#Collecting Box Tops for School | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redgoldsparks · 6 months

Text

I wrote a 12 page epilogue to my 2019 comic "Harry Potter and The Problematic Author" because I found, in 2023, that I had more to say. You can also find this comic on my website, and I have PDF copies available on etsy. I may sell print copies at some point in the future.

instagram / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my book / redbubble

Full transcript below the cut.

PAGE 1

Part one: Ruddy Owls!

I was in fourth grade when the first Harry Potter Book was released in the US.

Panel 1: Sometimes our teacher would read it aloud in class. “Mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 Privat Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Panel 2: I was 11 years old when Harry Potter finally broke through my dyslexia and turned me into a reader.

Panel 3: Every night in the summer before sixth grade I waited for the owl carrying my Hogwarts Letter. I cried when it didn’t come. “I have to go to Muggle school!”

PAGE 2

Part Two: Hats

I dedicated myself to being a fan.

Panel 1: I began collecting Harry Potter News article.

Panel 2: I asked my relatives to mail me ones from their local papers. I filled a thick binder with clippings.

Panel 3: I wrote my own trivia quiz

Panel 4: and participated in the one held annually at the county fair. “Next contestant!”

Panel 5: I usually got into one of. the top five spots. I won boxes of candy, posters, stationary, and once a baseball cap. (Hat reads: I survived the battle of Hogwarts).

Panel 6: In high school I sewed a black velvet cape and knitted many stripped scarves.

PAGE 3

Part Three: Double Trouble

Watching the last film in 2011 felt like the final note of my childhood.

Panel 1: I remember driving home from the midnight showing thinking about the end of 13 years of waiting; wondering what would define the next chapter of my life.

Panel 2: That same month I heard of something called Pottermore. “Okay, so there’s a sorting quiz… I already know my house! Patronus assignment? Mine’s a barn owl. Duh!"

Panel 3: You can read the books again but with GIFs? Why?

Panel 4: I lived in a place with very slow and limited internet at the time. Pottermore sounded inaccessible, but also boring. I never joined.

Panel 5: "I’ll just read the actual books again, thanks."

PAGE 4

Part Four: Sweets

In 2016, a series of short stories titled "History of Magic in North America” were released on Pottermore to pave the way for the first Fantastic Beasts Film. These stories display an extreme ignorance of American history, culture, and geography, but the worst parts are the casual misuse of indigenous beliefs and stories. Fans and critics immediately spoke up against this appropriation. Some of the most quoted voices included Nambe Pueblo scholar Dr. Debbie Reese who runs the site “American Indians In Children’s Literature”; Navajo writer Brian Young; Johnnie Jae (Otoe-Missouria and Choctaw), founder of A Tribe Called Geek; Dr Adrienne Keene (Cherokee Nation), a Professor at Brown University who runs the blog “Native Appropriations”, and writers N.K. Jemison and Paula Young Lee.

PAGE 5

Rowling is famous for responding to fans directly on twitter, yet she did not respond to anyone calling out the damaging aspects of “Magic in North America.” Her representatives refused to comment for March 9 2016 article in the Guardian. She has never apologized. All of this, plus the casting of Johnny Depp and the specific declarations of support by JKR, Warner Brothers, and director David Yates left a sour taste in my mouth.

For further thoughts on the new films read The Crimes of Grindelwald is a Mess by Alanna Bennett for Buzzfeed News, November 16, 2018.

PAGE 6

Excerpt from Colonialism in Wizarding American: JK Rowling’s History of Magic in North America Through an Indigenous Lens by Allison Mills, MFA, MAS/MLIS (Cree and Settler French Canadian)

Although Rowling is certainly not the first white author to misstep in her treatment of Indigenous cultures, she has an unprecedented level of visibility and fame, […] One of the most glaring problems with Rowling’s story is her treatment of the many Indigenous nations in North America as one monolithic group. […It] flattens out the diversity of languages, belief systems, and cultures that exist in Indigenous communities, allowing stereotyping to persist. […] It continues a long history of colonial texts which ignore that Indigenous peoples still exist. […] In the Wizarding world, as in the real world, Indigenous histories have been over-written and our cultures erased.

from The Looking Glass: New Perspectives in Children’s Literature Volumn 19, Issue 1

PAGE 7

Part 5: Music

Panel 1: Also in 2016 I discovered two podcasts which radically altered my experience of being an HP fan. The first was Witch Please created by two Canadian feminist literary scholars Hannah McGregor and Marcelle Kosman.

Panel 2: “If it’s not in the text it doesn’t count!” “Close reading ONLY!”

Panel 3: They talk about Harry Potter at the level you’d expect in a college class with particular focus on gender, race, class, and the troubling fatphobia, fear of othered and queer coded bodies, violence against women, white feminism, gaslighting and failed pedagogy in the books. They bring up these issues not because they hate the series, but because they LOVE it.

PAGE 8

These passionate, joyful conversations went off like fireworks in my mind. I had never taken a feminist class before. I gained a whole new vocabulary to talk about the books- and the world.

PAGE 9

Panel 1: The second podcast I started that year was Harry Potter and the Sacred Text, created by two graduates of the Harvard Divinity School, Vanessa Zoltan and Casper Ter Kuile.

Panel 2: They read one chapter per episode through a theme such as love, control, curiosity, shame, responsibility, hospitality, destruction, or mystery. Like Witch Please, they are interested only in the information on the page, not thoughts from the author. The delights and failures of the text are examined in the context of the present day, and new meanings constantly arise.

PAGE 10

What does it mean to treat a text as sacred?

Trusting that the more time we give to it, the more blessings it has to give us.

Reading the text repeatedly with concentrated attention. Our effort is part of what makes it sacred. The text is not in and of itself sacred, but is made so by rigorously engaging in the ritual of reading.

Experiencing it in community.

“To me, the goal of treating the text as sacred is that we learn to treat each other as sacred.” -Vanessa Zoltan

PAGE 11

Part 6: Tooth and Claw

In October 2017, Rowling liked a tweet linking to an article arguing that trans women should be kept out of women’s bathrooms because of cisgender women’s fears. In March 2018, she liked a tweet about the problem of misogyny in the UK Labour Party which included the line “Men in dresses get brosocialist solidarity I never had.” The author of the tweet had previously posted many blatantly anti-trans statements.

Rowlings publicist claimed she had liked the posted by accident in a “clumsy and middle-aged moment.” Yet, in September 2018 she liked a link posted by Janice Turner to her column in the Times UK titled “Trans Rapists Are A Danger In Women’s Jails.”

Screencaps of these tweets can be found in the article “The Mysterious Case of JK Rowling and her Transphobic Twitter History”, January 10 2019 by Gwendolyn Smith (a trans journalist), LGBTQNation.com

PAGE 12

Excerpt from: Is JK Rowling Transphobic? A Trans Woman Investigates by Katelyn Burns

Ultimately, the answer is yes, she is transphobic […] I think it’s fair that she receives criticism from trans people, especially given her advocacy on behalf of queer people in general, but also because she has a huge platform. Many people look up to her for creating a singular piece of popular culture that holds deep meaning for fans from different walks of life, and she has a responsibility to handle that platform wisely. (Published on them.us March 28, 2018)

PAGE 13

Part 7: Home

At age 30, I’m still not over Harry Potter.

Panel 1: I’ve recently found a local bar that does HP trivia nights. “Poppy or Pomona?” “Poppy!”

Panel 2: I currently own an annual pass to Universal Studios so I can visit Hogsmeade.

Panel 3: I love talking to kids who are reading the books for the first time. “Who’s your favorite character?” “Ginny!”

Panel 4: And I’m planning a relisten to the audio books to next year to help me get through the election cycle. “Jim Dale, I’m going to need you more than ever…”

Spoiler from 2023: I did not do this. By mid-2020 JKR had posted her transphobic essay; we were in covid; I never visited Universal Studios again.

PAGE 14

But I do want to learn from her mistakes. I never want to repeat “Magic in North America.” As I write, I will do my research. I will consult experts and compensate them. If a reader from a different culture/background than me speaks up about my work, I will listen and apologize. I KNOW I WILL MAKE MISTAKES. But I will own up to them and I will do better.

PAGE 15

Excerpt from Diversity Is Not Enough: Race, Power and Publishing by Daniel José Older

We can love a thing and still critique it. In fact, that’s the only way to really love a thing. Let’s be critical lovers and loving critics and open ourselves to the truth about where we are and where we’ve been. Instead of holding tight to the same old, failed patriarchies, let’s walk a new road, speak new languages. Today, let’s imagine a literature, a literary world, that carries this struggle for equity in its very essence, so that tomorrow it can cease to be necessary, and disappear. (Buzzfeed, April 14, 2017)

PAGE 16

Harry Potter is flawed, & JK Rowling is problematic. But the books helped me learn a lot:

*One of the greatest dangers facing the modern world is the rise of fascism

*The government cannot be trusted

*Read and think critically

*Question the news: who paid the journalist? Who owns the paper?

*Trust and support your friends through good times and bad

*Organize for resistance

*Educate and share resources with peers

*The revolution must be diverse and intersectional

* We are only as strong as we are united

*The weapon we have is love

MK 2019

PAGE 17

PART 8: EPILOGUE

In 2021 I removed a Harry Potter patch I sewed to my book bag over a decade ago. I took 15 pieces of Harry Potter fanart off my walls. I got rid of my paperback book set, 2 board games, and 8 t-shirt. [images: a Hogwarts a patch with loose threads, a pair of scissors and a seam ripper]

Panel 1: Maia holding up a shirt with the Deathly Hallows logo on it. Maia thinks: “Damn, this really used to be my entire personality.”

Panel 2: The t-shirt gets thrown into the Goodwill box.

PAGE 18

I wrote my zine wrestling with JKR’s legacy in 2019, after her dismissive and racist reaction to indigenous fans and critics of “Magic in North America” and after she had liked a couple transphobic tweets. Since then, she has gotten so much worse.

A Brief Timeline (mostly from this Vox article)

June 2020- JKR posts a 3600 word essay making her anti-trans position clear

August 2020- The Robert F Kennedy Human Rights Org issues a statement about her transphobia, JKR doubles down on her position and returns an award they gave her

December 2020- JKR claims 90% of HP fans secretly agree with her anti-trans views

December 2021- JKR mocks Scottish Police for recognizing transgender identities

March 2022- JKR criticizes gender-inclusive language and legislation

December 2022- JKR retweets trans youtuber Jessie Earl’s critical review of Hogwarts Legacy, starting an onslaught of transphobic harassment towards Earl

December 2022- JKR removes her support from an Edinburgh center for survivors of sexual violence with a trans-inclusive policy and funds her own center which explicitly excludes trans sexual assault survivors

January 2023- JKR tweets “Deeply amused by those telling me I’ve lost their admiration due to disrespect I show violent, duplicitous rapists.” It got nearly 300K likes

March 2023- One the podcast “The Witch Trials of JK Rowling”, hosted by a former Westboro Baptist Church Member, JKR compares the trans rights movement to Death Eaters.

PAGE 19

What are The Witch Trials of JK Rowling?

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “It’s a 7 episode documentary style podcast hosted by Megan Phelps-Roper. Nearly every episode contains interviews with JKR as well as critics, journalists, historians, protestors and fans.

Panel 2: Maia speaking. “In episode 1, JKR speaks more candidly than she has previously about being in an abusive marriage. Her ex-husband hit her, stalked her, broke into her house overlapping with the time she was writing the first three HP books.”

Panel 3: Maia speaking. “What she went through genuinely sounds horrific. I have a lot of sympathy for the kind of life-long traumas those experiences leave.”

PAGE 20

HOWEVER.

It is clear from reading the June 2020 essay on her blog and listening to the podcast, that JKR still to this day feels unsafe. Despite her wealth and privilege she moves through the world with the mindset of a victim. And the group of people she finds most threatening are trans women.

Or rather, she is afraid that allowing trans women in women’s spaces invites the possibility of male predators entering those spaces.

Here’s a direct quote: The problem is male violence. All a predator wants is access and to open the doors of changing rooms, rape centers, domestic violence centers [...] to any male who says “I’m a woman and I have a right to be here” will constitute a risk to women and girls. - from The Witch Trials episode 4 as transcribed by therowlinglibrary.com, March 2023

Image: A stem of Belladonna with flowers and berries.

PAGE 21

Let me introduce here the term: TRANSMISOGYNY. The intersection of transphobia and misogyny, this term was coined by Julia Serano in 2007. Scout Tran, on tiktok as Queersneverdie said: “Transmisogyny occurs in people who have been previously hurt by traditional misogyny. Who have been driven to hate men or at the very least to be scared of men. They will sometimes take out that rage on trans women. (March 2023)

JKR claims to care for trans women and understand they are extremely vulnerable to assault and violence. In her 2020 Essay she wrote: “I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe.”

So she cares about trans women… just less than cis women, and she’s willing to throw all trans women under the bus because of her unfounded, prejudice fears.

PAGE 22

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “JKR claims to have seen data that proves trans women have presented physical threats to other women in intimate spaces, but never cites sources. She also uses “producer of the large gametes” as a definition of “woman”.

What about transmen and nonbinary folks?

Panel 2: Maia leaning on a stack of all seven HP books, the first four Cormorant Strike books and The Casual Vacancy, gesturing to a series of quotes with a tired and disgusted expression.

I’m concerned about the huge explosion of young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning. * [...] If I’d been born 30 years later, I too might have tried to transition. The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. -June 10 2020 essay

I don’t believe a 14 year old can truly understand what the loss of their fertility is.

-Witch Trials episode 4

I haven’t yet found a study that hasn’t found that the majority of young people experiencing gender dysphoria grow out of it*. -Witch Trials episode 7

*No sources cited

PAGE 23

It’s hard to over emphasize how fixated JKR has become on these topics. As of the date I’m writing this, 14 out of her 20 most recent tweets (70%) are in some way anti-trans. She tweets against Mermaids (a UK based trans youth charity), against trans athletes, against gender neutral bathrooms, and in support of LBG Alliance- a UK org that denies trans rights while upholding gay rights. Here are some gems from her archive:

“People who menstruate.” I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud? -June 2020

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. The Penised Individual Who Raped You Is a Woman. - December 2021

And in response to someone asking “How do you sleep at night knowing you lost a whole audience?”

I read my most recent royalty cheques and find the pain goes away pretty quickly. -October 2022

PAGE 24

Hashtag Ruthless Productions a queer nerd podcast company created a great guide on ethical engagement with HP. Image: the two hosts of Hashtag Ruthless productions, Jessie (They/she) and Lark (he/him).

Stop buying all official HP Products: books, movies, games, toys, etc, Universal Studios tickets, food, merch.* Boycott any new TV series or movies. Instead: buy the books and DVDs used. If you still want to wear HP merch, buy fan-made. Engage only with fan content: fic, podcasts, fanart, wizard rock, etc. Show transphobia is bad for business. None of this will change JKR’s mind. But the Fantastic Beast series was canceled and after record Pottermore sales in 2020, they fell in 2022 by 40%.

*She gets a portion of ALL tickets. In 2019, this was her largest income source. Read the full guide: hashtagruthless.com/resourceguide

PAGE 25

As late as 2019, I was still reading JKR’s murder mystery series. But by the fourth book my experience began to sour.

Panel 1: Maia holding a copy of Lethal White. “The only gay character in this book is a government official who gropes his staff?”

Panel 2: “The only genderqueer character is misgendered and portrayed as a whiny faker?”

Panel 3: “The only Muslim character is disowned by his family over gay rumors?”

Panel 4: “Even the women aren’t portrayed very well…”

Panel 5: “Why is the main female character defined by the rape in her past?”

Panel 6: “Wait, what happens in the rest of this series…?” Maia scrolls on eir phone.

Panel 7: “Is the series heading towards an employee/boss relationship?”

Panel 8: “And has a man wearing women’s clothes to commit assault?”

Panel 9: “Yeah, I’m done. I’m never reading a new JKR book ever again.”

PAGE 26

And as for JKR herself?

As tempting as it might be to tweet your frustrations at her, I don’t recommend it. In 2021, she tweeted, “Hundreds of trans activists have threatened to beat, rape, assassinate and bomb me.” Getting hate online feeds her sense of victimhood and she waves it as proof of her moral high ground. Instead I suggest you block her on twitter, then delete twitter, go to the library and try to find a new book that feels magical.

Stack of books: In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan, The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, Gifts by Ursula K Le Guin, Deep Wizardry by Diane Duane, A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik and Gideon the Ninth by Tamsin Muir.

PAGE 27

In “Emergent Strategy” adrienne maree brown writes: You do not have the right to traumatize abusive people, to attack them, personally or publicly, or to sabotage anyone else’s health. The behaviors of abuse are also survival-based, learned behaviors rooted in pain. If you can look through the lens of compassion, you will find hurt and trauma there. If you are the abused party, healing that hurt is not your responsibility and exacerbating that pain is not your justified right.

PAGE 28

Seeing anyone over age 12 wearing HP merch now makes me uncomfortable. Are they ignorant or actively a TERF? I hate wondering how much money JKR has probably poured into anti-trans legislation… This zine is a culmination of my slow breakup with a story that once brought me joy. Now it just makes me angry, tired and sad.

Image: Candle in a fancy holder burned down to less than an inch.

Maia Kobabe, 2023

#harry potter #harry potter and the problematic author #jk rowling #transphobia #jk rowling transphobic

3K notes · View notes

roosterforme · 9 days

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him.

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it.

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

--------------------------

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing.

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject.

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!"

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back.

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment.

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it.

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you.

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

-------------------------

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her.

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it.

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt.

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email.

-----------------------------

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind.

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him.

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions.

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight.

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now.

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

-------------------------

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

833 notes · View notes

treecakes · 1 year

Text

when did box tops switch to an app where you scan your receipts

#do schools not do box tops collection anymore……#<- sad for a number of conflicting reasons

1 note · View note

harryslittlefreakk · 4 months

Text

the pact

summary: you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time

warnings: mostly fluff, some smut :)

wordcount: 6k

a/n: i actually really like this one. it’s not proofread yet as i was so eager to get it up lol. hope you enjoy!

my masterlist can be found here! happy reading 🫶🏼

From the second you’d received the invitation, you were buzzing with a giddy nervousness. It had been years since you’d seen Harry, though Anne and Gemma were always so quick to share what he was up to. You’d followed his career silently for 13 years, still bumping into him every few years when Anne hosted Boxing Day, or he happened to be in town for your family’s annual summer barbecues. In your mind, he was still the cheeky, dimpled little lad you’d hide under the dining room table with, imagining you were explorers of far away lands.

