforlovers mentioned, and/or posts tagged with #haguenauisforlovers or #webgottvday on Feb. 12, 2025.

FAQs

Who can join and what can they contribute?

All those who are part of Webgott nation near and far. This event will be hosted primarily on Tumblr so to participate, you must have a Tumblr account. AO3 accounts are optional but highly encouraged, especially if participating authors prefer to lock their fics for AO3 users only. This fan event is open to: - Fics - AMVs and edits - Fan Art - Webweaves and Moodboards - GIFs - Playlists - Meme nonsense - Historical research, baby

RULES AND GUIDELINES

1. Main Relationship: Joe Liebgott/David Webster This is a Webgott event. That’s what it’s all about, baby.  2. Inclusion of other Ships: Ships apart from Webgott are welcome as background/implied (OC/Canon, Big Ships, Rare pairs). examples: Fic: Baberoe sharing an excruciatingly tender moment in the background while Joe and Web glare at each other in a gay way.  Text post/GIF sets: Other ships sharing Tender/Cute moments in Haguenau  vs. Joe and Web at each other’s neck at Haguenau 3. Tracking and Reblogging: This page will reblog posts with @haguenauisforlovers mentioned, and/or posts with tagged with #haguenauisforlovers or #webgottvday 4. AI-generated content is not allowed. Romance is created not generated. All Webgott works found here will be organic and free-range. RPF is honest work for real, beautiful, flesh-and-blood sickos. 5. [Fic Specific] Can we do AUs? AUs can be incorporated in, but fics should be set primarily in Haguenau. example: Post-war is allowed but they have to be reminiscing about Haguenau. Modern AU but they’re thrown into a time machine and land right smack behind enemy lines. You get what we mean. 6. Zero-tolerance Policy: Don’t be a dick actually. :) Please be civil and respectful toward one another. There is a zero tolerance policy for posts and/or comments that contain personal attacks or attempts at doxxing. Comments/posts promoting homophobia/racism/ableism or Nazi glorification will be removed. Similarly, there is also a zero tolerance policy for disrespecting characters, pairings, or kinks. This is a YKINMK (Your Kink Is Not My Kink) zone.

*Unironic Webster haters, please sit this one out. That's First and Second Platoon’s job. Cobb, Martin, and IRL Malarkey signed up twice.

Will there be prompts?

Yes! You can find the prompt list here.

What is a prompt?

A thought starter, brain lube if you will. Prompts are there to 1) spark any ideas for your works, whether they’re edits, gif sets, text posts, or fics; 2) keep you on theme. You don’t have to use them as is, but they’re there to help you jumpstart an idea. e.g. Prompt: Spit  Fic: Web finally spits out what he’s been wanting to tell Joe since day GIF Set: Side by side: Web open mouthed, Lieb spit compilation

Do I have to use every prompt for each day? 

No, you don’t! You can choose one (1) of the prompts, or incorporate all four prompts if you’re a beautiful overachiever like that.

Do I have to participate/create something for every day of the fan event?

Not at all! This is a: No Pressure Zone. Create and post for the event as much or as little as you want. On the same note, just engaging with the posts created by others or the page is already active participation with the fan event. Haguenau is for Lovers just wants a fun week where we all hyperfixate on Webgott in love together (more than usual). Don’t feel the need to put something out everyday single day.

Do I have to participate/create something for every day of the fan event?

Not at all! This is a: No Pressure Zone. Create and post for the event as much or as little as you want. On the same note, just engaging with the posts created by others or the page is already active participation with the fan event. 'Haguenau is for Lovers' just wants a fun week where we all hyperfixate on Webgott in love together (more than usual). Don’t feel the need to put something out everyday single day. <3

Why Haguenau?

Because it’s for LOVERS. Caress Band of Brothers episode 8 “The Last Patrol” in your hands and say a prayer to RPF. Anything can happen at the tailend of war, but especially falling in love. Get as snug as a bug, and let your Webgott imagination roam wild and free in war-torn Haguenau. But on a more serious note, Easy Company was stationed there during Valentine’s Day 1945. Historical accuracy, our collective beloved.

Any more questions?

The inbox is open! All questions will be answered as promptly as possible. If you’re submitting through anon, you can track your answered questions through the ASK TAG.

[npookie0]

Hey hey, so it's been a bit of a while since I've been in the inbox- so I though I would pop in and say Hi and I hope that you enjoy the start of spring and I hope you have a hoppy Easter!

I was wondering if your able to write this silly idea I had in mind for a while...

The idea i had was: The KC Lis and the MC dying Easter eggs together for Easter.

I've been starving for some-soft content for them for a while now and I think this a cute idea since it's been a while since I've dyed eggs myself.

Thanks for reading and I hope you have a fantastic rest of your day/Night N!

-🔍anon. :)

Paint, Joy and Holiday Spirits

You and the killer guys enjoy some Easter egg dyeing, fun isn't it?

Killer Chat cast and reader, Easter lunch with the killers, dyeing eggs for easter, fluff, sillies,

Words: 1651

Cws: Spoilers for Killer Chat

#annoucements

<goreboy> [00:03] hearye hearye the Egg dyeing bunny hunting And christ's rebirth day is closeby and me and angel decided to host a Server easter meet up after @/[mc.username] suggested The Excellent idea in call one of these days the meet up details are in the link below Remember to bring your own eggs and a fun spirit or in some people's cases get a stick out of your ass see ya soon

#main

<hitmeuppp> [00:05] omgomgomgomg server easter!!!! ah wait how will we do it with the distances betweenus?

<goreboy> [00:06] glad You asked misaki to answer your Question v was kind Enough To lend us his help right @/K9?

