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#its been almost a week now 🙃
reaperkaneki · 7 months
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trying not to think about the fact that our rent + utilities + internet is about as much as i make in a month. sometimes more sometimes less depending on utilities. that is not including gas and groceries. i go through a full tank in 2/3rds of a week. gas is like 5/gal. augh. fucking hate it here,
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galaxywhale-moved · 1 year
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extremely unfair that my car decides to start playing up while my dad (very much a car person and also a former qualified mechanic) is overseas and not here to deal with it for me /:
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4giorno · 1 year
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omggg i can sit up again 🎉
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dragons-and-yellow-roses · 11 months
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Putting in my two week's notice tomorrow!!!!!!!
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joelmillerisapunk · 1 month
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unbelievable
mechanic!Joel x f!reader
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masterlist
wordcount: 4,489
summary: the 'It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?' Trope
warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, lots of fingering, there's a joint, lots of 'sweetheart', some aftercare but like a bit different (I don't wanna spoil it) mentions of anxiety (bc I'm an anxious bltch and this would happen to me) fluffy smut?
notes: hiii đŸ„° I hope you like mechanicJoel because I fell in love with him so fast, he has no right being so hot 🙃 The title is unbelievable by diamond rio, it felt pretty accurate to my inner Joel dialogue. a big thank you to @saradika-graphics & @firefly-graphics for the dividers (graphic designers deserve the world honestly)
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You've always had a thing for rugged men, and Joel Miller is the epitome of a handsome, rough-around-the-edges mechanic. His strong hands, grease-stained clothes, and confident demeanor make your heart race every time you see him, which has been a lot recently since your old car has been having its fair share of problems.
It's a hot summer day, and you decide to visit the garage where Joel works, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. As you walk in, the smell of oil and gasoline fills your nostrils, making you feel a little lightheaded. But then, you see him. He's hunched over a car engine, his muscular arms covered in sweat and grime. Your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight of him.
You approach Joel, trying to act cool and collected, even though your insides are turning to jelly. "Hey, Joel," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I was wondering if you could help me with my car again. It's been making a weird noise, and I don't know what to do."
Joel looks up at you, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of grease on his face. "Sure thing, sweetheart," he says with an almost knowing grin. You've been coming to see him every couple of weeks for the past few months. "Let me take a look for you, darlin."
As Joel inspects your car, you can't help but steal glances at his muscular physique. You imagine what it would be like to run your hands over his firm chest and his stomach, to feel his stubble scratch against your skin as he kisses you. The thought makes you wet, and you squirm, trying to hide your arousal.
But Joel notices. He looks up at you, his gaze intense and seductive. "You seem a little flustered, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "Is there something on your mind?"
You swallow hard, trying to gather your nerves. The heat in the garage is making you feel more and more flustered, and the idea of Joel noticing your arousal only adds to your embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, I guess so," you manage to reply.
Joel's eyes rake over your body, taking in the way your shirt clings to your body and the way your nipples are hardening under the hot conditions. "I can tell you've been coming to see me for a while now. It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?"
Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your face. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stammer, trying to deny the truth even to yourself.
But Joel isn't backing down. He steps closer to you, his body towering over yours. "I can help you with your car, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low growl. "But if you're looking for something else, something a little more personal, I can do that too."
Your mind is racing as you try to figure out what to do. On one hand, you've always had a thing for rough-and-tumble men like Joel, and the idea of being with him is almost too much to bear. On the other hand, you're not sure if you're ready for something like that with someone you're not even dating. As you stand there, frozen in indecision, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to decide right now. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
Joel continues working on your car, he takes his time, making sure to do everything a little slower. He runs his hand over the engine, and with every turn of the wrench and every adjustment of parts, you can't help but feel your heart race, your skin tingle, and your body heat up. He's wearing a pair of tight jeans that hug his thighs, and every time he bends over the car, you catch a glimpse of the outline of his bulge. You wonder what it would feel like to touch him there, to feel him hard and ready against your skin. Your mind races with fantasies of him taking you, claiming you, making you his in ways that go far beyond the mechanical fixings of a car.
Joel takes a bit of a break from your car, and you think he's about to tell you what was wrong with it. "You know, sweetheart, I could fix more than just your car," he repeats himself again, " I could fix all your problems, make you feel good in ways you've never felt before."
You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "What do you mean?"
Joel grins, a knowing look in his eyes. "I mean, I could show you the kind of fixings that only a man like me can provide," he says, his voice low and seductive. "Make you mine, take you right here. I promise you, it's something you'd never forget.”
“Oh, uh I, uhm I need to -” You pause, looking at your phone, “I have a thing soon. So I should uh go when you're done.” You can barely keep yourself together as you fumble through your sentence.
Joel smirks, "Of course, sweetheart," he says, his voice reassuring. "When you're ready, I'll be here.”
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As you exit the garage, you feel a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through your veins. Joel's words have left you feeling both turned on and terrified at the same time.
You spend the next few hours trying to shake off the encounter, but your mind keeps wandering back to Joel's words and the way his body made you feel. You can't stop thinking about the way his muscles bulged under his tight jeans, or the way his hair curled, his strong jawline, or the way those lips would part everytime he would focus on your car. You want to touch him, taste him, feel him- anything. And you're desperate to hear him speak that sexy accent of his once again.
When you finally arrive home, you let yourself into your apartment and immediately head straight for your bedroom. You shed your clothes as fast as possible, trying to rid your entire day from your skin. After your shower, you pull on a pair of shorts, your favorite oversized t shirt before padding barefoot across the carpeted floor of your room.
Just as you're opening your bedroom door to get a snack, your phone rings. You glance at your screen - a number with no name showing up - before answering the call, your heart pounding in anticipation. “Hello?”
You can hear a woman's voice in the background, "I told you not to come in my office. You can't just call random clients." Then you hear a muffled males voice and the woman again. "Yes... I understand she hasnt paid, but we don't contact clients until the end of the month."
You sit there unsure of what to do, should you say something? Should you hang up? Should you ignore her? Suddenly, you hear yelling. "Out - now!" she exclaims before apologizing for the misunderstanding and hanging up the phone on you. As you hang up the phone, you can't help but feel a sense of confusion and disappointment wash over you. You had been hoping that it was Joel on the other end of the line and that he was calling to follow up on his earlier proposition. But instead, it seems like you were caught in the middle of a heated exchange between a man and a woman, and you can't help but wonder what it all means.
You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You know that you can't let yourself get too caught up in the idea of Joel. You need to focus on yourself and your own needs rather than getting swept up in the allure of a man you barely know. You've got plenty of people who love you, and it's better to prioritize your relationships than get carried away with a man like Joel. You know you wouldn't be able to handle it.
But then suddenly here you are. You take a deep breath and steel yourself as you walk back into the garage, hoping to catch Joel before he leaves for the day. The receptionist gives you a disapproving look as you enter, but you ignore her and make your way towards Joel, who has just finished up with a customer. As you approach, Joel looks up and sees you, a small smile spreading across his face. "Hey there, sweetheart," he says, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I, uh, I had some questions about my car," you say, trying to sound casual. "I figured I'd come down and ask you in person."
Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods towards the back of the garage, inviting you to follow him. As you walk, you can't help but notice the way his muscles ripple under his shirt or the way his jeans hug his hips. You feel a heat creeping up your neck, and you hope he doesn't notice.
Once you're in the back, Joel crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you with a serious expression. "Listen, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I know what you're doing, and I want you to know that it's not going to work."
You furrow your brow, confused. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.
Joel takes a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I mean that I know you're trying to avoid what's going on between us," he says, his voice softening. "And I get it. I know I'm not the easiest person to be around." You open your mouth to protest, but Joel holds up a hand to stop you. "But I also know that there's something between us, something real and intense," he continues. "And I don't want to ignore it anymore."
You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "What are you saying?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Joel takes another step closer to you, his body almost touching yours. "I'm saying that I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I want to make you feel good, to show you things you've never experienced before."
Your mind is racing as you try to process what Joel is saying. On one hand, you're terrified of the intensity of your feelings for him so soon, of the way he makes your heart race and your skin tingle. On the other hand, you can't deny the attraction you feel towards him, the way your body responds to his voice alone.
As you stand there, frozen, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring.
You know that you have a choice to make, a decision to make about what you want and what you're ready for. And as you stand there, looking into Joel's beautiful brown eyes, you know that you're ready. Without saying a word, you lean in and press your lips to Joel's, feeling the heat and passion of his kiss. Joel responds eagerly, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. You can feel the strength and power of his body. As Joel deepens the kiss, he reaches down and gently lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you over to a nearby workbench. He sets you down gently, cupping your face in his hands, "Be right back, sweetheart, don't go anywhere.”
Just as Joel turns to lock up, the receptionist calls out, "Joel, she can't stay here. She's not an employee."
Joel turns to her, his expression stern. "I'll take care of it, Linda," he says. "Just go home."
Linda looks taken aback, but she doesn't argue. She grabs her things and leaves the garage, shooting you a disapproving look as she goes.
Once she's gone and the doors are locked,Joel walks back over to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He pulls a small joint out of his pocket and holds it up for you to see. "Ever tried this before, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.
You shake your head, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "No, I haven't," you admit.
Joel grins, lighting the joint and taking a deep drag. He holds it out to you, his eyes locked on yours. "Here, let me show you," he says.
You lean in, taking a tentative puff on the joint. The smoke is harsh and unfamiliar, but the sensation of Joel's hand on your back, guiding you, is intoxicating. You feel a warm, tingly sensation spreading through your body. He pulls back, his eyes shining with desire as he takes another drag. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and husky.
You nod, unable to speak. You've never smoked weed before, but with Joel, it feels right. It feels intimate and exciting, like you're sharing a secret that only the two of you know. For a while, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away, like you're the only two people in the entire world, and it's a feeling you never want to let go of.
But eventually, the joint burns down to nothing, and the two of you are forced to come back to reality. Joel grins, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his lips are soft and gentle, his tongue exploring your mouth as he deepens the kiss. You can feel the warmth of the weed spreading through your body, making you feel relaxed and happy.
As you kiss, Joel's hands roam over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and the swell of your breasts. You moan softly, your body responding to his touch. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your clit throbbing with desire.
Joel breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I want to make you feel good.” You nod, your body trembling with anticipation. You want him too, more than anything. You want to feel his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. You want to feel him inside you, filling you up and making you his.
Joel's fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it up over your head. He tosses it aside, his eyes raking over your body. You're wearing a lacy bra, the color of pale pink. Joel's fingers trace the lines of your bra, his touch gentle and teasing. You can feel your nipples hardening under the lace, your body begging for more.
"You're so beautiful, sweetheart," Joel says, his voice low and husky. "I can't wait to taste you." With a quick motion, he removes your bra, throwing it to the floor.
He leans in, his mouth closing over one of your nipples. His tongue flicks at the hard peak, making you gasp with pleasure. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down, his fingers tracing the lines of your lacy panties. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's fingers find the edge of your panties, tugging them aside. His fingers trace the outer lips of your pussy, his touch gentle and teasing.
Joel's fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you with ease. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. He starts to move his fingers inside you, faster, his touch more urgent. You can feel the orgasm building inside you.
"Fuck, sweetheart, so fuckin' tight," Joel growls.
You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Joel's fingers continue to work their magic.
And then, suddenly, you're there.
You cry out as you come, your orgasm ripping through you like wildfire. Joel's fingers continue, drawing out your pleasure until you're left weak and trembling in his arms. “S'okay baby, s'okay, you did so so good for me sweetheart.”
As your orgasm subsides, Joel pulls his fingers out of you, his eyes dark with desire. He licks his fingers clean, his tongue tracing the lines of your juices. You watch him, your mouth parted like you just watched him lick the tastiest ice cream cone.
Joel reaches down, his fingers finding the button of his jeans. He undoes it, tugging his jeans down over his hips. He's not wearing any underwear, and his cock springs free, hard and ready.
You can't help but stare, your eyes wide with desire. Joel's cock is long and thick, the head dark and swollen. You can see a drop of pre-cum glistening on the tip, and you can't wait to taste it. Joel steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your thigh. You can feel the heat of it, the hardness. You reach out, your fingers wrapping around the shaft. Joel groans, his head falling back as you start to stroke him. You can feel his body trembling, his cock twitching in your hand. You stroke him faster, your hand moving up and down the shaft. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, tugging your panties off in one swift motion.
You're completely exposed now, your pussy on full display. Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his cock throbbing in your hand.
"Fuck, you look so hot," Joel growls.
You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with Joel, it feels right. It feels exciting and thrilling, he reaches down, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub, his touch gentle and teasing.
"Do you like that, sweetheart?" Joel asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, unable to speak. "You're so fucking hot,," Joel growls. "I can't wait to taste you."
He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. He reaches up, his fingers tracing your inner thighs. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's tongue finds your clit, gentle and teasing. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel's tongue moves lower, tracing the outer lips of your pussy. His tongue finds your entrance, pushing inside you. You can feel him exploring his tongue, tracing your walls. Joel's fingers find your clit again, rubbing in time with his tongue.
"Fuck, Joel, m’gonna come," you cry out grabbing onto his hair.
Joel doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers continuing, his eyes don't leave yours, it makes him almost painfully hard watching you come. You cry out as you come. Joel's tongue continues to lick at your pussy, drawing out your pleasure.
"You taste so fucking good, sweetheart," Joel growls, standing up.
He steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your entrance. Joel's hands find your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. "You ready for me sweetheart?
