#i spent all day thinking of a good pun

[wretchedbirdthing]

What's Aya Shameimaru's favorite video game?

Counter-shrike!

Her favourite video game series? Yeah I could see that!

As for her favourite entry, it'd have to be Counter Shrike: Crowbal Offensive !

[5sospenguinqueen]

Needle Little Love | Charles Leclerc x Ferrari! Reader

Summary: When you’re announced as Ferrari’s newest driver, fans love the budding friendship between you and Charles, especially when he adopts your penchant for crochet puns. Netflix expose that there’s more to the story. 

Warnings: Slightly suggestive content. Swearing. Fluff

2023-2024 timeline. Pinterest pics.

Requested: Yes by @rebelwrites. Find the full request here

A/N: There's a blurb halfway down

F1 Masterlist

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its_ynln just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman and others 

its_ynln chronicles of yarnia 🧶

1,609 comments 

francisca.cgomes okay but i’m gonna need that top in all colours please

→ its_ynln let me get your measurements at zandvoort 

user1 what is charles doing here

→ its_ynln i’m plagued by his brother and we both like to go zoom?

→ arthur_leclerc just for that, i’m not coming to your celebration party in zandvoort. i’ll go party with charles

→ its_ynln don’t want you there anyway 

→ oscarpiastri @/charles_leclerc the girls are fighting again 

→ user2 i love how they’re just assuming she’ll win 

lilymhe i love my pillow! thank you thank you thank you 🌼

→ alex_albon she literally carries it everywhere and i’m not allowed to touch it 

user3 we love how racing is just her side hobby 

jackdoohan day 116 of asking you to make me my own dinosaur 

→ its_ynln i can make a voodoo doll of you if you don’t stop pestering me

→ jackdoohan i’ll be glad when you’re gone

→ user4 gone where! 

→ user5 well she is currently leading the f2 championship, and they won't let her back 

user6 drop the patterns please, babe

user7 i love how half the people here are because of her crochet, not because she drives

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f1 just posted

liked by ferraridriveracademy, oscarpiastri and others 

f1 welcome to the team @/its_ynln we look forward to seeing you on the grid in the new year 

5,533 comments

its_ynln what can i say, it’s knot just another hobby

→ user8 babe, stick to crochet. stand up comedy is not for you 

ferraridriveracademy take good care of our girl 

→ scuderiaferrari thanks for letting us have her

charles_leclerc welcome to the team 😄

→ user9 why is this the blandest welcome ever 

→ user10 someone feels threatened

→ arthur_leclerc *trying to contain his excitement

francisca.cgomes this is the best news ever. will you teach me to crochet?

→ pierregasly because stealing my girlfriend over summer break wasn’t bad enough?

→ its_ynln are you still salty that she let me touch her boobs

→ user11 i know it was to measure her chest for clothes but still.. 

scuderiaferrari are we going to have to pr train you? @/its_ynln

→ liamlawson30 yes

→ alex_albon yes 

→ jackdoohan yes

→ its_ynln why am i being attacked by twice the amount of people now? 

arthur_leclerc thank god she’s not my problem anymore 

→ its_ynln i’ll always be your problem, little leclerc 

→ oscarpiastri oh fuck, she’s my problem now

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly and others  

charles_leclerc winter break spent somewhere sunny  

2,316 comments

scuderiaferrari come back, we miss you 

user1 um, whose hand is he reaching for in that first pic 

→ user2 idk but we should be saying thank you for dressing him in that shirt 

its_ynln is your skin ferrari red yet 

→ charles_leclerc no, i keep getting slathered in sun cream :(

→ arthur_leclerc factor 50? 

→ user3 i love that she’s bullying him before she’s even been his teammate on track

user4 this shirt looks similar to one yn posted a few weeks ago??

→ user5 and the hat!!

→ user6 omg how cute would it be if charles was asking her to crochet him some clothes 

→ user7 we love a supportive teammate

landonorris rocking the bucket hat, mate. think i can get one in papaya? 

→ charles_leclerc i’ll hook you up

oscarpiastri i miss you, dad

→ its_ynln i’m not babysitting next year. just putting that out there ahead of time 

→ charles_leclerc not even if i ask nicely?

→ its_ynln maybe if you let me win

→ charles_leclerc 🤔🤨

user8 why are we skipping past the sneaky soft launch?

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2024

“You know, we both have driver’s rooms for this sort of thing,” you breathed, giggling when Charles’ facial hair tickled your neck. 

His mouth sucked gently on the pulse point thrumming beneath his tongue, tracing kisses from your ear down to your collarbone. The stack of worn tyres cushioned your back as he pressed your harder against them when you reached around to pinch his backside. 

“Oi, I’m talking to you.” 

“I’m sorry, mon ange, but you looked so good when you were giving that interview. And you kept laughing-”

“Oh, so it’s not that I’m so irresistible that you couldn't wait until we were safely in the garage. It’s that you were jealous.” You raised an eyebrow at him, unable to fight the smile at his rougish grin. 

“You are irresistible,” he murmured, hands snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Why else would I be making out with you in an alley behind the motorhome?”

“Because you’re a horndog.” 

You and Charles had been dating for the past year, having met after he caught you winding up his younger brother one race weekend. Ferrari had been eyeing you up all year, asking the Monagesque what he thought of you, prompting him to pay closer attention. Prior to you signing your contract, you’d had to disclose your relationship to Fred Vasseur. Whilst the senior members of the team were aware of your more-than-teammates status, the majority of the paddock were in the dark. Both of you wished to keep the relationship under wraps until your rookie year in F1 had passed, reducing speculation that Charles was the only reason you got your seat. Sneaking around the motorhome was a lot safer than making out behind tyre stacks, but Charles didn’t care at this moment in time. 

“You going to be nice and let me win today?” He teased, nibbling at your lower lip. 

“I think you mean, am I going to let you massage my feet after I win? I won here last year.”

“Yes, yes, bow down to you.”

“Well, I do like you on your knees.” 

Grinning, Charles captured your lips with his once more. Tongue swiping against your bottom lip, he groaned against you when your tongue met his. Hands snaking into his hair, you tugged gently on the soft strands, enjoying the whimper you pulled from his lips. He tilted his hips, pressing himself against you. 

“The things you do to me.”

A loud cough - more of a throat clearing - tore the two of you apart. Wide eyed and panting, you both turned in horror to look at the misfortune person who stumbled across you. Fred Vasseur stood at the end of the alleyway, shaking his head at his two drivers. It was bad enough watching them make heart eyes at each other during data reviews but this. Behind him stood a cameraman and a mic guy, mouths agape at their luck. Drive to Survive would be flooded with viewers once they teased this. Breaking News: Ferrari drivers caught locking lips in secret tryst. 

“I’ve got Netflix following me around today.” Fred said bluntly, staring you both down. 

“Oh crap.”

“Yeah.” 

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next day

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by its_ynln, arthur_leclerc and others

charles_leclerc you could say we’re a close knit bunch

4,416 comments

its_ynln i fell for you hook, yarn and stitcher 

user8 not charles adopting her crochet puns 

jackdoohan so he gets a toothless keychain and i still don’t get my dinosaur? 

→ liamlawson30 that’s because he’s sleeping with her

→ jackdoohan if that’s the price...

scuderiaferrari finally. we were getting sick and tired of archiving all the pics we took of you both being cute. now we can post! 

→ arthur_leclerc please don’t. it’s bad enough seeing it in person for the past two years. i don’t want it on my timeline

→ user9 two years! they’ve been together two years! 

alex_albon can’t believe you posted a photo of her in a nice dress and didn't even give her photo creds

→ its_ynln he’s intimidated by my raw talent 

→ oscarpiastri i watched you flip over the handles of your bike the other day 

→ its_ynln raw talent

→ charlesleclerc @/its_ynln when was this? why didn’t you tell me? are you okay? 

georgrussell63 did she beat you?

→ charles_leclerc i let her win

→ landonorris yeah, you’ve been saying that all season, mate

→ its_ynln you got a nice consolation price out of it tho

→ arthur_leclerc ew!

user10 i love that charles has posted this and yn hasn’t mentioned anything about him lol 

→ user11 her entire insta is the two sides of her personality; car and yarn. can't have a man ruining the aesthetic

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A huge thank you to @rebelwrites for the request. I hope this lives up to expectations

Requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my Masterlist :)

[rcmclachlan]

Reading the comments on this post and you know what? Tommy does have a podcast!

It's called Getting Rom-Commy with Tommy and he breaks down the history, plots, tropes, and cliches made famous by romantic comedies. He recorded the first episode—Tillie's Punctured Romance, the first feature film in the genre—in 2020 during the early days of the pandemic, and has since gained a small but loyal following who love his deep dives, quirky sense of humor, and the random breadcrumbs about his own life that he drops occasionally.

For three and a half years, he's posted an episode every other Thursday without fail, so it's the talk of r/romcommytommy when the promised episode about A New Leaf doesn't materialize. They worry about Tommy being sick or dead—or worse: growing bored with the subject matter—and flood his podcast inbox with well wishes and pleas to continue the series.

Finally, the episode goes up the following Thursday, and he prefaces it by apologizing for the delay. He had gotten tangled up in a work thing and had spent the previous week dealing with the fallout (i.e.: paperwork), but he's in high spirits because he isn't in federal prison and has reconnected with old friends. And made some new ones! Which has nothing to do with Walter Matthau's performance, which in Tommy's opinion is one of his best, and he jumps right into the movie and says no more about what kept him away.

After that, for months, the series takes on a different tone—more buoyant, almost bewilderingly cheerful—and it elevates what was already a great program to something that truly has a happy ending every time. More people start listening. The subreddit hits 10k members, and speculation about what's causing Tommy's audible joy runs rampant, with most agreeing it's because he has someone special in his life.

Then, the 103rd episode goes live. It's an unflinching look at the movie Blue Valentine, which is very much not a romantic comedy, and for the entire episode Tommy vacillates between sounding dead inside and on the verge of tears. "It's just another example of how even the most passionate relationship will erode over time," he murmurs. The episode ends without its usual jaunty outro.

It becomes clear over the next several weeks that something devastating has happened, because Tommy has ditched his beloved rom-coms for the most depressing movies ever made. The subject of the top trending post on the subreddit for a month is 'If I ever listen to the Closer episode again I will need the following: a gun.'

His listeners debate whether or not to jump ship, but the film analyses are still really good. Plus, it feels like abandoning a friend in their time of need.

I don't know if you will ever see this, Tommy, but I think I speak for everyone when I say: we love you, we're here for you, we're not going anywhere, but for the love of GOD please go to therapy, u/marshedmellowout comments on the post for the In The Mood For Love episode.

No one's quite sure if u/marshedmellowout got through to him, but it feels like a turning point when the subject of the next episode is Desert Hearts. Tommy spends almost half the episode runtime analyzing the film's hopeful ending, and even cracks a couple of jokes. While his voice doesn't have that incandescent happiness from before, it's much lighter.

The next few episodes continue that slow, upward trend, and the movies Tommy deconstructs go from having hopeful endings to happy ones. He's back to making terrible puns and laughing at his own jokes, and everyone on the subreddit breathes a collective sigh of relief. He's going to be okay.

None of his listeners are prepared for how he starts the 118th episode.

"You're all in for a treat today, because I'm joined by a very special guest. He's not a big fan of movies, usually, but he's got a mind made for analysis, so making him watch Groundhog Day was kind of a no-brainer. I've been dying to hear him pick this one apart. Evan, say hi."

The joy from all those months ago is clear and present in Tommy's voice, but it's tempered with something new: certainty.

"H-Hi, everyone," Evan says, bashful and a little giggly. "Sorry, I've never done something like this before."

"You literally had a walk-on role in the country's most watched TV show. 22 million people tuned in that night, and that's not including the streaming numbers."

"That was different! I had one line. Plus, I didn't care about making Brad look dumb."

"Brad didn't need your help with that," Tommy says, audibly besotted. "Evan, you can't possibly make me look dumb. They can't see me."

Groaning through laughter, Evan gasps, "Oh my god, I said you get five stupid jokes and you just wasted one. Better make the next four count."

"I'll do my best," Tommy says. "So, overall, what did you think of the movie?"

It's the most listened to episode of the entire podcast, and u/cadburybunnyeggs's post 'Evan needs to be a permanent host and here's why' makes the front page of Reddit.

