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undiscovered-horizon · 6 months

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hello! if you accept requests for one peaceLive action (I hope)

could you write reader x sanji and I have a strange idea

what if with reader flirting.... another cook? and Sanji feels not just jealousy, but double jealousy... it's very strange, I know, but still I think it's quite interesting.

thank you in advance🙏💕

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The smell of spices, ripe fruit and freshly made food hits your nostrils. It's markets like this that truly show the genius loci of the place. Mobs of people roll through the narrow spaces between stalls that are bending under the weight of displayed products.

You glance at Sanji, who's walking next to you. Judging by the bliss on his face, you'd think you're in heaven and not some unmarked island in the middle of nowhere.

Then a specific aroma reaches you - something you haven't smelled in a long time but could never forget. It's tangy, creamy and herbal...

"Can you smell it?" you turn to Sanji, suddenly stopping in your tracks. Excitement bubbles inside your chest and cherished memories of beautiful days with wonderful people flash before your eyes.

"You'll have to be a little more precise, love," he answers with undeniable fondness in his voice. His thumb is softly rubbing the skin of your hand.

"Lemon tarragon sauce," you say as if it's the most obvious thing. Looking around, you catch a glimpse of a pot filled with yellow-ish, creamy dip. "Right there!"

Tugging at his arm, you pull him in the direction of the stall and the source of the delightful smell. The market stand is managed by a man around your age. He has a head full of black, dense curls that perfectly suit his tanned skin. There's a clean dish towel tied around his neck as if it's an ascot. Skilled, muscular hands move between pans, pots and counters as he's restlessly grilling meat, fish and prawns to put them in cones made from newspaper and layer the tarragon sauce on top.

The street cook looks up from the dishes when he notices customers approaching. As his dark eyes set on you, the man suddenly perks up and a playful smile curves his raspberry-coloured lips.

"Mademoiselle," he says with a certain intensity to his voice. It almost sounds like he's asking you something.

Sanji immediately cringes at the man's tone. This suave, decadent drawl is something he's also used the very first time he saw you. And considering the fact that you're tightly holding his hand, it had worked perfectly. Now just to make sure that this terragon-smelling, ascot-wearing sleazy guy isn't as successful.

"How can I thank you for brightening up my day?"

"I'd love a serving of prawns with tarragon sauce," you say thrilled. It seems that you're either missing the flirtatious aura surrounding the man or you're willfully ignoring them.

Sanji feels his chest tighten and a bitter taste fills his mouth. Why would you be so excited about someone else's cooking? Worse - what if you will prefer that guy's food over his?

The street cook gets to grilling freshly caught prawns. His fingers skilfully dance in the air as he seasons the seafood and mixes it in the pan. Garlic and lemon pepper fragrances overthrow your senses.

The ascot-wearing man gives you a curious look. "What are you looking for at the end of the world, flower?" he asks.

But before you can answer, Sanji cuts in. "We're on a shore leave," he answers coldly. "Won't stay for long."

"That's a shame," the local chef continues unaffected by Sanji's impertinence. His eyes are fixed on you, eating you up like you're the local delicacy and not the seafood in the pan. "At night the island looks even better. Not that it could compare," he says with a wink.

In a swift move, the man moves the prawns from the pan onto a page from a newspaper. He quickly rolls the paper into a cone. Clearly, he's been doing this for a very long time.

"You're from around here, right?" you carry on the conversation.

"Born and raised, ma cherie," he answers with pride. That shouldn't come as a surprise - ever since the Marines built a base on the surrounding archipelago, the islands have been filled with immigrants who couldn't care less about local traditions and customs.

Sanji feels his irritation only growing, hearing how the pet name rolls off the man's tongue naturally, as though he's calling you by your given name. It feels wrong down to the marrow of his bones.

"So, as a local, can you recommend something to pass the time?"

The bitterness Sanji involuntarily tastes on his tongue is mixed with sweetness that only you can bring him. Of course you don't notice the flirtatious tone - you just want the tarragon sauce and something fun to do before tomorrow comes and the Straw Hats are off for another voyage.

Then, another nice thought stirs inside his head. Maybe you're too deep in love with Sanji to even notice another man's interest? The idea makes him giddy like he's a schoolgirl with a crush. He almost misses the next part of the conversation, too busy with his adorable, a little cringy, daydream:

"While the weather is still good and the nights are warm, skinny dipping is quite popular," the local cook answers while pouring tarragon sauce over the grilled prawns. "Much better with good company," he purrs out. "Prawns with tarragon sauce, on the house." The man hands you your order but with only one cocktail stick as though the blond chef next to you doesn't count as a customer.

Excited, you take the paper cone from the street vendor. But before you can try the food, Sanji takes the stick and takes the first bite.

A frown enters his face as he chews the prawn. Then he sighs in disappointment.

"Do you seriously call this cooking?" he asks the ascot-wearing man. His voice is laced with anger and disbelief. "A fishman would make a better sauce. It's missing white wine and anise. And there's too much garlic."

You hiss his name out but Sanji appears unaffected. Forcing a polite smile, you turn to the street vendor, who's glancing between you and your boyfriend with a look of superiority. "Thank you for the food and sorry for Grumpy over here."

Only when you're a few paces away from the vendor and definitely out of earshot, do you confront Sanji about his mordant humor.

"No need to get snappy."

He forces his lips into a thin line. "His food is shit and he keeps making piss poor attempts at flirting when you're clearly," he lifts your intertwined fingers, "not a mademoiselle." Although Sanji quotes the word in mockery, it sounds delicious coming from him. If you weren't already sharing his bed, right now you'd be seriously considering it. Planning it even.

"So that's what this is about?" you ask as laughter forces its way out of your chest. Considering how whipped you are for Sanji, it seems ridiculous that you could think romantically about other men. "You're jealous about a smooth-talking cook. Sounds like someone I know."

"Does it?" he picks up on your banter. That familiar, playful smile returns to his face. His eyes momentarily light up, flashing you a glint of various emotions: desire, amusement, adoration. "How many smooth-talking cooks have you seduced?"

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head dramatically. "Don't know. Never bothered to count. I'm just looking for someone to make me lemon tarragon sauce any time I want."

Sanji's hand again rubs the skin of your palm. His other hand reaches for your face, fingers brushing against your jaw. "For you, little dove, I'd make tarragon sauce every day."

"With white wine and anise?" you ask, leaning in slightly. His scent of cigarette smoke and frying oil fills your lungs. Suddenly, the market around you is nonexistent and there's only Sanji.

"The best lemon tarragon sauce you've ever had," he murmurs against your face. His nose brushes against your cheeks.

"I already have the best."

His lips taste like lemons, butter and herbs when he kisses you. Honestly, this is the best version of the sauce you've ever had.

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icallhimjoey · 7 months

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Lost & Found

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader Summary: You take a little break, a week away to somewhere warm to relax and calm your senses. So does Joe – same flight, same hotel, same travel plans and, worst of all, same suitcase. What was meant to be a lovely trip to the sun starts off on the wrong foot when you find expensive designer outfits belonging to a man in what you thought was your suitcase. CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, lots of swearing, we get a little spicy but nothing too bad, 18+ just in case though! Author’s note: I asked for requests and then used 0 of them – sorry – this is one of those things that started in a whatsapp chat and started living its own life fairly quickly. Wasn't meant to become a five-parter but, big sigh, here we are... I hope you enjoy this first part! Wordcount: 3.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Of course. Of fucking course.

Something always had to go fucking wrong, didn’t it? Couldn’t just be smooth fucking sailing for once, could it?

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joe massaged his temples as he let his breath escape through flared nostrils.

Typical.

He’s just flung his suitcase onto the bed, ready to charge what needed charging and to change what needed changing. The heavy bounce of it should’ve told him something was off.

That wasn’t his.

It wasn't his suitcase that he'd just flung onto his hotel bed.

It looked enough like it, but his three-digit code didn't unlock it, and upon closer inspection, this one had a lot of marks on it that suggested it had been used a lot more and for a lot longer.

Not his suitcase.

Same brand. Same colour. Same model. Not his.

He'd taken the wrong suitcase. Like the day hadn't been long enough already.

The warm breeze had felt glorious when he'd stepped off the plane, the temperature balmy enough to really make him feel the difference when walked down the stairs onto the tarmac. The sun had been out, and he'd felt how it immediately relaxed his shoulders. It was exactly what he needed, why he even booked the trip in the first place, he thought, slipping his sunglasses down from the top of his head onto his nose.

Sun. Warmth from up above that clung in the air that surrounded him.

Was nice.

Lovely.

He'd gotten what he'd thought was his suitcase from the conveyer belt no problem, finding it quickly. Then it only took a minute to wait for a taxi that took him to his hotel. He'd booked a room in the kind of place you didn't need to leave at all if you didn't really want to – nice hotel restaurant downstairs, nice hotel rooftop bar upstairs, big pool surrounded by sun loungers outside and a view of the beach just behind it. Not quite a resort, but, kind of a resort, if you asked his mum.

It was exactly what he'd needed. A few days away from the hustle and bustle of daily-life-sludge Joe felt he'd had a hard time wading through. Just a quick break to get his sun-starved skin some much needed vitamin D. Make the freckles that hid underneath his skin show up. It was the time of year when temperatures dropped fairly quickly once the sun went down, but the days were gorgeous still. The type of hot where you could sit in direct sunlight in the middle of the day without feeling like you were melting but still get tanned all over.

Joe should've felt lucky, because that was what he'd been announcing to the world a lot lately. "I feel very lucky," over and over until it caught up with him.

"Quick few days away will sort you out," his mum had told him over the phone, and mother's always knew best, didn't they?

So he'd just gone and booked it. Went, fuck it, this looks nice, I want to go there.

And now he was here.

He had five full days all to himself, travel days not included, in which he’d get to truly switch off a second. Enough time to listen to his favourite podcast for however long he wanted without being interrupted halfway through an episode. Enough time to finally get past page five of this book he’d started reading three times already. Enough time to work through his inbox at a leisurely pace. Have whichever drink whenever.

Joe was meant to feel all lucky.

It was just that... he'd just flung a suitcase onto his hotel bed that wasn't his, and... now what? The good bits felt all fucked up, the positive twisted, leaving him with just the negative frustrating shit.

Trip fucking ruined already, and he'd not even been there two hours.

All he had on him were his passport, his phone, a pair of wireless headphones that were running low on battery and his bank cards. He'd foregone bringing a backpack as carry-on, checking in his suitcase, and feeling very free as he'd walked through the TSA screening with barely anything on him.

Now he regretted every single decision he'd made that lead up to this moment.

Unbeknownst to him, you were just two floors up, in the same hotel, in a room that looked identical, also stood by your hotel bed. Difference was, you'd just opened what you thought was your suitcase, only to be met by a bunch of stuff that wasn't yours.

You didn't own anything pinstriped. Or, um, Dior.

You checked the code that you hadn't changed to open it – that wasn't what you'd set it as.

That wasn't your suitcase.

“Um, what the fuck?”

Whoever the suitcase belonged to had shut it but then hadn't run a thumb over the numbered wheels to make sure anyone without the right combination couldn't open it – an idiot, you thought.

And idiot with... very expensive clothes. Men's clothes.

For a moment far too long, you just looked at what was in front of you and processed what this meant.

You didn’t have your things.

Your stuff.

No dress to slip into. No bikini to wear underneath.

Shit.

You'd have to phone the airline, let them know you'd taken the wrong suitcase. Yours had probably been brought over to lost and found, the owner of this one probably hoping his would be there too. Except it wasn't. It was a 40-minute taxi ride removed from lost and found, up on the 11th floor of a nice beach hotel. With you.

Shit.

You looked down at your own top, the stains from the bottle of coke that had sprayed everywhere upon the first cap-twist still evident.

Fuck.

This first evening you'd booked a table downstairs for dinner, and then were planning on having drinks upstairs to really make sure you'd knock yourself out cold until at least 10.30am the next morning.

You threw an arm up and smelled an armpit.

Rank.

Yea, no way you were going to do those things in the outfit you currently had on.

"Hi, I have a question regarding baggage claim? Is there a service agent I can talk to? It appears I have taken the wrong suitcase by accident."

Joe sighed as he got put on hold for a minute, only to be told later to please return the suitcase to baggage claim. He hoped they'd be able to give him any other information that didn't involve him traveling back there. Also, maybe a little info on whether or not his suitcase had been left behind and was now in lost and found, or if someone else had taken it.

"Please find the baggage claim customer service desk, and we'll be able to help you locate your luggage from there."

All right. Fine.

Was he going to do that tonight? After just getting to the hotel, now hungry and tired and in need of some good food and a good night's sleep?

No.

Probably not the nicest thing, since, you know, someone else was likely also trying to track down what he was storing in his hotel room right now, but Joe had a dinner reservation for one he wanted to get to. Had scanned the menu online beforehand and was craving the steak tartare now. It just sucked he was going to have that in the same outfit he'd worn traveling there, as well as the rest of the night and the next morning.

Deep breaths, Joe. Big gulps of air. Take a step back. Zoom out a little.

In the grand scheme of things... this was just annoying. Not the end of the world.

He'd fetch a spare charger for his phone from the front desk, have his meal, have a nice drink, and do his very best not to think about all the things that frustrated him for the rest of the night.

But, that was easier said that done.

Especially when, halfway through dinner, a pretty girl walked in wearing what looked suspiciously similar to one of his shirts.

Nah.

Couldn't be.

He was probably just seeing things. Was just looking because she was pretty. Was too tired. Had one drink too many.

Was grumpy about the fact that the only charger the hotel had for him didn't fit the outlets here, and they didn't have a plug adapter for him to make it work.

Was more grumpy about the fact that you'd sat down in his direct line of sight. You know, since he couldn't just burrow himself into his phone for fear of the battery dying on him.

Was most grumpy that the shirt looked better on you than it did on him.

For fuck's sake.

And he wasn't even sure if he even packed that shirt at all!

For his own sanity, he convinced himself he didn’t pack it.

Lots of people had shirts like it. Faded orangey colour. Striped. The one he owned probably wasn't quite as pink as this one. Or maybe it was... but, even so, it could be the exact same one, still didn’t need to be his.

It was a little more difficult however, when upstairs at the bar, after the first sip of his gin martini, he saw you walk out in a jacket that he knew for a fact he’d packed.

That was his jacket.

Stop it, Joe thought. You've gone mad.

Just a coincidence.

Big coincidence, though... wasn't it?

“you’ve overworked me, i should get another week” he texted his agent, blaming the fact that he was seeing things on that, and received a “lol no” in return.

Joe was still annoyed the next morning when he climbed into a taxi, phone about to die any second now.

Had you been out the door about twenty seconds earlier, you'd have run into him.

Somehow, traffic turned the twenty seconds into over ten minutes. Joe was already standing by the baggage claim service desk, your suitcase on the floor next to him, patiently waiting as the lady behind the computer typed away with eyes stuck to a computer screen Joe couldn't see.

You walked up, eyes on your phone, occasionally looking up for signs that pointed you in the right direction. You didn't even notice Joe, or your suitcase on the floor next to him.

"At airport now, fingers crossed" you texted a friend, and got a quick, "it's there, it's GOT TO BE there" from her in response. It wasn't until the guy in front of you turned around, gave you a polite smile, and then did a double take for you to see it.