But Harry wasn’t the young boy you’d chased after in your childhood anymore, the teenager you looked out for when you stuck your head over the garden fence to call your sister home. He wasn’t the handsome young man you’d spent countless hours swooning over with your friends in the bakery after school. Harry was a global sensation, the world’s sweetheart. You weren’t sure he’d even recognise you, a forgotten reminder of much simpler days.

Growing up next door to Harry hadn’t come without its challenges. You’d lost your childhood best friend seemingly overnight once One Direction formed, his life suddenly busy with meetings, tours and interviews. Anne still welcomed you with open arms, but her house felt a little too cold for you with his presence haunting the walls, memories etched into every surface of the house. You’d still hang out in his bedroom sometimes, his band posters and drawings left collecting dust in a lifeless room. When girls from school learned of your connection to him, they’d befriend you and treat you like the hottest new thing until you refused to give over any information. He was your Harry, your long-gone games and silly memories something you held close to your heart. It soon seemed easier to let him go altogether, move on to a new chapter, stop waiting for your best friend to appear again.

Still, you were glad to be able to support Gemma on one of her biggest days. She’d become such a regular feature in your household, she felt like family herself. Your parents had been more overjoyed at the news of her impending nuptials than any of yours or your sister’s recent achievements. They loved Gemma like their own, their ‘extra daughter’, as your dad called her. You knew this was as big a moment for them as it was for Anne, having watched Gemma grow from the tiny dark-haired girl your sister had raved about on her first day of school, to a woman about to become a wife.

Standing outside of the venue now, a beautiful old church overlooking the peaceful tides below, yours and Harry’s childhood pact suddenly hit you. You were laying on a blanket in your garden, tops of your heads pressed together as you made out shapes in the clouds above. “I will never get married,” you told Harry. Your parents had had their wedding album out that day, sharing stories with Anne and Robin. You squirmed and grimaced every time they spoke about it, never understanding how any girl would willingly share their life with a boy. “Yuck,” he squeaked from next to you. “Me either. I don’t ever want to live with a stinky girl!” You giggled together, the cool evening breeze washing over you. “Maybe, maybe I might one day though. When I’m really old and lonely.”

“Old like my parents?” you asked him. “Even olderer than that. Like 30.” You gasped, quickly trying to count on your fingers. “That’s really really old. Maybe we can be married when we’re 30.” Harry ran inside when you said this, leaving you chasing after him once again. He grabbed a napkin from the kitchen counter and scribbled on it in felt tip,

‘I ____ will marry Harry when we’re really super old’

“You have to put your name on that line or it’s not real,” Harry told you, handing the blue felt tip to you. You both signed your initials underneath, and proudly went to show your parents. They’d fallen about in laughter when you told them, promising to hold you to your pact. You hadn’t seen the napkin since that day, and you were sure it was long forgotten by everybody, especially Harry. You felt a small twinge in your chest at this, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Hey Boo, you okay? Anne wants to get some pictures of us all together before the ceremony,” your dad told you, leading you through the crowd of guests. Boo was the only nickname that had ever stuck for you, starting when you and Harry decided to go as Boo and Sully from Monsters Inc. one Halloween. You’d originally wanted to be Mike, but with your big brown eyes shielded by little bangs and your signature pigtails, everyone persuaded you to be Boo. You’d outgrown almost everything else from childhood, but Boo was stuck with you for life.

“Oh Y/N, you look lovely darling,” Anne cooed as you came into her sight. She pulled you in for a hug, kissing your cheek as she pulled away. You had to admit, you did scrub up well. It was a long time since you’d really made the effort to look properly nice, still caught in the comfort of your pandemic wardrobe of leggings and sweatshirts. The olive-green maxi dress you’d settled on hugged your body in all the right places, a thick band of material draping over your chest and the tops of your arms, showcasing your toned shoulders. You’d always weirdly liked your shoulders and neck, an odd area to be proud of but it was by far your favourite part of your body. Your hair was scraped back in a sleek bun, tiny wisps framing your fresh face. “Gem and Sophia are still inside, they’ll be out in a minute. Gem’s so excited to see you, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together,” Anne gushed, running a hand up the outside of your arm.

She had such a delicate, warm presence, it was no wonder she’d raised two children as incredible as Harry and Gemma. Anne had been an extension of your own mum as you grew up, small traces of her as much as part of you as they were her own kids. She’d talked you through boys and heartbreaks, been there to wave you off to your school prom, one of the proudest faces in the crowd when you graduated university. She’d been stationed on the garden patio alongside your mum at every birthday party, the two women nattering away as they guarded the wine.

Gemma stepped out of the door, pulling you out of your daydream down memory lane. Your jaw went slack when you saw her, she was positively radiant. Her dress was a dainty satin, huge bishop sleeves adorning her arms and a beautiful full skirt, flowing around her petite frame in the gentle seaside breeze. Your mum rushed over to her first, smoothing a loving hand down the front of her skirt. “You look beautiful Gem,” she told her, tears glistening on her bottom eyelashes. Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged throughout the group, shoulders bumping gaily as you moved around. One thing was still missing though - Harry. You knew he’d never miss his sisters wedding, though he was absolutely nowhere to be seen. Just as you were about to ask, you saw him. With a deep brown suit jacket draped across his body, matching slacks hanging loose on his muscular thighs. A white vest hung low on his chest, his inked swallows sitting pretty on tanned skin.

You knew how good he looked these days, of course. Your tiktok had been full of videos of him performing, Anne’s house littered with framed photos. But seeing him in real life lit a fire in your belly. He’d always been pretty, green eyes and curls enough to charm any woman, but now he was hot. A great, big hunk of sexy man. He approached your parents first, laughing as your dad chose to forgo Harry’s outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug instead. “Here’s our not-so-little superstar,” he smiled, ruffling Harry’s messy curls. Harry pressed a kiss into your mums cheek, exchanging a quick but heartfelt hello. His eyes caught on yours as he glanced across the courtyard, your brown eyes still crinkled as you smiled, in exactly the same way they had when you were younger. “Little Boo!” he chuckled, striding towards you. His strong arms wrapped you into a firm cuddle, his musky scent spilling into your pores. “You look incredible,” he whispered into your ear, voice raspy and low. It wasn’t long before Anne was ushering you all into place to take some pictures, cutting yours and Harry’s catch up short. “Come and find me later,” he told you as you beamed for the camera.

—

With the ceremony long-finished, the party had spilled out of the church hall and onto the grounds outside. You’d danced, mingled and laughed for as long as you could before needing a minute of quiet. Brushing your hand across your mum’s back, you told her you were going for a little walk and would be back soon. You slipped out of the open doors, yanking your heels off in search of some quick relief. You spotted a little wooden bench overlooking the sea, a little way away from the other guests. A great oak tree shielded it from the warm evening sun, providing you just the right amount of peace.

“Thought you were gonna find me,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. You turned around to see Harry approaching your private spot, a sparkling glass in each hand. “Hey,” you smiled. “Just needed a little bit of quiet. Come sit,” you patted the bench beside you. Harry handed you one of the glasses as he sat down, murmuring, “saw you heading over here. Thought I’d bring you a little tipple.” You cheersed, the clinking of glasses cutting through a heavy silence. “How have you been?” he asked you, shifting his body slightly to face you.

“Been good, H. Thank you for asking. Work’s going well, was a bit slow with the pandemic and all but life’s been kind to me recently. I don’t really need to ask you, do I?” you laughed, suddenly shy in his presence. “No, I guess not,” he answered, smiling kindly at you. You settled back into an uncomfortable silence, not really sure how to talk to one another anymore.

“Mum told me you moved to London,” Harry said, seemingly desperate to pierce the awkwardness hanging over you both. “Yeah, I did,” you told him, explaining how Holmes Chapel had started to feel just a little too small, a little too cut off from the rest of the world. “I can understand that,” he told you, chuckling. You ran through the usual questions, telling him about your work as an illustrator, your little flat off of Finchley high road, the couple of girls from school you’d kept in touch with. “I can’t believe you live so close to me,” he gasped. “Mum could never remember what area you lived in, if I’d known you were only down the road we could have reconnected long before now,” Harry told you. You let out an involuntary scoff at this, telling him, “you know where to find me, H. You know your mum has my number, you know where I’ll be every Christmas and birthday. If you really wanted to reconnect it would have happened long before now.” Your words tumbled out, years of one-sided hurt and rejection suddenly pushing to the surface. Harry took a big sip of his drink, placing his hand over yours. “I’ve been shit, I know. Got caught up in everything and barely looked back. Wanted to reach out a long time before now but I couldn’t bring myself,” he told you. “Felt so bad for how I just disappeared and didn’t want to face it.”

You looked at him with sad eyes, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. “I get it, H. I’m really happy for you, I am. You had all your dreams come true, it’s amazing,” you set your glass down beside you and held your other hand over his. “Just feel sad that I lost my best friend overnight.” Your eyes welled up as you spoke, a combination of the free-flowing prosecco, the beautiful ceremony, and facing your hurt with the man who caused it. “Never had a friend who got me like you did,” you chuckled bitterly. Harry pulled his hands from yours and snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. “I’m sorry, little Boo, I swear.”

The pair of you stayed that way for a while, soaking in each other’s words and the idyllic setting. Just being close to each other for the first time in almost a decade, having said what you both needed to, was bliss. “I thought about you a lot, y’know,” Harry told you suddenly, the words bursting out as if he’d been biting them back for a while. “Yeah?” you asked him, sitting up straighter to look at him again. He nodded, cheeks twinged slightly pink. You weren’t sure if it was the booze or his confession. “All my big moments, always wished you were there.”

“You know I would’ve been if I knew you wanted me to, Harry.”

“I know,” he mumbled, watching his own trainer-clad feet kicking little rocks around. “My mum and dad went to a few of your shows with Anne, watched the Brits and the Grammys every year you were nominated.” You swallowed thickly, before continuing, “I’m really proud of you, we all are.”

Harry turned his head slightly to the sound of music blaring from inside, before asking you, “dance with me?” He extended a hand to help you up, placing his glass down before wrapping an arm around your waist. You stepped together slowly, bodies moving in unison with your head rested softly against his chest. The skies had gotten gradually darker as you’d spoken, closing in around you until only a faint glow seeped out from the open church doors. Harry pushed you out, spinning you around before tugging you back into him. You smacked against his chest with a little ‘umph’, the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes met his, a little dazed, and all you could do was stare.

It felt like a betrayal of your childhood self to find him so attractive now. He was your best friend, your first friend, the only one to ever understand you fully. He’d guided you through your awkward pre-teen stage, the extra years he had on you put to good use when he showed you cool bands and songs to make boys like you. But now, you wanted him to be the boy that liked you. You were so flustered under his gaze, heat tearing through your body. “Let’s head back in,” you told Harry, words shaky. He kept an arm tight around your shoulder, shaking you about as you approached the church. ‘I’ve got my little Boo back’ he laughed in a sing-song tune. You could feel the happiness radiating off his body, knowing without even looking that his toothy grin would be firmly nestled between two deep dimples.

Your parents were sat around a table with Anne, Michal and Gemma still doing the rounds. You could tell they were drunk from a mile away - your dads cheeks stained red with merriment and Anne’s hands gesturing wildly as your mum roared with laughter. You’d missed this. You still went home as often as you could, never missing an opportunity to enjoy time with your loved ones, but before seeing Harry today it always felt different. Gemma, your sister, and Harry had all moved on, never fully present. But being the youngest, you were the one left behind. Harry pulled around two chairs for you both, plopping down between you and his mum. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. “My special boy, where have you been?” she slurred.

“Been catching up,” Harry told her, a blush creeping up his cheeks as she looked between the two of you before winking at him. She was far from subtle before getting wine drunk, so now her entire head moved with her wink. She highlighted it with a loud “wink, wink” in Harry’s direction. “Anne!” you spluttered, choking out a laugh. Your dad reached over to snatch the two empty glasses from in front of you and Harry, promising to fill them to the brim so you could ‘get on their bloody level’.

The evening continued like that, the 5 of you drinking and laughing, reminiscing on your younger days. Your parents and Anne managing to bring up enough embarrassing stories about you both to put you off ever speaking to them again. “I think it’s time we all go to bed,” Harry started, holding his hands up. “Because we’re all fucking PISSED!”, he continued, yelling at the table. You banged on the table in hysterics, eyes screwed up tight as you and Anne fell into each other in laughter. Most of the venue had cleared out by now, guests dropping by your table to congratulate Anne on their way out. You’d barely seen Gemma all night, so content in her little love bubble that she’d spent the majority of the evening alone with Michal, feeding each other cake and slow-dancing.

“Come on, you big lump,” you tugged at your dad’s wrists who in turn pulled at your mum to stand up. Your dad swung his arms around you both, Harry and Anne joining onto the end, and you stumbled towards the exit in a fit of laughter. Harry tried to start a can-can line, kicking one big foot up into the air, but the 5 of you put together had far less coordination than even one sober person, so the idea was quickly abandoned.

The church had a converted barn outside, with rooms purpose-built for immediate family and friends to stay in. You hugged and kissed your goodnights to your parents and Anne, making sure they all got into bed without mischief. Now it was only you and Harry left, buzzed but significantly less drunk than your elders. “Care for one last round?” Harry asked you, slipping a little hip flask out from his blazer pocket. You knew this was a bad idea, a drunken evening alone with the man you’d been lusting after all day. But you certainly wouldn’t make the first move, and you were almost sure he didn’t think of you as anything other than the little girl who used to run around with him.

You followed him into his room, laughing to drown out the alarm bells ringing in your head. Once you saw the empty bed in front of you, you couldn’t help but just flop down on it, suddenly needing to be as comfortable as you could. The room was aged and rustic, but the bed was far more comfortable than it looked. Harry sat against the pillows beside you, long legs stretched out before him as he took a swig from the flask.

For the first time that day, the silence around you was peaceful. Just two old friends enjoying each others presence. Harry watched you as you took the flask from him, grimacing as the liquor went down with a burn. His green eyes were studying every little line on your face, every freckle dotted across your bare shoulders. There was so much new about you, so many little details and marks you’d gained as you grew older, all the little telltale signs of the years he’d missed. What he’d said to you earlier was true, he’d missed you with his whole heart from the second he’d left you behind, spent so many lonely nights wishing he had you by his side. He thought he’d outgrown you, his new-found fame taking precedence over the little girl he’d shared his dreams and aspirations with. But sitting here now with you, he knew you’d grown with him, no matter how far removed your life had become from his. “‘M nearly 30, you know,” he drawled, voice hoarse from the singing and the sting of alcohol in his throat.

“Huh?” you turned to him confused. “I’m 30 next year,” he told you. “Yeah I know, H. What does that have to do with anything?” you laughed, poking at the side of his head. “Means we have to get married next year,” he grinned. You gasped, remembering the pact you’d thought about earlier in the day, “you didn’t forget!” you laughed, sitting up against the soft pillows.

“Can’t do it next year though, two weddings in a year would send our parents insane,” you told him. “‘M finished with my tour now. Got nothing on next year,” Harry shrugged, a familiar cheeky smirk sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks. You felt something shift in the air as he spoke, and he seemed to feel it too, edging closer to you until his face was only centimetres away from yours. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he cooed, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch shot electricity through your core, a tingling sensation starting where his fingers touched you before washing over your whole body. You shook your head lightly, eyes fixed on him. He leaned in at this, his parted lips meeting yours. The beginnings of a moustache tickled your upper lip, his hot breath flowing into your mouth with every lick of his tongue. You shifted your body towards him as the kiss deepened, four legs and the now-crumpled duvet tangling together as you rushed to close the distance between your bodies. Harry licked into your mouth with the passion of a million years of unspoken longing, his movements saying more than he ever could with words. It was the kind of kiss you’d expect from someone who’d loved you for a lifetime, who wanted to love you for a lifetime, your tongues working alongside each other like this was routine, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

“Harry,” you whispered, hands pushing his blazer from his shoulders. He let you pull it off him, then stroked a hand up your thigh as you admired his upper body. One arm was littered in patchwork tattoos, though all you could focus on was his muscles, illuminated beautifully in the evening light. “Let me get you out of this,” he rasped, twisting your shoulders around to access the zip running down the back of your dress. He smoothed his fingers down your waist and to your hips before unzipping you, your body dwarfed by his strong hands. Harry pressed a kiss into the top of your back, then kissed up and down your spine, hungry for a taste of you as he unveiled more of your skin. You stood up to help him pull your dress down, resting one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you stepped out of it, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Matches my eyes,” he smiled. His gaze trailed from your toes, up to your knees, to where your panties wrapped around your hips, and higher still. Up your tanned abdomen to your bare breasts where your rosebud nipples sat perky, to your neck, and finally his gaze rested on your eyes. “Y’so beautiful,” he groaned, running a soft touch along the curve of your neck.

Harry pulled his tank top over his head, stepping out of his slacks as they collapsed at his feet. His body was unbelievable. So tanned and toned, firm in all the right places yet soft in the best ones. You could see the outline of his hard shaft through the thin fabric of his boxers, an almost silent moan slipping out as you took in the sight before you.

He stepped closer to you, backing you up until the side of the bed hit the back of your knees, then held a hand to your back to guide you down onto it. His hot, drunken breath washed over you as he climbed on top of you, one hand balancing his body as the other explored you. His fingers groped your breast firmly, mouth finding the opposite nipple, sucking it into his lips in one quick movement. Your back arched off the bed, pleasure so built up that it only took one touch to send you into a frenzy. Harry licked a circle around your areola, chuckling against your skin as you writhed under his touch. “Barely even started yet, little Boo,” he drawled, moving upwards to kiss along your clenched jaw.

His fingers danced down your body, smoothing over your mound as you gasped and groaned. They slipped under the soft material of your panties, blissfully cold against the heat of your entrance. You were already soaked through, much to his surprise, so he swiped a finger through your folds to collect your juices before landing straight on your clit. Harry rubbed you in circles, the friction leaving you a panting mess under him, head jutting out to press open-mouthed kisses on his throat.

He pulled your panties down your thighs tenderly, kissing every inch of skin they passed over. In the dim light of the room, mouth moving up and down your body, he’d never looked so handsome. His cock brushed against you as he moved back up your body to focus again on your folds, your juices spread across your mound in a mess. Two long fingers dived straight in, his rings leaving a harsh chill against your sensitive skin. The stretch of his fingers alone had you panting, a familiar burning starting in your core. Harry found your sweet spot insanely fast, fingers moving in a perfect beckoning motion just as you liked. He navigated your body like you’d done this before, like the muscle memory just guided him to what he knew made you feel good. “I want more, want you inside of me,” you whined, hips bucking towards Harry’s groin as he silenced you with a deep kiss. “Got to get you ready for me first, Boo”, he told you. You winced as he used your nickname, knowing you’d never be able to hear your dad call you that without thinking of this night.

