#now i can't even recognise the signs even though i know what they are

[sorryimananti-romantic]

so i js finished re-reading biker!san with a friend n we NEED to know if san plays w reader or not

could you give a brief summarisation of how their story ends (or possibly a pt.2 👀)?

ahaha i read it again and i don't think i can do a full oneshot but what about a scenario? 👀

badboybiker!san x photographer!reader: (pt 1 here)

[recap: you're a photographer trying to get a shot of the golden hour for a little competition when a stranger offers to help you in any way he can. since he's a biker, you think his silhouette would make for a perfect shot and you ask him to model for you. you promise to treat him if you win some prize and he accepts on the condition that he let you take around on his bike. when he tells you his name- choi san- you recognise him as the 'bad boy' of the neighbourhood. even knowing that you should avoid him, you can't resist his charms and get familiar with him thru texts. you take him to the dinner and he gives you a ride home and when you mention that you would like to take a shot of the river next time, he asks if he can tag along- as an 'assistant'. you smile in answer]

one thing about choi san is that he knows how to get his way.

in the past few weeks, you learned a few facts about him- that his bike is his baby and no one can touch it without his permission, that only a selected few get to ride on it (which makes you wonder how you got into that list so quickly) and that he is a very fun person to be around. he has manners, he definitely knows how to treat a woman and he might be a little too good at it.

what you also learned from your friends was that he was the notorious playboy of the town, rumoured to have broken the hearts of many and having a repute for getting into fights, being involved with the wrong company and whatnot. you told yourself that these are just 'rumours' because what you heard is very different from what you've seen firsthand.

though... he is a flirt, whether intentional or not. you've convinced yourself that you wouldn't become another woman on his list if he is that sort of a person, that it is possible for the two of you to be 'just friends', however loose the definition might be.

because if you were just friends, you wouldn't be getting excited whenever you heard the buzzing of your phone around midnight. if you were just friends, you wouldn't feel disappointed to see someone else texted you or you wouldn't be disappointed if he didn't reply within a few hours. if you were just friends, your heart wouldn't skip a beat every time you saw that beautifully sculpted face of his with those dark tendrils of hair falling on his forehead, messed up from his helmet. you wouldn't be shy when you wrapped your arms around his toned, strong waist when on the bike or when you grabbed his muscular arms, realising just how broad he was. you wouldn't want him to continue teasing you, smiling at you, tucking your hair back so casually or leaning in to whisper things in your ears with that goddamned smile of his- even when the two of you were alone.

the thing was... that he caught your eye and now you couldn't get him out of your head. he claimed to be obsessed with you these days because you were funny and made him laugh like no one else, because you were natural and didn't feel like you were putting up a fake persona in his presence, because he could always talk about anything that weighed on his mind without any judgement. you told him you'd heard things about him and he asked you if you believed them.

"if there was any truth to it, you wouldn't be a completely different person from what i've heard."

but he was. and he felt so fucking guilty about hiding it from you. when you spotted a bruised lip and a cut on his cheekbone, you attended to him without questions. you believed him when he lied and told you that he had a little fall from his bike (he had a fight, actually) and he let you scold him for not being careful. when you worriedly scanned his body for other signs of injuries, he let your hands travel all over his body. and when he held your wrists to stop you because he couldn't take it anymore, he convinced himself that it really wasn't different with you, that he really only wanted to ruin you because he was so tempted by your naivety, that you would soon be one of the women he had played with. he kissed your wrist while repeating that mantra, watching your lips part in surprise.

that night, he tried to reason with himself. you were too good a person to lose by his foolish antics. you were a keeper, you were precious and if he made a foolish mistake, he would forever regret it.

that doesn't stop him from treading on dangerous lines. and he could blame you for initiating it, blame you for kissing him first and involving yourself with him when the phone in his pocket was still buzzing with texts he never responded to, with the number of people that either wanted to fuck him up or fuck him.

and you... you would blame yourself too. because how could you hold back? how could you not give in and simply kiss the boy who sat on the riverside beside you, talking with you as if you both had nowhere else to be? how could you not hold his handsome face and kiss his plump lips when he told you how much you meant to him and how he was afraid that he would make a mistake?

if he was afraid of making a mistake, then you would in his stead. all you wanted was to be with him, to not be held back by the rumours or the warnings of your friends, to listen to your heart for once, no matter how foolish that may be. so when he looked at you with those eyes, looking like a stray cat that just needed a little love, someone who would tend to him... all the hesitation left your body as you held his face and kissed his lips, the sound of the river and the wind soothing your nerves. he didn't kiss you back. you drew away- had you really made an irreversible mistake-

"you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

that voice. that voice that you only heard when he talked about himself- his warning voice.

"why don't you show me then? what am i getting into?"

and that was the final push for san- his vision almost blackened for a second as desire crept through every nerve in his body and he crashed his lips on yours, earning a surprised groan from you. soon, you were kissing him back and moulding your body to his, letting your arms snake around his neck while his hands traced every part of your body, determined to not leave a single place untouched. the way he kissed was all-consuming- rushed, desperate, passionate and needy. when you broke contact for air, he started littering kisses all over your face, trailing from your jaw to your neck-

"san- sannie. we have all the time in the world."

that prompted him to pause- and perhaps, you shouldn't have stopped him when his lips were attached to your neck because he simply switched his speed, gently kissing and sucking into the crevice of your neck, making you arch your back. he held your body flush to his, gripping your thigh and shifting you so that you were almost in his lap, all the while continuing with his administrations. you took that chance to let your hands creep up his neck, hold him and caress his hair- those soft hair you always wanted to touch. you kissed his temple while he continued to kiss your neck, only drawing away when he was satisfied, grinning at the sight of the bruising spot.

you, however, didn't feel like grinning back, not when you were too absorbed in the overwhelming feeling of your heightened senses. not when your stomach flipped uncontrollably. not when your hands, off their own accord, traced his toned chest, sliding down to his stomach to hold his waist and look at him.

"i want you."

san felt his heart sink- what had he done-

"i want you. all of you. not just your kisses and your body, but your heart, choi san. i want your heart."

did he think that he would ruin you? yes.

but did he, for a short second, perhaps a moment of enlightenment, think that you would ruin him?

absolutely. and he should have known better than to kiss you in answer.

he should have known better than to take you home that night.

he should have known better than to accept your invitation inside your house because no one was home.

he should have known better than to accept everything you offered him in the spur of the moment.

and he should have known better because once he got a taste of you... he couldn't stop.

#suggestive-- mdni!! #sorry im a bit late i was waiting for ✨inspo✨ to hit #choi san x reader #san x reader #san fluff #san angst #san smut #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines #yumi.asks

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Best Friends on paper 📮

Summary: You've been matched up with a pen pal through a website, but what is merely an outlet for you and a confidant to tell your secrets to, is something completely different for him.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader (hinted at short!Reader too)

(No use of descriptive words for Reader's appearance. If you do stumble across one, please let me know and I'll immediately find a more inclusive alternative)

Warnings: 18+, non-con (touching, fingering), kidnapping of sorts, deranged Steve Rogers, manipulation, forced relationship, obsession and obsessive baheviour

Word count: 2k

Author's note: My second entry for @the-slumberparty's BINGO challenge! The squares I filled this time are "Pen pals", "Campfire", "Beach day" and "Brainwashing"

We love us some deranged, obsessed Steve Rogers and when I read the Pen Pal square, I knew we needed Mister Old-fashioned to make an appearance! Have fun reading this one ;D

...

“You said you loved me. You did. Stop struggling,” Steve grunts into you ear, his hand firmly planted over your mouth as he drags your flailing form further away from your group of friends.

Your kicking and muffled protests don't deter him, his hulking frame dwarfing yours easily, allowing him to effortlessly man-handle you as he pleases.

“Shhh, sweetheart. It's just me, just Steve. I'm your friend, remember?” the man husks, his hot breath dampening the back of your neck.

Your shake your head as best as you can, your mind spinning with the disorientating events crashing down on your.

“You're not my friend,” you try to say, but it only comes out as stifled mumbling from behind the gigantic paw covering up half your face to keep you quiet.

This isn't Steve, it can't be. Steve is nice, sweet. He'd been matched to you on a random pen pal website you signed up on out of boredom, the two of you hitting it off quickly and building a nice bond through the letters you sent each other regularly.

It's a little old-timey, but you enjoyed writing Steve letters. He even included a picture of himself in one of them and you did the same in return.

But this brute behind you, that is not the man from the picture.

Steve is short, a little skinny, and his hair has a pretty shade of blond and his smile is infectious.

The man stealing you away from the roaring fire burning by the shore, your friends still scattered around it in small groups, is not short or skinny.

He is dragging your jerking body through the sand, your feet uselessly slipping on the little grains of sand while you watch the camp fire grow smaller, the flickering flames no longer illuminating the ground around you, its warmth too far to comfort you.

Before you know what is happening, you're hauled up a slippery dune, now finally out of sight for all your friends or any by-passers as you're shoved down the other side.

There, in between dunes and bushes, sits a picnic blanket, small lanterns standing on two corners of it that light up the space.

“It's me, Steve. I did all this for you. You always said you wanted to have a picnic by the beach and spend the night outside looking at the stars. I remember it. You said it in one of your first letters you sent to me,” the man babbles, his tone so urgent he sounds almost possessed.

His words are what concerns you though, not how he says them. Because it's the truth. You'd told your pen pal Steve about wanting to spend a night at the beach to watch the stars, had laid out the whole romantic fantasy you dreamed of on lonely nights.

You reach the blanket and the hand on your face loosens. You're spun around to face your kidnapper and when you instinctively lift your head to stare up at the man's face, your heart sinks.

“Hi, sweetheart. I knew you'd recognise me,” Steve says with a wide smile, his white teeth glinting in the low light of the lanterns around you.

You're petrified. This man does look like Steve. But he's bigger, stronger. And this big, scary man knows all your deepest secrets and desires.

You've told Steve everything, because what could be the harm in it? He's always been states away, just a picture you keep in your desk drawer and ink-soaked pieces of paper. You never thought there would be any harm in confiding in him.

Well, you were wrong.

“You- You..” stammer and stare up at him. “You look different.”

Steve grins and shrugs as if he didn't look like he could easily break you in half as opposed to the skinny boy he's sent you a picture of.

“You too. Better, so much better in person. God, you're beautiful. Come here,” he says and without warning moves his hands from your arms where he was holding you still to your face and swoops in for a forceful kiss.

You let out a startled sound and jerk your hands up to push at him, but he doesn't budge, hips lips firmly pressed to yours, tongue poking at them as he tries to gain entrance.

Your muffled protests make him stop eventually, his face pulled into a frown as he pulls his head away to peer down at you.

“What is wrong? You said you loved me, sweetheart. I came all the way to surprise you, I prepared this night. It needs to be perfect, so play along! It's your fantasy after all,” he says, an edge to his voice as he scowls down at you.

“I- I... Steve, I don't love you, I don't even know you, I-”

“Stop! You know me, we've been writing letters for months. I know what you like and what you dream of for your future. I know your favourite food and colour. I said I love you and you said it back! You wrote it in our letters, you did!” Steve shouts, his face reddening with agitation.

You take a step back, now positively terrified of the deranged man before you. How could he be the same person who's been writing you fro almost a year now?

“Sit down, come on, sit. We're going to enjoy this night, I made it perfect for you,” he says, quieter now, but still obviously displeased by your resistance.

Not daring to disobey and upset this crazy man, you let Steve push you down on the blanket. He sits down next to you and then forces you to recline into a laying position. He lies down as well and then grabs your hand, his fingers forcing your clenched ones apart to hold them.

You lie there, heart beating wildly and wide eyes staring at the night sky, the stars twinkling back at you as they watch the situation unfold.

“Isn't this nice? Good thing the sky is clear. I've been waiting for the weather to clear up and tonight is just perfect for our first night together. The first of many,” Steve swoons beside you, his deep voice floating around you.

Your hand hangs limply in his as you try to get a grip on your situation.

All you wanted was to spend a day at the beach with your friends. You had brought food and snacks for the whole day and enough wood to keep your camp fire going through the night.

But that is forgotten now, your friends too far away to help or hear you and this psycho beside you instead of someone else, someone you knew.

“You're so beautiful, baby. I looked at your picture every day, wondering how soft your skin would be under my fingertips, what you would smell like, taste like...” Steve rumbles beside you, his head turned to look at you, warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

You swallow, stiff as a board and terrified of the meaning of his words.

“Will you let me find out, sweetheart? You will, won't you? I know you want to,” he says, his hand letting go of yours as he shifts up onto his elbow to stare down at you.

When you don't answer, too scared to say no and not wanting to say yes, he lets out a huff.

“Playing hard to get? Let me convince you...”

You don't have time to react, Steve's frame moving with a speed that should be impossible for someone so big, slotting between your legs with a shove of his hips.

He widens his thighs as he kneels between yours, pushing them further apart when you jerk away and try to close them.

“No! Steve, stop. No, no, no-” You start to chant, hands slapping at every bit of him that you can reach as some sort of survival instinct kicks in.

“Stop pretending you don't want this! I know everything about you, you told me. I know you want this, I know, I know, I know,” he barks, repeating himself over and over as if he's trying to convince you.

Grabbing your flailing hands in one of his, he gets to work on ripping off your swim clothes, the thin fabric stretching and ripping underneath his violent hand until it's gone and your body is bared to his eyes.

“Pleeease, no,” you sob out, legs kicking on either side of his, hands fighting in his grip to cover yourself, but he doesn't budge.