"Yes, please, Joel." He pushes inside you, his cock filling you up completely. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel starts to move, his hips thrusting against you. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you with every stroke. Joel reaches down, his fingers finding your. You can feel your body trembling, your pleasure building higher and higher.
"Fuck, Joel, I'm gonna come again," you cry out, your voice hoarse with pleasure.
Joel's thrusts become more urgent, his fingers moving faster. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing with pleasure until you come again. Joel's thrusts become erratic, his body tensing as he reaches his own release. He groans, his cock twitching inside of you as he fills you with his seed.
The two of you lie there, panting and sated, your bodies still tangled together. Joel's forehead is pressed against yours, his eyes shining with desire and affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the beating of his heart against your chest.
"You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky.
You smile, feeling a sense of contentment. But even as those thoughts run through your mind, you also know that you can't let yourself get carried away. You barely know Joel, and there are things about him that you don't know. Important things.
You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you know you have to do. "Joel, I... I need to go," you say, your voice soft but firm.
Joel's expression changes, a hint of sadness and disappointment flashing in his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Suddenly, the walls feel like they're closing in on you, and you can't catch your breath. "I-I can't breathe," you manage to say, your voice shaking.
Joel's face falls, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "Just breathe with me, in and out. You're safe, I've got you."
You focus on Joel's voice, trying to match your breathing to his. Slowly, the panic begins to recede, and you can feel your heart rate returning to normal. "I'm so sorry," you say, your voice still shaking. "I don't know what came over me."
Joel shushes you, his hand tracing circles on your back. "It's okay," he says. "You don't have to apologize. You've been through a lot today. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."
You nod, feeling a sense of shame wash over you. You wanted to be strong, to be brave, but instead, you fell apart.
Joel must sense your embarrassment because he pulls back and looks at you with a serious expression. "Hey, listen to me," he says, his voice firm. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're allowed to feel however you feel, and I'm here, no matter what. Okay?"
You nod, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding, even for someone who knows nothing about you and you can't help but feel drawn to him.
"Come on, sweetheart," Joel says, standing up and pulling you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here and into some fresh air. How about we go to my place and spend the night? I promise, no funny business."
You know it sounds crazy but a sense of relief washes over you as you agree. You don't want to be alone right now, and the thought of spending the night with Joel is weirdly comforting. As much as you know, you should probably just go home. Joel helps you get dressed, his hands gentle and reassuring. Once you're both dressed, he leads you outside and into his truck. He drives you to his house, his hand resting on yours the entire time. When you arrive, Joel leads you inside and shows you to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers and helps you climb into bed, tucking you in like a child. "Just rest, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft. "I'll be right back."
You nod, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over you. Joel returns a few minutes later with a glass of water. He helps you sit up and take a sip of water, then lays down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.
You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It's soothing, and you can feel yourself drifting off to sleep.
"Thank you, Joel," you murmur, your voice sleepy.
Joel kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Anytime, sweetheart," he says. "I'm always here for you."
As you drift off to sleep, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe, and you know that everything is going to be okay.
As you sleep, Joel watches over you, his eyes full of affection and concern. He's fallen for you, hard.
As the night wears on, Joel holds you close, his arms wrapped around you. He knows that you're not ready for anything serious, and he's okay with that. For now, he's just happy to be with you, to be there for you, to comfort you, and to make you happy.
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watchmegetobsessed · 3 months
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MISTAKEN HATRED
A/N: okay im veeery nervous about this one bc its the longest story i've written in probably months and it took me sooo long to finish it so im just praying its not utter shit 🙃 anywaysss, happy holidays guys! it's not overly festive, but it has some vibes so im labeling it as my xmas fic haha feedback is always appreciated! 🎄
WORD COUNT: 6.3k
SUMMARY: Things don't go as smooth as you planned with your bakery's opening, but you're doing your best to overcome the struggles. However there is one person who is hating on your business as if it was his job: Harry Styles. You just wish you knew what you did to earn his hatred...
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
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This is not how you imagined the last weeks before your official opening. 
You imagined the interrior to be fully done by now so you can focus on the last touches, ordering the right ingredients and promoting the opening.
Instead, you’re staring at what’s supposed to be your eight tables, intact and put together but it’s all in pieces. You specifically remember the website said they would deliver them done and you wouldn’t have to play puzzles. But they arrived six days late and very much not the way they promised. 
Taking a deep breath you stare up at the ceiling and decide to take the trash out before turning your bakery into Ikea.
“It’s alright. I can do this. I can do anything,” you keep telling yourself as you drag out the trash bags that are almost the size of you. 
You knew opening your own business would be tough. Especially in Eroda, the little town you have some of your earliest memories from, where your grandma used to live, the place that was closest to her heart and it breaks yours to know she couldn’t spend her last years here because she was too sick to live on her own. 
She never asked you to come back here, but the moment you found her recipe books the summer after she passed, you just knew what you had to do. Now it’s been three years and you’re finally opening Nana’s that will bring her warmth and love back to Eroda, or you hope so. 
Pushing the door open with your shoulder, you keep dragging the bags to the containers behind the small shop and you’re so deep in your thoughts you don’t even notice the two people just a couple of feet away.
“Hi, Love!”
You recognize Anne’s sweet, chirpy voice and a smile spreads across your face even before you look up, but the moment you see the person standing next to her, all joy just drains from your body. 
Harry Styles is standing as grouchy and arrogant as always next to his mother, hands hidden in the pockets of his fleece jacket, his unruly curls are tucked underneath his beanie and any normal woman would be into the man, but you. Not after he very clearly let you know you don’t belong here and you should take your business back to the city where you came from. 
You expected some resistance, not much has changed in town in the past decades and you had a feeling some might want to keep it that way, but you guessed older people would riot against your bakery, not a thirty years old grown man. 
“Hi Anne,” you smile back and mustering up all your strength you throw one of the bags into the bin, but you overestimated your muscle work, because it only falls to the edge and almost topples right out. Luckily, you grab it just in time and push it in.
“Oh, dear, those bags are bigger than you! Harry, help her!” 
“No, it’s alri–” 
Before you get to protest, Harry strides over to you and grabs the remaining two bags as if they weighed nothing and throws them into the bin without breaking a sweat. 
Of course he is fit, the man probably runs up the hill carrying twice his weight every morning, because that’s how you can imagine him working out. 
Though you shouldn’t be imagining anything about him.
“Thanks,” you purse your lips and square your shoulders as you face the two of them.
“How is everything coming together?”
Anne has been so enthusiastic about your bakery, she comes around probably every other day, checks in on your progress and always offers her help. 
“Um, it is
 okay, I guess,” you let out a tired chuckle. Glancing over at Harry you see him looking to the side, as if he wasn’t even listening, but something is telling you he is very much focused on the conversation.
Yeah, that’s right, I’m still here! Not even your arrogance can chase me away!
Anne cranes her neck, peeking into the shop and she spots the pile in the middle.
“Oh, are you planning to put those together by yourself? Harry, why don’t you help her?”
The moment she suggests, you both protest.
“No, there’s no need.”
“Mum, I don’t really have the time,” he says at the same time, but it doesn’t seem to go through. Anne’s phone starts ringing and she excuses herself, leaving the two of you there. 
Great, this is all you were missing today, an awkward, forced situation with the man who wants to see you gone. Perfect.
“Should’ve ordered them done, don’t you think?” he speaks up, nodding towards the shop.
At first, you just blink at him, then close your eyes and when you open them, you have the fakest smile on your twitching face.
“What a wonderful idea! I totally did not think of that!”
“Then send them back and ask them to bring what you ordered.” He rolls his eyes and it’s irking you so much. You definitely don’t need his stupid advices, not when you’re terribly behind your schedule.
“They arrived almost a week later than they should have, if I send them back there’s now ay they will send me the new ones in time for the opening.”
Harry stands there, staring at the pile of furniture pieces inside and for a moment you think he might actually offer his help, which you’re not sure you’d have accepted, but it remains a mystery, because that’s not what he says when he speaks up.
“I’m busy for real. Mum likes to offer my help around without asking me.”
It takes you a couple of moments to figure out what you feel about what he just said. And when you finally do, you see red.
“As I said, I don’t need help. I did everything by myself and I will get this done as well. I don’t need your unwanted, half-assed effort to pretend like you’re helping me.”
You come off rougher than you probably should have, but he’s been bugging you ever since you moved to Eroda. The man knows nothing about you or your business, yet every time he comes near your shop he acts like it physically pains him to even look at it. He’d be the last person you’d ask for help, he doesn’t have to act like he has so much to do and doesn’t have the time to help when he doesn’t actually want to help. 
Harry stares at you with such intensity you almost break and stutter a sorry out, but that’s when Anne returns.
“Ah, we have to run. But I will come by tomorrow, Darling. And Harry can hel–”
“No need for help,” you smile at her as gratefully as you can force yourself to be in this moment. 
“Alright, then see you later,” she waves and you nod at her before your eyes meet Harry’s one last time before they walk away and you return to your shop. 
It takes you six hours to assemble the tables later that day, but you do it.
With no help. 
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Moving to Eroda, it hasn’t been your only goal to have your business become part of the town but you also knew you’d have to become one of the locals as well. Only a handful of people know who your grandmother was and you don’t plan to reveal it until the opening. You want them to taste all the baked goods and think of her first and then put the picture together. But this means you’re a total newbie for most people around. Last time you spent more than just a day here was when you were sixteen and you’ve changed a lot since then, so it’s natural people don’t recognize you. 
Anne has been your biggest help in breaking the ice and involving you in as many things as possible so you get to meet the people of Eroda. The weeks leading up to Christmas are usually filled with all kinds of winter activities locals enjoy wholeheartedly. Concert by the town hall, decorating the trees at the main square, collecting donations and cooking for those in need for example. You’ve been to all of these and very much enjoyed being part of the community. This weekend however, you can’t say you’re looking forward to the new festive activity.
Ice-skating on the frozen lake.
It sounds nice and fun, but you’ve ice-skated only once in your life and ended up breaking your wrist. Not your favorite childhood memory for sure and you don’t exactly want to relive it as an adult. 
You arrive with the intention of just sipping some hot tea and watch everyone else skate around until your fingers are falling off and you can go back to the shop to finish putting up the tinker lights at the back. 
Anne however had different ideas about today. Because as soon as you arrive at the lake, she is waving at you, holding up a pair of skates and you know they are not hers, because she’s already wearing those. 
“Kick those boots off, Love, I brought you my old skates! Come join us!” She smiles brightly at you from next to the pier where people get on and off the ice. 
“Oh, no, I don’t skate, Anne, but thank you!”
“Don’t be silly, even Bernie is on the ice!” She nods towards the old man who must be at least eighty, sliding on the ice as if he did this all his life. He might have, you have no idea.
“It’s really not for me, I–”
“Just try it! Come on!” 
She drops the skates by your feet and then slides away, leaving you no chance to protest.
Staring down at the skates, you can feel your stomach churning, but as you look up you see that literally everyone is on the ice, you’d look weird standing on the pier on your own. 
“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you give in and sitting down you start peeling your boots off your feet. 
“You’ll break your ankle if you leave it that loose.”
You know the voice and it just adds to your stress even more. You see his black skates in front of you as you’re trying to lace your own up.
“Hi Harry, so good to see you again,” you hiss through your teeth. 
“Tighten it or you’ll fall.”
“I’ll fall either way,” you mumble as you go back and pull the laces tighter. When you’re done you straighten up, but remain sitting on the end of the pier, anxiously string down at your feet. Harry doesn’t speak, but you know he is still there, probably watching you, trying to figure out what’s wrong with you, why you’re not just standing up and going at it like everyone else. 
Your hands are holding onto the wood underneath you for dear life as you picture yourself finally moving, but you never get to actually acting. 
“Do you need help standing up?” Harry speaks up at last and his voice is different this time. It’s not as arrogant, maybe even concerned. Do you look that awful right now?
“N-No.” Your voice cracks and you hate that it’s him who sees you like this. 
“Doesn’t seem like–”
“Would you stop being an asshole for a moment?” you snap at him and finally look up, eyes meeting his examining gaze. You have no idea what he sees in yours, but a few seconds later he breaks eye-contact, looks around as if he is hesitating before he sits beside you at last.
“You don’t have to skate if you don’t want to.”
“Tell that to your mother,” you mumble under your breath and it makes him laugh.
The sound of it is actually nice, surprising, but nice to hear something other than insults coming from his mouth.
“She can be a bit too much, but she’s just too enthusiastic.” You sit in silence for a bit before Harry turns to you. “You really don’t have to skate.”
“I want to take part, I just
 I broke my wrist on the ice once when I was a kid and I haven’t tried skating since then.”
You didn’t plan on telling him much, but you felt like you had to explain why you’re being so dramatic. Part of you is expecting him to make fun of you for being scared of skating because of something that happened ages ago, but the arrogant comments never come.
Instead he stands up and when you look up at him he is holding a hand out to you.
“I’ll help you. You won’t fall.”
Any other day you’d think he is plotting against you, that he would get you to trust him and the trip you the first chance he got, but not this time. He looks and sounds genuine and as you take his hand, you put way too much trust into them than you would have ever allowed yourself to. 
You hold onto him with both hands and he keeps you steady as you finally attempt to push yourself up from the edge of the pier. Your knees wobble the moment your weight is on the blades and you instantly feel yourself losing balance, but Harry’s hands wrap around your arms and keep you from falling.
“It’s okay. Relax a bit, you’ll find your balance.” He encourages you and it’s almost strange to hear him so supportive of anything you’re doing, but not breaking your neck keeps you too busy to care about his random act of kindness. 
“Try to move forward.”
“I can’t,” you protest without even trying.