<K9> [00:06] Yes, that is true. But I'm doing this because @/Angelic and @/[mc.username] asked me to take care of those arrangements.

<[mc.username]> [00:07] (He was happy to help but won't admit it)

<K9> [00:07] Nonsense, it just gives me a chance to keep an eye on you all and your antics.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> [00:08] @/felicite LOOK V LOVES US!!!!

<felicite> [00:08] Thanks V that is very nice of you!!

<K9> [00:08] ... You're welcome @/felicite

<Angelic> [00:10] I'm glad to see all of you feel the Easter spirit! And yes! Thank you very much V, it would be impossible to make this happen without you <3 I can't wait to see all of you in a few days!

<Eviscerator1990> [00:11] I Will Host The Easter Lunch Just Like I Do The Server Christmas

<hitmeuppp> [00:11] omg yesss!!!! vinces food!!!! cant wait

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> [00:11] DUDE 👨 THIS IS ☝️ DREAM 😴 COME 🚶🏼‍♂️TRUE ✅

You were looking at the chat with a big smile on your lips, you were glad that your idea would actually come true and that the Slaughterhouse Losers were so excited about it. Organising this and making this happen was a long process, you had to plan this whole thing out, then ask the server's vigilante if he was willing to help the poor (you) rent out a place and get the flight tickets for those who needed them. Turns out that V decided to rent out a whole giant house and take care of all the costs on his own.

("You're already taking care of organising this with goreboy, I'll just take finances from your worries." "But V that's a bunch of money!" "And? I reassure you, this won't hurt my wallet even a bit.")

And that's how you and the eight serial killers (plus Vince's and Ai Hua's two daughters) you met in the server stood in a big house that was known for a hotspot for celebrities and extremely wealthy people.

"Holy shit man! This is bigger than houses owned by the peeps I was told to kill." Misaki said, looking around, their gaze was moving from place to place.

They weren't the only ones to look at the place with curiosity and excitement in their eyes. You, Feli and Luca also joined in.

Ronin cackled. "Okay kids, if y'all're so fascinated you can have a look 'round. We still have shit tone of stuff to prepare, like Vince and his lunch, ain't I right?" The killer turned to look at the man.

Vince nodded. "Yes. I must prepare the lunch and someone should prepare the dining room."

"I can help with that." Angel said, a cheerful smile on her lips. "I can also prepare the egg-dyeing station." She giggled.

"I'll help ya." Ronin stepped in. "Can't have ya prepare everything on your own, now can I?"

"Oh thank you, my hero." Angel rolled her eyes.

"I will take a look around the property, make sure that everything is safe for us." V declared and without waiting made his way out of the hall, possibly looking for a room that controlled the house's security.

Ai Hua didn't need to say anything, she and Vince went to the kitchen together with the bags they brought.

"Look like your server Easter will be a success." Ronin said, turning to you with a smirk.

You couldn't hide your excitement. "I hope you didn't doubt my ideas, Butcher."

"Y/n come on! They have a pool here!" Misaki shouted, already gone from the hall.

"Coming!"

After an hour of running around the place and checking out all the rooms the house had to offer, you and your friends returned to the dining room which was beautifully decorated. There were bunnies, eggs, pastel coloured decorations and whatnots everywhere, it almost felt like a fairytale.

"The decorations are so pretty." Feli said, looking at the table in awe.

"Haha, thanks! Me, Ronin and Y/n went to the store a few days ago and bought most of their easter collection."

"The cashier was looking at me like she just saw fucking Jesus Christ when I pulled up with the all pastel coloured cart." Ronin scoffed.

"I can imagine why." You replied.

Soon, Vince came in with the food, setting the dishes on the table. There were many options to choose from, deserts caught most gazes and the biggest interest from the crowd.

"Don't even try hitmeuppp, you can try the cake after the main course." Vince said, slapping Misaki's hand with a kitchen cloth.

Misaki yelped in surprise and the rest of you chuckled. "Speak about the server's dad." Luca said jokingly.

You all sat together, eating and chatting. There were various topics, but shockingly none was about murder. Angel answered Feli's and Ai Hua's questions about modeling, Misaki tried to tease V and playfully flirt with him while he commented on the vegetarian options that Vince prepared just for him, expressing his gratitude and giving advice. Ronin and you listened to Luca's stories about surfing (without any accidents happening in them!), he even promised to teach you how to "rule over the waves" if you were interested as a thank you for helping him get together with Feli.

The atmosphere was warm, like you were one big family enjoying lunch together on a holiday. No blood, no cannibalism or assassination. Just regular people chatting and laughing together.

"Dad, when can we dye the eggs?" Daisy asked, looking at Vince with the best puppy eyes she could give him.

"Yeah! We want to dye the prettiest eggs for mommy!" Her sister joined in.

You all could see Vince faltering under his daughters pleading eyes. It was a cute sight to see, at last until you remembered that this was the same man known as the Sunset Slasher who was a brutal serial killer in the 90's. Luckily, you weren't the only one who thought that way, you could see it in your friends' expressions; they also thought that it was almost cute seeing Vince act like that.

Because of the two girls' continuous begging you all were sitting in the living room now, each one of you was holding an egg in your hands.

You were all chatting about how you'd dye and paint your eggs, laughing at some of the ideas and how absurd they were.

("Luca... a guy surfing... really?" "See my vision Feli! It's going to be beautiful." "A beautiful disaster." "Even you're against me Angel?")

This was probably the most chaotic egg dyeing in your life; Ronin dropped an idea of making it a competition and suddenly V was taking this like the most important task in his life, Luca almost spilled three of the dyes on Angel, Daisy and Dawn ended up decorating Ai Hua's and Vince's eggs with sunsets and flowers after they cracked their own eggs (the parents didn't fight back.)

