#you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

[shouyuus]

Hiii, I’m the person screaming crying throwing up every time you post, love ur stuff!

Anyway… I’m thinking mechanic!vi prolonging the time it takes her to fix your car just cause she wants you coming around the shop more and then when she does eventually fix it she kinda worries you’re not gonna stay over at hers as often but u decide to ask her if u can move in or smth like this?!?

Idek tbh my brain is so fried from over consuming Vi content

all you have to do is stay

mentions of sex, but no explicit scenes, car mechanic!vi au oh she absolutely would; there's actually so much stupid domestic bliss in this wow

and sure, the hookup was good in the beginning, but she liked it when you came around, liked it when you'd show up at her shop, all shy and wide-eyed, asking her if you could watch, and who's she to turn down such a pretty girl, right? and honestly, she thought it was kinda cute, how you'd try your best to ask her about this or that, and she'd find herself rambling about her favorite kinds of pinon brackets, or talking you through a chassis restoration for another vintage car that was brought in.

it shouldn't take a whole-ass month to rig a crossflow radiator, especially since the rest of your car's actually in pretty good condition, but she keeps on picking out other things to do, insisting that she's already here anyway, sliding out from under the car with a crooked grin, asking you to pass her another cold beer.

but there's only so many things she can make up before it's obvious, even to you that there's not much else to do. so when the day comes, she's quieter than usual, tallying up the extensive list of repairs that she's both done and made up for herself to do (you'd insisted that you at least pay for the major ones, and if the smaller ones came with a dinner-date and dessert in bed afterwards... well.)

"and... i think that's all of it, sweets."

she hands you the receipt, immediately tucking her hands into the pockets of her light-wash jeans. her shoulders shrug up as you look down the list. it's way less than that she should be charging you for, but you peer up at her, frowning at the pinch between her brows and the tension clear in her muscles.

"vi? what's... wrong?"

"ah -- it's nothin' sweets, don't worry your pretty little head over it."

she teeters forwards and back, as if she can't decide if she wants to move closer or back away. but you're already reaching for her, closing the distance between you with your head cocked, your eyes bright and questioning. and she could never resist it when you looked at her like that, so toe-curlingly trusting. as if there wasn't a thing in the world she could do or say to drive you away or upset you.

sometimes, she'd lay awake and wonder if you knew how dangerous that kind of trust is -- how someone less scrupulous would take it and twist it into something foul. but she'd never let that happen -- at least not while you wanted her around.

"violet... we might not have known each other for very long but... you're not a very good liar," you say, reaching up to cup her cheeks, coaxing her eyes back to yours. she laughs -- it's a tiny, helpless sound; it shakes her open in a way that startles even her, the way her whole body wants to fold over you, into you.

"geez, sweets... that's... that's not really fair of you."

she lifts her hand to press them over yours, hands over hands, petaled around her cheeks, and it occurs to her that perhaps this is what it means to live up to her namesake -- violet. you'd said it was a beautiful name the first the she told you what vi stood for.

"you're not really fair either, vi... but that's never stopped you, has it?" you ask, a mischievous glint in your eyes, your lips twisted up on a fox-hole smile.

vi sucks in a breath. something feels like it's clawing up the length of her ribcage and burrowing through the hollows in her chest till she can taste it pitter-pattering at the back of her throat. it takes her a full three seconds to realize that it's her own traitorous heart, beating so strong she can taste it on her tongue.

"fuck."

and then she's kissing you, pulling you to her, fingers harsh and desperate, her touch lingering like month-old grease-stains the way they dig into your delicate skin. you gasp open for her, against her -- you let her tug you into her till there isn't a part of you she can't reach if she wanted to.

the kiss breaks like a dam bursting open, and a few seconds later, she's got you hoisted up on her workbench, wrenches and old receipts scattering to the floor as she slots herself easily between your legs. it's a familiar place to be, after all -- after all this time.

you hiss, fingers fisting in her hair; it's longer now, than when you first met. and she'd be lying if she said her letting it grow had nothing to do with your offhand comment once (over yet another impossible banana sundae) that you liked it long.

"vi -- vi -- please -- you --"

"hm? what is it, pretty girl?"

"you c-can't just try to distract me w-with sex every time --"

and she can't help the grin that hitches over her lips at the way your chest is heaving, your eyes blown dark, the way your thighs shake on either side of her hips. but she can see the flicker of worry in your eyes and her stomach twists with uncertainty.

"i -- i don't --" she tries, but a breath puffs out of her and she sags against you, "it's... just... now that the repairs are done... there's not really much reason for you to come around... and..."

at her words, you heave a sigh that seems much too big and weary for your body, pulling back to fix her with a surprisingly sharp look.

"you really thought i was coming around here to listen to you talk about my car repairs?"

vi does her level best not to pout; hearing you say it out loud, it does sound... a bit childish. instead, she leans forward and digs her nose into your neck, wrapping both arms around you till she's got you cocooned in her chest.

"what? you weren't interested in the new pressure washer i got just so i could get that really stubborn stain off your back bumper?"

you trail your fingers through her hair, letting your nails graze along her scalp. a shiver washes down the length of her back and you giggle close to her ear.

"sure i did... but you could talk about... dunno... your favorite dish rag, and i think i'd still wanna listen -- because i like listening to you talk about the stuff you like... because..." and its your turn to hesitate, her turn to pull back and fix you with a look -- one that's equal parts pleading and disbelieving.

"because what, pretty girl?" she asks, her voice low and husky, a thumb running across the round of your cheek.

"b-because i -- i like you, vi."

your eyes flicker away and color seeps into your cheeks like dye across clear water -- the shade blooming into you till vi's sure there's no color so beautiful as the one that you are now.

"mm... well, thank god for that cause..." she leans in to press her forehead to yours, "i was starting to wonder, what with all the multiple orgasms and midnight munch sessions and --" she laughs as you squawk indignantly at her, your eyes flashing wild and wide.

"t-that's not what i -- you know that's not --"

"oh? so you don't like those?" she asks, the tease now so obvious in her voice that you flush several shades darker. vi thinks she may have to amend her previous decision on her favorite shade of you. and you're outdoing yourself today.

she lets her free hand wander to the bend of your hips and she gives you a squeeze.

"i --" you steady yourself in the solidness of her, reaching down to lace your hands with hers, "of course i -- i like those things too but i -- i like that you're the one doing them to me and --" you swallow; vi tries not to be to distracted by the hummingbird flutter of your pulse as you struggle to find the words, even though both of you know full well by now exactly what you're trying to say --

sometimes, just sometimes, words speak just as loud as words need to. and the actions are just there to back them up.

sometimes, there are certain things that people just want to -- or need to -- hear said out loud.

"i -- i wanna come over even when there's nothing for you to fix... i..." you steady your breathing and vi nearly drowns in the certainty that settles between the pair of you, an ocean full of of unsaid words (the ones that don't need to be said to be understood), drifting like sunlight over shifting waves -- their brightness made no less real by their shimmering reflections in the water, "i guess i just... wanna be wherever you are. like... all the time."

vi's eyebrows hitch; her breath follows shortly after.

"all the time?"

you bite down on your lips, "yeah but... i know it's only been like... a month or whatever --"

"no, no god -- sweets, i -- i want that too -- more than anything -- it's just --" she motions at the shop, and you nod, catching her hand in yours mid-air.

"it doesn't have to be right now," you say, smiling and giving both her hands a firm squeeze.

"yeah?" she asks, a rare quiver to the shape of her voice.

you nod, "yeah." and your voice is just as solid as she needs it to be. you lean in to kiss her, and she sighs open against you, as you've done so many times for her.

"we'll -- we'll make it work," you say, in between harsh, nipping kisses, even as vi groans and trails her mouth along the line of your jaw. you gasp, letting your head tip back, "w-we'll t-take it s-s-slow -- mmngh -- vi!"

vi hums as she sucks a dark hickey into the side of your neck, feeling savage wanting plume open in her chest. she looks back up at you with darkening eyes and a hunter's smile.

"dunno if i know how to take it slow, sweets --"

"w-what about all those t-times you told me t-to wait --" you keen high in the back of your throat as she drops to pillow her cheek to your thigh, flipping up the bottom of your skirt to dig her nose into the damp triangle of your panties.

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes as she glances back up at you with a playful smirk.

"oh fuck you."

you lick your lips, reaching down to sink your fingers into her hair again, pulling just hard enough for the an ache to gather in her belly.

"thought that's what you were trying to do."

vi stands up, pulling you bodily forward till your ankles are linked at the small of her back, her palms holding up the plush of your ass as she walks the pair of you back into the house and up the thin flight of stairs to her room.

it's a good few hours before either of you are coherent enough to talk about any of this again, but by the time you are, the twilight is budding along the far horizon, and vander's texting to ask vi if he should pick anything up on the way back from the bar for dinner.

"you wanna stay for dinner?" vi asks, twisting to glance at you in bed, her face illuminated by the digital blue of her phone.

your pillow your cheek on your hand, "yeah, i'd love to."

"cool, what do you want?" she asks, her eyes turning back to her phone.

you lick your lips, "how about... you ask vander to pick up some tomatoes? i can make one of my grandma's old soup recipes. you have potatoes and cabbage right? and... i think i saw some pork bones in the freezer the last time i was here."

you cast your eyes up at the ceiling, ticking through a mental list of ingredients.

you only turn to shoot vi a glance when you realize that you can no longer hear the rapid pik-pik-pik of her fingers on her phone.

she's staring at you with what could only be called wonder in the halfway dark.

"you... remember what's in our fridge?"

"well i -- there's not much in there --" you say, almost indignantly.

she laughs, shaking her head, "no, it's just -- i didn't think you'd ever notice something like that, i mean, pardon me for thinking that you've never set foot in a kitchen in your entire life, what with you being daddy's little princess and all," she goads, nudging you with an elbow even as you squirm away from her, pouting.

"i'll have you know that i'm actually a really good cook, okay?" you tell her, "when -- when i was little, and my grandma lived with us, i'd help her in the kitchen all the time. and... after she got too old to make stuff... i was the one who cooked for her, because she said it tasted like stuff she'd eat in her childhood so..."

vi shuffles closer to you under the blankets, nuzzling her nose into your cheek.

"and just when i thought you couldn't get more perfect," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you giggle, allowing yourself to be tugged back into her chest.

"i told vander to pick up tomatoes... and to invite silco and everyone else he can round up over for dinner."

you squeak, shooting up, "what?!"

vi grins, pushing up with a soft yawn, "you can't just tell me that you've got grandma-level cooking skills and not expect me to invite my whole entire family, right?"

you tumble out of bed, nearly tripping over your panties, still caught around your ankles. you pull them up, scrambling for one of vi's big shirts to toss over your body as she watches you from the bed with an indulgent smile before swinging her legs off and standing up to pull you back into her chest.

"calm down, sweets -- i'll help you, kay? now, tell me what you need."

you nod, pulling on a pair of her jogging shorts and twisting your hair into a haphazard bun out of your face as you start listing off ingredients, hopping the last two steps onto the first floor landing and fluttering into the kitchen.

by the time vi rounds the doorway, it's to find you with vander's massive apron already tied around your waist, an several pots and pans stacked on the countertop.

"i need three onions, and a head of garlic and... a few bay leaves, if you have them. it's okay if you don't --"

vi fights back a grin (it's a losing battle, she thinks, but it's one that she's considering losing for the rest of her goddamn life if it meant doing this every day with you).

"sure, sweets -- whatever you need."

you nod, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt as you set to work peeling the potatoes. a few second later, vi pops up from the fridge, frowning.

"looks like we've only got one onion, but i found some shallots... not sure how good they are though... they were kinda shoved into the back." she holds up the bag with a grimace.

you blink at her, and for a moment, vi thinks that you're going to be angry, or at least a bit frustrated. but then, your face breaks into a sweet, helpless sort of smile, and you reach out to take the shallots from her.

"it's okay," you say, in a voice that sounds just a little too much like coming home, and vi has to swallow passed the peach-pit suddenly caught in her throat.

your fingers brush against hers as you point her towards the half-peeled potatoes, and she gets to work without you even having to ask.

you lean up onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to her cheek, your eyes bright as fallen stars when she turns to look at you.

"it's okay," you repeat, smiling up at her with that smile that just might rhyme with forever, "we'll make it work, okay?"

vi licks her lips; there's an entire ocean of saltwater words caught behind the tombstones of her teeth that she does not know how to say. but she thinks, as she looks at you and you turn back to fussing over the one onion and handful of shallots, that you probably know it all anyway.

"okay," she says, before turning back to the diligent work of peeling the potatoes.

[gangstalkerbarbie]

i wish i could internalise this but you see the problem is that the fandoms are all american and so is much of the source material and there are just things that... don't translate across cultural contexts that would be essential to doing this? when I try to write my little guys being like me, people think they're overbearing and intimidating because there is a completely, completely different script for how to be a woman in the west, especially among non-jewish people

and that doesn't go away just because everyone wants it to, it's a subconsciously irk that i have to actively mitigate by playing so nice, the most nicest, nicest in the world. i hate playing nice so much it's hardly conceivable

having ocs is about community to share them with and if the community doesn't really want to bother to think about that there are un-American realities where people think and are motivated very differently, then where you end up is that can only play true representations of yourself when they are literal aliens :") literal grey aliens in my case

Anyway this likely sounds like I'm mad at you which I'm not, so below the cut here's some actionable ways to support your friends when they want to introduce you to ocs dealing with their cultural identity:

1. Be normal about it, we're all just blokes here, treat them the same way you'd treat any other person's little player character

2. Ask questions and engage with all their silly little fanon that explains how they're like that in a world where xyz is not textually real

3. When you're close enough people fucking love it when you want to play their ocs family, they don't care about the cultural distance, people marry people from different cultures all the time, they will coach you about how to do this, you will learn so much

4. Thru interaction with them you will gradually realize we're all just blokes and your friend can explain any difference in mentality that could matter

5. There will be such differences and they will be narratively significant but it's possible to be normal and encouraging about it and engage like a normal human with the challenging themes that can come from foreign upbringings

6. There will almost definitely be challenging themes because American imperialism has a very wide reach, and beyond that other imperialism exists. The night is dark and full of terrors out there past the core. Things you can brush aside as too political with your American friends are just part of life in some places, and that's not your fault but it feels pretty surreal to have to elide it for your comfort

This is just like a fact and the sooner you stop being guilty about it as if its your fault the sooner you'll be able to appreciate the poignancy of your friend's oc, the world's dumbest coyote

7. You're allowed to check your foreign friends for getting heavy on you out of nowhere, they're not made of porcelain. You're also allowed to joke.