(A year later, the Four Weddings and a Funeral episode, which goes live two days before Tommy and Evan get married, is nominated for a Webby Award. What happens afterwards in the subreddit breaks containment and winds up in the New York Times.)

[im-sleepdeprived]

do u think u can do a Peter Parker x reader where reader is gone for a while and has her phone off, and Peter gets super scared only to find out she’s alright?? I love ur work u’re the best xx

'No location found'

pairing: peter parker x reader

a/n: thank you for the request !!!! i had this written, then I decided to rewrite it lmao. I pictured college pete but Im not sure if I specified, also not sure if anyone saw my post abt writing a fic inspired by ‘peter’ by taylor swift but i think im going to start working on that and that its gonna be a mini series👀.... so stay tuned and request something in the meantime !!

warnings: none

masterlist, requests are open !!

“That’s not what I said!”

“Oh? Well, that’s what I heard.”

You two had been going at it for a while now. Peter had missed yet another date you’d both planned. It’d been a while since you both spent time together, and you thought he was finally going to change that. Until he just stood you up again. 

You’d thought after moving in together, you’d see him all the time. The opposite was true. He was always out, either on patrol, at Stark Tower, or wherever else his Superhero duties took him.  The problem was, that place never seemed to be with you.

“Y/N please-”

“No, Peter! I’m sick of it! I try to be understanding, I really do, I try to give you grace, but every time I do it’s like you just make it worse.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “Honestly at this point, it feels like you don’t even care anymore.”

His face fell. “Come on baby. You can't seriously think that! It was just a mistake, I won't do it again.”

You nodded, “Right. Think I’ve heard that one before.” You turned around and walked towards your shared bedroom.

“Woah, hey. Wait a minute, where’re you going?” His voice was hurt, and you almost felt bad for turning your back.

Shaking your head and looked down at your dress. You’d gotten all dressed up, expecting a nice dinner followed by a walk in the park. You said, “I’m tired, I’m gonna change and get ready for bed. Sorry, but hey, at least now your schedule is freed up,” you gave him a weak smile, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Y/N you know it’s not like that. Look you’re all dressed up,” he reached for your arm, “we can still go out. Please, let me make it up to you”

Looking into his eyes, it took everything in you to pull away. 

“Peter,” you whispered, voice so quiet, yet so full of emotion. 

“I don’t want us to fight,” he begged. 

'We’re not fighting, not anymore. I just want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He nodded, but still kept his hand on you, reluctant to let go. “I’ll sleep on the couch?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now.

He deflated. He wasn’t exactly expecting you to object, but still. It hurt that you wanted to be away from him so bad. 

“Good night,” he muttered, watching you walk towards the door with sullen eyes. “I’m right here if you need anything.”

You gave him the tiniest tip of your head, not even bothering to turn around, “Night.”

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight.

You slept in that day. It was Saturday and you didn’t feel like doing anything. Even after you woke up, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone, heart pounding a little harder when you saw messages from Peter pop up, before effectively sliding them away.

After a few hours of doomscrolling, you stepped out of the room. You could see a throw blanket neatly folded on the couch, you have no idea if he’d even used a pillow. Your heart thrummed with guilt and you decided that tonight he was definitely sleeping on the bed. Or at the very least, you’d sleep on the couch. 

Walking into the kitchen, you noticed a tray with a note sitting atop a covered plate. When you got closer, you saw that the note held a cheesy breakfast pun. So Peter.

I love you a waffle lot! With a bunch of hearts around it. You couldn’t help it, you cracked a smile. He was such a dork. And you loved it. 

You heated up your breakfast and had gotten well into eating when your phone started ringing. Was it Peter? You didn’t really want to speak to him, not yet at least. You’d kind of hoped you wouldn’t have to until tonight-

You picked up your phone and almost let out a sigh of relief when you realized it was just one of your friends, Maddie. Then you felt bad for feeling relieved. 

You answered the phone. “Hey Mads, how's it going.” 

“Hi Y/N! Good! I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out tonight? Listen, before you say no-”

“No that sounds great actually,” you cut her off quickly, eager for an excuse to get out of the house. You’d been canceling plans for way too long in hopes of spending even a moment with Peter, and it seemed as if even your friends had noticed. But no more.

“Really? Great! So there's this raging new club,” she went on, giving you all the details of who was going and who might be there and you listened but barely felt a hint of excitement. You weren’t sure if it was because it was a frat party, and those things rarely appealed to you, or if it was lingering feelings from your argument with Peter. Which reminded you why you’d wanted to go out in the first place. 

“We’re gonna pregame at my place though, so stop by here and I’ll take you!” She finished, making you smile. Maddie was always sweet, a little more wild than you, but that’s what made you like her. 

“Sure Maddie, thanks for the invite.”

“Of course, can’t wait to see you, I feel like it's been forever since we went out together.”

You let out a small laugh, “I know what you mean. But we’re gonna change that tonight. 

You said your goodbyes and hung up. You needed to start getting ready soon, despite you just eating breakfast, you’d stayed in all morning and it was pretty late already. 

You got ready quietly, only a playlist you’d turned on droning in the background as you did your hair and makeup. You walked over to the closet to pick out an outfit and felt a little sad. Usually, Peter was here during this part, helping you pick out something, annoying you when he said you looked beautiful in everything. 

“Peter! I need real criticism!”

“Well, I can’t help it if my girl looks stunning in everything!”

You picked out a nice outfit you deemed fit for clubbing before grabbing a pair of heels and stepping out of your room. Looking around at the empty apartment you realized you should probably let Peter know you weren’t going to be home tonight. You didn’t feel like calling him though, and if you didn’t want to open his messages from earlier either so you decided to take a page out of his book. 

Grabbing a sticky note, you wrote down the briefest of explanations, before sticking it on your fridge and leaving. 

He had sent texts saying Good morning!, Do you need anything?, and another explaining he’d be out for a while but he’d made you breakfast, all in hopes of you responding to him. You didn’t, but that wasn’t too shocking to him. It didn’t make it hurt any less though. 

He knew he fucked up. He knew he’d disappointed you again, let you down again. He knew he deserved this and more. He should be grateful you weren’t giving him the more. And he was! But he couldn’t help the small selfish part of him that just wished you would let him take you out tonight, or give him something else he could do to make up for it because there was nothing he hated more in the world than when you were mad at him. And he did not want to sleep on the couch again. Sure it was uncomfortable but that was the least of his worries. He hated not sleeping next to you.

That had been his favorite part about the two of you moving into your own place, that he got to hold you every night. After a rough night of patrolling, or working too long on his studies, or a new gadget, he got to go home and hold you, get lost in your touch, and that always made everything better. And it killed him to know you were just down the hall, and he wasn’t with you. 

He tried his best to rush everything, trying to get all his work done for the day so he could spend the whole night with you. He was planning a movie night, bingeing all your favorites. He was gonna give you a proper date, soon, but right now, all that mattered was you two spending time together. 

On his way home, he stopped at a corner store to grab snacks for the two of you, making sure to get all your favorite ones. He even stopped at a flower shop not far from your apartment to grab you a bouquet and his heart fell when he realized how long it’d been since he’d done this. He definitely deserved the more. 

He knocked on the door of your apartment a few times and his heart fell as he realized you were either dead set on ignoring him, or you weren’t home. When he pulled out his keys and let himself in, he realized it was the latter. 

Sighing, he set down the bags of snacks and placed the bouquet down as he ran a hand through his hair as he walked around. He entered the kitchen and felt a little better when he saw the dishes he’d used to plate your breakfast were washed and on the drying rack, meaning you’d eaten. 

He was about to pull out his phone to see if he’d missed a text from you when he saw something on the fridge. 

“Went out. Be home late.”

His brows furrowed as he read. He didn’t know you had plans. Hell, he didn’t even know if you had plans now, your note barely explained anything.

All he could do was wait until you came home to sort everything out.

Peter could handle the silent treatment (barely), but what he couldn't handle, was not knowing if you were safe or not. No. That wouldn’t fly. 

He’d sent you a text when he got home, letting you know he got your note and to have fun and be safe. 

An hour later, he sent another text. Just as a little check-in. Still no response. 

It had been about three hours since he’d gotten back when he noticed that his messages had lost the little mark that indicated they were delivered. Weird. 

He tried to call you, he’d refrained from doing so before because he thought he should let you have your space (which was why, he assumed, you’d left in the first place) but it didn’t even ring, he just got sent straight to voicemail. 

What made him really start to panic, however, was when he went to check your location, which he felt so stupid for not doing before, and it wouldn’t load. It kept saying ‘no location found’ making his heart beat harder.

This was worse. You were ignoring him, his messages and calls weren’t going through. Something was wrong, was your phone off? Were you mugged? Or even worse-

He stopped himself before he could spiral too hard. That wouldn’t help, right now, he needed to figure out where you were and if you were okay.  He knew you weren’t the kind of person who would go out to bars or parties alone. Maybe you went out with a friend? Or maybe you were at a friend's? It was a place to start. 

He started calling your friends, people he knew you might go out with, and on the fifth call he finally got answers. Or…something like that. 

“Hello?” Maddie yelled into the phone, making Peter pull his phone away. 

“Hey Maddie, it’s Peter.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s dude,” she slurred. 

“Yeah, yeah, Y/N’s dude. Hey listen, is she with you? She went out tonight but she forgot to tell me where, and now my messages aren’t sending.” His pulse was racing. It sounded like Maddie was out, if the blaring music in the background was anything to go off of, and he was desperate to know you were okay. 

“Sorry Patrick, what’d you say,” she asked making Peter’s brows furrow. They weren’t exactly friends, but he’d met Maddie a few times. Enough times for her to know his name was not Patrick.

He shook his head, that didn’t matter right now. “Y/N. Is she with you, do you go out together?”

“Oh!” She exclaimed as if she’d just remembered something. “Yeah, she is!”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. 

“Or, she was.” He held his breath again. 

“What do you mean ‘she was’? Where is she?”

“I dunno, she left I think.” Maddie let out a little hum as if to say ‘too bad!’ and Peter was sure she must be extremely intoxicated, otherwise there was no way she could be so casual about something like this. He could barely keep himself together.

He ran a hand over his face as he tried not to raise his voice. This was getting frustrating. “She left? Where’d she go? Where are you right now?”

“I don’t know…she was bored I think. She was off today. S’shame, she looked so hot.”

His heart clenched when he realized the reason you were off, was because of him. You didn’t have fun, so you left, now he had no idea where you were and it was all his fault. 

“Where are you, Maddie?” He repeated. 

“That new club on 27th! Get down here Paul, it's so much fun!” She gushed and Peter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. 

He hung up quickly, not bothering to say goodbye before he got up to put his suit on. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you because you were upset and distracted because of him. That you weren't even speaking to him.

There was no way he was going to let anything happen to you. 

You were walking outside, up and down the sidewalk. You knew it wasn’t the safest decision but you didn’t really care. The club was stuffy, humid, and way too loud. You just needed to breathe, and then you’d go back. Maybe. 

You considered hailing a cab and going back home right now. You’d send Maddie a text, but she probably hadn’t noticed you’d left in the first. She’d been having a blast, unlike you, drinking shots and dancing with every guy she felt like. You weren’t sure she remembered you stopping her to tell her you’d be gone for a bit. 

On second thought, you were kind of hungry. You hadn’t eaten anything other than Peter’s waffles for you that morning and there was an amazing smell floating from a food cart at the end of the block. You could help yourself to something before going home. 

Before you could reach the food cart, you were flying. Or rather, swinging. You knew who it was right away. 

Just as fast as he’d snatched you up, Peter put you down on an isolated rooftop, leaving just you and him high above everyone else.

You were about to reprimand him, about to demand an answer as to why he’d just done that, but there wasn’t a chance before he was pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Pete?” Your voice was soft, you sensed there was something wrong and suddenly any anger or annoyance you held, from now or the night before, disappeared.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as if that was his way of an answer. 

Your brows furrowed. “Well…yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He pulled away then, taking off his mask, and you saw just how terrified he looked, scaring you as well. There might’ve even been a little red rimming his eyes, making you wonder if he was holding back tears. “I came home and I brought snacks and flowers and I thought we could spend the rest of the night together but saw your note. So I texted you and I get that you’re mad at me-”

“I’m not,” you said, and you meant it. You weren’t mad at him, especially right now, seeing him all shaken up like this. “But what's wrong?”

“My texts weren’t delivering, my calls went straight to voicemail, and I couldn’t track your location. Y/N, I got so scared something happened and you weren’t talking to me.” He sniffled and your heart broke a little. 