"Ronin can you tell me why there're a bunch of skulls on your egg?" Angel asked, eyeing the egg and then looking at him.

"What? You don't like it?" He paused and placed a hand to his heart. "You wound me!" He said dramatically.

"Never mind, I just remembered that you're the walking emo Olympics."

"Oh wow! Miss Feli your egg is so cute!" Dawn exclaimed.

"Ah, thank you." Feli said shyly, a small blush tainting her lips.

"Wow! Dude the kid's so right!" Luca said, taking Feli's egg and looking at it from every side. "it's really super pretty."

"I can't say the same about yours." Feli said jokingly, taking her egg back. "Your surfer looks like he was ran over by a car." She pinched his cheek.

. . .

The day was coming to an end, you all just finished cleaning. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon, signalising that it was time to part ways and return to your regular activities, or in some cases arrange the time to travel around Elysium before returning to their home countries.

"Y/n, wait!" Angel called out when you were about to leave the house and return to your home.

You turned around. "Hm?"

The ten people stood in front of you, Angel in the lead with a big smile on her face. "We, uh, wanted to thank you for coming up with this meeting. Thanks to your idea we were able to meet in real life and spend an amazing time together." She said with a big smile.

"Yeah," Ronin stood next to her, holding something in his hand, "and 'cause of that we have a gift for you." He outstretched his hand to you. He was holding a basket.

You took it from him and gasped. In the basket there were all the eggs you all painted with little notes from each person next to the egg they painted. "Oh my... Guys this is so sweet." You said with a beaming smile on your face, not knowing what else to say.

"We wanted to give you something and we figured out that this could serve as a good gift to make you remember this day." V explained.

"I will cherish this forever." You said, clutching the basket in your hands.

"Glad to hear it." Ronin smirked. "Happy Easter writer, we're hopin' to spend it next year with you too."

Hey hey!

Happy Easter my dear readers!

I'm sorry if it's not exactly fulfilling what you wanted dear anon, but I had an idea that I wanted to use here >w<

See y'all soon (maybe even today with another Easter coded fic but can't promise anything)

Love y'all

Nate <3

[killersfool]

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted  floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students! 

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me. 

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him. 

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure." 

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering. 

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day." 

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert. 

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage. 

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose. 

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch. 

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa. 

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in. 

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted. 

[minchanfilm]

PROMPT LIST

types: fluff, smut, dialogue, pranks

rules:

- i only write for enhypen, &team, and stray kids

- to request one of these prompts, specify who you want me to write about, and include the genre (fluff, smut, etc.) and number!

- you can request multiple prompts in one — just please don’t overload it!

- please only ask for one person per request — i do not write threesomes or anything like that

- feel free to pitch in your own prompt ideas, and i’ll add them to the list!!

note: it normally takes me a hot minute to get to requests, so if you are someone who wants requests to be answered right away, i am not the right person to be asking! please be patient if you do request something!

mlist

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

↓list is below↓

fluff:

1. you sitting on the counter as the other grabs a snack from the fridge and feeds it to you

2. tiredly holding each other close in bed

3. having an argument about who loves the other more as you settle down for the night

4. waking you or them up to go somewhere in the middle of the night (convenience store, a walk, to look at the stars, etc.)

5. you randomly clinging to them on their lap as they play video games

6. aggressive pillow fights

7. falling asleep to you or their heartbeat as one is lying against the others chest 

8. getting a little tipsy, giggling together on the couch as you both ramble on about nonsense 

9. lying down while one plays with the other’s hair

10. lying together in comfortable silence cuddled up together, both mutually enjoying each others company

11. laughing out loud in the dark after the other randomly blurts out a thought they had before going to sleep

12. kisses goodnight 

13. dancing together in the kitchen at 3 a.m.

14. eating together in the middle of the night, just yapping away

15. modeling session — you both pick out random outfits (mostly bad ones) and let the other rate them

16. sitting next to each other while deleting pictures from your phones and laughing about embarrassing old pictures

17. you or them randomly googling super random shit and telling those facts to the other who is super sleepy as they just nod

18. making a blanket fort for the night

19. you or them randomly sitting on the other’s lap

20. sunshine attacking other with the biggest hug ever and grumpy just dealing with it

21. picnic date

22. deep talks about life in the middle of the night

23. first kiss

24. board games where you both get a little too competitive

25. one bed trope

26. falling asleep on the phone

27. coffee dates

28. wearing their clothes

29. you or them crying in the other’s arms

30. sidewalk rule — them grabbing your wrist to guide you to the other side

31. doing their makeup

32. surprising you or them after a bad day

33. mornings together

34. planning your wedding years in advance

35. first night after moving in together

36. rushing to each others embrace after a long day

37. meeting each others family

38. sulking to get attention from the other

39. searching for each other in a crowded room

40. catching the other doing the triangle method

41. comforting the other from a nightmare

42. you or them getting touchy when jealous

43. getting black out drunk and just being stupid together

44. the other helping you with something and you turn your head, not realizing how close your faces are

45. teaching each others favorite activities

46. cooking together (can either end well or in a food fight)

47. calling the other drunk and speaking nonsense

48. giving each other random missions to complete throughout the night (missions of your choice!!)

49. karaoke sessions

50. you or them caring for the other while sick

51. doing the chapstick flavor challenge

spicy:

1. mirror sex

2. 69

3. body worshipping

4. multiple rounds

5. finding a private area at a social event to fuck (closet, empty room, etc.) 

6. close proximity (hiding in a closet, etc.)