8. Try to take this as an opportunity to read more widely. Read media from that country and reference it even — your foreign friends have to do it to fit in with you, why not make your ocs aware of the sources of their jokes and cultural memes? One of the most charming irl interactions I've had recently was with a random Michigan guy who knew who Verka Serduchka was

9. All of this applies to intercultural competence in general, armed with the ability to understand how to not make people feel weird and lesser for not being American you will do numbers on Xiaohongshu

Hey. You. If you're a second language English speaker. You should make more of your ocs your own nationality. They don't all need to have inexplicably English names. They don't all need to somehow conform to American cultural conventions. They should speak your first language also. Holds your shoulders and looks you deeply in the eyes. Okay? Okay.

[bunny-jpeg]

mrs. colapinto

franco colapinto

tags: smut/pwp, established relationship, loving!franco, curvy!reader, marriage, honeymoon, cowgirl position, clit teasing

no one knew who franco's sweetheart was. the argentinian driver had captured the world's heart, but who captured his heart? and oh, did you capture it. you were the air he breathed, the sun in the sky, a bright light in his soul. but, franco was protective of you. he didn't want to the world to poke and prod at you and your life. your education, your personality, your body.

france know that each inch was beautiful, every centimeter had been explored by his lips over the years. you were perfect, beyond perfect. he probably had your curves memorized like lines on a track. he could trace them with ease. so, he didn't need the input of fans or the press to determine if you were worth loving. franco knew that you were worth loving.

it was better that you could attend university in peace, that didn't mean that franco ignored you. he was texting you the second he could get his hands on his phone, you two were doing virtual dates when you were apart, and at the very least he could get you on facetime while you were snuggled in bed, on campus, or preparing (a late) dinner. it felt like the only time he could relax, while he was happy to have a shot at formula one. he missed the comfort of your small apartment, the home-cooked meals, how you'd ramble to him about your recent essay topic. to hear your voice. it was his personal heaven. every chance he could, he'd take photos of the cities he was in. he sent flowers every so often, and even got his hands on small souvenirs to send back home to you. you were on his mind during this sudden propelling into racing success.

if you couldn't go with him. then he'd simply bring the locations to you. as he once said to you, "anything for you, mrs. colapinto." then winked at you when your face went hot. he the laughed when you smacked him in the arms. it only made you face hot when franco mentioned marriage so casually. off handed comments to make you his bride. you knew you wanted to marry him, but everything felt too busy at the moment to take that next step. you didn't need him to feel the pressure of marriage on top of f1.

so it was a total shock when he proposed over a home-made dinner during a small break in the season. while you were about to enjoy the meal you made together, you caught sight of the small diamond in the ring. the way it caught the yellowing light of the dining area. you choked on your meal when he asked, "my love, will you marry me?" he put the velvet box down to hand you his water glass to help you swallow down the food, "i'm so sorry! i should've waited till after you ate!!" then when you stopped choking, you smiled between heavy breaths and he smiled too.

"franco." you said, you did get a little misty eyed when he rounded the table to put the ring on you. you kissed him deeply.

you two had your wedding during the off-season. it was a spur of a moment with few witnesses with dinner after. but word of the marriage wasn't kept quiet for long. people caught sight of you leaving the courthouse in white with franco in a suit. so you were franco's sweetheart, now his wife. everyone wanted to know who franco's little secret was. just a regular university student with no much of a social media presence. except for maybe a semi-active tubmlr, where many found out that you were a lewis hamilton fan. but other than that there was no personal information. but while you were on your honeymoon for the rest of the break, the press couldn't wait to get more information about you, and franco was more comfortable to formally introduce you. they juat had to be nice about it. you spent the break overseas and he happily kissed you in front of the cameras.

when you asked him what changed, he said, "you're my wife now! i want to show you off because if they are cruel, i can better stand up for you. protect you!" and then gave you what felt like a dozen kisses.

much of the honeymoon was spend in bed however, curled up in the rented apartment. the bed was soft and of course franco wanted to make you feel loved. to make love to his wife. hours spent against you. he loved when you rode him, the jolt of your body as you rolled your hips against him.

the heat got caught in your throat as you oved against him. you felt amazing as you made love- in all fairness, you sexual activity went from tender to rough fairly quickly.

"that's it, my love, my wife. you feel amazing, i am addicted to you." nothing else mattered in the bedroom except for your hips pressed against him and your hands on his chest. the feeling of you moving up and down on his cock with a needy want. his praise for you was heavy as you clenched around his cock, "beyond beautiful, my love. stunning. i knew i wanted to be with you the moment i met you. i love you, i love you."

"fuck, franco." you painted nails dug into his shoulders as you moved with all the force in your body.

his cock twitched inside of you, his words got filthier as the heat coursed through him quicker, "all mind, but you knew that. i'm so in love with you, there are zero words for it. never want or need anyone else. no, no, not when i have you. you're all mine just as i am yours." and met your pace. a sweet moan left his lips. you shifted against him and he only held onto you tighter. the headboard rocked against the wall a little. he wanted you all, and now as your husband, he could have it.

you didn't last much longer. you came first, then he did. and then, like a little devil, he teased your clit until you came once more. which made you tense up and kiss him deeply on the lips. you hissed, "fuck, honey."

"i know my love, you feel beautiful under my touch. as you should be." his voice laced with want and love, you were his and his only. you soon laid out with him in bed as the afternoon light shined through. he held you in his arms and you laid a hand on his chest. the diamond glimmered in the light as you laid curled up with your franco, your husband.

you stayed close to him, feeling his love as the two of you continued to enjoy your honeymoon together, some years in the making.

franco made a post the day after your honeymoon ended. with various photos throughout your relationship. you did however blush when you saw one of the photos, when you two were still teenagers, when right before when he moved to italy. there was you in his old racing helmet, you at his birthday party doing drunk karaoke together, and a finally a photo when you went to an art gallery together. an additional photo was posted of you on the bus with him to the williams headquarters. the caption read, "you have brought life into my world, let's always grow and love alongside each other. my beautiful, mrs. colapinto." <3

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at The Twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[daryldove]

Heavenly

young!daryl x fem!reader

implied abuse & references to a mommy kink

I wrote this forever ago but no longer intend on continuing it, so I thought I'd post it instead of letting it collect dust. ignore any mistakes <3

Daryl frequently came over to your trailer when things became rocky with his dad or brother—which was most days. You welcome him every time with open arms, grateful for his company despite his initial pricklyness.

At first he was guarded, wary like an abandoned kitten who'd been led astray too many times. He was hesitant to let anyone see the softer parts you knew were in there. Over time, his walls started to crumble when around you. There was a comfort in knowing he could show up unannounced and find you there, a constant in his unstable world. It didn't take him long to grow attached, though. Despite how much he thought he'd regret seeking comfort in you, it transformed into something he previously never let himself consider.

You're slightly older than him, but he admires mature and competent you are compared to the other people in his life. Even motherly at times. It stirs something in him he doesn't want to think about, he pushes it aside with the rest of those thoughts. You were undeniably the best parts of each other's day. Sometimes, he'd bring beer over, and you'd sit on your lawn chairs watching the sunset, and you'd discuss anything and everything.

“Just live with me, how many times do I have to say it? You know I hate the thought of you in there.” You shift your cardigan back onto your shoulder for the tenth time that night, watching the condensation from your beer soak into the ratty material of your couch. Daryl ignores you, as usual. The thought of relying on you so much irks him, you know that well by now. You sigh as he finishes another beer, your concern only growing, feeling like a swirling storm inside your gut. He was the only chance of stopping this abusive cycle the Dixon's had started, but he didn't see the worth in trying.

“Daryl.” Your voice is more stern this time, not giving him room to argue.

“What?” He responds a little too harshly, expression immediately turning guilty once he sees your raised eyebrows. He sighs and rests his head against his fist. It's hard not to pity him.

You uncurl yourself from where you're sitting and set your beer down. “Come here,” he looks hesitant, but eventually slides over until he's slotted against your side and wrapped in your arms. Your fingers curl around the hair on the base of his head, nails occasionally scratching in a way that has him practically purring. A kitten indeed.

[oharaslove]

HIIII V !! i didn't think that you'd actually reply to meeee T ^ T but I was wondering, if you have enough time and space for writing in requests, i wanna suggest a storyline where the reader is Miguel's "first evreything", and the story would be about/start off with Miguel establishing his first moves and his feelings to y/n (kinda like the start of the relationship). AND DO ADD YOUR TOUCHES AND WRITING STYLE IN, AND IT'D BE PERFECT. thank u so much ! love u a lot ! ♡♡♡

𝘚𝘰..., 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭, 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘨𝘨, 𝘐 𝘈𝘔 𝘚𝘖𝘙𝘙𝘠!!

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶!! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦!! 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥.

This was supposed to be a one-shot but my mind keep adding more information and I can't keep it out. So anyway! This is part 1.

Summary: The story of Miguel's first and only love, you. A passage through the most significant moments of your relationship.

Word count: 2040

Tags: pre!Spiderman2099 Miguel x civilian!Reader + Spider!Miguel x civilian!Reader

||masterlist|| part 2>>

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃��𝓎

𝓑𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

The fact that it was February was starting to annoy Miguel. 

The constant reminder of his loneliness was not something he expected to be annoyed about. Sure. He had been alone his entire life. Never a slight romantic interest in a person. Never the feeling that oh so everyone talks about. Love. 

What was so appealing about it anyway?

He marched into Alchemax’s reception at his usual time, after passing an uncountable amount of men with bouquets and chocolates. Ugh. The sight of it made him roll his eyes. It was Valentine’s day again. He prepared himself mentally for the usual questions: “No one important in your life” “Got a lady waiting for you at home?”. Ugh. Why do they even care? He doesn’t. 

Miguel headed straight to the lifts, paying no mind to the people around him. He just wanted to get this over with. Get in the lift. Go up. Lock himself in his life. Simple. Easy. No human interaction whatsoever. Or so he thought. 

As he entered the lift and pressed his floor button, a sigh escaped his lips. Finally. He rested his back against the back wall and threw his head back, inhaling deeply while closing his eyes. The door began to close. The outside world fading into what it looked like a peaceful and perfect day of just Miguel and Science. No one else. But he had chanted victory too early. 

A foot stopped the doors for closing completely. The sound of them opening again making Miguel snap his head to the front, locking eyes with the person entering. It was a person he had never seen before. Not that he paid much attention to the various workers of Alchemax, besides his coworkers in the lab and his superiors. 

“Ugh, love, love, love. Isn’t there something more important than love” You muttered under your breath, probably something not intended to his ears, but your words had reached him nonetheless. 

Miguel snorted quietly, making you whip your head towards him. “Oh, so sorry. Didn’t notice you there. My mind was elsewhere” you rambled. “And… sorry if you heard that. I promise I don’t hate love.” you continued, avoiding his gaze, the lift closing behind you. 

“It’s okay, honestly.” He shrugged. “I can’t say I disagree. Valentine’s day is always the same.”

“Right!” you exclaimed, fully turning your body to look at him better. “And the never ending questions: ‘Do you have someone special waiting for you at home?’” you mocked, rolling your eyes with a smile over your lips.

Miguel left out a belly laugh, one he hadn’t heard in a long time. “They are horrible.”

“They really are.” you answered, looking towards the button’s panel.

Miguel relaxed against the wall again, glad that the interruption of his alone time wasn’t unpleasant. Crossing his arms over his chest and resting his head against the wall, he took the opportunity to eye you better. 

You were beautiful. The way you were dressed and the way you held yourself let him know you were confident, and strong. He was really surprised he had never seen you before. He would for sure remember it. Besides, you seemed interesting, and had the same thoughts as him regarding this dreadful day. 

Miguel was so focused on you he hadn’t realised the lift had stopped and the doors opened with a “ding” until you chimed “Oh, we are here”. He pulled himself out of his thoughts shaking his head. God, what’s wrong with me he thought. 

You stepped out onto the corridor, looking at both sides, seeming lost. Just then, Miguel realised he was on his lab’s floor. Have you worked on the same floor all this time?. He didn’t want to part from you, not at least without knowing your name, or a way to meet you again. He hesitated, all being oh so new to him. How do people approach a woman without sounding like a creep? 

“Um… sorry, I am new here,” you interrupted his thoughts. Your beautiful doe eyes staring right at his. “Could you help me find this lab?” you motioned towards the piece of paper on your hand. 

Miguel gazed into your eyes for an awkward amount of time, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, his brain slowly processing what you just said. “Oh! Yeah… yeah! Of course!” He answered a little too excitedly. 

He darted his eyes quickly to the paper, his lab number written in it. Wait. HIS LAB. 

“Uh…” he began.

“Oh, am I on the wrong floor? I swear this was the floor the guide told me” You retreated your hand, holding the piece of paper closer to your face. Frowning, cutely,  your eyes darting from left to right.

“No…” Miguel shaked his head, trying to get out of the spell he was in. Come on, focus, he reprimanded himself. “No, you are on the right floor” hd informed, his voice sounding more sure this time. “I was just surprised. That is the lab I work in”

Your mouth stretched into a smile from ear to ear. “Nice! Are you a geneticist too?!” You held your eyes in his, blinking slowly.

“Yeah…” he scratched his neck, looking away. Your gaze was intense, and he was feeling things he couldn’t explain. “I’ll lead you. This way”. 

Miguel turned on his heels, not bothering to check whether you were following or not.

𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

After the initial confusion and surprise of your arrival, it turned out you and Miguel worked amazingly together. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the bond between you only grew stronger. 

Before you, Miguel dreaded speaking to people. He spent his days cooped up in his lab, only answering questions if necessary. And not even that. He would grunt, nod and hum most of the time. But, you changed that. 

Every morning, before leaving for work, he would check himself in the mirror, trying to look his best. Miguel didn’t know exactly why, but he liked it. And he hoped you liked it too. His quiet and montone days turned into a game, what topic would you come up with today? What outfit were you going to wear? 

It didn’t really matter, you looked good in everything. Or, so he thought. As a friend and colleague of course. Miguel could never get enough of you. Could never stop listening. But, that was normal right? Friends want to be with each other all the time. Right? 