“You can, just relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax, it’s not gonna help me relax!”
“Y/N, you’re gonna have a panic attack if you don’t relax,” he warns you and you realize how fast you’re breathing and all your blood is being pumped into your head. 
“I-I can’t, I can’t do this, I–”
“Y/N, look at me!” His hands snap to your shoulders and you grab onto his biceps as you look him in the eyes while your chest is still heaving. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re not going to fall. I’m holding you, I promise.”
Focusing on his words you finally forget about your fears and instead, you’re now trying to figure out where this version of Harry came from and why he hid from you all along. 
You’re not one to trust people that easily, but just from this one promise he made, you let go of all your doubts and hesitation. 
“Okay,” you breathe out. Harry nods and his hands slowly slide lower until they rest on your waist. 
“You knew how to skate, right? Before you broke your wrist.” You nod. “Alright, then it will all come back quickly.”
There’s a tiny smile hiding in the corners of his lips and your heart pitter-patters in your chest, but not because of the skating this time. His hands on you are not helping either, because for some reason, you feel heat radiating through the millions of layers you’re wearing where his hands are touching you. 
What is happening?
“Okay, I’ll hold your hand and you just focus on moving forward, yeah?”
You nod and panic rises in your gut for a moment when his hands leave your shoulders, but then they instantly take your hands and you feel safe again. 
Slowly you start moving, inching forward, your hands gripping Harry’s so tight, you’re afraid you might hurt him, but you’d never let go of him, not when you’re getting farther away from the pier. 
“That’s it, you are doing great,” he encourages. “Try to move a bit less rigidly.”
“Easy to say that,” you breathe out shakily. 
It takes time to loosen up even the tiniest bit and not grip Harry’s hand as if you wanted to crush his bones. But as you slowly move around the ice, led by him, you finally get more and more familiar with the feeling of sliding on the ice. 
“See? It’s not that bad,” he smiles when you stop for a short break after circling back to the pier. 
“I still fear for my life, but it’s bearable now,” you nod and he just chuckles.
It looks good on him. His smile is warm and welcoming, it’s a shame it took you so long to see it. You definitely prefer this version of him. 
“Honey, it’s so lovely to see you on the ice!” Anne slides over to you with ease, holding a cup of something warm, probably hot chocolate. 
“Well, it’s not quite my element,” you let out an awkward chuckle.
“You’re doing just fine. Besides, you just snatched up the best skater in town.” Winking, she bumps her hip against Harry’s. Your puzzled look urges her to elaborate. “Harry took over coaching the boys’ hockey team last year, the kids adore him!”
Instantly, you imagine Harry dealing with a bunch of cute kids, cheering on them, teaching them, making them laugh
 The image is actually moving something inside you that’s been buried somewhere deep for a while now.
“Y/N, how are things coming together? Everyone is buzzing for the big opening!” Anne does a little dance that makes you laugh, but at the same time, something changes in Harry. 
“Um, it’s going okay. Not how I planned, but I’ll manage.”
“I’m sure everything will fall into place perfectly. And if you need any help just let us know!” She turns to Harry, looking for validation that he is open to lending you a helping hand as well, but his reaction is not quite what she was expecting, probably. 
“Sorry, I gotta go now,” Harry mumbles quickly, his gaze obviously avoiding you or his mother and he skates away so fast you just blink after him. 
“What’s gotten into this boy?” Anne huffs, but she lets go of it fast, starts chatting about something you don’t quite catch, because you just stare after Harry, watching him slalom between the skaters so fast it’s almost aggressive. 
And once again, you feel like you’re back where you began. He hates you and you have no idea what you did against him. 
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Theoretically, opening Nana’s two weeks before Christmas was a great idea, because you imagined all the baked goods people would order for the holidays, you knew it would be a great kick start.
Realistically, it means that now you have to do the last touch ups in the harsh winter that’s as cold as the North Pole. Or at least that’s how you imagine the North Pole.
It’s been non stop snowing for the past three days, the fresh, soft looking snow is now covering every bit of Eroda’s breathtaking view and though it’s very festive and nice to look at it from a warm room with something hot to drink, it’s not as relaxing when you’re still working on the bakery, doing the last bits of decorating and starting the first batches of baked goods, because in 24 hours, Nana’s is officially opening its front door to the public. 
You’ve been here since five in the morning, now it’s four in the afternoon but it’s almost entirely pitch dark outside so it feels like it’s nearing ten. The place is not a mess anymore, but the kitchen is, there’s all kinds of dough everywhere, you’re doing everything you can now so there’s less tomorrow, but even with all the work tonight you’ll be here at five in the morning again tomorrow. 
It’s been hours since the last time you looked out the window, so it fully goes over your head how heavy the snowfall has gotten lately, chasing home every soul from the streets. While you’re covered in flour and keep muttering Nana’s recipes to make sure everything is measured right, there is one more person out there who is still not home, battling the weather. 
Harry has been going around town all day, helping out the elderly with either delivering groceries, or repairing the heating, whatever they needed a helping hand with. He’s usually the person one calls in Eroda when something needs to be fixed.
The roads are now not quite safe to be driving around, but with his jeep he’ll be able to get home just before it gets too bad. Or so the thought, but that is until he drives by the bakery and sees the lights on.
At first he keeps driving, telling himself it’s not his business. But the farther he gets the guiltier he feels and then he turns the car around.
You’re too busy to hear the knocking at first, but then you hear it again and know it wasn’t just in your head. Rushing out of the kitchen you stop in front of the door, because through the glass you make out Harry standing there, the snow already covering the top of his head as if he’s been out there for hours. 
“It’s freezing out here, Y/N! Would be nice if you let me in!” he shouts through the glass and you finally snap out of your surprise, unlock the door and Harry practically runs inside. 
“What are you doing here?” You watch him shake the snow off of him and finally turn towards you. For a moment you forget about how you parted ways at the skating, how cold he turned out of the blue after helping you. 
“Funny, I wanted to ask you the same thing. There’s a snowstorm out there, you won’t be able to get home if you stay here!”
“Are you kidding me? I’m opening tomorrow, I have a million things to finish!”
“So you’re risking getting snowed in? Were you planning to sleep here or something?”
“Maybe! Yeah! I need to get a ton of dough ready and I still haven’t put up the tinker lights and I need to clean up
”
Harry stares at you with such a vivid look, you expect him to start screaming at you or something. But he just keeps staring until he finally breaks.
“Okay, where are the lights and where do you want them?”
“What?”
“You’ll spend the night here if you do everything alone. I’ll help and hopefully we’ll be able to leave when it’s all done.”
Now it’s your turn to stare at him as he is looking around, searching for the lights to start working, but you can’t really believe he is about to help you out when he could be home by now. On the other hand, you could really use the help and maybe finish earlier than midnight, so after pushing your surprise to the side you start instructing him. While Harry works on the lights, you return to the kitchen. 
To test out the dough for the croissants, the one thing you’re the most nervous about because it used to be Nana’s specialty, you decide to make a few and pop them in the oven while you do everything else. 
It’s hard to believe you’re finally at this point, so close to the opening, turning your biggest dream into reality. You wish Nana would be here with you today.
“Lights are done.”
Harry interrupts your thoughts and you wipe your floury hands into your apron before following him out of the kitchen to see the work he did.
“Oh my God, this looks perfect!” you gasp, seeing all the tinker lights run along the ceiling and walls, lighting up the place like magic. 
Harry just nods, pressing his lips together, as if it was nothing. 
“Anything else?” he asks.
“Yeah, I have a few pictures I want to hang up and then it’s all done–” The timer in the kitchen goes off, letting you know the croissants are done. “Let me take them out and then I’ll show you where I want them.”
You rush back to the kitchen and take the fresh, steaming croissants out of the oven, completely missing that Harry has followed you and he is now watching you curiously as you take the baked goods off the tray one by one.
“That smells like
” he speaks up, but the words die on his tongue and you just smile, placing one onto a plate, holding it out for him.
“Here, try it.”
He hesitates, but takes the plate at last. Though it’s still hot and he should definitely wait a bit, it’s hard to resist, you know that. You watch him take a tentative bite and wait for his reaction as if he is about to tell you your future. 
“So? How is it?”
“It’s
 it’s really
 good. Really good.”
It’s obvious he is having a hard time admitting you did something right, but his face says it all. You just don’t understand why he looks kind of puzzled, but you think it’s just because he didn’t expect it to be this good. 
“I bet the croissants will be the bestsellers,” you chuckle as Harry takes bite after bite until it’s all gone. He devoured it so fast it’s incredible. You couldn’t help but focus on his pink lips while he ate and those tiny sounds he let slip
 they surely planted some thoughts into your head, thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking of when it comes to Harry.
“Come on, I’ll show you the pictures.” It’s your attempt to clear your mind.
You walk out and grab the box that holds all the framed pictures you want to hang on the walls, of course, all of them feature Nana. 
“Okay, so I thought a few could go over here, and then on that wall as well, and these, I want them behind the counter
” You start explaining your vision, but when you turn around you see that he is staring at a photo in shock. “Harry? What’s wrong?”
You step closer and see that it’s the photo that was taken on your tenth birthday. You’re holding up one of the cupcakes Nana made just for you and she is standing behind you, with her hands on your shoulders. It’s a fond memory, one of your favorite birthdays you ever had. 
“Oh, is it the dungarees?” you ask, pointing at your outfit. “I wasn’t quite the fashion icon back then,” you chuckle.
“No, it’s– who’s this?” he asks, pointing at Nana. You give him a puzzled look, because it’s not rocket science to figure out who the woman in the picture is.
“That’s Nana, obviously.”
“But as in
 your grandma?” He finally looks up at you and his face is frantic, as if he is solving a lifelong mystery. 
“Of course, Harry, what is goin–”
“Y/N, Nana was your grandma?”
“Yes!” you laugh in confusion. “Of course she was, that’s why I’m opening a bakery under her name with all her recipes she taught me!”
You can’t read the look on Harry’s face as he puts the photo back into the box and then starts walking around with his hands on his hips. 
“Why do you look like you just learned you were adopted or something?”
“Y/N, I didn’t
 I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“That you’re
 Nana’s granddaughter. I had no clue.” He runs a hand through his hair and you try your best not to stare at how his bicep flexes in the movement. 
“What? Harry, why else would I be opening a bakery, named Nana’s right here, out of every possible place on Earth?”
“I don’t know!” he admits, throwing his hands into the air. “That’s why I
 Okay, this is why I hated the idea so much. Because I knew Nana, I loved her! She was like
 my grandma too! And I thought you just chose this name for fun!”
“Are you kidding me?” you huff in disbelief.
“I felt like you were ruining her memory, that’s why I was so against this place. I had zero clue that you are actually
 related to her.”
“Oh my God, Harry!” There’s nothing else you can do other than just
 laughing. This whole situation feels oddly comical, like something that only happens in movies. 
“I know, I’m sorry!” He exhales sharply and you truly see the regret on his face. “I was such a dick.”
“Yes you were!” you laugh in agreement. 
“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
“Well, now at least I know why you were my biggest hater all along.”
“Not anymore!” He holds up his hands and finally breaks a smile that looks so fucking handsome, it makes you forget about everything in a second. 
Turning to the side he stares out the window for a moment before looking back at you.
“The snowing has stopped, let’s wrap things up and go home, alright? Big day tomorrow.”
You both go back to work, Harry finishes quite fast with the pictures so then he helps you clean up in the kitchen and you notice how obviously different the vibes are now. There’s no trace of his usual hostile behavior, in fact he is so open as he asks you about Nana and how the idea of the bakery came. Then he tells you about her as well, how he has known him for so long and after the passing of his stepdad Nana helped him through the toughest time of his life. You’re surprised the two of you never met when you were visiting, but you believe in faith and it must be because it wasn’t the right time. 
It’s almost ten by the time you’re locking up while Harry is scraping the snow off his jeep. It’s rather eerie to see the town so empty, but it’s also pretty, the untouched snow covering every inch of the scenery. 
“Thanks for the help. And the drive home,” you say when he has parked in front of your house. 
“I’ll pick you up in the morning as well.”
“What? There’s no need, Harry–”
“Just accept the help,” he flashes you a crooked smile. “I have a lot to make up for.”
“What if I say you’re forgiven?”
“Then I’ll do it because I want to spend time with you.”
His answer comes so fast and honest, you can’t mask the surprise on your face as you stare at each other in the dark car.
“Um, alright then. See you in the morning.”
“Good night. Y/N.”
You fumble with the belt and then climb out of the car, still feeling kind of giddy from his words. He waits for you to get to the front door and you wave at him before walking in. Through the closed door you hear the engine roar and he drives away, leaving you with quite a lot to digest.
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Never in a million years did you imagine the opening of Nana’s to be like this. The small bakery is full to the brim, there are people everywhere, you haven’t stopped thanking everyone for the love and support and your heart leaps in your chest every time you hear someone talk about your beloved grandma. All the pastries are selling well, but as expected, the croissants are the biggest hit. 
But it’s not just the opening that has you smiling ear to ear.
Harry did show up early in the morning and he’s been helping you out all day as if he was getting paid for his work. In the kitchen, at the counter or by the tables, he’s been a one person army and your hero. You couldn’t have done it without him. 
You have just a couple of seconds to breathe between two customers and you peek over the crowd, spotting him right away by the table his mom and her friends occupy. He just made them laugh and he’s basking in their attention as he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing his tattooed arms. 
Fuck, he looks so good, it’s criminal. 