You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, but when you tried to turn it on—dead. 

“God sweetheart, never do that to me again. Please.” He looked at you desperately, “Yell at me. Fight with me. But please never ignore me anymore, I can’t stand it.”

“I’m so sorry Petey, I had no idea my phone died. I would’ve said something I swear. I never want you to worry like that.” Your hands went up to hold his face. 

He brought a hand to hold your wrist. Gently running his thumb up and down your hand he said, “I always worry about you sweetheart, it’s my job.”

You shook your head, “You worry about all of New York, I don’t need to add on to that.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking offended you’d even say that, “No. Never think like that. You are the most important thing in my life, okay? You’re my first priority and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that I don’t show that or say it enough.

“But I’m going to do better, I promise. I’m going to make it up to you because I can’t lose you, I need you Y/N.”

You didn’t reply, instead just smashed your lips onto his. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you tight. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of second chances, and new beginnings.

He pulled away first, but not before pressing multiple kisses all around your face. “Heels off baby,” he said as he knelt down and started working on your heel straps, lifting each foot onto his thigh before undoing each one. You didn’t even realize how much they’d been hurting until they were off. “I’m swinging you.” He picked you up swiftly, one arm wrapping itself around your ribs.

You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Peteyyyy. You know the wind tangles my hair too much.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the top of your head, “I’ll be careful, c’mon.”

You move your head to peck his cheek and then hug him tight, “I love you.”

He grinned, pulling you in closer. “I love you more sweetheart.” He leaned back and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Hold on tight, Spider Monkey.”

You burst into laughter, “You did not just say that!” 

“Oh I totally did,” he gave you the goofiest smile, making you laugh again. 

“Ok, just…don’t let me go,” you said as you wrapped your arms tighter around him. 

“Never,” he replied, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t just talking about swinging. 

[untitledw0rks]

anglerfish (c.k)

a/n: heyyyyyyyyy... I'm back! in February I spent a lot of time crying over that anglerfish on TikTok, so I'm here to write about it! thanks for all the positive reception on my writing y'all! also! thinking about starting a taglist so lmk if you want to be on it!

Clark Kent x fem!reader

warnings: dead anglerfish 😔, reader has boobs... sorry!, this is pretty fluffy with a little angst, negative self-talk, idk I can't think of anything else but lmk if I missed smth

It started with the striped underwear. You knew it was silly, but your day felt off if your bra and panties didn’t match, or at least compliment each other. Your newest set, a pink and maroon striped thing was today’s pair, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you put them on, admiring the symmetry between top and bottom. 

Most of your underwear were in fun colors and patterns, pink swan briefs to match with a simple pink bralette, or an army green soft set that you loved to wear on lazy days. Under your boring work clothes, the fun styles and colors always felt like something for you. Something secret.

Until Clark, that is. Suddenly your little habits were his too, that pink swan set was his to see after a long day at the Planet. The little messages and photos you sent to him during the day of different science-related pickup lines were for him. He loved the science jokes. 

Gosh, he really loved seeing you in your underwear, and most of all, he loved that you thought of him. Today, he had called the stripes “cute”. Which was fine! It wasn’t like it was meant to be anything beyond cute, not hot, not sexy, definitely not fuckable, so it really didn’t matter to you if he liked the striped bra that much anyway.

As you pulled the rest of your work clothes on, you rambled on about pretty much whatever came to mind. He loved this part of the day, where neither of you had anywhere to be yet, and he could listen to you talk about anything that came to you in the moment. It was endearing, honestly. 

“Oh gosh, Clark, it was this anglerfish –y’know the type that are bioluminescent because they live so deep underwater? It was a baby! A baby, Clark! And it just swam to the surface to see the light and bask in it!” Your eyes pricked at the corners against your will, budding tears as you explained to him, “and then it just died. It swam all that way to see the light and then died!” The tears were streaming down your face now, and you knew it looked silly, but you couldn’t help it. Clark stood from his spot on the bed to envelop you in a hug, murmuring into your hair as you burrowed your face into his shirt. 

“Oh honey, that’s so sad,” he muttered as he rubbed patterns into your back. You moved your face away from his shirt to laugh wetly at yourself. “And– and the worst part is they put that one song by Radiohead! The one that always makes m-me cry was the music for the video and–” you broke off, shuddering in his arms.

Neither of you had wanted to pull apart, but Clark had caught a glance at the clock on the wall and had declared that the two of you were about to be late to work, so you couldn’t linger. 

You grasped Clark’s hand as you walked to the subway station, and stood next to him as the train moved between stops. When he got off on fifth street, you waved until you couldn’t see him anymore, and texted him puns while you continued on your way to work. 

~~

Work (like always) was a little stressful. Lab days are filled with precise measurements and double –no, triple– checking your work. By the time you left (early, thank goodness), your feet were tired, and above all, you missed your boyfriend. Clark’s newest piece (a front page article! On Superman!) was due this weekend, so he’d been staying at the office late most nights, typing and retyping sentences until they blurred on the screen in front of him. You could almost picture it now, his glasses slipping down his nose as he pored through the notes he had taken for civilian testimony on his desk. Most nights, he came home late and fell asleep quickly, snoring with an arm draped over your midsection haphazardly. 

You missed him enough to bring him dinner. The takeout bags with their glaring red letters shone in the streetlights as you made your way to the Daily Planet, dodging tourists and locals alike. The Planet was always a little chilly, and you could feel your skin break out in gooseflesh as you stepped over the threshold, making a beeline to Clark’s floor. 

Clark (as you’d suspected) was leafing through heaps of paper when you walked in, but the moment you took a step towards his desk, his head bolted up. “Baby!” he mouthed excitedly, standing up to greet you from across the room. 

“Hey handsome! I brought you some Chinese –sesame chicken and rice–” you motioned to the bag as he set it down amongst his papers. “And I brought you some company!” You did a little twirl for him, then sat down in the chair next to him. 

“Honey, you would not believe how happy I am to see you right now,” he spoke between fast bites of food. “I know it's nothing like doing your lab stuff all day, but gosh am I tired of writing!” 

“I can second that, Clark.” You jumped a little at the voice behind you, turning in your chair to meet eyes with a beautiful woman. Her long dark hair shone in the fluorescents, and her bright blue eyes glimmered with unspoken laughter at Clark’s expense. She looked, honestly, like a goddess. Her mouth parted, revealing perfect teeth, and she gestured to you, “Who do we have here?” 

Clark grinned, and you stood up to shake her hand. “Hi! I’m Clark’s girlfriend! It’s nice to meet you!” As lovely as she seemed to be (she even had a beautiful name, Lois), you couldn’t help but feel self-doubt gnaw at the inside of your stomach while she and Clark chatted. His face was positively radiant as he spoke with her, and she understood those journalist terms that Clark would throw out in a conversation and later have to explain to you. 

She looked like someone who only wore underwear in neutral colors. 

She looked like someone put together. 

She looked hot, not ‘cute’.

She looked like someone who would look good dating Clark. 

~~

You had never doubted Clark’s devotion to you. He was as steadfast in his love as he was in his role as Superman. He always put you first and always made sure you knew you were treasured. But something in you shrank away at the light that Lois seemed to radiate. So you quickly grabbed your purse, kissed Clark on the forehead, and headed home.

The subway ride was lonely. You stood next to a man who tried to grab your boob twice. You walked silently from the station, and unlocked the keys to your apartment alone, trying to rid any thoughts of the goddess-like coworker that Clark got along well with. You kicked your shoes off, and one landed significantly further away from the other –something that usually bothered you, and made Clark laugh when you would huff about uneven shoe placement– and didn’t bother to fix them as you flopped face first on the bed. You felt ugly. You felt like the stupid anglerfish. 

You’d spent a lot of time, being naive and swimming towards Clark, that you didn’t realize how you’d look next to one of his coworkers, you were a mottled anglerfish swimming next to Lois’ beautiful angelfish. Your phone buzzed twice, but you ignored it in favor of putting on that radiohead song (Let Down) and putting the device on do not disturb.

The song had looped about six times before you heard Clark come home. You could see out of the corner of your damp eyes, him taking his shoes off, lining them up next to yours, placing yours together, and dropping his bag on the counter. He moved out of sight of your doorway, probably putting his coat up. 

“Baby? You home?” he called out, his question met with a muffled grunt into the pillow.

His tall frame appeared in the door frame, one hand holding on to the top of it. “Is something wrong?” 

Confusion and a hint of pity laced his voice, but you only turned your head further into his pillow, muttering out a “..no..” 

“Honey, obviously something is up,” he sat down next to you, a hand weaving its way through your hair. “Talk to me,” He pleaded.

“It’s silly, Clark, don’t worry about me.”

“You’re my girlfriend, any time you’re not the happiest person I know worries me!”

You sighed, then flipped over, sitting up while he pulled your feet into his lap, rubbing at your socked ankles. Your socks had little NASA logos on them, and you couldn’t help but think bitterly that Lois probably only wore white socks. 

“It’s just… Do you– Do you ever find me… Not serious enough for you? Not pretty enough? Too–” your voice broke, and you whispered “too childish?” 

Clark’s pain at the question was marked in the crease between his eyebrows when he took his glasses off and set them down on the nightstand. It was marked in the way his body moved protectively towards yours, like he was trying to shield you from the self-doubt. It was marked in the way his hands released your ankles and pulled you towards him, into his arms. “Please–” his voice was pained, like it hurt him to even think about what you had asked. “Please tell me what I have done for you to have possibly received that impression,” his hand shook a little as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “And tell me,” he murmured, deep and sorrowful, “what I can do to fix it.” You shook your head against his chest.

“It’s not something you did, it’s just… Lois is so beautiful, and so well-mannered and polite and quiet,” his frown deepened, mouth open to object, but you cut him off. “And you are like, the most perfect person ever, and seeing her talk with you, and the way she put her hand on your shoulder, and how nice and pleasant she was just makes me wonder, why would you have me when you could have her?” Quieter, you sniffled into his ear, “I bet her underwear is only in neutrals.” before letting out a particularly choked sob and nestling your face back into his neck.

You might as well have punched Clark, judging by the face he made. “Lois?!” 

“Darling, Lois has nothing on you.” He soothed, “every morning, I wake up next to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I take a minute to wonder how I could have possibly been blessed with being able to be with you.” His hands curled around your shoulders, pushing you back a little to look into your eyes. “Every morning, I watch you coordinate your socks and underwear in fun patterns, and I think about all the ways I love you. Every morning, you tell me about a new article you’ve read, or a video you saw, or what gossip Ruth from work told you yesterday, and I can’t help but think about how I want to be there to get ready for work with you every day for the rest of my life.” He smiles, eyes glassy with unshed emotion. 

“I love that sometimes your voice carries louder than the rest of the room, and everyone else gets to hear a snippet of whatever you’re saying and know that we are having a better conversation than anyone else is. And I love when you send me pickup lines formatted in the periodic table elements. And I love when you come home and huff about your day but I can still tell that no matter how busy work was, you wouldn’t trade your job for the world. I love that you have granola bars in your purse for the hungry people we pass on the way to the train station, and I love that I get to brag to all of my coworkers about you because I know good and well that Jimmy and Lois can’t find what we have because you’re taken. And above all, I love you.”

Clark’s chest heaved with the words he had left unsaid, words like ‘I want to grow old with you,’ and ‘Marry me.’ but you nodded nonetheless. 

“And,” he whispered, “I do not give a single care as to what color Lois’ underwear is.” 

You laughed, small and watery, and gripped him tighter, feeling the post-tears exhaustion pull at your eyelids. 

“And baby?” He spoke into your hair as the two of you laid down, “if you were the sun, I would spend all of my anglerfish life swimming towards you, too.”

[ekingston]

Every now and then do you still think about You, Me and Holiday Wine or Liar Liar Kara and Lena and where they are now? Or is that just me hehe

i think about them all the time anon! and i realized i pretty much always imagine them in a similar situation like The Shape of Soup’s final image: comfy and cozy at the end of a day likely spent hanging out with fond friends, eating good food and having sensational sex—all of them bookended by the most terrible puns known to man, of course 😌

(black & white version under the cut)

[inkedinshadows]

And Soon They Were Three

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

Summary: You're waiting for Cassian to come back home and give him news that will change your lives.