7. finding your sex toy(s) and making you play with it in front of them

8. quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just do what you can

9. fucking, but you or them is still trying to keep all of the attention on the game you’re playing

10. jealous sex

11. accidental “i love you” during sex 

12. seeing the love marks they left on you and getting turned on all over again remembering how they got there in the first place

13. sleepy sex

14. quickie before a performance

15. car sex (backseat, passenger seat, etc.)

16. phone sex

17. "what do you want to eat?" "bend over."

18. messy, drunk sex

19. mutual masturbation

20. walking in on the other touching themself

21. pool/hot tub sex

22. shower sex

23. having a wet dream about the other and waking up horny

24. first time

25. oral (face sitting, blowjob, etc.)

26. seven minutes in heaven

27. morning sex

28. cockwarming

29. “practicing”

30. “i can’t sleep” sex

31. pussy/cock drunk

32. road head

33. make-up sex

34. fingering

35. dry humping

36. tutoring — “for each question you get right, i’ll ____”

37. praise kink

38. telling them you’re not wearing underwear — public or private

39. them using a remote controlled vibrator on you in public

40. their reaction to making you squirt

41. you or them accidentally sending the other nudes

42. sitting on their lap and moving around teasingly in public

43. having to keep quiet while you or they are on a phone call

44. skinny dipping

45. edging

46. you or them unintentionally turning the other on

47. thigh riding

48. touchy making out without actual intercourse

49. secretly fingering you in public

50. desperate sex — both extremely needy

dialogue:

1. “i want our kids to have your eyes.”

2. “who did this to you?” 😏

3. "how many fingers am i holding up? ... i don't have six fingers."

4. “can i kiss you?”

5. “you’re blushing!”

6. "the problem is, if i kiss you, i don't think i’ll be able to stop."

7. “i bought you flowers.” “why?” “just because.”

8. “you make me want to be a better person.”

9. "you don't have to talk about it. i just want you to know i’m here."

10. “of course i remembered, i know you better than anyone else.”

11. “we should get out of here.”

12. “i’d do anything for you.”

13. “you know i can’t say no to you.”

14. “here, let’s get you warmed up.”

15. “i can’t sleep either. mind if i join you?”

16. “can we stay like this forever?”

17. “marry me.” “… it’s way too early for that.”

18. “did i wake you?”

19. “this reminded me of you.”

20. “will you stay for the night? i don’t want to be alone.”

21. “someone might see us…” “let them.”

22. “we should record a day in our lives.”

23. "friends? i don't think so. friends don't know how you taste."

24. “are you flirting with me?”

25. “is that my hoodie?”

26. “let me kiss it better.”

27. “you’re lucky i love you.”

28. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” “don’t start.”

29. “come back to bed.”

30. “why are you looking at me like that?”

31. “are you crying?”

32. “i missed your voice.”

33. “it’s too early for this.”

34. “red’s definitely your color.”

35. “are those handcuffs?!”

36. “are you drunk?”

37. “you play mario kart like it’s your first day on earth.”

38. “wanna play roblox?”

39. “i don’t care if it’s harmless, kill it!”

40. “i can’t swim-” “why didn’t you tell me before i pushed you in?!” “like i knew you were going to!!”

41. “happy birthday!” “it’s only 11:59.”

42. “let me drive you home.”

43. “shut up and let me take care of you!”

44. "i'm in love with you, you dumbass."

45. “i can’t resist you.”

46. “i can’t wait to start a family with you.”

47. “you look so cute.” “i just woke up.”

48. “your morning voice is so hot.”

49. “i made you breakfast.”

50. “i’d choose you in every lifetime.”

pranks:

1. not saying “i love you” back

2. wiping away their kisses

3. introducing the other as your husband

4. calling them bro/bruh

5. you got a really ugly tattoo — but it’s just sharpie

6. wearing a horrible outfit in front of him

7. replacing the toilet paper with duct tape

8. changing the settings on his phone so certain words change (baby switched to fattie, etc.)

9. fake eye injury using makeup

10. replacing his shampoo with hair dye

11. calling him a different name

12. making the bed squeak — cheating illusion

13. water spraying ring

14. the moving teddy bear prank

15. completely ignoring him

16. telling him you’re pregnant — as a virgin

17. when he asks for water, you give him the tiniest cup ever

18. “put a finger down, hoe edition” and you put every finger down

19. the scholarship prank — may have to look on tiktok if you don’t know what it is

20. whispering “daddy” in his ear

[strangesthirdeye]

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ( sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ ʜᴏʟᴍᴇs x ᴡɪғᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Summary: Don't touch me, I have a hubby

Warning: SHERLOCK HOLMES SJDHDJDJX, drunk reader, William is four years old now, love, fluff, nonsense talk, bed, confusion, don't drink alcohol people.. Alcohol is bad unless it's for medical reasons, sweet, Husband and wife moments, flirting, mention of naked, Ooc Sherlock, vomit, hangover.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late at night in 221B, Sherlock and William were usually still awake even though it was late. Well, for Sherlock but William is usually the one who falls asleep first because his father said so. Stating that he is still young and today's children need enough sleep in order to have a lot of energy for tomorrow even though adults like him also need enough sleep to not shorten their life... According to Google.

Sherlock who was still awake and not sleepy was flipping through the files in his hands solemnly. He sat cross-legged on his chair for comfort as his back ached from having to sit for a long time. The reason he was still awake at 1 in the morning? Well, you see Y/n has a reunion with her old classmates at a bar, somewhere in London and Sherlock is worried that she hasn't come home yet.

As a very good husband he of course has to feel worried about his wife who hasn't come home yet. I mean, if Y/n didn't give him a warning not to worry about her being in a bar somewhere in London, Sherlock would probably be on a mission to find his wife right now. But well, the wife has given a warning and him being a good husband does not want to disturb her reunion with her old classmates.