Harry’s mouth found your breast again, sucking deep purple bruises onto the gentle skin as you whimpered beneath him. He smacked at your pussy as your moans got louder, causing your eyes to shoot up to meet his. “Gotta keep the noise down, sweet girl.” You nodded in response, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to keep yourself as quiet as you could be. The second his tongue found your nipple, you felt your orgasm bubbling up in your core. Harry noticed the way your head lulled back, slipping a third finger inside of you and using his thumb to brush against your clit. It was like the holy trinity of foreplay, his skilled tongue and fingers hitting your three most pleasurable zones at once. Your climax hit quickly, walls tightening around his digits as you clamped your forearm across your mouth, desperately trying not to scream his name. He peppered kisses down your throat as his fingers rode you through your high, only pulling them away when you went limp under him. Harry held his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick off every trace of your creamy come.

He backed off you to kick his boxers down his legs, stroking his erection as it oozed precum. He found his wallet, pulling out a condom and rolling it down the length of his cock. “How do you want me, sweet girl?” he asked you, cock twitching in his hand. “Wanna go on top,” you told him, suddenly eager to impress. If his cock was anywhere near as good to you as his hands and mouth had been, you couldn’t only have him once. You needed to show him how good your pretty pussy could take him, make him want to come back for more.

Harry rolled onto the centre of the bed, hands guiding your hips down over his groin. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you towards him for a sloppy kiss. His mouth tasted of you, the familiar tingle of juices on his tongue. You stroked his member up and down quickly, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing yourself down onto his tip. “Fuck, H. You’re so big,” you whined, thighs burning as you hovered above him. He used his hands to move you up, then down, down, down, helping you to take him fully. The burn was like nothing you’d experienced before, his girthy cock crammed into every corner of your pussy. You stilled for a moment, hands resting against his butterfly tattoo, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to push past the ache. He held a thumb under your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “You ok, pet?” he asked, needing to be sure before you continued. You nodded, moving one arm to pull his finger into your mouth. You licked circles around his fingertip, sucking it in down to his knuckle before releasing with it a pop.

Harry’s hands guided your hips to grind against him, helping you until you found your rhythm. He pulled them away, one landing with a loud smack on your ass cheek as the other crept up the front of your body, resting at your throat. He squeezed lightly, the sensation only spurring you on to bounce up and down on him, the combination of your juices squelching as your cheeks slapped against his groin. It was the kind of hot, dirty sex you’d only ever dreamed of, and it had you falling apart on top of him. You cried out a strangled moan, expletives falling out of both of your mouths. “Feel so good around me,” Harry groaned, “so fucking wet. S’that all for me?”

“All for you, H. M’all yours,” you whimpered. His hips bucked against you as you told him you were his, fingers pulling away from your supple ass. He spat on them before dancing them back across your asscheek and smoothing the spit around your second hole, eyes fixed on your pussy bouncing on his cock. “Can I?” he asked you. “Please, H.”

He pushed a finger into your tightness, filling you up so well. You felt so full you could burst. His eyes were clouded over with lust, tiny hairs slick to his forehead with sweat. He looked feral, and you loved it. He repositioned his feet to where they were flat against the bed, hips knocking into you as you moved up and down his cock, his thrusts sending him deeper and deeper inside of you. You were both panting now, barely able to contain your highs for a second longer. “Come with me, come with me please,” you begged him, your second orgasm of the night starting to rise through your core. His thrusts got faster and sloppier, obscene sounds echoing around the room, a clear sign of what you were doing to anyone who could hear you right now. Your orgasm crept up on you quickly, thanks to Harry tightening his grip around your neck and pushing his finger further into your tight hole. Your head was thrown back as you came, back arched making his cock feel as though it could burst through your belly button. Harry moaned loudly, hips jutting one last time as he flooded the condom with his come. You collapsed in a sweaty heap, totally unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Took me so well, angel girl,” Harry drawled as he pulled out of you, padding across the room to toss the condom and rinse his hands. You lay there in total bliss, comfortable in the knowledge that your friendship was long gone.

—

“Let me go first and you can come after,” you told Harry, holding a finger up to shush him when he started to laugh. “We’re grown adults, Y/N, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees us come out together.”

“I don’t write songs about sex and drugs. My body is still untouched in my parents eyes,” you told him, hand slipping from the doorknob as he pulled you in for another kiss. “Just don’t come until you hear me leaving.”

You crept out of the room as silently as you could, heels and dress bundled under one arm. You’d heard Anne, your parents and Gemma head out to the courtyard already, so there was no danger of being caught by prying eyes - or so you thought. As you were padding across the hallway to your room, Anne appeared round the corner. “I was just coming to see if you were awake,” she told you, eyes sparkling with glee. “No wonder your mum said your bed was untouched.” She knocked on Harry’s door with a tight-lipped smile lighting up her face. He opened the door wide-eyed as Anne pulled him into a firm hug, pressing a sticky lipgloss kiss to his cheek. “I always hoped you two would get together.” She disappeared back down the hall as quickly as she appeared, leaving you and Harry blushing.

You decided to make your way outside together, knowing it wouldn’t be long before your parents put two and two together anyway. Plus, you knew Anne wouldn’t be able to resist telling your mum and Gemma what she saw.

—

You decided to spend the day on the beach, you and Harry with your parents and Anne, since Gemma and Michal had already left for their honeymoon. It was a perfect summers day, the sun warm enough to enjoy but not hot enough to irritate you, the gentle sea breeze cooling you down as it washed over you. Your mum and Anne were sprawled across a linen blanket, two bottles of wine stood in the sand next to their feet. They called you over, instant dread washing over you as Anne excitedly shouted your name. “Do you have anything to tell us?” she asked you, and you were sure there would be mischief glinting in her eyes under her big sunglasses. They sat up and scooted over on their blanket, leaving space for you to slot in between. “Nothing that I’m sure you don’t already know,” you smirked, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. Your mum looked between Anne and you, gasping as she swatted at your leg. “So it’s true! You dirty little minx.”

You held your head in your hands, mortified that your parents knew you’d slept with Harry. “Oh relax,” your mum told you. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she smirked, throwing herself towards Anne as they howled in laughter. Anne stopped suddenly, her hand tapping at your mum’s thigh incessantly. “If they get married, we’ll be real family!” she gasped, face pink with joy. “Well, the pact is what got us there in the first place,” Harry told them, sitting down next to you and snaking a hand around your waist.

“I forgot all about that,” your mum’s jaw went slack. “Do you still have it?” she asked Anne. “Of course I do. Kept it safe to show them when they found their way back to each other, always knew this day would come.”

part two

taglist: @sleutherclaw @harrysolaf @slutforcoffein

#harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry edward styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles #harry styles fic #harryslittlefreakk #harry styles masterlist

1K notes · View notes

simpcityy · 10 months

Text

I'm Not Her Pt.2 (Father Miguel O’Hara x Teen! Daughter Reader)

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is your biological father but it’s not great being his daughter when he’s hooked in the past still.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This short One-Shot has made it into a series! Read part one please to understand the prompt better. (Linked Below)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Use of female pronouns, Use of (Y/N), angst, Father Miguel, overall, it’s just sad for now. Other dimensional Miguel… Uhhh I think that is all for now.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up to the smell of bacon being cooked. Odd? Who is cooking if no one is home. Sitting up from your bed, you glanced at the time seeing it was 10am. Walking out of the room the smell of bacon got stronger. In front of you was your father Miguel cooking breakfast. You quickly rubbed your eyes wanting to make sure you aren’t dreaming. “Buenos días, cariño*” Miguel glances back at you hearing the creek of the floorboards. You only stood there in shock. He’s home for once and calling you with love and affection. “I…Um…good morning?” You finally replied back sitting down on the chair slowly. He placed a plate in front of you and took a seat across from you. “(Y.N) …Escucha, sé que no soy el mejor padre*.” He began. “I know I left you all on your own, but I have to man up and fix my mistakes.” He looks at you before slowly holding your hand “and I know it won’t be easy, but I’ll try my best.” He smiles before slowly releasing your hand. You only stood there stunned thinking about it. Did Lyla talk to him? Did Peter? So many thoughts were running around your head before letting out a sigh. “I …what made you have a change of heart…you know that yesterday was my- “he cuts you off, “I know it was your birthday and I’m sorry” he pulls out a box from under the table. You were so shocked about this new side of your dad that you didn’t even see the box when you sat down. “Happy Late Birthday “he smiles, sliding the box towards you. You slowly open it inside before gasping seeing the latest technology you’ve always wanted. You dug your hand till it hit the bottom and saw a ticket to your favorite concert. “How did you know I wanted this? I always begged you to let me see this singer, but you wouldn’t hear me out…I…” you are feeling so many emotions. “I told you I was going to try my best to fix this” he smiles before letting out a grunt as you tackle him into a hug “thank you! Thank you!” You chanted. Miguel only lets out a small smile rubbing your back affectionately. You let him go and walked to the top cabinet grabbing a glass to fill. “let’s have breakfast before you head to work “you smile enjoying this small moment with him. Maybe your wish did come true, to stop feeling alone.

You walked down the halls of your high school. It was going to be your last year and you promised your friends you were going to make it a blast. Humming out a song you unlocked your locker. “Hey boo you’re in a much better mood.” Lyla appeared inside your locker snapping a selfie with you. “Glad you’re here, did you talk to my dad?” You asked her while collecting the items you’ll need on this day. “ wha? No, I didn’t. Why do you ask?” She looks at the selfie editing it. “He came home and made breakfast. He also got me tickets for the concert.” You smile enthusiastically looking at the AI. Lyla watches you “he did?” She was concerned, if she remembered correctly…Miguel was at the base this morning working but then again, he did slip out for a moment so maybe that’s where he went. Lyla only smiles “I’m so glad boo! Maybe Peter talked with him?” You nodded “I was thinking the same. Alright, I got to go Lyla.” You closed the locker going on to continue your education. Lyla stood in the pitch dark of the locker in deep thought “I’ll have to talk to Miguel” she mutters before disappearing.

School for once was a day you enjoyed, maybe it has to do with the fact you're slowly getting your father back. You’ll have to thank Peter once you get the chance to visit the Society HQ. You start to wonder what made him realize he has a daughter here. All this thinking made you hungry, spotting your favorite empanada stand. You walked over and got in line. ‘Maybe I’ll order extra to bring home’ you thought before smiling, giving your order to the kind old lady. Once you reached home, you closed the door behind you. “Are you home?” You call out placing the bag on the table. “Ya has vuelto de la escuela*?” Miguel emerges from the kitchen door. He glances at the bag. “Y eso?” He walked over looking into the box. “ I got you some empanadas” You smile before letting it falter seeing him sniff the bag. His face of disgust was present, “I’m not hungry, you eat it.” He quickly replaces the face of disgust into a smile. Something wasn’t right here, he loved empanadas. He would never reject it. “But it’s your favorite?” You sat down and grabbed a couple for yourself. Miguel grabs a glass of water, his back turned to you. He panicked for a bit before adding on, “Yes but I think I ate too many last time that it just makes me dislike it” He walks over rubbing your head, “It will go away and I’ll go back to liking them okay?” He pressed his lips to the side of your head before sitting down next to you. “Cómo fue tu día en la escuela*?” He asked. You only nodded taking his excuse before smiling, feeling his lip on the side of your head. “ It went well!” You ate the empanada while telling him how your day went.

Lyla stood behind Miguel watching him work away. “Hey Miguel” She appears in front of him. “Quick question” Miguel looks up at her and only grunts telling her to go on. “That was nice of you to get (Y/N) tickets to the concert” She sits on his shoulder waiting for his response. His answer only made her glitch and worried for you.

“What tickets?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Authors Note: Thank you so much! Your comments and likes made me see how this NEEDED to be a series. I'm still working on the other two projects hopefully next week I'll be able to complete the series for Location Status. So, I can focus on my other projects. Sorry for any grammar on the first part, I was using a tablet and it was all new to me. Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 66💕) Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Please reblog so others can be aware of my works! ILY 💕

Spanish Translation: (Remember some have double meaning or similar meaning) 1. “Buenos días, cariño: Good Morning Sweetie 2. Escucha, sé que no soy el mejor padre: Listen, I know I'm not the best father (Dad) 3. Ya has vuelto de la escuela: Are you back from school? 4. Y eso: And that or whats that? 5. Cómo fue tu día en la escuela: How was your day at school?

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara fic #across the spiderverse fic #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #father figure miguel ohara #miguel ohara x platonic reader #miguel ohara x daughter reader

1K notes · View notes

hawkins-losers · 2 years

Note

Riding eddie in his throne and as you hit your high he picks you up, his c*** never leaving inside you, and throws you on the table and fucks you thru it to get his. After they just lay there saying i love you and panting and eddie kisses her nose all cute like b/c he loves her so much and they get caught by the other hellfire members!

Let's see whatcha got 🖤

⋆ May the smutty blurb spree begin ⋆

Warning: Smut, p + v action, riding, semi-public sex(?), almost caught

‘’I’m close,’’ you warned in a broken mewl, one of your hands holding onto the top of the throne as you bounced on Eddie’s cock.

Eddie's jeans were down to his knees and yours had been discarded along your panties. Eddie had pushed your shirt up to your collarbones, exposing your full breasts and allowing them to jiggle and bounce freely at your every move.

After-hours in the den were not for little kids – not that this happened very often. It was a 'spurt of the moment' thing.

Eddie reached down to your front to rapidly thumb at your clit, trying to bring you to the edge. As fun as this was, the school is going to close down in a few minutes.

The simple gesture had you throwing your head back, feeling yourself clench around his cock and about to burst. ‘’I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-’’

A cry left your lips and, just as you hit your high and released your arousal around him, Eddie grabbed your thighs and stood, lowering you on the table right behind and beginning to pound into you, fucking you through your orgasm. You had to use your free hand to cover your mouth, to keep you from screaming at the overstimulation.

You reached for your tits, grabbing them with your free hand as the slick sound of your wet pussy echoed in the Hellfire den, mixed with your muffled moans and Eddie’s pants and groans. Eddie was close, he could feel it.

He pulled out, getting a puzzled look on your face.

‘’What are you-’’

Eddie climbed on the table, making you silently pray it wouldn't break under both of you's weight, and kneeled over you with his cock in his hand, heavy and pulsing and begging for release. You thought he wanted to cum on your breasts, but he asked you to open your mouth and presented his tip to your pulled out tongue. He gave himself a few tugs and the first spurts of ribbons came out, spilling on your awaiting tongue.

Eddie pulled back, jerking off some more and you swirled your tongue on his tip and collected everything he was giving with a light giggle.

‘’Fuck.’’ His own laughter joined yours. He pulled your bottom lip with his thumb, swiping a drop of cum and smearing it. ‘’I love you so much,’’ Eddie said, feeling hot and panting from his release.

The school would be closing soon, forcing you and Eddie to hurry and get dressed — and clean up.

Eddie got started with the cleaning, gathering all the game pieces in the box while you got dressed. Unlike you, he had it easy and only had to pull his pants up and buckle his belt.

You stood in your underwear, hurryingly slipping a leg through your jeans when the door opened.

‘’I swear it’s in here, I had it when- holy shit.’’

At the sound of Jeff’s voice, both your and Eddie’s head snapped up in the same direction. Just in luck, Garreth was by his side, looking just as stunned as his friend. What the fuck were they doing here? Hellfire had finished half an hour ago.

‘’What the fuck are you two doing here?’’ Eddie hissed at them, mentally cursing at the door for not having a damn lock.

Cheeks burning red in embarrassment, you finished putting on your pants. Thankfully, your shirt was back in place. The situation would have been ten times more awkward. How were you going to look at Jeff and Garreth in the face after this? Or sit at the same table during Hellfire without thinking about the time they caught you and Eddie after sex?

Jeff stammered, seeing the hint of anger on his Dungeon Master's face. ‘’I-I forgot my backpack. I realized halfway to Garreth's house so we turned around and-’’

Eddie grabbed the backpack on the chair and chucked it at Jeff. ‘’Here. Now, get the hell out of here!’’

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3 @cursedandromedablack @Slashersimpfor @savagejane1 @wh0reforbucknasty @eddiemunson-slut @slvdsjjk @hehehehannahthings @dreamdancers-world @eddiemunsonbby @notbeforelong @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog @tatespillows @alwayslexii @lilygreennn @milkiane @imahomeslice @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun @marauders3rawh0re @your-mom21 @parkersmyth @voguesir @milkiane @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @lilygreennn @alexxavicry @charlie-chick @wandamaximoffs-deadchild @horrorstreet @rmeddar123 @pastel-abyss-x @lil-tracys @luvmybbies @chloepricesgrafitimarker @inluvweddiemunson @i-like-trains @kittenfrostt @simp-for-slasher @m-rae23 @kenzi-woycehoski

Eddie Munson taglist: @nighttwingg @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @heizenka @eddiemvunsongf @Eddie_munsons_girlfriend @magicalchocolatecheesecake @eddiemunsonistheloveofmylife @avril-reblog-cave @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie @straycatarang @fourlokiss @eddiemattress @ghoulishlygrey @paola-carter @bubsonnobx @pauldanoswifereal @ofherscarlettwitchways @kiszkathecook @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella @Dreamtiara @pastelbabygirl19 @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby @jenlouvre @bonked-beyond-belief2 @tvserie-s-world @bootlegmothman420 @courtmr @chrisxevans-seb @satinselenite @thikkiesixx @jennilynn63 @nia-um @welcometohellfirw @strangermarvelgirl @sugar-simz @fandomloversvaries @miakatharinaa @julsss321 @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @Minksblog @soph69420world @ameliakf13 @nancewheelersworld @parasadic-blog @nluvwitheddiemunson @veniceb1tch88 @ali-r3n @Luv.eddie @stephylovesmayahawke @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetheart-im-the-boss @jusstdreaaming @hoeformunsonandhargrove @buckyswhxre @tomspidertingle @stormyparker @thechoiceslookgrimm @ilikechocolatemilkh @bbylyneth @bobafettsleftglove @princesseddie @yourfavdummy @xbreezymeadowsmunsonx

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie stranger things #smutty blurb spree

6K notes · View notes

takadokii · 7 months

Text

✴ sucker for (my) sweetheart !! ‧₊.࿐

summary After the Valentine's shift at work, you surprise Gojo with some sweets you've received to share. Despite his jealousy, he could never resist something as sweet as you! pairing high school!gojo satoru x f!reader tags pining, fluff, down bad & kinda jealous! satoru warnings implications of explicit thoughts/dreams about the reader word count 1k links collection ; taglist

this is an additional chapter of my series "caught in the middle", if you enjoyed this, consider checking it out! <3

Satoru was already thinking about you when you suddenly entered the classroom. Initially, his shoulders tensed at the sound of the door slamming open but relaxed as soon as he saw your figure leaning against it. With an exhausted groan, you drag your body into your chair, leaning your head back as you let the many bags you were holding drop from your hands to the floor.