Now that he is not an asshole to you anymore, it’s pretty hard not to notice everything you’ve been trying to ignore about him. His charming dimples, his bouncy curls, the way he throws his head back when he laughs, how his nose moves when he talks, they was his hips sway when he’s walking
 there is not one inch on the man you can critique.
The situation would be a lot worse if it was one-sided, but it appears that Harry is just as keen on being around you, always touching your lower back when he walks behind you, or brushing your arm to get your attention. 
“I’m seriously writing you a paycheck when it’s over,” you tell him when he returns behind the counter grabbing some cinnamon rolls to bring to the ladies by the window.
“I thought that we were already over this, Y/N,” he smirks and you bite into your bottom lip as you turn back to the customer in front of you. 
It kind of goes by in a blur, there’s so much happening, you’re always on the move and before you could even process the events, the day is over and Nana’s is closing for the first time. After the constant crowd, it’s weird to see the place empty again, but seeing that everything has sold, it finally settles in your mind: you did it.
As you turn the sign on the door your eyes slide over to the picture on the right. It was taken in Nana’s kitchen, you were about six or seven, the two of you are photographed from behind as you stand on a stool, next to Nana at the counter while she is teaching you how to make bread. The memory still lives vividly in your mind even though it’s been over two decades.
“She would be so proud of you.”
Turning around you find Harry behind you with a soft smile on his lips, his eyes on the photo at first, then they move to you and your heart skips a beat.
“You think so?”
“I know so,” he chuckles.
“So, I was serious. I owe you a paycheck after today.”
He rolls his eyes before arching an eyebrow at you.
“And I was serious when I said I don’t want anything in return.”
“You’ve been here since six, Harry!” you huff out a laugh. “I would feel so bad if you just went home without anything.”
He stares at you for long moments and you start to think he’ll just let you suffer with your guilt, but then he speaks up.
“Go on a date with me then.”
You suck on your breath as your eyes lock with his.
“What?” you whisper.
“Go on a date with me, Y/N. Will you?”
“I-If you’re still trying to make up for–” you start, but he cuts you off.
“I’m not. I told you, I want to spend time with you.”
You blink at him once, twice, as if you’re waiting for him to say it was just a joke, but he stands his ground with a serious look.
“Are you gonna leave me hanging?” he smirks, snapping you out of your haze.
“Yes–I mean, yes to the date!” you shake your head, clearing up your answer.
“I was afraid you hated me too much to give me a chance,” he breathes out a shaky laugh.
“I never hated you, I was just confused. You were the one who hated me.”
“I couldn’t hate you, Y/N. And believe me, I tried.” You both laugh at his words. “I was frustrated, because I wanted to hate you and this place so badly, but still
 I was drawn to you.”
“You were?” you ask, your voice barely more than just a whisper.
“You have no idea how much,” he admits with a soft smile, stepping closer to you. “When we were skating, I totally forgot about everything and just wanted to hold your hand and help you. It was like a slap across my face when mum brought the opening up and I remembered I was supposed to hate you,” he admits with a chuckle and e inches even closer. “I’m glad I don’t have to try to hate you anymore.”
“I’m glad too.”
He is right in front of you, his face only inches away from yours and you suck on your breath when he reaches up and takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, angling your head further up so your lips are now perfectly lined up with his.
His eyes move down to your mouth, then up to meet your gaze and even without words you know he is asking for your permission to kiss you. You push closer and he is quick to close the distance and press his lips against yours.
You’d be lying if you said you never imagined what it would be like to kiss Harry. Because you did, several times. But nothing compares to having him wrapped around you, his lips so soft yet rough against yours at the same time as he kisses you over and over again while you’re fisting the collar of his shirt so tight your fingers are turning white. 
Maybe you kiss for hours, or maybe it’s just minutes, you have no clue, but when he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, you just know your life is about to turn upside down.
“Changed my mind,” he speaks up at last.
“Huh?”
“About the payment.”
His words sink in slowly and your eyebrows rise.
“Oh.” Harry laughs at your reaction.
“I want my payment in kisses,” he then says with the cheesiest smile you’ve ever seen on his handsome face.
“That could be arranged,” you breathe out when you finally get what he was talking about and grabbing the back of his neck you pull him in for another one. 
And another one.
And some more.
And just like that Nana somehow brought another wonderful thing into your life, even though she is not here anymore.
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
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This is my modern/roommate au for them đŸ’â€â™€ïž I had a lot of fun coming up with the paragraph part :)
East Blue Crew Modern Au
Grand Line Crew Modern Au
Friends We Made Along The Way
Friends We Made Along The Way Part 2
Please excuse any typo’s my drawing program’s spelling check isn't the best 🙃
Some additional head-canons:
Even though they have an apartment they live and pay rent in, none of them are ever home, much. Luffy’s sleeping over his friends’ houses after hanging out with them, Ace is pretending he’s homeless, and Sabo sleeps at the hospital most of the time. sometimes two of them will be home at the same time, but its almost never all at once on any given day.
Even though they are never home, one day of the week is sacred. The day that no matter what they come home and spend the day together. Thursday. Laundry day
Luffy odd odd jobs done in the past include: possum wrangling, “get my friend out of that tree please, he’s drunk and i don’t want to call the cops”, PC setup (he didnt know anything about it, but somehow he got it all right. Somehow.), performing at a party, assisting in a lab, impromptu chore-boy, and many more.
Nami takes care of Luffy’s Odd job finances and makes sure he gets paid the proper amount. He lets her take a cut, and even though she does indeed want that money, she unfortunately knows Luffy needs that money more than she, so she doesn’t take it. The amount of self restraint she exhibits astounds even she. She is truly a saint (according to her).
The only laws that Luffy knows are 1) his friend (self proclaimed) Law and 2) the Miranda rights, as he heard them while Sabo was getting arrested that one time.
Luffy thought the Law lecture he went to was supposed to be talking about his friend (self proclaimed) Law. He wanted to support his buddy (self proclaimed), not learn about federal law!
No one has kept track of how many times Sabo has went to jail. whenever he’s asked, he changes the number every time.
Sabo had the absolute worst time getting that big ol’ tattoo across his arm. He cried a couple times through it, although he would never admit it. It was an investment that he was willing to make, however, and he thinks it turned out sick as hell. So does everyone else. Because the tattoo is sick as hell.
Ace watch shenanigans:
“hey ace, what time is it” “One sec,” he checks his watch “uhhhh 10 at night” (Its clearly the middle of the day) “Thanks, man”
Dadan calls to check in on them every Thursday night. She pretends she doesn't care about them, but the reality is not looking good for her.
Sabo has been a childhood friend to Luffy and Ace and has slept over the house they lived in with Dadan many times, but he didnt actually come to officially live with them until he was finally kicked out of his parent’s house when he was 16. Dadan has always been more of a mother to him than his biological one ever was and he treasures her even though he says he doesn’t. Actions often speak louder than words, as the two are literal besties despite both verbally expressing their disdain for the other more than praise. Sabo is clearly her favorite of the three brothers and she's the most lenient with him (which is something they all exploit).
Luffy and Ace come to live with Dadan in the au the same way they live there in canon, their fathers are not present in their lives and Garp dropped them both off at her doorstep and expected to take them in.
That’s all I got for now. These guys are fun and I love them very much :)
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spacedace · 7 months
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Had an idea, thought I'd make it a prompt, 3k+ words later realized this wasn't a prompt anymore but a ficlet 🙃
Anyway, here's the first almost 2k of Talia being a good parent and deciding to not go with either Bruce or Ra's and go off and do her own thing and raise Damian and oops she got attached to Jason while checking in on Bruce and saved him from dying in Ethiopia. & now has 2 sons lol
-
When her Beloved and her father demanded Talia make a choice, of who she would choose, she didn't hesitate.
She chose neither of them. She chose her child. She chose herself.
Outwitting both Ra's al Ghul and Batman was no simple feat. They were both brilliant, relentless and with endless resources at their command. It was why their clashes were as devastating as they were. Immovable objects and unstoppable forces the both of them. If there was something they wanted, it was something they would have.
But not her.
They would not have her.
She had her own networks, her own people, her own keen intelligence and sharp cunning. It took time - time she really didn't have - and a great deal of pain and loss, but she slipped them eventually. Shrugged off the shroud of who she had been - who she was made to be - and stepped confidently into her new life.
Her son was born nine days after her freedom had finally, fully been assured.
He was small and perfect in every way. Soft and warm cradled close to her chest, unblemished by the cruelty of the world as he slept soundly in her arms. Even as exhausted as she was after such a long labor, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Her attention narrowed down entirely on his every quiet breath, his downy soft hair, his round peaceful face.
In the weeks that followed his eyes would shift and change from a newborn's blue to her own green. It would take years before she could know if he inherited any of his father's features, but that was fine. He was hers and hers alone.
She named him Damian.
In another life she would name him with her father in mind. That her son would rise as Heir to the Demon and conquer the world. That he'd stand as ruler of all.
In this one, she named him with hope in her heart that what he would master was his own life. That he would never be forced to bow to the will of anyone else. To be made to act as servant or puppet. Let him tame his fate into something good and kind and happy.
She did her best to give him the life he deserved.
Lavished him with all her love and affection. Gave him everything he could ever want or need. The friends she began making for herself - not just trusted allies, but friends - laughed that she would spoil him rotten. It was probably true, but she didn't have it in her to care.
Her son would have the childhood he would have been denied if raised raised in the home of either of their fathers. Her father would have demand harsh lessons and frightened obedience and impossible standards. Damian's would have tried - she knew her Beloved would have tried - but his heart would always be for his city first and all else, even his children, second.
Talia kept tabs on both of them, covertly. Ensured she always kept a healthy distance from anything that involved her father or his people. Gathered stories of her Beloved's exploits to share with her son when he was old enough to hear them.
It gave her insight on just what choosing her Beloved would have meant. Reassured her that while not choosing her father had been the right choice, choosing her Beloved would have been the wrong one.
Bruce Wayne was a good man. Brilliant and driven with his kind heart and admirable goals. Breathtaking in his skill and ability.
Disappointing in his parenting skills.
Talia knew she was lacking as a parent herself. That her own upbringing had left its scars and that try as she might she'd undoubtedly end up doing the same to her own child over the years. But she always pushed herself hard towards improving, in making herself better for the tiny boy that she loved more than anything else. And she felt satisfied that in the very least that when presented with options on how her and her son's life would be, she'd made the one that was best for Damian.
Not the life of an assassin or a vigilante, but the life of a child.
A child who was taught some of the skills of both the worlds she'd turned her back on, admittedly, but only ever for his own protection. Damian was safer knowing how to hide, how to escape, how to fight. She had done her best, but there was always the looming threat that they might be found one day. She needed to be sure he was ready, if that time ever come.
She didn't teach him the way she was taught.
When her son fumbled or failed she gently corrected him. Walked him through what he'd done wrong, how he could improve. Made a game out of the experience so that he came running up to her on toddling feet with bright eyes begging that they have a lesson. His excitement and delight in it all made him a better student then her fear and desperate need for her father's approval and affection.
There was a day she caught sight of him, all of four years old, tiny face scrunched in a look of concentration as he practiced the form she'd taught him the day before with his small, wooden practice sword. Some of his father's features lingered at the edges of his face, but he'd deepened his resemblance to her by picking up her mannerisms and expressions. Her son, going through the same steps and motions she had when she'd been his age, little body wobbling as he turned to fast before plopping on the ground with a tiny oof.
Talia had small silver scars on the back of her hands, so thin and so old as to nearly be invisible anymore. They burned all the same as she recalled herself stumbling in nearly the same way. Stomach churning as she remembered the terror she'd felt as her instructor had snatched her up by her hair and drug her over to a low table, holding her hands in place with a massive hand. The way she'd bit her lip hard enough that her mouth filled with blood as he struck her with the thin lash, knowing that if she cried the punishment would be all the worse.
Damian only blinked his big green eyes and scowled the same way she did whenever something of minor importance didn't go the way she wanted it to. Then he saw her standing there in the doorway watching him and his face lit up, bright as the son and just as beautiful as he jumped to his feet and darted over to her. Tiny hand clinging to the loose fabric of her pant leg as he begged her show me again Mama!
It was moments like that where she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt she'd made the right choice.
Her father would have broken her brilliant, kind hearted son. Would have done to him what was done to her to forge Damian into a weapon.
Her beloved...
He would never hurt her son like that. Not the way her father and his loyal followers would. But she couldn't ignore the fact that Damian would still be hurt all the same under his father's tutelage.
Talia knew the man she loved well. Adored his strengths, but was not blind to his flaws. He kept his heart well guarded, hidden behind imposing walls of silence and razor wire of words he didn't truly mean. Still kind, but horribly distant when it came to those he cared for most. It shielded him some, perhaps, but it left those who loved him feeling lost and alone.
She saw how Dick Grayson had grown over the years. Tall and clever and lonely and bitter. Fighting for independence, for acknowledgement, for his father to speak words of love and respect. Things Bruce felt but almost never said unless he thought things were dire.
She saw too how the heavy weight of her Beloved's priorities weighed up on his second son.
Young Jason Todd who saw magic in the harsh world he'd been drawn into and desired to be the protection for others that he never had growing up. She saw much of herself in him, though he faced the world with far more hope than she had at his age. He was a bright boy with a good heart that had weathered a harsh upbringing that Talia could sympathize with. There was a familiar anger in him too, broiling just beneath the surface, flaring up and burning him as much as everyone else when triggered.
Most of all though Talia could see the desperate loneliness that had marred her own life in the boy. The soul deep fear of abandonment. The painful desire for love from a father that always seemed to stay at arm's length who spoke rarely of affection and often of missions to be completed.