(Sherlock is actually afraid of his wife) Because, if he obeyed his wife's warning, he will get a reward.. What reward? Don't know. Sherlock huffed a breath before turning his gaze to the clock on the wall. 1:11 in the morning and his wife hasn't returned yet. William already had dreams in his sleep, so he didn't have to worry about that. His heart feels heavy without you.

Suddenly, a knock was heard. Mrs Hudson who was still up due to her watching her favorite show came out of her flat and checked the flat door outside. The lock is opened and there is Y/n who is leaning heavily against the shoulder of an old friend of hers named Dhani who is holding Y/n's waist in order to support her better.

Y/n's eyes are glossy while her face shows how drunk she is with her dreamy face. Y/n smiled at Mrs. Hudson.

"Ahh, Hudders" Y/n slurred before hiccups.

Dhani who still supports her looks at Miss Hudson apologetically. She's sober, thankfully because she doesn't really like alcohol in fact she wants to avoid drinking alcohol even though she's in a bar. Her purpose there is to celebrate the reunion with her old friends and drink fruit juices while listening to music.

"Sorry, Mrs. H. Y/n drank too much. It was a bit difficult to bring her home. I had to wrestle with her to get into the car" Dhani said, apologetically.

Mrs. Hudson smiled gratefully. "It's okay, at least she's home safely." She paused. "Sherlock has been restless since she went out, mind you." she added while bringing a drunk Y/n into the flat. "I'm sure you can return safely, dear. It's getting late"

Dhani waved her hand. "aye, don't worry about me, Mrs Hudson. I'm good at taking care of myself. Besides, I think Stephen will also be restless if I don't come home yet." she chuckled. "right, I'm going home now. And told Sherlock to standby any paracetamol for her in the morning. She sure she'll have a hangover later"

"bye bye, Dhani" Y/n waved her hand drunkly at her friend.

"Bye bye, Y/n." Dhani waved and walked towards her car.

Mrs Hudson said her goodbye before she closed the flat door and locked the door. She turned her gaze on Y/n who was now sitting on the floor and leaning heavily on the wall with droopy eyes. She will pass out once she's on the bed.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called the young man.

Footsteps were heard and Sherlock Holmes came out of his flat and went downstairs. He who was wearing a light blue dressing gown, gray shirt and pajama pants stopped on the stairs once his eyes focusing on his wife.

"What happened to her?" he asked once he was kneeling in front of you who's face looks like you've been on the moon.

"Her friend said that she drank a bit too much tonight, so she brought her home. Also, standby medicine for her in the morning. She's going to get a bad headache." She said to him. "now, I'm sure you can handle her now, right? I'm going back to my flat." and Mrs Hudson entered her flat.

Sherlock stared at you longingly, not sure what to say instead he tried to support you by taking your waist with his strong arm but you slapped his arm sluggishly.

"No, noo.. don't touch me" you slurred and tried to get up but then you sat down again.

"come on, love. It's me your husband" Sherlock tried to knock some sense into you.

"no, my hubby is at home" you said.

"You're at home" Sherlock muttered.

"Am I?" you looked at him through your half lidded eyes.

"yes. It's me Sherlock, love" Sherlock tried to help you get up and this time you let him pick you up.

"My Sherlock will be angry if I'm in another man's arms" you mumbled sleepily.

"You're in my arms, love" Sherlock replied as he let you step up the stairs slowly due to you still being in a drunken state.

You chuckled. "I like the wallpaper of this place, i want to install the same wallpaper in my house"

"This is our house, love" Sherlock replied before he pushed open the door.

You suddenly pushed Sherlock hard and glared at him with your glossy eyes. "aye, you have no right to take me to your house. I have a husband"

Sherlock massaged the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Y/n, I'm your husband. And this is our house."

"You are my husband?" You widen your eyes before laughing out loud.

Sherlock approached you while trying to shush you into silence while covering your mouth with his palm.

"no, love. William is sleeping now. You don't want to wake him, right?" Sherlock looked at you, fondly.

"William, ohh! my baby." you covering your mouth with your hand. "he's sleeping" you whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. "yes, he is sleeping. Now let me help you change your clothes and refresh before going to bed"

"you're going to see me naked. Ohhh, you're going to fast, handsome" you traced your fingers on his arm seductively. "I like that"You suddenly hugged him. "and you're my husband! I'm so lucky"

'Oh god, just how much did she drink?' Sherlock thought before he took his wife's shoulders and pushed her into the bathroom.

"right, let's get you cleaned up before bed" Sherlock muttered.

"ohhh, shower" you staggered into the bathroom.

Sherlock then striped all your clothes leaving you naked in front of him before he took you into the bathtub. Warm water is placed before he rinses your body and hair. You shivered.

Sherlock then gently shampooed your hair as he massaged your scalp.

"i like this.. can we do this forever? pretty please" you pleaded.

"You can do this whenever you want, love" Sherlock said before he rinsed your hair. "done" he said before he took you out of the bath tub and covered you with a towel after he dried you off.

He makes you look like a child when he bathes you. You looked at your wrinkled fingers.

"I'm old" you mumbled, showing him your wrinkled fingers due to being in the water for so long.

"No you're not, that's because you've been in the water for a long time, that's why it's like that" he explained.

"oh" you looked at him in awe.

"yes, oh. Now let's get dressed" he said before he opened the door of his room which was connected to the bathroom.

Sherlock made you sit on the bed you two shared before he walked over to the dresser drawer. He brought out dark red t-shirts and black plaid pants along with your undergarments.

And you finally fell asleep on the pillow after you finished putting on your clothes. Sherlock sighed with relief. You are not very difficult for him to handle. At least all the nonsense you said he can reply well even though it's a bit nonsense. He got up and walked to the kitchen to retrieve hangover medicine along with a glass of water.