“Shhhh, you'll like it, sweetheart. I'm good at this, I promise,” he shushes you, his words of affirmation doing nothing to quell the horror and shame of being naked and at the mercy of this lunatic.

You squeak when he reaches down and easily finds your clit, spit-wet finger getting to work and drawing tight circles around the little nub while you squirm and whine beneath him.

But there's no getting away and you have no choice but to endure his patient rubbing and circling, forced to witness your body's surrender that comes in the form of thick slick collecting at your entrance.

Shame boils hot in your gut and when Steve lets go of your hands in favour of kneading your breasts, you hide behind your sweaty palms. You can't look at him, you won't.

“There we go, your body knows what you need, baby. Look at that pretty little pussy getting nice and wet for me,” Steve mumbles appraisingly, finger abandoning your clit in favour of exploring further down.

He pushes one thick finger inside your pussy, the digit easily slipping in. It's quickly followed by another and he twists his hand to rest the heel of it on your clit.

“So tight, hmm. Made for me,” Steve mumbles to himself, eyes fixated on where he's sinking his digits into you.

He starts fingering you, fingers pushing in and out of you, his hand grinding into your clit harder and harder the faster he goes.

You can't hide the noises he pulls from you, wet squelching and helpless moans alike ringing out around you.

The familiar hot tension in your gut rises and your hands slap down on the blanket beside you, fingers fisting the fabric when Steve angles his fingers just so, rubbing that spot inside you that sends tingles of pleasure shooting down your legs and up your back.

“Come on, come for me. I know you need it, your little pussy is clenching down on my big fingers. Feels good, doesn't it?” he eggs you on, hand speeding up and finally tipping you over that edge.

“There we go, yes! Good girl,” Steve exclaims triumphantly as he works you through your orgasm, watching your trembling limbs with a deranged kind of satisfaction.

He pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sound and lifts them to his mouth. You watch through half-lidded eyes how he opens his mouth and sucks your slick from his fingers with a pleasured moan, his own eyes falling shut.

“Knew you'd taste good, baby. So good. I need more, baby. I'm sorry, I can't help it, I just need more,” he rambles, hastily shifting between your limp legs until his face is level with your sensitive pussy, slick still leaking from the twitching opening.

“Just a taste...” he grunts before sticking out his tongue and dragging it across the length of your cunt with an obscene moan.

You jerk away when he touches your clit, but his hands swiftly wrap around your thighs, keeping your core anchored to his face.

Whines and breathless gasps escape you as you writhe in his hold, your head growing foggy with the pleasure forced on you.

When your second orgasm rushes through you in a shuddering wave and Steve keeps going on, you limply resign yourself to a long night of forced pleasure. With him, there's no getting away.

Never.

After all, he knows everything about you.

...

There we go, he's got her in his clutches now-

Here's my updated Bingo card!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers one shot #writing challenge #bingo challenge #the slumberparty bingo challenge

[yooils]

2:57 . kurona ranze x gn! reader. fluff drabble. slight character study

"you never call me by my name."

KURONA looks up from his place on your floor and catches your gaze, eyebrows raised as if he can't believe the implications behind your words. (you’re unbelievably pretty, he thinks; even with your hands tangled in his vermillion hair and exhausted eyes from watching five movies in a row.

sure, he thinks of you as much more than a best friend, but isn’t that relatively normal for a friendship that’s lasted through hell and back..?

really, kurona knows he can dodge the question with ease, especially when you’re both half delirious on energy drinks and cup noodles– an unfitting diet for an athlete such as himself– but for once in his life, he feels compelled to speak.

your fingers are still running through his hair as the ticking of time seems to slow before him.

for vaguely a third of his life, you’ve been a parasite by his side– one that's clung to him (or maybe it was the other way round) ever since he was six, face painted with an obvious dislike for interacting with people. it's never occurred to him that there would be a day where he would lose you– you were always naturally in the picture, in both his past and his future.

but now, he’s slowly losing you to the flow of time– or rather– of life.

(he knows that you can tell he’s nervous; fingers occasionally drumming against his thighs, swallowing the lump in his throat, and flickering eyes that never seem to land anywhere. heavens, even he’s able to discern the feeling he’s been experiencing as nervousness, and self-awareness is never a good sign.)

“…when i say their names, i always imagine what they think of me.”

and it sucks, because i’m head over heels for you.

”–and i don’t wanna think about how you see me, because you’re the only person i… like.”

–i’m half in love with you, but in the way that i want to marry you and live out our little fairy tale forever in a small town cottage even though i’m quite literally about to go to a football camp. so maybe it’s not half, maybe you’ve taken my entire heart and engraved your name all over it.

on the off chance that you actually recognise kurona's poorly-communicated feelings, he thinks, he’ll take anything.

even a rejection.

the cheshire smile on your face makes his heart skip a beat. he has no idea how his heart is still beating to this day. (that’s the grin he knows as the scary smile, he discerns; the grin you do when you know something people don’t.)

“say, 'rona, do you have a crush on me?”

your bluntness doesn’t come as a surprise to him. it’s one of your endearing traits, really.

the feeble ‘mm’ sound he makes is deliberately noncommittal as he averts his eyes away from you– although the rapid rush colour blossoming on his ears speak volumes more to you than he ever could.

if only you could also hear how fast his heart was beating.

you cup his cheeks delicately, unable to contain the smile that sprung into your lips when you finally realised what this actually meant. (that your childhood best friend– that you've been in love with since that one time he patched your wound up, mumbling worried words under his breath when you were twelve– actually likes you back. you're a bit skeptical, yes, but it's kurona ranze, and he would never hurt other people you intentionally.)

kurona scrunches his eyes close to avoid eye contact with you. you're giggling at how comical he looks, before all noise dies down again and you muster up the courage to bring yourself to speak again. "so if you knew how i felt about you too, would you be comfortable with saying my name..?"

"s'ppose, i suppose."

your eyes hurt from how much your smile has been crinkling them. or maybe seeing kurona lying on your lap is too much. he's a sight for sore eyes, really, but whenever he makes eye contact with you, you feel as if your heart's been pierced by cupid's arrow again and again; forcing you to accept your feelings rather than swallow them forever.

"kurona, i like you more than anyone in this world. even when you have a bad haircut. or leave me behind to go to a training camp to become a pro footballer. or when you try to–"

"stop, 's more than enough, enough." he intervenes, his hands covering his flushed face and burrowing either further into his blankets.

you look expectantly at him. he caves in.

"(name)..?" he squeaks out, voice cracking as he feels the unfamiliar texture of your pretty name in his mouth. (which is strange, because he's pretty sure he always wakes up with your name on his mouth.)

he's less self conscious than he had expected himself to be.

"ranze. 'rona. kurona ranze."

the way his name slips of your tongue is still his favourite, he thinks, blushing profusely at the sudden mantra of the names you've called him over the years.

ranze was a new one. he likes the sound of his first name on your tongue.

(if only he knew that years later, you would be the one to take his last name too.)

the next morning, he wakes up with you curled up next to him on the couch– abnormally peaceful. he prefers you when you're talking. and when he mouths your name under his breath, all he feels is a weird tingly sensation in his chest, akin to the feeling he gets when his favourite band's new song is out, or when something is unexpectedly pleasant to him.

because kurona, at 15, realises that his favourite word is your name.

7.18.23

#angst vers..? #you break up #but he still wakes up to your name at the tip of his tongue #log– works #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x gn! reader #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #kurona #kurona ranze #kurona fluff #ranze fluff #blue lock kurona #bllk angst #blue lock angst #kurona ranze x reader #kurona x reader #gn! reader

[cowpants147]

I can't sleep so I'm just laid here and I started thinking about the Foxes that go on to play exy professionally and what they'd do after retirement:

Andrew

I know for a fact that this interaction happened during Andrews last press event after his last match.

Reporter: so Andrew, now that you've officially retired, what are you gonna do now?

Andrew: I'm gonna be a stay at home dad.

Obviously the reporters run w it and suddenly everyone's trying to figure out when Andrew had kids and who with all the while he's at home with the cats aka his children all day.

I also think he either starts coaching exy at a school or at a youth centre because he recognises the out that exy gave him and he's great with kids.

Neil

Neil's got too much of a mouth on him to go quietly into retirement so I definitely see him being a commentator and providing some of the highest praise and most iconic insults ever known to the sports channels.

I feel like he'd miss actually playing though so he'd probably become some kind of coach. Maybe even goes back to PSU to help Dan as assistant coach after Wymack retires.

Kevin

That boy was born and bred for his own sports related show. I like the idea of him and Jeremy hosting this exy post show where they go over everything that's happened in the week. Jeremy is ever positive, Kevin is harsher with his commentary but they've both got smiles made for prime time TV.

They have a 3rd on the panel reserved for a different special guest each week. Such special guests at one point include Neil, Wymack, and Andrew who only went on to see if he could get Kevin to crack and break character.

Matt

100% becomes a stay at home dad to his and Dan's actual human kids and their golden retriever. During this retirement press conference he says something about proudly being Dan's trophy husband.

Coach's his kids little league team, even if they're not playing exy. Makes homemade signs with the kids for when they go watch the Foxes play.

Buys Andrew a matching "best dad ever" mug the minute Andrew drops that line in his interview. When Neil teams up with Dan to coach the Foxes these two become random best buds, going out for food and and drinks together, sitting together at games, worldlessly teaming up to make sure Dan and Neil have lunch every day at practise.

+ Jeremy and Jean

The minute Jean retires he's done with exy. Jeremy goes on to do a shit ton of charity work and be on the weekly prime time exy show with Kevin but Jean is more than happy to stay out of the public eye.

They live on a farm or like in a super cute small town where nobody bothers them. Jean spends all day reading books, painting, takes up photography and becomes so good that he's hired by the locals for weddings, newborn pics, etc. He's a regular at the farmers market. Maybe if they live on a farm then he has his own stall selling eggs, jams, and family recipes that Jeremy passed down to him from the Knox family and that Jean has perfected over the years.

And they travel as much as they can! They have a second home in France and use that as their home base while they trav around Europe every chance they can get.

#its 4am and even after using the brain power to think of this and write it im not tired #woop #aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #neil josten #kevin day #jeremy knox #matt boyd #jean moreau #aftg headcanon #tfc headcannon #psu #the foxes #jerejean #andreil

[woso-dreamzzz]

i feel like alba taking bambi is a bit extreme. hear me out! like yes ofc caring for one kid more than the other is bad!! but with the whole ale forgetting bambi at daycare it’s like what parent hasn’t forgot to pick up their kid once. like does that make sense like i feel like especially because it happend only once and she was at her job when she forgot that shouldn’t warrant alba legit taking her daughter away from her? like it just wasnt THAT big of a deal like ofc it’s not good but i think alba is reacting a bit over the top about it. idk maybe my perspective is different, but what do you think? id love to hear your opinion as the writer

I don't think you guys understand just how much I love answering these kinds of asks. Also, sorry in advance because this is going to be a lot of psych ramble but genuinely parent-child relationships and their impacts are actually so fascinating to me

So, the whole Alexia forgetting Bambi thing would be a big escalation if that was the only reason Alba had for removing Bambi from her home. It looks like the only reason but there were a lot of other things that Alba would have noticed when she got Bambi from nursery.

So, first of all, what Alexia's been doing is emotional neglect. Compared to other forms of neglect, emotional neglect is one of the harder ones to recognise because it's not as obvious as something like physical neglect.

The signs are very subtle and it's difficult to notice if you're not a child's primary caregiver.

From Bambi's perspective, she's been shoved to the side a bit since Jaume was born. She was never really close to Olga so she can cope with that in a sense (not that she should have to) but Alexia's disregard for her definitely hits hard.

It's a lot of little things built up onto each other. In Injured IV, when Alexia comes home she immediately greets Olga and Jaume but doesn't even spare Bambi a look. Bambi stays under that coffee table for quite a while in the hope that Alexia will notice she's not there and look for her but she never does.

She also mentions when Jaume isn't 'being good' then she doesn't get things like a bedtime story or cuddles at bed which is essentially her equating Jaume crying with the fact that Alexia yet again forgetting about her and that his needs trump her own.

There's also the fact that all of Bambi's individual pictures have been changed to ones of her and Jaume which leads to her thinking that she's only worth anything if her brother is attached to it. Similarly, all of the pictures she drew have been taken off the fridge in favour of a photo of Olga, Alexia and Jaume. Even when she lets Alba put her drawing up in Injured IV, she places it on the side of the fridge where it won't be seen as clearly.

Bambi also learnt how to cry quietly. When Kids are younger they can't communicate their feelings properly and crying loudly gets the attention of a caregiver so they can receive comfort. Bambi's learnt to cry quietly because she knows that no one will come to give her comfort if Jaume is also crying even though there are two adults in the house, one for each of them.

Emotional neglect really builds on a child as young as Bambi and causes effects like low self-esteem, depression and anxiety and in more extreme cases failure to thrive and Bambi, sadly, is on track for all of them.

Now, that's all from Bambi's perspective and, of course, Alba can't know all of that because she's not Bambi's primary caregiver.

She can only go off on what she can see. What she knows for sure, at first, is that Alexia and Olga have both forgotten Bambi.

That isn't what makes her take Bambi though.

She gets a notification from the Barca account saying that they're meeting their youngest teammate and it's got a picture of Alexia, Olga and Jaume so it's not like both of them were super busy and that's why they forgot Bambi.