Your suitcase.

"My suitcase!"

"My jacket."

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You were standing in front of the guy whose suitcase you'd gone through the night before. Whose suitcase you did your best to pack so it didn't look like you'd gone through every single thing that was in there. Whose pinstriped jacket you'd thrown on because it was the morning still, a little chilly for... just his T-shirt that you wore underneath.

You immediately forgot how to function as a normal humanbeing.

Error 404: cognitive function not found.

"Um, I–I..." you faltered, blood heating your cheeks, and you saw how the brow of stranger in front of you slowly furrowed as his eyes scanned down your body.

Fuck.

Now, you see, in your defence... you were left to your own devices, just, all alone in a hotel room, unsupervised, with a suitcase that was full of special, unknown things. Lots of treasures and, expensive designer clothing... how was anyone to expect you to be sensible and not snoop?

Of course you were going to be snooping.

You snooped.

Were a tried-and-true snooper.

It was just that... you hadn't just snooped, had you?

Hadn't just let your eyes roam.

You'd gotten your hands in there almost instantly.

You'd called a friend, and explained your situation, and had then switched the regular call to Facetime to go through the whole thing together. Toiletry bag and all. Every single item had passed your grip, and you'd tried on more items than you dared admitting to anyone – the boyfriend-fit of every single item had made you consider maybe just... keeping a shirt.

"Fuck me, that looks good on you. Keep it." your friend only egged you on.

"I can't keep it," you said, checking yourself in the mirror before asking your friend to google for prices, wanting to know how much this had cost the owner of the suitcase.

When she told you, you took a moment to let that sink in before you said, "Yea, maybe I should keep it."

That jacket, or perhaps the one pair of jeans. Claim you'd just found the suitcase like that. He'd left it unlocked, anyway.

"Look at this, this... this is clearly someone on a business trip, there's suits, but then, look, he's got two-in-one shampoo and conditioner in his toiletry bag," you held up the bottle close enough to your perched up phone to show it properly.

"Who takes shampoo on a business trip? Surely you just use whatever they have at the hotel?" your friend made a good point.

"Especially two-in-fucking-one," you tossed the bottle onto your bed, next to all the other shit you were fishing out. Razor, nail clippers, a moisturizer of which you didn't even recognise the brand - very fancy.

"Men are insane,"

"Even the rich ones, apparently,"

"Especially the rich ones."

It'd been a good half hour of giggles before you'd decided you were just going to wear one of his shirts to dinner. Why not? You could fold it up nicer than the way you'd found it in there. You'd be fine.

He just... he wasn't meant to actually see you in his clothes. You were wearing literal proof of what you were desperately wanting to hide.

How were you going to talk yourself out of this?

Were you just going to be honest?

Look at him.

Of course you weren't going to be honest. This man would've made you nervous even if you hadn't shown up in his literal clothes, revealing you'd not just opened the suitcase to see it wasn't yours - you'd gone through it and were now wearing what was his.

"Oh, excellent!" the lady behind the desk stood up and peered over the desk at the floor, at the two similar suitcases. "This will be a lot easier now," she stepped around with a little scanning device, scanned both labels that you, thank God, both hadn't touched. Imagine if you'd have ripped that off. You'd no idea what that would've meant, but surely it would have made the whole situation a lot more complicated.

You were contemplating pretending to be crazy. Or stupid. Just really, really, really stupid.

Shut the fuck up why did he not stop staring at you? Could he look away for just a second, maybe?

"I didn't mean to– I only opened it this morning, I didn't have anything to we–" you rambled, stumbled through little white lies and stopped when you saw the faintest little hint of amusement on Joe's face.

"Are you going to sue me?" you winced.

"No," his smile grew, but he held out a hand. For the jacket, you presumed.

"There, all settled." the baggage claim service agent smiled. "This one is yours, and this one is yours."

"Thank you," Joe smiled at her – she'd done her job. You saw it was just him being polite before his attention turned back to you.

"Um, I won't sue you. But I would like my clothes back..." his hand was still there and you realised that you fully understood the body language, but hadn't actually moved to take it off yet.

"Yes, of course! Sorry, I was– the plan was that I'd fetch my own suitcase from lost and found and then would change into my own stuff, and–" you squeezed your eyes shut, letting the jacket slide from your shoulders, knowing that you sounded absolutely insane. "You weren't meant to find out." you huffed a laugh, hoping that finding humour in the situation would make him copy it.

"Not exactly a water proof plan," Joe gave you a nod and looked at you a little apprehensively, head tilted down, as you handed over the jacket that he folded over his forearm.

"Well, had you not been here yet, I would've gotten off scot-free," you joked lightly, confidence creeping in a little as you raised your eyebrows at him just before kneeling down next to your suitcase and tipping it onto its side to open it.

"Ah," Joe nodded, all understanding, but his face quickly twisted in exaggerated confusion. "So... that wasn't you in my shirt last night?"

Your neck cracked with how fast it snapped to look back up at him. Deer in headlights, eyes wide in shock, blush deepening. Had you ever felt sweat prickling in your pits before?

"I–"

"And red jacket?"

Fucking fuck shit. You were such a fucking idiot.

"Red?" you focussed entirely on the wrong thing, but, what else was there to do in a panic? "No, t'was more of a brownish sort of–"

"Burgundy." Joe cut you off.

You looked at each other for a long moment where it took you a smidge too long to close the mouth you'd left hanging open.

My God.

You'd really worked yourself into a corner here, hadn't you?

"Is that... is that my T-shirt?"

It got worse fast, though.

You looked down to see for yourself, eyes still huge, and for what? To check if you were still wearing the black T-shirt? You knew you were wearing his T-shirt. It was why you'd opened your suitcase in the first place, to fetch something of your own to change into. To take into a toilet stall so you could give him back what belonged to him, and if you were quick, give it back without pit stains.

When you looked back up, you felt how the blush was now making your neck and chest break out in hives. There really wasn't a way out of this. Caught red-handed, you had no other choice but to surrender and admit to every single wrong choice you'd made. Not willing to speak the actual confession into existence, you let your arms move on their own accord and just... moved to take the T-shirt off. One of your arms disappeared into the T-shirt, out of the sleeve, and you were about to pull the whole thing over your head when you were stopped.

"No– no, stop, don't–" he laughed. Planted a hand on your shoulder – the one of which the arm was stuck inside the T-shirt now.

You stopped, listening to his instructions from your kneeled position on the floor.

Joe wasn't going to let you undress into just your bra in the middle of an airport. This was a weird beginning to his trip but, was it really that bad? He'd gotten his suitcase back. That was what he'd wished for ever since finding out he'd taken the wrong one, and now, it had been returned to him.

He'd gotten what he'd wished for.

So what if a pretty girl borrowed some of his clothes for a second? It probably only meant that some of it smelled nicer now. She looked like she felt bad enough about it, too.

No big deal.

"Are we staying at the same hotel?"

"I... I think so?" you sat unmoved.

"If you could leave that at the front desk, I'll just... it's fine, I'll pick it up there," the frown that graced this man's features earlier seemingly had been sarcastic. Or, he'd just turned friendly. Either way, everything about his face told you not to worry about it.

Well, tough. Fuck him. You were worrying. This was so awkward.

You very slowly moved your arm back into the sleeve of the T-shirt and then moved to close your suitcase.

"Okay," your voice had never sounded thicker with hesitation.

"Okay?" Joe laughed.

"Yea," you sighed. "Yea, all right. I'm sorry." you winced as you clicked your suitcase shut and got back up onto your feet.

"It's fine." Joe waved a hand, dismissing the whole thing. You thought that was just to make you feel more comfortable, because you were very clearly going through it. For good reason. Had you been in his shoes, you would've told yourself off for the shit you'd pulled.

"Looks better on you, anyway,"

And like you weren't red in the face enough already, the snort laugh that escaped you turned you purple whilst simultaneously breaking any and all tension.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @yelyahcardella

taglist currently full, sorry

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #icallhimjoey #lost & found #lost and found

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hexeddocs · 11 months

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[ 9 ] . noir... 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵𝑳𝑶𝑨𝑫 𝑵𝑶𝑾!

Finally -- a new template, after months of being away! I wanted to say thank you so much for your patience and for the love that I've received while away. I truly have the best supporters, and I wouldn't be here without you guys.

NOIR is a sci-fiesque template that is perfect for those who love to write a lot about their character. With multiple sections to add your own unique descriptions, it showcases all aspects of your character, making it perfect for the perfect all-inclusive template!

While I originally tried to stick to a more medical-interface type of template, it sort of deviated to its own thing -- sort of computer-file like -- but I'm still very happy with it. It took many weeks to finish, but the end result was worth it!

How to edit

To edit the pictures, right click on the image and select "replace image." DO NOT COPY AND PASTE PICTURES INTO THE DOC. This will cause elements to shift and the design to break.

DO NOT REMOVE CREDIT.

Feel free to change whatever aspect you'd like, just PLEASE keep the credit!

This doc contains drawing elements. To edit, simply double click on the image and the menu will pop up -- allowing you to edit the colour, font, anything you wish!

The picture on the first page is behind the text. To click and select it, right click over top of it and click "select picture," and then move it in front of the text. From there, follow the directions on how to change the picture. Just make sure to put it back to "behind text" after all is said and done!

If you plan to change the background colour, just beware that the EKG gifts are not pngs, so you may have to tinker a little bit with it.

The thing I really like about this template is that for the statistics drawings, you can change the inner most part of the circle to show a sort of "percentage." To edit this, double click on the image and then click the middle portion of the circle. From there, you can slide it to make it smaller or bigger to your preference!

As always, likes and reblogs are MUCH appreciated. I hope that you enjoy this template as much as I enjoyed making it!

Many thanks,

Kira <3

Inspiration: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/298785756542843881/

#google docs template #rp template #character template #gdocs #docs #google docs templates #docs template #docs templates #rp resources #rp doc template #template #gdocs template #discord rp template

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tragedynoir · 2 months

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— introducing 014: ARGYLE + [ link ]

a bold, modern google doc template that's perfect for bright & fun muses. it can be entirely customized within google docs & drawings, including the shapes and decorations on each page! make this template truly match your muse by changing up the colours and stickers all over the template. the template and full previews/a page-by-page preview can be found in the link above or in the source code.

features:

7 unique 14" x 8.5" pages with both short and long sections, small spaces for quotes and misc ooc information, and an extra long section for character history

navigation pane on every page

all graphics that are fully customizable within google docs & google drawings

you may edit to your heart’s desire. Change the colours, replace, add or remove elements and images etc.

you may remix pages with pages from my other templates.

you may not remove the credit from the templates.

you may not copy, sell or redistribute my templates whether wholesale, in part (i.e. taking out certain pages) or remixed (i.e. modified).

you will also receive an additional guide with images on how to use and edit google doc templates! if you have any problems or issues, feel free to leave an ask or join our discord server.

I'm so excited to be releasing new templates again, and what better way to celebrate it than with a bright, fun template? I hope you enjoy this template! your likes + reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

#google doc template #google docs template #rp doc template #rp doc #rp resource #muse template #m pr #m

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aakariiiii · 5 months

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Hai haiiii! I didn't know if ur requests was open rn or not (if they aren't feel free to ignore this)

But! If they are have you ever thought of something like this for baji?

Ok so imagine baji is walking around town with the rest of toman division leaders and he sees some manga(or ur favorite snack) and he almost admittedly stops everything to get it for you? Like......I would be the happiest soul ngl 😭💓

a/n: hihihiu yess!! my requests r open and im so happy u requested!! i hope u like iy tho !! im actually so happy u requested so thank u n enjoy <333

contains: Baji x Gn!Reader

——————————————————————

Despite the not very painful punches Baji was receiving yet the excruciatingly painful ones he was landing back, for a second, his focus wavered from the brawl and fixated on the cover of the Manga you’ve been talking about non stop.

The sounds of violence and the exertion of grunts faded away into the background as his attention was glued to the cover.

However, a particularly sharp jab brought him back to the reality of the fight, blood trickling down his face. But the image of your elated face, illuminated by the gift he was about to secure for you, eclipsed the pain.

As the skirmish intensified, he dodged and countered, his mind occupied by the vivid picture of you, fingers delicately flipping through the pages of the manga he was determined to obtain for you. His mind was suddenly fuzzy because of the erupting butterflies and flood of warmth caused by the thought of making you smile.

After a couple of punches and grunts, a brief moment of chaos allowed Baji to break free. Ignoring the throb of his body and the yells of his fellow Toman captains, he dashed towards the bookshop. He excitedly grabbed the manga and paid for it, finally emerging amidst a world of chaos and gang fights with the manga in his hand.

It really wasn’t like Baji to ‘back away’ from a fight, but the radiant smile he’d imagined drawn on your ethereal face that’d melt his hardened heart away. The mere thought made every drop of blood and every colourful bruise worth it.

——————————————————————

An interrupting knock invaded your peaceful night. Surely, it isn’t Baji as he told you that he has an important fight today, so who could it be, you asked yourself.

As you open the door, Baji’s tall figure flooded your vision, blood trickling down his handsome face and hinds behind his back. What caught you off guard though, other than the obvious vibrant bruises and cruel cuts that peppered Baji’s smooth skin, was the dashingly crooked grin that’s plastered on his face.

“Did you hit yourself on the head? Why are you smiling like that when you’re full of bruises and blood is trickling down your face? You totally look like a psycho, Kei!” You scrunch your nose, internally cringing at the horrendous state he’s in.

“You look like you came out of a war zone,” you added, furrowing your brows as you assessed his bruised appearance.

“I mighta been in a tussle or two— but I don’t really care—here, this is for you,” he shrugged as he so casually handed you the Manga volume you’ve been talking about for ages but couldn’t afford, making you gasp in surprise.

“Hold up—what? Kei, I’m so confused..what the hell is happening?! Why did my boyfriend show up in blood and then proceeded to surprise with the manga I’ve been talking about for ages—“ you couldn’t resist the smile that is making its way to your face. Such a small gesture truly made you feel like the happiest person on earth.

“Don’ know, it might be because you may or may not have the best boyfriend on the face of this earth,” he shrugged, smirking in a smug way.

You jumped onto your boyfriend, momentarily disregarding his injuries out of excitement, arms tangling around his neck as he snaked his hands around your waist. Although the embrace was truly comforting, he couldn’t help but wince as a sharp pain echoed throughout his body, but he ultimately refused to make it obvious.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you thanked him excitedly as your lips kissed his bruised face gently, a gesture that eradicated the pain away and made his blood dance in confusion.

A chuckle escaped his lips as you pulled away, offering to clean up that pretty face of his in which he refused because “There is no need, Mikey is probably gonna beat my ass up. You can clean up my face after that,”

“Shush—I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” you say as u lead him to the bathroom to gently tend to his wounds, a mix of tenderness and gratitude enveloped the moment, solidifying the bond between you two in a way words could never capture.

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grigori77 · 1 year

Text

Reasons to LOVE Dungeons & Dragons: Honour Among Thieves

It's brand new in cinemas, so there are still plenty who ain't seen it, so if you're among 'em best skip this and just GO SEE IT, it's SO well worth it, genuinely it's one of the best new movies I've seen so far this year. Hope you love it as much as I did!