Warnings: fluff

Word count: 1.5k

Main masterlist | Week Masterlist | Cassian Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

You were fidgety, unable to keep your hands still for more than a minute. If you sat down and tried to calm yourself, all it took was a quiet sound—a leaking faucet, a bird singing outside, hurried steps on the street—and you were up and on the move again. Every noise made you think Cassian was about to open the door and walk in, even though you knew it wasn't him.

He'd told you the night before that he would leave early and come back late. He was already gone when you woke up, but a blueberry muffin was waiting for you on the kitchen table, like every time he had to leave before you got up. He still refused to tell you where he got them from.

But that morning, the usual delicious fragrance made you race to the bathroom before you could even step into the kitchen. Fortunately, it passed quickly, and you dared to attempt a bite, only to devour the muffin once you realized you felt fine. It was your favorite flavor, after all.

The day went by quickly, yet not quickly enough. You had an appointment with Madja in the morning, and since then, you had been counting down the minutes until Cassian's return.

You cleaned the whole house, but it wasn't enough to dim your excitement. You tried to read, but you couldn't focus on the words and had to reread the same page four times before you gave up and opted for a stroll along the Sidra. It didn't help much, though, and you spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between pacing aimlessly and sitting for only a few seconds at a time until you decided you might as well start making dinner.

Right at that moment, you heard the click of a key turning in the lock and the front door opened.

“Sweetheart, I'm…”

You didn't give Cassian time to even finish the sentence before you raced out of the kitchen and straight into his arms.

“...home,” he finished with a chuckle as he hugged you back. He kissed the top of your head. “Hello, sweetheart. Did I miss something? Or are you just really happy to see me?”

You pulled back, a large smile plastered on your face. “I have to tell you something.”

Cassian lifted his brows. He took in your expression and the excitement that seemed to radiate off you in waves.

“Well,” he said with his usual confident, charming smile, “at least I know it's good news.”

At your enthusiastic nod, he gave you a questioning look. “Are you going to tell me or…?”

He left the question hanging, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to the couch. “I think you'll want to sit down for this.”

You could sense his growing curiosity as he sat on the edge of the couch.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “So what is it?”

You stood in front of him, and suddenly, all the ways you had planned to give him the news were gone, completely forgotten, as you blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”

Cassian stared at you for a moment, then his eyes slowly widened. “Wait, what?”

You had thought of different puns and jokes to tell him and let him figure it out on his own, but it was too late now. You only nodded and repeated it, a wide grin on your face. “I’m pregnant, Cass.”

His shocked expression was soon replaced by a huge smile, as if hearing it again was all he needed to truly understand what you were saying, to be sure that you weren’t just messing with him.

He lunged forward, almost tackling you to the ground in the process of wrapping his arms around you and spinning you around. His boisterous laugh rang loud in your ears, but you could only laugh with him.

“I’m going to be a father!” He peppered your face with kisses, his stubble tickling your skin. “Can you believe it, sweetheart? We’re going to be parents!”

You were about to answer that no, you couldn’t believe it. Madja had confirmed it that morning, and though you had been—and still were—overjoyed, it still didn’t feel real. After all the time spent trying, it was finally happening.

But Cassian's excitement had reached a whole new level. He didn't give you time to respond as he set you back on your feet—your head slightly dizzy—and a moment later, he was at the window. He yanked it open and leaned out, his wings folded but still as wide as the frame.

“I'm going to be a father!” he shouted to the world outside. “My mate's pregnant! We're going to be parents!”

“Cass…” you chuckled, eyes soft and heart full as you watched your mate shout his joy to anyone passing by.

“What?” He turned back to you and in just two long strides, he was at your side again. He cupped your face and pressed a loud kiss to your lips before pulling you into his arms. “Oh, this is wonderful! Parents, sweetheart. Can you believe it?”

You covered the broad hand he’d placed over your still-flat stomach with yours.

A baby. There was a baby slowly growing inside you right as you stood there—one you and Cassian had created, one you had wished and waited for, for so long. And now, in just a few months, the wait would be over, and you would finally be able to hold your baby. Your child.

The more you repeated it in your head, the more it began to feel real.

“Barely,” you finally answered. You looked up at him, meeting his loving gaze as you both smiled. “I’ve never seen you this happy, my love.”

He seemed to almost vibrate with joy, and he was more beautiful than ever. Your mate, your love—and soon, the father of your child.

“Of course I am,” he replied instantly. “We’ve wanted a child for so long, and now the Mother has blessed us with one.”

Taking a step back, he knelt in front of you. His hands settled on your hips, and he leaned in close, lips brushing against your shirt.

“Do you know that, little one?” he murmured. “We can't wait for you to arrive.”

Your heart was so full of love for the male in front of you that it felt like it might burst. There couldn't possibly be enough space in your chest, or in your whole body, to contain all of it.

“Cass…” you said quietly. You buried your fingers in his hair, gently stroking it as tears welled in your eyes. “I don't think the baby can hear you yet.”

Cassian shrugged. “I don't care. I want them to know that they are already loved.”

His mouth was so close to your shirt that you could feel his warm breath through the thin fabric as he added, “You hear that? Mama and Dada already love you, little one.”

He lifted the hem of your shirt, just enough to press a kiss to your bare stomach before rising again. His grin faltered when he noticed the tears now rolling down your cheeks, but you smiled at him.

You looped your arms around him and leaned up to kiss him. It was gentle, tender, an attempt to show him just how much he and this moment meant to you, though you knew no words or gesture could ever be enough.

“I love you,” you murmured when you pulled back and rested your head on his chest. “You're going to be a great father.”

His arms wrapped around you, squeezing you against him. You felt his lips press to your temple, then your hair.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered as he tucked you under his chin. “And I'll try. I'll try to be the best father I can for our child. I promise.”

You wanted to tell him that he didn't need to promise anything, that he didn't even need to try. He was already so good with children. He'd be even better with his own.

But the words slipped away.

All you could do was breathe in the moment and let the realization slowly settle.

You were pregnant. You were going to have a baby. You were about to have the family you and Cassian had always dreamed of.

You'd have to tell your families, you knew that. And the next months wouldn't be perfect or easy. But for now, you could just enjoy the beginning of this journey with the person you loved the most.

You snuggled closer to Cassian, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent—the one you had come to associate not just with him, but with home. He held you tighter, his heartbeat a steady, soothing rhythm against your ear.

The two of you stood in the middle of the living room—a home that would soon be filled with even more love.

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

[sitepathos]

What if (Reader) just kills themselves? Or just find him dead somewhere

Does the Batfam care about him at all or just hate him completely?

Cause I'm slowly wanting to beat all of them up

I imagine then finding him dead or at least near death, instead of calling for Bruce, he calls for Alfred

And (reader) is literally batshit pun intended scared of everyone cause of trauma except for butler

I think if the Batfamily were to discover Reader dead, his body long since gone cold, it would be a slap in the face for all of them. For years, they’ve known that you exist, but couldn’t be bothered to really get to know you. Since you aren’t a vigilante and lack the capability to be trained and with all oof them having their own lives, they didn’t see the point in talking to you. Now, seeing their forgotten brother and son a corpse, they feel like shit. At your funeral, they try to talk about all the good times, but it’s only then do they realize most of them have never had a conversation with you, or even spent time with you.

And to top it all off, Alfred is PISSED at them. Sure, the butler’s expressed disappointment in all of them at some point (mostly over not properly caring for themselves), but this is different. He was just talking to you on that dreadful day and after not hearing from you for over 24 hours, he finds out that you’re dead and phone records show that the kidnappers tried to arrange a ransom, but not only do they not notice you missing, but they antagonize the man, no doubt leading to you paying the price.

He locks himself away in his room and no one tries to talk to him. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to hear from any of them. Inside his room, he’s quietly weeping, begging for your forgiveness. Had he known you’d meet with such a fate, he never would’ve left Gotham. Hell, he probably would’ve kept you in the manor, pulling you out of Gotham Academy and homeschooled you himself. Out of everyone in the family, you were the only normal one (the bar for “normal” in the Wayne Family is exceedingly low) and he treasured that more than anything. He knew you hated living at the manor, but he had hoped that he could convince you to at least stay in Gotham while he tried to get your father and siblings to notice you.

And now, you’ll never leave Gotham, buried in the Wayne Family Cemetery. Perhaps he should’ve let you leave when you turned eighteen. Sure, you’d be on the opposite side of the country, but at least you’d be alive.

Now, let’s say you decided to give your kidnappers Alfred’s number. The moment he’s told you’ve been kidnapped, he’s packing his bags and heading back to Gotham. He’s former Special Operations, so he no doubt has a few favors he can call in and in this case, he’s requesting the fastest plane available and flying it at top speed to Gotham. He arranges your ransom, over a million from Bruce’s personal account (Bruce has Alfred on all his bank accounts for safety reasons, but this is the first time he’s ever had to use it) and while he’s taking off at top speed, he’s on the phone with Bruce.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in the middle of a fight, Alfred knows how to make Bruce’s comm come on and the moment the line is open, he’s tearing the man a new one. Bruce isn’t able to say a word because his butler/father figure is spitting out 200 insults and threats a second. The last thing he says is: “I’ve arranged for the kidnappers to drop Master Y/N at the fairgrounds. I will be back within the hour and if he’s not back at the manor upon my return, you will not like what happens next. And god help you if a single hair of his is out of place.”

It’s been years since Bruce has known true fear (probably when he was rushing to save Jason and seeing the warehouse explode), but right now, he’s absolutely afraid of what will happen if he fails to bring you home. He rushes to the fairgrounds and sees you tied to some pole and blindfolded and he feels a world of guilt hit him in the gut.

You are his firstborn son and here you are, traumatized from some thugs. And if he didn’t feel like a piece of shit before, he really does when you tell him you not only knew he’s Batman, but that you were surprised that he’d be the one to save you. He actually sheds a few tears upon hearing that. He picks you up and refuses to let you go until you’re back home.

Things at Wayne Manor take a 180. When Bruce sees that you’ve been staying in a small guest room on the other side for the manor, he moves you to a room next to his; you’re not able to go anywhere, even within the house, without at least two of them following you; and they actually start treating you with decency, patting you on the head/back, greeting you in passing, having conversations with you, etc. They all feel guilty over their behavior towards you for over 10 years and try to make it up to you.

When Alfred tells them that you have plans to move back to Goodsprings, they beg you to stay in Gotham, Bruce even offering to put you up in a luxury apartment if you don’t want to stay in the manor. Just be prepared for them to visit at all hours everyday, even stoping by during their patrols.

[futurewdclandonorris]

Friends Don't | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: you go out to celebrate George's home race win, not even imagining what the night will bring

Warnings: smut, drunk driving, unprotected sex

A/N: you will maybe have to necessarily read part 1 and part 2 hehe. For the sake of the plot, we'll pretend some things already happened. I've spent the whole week writing this and only got it to all click together from the third attempt. Third time's a charm, right? But at least had a blast while editing, which is a rarity. I actually enjoy writing these 'chapters' and building this world sm <3

Sundays were a day for rest and relaxation. A day for sitting down with a good book and a cup of coffee. A day for cuddling up with a loved one and watching a movie. A day for taking some time for yourself; a day to reflect and recharge.

That was, of course, unless your best friend was George Russell. And that your Sundays didn't consist of spending most weekends a year at different race tracks around the world. Not all of them, but you tried to be there for him at least once or twice a month, as much as the opportunity allowed.

That afternoon, George took the checkered flag in Silverstone in P1 and now you were in your room, preparing for tonight's celebration. The victory party was going to be wild, and you knew it. You had seen how George celebrated previous wins, and tonight was going to be no different. Especially because it was his home race.

You took a deep breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. You had dressed to impress, wearing a sparkly blue dress that fit you perfectly. Finishing your look with a pair of strappy heels and a silver necklace, you couldn't help but think about how previous events with George brought you even closer together.

Your friendship kind of became more... intimate. No pun intended. Guess you were both afraid not to lose each other over the past experiences, and that deepened your bond whether either of you wanted to admit or not. Now your only fear was that your closeness wouldn't tear you apart.

A soft knock pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned around to see George standing at the door with a sheepish grin on his face. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his hair tousled in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said, his voice low and husky. "Ready to party?"

Never before have you paid any mind to the nicknames he called you, but now a thrill ran down your spine. The way he looked at you made you feel like the only person in the world.

"I am," you said, smiling at him.