She kept a close eye on her Beloved's second Robin.
When he left for Ethiopia, searching for family in a stranger that had already given him up, she'd followed.
Jason only ever wanted family and love. A good boy, bright and fierce and brave. A boy Talia saw a lot of herself in, who faced the world with such determined brightness in spite of the pain and hardship he'd known.
Shelia Haywood took that boy that Talia had grown so fond of, took his trust and his love and crushed it beneath her heel. Callously handed him over to the Joker without a second thought. As if he was disposable, as if he was nothing more than a puppet to use and toss away when it suited her.
Talia had risked everything when she'd decided she would not choose either her father or her Beloved. She'd turned her back on her entire life, everything that had ever been and ever could be on either side. She spent months running, hiding, fighting and killing, in orchestrating a plan that could outwit and outmaneuver the two most brilliant men she knew. And she'd done it all so that her son could live free, as master of his own life.
Jason Todd had come to Ethiopia looking for a mother.
Talia, with blood on her hands and a burning warehouse behind her as she carried his broken body to safety, made sure he found one.
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kitixie · 7 months
Text
Little Girl Gone (pt 6)
word count: 2k
information: y'all, i am so sorry this took so long, i've been in a slump and clinicals just started so i've also been super busy. but i promise i am going to finish this!
warnings: smut. dirty, filthy, nasty smut. seriously, its like 3 pages of smut with some dialogue, but i won't apologize for it 🙃
taglist: @budugu, @ajmiila02, @filmtv2022, @cyphah, @ce1iat, @thenattitude, @globetrotter28, @tn22220-blog, @fudgethisyo, @geeky-politics-46, @chaengist, @lostgirl219, @amberpanda99, @sharrren, @bookishbabyyyy
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Tommy’s POV 
It had been a week. It had been a fucking week since I had last seen Y/N, since I had tasted her lips on her kitchen counter and gathered the strength to pull away. Dealing with business and family had made this week drag on like months, leaving a hole in my chest that grew everyday I wasn’t around her. I had been so close to having her, her body and mind were almost mine, and then I remembered that stupid, pointless meeting in Camden, and I pulled away like an idiot. I was needed at the meeting, but still; I needed her more. 
Everytime that my mind has dared to go back to that night, it always ends the same. Me in a bathroom or closet or any other private place, jerking my cock like a madman. I couldn’t stand it any longer, I needed to have her. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see her for a while, and that only made it worse. It only made me treasure the memories more. 
“Thomas,” Polly croaked, I could still see the tear stains on her face from earlier. 
Business had not gone well, ending with Arthur and John being arrested, and Michael getting his ass handed to him in the process. Polly had been crying and screaming the entire time, along with Ada, who is ever the dramatic. Ada has now resumed her vow of silence against me, at least until I get our brothers free, and Polly won’t stop fucking crying, tears coming out between her hands as she covers her face. I understand her upset, I really do, but it isn’t my fault that her son manages to get beat to a pulp everytime we go out, and she knows it. 
“Yes, Pol?” I finally answer, the solemn look not leaving my face. 
“What are you going to do? Ya have to get your brothers, the longer their in there the more pissed they’ll be,” she breathes, “I can take care of Michael, but you’ve got to handle things with the prison.”
Finally recognizing some of the life that comes back to her eyes, I sit for a moment. It’s not a problem to get Arthur and John out, I pull people from the jail all the time. I’m just not sure what to do with them once they’re out. They’ll be angry, looking for revenge, and I’ve got a sweet girl waiting on me that overpowers all thoughts of payback. Everyone will get what's coming for them, we are the Shelbys after all, but I want to come first. Preferably all over Y/N. 
- 
Another week gone by, and still I haven’t gotten to see her. The hole is now a gaping wound, and my cock is sore from how much my hand has been on it. 
I was right, Arthur and John drug me straight back to Camden Town after they got out, and it’s taken all week to stalk and plan out our retribution. We got it, but at what cost? I still haven’t been around to see Y/N. I know she's been at the house, Pol called and told me that she asked her over and watch Finn while she tended to Michael. Hearing that made my heart swell the most it has in a long time, just knowing she cared enough to do something as simple as watch my kid brother. I am so far gone for her, and I don’t even think she realizes that she holds the most powerful man in Birmingham at her fingertips. 
The three of us eventually arrive back to Watery Lane, and I immediately notice that Y/N’s umbrella is propped by the door. The adrenaline begins to rush through my veins, waking up all of the feelings that I just got to lie down this past week. All that lust and longing comes flooding back into me, all from an umbrella by the door. I enter the house first, and hear the sounds of laughter coming from the seating room. I peek around the door frame to see Finn and Y/N, locked in some sword battle, using sticks as their weapons. They slash at each other, Y/N obviously holding back given that she has almost two feet in height on the kid, but still it’s one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. 
I, Tommy Shelby, just found something adorable. Something is truly wrong with me. 
I ultimately decide not to disturb them and continue walking to my room. It’s only when I get to my room however, that I notice the tent that has formed in my pants. Fuck, I can’t even see her without getting aroused. I hear John and Arthur speaking to them downstairs, and figure that they’ll keep them busy long enough for me to handle my issue. I carefully shut my door, and lie down on my bed. Loosening my pants, I free my cock from its confines. The skin is red from straining against my clothes, but it only adds to the tenderness as I stroke myself. I imagine it being her hands, dragging up and down my length, toying with the sensitive head. I run my thumb over it, letting the pain from being so hard morph into the pleasure I’m imagining in my head. I picture her mouth, those soft, pink lips wrapping around me, licking and kissing all over my skin until she finally makes her way down. She’d start slow, testing the waters to see how she could handle me, until finally sinking all the way down, my cock touching the back of her throat. The same throat that makes all those mouthy remarks, and keeps all those secrets of what she wishes I’d do to her. I even go so far as to imagine her own fantasies, picturing her getting off to the thought of my hands on her, just like I’m doing now. The soft moans that would spill out of her mouth, falling hard in the silence of her apartment. The way her fingers dive and retreat in and out of that pussy; I know it’s tight, it has to be. That leads me to my next train of thought. The warm center between her legs, that would be dripping in arousal by the time I got around to it. She’d be so wet that it would go down her thighs, it’d be enough for me to drink. I let out a small moan, the feeling of my hand and the delusions in my head becoming too powerful. I can almost feel the softness of her lower lips, as they part to let me in. The filthy sounds she would make as I drove into her, first from on top of her, then once she got adjusted to my size, the way I would take her from the back. 
The motion of my hand stops as soon as I hear a glass shatter, and I peel open my closed eyes to find Y/N, standing at my door, face flush, with a shattered glass and pool of water around her feet. Her eyes do not meet mine, and I realize that they’re dialed in on my cock, with my hand still wrapped around it. 
“Tommy, I-I am so sorry, I had no idea-” 
I don’t let her finish before I’m on my feet. I step over the glass, scooping her up in my arms before placing her inside my room so that she doesn’t step on the glass. I close the door behind her, somewhat aware that my hard on is still out on full display. 
“How long have you been watching me, bad girl?” I say, bringing the same hand that was on my cock seconds ago up to her cheek. Her skin feels better than mine ever could. 
“Not long, I swear it Tommy,” she rasps, trying to keep her eyes on my face. 
“Did you hear me moan? That was for you, Love. You were what I was imaging,” I breathe, tipping my head towards hers. 
“No-”
“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” 
“Yes, I heard you Tommy. It was a beautiful sound.” She finally admits, leaning into my touch and resting her forehead against mine. 
I smile at her, and go back to sit on my bed. When she doesn’t follow, I make the decision then and there. She can watch. 
I begin stroking my cock again, this time keeping my eyes on her. I can see that she’s a little confused, but more aroused than anything. I spot that blush spreading from her cheeks down her neck, and onto her chest. I can see how heavily she’s breathing, her eyes darting between my face and my hand. I let out another moan as I see her hand go up to her breast, palming herself through the fabric of her shirt. She’s as needy as I am, she just won’t admit it. 
I keep my pace, speeding up my hand to keep time with her breathing. The rise and fall of her breast picks up enough that I can feel my end coming near. She’s still watching, waiting to see me finish. I’ve never had an audience before, but I like that she’s the one seeing me. I give my length one last pull, and cum erupts, landing all over my stomach. I keep my hand moving until the last drop comes out, dribbling down my thumb. 
“Come here, Y/N.” I say, motioning her with my finger. 
She approaches me, staring at the mess I’ve made at myself, all at the sight of her. 
“Yes, Tommy?” She questions, that sweet voice dripping in feigned innocence. 
“Open your mouth.” I demand. 
She does as she is told, and I stick my thumb into her waiting mouth. 
“Clean it.” I poke her tongue with my digit, and she closes her mouth around it. 
She swirls her tongue around my thumb, lightly sucking at the calloused skin of my hand. She is very thorough, but if she doesn’t stop, I’m going to take her right here, with every member of my family in this house. She pulls away, letting my thumb go from her mouth with a pop. I move to sit up, heading to the bathroom to clean myself off. Before I have the chance to reach my feet, she pushes me back down, her hand gripping my shoulders. 
“What are ya doing, Love?” 
“I’m cleaning you up, Thomas.” Fuck, even just my name coming from her mouth is almost enough to have me hard again. 
She straddles my knees, bracing her hands on either side of my hips. I just allow her, wanting whatever physical contact she’ll give to me. She lowers her head, bringing it to the bottom of my stomach. She darts her tongue out, licking up the cum that pooled at my waistline. She swallows it, and I am in awe as I watch her. She traces the erratic trail up my body, her mouth leaving warmth in its wake. My skin flushes at her touch, and I jump when she lands her mouth on the ticklish part of my side, where the liquid has started to drip down. She lets out a small laugh and keeps going. Finally, when she has licked every last bit of evidence from my torso, she moves up, the crotch of her pants sitting right on top of my once again hard cock. I don’t move, in fear of not being able to stop, but she leans down, and whispers in my ear. 
“You taste delicious, Tommy.” She darts her tongue out again, letting the warm thing touch my ear before she nips at it with her teeth. 
I go to grab her hips, having had enough of her teasing, but she jumps off of me, landing her feet on the floor. 
“I think I heard Finn calling for me,” She says, turning towards the door where the broken glass still lies. 
She steps to the mess of glass and water and looks down. 
“It’s a shame about your water, Love, I’m sure you’re parched.” She smirks, stepping over the shards and sending me a wink before she closes the door. 
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yuly · 1 year
Note
I desperately need a part 2 to the “that’s Hotchner to you, agent” plz plz plz 🙃
→ hi lovely anon! ask and you shall receive! cw: only fluff I promise!
Aaron Hotchner x genderal neutral reader 
Always Aaron to You
Aaron is not a person who gives his trust easily. Once his trust has been broken, he clams up like a shell and prying that open might cost you a couple fingers. It's been a month now and you are willing to do whatever it takes for him to even look in your direction again. You miss your Aaron, your cuddle buddy, your confidant, your man. Because your words caused him this much pain and undid all the work the two of you have done to get him to express his feelings and be open, you have to think of a way to get him to see and hear just how sorry you are. With Valentine's Day coming up, you decide to use that to your advantage. If he throws it back in your face, you would take it in stride and leave him alone for good, this was your last shot. 
Aaron is not a shopping fanatic and he's not the easiest to buy gifts for, you know that he does everything in life for the people he loves, so you decide to take a page out of his book and pray it goes well.
He comes home absolutely exhausted, the case was long, the jet lag severe, and the whole precinct annoyed him to no end. Worst of all, he had to spend yet another day pretending to be angry with you when all he wanted was for things to go back to normal. But his pride was hurt so he kept the act up. As he made his way to the doorstep, Aaron thought of all the non-work related things he needed to get done this weekend and he let out an exasperated sigh. Being a single father with his work schedule was exhausting, to say the least. Aaron hated asking for help, but he so desperately needed to get some rest this weekend. As he entered his apartment, he toyed with the idea of swallowing his pride and maybe asking Jessica for a favour. 
Aaron was surprised to find Jack running about the apartment, stuffing a suitcase with clothes, toys and other odd bits.
“Dad! Guess what! I’m going to the Star Wars all-weekend exhibit with Jessica and cousins!!!!” Jack rambled excitedly, nearly foaming at the mouth. Apparently, Jessica was lucky enough to get her hands on some of the last tickets at the very last minute.
“I hope you don’t mind me whisking him away so last minute, I’m sorry if you had plans together or-”
“No, no, not at all actually. Thank you, Jess. It's been a long week I actually could use a weekend in, I owe you.” She smiled and swatted him away. Aaron wondered how his silent prayers of a quiet weekend were answered so quickly.
The next day, Aaron got an email reminding him of a golfing event he apparently booked in advance in the city. Aaron was confused, having no relocation of signing up, bet there was the receipt, from a month ago, under his name and credit card. He had actually been looking forward to going for a while now and must’ve forgotten about signing up. He spent the day catching up and flexing his skills in front of old friends. As he looked over the green hills and admired the view, Aaron got a text from Jessica, a photo of Jack and his cousins having an absolute ball at “stars wars land” as he called it, much to Jack’s dismay. He quickly saved the photo and sent her a thank you text back. At that moment, as the sun smiled down on him from its midday spot in the sky, Aaron felt content and happy, he felt lucky and again, he silently questioned how and why this weekend seemed to only get better. It was almost perfect, save for the small part of him that yearned for you.
When Aaron returned home that evening to find a bouquet of pink and white flowers, he was immediately on high alert. He cleared the area, and scanned the object carefully, only entering his home once he was certain everything was ok. He disarmed the alarm system and quietly closed the door behind him. He went through every square inch of the home, only relaxing when he successfully cleared the premises. He turned his attention to the bouquet of flowers, shades of pink and white staring back at him. He set them down on the kitchen counter, shifting his focus to the small card in the center.