So, yeah, there you go - SPOILER WARNING, FOLKS!!! If you don't wanna get spoiled, RUN!!!

Still here? Okay, here we go then ...

This really is, UNAPOLOGETICALLY, a comedy. I mean yeah, this is a classic fantasy action adventure in the Willow, Krull or Ladyhawke mold, but it is also very enthusiastically POKING FUN at the classic conventions of the genre ... albeit CLEARLY done with great affection and love for the material, as only the best lampoons can be. So this is more The Princess Bride or Galaxy Quest than Your Highness or Spaceballs ...

Chris Pine is ALWAYS at his best when he's being FUNNY, so he is PERFECT here. Edgin is most definitely a bit of a douchebag, but he's the sweetest, most lovable douchebag you'll ever encounter.

Holga. Literally just EVERYTHING about Holga. She's my favourite character in this, this REALLY IS the best role that Michelle Rodriguez has EVER HAD, if you ask me. She's a total badass, a truly AMAZING FIGHTER, but I love that despite her dour demeanour she's actually quite sweet, gentle and really a great innocent in many ways. She's an absolute cinammon roll and must be protected at all costs.

OH MY GODS!!! All the easter eggs, SO MANY easter eggs ... FAR too many to count throughout, all the references and nods and winks to the game itself, all the spells and races and creatures and stuff ... but I love how the movie NEVER beats you over the head pointing any of it out, it just lets you enjoy it. So the proper fans will get a huge kick out of spotting it all, but casual viewers will just enjoy it as rich worldbuilding colour and flavour.

Seriously though, it's a D&D fan's DREAM!!! Not just the mimic, or the owlbear, or the gelatinous cube! SO MUCH to spot ...

Justice Smith's Simon gets THE CLEVEREST and best introduction in the film, I love the theatre scene, he's SO BAD at this while also simulataneously being really great. Totally sums up this gloriously clunky hot mess of a sorcerer ...

the opening is GENIUS, totally sets the movie up as it means to go on - the parole hearing is a brilliant comedic take on the scene-setting infodump which is brilliantly carried through in the way the movie delivers exposition in a fun way or just lets you absorb it through what's happening in each scene. This is the perfect, TEXTBOOK way to do it.

"That is one pudgy dragon!" LOL

Doric. Just EVERYTHING about Doric. Sophia Lillis' tiefling druid is a wonderful diminutive little action hero, so fiesty and capable. I love her. It's just a shame she's not primary coloured, I'd have loved it even more if she'd been blue, or red ...

The Wildshape Escape! XD Yeah, I love that, that's THE BEST set-piece in the whole movie, definitely, when Doric gets cught out spying and has to shapeshift on the fly to get away, and it all plays out in one immersive single shot that just leaves your heart in your mouth ...

Oh, the Speak With The Dead montage, that is comedy GOLD. Funniest scene in the whole movie. And with added payoff at the end! XD

Rege-Jean Page's Xenk Yendar. Oh boy, that paladin is something else. I love how LITERAL he is, he's like Drax in GOTG but much more intelligent. Y'know when Holga says: "You're not a lot of fun, are you?" to him? She's so wrong. I just wish there was more of him in this ...

The heist! Oh, the heist! So good ... the portal trick, it's great, love the way they did that, and then that HILARIOUS bard illusion distraction - Pine skipping the song like a broken record was just chef's kiss!

That wonderful wibbly-wobbly illusory reality thing whenever Simon tries to atune to the Helm ... wow, that is some spectacularly trippy shit. Granted, twice is fine for terms of pacing, but I could've done with a few more scenes of that, it's fascinating.

Hugh Grant really has just become a MASTER at playing smarmy, slimy duplicitous gits now, hasn't he? Forge is a reprehensible prick and I love it.

I love how they made Bradley Cooper a halfling for his cameo. They're never gonna let him live down the fact that he's now probably best known for playing a two-foot-tall talking racoon so forever after he will be a Short King.

Wow, Daisy Head's Sofina is a CRACKING villain, she's just SO CREEPY!!! I love how coolly menacing she is, a brilliant dark necromantic wizard that just makes your skin crawl. Especially at the end ... IS SHE a lich? Is that what they were doing there?

That whole big action climax, the showdown in the city centre is FIRE!!! It's so amazing, so brilliantly dynamic, with EVEN MORE great easter eggs! Simon and Sofina having an insanely awesome "arm wrestling" bout with Mage Hand versus Earthen Grasp (I think that's the spell, couldn't be sure), oh my gods! So cool ... and then the way they neutralised the threat! Brilliant.

Chloe Coleman's Kira is an absolutely adorable delight, and I think she's ENTIRELY JUSTIFIED in how pissed she is at Edgin for abandoning her. It makes the payoff when they finally make up so much better.

And that resurrection scene at the end? Yeah, sure, I saw that coming a mile off, but it was so well done, and they played it so well, that it was still SUCH a powerful scene even so. Just perfect.

Seriously, they just did this whole thing SO PERFECTLY. It's visually STUNNING, really it just looks AMAZING, and the action sequences are BRILLIANT but always feel entirely necessary for the story, which is how you want to do it. Best of all, though, is THE PACING!!! This is such a quick, breezy film, it just barrels along at a spectacular clip, so it never drags. Mark Kermode is right, even though this is two and a quarter hours long it doesn't FEEL LIKE IT, it feels like a super-trim 90-minute movie.

And it ties everything off nice and neat, too. Sure, there are definitely possibilities for the future, going forward if they make more, but if the movie DOES tank then it's fine, because this really does do a great job about feeling self-contained and telling its own complete story, so if we DON'T get more it won't be too big a disappointment ...

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tshortik · 2 months

Text

My random comic Recs #1

I've been reading more comics lately, so I wanted to share my love for them in the hopes that someone might give this medium a chance!

Note: I am not a fan of superhero comics, because I simply don't like that genre, so don't expect superheroes below. Gonna make these posts every now and then and they will always include 4 recs. 1.) The Many Deaths of Laila Starr

Death got demoted and sent to earth as a mortal! Some boy is going to figure out how to cheat death in the future, and our girl Death really doesn't appreciate that. The entire graphic novel is only 5 issues long, so it's VERY digestible and easy to get through.There is something so light and playful about the art style, and the vibrant colors really sell it.

For people that are completely new to comics as a medium, I imagine that this is actually an A+ book to start with for the reasons I just mentioned. The way paneling and the flow of time is done in here, is a great example as to why comics are so unique as a medium and why they should be looked at as its own art from, separate from movies or books.

2) Mécanique Céleste (Or "Mechanica Calaestium" in the German translation, or "Aster Of Pan" in the English translation)

An absolutely breathtaking French comic. Aster lives in Pan, a post-apocalyptic France where she scavenges for wreckage with her friend Wallis. After their people come under a threat by the Federation of Fortuna, they are given a choice —submit to Fortuna’s rule or beat them in a weird Hunger Games-esque version of Dodge, called “Celestial Mechanics”.

The detailed art pieces in each panel, the careful line work, the lively way the characters move and the stunning watercolors captivated me from the first page. This graphic novel (now 2 volumes) is one of a kind and truly unique!

3) Something Is Killing the Children

Note: Comic contains a lot of gore and violence!

Children are starting to disappear in Archer's Peak. The ones that come back tell impossible stories that no one seems to believe. Only one stranger trusts these tales - a mysterious girl named Erica Slaughter who seems to be able to see these creatures too. And she's here for business.

I loooove Something is Killing the Children. I haven't finished reading the ongoing volumes yet, but I am super fascinated at how well the pacing goes in this story. The rough art style with Erica's freaky large eyes is SO fun, and you start appreciating it even more the longer you read.

4) Mon Ami Pierrot ("Mein Freund Pierrot" in German, "My friend Pierrot" in English)

Another fabulous French comic! Cléa is to marry soon - a young man name of Berthier. Right before the wedding she meets the fascinating magician Pierrot though, who completely changes the course of her life. Entranced by his whimsical nature that makes her feel "free" for the first time in her life, she follows him and leaves her previous life behind. During her stay with Pierrot, questions arise, though. Who is he really? All the while her betrothed sets out to find her again.

The Ghibli influence both art- and storywise is easy to make out, and I personally really enjoyed that. I particularly love the colors and the facial expressions the characters are drawn with. Everything feels very whimsical and playful and I had a good time going through this chonker of a graphic novel!

No spoilers, but I expected toothrottingly-sweet wholesome stuff, and ended up surprised on several occasions. I think the colours and art style really help give those moments wham, because you don't expect it.

#i talk sometimes #comics #graphic novels #comic recommendations #long post #comics are super duper cool and you should try them!!

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eldstunga · 7 months

Note

Hi! I really love your art! The lines are so bold but the colours so natural that it feels distinct but grounded?? I'm obsessed with the shapes in your work

I was wondering if you had any advice for drawing bodies? Whenever I try it either my proportions are off or an arm ends up looking like a calf or something.

First of all, thank you <3 That's so nice and I think "lines bold, colours natural" is some truly aspirational words to say about my art, I'll strive to be what you say I am <3 I do not, unfortunately, have any great tips on drawing bodies - it's a very wide topic and fundamentally just really bloody hard. I fail horribly 9 times out of 10. How to approach it I think varies a lot with like...HOW you are struggling, and who you are as a person. For proportions and anatomy there are definitely books to look at, and some rules of thumb that can help you - anything from "the shoulders are about 2.5-3 heads wide" through "feet are the same length as the forearm", "elbows are in line with the navel and the navel is two sternums down" etc etc. For me, realising just how big the ribcage actually is and learning how to use that as a unit of measure was a big event (the torso is about two ribcages long). Look at references, Draw over low opacity references and try to look for patterns that help YOU. Like... "Hm, do the shoulders line up with something useful?"

Having a good ref model to double check things helps too. The pen is pointing to about the bottom of the ribcage. But there's also stuff like maybe you're getting too hung up on construction and then it might help more to try to draw from references by ONLY blocking in a silhouette first. This helps me sometimes still:

Or you could be like me, struggle with all of the above and then some - like how to make poses look natural and/or dynamic? Weight distribution is a whole other topic.. gah, it never ends, but it's fun to learn.

Lastly, this took me way too long to realise and I think it should be said: Do not fret too much about STUDYING. The unfair thing is that the better you are at something, the better you will be at actually learning from doing studies and exercises or reading books. We accept this with many other disciplines and sports but rarely art. Mileage is king, and mileage is best gained from having fun and enjoying what you do. If you find studies suffering and frustrating you're probably better off just drawing what you enjoy and fuck it if it isn't "pushing your boundaries" or whatever. Eventually you'll get to the point where studies start to give more than they take, and then you're home free. I'm not gonna recommend a billion resources you likely won't enjoy but here are some things I genuinely found helpful lately: * a physical anatomy model, they're pricy and not necessary but being able to just look at it every now and then, turn it over etc helps. * The "Morpho" series of books, they do not teach anatomy, but they are very useful quick reference books and much more easily digested than most anatomy material. Just try to find a real anatomy book to read once your appetite is up as well.

The zig-zag/Lightning bolt method for arms and legs, fuckin' thing revolutionised how I sketch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCkmB030GpQ

Gottfried Bammes "The Complete guide to Anatomy for Artists and Illustrators" This thing is insane, it's from the 50's and like 600 pages long. You could absolutely kill someone with it, but a lot of the pages are more philosophical or art history you can skip and despite its age and fear factor this dude writes in a witty, clever and just wonderful way that I've seen nowhere else. Fantastic photos. By far, FAR the best anatomy book I've ever seen. It's not a book I'd recommend for someone starting out, I would not have been able to digest it like four years ago, but once you get to a certain point it's amazing.

That's a lot, uhhh, feel free to ask me for more specific tips this was a bit of a rant. Hope some of it was useful!

#art tips #.txt #asks #sorry its such a wide topic I dunno where to start

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softstargirl · 5 months

Text

Strawberries & Blueberries! (A Sweet Treat For A Sweet Man!♡)

Pic - Pinterest Account: @candytufftie.

I have been thirsting over this cake for wayyyy too long (a day) and our wholesome baby deserves to enjoy it! (I'm delulu) (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Sorry if I butchered the German language ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡ I was using DeepL Translator.

König/F! Reader, Baking & Wholesomeness. Fluff & a little bit Suggestive.

Enjoy!!! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Writing tips are appreciated in this household!! ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡ (Seriously, I'm aiming to improve in writing! ෆ⁠╹⁠ ⁠.̮⁠ ⁠╹⁠ෆ)

“Meine liebe (my love), there’s no need to do all of this. We can just spend the day rewatching the series you love.” Kong tried to convince you but failed miserably as you pulled out your cookbook and placed it on the table, [f/c] apron tied around your body and your face beaming. A red, silk bookmark stood out underneath the pages before it and a grin shone on your face as you opened it.

“I am not going to hear you out, Kö. You just got back and I have to treat you. Please, it'll make me really happy. Please?”

The large man sighed at the sight of your pleading, shoulders lowering in defeat and with a nod, a smile appeared on your face and you rushed to hug him. “Thank you! It's going to taste so good!” König rolled his eyes, a warm smile on his face as your frame tightly held onto him before you let go.

“I'm so glad I managed to snag a remaining copy of the book. The Pinterest mom who created it said that if I didn't contact her at the time I did I would have probably found them sold out! She’s such a sweet lady. I hope I'll be like her when I’m older. Five whole children and she’s still so active.”

“Gosh, she’s lucky to have all the energy to handle all the stuff that she has to do. Her husband seems sweet too. He was playing with the kids at the park as she was explaining the contents of the book to me. They were so adorable together.”

I truly hope that you and I will be like that too. Probably because of how wonderful of a boyfriend you are. No doubt that our future will look like that”.

König paused as he brought out the egg carton from the fridge. You imagined him being with you for so long? König sometimes wondered how he ended up with someone as amazing as yourself. “Was there no one else who you’d rather commit a relationship to?” “Was he worthy of you?”

Truly, he didn't know. You were, in his eyes, way too graceful for him. Kind, loving and sweet as sugar towards people whom you showed care for. You treated him so well that he sometimes couldn't grasp that he was around you. Around your light. Your presence. Your amazing self.

The whisk rotated firmly as he moved it, not wanting you to injure your soft hands and form callouses and blisters which he had grown accustomed to. König could tell that you were keen on watching his arms as he worked and made sure to flex his muscles as long as you were on sight. The little lip bite you do makes it so worth it.

“Don't try to tempt me, Kö. Gosh, the sugar in the mixture smells divine”. His lips kissed your cheek after his hand grazed your bum as he placed the flour in the cupboard.

You brought out the strawberries and blueberries, basking in their blooming red and blue-purple colour with a grin on your face as they sat on the basket you placed them in after washing them. A smack to your hand made you roll your eyes as you attempted to taste a juicy strawberry once more then a blueberry after you had a couple of them. König took the strawberry from your hand and sliced it. “Dummes mädchen (silly girl), why did you choose to stuff four strawberries and a couple of berries in your mouth?”

“You keep pushing my hand away from the basket. What else am I supposed to do?” You responded, wiping the icing you placed on top of the berries from your lips.

König chuckled and walked up to them. “You've got a little bit left at the corner of your lips. Lassen sie mich Ihnen helfen. (Let me help you.)”

König’s thick thumb trailed over the curve of your lip, making your cheeks grow hot. They grew hotter as you watched him lick the icing off of it, a teasing smile growing on his face at your dismay.