As you stepped out of the door, George took your hand in his and led you to the car waiting outside. The drive to the club was short, but the anticipation was high. The party was in full swing when you arrived; loud music, flashing lights, and the smell of alcohol filled the air.

George led you to the VIP section where his friends and family were already celebrating. You saw his siblings and a few of his close racing buddies. You could hear their loud cheering as they saw George walk in with you and feel the envious glares of the other women in the room.

George handed you a glass of champagne and raised his own in a toast. "To the best damn team in the world," he said, looking at you and his friends.

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses together. You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, feeling it go down smoothly. The night was young, and the energy in the room was electric.

The party kept going on as the night deepened, and the noise of the songs blasted through the room. Glasses were filled up with drinks constantly, making it more of an effort to ignore the effects of the booze. You found yourself on the dance floor, surrounded by George and his friends. The bass of the music throbbed in your chest, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm.

Throughout the night, each person had a chance to take their turn with you on the dance floor, and eventually you were spinning around in George's arms. The heat of the club mixed with the buzz of the alcohol made your skin flush against his. You could feel his muscles flexing as he twirled you around, his hand firmly holding onto yours. The closer you danced, the more the tension between you grew.

For a moment, you forgot where you were and who was watching. You moved on him like it was just the two of you in the world, your hands moving over his body like never before, and hips swaying in perfect synchronicity. You were so close to him that you could feel his breath on your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your senses. You felt yourself getting lost in him, and something stirred inside you.

And it seemed like George caught up on your odd behavior as the song faded away. He grabbed your arm and started leading you away from the dance floor until you reached a quiet corner. But your drunken mind wasn't understanding his intentions.

You threw yourself onto him and he had to secure your hips with his hands to stop you from slipping. You let out a hazy chuckle as you started grinding against him once more before he pushed you back against the wall.

"Stop it, that's not why I brought you here."

But you didn't listen. You pulled yourself even closer, letting your lips brush against his neck. "Then why did you bring me here?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, your breath tickling his skin. "The drinks have gone to your head. I brought you here to take a break and cool off a little." he avoided telling you that you were drunk and not acting like yourself, afraid to provoke any unnecessary argument between you two.

Still, you weren't paying any attention. You were too inebriated to realize that your behavior was a little out of character, and you certainly weren't considering the consequences of your actions. You clasped your hands around his shoulders and pressed yourself against him again.

George tried to keep a respectable distance between you, pushing his hip backwards as you pushed yours forward, fighting the urge to get too close. That got you into an interesting position; you were leaning against the wall in between his arms with your shoulders as he leaned into you with his upper body. Your hand naughtily ran down his side, poking him. You knew you probably shouldn't touch him, but you couldn't stop yourself. His muscles strained as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're getting awfully close to me," he murmured, unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. His fingers slowly slid from their grip on the wall.

"Then don't push me away," you said back.

His face was just inches away now, and your lips unconsciously moved closer. The atmosphere between you two was thick with anticipation, a feeling that you currently relished in. Your lips were only a breath away from his when he spoke.

"We can't." his eyes locked with yours.

"Why?" you asked breathily.

"Because we're best friends." his voice was barely a whisper.

He hoped the reason he gave you would remind you of everything you asked from him that first time. But he didn't tell you that he feared you'd regret it when you sobered up, and that it would be his fault for not stopping it.

"And?" in the state that you were, did he really think that would stop you? He couldn't have been more wrong. You wanted to push him to feel something. Anything. "Best friends can do a lot of things." you smirked.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes still on yours. "No, they can't." he gritted, shaking his head.

"You're right." you said, the alcohol clouding your judgment. "They can't do this." and your hips finally met his.

He swallowed hard, trying to stay level headed. "What am I going to do with you?" he said in desperation, his hands pressed flat on the wall behind you, trying their best not to touch you as they dangerously started slipping down.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your palms as you glided them down his torso. "Remember how you said you can read my body language?"

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding his head.

"What is it telling you now?" you whispered against his lips.

"It's telling me we're going to be in big trouble if you don't stop this," he replied. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now."

"Then don't fight it. Show me." you murmured.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. Your arms snaked around his neck and fingers twined through the hair at its nape, pulling him closer. You couldn't believe that you had done all those other things, but never kissed. And when ultimately his mouth closed on yours, it was like finally locating the elusive jigsaw piece on a seemingly ordinary Tuesday while tidying up your home that you thought had been lost forever. It made you almost not want to kiss anyone else ever again — almost, because deep down you knew you shouldn't have been doing this in the first place.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as his head tilted to get a better angle. The kiss was soft, tentative, like both of you were very aware of what might happen. You pressed your mouth against his more firmly, tasting him. Parting your lips slightly, you felt the silky wetness of his tongue on yours. You bit his lower lip, letting out a deep moan when he groaned in response, hands that were in his hair tugging on the strands slightly. He groaned into your mouth again, pulling you even closer against him. You had no idea how long you were kissing, but it was definitely not enough.

The kiss broke, and you leaned your face against his neck, panting heavily. He glanced down at you, his lips so close to yours that if you had merely lifted your head, they'd be touching again. The warmth emanating from your body made him want to do things he knew he shouldn’t. He placed his forehead against yours, trying desperately to get control of himself.

"We should get back." he said between breaths. Your head was spinning from the alcohol and his scent and the magical kiss, it took you a moment to realize you were no longer kissing him. You opened your eyes and met with him.

"We should, before they realize we're missing." you nodded. He frowned, but his eyes were smiling. He was relieved, but he was also worried for you and what tomorrow might bring when you sobered up.

"Lets go," he said, turning around, but kept an arm around your waist so as to not let you get lost. You looped one arm around his neck, holding onto his shoulder, and gently hit his other shoulder with your head.

The night was still young and the party was still going. Music was playing, people were dancing, and laughter filled the room. Your friends cheered when they saw you two come in together, but neither of you paid any attention to them; all that mattered was that you were here, with him. Guys grabbed drinks for the both of you from different parts of the room and put it in your hands.

You found a spot on the couch and George sat next to you, his arm around your waist protectively. The conversations flowed easily between you two, and soon enough you both forgot what had happened earlier as you joined the rest of the group in drinking, singing along with music and laughing.

He later found you on the dance floor swaying around completely out of rhythm with a drink in your hand. Your face lit up when you saw him.

"There you are, my champion." you leaned into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

"I won the race, not the championship.” he chuckled.

“Mm, don’t care. To me you are the champion.” you slurred, pouting.

“Hey, is everything alright?" he asked, supporting you.

"Mmhmm." you mumbled. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." you could hear the frown on his face. "You're drunk." he spat as he attempted to take away the half empty glass from your grasp.

"I'm not." you said, feeling yourself lose your balance a little as you swayed back and forth. He put his arm around you to help you balance.

"Yes, you are. I should've taken you home the first time around." he sighed, somehow not surprised you managed to get even drunker. You were both intoxicated for that matter, it's just that George knew how to hold his liquor. And he looked to never go over his limit in case something like this happened.

"No." you tried to pull away from him.

"I'm taking you home." he tightened his grip around you, leading you out of the party. You mumbled something in response, not quite sure what you were saying.

He helped you into his car and buckled your seat belt for you, before getting in himself. He drove slowly, carefully navigating the roads while you were almost passed out in his passenger seat. Every now and then he'd take a hand off the wheel to reach over and brush your hair away from your face or wipe away a stray tear from your cheek if one escaped your eye. As he turned into your street and parked the car, your eyes fluttered open.

"Um, could you walk me to the door?" you asked.

"I was planning on it," he said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Both of your arms wrapped around his left one, holding on for support, as he walked you to your apartment. Your little nap helped clear the haze from your head, but you were still tipsy. When you reached the entrance of your flat, you propped yourself against the door and blinked up at him.

"Do you want to come inside?" inviting your best friend into your home have never before seemed more dangerous and George should've known better than to say yes.

"Do you want anything to drink?" you asked to break an awkward silence that fell among you the moment he shut the door.

Before even waiting for his answer, you made your way towards the kitchen, but he extended his arm and grabbed your waist, preventing you from moving further.

"I think we both had enough to drink tonight," he said.

"Then what do you want to do?" you whispered.

"I want to claim my prize." he must have had a few more drinks than usual at the club to summon up the courage for that sentiment.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the alcohol still fogging your mind but not enough to miss the implication of his words. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. His hand still rested on your waist, his fingers tracing small circles over the fabric of your dress.

"Is that what I am, a prize?"

"No, no." he said quickly, his eyes softening. "You're so much more than that, you know that." his hand cupped the side of your face. "When I saw you looking up at me on the podium today, I realized I couldn't have done it without you. You were the one who had been cheering me on from the sidelines all this time. You've been there for me when no one else was." he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You've been my lucky charm all these years and I want to show you how much you mean to me."

The way he was looking at you made your chest heave with a mixture of emotions. You were both under the influence, and you knew this was not the best time to make decisions, but you couldn't resist him. You leaned in and attached your lips together again, only this time with more passion, more desire. You could feel his hands running through your hair as he kissed you back, his tongue playing with yours, his body pressing against yours.

He pulled away, looking at you with a hunger you had never seen before. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to say anything. His lips crashed onto yours, hungrily claiming your mouth as his own. Your body responded to his touch, your hands roaming over his chest and tangling in his hair. He lifted you up, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.

He laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours. Climbing on top of you, his lips trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone. You moaned softly, your hands gripping tightly onto his muscular back. He pulled his lips away from you, looking into your eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

You nodded, reaching up and pulling him back down. He gently kissed you again and you responded in kind, but he pulled away again.

"I'll stop if you tell me to." he whispered. "I don't want to do this unless you want to." 

"I want to." you murmured. The alcohol may have distorted your judgment, but it surely helped your courage.

"Are you sure?" he asked a third time. You laughed softly, trying to push him off. He had you pinned to the mattress, still pressing you down.

"Yes, I'm sure." you said, no longer laughing.

That was all he needed to hear. He kissed you hard, his fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of your dress. He ran his hands underneath, gently resting them on your ribs, and pulled your dress upwards. You lifted your hands above your head, freeing him of the task of removing your dress as you squiggled out of it and freed yourself from the restriction that was your dress.

He kissed you again, letting his hands run over your bare skin. His lips kissed down your throat and chest, his hands undoing your bra. He pulled it away and tossed it aside, taking in the sight of you.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said. You blushed, and he smiled. His lips traveled down your leg, gently caressing the outside of your thigh. "But I'm a little jealous, you know?" his lips traveled back up, his tongue tracing over the slope of your breast and hands kneading them softly. "You got to taste me, and I..."

He kissed his way down your body, his hands going over every inch of exposed skin, reminding you how skillfully he handled you that very first time. He reached your inner thigh and slid his hand underneath your underwear. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his fingers brush against you before a long finger slid inside you. You moaned loudly, spreading your legs apart for him. He smiled against your neck, his teeth taking in your skin, his tongue leaving a trail of fire behind.

His finger slowly moved inside you, circling you before sliding in and out. His hand pulled your underwear down, you kicking them off to the side. His mouth moved down your figure, hovering over your breasts. He teased you for a moment, blowing against your nipples before drawing the tip of his tongue over one. He did the same with the other, his fingers never ceasing to move. His kisses continued further down, over your stomach until they reached your mound.

"Can I?" he asked, peeking at you.

"Please..." you tried to hide the shake in your voice.

His tongue slid between your lips, gently licking you. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin. He teased you, his tongue circling your clit before sliding inside you. His tongue flicked over your clit, his hands holding your thighs apart. You spread your legs even wider, your body arching up to him. He leaned in, gently sucking on your clit and you moaned loudly, his tongue moving faster. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against his face.

You were nearing your end, your moans growing louder with every movement of his tongue. You could feel his lips smile against your skin, enjoying the sounds you were making. You cried out, your body tensing as you came, shaking against him. He pulled away, slowly kissing his way up to the top again. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not hurrying you up as you sucked in his bottom lip, squeezing out your own juices.

"Taking that trophy is the second best thing that has ever happened to me." he whispered. He kissed you again, this time with more passion, your hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "The first, of course, being you. You're my greatest reward." he continued as you trailed kisses down his neck, removing the shirt off his shoulders.

"Stop talking, George."

"Sorry," he whispered as he closed his eyes, surrendering above you.

You kissed his chest, your nails raking up and down his sides, feeling his muscles tense. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and could sense the urgency in his touch. His hardness pressed against you, begging to be liberated. You pulled away from him, reaching for his belt buckle and his eyes shot open, hands reaching for yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again. He knew if you go any further there would be no going back and some irreversible things would be done.