Satoru’s eyes were having a hard time when the inevitable desire to look at your face and the curiosity to take a peek into the bags overcame him.

“What’s all this?”

“Gifts from work,” you sighed, sitting up again as you rested your head on your arms, mumbling the rest of your words with closed eyes as the tension and stress were finally exiting your body.

“Valentine’s shift, y’know,” you rummaged through one of the pink gift bags you had received, mindlessly pulling out a box of chocolates.

“I wanted to share them with you.”

A noise left Satoru, one that he attempted (but terribly failed at) to hide by clearing his throat.

“Oh? Is that so?” he deflected, trying to distract from the blush on his face and the sudden sweating of his hands with some overly flirtatious comments. (As usual.)

“You sure this isn’t just some excuse you made up to get me some Valentine's candy?”

You roll your eyes at him, finally sitting up properly, turning yourself to face him as you place the box in your lap and carefully open it.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I already asked Suguru and Haibara if they wanted some as well, but there were just too many. I have a bunch of them left.”

“I’m the third?!” Satoru gasped, earning him another eye roll and a small kick against his shin.

“Stop pretending to be offended and open your mouth.”

The comment about how he wasn’t just pretending to be offended dies down quickly at the sight in front of him. A small heart-shaped praline, topped with some pink strawberry-flavoured flakes, stretched out to him in between your fingers.

After fully processing this view, he leaned forward, making sure to let his lips touch the tips of your fingers just delicately enough to be seen as accidental.

Unlike the usual “slightly annoyed to neutral at best”-looks you’d have on your face when talking to him, he was now met with a soft smile as you watched him chew. With the same hand, you put one into your own mouth, he wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but it seemed that your fingers lingering on your lips.

Satoru swallowed both the lump in his throat and the candy.

He was definitely having dreams about this later.

“So you’re getting candy from other guys now?”

“Other guys? Can’t recall you getting me any Valentine's candy.”

Satoru pouted, “Well, yeah but I buy you candy like every other day, if anything that’s even more heartfelt. I buy them for you because I truly care about you. Not just because of some capitalist made-up holiday.”

You chuckled a little, holding out another chocolate for him to eat. “Correction. You drag me to go candy shopping with you and let me ask for samples for you because you’re a scared baby.”

“I am not scared to ask for samples, I’m just scared they’re poisoned or something!” He murmurs while chewing.

“So you let me get poisoned!?” You pull the piece you were holding out to him back, offended but satisfied as you watch the devastation on his face when he ultimately bites down on nothing.

“Of course not!” He smiles sheepishly, reaching for your wrist to fulfil both his craving for sweets and physical contact with you.

“I just trust your taste ‘s all,” he speaks lowly, his sunglasses covered eyes gazing up at yours as his mouth is still so close to your hand you can basically feel his breath on the tips of your fingers.

But before the blush could fully form, the shift in his tone hits you like a brick to the face as he leans back and speaks in his annoyingly overly flirtatious tone again.

“I mean you must have good taste if you choose to spend your Valentine's evening with me.”

“Need I remind you that I went to two other guys first?” You tease.

It happens all at once, the screeching of his chair moving, the thump of his hand against your desk. He’s leaning in close, between his pushed down glasses and the white tips of his hair his eyes meet yours.

Without breaking the intense stare, his hand reaches for the box in your lap, effortlessly picking up a piece of chocolate before holding it to your lips.

“Yeah but in the end you’re with me, aren’t you?”

i wanted to start this off with something light and cute, but im honestly so excited to expand this universe and share the ideas i've been working on with all of you

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy! If you're interested in more of this dynamic then please check out "Tales of the Cursed!"

Love, jae 🩵

548 notes · View notes

lethalchiralium · 21 days

Text

High Water | Happiness Series

a/n: okay guys, I have ONE MONTH left of school for the semester, THEN I WILL HAVE TIME FOR THIS I PROMISE. a lot has happened since I last updated, this was all written over a six month period and of course finished three weeks after my major breakup w my bestie of 7 years LOL ENJOY

a/n 2: and thank you always to @as-is-above-so-below for not killing me over taking forever to update and for letting me fall down her stairs and (separate incident) get a splinter from her floor LOL

warnings: military talk. TW: TORTURE

summary: Price has to make a difficult decision.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Night vision, gloved finger tensed on the trigger of his rifle. The back alley was secured, Soap kept two feet behind him at all times as Price unlocked the side door of the “abandoned” factory warehouse.

Four pairs of boots were muted against the cracked concrete, rifles pointed upwards and watching for any hostiles in their way. The mission was to collect intel and neutralize any threats - hopefully this would deliver them to the target. A man who was a ghost just like Simon Riley, but just… tied up in debts that span decades. Expendable men were set in the center of the warehouse, a table set up with chairs, chips and cards strewn about the wooden surface. Silence was a friend to the Russian men’s killers, but not to them. A small radio lowly played some sot of music, it was melancholy and heavy on the sax. Blues, Simon reflected, fitting.

One Russian - wearing a white shirt and black pants, a deep purple bruise on his fair face - pulled a chair from the table, setting down a laptop on a handful of worn cards.

“Boss has two targets with him, they’re to be sold by the end of the week.”

The man with a green jacket shrugged, as he sat down too; kicking his feet onto the table. “Not sure if there’s a big enough market for screaming babies, друг.”

“We’ll be getting a big payout if we get them to auction before their family finds out.”

Simon’s stomach clenched, he almost shot them both right there if it wasn’t for Gaz grabbing his arm and squeezing it. He couldn’t imagine it being you and the girls, it wouldn’t be anyway. Calm down. He focused on slinging his rifle silently over his shoulder, taking hold of the corner of sturdy boxes, wrapped up in plastic film. He hauled himself up, keeping his balance and grip focused on climbing up since the crate was the height of his shoulders. He placed his right foot on the top, pushing himself up before repeating the action with the next and final crate. It was routine the way he retrieved his rifle from his back, laying prone on the hefty crate with his finger parallel to the trigger and his eye in the scope. He was swift, it was second nature; his breath didn’t falter when Gaz settled on his torso beside him with his tact scope in his grasp.

“Bravo 0-7, do you have sight on the target?”

Ghost’s eye closed, the other focusing through the scope of his rifle.

“Affirmative.”

There was a loud screech of the door Gaz was watching, Ghost’s chest clenched with anticipation as he watched the intel walk in - wearing joggers and a long sleeve shirt, talking loudly on his phone in Russian.

“Soap, detain the target as soon as he is within range. Gaz, Ghost, drop ‘em as soon as Soap is clear.”

There wasn’t a beat of silence after that, as everyone launched into action. Johnny was quick to tackle the man, the other two dropped dead within milliseconds. His gloved hand seemed to cover the man’s whole jaw, fingertips pressed uncomfortably into the man’s skin. Ghost had dropped from his position in seconds and across the room in a few strides.

“Where is yer boss?”

Gaz slid a chair behind the man, Soap shoved him into it. Struggling hands were strapped to it, the man with dark blond hair and joggers spat out vicious words towards the skull balaclava. He barely caught Price snatching the open laptop from the table before he looked back to Soap and the hostage, the Sergeant dug his nails into the Russian’s face. The Lieutenant pulled a rag from his vest, watching them intently. The 141 was a well oiled machine, oiled with the saccharine taste of blood.

“Where the fuck is yer boss?”

“You’ll never find him-“ Ghost shoved the cloth into the man’s mouth before in a flash, his knife found its new home in the hostage’s knee. The screams muffled, he leaned closer. The words spoken were low, but enough to elicit a snarl from the hostage before another scream.

Price only gazed at Ghost for a moment before looking back at the laptop, checking through folders for measly information. Gaz was stood by the door, watching for any intruders - hand on his rifle, ignoring the muffled screams of the last threat alive in the room. But he wouldn’t be alive much longer with Ghost’s knives sticking out of his body like decorations. Don’t ask for mercy, my hounds won’t give you any, he remarked.

He looked down at the dashboard, seeing a browser left open. He clicked on it, seeing an encrypted chat log with the target and his right hand man - the man screaming for his life in the chair.

Don’t be late

The damn baby is losing it

If I have to hear another word from this girl I’m going to kill her

Price is a stoic man, one hardened by war - barely scared of anything; yet, Price wasn’t prepared when he scrolled up. His heart shot straight into his throat, eyes widened by a fraction, his hand gripping the table could’ve broken it in half. He blindly grabbed his phone, taking a picture of the screen before slamming the laptop closed. It was secured between his arm and chest in three seconds, tapping a number on the screen of his phone before he walked past Gaz and out of the room. The building was secured, he knew that - yet, he felt the fear that he may be watched. The secure line droned on for only a moment before there was an answer.

“John?”

“Laswell. What the fuck happened?”

There’s crying in the background, he could recognize Winnie’s voice anywhere. They’ve been gone for three days. Nothing was supposed to get to Simon’s second chance, John thought he was sure of it. No, he was sure of it. He cased the house himself, did all the work to make sure one of their strongest and toughest allies would stay and protect them. What the fuck happened?

There’s a breath. “König’s been shot. Someone took Mellie and Y/N.”

“And the other one?”

John’s stomach settled like concrete, weighing him down and making him sick.

“She’s okay. She’s with us at the hospital. We took her to the park like her mother asked and when we came back, the door was kicked in, König was unconscious and bleeding out, and Mellie and Y/N weren’t there.” There was a pause. “There was a fight down here. König killed seven of them before going down.”

Okay. At least they could ID the bodies, link them to the mob - or at least, former associates of the mob. Any lead he could get.

If he could run his hand through his beard, he would’ve. It was a comfort, especially now that he has never felt this stressed in his life. Simon cannot know. Simon will destroy everything we’ve worked for to save them.

“It has to do with the target.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Their intel is here. I am holding their intel.”

“John, these men are Russian. They are escaped convicts in the mob, known associates of the target.” There’s a pause, a short yell from Winnie, and Laswell sighing. “König left one unconscious. Roach is interrogating him now on base.”

“How long ago were they attacked?”

“Yesterday.” Another pause, soft words from Laswell to who he assumed was Winnie. “Listen, I’m working on this, but I need you. We need Ghost to run the rest of the operation, and we can’t do that if you tell him about this.”

There’s shouting behind the door, screaming from the victim that Ghost was torturing. John looked down the empty corridor, knowing he has to go to keep his friend safe.

“Because if they came after the girls, that means they’re coming after him. And they need him alive.”

His hand could have snapped that laptop in half. “He needs them alive.”

“I know, John.”

There’s more shouting in Russian, a loud thud and more incessant screaming.

“Keep this on the down low. I only need you. Make sure Ghost knows how to proceed.”

“With caution and safety off.” John murmured, muscles clenching in his chest. This is not going to end well.

“Get back to Manchester immediately. I’ll call if we’ve found something.” The line goes dead, Captain Price slipped the phone into his pocket before taking a deep breath.

He opened the door back to the room, being submersed in the victim’s screaming as Ghost’s black blade dragged into the muscles of his leg. Price shut the door, standing tall with worry on his mind. Gaz nodded to him, hands out for the laptop - John shook his head.

“Lieutenant.”

The skull mask didn’t look away from his target, the one screaming Russian that he didn’t know anything, stop, you’re hurting me, go to fucking Hell- Soap took the man by his throat, forcing his head back before spitting some choice words at his face. Eyebrows furrowed, Price tried again.

“Mactavish, take over for the Lieutenant.”

The Scot nodded, hand ripping Ghost’s knife out of the man’s thigh - all that filled the room were screams. Ghost finally looked to Price, an enraged look in his eye as he stood and walked towards him.

“What the fuck-”

“I’ve been reassigned.” The Captain spoke with an even tone. Nothing is wrong. Believe me, Simon, believe me. “You will be running this operation until I get this assignment under control.”

It seemed that anger swelled throughout the Lieutenant like a poison, invading every space of the menacing man. “What the fuck did you get reassigned for?”

“Diplomat’s wife and daughter have been kidnapped.” The lie slid off of the tongue like butter, smooth as easy to go down for some people. For others… it’s unsettling. Price was a good liar, it came easy, but his lieutenant was always able to tell. Not always immediately, but he will know sooner or later. “I have to run this. Are you okay doing this assignment-“

Ghost patted his Captain’s shoulder. “Got it under control.”

Price smiled, strained. “Knew I could count on you.” He glanced to the man in the chair; blood poured down his face. He then looked back to his Lieutenant, his right hand man with as straight of face he could muster. “We need to hurry this up. Only 10 minutes remaining.”

“Rog.”

•••

The front door was covered in a tarp, the front porch light on and curtains drawn. John Price felt the cold sickle of Death slide down his spine as he could see blood splatter on a home he once considered sacred. Simon’s home, your home, was under red tape, unknown to anyone the military who wasn’t close to Ghost. Simon created a home from nothing for his child, then opened it for you, then his new little one - God, was John proud of him. Creating a life more than worth living, in a quaint house that should have never been found - even when it was hidden in plain sight. Even the most holy grounds have had blood shed upon them.

Kate knew he was walking up the steps, she always knew, so she opened the door enough for him to slip through. Instantly, he’s met with the remnants of the carnage of your entrance way. Bullet holes and stains of blood decorated the walls and floors, even when they had been mopped and wiped clean. Dents in the walls, the floor - John imagined the beast that was König wrestling some of those fucks to the ground, snapping their necks with the twitch of his wrist. He couldn’t imagine your screams, couldn’t think of little Mellie wailing in terror.

Did you scream? Did they drug you? Hurt you? Did they dare to touch the baby? God, Simon is going to burn the world.

He looked to Kate, there’s a hardened glint in her eye. He handed her the laptop, which hadn’t been scanned yet - it would take too much time, they both knew that. She took it without a word, turning back into the front room. John strode forwards, stepping over the baby gate that was recently put there. He assumed it was to keep Winnie out of the carnage that was the front entrance, he continued on to the living room where he could see Alex sitting on the couch. A little head peered over the side of the couch and as soon as her eyes saw John, she stood at full height with tears instantly pouring down her face.

“Unc’John!”

His heart felt bruised then, the beat of it aching with every stride he took to her. He instantly plucked her from the couch, holding her to his chest as she loudly cried. “Winnie, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

“Where-Where’s Mummy and Mellie?”

John could only bear to mutter a soft, “We’re finding them, sweetheart.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that the bad guys got them, that her daddy couldn’t be the hero she knows she wants him to be because of John’s decision. He was quick to bring her to the kitchen - which seemed untouched compared to the adjacent entryway - and settled her on the countertop, right beside the sink. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet to the right, filling it with water before handing it to Winnie. The five year old took greedy sips, breathing through her nose as tears raced down her face. “Put the water down, love, you need to take some deep breaths.”

He took the glass back, only for her to reach for his hand - he took it, giving it a small squeeze. God, he can’t even remember the last time he had seen his niece cry, let alone sob. Had it been that long since she had gone without you?

“Are you hungry? Tired?” He set the glass on the counter, seeing her hiccup as she tried to catch her breath. He squeezed her hand again, all Winnie could do was let more tears fall down her face.

“Where’s Mummy?” She begged, John’s tongue felt dry. He hated lying to her, he hated not knowing anything, he hated seeing her bawl her eyes out. She didn’t witness anything, thank God, but going without you after not having to for years is terrifying to a little girl. “N’Daddy? Why-Why isn’t Daddy home?” Her hand squeezed back, much harder than she did before. “M’scared.”

“I know, Winnie.” His throat began to itch, he wanted to desperately tell her that everything would be alright - that today was just a bad dream she’ll wake up from tomorrow, that her parents will be here in the morning with her baby sister. He also wanted to scream at God and tell him that it was fucked forcing him into sacrificing Simon’s family for a stupid fucking lead, even if it did lead back to you and Mellie. He didn’t want to have the possibility of telling his niece that neither of her parents were coming home, instead of the off chance of one; he hated delivering condolences, but he wasn’t sure he could do it to a five year old girl who he has watched grow up. “I think we need to go sit down again.” A little nod and she was scooped up into his arms again, held tight as he walked back into the couch; Alex nowhere to be seen, which was fine with John. He took his normal seat at the end of the couch, resting little Winnie on his chest and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to lay on her. He tucked it in around her stomach, making sure to cover her socked feet before gently petting her hair.

His eyes wandered to the TV, to the stupid blue dog show that she seemed to love - yet she held no interest right now. His eyes darted across the floor, seeing little firetrucks and airplanes and dolls scattered across the floor; then to the little mesh play pen that sat underneath the window, the blinds pulled up enough to where Mellie couldn’t reach, the strings tied up even higher. Soft toys and colorful blocks scattered inside of it, not to mention a few blankets and a pillow or two. Winnie’s been sleeping down here. She’s petrified.

His gaze moved to the ceiling, hand gently patting her head with a calm rhythm. He’d lay here all night, way past when his back would get sore, way past when his legs would cramp, just to give Winnie some sort of stability. He refused to think about the possibility that he may have to follow through with his promise of being her godfather - he just never imagined that it might possibly be just Winnie, not Winnie and Mellie. The thought stirred nausea in his stomach, more than any whiplash, concussion, or shitty helicopter ride could give him. He had already made the silent promise to find you and Mellie, but just for tonight, his whole goal was to make sure Winnie isn’t more scared out of her mind than she already is.

“Unc’John.”

He hummed at that, looking back down her. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Her little chin swiveled to rest on his chest to look up at him, her sweet brown eyes full of tears as she whispered, “I don’t wanna visit my Mummy at-at the cemetery like Mum G-Grace.”

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace.

The words that leave his mouth are soft, spoken like a twisted prayer. “This isn’t like your Mum Grace.” His eyebrows furrowed, petting her hair back with a gentle touch. “I swear it.”

The five year old’s lip quivered, “Promise?”