There's also the change in routine that Bambi mentions. She used to get a new train every week and when Alba mentions that, she finds out that Bambi hasn't received a new train in weeks (more like months) which is a massive deviation from an established routine.

There's also the celebration they watch on tv with Alexia winning the Copa de la Reina and all those pictures of her with Jaume and the cup and there's no hint at all that she realises Bambi isn't there with her.

There's obviously Bambi's reaction to that too and her tearing up the picture because she doesn't think it's real (bearing in mind that it's a picture of her, Alexia, Olga and Jaume as a family).

It's clear to Alba that something is going on and Bambi isn't doing well because she's been in such a sad mood since she picked her up and then Bambi hides herself away in her room and Alba can't get the door open.

It's a pretty big emotional outburst from Bambi and quite out of character to how she had been previously.

Honestly, everything is out of character from what Alba previously knows - both Alexia and Bambi and it's enough for her to think that perhaps the two need to be separated.

The anger from Injured IV comes in because it's been hours since the final ended and Bambi hid herself away compared to when Alexia, Olga and Jaume come home.

Throughout that entire time, Bambi wasn't even a thought. Alexia didn't even realise Bambi had been left at nursery until she got home which is hours after Alba had to cancel her own plans to get Bambi.

The anger probably escalated the situation a bit more than it needed to but Alba had hours to stew and piece everything together so Bambi's removal from Alexia was warranted once she'd put it all together.

That's all from Inured IV, not onto Injured V:

So childhood emotional neglect is especially impactful the younger a child is. Bambi is around 4 and she's at that age where she's beginning to understand her own and others emotions. Having a stable caregiver to help her work through this is crucial and she doesn't have that so there's a big chance that she'll be developmentally delayed because of it.

This, of course, could lead to big impacts down the road when she goes to school and makes friends and even when she gets older and develops adult relationships.

She's already got low self-worth and is trying to be too independent at too young an age because to her, nobody wants to pay attention to her.

In Injured V, she actually flinches away from Alexia when she tries to grab her because she's now used to being ignored by her mother and having Alexia suddenly wanting her is overwhelming and strange.

It's seen in Injured V how different Bambi is in Alexia's home vs Alba's home when she's genuinely excited to show Alba the picture she made because she's still in her developmental stage and is still able to adapt and come back from this - at least in a way that will have minimal impact on her emotional development and regulation.

Of course, we also find out that Bambi at least suspects that she wasn't as planned as previously thought. She knows Jaume was definitely planned but she's slowly finding out that she wasn't so that's another hit to her confidence. She equates how Jaume is being treated to him being wanted and how she's being treated to her not being wanted.

When Eli comes and all of this comes out, it's clear that this is deep rooted stuff.

As I said previously, emotional neglect is one of the forms of neglects that's hardest to notice. Alba has no way of knowing just how long this has been going on for and just how close this is to having extremely detrimental effects to Bambi's emotional development.

The low self-esteem is already there. She's nervous at the thought of seeing Alexia, Olga and Jaume so there's some anxiety setting in too. For all Alba knows, the depression could be next and if she had left Bambi there, the potential of failure to thrive is quite high too.

So, honestly, Alba removing Bambi was probably the best way to do it. With Bambi with Alba, she would know how she was doing and even if she had left Bambi there and explained what was happening to Alexia, there was always a chance that it could regress back to the neglect again even if Alexia promised to work on it.

Honestly, the standard practice for suspected emotional neglect should be to report it to child services so Alba is actually doing Alexia a favour by not getting them involved.

But, yeah, this is really long but those are essentially the thought processes of everyone 🤷‍♀️

#asks #Bambi

[girls-alias]

Dean's Dream P7

Title: Dean's Dream P7

Part 6

Words: 1,979

Relations: Dean Winchester X Reader

TW: Sad.

Masterlist

Prompt:

Dean is captured by a Djinn and dreams of Y/N.

It's been a year now. A whole year of pain and false hope. Today's the anniversary and the feelings from waking up haven't changed. I still look for her and wonder where I had seen her for her to be in my dream. I think I hear her voice, I think I see her smile, I think I see her in the distance but it's never her. I can't count the tears I cried for her, the tears that fell for the woman and the life I had lost. There were no words available to me that could truly express my loss.

Sam had tried everything, I appreciated his help but there was no way to understand or help, he didn't get it. Yeah, he lost Jess but losing Y/N was different in my eyes. I only had her for a day before she was gone again, and yet she promised me perfection; it would have been easy to give me all she had promised.

Sam knew the anniversary today. The anniversary of the day I gained nothing but lost it all. I will admit, I lost the plot a little. I began looking for djinns just so they could take me back to her but Sam always stopped me or they were well hidden.

I groaned as Sam slammed his fist against my bedroom door. I rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head. If there was ever a day that I should be left alone it was today, Sam didn't recognise that or if he did, he didn't care.

"Come on, Dean," He commented loudly as he walked in. I considered using the gun under my pillow. "I already moved your gun, come on. We're going out," He explained he knew what I was thinking. He sighed when I showed no indication of getting up. With a fast swipe, he pulled the blanket off me. I looked up at the ceiling, silently praying for the strength to deal with him today.

I sat up, groaning as I wiped my eyes. "Look, Sam. I'm not in the mood," I explained, anger lacing my tone even though I was trying to sound calm.

"I know but this could be good," He tried, he took a seat at the edge of my bed, looking at me hopefully. I rolled my eyes at his false hope. The stupid hope I had lost not too long ago. "So, you said the houses looked like they were in Salt Lake. I know we've already looked but what if she's looking today as well. She might be looking for you too," I wanted to hope. A month ago, I would already be on those streets searching for her but today, I knew it was a waste of time. I had made her up, she wasn't real.

Y/N'S POV:

"Dean!" I tried to scream but a tube down my throat stopped me. I choked on it slightly. My eyes quickly wandered around the room. Where's Dean?!

I quickly learned I had been in a coma for nearly 3 months. Doctors didn't expect me to wake, I showed no signs of waking but I knew it was because of Dean. I had asked nurses where he was, asking when he was coming back but they explained sadly that I had no visitors. Really no one? When I was a little more stable, a kind doctor explained that I was brought in for a car crash, my family were in the car but I was the only survivor. He asked if I remembered the crash but I can't remember anything before Dean. I don't remember being young, I don't remember who I was, in my mind, I was Dean's and he was mine.

Therapists took an interest in my case as they all seemed to want to examine my brain. They all explained that dream comas were common but the fact I believed it so deeply and couldn't remember anything before it made my case even more appealing to them. They would try and coax new answers out of me, each week asking if I had remembered anything new, each time growing a little more frustrated that my memory made no improvement but I was fine with that, my whole being believing Dean and my time with him wasn't a dream.

"Oh, I won't make it to my next session," I explained nonchalantly as I gathered my bag and stood from my chair. My therapist, Noah, looked at me confused. I smiled at the thought. "I'm going to Salt Lake City to find Dean," I explained but his eyes showed sorrow. His smile faded and tightened into a thin line.

"Y/N, I don't want to upset you but you've already looked, it was just a dream," He reminded me though I'd never be able to forget his opinion as he says it multiple times in one session. I rolled my eyes.

"I already bought the coach tickets and I have it planned out this time," I explained but his unimpressed expression told me he doesn't believe me. I sighed, pulling the map from my pocket. I opened it, flattening it on his coffee table. "I start here," Pointing to the coach station. "I'll walk up to the house we had, stay there for about an hour, walk to Sam's house, this way and then get coffee from his favourite cafe and stay local until my coach leaves," I explained, often following the route I would walk with my finger. He looked between me and the map unconvinced. I rolled my eyes again. "It's been a whole year if he's going there to look for me, it'll be today,"

Dean's POV:

I groaned sitting back in my seat as Sam drove us to Salt Lake City. A part of me wondered if I actually would see her but I fear getting my hopes up because it will only hurt more.

Y/N'S POV:

I stepped off the coach with a wide smile, holding my backpack straps as I looked around hopefully. Please be here!

I started my walk to the house. Music played through my earphones as I walked, smiling happily at everyone I passed, once I made it to the neighbourhood I smiled even wider. I looked at the house, the dream. I sighed, a little disheartened he wasn't already waiting for me. I took a deep breath, strutted over to the house and took a seat on the curb, I took my earphones out so I could listen out for him calling my name. My attention turned to my book to pass the time but I could barely focus. Any noise and I was looking around for him. I wonder if he'll look different. I wonder if he smells different. I can't lose hope.

Dean's POV:

As we drove the streets that felt familiar and heartbreaking, I found myself looking around for her. I shouldn't have got my hopes up but Sam's right. If she's looking for me, it will be today.

The houses began feeling more and more familiar, and recognising them only made me gasp. "Turn left," I instructed eagerly.

Y/N'S POV:

I had been sitting on the curb, coming up to two hours now, I was getting anxious not seeing him but plastered a smile on my face. I started the walk to Sam's house. Following the route, we had driven a year ago.

Dean's POV:

"Stop, stop," I opened the door before he even stopped. I rushed up the path and porch steps knocking quickly. I found it! I found the house. I waited impatiently before a man answered the door looking at me confused. I looked at him slightly confused as I expected Y/N, my beautiful Y/N. "Sorry, doesn't Y/N live here?" I asked, looking past his shoulder slightly.

"No, I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong house," He explained. I sighed.

"Thanks anyway," I turned back, walking back as Sam stood, door open looking over the car. He looked at me hopefully but I shook my head. I climbed in resting my head on the headrest. Sam got back in, apologising for my heart breaking another time.

"We'll wait here, maybe she'll think the same thing," Sam said hopefully. I ignored him as I rested my head on the side, mindlessly looking out the window, a tear falling from my eyes with ease.

Y/N'S POV:

I made it to Sam's house surprised. The house had been pulled down to make room for a kid's park that was still in construction. I sighed continuing on to Dean's favourite cafe. It was a long shot he would remember it but it's still something.

I made it in, ordering myself a drink before taking a seat at a table. All my plans felt like a waste of time. Maybe Noah and everyone else was right. Maybe I truly did dream of him. Maybe I was making myself crazy by believing it. I put my headphones in, resting my cheek on my palm as I practically sulked while reading. My heartbreak echoed through the air. I wiped the tears as they fell. All hope faded to nothingness.

Dean's POV:

I reluctantly guided Sam to the house he had lived at. Finding it was a park under construction only hurt my heart more.

"Let's just get some coffee and have a think about it," He suggested but I just want to go home.

We parked up, finding a coffee shop further down the street. I sighed, heading straight for the tables as Sam went to the counter to order our drinks. I took a seat, noticing the seat behind me was unoccupied but a book and backpack saved the seat. I sighed, resting my head in my crossed arms as I waited for Sam.

Y/N'S POV:

I got back to my seat, barely paying attention to anything around me. I moved my backpack onto the table, carefully climbing into my seat as a troubleman took a seat behind my chair. I sat, my headphones returning to my ears as I resumed my position, reading with my cheek on my palm.

Dean's POV:

Sam came over, drinks in hand as he took a seat opposite me. I drank hastily. I just want to leave. Sam began brainstorming things we could do to look for her. I sighed, resting my chin on my palm as I rolled my eyes. I don't have the strength in me anymore.

THIRD PERSON POV:

Y/N checked her watch. Sighing a final time, she rose from her seat, gathering her things and leaving the table.

"I need the bathroom," Dean instructed, getting up from his seat. She looked down at her phone as she changed the song on her playlist, a song full of rage playing through them as she felt numb, the heartbreak can only hurt so much before you feel nothing.

Though expected they did not see each other. It seemed to have been timed imperfectly. If she had waited one moment later or if he had got up one second earlier they would have bumped into each other. Yet she still walked out of the cafe and he still went to the bathroom. Neither knew their true love was behind them and neither knew their breaking hearts could have been healed with one second. One second either of them could have changed to meet but neither knew, and neither would know. She still got on her coach, and he still drove home. Both believed the dream was fake and both left, their heart empty and souls crushed.

If they knew how close they were to having the reunion, it would only hurt them more. Both lost hope, neither looking for each other again. The emptiness never fades and pain never heals. He owned her heart and she his, forever.

Masterlist

Part 8

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean #dean winchester heartbreak #heartbreak #heartache #soulmates #soul crushing

[mydearzero]

Vocal Exercise | E.M. x Reader

MASTERLIST

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Your band is about to compete against Corroded Coffin in Battle of the Bands and you're way too nervous. Eddie might just know something to take the edge off (hint: it's not drugs)

Smut, Enemies to Lovers.

Warnings: AFAB Reader, Smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex (f rec), creampie, Exhibitionism, If I missed any warnings please tell me!

2K words

A/N: I wrote something?? How very unlike me lmao I hope you enjoy this once in a blue moon occurrence

You nibbled at your thumb as you stared at the sign-up sheet. It shouldn't be this difficult a decision, so why was it? You had played in front of a crowd before. Your band was always excited about any opportunity to play. What was keeping you from signing up for the annual Battle of the Bands? 

You heard him before you saw him. The bane of your existence. Eddie Munson. The chains attached to his clothing rattled with every confident step he took. 

You had no good reason to dislike Eddie. There was just something about him that got under your skin, and he knew it. He used the fact to his advantage, even if only to get a rise out of you. 

You refused to turn your gaze to him as you continued staring at the sign-up sheet. Three entries so far, and no Corroded Coffin in sight. Tammy Thompson was on top of the list, as always. 

"Unless you've developed telekinesis, can you move?" His voice, though somewhat attractive, was like nails on a chalkboard. It sent raised the hairs on the back of your neck. 