You looked away, desire pooling in you and started wide-eyed when his hand gently moved your face right back to his sight. “I was on the mission for a while. Pardon my boldness, but I just can't wait to feel you right after we’re done.”

“I understand the feeling so much. I can't wait either. I hope I'll be able to walk tomorrow. Knowing you, I doubt it.” You giggled and gently kissed his cheek then moved to place the batter in baking pans.

“Meine Güte, du hast mein Verlangen nach dir noch verstärkt.” (“My goodness, you've made me crave you even more.”)

“It's so good!” You grinned as you chewed on the sweet taste of the cake as you both sat on the couch, cuddling as a show you loved played on the TV.

“Yes, it is.” König nodded then popped a blueberry into his mouth and smiled at you.

You caught his gaze and smiled back. “You've got a little icing...here.” You said and flicked the icing off of his soft lips with your thumb and licked it off of your finger. You caught the desire pooling in his eyes and lifted your head to kiss him. Lowering his head, your lips met his. The fruity taste of the cake resided in your mouths and you savoured one another.

“Hmm! Kö, let’s- oh! eat first.” You told him as your hands caressed his face. His hands moved lower onto your sides and tightly held onto them as he placed you on his lap.

“Lass mich jetzt ein kleine stück von dir essen. Dann esse ich gleich noch mehr kuchen.” ("Let me eat a little piece of you now. Then I'll eat some more cake.")

#☁️🌟🩷writes #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig x reader #task force 141 x you #könig x f!reader #könig x fem reader #könig fluff #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod modern warfare

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thebearchives · 2 years

Text

slow days in monaco | PG10

PAIRING: pierre gasly x single mom!reader

REQUESTED: [] yes [X] no

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

SYNOPSIS: a slow day in monaco is like a bad omen, or so you were told. what happens when formula 1 drivers pierre gasly and charles leclerc enter the café you work at and spark up a conversation with your son?

WARNINGS: fluff, son has a name (thomas), reader can speak both french and english (translations are included), probably more interactions between pierre and the kid (sorry, not sorry. I'm a sucker for guys interacting with kids)

A/N: hello, hello!! first post alert!!! i hope you guys enjoy what i came up with during my dad!pierre brainrot. please don’t be a ghost reader! i love getting feedback, even if it’s just a small comment :)

( originally, this was supposed to be a series, and i’m more than willing to write more parts to this, but i’m not entirely sure if that’s what people want. that being said, send me a message if you'd like another part and I'll see what i can do! )

although there never truly was such thing as a slow and quiet day in a coffee shop in monte carlo, the mornings were just a little bit more mellow after the start of the formula 1 summer break. or at least they were to you.

this was your first year working at le pain d'amour, a bakery and coffee shop popular with tourists and natives alike, so you didn’t have much to go off of. you had started working there a couple of months prior to the monaco grand prix, and even three months later, you were still recovering from the weeklong madness.

long gone were the mornings where you made coffee for f1 enthusiasts and team members alike. now, your mornings were spent serving tourists looking for a good instagram-worthy latte, and suit-clad men complaining about their early mornings and lack of vacation days.

unlike other days, today felt like your longest morning shift yet; halfway into your five-hour shift, with only about five customers sitting inside the cafe. ‘a slow day in monaco is like a bad omen,’ your coworker had said. to you, it just felt like torture.

another hour passed, the five customers long gone, now replaced with three individuals who sat scattered around the shop, all busy with their own devices. the bells above the front door chimed announcing the entrance of two men. with the way the two men loudly chattered in french, you doubted the need for the bells in the first place.

you moved from your spot leaning against the counter to the front cash register. your coworker, michelle, had stepped out not too long ago for her break, leaving the cafe in your very capable hands.

“bonjour! welcome to le pain d'amour, i can take your order whenever you guys are ready!” you channelled your best customer service voice and looked up. the smile you slapped onto your face faltered slightly when you realized the faces of the two men standing across from you.

there in front of you stood f1 drivers, charles leclerc and pierre gasly.

you snapped back into reality when charles opened his mouth, “bonjour! can i just get an iced coffee and a croissant sandwich?”

you nodded as you entered his order into the system, “and for you?”

your question was directed to pierre, who had been gazing at the (h/c)-haired boy sitting on one of the stools near the counter. his head snapped back to you, a smile following as he looked over your head at the menu. a quick apology left his lips as he requested some more time, before opting to get the same as his friend but with a cookie as well.

as you turned to make their orders, telling the men to take a seat wherever and that you would call them up whenever their order was ready, you missed pierre gesturing towards the young boy, pulling charles up to sit on the stools near the kid. the alpha tauri driver couldn’t help but miss his nephew as he watched the young boy colour his page with great focus.

the quiet clicks of keys, and the music playing over the speakers was now overshadowed by the aggressive sounds of a crayon scraping against paper and the sound of the two drivers chattering in french. although loud enough for others to hear them, the speed at which the two men spoke made it hard to understand what they were saying.

“maman, regardez ça.” mom, look at this.

you drew your eyes from the espresso machine to the five-year-old, thomas, and the paper held up in his hand. you absorbed the shapes and lines on the paper before looking at the boy who was smiling widely.

“devinez ce que c'est!” guess what it is!

his energy was palpable, no thanks to the three hours he had spent sleeping on the couch in the backroom while you worked outside. you looked back at the machine, noticing the coffee just barely starting to stream.

you decided to entertain the boy, “hmm,” you furrowed your eyebrows in fake confusion, “est-ce un chien?” is it a dog?

“what?!” he gaped at you, “not even close! réessayer.” try again.

you giggled at the young boy’s exasperated face, “désolé, mon petit. je dois retourner au travail.” sorry, my child. i have to get back to work.

if it wasn’t for sanitary reasons, you would have reached over and ruffled his hair to get him to smile. instead, you resorted to calling out to him again, “stop pouting, amour.”

thomas grumbled, a mess of both french and english, albeit both sloppy, escaping his small lips.

a voice broke his muttering, “puis-je deviner?” can i guess?

both you and the boy looked over to where pierre sat, a small smile gracing his lips. you looked back at the young boy, eyes wide open and jaw slacked.

you huffed a small laugh, “tommy, ferme ta bouche.” close your mouth.

thomas sat up straight, “you’re in f1!”

he turned to look at you, “maman!! driver! un pilote de course!” a racing driver!

it was endearing, listening to him exclaim in both french and english. you, yourself, had been raised in a bilingual household, with your father being a native english speaker, who met your monégasque mother on his summer vacation. you grew up in a household where both english and french were spoken in tandem, and now, with your own son, you couldn’t help but raise him the same way.

you turned back to finish making the drinks that said driver had ordered, “oui, and he asked you something. sois poli et réponds-lui.” yes…be nice and answer him.

tommy’s eyes grew wide again and he turned back to the driver next to him, “pouvez-vous répéter votre question?” can you repeat your question?

pierre pointed to the drawing, repeating his question in english this time, “can i guess what you drew?”

thomas looked down at his drawing. an attempt at copying the foam art you had done on his long-empty cup of hot chocolate.

he looked back at you for guidance, gesturing you to come closer to him with his hand. you placed the sandwiches and coffees in front of the drivers, smiling apologetically to pierre for your son’s blatant avoidance of his question.

“i’ll get you your cookie in just a minute,” you stated, to which he responded, “pas d'inquiétude.” no worries.

as you neared the cookie display, and thomas, he reached up and whispered into your ear, “what if he thinks my drawing is really bad?”

you looked down at the boy, a small smile gracing your lips, “i’m sure he’ll think you’re very talented, and if he doesn’t…” you trailed off as you placed the cookie onto a plate.

after placing the cookie in front of pierre, you leaned down to whisper in your son’s ear, “i’ll fight him.”

thomas giggled, moving away from you to push his drawing in front of the driver, “maman said if you think i’m a bad drawer, she will fight you.”

charles’ chortle was loud, turning into a series of coughs as he choked on his coffee. you gasped quietly, quickly turning away from the three to avoid pierre’s amused gaze and get charles a tissue, to which he nodded with a red face, eyes watering. you began cleaning your station, ears not having to strain to hear the conversation going on behind you.

as charles’ coughs died down, pierre sighed, “well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

after a small sip of his own coffee, he continues, “is this a cup?”

you couldn’t see it but pierre was pointing to a spot on the drawing.

thomas nodded excitedly, “mhm! c'est une tasse comme celle-là.”

the five-year-old pointed to the large array of coffee cups and mugs just to the left of where you stood.

pierre nodded, “is this design on top one of those foam…” he trailed off forgetting the words.

charles piped up from his spot, “latte form art?”

again, thomas nodded fast, “yes! but maman says i can’t have coffee so she makes me it on hot chocolate!”

both charles and pierre nodded at his words, “your mother is very smart, then.”

you turned around just in time to catch thomas nodding super fast, cheeks turning red at the compliment.

pierre took a bite out of his sandwich and charles decided to reach out and make conversation with the kid, “what’s your name, buddy?”

“thomas! with an h,” he started, going on a ramble about his classmate who also shared the same name, but without the h.

your attention got pulled from the conversation as you heard the bell chime again. this time, however, it was your coworker coming back from her break, keeping the door open for the person who was leaving the shop.

michelle smiled at you with a wave, tapping on her wrist as if to indicate the time. you looked at your own wrist, eyes widening to realize your shift was due to end in about 10 minutes. as slow as your shift had started, in the presence of the two drivers, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how fast time had passed.

there wasn’t much for you to do, waiting for the time to pass. as thomas continued chatting up the two f1 drivers, you made rounds around the tables placed in the shop, cleaning up any messes left behind.

with thomas and pierre’s loud voices filling up the air, it wasn’t long before michelle pulled you by your arm, eyes widened at the sight of the two very famous men sitting next to your son. her inquisitive look made you laugh quietly, explaining that they had come in not too long ago and had already ordered, and finished most of their food by the looks of it.

the ten minutes went by quickly, and you found yourself apologetically disrupting the very important conversation between thomas, charles, and pierre about whether or not a velociraptor could outrun charles in his ferrari. (charles: “velociraptors cannot run as fast as a racecar.” pierre, smacking his hand on the table: “you can’t believe everything you read on the internet!” thomas: “yeah! raptors are fast!”)

you smoothed out thomas’ hair, “hey, mon petit chou. i’m gonna go get our stuff from the back so we can get ready to go, okay? why don’t you start wrapping up the conversation?”

you left before charles could ask for your opinion on the matter, not wanting to face the wrath of either side if you defended the other.

by the time you made it back out, thomas was sitting on his stool, hunched over a piece of paper, a red pencil crayon held tightly in his hand as he drew something. the plate with pierre’s cookie now sat next to the boy, small teeth marks indicating that instead of the man who had ordered the cookie, the young boy was the one eating it.

pierre, noticing your return, smiled sheepishly as if embarrassed. whether it was for not ensuring your son had packed up before you came back, or for the fact that he got caught giving your son a cookie, you weren’t sure.

“sorry, he said he wanted to draw something for us,” pierre started, his eyes catching the movement of thomas taking another bite of the cookie before darting back to your amused face, “and sorry for the cookie, i always intended on giving it to him, but i realize now i should have probably asked before if he could have one.”

you smiled at him, “don’t worry about it, either of the things. the cookies are by far his favourite item on the menu and he’s not had one yet, so no harm done.”

charles leaned over from his spot, pushing against pierre, “so, do you think i could beat a velocirapt-”

pierre’s groan cut him off, “fermez-la déjà.” shut up already.

charles poked pierre with his elbow, “no, you,” before he turned back to you, “google says raptors only travel about 40 km/h…”

you laughed, “i’m afraid i cannot give my answer without risking my life,” you gestured your head towards the boy still colouring, now with a blue pencil in his hand instead.

“i think that gave your answer perfectly.” though his words were directed to you, charles couldn’t help but stare at pierre, a cocky smirk planted on his lips.

before pierre could retort, thomas sat up eagerly, “j'ai fini!” i'm done!

he pushed the piece of paper into the middle of the counter, right in front of pierre. looking over thomas’ head, you couldn’t help but smile at the picture he drew.

two racecars, one red and one speckled with blue, the numbers 16 and 10 drawn on either car respectively. in between the two racecars stood four people. three squares bodies and one triangle, three boys and one girl. as thomas pointed at each aspect of his drawing including the people, not that any of them needed any supporting description, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that the triangle stick figure was connected at the hand to the smallest square figure. you and thomas, holding hands.

after pierre and charles thanked thomas profusely, you helped him hop off the stool. you turned to look at the two drivers one last time, “thank you for keeping him entertained today, you really didn’t have to.”

“nonsense, he’s a good kid.” charles smiled, pierre nodding at his words, “hopefully, we’ll see you both again.”

you smiled, “well, i’m here nearly every morning, so y’know.”

you helped thomas put his backpack on, “have a good summer break, both of you. hope the rest of the season treats you two well!”

the racecar drivers smiled, waving bye to both of you as you walked towards the door. before stepping foot outside, however, thomas turned around.

“maman’s number is written on the back! bye!”

A/N: second part is now posted!! read lonely nights in monaco here!!

#pierre gasly x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 imagine #pierre gasly #pierre gasly 10 #pierre gasly x you #pg10 #pierre gasly fluff #charles leclerc #alpha tauri #fluff #ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ writes #f1 imagines #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula one #sdim #1k

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drabblesandimagines · 8 months

Text

Tranquility

Joshua Rosfield x fem reader Minor spoilers, I guess? Fluffy fluff. Inspired by this request.

An exaggerated sigh comes from behind you, intent to draw your attention. You smile but continue to read, turning the page with minimal fuss.

You’ve been reading at the desk for a little while now, in the chambers the two of you have been assigned in the Hideaway. You’d be happy enough in the bunks, but Clive truly doted on his younger brother and he had organised a room formerly being used for storage to be repurposed – a bed, desk and chair quickly sourced and put in place.

Joshua is on strict bedrest under Tarja’s and Jote’s instructions. You hadn’t escaped orders either, been given a stern warning to leave Joshua in solitude– as if you’d want to delay him regaining his strength. You’d easily preoccupied yourself, having arrived at the Hideaway a few days prior with Jote and helping with various jobs. You were midway through bringing supplies in off the skiff when Clive had called your name on the pier, asking you to please go and keep Joshua company. It turns out Ifrit had found the Phoenix bent over on the staircase, coughing, a weary hand on the wall, determined to seek you out after being separated for so long.

It had been nerve-wracking to meet Clive in Tabor, Joshua’s sworn First Shield, especially with the unique courtship you and Joshua had. You weren’t betrothed or wed for that matter, but you lived as if you were, and you were sure the brothers would have so much to catch up on that Joshua might not have even had time to mention you. You’d heard so many tales of Clive over the years, knew how special the brothers were to one another and so desperately hoped to make his approval.

You shouldn’t have worried. As soon as Joshua stepped foot in the building, he’d strode directly over to you, pulling you into a deep, brief kiss, before taking you by the hand over to Clive and Jill.

Though a little surprised, Clive had been nothing but kind, considerate and welcoming in the time you’d spent with him after their return from Kanver and bout with Odin – the reason as to why Joshua was confined to his bed.

“Darling, come here.” Joshua demands, softly. “Please.”