“Agent Hotchner, please accept these as a token of my apology. 
The pink hydrangeas symbolize my regret over my words and actions toward you. I hope the optimism of the lily of the valley can bring a rebirth in our friendship, and that the pink peonies bring you good luck, maybe they can be the angel that silently answers your prayers.
- Agent L/N.”
Aaron is taken aback, he honestly cannot remember a time in his life when he received flowers in such a loving gesture. It flusters him as he’s unsure how to place this emotion that was nagging at his chest. The last line makes the cogs in his brain spin and his heart race. Could it be possible that this weekend was your doing? Or was the sweet gesture getting to his head.
“Aaron, is everything ok?” He could hear the kids laughing in the background.
“I need to know where did you get the tickets from”
After a bit of resistance, Jessica confesses that you had gifted them the tickets. She insisted that it was simply a kind gesture and pleaded with Aaron not to say anything.
Within 15 minutes, Aaron is at your doorstep with the flowers in hand.
“Aar-Agent Hotchner?”
“You bought those tickets for Jack didn’t you?”
Your gaze shifts to your feet, unsure how to read his flat tone and fearing the worst.
“Yes.”
“And the golfing, you signed me up for it didn’t you?”
You look up to meet his eyes now, honey-coloured orbs that make your knees weak. His expression is difficult to read but his tone is soft. 
“Thought I’d make it up to you, show you how sorry I am.”
His heart aches at how docile and unsure you sound. He lifts your chin up to meet your eyes once again and spares you a smile, “you are my light at the end of the tunnel, I hope you know that.”
A shy breaks across your face, the warmth of his words wrapping around you snugly. 
“Hotch-”
“Aaron, always Aaron to you, Y/N. I love you”
You nuzzle into his chest, relieved that this long and drawn-out fight between you is finally over. Something clicks and the final piece of the puzzle has found its place as harmony is restored between you and Aaron.
“I love you, Aaron.”
*✧: *✧
Tagging:
@michasia24 @hizzielover @shamelessfangirl-3 @lilozg-123 @daily-evanstan  @justarandommom @hausofwhores
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bronx-bomber87 · 7 days
Text
Every time I see another show get renewed I get aggravated we haven’t heard about S7. Normally it’s far too early to worry about such things. But this isn’t a normal tv season. Also a lot of shows have been renewed early on so far from other networks and some on ABC. We’re only 3 eps in so I know I should be more patient. I have a good feeling we will get this announcement. But does anyone have any insight on what the holdup for S7 announcement is? It’s been their top streamer for Hulu almost every week this season. It’s a popular veteran show. Feel like that makes it a no brainer IMO.
Should I just chill and be more patient? Its not my strong suit LOL Also this mini hiatus has my brain thinking extra on things I probably shouldn’t. Haha I know part of this is just me overthinking things. *sigh* Just needed to rant and see if anyone in this lovely fandom of ours had any TV insight to why ABC dragging their feet with it. You may now go back to your regularly scheduled scrolling. 🙃
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moni-logues · 6 months
Text
Woo Baby Baby
Pairing: Wooyoung x reader (gn)
Genre: angst, kinda song fic (Ooh Baby Baby by Smokey Robinson), established relationship
Word count: 1.8k
Summary: Mistakes, Wooyoung knows he's made a few... A rough patch in your relationship gets a whole lot rougher when Wooyoung steps outside it on a business trip.
Content: drinking, referenced infidelity/the aftermath of infidelity
A/N: this was written tonight, very much a spur of the moment thing; idk where it came from, idk what it is but it's here 🙃 yeah apparently i'm writing ATZ now too!
It had started as a joke. You had crooned ‘ooh baby baby’ and he had asked you why you would sing that to him; he had asked if you had anything to confess to and laughed, pulling you closer for a kiss. Of course you hadn’t; you would never. But the line came into your head almost every time you thought of him: Wooyoung, your Woo baby baby.  
Now you lay on your sofa, two bottles of wine deep, listening to the song on repeat. Your tears were dry; your face was puffy and almost sticky with salt. You waved the wine bottle in the air like a conductor in front of their orchestra as Smokey sang, over and over again, about how he did his baby wrong.  
Oh, how your baby had done you wrong. 
* 
It had been a rough couple of weeks. You had resigned a month prior and the company had taken it poorly, throwing the worst they could at you while you worked your notice period; it meant long, tense hours in the office, over-time, bad relations with colleagues you had thought were your friends. The promise of your new job was not even close to enough to sustaining a good mood during your last month. You would return home tired, miserable, at the end of your tether.  
Wooyoung had his stresses, too. They were preparing for an overseas business trip, a deal on the brink of either close or collapse; it was a make-or-break venture and no one could afford for it to break. Least of all Wooyoung, who had put all his savings into this. To say he was standing on the brink of financial ruin would not have been entirely overstating it. 
You were snapping at each other, getting irritated by things that you wouldn’t usually notice, wouldn’t usually care about. He was upset for you, for not being able to do anything to make it better. You were worried for him, knowing that his trip could be the best or worst thing that had ever happened to him. Neither of you could funnel that emotion into tenderness or patience. A storm cloud took up residence over your apartment, the place you had so recently come to call your own, the two of you finally in one place.  
You both started finding excuses to come home a little later—it wasn’t difficult, not with your schedules the way they were—anything to avoid another argument over who hadn’t emptied the dishwasher. You kissed each other goodbye in the mornings in a way that was routine, automatic, sometimes barely meant. You took turns going to bed early, one of you always asleep before the other joined.  
You kept telling yourself it would be fine. You just had to leave your company and start at the new one. Woo just had to go on his trip, close the deal, and come home. Then it would be fine. You’d get back on track, on-kilter, back to normal. This was a temporary blip. You were happy with Wooyoung, of course you were, this was just not an easy time. That was all. 
* 
The trip did not go well. The deal didn’t tank but it was hanging on by the skin of its teeth; the investors (potential investors) were jumpy, asking for more and more data, pushing back timelines, hemming and hawing and, in your mind, stringing them along. You were not convinced they were really going to invest at the end of it all, but you didn’t dare say as much to Woo when he came home. He was so deflated, defeated, exhausted. He came straight in, took off his clothes, and got into bed.  
You felt like he was avoiding you even more than he had been before. He seemed skittish, too, and distracted. You had started your new job by the time he returned, and you were feeling better, even if he wasn’t. You had determined that you would put in the effort, make up for the lack of it before he went away, do enough for both of you when you realised he had not returned in triumph. 
He didn’t seem to want to let you so you gave him the space he seemed to need for a few days. It was eventually he who sat you down to talk.  
The conversation did not go where you had expected. 
Someone else. A mistake. A one-time thing. He never meant it to happen. He felt sick about it. He never wanted to hurt you. Everything was going so badly. They had drunk so much. He felt like everything was falling apart. He missed you; you weren’t there. He said a lot, and most of it missed you completely because all you could focus on was him and someone else. Someone else. You could picture it; you didn’t even need to know who they were or what they looked like. That didn’t matter. You could just see him, your Wooyoung, your ooh baby baby making his own Smokey Robinson mistake.  
* 
That was days ago now and you couldn’t stop seeing it. You hadn’t told anyone else, couldn’t face it. Telling people made it real and you were still, somehow, clinging onto the last vestiges of hope that this wasn’t happening. You were waiting for Woo to come back and say, hey it’s ok, that didn’t happen. It never happened. I’m still all yours.  
He was saying that, actually. ‘I’m yours’. ‘I’m all yours’. ‘I never want to leave you’. ‘I love you’. ‘Please’. He had gone to stay with Hongjoong, just for a few days, to give you space, to let you process, work through it. He said he was going to make it up to you; he was going to win your trust again; he was going to make it better.  
You were a long way from being able to let him.  
* 
You opened another bottle of wine and turned the music up, turned it up loud enough that you couldn’t hear your doorbell ringing, couldn’t hear your phone buzz on the sofa, couldn’t hear the knocking at your door.  
He was just being polite; he didn’t need to knock because it was his apartment, too. He wanted you to let him in; he wanted you to open the door and step back, to say ok, we can talk, I’m ready now. He knew you wouldn’t be able to hear him so he input the code himself and walked into his apartment.  
His heart broke seeing you like that, wine drunk and sad, singing the song you sang to him but all of it this time, all the words, singing his mistake, singing your heartbreak. He wished he could take it back. He wished a lot of things. He wished you would forgive him, would still love him; he’d have given anything. Forget the deal, forget his life savings. What did success mean if you weren’t by his side? 
He walked over and sat on the sofa next to you. The fact that you didn’t move showed just how drunk you were; he worried that if you stood, you’d fall.  
“Baby,” he said softly, testing the waters, seeing where you were. 
You shook your head. 
“Not your baby,” you mumbled back, nevertheless leaning your weight on him, resting your head on his shoulder.  
He picked up your phone and turned the music down; he took the open wine bottle from your loose grip and put it on the coffee table where it wouldn’t spill all over the rug you had taken months to pick out. You mumbled something else, something that might have been a protest at one action or the other—or both—but you didn’t move to effect any change. You, instead, fell backwards, your head almost hitting the wall behind the sofa. 
“Careful!” Wooyoung cried, reaching out to cradle you. 
You swatted him away, muttering something about being fine.  
You clearly weren’t and he knew it was his fault. He was on the bottom rung of a very tall ladder that would take a long time to climb. But he was determined he’d reach the top. He would. Whatever it took. He wouldn’t give up hope. He couldn’t.  
He encouraged you off the sofa, scooping his arm under your shoulder and around your back to support you on your sea legs. You let him, not enough control of or strength in your body left to fight him anyway. He walked you to bed, tucked you in, kissed your forehead. He lingered just a second and, in that second, you reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt to keep him near. You tipped your face up and brought your lips to his. It took every ounce of his strength to pull away. He wanted it; with everything he had, he wanted to kiss you and make this all go away. He wanted to kiss you until the world around you dissolved; he wanted to kiss you until there was nothing left. But you were drunk, and, if he were really honest, you didn’t want to kiss him. Not really. Not sober. Not in your right mind. He knew that. And he’d already done plenty to erode your trust in him. He wouldn’t ever do that.  
He pulled back, his lips leaving yours.  
“Baby,” you whined, fist still clutched around his T-shirt. 
“I’m here,” he replied in a whisper. “I’m still here.” 
You let him go, your hand flopping by your side as your face creased, and your tears were refreshed. Your hands raised to your face, covering it, and you rolled away from him, trying to hide yourself from him as if he wouldn’t still be able to see you, to hear your crying, to look again upon the mess he’d made.  
‘Pull yourself together,’ he said to himself harshly as tears pricked in his own eyes. ‘This is all your own fault anyway’.  
He wiped a hand roughly over his eyes and decided that, tonight, he would sleep on the sofa. He wouldn’t go back to Hongjoong. He wanted to stay; he wanted to show you that he wanted to stay. He loved you; he would always love you and he was determined to make you see.  
He whispered his love to you as he walked back out of the bedroom and sat on the sofa. He took a generous glug from the wine bottle and curled himself up small. There was always tomorrow. He couldn’t give up hope; he couldn’t give up on you. He only prayed you felt the same. 
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saintship · 7 months
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Hello, I've been lurking on your blog for some while and just gotta say your style is amazing How you portray everything and bring the details to life it's just awsomeđŸ„ș❀
I was wondering if you could write about platonic reader with 141 + Konig (they have a brother-sister relationship)
Reader has undiagnosed adhd bc where they come from that doesn't exist so she struggles
She's depressed and touch starved (childhood and emotional trauma yknow how it be) but she's hiding it well and for a long time now and she's okay why wouldn't she be? She held out all this time, they don't suspect a thing (they do but don't want to pressure her so they leave her be)
But it's one of those weeks and she's just tired and needs a hug and is overstimulated, doesn't eat bc she will vomit to just the mention of food and they notice
Konig just comes and hugs her and she breaks down and then the others come and they put on a movie in the rec room and make popcorn while she cries there and let's it all out and they just cuddle with her and comfort her until she falls asleep and then they make sure somebody is with her all the time after that day and she starts eating more (Ghost's pestering) and even cracks a smile or two to their antics (mostly Soap's bc he wants to make her smile)
Call it pure brotherly fluff + lots of angstđŸ™ƒâ€ïž
Thank you so much you’re so kind :,)
This is so sweet as well; I have brothers and these dynamics always make me a little misty
Hope you like it <3
König + 141 & platonic!Reader -
Boiling over
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You really had to learn how to ask for help.
It seemed that no matter how thoroughly you prepared, any task you were faced with came to the others five times easier than it did for you. It was like being the only one weighed down by a ball and chain in a 400 meter, but no one can see it but you. And how could you stop everything just to fix it?
You’d been on a four day solo mission, half of that time spent staking out in a freezing, damp barn that obviously hadn’t been used in years. Having to check everything over again in fear you were missing something, zoning out and having to snap out of it on your own, and horrible sleep had taken its toll. You’d come back a few hours ago, the extraction heli depositing you at the base entrance where you handed your notes to Price, then collapsed into your bunk, holding your sheets tightly to resemble any sort of pressure that could relieve your aching body.
Eventually, your hunger pangs kept you from sleep, and you dragged yourself to the common room to get something to stomach. But when you were sorting through the fridge, you ended up setting a glass jar down too roughly and shattering the bottom. You stared at the mess on the counter for a few seconds before your eyes began to sting intensely.