You grumbled as you crossed your arms, took a step back and gestured to the sheet. "All yours, Munson." 

"What, too scared to sign up? Not like you'll win. Why don't you just let the pros do what they do and keep practising in your friend's basement until you're ready, hmm?" He smirked as he all but etched 'CORRODED COFFIN' into the paper. 

"Oh yeah, the pros, like Tammy Thompson? I'm sure she'll get real far. Can't beat raw talent, Munson." You rolled your eyes as you snatched the pen from his hands and wrote your band's name under Eddie's recognisable handwriting. 

Eddie never moved an inch, leaning against the wall. He watched as you scribbled your bandmember's names and what you'd be doing, never taking his eyes off your disgruntled face. 

Usually, you'd try to not let him have the upper hand. His gaze was knawing, screaming at you to return it. You caved and turned to look. His smirk grew as he chewed his gum obnoxiously. "See you there, (Y/L/N)." 

_____

"I don't think I can do this. I think I'm gonna hurl." You fanned your face as the stagehand came over to give you your microphone headset. The loud music faded to a halt as Corroded Coffin finished their set. 

"We'll leave you to it for a bit, yeah? I'll get you some water, maybe. Just calm down, it'll be fine." Your bandmates gave a thumbs-up as they filed out of the room. 

"Y'know... I might know something to take the edge off." Eddie's voice came from the hallway, peering his head around the corner into your dressing room. His bangs stuck to his forehead, sweat covering his skin. Lucky bastard, he'd already gotten it over with. 

"Piss off, Munson. I'm not interested in any of your drugs." You scoffed as you messed with the positioning of the clunky headset. 

The stagehand left you once she connected all the wires and had given you the last rundown of when you'd be on. Three more acts, two and a half before your mic was hot. You had to get the vocal jitters out now. 

Eddie paraded into the dressing room and closed the door behind him, locking it. "That's not exactly what I had in mind. But that offer does stand." He crossed his arms as he leaned against the vanity. You'd never quite noticed how toned they were or how tall he was until now. 

Perhaps it was the adrenaline rushing through the room, your nerves combined with his post-performance butterflies. You couldn't help but be intrigued. You gestured for him to continue. -

He put his hands on your hips and pulled you to stand between his legs. You frowned as he leaned to whisper in your ear. "Nothing more relaxing than a decent orgasm, babe." 

Your eyes widened as you pulled away from his touch, mouth agape. "What the hell, Eddie! That's not funny!" You slapped his bicep. His eyebrows raised in challenge as he watched your thought process. He saw your horrified face change to confusion before it flushed with shame. You hadn't even noticed you'd called him by his first name. 

He noticed your uncertainty. You loathed him, but he was right. And it wasn't like he wasn't easy on the eyes. He knew you'd been convinced when he stroked your arm and your eyes fluttered at the surprisingly delicate touch. 

Your breath hitched as he leaned close once more. "Let me make you feel good." His touch burned your skin, heat soaring straight between your legs. His lips pressed to your neck, breath hot on your skin. 

A soft moan left your mouth when he sucked harshly under your jaw. "Is that a yes?" He questioned, slowly trailing his hand down your side. You nodded breathlessly. 

"I'm gonna need you to say it, princess." He tutted. You were surprised when a barely audible whine made its way out of your throat. 

"Please, Eddie." were all the words you could gather. His eyes met yours. They were polar opposites. You felt yours were pleading and desperate, while his seemed amused, maybe derisive. His pupils were blown. Whether from the adrenaline, drugs, lust, or a combination of all of the above was uncertain. 

He turned your positions around, pushing you onto the vanity table and getting on his knees. The way he looked up at you through his eyelashes could only be described as absolutely blasphemous. You were convinced he wasn't doing this for you as much as he was doing it for himself. 

He placed his hands on your thighs, ever so slowly creeping up under your skirt. He hooked the tips of his fingers into the band of your underwear, tugging it down. You raised yourself off the table so he could slide it down. He barely got it past your knees as he dove forward, using his hands to spread your legs to make room for his head. His grip on your knees was crushing as he licked a stripe up between your lips. He nuzzled for a little before releasing his hands, opting to spread your lips with them instead. 

A sigh of relief left your mouth as your body melted into his touch. One of your hands was on the table to steady yourself, the other tangling itself in his hair. His lips wrapped around your clit. He circled his tongue around it a few times before slowly sliding a finger inside. 

"Knew you'd be so wet for me." He sounded out of breath as he devoured you. "All bark, but the second the offer stands, you're like a little bitch in heat." He chuckled. You tugged his hair harshly, urging him to shut up and continue. 

Eddie complied and returned to pleasuring you. You could feel him smiling against your pussy, as stupid as it sounds. The bastard was enjoying this way too much. He added another finger and curled them in the exact way he knew would get you close. You felt the pressure build up in your throat as you tried to stay silent. Noise threatened to spill with every thrust of his fingers and movement of his tongue. 

Eddie deemed you close enough, judging by the tight grip on his hair combined with the suppressed sounds coming from your lips. He rose from his knees and wasted no time unbuckling his belt. You tried to listen for the stage to estimate the time you'd have. Eddie spread your legs once more as he positioned himself between them. 

"Wait, Eddie. How many songs have there been?" You whispered as you put your hand on his chest to stop him. "Don't know, don't care. Guess you'll have to shut up and keep quiet." He shrugged as he grabbed your wrist, removing your hand from his chest. He pushed his underwear to join his jeans around his knees and stroked himself a couple of times before lining himself up. 

Eddie pushed the head of his cock inside and roughly reached up your shirt, grabbing your right boob and twisting the nipple harshly. An audible yelp left your mouth. "Shut up." He groaned as he pushed all the way in. Air was nowhere to be found, especially not your lungs. 

He barely let you adjust before pistoning in and out. Adrenaline was very obviously still coursing through his veins. He grabbed your hips and pushed you to lean against the mirror. The lights surrounding it shone down on him, almost giving him an angelic glow. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he changed his stance. Small whimpers and breaths left you, still trying to remain as quiet as possible. Eddie pushed inside relentlessly, chasing his release and coercing yours out of you. He's found the right spot now, he knew by your face. He moved his right hand to lean on your thigh, thumb circling your clit. He grinned as he watched your face, eyes shut tightly. 

The light on your headset flickered, indicating it'd just gone hot. Eddie took this as his sign to hurry the fuck up and make you come. Loud knocks on the door, combined with the music from the stage drowned out the banging noise of you against the mirror and his balls slapping against your pussy over and over. 

Your breathing sped up as you neared your peak. Eddie was getting sloppy, putting more and more pressure on your clit, circling it hastily to meet the pace of his hips. He groaned as he felt you tighten around him. You were so close. 

"Y/N! Are you in here? We're on in three!" Your bandmate yelled through the locked door. Their pleas went unheard over your whines and Eddie's rambles in your ear. 

"I'm gonna fill you up so well, baby." Eddie smiled to himself sadistically as he moaned in your ear. He was going to make you scream his name through that headset even if it was the last thing he'd do. You were gonna kill him. 

The knot in your stomach snapped when Eddie pulled out all the stops, flicking your left nipple, circling your clit with the speed of light and hitting the exact right spot to send you over the edge. 

"Eddie!" You screamed as you came on his cock. He laughed and groaned in satisfaction as he followed, hips stilling and pushing as deep as he could. He looked between you with glee as he filled you to the brim. 

Your eyes widened as you noticed you'd not only screamed his name while your mic was on, he'd just cum inside you, and you had to be on stage in less than two minutes. "Better keep it in, princess. Everybody can probably already guess what we did, don't want to give them more proof when you have my cum spilling from that pretty pussy in the middle of the stage, hmm?"  

He smirked as he pulled his dick out and pushed the spilt cum back inside with two fingers. He gave your pussy one last tap before sliding your underwear back up, fixing your top and skirt and letting you down from the vanity. You already felt the cum trickling out slowly and staining your underwear

You could barely give yourself a last glance in the mirror before he was ushering you out of the door and onto the stage, your flustered band members following after seeing you barge out of the dressing room, Eddie hot on your tail. They'd definitely heard. Which means the crowd definitely heard you scream his name through the last band's performance. 

You'd never felt as embarrassed, yet turned on in your life. Your nerves were long forgotten, the only worry in your mind during your performance being to not let any more of his cum spill from inside you. 

At least you were no longer worried about your singing skills. Too bad Corroded Coffin had the menace that was Eddie Munson, or you'd definitely come first instead of second. Or, well, come first again. 

#Eddie Munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #Eddie Munson fanfiction #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #enemies to lovers

[holdmytesseract]

hey my love ❤️ can I resquest u something?

daryl is expecting a child with the reader where he is super excited but he also spends his time outside, looking for things for his baby.. but he receives a call from rick saying that his girlfriend is in the infirmary and when he arrives he finds out that the reader lost the pregnancy and he takes care of her and pampers her a lot those days after they both take great care of each other, because he will also be super sad😭

Sorry for my bad english 🤦

Into Shards

Daryl Dixon x pregnant!Reader

Summary: When Daryl is outside the walls, looking for stuff for yours and his baby, he gets called back by Rick - only to come home to devastating news...

Warnings: Major trigger warning here! Miscarriage! pregnancy things, walkers, fluff, bit blood

Set in the beginning of season 9!

Word Count: 2,2k

a/n: Hi nonny! Thank you for the request! ☺️💚 I am honest... I don't know if I should love this one, or not. I tried to write a bit action as well, but it probably isn't the best... Hope you like it nevertheless! 🙈

Tagging: @km-ffluv @loz-3 @stitchintimefan @peaches1958 @fictive-sl0th @lou12346789 @in-this-minute @hotgirlsshareaccounts @sweetpeapod @fuseburner @azanoni @bookofsecretjourneys

Masterlist

"'M goin' back out today. That okay for ya?" Daryl asked, while buttoning up the last few buttons of his black shirt and rolling up the sleeves. You smiled at him, stretched and stood up; leaving the cosy bedsheets behind. "Of course." You said, stepping closer and watching him slip in his angel-winged vest. Both your hands found their way on his chest, softly tugging on the cold, smooth fabric of the famous leather vest. "As long as you're coming back to us..." You whispered with a smile; your eyes never leaving his beautiful blue-greyish ones.

Us... The word hit Daryl like a ton of bricks - in the best way possible, though. It caused the ends of his nerves to sizzle. An overwhelming feeling of warmth and love flooding his veins. Us... He couldn't stop himself from smiling that signature sweet, small, boyish smile. "Ain't gonna ever leave ya two alone," he stated, shaking his head. One hand settled on your left hip, while the other found your yet non-existent baby bump. Although Daryl always stated, that he was already able to feel the tiny, innocent life. Despite the fact that you were barely eight to ten weeks along - according to Siddiq. Whenever he said that, you'd just giggle and shake your head.

"'M always goin' to come back for ya. 'Specially now." Your smile even widened; one hand reaching up to brush a chestnut brown curl out of his handsome face. "I know." You stood on your tippy-toes to brush your lips against his; eyelids fluttering shut.

"I can't convince you to let me join you, can I?" Daryl scoffed playfully, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Ain't lettin' you walk around out there." You sighed, but giggled. "Thought so... Take care out there, yes? Be safe." Your boyfriend nodded. "'Course. Promised." "Good." You kissed him again. "I'll be back 'fore the sun's goin' down."

Daryl grabbed his crossbow then, his knives and took one of the pick-up's. His bike would've been a bit too small for his task ahead. With a last look at you and a soft smile, he left Alexandria; off to find and scavenge stuff for the baby.

Around midday, Daryl was already several miles away from home, searching every square inch of a few smaller cities around D.C. Daryl knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to be close to such a big city, but that didn't scare him.

Now he was sneaking down the streets of a rather very small city he didn't know the name of. Not much houses, only a few shops. His eyes landed on an old building. Not big and plain. Unimportant, unnecessary. He was about to walk past it, when he recognised the small sign over the old, rusty door... 'Smith's Baby Store'. Wasn't that exactly what he was looking for? "Finally," he muttered to himself under his breath, drawing his knives. With his foot, he kicked against the unstable door, listening for any signs of walkers. Nothing.

Carefully, he opened the door. It didn't budge at first, but with a little more strength, it finally gave in - as if someone was inside it before him. Looking around to check the street for any stray walkers - which wasn't the case, he stepped inside the small house. Daryl noticed immediately, that this house was constructed very... strange. The door didn't lead straight into the shop. It led into a long, dark hallway - with only three other doors. One on the left, one on the right and one at the end of the hallway. Daryl sneaked on quiet feet down the squeaking hallway; the old wood creaking underneath his weight. He checked the two rooms on the sides first, but found nothing. One room was already scavenged. Not much things were left. Most of the items useless and broken. The other room was nothing more than a broom closet with dusty cleaning supplies.

Daryl let out a slightly annoyed groan, before he made his way to the last room. The sparse wooden door wasn't locked. It was slightly ajar, making it easy for the archer to open it. The door led into a big room, full of shelves and cupboards, in which several baby things were. A smile twitched at the corners of Daryl's lips. Jackpot. But just a moment later, his expression shifted into a frown. The building had been clearly scavenged already, so... Why leave this room out? Why not take these things as well?