John doesn’t promise anything, he never makes a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. He never dared enter the realm of uncertainty, knowing he could fail and hurt someone he cared about. Hell, he rarely makes promises on equipment orders for his men. He doesn’t even promise his mother anything, not since he promised he wouldn’t go into the military and did it anyway. But as he watched his friend’s daughter, his niece and goddaughter, sob quietly on his chest, he felt he had no choice but to nod. “Promise.”

At that, Winnie’s head finally fell to rest on John’s chest, he watched her eyes close as it was evident she had only held out to hear his promise. She had stayed awake to see and hear someone she trusted and knew well, she waited to close her eyes until she knew he would find you, even if she didn’t directly ask him to.

John felt obligated to keep Simon’s family alive since he knew just how much the deaths of his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew nearly killed him, how the death of Grace and embracing fatherhood almost drowned him, and just how much his daughters and wife saved him from saying “Fuck it.” and stepping into enemy fire. Not only that, he felt obligated to you - to find you and Mellie, bring you home, keep Winnie safe too. You had many years left with Simon, John could see it. You couldn’t possibly leave Simon now, not when he needs you the most.

John’s eyes blinked slowly, looking down to the dozing Winnie on his chest and holding her closer, reminiscent of when she was a small toddler sleeping on his chest when he babysat. Fatigue was catching up to him, the hours in the early morning were spent combing through data for the prisoner the 141 now in had in possession, and now - your kidnapping. Simon is a dear friend, John knew him too well to say otherwise. And he also knew that you, Winnie, and Mellie were his whole world - the monster Simon was, the one John had nurtured and cared for to create a weapon, was sitting dormant in the man’s ribcage because of the unconditional love he had received. John could never argue that Simon had “gone soft” because of it, Simon had weeping and infected wounds healed by the soft touch of his wife. The Captain’s previously abused and petrified weapon was now perfect, he was the epitome of the perfect soldier. But with the knowledge of his wife and child’s safety at risk, John knew what the military didn’t.

“Captain.”

There’s a reason your husband wasn’t alerted of your abduction. John Price knew the second he said that you and Melody were missing, Simon would rip his ribcage from his chest with the force of a thousand men to expose the monster underneath. The one you only hear about in movies, the one that is passed down through tongues to generations, the one you fear will come from the shadows to eat you alive. Simon Riley is what the Captain likes to call, the Monster Under Your Bed.

“Captain.”

He grunted a little, looking over his shoulder to a stoic Alex Keller. “She’s almost asleep, Alex-“

“We might have a location.”

taglist: @idkwtftitbh @blingblong55 @local-spidey @sanfransolomitatm @frazie99 @Awilan @cosmoscoffeee @khadeejarh @babygirl-riley @emi-flaces @marini03 @jeannieboys @koshehehe @tutuwuworld @froggy-anon @cxltblood @egdeverauxx @freyjasfenrir @lexi-zsy09 @Hosshihusshi @Isopaine @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @domaniquessidehoe2 @iaur @starsinyoureyes @graciereads @urfavoritepookie @ghost-with-a-teacup @moris666 @ghostwifeyy @ziggy0stardust @live-love-be-unique @magoopi @coririley @lunyyx @sterlizx

#lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #happiness series #happiness #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x wife!reader #simon riley x f!reader

193 notes · View notes

greg-montgomery · 7 months

Text

any other world - prologue

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader - soulmate au

series masterlist

to those who voted no on my poll: i see you and i get you 🙏🏻 i’ll try not to be frustrating and make you wait too long

also i want to thank @criminalskies and @hotchs-bitch for listening to me talk about this idea, it motivated me 🫶🏻

- 18 -

“Stop!”

“Not unless you tell me.”

“Never.”

Sticking to your word seemed impossible at that moment though, as Aaron’s hands attacked your sides, causing you to giggle in a way that made it hard to breathe.

“Okay, I give up,” you cried out. “I give up, stop.”

“Okay,” he said, and the motion of his hands turned quickly into a comforting, soothing one.

“Promise you won’t make fun?”

Aaron lowered himself on top of you and left a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose. “On my life,” he said, and placed his palm over his chest.

“Alright…” You took a deep breath and continued. “Leila if it’s a girl. Jack if it’s a boy.”

Aaron had promised he wouldn’t make fun, so it sure made you feel curious as to why he had turned red from laughing.

“You liar!” You slapped his arm softly.

“No,” he rushed to defend himself, his voice muffled with laughter. “No, it’s just…Jack is the most generic name. How did you come up with that?”

“I just think it’s cute. Jack,” you said the name with a smile. “Short and cute.”

“Jack…” he repeated after you, testing it on his tongue. “Maybe you’re onto something.”

“See? I told you.”

“Jack and Leila.”

“We’re having both?” you questioned with a grin.

“Obviously.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to your body. Aaron melted on top of you in the same way he always did, as if you were his home.

You stared up at him dreamily, running your fingers through his hair; dark and full, you wished your future kids would get that part of him. His dimples, his smile, his cheeks... every part of him was perfect.

“You’re staring, tulip.”

“What? Am I not allowed to admire the future father of my kids?”

Aaron’s grin grew wider, but he didn’t let you look at it for too long, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving tiny kisses on the sensitive skin.

“I’m gonna wake up every morning before anyone else to make us all a nice breakfast.”

“Now I know that’s a lie,” he said, his lips behind your ear. “You’re always still asleep when I return from my morning runs.”

“Okay, fine. You’ll make breakfast, I’ll make dinner.”

“Deal.”

- 11 -

“Stay still!”

“I am still!”

“You’re not and it’s gonna turn out all wrong. It has to be perfect.”

Aaron pouted, but followed your instructions anyway. You both wanted it to look as real as possible. Then people would think you were real soulmates already. Even if you were only eleven.

A.H. on your skin. [Y/I] on his.

Your classmates later made fun of you for them and said they looked fake. But neither of you cared. You just had to stay patient, and the marks on your wrists would turn real when it was finally time.

- 16 -

Tulip was an easy flower to draw as a kid. Especially when you had to draw one every day for the boy you had a crush on.

Now, as a teenager you cringed at the memory of all the drawings you used to leave on Aaron’s desk during third grade. But Aaron had never made fun of you for it. Instead he had shown you his collection of your tulip drawings. He had kept them all in a shoe box.

Just like you had kept his. And on top of the stack there was of course the most important one. The one with the “Will you be my girlfriend?” question and the ‘yes or no’ boxes underneath it.

You were both artistic as kids when it came to expressing your love for each other and it was both sweet and embarrassing.

You and Aaron had grown up together, your houses right next to each other. The memory of your first day of school with a little backpack in one hand and Aaron’s hand in your other was engraved in your brain.

Aaron was your best friend. The one who stood up for you every time a kid decided to be funny on your expense. The one who helped you with your homework when science got too hard to understand. The one you played hide and seek with and had physical fights with over board games.

But he was also the boy you had a crush on. The one that filled your stomach with butterflies every time he smiled at you. The one whose name you filled your notebook pages with along with pink glittery hearts. The one who stole your first kiss and the one you daydreamed about every night as you fell asleep.

He was your soulmate. And he thought so too.

“Is Aaron staying for dinner?” your mom yelled from downstairs, as you and Aaron studied on your bedroom floor.

“He is,” you yelled back, without even asking him. He kept running his thumb over his knuckles, which was a sign that he was stressed. There was no need for him to tell you what had happened when he had rung your doorbell earlier that day. All the screaming from the house next to yours had reached your own ears perfectly clear.

If you could, you’d hold him in your arms forever, protecting him from the world. He’d never have to go home again.

“We have tomato soup and grilled cheese, your favorite,” you whispered and he smiled at you.

- 21 -

A pair of chapped lips pressed against your forehead, as your naked body was resting against Aaron’s.

“I’ve told you to put this on before bed. It’ll change your life,” you said, shifting to reach a small lip balm jar you had left on his nightstand.

Opening the little box, you dipped your ring finger in it and got some product, ready to apply it on Aaron’s lips.

Using your arm on his chest to steady yourself, you put it gently across his lips.

“My soulmate mark is about to appear in less than ten minutes and you’re worried about my chapped lips,” he joked.

“Exactly! It’s a big moment for us, and your lips need to be ready.”

“Ready for what?” he smirked.

“Shut up,” you said, and dropped your head back on his chest.

His fingers tracing patterns on your bare back made you yawn and he was quick to prevent you from falling asleep.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I won’t,” you promised.

“Eight minutes,” he breathed.

“Eight minutes and our forever begins.”

@magical-spit

#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch 🪐#any other world

487 notes · View notes

dilatorywriting · 1 year

Text

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 3]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 3)

ie. Detention begins, and the topic of Winter Break plans comes into question.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

The first detention went about as well as you could have hoped.

You sorted paperwork, mindlessly graded the very same pop quizzes that had nearly given Deuce an aneurism just that morning, and shined all the stupid glassware that was needed to make all the stupid potions. It was grueling. And to think—you’d been doing this shit for fun not a month ago. What had been wrong with you?

“Maybe it was the Stockholm Syndrome,” you muttered irritably under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir,” you grumbled, and went back to organizing all of your tormentor’s seemingly endless collection of bits and bobs.

Professor Crewel looked over at you, his face twisted up like he wanted to say something. But after a moment of awkward silence, he just ducked his head back down to his paperwork and carried on without saying a thing.

The next afternoon didn’t look like it was shaping up to be much better. You shined, he scribbled, and you wished for nothing more than the sweet release of death. The quiet was disconcerting. Say what you will about all the time you’d spent holed up in this office before The Incident, but ‘silence’ had never been an issue. Even Crewel’s snide little barbs would be better than this—this nothingness.

‘You’re not even worth insulting anymore,’ your brain supplied helpfully. ‘Wow. Isn’t that a trip?’

“Are you almost finished?”

You startled a bit. It was the first full sentence he’d spoken to you all day. You glanced pointedly from him, to the walls upon walls of vials, and then back.

“No, sir.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, like this entire situation was just all sorts of unpleasant for him. And not like, you know, he’d been the one to lock you into the school equivalent of prison labor for the next four weeks.

He closed the ledger he was working on with a pointed snap and stood from his chair with a grand swirl of his fur coat.

“You can be finished for the day,” he said, leaning forward to rifle around in the top drawer of his desk. “It’s already late, and you should start making your way back to your dorm before it gets too dark.”

You fought and won against the intense to desire to roll your eyes. The path back to Ramshackle was no easier to traverse in the black of night than it was in the bright light of the afternoon. And besides, it’s not like you were particularly worried about anything happening to you out there. The monsters at this school prowled its halls no matter the time of day. If anything, nighttime meant less potentially murderous magicians out on the loose. No one but you was stupid enough to try and go toe-to-toe with a wandering Tsunotarou.

“And take these with you.”

You startled once more as something was pressed into your hands. It was a familiar box—sleek and artfully colored with matte backgrounds and swirls of golden lettering etched across its face. These were the fancy cookies.

Thankfully, the spite in your belly was enough to gobble up whatever lingering love you had for the treats. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself when you passed them back to Professor Crewel with a tight smile.

“Thank you,” you said, pointedly reaching into your own backpack to procure a nearly wrapped pouch of Annie’s homemade pastries. “But I’m all set.”

His dark eyes lingered on your stash of chocolate chip cookies in a way that made you think he was going to demand you throw them away, and maybe start ranting hypocritically about the dangers of bringing food of any kind into an alchemical lab. His jaw ticked and you had the distinct impression that he was grinding his teeth.

Instead, Professor Crewel just sighed and returned the treats to his desk drawer.

“Of course,” he huffed, looking a bit dejected, and collapsed back into his chair without his usual elegance. Huh. Maybe you’d just foiled his plans to try and poison you or something. “Good evening, Prefect.”

The next afternoon, he did not mention the cookies. However, on your way out the door at the end of the night, you noticed that he’d placed the box near the coatrack—not quite on top of your belongings, but close enough.

And then it was there again the night after that.

And then again, and again.

“How’s the internment going?”

You heard a dull thwack and some angry shushing. Mister Rogerson’s laughter was muffled through the phone’s speaker, and you had a feeling that Annie had just tried to beat him with her shoe.

“It’s alright,” you snickered into your hand. “Prison is prison.”

“You know,” Mister Rogerson huffed. “I still say all of this is horribly unfair.”

You shrugged, and then remembered he couldn’t very well see that through a phone call, and sighed. “It could be worse.”

“Could it?” he asked, a clear frown in his voice.

You dutifully did not mention anything about Overblots and just sighed again. “I mean, probably.”

There was a bit of a scuffle on the other end and you heard little snippets of Annie’s kind trill. There was more laughter. It sounded warm—cozy. You glanced around at the grey, soot-stained walls of Ramshackle and tried not to feel sorry for yourself. Grim rolled over in his sleep and burrowed into your hip with a contented little mewl, which did help a bit.

“Annie wants to know if you got her care package,” Mister Rogerson said after a moment, sounding a bit like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. “And if you’ve thought at all about our offer to host you over the winter holidays.”

“I did, thank you,” you smiled. “It was all delicious.”

“And the break?” he asked after a moment.

“Crowley sent me some angry letter about taking care of the fairies that live in the kitchen stoves,” you said. “So I’ll have to see about that.”

“Just keep it in mind,” Mister Rogerson pressed, a bit of concern slipping into his otherwise laidback drawl. “Please?”

“Okay,” you smiled, feeling like you’d managed to steal a bit of that bubbly glow of theirs and tuck it away tight enough that even the chilly shadows of your new home wouldn’t be able to taint it. “I will.”

“Take care of the fairies in the boiler?”

“Yes,” said Crowley, with deadpan sincerity.

The other members of the staff looked on in silence—a lovely range of ‘fed up’ to ‘outright contempt’ twisting their faces.

“Well I thought it was an excellent idea,” he huffed, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest.

“No wonder this child hates you,” Trein hissed under his breath and worked his fingers into his temples like maybe if he drilled hard enough he could kill the Crowley-Induced-Migraine before it began.

The Old Crow gasped.

“How dare you—”

“And you,” Trein interrupted, turning on Crewel with a sneer. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish with any of this, Divus? An entire month’s worth of disciplinary action for one infarction? I thought you were better than, well,” a pointed glower at the raving Headmaster who was nearly collapsed in tears before them, “that.”

Crewel’s lips curled into a bitter snarl, but the aging historian before him was far from cowed.

“That’s none of your concern,” he snapped. “This is a matter between the Prefect and I, and their willful disobedience when it comes to following the rules of this institution.”

“Is that so,” Trein hummed, arching a brow in obvious skepticism. “But then again, what would I know anything about raising unruly children? I only have two lovely, successful, daughters of my own. Remind me, when was the last time you allotted even an ounce of affection to anything that wasn’t one of your purebred mongrels? Or your own ego?”

Crewel stepped forward with a scowl that was more a restrained baring of teeth.

“That has nothing to do with anything,” he sneered.

“Say what you will,” Mozus Trein tutted, and glared down his nose at the pair of them—Crewel with his poorly cloaked rage and Crowley who still refused to stop wailing about the injustices of it all. “But both of my children will be coming home for the holidays. Voluntarily.”

“Oooh,” Sam trilled, uncurling himself from the shadows for the first time all afternoon. “Get ‘em, Mozus.”

You ended up staying at Ramshackle over the break, if only because you couldn’t tell at this point if ‘oven fairies’ were a real thing, and if they were and they did starve, you’d feel absolutely terrible. Your rap sheet in this word was already a mile long—you didn’t need to add homicide to the list.

And then, of course, you ended up being kidnapped by Jamil and his smooth-talking self not a day in, so your act of goodwill really was all for naught.

You paced around your luxurious little guestroom cell, phone in hand. There wasn’t a lot of charge left on it, but you definitely had enough to make a call or two. Mister Rogerson would come help you, you knew he would. But… the problem was that you were kind of becoming a Blot expert at this point, and from the looks of things, Jamil Viper was about to go apeshit and melt into Enraged Ink Monster Number Four. Sure, the guy may have kidnapped you. But he also made great curry, and really didn’t seem that bad underneath it all. Just... quiet. And fed up with living a life of forced servitude and mediocrity. Which, y’know, totally fair.

You paced and paced.

“They have to be reported to the proper authorities,” Mister Rogerson had said. “And dealt with accordingly.”

“They’d be taken away?” you’d whispered.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can.”

You grit your teeth and called Ace and Deuce instead.

They were immediately no help at all and Jamil ended up Overblotting anyways.

“Y’know,” Grim grouched, shivering into your side after Evil Jamil had yeeted you off into The Unknown and Freezing Corners of Sandy Hell. “You really should start charging for these things. We could probably make a lot of money or something.”

“That’s a great idea,” Azul nodded along, and you wanted to beat the shit out of them both.

In the end, you saved the day. As usual.

Jamil was de-inked. He was still a miserable wad of repressed hatred, but at least he was being open about it now. Everyone was alive. Azul promised to only bill you his usual rate for assistance rather than the holiday upcharge. Kalim held a feast, as per usual. And Ace and Deuce showed up at the tail end of it all, which was incredibly sweet of them and also on track with their usual brand of stupidity.

Everything had turned out great!

Except…

“How was your break?” Mister Rogerson asked. “We missed you over here!”

“It was great,” you lied, images of black tar running from narrowed eyes and the suffocating sensation of dark magic flooding your throat. “It was great.”

You walked into detention on Monday afternoon feeling like shit warmed over. And looking like it too, you would guess, seeing the way Crewel’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead.

You stayed silent throughout the whole thing, quietly sorting bottles and blends, and trying to keep your mind off the fact that you had very nearly died. Again. You could feel Crewel’s eyes on you throughout the entire ordeal, tracking you in a way that reminded you of someone watching a car crash that they just couldn’t quite force themselves to look away from.

“Prefect,” he called as your were half-way through shrugging on your coat at the end of the evening.

“Yes, sir?” you sighed, not even bothering to look up from the floor.

He was silent for one moment, two, three.

“…Get some rest tonight,” he ordered. It sounded like a cop out—like he’d wanted to say something else but hadn’t had the words for it.

You sighed again, bone deep and weary. “Yes, sir.”

You did not, in fact, rest that night. A horrible cocktail of nightmares tugged at your brain from dusk ‘til dawn, and you woke up feeling worse than you had when you’d gone to sleep.

You barely forced yourself to go to detention, and only because you knew it would only get worse if you tried to skip out. However, when the door to Crewel’s office creaked open, you were not met by a head of neatly dyed black-and-white hair, but a yowling mass of flying fur and limbs that immediately sent you sprawling to the floor.