He doesn’t know how it happened, but a workspace that started being only his, a sacred place no one, but him could touch, became yours. You had started working on the station behind him. But gradually, with time, as you and Miguel became closer, without you two realising, your workspace and work in general, had merged together. 

Sometimes, you would work so close together that your shoulders brushed against each other, or you would try to grab the same thing at the same time, making your hands touch. And, every single time, Miguel felt a tingle run down his spine. A short-circuit on his mind. Plus, a warm feeling on his chest, produced by your giggle. 

Today was supposed to be like any other day. Miguel got ready for work, double and triple checking his appearance before leaving. Upon his arrival to the lab, there was already an odd feeling. You two arrived at almost the same time, which meant, you always stumbled upon each other on the corridor or in the lift.

That morning, Miguel had to go up alone, the silence, despite the horrible lift music, deafening to the ears. Maybe she is already here, he thought. Nothing to get worried about.  He stepped out on the corridor with a heavy feeling on his chest. What if you weren’t? He had grown so accustomed to your presence he never thought about not being by your side anymore. 

Miguel took small and indecisive steps towards his lab, the expectation of the reveal weighing him down. He needed to know if you were already there, but at the same time… he didn’t know what to do if you weren’t. 

The door to the lab appeared in his view. Miguel stopped in his tracks, a metre away from the entrance. He closed his eyes as he took a big breath in. Okay, this was the moment of truth. He clutched the strap of his bag against his chest. Sweat dripped from his forehead, as his trembling hand reached for the door knob. 

Miguel took another deep breath before closing his eyes and twisting the knob. He stepped in slowly…

Emptiness. There was not a single soul in the lab, just him. 

Miguel stood locked in place. His brain processed the information. You weren’t here. He tried to recall your conversation the day before. You never told him you would be absent, right? 

What if something had happened? You had a car accident! Or your flat caught on fire. Million thoughts running through his head, none of them happy. 

Miguel clutched his head. His fingers running through his locks, tugging. His chest was heaving up and down. The air wasn’t reaching his lungs properly. Miguel shivered, the lab was cold without your presence. His life was an iceberg without you in it. 

He was out of his zone. He had never felt like this. All Miguel wanted to do was curl in a ball and hide. Hug himself to feel some warmth, closing his eyes imagining it was you. A tear slipped from the corner of his eyes, trailing down his cheek before falling into the floor. 

After that one, came a dozen. Miguel’s body was shaking. He sniffled, a sob escaping his mouth. How could he not have your number? All this time and he never asked. Were you okay? What if he never had the chance to see you again. What if–?

“Miguel?” he heard from behind him. 

He whipped his head around, his hands falling to his sides. There you stood, two coffee cups, one on each hand. You had a smile on your face, but upon seeing him, it dropped. 

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed. You rushed to place the cups on the table before going to Miguel. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Your hands landed on his arms, grounding him. You were safe! You were here. 

Miguel left out all the air he was holding, another sob cursing through his body. He slumped forward, his head landing on your shoulder. His arms snaked their way around your middle, embracing you. 

You stiffened for a moment, before melting into his touch. Your own hands embracing him, caressing his broad back. 

“Shhh it’s okay,” you cooed. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m here”. 

Yes, you are, he thought. He sighed, all the tension in his body dissipating. 

He pulled back from your shoulder, now towering over you, but not stepping back. His hands remained on your body, seeking your warmth. Yours regained their previous position, on his arms. 

You looked up at him, your eyes big while examining him. 

“I’m alright now, thanks” he said hoarsely. Miguel, very reluctantly, moved his hands away from you, wiping the remaining tears of his cheeks. Your arms dropped to your side, as a small smile formed in your lips. 

“Okay.” you murmured. You glanced towards the coffee cups on the table, before meeting his eyes again. “Why don’t we sit down and talk over coffee? Or not, you don’t have to tell me. Just..” you rambled, fidgeting with your fingers, and looking away. “I got your favourite”

Miguel smiled, his eyes softening. “Thanks”

You beamed at him. Taking the lead, you walked past him, grabbed the coffees and took your usual seat on the table. You looked at him expectantly. Remembering how to function, Miguel took off his bag and placed it over the desk, before taking a seat next to you. 

You handed him the cup, your fingers brushing against each other. The usual spark present. Miguel stared at you, his mouth slightly open, while you took a sip of your coffee. Realisation hit him like a truck. He had a crush on you.

Oh, he was fucked.

𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳! 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸!! 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 (𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘩𝘦) 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵!! 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦!!

𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 2 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄! 𝖧𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒. 𝖨 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖡𝗎𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖧𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗌!

[creeperkiwi]

book shop | Jason Todd x Reader ᯓ★ 

sumarry: Jason is a fan of a series of unknown books, there is only one bookstore in the entire city that has them so he goes every week hoping to find the next volume, the bookstore worker has a proposal in exchange for the third volume .

male reader, word counter: 2,532

masterlist

The tinkling of the bell at the door announced his arrival. Jason crossed the threshold of the bookstore with measured steps, as if he feared disturbing the stillness of the place. Despite having walked this path dozens of times, each visit was still a ritual. His cold, serene eyes shifted from the shelves to the figure behind the counter, where the worker lifted his gaze from an open book.

"Hello, Jason," he greeted with a relaxed smile, setting the book aside. His black hair was messy, as though he hadn't had time (or the will) to fix it that morning.

"Hello," Jason replied with a slight nod, emotion absent from his voice. He couldn’t remember when he had started coming to this bookstore, but the dark-haired worker always made him feel as though they'd known each other for a lifetime.

Without saying more, Jason made his way to the usual shelf. He knew exactly where the book should be, and, as always, the third volume remained a vacant spot in the collection. His jaw tightened. "Ridiculous," he thought, yet his fingers skimmed the spines of the books as if he could will the one he sought into existence.

The dark-haired worker watched him from the counter, resting his elbows on the worn wood. There was something about Jason that always caught his attention, maybe the stiff way he moved or his contained expression, as though he carried a world of unspoken words.

"So?" the worker asked, with his usual light tone of mockery. Jason turned his head.

"So, what?"

"You're not going to ask about the book?" He tilted his head, his carefree smile seeming like a challenge.

Jason sighed, crossing his arms. "I already know you don’t have it. Asking would be a waste of time."

The dark-haired worker chuckled softly, a comfortable sound, as if he had just confirmed something he had been expecting.

"That's new. You used to insist more." He straightened up and pulled something from behind the counter. Jason furrowed his brow when he saw the book in his hands. It was volume 3.

"How...?" Jason started, but the worker raised a hand to stop him.

"It’s a long story. But I’m not going to tell you here." He held out the book, but when Jason reached for it, he pulled it back. "Unless you agree to go with me for a coffee."

Jason blinked, his face remaining expressionless, but something in his eyes reflected surprise.

"What?"

"A coffee," the worker repeated, calm, as though suggesting something as mundane as exchanging a bill. "It’s the price of the book."

Jason looked at him, trying to decide if he was serious. Finally, he let out a brief sigh.

"I guess I have no other choice."

"Of course not," he replied, grinning widely while playing with the book in his hand. "I finish at 5, the café is on the corner, I’ll wait for you there."

Without another word, Jason left with an annoyed look; he couldn't believe what had just happened.

—☆—

Jason arrived at the café five minutes late. For someone like him, that was already unforgivable. He opened the door with a bit more force than necessary and scanned the place until he found the dark-haired worker sitting by a window, playing with the spoon in his cup.

"You’re late," the worker said, smiling with that carefree air that seemed to mock everything.

"Five minutes doesn’t count as late," Jason replied, sliding into the chair opposite him. He adjusted his jacket, a gesture that made him seem even more distant than he already was. "Besides, I didn’t think you'd take it so seriously."

"Of course I do." He set down the spoon and looked at him with squinted eyes, but the smile never faded. "That’s why I brought you here, right?"

Jason raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. Instead, he turned his gaze to the steaming coffee the worker had ordered for him. He took a sip, as though needing the time to decide if it was worth continuing the conversation.

"So?" Jason finally said, placing the cup down with a slight clink. "Why so insistent on the coffee?"

The dark-haired worker rested his chin in his hand, clearly enjoying Jason’s attitude. "It’s not that complicated. I like you."

"Is that all?" Jason tilted his head, his sharp eyes relentless. "I thought there was a more interesting purpose behind it."

"Well…" The worker paused theatrically, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe you’re somewhat cute, and I knew you'd only accept if I gave you the book."

Jason stiffened for just a moment, but he didn’t let the worker see it. "Did you bring volume 3?"

"Maybe."

Jason snorted, resting an elbow on the table and looking at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. "You’re irritating, you know that?"

"I know." The worker grinned widely, as if he took it as a compliment.

They spent a few minutes talking about trivial matters: the weather, the bookstore, the oddities of the regular customers. Jason, though cold and reserved, found himself surprisingly comfortable. After a while, his voice, always sharp, took on a slower tone.

"You know… I’ve read the first two volumes at least three times," Jason said, not looking directly at him, his gaze fixed on the edge of his cup. "It’s rare to find something so... real. I don’t know who the hell the author is, but it seems like he knows exactly how things work. It’s like he’s lived it."

The worker, who had been playing with a napkin, dropped his gaze when he heard that.

"That good, huh?" he asked, his voice softer this time.

Jason shrugged, but his expression was less indifferent than usual. "I don’t care if it’s good or not. What matters is that it doesn’t sound like all those idiots who think they understand the world. This guy... he really gets it."

A silence stretched between them until the worker finally spoke.

"Jason." His voice was laden with something Jason couldn’t identify at first. He leaned forward a bit, pulling something from his bag. It was the book. He placed it on the table, pushing it toward Jason with a casual gesture.

"Here, it’s yours."

Jason furrowed his brow. As soon as he saw the cover, he felt a mix of disbelief and relief. It was volume 3. For a few seconds, he simply held it in his hands, examining it as though it might be an illusion.

"How did you get this?" he asked, his tone more serious than usual.

The worker fiddled with the napkin in front of him, avoiding his gaze. "Let’s just say I have a certain... connection with the author."

Jason looked at him intently. There was something in the worker’s casual tone, in the way he avoided his gaze. His words started to echo in Jason’s head: "It’s like he’s lived it." He remembered the little phrases and details in the books, things that always seemed oddly intimate, as though the author was speaking directly to him.

"Connection, huh?" Jason said, his voice taking on a mocking tone. He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of connection?"

The worker shrugged, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks. "I guess you could say I know him pretty well."

Jason fell silent, observing him. His fingers drummed on the table as he processed the obvious. The worker had that same way of speaking, that same way of looking at the world with a mix of sincerity and mockery. Finally, he let out a snort, a brief laugh, but one with meaning.

"You’re the author, aren’t you?" Jason said, not breaking eye contact.

The worker looked up with a shy but amused smile. "Maybe."

Jason let out a sigh and leaned on the table, resting his chin in his hand. "So all this time, I’ve been telling you how amazing you are. Did you have fun watching me not realize?"

The worker let out a nervous laugh. "Well, it wasn’t that fun. I think this is the first time someone’s talked about my books that way."

Jason shook his head, but deep down there was a small curve on his lips, barely perceptible. "You’re an idiot."

"And you’re a passionate reader." The worker’s smile widened with more confidence.

Jason took the book but didn’t get up right away. "For what it’s worth, your books are good. Don’t change that."

The worker stayed there, looking at him, surprised by the sincerity hidden in those words.

Jason placed the book on the table, his fingers slowly tracing the spine, as though he wanted to mark every word before saying anything. The worker watched him, the tension in the air palpable, but neither of them wanted to break the silence first. Finally, it was Jason who spoke, his tone now a little softer but without losing that hint of disdain that made him unique.

"You know, I never imagined you’d be behind all this." Jason looked up, his eyes cold but with a hint of curiosity. "I thought the bookstore was just a place to... find books, not a place for someone to be both a writer and a bookseller at the same time."

The worker let out a nervous laugh, playing with the empty cup. "Well, not everyone has to be so... direct. Some people prefer anonymity, you know?"

Jason didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he observed the worker, his gaze a little warmer now. Maybe it was the proximity, or perhaps the surprise of discovering that everything he had been looking for had been right in front of him all along.

"What if one day you write something new? "Jason asked casually, almost as if he didn’t care too much, although the question had been on his mind for a while.

The dark-haired man fell silent for a moment, clearly deep in thought, before shrugging. "You never know. Though for now, the third one is the last. "He said this with a wistful smile, as if he had already accepted the inevitability of goodbye.

Jason stared at him, weighing his words. Finally, he let out a low laugh, tinged with mockery, but also a hint of interest.

"Maybe I could accept more outings with you." Jason paused, looking up and watching for the dark-haired man’s reaction. —In exchange for a fourth volume, of course.

The dark-haired man tensed, his face turning a little red, and the confident smile he had was completely gone. Something in Jason’s gaze, that almost defiant glint, made him immediately understand what the guy was truly suggesting. It wasn’t just the book that was drawing him in.

"A fourth... volume? "The dark-haired man murmured, his voice softer, hesitant. "That... isn’t in my plans."

Jason let out a small laugh, a little softer this time, and leaned forward, enjoying the other’s discomfort.

"Yeah, sure. "Jason said, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something else, something the dark-haired man couldn’t quite pinpoint. "But, you know, we could talk about more books... if that sounds good to you."

The dark-haired man blushed even more, desperately searching for words. "It’s just that..." he took a breath, trying to maintain composure "I just... the third volume is the end, there’s... no more."

Jason leaned back in his chair, watching the dark-haired man’s reaction with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. "Are you sure? Because you seem nervous, and not because of the book."

The dark-haired man couldn’t help but blush even more, realizing that Jason’s intentions went beyond books and reading. Jason, with his typical defiant attitude, had put him in an uncomfortable position, and now all he could do was smile shyly, unable to say anything coherent.

"It’s just... the third volume is the end, okay? " he said, his voice much softer and more nervous than before.

Jason crossed his arms, observing the dark-haired man’s reaction with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. "Sure, sure. But maybe there’s something else you could write... in your free time." He let the phrase drop like an insinuation, enjoying watching the boy blushing in front of him.

The dark-haired man looked at Jason for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, as if he were making a decision. Then, with a soft smile, he took out his phone and slid it towards Jason.

"I think it would be a good idea for you to have my number." he said in a casual tone, as if it were something simple, but with a slight spark in his eyes that hinted at a deeper suggestion.