The answer got the archer only seconds after the thought had crossed his mind. He took a few steps inside the room - and immediately felt the floor giving softly in underneath him; bending under his weight. The wood was rotten, dilapidated and more than unstable. Daryl walked backwards again, biting his lip and weighing his options. Should he risk it? Should he not? He didn't know what was beneath the floor. Perhaps the basement? He could've sworn he had seen a small stair in the other room, leading down to a door. The basement couldn't be that bad, could it? And perhaps the floor held him, so... Daryl had been way too long on his way today and the past days - weeks. He didn't want to go home once again empty handed.

So, he took the risk - and paid for it almost immediately. The old wood held his weight the first time and also the second time - but not the third. It gave in underneath him, creaking and aching, causing the archer to fall - like he had predicted into the basement. With a thud, he landed on his back, groaning. "Shit." Only a tiny window let the sunlight in and illuminated the dark, dusty and... smelly room. His ears were ringing from the fall, his senses blinded for a moment, causing him to not realise instantly, what he got himself into.

Only when the sounds of low snarls and snapping teeth urged slowly but surely to his ears, he realised. Daryl's eyes widened in shock and surprise, before he scrambled to get up from the cold ground. The window didn't let much light in... But enough to show that said basement was filled with more than just two walkers... Way more than two. Daryl grimaced - in pain and frustration. "Damn it!" The walkers noticed him, of course, immediately and went straight at him. Daryl reached for his knife to get rid of the first undead, attacking him; all the while scanning the room for the door. He had to get out of this.

Unfortunately - just in that moment, while he was fighting the undead, started his walkie talkie to give forth some static hissing, before Rick's voice echoed across the basement. "Daryl?!" The archer got rid of another walker, plunging his knife into its rotten skull, before retrieving the weapon again, and reached for the walkie talkie attached to his belt. He thought it had been the last one, but just as he was about to answer his brother, another walker lunged at Daryl from behind, with such an impact that the little, black device slipped from Daryl's hand, along with his knife. A grunt left his lips as he tried to get the undead man away from him. He turned and stumbled to the ground with the walker landing on top of him. Its foul breath hitting Daryl's face; rotten teeth snapping at him, mere inches from his neck. "Daryl?! Do you copy?!" Rick's voice called out for him again. Daryl gritted his teeth and used all his force to shove the undead away from him. Quickly he reached for his knife and killed the walker. Panting, he fell back on his back, catching his breath. "Come on, Daryl! It's urgent!" Rick sounded almost desperate by now. Daryl took a deep breath and stood up to get the walkie talkie. "Rick? Rick! I'm here." He panted, wiping some blood from his face. "Sorry, man. Had to get rid of a few walkers."

Rick answered instantly. "Thank god. Daryl, you gotta get back here! Quick!" The man frowned, making his way to the small door of the basement. "Why?" "Y/N's in the infirmary! She-" Rick's voice broke and Daryl's heart dropped. You were in the infirmary? Fear and panic immediately started to rise within the archer. "Rick?!" He literally screamed into the walkie talkie, "Rick!" but all he got in return was static hissing. "Fuck's sake!" The archer cursed and slammed the device on the ground, before he literally run up the stairs and out of the house. Something was wrong, if you were in the infirmary - and whatever it was, he had to get back to Alexandria as fast as possible.

The gates got opened immediately, as soon as Daryl approached Alexandria. The archer didn't even bother to park the pic-up on its rightful place. He jumped out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut; seeing Rick already running his way. "Daryl!" The archer met his friend midway. "Wha' happened?! What's wrong with 'er?!" "You better see for yourself...," was all Rick said - a sorrowful look on his face. Daryl didn't let himself tell that twice, of course. As fast his legs could carry him, he sprinted to the infirmary. Without even knocking he ripped the door open and stormed in - attracting Siddiq's attention. "Daryl." "Where is she?!" The archer walked up and down the room like a wounded tiger; tried to push past the doctor - but Siddiq stood firmly in his way and tried to calm him down. "Daryl, calm down. Y/N's in the last room down the hall. Let me explain first, okay?" The black-haired man lifted his hands as if in surrender. Another try to calm the worked up man across him down. Daryl's chest heaved, as he grunted and gave the doctor a short nod - which Siddiq returned. "You... You might want to sit down for this." "Nah, 'm good. Tell me wha' happened." The doctor took a deep breath. "Alright, I... Y/N came to me a few hours ago; said she had cramps. Usually nothing to be worried about, but I checked on her nevertheless." Siddiq swallowed hard, lowering his head. "When I went to check, I... I saw that... There was blood, Daryl."

The archer's eyes widened and he felt his heart drop for the second time that day. Deep down, he already knew what it meant, of course, but he didn't want to believe it. Not until Siddiq spoke the dreadful words out loud. "Y/N, she... I'm afraid she had a miscarriage. I'm sorry." Daryl just stared at his friend blankly. The news - the shock was just too overwhelming. Without saying a single word, the archer walked past the doctor and straight down the hall, towards your room.

Gently opening the door, he found you laying on a bed, curled up into a ball. Your back towards him. He could hear the soft cries and sobs, which left your lips - breaking his heart. Daryl whispered your name, trying to hold back his own tears. You stirred immediately; hearing his voice. Shifting to face him, he saw your tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes. "D-Daryl..." You sobbed, causing more tears to fall. He was immediately at your side, pulling you against his body. "'M here, love, 'm here. 'S alright, 'm here..." Of course, he knew that nothing was alright, but what was he supposed to say?

Daryl felt your body shaking against his. He wanted to scream; he wanted to cry - but he couldn't allow himself that. He needed to be strong for you. For the both of you. But the harsh reality hit him nevertheless. A few hours back, everything was alright. His little world was perfect. And now? Now it all came crashing down. The happiness ripped out of both your hands - within the blink of an eye. "I-I am s-so s-sorry, I-I-I..." You stammered, hands clasping on his vest; holding onto him for dear life. Daryl immediately shook his head. "Stop that, please... You have nothin' to be sorry for. This ain't your fault, sunshine." "It h-has to b-be! I-I must've done s-something wrong, I…" "Nah, you didn't. These things just happen sometimes." You looked up at him with hooded Y/E/C eyes. "B-But why to u-us? W-We were so happy about it... Looked forward to meet this baby and now... Now they are gone..." The words caused fresh tears to run down your cheeks. "I don't know, sunshine... I don't know..."

The most important thing was, that you had each other. It was going to be a tough time, but you knew that with Daryl by your side, you would overcome the grief. Scars were going to heal with time and sooner or later, you would welcome a new life in this world, where happiness was most precious and family was the most precious gift. Yes, it wasn't going to be easy, but you knew from all the things you've been through that everything works out in the end. After all, light couldn't exist without darkness, could it?

The next days Daryl spent the whole time at home with you. He didn't leave your side. Not even for a minute. The both of you spent most of the time in your house; secluded. Everybody understood that, of course and gave you all the time you needed to process the loss. Losing a child was never easy. No matter if born or unborn.

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x pregnant!reader #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead

[megalony]

Reader ends up in a car crash, bobby is the one to assist her, but since she is deaf, she doesn't understand what bobby is saying and starts to stress. Bobby calls bucky over since he knows sign language, bucky recognises the car, and hopes it's not his wife, but bobby called him over for a reason. The team also meets his wife for the first time under different circumstances than he would of liked. And now he can't stop stressing about the Baby in the belly, even though his wife is only four months along anything could happen.

I'm so happy i found somebody who writes 911 fics!

Hiiiiii,

Oh My God thank you for sending this in it really inspired me and I just had to write it straight away! I hope you like what I came up with

XOXOXOXO

Communication Error

#evan buckley x reader #911 imagine #request

[janehaster]

On Barcus and his denial on admitting his feelings for his "friend" Wulbren

I just completed the gnomes' quest in BG3, up to the point where I've chosen to name Barcus the new leader of the Ironhand gnomes - and even though he doesn't see himself as a leader, in my heart I know he has the makings of one - and didn't kill Wulbren and by now, it's obvious Barcus doesn't consider Wulbren to be just a friend. He has a platonic love for him, following him everywhere - clinging to him like moss to a stone, as Wulbren describes it - and daring to travel all over Faerûn just to make sure his friend is alive and well.

There are other instances where the way Barcus calls him his "friend" - the not-so-subtle intonation in his voice when he uses that word - leaves no room for doubt that friend isn't the appropriate word to describe how Barcus sees him.

Now, BG3 is a world where heterosexuality isn't the norm. You're free to determine your gender and sexuality, and free to decide what kind of relationships you'll have with other people. So in my understanding, Barcus hasn't admitted to Wulbren the way he feels for possibly a couple of reasons:

On the hypothesis that he did confess his feelings for Wulbren, it's likely he was rejected. Taking Wulbren's harsh pesonality into account, he might've even given Barcus an ultimatum: we can only remain friends if you don't try "expressing your feelings" for me ever again. Given how Barcus genuinely loves him, he might've accepted those terms

Barcus never confessed to Wulbren, but witnessed what happened when Wulbren turned another male gnome down, and things didn't go well. Wulbren might even have physically assaulted them, or something equally bad, making Barcus decide to keep his feelings to himself

Wulbren is already commited or engaged to another unknown gnome, male or female (or any other gender, really) and Barcus can't get involved with him, not even as a lover

That said, I'm not assuming Wulbren is heterosexual. In fact, we can't really assume anything about him, since the matter of his sexuality isn't present in BG3. However, from the way he hates having Barcus following him around all the time and how he vehemently rejects their friendship - even going as far as to order the Ironhands to execute Barcus when he questions Wulbren's authority -, I'm taking the liberty to assume he either doesn't recognise the signs of homosexual love and affection or he does recognise them, but either doesn't want to admit Barcus is in love with him or is flat out rejecting him and hoping Barcus will give up his pursuit.

Now, what's really interesting is how their dynamic was thoroughly developed. They're NPCs and don't even have any major relevance to the main plot. You can simply leave Barcus to his fate in Act 1, not rescue Wulbren in Act 2 or forget about the Steel Watch Foundry in Act 3. However, choosing to not ignore the gnomes results in diving into this rich, complex world of theirs and being gifted with witnessing this tense relationship between Barcus and the ambitious and ruthless target of his affections. That's good writing and storytellling right there.

All things considered, I'm glad we get to be called an ally and a friend by Barcus at the end of the Steel Watch quest (if you talk to him after naming him leader of the gnomes, he has a couple of lines for you). To me, it means he finally put a stone over the whole Wulbren situation and is ready to move on, to leave this abusive unilateral relationship behind and find love and meaning with someone else. Gods know he deserves it.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #game #barcus wroot #wulbren bongle #video game #gnomes #bg3 gnomes #love #relationship #character analysis

[raina-at]

Flattery

Hubris. Pride. Ego.

A crippling lack of self-esteem from years of bullying, a childhood spent emotionally neglected and constantly overshadowed by an older sibling in a family where intellectual achievement was valued over everything else resulting in an intense emotional need for validation that runs deep and burns bright and goes largely unacknowledged (to use the words of his therapist at his second rehab clinic).

Any one of these would suffice as an explanation why he's ended up here, on the roof at Barts hospital.

Sherlock always considered it a sign of true intelligence to be able to learn from your mistakes. The problem is recognising the exact nature of the mistake. 

He let Moriarty flatter him into engaging with him. Then he made the same mistake with Irene. Then with Moriarty, again. All because he was secretly so pleased that Moriarty chose him as a rival, not all-seeing, all-knowing Mycroft, no, for once, Sherlock was the special one, the archnemesis. He let Moriarty lead him by the nose to his own self-destruction. He was too proud, too flattered, too stupid to walk away.

And now his chickens have come home to roost, it's time to pay the piper, and a few other useless metaphors that all mean the same thing: Playtime is over. Now it's time for consequences.

And of course what's truly horrible about all of this is that the consequences aren't only his to bear. No, the mistakes were all his, but the consequences will be shared by everyone who — stupidly — cares about him.

"What are you doing up here?"

Sherlock starts and turns his head, watching as John approaches the air vent he’s leaning against. He sits down next to Sherlock without saying a word, and Sherlock is grateful for the silence.

"Mycroft is having kittens downstairs, just so you know. You're supposed to be dead, not wandering about the bloody hospital," John finally says.

"He arrested the snipers, we're out of danger," Sherlock answers, dismissing Mycroft's concern with a wave of his hand.

John doesn't answer, just tilts his head back to look at the bright blue sky.

"What a fucking day," he sighs. "So what now?"

"Now..." Sherlock looks at his hands and wishes this conversation to be over, wishes he didn't know exactly how it's going to go. Wishes he could just disappear. But he can't. He owes John the truth. After all the shit he put him through, with Moriarty and the trial and then having to witness Sherlock's fake suicide, having to live with Sherlock's death for two hours before Mycroft could get to him - after all that, Sherlock can’t just leave without explaining where he’s going and what he has to do.  "Now I go after Moriarty's network. He had people all over Europe, all over the world maybe. Killing the spider means nothing if you leave the web intact. Another spider would just move right in."

John is quiet for a while. He's sitting very close to Sherlock, shoulders touching. The day is mild, but Sherlock's still shivering a bit with nerves, exhaustion and fear, so the warmth of John's body against his is - pleasant. Necessary.

"You know I'm coming with you, right?"

Sherlock sighs, having expected this response down to the exact inflection of John’s voice. "John—"

"No, no, don't even try to talk me out of it." He turns to face Sherlock, and Sherlock can see the grim determination on John's face. It's incredibly reassuring, after a day like this, even though it's terribly inconvenient in every other respect. "Listen. You're brilliant, but you can't do this alone. And what's more, you don't have to."

"I almost got you killed."