Before he even stepped back into his room, William came out of his room sleepily while rubbing his tired eyes with his hands.

"Is mommy back yet?" he mumbled sleepily.

Sherlock softened his look at his son. "yes, she's back. Now go back to sleep"

William tiredly nodded and closed the door to his room without any comments which Sherlock assumed he was just delirious in his sleep.

Later in the morning, you wake up with a bad headache and throw up in the toilet with Sherlock holding your hair back before you return to your original self after swallowing two paracetamol tablets.

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 11/?

I'm so excited, ya'll! This is it - the wedding chapter! And the wedding night, which means sexy times. I don't write smut, so it's super steamy and then fades to black. Buuut this may just be the steamiest thing I've ever written. So, enjoy!

And a reminder of Emma's wedding dress:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 3k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells@teamhook@kmomof4@jrob64@xhookswenchx-reads-blog@thisonesatellite@welllpthisishappening@spartanguard@ohmakemeahercules@tiganasummertree@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jamif@undercaffinatednightmare@onceratheart18@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jonesfandomfanatic​ @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda

Chapter Eleven

“I can’t believe I was so stupid!” Ingrid slammed her palm against the steering wheel as they drove back home.

“It isn’t your fault Ingrid,” Killian assured her. “I think it was that amulet he wears. When he touched it, something happened to me. My thoughts got muddied, and I was drawn towards him.”

Ingrid shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line. “You withstood him better than I did,” she looked over at Emma, “you both did.”

Emma’s brow creased. “You’re right. Maybe it has something to do with what my mom and Belle both said about true love.”

“What did they say?” Ingrid asked. 

Killian cleared his throat. “Just that the love Emma and I have for each other can be protection against Rumplestiltskin.”

“Not exactly,” Emma laughed, looking back at Killian with pride sparkling in her eyes. “My mom seemed very relieved that I had Killian, and Belle said that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t counting on Killian being in the picture.”

“She said he hated me,” Killian clarified.

“Don’t listen to him,” Emma told Ingrid, “he’s basically my hero.”

Killian scoffed even as his cheeks pinked, and Emma laughed.

“Emma,” Ingrid scolded, “how can you be so flippant about this? I told that horrible man things about our family. I invited him to the wedding! He could ruin it somehow.”

Emma shook her head. “He won’t. I don’t think he even can. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.”

Ingrid glanced at Killian’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He shrugged back at her. Emma was humming the tune of “Scarborough Fair,” of all things, looking contentedly out of the window. How their visit to the mental hospital could possibly have encouraged her was beyond him, but he loved her all the more for her sudden optimism. 

Ingrid’s phone started to ring, and she answered via her bluetooth.

“Hey babe,” she told Liam.

“Hello, love. I’ve got great news!”

“We can use as much of that as we can get. What is it?”

“That professor of agriculture got back to me. According to him, we can take a kernel of corn and grind it down. Then we add that corn ‘powder’ to something fine, like flaxseed, and sow that.”

“Will that count?” Emma piped up.

“He thinks so,” Liam said. “Apparently there’s some legend in . . . Wales? Scotland? I can’t remember, but anyways, in the legend a father won’t let his daughter marry the man she loves unless he can sow an entire field with just one kernel of corn. This was how he accomplished it.”

“You didn’t tell him about our situation, did you?” Ingrid asked with concern.

“Of course not! I told him I was thinking of publishing a second book about the song ‘Scarborough Fair,’ that’s all.”

“Okay, well, at least that’s one thing.”

“Elsa is doing some data analysis to figure out how fast Emma needs to plow before the tide comes in.”

“Now we just have to find this town no one knows.”

That was what worried Killian the most. None of them had any idea how to go about the second riddle. And after their visit to the mental hospital, it was more clear than ever that the future of many people, not just Emma’s, was in the balance. 

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

The next week and a half flew by, and before Emma knew it, she was sitting in front of Ingrid’s vanity mirror in her wedding dress. Ingrid was applying her makeup, and Anna was using a curling iron on her hair. They all yelped when the door flew open, but it was only Liam. 

“What’s with all the people downstairs?” he demanded.

Ingrid straightened up to look at him, a stick of eyeliner gripped between her fingers. “We’re having a wedding, dear, the living room is filled with guests.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that. But I counted two priests, a rabbi, a baptist minister, a Buddhist monk, and some woman waving a gourd around.”

“The gourd is part of a Cherokee ritual to ward off evil spirits,” Ingrid explained as she leaned down to apply eyeliner to Emma’s eyelids, “and there’s only one priest. The other is an Episcopalian minister.”

“Ingrid, what’s with all the holy people, that’s what I’m asking!”

Ingrid sighed as she straightened once again from her task. “I invited an evil imp to this wedding by accident, okay? So I’m trying to counter that with anything and everything I possibly can!” 

Liam sighed. “That’s sweet of you, darling. Eccentric, but sweet.”

He stepped forward and placed a kiss against his wife’s cheek as Emma and Anna laughed. He left after promising for the fifth time that day to keep Killian downstairs. 

“Do you think he noticed the crystals you lined up on the fireplace mantel?” Emma asked when he was gone.

Ingrid chuckled. “Probably not.”

Anna let out a frustrated groan as she released another limp curl from the curling iron. “I’m not good at this!”

“I told you to use hot rollers,” said Ingrid. 

Emma shook her head. “I don’t want my hair too overdone.”

Anna gave Ingrid a weighted look. “If only Elsa were here. She’s the only one who can do that loose side braid you love.”

Suddenly, Ingrid’s walk-in closet burst open. “Did someone say they needed my help?”