Jason raised an eyebrow, surprised by the offer, but in the end, he said nothing. He took the phone and, after a brief silence, added his number, handing the phone back.

"I hope you don’t bombard me with messages" he said, his mocking tone still present, but there was something softer in his voice than before.

The dark-haired man let out a soft laugh, a little amused, as he put the phone in his pocket.

"I can’t promise anything." he smiled again, crossing his arms, as if already thinking about the next conversation.

Jason made a gesture of indifference, but deep down, the idea of staying in touch with him seemed... kind of interesting. However, before he could say anything more, the dark-haired man, with his usual calmness, said in a low voice, almost like a casual observation:

"By the way, if you ever decide you’re not satisfied with just books, let me know. I’m sure you could enjoy more than one conversation."

Jason looked at him, the surprise of the suggestion briefly visible in his eyes. Immediately, he regained his posture, but the mocking tone faded a little as he tried to remain calm.

"And what do you know about my tastes outside of books?" he responded with some disdain, but there was also a touch of discomfort in his voice.

The dark-haired man leaned back with a calm smile, as if he had won the little battle. "I’ll only know if you decide to let me invite you for coffee again."

Jason snorted, turning toward the door with a half-smile. "We’ll see, then."

But before he could leave, the dark-haired man reached him at the threshold with one last word.

"Hey, Jason..." —he called, and when he turned around, the dark-haired man stared at him with a playful smile. "You don’t have to get nervous, I’m not going to do anything bad to you."

Jason looked at him, confused for a moment, until the dark-haired man, with a soft and closer tone, added:

"It’s just... you’ve already turned a little red."

Jason, surprised, put his hand to his neck, as if trying to hide, but it was obvious. The dark-haired man had already noticed, and, still smiling, turned and left, leaving Jason standing there, blushing with a mix of irritation and amusement.

Jason watched him leave, feeling an odd mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment. "You’re an idiot." he murmured to himself. But he couldn’t help the slight smile on his face.

[coffeecat1983]

@dreamyluigi (I apologize in advance for any mistakes, I'm not well versed in the Paper Mario games)

TW: Blood, mention of suic*de, character death (be sure to read to the end!)

     "Ugh..." Mr. L hissed again, clutching at his head. The figure in red before him blurred. "What is th-this?"      "Weege?" Mario reached out, recognizing the signs of a severe migraine. "C'mon, lil bro, you gotta rest."      "Don't tell me what to do!" L snapped. He groaned again, stumbling backwards.

   A room in a little house. A warm, inviting bed draped in green blankets. Sleep. He just wanted to lay down. The bed beside him, the red one. It was empty.

Again.

   He fell to his knees, clutching his head in sheer agony. Unable to take it he ripped off his hat and mask, the fabric felt suffocating. He looked up, his steel grey eyes glimmering with a mixture of fear and hatred.      "Wh-What did you do to me?!" he cried out, doubling over. Words flooded his mind's eye, memories.

   He was there. Always there. Since they were kids that constant safety had always been there. Whenever he needed his brother he would just call and he was right there. Then he became a hero. Then their world changed. Their lives, changed.     "I'm sorry Weege, but maybe you should stay home this time."     "It's okay Weege, I got this, you can stay here."      "Heh, Mario left him behind again," a toad at the marketplace  said to another, thinking they were out of earshot. "Bet it's because he's useless."    He woke from a nightmare with his brother's name screamed out into the night. Yet no reply. He was alone, the one who claimed he would always be there was gone, risking his life for others.    Leaving him feeling forgotten.    It hurts. It hurts! IT HURTS!

   Mario went to step towards the now trembling figure only to freeze at the low voice.      "You left me." It wasn't the harsh condescending tone Mr. L had been using. It was that rusty, soft voice. A voice that normally would have made the older twin's heart sing. And yet something this time sent an icy chill through him.      "Weege?"      "You always leave me." Two voices chorused from the one man. "You said you'd always be there. You lied."    He looked up and Mario couldn't help but take a step back. It was like a scene from a horror movie. His brother's face split in two emotions, one grey eye filled with hatred, the other a sapphire blue filled with pain as tears streamed down his face. When he spoke, Mario again heard two voices.      "You always leave me." a shuddering sob as Luigi/L stood, moving like a drunken ragdoll. "They tease, they taunt, you never hear it." He lurched forward only to fall again as the room spun. "So much pain. It hurts... Mario, it hurts."      "Luigi, I never meant...!" Mario jerked back as Mr. L snarled, lunging at him before falling again.      "You're never there! You've dedicated yourself to everyone except me!" Mr. L howled before collapsing, writhing as he clutched at his head. Gasping he looked up, both eyes wild with inner conflict.      "Heh. Hehe." the laugh was cold, vacant. "You have no idea, d-do you?" he spoke in just L's voice. "He's screaming inside right now, screaming over what you've done." His hand slid down to his left leg, the hidden weapon Count Bleck had gifted him gliding neatly from it's sheath.   Mario felt sick when he saw the glint of the dagger. He held his hands up, taking a cautious step forward.      "Weege..."     "Don't call me that!" Mr. L slashed out, forcing Mario back. "Y-You, that name is a spell, isn't it? It does something to my head! MAKE IT STOP!" he was gasping now, his eyes flashing a mix of dull silver and sparkling blue. Mr. L paused as if listening to something. To someone.    If cruelty itself became human and could grin, it would wear the smile that briefly danced over L's features.

Continued in pt 2 here.

a brief moment of clarity

[isagispuzzle]

congrats on 200!!! this is for ur event hehe

my favorite trope is just lots and lots of tension between ppl who clearly like each other AHHH ITS SO OMG

thank you and sorry for the wait!! building tension is still so difficult for me, so thank you for requesting this so i can push myself haha, hope you like it!! (also, it gets a little suggestive at the end. but what else would you expect with oliver)

oliver is not slick. he might think he is, given how many women he's easily won over, but when his teammates see their poor captain gazing longingly at their manager, they can only sigh.

it seems like the entire world but the two of you are aware of the feelings oliver and you harbour for each other, and to be frank, the u-20 team is absolutely sick of it.

ever since you joined them as their manager, they've stopped hearing about oliver's failed dates, and they've stopped catching oliver flirting with a new girl in the front rows after every one of their matches. instead, oliver has added a new line to his template interview responses, thanking their "dear manager" for the unwavering support, and he's added a new stop to his post-training journey, where he'll walk you home before he picks up his takeout dinner.

neru even overhears oliver asking you out for dinner once. you turned him down with a smile, citing you already had plans, and told him to go ahead with the rest of the team. neru chokes when you tell oliver not to ask someone out for dinner with such a smile on his face, because he'll give them the wrong idea.

(of course, oliver didn't invite the others to dinner after that.)

neru tells the others about this, and they're equally as frustrated and perplexed, because how could you be brushing off oliver's advances if you were into him too? beyond that, why was oliver hiding behind the excuse of a dinner instead of flat out asking you out on a date? did he not notice the way your feelings bled into the way you treated him, versus the rest?

of course, the team knows you try your best to be professional and fair. they have no complaints about your care for them, other than the sickly sweet smile you'd have on your face when you go up to oliver first after every game to tell him good job, or the way you lean into his space and hang off every last word he says, or the way your eyes always stick to him like magnets whenever he's in the room. maybe to add one last complaint, they can't stand how you don't realise oliver does all that back to you too.

the u-20 team, excluding oliver and you, gather for dinner that night and conspire. they put together their observations of the two of you and assert their theories on why you're still not together yet, despite the obvious spark and oliver's usual straightforwardness. it's a rather comical scene, the nine boys speculating and gossiping about their captain's love life with seriousness that easily measured up to their post-match debriefs.

they leave their dinner-turned-conspiracy-meeting satisfied with their conclusion that perhaps, you brush off oliver's advances as just a part of him because you know about his flirtatious tendencies, and perhaps, oliver is getting discouraged by your lack of reciprocity, which is why he doesn't push you as much as he normally would.

what they don't know is that your rejections have only made oliver more intrigued and mindful of your boundaries, things he hasn't cared much about in the past, and they have only made him more addicted to the chase. oliver knows he'll have to work doubly hard to make you look his way, not as a part of the u-20 team but as a man, so for now, he'll revel in your scent when he leans in to help you with your bags. for now, he'll savour the fleeting touches of your fingertips when you carefully tape his knee.

because once he breaks down your walls, he'll be able to do everything he's been dreaming of to you.

[muddyorbsblr]

empty baskets

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: dating era; a few weeks after 'the warmest bed i've ever known'

Summary: Tom makes a concerning discovery on laundry day

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/s: steamy moments at the end; insecure Reader; mentions of previous cheating from exes; mentions of former toxic relationships [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: cinnamon roll bf Tomathy hours

The sound of the front door to his house closing alerted Tom of your return, a smile stretching across his face when you called out his name.

"In the laundry room, sweetheart. I'll be with you in a minute," he answered.

"Remember to separate your lights and darks." He could practically hear the amused smile on your face as you said the words.

His heart swelled at the comfortable humorous tone that you'd taken, at the familiarity that had woven its way into your exchanges, no matter how minuscule they might have been to anyone who would have been listening. After the scare of nearly losing you just under a month ago, he knew better than to take any moment with you for granted.

Tom dropped a final black running shirt into the load and was just about to start it, when he finally noticed what had felt off about this particular chore. What he had been feeling off about the past few weeks.

None of the clothes in the wash were yours. Not a single garment.

I must have missed them, he thought to himself, going through the other basket, brows furrowing together when he found it was just as empty as the one in his hand.

You'd been staying with him for the last two weeks, and he knew that you changed clothes. That was, at least during the times when the two of you were clothed in the house.

And yet despite that, he couldn't find a single item of your clothing in this room. Which led him to believe that you were keeping them in a laundry bag. Probably where you stashed your suitcase, in the entry way coat closet.

Only thing was that your laundry bag was nowhere to be found, and your suitcase was suspiciously heavier than it was yesterday morning. "Y/N?" he called out to you, unable to help the smile on his face when you peeked your head out from the study.

"What's up?"

"Anything you need to put in the wash, sweetheart?"

The confusion worsened when you shook your head. "Nope, I'm all good." And then you gave him a smile that was so strained it filled him with a sense of dread. The same kind of dread that he felt when he came home not two weeks ago to find you curled up in a chair, mumbling words that threatened to turn his world asunder had he not stopped you.

What were you hiding?

He made his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, heart thundering in his chest when he saw the avoidant look in your eyes. Like you were desperately trying to scour your mind for a way out.

Just like you were that night he showed up at your doorstep. When you blurted out how you felt about him and promptly tried to take it back, denying you said anything at all. "You don't need to hide anything from me, goddess," he said carefully, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "I want you to know that."

"My dirty clothes are in the Four Seasons, I have a room booked there to keep my things," you blurted out, the words rushing out of you with a sheepish look on your face. "That's where I went this morning, to grab a new set of clothes and…anything else I might need."

Tom took in a deep breath, unaware that he'd been holding it while awaiting your answer. A weight was somewhat lifted from his chest, though there was still the lingering fear that somehow part of this secret was in the form of another person.

It had happened before, with previous relationships. And while he felt that fear significantly less when you were around, it still lingered…and festered into something that had the potential to be crippling if it ever turned out to be true.

Even if it was fairly early on in the relationship, he knew in the depths of his soul that this would be his last. You would be the one he spent the rest of his life loving, the one he would build his future with. And whether that future entailed marriage and children, it no longer mattered to him.

What mattered, all that mattered, was that future would have you.

"Why?" he asked, silently pleading that the answer wouldn't involve his worst fears. He couldn't take that. Not from you.

"It's for…just in case," you said, barely audible. Your eyes began to mist over as you started trembling in his hold. "For if…and when…you get tired of having me around. Then I wouldn't have to scramble for a place to stay. Because it's already there prepped and waiting for me."

Your words completely stole the air from his lungs, quite possibly even stopped his heart. Tired of you? You did this because you were bracing yourself for the day he would tire of you?

"It happened before," you spoke again, choking the words out as you visibly fought against what he had no doubt were haunting memories from relationships past. "Long before, but still…it sucked. Not having anywhere to stay for a few hours, calling friends who suddenly pretended I was nobody to them because they took my ex's side. Calling hotels that were fully booked. I just wanted to be sure."

Suddenly your actions around his home filled him with a heartbreaking clarity. It wasn't just your clothes.

Not a single item on the bathroom counter was yours. You even kept your toothbrush in a little bag. 

The meticulous way you'd place back every item in his study and pack away all your work in your tote before putting it in the entry way closet with your suitcase. He simply thought you were being tidy.

But it wasn't that simple.

Other than your very presence in his arms now, there wasn't a single trace of you to be found in this house. Everything you had here wasn't just easy to pack up in five minutes to have you out the door.

You wouldn't even need five seconds.

He couldn't think of what else to do at that moment other than pull you into a desperate kiss, weaving his fingers into your hair and holding you tight against him with his free arm. The tension that held on to his heart with a vice grip lessened somewhat when he felt your lips moving with his, your own hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt to bring him in even closer.

How could you not know that this was precisely where he wanted you? Always?

"I could never tire of you, goddess," he sighed against your lips when he broke the kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you answered him with the faintest sniffle. "I need you to know that none of this is on you. You did nothing to make me feel this was what I should do, this is just…leftover self preservation. I don't know how to be any other way."

Tom took your hands in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Perhaps we can find a new way together," he proposed, placing one last kiss on your ring finger. The one he wished to place a ring upon one day.

It didn't matter when.

He motioned towards the bedroom, threading his fingers between yours to lead the way. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

There was a slight guilt that pinched away at his heart, realizing that you never even so much as peeked into the closet or the dressers. Because if you had, you would have seen it sooner.

You would have seen that he'd set aside half the dresser storage, and half the closet.

He was so overtaken with the joy of finally having you with him, he failed to see the signs that you hadn't been moving as if you lived with him. You moved like a scrupulously careful guest in his home, making sure everything was exactly as it was before you arrived.

Always ready to leave at a drop of a hat.

When the light turned on in the walk-in closet, Tom could hear the air leave your lungs the moment you that half of the racks were empty. He held your hand as he opened the drawers on the empty side, showing you that they, too, had nothing inside.

"You're not a guest in my home, Y/N. I--I know that it might be too early for us, but I want more than anything for you to see this as our home. I can understand if you're not quite ready yet, but I want you to know that there's space here for you. I don't want you to have to throw away money for a hotel room that isn't even slept in."