“Sergeant? Are you alright? Did you cut yourself?”
König’s entering and concern only made the tears fall faster, much to your horror.
“Oh, it’s alright, we can clean it..”
You inhaled a shuddering breath of air.
“It’s not the jar..”
A few moments of silence passed.
“Schatz, come away from the glass.”
You obliged, brushing off the sharp particles and stepping away. To your surprise, König moved forward too, but not to clean the mess. He moved toward you carefully before placing a hand on your shoulder and tugging you forward to rest against his front, wrapping his arms securely around you.
Your crying almost worsened at his kindness, but you just hugged back, reveling in the warmth that he radiated.
“The mission..it was just—a lot.” You murmur, and it’s hardly louder than a whisper.
“I see.” His hand cradled your head, and it all came crashing down. A broken sob escaped your throat, and his soothing touches and cooing began again, drying your cheeks and steadying you when you convulsed.
“I can’t do anything the way everyone else can.. I can’t-" You gasped again, your breath seeming to escape your lungs faster than you could keep up with. “I can’t do it..”
“Shh.. Sergeant, it’s alright. You are a person, not a machine. Don’t be so hard on yourself..”
“I can’t..”
The sound brought footsteps from the surrounding offices, and eventually you heard Price’s voice, followed by Soap’s. You drew back reluctantly, retrieving a paper towel to clean up your face a bit.
“Sergeant..” Price approached you, laying a hand on your upper arm. “You at your limit?”
You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah..”
“Come on..” He steered you away from the kitchen.
“Got a film on..” Ghost’s low timbre proved to be soothing as he stood off to the side slightly. You were led to the couch and received more comforting words, your headache from your sobbing seeming far away. Even Ghost took a seat in a chair close to the couch, complaining about the plot under his breath throughout the duration of the movie. Gaz pulled you to sit beside him, sharing his blanket and wrapping an arm around you to stroke your shoulder soothingly while the others filled the space left on the couch. You heard Soap at the microwave in the kitchen followed by faint popping, and the thought of eating something finally didn’t make you want to vomit. The tears started up again, but König and the 141 acted as a dam, taking in anything and everything you had to say with no judgement or mocking retorts. They just listened.
You couldn’t help but fall asleep on Gaz’s shoulder, your exhaustion finally getting to you and the release of emotions finally quieting your mind just a bit. It was okay—you would be okay.
You thought it would stop at that, but you should have know you couldn’t predict these men for the life of you. One of them was always tailing you, offering the support you needed and helping you to trust yourself in completing tasks on your own.
Ghost made a plate for you every morning and death-glared you into eating it; saying it was the least he could do, and eventually you actually wanted to eat again.
“You won’t be laying out anyone if you don’t eat.” He’d said, looming over you if you hadn’t touched your plate. If it had been someone else, you might have found it upsetting, but he just had a way with things like this.
And during the day, when you couldn’t keep awake, or keep track of your materials, Soap was there to be your personal inventory and tease you just enough to ease the worry in your eyes. The day you finally smiled at one of his stupid jokes, he didn’t let it go the entire day, knowing his enthusiasm would only make you smile even more.
Your mind wasn’t the same as theirs, and that was okay. You finally felt okay to just—exist, even cherish the things that made you different. Because even though you could be distracted, you were observant. Even though you could be forgetful, you learned quickly. And even though that mission had the power to break you nearly completely, you were brave enough to fall into the arms that wanted to help.
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sleepyyphilia · 7 days
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Its funny how my first side blog that I openly shared here got terminated within 3 weeks but now my second one I keep more private has been here for almost 3 months 🙃🙃
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360degreesasthecrowflies · 11 months
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Some rambling thoughts on British society in 2023 & the stratification of people into 'workers' or 'non-workers'...
I don't understand why UK society seems to be structured in such a way that you can either work OR do anything else. It feels extremely anti-civic spirit, and by extension, discouraging of good community health and healthy non-work based relationships in your local area.
Taking myself as an example. I have a full-time job 9-5, often more like 8.30-6 depending on how much travelling I have to do.
In my free time, now that I have the time and we are no longer in lockdown, I looked into volunteering, and signed up to a part time college course for leisure learning & to do something creative to relax. All good, you'd think, working, and also in their free time, doing something interesting to relax and also to give back to society.
WRONG!
I cannot for love nor money find volunteering opportunities that do not take place during my working hours. The entire sector seems to organise itself around the concept that the only likely volunteers will be those too young to work, the unemployed, or the retired. Emails come through to me asking if I can support a stall at 11am on a Tuesday, an event at 3pm on a Thursday, or go to a training conference on Monday 10-4! I feel almost guilty or like I'm being rude constantly having to decline but I'm a normal worker, I can't afford to literally take time off my job in order to help out!
As for college, why offer part-time and evening courses if you also won't offer any support structure? We have 'homework' which we need to go to the library to complete...which is open 9-6 in the week and not at all at weekends! 🙃 University support staff work a 9-5. Its 9-5, weekdays, to pick up your student ID card, or to attend other college events. Despite the fact that all students at the college are adults!
All in all, this dynamic actively discourages all but those either with ample free time, or those forced to by external circumstances, to educate themselves or to volunteer their time. And that I would argue increases our insularity as a society and reduces our chances of coming across or working with/alongside people from different backgrounds!
I would be very curious to know if this has long been the case or (yet) another creation of our anti-society Tory government. I think we'd be so much healthier as a populace if it wasn't like this.
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willshipanything-blog · 8 months
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Breaking the Rules- Chapter 16
Not quite 3 weeks between chapter this time! 🙃 I had some time off work, so obviously I got nothing done and procrastinated the hours away!!
We had smut last chapter, and from here on out we're going to be going downhill very fast- lots of rage and sadness and all that lovely stuff!
As usual, warning tags apply, so minors DNI!
Full tags, as well as the fic if you prefer, is on AO3 here.
Full tumblr chapter index can be found here.
Enjoy my lovelies! âœŒïžâœšđŸ’œ
(Below is an almost actual re-enactment of Al and Y/N this chapter)
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Chapter 16- 7741
Mr Albert Shaw, 
7741 Tennyson Avenue, 
Galesburg, Denver,
CO. 
There it was. In black and white, typed onto some nondescript white envelope that had found its way into the stack of bills and junk mail and flyers you’d been casually rifling through. It wasn’t the contents of the letter; that didn’t matter in the least. It was the typescript on the front that had your stomach churning. Not the state, or city, or street. Not the name. But the number. Those four little numbers in the address that had your heart feeling like it had been tossed into a woodchipper, pulverized and torn asunder. 7741. Not the number of the house in which you were standing, wide-mouthed and paralyzed in the middle of the kitchen. 7741 was that house. The house across the street. 
You did a double-take, looking at each letter again, flicking through the stack of envelopes.
Mr. Albert Shaw, 7740 Tennyson Avenue
.. Albert J. Shaw, 7740 Tennyson
.. Albert Shaw, 7740
.. Albert Shaw, 7741
..
Fuck. No. No no no. It had been weeks- weeks- since you’d decided to stop asking about that house, and what secrets you suspected Al was still keeping from you. Weeks since you’d surrendered yourself to Al’s distractions, supplying your own diversions too, all in the name of blissful ignorance. Weeks since you’d taken Al’s paltry excuses at face value- but you supposed a man who wore so many faces was adept at concealing secrets and truths with ease. But the irrefutable truth stared up at you from the flimsy envelope in your hand. Al had lied. Again. That last thought stung the most. After everything: one more lie. 
There had been progress. No doubt in your mind there had been. Al’s childhood come to light. Those hidden shames, the horrific abuses, the tragic past. And all along, you’d known the worst of this man, the things he was capable of. If there was one more secret, one more hurdle for the pair of you to surmount, would it really be so difficult for Al to take that leap of faith?
The sorrow of it all might have hit you harder, had your rage not overtaken you right there, your suddenly closed fist crumpling the mail in your hand. You had been stupid enough to believe his lies (or at least, to allow the fallacy of all to wash over you). Just thinking about Al made your throat growl, your limbs shake, the weeks and weeks of deceit unleashing emotions inside of you too big to be contained. You pictured Al. That silver tongue that you wanted to rip right from his mouth. That smirk you wished you could punch, knocking out those crooked teeth. That broad chest you wanted to shove full force, wanted to pummel with your fists because WHY couldn’t he see how much lying to you would hurt?
Al had been late to work that morning (your fault, this time, insisting he spend a little longer with you in bed), so hadn’t collected the mail like usual. A covert sneak across the front lawn, and you’d brought it in yourself, leaving it on a kitchen counter for Al to sort later. But with the usual housework you did during the day, a pile of letters was just another mess to organize. A huge, awful, heartbreaking mess of a thing, you realized. Maybe other letters had slipped through before- a mailman might easily have confused the almost-identical addresses. Is that why it was Al’s routine to grab the mail on his way to work? Now you thought about it, you rarely saw mail around the house at all, save for the odd bill, left on the kitchen table to be paid and posted later, or a couple clothing catalogs Al left for you to choose some items from on occasion.
Not that it mattered a shred how the letter had got here, you thought as you slapped the other (correctly addressed) letters on the counter, turning on your heel to storm into the living room. Without hesitation, and without a plan for what you would even say, you stomped over to the sideboard in the corner. When Al had given you the number for his work a while back, you’d memorized it from the note on the refrigerator. Now, you furiously swiped each digit from that note on the rotary phone, livid irritation lacing every second you had to wait after each input for the dial to spin back into place. Four shrill rings, each successive one straining your jaw into a more tense position, before the other end of the line answered. 
A familiar voice rasped through the phone, an overly-friendly tone you knew was just a little bit forced. 
“Dalton’s Hardware, this is Albert.” 
You bristled at that, wondering how much he hated using his full name in his scripted greeting, before remembering why Al’s feelings were the least of your worries right now. 
“You lied to me, Al.” He didn't deserve a greeting.
“Y/N? What's-”  
“Albert Shaw. 7741 Tennyson Avenue, Galesburg, Denver, Colorado.” You interrupted coolly, reciting the address from rote, not needing to look at the rumpled letters on the balled-up envelope in your hand. The '1' you'd punctuated, emphasizing exactly the lie you'd discovered, left no room for doubt. The silent reply on the other end of the call doubly confirmed it to you. 
You let the silence roar down the telephone wire connecting you, content to picture Al squirming, sweating- wondering whether he had the gall to magic up another lie on the spot. To his credit (which was waning every second the knowledge of his deceit ran through your veins), there was no denial when Al finally replied to your accusation, his voice low, but uneven and strained.
"Can we talk when I get home, dove?"
You weren't sure which thing disgusted you more at his question: That intimate pet name, so incongruous and almost tasteless in its use given the situation, that made you wince. Or Al's hushed tones which only affirmed that he was unable to speak about this right now, because wasn't everything involving you and him so covert, so clandestine when you were a kept secret, a hidden shame. 
You scoffed a reply:
"I won't lie to you, Al- I can't promise I'll be home when you get back." And with that, you hung up, ignoring the small, pleading voice bleating through the receiver as you tore the phone away from your face and slammed it into its cradle.
Your chest heaved with the adrenaline coursing through you, though you pushed it down, slowing your breath with a deep inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The rage you could muster (which you’d used only on a handful of occasions to face off with Al’s own beastly outbursts) wasn’t needed right now, so you tamped it down. It threatened to rise when the phone burst into a shrill ring seconds after you’d hung up, but you carried on your meditative breathing as you watched the white phone singing its incessant trill. You weren’t about to bow to his whims, so let the phone ring out in desperation, allowing it to scream, ignoring its pleas to be answered. 
Let him panic. How often had you appealed, time and again, for a modicum of truth from Al? How many times had you, like the persistent ringing of that damn phone, asked and asked for him to be more open? If your beseeching requests had gone unanswered, truths still hidden from you, you saw no reason why you should placate Al by speaking to him now. The phone stopped ringing, and you mentally counted the numbers Al would be redialling. Right on cue, the phone resumed its piercing cry. If he wouldn’t be open with you, you had no reason to answer to him. Let him keep ringing. Let him panic. 
You figured Al would keep phoning until desperation would drive him to abandon work altogether, frightened by your threat of not being at the house. But you’d be long gone by the time he made it back. Turning coldly away from the side table, you dropped the envelope on the shag carpet and headed to the door, slipping on a pair of pumps before grabbing your key from the bowl and unlatching the front door. 
On locking the door and turning to face the street, you faltered, unsure of your next steps. The blaring phone still echoed from within the house, even through the wood and glass barrier between you and it. What next, Y/N? Your eyes flitted to that house- 7741- each thought of it, the secrets within, the lies from weeks past, all eddied through your mind, accompanied by the unceasing rings of the phone sounding behind you. It was all too much- you couldn’t think about the why of it all right now, couldn’t face what you might find there. The rage, the deep ire inside you, that was more than enough of a burden to carry without the horror and dread of what else you might uncover today. Besides, you figured- you had no keys to that house, and trying to access it in broad daylight would draw the worst kind of attention. 
You just needed distance. The phone ceased ringing once more, and you waited on the threshold of the house for its recommencement, but no more noise came from within. If Al had stopped trying, maybe he was on his way back. You needed to leave. Now. If you thought too hard about it, you might have panicked- you’d never left the house like this before, not without Al or Max as a chaperone. Al had always been a tether, a lifeline to hold onto when you faced the dizzying open space of a dangerous world that you wanted to stay hidden from. Always to protect Al, protect your shared secrets. But that tether felt like an anchor now, a millstone around your neck that you needed to cut loose, at least for now. You shook off the fear of leaving by yourself and stepped down the driveway to the sidewalk. Averting your gaze from the dilapidated house with that gnarled tree out front, you broke into a sprint down the street.