“You, my love, are meant to be sleeping.” You chide, eyes not leaving the page.

“Resting.” He corrects. “Which I would do far better at if you were by my side. Nay, in my arms, actually.”

You look over your shoulder to roll your eyes – he’s propped himself up against the pillows, his black shirt unlaced, hair a little mussed and looking so beautiful. You realize as soon as you meet his soft blue eyes that engaging with him had been a mistake. You can never resist that face. He could tell you to walk straight into the mouth of a Morbol in his loving cadence and, by Founder, you’d do it.

No.

You must steel your resolve. He needs to rest. The colour’s only started to return to his complexion in the last day or so and you do not wish to hamper any semblance of recovery.

You try and regain your composure. “I do not wish to be at the wrong end of Tarja or Jote’s wrath when-”

“My sweet one, I beg you.”

Mothers, you can’t resist that – even if you’d downed many a tonic. You pick up your book and get to your feet, before toeing off your boots, and make the short walk over to the bed to climb in besides him. He instantly takes your free hand, pressing his lips softly against the back of it.

“Thank you.”

“Mm-hm.” You hold your tongue, not wishing to encourage him further, though you know when it comes to Joshua and his affections he needs no influence to shower you in loving words and sweet gestures. You go to return to your book, assuming he’ll rest now as you read besides him. That, however, turns out not to be his intention as he plucks the tome out of your hand with nimble fingers and places it down alongside him, just out of reach.

“Joshua…”

“It has been so long since we could just enjoy each other’s company, although I know that was at my behest. And now we are here… Well, I admire and respect Jote greatly, but to be truly alone in your company has become all too rare an occurrence.”

The Phoenix’s attendant was nothing but loyal, but sometimes her presence grew a little… suffocating, through no fault of her own. She was tasked with Joshua’s protection – his healer, his blade, his warden – and you were nowhere near skilled as her in those areas of expertise. You greatly admire her for her patience with him too – it was certainly hard to rein Joshua in at times.

“No, you are right. It has been a while.”

It felt like you’d been trekking across the continent non-stop the past while, poking around Fallen ruins, researching where you could, before he’d, reluctantly, sent you to Tabor to reside under Cyril’s watchful eye as set out to infiltrate Prince Dion’s camp to seek his aid. Your reunion in Tabor had been all too brief – he’d then sent you to the Hideaway alongside Jote to offer assistance there whilst his new party set forth to Kanver.

And Odin.

You don’t like to dwell on that – that Barnabas had split the sea with a swipe of his sword.

How easily could he have split Joshua in two?

“We should savour these moments.” He says, softly.

He draws shapes on your palm – it’s a nervous habit, you’d noted. He used to dance flames between his fingertips before he discovered this settled him just as well.

“You are thinking too much.”

“Impossible.”

Often, you would catch him standing or sitting in place, an arm across his chest, his other arm balanced upon it whilst he cups his chin, deep in contemplation. Sometimes so deep in thought, you’d resorted to peppering his face in kisses to get him to return to you.

You’re too used to this particular look, the responsibilities of the Phoenix resting too heavily on his shoulders.

“I disagree.” You place a tentative hand on his chest, hovering over that burden encased within. “Are you in pain?”

“No.” You stare at him for a moment, gauging whether it was a white lie across his tongue. His eyes seem sincere as he meets yours – he could never truly lie to you.

You scoot forward and swivel, carefully placing yourself across his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely and in returns he brings you in closer.

After all this time, his cheeks still flush a little to have you pressed against him.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You need to rest and, to do so, you must take a respite from thinking of Ultima.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you press your forehead against his before he can utter a word, and you move a hand to caress his cheek.

“And rather than exhaust yourself further chasing answers you cannot currently seek, mayhaps for now you can think of my touch and of how much I love you.” You whisper, tenderly.

“Sweet one, that thought has never once strayed from my mind - this is all because I love you. I want you to have the world.”

“I already do. You are it.” You tilt his chin up, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his lips. There’s a phantom taste of iron – too many times had you kissed your Phoenix’s bloody mouth in relief. “So, please, rest.”

He buries his head into your neck then, pressing a kiss or two to your throat, making your heartbeat quicken. “Can we stay like this?”

“Of course, love. Just close your eyes, mm?”

He nods, nuzzling in softly, the tip of his nose tickling your skin. You smile, closing your eyes, being close to him, being held like this is always so relaxing, your worries evaporating. It isn’t long before your breathing synchronizes and the two of you are slowly lulled to sleep, feeling content, safe and loved.

Clive doesn’t knock, forgetting himself, forgetting he’d sent you to sit with Joshua earlier too, and opens the door in a hurry. He has a vial of freshly brewed medicine from Tarja to deliver, but the scene before him stops him before he can voice his intentions.

Joshua is asleep, for one. He hadn’t even stirred at the sound of door opening. The Phoenix is propped up against the pillows and you are still wrapped in his arms, one hand spread flat over his heart. Joshua’s head is against the crook of your neck whilst yours lays upon his, both deep in slumber. The two of you look so peaceful.

“It’s rude to stare.” Jill jokes softly, wrapping an arm around Clive’s waist. He smiles down at her lovingly before he presses a kiss to the side of her head. How sweet it was that he and his brother had been blessed with you and Jill.

“Yes. I forgot they’d be together – I was tasked with delivering Joshua’s medicine, but…” He trails off, it goes without saying he does not wish to disturb such a tranquil scene.

“It can wait.” Jill smiles at the two of you. “Joshua has all the medicine he needs.”

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idolatrybarbie · 6 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door.

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.”

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize.

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: lover be sweet

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minaturefics · 1 year

Text

Anything But This

Request: hi! Could you write a Boromir x fem! reader where Boromir thinks that The reader is in love with Faramir but she actually likes him

A/N: Hello! Some love for my man Boromir, hope you enjoy it!

Boromir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

3.5k words

---

The late afternoon air was cool and carried the sharp, almost sweet scent of oncoming rain. The colourful market awnings stood bright against the grey sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance while the shopkeepers’ voices called over one another. You nudged Faramir along, your elbow knocking into his, while his eyes scanned the wares on display.

“Faramir, it is no use. We have searched for nearly an hour now,” you said, throwing up your hands. “Perhaps we should come back next weekend.”

“Do not fret, my lady. There are still a few more stalls yet. I am certain you will find something for my brother.”

You sighed but continued on down the long street. Boromir’s birthday was in less than two weeks and despite your best efforts, you were yet to find a gift for him. What could you give to a man who could have whatever he desired? What could a lady of your station give him that he could not already acquire himself?

“What about painting him something?” Faramir suggested as you turned away from another stall.

You shook your head. “I still have to finish the one I am working on now.”

You thought back to the day you had met the brothers. Faramir had heard about you from one of his page boys and had summoned you to the Citadel to paint a portrait of them together. Faramir was handsome enough, but your heart had nearly stopped when you saw Boromir.

It was torture, trailing your eyes over his broad shoulders, fixating on the way his tunic hugged his form, staring into his proud grey eyes trying to mix the right shade to capture them. He seemed stiff and uncertain during the first session with Faramir when you sketched them out, but he warmed over the various sittings.

When you were painting the details of his face and clothes, he had sat alone for you, talking while you mixed colours or cleaned your brushes. How strange, how sweet, to see Boromir, the stern Captain of Gondor, lay down his steely exterior. You delighted in the way his eyes would light up when he spoke of the battles of old, how his whole demeanour changed when he laughed, how he would tell you stories of his army misadventures.

There had been a few times where you needed to straighten his tunic, or reposition his arm, and his nearness was almost too much of a distraction. You could feel the heat radiating from him, smell his scent of cedar and musk. How your fingers longed to touch more than the fabric of his sleeve or the back of his hand.

You had tried to paint slower, to make mistakes with the colour, but there was no escaping the fact that the portrait would be finished soon enough. And with that, your time with Boromir would come to an end. Your stomach lurched. Boromir’s birthday was perhaps the last time you would see him.

You groaned as the end of the market street drew near. “I fear I will have nothing to give him.”

“I would not say that.” A smile played about Faramir’s lips and you arched your eyebrow at him. “I could not help but notice that you call Boromir to sit for you far more frequently than you do me.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you glanced away. “I do not know what you are implying.”

He chuckled. “Nothing, except that I do not believe I have seen my brother in such high spirits as I have seen him these past few weeks.”

Your heart sped up. Was it possible that Boromir felt the same for you? Or perhaps he had simply been happy to enjoy the company of a new friend. “You… you must be mistaken.”

Faramir’s voice softened. “I know my brother. He has been climbing trees and chasing things since he was young. He must truly enjoy your company for him to sit in one place for such a long time.”

“We are simply friends. Of a sort.” You sighed and crossed your arms. “It does not matter.”

“Why do you deny what is so plain to see?”

You thought of all the ladies you saw around the Citadel and the higher circles. Such sumptuous silks, such clean, pretty hands. They were befitting of Boromir's station. You had heard the whispers among the halls, overheard the quiet words in the courtyards — you were fortunate enough to even have the friendship of such a noble family. It would be foolish to think that he could ever be with you, a common painter.

“Faramir, I am not of noble birth.”

“Such things do not matter, not to Boromir and not to me.”

“They will not allow —”

“Who?” His words were sharp but his eyes were kind. “There is only Boromir and I left in our family, and I certainly do not object.” He placed a gentle hand on your arm. “I would be proud to call you ‘sister’.”

Honour and gratitude swelled in your chest and your bit back the tears forming in your eyes. “But King Aragorn…”

“Aragorn and Boromir have been through much together, and Aragorn of all people will not stand in the way of love. He will not deny the both of you either.”

Your heart swooped and you could not help but smile. It was possible, truly possible, for you to be with Boromir. But could you be certain of Faramir’s words? What if he was mistaken about Boromir’s feelings? The churning in your stomach started up again.

Your eyes roved the last few stands and you paused, catching sight of some carvings at a nearby stall. The spoons were beautifully carved, their handles even more so. Hearts weaved in and out of each other, a dove fluttered above a bell, grapes on vines curled up to blooming flowers.

“Lovespoons,” you breathed, tracing your fingers over one with two interlocked hearts. They were common among the regular folk, a heartfelt and inexpensive token someone could present to their lover.

“I dare say you have found a suitable gift.” Faramir grinned at you and you smiled back.

“Will you help me select one?”

He laughed and patted your hand. “I am not professing my love to Boromir. You pick which speaks to your heart.”

Your eyes drifted to one in the corner. It was less adorned than the rest, with twisted stems that led up to a single heart. An intertwined life, one love, one heart. You picked it up, and the anxious hum under your skin settled.

This would be the one.

Lightning cracked across the sky and thunder rumbled above. Rain mingled with Boromir’s sweat and dripped down his face. He took a vicious swing at the dummy with the wooden sword and let out a roar. His arms burned and his hand stung with blisters, but he carried on attacking the dummy, hoping that each strike would clear the images that had plagued him for the last few days.

You and his brother, looking at lovespoons. Together.

He was supposed to sit for you that afternoon, but you had sent him a note an hour beforehand saying that you could not make it. He had sought out Faramir, wanting to alleviate his boredom, but had found his brother’s rooms and the steward’s office empty. Restless and unsettled, he had wandered through the city, until he saw you and Faramir in the distance.

The memory stabbed at his heart and pierced the dummy’s straw body. What could he do? His brother loved you, and who could blame him?

It had been so easy to fall in love with you watching you work. Passion burned in your eyes, your gaze soft but keen as it swept over him. Your hands were swift and confident, capturing his likeness in a way that felt natural, creating textures on the canvas that he did not think possible.

You were so beautiful in the morning light you enjoyed painting in, the soft yellow glow seemingly radiating from within you. And the stories you told about yourself captivated him. How you covered the walls of your family home in murals, how you once travelled to Dol Amroth to find seashells to make a new pigment, how you would paint portraits of dogs or cats that have passed to ease the suffering of their owners.

Each time you requested he sit for you, his heart would leap in his chest, and more than once he had to hide the heat rising in his cheeks from you. There was a time where he thought that perhaps you returned his feelings, but alas… He must have misread the looks you gave him, mistaking gentle observation for tenderness, mistaking genuine smiles with ones borne of politeness. And your touches, the ones he secretly coveted, the ones where he would wrinkle his shirt or mislay his hand for, they were nothing more than that.

Perhaps the reason you called him in more than Faramir was simply because he was more difficult to capture. Valar knows his armour has more small parts and embellishments than Faramir’s steward’s uniform. Maybe all the time spent talking was simply you wishing to know him better, the brother of your lover.

Lover. The word sat like a black stone in his chest. He growled and drove the sword into the dummy again and again.

No, he would not tell Faramir of the pain in his heart, of the love he had lost. He knew his brother well, and Faramir would forever look upon him with guilt and pity in his eyes. No, his brother had suffered far too much, especially at the hands of their father. Let him have his love unhindered.

Boromir would cope. He had to, somehow.

Your laugh rang out across the small courtyard and his head snapped up to the sound. You were walking with Faramir under shelter, your eyes bright and your lips parted in laughter. His heart wrenched and he glanced away. Hopefully you and his brother would pass quickly. He did not need the sting of your presence, the reminder of everything he could not have.

“Boromir!” you called.

He tried to keep his voice even when turned and spoke. “Yes, my lady?”

“Faramir and I were wondering if you would like to see the decorations in the hall.” You glanced behind your shoulder to where his brother stood just a few steps behind. There was a small smile on his face and fondness in his eyes.

“No, I… I am certain whatever you and my brother have come up with will be sufficient.”

Your expression dropped and you shifted on your feet. “Is anything the matter, Boromir? When you sat for me the other day you… you left early.”

It had been too much, to sit there under your stare, to watch your hands and your eyes and your lips. He had faced hoards of Uruk-hai, battled oliphants on Pelennor, faced the Enemy at hell’s gates, but you… you just a few metres away, beautiful, untouchable… it had been too much. Was this what his men meant when they said that love brought people to their knees? He had sat there, still and stiff, begging, pleading in his mind for some sort of relief from the images that sprung to it each time he looked at you.

“I have been occupied recently. The guards require my attention.” He glanced at Faramir, whose brows were drawing together. Could his brother see the love plain on his face? He would need to be better at disguising it. “I trust the both of you.”

You opened your mouth and snapped it shut again. “I see… Perhaps… Would you like to dine together this evening? When we have finished with the preparations?”

He could not endure an entire evening with only you and Faramir. To see the love in his brother’s eyes that he himself could not show, to see your warm smiles directed at another, to bear witness to your loving touches. No, he could not abide by that torture.

He shook his head. “Another time perhaps. You should go, my brother is waiting.”

“Boromir —”

He turned away, finger tightening around the sword. “Go.”

The small hall was alight with candles and lanterns. Bunting was strung up between the pillars, the bright colours stark against the black and white stone. A quartet of musicians played a cheery tune that some were dancing to in the middle of the room. You skirted the edges of the crowd, offering polite smiles to those that recognised you, searching for Boromir.

He seemed strangely intent on avoiding you for the last few days, spending most of his time in the army barracks where you were not allowed to go. Unease sat in your stomach and you fisted your dress. Was Faramir wrong all along? Perhaps Boromir truly did not have any affection for you. But what of those shared looks, half-hopeful and hesitant? Maybe you simply envisioned it, put meaning to something simply because it was what your heart longed for.