"Money isn't an issue," you mumbled, your eyes still fixed on the space he'd freed up for you. When you eventually tore your gaze away, he could see the tears that were welling up. "It's just…I've taken care of myself for so long. It's all I know. No one I was with ever cared--"

"I care, sweetheart." He pulled you into his arms, sighing into your hair when he felt you return his embrace. "And I understand you wish to take care of yourself, but perhaps I could care for you, too?"

Your only response was to nuzzle your face against his chest, before nodding against him. "Maybe we can take care of each other."

He kissed the top of your head, leading you out the closet and reaching for his phone, already placing a call to his assistant. "I'll send for someone to retrieve your belongings from the Four Seasons and settle the bill. You don't have to unpack everything if you're not ready, but at least they'll all be here. And I know you mentioned that money isn't an issue for you, but it doesn't sit right with me knowing you're spending so much on an unused room."

A soft smile finally graced your features, and you visibly looked more relaxed as you agreed to his proposal. "Fine. But next time we stay at a hotel I'm paying."

"It's a date," he said, bringing your joint hands up to kiss the back of your hand.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you sat on the floor of the closet, your carry-on splayed open beside you as you carefully placed your clothes in the open drawers that Tom freed up for you. Our home, his words replayed in your mind. The mere thought threatened to overwhelm you.

He really is trying to ruin me for everyone else but him, you thought to yourself, your mind wandering back to that note you buried deep in the vaults of your phone. You were seldom one to let your guard down anywhere other than your home, where every security measure had triple the redundancies just to make sure that vulnerabilities were minimized, if not eradicated completely.

In your line of work, the one starkly outside the path that brought you to the man you love, it wasn't just a "nice to have" to have multiple measures of security. The alternative was to be in a constant state of alertness. To always be ready to fight your way out.

You never knew there could be another way. A way where there were no backups, or backups for your backups. A way that no longer involved having a place ready for you in case you got kicked to the curb because your boyfriend decided to finally take up the offer of the office succubus.

Before you knew it, the carry-on was empty, other than your run of the mill weapons of choice for self-defense. But you decided against placing that anywhere within reach, instead zipping the compartment closed before closing and locking the luggage.

There was no need for it here.

The door to the closet opened, the sight of your boyfriend walking in wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants making you smile and bite your lip. "Well hey there," you greeted him, placing your hand in his and letting out a little giggle when he helped you to your feet before pulling you into a kiss.

"Just need a few more pieces to put in the wash, darling," he murmured against your lips. "Four, to be exact."

He worked his hands under your shirt and pulled it over your head, proceeding to work his way under the waistband of your joggers.

"Three…" You held on to his shoulders to keep upright, a teasing smirk on his face as he hooked his fingers underneath your panties. "Two…" In one smooth motion, he tugged them downwards, both garments falling to your feet, your boyfriend letting out a sinful guttural sound when you were bared to him.

Then your feet left the ground, him lifting you by the backs of your thighs and coaxing you to wrap your legs around him as he brought you back into the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, lustful darkened blue eyes raking over your body before he reached for the waistband of his own sweats.

"One…"

A/N: Where can I order one of these cinnamon roll Tomathy-shaped boyfriends? Asking for myself--

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie

@superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814

[ourpickwickclub]

What has been your favorite season of ‘The Voice’?

Favorite season of "The Voice"? The season I got to kiss Blake.

Were there any collabs that were especially magical on ‘Bouquet’?

Yes, yes! This album was magical and special and a miracle. It's a pure miracle I received these songs. I was like, "What? Again? I get more?"

There was one really unexpected collaboration and that was that Blake Shelton hopped on a song called "Purple Irises." That was pretty special because, you know, everybody wants him.

The other huge collab was this producer called Scott Hendricks who is more of a country producer. But it's not a country record. It's a Gwen record.

How have your dreams grown throughout your musical journey?

The longer I get to be part of the world and try to fulfill the purpose — my purpose — of making songs, you want it more and more and more. Because it's got to be over soon. It's got to be. Once you get that love, once you got to share your life with people, it's hard to stop. The dream just keeps getting bigger in a way, and the gratitude keeps getting more as well.

What was it like seeing yourself as a Lego in Pharrell's movie?

Seeing myself as a Lego is something I never dreamed of or thought would happen in my life. There's a lot of stuff that happened that I didn't think would happen, but that was definitely a shock. Thank you, Pharrell. I couldn't dream that big.

Is there anyone you've collaborated with that you'd like to work with again?

There's never been a time where I haven't like absolutely enjoyed collaborating. Collaboration is when I feel like I shine the most. That's when like I feel like I'm the best. I would definitely go back in the studio with any collaborator that I've ever worked with and write a song. I love writing music. It is the one thing that makes me feel like I'm worthy of something to be on this planet for. I need to keep pressing that button and try to write songs. You want to collaborate, I'm right here, guys.

What are some of your most cherished memories from your No Doubt days?

My most cherished memory of the early days of No Doubt? Have you seen that movie "Finding Nemo"? That character, Dory? That's me. I don't remember anything.

I think one of my cherished memories — if I really, really thought about it — popped in my head right when I was saying that.

I was sitting on the tour bus, and we had been on tour for a while. I was actually making a baby blanket for my sister. I was like sewing this blanket by hand, everyone else was like doing other stuff — I won't say what — and I looked out the window and I see all these girls coming to the concert. I was like, "Oh my gosh, that girl, she's dressed like me." It was just this amazing ... how is that happening right now? It just made me feel like impossibly good.

Who is inspiring you in the music industry currently?

I think there's a lot of good music out there. I kind of went backwards in the last couple of years. As I've been writing this record, I rediscovered a lot of the music I was listening to when I was a kid. Back in the station wagon, going to church, listening to soft rock.

One of my favorite new artists that my son turned me on to is Zach Top. I love that record so much; such good lyrics and voice and melody. I'm going to come and see the concert.

Rapid-fire round:

Favorite type of flower bouquet?

Wedding bouquet.

A fashion trend you'd bring back from the '90s?

Cutoff tank tops.

Oklahoma home-cooked meal or dining out in California?

Oklahoma home-cooked meal. Duh!

Country music or soul music?

That's really hard! I would probably have to go with ... now I'm a grown-up, I'd probably have to say country. Oh my God, they're going to hate me. I'm in love! What can I say?

Red lip or pink lip?

Red.

VIDEO:

https://www.today.com/popculture/citi-concert-series/gwen-stefani-8-before-8-interview-rcna187857

.

[traumadumpwriter]

JJ Maybank X Reader ~ Relapse and a Half

Summary: The Pogues feel betrayed by the readers sudden relapse into drugs, but they're unable to be angry at her for too long as something terrible leaves her needing their support more than ever.

Trigger warning for: drugs (obviously), guns, sexual assault, violence

Part One

Part Two

Part Three:

After the confrontation at your house a night prior, JJ had only been able to see red, quickly pacing past your mum before making his way to the Chateau, kicking over some bins and verbally abusing some kids on his way.

He couldn't believe that you liked him. That you wanted to be with him. The thought stressed him out and made him regret doing whatever he'd done to get you to fall for him.

It wasn't that he didn't like you back. In fact it was quite the opposite - he'd been entirely obsessed with you ever since you'd arrived in the Outer Banks. His issue was that he'd seen up close just how damaged you were, just how sweet and kind you could be, just how much you deserved the world and everything in it - but not him. He wasn't good enough; not cool enough, not smart enough, not clean enough.

"Why him?" He thought. "Of everyone on this island, why him?"

You could've gone for Pope or John B or even one of the Kooks, at least they would treat you right. It might've killed him inside to see, but it would've been better than the pain he was feeling now, knowing that he'd been unintentionally hurting you this whole time, knowing that he was the one who bore the responsibility of your heart.

He stormed into John B's without stopping, going straight for the blunt in the ashtray and then storming back outside. From his behaviour, the Pogues feared for the worst and Kie's eyes were quickly tearing up, panic settling into her chest.

"She's okay, isn't she?" She followed JJ outside in a pleading tone, shortly followed by Pope and John B. "Please say she's okay."

JJ didn't answer, angrily sucking on the blunt and staring out at the sea, his mind racing.

"Answer me JJ! What's happened?" Kie demanded.

"Is she alright? Was she at home?" Pope questioned.

"JJ- fucking answer us man! Is she at the hospital? Is she- is she okay?" John B shouted.

JJ took another sharp drag on the blunt before solemnly answering.

"She's fine. I mean, she's not, but she's alive."

Kie shoved him with some frustration, her tears quickly drying up but her teeth gritting.

"Why the hell would you scare us like that? What happened?"

"We had an argument... I- You were right Kie. It is my fault."

She blinked incredulously, double taking as she tried to suss out what was wrong with the boy.

"What are you talking about?" She questioned angrily.

He took another sharp drag, even sharper this time, ran his hand through his hair and then turned to the Pogues with exasperation.

"Y/N likes me! And I've been a fucking idiot to not see it. I shouldn't have rubbed all those girls in her face. I didn't think she cared, but.. I guess she did."

"So you're saying that like it's a bad thing. I thought you liked her too." John B proclaimed in a confused tone, shooting a look to Pope who had also been aware of JJ's crush.

Kie was kicking herself for not picking up on that, wishing she’d known and she could’ve told you weeks ago - before you even had the chance to get depressed and pick up a pill again. But she didn’t focus on that thought for too long, more focused on your current wellbeing.

"I do, I just- We all know I'm a piece of shit, okay? I don't deserve someone like her. Hopefully she sees that now." JJ tutted, his eyes darting between each of the Pogues.

The uncertainty of his statement made them all nervous. 'Hopefully she sees that now' - what the hell did that mean?

"What do you mean? What did you do?" Kie hissed, her heart in her throat.

"Nothing! I was just rude. I guess I rejected her. Called her a junkie-"

Kie hit him again, seething with the boy at that point.

"What is wrong with you? Why the fuck would you do that?" She snapped, grabbing the blunt from his hand and throwing it onto the floor. "Go back there now and tell her you love her! She's probably crying her heart out right now."

JJ shook his head, thinking about picking up the blunt from the ground but not bothering. Weed wasn't strong enough to make him feel better anyway. He wanted to follow Kie's instruction, he wanted to hold you and tell you his truth, but he could think of too many reasons why not to - too many reasons why you were better off without him. The rejection may hurt now but you would get over it. You had plenty of other options. You would get sober again and you would be fine. His issue was that whether he was sober or not, he was never fine.

"Being with me would only fuck up her life more and you all know that! You should just convince her to like someone else, someone whose good for her. I can't do this." JJ protested.

"You're not a bad guy, man. Come on." John B said but JJ just shook his head again, walking towards his motorbike.

"So you're just gonna leave?" Pope scoffed as JJ got onto the bike.

"I told her to turn on her phone. Try calling her again." He said numbly before kick starting the bike and speeding off.

Kie groaned, unsurprised that when she called your phone moments later it didn't go through. She sat melancholically next to Pope, leaning on his shoulder whilst John B stressfully kicked a stick around.

"Well that's not what I was expecting." Pope sighed and then turned to Kie. "How long has Y/N been crushing on JJ exactly?"

She shrugged and shook her head.

"I don't know. Forever. But that doesn't matter anyway. I'm worried. It must've taken a lot for her to admit that she likes him, so she's either really manic or.."

"Really high." John B finished her sentence, not looking up from the ground.

"How much do you want to bet it's the second one?" Pope groaned.

"I just don't get why she didn't talk to me if JJ was upsetting her this much. She promised us she'd never use again. She's never broken a promise before." Kie sighed and then stood up. "I'm gonna go to hers. I'm annoyed but.. I'm more worried than anything. I wonder if her mum has clocked on yet… I’ll see you guys tomorrow."

"Love that woman but she's clueless so I doubt it." John B scoffed dryly. "See you tomorrow Kie."

Kie picked up her bike and rode it to your house, her mind racing with all the possibilities of what you could be doing.

"Most likely passed out or crying." She thought, her chest aching as she thought of your pain. You'd been through a lot together, and though she was beyond frustrated with your relapse, she wouldn't stop being your friend because of it.

When Kie eventually knocked on your door, your mum was surprised to open it to her.

"Isn't Y/N at yours? That's where she said she was going. JJ upset her quite a bit earlier." Your mum questioned and Kie was quick to catch on to the lie.

"Oh yeah- yeah she is. She's just so upset right now. She forgot some stuff and I said I would come and get it for her."

"You're so lovely Kie. What would she do without you?" Your mum smiled, letting her in.

When Kie went up to your bedroom and picked up a bag to strengthen her lie, she was concerned to see that your phone was still on your bed. Wherever you'd gone, you hadn't brought it. She turned on the phone in hope that it would give some clue as to where you could be, but all that came through were the missed calls and messages from the Pogues.

Kie couldn't let herself panic though. You were grown enough to look after yourself.

"Maybe she just went on a walk. Or a bike ride even. That's most likely. She probably just went to clear her head. I'll try again tomorrow." Kie thought to herself, but she took the phone anyway, hoping that when you came back you would have to come get it off her. She scrawled a note onto your mirror with an eyeliner from the side; "Got ur phone. P4L. - K"

The next day, Kie waited until the afternoon to leave her house, waiting for your knock on the door that never came. She decided that she would go back to your house and confront you there, but when she arrived there was no one inside. Your mum would be at work - that made sense - but after pounding on your door loud enough to wake you up from whatever slumber you might be in and getting no answer, she started to panic.

All of the worst possibilities sprung into her head - a horrific vision of you overdosed and alone, bent over the toilet and throwing up uncontrollably or even passed out and foaming at the mouth - so she quickly rushed to find the spare key under one of the many plant pots and slammed it into the door. She ran up the stairs, loudly repeating your name as she did, and paced into your room.

"Y/N, please be okay." She said before opening the door, her heart dropping when you weren't in the bed.

Nothing in the room had moved, not the crumpled up bedding, the pile of clothes in the corner nor the note on the mirror. You hadn't come back.

"Shit. Where the fuck is she?" She muttered to herself before pacing around the house, desperately searching for you but finding nothing. "Need to find her."

Now her mind raced to even darker corners. Perhaps you'd fallen into one of the many bodies of water on the island, high and uncoordinated, and drowned. Or maybe you'd crashed your bike into an oncoming vehicle. Maybe you'd passed out somewhere and someone had called an ambulance, or maybe you’d put yourself in danger without even realising it. She had no idea how spot on she was with the last prediction.