Emma squealed with joy at the sight of Elsa stepping out of the closet. She jumped up and threw herself into her older sister’s arms. 

“I’m so glad you’re here!”

“And I’m glad to finally get out of the closet.” Elsa looked over Emma’s shoulder and scowled at her sister and her aunt. “I thought you two would never say the code word!”

“We didn’t know Liam was going to interrupt!” Anna retorted. 

Ingrid just laughed. “Sorry we hid this from you, Emma, but we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I wasn’t sure I could make it, either,” Elsa explained, “so we didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Emma shook her head, dabbing carefully at tears that threatened her makeup. “I don’t care, I’m just so happy to see you! Will you be my second bridesmaid? You can wear the dress you have on - this wedding is very informal.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Elsa assured her. “Now, are we going to do something about your hair or not?”

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

Killian stood in front of the fireplace in the Jones family living room, his brother standing at his side. He kept fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Nervous?” Liam asked him.

“No,” he answered without hesitation. He barely noticed all the people, most of whom he swore were strangers, crowded into their home. He didn’t feel he was giving up his freedom or being burdened, or any of the other cliches people used for grooms. He just wanted to see Emma descend the stairs. He wanted to pledge his life to her, slip the ring in Liam’s pocket onto her finger, kiss her, and then begin their life together. 

Liam’s friend and colleague, shoved into a tiny corner with his keyboard, began to play the processional, and Ingrid was the first to descend the stairs as Emma’s matron of honor, a tiny bouquet of white daisies clutched in her hands. Elsa, then Anna. followed Ingrid down the stairs. Killian strained his eyes for Emma. She wouldn’t be escorted. She had said it was unnecessary, and she wanted Liam to be Killian’s best man. 

Then, suddenly, there she was, and the music changed. She seemed to float down the stairs like a vision, her dress trailing the ground, her bare shoulders glowing under the lights, and her golden hair in a loose braid that draped over her shoulder. Her hair was threaded with baby’s breath and Queen Anne’s lace, and she clutched a simple bouquet of white roses tied with a white satin ribbon. Her eyes were searching the crowded room, but she didn’t seem to be able to see him. 

Then, suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs, she faltered. She reached out one hand to grip the banister tightly. Her skin went suddenly pale. She seemed to be staring at something no one could see. 

What Killian couldn’t see, what no one could see, was the man at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on his cane. Only Emma could see him. Her breaths became shallow, and she suddenly felt dizzy. Panic gripped her heart. 

“You want to run,” Rumplestiltskin told her, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “You don’t want to get married at 17. You don’t have to. Just turn around and go back upstairs.”

Emma began to shake. What was she doing? He was right! She was too young to get married! Why was she getting married again? Who was she marrying? Something wasn’t right. This man made sense - she should just run back upstairs. 

“Emma?” 

Rumplestiltskin jerked his head towards the sound of the young man’s voice. The boy didn’t see him, of course. His spell had seen to that. But why was there such strong magic emanating from the lad? Rumple recoiled, feeling a sudden, sharp, physical pain. The shirt! The stupid boy was wearing the shirt Emma had made with no needle or seam. The wretched shirt that solved the first riddle. No one could see it; he wore it beneath his shirt and tie. The boy must be sweating in the heavy felt, too. What had possessed him to don the thing? Curse him! Rumple stumbled backwards, the magic of true love overpowering him. He turned and ran, his glamor spell starting to wane, and his skin burning. He almost fell down the steps, but when he reached the sidewalk he turned and steadied himself, smoothing down the front of his suit coat. 

“No matter,” he snarled up at the house and the people inside. “I may not be able to touch you yet, but I will, mark my words, I will, and soon!”

Inside, the sound of Killian’s voice had broken the spell that had held Emma frozen at the bottom of the stairs. She looked down into Killian’s gentle smile and sparkling blue eyes, and every doubt and bit of confusion fled. He held out his hand.

“Don’t be afraid, Emma,” he told her softly, “we’ll walk the aisle together.”

She took his hand and descended the last few steps. She tucked her arm into his and beamed up at him. 

“Why would I be afraid?” she asked him, and she would never remember the strange man at the bottom of the stairs. 

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

Emma giggled as Killian carried her over the threshold of the house they would share, at least as long as the professor who owned it was on sabbatical. Killian set her down, brushed her lips with a kiss, then stepped forward, his arms spread wide.

“So, what do you think?”

Emma stepped slowly into the room, taking in the small foyer and the modest living room to the left. To the right was a stairwell, and down a short hall in front of her was a small eat-in kitchen. It was a narrow, two story Victorian, even older than the home she grew up in with Ingrid. Emma wrapped her arms around the post of the stairway banister and looked up at the decorative stain glass panel above the front door which was so common in Victorian homes. It cast shafts of colored light onto the flowered wallpaper. 

“It’s not very big, I know,” Killian told her, “but the man who owns it is a bachelor, after all. The upstairs is better, though. He renovated it to just one huge master suite with a really modern bathroom. It’s got a double shower!”

Emma caught his gaze at that, and a teasing smile lifted her lips. “Really?”

Killian swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He’d never heard that one word sound so laden with sensual promise. Emma bit her lower lip as she regarded him, still draped across the banister. 

“I could . . .” he stuttered, “give you a tour. Of the house, I mean.”

Emma grinned slyly, then gazed up the stairs. “I only want to see the bedroom.”

Killian swallowed again, “Oh - okay.”

Emma stepped closer and took his hand. She said nothing, just gazed at him in a way that took his breath away. He took the stairs, leading her by the hand, every nerve in his body on high alert. 