"Are you sure?" you asked back, smiling mischievously. "I thought this is what you wanted." your nail dangerously circled around his lower abdomen, causing his breath to hitch with every word he spoke.

"I-I do. I'm just making sure you're not doing it just because I want it." you could tell he was really struggling to hold himself back.

"I think we've already established that..." you whispered against his lips and prompted your body more to his.

"Okay," his hand moved away from yours, and you undid his belt.

His pants fell around his feet and he kicked them off. His boxers were the last thing left, and you reached for them, slowly pulling them down. His hand held the back of your head as he kissed you, his tongue twirling around yours. You moved to pull away but he held on tighter.

His boxers hit the floor and you looked up at him, his hands resting on your frame. Gently taking your hand, he placed it on his dick. You gasped, feeling it grow even more underneath your touch. He pulled away, his lips planting kisses down your neck as his hand guided yours up and down his length. You felt him shiver as you grazed the tip with your nails, his breath hitching. He removed his hand, and your eyes shot open when you felt his tip brush against your entrance.

He teased you, running it up and down your slit. You threw your head back in pleasure, your back arching against him. The more he prolonged what you needed the most, the more your neediness grew. You tried to guide him inside you but he resisted, placing a finger on your lips instead. He dragged it over them before he made you suck on it, his eyes never leaving your face as he blew a stream of air out. Your eyes widened when you felt his head brush against you again, making you gasp audibly, his name falling from your lips.

"Please," you remembered what he told you the first time he had you in his arms like this. "Please, please, please, please, please, please, please..." you chanted over and over again.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. Hearing you beg for him made his head spin again. It was like you'd put him under a spell every time you'd utter that word and he'd not be able to deny you anything. Not that he ever wanted.

He slowly pushed inside of you, stopping at every inch to wait for you to adjust. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he began to move again. He kissed you, your nails digging into his back as he stretched you more. He was so gentle, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. This was not the normal rough, lustful sex. This was the man who loved the sight of you, the sounds of your pleasure. This was the man who wanted to make love to you, to show you what true pleasure was.

Your fingers sank into his back again, and he responded by thrusting into you harder, your moans getting louder. His lips traveled down your chest, his tongue flicking a nipple as he pushed into you again.

"Oh, god." you moaned, George's name falling from your mouth repeatedly. Your hands dug into the sheets as his thrusts grew harder, deeper.

"You feel so good... so damn good," he kissed your skin. "Making me feel like I don't ever want to take anybody else again."

"Don't stop, please, whatever it is that you're doing, please, just don't stop." you cried, twining your legs around him to press him deeper.

He moaned in pleasure when you did, his hands tightening their grip around you. His breathing grew heavier and faster, your bodies reacting to each other. He was so close, and he could feel you held right on the edge.

You cried out his name, your form shuddering under him. He had no intention of stopping, and he continued his movements as you kept shaking, your voice loud enough to wake up the whole apartment complex.

"You, George, only you…" you whispered into his ear as you were coming down.

You felt his whole build shake, his cock pulsing inside of you, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to hear him as he climaxed. You wanted to hear the sounds he made, the sweetest song in the world.

"George… George…" you panted, your breathing coming out in jagged breaths.

He cursed, as his body trembled with pleasure. His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer as he came. You buried your face in his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. He kissed you, holding you close to him. He wanted to stay inside you forever, to feel the sight of your face as he pleased you. You did that to him. You were the one making him see another reality where only he and you existed.

But he pulled away, your eyes searching for his as you slowly came back to reality. He kissed you again, his lips landing on yours.

"That was amazing… you were amazing…" he whispered, stroking your face gently.

"So were you." you said back, playing with the bangs that fell over his forehead.

He rested his head on your chest, finding a comfortable spot, your hands moving into his hair.

"Are you going to stay?" you whispered, uncertain.

"Only if you want me to."

"Always."

He hugged you tightly and rolled over so that you were now on top of him. His fingers softly ran along your back as your body let go and fully relaxed. The peaceful sound of your heartbeats and his breath seemed to take over the room. You drew near to him, feeling the up and down movements of his chest gently rock you to sleep, matters of your friendship left for tomorrow's morning news.

Next part

[dmc-tings]

It’s been a while since I requested anything off tumblr! (Hope I’m doing it right) would you kindly write dating headcanons for Vergil? ❤️❤️

(Looks right to me lmao. Also I felt like this needed a sort of into to the dating, so enjoy)

Dating Headcannons for Vergil

First of all... what did you do to get the Alpha and Omega to notice you?

He doesn't just pick anyone.

Really we think Nero's mom got lucky

It was actually through Lady you and the Blue Devil met

She brought you too the shop

HEART THROB

He just saw you from across the room

Hehe, of course Dante saw the small signs if his big brother's interest

The straighter back, smoothed out shoulders, and you can't forget the lack of him showing off his arms (that vest? Fuckin please. Dude's got arms for days.)

But you clearly weren't impressed.

It took Trish to tell him it wasn't it.

Dante was happy to laugh at his suffering

Vergil promptly stopped peacocking

But... he still didn't know how to approach you

You're... quiet. Observant.

Like himself.

For a while it was just... longful looks from him.

But then (without reason) Dante suggested that you ask Vergil about Demon stuff.

Ah. His magnum opus... of himself anyways

That's when you went over to him finally

"Lemme talk to ya."

Oha? Not so shy then. More cautious

That led to a rabbit hole (No pun) that you fell down

Eventually Vergil let you accompany him to his favorite library... the only one in Redgrave (one could assume he simply just opened a portal to where he wanted)

And you? You took him to little quaint cafe's, or parks that didn't have too many people

Nook and cranny or hole in the wall places that didn't have people staring at him

He adored it

Mostly because he wasn't bothered

But your company, more over the private time with you, allowed him to see you

And he's a hopeless romantic.

So the day he asked you to be his (and only his) you gave him a sweet kiss... on the cheek

Gave ya mans the "butterflies" and he went home red eared

(Here are the relationship stuff)

Vergil... is horribly like a demon. He spent so many years in Hell or under Mundus' brainwashing, he's more devil than human

He... like a giant cat, he leaves dead devils heads or limbs at your doorstep.

You had to SCOLD him for it

He was, unreasonably, pissed. That wasn't good enough?

His "rizzlord" of a brother tried to help

It did not go well

Between the awkward "ayo girl's" or the tragic "Call me Mr Flintstone, cause I can make yo bed rock" (which Vergil didn't even know what the fuck that meant)

You told him "Verge. Stop listening to your brother. Anyone else would have called the police on you."

Dante got a proper beating that day

So Vergil eventually said fuck it and started to read those cheesy romance books

Things turned around then

Flowers. Chocolates. Your favorite foods.

A more normal human relationship

He is chivalrous

Fast to open doors for you, or pull out your chair

And a fast fist to anyone who makes you uncomfortable

He just can tell ok?

A little bit too close to him? Or an avoidant stare?

He's all action. No verbal warning.

YOU noticed the signs of him ready to swing

It's lighting fast. His eye twitches, and a head swivel. When he finds the target you have maybe second to grab him.

You usually are too slow though.

A sickening crack and someone is sleep

And it ain't neither of you

Vergil also likes to cook

Yes. Human food.

Superb sense of taste, he can almost tell you exactly what's in a dish

So asking him for something specific is easy. (I like to think he's kinda like Ignis from FFXV)

Sorry. But intimacy is a challenge to him

He's really like a cat

He'll come to you when he's ready

It's usually slow, heavy and careful steps

Visually cautious

"May I sit with you?"

Of course you don't deny- why did he sit so far away

He's like on the far end of the couch

Give him an hour

He slowly scoots closer

But... there about a 4 inches away from you

He does this so you can choose to close the distance

You usually do.

Hehe red ears.

He doesn't let his face heat up, but his ears. Hims ears always burn up

And then the small cocky grin he gives himself. Satisfaction

With that you basically tell him it's ok to grab you up

In his lap

Mf will fall asleep with you like this

Ah.

No one thought he'd have a safe haven in you

[ririabeam]

𝗕𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

—

I drew this to cope with my birthday depression.

Took 5 months. I also wanted to beat my old manhwa from 5 years ago.

-- Long post ahead! It's my WIPS and thought process. --

Junko is my comfort character as she's the only character I know who hates her birthday.

(Screenshot from Ultimate Talent Development Plan)

I know she’s a villain who has done a lot of bad things, but finding comfort and liking her doesn’t mean I excuse her actions.

A lot of painful feelings went into this, even in Mukuro's perspective so please respect it 🙏🏻

—

- WIPS & Thought Process -

—

Story Script Writing:

A lot of thoughts and feelings went into my script.

-I removed sentences like “For giving me cake!” as I wanted to do more showing than telling.

-“Why do you seem so happy Mukuro?” is changed to “Why are you smiling like that, Mukuro?” as I wanted the sentence to focus more on the thing Ryoko noticed. Mukuro would definitely be happy celebrating Ryoko’s birthday, and the new sentence would help to understand how Ryoko interpreted that Mukuro was more happy than usual.

-“good day” is changed to “great day” for greater emphasis of Ryoko’s happiness.

-A pun is done on “live”, I wanted this sentence to convey the complicated feelings of Junko. She doesn’t want to “live” a “fabricated happy lie” as it goes against her honesty moral. But there’s also a part of her that doesn’t want to kill Ryoko, as she doesn’t want to “leave” this “fabricated happy lie”. She wants to be happy as Ryoko, even if it’s a lie.

This part is a big reference and a reply to Danganronpa Zero.

The background texts are quotes from Danganronpa Zero.

Junko saying “What the hell? Hope?” is a reference to Danganronpa Zero’s ending:

Reading Danganronpa Zero feels like it’s saying something to me: “We are trapped in a loop of despair and hope.” and I’m replying with this part as a “Yes, I agree.”

Junko being confined in her mind is another thing I like about her too. 

I feel the moment we are born, we are trapped, that’s why I ended this comic with “I wish I wasn’t born.”

The moment I’m born, I’m unwanted and worthless, a monster.

I’m trapped in my mind, in other people’s judgements and expectations, and there’s no way out.

I can’t just turn invisible and there’s always something for people to judge and hate. And that hurts when it’s something important to you or you can’t change about yourself.

But even with all the pain, I think of hope to carry on and it’s a loop to fight to live.

I think I make progress with healing but then I’d think wth I’m made to work on this. Cause my life is already scripted from the moment I was born— I’m scripted to have this trauma, this story made my personality and character so in the end I’m still trapped.

So that’s another reason why I find Junko a comforting character and why I feel birthday depression.

I thought of the story first before I thought of the characters who would play it, so I had to make sure it’s in character. 

Things like if Mukuro would say “AU” or “Alternate Universe”. I felt since she spent a lot of time with Junko who knows a lot about these things, she would have heard of this and know the short form term for it. Especially since she had to be Junko at some point.

Since it’s a story about Birthday Depression, my thoughts instantly went to Junko then to Mukuro. It was the perfect story theme to write for them especially cause they are the despair sisters. 

Plus, they are two characters I can feel their struggles and feelings deeply for, so I can write and draw deeply for this story.

Birthdays tend to be happy, and I felt the only kinda right time I can talk about my birthday depression would be on their day.

I felt suffocated and lost myself over the past few years, as I felt I needed to be happy no matter what. When I opened up about sadness and my struggles, people would hate and invalidate me for it. I feel my art reflects that, I don’t like looking back at my old art. It lacked my true feelings, but I feel I’m finding myself again in my Mirai Nikki and Danganronpa art.

For the past few years I tried to celebrate my birthday to try to make myself happy about it but in the long run it didn’t work. I appreciate everyone who celebrated with me all these years still, but now I’m trying to overcome it in another way— facing despair instead of trying to cover it with hope.

I think I’ve learnt a lot about myself and understood myself better through this comic’s process.

Layout Plan:

You can see that things were changed in the final from my layout plan X’D haha

In page 2, Mukuro’s 1st panel is changed so composition is better.

In page 3, after seeing Ryoko as Junko, Mukuro is reaching out her hand instead of placing it on her chest. I wanted it to feel like Mukuro wants to reach out to Ryoko at that moment, like trying to get a wish she knows isn’t real.

In page 5, binary code is replaced with texts from Danganronpa Zero’s story so it reinforces the idea of “a life already fully planned out”.

Lining Process:

I struggled with this part the most as anatomy and poses is not my strong point.