Jasper and Badun yelped and cried in the ways that all excited dogs cry, and laved your face with so many kisses you couldn’t have counted them even if you tried. Your hands went into their soft scruffs on instinct, and you had to fight valiantly not to burst into tears.

There was a hand at your back then, urging you towards the comfy, plush, chair that you’d once called yours. You plopped gracelessly against the opulent cushions, and the pair of delighted dogs quickly bounded up to join you—squishing their too-large bodies into your lap and across the armrests. The duo buried their noses into your shoulder, your hip, any nook and cranny they could reach. And you felt warm for the first time since the holidays.

When you woke up later (hours? Days? You couldn’t tell), you and Jasper and Badun were all still bundled together in that chair—the three of you tucked in gently beneath the soft furs of a very familiar black and white coat.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@juulranch @thenyxsky @kalims @theneurodivergentdummy @pen-observing @afternoon-read @ai-dev @anasianplate @marvelous-maxi @inkkedreamz @honey-deerling @fabitheraven @rebloging-everything @vasiliki-koshka @cassidycampfire @youaskedfurret @asimpleazur @iwannabeacrow @hatsunemiku2025 @ambievert @clappincobracheeks @horcrux-alchemist @crypticbibliophile @nyotnyota @ally-glow @yourimaginaryfriiendd @hamdehlesmis @scarapeep @https-casanova @niki-chan15 @insomnia-space @rabioa @ailynyan @posionapplecider @5sos-wdw @nightskylark @the-dumber-scaramouche @sxftiebee @stingywiththeirusername @peachy-centipede @da-disappointment @nekogal16 @zero-nightshade @duskimoo @queenaveryrules @mys-harmony @cerisescherries / @existingcurrently @littlemusicfox25 @spaceyrunes @un-petit-peu-confused @destinationdesignation @medleycharm @chocolateduckdinosaur @barryatsumu @ttwinrytwo @cerisescherries @imaginedfantasies @whathappenedtobees @trixeraptops @obaniori @cleos-stuff @thededly2 @fuckingfaraway @kttyfngs @ernavielle

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #NRC Staff #NRC Staff x Reader #Divus Crewel x Reader #Dire Crowley x Reader #The NRC Staff's Horrible Parenting #But maybe getting a lil better #Heroes vs. Villains #Crewel x Reader #twisted wonderland OCs #twst ocs #Divus Crewel #Dire Crowley #Heroes vs Villains The NRC Staff Part 3

2K notes · View notes

tteokdoroki · 11 months

Text

isagi is the type of bf that visits your parents of his own accord.

he buys them groceries twice a month and spends the afternoon helping your mum unpack them while they decide on a menu for the week. they’ll have a coffee and she’ll pinch his cheek and ask if he’s been eating well while training, or if he’s treating you right — then isagi starts blushing hard because he wants to gush to your mom about that date you have planned for next week.

he brings your little sister a mystery cupcake every week too. from the little bakery at the top of the road because he remembers you telling him that you would pass it on your way to secondary school. isagi always asks the old lady behind the counter if she can wrap the box with a bow and pass him the receipt because he knows your sister collects ribbons and other things for her mess journal. he gets to help her out with it sometimes. yoichi doesn’t have any siblings, he doesn’t know what it’s like to have someone younger than him to look out for outside of his teammates — so he does his best to make sure your sister knows he’s always there for her when you’re not.

when it comes to your dad, isagi will share little snippets of gossip from the football season — who he thinks will transfer teams or who faked out on an injury last match. if you were there to witness how they giggle in the living room like school girls you might say that your dad loves isagi more than he loves you.

isagi treats your family like they’re his own, carved out a little place for himself in the picture and fits so seamlessly amongst you all. when you can’t, he answers their calls at the drop of a hat — because he knows how important they are to you. he cares for them so much, he might as well take your last name too.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #isagi x reader #isagi x you #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi x you #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #isagi fluff #isagi yoichi fluff #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki#✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

782 notes · View notes

windsweptinred · 1 year

Text

Dear Mr Sandman....

(A cold December evening, in a small cozy flat above the New Inn, London.)

Hob: So... My Saturday girl, Rachel. She volunteers at the local library, helps with afterschool sessions. I... may have suggested an activity for the kids. You, Mr Sandman have mail!

Dream:.... Mail?

Hob: (Hands over a neat stack of letters and a small accompanying box). Yup! These are for you!

(Dream carefully unfolds the top letter and begins to read...)

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you very much for all my dreams this year. My favorite was the one with the bubble rhinoceros. I have drawn a picture of him for you. I hope you like it. Mummy says if I draw anymore of my dreams she'll leave them on the kitchen table for you to collect. Sorry if our dog Charlie barks at you when you come, he likes to bark at strangers but is really friendly. You can find his ball in the top draw. He'd love to play with you. I've told him to be a good boy and you'll give him nice dreams.

Love from

Rosalie Mitchell and Charlie the dog

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for all your hard work this year. You must be really busy giving everyone dreams. Do you know Santa and the Tooth Fairy? We always leave Santa milk and cookies and the Tooth fairy teeth to say thank you. I didn't know what you liked so I gave Miss Feean a tub of my favorite magic sand. It's rainbow coloured so should make really good dreams. If you like it, tell Miss Feean and I'll ask Daddy to get some more for you.

Alex Southerns

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for letting me still see Grandma when I'm sleeping. I miss her alot. She looks very happy so I know you and the angels are taking good care of her. Tell her Amy says to give you a big hug from me. She gives the best hugs.

Thank you

Amy Haywood

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for my dreams. Except the one about the angry dinosaur, I don't like that one. Can you tell him to leave me alone as he is very mean and makes me upset. Are nightmares very naughty dreams? We have red and yellow cards at school. If you're a bit naughty, you get a yellow card and if you're very very naughty you get a red one. You should do that. And give gold stars to all the dreams that are really good. Tell the dinosaur I'll give him my gold star I got for my spelling test if he is good.

Big hugs

Louise Winters.

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for looking after me this year. I'm sad a lot, Henry Oakwell in year 6 is really mean to me. And I find school really hard. I'm not good at my school work and don't have a lot of friends. Mummy has to work a lot and I don't want her to worry about me. But you always give me really nice dreams that make me feel really happy. Being the Sandman sounds lonely, are you lonely? My Teddy really helps me when I'm lonely. I can't give you my Teddy but I've made you one out of playdough. Its ear feel off but Miss Feean says she'll put it back on with some glue. I hope he's really nice to you and is a good friend like my Teddy.

From

Tommy Brien

Dream: I don't understand?

Hob: Well, if Santa gets all that praise for one night of wish fulfillment, I reckoned you deserved a little acknowledgement for doing it since the dawn of time.

Dream....May I keep these?

Hob: They've got your name on them Duck. And I'm sure there's more where that came from.

Dream: I.... (Subtly tries to wipe a tear aside) Thank you.

Hob: (Smiles softly) Don't even mention it darling.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #mini fic #Little extra: the day the Corinthian gets a gold star for being good is lowkey the best day of his life

1K notes · View notes

visualtaehyun · 2 months

Text

DFF language notes and observations

This was originally just supposed to be a quick look at Non's meds in ep. 8 but then I finished watching the episode and felt compelled to rewatch the entire show 🫠 So might as well collect everything into one post!

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

Por's mumblings (ep. 2)

กูขอโทษ อย่าเอาคืนกูเลย /guu khaaw thoht. yaa ao kheuun guu loei/ = "I'm sorry. Don't take revenge on me/Don't get back at me."

Time and ages

The present takes place in 2023, the past was three years ago, in 2020. Apart from White, the boys are all the same age according to the character overview below, which makes them all 19-20 years old in the present (while White is 18 and a freshman). In the past up to ep. 8, they would have been 16-17 years old and in 11th grade (ม. 5/3 -> Matthayom 5, class 3; ม. stands for มัธยม /mat tha yohm/ = secondary school).

Potty mouth Fluke

In the present, I swear every other word out of his mouth is a swear and the subs don't always make it obvious. An example of when he's speaking calmly in ep. 3:

เพราะคนอย่างไอ้เหี้ยท็อปอ่ะ แม่งคงไม่ปล่อยให้โอกาสแบบเนี่ยะหลุดมือไปง่ายๆละเว่ย /phraw khohn yaang ai hia Top a- maaeng khohng mai blaawy hai oh gaat baaep niia loot meuu bpai ngaai ngaai la woei/ = Because someone like that dipshit Top wouldn't fucking let an opportunity like this slip his hands so easily.

It's not like the others don't curse, they sure do lol, but Fluke does so even when not in a stressful situation, and it sticks out in contrast to White especially because the baby speaks so properly and politely to his phis.

Newspaper clipping (ep. 4)

เป็นแฟนไอ้ตี๋แต่มึงไม่รู้จักอาโจ้นะ /bpen faaen ai Tee dtaae meung mei ruu jak aa Joe na/ = You're Tee's boyfriend but don't know uncle Joe?

The headline reads: ตายปริศนา'เสี่ยโจ้'นายบ่อนใหญ่ /dtaai bprit sa naa 'siia Joe' naai baawn yai/ = Mysterious death of 'bigwig* Joe' the gambling magnate** ฟอกเงินบัญชีม้ากว่า 300 ล้าน /faawk ngern ban chee maa gwaa 300 laan/ = Laundered money with over 300 million mule accounts

* เสี่ย /siia/ = a rich guy who squanders money, a big spender in illicit businesses, mostly used for middle-aged men; it's used as a pronoun, hence why he's known as เสี่ยโจ้ /siia Joe/ and we hear his subordinates call him เสี่ย /siia/, often subbed as Boss; it's a term of Teochew origin that describes an aristocrat's son, originally ** นายบ่อนใหญ่ /naai baawn yai/ = big shot gambling den boss or the boss of a huge gambling den

The snippet on the right is another easter egg btw - 'Talking to Pond Krisda, director of "Man Suang", Thai filmmaking [...]' but I can't make out the rest in that box (the snippet above that, too, though some of it I can tell says tourists, free visa, 3 months).

Greasy

What the boys call Non is (ไอ้)เมือก /(ai) meuuak/ which is more like Slimy or Mucous, actually.

More news (ep. 6, 7, 8)

Gang of senior high teens accomplices to mule accounts

Police does 180: Senior high teens escape lawsuit for shady mule accounts

High school kid goes missing at same time as teacher in leaked clip Connected to case of shady mule account teens

Past injury?

Whoever actually leaked the clip has this pelvis x-ray saved that's labeled to be from that same year, 2563 aka 2020. The two files at the top look to be invoices.

Pronouns

When Phee goes to confront Non about the leaked clip, he's so furious that he switches from their usual เรา /rao/ (= I; informal) + calling each other by name instead of using a 2nd pers. pronoun to calling both Non and Keng มึง /meung/ (= you; impolite) and himself กู /guu/ (= I; impolite). For reference, กู/มึง /guu, meung/ are the same pronouns the entire friend group use with each other, as male friends in Thai shows often do. Non, as the new addition to the group, is the only one who uses เรา /rao/ + names, and Jin is the only who reciprocally uses these pronouns with him.

Non's meds

Lorazepam -> benzodiazepine; used for treating anxiety disorders, insomnia, seizures etc.

Sertraline -> antidepressant; used for treating clinical depression, PTSD, OCD, panic disorder, social anxiety disorder

Quetiapine -> antipsychotic; used for treating schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, clinical depression etc.

THC poster, and a goof

ที่แห่งนี้...ไม่ได้มีแค่พวกเรา /thee haaeng nee...mai dai mee khaae puuak rao/ = In this place... it's not just us.

I'm sure there's more going on than just Phee and Tan infiltrating the group to get evidence and avenge Non. Like, Keng was on the phone with his contact Joy when he got hit by that white truck of doom car so I wonder if she's gonna come into play again in the present and who she really is.

And just for fun: that half-heartedly covered poster behind Tee looks suspiciously like a movie about a young chocolatier that shouldn't be out for another 3 years, according to the time line of this show lol

#dead friend forever #dff the series #dead friend forever spoilers #dff spoilers #dff meta #but is it though?? i'm mostly just translating shit #local woman harps on about linguistics #spoiler tags just to be safe ✊

187 notes · View notes

seeingivy · 2 months

Text

speak now

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

songs mentioned: the greatest by lana del ray and speak now by taylor swift! (minor mentions: daylight and forever winter by taylor swift)

an: LIGHTS CAMERA ACTION BITCHES!!!

previous part linked here

There’s something strange about showing Eren around an elementary school. Or strange about being around Eren at all.

There’s an overarching hunch, a quiet fear that parrots in your mind whenever you’re with him, stuck in those quiet pockets of time that you feel like he can see right through you, that every secret thought ricocheting in your mind is one that he’s entirely cognizant of - and that he hates it for it.

It almost fills you with disgust. How badly you want to be around him all the time, to be able to read him the way you’re positive that he can read you, just so that you can know what he’s thinking.

Is he upset with the way you reacted? Does he know how grateful you are towards him? Is he consoled by the fact that he’s fully forgiven? Does he care?

Does he think about you as much as you think about him?

The elementary school makes it worse. Almost emotional. Because it’s the fact that even though it’s not your school, it’s exactly how you remember it - so nostalgic that it’s nauseating. Though the colors are less vibrant, almost too dull this time around. The desks are comically small, when they used to be so expansive that you could barely reach the front corners.

“Did you ever collect Box-Tops?” you ask Eren.

He looks at you, face wrinkled in confusion as he shrugs. And the second his eyes lock with yours, you quickly swallow down your gulp of shame - at the lost, almost pinched look in his eyes - as he quickly averts his eyes.

Does he hate you for bringing it up? Does he want to berate you for rubbing in the fact that he had no semblance of a normal childhood?

You take the little jar, the little cardboard slips secured in the glass, as you hold it up to him.

“These are Box-Tops. They’re usually on the top of cereal boxes and granola bars and stuff. You can collect them and bring them to class and whoever gets the most in your grade usually gets a pizza party. It’s a charity-type thing where they get more funds for things like arts programs at your school by turning them into the foundation.” you murmur, placing the little jar in his hands.

“You can’t just…fund the schools properly?” Eren asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Are you crazy, Eren? Why would they ever do that?” you respond, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eren smiles.

“Figures. D’you ever win?”

“Win what?”

“The pizza party.”

“Oh, maybe once or twice. They usually only buy two pizzas so you get a comically small slice so that it’s enough to go around for everyone. And I had Falco and Colt to share with - we had to split all the Box Tops we collected evenly between the three of us so I always felt lame turning like three or four in.” you state.

Does he think your complaint is stupid? That you should be grateful that you even got to experience it in the first place?

“What if there was an even number?”

“Rock paper scissors. Then Falco started crying when he lost, so we ended up giving it to him anyway.” you state.

“Very on brand.”

Eren smiles - brightly this time - as he sets the jar back onto the top of the filing cabinets and the two of you continue to awkwardly pace around the room. Eren’s overwhelmed with the memory - of Falco sobbing at his first Canadian Christmas when he was asked what he was thankful for - and the consistency makes him warm.

There’s something unsettling about the room - about how foreign it is to him. There’s a weird echo panging in Eren’s chest, somewhat caused by how longingly you seem to be looking at every little detail of the room. Running your hand over the hardwood desks, picking up the box of crayons, almost frowning at the pictures.

The thoughts that run through Eren’s mind are almost paralyzing, that he can barely keep his beating heart collected in his chest, and more awkwardly, that you know and are choosing to ignore it for civility sake.

Are you going to leave him when the show ends? Would you have left him if you lived a different life too?

Are you never going to end up together?

“Did you ever see Falco and Colt? When you were at school? S’that like a thing that happened?” Eren asks, poking around each of the little flyers on the bulletin board.

“Ah. Not really. Though sometimes when I was going to art class and Falco was going to computers or something, we’d kind of pass each other. We’d always be really excited to see each other. When we saw Colt, he always pretended like he didn’t even know who we were.” you state.

Eren can't stop the thoughts.

Do you hate him for bringing up a life that was robbed from you? The security of a school, of a quiet life because he selfishly picked you to be at his side?

Eren hums in response, as you head over to the last wall - the one left untouched by your inspecting eyes - as you fight the urge to smile. There’s little pictures of each of the students, Teddy right towards the top with a big toothy smile on his face. You point it out to Eren as you catch it before him, memorizing the soft look that spreads over his face when he finally catches light of it.

“You ever see Zeke?” you ask.

“Well, we technically watched a movie with him in it? So, that counts?” Eren shrugs.

“That’s right. Having your own parents and your brother as your source material must be so crazy.”

The thought that follows your comment nauseates Eren.

Are you trying to point out how different you are, so much so that you’ll never be able to be together?

“I can imagine exactly how you would be in elementary school.” Eren states, slinging his arm around your shoulder and bringing his face nearly flush with yours.

“Oh yeah?” you ask.

“You’d be like…this girl.”

You inspect the picture, rolling your eyes at the cop-out answer. Each of the little pictures is labeled with their hobbies or their interests, and naturally, Eren’s picked the girl who says she wants to be a songwriter.

“You’re funny.” you respond, sarcastically.

“S’nothing funny about it.” Eren responds.

“You’d be like…this one. He seems like the type of kid who would pull on a girl's pigtails, which according to Mikasa, is something that you actually did.”

Eren’s going to kill Jean.

“That’s just how you get a girl's attention.” Eren responds.

“Is that right? Had something you wanted to tell Mikasa really badly?” you smile.

Eren’s almost embarrassed that you know. That he feels the need to defend himself, to prove his devotion to you even though there would be no reason for him to do that.

“Ugh. Who told you?” Eren asks.

You can’t help but laugh.

“I can’t remember. Maybe Jean?”

“It was two days!” Eren whines.

You’re not sure how the topic came up, but Jean humbled you very fast when you claimed that you were the first person that Eren ever liked. Apparently you weren’t because Eren had sported a two day crush on Mikasa when they were younger, before he ever met you, which left you embarrassed - but also ready to tease him to oblivion.

“Eremika…” you state.

Eren clamps his hand over your mouth, as you quickly shove him off.

“Shut up.” Eren states.

“It’s funny! Mikasa’s getting married and you’re stuck at a five-year old’s piano concert. With seats all the way in the back, mind you.”

Eren rolls his eyes, as he leans back and sits on top of one of the desks. You follow suit, ignoring the little creak, as your legs swing over the top of the desk.

“What was your signature move in elementary school for the boys?”

“Was I supposed to have game as a seven year old?”

Eren scoffs.

“Well, we can’t all be talented.” Eren teases.