Kie had told Pope of her plan to force you to come to hers by keeping your phone, and all of the boys had assumed that the confrontation had been over and done with by that point, so they were confused when she turned up at the Chateau without you.

"Did you speak to YN?" JJ asked, springing up from his seat as soon as he spotted Kie.

He'd hardly slept, tossing around in his bed all night as he thought of all the things he wanted to say to you but couldn't. "It was better this way." He tried to convince himself "She's better off thinking I don't want her. Maybe she didn't even mean what she said. Maybe she was just high." He couldn't push the image of him holding you and loving you from his head though.

"No. She never came to mine." Kie huffed, wheeling her bike over with furrowed brows. "And before you ask - yes I went to hers, she's not there. Doesn't look like she's been home at all since I went there last night."

"So where is she?" John B questioned, his posture tightening.

"Do I look like I know?" Kie snapped. "I'm seriously worried."

"Shit." JJ hissed, instantly jumping into a panic. He was quick and erratic. "Okay. We should all split up and look for her. I'll check the marsh and the forest, Kie you should check figure eight, Pope you check town, and John B you take the boat and check the waters. Report back here in two hours."

He rushed towards his motorbike before anyone could even answer, but stopped in his tracks when Pope suggested a disheartening idea. It was an idea that had occurred to both John B and Kie as soon as JJ had announced his plan, though it didn’t surprise them that he didn’t think of it. He was someone who always lived in a somewhat state of denial.

"Don't you think one of us should check the hospital too? You know, just in case."

JJ swallowed, catching the lump in his throat before it could properly form, and nodded.

"Y-Yeah. You do that." He said without turning around. He wanted to argue - to say that the idea was ridiculous and a waste of time - but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. Pope might be right, and if he was... JJ had to cut his thoughts off before they got too hard to bare. He jumped onto his bike and sped off, heading straight to the marshes.

His search was obviously fruitless. He waded through knee high mud and lifted up heavy logs. He dug through thick bushes and climbed up trees. He shouted your name at the top of his lungs and prayed to God that you would appear.

But none of it worked.

By time the two hour mark had hit, he'd searched miles of forestry and worked up quite a sweat. Still, he wouldn't stop until he knew you were safe.

"Maybe one of the others have found her." He thought desperately to himself, jumping on his bike and heading back to the Chateau. They'd all tried to convince themselves with the same hopeful thought and been sorely disappointed when they eventually returned to their friends. JJ was the last to arrive.

"Any luck?" He shouted from his bike before he'd even got off it, springing across the lawn.

The rest of the Pogues were stood in a circle, also damp with sweat and breathing heavily. They looked upset which was understandable given the situation, but JJ felt his heart jump into his throat as he worried that the unimaginable had happened.

"Pope! She wasn't in the hospital, was she?" He asked with urgency, pacing over to the boy.

Pope was breathing heavily, still catching his breath from the run back to the Chateau.

"Pope!" JJ repeated in an almost shout, shaking his friends shoulders.

"No- No." Pope panted out.

"Chill, JJ. None of us had any luck." John B patted him on the back with a sympathetic look.

It didn't calm him down though. Instead he started to anxiously pace, running his hands through his hair and repeating to himself "Think, JJ. Think!"

"She might just be at someone's house. Who knows, she could be having a great time right now while we're thinking the worst." John B suggested which Kie rolled her eyes at.

"The only people she’d ever hang out with other than us are druggie degenerates, so it's not exactly great if she's with them either. Those people wouldn't care if she was on the floor foaming at the mouth."

"Well I don't know what you want me to suggest, Kie! We've looked everywhere else. Should we start banging on the doors of every junkie we know? Because that could take a while!"

As John B and Kie bickered, JJ continued his pacing, racking his mind for ideas until one shot into his head like a bullet.

"Wait-Wait. What did you just say?" He turned to his arguing friends.

"That she's probably with some drugged up degenerate?" John B answered in a sarcastic tone.

"That's it! She's probably at her dealers house. And I know only one scum bag who sells that prescription shit."

JJ ran back to his bike without saying another word, ignoring the questions from the Pogues as he kick started it and sped off - some hope finally in his mind though it was still mostly clouded by worry.

"Should we follow him?" Pope asked.

"Probably." Kie answered, heading towards the Twinkie with a sigh.

It was ten minutes later that JJ pulled up by Barry's house, carefully parking his bike around the corner so that the dealer wouldn't see him. They'd had their fair share of arguments already about JJ's dad and due to this JJ knew that he had a gun. It wouldn't do him any good to get caught on his property.

The blonde paced through the overgrown front lawn and almost jumped for joy when he saw your bike strewn lazily into one of the bushes - the signature ugly green paint instantly catching his eye. You would just be sat on the sofa smoking a joint or something. He could knock on the door, distract Barry without getting shot somehow and get you out of there in no time.

Then the sound of a large vehicle coming towards the house reached his ears, and he quickly ducked around the corner and crouched under one of the windows, anxious to not be caught by one of Barry's customers either. They typically weren't the most reasonable people after all. He was relieved with his decision when Rafe Cameron jumped out of the truck, music blaring and obnoxiously announcing himself as he knocked loudly on the front door.

JJ's ear pricked as he heard Barry's voice from inside, not having realised that the window on the wall above his head was open.

"Shit." The dealer tutted, followed by the sound of a zip. "Why now?"

Barry's breathing was heavy, like he'd been doing exercise, and it peaked JJ's curiosity. Was he working out whilst you watched from the sofa? That would be fucking weird. There was no way you would be lifting weights with him.

JJ listened carefully, waiting for the sound of the front door to open and the start of a passive aggressive conversation between the two men before he stood up and looked in the window. If either of them caught him, that would be a lot of trouble.

He wasn't at all prepared for what he saw through the glass though.

The sound of the zip suddenly made sense, and the heavy breathing. You were there, lying in an unmade bed, stripped naked and seemingly asleep. Even unconscious your face looked so sad and your body looked tired; thin, with random bruises scattered about your limbs and dirty looking hickies on your chest.

Had you let Barry do this? Surely not. Surely you had more self respect than that.

The thought of any other man touching you was enough to make JJ feel upset, let alone a scumbag dealer that he knew you would never have any real feelings for. But then it dawned onto him - that if you hadn't wanted Barry to have sex with you, that didn't make it any better. In fact, it made it a whole lot worse.

It meant that... you'd been tricked or forced or coerced in some way. It meant that you'd been raped. And maybe you didn't even know it. Maybe you were so knocked out that you would have no idea what Barry had done. Maybe he had drugged you on purpose so that he could do it.

JJ's blood boiled, so much so that he felt himself getting physically hotter, his teeth grinding and his fists clenching. He tapped on the window, hoping to get a response from you, but you stayed stiff and still, your eyes closed and your breathing shallow.

How much had you taken? Had he given you something too strong? Did the dealer even know if you were on the boundary of never waking up? Did he care? Either way, there was no way you could've rightfully consented to doing anything sexual with anyone. Not when you were clearly out cold.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." JJ hissed to himself, trying to quickly brainstorm a way to get you out of there without getting killed by Rafe or Barry.

He pulled out his phone and went to text John B before remembering that he'd ran out of data, cursing himself for not paying his bill once again. Then he decided to creep around the back and listen in through another window, hoping that he'd overhear something to help with his plan. All that he heard didn't serve to help though, in fact it made his rage all the more fiery and his brain even less able to come up with a good idea. The desperation was becoming torturous.

"Where's Y/L/N then? I can see her ugly ass bike out the front." Rafe asked in a mocking tone.

"She's in bed, sleeping. What's it to you country club?" Barry answered.

Rafe scoffed. "I caught you mid fuck didn't I? Sorry for being a cock block bro. Can't say I'm not jealous. Bet she's a total freak in the sheets."

JJ could practically hear the smug smirk on Barry's face.

"Yeah, tits like you've never seen. And pussy like a vice grip. You wanna come take a look? She's out cold."

"You already know my answer to that, bro." Rafe chuckled.

JJ's eyes widened, a deep panic settling into his chest. You would be mortified to know that Rafe Cameron had been ogling your exposed form, let alone the potential that Barry might actually let him sleep with you. He ran back around to the other window and banged on it one more time in hopes of waking you up before quickly ducking down again just as the two men entered the room. He couldn't stay down and listen to their crass remarks this time, he couldn't bare it. He had to cause a distraction.

With a rush of inspiration, he picked up a rock and lobbed it at Rafe's truck, creating a loud thud as it dented the exterior. The two degenerates stormed outside at that and JJ heard the sound of a gun clicking.

"What the fuck was that?" Barry muttered whilst Rafe angrily proclaimed "Something dented my ride!"

"If there's anybody out there, you better come out now!" He shouted, his voice echoing around the vacant lot of overgrown swampland.

Then right on cue, the Twinkie pulled around the corner, a very confused looking John B in the drivers seat with Kie and Pope sat behind him. Rafe scoffed something bigoted about the Pogues before stamping over to the van, knocking so hard on the window that he was almost punching it. JJ would've been glad for his friends arrival if not for the pistol in Barry's hand.

"You dented my fucking car. Get the fuck out here!" Rafe demanded as Kie slid open the door, pacing at him with a scowl.

"We didn't do shit to your car. Now where the fuck is Y/N?"

"Didn't do shit? Look at the dent! You're paying for this Kie - since I know you're the only one with any money."

"I'm not paying for something I didn't do. Now tell me where my friend is. I can see her bike there and I swear to god if either of you have hurt her-"

"What are you gonna do? Huh?" Rafe cut her off with an intimidating smirk, stepping so that he was inches from her face. "You can't do shit."

Pope jumped out of the van and quickly got in between them, his nostrils flaring as he eyed the sociopath. John B quickly jumped out too, though before he could open his mouth to say anything Barry had cocked the gun and pointed it at the trio.

"Y/N ain't here. She bought her pills and wondered off into the marsh. Left her bike behind. Now if you want to find her before the gators do, you lot best be on your way."

No one moved an inch, horrified by the revelation of Barry's statement.

"And you just let her go? What is wrong with you? She could be dead!" Pope hissed, an unexpected volume to his voice.

JJ could no longer sit and silently listen knowing that his friends were about to embark on another wild goose chase. You were there, mere feet away. This was their best opportunity to do something before anything else could happen to you.

Feeling that the dealer was sufficiently distracted, JJ decided to fully open the window and climb inside, struggling slightly with the old frame as he pushed it up. Once he was in, he instantly rushed to your side, gently shaking your shoulder in an attempt to wake you up again.

"Y/N it's me. We've got to go." He whispered, only getting a groan back from you.

Your hair was splayed messily around your face like the petals of a flower, making him think to the mornings he'd spent with you in the past. How he'd woken up beside you after a night of drinking and wanted to kiss you, but held himself back in fear that you would find it weird. That you would remind him that you were only friends with the occasional benefit. That you'd laugh in his face. If only he'd known how wrong he was.

Perhaps he didn't deserve you, but if being by yourself meant that you were going to do this to yourself... he would have to fight until the end of the earth to be with you.

In that moment, he regretted so many of his past actions. From the random girls he'd kissed in front of you to his recent rejection of you, he knew that once you were safe and awake he would do anything and everything to take it all back.

You would be his. No one else's... This could never happen again. No one other than him would touch you. He wouldn't allow it.

He looked around the room in a panic, picking up your shirt from the floor and lifting your head so that he could pull it over your body. Your body weight was resisting his actions, dead and heavy, but when he found your underwear and started to pull them up your legs, you finally flinched awake - even if it was only slightly.

"No Barry. Not again." You mumbled, lifting your leg to kick him away.

"It's me - JJ. We're gonna get you out of here." He said quietly, pulling your panties up so that you were covered and then slipping his arms underneath you to hoist you up bridal style.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, your heart jumping into your throat.

"JJ?" You whimpered, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"It's me baby. It's me." He repeated in a hushed tone. "You're safe now."

Then he heard the sound of the van starting outside and knew that he had to be faster. He looked around the room for a weapon and was pleased when he spotted a shotgun leant against the wardrobe, an idea springing into his head. He quickly put you back down on the bed.

"No. No. Don't leave me." You choked out, your breathing becoming rapid with panic. It broke JJ's heart to hear.

"I'll be two seconds. I promise you'll be okay." He mustered the softest tone that he could, stroking your face and placing a delicate kiss on your forehead before picking up the gun and charging out of the room.

As soon as you were out of his sight, his bubbling anger returned. No longer would he be able to put on a calm front, that time had ran out. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his skin went hot again, thinking of the vile words he'd overheard.

He pumped the gun one time, making sure it was loaded, and then slammed open the front door, quickly drawing the attention of the bickering degenerates outside. John B also quickly noticed his friend too, instantly stopping the Twinkie from reversing and jumping out again as he watched JJ in disbelief. The scene moved so quickly that none of the Pogue's were able to immediately process it.

With a cry of anger, JJ lifted the gun above his shoulder and then slammed the butt of it as hard as he could into Barry's head, knocking him out instantly. The dealer fell to the ground and dropped his own gun, and before Rafe could reach for it, JJ pressed the barrel to his chest. Rafe held his hands up in nervous surrender, though it didn't mean much.

"I should fucking kill you both!" JJ shouted. "You fucking piece of shit. You like girls when they're passed out? Huh? You like girls that can't say no?"

"Woah man. Chill. I didn't touch her." Rafe tried to calm him down, his eyes wide with fright. "It was all Barry. I just got here!"

At the realisation of what JJ had alluded to, the three other Pogues ran to join in the confrontation again. They felt sick at the idea that you might've been hurt - especially by two such unsavoury characters.

"Where is she?" Kie shouted, throwing punches into Rafe's side whilst Pope picked up Barry's pistol from the floor and kicked his body a few times.

"Inside." JJ answered through gritted teeth, staring Rafe down and struggling to not pull the trigger. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

Rafe stumbled for a moment, swallowing before he collected himself and answered confidently "I didn't even touch her. Kill me and you’re going away for life! There’s not gonna be any of my DNA on Y/N, I can promise that! I’m not into passed out chicks. That’s all Barry.”

JJ didn’t move for a second, thinking on the boys words before lowering the gun slightly. He would make him suffer another time. In that moment, Barry deserved his attention much more.

"Get the fuck out of here." JJ eventually hissed.