I asked my friend, Setsuya, for help with my poses and redrew the same pose many times for this comic. I really wanted to convey the feelings for this comic right especially since it’s very personal to me. Big thanks to her for helping me so much, I feel I improved a lot from this! 🥺 <3

1st panel of 1st page is the hardest to draw, I’m laughing at my first try of Mukuro who looks like she’s forced to be there 😂:

With suggestions from my friend of how to improve, I tried to improve everyone’s poses:

^ 

Mukuro’s pose was changed to look more fondly at Ryoko, happy to be there and relaxed haha.

Ryoko’s pose was changed to look more delighted and happy about the cake (Which helps to convey the line I removed from my script, “For giving me cake!”)

Matsuda’s pose was changed to look a bit more annoyed about still cares for Ryoko (shown by him still looking at her from the corner of his eyes even though his head is turned away)

And haha I forgot Ryoko’s legs can be seen due to the table frills being transparent, so I had to go back and draw her legs X’D

For this panel, a lot of thoughts went into what things I should place, how they are placed, and what kind of items it should be e.g.

I wanted it to tell the story of what happened before all the characters gathered here, what their feelings are towards each other, and how they are like as individual characters :3

I was thinking Mukuro and Matsuda love Ryoko so much they spoil her by buying a giant cake haha X’D So that’s why there’s a plastic knife instead of a real knife— to show that the cake was bought.

I think they decided not to cook as they would fight about it… (idk if they know how to cook tbh)

I chose strawberry shortcake cause white = purity and red strawberries = blood X’D Kinda like Ryoko-

I was about to draw neatly cut and placed cakes but I think... Ryoko is bad at cutting… X’D so the cakes are lying flat with the cream a bit splattered on their plates.

The table cloth, spoons and plates are all elegant and neat cause Mukuro prepared it for Ryoko :3 I don’t think Matsuda would be able to do that since he seems to not be a tidy person X’D but I do think he probably decided these items and arrangement with Mukuro :3

Here’s a random joke Matsuda + My roughly drawn Promised Neverland manga cover before I squeezed it on to his book haha:

I was going to make Matsuda read Megaman at first like in canon, but I felt making him read “Promised Neverland” was fitting as it helped me bring some foreboding to my happy setting. Like the promise never landed cause I’m going to break my happy promise/premise X’D 

I felt it was fitting too as Matsuda wasn’t met with a good fate like the Promised Neverland children.

Plus I feel Matsuda would like a genre like that, or perhaps he wouldn’t mind anything as he is a laid back character.

This pose was changed so Ryoko would look more reserved and have less of a romantic vibe? Cause the intertwined fingers felt a bit more romantic and off to me, as it wasn’t the vibe I was going for.

Feat. The paper sketch is my friend helping me with anatomy X’)

While writing sentences and drawing for Mukuro’s scenes, I was thinking of experiences I’ve gone through before and the feelings I felt then. 

The way I wished things could be different. I kept having dreams of happy endings I wanted to happen but then I would wake up to the tragic reality and cry.

The way I was suffering on the inside but still held on to this thing I perceived as “Hope” even though it was killing me and could be seen as “Despair” in another POV/or I already knew it was bad for me but it was also my only hope.

Symbolisms for this panel:

Carrying a candle-> holding on to hope/a wish.

Candle not blown out -> Mukuro's wish didn't come true (blowing out a candle means bringing your wish on smoke to the good spirits above to grant your wish) , her hoping leading to despair.

My pose was changed here as it is more natural for the hands to be like that, plus the other hand holding on to the arm greater empathise how Mukuro is holding on strongly to this candle.

The candle is melting and the wax is getting on her hand, burning her. Still, she refuses to let go which empathises how much she needs to hold on to this. Even as she grabs her own hand causing more pain from bleeding, she still needs this “hope.” 

Some colour tests for this panel:

I was considering blue fire because blue fire is stronger than red.... but then if it is a wish of hope, I was considering yellow too... but maybe it would be too happy? 

Mukuro is feeling sad and wishful in this panel. 

I ended up going for blue fire which gives off yellow light for a purposeful contradictory colouring— to show that what is perceived as despair can also be perceived as hope.

^ Some exploration for the poses here so I can figure out which conveys what I wanted to convey the best. I like the poses where Mukuro is reserved happy, Ryoko is more playful(?), Matsuda is more relaxed.

^ Exploration for the Junko slash pose. Ended up just going back to the original pose I had planned for the layout.

I found this super hard to draw as I’m not good at anatomy, drew it quite a few times and deleted as I couldn’t draw it right. In the end, my friend drew that pose reference which helped me get it right in final!

Reasons why I chose the original layout pose in the end:

Strangle pose-> I don't want to strangle Ryoko, not because it’s too violent or graphic or that she's 🥺uwu and I can’t kill her-

I just feel Junko doesn’t completely hate Ryoko... a part of her wants to live a happy life after all

But she can’t, that's why the words "A fabricated happy lie, I don’t want to live this!"

It's a lie and it's against her value (honesty).

Sword slashing pose-> Junko is directly jumping towards and has no hesitation slashing Ryoko. This feels off cause it’s too violent which doesn’t convey the message I want.

Sword is also stronger than knife, which would hurt more.

When I see the knife and how the body is twisted a bit away in the original layout pose, it works better as I can see some control to the slash so it's not full on hatred and anger towards Ryoko.

Random full drawing of this Junko before I cut it off for composition.

I find it easier to get the anatomy right if I draw the full thing and draw through everything.

^ I’m super sad at my failure for this :,) I didn’t intend it to be like that 😭 

It’s too hard for me to draw, so my friend helped me again and I chose a pose and studied her pose and drew the whole pose again:

I chose the 1st pose because the angle of the faces there best shows both character’s facial expressions and the emotions are the most important for this scene.

Plus 3/4 angle is better than the flat side view one as it helps make this scene more dramatic!

My friend helped me with the position of Junko’s tie:

reached max images for this post so,

WIPS continued in another post

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2025: OVERGROWTH by Mira Grant.

Plant-astically delighted to report that I received an ARC via Tor (Nightfire) and Goodreads! I love Seanan McGuire's writing, and my first foray into her work as Mira Grant was INTO THE DROWNING DEEP, which was phenomenal (think all the best parts of Michael Crichton--the Science, the Speculation, the Consequences--but women and queer people are Entire Characters)(we love a good sci-fi horror paced like a thriller in this house).

The premise of OVERGROWTH is basically "the pod people are coming, they've been warning you about it for decades, and no one has been listening." Stasia, our main character and (first person, past tense) narrator, has spent her whole life telling people that she's "the vanguard of an invading species of intelligent alien plants," which is confirmed via a broadcast from space.

And the chapters are time-stamped "X days pre-invasion."

Yeah.

This book was an absolute delight and all around a lot of fun--the tone was the perfect balance of funny and heartfelt and relatable and dread-inducing, and it very much read like a love letter to the genre with lots of cross-pollinated references (Seymour? Little Shop of Horrors? War of the Worlds? Jurassic Park? Hello????).

It was also very much a book about the distinction between being human and being a person, and about alienation and belief and trust and friendship, and about queerness and neurodivergence and belonging. And, y'know, mimetic plant aliens, in myriad shades of green.

I was initially surprised by the choice to tell this story in past tense and first person (because DROWNING DEEP was patently not that, and most of what I've read of McGuire hasn't been either), but it turns out that was The Only Correct Way To Do It: For most of the book, Stasia didn't have the full picture of what was going on, but her partial understanding + our readerly perspective from inside her head carried both the relatability and the horror. It was a really interesting and cool way to do an alien invasion book (from the perspective of the invader's plant)(ahaha, botanical pun). Also, the narrative frame made me pterodactyl Hunter shriek my way through the last two pages, which. OOF. WHAT A RIDE!!! I'll be rotisserie-ing over the late-game twist (page 396/465 in my copy) and the ending for a long time.

I loved that the aliens felt alien and all too much like people; I loved Toni and Hunter; I loved the biology and worldbuilding; I loved the botanical quips ("salad bar" is, in fact, the best possible term of address to an alien invader, no notes); I loved the shady government agencies and unethical experimentation; I loved the "we are the monsters you have made". I stayed up way past my bedtime several times for this, and it was worth every second. Do recommend, check this out in May!!

Half-assed spoilery content warnings under the cut (I'm not good at these because I have a weird concept of what necessitates a warning, so please do NOT consider these complete in any way shape or form):

on-page toddler death (graphic, in prologue, signposted with "look away"); transphobia (toward beloved trans character); spider (alien); bug-adjacent (alien); vampirism/blood drinking; other usual horror/alien invasion type tropes etc. (body horror? do people tag body horror?? i was an animorphs kid i'm sorry i don't know what a normal amount of body horror is but i love it all)

[viceofdionysus]

Silence in the Rain

Jack Abbot x gn!reader WC: 428 After a long shift, all Jack wants is some silence Warnings: None Written for @monthlywritingchallenges Golden Hour Challenge - Day 13 - Shared Silence - ☀️

Rain taps a violent rhythm against the window, thunder rumbles quietly on the other side of the city. Outside, the streets of Pittsburgh are emptier than normal, people fleeing for safety wherever they can. You glance out, biting your lip. Somewhere out there, is your man. If he doesn’t leave the hospital soon, he may have to take a canoe home rather than the subway. Your phone chimes, the sound fighting with the rain for your attention.

“Working late. All this rain has injuries flooding in.”

You laugh at his pun and text him back a thumbs up.

“Well, he’s working late, so what should be do?” You ask the dog curled up in his bed.

Otter lifts his head, looking at you with bright eyes, and barks just once.

You nod, “Yes, of course, that’s a great idea.”

He settles again as you reach for the remote. The TV lights up the living room before shifting to a more muted setting. The couch shifts beneath you, cushioning you as you curl up. You tug the blanket off the back, draping it over you, as Otter looks at you, a considering light in his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it. You have a perfectly good bed all to yourself.”

He chuffs and turns so his back is to you. A moment later, you’re asleep, lulled by the now gentle rain and the soft sounds of the TV.

That’s how he finds you, hours later, when he finally makes it home. He pauses in the doorway, watching you breath for a moment, the pounding headache easing slightly. Otter looks up when he dislodges his backpack, but he goes right back to sleep. His rain-soaked jacket joins his backpack, and then his shoes.

Carefully, he lifts the blanket, slipping underneath. You stir as he wraps around you, tucking his face into your chest. You look down, bleary eyed and not quite awake. At the sight of Jack’s soft grey curls you smile. He nuzzles into you when you run your fingertips through his hair.

There’s a million ways to say I missed you, I love you, but one of Jack’s favorite’s is silence shared. It was a long day at the hospital, too many patients to think about. His stress had culminated in a headache he spent the last several hours fighting. But here with you all of it drifts away, leaving him feeling relaxed for the first time that day.

Otter looks up at his two humans and then lays his head back down, content to share this silence.

[jellyfishsthings]

Nerves and Stolen Kisses

I have been toying with the idea of writing a fic about him for quite sometime and after last weekend I just had to. Estelle ( Ollie's rumoured gf is mentioned here but it is a fake relationship for PR reasons.) Also Paul Aron has a gf... friends to lovers trope.

Shoutout to @httpiastri for the inspiration

navigation

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix was fast approaching. And Ollie was a jumble of nerves and excitement as usual. Since the early hour of the day, he opened the curtains letting the sun into the room and you groaned into the pillow.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. Come on, we have a whole day ahead of us.”

“No, you do. I don't know why I came.”

“Because I am your bestest friend and I paid for your ticket and let you stay with me.”

“Both of which are for your benefit.”

“Come on….”

“Fine.” You say with a dejected sigh as you get up and you both get ready for the day. David, Ollie's dad was already waiting for you and you headed towards the paddock.

Everything was a frenzy and was passing by so quickly. As Ollie got into the garage and got ready for the quali you headed towards the stands trying to find Cassie, Paul's long-term girlfriend. Throughout the years you have formed a unique friendship. She was the only one who knew about your crush on Ollie and she teased you endlessly about it. Ollie and you had been best friends for the better part of your life, joint to the hip, having endless sleepovers, even if Dad didn't approve.

It was an endless nightmare being close enough to get a taste of all the what ifs, but never experiencing them.

“Do you and your lover boy share a room, huh?”

“It's not like that and you know it, Cassandra.”

“Yeah, it hurts, doesn't it?”