You sighed. The portrait was finished. Tonight would be the last time you would be able to see him. There would be no more excuse to go up to the citadel, no excuse to see him in the week. Faramir had said you were welcome to visit whenever you wished but it would be too painful to walk the rooms and corridors, Boromir’s absence reminding you of the love that was not yours to have.

You craned your head around the mass of bodies and found Faramir was standing by the door that led out to one of the side gardens, a worried expression on his face.

“Faramir, is anything the matter?”

“It is my brother,” he said, sending another furtive look outside. “He has been remarkably sullen this whole evening. And he usually loves his birthday celebrations.”

“He has also been avoiding me,” you sighed. “I fear there is something bothering him. Do you suppose it could be me?”

“What do you mean, my lady?” “What if I have made him… uncomfortable with my attentions? Perhaps he realised that I could have misunderstood the closeness between us and this is his way of quietly turning me down?”

Faramir shook his head. “I have never known my brother to do anything quietly. Especially for something such as this. He would be direct, even if it was hurtful, so as no misunderstandings would occur.”

You glanced at the dim garden. “Where did he go?”

“He said he wanted to get some air. I thought of giving him some time before going to speak to him. I hope he has not already escaped to his rooms.” Faramir’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps you should go find him. I think you will be better received than I will.”

You touched the lovespoon in your pocket, feeling it through the fabric, and nodded. You wandered out into the night, wincing a little at the cool breeze that swept through the garden. The noise of the crowd ebbed away and was replaced by rustling trees and chirping crickets. Sand crunched under your slippered feet as you walked down the path that winded through the tall hedges and shrubs.

You rounded a corner and found Boromir standing by one of the trees, head tilted back to look at the stars. There was a look in his eyes. Resignation and anguish, weariness and fatigue.

“Boromir?” you called softly, afraid of startling him. He turned his stormy grey eyes on you and you hesitated. “Is… is something the matter? You are missing your party.”

“I am in no mood for celebrations,” he muttered, voice distant and bitter. He shook his head and cleared his throat. His voice was gentler when he spoke again. “Did my brother send you to find me?”

“Yes… No, well I… I was looking for you and he told me where you were.”

He shook his head and glanced away. “I suppose I should get used to the notion of the both of you together.”

Get used to it? What did he mean? Tonight would be the last time you would see either of them regularly, if at all.

“Forgive me, my lady. My mood has left me ill-mannered.” He gestured towards the path. “I am not much for conversation tonight. Please enjoy yourself this evening.”

You took a step towards him. “Boromir, what did you mean? About getting used to Faramir and I together.”

His eyes cut back to you, pained and guarded. He let out a puff of air before he said, “You and my brother. Now that the both of you are…” He swallowed.

“I don’t understand.” You reached a tentative hand out and he stepped back. Your heart lurched. He had never recoiled from your touch before.

“Fine. I will speak plainly then, as much as it pains me, but I must ask you spare Faramir of the truth.” His voice grew hard and stiff. “I will admit to harbouring feelings for you.”

Your heart thudded in your ears. Feelings? Boromir returned your feelings?

“And as much as I am happy that the both of you have found your joy,” he continued. “I must confess it causes me great suffering to —”

“Boromir,” you said. “Faramir and I are only friends.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. “I do not appreciate being lied to. I saw you that day at the markets, looking for lovespoons.”

You shook your head at him and reached into your pocket. You presented the spoon to him with a small laugh. “It was for you.”

His jaw grew slack and his shoulders dropped. “For… me?” He unfolded his arms and took it from you. He ran his fingers over the wood, tracing the intertwining vines.

Such beautiful hands, such lovely fingers. And yours, finally yours.

“Did you truly think that Faramir and I…?”

“I do not know,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the wood before tucking the spoon into the breast pocket of his doublet, right above his heart. “I could not think of any other reason why two people would look at lovespoons together.”

“I was searching for a birthday gift when we chanced upon the lovespoon stall.” You reached out, your hand hovering in the space between the both of you. He grasped it, his warm fingers curling around your own.

He drew you in and his other hand came to rest on your waist. His scent enveloped you and inhaled, melting at his familiar smell. You caressed his cheek, his beard rough under your fingers, and he grinned at you.

“For so many days I have lived in agony, wondering how I should live watching the two people I love most in the world love each other.”

“Why did you not say anything until now?”

“How could I? It would have done little good.”

“And you would have suffered in silence?”

“For you and Faramir, I would do anything.” His hand slid up your arm to your shoulder. He cupped your face and swept his thumb over your cheek. His eyes shimmered in the low light, tender and naked in their affection. “You are so beautiful. For so long I have wanted… wanted…”

He leaned down and you tilted your head up. His lips were warm and soft, and his exhale was hot on your skin. He tugged you closer and deepened the kiss. You could taste the tartness of the wine lingering on his lips, the sweetness of the berry pie, and something that was distinctly him. He was solid against you, his chest broad and firm, searing even through the layers of fabric.

You drew back and took a breath, flushed and dazed. He chuckled and nudged your temple with his nose. “Should I have known how good you taste, I would have kissed you earlier.”

You laughed and buried your face in his chest. “I would have never finished the portrait then.”

“Then you would have more excuses to come see me.”

“Do I need excuses to see you?”

He shook his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “No, not ever. Speaking of excuses, we should rejoin the party. Our presence will be missed, I think.”

“I think we are more in danger of Faramir finding us… occupied.”

He laughed, a deep, warm sound, and led you down the path. “A terrible fate for him, I should think.”

The sounds of the party grew louder and when the both of you emerged from between the hedges, Faramir was standing outside by the door.

“Thank Valar” he said, a soft smile on his face at the sight of your joined hands. “I was going to send one of the hobbits after you. I thought something truly unfortunate must have happened.”

“No, brother,” Boromir said, slinging an arm around Faramir’s shoulder. “I think I have been given the greatest blessing of my life.” He knocked his head against Faramir’s. “After you, of course.”

“Was your ill-mood simply due to pining? It felt too thunderous for it to just be that.”

You shared a look with Boromir and he shook his head. “I will explain another night, little brother.”

Faramir’s eyes darted to you, eyebrows raised in silent question. You laughed and tugged them forward. “We can talk later.”

“Tonight,” Boromir said as he released Faramir and bumped his shoulder, his smile wide on his face, “we celebrate!”

#boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #boromir x you #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr #boromir #request

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poppadom0912 · 6 months

Text

Together (Epilogue)

Warnings: Mentions of hospitals, injuries, kidnappings and death

Summary: Life moves on whether or not you want it to.

A/N: This is it my lovelies! It's lowkey been two months since I first released my baby into the world and you've received her with nothing but love. Thank you so much for all the support you've shown, it truly makes me want to write more and better.

I hope you enjoy the final part of this series. This has been so much fun and quite a wild ride. Lots of emotions, I won't lie, some parts really got deep but when you read this, it'll all be worth it. 🤍🙃

Did I lie about the fluff? ... I'm so sorry, I just couldn't resist😭

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist

Black was not your favourite colour.

Some said it nicely complimented your red hair and you kind've looked badass but you couldn't see it. Besides the fact that it was slimming when you wore it, you tried to avoid the colour as much as possible. You much preferred the dark navy and greys instead.

That's why you hated wearing your dress uniform, even if it was for a joyous occasion.

Fixing the black suit, you sighed. According to your lawyer, showing up in uniform created more empathy and so not only were you wearing your uniform, but Jay too.

And Will… Well that was another conversation.

It had been two months since the kidnapping and things were, things were definitely different.

Due to circumstances, the trial had been pushed back a little. Well, their sentencing had, the trial went off without a hitch and all of Intelligence could attest to that but today was the day everyone found how for how long exactly they were going to be jailed.

Everyone had been bitter and rightly so.

Stepping back from the car door, you finished fixing your hair in the car window, happy that no baby hairs were sticking out and the gel was doing its job. You were asked for professional and so a bun seemed fitting.

Going around the car, Kelly joined you by your side but dressed casually. He wasn’t directly involved and your lawyer didn’t make a specific request. According to her, things could go sideways and things needed to look good on your side.

You envied the lack of black your boyfriend was wearing. And what annoyed you even more was the Jay’s uniform was more of a dark blue.

Jay fully healed over the past two months, no injuries for the naked eye to see but the scar was still there on his thigh, the trauma burned into his mind forever after. Similar could be said for you but while Jay was back on duty, you were still taking it slow and doing admin work at the firehouse after being a bored mess at home alone.

Therapy wasn’t much help. Your psychologist wasn’t the problem, in fact she was a darling, but not all things could be fixed. You eventually came to terms with the fact that this would never leave you. As a team, you’d have to turn a new page and keep on going, with the hopes that it became a distant memory no one had to recollect.

“Y/N.”

You could never get tired of hearing his voice, the tranquillity it brought you needed to be studied. His loving face sent you a soft smile, his eyes scrunching up in attempt to keep you calm and collected.

“Jay messaged me, they’re waiting inside.”

With a sigh, you interlocked hands and let Kelly lead the way inside the courthouse. Anxiety weighed down on you heavily, making it feel like you were walking through a sentient sludge that kept trying to pull you down.

A smile graced your lips but at the sight of your older brother in his dress blues, his entire crew by his side, your smile faltered. As soon as it began wobbling, your eyes burned as everything started to go blurry.

Your chest hurt too much, it suddenly felt like you were having a heart attack in the middle of the courthouse.

“Oh Y/N.” Jay sighed, enveloping you in his arms not a moment later. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry.” You croaked out, huffing into the crook of his neck, being mindful not to mess up his uniform. “Gosh, I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“Stop that, don’t apologise.” Jay chided, tutting alike to how Will would whenever you two got into trouble. Whenever Will did that, you knew his annoyance wouldn’t last long, he loved you and Jay too much to hold a grudge.

Shit, now your tears were rolling down your flushed cheeks and making small marks on Jay’s shoulder.

“Do you think he’s okay?”

Jay didn’t say anything for a long time. You were almost scared he wouldn’t answer you like last time. The more time past, the more you knew he wasn’t going to say anything and the same exact scene from two months ago flashed before your eyes, almost sending you into a fit of gut-wrenching tears. But Jay proved you wrong.

“I don’t know what to think anymore Y/N.”

*****

Maggie sighed, shoulders deflating as she sat on the hospital bed. It had been a long day.

Whenever she wanted a break from the ED, she usually found one of the rooms in the ICU where the patient was usually either unconscious or in a coma. The peace and quiet provided her the time and space to get back into tune with her thoughts before going back to being the charge nurse of the bustling emergency department.

Looking at this patient, she didn’t need to look at the chart to know what happened, she’d been in this particular room every single day since their arrival. This patient had a certain pull that made her want to know everything about their condition.

“Thought I’d find you here.” Sharon said, her voice calming as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. “Everyone was waiting downstairs, you missed it.”

“I know.” Maggie replied solemnly, her hands readjusting the blanket around the coma patient. “But they did it, right?”

“They did it.” Sharon confirmed as she moved to stand on the other side of the bed. It was great news, news that should’ve resulted in tears of joy but the charge nurse barely moved an inch.

“Life without parole.” There was a pause, beeping and the whooshing of machines filling the silence. “They weren’t going to settle for anything less.”

“Good.” Maggie replied, her lips pulled tightly together.

Neither of them said anything afterwards. There was still so much that needed to be discussed but the right people weren’t in the room currently. The one big question loomed heavily over them like a stormy cloud just waiting for the right moment to start raining.

“Take a break Maggie. Eat a little something before you join the rest of them.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sharon turned and left the room, mumbling she had a meeting in a few minutes when in reality, she hated being in this room as much as the next person.

Maggie stewed in her thoughts, too many flying all around the place for her to properly take a break.

“Still no change?”

Maggie’s silence was more than enough of an answer. She truly hated her job sometimes, especially when she had to break the news to waiting family members.

“No movement since you left last night.”

Jay’s eyes still filled with tears every time he was given news.

“Are we- Do you think we’re doing the right thing Maggie?” Jay tumbled over his words from where he stood in the doorway, too scared to enter the room. The sadness laced in his words made him sound so innocent and childlike, Maggie just wanted to hide and protect all three Halstead’s from the horrors of the world.

But looking at the coma patient on the bed, Maggie knew her words were biased.

*****

One week later

You were going crazy. You didn’t know how much longer you could handle this. You hated playing the waiting game.

It was in the middle of shift when you got the call. You were finally back to full time firefighting, Crocket deeming you fit and healthy two days ago to work again. The happiness that followed his news only lasted so long.

Your emotions were haywire. When you entered the ED for what felt like the billionth time, you felt your heart physically stop at the sight of a red eyed Maggie. From beside you, Jay was scarily silent, not breathing for a good minute.

But then she smiled, dimples and all.

Connor was supposed to tell you but he was rushed into an emergency surgery and entrusted the charge nurse to tell the two most important people in Will’s life the news.

“Will’s going to make a full recovery. There’s going to be quite a bit of rehab and physical therapy but he’s going to be just fine.”

And for the first time since their initial reunion in the warehouse just over two months ago, all three Halstead siblings would be together again.

It was going to be a long and difficult path to recovery. You and Jay had your own struggles and having Will in a coma only made it harder. But now, Will had the love and support of his baby brother and baby sister, the two people he did all of this for.

And yes, maybe Jay would reem his for being a stupid bastard, protecting them from literal criminals with his life. Obviously, you would chime in when necessary but the big goofy smile on your face did nothing.

All was well now. The future was looking bright for the most of it, guaranteed it be a bit rocky in the next coming weeks that would consist of a gruelling recovery process but at the end of the tunnel, you were all coming out stronger than ever.

Series Masterlist:

@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale @iamasimpingh0e @lanea-1 @swidkid @jamie0515

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #jay halstead x reader #onechicago #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd #will halstead x reader #halstead sister #halstead brothers #kelly severide x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x sister!reader

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bullet-clubs-bitch · 2 months

Text

The Dark Side Of The Moon

Hangman Adam Page X Fem Reader

Summary: Hangman falls for dark and mysterious Y/n who is a part of the Blackpool Combat Club. Despite their ongoing rivalry, he can’t seem to get Y/n out of his head. Every time she jumps him from behind, leaving him in a puddle of his own blood it only causes him to fall harder. Deep down inside Hangman knew Y/n cared, that she did indeed have a soul and he would do anything to find it. Everyone told him this was a bad idea. It was obvious that Y/n had mental issues and was ‘broken’ but Adam didn’t care. He wanted to fix her. He would stop at nothing to reach the dark side of the moon, which in this case was the light side of Y/n’s heart. Who knows maybe he would end up saving her life or better, they’d save each others.

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Drug use/abuse, Self-harm, swearing, mentions of mental health issues, SMUT and other sensitive topics

An: I think this is my favourite fic I've ever done. This one pulled on the heartstrings. I can't believe I got it to 8k and could have easily made it longer too! Hope you enjoy it!