Rafe did exactly that, backing away quickly to his truck and speeding off. The blonde turned his attention to Barry now, who was groaning as he slowly arose from the ground. Without hesitation, JJ bent down to his level and started to throw punches, blinded by fury and bloodlust. His nose cracked first, then his cheekbone, then his eye socket. JJ didn't know how long he'd been attacking him for when he felt John B's touch on his shoulder and heard his voice in his ear. The brunette had found you in the house and lifted you into the Twinkie during JJ’s raging, stood and watched for a moment and then decided to stop his friend, worried for your welfare despite enjoying the show very much.

"Come on JJ, that's enough."

Barry's face was an unrecognisable bloody mess, but he couldn't stop.

"J, you're gonna kill him."

That didn't matter.

"We need to get Y/N out of here. Let's go!"

The sound of your name did halt him. His knuckles were bruised and his chest was panting.

"He raped her, John B. She was passed out in there and naked when I found her!" He turned to his friend with a desperate expression. "We need to kill him."

"I know, I know. But he's not worth the prison sentence, J." John B struggled to bite back his own rage but managed to do so, speaking in a soft tone as he tried to calm his friend. "We'll make him suffer, don't you worry. But right now we need to go."

The blonde boy finally nodded in agreement, feeling somewhat dizzy from the adrenaline as he stood up and made his way to the Twinkie. Once he saw you inside, your half dressed body curled up on Kie's lap as you cried, the guilt came back to him in an agonising gut punch.

"This entire thing had been practically all his fault." Was all he could think. "From the relapse to this. He'd fucked you up without even trying."

He ignored his friends shouts as he paced back to his bike and said nothing as he rode off, deciding that he would go to a bar and drink his thoughts away for the night. As John B had said; it wasn't worth getting a prison sentence for murder, but that didn't mean he couldn't find some other random people to fight.

Hiiii I hope y’all enjoyed. I might make a part 4 depending on feedback. Stay safe!!

[ace-does-words]

purple (like a heartbeat)

wherein Lance gets synesthesia, Keith is selectively mute, and everyone's voice is too much to deal with

Ao3 Port: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62344717

All of Lance's sensations feel utterly frazzled. Like he's just been pulled up from under the water, nearly drowned. And in a sense that is what had happened, except, instead of water it was plant nectar.

He had slipped on a petal and went careening into the pit of sugary syrup. He didn't mean to swallow any of it, he swears! Some just flushed up his nostrils and when he gasped, flooded through his systems. He's beyond thankful Shiro and Pidge were there to pull him up before too long.

"Lance, are you okay?"

He's still coughing up bright blue when Pidge asks the question. They sound like, they kinda sound like the way limes taste on fresh fish. When the sharpness of the seasoning comes through, when he takes a bite which was doused in far too much. That's what they sound like.

Lance nodded. He tried to reread the words Shiro starts to speak as they whirled around the front of his eyes. Just to make sure he heard right. He tastes copper when he hears the distant hum of machinery, The Lions. It's a bloody taste on the back of his tongue.

When he opens his eyes to look at his friends he feels, really overwhelmed. Their words keep wrapping themselves around his line of vision as they talk to him in tart, tangy tones. Even when he closes his eyes the strings of language won't go away. The tingly sensation all over his insides won't stop either.

"Can you guys just, shut up?"

They ask why.

"Please?"

Both Shiro and Pidge quiet down.

Lance opens his eyes and he just sees the world as it is again. Whatever was in that nectar is messing him up, that he's certain of.

Pidge opens their mouth to speak.

"Go ahead," Lance said.

"We should talk to Allura about this," Pidge offered in a tone that tasted sour despite the sweetness of the notion. It was a jarring contrast, Lance didn't know why he was so sure that's what it tasted like though. That if he took a bite of a delicious piece of fish doused in citrus, he'd think of Pidge's voice.

Lance nodded, "No shit."

-/-/-/-

"Ah," Allura started with once Lance had finished explaining his symptoms to her.

Her voice was nice for Lance to listen to. Even more so then usual.

Hers tasted like candy canes and smelled like fresh pine and felt like crisp winter evenings.

Lance nodded along, taking note of the cursive font of her words. He wonders if she knows that's what her voice looks like. A beautiful handwritten script in a language he does not know, even if she is speaking one he does. It's beautiful, he could never recreate it well enough to show her though.

She speaks again.

He nods along slowly, letting the comfortable sensation wash over him. The scent of cracked pine needles wraps around him so easily. That cool wash of the winter air puts him on edge just right, she sounds like home in ways he could never describe.

He has to ask her again what the deal is because he was too caught up looking at her words to focus on the auditory input. The taste of candy cane was overwhelming in truth, a constant peppermint sting to the tongue. It went well with the pine and way a cold snap smelled, but in general it was a distraction.

"You're a synesthete."

Lance blinks. "A what now?"

"The flower you fell in, a variant of the Puya alpestris, has nectar with psychoactive properties."

"I doubt they're super psychoactive, not to humans at least. I'm not seeing swirly colors everywhere, I'm not tripping out, Allura."

"Lance, tell me, what flavor am I?"

"Peppermint."

Lance didn't even have a chance to think before he spoke. He just spoke. And he was right. Her voice tasted like peppermint with sugary undertones, like a candy cane you'd buy for pennies. Or a peppermint swirl you'd find laying around at a lobby. It paired perfectly with the scent of pine and winter that rode along the aftershock of her voice, but she only wanted to know her flavor.

"Psychoactive properties activate the mind, Lance, this nectar activates the parts that register senses. It blends the receptors, you'll be mixing and matching senses for a while."

Lance nodded. "Meaning...?"

"You have synesthesia."

"Oh. How long is it gonna last?"

"Depends how much got into your stomach."

"I think most of it got into my lungs."

Allura goes awkwardly quiet.

Lance picks up it'll last longer without a word needing to be said.

-/-/-/-

"Allura says I have synesthesia," Lance said.

Keith gestured, as if to say go on.

"She wants me to stay with you until it goes away so I don't get overstimulated."

"Why?"

Lance enjoys the lack of sensation that comes with the way Keith aggressively signs the word.

"You've got that mutism, right? No words, no synesthesia triggers."

"Selective," Keith harshly corrects, "I wasn't always like this."

"Right, there was something that screwed you into thinking it'd be safer to be quiet, or something like that," Lance said.

Keith nodded hesitantly.

"Can I stay with you?"

"How long?"

"I don't know, Allura's still crunching numbers."

"Fine."

-/-/-/-

The lack of triggers brings Lance a nice sort of peace.

When Keith turns on music he's kind enough to turn on music that tastes like chocolate. Well, not exactly chocolate. But it is smooth, the taste is nice, doesn't grate him the same way the sound of The Lion's mechanisms did. Those tasted burnt and bloody.

Keith does make him sleep on the couch though. Even if they are trying to make something work he's still relegated to the couch. Why that is, Keith doesn't bother explaining. He just crosses his arms and gives a little huffy sort of sound.

It doesn't last long enough for Lance to catch a taste or a smell or a feeling. Isn't even a voice either. Hell, he barely caught it at all.

He does find a nice cozy feeling that washes over him at the white noise that Keith flicks on before heading to bed. Feels like a blanket, enhances the feeling of the pre-existing plush fabric he's wrapped in. The soft whir over top the oceanic waves almost reminds him of home, more then that reminds him of a caramel rich taste. It lingers on his tongue as he tries to sleep.

-/-/-/-

Pidge's voice won't stop tasting like citrus. Their font is blocky. They talk a lot, it's far too easy for their to be too much in his eyes to focus on what they're saying. Kinda like, big blocks of text, with an inky black typeface.

"Pidge, Pidge slow down."

Pidge does exactly that.

"Thanks. You talk a lot."

"I do?" The citrus sting rolls over Lance's tongue and he already feels way too over saturated in sour to even make much of it. They're all lime and lemon and fish, no sweet citrus notes in her flavor palate, like oranges.

Lance nodded. "You sound blocky."

"Blocky?"

"Yeah, your words. They taste like sour and look like pixels."

Pidge cocks their head to the side.

"Get me some paper and I'll show you."

-/-/-/-

Hunk has the nicest voice by far.

Whenever he speaks Lance smells bark and rain. A cacophony of forest scents.

He tastes like phthalo green.

And Lance seizes up at the notion because what the fuck. Colors don't taste like anything. How could Hunk's voice taste like a color.

But Hunk speaks again and there it is, that rich taste washing over Lance's body. It rolls through him easily, dripping down his spine. The flavor and the scent all pair so nicely with the way ribbons of his words cascade down the sides of Lance's vision. The letters are all so pretty, completely different to his clunky handwriting.

"Your voice..."

Hunk stops speaking.

"It's good! Don't stop talking."

Hunk gives a small sigh of relief before continuing in prattling on about cooking.

"Your voice smells like a forest."

"It what?"

"Tastes like green."

Again, Hunk's reply is perplexed.

Lance just groans. "It's hard to explain, but, you ever been hiking? Like, on Earth I mean. After it rains, when the entire forest smells kinda damp and mossy?"

"Course I have."

"That's your voice. That's what your voice smells like, and it's phthalo green on my tongue."

"Riiiiight, you still want some food?" Hunk really does not get any of what Lance is going on about. Sure, he understands the idea that voices can have qualities, but he doesn't understand how his could taste like green. Especially phthalo green, maybe a more olive green he could understand.

"Totally."

-/-/-/-

After a couple nights of bunking with Keith, Lance is allowed to sleep in the same bed.

Keith's heartbeat is purple.

The kind of purple they crushed snail shells for. The kind of rich hue that only royals wore a long time ago. The shade that you'd look at think it tastes like grapes.

But when Lance hears Keith's heartbeat all he feels is tyrian purple. How he feels a color he couldn't tell you. How a heartbeat is making him feel purple he also couldn't explain. The nectar still rolling through his blood could probably help explain it.

He sees sparkles at the corners of his eyes as Keith hums. They're silvery hues, almost a snowy white to them. He's drawing. Lance watches as he does so, head rested tentatively on his chest.

"What color should the eyes be?"

The pomegranate's and the magenta and the satin silk quality of Keith's voice swallow up Lance's senses entirely. It throws him into a little bit of a daze. He hopes Keith didn't notice him freeze up, he's grasping desperately for the sensation to linger all over him, it was delicious. The ribbons of his words fade out as fast as they fade in.

"You can talk?" Lance asked.

"I didn't want to sign all that, besides I'd have to move you if I did," Keith answered with and Lance feels like he's drowning in such a delectable sensation. All shimmery like red velvet and sparkly when he speaks. It causes Lance's vision to burst with glitter at the edges, spilling into his main field of view. If it weren't Keith it'd feel suffocating.

Lance nodded. He was swimming in Keith's everything. Felt good. It paired nicely with the purple of his heartbeat.

"I'll ask again," Keith said.

Lance has a hard time not feeling drunk in the overload that Keith's voice is. He's never heard it before. It behaves completely differently to everyone elses, makes him see things that aren't exactly there. Makes him taste things he's never liked much in his entire life.

"What color should the eyes be?" Keith asks it earnestly.

"Purple," Lance answered with, "Your heartbeat is purple."

"Dark?"

"Royal."

-/-/-/-

Even after the nectar had fully faded out of him he still understood the qualities.

Sure, he couldn't really taste it the same way, but he still knew it.

As much as he knew the sky was blue he knew Allura's voice tasted like candy canes and Hunk's voice smelled like petrichor and Pidge was citrus down to their core. He doubts he could ever forget it even if he'll never make those connections so vividly again. Sure, they still occur, just not as strongly as they did when he was fresh on the nectar. Part of him wonders if the synesthesia is a permanent effect, one that considerably weakens over time, but a permanent thing regardless.

Whether it is or isn't he still finds a comforting purple in Keith's heartbeat when they bunk together.

[luwritesstuff]

Breaking Point

Spencer Reid x reader

notes: angst/arguing followed by fluff/comfort, gn!reader, no use of y/n

wc: 884

Every relationship had their weakness, the one thing that tested how strong two people really were together. You and Spencer found out months into dating that your relationship's pressure point was exhaustion. It hit you both after two back to back cases across the country in one week, a friend’s wedding on Saturday, and a dinner with your parents on Sunday. By the next week, the two of you were stretched thin.

For you, the exhaustion made you irritable. Things you usually had patience for were getting under your skin and turning you into, quite frankly, an asshole. Spencer somehow had the most patience in the world and this only pissed you off more. Why wasn't he annoyed that your neighbors kept taking up two parking spots? Why was he so calm when you lost power for 12 hours?

As much as you ranted, Spencer listened. He made it a point to be a good boyfriend even on your worst days. This didn't mean that the exhaustion didn't get to him too. Spencer’s lack of sleep brought out his insecurities. The more irritable you got, the more worried Spencer became that he was the one annoying you.

On a normal week, you had more control over your emotions. You were thoughtful about how you spoke to Spencer and you were able to let the small stuff roll off your back. But this week wasn't a normal week and you couldn't stop the anger that kept slipping out of you around every corner. Spencer’s solution was to give you space, but deep down, you didn't want to be alone. Not even on your worst day did you want Spencer not to be curled up on your couch with you.

And how could Spencer say no to you? He wasn't evil, if you asked him to stay, he'd stay. Even if you had a permanent scowl on your face and didn't offer any conversation.

“Spencer!” You groaned, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. “Why do you keep putting your wet towel on top of mine? There's another hook behind the door and every time I go to use my towel, it's wet!” You brought the towel out to Spencer and threw it onto the couch. Before he could finish his apology, you were continuing, “It just drives me crazy, honey. It makes me cold getting out of the shower and-”

“If you hate having me around so much, then why am I even here?” Spencer cut you off, raising his voice in a way you'd never heard directed at you before. Anyone who didn't know Spencer well would see his words as anger, but you knew Spencer well and you could feel the hurt and insecurity seeping out through his voice.

You both froze, staring at each other in silence while you replayed his words in your head. After a beat, your shoulders sagged and you moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. “Shit,” you sighed and grabbed the towel to start folding it, “I'm being mean, I'm sorry. I do want you here,” you promised and looked over to find Spencer staring at his lap.

“It's fine if you don't, just… tell me that. I don't want to keep pissing you off and making things worse,” his voice was calmer now and your heart ached. Spencer, the light of your life, felt unappreciated and unloved, because of you.