There was only one place you could think to go.
“Yeah, gimme a minute! What can I do ya-”
As he opened his front door to your desperate knocking, Max paused mid-sentence, his brows furled in immediate concern and mouth agape in shock at the sight of you standing there. You were panting furiously from the two mile run in unseasonably warm fall weather, and you could sense how terrible your tear-stained cheeks, snotty nose and sweat-covered skin probably looked to him. But even before he’d asked what was wrong, before either of you uttered a single word, Max didn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you, ensconcing you in a tight hug. It only opened the floodgates more, fresh tears falling now, and you dug your head into his chest. Almost as if blocking out the sight of the world meant the problems within it could simply vanish. Maybe Max sensed your need for that (in the way that siblings instinctively knew these things), resting his chin on your head, cocooning you in his comforting hold, if only for a fleeting moment. He didn’t seem to mind you sullying his bright purple shirt studded with a hideous hibiscus flower print, letting you burrow into him as he silently ushered you inside. He was still holding you closely as he softly shut the door. 
Max waited until you’d calmed a little before even attempting to ask what had affected you in such a way. He’d helped to cease your racking sobs with gentle words, had thrust a glass of water into one shaking hand and a tissue into the other. Even Samson had sensed the disquiet you’d brought into the small house, sitting by your leg and resting his huge head in your lap, whining softly in his own consolatory fashion. Max sat beside you with a comforting arm around your shoulder until your breaths became more steady; once he determined you were capable of coherent speech through your final hiccuped sobs, he finally asked.
“Tell me what happened.” 
The tone was laced with obvious concern, but Max’s question was assertive. He’d moved on from the gentle, silent counseling to interrogation- as if he might need to dip into some unknown pool of anger, direct some as-yet-unseen rage upon his older brother if the occasion called for it. You looked at Max with a solemn expression, hating how you’d erased that glimmer of sunshine within him with your problems. Your lengthy silence and somber look had Max misconstruing things, exploring his own imagination’s answer to his question.
“Did he
. did he hurt you, Scout?” “No!” You replied immediately, despising that Max had to even consider that option. But your mind snagged on that word- hurt. Al had hurt you. He’d done awful things to you, had harmed you in the worst ways. And now? Even your version of love had pain and torment that you willingly asked for. That kind of hurt was for pleasure, your intimate ministrations with Al, that Max didn’t need to know the extent of. And the other hurt, that initial torture and rage and merciless brutality Al had once inflicted on you? The scars, the bruises, the bloody welts and vicious marks plied on your skin? Max could never know of that. No matter how incensed you were with Al, you would take that awful history between you to the grave. 
You rubbed your eyes for a moment, shrouding yourself in darkness to collect your muddied thoughts. Thinking carefully how to tread these hazardous waters with Max; how to convey the feelings you wanted to share about Al, without jeopardizing everything, without mentioning that dark otherness that once resided alongside the goodness in him. 
“I- Al-,” you stumbled, but Max’s solemn chocolate eyes, that look of solicitude on his face, strengthened you. “We argued,” you finally managed to find a string of cohesive words, “He’s so secretive, and I wish he would just lay it all bare for me Max.”
“You know how hard it is for him, though. Hell, it took me coming back and running my mouth for you to find out stuff about Al.”
“That’s what I mean, though- why’s it so hard for him to be honest? About things he’s done, about his past-”
“Scout, you aren’t exactly an open book on that front either. You both got dealt shitty hands, had to deal with stuff no kid should. Sometimes people just aren’t ready to talk about that kinda stuff. It took me years- it might just take him a little longer.” It felt to you like Max was picking sides suddenly, siding with his brother over you, making excuses for his taciturn behavior. It was natural, you guessed- of course he’d pick his brother over you. It felt hopeless, another rigged game that Al didn’t even realize he’d set; if you argued, who was there to fight your corner?
You let out a sigh of frustration. Max didn’t understand the true meaning behind your words. It would be difficult to reveal more specific details without unraveling the tightly bound thread of secrecy that was needed to keep Al’s alter ego in the shadows, hard to say anything without implicating you and Al in something more serious than a lover’s quarrel. The rage and anger of it all threatened to flare up, and Max took the glass from your hand to refill your water, but it was an obvious pretense to give you some space while you gathered your sprawling thoughts. 
You watched from across the room as he bent to open the ice drawer, spotting the polaroid picture stuck to the refrigerator door. You, Al, Max- and Samson of course. A family, full of love and care, if not total honesty amongst you. Max might not understand, but he did care: he was just trying to see things from another perspective, playing devil’s advocate. He might have laughed if he knew how apt that role was, defending his brother and, unwittingly, that devilish persona, from being exposed.
Max cared enough to be there for you, for Al. There had been too much kept from him, and the shame of it, the absolute, mortifying shame of lying to your best friend, hit you full force. How hypocritical of you, to talk about Al’s dishonesty, when everything you fed to Max was a carefully curated fabrication, a redacted document that he’d glanced only snippets of. 
Any residual rage you’d been preserving for Al transformed into regret of your own actions- because weren’t you doing the same as Al by withholding so many truths? If you wanted to suck out the venom caused by all the deceit, you figured you could start with your own part in that web of lies. You could alleviate some of your guilt, and perhaps Al would follow suit later. One truth giving way to another, toppling the lies between you and Al like dominoes. 
You would tread lightly, not revealing enough to implicate yourself or Al in anything. There would be words left unsaid. Kidnapped. Murder. Grabber. But you could erase some of the lies you’d never wanted to tell Max in the first place- as your friend, he deserved that much. 
You would start with the first lie you’d told him- the one you’d concocted about yourself, and your past. After all, it was your truth to tell, not Al’s. 
Max returned now, placing your water on the coffee table in front of you before sitting beside you once more, his big brown eyes steadfast in their focus on you.
“Max, you’re right- about me not being an open book. I want to be more honest about my past.”
“Have we
not been honest about that? That first night we met, you said-”
“I know what I said. But it wasn’t true.” “Huh?” Concern and confusion weaved its way through Max’s expression, arching his brow, his tilted head causing his dark hair to furl like windswept autumn leaves. You swallowed before continuing, forcing yourself to look into those deep brown eyes, fighting the urge to look away in shame.
“I wasn’t from any broken home, Max. My parents, my boyfriend- they never abused me in any way.”
Max leaped up from the couch, flinging his body back a few feet. In disgust, most likely. Even Samson moved towards his master; on instinct, you knew, but it still felt like an abandonment of sorts.
“Dude! What the fuck? That’s a fucked up thing to lie about, Y/N!” 
Yes, definitely disgust. And why wouldn’t he react that way? Max, who had actually endured real abuse at his father’s hand, finding out your shared experiences were never shared at all. That you’d created a story for what- to play the victim? For sympathy? Your story was becoming messy, the potential of one lie untangling opening the door for those you were terrified of escaping. You carried on with all your good intentions, even if they were so pathetically late as to be worthless.
“I can’t tell you why I lied. But I had to Max, can you believe that? I just can’t go back home. It’ll
” you rolled your tongue, looking for the right word, even though every word that tumbled from your mouth felt wrong, tainted. “It’ll complicate things. I want to stay with Al, but to do that I can't go back. I just didn't want to lie to you about all this anymore. Not after you were so open with me. You’ve been so honest with me about your life, Max, and I haven’t done the same. I feel awful.” In the silence that followed your half-baked explanation, you let loose one final truth, the one that struck your chest the hardest to say. “I’m sorry, Max.” At the very least, you had the decency to look Max in the eye when you told him that.
Max had, gratefully, stood still while you had spoken, looking down at you with an unreadable expression, fists clenched at his sides. You thought he might be more animated, wild even, in his response, raising Cain in the small space of the room, but after a moment he spoke calmly, as if the weight of the deceit you’d dropped at his door had flattened the sunshine personality and restrained the expressive gestures he usually displayed.
“I don’t understand.” 
“I know. But I don’t think you ever would.”
Max thought a little, rubbing a hand across his jaw in contemplation.
“Scout,” he asked, and you clung onto his use of your nickname, a small shard of hope that things might turn out ok, eventually. “You didn’t run away then, from your family?”
You looked down at the battered rug under your feet, shaking your head timidly in a silent reply. Your hands, which you hadn’t realized you’d been clenching together, were bone-white from the strain. It didn’t stop you clasping them even tighter, needing, deserving the pain that it wrought. 
“They looked so lost and broken. You- you were on the news! Christ, I saw one of those old missing posters the other day with your face plastered across it, Y/N!”
“I know!” you cried, both the memory of the family you’d left behind, and for Max’s current anguish at this new wound you’d sliced into him. “I know, and I’m sorry. But I’ve had to make peace with that, had to let go of them, and hope that they did the same. It’s my past. Al is my family now. You are, Max.”
“Are you safe?” That aggressive assertiveness again; even if he knew next to nothing, your safety was a priority. It was almost enough to curve your lips into a thin smile, but not quite.
“Yes. I’m safe.” You looked up again, needing him to understand the honesty behind that answer. 
“Jesus,” Max huffed a long breath, pacing the room now, so small that two steps had him turning on his heel in the other direction. He spun towards you again, brown eyes flecked with worry. You hadn’t moved from the couch, staying low and looking up at Max. A gesture of supplication, almost groveling in your apology. “Could you give me even a little more to work with here?” Max pleaded.
“No,” you spoke on a whisper “I don’t want to lie anymore, but I can’t tell you the whole truth.”
Max’s eyes softened, and he flashed a small, toothy smile. If not fully understanding your reasoning, at least accepting it. “Scout,” he started, reaching towards you, as if to take your hand in his, to give it that familiar brotherly squeeze that signaled yes, things would be ok. But as Max’s arm extended within reach, a thunderous pounding interrupted the gesture. Alongside the wood-splintering hammering on Max’s front door, a familiar, gravelly voice began to boom your name, loud enough for the entire street to hear. Of course Al had found you quickly; like a cornered animal, you had so few places to run and hide.
Always inept at keeping his more extreme emotions in check, Al had barely functioned when his dove had recited that other address to him over the phone. Shock at first, unable to deny any longer a truth he knew had been too long coming. Then panic rose, his pitiful attempts to placate her over the phone denied when she’d hung up on him. He’d redialled, hardly caring if anyone at work might have seen him bashing the telephone numbers frantically with trembling fingers, running his other hand through his hair in frustration when she didn’t pick up the second, third, fourth time. He slammed the wall phone’s receiver into its holster with a noisy clang. 
Obviously his dove was furious- and with good reason- but was this her intention, letting the phone ring to panic him, watching it ring as she waited for his return? Or had she really meant what she’d threatened and left the house? Al needed to know, and he’d literally sprinted out of the hardware store, half-muttering some excuse about an emergency to the couple other staff members on shift that day. This was an emergency. 
Clambering into his van, tires screeched as he raced back home. The panic intensified with each minute on the road, every stop sign he’d barely braked for, every turn that slowed him down. The dread for how he’d explain himself, the shame that it had taken him getting caught red-handed, rather than his own honest morals, for her to find out that he did in fact own that house across the way. 
Even racing through the scenarios in his head, Al still wondered whether he could tell his love about the things hidden deep inside that house. Even she might have a breaking point, a final trigger that would force her to see the mistake of staying with Al. She might finally break, and choose to leave. Though Al wondered if he hadn’t already broken her, some manipulation that had forced her to forget the truly hideous things he’d done, some bewitchment of amnesia and coercion. How Al despised the dark thoughts that ran free in his mind when he allowed it! Those destructive thoughts only spurred him to get home quicker, to find strength and light which only she could provide; Al made it back home in half his usual time.
Empty. Each room of the house that Al barged into, banging into door frames and knocking over ornaments in his frantic rush, was empty. She’d really left. Not for good, he deduced- not to go to the authorities, hand Al over, tell that story. She would never, he reassured himself. But she’d left the house because of her own hurting heart, because Al’s lies had splintered their relationship into something he hoped he could repair. There was only a couple of places she might go. Quickly probing the other house, checking the doors and windows hadn’t been tampered with, gave Al only a brief moment of relief, before he knew where he needed to go. Within seconds, the van was once again flying down the street, Max’s house minutes away. 
In the five minute drive towards his brother’s house, a small change flickered within Al. He knew where his dove was, knew he’d see her shortly, and that thought cleared away some of the panic. But the emotion that slotted itself into that now-empty gap was his old friend Rage, that default feeling that he too easily slipped into. She’d left, without a word, without a note, without letting him explain himself. Allowing him to think the worst, most despicable thoughts. Usually it was his sweet thing keeping him grounded, soothing his temper with her words, her mere presence a balm to his outbursts that, even now, he’d not fully mastered how to control. 
But when she was the cause of his anger? There was nothing to quell it, and it blossomed and grew like a thick, suffocating weed in the confines of the van as Al neared where he knew she was hiding. He pictured her face, that cheekbone scar he’d inflicted months and months back, imagining it splitting open once more at the impact with his fist- NO! No, Al- not that, he pleaded with himself, his own last dregs of sanity bargaining with the wild beast that was threatening to emerge. He hit the steering wheel, hit his own head to clear away those violent visions. Just talk to her, he told himself: make her see how worried and fucking angry you were. 
He braked sharply outside the small house, keys still in the ignition and he jumped out of the van and lunged towards Max’s door, beginning to pound furiously on the wood, shouting his dove’s name with the rage he’d not managed to placate this time around. He was furious, and he didn’t care who knew it.
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