Word Count 8k Main Masterlist

I don’t know what it was that I saw in Y/n. She was cold, dark and viscous. She had no soul and people feared her, she was a threat. Yet I believed I could change her. Not that I thought she needed to be changed but I thought I could fix whatever she had hidden away under those walls she had built up. Once upon a time, I knew Y/n although she didn’t know me. I had seen her circling the independent circuit starting out as a wrestler as I was just getting my break. I had secretly kept an eye on her for all those years. When I found out she was a free agent I suggested to Matt and Nick we should sign her. They liked what they saw and soon Y/n was All Elite. She was quickly scooped up by The Blackpool Combat Club and was soon the biggest heel in our company. You could tell just by looking at Y/n that she’s been through things in her young life. Maybe it was the constant dark circles and tired look in her eyes. Maybe it was scars that were scarred around her body that she wore with pride. Some were faded while others weren’t. Some were from life and matches but others you could tell were self-inflicted. As much as all of these things helped the whole look she was going for I knew deep down inside that wasn’t the real Y/n. No one had ever seen her genuinely smile, no one had ever seen her laugh. It was like she was emotionless but I knew deep down she did have feelings, they were just hidden from the world. Every week Y/n would arrive and leave the arena with the BCC she stuck with them like glue. I knew the BCC claimed that they did everything together but I didn’t think it was true.

One night I caught Y/n smoking in the hotel lobby late after a show. I almost didn’t recognize her. For starters she wasn’t with the BCC, since it was close to 2 am I assumed they were asleep. The second thing I noticed was what Y/n was wearing. She wore a creme-coloured oversized hoodie with a pair of black velvet PJ shorts. Along with that, she had knee-high pink fuzzy socks and black fluffy uggs. It was nice seeing her in color other than black. She also wasn’t wearing any makeup, the flame from her cigarette illuminated her face in an ethereal way. I never realized she was so young. Her skin was youthful, she was beautiful. Not that she wasn’t before but this was a different type of beauty. Underneath the heavy dark makeup she wore you could see just how gorgeous she truly was.

I told this all to Matt Nick and Kenny the next time I saw them, they however had some different opinions. Kenny first said it was weird I was spying on her but I just happened to run into her. I thought about approaching her but I was nervous about what the end result would be so I observed from afar. Matt was quick to remind me just who she was “You do realize she is a part of The Blackpool Combat Club right? They are insane! I’m not trying to be rude or anything but I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want to see you get hurt” I appreciated his concern but at the same time was offended by his comments. This whole thing ended up spiraling into Nick and Matt arguing with the other on why I should and shouldn’t be feeling this way for Y/n. I regret even mentioning it in the first place. Kenny tried to comfort me but I was too far gone. “I agree with Nick, I think that although she is scary you two would be a nice pair. You could balance the other out” he said. Balance out? Was he calling me soft? Yes sure I’d been told I can give off golden retriever vibes but if need be I can flip and be bad too. For god sake, we all got suspended for getting into a fight with Punk! Anyway this was the last of my worries, I had a match with none other than Jon Moxley tonight. I knew that Y/n would be ringside and I wanted to show her that I could be tough and bad too.

I stood calmly in the ring as I watched Mox and Y/n make their entrance. I felt my breath get caught in my throat as she approached me. For some reason I was nervous. I had never been nervous around her before but I guess that was because I didn’t have these feelings yet. Throughout the match Y/n did her usual distractions, distracting the ref, pulling my feet from underneath me even using herself as a shield to protect Mox. I knew she would do all of these things but this time it was different. The mind games she played were working, I found myself hypnotized by her beauty. I was in fact so distracted that I didn’t even see Mox charging right at me. I swear I saw Y/n mouth ‘Look out’ but it was too late. I don’t remember much after that. I felt my body hit the canvas hard, my head bouncing on contact. I got knocked out.

When I finally came to, I was surrounded by AEW medical staff and some of the talent. “How are you feeling?” asked one of the doctors. “My head hurts,” I told them, feeling the throbbing in the back of my head. “You took a pretty nasty fall” I reached up and felt several bandages on the back of my head, how hard did I hit? After going through both verbal and physical tests the backstage medic said I didn’t need to go to the hospital which was a sigh of relief. I found out that I did a whole backflip when being hit with a lariat, I landed on my head, right in front of Y/n.

It was quite a scary moment for everyone. The match was ended immediately and Mox was able to tend to the crowd, distracting them from the scene that unfolded before them. I was shocked to find out that Y/n had been there the whole time. She stayed the whole time as doctors catered to me. She had even followed them backstage, leaving only minutes before I came to. I didn’t know why she would do that, we weren’t friends, we didn’t even talk. To me, this proved exactly what I thought. She did have a soul. As I watched the match back along with the cut footage I was able to see how the whole thing played out. It was obvious that I was mesmerized by Y/n, I was practically drooling. She played on it, using it to her advantage so Mox could have the upper hand. She did tell me to watch out and I was able to see the horror in her eyes as I hit the canvas. She was in shock, hell everyone was but since Y/n wasn’t one for showing her emotions when she did show them it was quite obvious. Since the whole thing happened in front of her out of instinct she was the first to check on me, yelling to the official that I was out cold. Luckily the camera didn’t catch her breaking character but many still had their phones out, capturing the whole thing. She stayed next to me, supporting my head/neck until medical arrived then she stood from a distance as medical did their thing. Throughout the whole thing, her facial expressions remained cold but her eyes told the whole story.

I also found out that people had a thing or two to say about the whole situation. Others praised Y/n for making sure I was okay and in a way saving my life while others claimed she ruined the act. She broke character, she broke the fourth wall. The wrestlers didn’t care nor did the audience, it was the people online that did. It got so bad that Y/n ended up responding to the comments on Twitter.

“All of these comments about me checking on Hangman are really pissing me off. The first thing I learned in wrestling school is that the most important thing is to keep your opponent safe at all times no matter what. Did you really expect me to watch him fall on his head and get knocked out in front of me and do nothing? I was simply preventing his unconscious body from rolling out of the ring and getting more injured. You guys need to grow up. I have been knocked out before in the ring and it is no joke whatsoever. So what, I was making sure he was still breathing. Who cares if I was supporting his head/neck before medical could arrive? THIS IS PRO WRESTLING! It’s not like I was the one wrestling him. I only did those things because I was ringside and not involved in the match. I wouldn’t stop mid-match and perform CPR on my opponent! All of this was pure instinct, I wasn’t even thinking about what I was doing. Anyway, that’s my two cents. It’s over and I’m glad The Cowboy is okay.”

I ended up staying away for six weeks for percussion and when I returned all I could feel was the stares. Everyone wanted to know how I was doing, if I was cleared but all I cared about was seeing Y/n. I wanted to thank her. Once I escaped the crowd of people I found Y/n leaning against a wall. It was almost like she was waiting for me. “How are you feeling?” she asked “You took a pretty nasty fall. I thought you were dead” “I’m feeling much better now. Thank you for making sure I wasn’t dead” I told her. I swear I saw her smile for just a second but I wasn’t sure. “Well I’m glad you’re alright and sorry for causing it in the first place” “It’s not your fault, I should have been paying attention” I mean it truly was my fault. “I’ll see you around,” said Y/n and with that she left.

Although our interaction was short I couldn't stop thinking about Y/n. I wanted to get under her skin, I wanted to spend time with her and get to know the real Y/n. The thing is, like Matt said she was in the Blackpool Combat Club, what would she want to do with someone like me? Deep down inside I knew that this was only the beginning. I was angry, I was frustrated for allowing myself to be so careless and get such a stupid injury. I wanted my rematch. I decided I would use one of their own tricks against them, the mind games. It was subtle at first. I’d wait at the gorilla whenever the BCC entered the backstage area where we would exchange a few looks. I’d follow them around the arena, a silent reminder that I was always watching. How I could seek my revenge at any moment. I’d then move on to causing them matches. I sneaked out during one of Y/n’s matches and stood ringside waiting for her to notice. When she finally did she started yelling at me, that distraction caused her opponent to roll Y/n up for a sneaky victory. “I’m going to kill you!” She yelled.

It had gotten to the point where everyone was mad at each other and the promo battle began. I was the first to call out the BCC claiming that it was all Y/n’s fault that I got injured. I mean it was, you could get lost in her eyes, I did and look what happened. Soon after the sneak attacks began. I didn’t know what I was thinking, I was outnumbered big time but even though it was just me I was able to get under their skin and they hated it. As I was filming yet another backstage segment I was inputted by Y/n. She came up to me all flirtatious wearing a black pleated skirt and a black corset top where her breasts were practically falling out. “Heyyyy Cowboy” Y/n said as she twisted her hair. “I just wanted to apologize for everything. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt and I didn’t mean for everything to go this far.” As she spoke she kept coming closer to me to the point where we were chest to chest. “I feel really bad about it, let me make it up to you….” It’s a trick, say no, this is a trap. Every bone in my body told me it was a trick but I couldn't deny her offer. The chokehold she had on me was too strong, I couldn't breathe. I didn’t say anything, I wanted her to continue. She pulled a key card and a slip of paper from her top. “Here is my room key, meet me after the show” She handed me the card and kissed me on the cheek. I couldn't breathe, my body went numb.

I stood in front of Y/n’s hotel room, key card in hand. I was scared to knock, I knew it was a trap but a part of me hoped it wasn’t. That was the part that led me here. I knocked on the door and was pleasantly greeted by Y/n. She wore a gorgeous black lingerie set that had me practically foaming at the mouth. She was acting all sweet and kind, I didn’t buy a second of it. Yet I did nothing about it. “I’ve been expecting you,” She said seductively as she grabbed me by my collar and began to kiss me passionately. I kissed her back, as she wrapped her legs around me. Y/n was first to break the kiss saying “I have a surprise for you” I was skeptical at first but was more interested in this ‘surprise’. Y/n grabbed a black silk blindfold and tied it around me. She carefully brought me to the bed, giving me one last kiss before she disappeared. “Where are you going?” I asked her. “Hold on…I’m getting the surprise ready. You can open your eyes when I tell you” I didn’t even notice that the BCC was in the room the whole time, Bryan stood behind the door, Mox by the bedside table and Claudio and Yuta hid in the washroom. During my time being blindfolded the men exposed themselves and Y/n retrieved the hidden weapons. “Okay, you can open your eyes!” said Y/n. When I removed the blindfold that’s when I saw them. “Fuck”

I didn’t even get a chance to defend myself. This was a four-on-one attack. I tried my best to protect myself as fighting back wouldn’t do anything but it was useless. I was left covered in bruises in a pool of blood. My body ached as yet another Kendo Stick cracked on my back. My eyes were fixated on Y/n during the whole attack. She just sat and watched the attack unfold before her. Everything about her was cold, the lifeless expression on her face, her mysterious body language. I searched for something, anything that would tell me she cared, that she felt bad but I found nothing. The lust that was once in her eyes moments ago had been replaced with a seductive evil look.

I watched Y/n stand up, the attack was over. My body now lay on the floor, I couldn't move. She knelt next to me and said “Stupid cowboy, you fell right into my trap. Although you’re adorable I must say you are quite an idiot. This is the oldest trick in the book, even you should have seen this coming. This isn’t personal, It’s just business. You did this all to yourself, you thought you could call us out like that and there wouldn’t be consequences? This is what happens when you mess with The Blackpool Combat Club '' Y/n placed one last delicate kiss on my lips before leaving the room, leaving me in a pile of my own blood.

***

Currently, I sat in the Elite’s private locker room, being lectured by Matt, Nick and Kenny. “I told you this was going to happen! What were you thinking?!” Yelled Matt. “That’s the issue, he wasn’t. He’s been hypnotized by Y/n. Isn’t it obvious that he’s in love with her!” Said Kenny

He was right, I was in love with Y/n. I have no idea why. She has been attacking me for weeks, for god sake last night I was left in a pile of my own blood, battered and bruised. Despite all of that I just kept falling harder and harder for Y/n. “Is that true? You’re in love with her?” asked Nick. “I don’t know what it is that I see in her Nick, I really don’t. I’m just so drawn to her, I know that underneath all that darkness there is a light that is dying to be let out! I need to find that light. I know that I can change her, she’s broken and I can fix her. Now I don’t ask you for much but I need your help with this! I need to get in” The men said nothing. They looked at me like I was crazy but they also looked as if they felt sorry for me.

“Look Hanger, I don’t think we can help you with this. Somehow you need to get Y/n on her own, that’s the only chance you have here. I don’t support this idea, I know it will end badly but I do agree with you that Y/n has some issues. Not that there's anything wrong with that but I just don’t think you need to be responsible for fixing it. All I will say is that Y/n doesn’t sleep at night. If you are lucky you might be able to run into her during a 3 am workout or a smoke sesh. Good luck man. You can call me for backup if you need” Kenny told me sincerely. “Thank you”

That night I couldn't sleep, all I could think about was the events that occurred not even 24 hrs ago. I had Y/n where I needed her, I had her pressed up against the wall, she was so close yet so far. I didn’t even care that I got beat up, it was worth the makeout sesh that happened before. Her lips were soft, her kisses were passionate. She smelt like vanilla and tobacco, her exposed skin was warm and delicate. She didn’t feel real, she was a figment of my imagination. I let that imagination run wild, I pictured what would happen if the BCC wasn’t there. The way I would scoop her up in my arms and make the most beautiful love to her. I would worship her body like the temple it was. I would slowly and passionately make her come undone. I would make her submit to me, but if she wanted it the other way around I wouldn’t complain. I was putty in her hands. My brain played a trick on me, my imagination was too real. It felt too real.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Y/n said seductively as she grabbed me by my collar and began to kiss me passionately. I kissed her back, as she wrapped her legs around me. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this” I told her “I know baby, I know. I want you too, I need you” she said. I carefully brought Y/n to the bed, placing her on it delicately before getting on top of her. I had her wrists pinned above her head as I placed rough kisses along her body. I found that sweet spot on her neck and made sure to leave a mark. Sucking on the sensitive flesh as she cried out in pleasure. I removed her clothing gently as if I was unwrapping a present. She looked beautiful underneath me. I quickly removed my own clothing before returning to Y/n. We fought for dominance but in the end I won. It felt like our bodies were made for eachother, I had found my other half. Y/n felt beautiful around me, she made me feel so good.

Just as I was getting to the good part of my dream I woke up.