You reached out to take both of Spencer’s hands into your own and gave them a squeeze. “Hey, I want you here. I love you,” you emphasized, “having you here helps and I'm sorry I haven't been showing it. This week was just… you know how it was. And my parents just get under my skin, but I shouldn't have taken that out on you. I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Spencer couldn't hold any anger towards you if he tried and the thought made you want to cry. Your Spencer, that you were cold and bitter to, still held your hands tightly and pulled you to his chest after your apology.

“I'm sorry I put my wet towel on top of yours. I know you like having a warm towel after your shower,” he said softly and kissed the top of your head, “and I'm sorry I raised my voice at you.”

You sniffled and shook your head against Spencer’s chest. “No, don't apologize for that. You should've raised your voice at me sooner, I was being a brat,” your voice was muffled by Spencer’s shirt but he took every word in, rubbing your back as you spoke.

After you'd both calmed down, Spencer took you to bed where you both slept a solid three hours. You woke up feeling lighter than you had all week and Spencer felt relieved to have you back to your usual self. “There you are, my beautiful love,” he whispered and brushed your hair from your face.

“You're one of a kind, Spence. Let's not overdo ourselves like that anymore. Next weekend, we’re taking both days off and we’re not seeing anyone but each other,” you promised and rolled over until you were straddling Spencer’s hips. His thumbs traced shapes into your hips and he agreed eagerly by pulling you down into a kiss.

[femmenature]

nobody gets me, you do

Pairing: Ellie Williams x f! reader (ofc)

Summary: where your ex Ellie can't spend another day pretending she doesn't still love you.

Warnings: Inappropriate language.

-

you usually appreciated this kind of nights. Where you don't have to work and you can watch a series or put more effort into the food, and not just make a simple white rice. You used to appreciate it in Ellie's company. Now you prefer to keep your head busy, work, study, do some gardening even though you know perfectly well how horrible you are at it. And that your head will probably play tricks on you and remind you of how Els laughed for a week because a damn cactus dried up on you. A sigh escapes your thoughts. “See, this is what happens when you're distracted,” you say to yourself, leaning against the kitchen counter. But your relaxed posture didn't last long, as someone knocked on your door. Strange, knowing that you didn't order anything to eat and didn't invite your friends. You walked to the door and opened it with your eyebrows furrowed, you were going to open your mouth but it was her, and you just stood with your hand on the door frame and your heart in your mouth.

Ellie looked at me and blinked rapidly, as if checking that this was not a dream. Her heel rested on the floor, leaving the toe of her slipper raised nervously. “hey” she let out in a sigh, which she seemed to have been holding back for quite some time.

“hey…” my voice betrayed me and trembled as I said something as small as a greeting. Though I guess it only matters who you're saying it to, and having her in front of you isn't easy, more so when you've had no contact for the past five months.

“I know it's weird, knocking on your door knowing we're not together” she spoke fast on the last words, wanting to cover up the fact that you guys are apart, because it hurts her more than anything else in this world ”but I'd rather you see me as a freaking weirdo than keep this to myself any longer. Altough you know I'm weird, I mean, you know me better than anyone else and-” she stopped talking, knowing she was getting distracted.

“do you want to come in and we can talk inside?” even though you're scared to death and more uneasy than ever, you acted calm so she would be too. She nodded and you invited her in, closing the door behind her. “so…why are you here?” you don't act disinterested, not excited either, Even if you are. You disguise the fireworks in your stomach as you smell her perfume when she walked inside. As if your house is complete again.

“uhm, these five months” she licked her lips nervously as she looks away remembering the days she spent without you ”were the worst months in the world. And it's just pathetic to tell you knowing that you're the reason I had such a hard time. Or the absence of you. I was with a part of you, with your ghost that haunted me everywhere I went reminding me that it wasn't going to be the same without you, and the worst part is that even though it wasn't really you it was all I had left to not feel completely alone in the world. So somehow I didn't want it to go away” her eyes finally met mine, softening ”our pictures are still in my room, even our saved game from the last time we played Life is Strange together. I didn't touch it waiting for you to come back, in that stupid hope that you'd show up and we'd forget our stupid fight. But I guess our pride won us over once again.” she moves a little closer, slowly, as if she's afraid the floor beneath her will crumble ”and for the first time in my life I couldn't care less about my pride because I know you're on the other side of the scale. And the love I have for you compares to absolutely nothing I have or will ever be able to have.”

your eyes become crystal clear, you think this is not real, you imagined so much that this moment would come, you made so many scenarios with Ellie and that she will come back into your life, but not like this. She is practically showing you her heart like never before, in a desperate attempt to get back to being everything she loves and still loves. You were going to say something, but she cut you off, she had more to tell you, more to show you how much she misses you.

“So I'm here. I'm not going to lie to you and pretend that I don't expect you to answer me, that I'll be able to wait for you to think and answer me without falling apart from the anticipation of not being able to hold you in my arms again. I don't even know how I could endure these months without you” finally closes the immense distance and gently caresses your hand tenderly ”do you know how desperate it is that no one understands you, that the only one who knew how to calm you down was miles away from me in body and soul?”

her eyes are desperately searching for yours and her voice is begging you “the only person who could do that was you and it killed me to know that you didn't want to see me when all I wanted to do was kiss you as if the world would end after that. Nobody gets me, you do. Nobody can beat your eyes, your touch, your voice, your jokes, your love. I couldn't even look at another woman because I knew no one was worth it, no one is worth it. No one can look at me and know when I'm anxious, or how much I love space. They would see the stuffed dinosaur I have in my room as a simple stuffed animal, when you took the time to know which one is my favorite and buy it for my birthday and when I would give an explanation of that dinosaur and why I have that damn stuffed animal the only thing I will think about is that I lost you forever and and-"

you approached her and gave her a sudden kiss, knowing that if you let her talk anymore, anxiety would eat her up. The kiss is tender, desperate for time apart, but at the same time soft and romantic. Her hands brought your hips closer to hers while you caressed the back of her neck. After a few seconds you separated and rested your foreheads without taking your hands off where you had them

"I hope you never have to explain to anyone why you have a dinosaur in your room because I'm not going to lose you again" Ellie smiled and hugged you, hiding her face in your neck "I wasn't planning on doing it anyway. I was going to die without you then I wouldn't give myself the chance to have another girlfriend" you laughed caressing her hair "I missed you, Els" she kissed your neck tenderly without letting go "I missed you too baby"

-

I'M SORRY if it's not well written, I don't speak English and it's hard for me not to get lost!!! Enjoy <333

[marscardigan]

through the valley, part iv

ellie williams x reader

part i part ii part iii

summary: what if Joel didn’t lie? what if there was more people immune? more people like ellie? more people like you?

word count: 9.3k

warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot from tlou part II. canon typical violence. blood and murderer. mentions of past trauma.

The room was dim, lit only by the warm flicker of the lantern on the floor. A day passed and Ellie's wound was slowly healing. You had pulled your bag closer, laying out what little medical supplies you had.

“Sit still,” you murmured, dipping a cloth into the warm water you'd boiled earlier. Ellie huffed, “Yeah, yeah, I’m trying. It’s not exactly fun having someone dig into your skin, y’know?”

You rolled your eyes at her grumbling, but didn’t reply. Your hands worked carefully, pressing the cloth to clean the wound on her arm. The cold seemed to hug your body, especially after giving her your shirt to stop the bleeding. Ellie demanded you to grab her jacket, but you insisted not to.

"You’re good with the bow," she said, changing the subject. "Real quiet, real precise."

"It’s what I was taught," you replied. "Silence was survival. Noise meant death. Guns... they’re loud. They draw attention."

Ellie chuckled dryly. "Well, sometimes loud works. Makes a statement."

You smirked, despite yourself. "Yeah, like nearly getting yourself killed?" She rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in them. "You’re not gonna let that go, are you?"

"Not anytime soon."

As you leaned forward to grab the bandage, your hair shifted, rising just enough to expose the lines there—pale scars etched deeply into your skin, faintly illuminated by the lantern’s glow.

Ellie froze. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at first, but her gaze followed the jagged marks, tracing their cruel paths. They were deliberate, too even to be accidental. Her breath hitched softly, though she quickly masked it. You didn’t notice, being too focused on her wound. Carefully wrapping the bandage, securing it tightly before finally sitting back.

“There,” you said softly, inspecting your work. “It’ll hold for now.”

She nodded, but her attention wasn’t on her injury. Her gaze lingered on your back. So many questions flooded her head, but she swallowed them all. You had that same guarded look you always carried—like the weight of the world was pressing down on you. She wasn’t about to add to it.

“You okay?” you asked, turning to look at her.

Ellie snapped out of her thoughts, forcing a shrug. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Then you should get some sleep,” you said, standing to pack away the supplies.

Ellie shifted, watching you move. Her eyes flickering to your back again as you knelt to stow the med kit. The scars disappeared beneath your hair, but their image was already burned in her mind.

“Hey,” Ellie said suddenly, her voice soft.

You stilled, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”

She opened her mouth, hesitating, "After we're done with this, do you think about going back?"

You stopped mid-stroke, the question hitting like a sudden gust of wind. “Back to Haven?” Ellie nodded. Your head started racing, sensing a gut-wrenching feeling. Before, you were sure about your return to the island, but now you left, you never felt more alive and free. "I don't know, I-I don't think so. It feels wrong to go back"

“But you’re thinking about it,” she pressed. The words struck a nerve. She wasn’t wrong. You didn't like how she could read your mind like an open book. She did it with such an ease, that seemed easy, it made you feel weak.

You grabbed your machete and moved toward the window, taking up your post to keep watch. Behind you, Ellie settled into the mattress, her brow furrowed as she stared at the lantern. She couldn’t shake the image of your scars—their jagged edges, the story they told without words.

As the night stretched on, you sat by the window, gripping the machete tightly. The silence of the room felt heavier than usual, weighed down by what Ellie had said. You could feel her eyes on you, her curiosity peeking out. Something shifted between the two of you, you knew it, how she looked at you differently from hours ago. Was it the mural? Did she connect the dots? You weren't ready to speak about your mother, yet.

“Why are you so hell-bent on finding Abby?” you asked, your tone softer than you intended. Ellie's fingers tightened on the bandage. For a moment, you thought she wouldn’t answer. Then, with a sigh, she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.

"She took somethin' from me," Ellie said, her tone clipped but trembling under the surface. "Somethin' I can’t get back. And I need her to pay for it." Her words hung heavy in the air, raw and seething with a kind of pain you knew all too well.

“And when it’s done?” you asked carefully, your gaze steady on her. “What happens then?”

Ellie’s jaw tightened, and she stared at the ground as if it might hold the answer she didn’t have. “I don’t know,” she muttered finally. “Maybe... maybe things will feel quieter.”

You didn't push further. She finally got some sleep, and you kept watch.

The rain hadn’t let up since you left the building, the storm hammering against the roof of the aquarium as you and Ellie crept through the loading bay. The redhead had been quiet ever since the man in the warehouse coughed up the information. You weren’t sure what she’d done to make him talk, and honestly, you didn’t want to know. But his words were clear: two of the people she was looking for were holed up at the aquarium, waiting for this girl to return. After that, Ellie’s determination had only hardened. She grabbed a map, charted the route, and didn’t look back. You followed her without question, even as the storm worsened. Every step felt heavier, every sound amplified by the pounding rain and your own hammering heart.

Ellie moved with purpose, her grip on her knife white-knuckled. You followed close behind, clutching your bow, the string taut between your fingers. The air inside was thick, shadows loomed in the dimly lit space, and the only sound was the distant hum of water filtering through tanks. Ellie motioned for you to stay low, her green eyes sharp and determined.

“You hear that?” she whispered, barely audible over the storm outside. You nodded. Voices. Two of them. A man and a woman, talking somewhere deeper inside the aquarium. Ellie’s jaw clenched. “That’s them.” You didn’t need to ask how she knew. The venom in her voice told you everything.

Together, you moved through the maze of hallways, your footsteps silent against the slick floors. The voices grew louder, clearer.

“I still think we should’ve left already,” the man—Owen, you assumed—was saying.

“And go where?” the woman snapped back. “We’ve got everything we need here. Abby will come back. She always does.”

Ellie’s breathing quickened, her shoulders taut with rage. You reached out, brushing her arm gently, grounding her before she could rush in recklessly. “Stick to the plan,” you whispered.

She gave you a sharp nod, though her hands still trembled as she tightened her grip on her weapon.

When you rounded the corner, the scene unfolded before you. Owen stood near a tank, his back to you, while Mel crouched beside a table, organizing medical supplies. Neither of them saw you coming.

Ellie didn’t wait. She fired the first shot, the deafening crack of her pistol cutting through the room. Owen dropped instantly, the sound of the bullet echoing against the glass.

Mel screamed, scrambling for cover, but you were faster. You stepped forward, your bow already drawn, and loosed an arrow. It struck her shoulder, pinning her against the table.

“Don’t—don’t do this!” Mel cried, clutching at the arrow as blood pooled beneath her. Ellie ignored her, advancing with her knife drawn. You stayed back, your hands trembling as you lowered your bow. “Ellie,” you murmured, but she didn’t stop.

The room fell silent moments later, the aftermath of violence hanging heavy in the air. Blood stained the floor, the metallic scent making your stomach churn.

Ellie stood over Mel’s lifeless body, her chest heaving. She looked down at her hands, coated in blood, and wiped them on her jeans, her face unreadable.

You turned away, your gaze landing on a storage shelf nearby. Something caught your eye—something that didn’t belong here.

A bow.

Not just any bow. The intricate carvings along the grip made your chest tighten with recognition. It wasn’t yours, but you’d seen it before. It was Yara’s. A friend of yours back in Haven, back home. Your breath caught in your throat, memories flooding your mind.

Ellie noticed your hesitation and turned to see what had caught your attention. “What is it?”

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers brushing against the familiar wood. When you finally turned to her, your voice was thick with emotion.

“Someone was here too, from Haven” you whispered.

Ellie’s brow furrowed. “What?”

You nodded, clutching the bow tightly. "Not a threat, if that's what you're scared of." You showed her the bow. "This was from a girl I knew. She escaped with her... brother. I don't know how they ended up here"

The weight of the bow in your hands was overwhelming, a physical reminder of the life you’d left behind. The scars on your back seemed to itch, a phantom pain tugging at your chest.

Ellie stepped closer, her expression softening. “We should go,” she said gently. “We can’t stay here.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

But you lingered for one moment longer, gripping the bow like it might help you remember your friend. And then, with one final glance at the bloodied aquarium, you followed Ellie into the storm.

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