"You saved me today. And so many times before." John turns his head to look over the edge of the roof Sherlock jumped from not three hours ago. "I can't..." John's voice nearly breaks, but he takes a deep breath and soldiers on. "I can't just sit here, knowing that you might die out there alone. Please don't make me go through that."

"You're not playing fair," Sherlock says, leaning his head back against the warm concrete wall. He’s too exhausted to deal with John’s loud and insistent emotions. He’s also far too tired to argue against something he secretly desperately wants. He doesn’t want to go alone, and he doesn’t want to go with anyone but John. But he has to make sure John knows the risk, that he goes into this with his eyes wide open. “You’re not considering what I would go through if I got you killed. We might die out there. Either or both of us.”

John grins at him, fierce and sharp and dangerous. “Remember what you said to me, on Day bloody One? I said dangerous, and here you are.”

Sherlock looks down at his hands and smiles. “What do I have to do to get rid of you? All of London thinks I’m a fraud, I make you watch me die, almost get you blown up, stabbed, shot, and you’re still here.”

“Well, you could stop leaving ears in the fridge, I won’t lie,” John says, jostling his shoulder against Sherlock’s. “Other than that, I think you’re pretty much stuck with me.”

Sherlock closes his eyes and stops fighting the fierce gladness that John is still here, that he believes in Sherlock, that he’ll come with him into the darkness and maybe out the other side again. “I guess I could think of worse fates.”

“Wow, easy with the flattery, otherwise I might think you like me or something,” John says, the smile audible in his voice. He gets up from the roof and holds out his hand to Sherlock. “Shall we?”

Sherlock takes his hand and lets John pull him to his feet. “By all means.”

A little TRF fix it for your reading pleasure. Thank you so much for the prompt, @calaisreno

Tagging a few people: @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @meetinginsamarra @jrow @khorazir @totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @shiplocks-of-love @7-percent @the-reading-lemon @catlock-holmes @inevitably-johnlocked @thetimemoves @discordantwords and anyone else who wants to play.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fic #my fic #may 2023 prompts #flattery #fix it

[slowips]

need a little time away

childe & reader

childe returns from liyue after 2 years with great news! he is now an expert in what liyue calls feng shui, and he says your house is full of bad luck. so... what's the solution? him, of course. he'll be staying in your house.

# childhood friends, visions do not exist, fatui is not a sus organization but a well respected company, bullet fic, hot proofread, 1.6k words.

✱ this was a draft i had on this blog since the beginning of the year. i didn't have enough energy and interest to reformat or rewrite it for my writing blog, so i'll be posting it here and calling it a day. it's also partially because i forgot the plan for this story, lol. but title was given by (@)isekyaa, which i used for another childe fic.

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

childe was a peculiar childhood friend.

you remember him telling you that fishes would sleep upside down with their bellies peeking out of the water's surface. that's a sign that you should not touch them—no matter how hungry—because it was rude to disturb the fishes sleep.

(fish is better fresh anyways, and by fresh he meant caught alive.)

he would tell you that when your hands are so cold that you can't feel them, it's caused by invisible fire in the air. you don't feel heat from the fire because it's invisible.

(since it's still a burn, it means it must be treated asap.)

shy and sweet, even though he shared things that you've learned are not quite right, he was still a joy to be around.

then one day, he went missing.

at first it wasn't alarming. children get lost in the thick forest of snezhnaya all the time. it's part of growing up. helps builds essential skills like having a good sense of direction.

but then he didn't come back home for dinner. his parents frantically called the town for help.

"my poor child," they cried. "lost in the woods with a single coat".

everyone banned together to track the lost child. he wasn’t the type to go wandering around on his own for long.

was he playing alone? was it a kidnap? did you hear any fights among their family? what urged him to run away? do you think the search is worth?

whispers and rumours grew, which dampened efforts but you trudged on in deep snow.

crunch

crunch

crunch

the gale of an impending snowstorm warns of you danger. it pushes against you as if yelling at your bad decision to press on.

crunch

crunch

crunch

you promised to find their son. you promised to find childe.

in the center of the snowstorm stands a someone with similar stature to your missing friend.

you returned with a child with blue eyes and messy orange hair, tuffs sticking out in a recognisable fashion.

you couldn’t find childe, the peculiar childhood friend.

whoever you brought back didn’t like it when you reminded him of his misunderstandings.

(“look, childe! the fishes are asleep again!”

“they’re dead. probably because of a parasite. want to catch one and see for ourselves?”

“i think i got burned by fire in the air.”

“it’s a frostbite. it’s fun to see how deep the numbness can go. want to try it with me?”)

news of his new hobby, fighting, would become the talk of the town.

there’s always an edge to his smile, a non-shine in his eyes that make it blend with the harsh environment of winter.

his parents sent him to work for the fatui. you’ve hardly ever seen him since. it was as if they couldn’t bear looking at an imposter.

“you didn’t know i came back?” childe asks at your door.

he has frequent trips overseas, and every time he returns, he’s the talk of the town. they whisper about the months he went missing, cajole at the stories he tells from his adventures overseas, and admire the man he has become.

(good with kids too, the grandmothers coo.)

he’s not wrong to say it is strange you’re surprised he’s back when this isn’t the first he greets you shortly after he returned.

in your defence, your month has been going splendid (NOT)... you’ve been distracted by so many things.

dog died, retrenched, attended a funeral for a distant relative, bumped into a cabinet that broke your family’s heirloom. anything bad imaginable felt like it happened to you.

you would say your house is haunted if snezhnaya citizens believe in ghost.

you aren’t really in the mood to greet a puppy dog smile that never quite seem to land.

before you can explain yourself, a strong wind blows. it extinguishes your flame.

(it’s backup because your heater was sent for repair.)

“you know what? we should talk inside.”

you couldn’t agree more.

as you closed the door and proceed to reignite the fire, you notice how he’s staring at your interior.

“you don’t know how my house looks?” you quip, “never changed my layout for years.”

childe remains quiet. he looks at the ceiling, then looks at the carpet.

“liyue has this idea that the way your furniture is structured should coincide with the flow of luck.”

you don’t know what he’s talking about, but it’s rude to interrupt your guest. you hum as a prompt for him to continue.

“it’s called feng shui. i practically studied it while i was there for 2 years and i know a house ridden with bad luck when i see one.”

it sounds ridiculous.

sure, you can’t deny your luck has been all over the place the past month, but it can’t be because of a layout you have for years.

child points north.

“this is the flow of luck this season. you should rearrange your furniture.”

“how so?”

“like here,” he says as he stands across the dining table parallel to your door. “horrible decision. this is the first thing your visitors see when you enter, and it should not be the dining table.”

“o-okay…”

for some reason, even if the subject of energies and whatever bores you, there’s a rhythm to how he speaks. it’s as if he’s almost (almost almost almost) like the childe you once knew.

(carefree, laid back, and innocent.)

“why in this orientation anyway?” he asks as he looks at the door then the dining table. “you’re blocking the pathway into your house.”

“my parents only drop by for a few minutes so i wanted a table close to the door.”

“not an excuse,” he says wagging a finger. “this is blocking all the luck. i’ve heard of your misfortune. never thought someone would be so unlucky to have a hail stone puncture the roof.”

you would have groaned, but knowing childe, he wasn’t done.

“do you have the stone with you still?”

“… why would you want it?”

“oh, for fun.”

there it was. that childe that told you he liked the taste of blood in his mouth.

that childe who beat up another who apparently spoke ill of you.

childe who tells you he can teach you how to survive the cold winters with a single coat. he learned it from a kind stranger.

“okay, so what should i do?” you ask to get rid of these depressing thoughts. you slump into your couch. “where should the dinning table be. my space isn’t big enough for it to be anywhere else.”

he stays quiet to examine your living room again. he’s probably already picturing the areas behind closed doors.

you really aren’t in the mood for a whole renovation, especially when you’re broke after loosing your job. plus, the dining table is a gift from your parents, so it’s not like you can discard it. they’ll probably scold you till your ears fall off when they visit next week.

“it seems like we have to mitigate the situation with something else,” he says after his thinking. “again, not an excuse to not shift what we can, but you do need a lucky charm to help chase away the bad luck.”

and he smirks.

oh, he smirks.

“what might that be?”

“it’s not a what. you should be asking who.”

“not asking.”

“it’s me.”

“didn’t ask.”

“you sure you don’t want me to solve it for you?”

it’s not like you don’t want childe to stay in your house. he has stayed for a couple of days before.

granted they were because he was kicked out of the house for whatever reason. this? this was unreasonable. you don’t know what he’s planning. feng shui or not, he’s going to need a better reason to live under your roof.

before you can push him out of your door, you can’t turn the damn knob.

what.

“it’s a sign.”

“no it’s not,” you insist as you use two hands to twist it. the door knob rattles. any more strength and you fear you’ll break it which is worse.

“you have to accept the circumstances. and, i’m trying to help.”

you look at childe, disbelief littered all over your facial features. fate is a cruel thing.

“the coldness probably froze the mechanic,” he diagnoses. “will you let me help you warm it up? i won’t cause a fire. promise.”

fine. he is right that he’s trying to help, and when he gets that door unlocked you’re kicking him out.

as you exchange places with him, leaning against the wall to watch him start a fire and use it to warm your door handle, you guess having someone who knows how to deal with these bad situations is a boon.

you guess if you’ve accepted your childhood friend is not coming back, then you can accept this too.

(unwillingly.)

when he unlocks your door, you’ve made up your mind.

“you can stay,” you say to his surprise. his face scrunches in confusion but it bursts with happiness later.

“i knew i could count on you.”

“on me? i thought you’re staying here because i’m counting on you to be my lucky charm?”

“oh, we’ll, that too.”

“you’re not telling me something.” you press your foot on the floorboard so hard you think you hear it crack. “why do you want to stay in my house?”

“you can keep me for feng shui reasons.” he raises his hand in a surrender pose. “your floor cracked, by the way. want me to fix it for you?”

you roll your eyes, too tired to say no. it will be foolish to reject free services.

“fine. i need a break.”

“rest well…?”

that’s the last thing you hear before you crumple on your bed.

#childe x reader #childe x you #childe x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #reader insert #x reader #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #i actually... miss this writing style... i don't know. i think after working i've tried very hard to pack my sentences #but then it sort of lost that innocence of verbal telling #idk how to explain but i like this actually :3

[stevesxyellowxsweater]

Nothing stays the same

PAIRING: Gator Tillman x fem!reader WC: over 2000 CW: MINORS DON'T INTERACT!! Forced kiss, calls her girl, Gator being an ass. That is about it. If I have missed anything please let me know! SUMMARY: Returning home is something you never wanted to do, but your brother is getting married so you have no choice. When you're pulled over, you find yourself face to face with your high school bully. Someone you hoped you'd never have to see again. AUTHOR NOTES: This has been in my head for a while, as long as it does well there will be a second part. A massive thank you to @entermxnson for everything she does for me, she's my biggest fan and the person I can count on most. Love you to pieces thank you for your constant support. Enjoy! Credit to @cafekitsune for the amazing divider.

You'd promised yourself that you'd never return here; you could feel your body tensing as you crossed past the welcome sign. You'd hated it here, countless bullying, torment, and an awful time. When you left for college, you promised you'd never come back. You promised that no matter what, you'd leave this life behind.

Your brother had other ideas.

He'd moved back after being made redundant, met a girl and fell in love. The usual cliche crap that you couldn't stand. So now here you were, returning to the place you hated the most, just to watch your brother get married.

Your music rumbled low as your eyes focused on the road ahead. You didn’t even notice how your knuckles had become white from gripping the wheel so hard. You didn't want to be here; you wanted to turn back, go home, maybe claim to be sick.

But Andrew would never forgive you.

Your music stopped, and the familiar ringtone of your cell filled the car. Reaching the button on your steering wheel, you answered.

“Hello?”

“Munchkin, where are you?”

Rolling your eyes as you heard your brother's awful nickname for you, you smiled.

“Hey Andy, I'm about fifteen minutes away.” 

“Great, I can't wait for you to meet Catherine. You're going to love her!”

You smiled. Andy had been saying that for months. You weren't sure, however.

“I can't wait.” 

A simple lie never hurt anyone. You thought to yourself as you carried on down the road. 

“Andy, I'm going to be a little longer.”

“Why? You okay?”

“I'm being pulled over.” 

The flashing lights behind you make you tense. You stare at them in your mirror for a moment.

“I'll see you soon.”

Hanging up the phone, you found somewhere to pull over to park. Maybe they'd seen New York plates and assumed theft. Leaning over, you found your license and registration. Sitting up, you looked out and cursed as you saw who it was.

Gator Tillman, he was a cop now? How fucking insane! Your high school bully now upholds the law. You cursed yourself as you watched him walk toward your car, that usual swagger he'd had since high school.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” He asked as he looked over your car, not even looking at you. You could see the gum in his mouth, a disgusting thing to see if you were honest.

“If it's because my car isn't from around here, it's cause I'm driving in to see family.”

He looks up at you, flashing his pearly whites in a charming smile. It sends shivers down your spine - just like how it used to when you were both teenagers. The hard truth was even though he was a bully, you had a crush on him. 

“You were speeding.”

“What? I was going forty-five.”

“The limit is 30. Got changed about six months ago.”

Fuck, you'd been speeding and caught. That was the last thing you fucking wanted right now. You just wanted to get to your parents' place, was that too much to ask?

“License and registration please.”

Swallowing hard, you bit your lip and watched him. He glanced between the card and you.

“Step out of the car. Please, Ma'am.”