“I hardly qualify hair pulling as a game. That’s an annoying way to get attention.”

Eren smiles, leaning forward and curling his hands around a lock of your hair, before he lightly tugs. His face is so close to yours that you can make out the tiniest wrinkles in his skin, marked around his eyes.

“Annoyed?” Eren teases, his voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head, ever so slightly. A jarring movement feels too loud, like he’ll move away at the smallest of breaths, like a deer in the woods.

“Down to my very core.” you respond.

Eren smiles, the wrinkles even more pronounced, as you almost lean your forehead against his, skin ghosting each others. The thoughts are racing at this point, so fast that Eren can barely feel his breaths.

Is he ever going to be in love with someone who isn’t you?

“I feel the need to clarify. It was two days.” Eren states.

“Two days of hopeless pining.”

“Nothing compared to the three years of it that I did with you.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks burning.

He knows. It's written all over your face.

“Nothing compares to a puppy-love childhood crush.” you state.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I get the whole innocence of the puppy-love thing, but nothing pales comparison to the intensity of a teenage dream.” Eren states.

Eren watches your eyes waver and feels his throat constrict.

You know. It's written all over his face.

Thankfully for him, and less so for you, Sukuna ruins the movement. His shouting from the doorway breaks that quiet bubble, quickly pulling you both farther away from each other.

“What the hell are you guys doing? It’s starting in five minutes.”

You and Eren settle into your seats at the back, right by the door, as the lights dim in the little auditorium. They’re a warm golden, the smell of fresh paint tickling your nostrils.

Sitting all the way in the back has you and Eren weaving your heads around all the people crowded in front of you, the tiny cell phone lights illuminating each row.

You catch sight of Lana and Sukuna are aggressively gesturing at Teddy on the stage from their cushy seats in the front row at your left - Sukuna trying to get him to smile for a picture while Lana tries to signal to him to fix his untied shoelaces. The coddling makes your heart burn.

Eren digs into his coat pocket and pulls out a little camcorder that he hands to you.

“For?” you ask.

“Can you record it for me? I just…want to watch him in real time.”

You smile.

“Of course, I can.” you murmur, taking the little camera from him and flipping it open in your hands.

“Don’t record the other kids. I don’t give a fuck.” Eren states.

“Who knew you felt so passionately about kindergarten piano concert etiquette?” you jeer.

“You would be shocked. Lana’s basically out of storage by the time she gets to Teddy.” Eren groans.

You roll your eyes.

“I think it’s sweet.”

Eren wonders if there’s anything you can’t find the good in. His wavering suspicion is that it’s him - that you’re the worst thing he’s ever seen. So tainted that there’s barely any semblance of light left in him.

Eren’s hanging onto the end of your words, wanting to hear the spiral of thoughts running through your mind. Your affinity to look towards the positive, to soak up all the good, to point out all the love in the room - it was something he found himself chasing even though he knew he was barely half deserving of it.

“I just mean…when I was younger, my mom would tell me that my friend’s mom recorded me singing too and then sent it to her. And I was always really touched that they saw me and didn’t think god, it’s another kid I have to sit through. Like no, that’s Y/N! That’s my daughter’s friend.”

Eren deflates. He figures that it comes so naturally for you - seeing the good - because he thinks the law of attraction is real; that like attracts like, that people find what’s similar to them. And that he always seems to be the antithesis to it.

He’s always the exception to your rule.

“And some parents are late. They’re running here from work, or…or they were late because they had another kid to take care of first and…and it still makes the kid feel special, even if they don’t know it.” you whisper.

You twist the camera around in your hands as Eren gives you a lopsided smile, an underlying sentiment you can’t really place mirrored in his features. You’d memorize his expression just to agonize about it later, in the safe confines of your room, but your train of thought is cut off by a tapping on your shoulder.

It’s a little girl - with dark skin and braided hair - barely the age of seven. Her little legs can’t even reach the tan colored floor, her sparkly purple shoes glittering in the dim light.

“Hi.” she states.

Eren leans over, a cautious arm on the small of your back, as you lean your head closer to hers and whisper.

“Hi. Is something wrong?” you whisper.

“Our dresses are matching colors.” she states.

You look down - the white flowers printed on your dress matching her frilly pleats. It’s an painfully relieving breath, as you give her a smile.

“My name’s Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Y/N? Like the pop artist?”

You freeze, freezing cold ice shooting down your spine.

“I wish my mom named me after someone cool. My name’s Grace. It was my grandma’s name.”

You can barely muster out a response, Eren’s fingertips at your side squeezing shaking the shock out of your mind.

“I’m sure your grandma was pretty cool.” you respond, barely registering the words as they leave your lips.

“I mean, yeah. She was old. But no one’s as cool as Y/N L/N.” she responds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You can see Eren smiling out of your peripheral vision, giving a polite nod to the parents seated at her side, who’ve now caught onto the fact that their daughter is talking to a complete stranger. Eren’s quick to diffuse the situation, holding out a hand to them.

“I’m Eren. This is Y/N. We’re here for Teddy. Curly blonde hair, big brown eyes?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. I’m sorry…did you say your name was Y/N?”

You give them a sheepish smile, bringing your hands to the coarse skin above your elbows and pinching.

“That’s right.”

“Our daughter’s a really big fan.” they state.

You smile, looking back down at her dark eyes, this time wide in shock.

“Is that right?” you ask, trying to give her the warmest smile you can.

Her parents lean down closer to her ears, the overwhelming sense of a flowery perfume taking over your senses, as you watch them talk to her, softly.

“Okay. Ask her nicely, okay?” they ask.

Grace gives them an obedient nod, before turning to you and puffing her chest out to you.

“Can I have a hug?”

“Oh. You…you want a hug?”

“Please? It’ll be quick.” she asks, her little voice shrill with a hopeful tone.

There’s a soft sense of elation that spreads through you, your cheeks warm at such an innocent request, as you can barely stop your arms from shaking. You open up your arms to her, as she nearly jumps into your embrace, and you squeeze her little frame as tightly as you can. The smell of strawberries wafts off her hair, accompanied by a soft giggling sound in your ear that nearly brings tears to your eyes.

You look up to find her parents, an awkward pinched smile in their eyes, as you give them a polite smile.

“I promise, I’ll take a picture with her after the show, okay? And if I forget, please come find me and remind me.”

The relief is apparent in their faces - their sickeningly grateful smiles over something as simple as a picture - as you let go and she settles back into the seat next to you.

You have to settle for recording Teddy with one hand, a deathlike grip in the camera, only because Grace refuses to let go of your other hand for the rest of the show.

Eren’s surprisingly really good with kids. Or really, not surprisingly at all, because you were finding it hard to identify something that Eren was really bad at. Because even the mistakes he did make were so painfully endearing, so warmly thoughtful that you could barely accost him for it.

He's making jokes with all the kids - participating in their rock paper scissors contests, playing pranks on their parents, and stealing cookies for them when people aren't looking.

You guys are the last ones to leave the school. But it’s only because Eren’s so enthralled with talking to all the passing people - taking pictures, signing napkins, and making phone calls to all their loved ones - that it makes your chest swell.

The narrowed eyes still make you nervous, an underlying feeling of inadequacy - of embarrassment for hiding out for so long - is all but nauseating, something Sukuna picks up on right after Eren.

He lets Lana take the lead on the pictures and mingling with all the parents, apparently something that was Sukuna’s forté, as he keeps his arm linked with yours, backs cold against the cement wall.

“You know, you can go make your rounds with Lana. I don’t want to ruin your son’s piano concert for you.” you state.

“This shit is overrated.”

You smile.

“You’re lying.” you state.

Sukuna looks over at you, brown eyes fixed on yours, as you watch a smile curl on his face. It’s almost boyish - and it’s the first time that you’re acutely aware of the fact that Sukuna’s probably the youngest one here - living a life so vastly different from yours.

“I am lying.” Sukuna states.

“Do you like it here, Sukuna?” you whisper.

“I’m better at this than I was at the whole - award show, celebrity world thing. People here are really easily impressed.”

“Is that right?”

“I handed a woman a lemonade earlier and she said God bless you. Over a fucking lemonade.”

“That’s just basic human decency, sweetheart. Were you raised by wolves?” you ask.

Sukuna scoffs.

“Basically.” he responds.

You hum in response, watching Lana crouch on the ground and press her cheek to Teddy’s as Eren quickly snaps the picture for them.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sukuna asks.

“Is me saying no going to stop you?” you ask.

“Probably not.”

“Proceed.” you respond.

“So, what did you really do for two years? And don’t give me the same shitty bullshit as last time. I want to know what it was that you did.” he responds, tone unrelenting.

You pause, mulling over the question. You knew it would come soon enough, the utter bleakness of it all, but you suppose it's like ripping off a bandaid. That it'll become softer to talk about after you do it so many times.

“It’s not pretty.” you respond.

“I’ve always thought you were really ugly. It’s hardly a difference for me.”

“Lovely. In a world of boys, you really are a gentleman, Sukuna.”

He grins, nursing the glass of lemonade in his hand.

“To be a woman is to perform. Now, tell.” Sukuna responds.

The truth of the matter is that there’s nothing to tell. Because you didn’t do anything.

“I got home from doing the interview and spent the entire week with Falco and Colt. I-I basically didn’t let them leave my side. Falco slept with me at night, Colt basically watched over me like a hawk.”

It’s a crashing plate, worried eyes, and an embarrassingly debilitating loss.

“And then Falco came into my room one day and told me that The Lucky One sold more vinyls than all of my other albums combined, in one week.” you state.

“Non-fluff shit prevails. I’ve been telling you.”

“I didn’t approve of that album being distributed as vinyl. For physical sales - at all. It wasn’t about the money or the records or- or any of that. And when Falco told me, I-”

Sukuna looks over, at the lump in your throat. He knows the feeling too well - the sweaty skin, the heavy tongue, and slips his hand into yours at his side.

“I broke his phone.” you state.

“What?”

“I took it from his hands and I smashed it. Then my own too. That’s partially why I never called you guys. I didn’t exactly memorize your numbers and I wasn’t in a position where I was going to just ask for them back.” you state.

“Not like you would have called anyways.” Sukuna states.

“I only knew Mikasa was having an engagement party because she sent me a physical invitation. Only knew Marco died because of the news. I-I barely knew what any of them were doing when I was gone, still.”

You bite your tongue, the tiniest metallic taste enveloping your mouth, as you pull the now warm, puffed up flesh away from your teeth.

“I knew that if I came back, it would mean I would be sucked back into it. What’s your response going to be, hint at it with this song, come back like this and…I’d rather lock myself in my house then do that again. I love songwriting, but not enough to sacrifice my dignity. I enjoyed my career but it drained the life out of me.”

Sukuna’s lip twitches. You choose to ignore it for the time being.

“I took up different hobbies. Got a sewing machine, made sourdough from scratch, I even learned flower arranging. But, I could tell that I must have seemed like I was off my rocker or something. My parents and my brothers never really left my side, I could tell that they were always worrying about me, and-and I hated that because-”

Sukuna stops you before you get too choked up, now standing in front of you, his back blocking the sight of you from any of the people milling around the courtyard.

“I know that’s a shitty answer. That I should have been doing something worthwhile. But, but- I was fucking tired. I was done doing all this and I can’t exactly…be a functioning member of society or something. I can barely stand here without people giving me a second look or trying to get a discreet picture.” you whisper.

“I just wanted to know. I’m not giving you shit for it.” he whispers.

You frown.

“You aren’t. But maybe you should.”

You look over his shoulder, at Eren squishing Teddy’s cheeks with his fingers as Lana takes a picture of them - far too close to barely even get the two of them in it together.

“He fought for me when I wasn’t even here anymore. I was moping in my house, breaking plates whenever I got frustrated, and he was still moving forward.” you murmur.

Sukuna pauses.

“Y/N. Don’t do that. I need you to be so careful with what the fuck you do after you leave here.”

The sense of urgency in his voice catches you off guard.

“What?”

“Y/N. It won’t happen if you’re careless. You cannot wallow in your own pity about this, I need you to tread lightly, okay?”

“What won’t happen?”

Sukuna glares at you.

“You and him. You could spend years pointing fingers at each other, who didn’t do what. You won’t get him back if you stay there when he’s moved forward.”

“I don’t want him.” you whisper.

You barely believe it when it comes out of your mouth.

“You disgust me, Y/N.” he states.

“You’ve always had such a way with words.”

“And you’ve always had a lack of critical thinking. Why wouldn’t you want him?”

“Why would he want me?”

“He just does. The same way you just do.”

You swallow hard.

“Fine. Be a fucking idiot for all I care. If you do ever knock some sense into that thick fucking skull of yours, just be careful. Eren knows that he has to prove he cares about you for you to come back to him. You need to know that he barely thinks he’s deserving of anything from you, so much so, that he won’t ever make the move.”

Sukuna doesn’t mince his words. You wish he could have you through every important decision of your life just so you wouldn’t stumble and fall as much as you did.

“Eren’s called the shots since you were fifteen. You’re going to have to call all the next ones. And for the love of god, really. I’m so tired of that fucking freeloader showing up whenever he pleases. And you look really ugly when you look sad, so just do it right please.”

You smile.

“Are you insinuating I’m pretty when I don’t look sad?”

“I hope you fall off a bridge and never recover.” Sukuna responds.

The sniffling cues Eren onto the fact that you’re crying. The air pressure of the plane is overwhelming in his ears, almost so loud that he misses it, but he counts himself lucky that you’ve always been an obscenely loud crier. He peeks his head over the division over your seats and reaches forward to poke your head.

“Hey. You okay?” he asks.

You give him a meek nod. You know for a fact that he doesn’t believe it for one second.

“Can I come over there for a second? I don’t want to talk from so far away.” Eren asks.

“Isn’t that like…illegal? Two people in one seat.” you murmur.

“This is first class, the seat is basically a bed. And there’s no laws in the air.”

You frown.

“Eren. Laws still exist in the air. They’re just local.”

Eren smiles.

“Well, aren’t you a little genius? Scooch over.”

You shift on the seat, pulling your blanket closer to you as Eren very precariously makes his way over to your seat, the two of you almost cramped in the small space. It’s almost funny how there’s barely any room, your foreheads pressed together from the lack of space.

“Hey.” he whispers.

“Hi.”

“What’s wrong, Margaret?”

You shake your head. His hands are warm on your sides.

“Come on. Tell me. I’m really good at fixing problems.”

“I know.”

Eren can’t place what the tone is in your voice - but it comes out all strained and raspy - that it rubs him the wrong way.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” you clarify.

“Which way do you mean it?” Eren asks.

You sigh.

“I mean. You handled everything considerably well, even if it wasn’t easier for you. You…you waited until I was ready to hear it, until I asked to be told your side of the story. And you put it all together, wrapped in a perfect bow with that documentary, and then took me to see Lana and Sukuna too because you knew I’d want to.” you mumble.

“Wrapped in a ribbon. Who the fuck calls it a bow?”

You roll your eyes, earning you a laugh from Eren that’s so loud it makes you laugh too. You reach forward to clamp your fingers over his mouth, muffling the loud sound, as you shush him loudly.

Eren pauses.

“I’m glad it worked. And I had a lot of time to think. You don’t have as much, but…we’ll help you. With whatever you want to do.” Eren states.

You give him a nod, unsatisfied with the answer.

“What were you thinking?” Eren asks.

You fish out the little slip of your pocket, nearly smushing your face into his in the process, and place the little paper in his hand.

“This is…Satoru Gojo’s phone number?” Eren asks.

“Yeah. I got it from Sukuna.”

“For what purpose?”

You pause.

“I’m going to bury Scott Clarkson into the ground.”

Eren’s caught off by the answer.

“You’re what?”

“What answer were you expecting?”

“I’m not mad at it. I was just thinking more…I want to write music again. I’m not a quitter.”

You frown.

“I thought about that. But it hasn’t exactly worked for me like that. I even tried when I was at the beach but I came up with nothing. But that’s not relevant, I don’t need to write music to end him.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. But it’s better that way. Using exactly what they tried to take away from you to get back at them.” Eren responds.

You smile.

“You’ll help me?”

Eren rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I made it clear that I’d do anything for you. Even this. Especially this.”

You smile. You reach forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing hard.

“Thank you. And I get what you’re saying about the music, but it just isn’t happening, so we’ll have to think of something else.”

“I have an idea. When we get back to set, okay? I think it’ll help.” Eren states.

You nod.

“Okay. I trust you.” you respond.

The sentiment sends a shiver down Eren’s spine.

“I don’t know how it’ll go. I can’t promise that it’ll work out the way we want it.” Eren clarifies.

You smile.

“I was trusting you to help me get back into songwriting, not into bringing him down. I’m talking about help into being…myself again.”

Eren’s eyes flicker, down to your lips, and then back up to your eyes. You almost swear that you imagined it.

“Do you think I’m different?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

You pale.

“Do you hate me for it?” you ask.

Eren shakes his head.

“I like you better like this.” he whispers.

Eren reaches forward, tucking the loose hairs back behind your ear, before his warm fingers are secured around the nape of your neck. He does it a second time, looks at your lips, and this time you swear the corners of his mouth are twitching too.

“You weren’t very confident when I met you, almost like you didn’t think you were cut out to do this. Unsure of why you even had a place in the room. Then you went so far away from me, worked yourself so hard, that I barely remember you even smiling at any of us anymore. You were angry, then you were heartbroken, and apparently you broke a lot of plates when you weren’t with any of us?”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m going to kill Falco.”

“Colt.” Eren corrects.

You scoff.

“No way. Eren, he kind of hates you.”

“Kind of? Colt was ready to punch me in the face when he first got to set. Rightfully so.” Eren responds.

“It’s actually not rightfully so. He didn’t even know what you did.” you state.

Eren pauses.

“I know. He got here and asked me first thing what it was I did to you. Then he wanted to punch me in the face when I told him.”

You shrug. You can tell that Eren’s waiting for an explanation - green eyes looking at you expectantly as you give him a nod.

“It felt wrong to talk to him about it. Falco knew you a little bit better, but even for him…they would just start bad mouthing you just to make me feel good. But that would just make me feel worse because…I don’t get it. Hating someone just because things went wrong.”

You crack your knuckles.

“It’s like Ricky. I can badmouth him. He was horrible. He’s a bad person and he literally left me out there to rot just to embarrass me. He did it to Lana, to Teddy. You…I just thought you didn’t like me. I couldn’t really fault you for how you felt. And I loved you. I don't get off on talking shit about you when you were my entire world.”

Eren smiles.

“You had every right to badmouth me.”