I checked the time and it was close to 2 am, my gut was telling me Y/n was near. Like Kenny said, my only shot with her was when she was alone. I quickly threw on a pair of gray sweats and a T-shirt and made my way down to the hotel lobby. Just like I suspected I found Y/n by the outdoor fire lounge smoking a cigarette, writing something in a notebook. I slowly approached her, not wanting to scare her. “What do you want, Cowboy?” Y/n asked. The tone she said it in was quiet, it was soft, it was weird. “Can I sit?” I asked and she motioned me to sit next to her. “What are you doing out here so late by yourself? It’s cold and there are creeps out there” I told her. Y/n put out the cigarette and turned to face me. Her pupils were huge, her face and body relaxed, I knew Molly when I saw it, that explains why she wasn’t screaming at me. “What is it that you see in me? I’m fucked up, no one wants to be with someone like me.” She said sadly, it broke my heart. “Y/n I know you’re hurting, I don’t know what you went through but I’m sorry it happened to you. Now I came out here for a whole other reason but you are not okay-” “I’m fine, you know nothing about me” “Then tell me, I want to learn. I want to know every single detail about you Y/n. You are playing a dangerous game right now, it’s only a matter of time before everything falls apart. I just can’t leave you like this, I promise I won’t try anything but I think you should come with me-” “Are you insane, I might be fucked up but I’m competent enough to know you want to fuck me” “No, No I promise not like that. I just want to repay you after you saved my life a few months back. I don’t care if you kill me tomorrow but you need to come with me Y/n” I told her sincerely. I could tell she was hesitant, she was in a vulnerable state but she agreed. I carefully took her back to my hotel room. I entered the room and assumed Y/n followed behind me. I turned and there she stood in the doorway. She looked like a scared lost child, it broke me.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked her carefully. “It’s okay, you're okay” I didn’t know what to do in this situation. I know I said I wanted to get to know the real Y/n but the truth was the real Y/n was scaring me. The Y/n that stood back at me with big doe eyes was scared. Maybe this was the version that was hiding under the dark makeup and clothing. This was the Y/n that was hurt, this is the one I needed to fix. I approached her slowly and reached out my hand, trying to get her to follow me into the room. She flinched. “I shouldn’t be here, we can’t be doing this,” Y/n said quietly. “I know but I don’t seem to care,” I told her “Does Bryan know you do this? How would they feel if they saw you like this? Just come in so no one sees you” She entered the room slowly and sat down on the large king bed, her head down. I locked the door behind me and was able to notice just how bad of a state she was in. Her once straight hair had become frizzy, her natural curls trying to appear to the world. The clothing she wore was 2 sizes too big, she was swimming in it. She smelt like alcohol and cigarettes, her skin was ice cold. I joined her on the bed, sitting next to her wanting her to talk first. “What do you want from me?” she asked quietly “I just to help. Look Y/n, I really like you. I don’t care if you hate me but I don’t hate you. I just couldn't leave you like this” Y/n looked at me and with the new lighting I was able to see just how tired she looked. My brain still was trying to comprehend that she was on drugs. “What do you want to know?” She asked. “I want to know why you are like this, why do you do what you do?”

“I don’t think you know how exhausting it is to live like this. The moment I walk into that arena, the moment I feel a camera on me everything disappears. I am at peace, I am free. I can do whatever I want. The whole Death Jitsu thing is second nature, I live it on the daily. The moment I’m home, the moment I’m alone and that rush has worn off is when I feel it. That reality check hits and I’m done for. I see the world and people for who they truly are. Everyone is fake and everything sucks. You can only pretend so much, you can only lie to yourself for so long until you realize none of it is real. I don’t know why I act like this, maybe it’s the years of trauma that has made me scared to get hurt again. That’s why I act like I have no emotions but in reality, I am quite an emotional person. I was told I had too many feelings, that I cried too much, that I cared too much, that I loved too much. It’s easy to hide it from the world, I have been doing it since I was a child. It’s when you’re alone that everything you hide comes out and you feel like you have gone mentally insane. I do things I probably shouldn’t to keep those feelings inside. It ties me over till morning when I can put on a show and pretend that everything is okay. The thing is when you are so fucked you admit everything that is wrong with you. Here I am telling you my sob story when I should be hating you but the thing is I can’t. Somehow you have gotten in my head, you know my thoughts. You know about the mental issues I refuse to admit I have. I hate how without realizing I let you in. Now if you excuse me I must go.”

I grabbed Y/n’s hand, preventing her from leaving. “Why is it that you can’t hate me?” I asked her “I like you, I like who you are. You’re nice to everyone, you look like you would give the best hugs. You just have this aura to you. I said what I meant, you are adorable but you are an idiot. An idiot for falling for me. I’ll ruin your life. You don’t want a mentally ill girl who you will have to take care of like a scared child. When I saw you get knocked out in front of me it scared me. I’ve seen it happen too many times, I was having flashbacks. The difference was this time I could do something about it. After that night I had sympathy for you, I felt something for you. I felt like we developed this connection. It’s unfortunate this is happening, I don’t want to hurt you but you did this to yourself.”

I knew what she needed, she needed someone who would take care of her. She needed someone who would love her for all of her imperfections. Someone who could clean her cuts and kiss her scars. She needed someone to protect her and keep her safe from all the demons. This was a bad idea, I was playing a risky game. This could end badly, she could ruin my life but I was willing to take that risk. The worst thing that could happen is for the BCC to murder me for getting in their girl’s head. “Can I give you a hug?” I asked, she nodded and I held her in a tight embrace, holding her close as she began to cry. She was touch-deprived, which you would have never guessed. Wrestling is such a contact sport that you are always being touched. She was very attractive and many people had crushes on her, you would think she’d have some ‘fun’ now and then. The difference is this was a different kind of touching. This was filled with love. We stayed there for a while, I just held Y/n as she cried. I had broken down a wall, I was inside. Although other walls remained intact this was a step in the right direction. “I’m going to take care of you alright. I promise that everything will be okay Y/n. I’m not going anywhere” I continued to whisper sweet nothings to Y/n as I traced circles around her back.

Two weeks had passed since that night and I hadn’t seen Y/n since. I was getting nervous, what if something happened to her? What if she did something bad to herself? No one knew anything about the whereabouts of Y/n. I ended up asking Tony Khan where Y/n had been but all he told me was that she was dealing with some “Health Issues” By that he meant mental health issues. My issues with the BCC had cooled down but were far from over. Tonight I had my rematch against Jon Moxley. It was weird seeing the BCC without Y/n, I felt as If I was responsible for her absence. Did I push her too far that she finally jumped? I gave this fight my all, every strike, every kick I threw for Y/n. I wanted to make her proud. I wanted to let her know that I was waiting for whenever she was ready to talk. I blew Y/n a kiss through the camera before hitting a buckshot lariat. Although I was victorious I ended up injuring Mox, causing us to end up right where we started. After the match, Bryan Danielson handed me a sealed envelope. “This is from Y/n. I don’t know what you did to her but she’s more sick than normal so thanks for that” he spat as he threw the envelope at me.

That night I returned to my hotel I opened the envelope. It was a handwritten letter:

Hey Adam, hope everything is well. Just so you know I am not dead. You are probably blaming yourself for my absence but I have other things I’m dealing with. I’ve been spending time at home thinking about our conversation from the other night. I understand if I scared you away (I tend to do that to people) but I think I’m willing to take you up on your offer. Next week’s Dynamite is an hour from me. Here’s my address and # if you want to stop by. Sorry in advance for everything and remember that this stays between us.

- Y/n

I decided I would arrive a few days before Dynamite and check up on Y/n. I arrived at her house and knocked on the door nervously. When Y/n opened the door I couldn't help the gasp that left my mouth. “Do I really look that bad?” she asked. She didn’t look bad but she didn’t look the best. “Sorry, I’m just nervous” “Well I’m sober this time so I would be nervous too” Y/n joked. I admired her home, it was comforting. Artwork and photos covered the walls and plants were all scattered around. I noticed the white sage she had burning in the kitchen, crystals placed around carefully.

Y/n explained to me that Bryan ratted her out. They knew everything, I assumed they didn’t and if they did they simply did not care. Part of me was happy to know that the BCC wasn’t as oblivious to Y/n’s issues as I thought. The other part felt bad for her. Revolution was soon approaching and with Y/n on house arrest who knows when she would return. “So why did you really invite me over?” I asked “First I’m lonely and second I can’t stop thinking about what you said. You told me you would ‘take care of me’. That night is fuzzy to me but you cared. You held me in your arms as I cried. I don’t know what I was crying about but I felt safe. You told me everything was going to be okay and I believed you.” “Every word I said that night was true Y/n. I want to take care of you. I want to help you get clean, I want to be there for every sleepless night. I might sound crazy saying this but I’m in love with you. I don’t know why or how but I just am. I am so in love with you.” I was scared to admit how much I loved Y/n but I knew it would allow her to trust me. She would know I truly did want to help her. Y/n smiled at my words and pulled me in close, holding me tight against her.

“Where do we start?” I asked Y/n. I followed her to the kitchen and began to throw things out. “All you have to do is get clean right? No mandatory rehab or counseling?” I asked “Nope, I don’t think Bryan told them everything in the first place. All of this is staying under the radar and I should be back in time for revolution anyways.” That was good news. We were brutal with what we threw out. We tossed various liquors, sweet treats, anything that wasn’t good for you. Although Y/n was upset that we had to toss her chocolate I had to explain that if I got rid of one thing you become addicted to the next thing. If you toss everything at once it helps to stay on that clean streak. It was hard but we got through it. We spent that afternoon learning about each other, I was able to see Y/n smile and laugh. Those walls were coming down, she fully let me in. Before I knew it, it was dark outside. “Thank you for today but I should get going, it’s getting late” I told her. “If you want, I have a spare room. You can stay the night. There is supposed to be a storm coming anyways so the roads might be dangerous” I gladly accepted Y/n’s offer to spend the night.

Like she said, a storm indeed broke out. The thunderstorm was loud, the rain was beautiful. It described the mood perfectly. I was fresh out of the shower and went downstairs to find Y/n making a gorgeous dinner. Everything about her was perfect. She too was fresh out of the shower. I took a second to memorize how she looked in this moment, scared I would never see it again. Her hair was still damp as she went about making dinner. She looked so focused as she measured the ingredients. Her skin glowed in the dim lights, you could tell by her body language that she was relaxed. Once she noticed me she smiled and called me down the stairs. It was a genuine smile that made me smile. When I reached her I gave her a quick kiss and hug to thank her for having me stay the night. As I held her her skin was warm, she smelt like lavender, she felt like home. I know that this whole thing started off as me wanting to help her but she would also end up helping me. I didn’t even realize I had been going through some of the same things as Y/n. I nearly choked on my food when she said “I know we have spent so much time talking about me and my issues but why don’t we talk about you. You helped me with mine so I will help you with yours” I was shocked. “I’m fine, I don’t have any issues” I told her, offended. “Fine, but I know that Punk stuff still bugs you. If you don’t want to talk about that’s fine, but when you are ready to talk about it I will listen” she told me sincerely. I was quick to change the subject and pretend like that whole situation didn’t still bother me.

I helped Y/n clean up after dinner and the two of us decided to cuddle up on the couch together. Listening to the beautiful storm as one of my favorite albums Dark Side Of The Moon by Pink Floyd quietly played in the background. It was calming, the only light source was the fireplace in front of us. I know she didn’t mean it like that but I couldn't stop thinking about how Y/n said I had issues too. Sure I was an alcoholic, sure I had a temper but that’s nothing. I was interrupted by my thoughts when Y/n asked, “What’s on your mind cowboy?” “What?” “I know you're thinking about something, spill it” I had no choice. It was only fair I opened up to Y/n like how she did to me.

“Your right” I told her “Right about what?” she asked “About the Punk thing. It still bugs me. I don’t know why but it does. I just can’t seem to catch a break. I can’t breathe without him criticizing me. He started this whole thing to begin with, he is a salty old man who deserves everything that’s happening to him. The world has given him instant karma.” Y/n listened to every word I said. She never once interrupted me, she let me get everything out of my system before assuring me that none of this was my fault. That I was smart, talented and was more pretty than he was. Although her praises were small they left a big impact on me. I felt myself getting emotional, Y/n noticed this and was able to assure me everything would be okay. She sat on my lap, her arms around holding me close as she told me that everything would be okay. “Everything is going to be okay, I promise. Regardless of what happens with you and the BCC I’m not going anywhere. This can be our secret Adam, no one needs to know”

I completely forgot about my ongoing issues with the BCC. I didn’t even want to think about that right now. That was a later problem, all I wanted was to enjoy this moment with Y/n.

She must have read my mind as she began to place delicate kisses along my collar bone and my neck. I placed my hands on her hips as she slowly began to grind on me. I started kissing her back and I felt myself melt into her. I felt like everything was going to be alright. In a way I felt like I needed this more than her. As much as I wanted to love and take care of Y/n I also needed someone to love me back. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way about anyone, I don’t remember kissing with such love and passion. As I let my hands roam on Y/n’s body I carefully removed her top. I took a second to admire her natural beauty. I admired every scar, every beauty mark. I traced them all delicately, wanting to know the story behind them. Y/n noticed and asked “Is something wrong?” she looked scared, as if she got caught doing something bad. She whispered an “I’m sorry for scaring you” before she grabbing a blanket that was close by to cover herself up. Before I could say anything she was gone, running up the stairs to her room as the tears formed in her eyes.

I was quick to follow her. I quietly knocked on her bedroom door, waiting for a response. “Go away” she mumbled. “I’m sorry Y/n. You didn’t do anything wrong” I told her “Just let me in so I can explain myself” As I entered Y/n’s room I was taken away from the decor. All of this was the complete opposite of what she portrayed on TV. The room was filled with light pastel colors. In the corner of the room sat a big comfy chair filled with old dolls and plushies. I couldn't believe my eyes. This was the side that was hidden from the world. Y/n didn’t even look at me, she sat on her bed with her back towards me. I sat next to her telling her how sorry I was for making her upset. “I should be the one that’s apologizing” she told me “Why should you apologize? You did nothing wrong” I reassured her. “This is what always happens, I find someone and they claim to like me even with all my flaws. Once they get a close enough look they get scared and run off” I didn’t quite understand where she was going with this. “Scared of what?” I asked “Scared of who I really am, scared of the scars I have hidden. Take a look around you, would you expect any of this from me?” “I actually I did. I knew that deep down inside something like this was hidden. That is the part I wanted to explore. Y/n I want to know the real you. I don’t care about any of the things you mentioned. I admire the way you carry your scars with pride. I want to know the story behind them all. I want to be the one that cleans your wounds not makes them” I gently wiped away the tears that fell from her face and apologized for making her upset once again.

“I don’t deserve any of this” she told me “Yes you do, you deserve someone who loves you for who you are. I’ve never told anyone this before but me and you are more similar than you think. I take antidepressants too, I’m an alcoholic. I can’t sleep at night because the voices in my head won’t shut up. I was too focused on getting to know the real you that I haven’t even got the chance to know the real me” I could see the look in Y/n’s eyes soffen at my words. I removed my shirt and pointed to a faded scar on my left arm. “You see this, I did this. We are the same” I told her. “You’ve seen my matches Y/n. Just like you I live for the taste of my own blood. I love the way it feels. I haven’t felt things in a long time, I too use wrestling as an escape. I’m going to challenge Mox to a Texas death match so I can feel something inside. When I’m with you I feel like I can tell you anything. I can be myself. I feel safe, I feel at peace, I feel at home. I can tell that you will be my new home” I didn’t even notice the tears that fell from my face until Y/n kissed them away. “I love you too,” She told me.

The two of us ended the night cuddled up in bed underneath the warm covers. I held Y/n close as she slept. It took me a while to fall asleep, I listened to the rain and thunder as I took in the moment. As I looked at Y/n I couldn't help the warm fuzzy feeling in my chest. She was at peace. We didn’t sleep together that night but we didn’t need to. When that moment would arrive I wanted to take my time and savor it. It would be a healing experience for the both of us. Never in my life did I feel so calm, so at peace. I knew that everything would be okay. I too was touch deprived. All this was was skin on skin contact, my bare chest on hers as we fell asleep feeling so loved. I loved this woman so much. I would do anything for her and I knew she would do anything for me. The dark side of the moon is used to describe something mysterious and unknown. The dark side of the moon is supposed to be the side we never see, the side that faces away from Earth. Somehow I was able to find that in Y/n. I found the light side in her heart and I wouldn't take it for granted.

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