Opening the door, you climbed out and looked at him. You watch his eyes scanning your body as he bites his lip. He didn’t recognise you. You'd changed a lot since high school. You think the term was glowed up. You'd changed, but not Gator. He looked the same.

He casually leans against the side of your car and crosses his arms over his chest as if taking his sweet time with this traffic stop, like it's no big deal at all. 

With deliberate slowness, he reaches into your car and takes the keys. 

“Wouldn't want you running off now, would we?” He smirks, that damn annoying but knee-weakening smirk that awakens the butterflies inside you.

"I'm afraid I need you to take a sobriety test." His eyes lock onto yours as they narrow slightly; it feels more like an accusation than a request. The last thing you want to do right now is take a Damn test to prove you're sober before midday. 

“Really? You think I'm drunk?” You questioned needing him to clarify it.

“It's routine, Ma'am.” 

You watch him taking out his little black book and opening it to jot down things. 

He lazily pushes himself off your vehicle and steps closer to you. The space between you narrows, and you find yourself stepping back.

"Now let's see here... You were going 45 miles per hour in a 30-mile-per-hour zone."

With that seemingly innocent statement comes an undercurrent of satisfaction in his voice - almost like he'd been waiting for this moment to show you up all these years since you left school. 

As if sensing your discomfort with being so close together, he begins walking around the front of the car towards where his cruiser is parked close.

The air between you feels tense; every move is made deliberately aware of each other's presence. For just a second, there's a flash of recognition in Gator's eyes before it disappears once more behind his slicked-back hairline, leaving nothing but speculation on what might have been running through the devious little brain cells of his at any given point during this encounter thus far.

“Speeding, and a sobriety test. It's going to be one hefty fine." Gator chuckles as he opens the back door of his patrol car and climbs in. He looks at you over the vehicle, a smirk playing on his lips as if daring you to say something smart-assed back.

As you stand there fuming under the glow of the morning sun that seems far too bright suddenly, Gator leans forward slightly in his seat before reaching down towards what appears to be a laptop. With deft fingers, he begins typing away at its keyboard - presumably logging your infraction into some sort of system for later processing or review by higher-ups within the department.

Despite yourself, you can't help but watch him mesmerised almost against your will by how effortlessly this charming snake slithers through life without regard for others around him. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once - much like everything else about being pulled over by Officer Gator.

As if sensing your growing unease, Gator finally looks up from his work on the laptop and locks eyes with you again. There's an almost predatory glint in those eyes now - like he knows what sort of thoughts are running through your head, and he likes it.

"Well," He draws out slowly, leaning back into his seat with a lazy shrug. "What do we have here? Someone could use a little lesson on behaving behind the wheel." A wicked grin spreads across his face as he tilts his head slightly towards yours, inviting further conversation or maybe something more. Depending on just how far you're willing to go with this whole getting out of a ticket.

“Can we get on with this, please?” You ask as you sink your hands into your pockets and look at him. 

Gator let out a sigh; he was going to have to work harder for you. He usually managed to get girls into the back of his car, for head or a fuck.

“Sure,” Gator grumbled as he climbed out of the car. 

Grabbing his kit, he walked over. There was a look in his eyes as he set up the machine to take your alcohol level. He looked almost disappointed as he put the tube in it. 

“Blow on the beep, please.�� 

Holding it up, he studied your lips. His mind wondered how it would feel to have your mouth around his cock instead of the plastic tube that you had taken into your mouth. The look in his eyes was more predatory, the ideas running through his head getting increasingly erotic as he watched you.

You waited for the beep and blew until the second beep. Removing your mouth, you folded your arms and waited for the reading. 

“Alright, it's clear.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes; it was frustrating. You felt like Gator was just doing it to be an asshole.

“Shocker.” You muttered to yourself as you watched him taking the tube from the machine and putting the whole thing back in his car.

“Look, can I just have my ticket? So I can be on my way?” 

Gator adjusted his belt and walked toward you; there was a look in his eyes that you couldn't quite explain. You watched him as he placed his hands on either side against your car. 

"Oh, come on now," Gator protests with a head shake. "That's no way to end this chance encounter."

Before you can say another word, he's closed the space between you, that sly grin still plastered across those lips like they were made for each other or something equally as cheesy. 

As he reaches for your door, he leans in close enough so your faces are almost touching and whispers into your ear: "Maybe I could make it up to you by giving you something else instead?" 

The warmth of his breath sends shivers down your spine. His words echo dark desires deep within yourself that you thought long buried under years upon years of pain and heartache inflicted by none other than Officer Gator Tillman himself back when everyone called him 'Daddy'.

“Ticket would be fine.” You manage to say, your eyes locked onto his as you swallow hard.

"Ticket?" Gator's eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he chuckles softly to himself. "Look, I know who you are, and you have changed for the better." he shakes his head again with a bemused smile playing at the corners of those full lips. "The past is just that. That was then, this is now. Let us not waste it, yeah?."

Without another word, he straightens back up and steps away from your car door - leaving you feeling strangely vulnerable out here, alone. There hadn’t been a single car pass since he stopped you, and you had a feeling there wouldn’t be anytime soon. Sensing this shift in power dynamics between them, something dark and predatory stirs deep within him. An almost primal instinct takes over, as it often does when faced with perceived weakness or fear. 

Time seems to stand still as their gazes lock onto each other's. It’s the predator versus the prey, sizing up their opponent; which will run first? Then suddenly - without warning - everything changes once more.

“I will be on my way, if you aren’t issuing a ticket. I have things to do.” There was almost a cocky undertone to your voice, one that Gator picked up on and caused his expression to turn dark. 

"Now hold on just a damn minute," Gator's voice booms across the quiet country road as he stomps towards you again. There is an undeniable anger simmering beneath the surface. Gator almost can't believe what he's hearing.

Up close and personal once again, his hot breath against your cheek as he leans in. He’s so close your noses are practically touching. His gaze bores into yours with such intensity that it feels almost like he's trying to crawl inside your head- seeking some dark secret or hidden desire buried deep within your soulful eyes.

“What exactly is your problem here? So you know who I am. Does that mean I owe you something? No, It doesn’t. I owe you nothing, Gator! You said no ticket. So, I will be on my way. Now move.” 

"You think this is some kind of game?" Gator snarls, the anger in his voice finally boiling over into something primal and raw. There he was, the snotty little teen you remembered from high school. The one that made your life a living hell. 

"Well, let me tell you something,” he growls lowly, dragging his hand through his slicked-back hair in frustration. “You might’ve gone away, become something fancy stuck-up piece of shit, but here in this town, you’ll always be nothing!”

Before you can say another word, those full lips are pressed hard against yours - he forces his tongue into your mouth. He tastes you like he’s been starving for years. There's an almost savage intensity to this, almost like he’s unleashing everything that he’s been holding onto for years.,

Your hands managed to move and shoved him back hard, almost causing him to fall over. You looked with irritation and anger in your eyes. “I swear to God, Gator if you weren’t a damn cop! I’d be kneeing you in the balls!”

"Is that a fact?" Gator smirks as he leans back against the hood of your car, his gaze never once leaving yours. The predator inside him comes to play in his smile, like he knows exactly what buttons to push to get you where he wants - which is right there underneath him for all eternity.

He can sense the power shift, his prey weakened by a single kiss. Those full lips part into a soft grin once more/ His fingers run along the hood of your car, his eyes still locked on you. 

"Look," he said, closing in on you. His arm leaned on the top of the car as he looked at you. 

"Maybe we could make a deal here? I let you go without a ticket, and maybe..." He pauses deliberately, letting the tension build up inside both of you reach breaking point before finally saying: "...maybe next time things will be different."

“There will not be a next time officer.” You assure him.  

"Oh really?" Gator raises an eyebrow in disbelief as he straightens back up once more. "We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" 

Without another word, he turns around and walks back over to the driver's side door of his patrol car - leaving you alone, feeling strangely exhilarated and nervous despite (or perhaps because of) everything that just happened between you two. 

As he climbs back into the vehicle, a mischievous glint appears in those dark eyes. It's almost like he knows something about this town or its secrets that maybe even YOU don't yet... And for now, it seems Officer Gator Tillman will continue slithering through life without regard for others around him while you watch on helplessly from afar.

#gator tillman smut #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman imagine #gator tillman fanfiction #joe keery imagine #fargo fanfic #fargo imagine

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

FALLING FOR YA - S.H

Warnings: allusions to sex, mention of dates, head injuries

Pairing: S1!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve was the playboy of the century but when he bumps into a strange girl in the library, he can't help falling for her

Wordcount: 2.2k

If you would have asked Steve Harrington in freshman year if he would be sitting here now, a soft look on his face as he peered over at you. 

The year was 1983 and he was sitting in the cafeteria with Tommy H and Carol, the two making some awful and explicit joke about their date on Friday to the cinema. 

He wasn’t paying any attention to them though because his gaze was focused on the girl sitting on the other side of the room with her friend, both of them looking at some pieces of paper. He knew nothin about her but her name but he needed to know more. 

You were in the grade below him and he had never seen you before last week when you had helped him pick up his books after he had dropped them. 

He had been in a different world, thinking about that date with Linda or Sheridan from last night but the second that he saw you, he had forgotten all about those girls. Actually, he had been so engrossed in you that he hadn’t been looking where he was going and had bumped into the wall, the slight stack of books he was holding in his arms clattering to the floor. 

You had been laughing with your friend, leaning against the same wall he had walked into and he had watched as you tipped your head back with a laugh and it had been like all time had frozen. 

As soon as you saw his head hit the wall you gasped, putting your books down on the side as you bent down to help him pick up his books from the floor. When you were both down there, he looked at you, eyes wide as he hadn’t expected you to talk to him. 

He picked them up, standing up so fast that his head started to spin a bit but he just stared at you, big brown eyes appearing to peer into your soul. 

Robin scoffed next to you, folding her arms across her chest as she muttered “What a dingus,” under her breath, shaking her head at the boy. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” You asked, reaching up and touching the small red mark on his forehead where he had hit his head. You didnt even think as you did it, a worried crease between your brows. 

His face flushed red as he looked at you and for the first time in his life, he was speechless, “Yeah, uh, I’m okay,” he said, eyes still wide like they were in shock. 

You just shook your head, still unsure if he was okay from the wide eyed stare he was giving you, your mother was a doctor and you knew the signs of a concussion.

“Are you sure?” You asked and he nodded his head again like a puppy, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

You held up four fingers and he blinked once before saying without a beat “Four,”

You smirked, looking a the flustered boy in front of you, “Wow, you must be some kind of kid genius,” you teased and he looked at you, eyes softening, “what’s your name?” 

“Steve Harrington,” he said, almost blurting the words out. He had never been so nervous around a girl before but there was something about you that just made his entire persona change. 

You nodded your head, recognising the name but not paying much attention as you recited your name afterwards and he smiled. 

Steve repeated your name, listening to the way that it rolled off of his tongue, “That’s a nice name, you know, as far as names go,” he said, trying to flirt but the words came out almost stumbling. 

You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head with a smile as you looked at him, “You’re a dork,” you replied. 

Steve froze. He had never been called a dork before in his life, he had been called awesome, cool, a stud, handsome, sexy, an idiot, dumb. He’s never been a dork to someone and for some reason, the teenage boy wished that she would almost say it again. 

He didn't know what to say as he looked at you but he took a deep breath, regaining his composure and putting on that signature charming smile that never failed to make a girl smile.

“I'll see you around Y/N” he said, walking away with a smile, not looking back as he headed out of the library with a new pep in his step that he hadn’t had before. 

You smiled to yourself, unable to wipe the smile off of your face as you still reeled from the romantic interaction with this new guy that you don’t think you had seen before at school. 

Robin scoffed behind you, shaking her head and you turned around to see why she was reacting like that, “Do you know who that was?” She asked, eyes wide as she looked at you. 

You shrugged your shoulders, “No, the name sounds familiar but I don’t know who he is,” you stated, the smile fading from your face as you tried to figure out why your friend cared so much, “Why would I?”

“That’s Steve Harrington,” she stated like he was James Dean or something. 

You scoffed, shaking your head at your friend, “Yeah I know, he told me,” you stated almost manner of factly. 

Robin looked at you in shock, confused as to how you didn’t recognise him even though the three of you shared a lesson, “He’s the coolest kid in school, hangs out with Tommy H, that douchebag in senior year, his dad owns that huge car company,”

Your face sank and you felt your heart speed up as you realised who he was. Steve Harrington was the arsehole who every single girl in the year was completley fawning over and he had just flirted with you, out of all the girls in the library. 

“Oh, Steve Harrington,” you stated, your eyes narrowed at your friend as you thought back to the interaction. 

“Yeah, dingus, the Steve Harrington,” she said. 

In the cafeteria, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you talked with Robin, your arms waving around as you tried to prove your point, a smile on both of your faces. 

He kept reliving that day in the library and ever since Friday, he hadn’t been able to think about anything but you. 

Tommy and Carol shared a look, confused as to why he was staring into the distance, eyes soft as they tried to follow his gaze but failed.

“You okay mate?” Tommy asked harshly, waving his hands in front of his face.

Steve nodded, reluctantly tearing his eyes away to look back at his friend.

He nodded, brows furrowing together “Yeah, yeah,” he stated, trying to make it sound as convincing as possible. 

If he told them about you then he knew they would either make fun of you or try to indoctrinate you into their group. He had never wanted someone like carol, he hadn’t wanted a mean girl even though he was a bit of a jerk. 