“But that’s the thing. I just didn’t want to. Even if things ended badly, you still made me really happy. We still did this entire thing together and-”

“We’ll finish it together.”

You smile, giving him a nod.

“You know when you’re in a relationship and you feel like you get to see a different side of that person? Because you’re so close?” Eren asks.

“Yeah.”

“That’s how you came back to us. Feeling close again. A fresh slate, back to what drew us all to you in the first place. So many things in this industry, in this job are so fake. I mean our job is to literally pretend. You are an overwhelmingly genuine person. Even more so now. You are different. We’re all going to love you for it.” Eren states.

For someone who’s so convinced he’s horrible with words, Eren always seems to have the perfect ones for you.

“Will you leave if things go south?” you ask.

“No.”

“Then we can do this. I’m positive.” you state.

“What makes you so sure?”

You squeeze Eren's hand three times.

“I don’t have anything to lose, Eren.”

When you get back to set the following morning, you don’t miss Connie very loudly whispering with Eren behind you. You’re positive Jean and Mikasa are eavesdropping just as much as you are, their eyes fixed a little too hard waiting for Eren’s response.

Did you guys kiss?

No, Connie, am I crazy?

It makes your heart sink a little bit, but you ignore it as Eren comes up at your side, giving you a bright smile. He reaches for the little glass jar to your left and gives you a wink before he calls for everyone’s attention.

“First things first, Falco. Good job on press. That was one of the funniest fucking interviews I’ve seen in my life.”

Falco laughs, as you turn your head to the side, pretending to do a little bow as everyone pats him on the back, and you look at Mikasa.

“What did I miss?”

Mikasa smiles, pulling up the video at your side.

“Levi’s direction was to not answer any questions about you. Naturally, that was all they asked about so we all decided to coordinate our answers and basically say that we didn’t know you.” Mikasa states.

“What?”

“It sounds stupid, but it was so funny. Some of them started actually believing it. And Falco took it so far, he started pretending like he wasn’t even related to you.”

Mikasa hands you the phone as you play the video, barely containing your laughter at how stupid the video is. Falco’s so confident in his words, so self-assured that it’s making Gabi burst out into laughter, and obviously messes with the interviewer so bad that they can’t even continue.

It makes you happier than it should - their first experience being so overwhelmingly positive.

“And we all wore ribbons in our hair, which didn’t help matters anyway.” Mikasa states.

“Levi’s a menace. He’s milking this so much.” you state.

“That was actually my idea.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean-”

“I know. I just want you coming back to be a big deal. It’s not an easy thing for you to do. You’re going to get every bit of hype for it.”

You smile, reaching forward to link arms with her, as Eren makes a booing sound.

“Are you done? Can I talk now?”

You shove Eren.

“Stop being rude.”

“I’m not being rude. You guys interrupted me.”

“Why were you talking before us? That’s so inconsiderate of you.” Mikasa states.

You laugh as Eren rolls his eyes, handing each of them a tiny white slip and a marker, before he takes his spot next to you and gives you a big smile.

“Y/N is going to write a song. Multiple actually. I want you to write down ideas for her and she’s going to pull one out every morning and read it to us. Then she has to play whatever she came up with, even if it was only one line, at the end of that day.” Eren states.

“Eren.” you start.

“No buts. You guys know the drill.”

You watch as everyone follows his instructions, excitedly whispering to each other as their pens move, and you look over at Eren. He drops his own slip into the cup, the first one, with his name neatly looped on the outside as he gives you a smile.

“I’m not going to be able to write anything.” you state.

“Well, you heard the rules. You’ll have to write something.”

“Eren.”

He shakes his head, handing you his journal, opening it to the marked page as you flip through the sheets.

“I did this a while back, when I was getting back into it. It helps a lot more than you think. And you can ask the person who gave you the slip for help if you really need it, but that person only.”

You take the book for him, watching everyone give you excited smiles as the cup fills up just as fast, and flip though the pages.

“write a song about me and sukuna” And underneath, the lyrics to a song called Daylight.

“write a song about connie’s one year anniversary of being sober” with Levi’s distinct handwriting and the lyrics to a song called Forever Winter scribbled messily on the page.

And the last one makes your throat bob in your chest.

“write a song about y/n”

You read over the lyrics, pressing your fingers against the ink, as you fervently read the lyrics.

We didn't know that we had it all But nobody warns you before the fall Don't leave, I just need a wake-up call

I'm facing the greatest The greatest loss of them all The culture is lit and I had a ball I guess I'm signing off after all

You look up at him, his attention drawn away as he shuffles the cup in his hand to mix up the slips and then holds the cup out to you. Everyone’s watching, waiting for you to pull a piece, as you set the book down, and give them all a meek nod.

There’s a resounding sound of cheers, and an obscene amount of screaming from Connie and Sasha, as you close your eyes and pull out the first paper. You open up the little slip, floored by how random the request is.

“Write a song about upstaging someone's wedding. Connie.” you state.

A resounding smack fills the room - as you look over to find Jean hitting Connie.

“I told you not to put that in.” Jean yells.

“What? It’s funny! Eren said random stuff helps with this.” Connie defends.

“Dumbass. You just had to write something about ruining a wedding?” Jean grates.

“Who the fuck said it was about you, you egomaniac?” Sasha asks, reaching forward to flick his forehead.

“Who else is getting married, dumbass?” Jean responds.

“Why are you so mad? You’re clearly projecting your own personal issues.” Connie states, as Jean and Sasha follow him out of the room, their shouts filling up the quiet air.

Eren turns to you, a bright smile on his face. You want to smack him.

“I’ll see you tonight. Fully written song and all.” Eren states, lightly shoving you as he walks past.

You groan, leaning your head on Mikasa’s shoulder, as you hand her the little slip.

“Eren’s so fucking annoying sometimes. How am I supposed to write a song about this?” you complain.

“You’ll think of something. You’re amazing.” Mikasa states.

“I um…actually got you something. And I had something I wanted to ask.”

You took Sukuna’s words seriously. And had every intention to make amends.

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s a keychain.”

You pull it out, the little penguin charm hanging off the end, as she takes it into her hands. It makes your heart swell - the way she carefully turns it over in her fingers, the excited smile on her face.

“Thank you so much, Y/N.”

“It’s kind of stupid but…it’s blue? Like something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” you state.

Mikasa’s smile gets wider, her shoulders relaxing as she reaches forward to give you a hug.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“It’s just a penguin.” you murmur.

“Maybe to someone else. But I haven’t forgotten that we watched Happy Feet at midnight the day we were supposed to film the Colossal Titan reveal and almost missed shooting that day.” she states.

You can barely contain your elation this time. That Mikasa remembers the memory just as well as you do. You both laugh for a second before you muster the courage to ask.

“Listen. I want to ask something but I don’t want to overstep so know that you can say no.” you state.

“Okay.”

“I know that we have our own rooms, but I wanted to ask if you wanted to share again? Colt and Porco always snore and…and you have your entire life to share a room with Jean but only a few more months to share one with me?” you mumble, voice nearly shaking.

Mikasa brings her hands to your shoulders, squeezing hard as she can barely contain your smile.

“Really? You really want to share with me?” she asks.

“Are you crazy? You’re like the best roommate I’ve ever had.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, really. Falco kicks, Colt smells, Porco snores, and Eren’s nothing compared to you. You're like a princess compared to them.”

Mikasa smiles.

“Deal. Lets go switch the signs - to their rightful places - right now.”

“What if Jean disagrees?” you ask.

Mikasa rolls her eyes.

“He can choke for all I care.” Mikasa states, linking her arm in with yours as you both pound up the stairs right to the hallway.

You take the marker, scribbling out Mikasa and Jean’s names (and Connie’s comments underneath) as you hand her the marker to do the honors. You both admire the little sign together, arms wrapped around each other, as Eren, Connie, and Jean join you two.

“What the fuck?” Jean asks.

You smile at him.

“Sorry. Not your room anymore.” you respond.

“One could argue that it was never really yours in the first place, Jean.” Mikasa states.

“Dude, you guys are so annoying.” Jean states.

“Did you just call your fiance, dude?” Eren asks, earning him a shove from Jean.

Connie comes up at Mikasa’s side, taking the marker from her hands, and adding his signature comment to finish off the new sign. You look over at him and smile, tugging him into your hug with Mikasa - as you all admire the door.

Y/N-MIKA FOREVER!!!

And underneath, Connie’s lopsided handwriting:

WE’RE SOOO FUCKING BACK

You understand why everyone was crowding you and Eren when they thought you were going to kiss in season two. It’s because you got to set early to make sure you got a good seat for Falco and Gabi’s love confession - so excited that you could barely eat your lunch.

You can’t help but watch them a few feet away from you, nervously kicking their legs on their chairs, as your notebook lays forgotten in front of you.

There’s a group of shitty lyrics on the page, so embarrassing that you shut the page as Eren approaches and takes the seat next to you and Mikasa.

“I wasn’t going to read them, silly goose.” Eren states, lightly shoving you as you tuck the book under your ankles.

“Good. I’d kill you before you tried.”

“Wow. Standing up weddings has you that mad?”

“The opposite actually.” you state.

Eren rolls his eyes as he scooches closer to you, halfheartedly shaking Levi’s hand as he passes. You look over to Falco and Gabi again - the two of them increasingly nervous, Gabi more so for some reason, as you lean over and whisper into Eren's ear.

“Ten bucks this pushes their real love confession ten years into the future.” you state.

“What?”

“Think about it. We had to kiss and it pushed things back basically a year and a half because we got all flustered and confused. Falco’s doing a whole bit, they’re going to be nervous about this for years.” you state.

Eren rolls his eyes, reaching forward to elbow you in the side.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m right! The same thing happened with Hange and Levi.” you defends.

“Rookie mistake, Y/N. Do I know your little brother better than you? He’s not half as pussy as you or Levi.”

“Touché, asshole. If he likes her so bad, why hasn’t he said it yet?” you respond.

“He’s a romantic. He’s waiting for the right time.” Eren responds.

You look over at the two of them, splitting a box of Tic-Tacs, as Levi walks back to his cues and sets up the cameras.

“Think about it. In a relationship, you’re either a Hange or a Levi. You’re either a Jean or a Mikasa. Falco’s obviously more like Mikasa and Levi. And Gabi’s like Jean and Hange. She has to make the move.”

“You’ve got it all wrong. Gabi’s the Levi and Falco’s the Hange.” Eren responds, nearly offended at your statement.

“Are you an idiot?”

“Watch. I’ll prove it to you.”

Eren pushes up off the floor, dragging Niccolo along with him, as they two of them approach Gabi and Falco. You’re not sure what they’re whispering - but you can tell that Falco and Gabi are flustered by the premise - and Eren and Niccolo are far too elated as Eren walks back over to you, this time with Niccolo in tow.

“Hi Nico.”

“Hi Y/N.”

You look over at Eren, glaring at him, as he gives you a sheepish shrug.

“Okay, guys. We’re going to start rolling. Falco, Gabi, you ready?”

“Yeah.” they respond in unison, giving each other a little fist bump as they take their seats on the floor.

“Was no one going to ask me? I’m in this scene too.” Colt complains, earning a fit of laughter from the crew.

Everyone quiets down as the lights dim on the set, the group of you hunching forward, trying to contain your smiles as you look at each other. It’s only then that you’re reminded of how good Falco and Gabi are at acting, the painstaking agony in their voice almost making you shiver.

“I helped make the attack on Liberio happen. I met a wounded soldier at that hospital, and without knowing it was Eren Jaeger, I sent letters from him to his allies using the mailboxes outside the zone.” Falco starts.

Mikasa leans over to look at Eren, mouthing the words “fucking bastard” as you try to contain your laughs. Levi gives the four of you a warning glance, as you muster out an apologetic smile.

“A lot of people died in Liberio. So….it’s my fault that Udo and Zofia died.” Falco finishes.

“I see…” Gabi responds.

Falco swallows hard, a pink blush on his cheeks, as you all excitedly smile.

“Also, I love you. I didn’t want you to inherit the Armored Titan. That’s why I became a warrior candidate. So…so that we could get married…and be happy forever.”

Gabi’s as red as a tomato. You almost feel bad for teasing the two of them so hard but it’s so endearing it makes your heart squeeze.

“I wanted you to live a long life!” Falco shouts.

“What are you saying?” Gabi responds.

“I might turn into a Titan at any moment. I just wanted to get it all out there before I’m gone for good.”

It's silent - leave for Gabi's tears before she quickly stands up. You watch as Gabi aggressively wrestles with Falco, pulling off the little black band secured around his waist, before she throws it on the ground, her chest heaving.

You sincerely hope Levi campaigns for them to win an award for this one.

Levi calls cut, as Hange runs up to the two of them, excitedly cheering them both on as they avert their gaze from each other. Eren’s quick to jump up, grabbing you by the wrist as he pulls you up to the group of them, a devious smirk on his face.

Niccolo’s quick to join his side, the two of them crossing their arms over their chest and smirking at Falco, as he sighs.

“Really, guys?” Falco asks.

“Really. You agreed to it, little dude.” Eren states.

Falco rolls his eyes, nervously eyeing Gabi - who is excitedly jumping up and down in front of a very unamused Levi - before he walks over to her and plants a big kiss on her cheek. The group of you all gasp, Gabi’s skin burning red, as Falco runs away, claiming he needs to go to the bathroom.

Niccolo and Eren are fist bumping at your side and Eren’s turns to you, irritatingly positioned with his hands on his hips, as he smiles at you.

“Told you so.” Eren states.

“What the hell did that prove?”

“It’s simple. I asked Falco if he wanted to play a game of Truth or Dare. Then, I asked him to kiss his favorite person on the cast on the cheek after the scene was over. Told him to run right up to you and do it since I knew for a fact you’re his favorite.”

“Eren, you little-”

“Falco is most definitely the Hange or the Jean of the relationship. Would even go as far to argue that he might even be the boldest.” Eren states.

You groan, the two of you walking past Gabi and Falco near the snack table, a sizable distance away from each other and nearly sweating in the presence of each other. You and Eren shoot them a thumbs up, and Eren continues to gloat all the way back to the house.

At the end of the workday, Eren’s gathered everyone in the main room in a big crowd, doing nothing to help your nerves, as you give them all a smile and loop the guitar strap over your shoulder and sit on the bench.

“Okay. Repeat the request, Y/N.” Eren guides, the group of them all giving you warm smiles.

Mikasa and Sasha blow you a kiss, Porco and Connie with overenthusiastic thumbs up, and Eren’s smile pushing you on.

“Right. The request was ‘write a song about standing up a wedding’ and it was from Connie.” you state.

You swallow hard as you shut the book and place it under the bench and start strumming on the guitar to warm up.

“Be nice to me guys. I called this one Speak Now.”

I am not the kind of girl Who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion But you are not the kind of boy Who should be marrying the wrong girl

There’s a resounding sound of cheers, Connie and Mikasa clapping along with the sound as everyone else follows suit. You can feel your head pounding, your voice slightly shaking as you continue on and the guitar strings uncomfortably burning your fingers.

I sneak in and see your friends And her snotty little family all dressed in pastel And she is yelling at a bridesmaid Somewhere back inside a room Wearing a gown shaped like a pastry

Mikasa scoffs.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

Everyone laughs, including you, as you shake your head and blow her a kiss before continuing. She makes the little gesture at you - like she’s catching the kiss in the air and tucking it into her pocket. You can feel Jean rolling his eyes at your side.

Don't say yes, run away now I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door Don't wait, or say a single vow You need to hear me out And they said, "Speak now"

The rest of the song goes relatively smoothly, the excitement from the group of them making your heart soar, that block in your throat dissolve.

Sasha’s trapped Niccolo in her arms and has been aggressively swinging him around for the past minute, Porco and Gabi locking their fingers together to do a little swing dance, and Hange, Armin, and Eren bobbing their heads in unison at the side.

The group of them all give you a deafening sound of applause when you finish, aggressive hugs and kisses being placed on your cheeks as they all applaud you - claiming your brilliance - as you feel your cheeks burn with excitement.

Eren’s the last one to approach you, an almost too satisfied with himself smile on his face for the second time today, as you give him your most peachy smile.

“Like it?” you ask.

“Loved it. You’ve still got it.” Eren states.

“You know it.”

“Can I give you one note?” Eren asks.

“Please.”

“The last verse. You have to change it.”

“What? Why?” you ask.

“It’s a good repeat. But I’m more curious…did the guy from the song leave the altar for her?”

You nod, giving him a smile, as you reach for the book, and gesture for him to sit next to you on the bench. You quickly jumble the lyrics onto the page, nearly misspelling half of the words, before you hand it to him for inspection.

And you'll say, "Let's run away now" I'll meet you when I'm out of my tux at the back door Baby, I didn't say my vows So glad you were around When they said, "Speak now"

"Always a sucker for a happy ending. It's perfect." Eren states.

He gives you a glimmering smile, making your heart skip a beat as his hand brushes against yours. Eren pulls out the little slip from earlier today, taping it right above the lyrics.

He gives you a last pinch of the cheek before pushing off the bench, leaving your entire body burning at his praise.

“That’s my girl. I didn’t doubt you for even a second.”

You pause.

"Eren?"

He turns back, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah?"

"Ask me who my favorite person on set is."

"What?"

"Ask me."

"Why would I-"

"Can you just do it?"

Eren turns back, hands at his side.

"Who's your favorite person on set?" Eren asks.

You walk up to his side, standing on your tip toes to press a kiss into the softness of his cheek. You hope that he understands - that you're overwhelmingly thankful for him. For the documentary, the days in Seattle, and the lifeline he always throws you. That you'll always be indebted to him.

"It's you." you whisper.

Eren's cheeks are pink.

"Is that right?" Eren asks, the tone in his voice teasing.

"Don't push your luck." you state.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Eren responds, as he gives you one last cheek pinch before leaving you alone with the piano.

Singing the song, strumming the guitar - it's almost like stretching an old muscle, flexing out the soreness. You're so excited that you reach for the cup on top of the piano to start writing the next one right away. But when your read the slip, you feel your mouth go dry.

you love someone with your entire being, and all they do is tolerate it

And at the bottom, a name scribbled in messy handwriting

Jean.

next part linked here

an: OK GUYS. WE'RE IN THE ENDGAME NOW!!! sorry its kind of boring but we die like men

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejgg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-morii @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar @dreamy-carat @spiidergirlsworld @luvs4kim @levin4nami @florichun @hoonmyluv @cowgirlikets @dreamxiing @mamamammarga @tangerine-neonlight

pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3

303 notes · View notes