The stairs led them straight into the master suite, with no door separating the two. At the back of the room was a sitting area surrounded by built-in bookshelves. A TV was mounted on the wall so it could be seen from either the sofa, rocking chair, or bed. 

The bed. It was a queen size, four-poster bed situated in front of a beautiful round window of colored glass. It dominated the room, or at least it seemed to right now. Emma walked to it slowly, running her hands along the quilt that lay across it. When Ingrid had seen the house, she said the quilt was another sign that fate meant them to be together. The pattern of interlocking circles was called a wedding ring quilt. 

Emma wrapped her arms around one of the bedposts, just like she had the banister downstairs, and looked at him shyly. Two spots of color tinted her cheeks. Killian scratched behind his ear and gestured to the door to his left. 

“Do you, uh, want to see the bathroom?”

“Killian,” Emma said gently, “why are you so nervous?”

He was able to laugh, just a bit, at her words, but he didn’t know what to say. Emma took one step forward, took him by the hand and pulled him closer. To her and to the bed. She ran both hands up the front of his shirt and began to undo the buttons. His heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. 

Suddenly, Emma paused. “What’s under your shirt?”

“The one you made. To solve the first riddle.”

Emma laughed as she worked off his tie and undid the rest of his buttons. “Oh my God, you must have been burning up!”

“You have no idea!” He laughed too and peeled the scratchy, insanely hot shirt up and over his head. He sighed in relief as he tossed it aside, then ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He caught Emma staring at him, her cheeks now bright red. He wondered if she would get nervous now, but instead, she turned her back to him. 

“Unzip me?”

Her back was almost completely bare already in her halter dress. The zipper didn’t start until her lower back. He could scarcely breathe as he slid it down, revealing her lacy underwear. 

“And untie the halter?” Emma’s voice was thick, and he was thankful he wasn’t the only one obviously shaken by desire.

Killian did as she asked, letting his fingers dance along her spine after he finished. Emma sucked in a sudden breath at his touch. He stepped closer, encircling her waist and pressing his chest to her back. Still holding the front of her dress to her chest, Emma leaned back into him, and he trailed kisses along her neck. 

“Are you even wearing a bra?” he asked against her skin.

Emma turned to face him, still holding her dress up. “It’s hard to wear a bra when it’s a halter,” she said, then she let go of the dress, and it fell with a soft rustling sound at her feet. 

For a few heated moments, he took her in, glorious in nothing but a pair of white lace panties. Then he surged forward, pressing her bare breasts against him and devouring her mouth with deep kisses. Emma moaned as he maneuvered her to the bed, and her hands fumbled with the zipper of his pants. 

After kicking aside his pants, he covered Emma with his body, nothing between them but that tiny scrap of lace. His hands roamed, as he sucked on her neck, and Emma panted as she grasped his back. He pulled back for a moment, tenderly cupping her cheek. 

“You asked why I was so nervous.”

“Mhm,” Emma replied, her lips pressed together, and her eyes wide.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his hand drifting down to caress her breasts. 

“A little,” she whispered. 

“Me too,” he confessed, “because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Emma pressed her hands to his cheeks. “I know you would never hurt me.”

He ran his thumb along the waistband of her panties, and she shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut. 

“I don’t want you to be scared,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes opened and held his as she lifted her hips and guided his hands.

“Do I look scared to you?”

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

The window above the bed scattered beams of light in various shades across the quilt that covered Emma and Killian. They were both still naked, and Emma was tucked against him, running her hands through his chest hair. He ran his hands along her bare arm and kept brushing kisses to her forehead. 

Emma let out a contented sight, “That was amazing. I want to do it again and again and again.”

Killian chuckled. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that. I was so worried, I even asked Liam for advice.”

Emma twisted so she could look into his face. “You talked to Liam about us having sex?” she yelped. 

“Not like that, just . . . I wanted to be sure I was sensitive to what you’ve been through. He understood that and was really helpful. I read that some guys are really rushed and insensitive without meaning to be when it’s their first time, and I didn’t want to do anything stupid.”

Emma nodded, then a slow grin spread across her face. “Well, whatever he told you, I need to send him a thank you card, because . . . wow!”

Killian laughed. “Now, that would be awkward.”

Emma suddenly grew quiet, and her hand stilled in its exploration of his chest. 

“Emma?” he asked tentatively.

She sighed and rolled over next to him on her back. For her to lie there next to him, her breasts uncovered, made him feel so honored to receive that vulnerability. Still, something told him she was insecure about something.

“Did I disappoint you, though?” she asked.

Killian rolled closer to her as he exclaimed, “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Well, I doubt you imagined a woman with this kind of figure for your first time.” She ran her hand over her baby bump, which still wasn’t incredibly noticeable, to be honest. 

“Emma,” he said softly, turning her chin to face him, “you are the most beautiful, exquisite thing I have ever seen in my life. I thought I was going to internally combust for a moment when your dress hit the floor.”

Emma chuckled at that, but he could still see the insecurity in her eyes. He decided to show her instead. He gently ran his hand down the length of her body, stopping at her rounded abdomen. He caressed it gently, then leaned down and placed a lingering kiss right beside her belly button. To his surprise, he felt a small thump in response. 

Emma gasped, and Killian’s head snapped up. “Did he just -”

“Yes,” Emma laughed, “he just kicked you.”

Killian lowered his lips again to Emma’s belly. “Hello, little one,” he said, “it’s me, your daddy.”

He kissed Emma’s belly button again, and Emma dug her fingers into his hair. When he looked back up at her, tears were shining in her eyes. He pushed himself up and kissed her, gently at first, and then with more passion. Emma broke the kiss, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Didn’t you say something about a double shower?”

Before he knew it, she was out of the bed and darting to the bathroom door. With a growl, he jumped up and chased after her.