“You sure?” Tommy questioned, trying to figure out what was wrong with Steve, “You seem kind of out of it, that date was that good this weekend?”

“No, I didn't go in the end,” he explained. 

Tommys eyes went wide, his eyebrows raised as he looked at his friend, voice loud, “You didn't go? She was a total babe,” he said, almost accusatory. 

Carol smirked, ignoring her boyfriend's comment. she was able to tell exactly what was wrong just from the lovelorn look on his face, “Who’s the other girl then Steve?” She questioned. 

He stood up, a few people looking over at him from the other tables but he just looked down at his friends, shaking his head “I've got to go Carol,” he said before walking over to your table, ignoring the looks from his friends and their protests. 

You and Robin looked up at him, slightly confused looks on both of your faces as you tried to figure out why he had come to your table - nobody as cool as him ever came over to your table. 

“Harrington,” you stated, leaning against your hand as you pushed your band papers out of your way. 

“Hey,” he said, all words evaporating from his vocabulary as soon as he looked aat you again. You with your warm eyes and soft skin and wide smile. 

“You gonna walk into any more walls today?” You teased and Robin chuckled next to you, eyebrows raised at the boy. 

He chuckled too, a smirk on his face, “No, I wanted to ask you out on a date,” he said boldly, much different to the shy guy that you had been talking to at the library. 

Now it was your turn for your face to heat up, “A date?” You asked, echoing his words. You had never been on one before and especially not with someone as popular as Steve was - people like him never looked at you. 

“Yeah, there’s this diner in the next town over, I think you’d like it,”

“You been thinking about this all weekend Harrington?” You questioned, a teasing tone to your voice and he smiled. 

“Yes, I have,” he said confidently, watching as you pursed your lips together to hide the smile growing, “So will you say yes?”

You thought over it all quickly and thought about why this cool and popular guy would be talking to you. You sighed, nodding your head as you looked at him. 

“Pick me up at 6, tonight,” you stated and his face lit up, a grin spreading over his face and a new twinkle in his eyes. 

“Where?” He asked, moving slightly closer so he was leaning towards you and robin just watched the scene, a smile on her face as she looked at her friend. 

You scribbled down your address on a piece of paper that you found in your pocket, scribbling your phone number on it too. 

“I'll see you tonight Steve,” you said, handing the piece of paper to him and watching as his eyes scanned the address before he tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.

“Its a date,” he said, the confidence falling for a second to show thee nervousness in his voice as he looked back at you. 

You nodded, a toothy grin on your face as you looked at him, “It's a date,” you repeated, echoing the sentiment. 

He smiled again, turning on his heel and walking back. He stopped at his table, looking back at you with a smile before sitting down and even from where you sat, you could hear his friends berating him for talking to you, someone who was in band and got nearly straight A grades. 

Robin scoffed, shaking her head at you, “Y/N Buckley, I can’t believe you just did that,” she said, looking at her cousin with an incredulous look. 

“Did what?” You asked, a giddy smile on your face as you replayed the interaction just like you had done at the library, 

“Agreed to a date with Steve Harrington,” she said, making kissing noises and you just laughed, shaking your head. 

You hit her on the arm, pushing her slightly so she had to grab the table, “Shut up Robin,” you exclaimed, the two girls laughing with each other. 

You smile to yourself as you look over at Steve’s table. He gave you a little wave and you grinned, waving back as you thought about what this was going to lead to. 

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #st steve #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve stranger things #stranger things steve #joe keery #mj writes nonsense

[hypersonic04]

Part One:

I haven't written anything in so long, but today I had a sudden burst of inspiration for an enemies-to-lovers series with Ross? If anything, this is for me to simply live my fantasies (lol). word count: 1,467

My shoes are squeaky on the floors, and it's like the fluorescent lighting of the hallway makes me even more conscious of the nails-on-a-chalkboard noise emanating from my footsteps. I cringe to myself and pray that the band aren't recording anything important right now - I don't think the sound of rubber against wood flooring in the background of his song is something Matty would see as valuable to the band's development.

I try to blame my lack of sleep and hydration for the swirling feeling in my stomach, however I reckon it's probably more to do with the fact that today is my first day working with them. Working in music is something I've always wanted, but throwing myself in at the deep end with one of the biggest bands in the industry was not exactly my plan. When someone like Jack offers you the opportunity to write with The 1975, you don't pass it up.

I reach the room that Jamie pointed me in the direction of, a sign stuck on there with blu-tack - 'WRITING IN PROGRESS'. My lungs feel like they can't fill up properly as I attempt to take a deep breath, my hand drifting to the doorknob.

It was almost like I commanded the door to open with my mind. It swings open aggressively before I can even touch it, and I'm met with what I can only describe as a biblically-accurate Jesus.

He's frowning, and I can't help but feel like I'm already in their way. He excuses himself past me with pursed lips and a raised brow, slipping past me and swiftly making his way down the hall I had only been nervously pacing minutes ago. His shoes didn't squeak, though.

"Uh, hi!" I say, perhaps a tad too sprightly for the atmosphere of the room. "I'm Iris, I-"

"Lovely to meet you, Iris. I'm Adam," He stands up and holds his hand out, the first out of the four of them to greet me. It seems like they were having a meeting of sorts, the three remaining men in the room each sat on sofas. Adam almost seems relieved that there had been a change of topic upon my entrance, the tension in the room easing slightly as he shakes my hand. "This is Matty, George..." He gestures between them and they give me a friendly smile each, the kind you might give to a new colleague in an office.

I stand awkwardly in the doorway, and it's at that moment that I begin to question everything. What was I thinking? Why did I possibly think that writing music with a very established, very successful band was a good idea?

"I, uh-" I wrack my brain for what I'd practiced to say next, but the whole situation is nothing like I had expected. I mean, there's only three of them here, for a start.

"Jamie played us a few of the songs you've worked on, you're really talented." Matty states matter-of-factly, still sat with his legs spread wide, an acoustic guitar leaning against the side of the sofa.. "I didn't realise you'd worked with Phoebe."

"Thanks," I smile quickly and subconsciously run my hands over the denim around my hips, immediately stopping when I realise how visible my nerves are. "Yeah, we met through Jack."

"How do you know Jack?" He asks, and it takes me a few moments to recognise that his bluntness is not a reflection of his opinions of me, but rather just his general manner.

"We met at The Brits. I was there on a uni placement, and we just kind of got talking." I nod, as if the gestures affirms my place in the room.

"Do you want a drink or anything, before we start?" George stands up suddenly and it's almost a comfort, a swift diversion from my professional accolades and connections.

"Yes, please," I smile. "Just water will be fine, thank you."

I take a seat on the sofa and grab my notebook, scraps of verses and snippets of bridges scribbled down in virtually unintelligible hand-writing. Looking up as George hands me the bottle of water, I notice the look they exchange between themselves.

"I'm really sorry, I don't mean to be forward, but isn't there supposed to be four of you?" I break the silence, an airy chuckle masking my anxiety.

"Uh, yeah," Adam starts, but is quickly cut off by Matty.

"Yeah, Ross." He looks at me with a face that suggests he's pissed off. "but someone's in a bit of a mood today, so he's not going to be joining us." He sighs.

We start by discussing what their main focus is at the minute, the direction they want their fourth album to go in, their usual creative process. It feels like a priviledge to have such knowledge, my brain simply a sponge for information like this. I think Matty can sense me engagement as he talks, going into detail as I make notes like it's a lecture. The icy atmosphere in the rooms thaws gradually, as do my nerves and apprehension at being in a recording studio alone with three strange men. I admire their respective passions for music, whether it be playing it or producing it, and it's as if there's a sense of respect between the four of us as we discuss our plans for writing.

The conversation flows easily, until it doesn't.

The door swings open, exactly as it did about an hour ago when I was on the other side of it. My breath hitches as he enters the room, my eyes glued to the notes sat in my lap. There's an almost frosty silence creeping in, and I wonder what could have possibly happened between them to cause this.

"Ross, this is Iris." Matty introduces me as offers me an apologetic smile, his eyes creasing at the edges.

I look over to where he's stood, the door closing behind him and suddenly making the room feel a lot smaller. Ross' eyes are dark - really dark. Nearly as dark as the hair he wears pulled back, and the beard that decorates his face. I swallow nervously as I give him a smile, the twisting feeling in my stomach worsening when he doesn't return it. I look away, half because of the anxiety pooling in my chest, and half because I'm convinced that if I'd have stared for any longer, I wouldn't have stopped.

"Nice to meet you." He replies, his back turned to me as he fiddles with the knobs and faders on the dashboard. I hear George inhale sharply, his frustration clear. Adam shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat.

"We've just been showing her some of the songs we're working on. Feel free to join us." Matty says sharply. "You know, seeing as it is actually your band, too."

Ross turns around quickly and rather that aiming his stare at Matty, it finds me. I involuntarily raise my eyebrows in surprise, looking to the other boys in search of answers, perhaps. His icy glare lands on me for a few seconds before he appears to give in to something, huffing loudly and making his way to the seat furthest from me. I wonder whether it's intentional as he folds his arms across his chest and looks between the four of us expectantly.

The discussion carries on, and it takes everything in me not to get up and run. His mere presence makes my muscles stiffen, and every time I look up and see him staring at me from across the room, I feel sick.

"So are we all ok to meet again tomorrow? I think it would be better if we use Real World, it's better for recording the strings and stuff." Matty talks as he gathers his notebook and belongings from the coffee table in front of him. We all agree, and before we can make further arrangements, Ross is already leaving the room. I stand there, my hands by my sides, a sense of disappointment overwhelming me.

"It's nothing personal, Iris." George tries to justify, raising from his seat as frowning at me. I nod, also gathering my things and stuffing them into my tote bag. "Honestly."

I don't know what I expected - they've known each other forever. It was naive of me to think that I was going to swan in and connect with them all immediately, writing some gems and leaving with a paycheck and four new friends. Nevertheless, the disheartened feeling that swells in my chest hurts.

"We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Matty rests a hand on my shoulder, and the whole sense of familiarity in the exchange makes me feel a tad better about the impression I've made.

"Yeah, I'll be there, 12pm on the dot."

#1975 band #adam hann #fanfic #george daniel #matty healy #ross macdonald #the 1975 #matty the 1975 #bfiafl #atpoaim

[clumsiestgiantess]

Part 10 of the poll story, choice D!

D) You’re curious about the destroyed trail. All these animals would always be here, but another satyrian? “Let’s see where these footprints go. We can get you a new form a bit later.”

“Let’s see where these footprints go.  We can get you a new form a bit later,” you tell Ralyr, taking a few steps further into the woods.  “Is it really one of your own kind?”  He sniffs around — nose scrunched up and eyes squinted in concentration.  Moments later, he looks back at you.  “Well, it's certainly not any single animal that I know,” he muses, “So unless something escaped from a zoo, I really do think it's one of my kind!”  Curiously, you look down at him.  He thinks it's one of his kind?  What if it wasn't?  But what else could’ve done this?  

“You can't tell your kind by scent?” you ask.  Shrugging, Ralyr returns to your side.  “It's always a mixture of different scents of human and animal combined — even more closely together than if they walked side by side.  That's usually a telltale sign of a being that combined its form with another.  I sense that here, definitely, but it's strange.  There's more animal than human; though that could just be because they're a different subspecies than me.  Most likely they're sphinxen.  I've actually known a few of them!  They're some of the nicest people I know.”  

“Then let's go find them!” you exclaim, “They might be able to help you find a form, or even a place to live here rather than holling up in my place.”  Ralyr stops walking, and you almost don't notice — his little form is lower than the ferns and shrubs around you.  The broken ‘trail’ is more of a torn opening through the trees than an actual trail, so you have to make your way through without a clear path.  You can step over most of the undergrowth without too much hinderance, but Ralyr has to walk beneath and through it all from below.

Recognising he isn't with you, you turn around to find him standing upright a meter or so behind you.  “Ralyr?”  You step over to him.  “Live here?” he echoes quietly, almost as if he hadn't heard you.  Slowly he looks up at you with wide-eyed hope.  “Are you alright?”  He blinks, “Oh.. Oh yes!  I- I can't live here, though.  I don't think there's much space here for me to live well enough without being caught by a person.. or by a predator.  I saw the map a while back.”  You think for a moment, then glance back down the trail.  “Then why is this satyrian or.. sphinxen here?  And so…”  “Open about it?” Ralyr finishes, “I don't know.”  

He thinks for a moment, then gestures for you to come closer.  “Here, pick me up again.  You can go faster than I can trying to dodge through all this brush.  I'm dying to find out just who is living here.  Their broken trail and openness almost seems like they were uncaring about whether they were spotted right then.  What if they're in trouble?”  Slightly shocked, you bend down and hold out your hands like you had before in the car.  However, Ralyr doesn't stop there.  He continues up your arm, to your shoulder, then scrambles up to your head.  His weight weighs heavily on your neck and is warm with life — uncomfortable at best.  Clearly, now that Ralyr is willing to trust you for transportation, you need to lay down some travel rules.

What do you ask? A) “Could you just.. step down a bit, please?  It’s hard to focus with you sitting up there.”  You gesture to your shoulder.

B) “Do you mind sitting in my pocket like before?  You can peer out the sides if you like.”

C) “Can’t I just hold you?” you gently reach up for him, “It’s making me nervous, you sitting up there like that!”

D) “What are you doing up there?” you laugh, “Just don’t fall off.”

#what could’ve made this new trail? #g/t #giant/tiny #poll story