“So much. You have no idea. Yesterday I couldn't sleep and as the hours passed, he came closer and closer. He ended up holding me in his sleep. And I felt so bad because of Estelle. I know that they aren't really together and it's for PR, but still, I feel awful because technically I am the other woman… and she is just so nice and sweet. Never overstepping, I think she knows.”

We both stay quiet after that as the session continues.

“You know… whatever the case. You both love each other, platonically or not.”

“Yeah, I know.” I say as I watch the times set by all the drivers, Ollie having the fastest one yet.

“Looks like your man is on pole.”

We both make our way through the paddock, trying to pass the roaring sea of fans and we hand out already-signed autographs to anyone who asks for them. When we finally arrive, we part ways, before making promises about having dinner together at a restaurant Cassie wanted to try. And I head towards the Prema garage finding two beaming Bearmans, hugging.

“Hey Bear. Did you drive fast enough?” You call at him. And he grins like an idiot before swooping you into a tight hug spinning you. His laughter echoes in your ears as he sets you down.

“Yeah I drove fast enough, you minx.”

“Good. Now let's go. We are having dinner with Paul and Cassie in four hours and I want to see the city.”

“Give me five minutes to change and we are good to go.”

The afternoon is spent visiting local stores, trying to communicate in scrappy English and making terrible puns with products or street names. When they finally head to the restaurant their sides hurt from laughing. Dinner passed by as quickly as it came. As everyone says, time flies by when you are with the people you love.

Just as they open the door for their hotel room, Ollie flops in the bed as you head towards your computer and open it as hoards of emails and messages appear on the screen. Great more deadlines and essays to write until the end of the week.

“Leave it. We can pretend that we have nothing to do and watch a movie or local TV and try to understand what the hell is going on.”

“Thanks Bear. But I can't, as tempting as your offer is. Go to sleep, I will join you soon.”

And so you sit in front of your computer, ending essay after essay, sending them on time, until your eyes hurt from the pale blue light. The bed seems more welcoming than ever before as Ollie starfishes the entire length of it and his soft snores fill the empty space. Yeah, maybe it's time to call it a day.

An awful sound echoes in the room and eventually wakes you.

“I swear if it's one more ad I will jump from the window.” You grumble into your pillow as you steal the blankets and turn yourself into a burrito.

Ollie hisses as he opens his phone only to find a ton of messages and many missed calls from Ferrari. He dials Fred back as he moves towards the bathroom, trying to let you steal a few more minutes of much needed sleep.

When he emerges back in the room he sits down in front of you, his back supported on the bed.

“Ols, what's going on?”

“Carlos has an appendix”

“Oh no. Is he having surgery?”

“Yeah.” He says softly. “They want me to replace him.”

“What?” At that you are fully awake. Your hair is a netted nest and you look at him in shock. He looks at you, you his best friend who would look like a mess to anyone else but to him you look like the most beautiful and amazing creature in the world. Your mere presence has a more calming effect on him than anything else. If it weren't for you, he would have already lost his mind. “How? When? I…”

“We need to get to the paddock, if I don't want to miss FP3. I will wake up Dad and break the news to him.”

Soon after you enter the paddock and thousands of reporters try to get a better look at Ollie, flashing their cameras at you and bombarding you with questions as you make your way to the Ferrari garage and mechanics steal Ollie from you and David as they set to work quickly. David looks pale and sick as he paces into the garage trying to control his nerves through the FP3 and the Quali. When Ollie finally got off the car when he scored the 11th place, missing Q2 only by 3 hundreds of a second, you knew that this was it. He was finally shining like the bright star he was. He had done more than enough, his raw talent showing with barely one hour to get used to the car. And as mechanics and reporters closed around him. You couldn't help but feel like you didn't belong here. Where did you fit in? The reality hit you and it hit you hard. You hid in the back corners of the garage, eyes glued to the screen as everyone passed by without acknowledging you. You would happily hide in the shadows where he shined but this world wasn't meant for you. The anxiety was picking up at you, eating you alive from the inside.

And when Ollie got too close to the wall, your heart stopped beating. He was driving a car that was twice as fast and twice as dangerous than his normal F2 car. It was too much. The sound, the danger, everything really. Breathing suddenly seemed so hard and you needed a way out. As you hide behind the garage you call the one person who could understand. Terri picks up in the second ring her soft voice already calming you.

“Hey love. Is everything alright?”

“How do you do it? How can you stand back and do nothing?”

“You love him, don't you sweetheart?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Well … no I always hoped but… whatever the case, to answer your question you simply do it, you just have to. A driver needs his support system and you are it for him. You are his forever person, whether that is romantically or not. He needs to be near you and as much nervous as you are, so is he. Without you he would be lost, believe me I know my son. And I can bet you that as much as your heart breaks right now, you are also immensely proud.”

“Of course I am. But where do I fit in, in this world.”

“Right beside him, love.”

“Thanks Terri. Please call David. I think he is losing his mind and he is sick with worry.” You say chuckling before saying your goodbyes and head back towards the garage. The session is already over and Ollie is nowhere in sight.

Ollie plays with the power button of his phone trying to calm down but to no avail. The lock screen is a photo of the two of you. It was last summer both your skins flushed and hair slightly wet and tangled. You both smile at the camera and your eyes look bright with happiness. He feels slightly lighter but he knows that there is an impending panic attack and so he turns to the one person who could help him in this situation.

"I got your text," you say, tiptoeing inside and shutting the door behind you, careful to not make any loud sounds to scare him. "How are you doing?”

Ollie is sitting on a massaging table, elbows on top of his legs and head resting in his hands. His eyes are stuck on the floor, his silence is defeaning. When he still doesn't answer, your heart rate picks up. Is something really wrong?

You make your way over to him, hands finding his cheeks and softly tilting him up to look at you – and you swear you've never seen him look this wrecked before. Not after his worst crashes, not when he lost the rookie championship last year, not when he was cheated out from the Formula 3 championship. Once again, you've entered completely new territory, and your heart breaks at the sight.

"Ollie, talk to me," you plead, holding back the tears that starts to form on your eyes and threatento spill. It's so painful to look into his eyes, but you can't back down. Not now, not when he needs you this much.

"I'm-" his voice cracks but he shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I'm so nervous, I don't know what to do."

It's like he's oozing anxiety, and his heavy sigh is like a stab in your chest. Ollie, your usually so calm and collected best friend is probably going crazy over this – you know him well enough by now to understand that he's definitely freaking out even more on the inside than what he shows or tells. He is a messy jumble of nerves.

"I get that. One hundred per cent. But.." your thumbs begin to stroke over the skin of his cheeks, along his jaw, and then finally across his eyebrows, to which his eyes flutter closed. "This is your dream. It's been your dream since forever, and now you finally have the chance.”

"And it's not just any car, it's a Ferrari. Do you realize how cool that is? Do you realize how many people would kill for an opportunity like this?" You smile at the sight of him with his eyes still shut, eyelashes resting atop his cheeks, messy fringe covering his forehead. Even like this, at his most stressed state, he's completely gorgeous, not that you would ever tell him that. "You would've killed for an opportunity like this just 24 hours ago."

"But what if I ruin it?" His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, shoulders slumping forward. "What if I go out there and I'm shit, and then they realize what a big mistake they've made by even putting me in the academy? What if-"

"It won't happen." His eyelids slowly open and he looks up at you, seemingly not even the slightest upset that you cut him off. "You're too good to do that. You'll get in that car and it will feel like your second home, just like it always does."

Finally, a small smile makes its way onto his lips. It's only been a few minutes since you came in, but he seems much more relaxed now, leaning into your touch completely. "I'll try my best to make you proud."

“I'm always proud of you, you mufflehead.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest and he stands up from the table, opening his arms wide and pulling you in for a tight hug. His heart is still beating louder than a drum in his chest when your ear is pressed up against it, and you're almost worried it will jump out any second now. But his breaths are much more controlled now, and his mind seems much lighter. And soon enough his heartbeat slows to normal.

“I bet that in twenty four hours not only will you finish the race, you will score points and beat Max Verstappen.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves” he says chuckling. “God, my neck is killing me.”

“Sit down. I've got you.” And so you start massaging his neck. It's stiff and hard under your hands and he lets a small groan as you untangle one of the knots that were quite painful. After a few minutes he is putty in your hands, his eyes closed, trusting you completely and feeling at ease for the first time in the past two days.

True to your world, Ollie crosses the finish line in seventh place, having gained points in his debut. But the one thing that kept him calm through the process was the thought that she was waiting for him in the cool down room. When the race finishes and drives the car back home he jumps from his seat and he can't get fast enough to her. People around him are praising him and congratulating him but they all fall to deaf eyes.

When he finally gets into the room to change into new fireproofs, she is patiently waiting for him. Her eyes are a little misty and her face flushed.

“I told you.”

“I didn't beat Max.”

“Still.”

She closes in on him and her hands are thrown around his neck, he reciprocates the hug immediately as his heart beat finally slows down. They doth draw away after a while only for him to dive back into her and kiss her firmly on the lips. Shock petrifies her and when he stops, he places his forehead on top of hers. He is a flustered mess and he is mumbling apologies, before she reconnects their lips.

For the following hours Ollie sports a shit-eating grin on his face. Everyone thinks that it is because of his amazing performance and not for kissing the girl that held his heart captive since they were five years old.

[g1rld1ary]

overheard that she was nineteen - james potter x reader

wc: 1058

cw: nothing, one swear, reader is sad on their birthday, implied fem!reader but i don't think any pronouns

chat how many aura points do i lose for crying in the literal first 20 minutes of my nineteenth birthday :/ don't think about this fic too hard or you'll see it's more of a diary entry than work of fiction oopsie :')

You weren't feeling very special. To be quite honest, your day had been totally shit. It was your birthday, your nineteenth birthday and everyone had forgotten. Well, that wasn't true exactly, but nobody cared. Your parents had barely said 'happy birthday' when you called them, and only one of your friends had texted you. A sweet message, but still kind of depressing.

You knew it shouldn't have been a big deal, no one cared about nineteen, right? Eighteen was the big birthday and you'd had a good enough day last year, so you weren't really sure why this year had brought you down so much.

Maybe it was just because your love of birthdays was never reciprocated. A person's birthday could be the most exciting day of the year, and you were of the opinion that it should be, if possible. You were the one who showed up with a hand-baked cake on your friend's doorstep, without fail. It was something you enjoyed doing undoubtedly, you spent ages picking out which colour the icing should be and what edible decorations should go on top.

On top of that, you considered your defining talent to be writing cards. It was something you took pride in, penning almost-essays that encapsulated the breadth and depth of your love for your nearest and dearest. Proclamations of never-ending adoration, gratitude for years of friendship, the insides of your heart and soul sitting amongst fresh ink and scribbled hearts. You signed your name with a heart and a flower every time. Plus, you made particular efforts to come up with a creative pun or doodle for the front, just to keep things interesting.

So birthdays were things you held in high regard, and having yours seemingly mean nothing to anyone else was a bit of a mood killer if you were being totally honest. Still, what could you do? You picked yourself up, ate an uninspiring breakfast and went to uni.

You felt more anonymous than usual in class. With the semester having started only a week prior, you were in a sea of new people, none of them having any way of knowing it was your birthday, and you weren't quite at the point where you were begging for well-wishes from people you didn't particularly care about. And so you took notes, put your hand up for the participation grade and dreamed of your own cake and candles.

By the end of the day you were exhausted. The classes were long anyway, but carrying around your own personal grey cloud was taking a toll on your body and mind. It was at the car park when your phone dinged; James.

are you coming over tonight?

please

You smiled a little despite your sour mood. Even if James didn't seem like he was fully aware of your outlook on birthdays, being with him always made you feel better.

It'd already been dark for an hour or so by the time you reached the flat he shared with the boys, the winter weather making the sun disappear at four o'clock. You knocked on his door softly, unable to pluck up the strength to even make your presence easily known. James must've been waiting for you though, since you heard the heavy pad of his feet almost instantaneously.

The sight of him nearly took your breath away, though nothing was out of the ordinary. He was still the same old James, his glasses slightly askew on his nose, but he was looking at you with such softness that you felt the tears spike behind your eyes. You tried to push them down.

"I thought we'd have a bit of an early dinner. I know you won't have eaten at uni." He took your bag, setting it by the entry table softly. You managed to nod, hopefully not giving away all your awful feelings. You tried not to be cut up that he hadn't wished you a happy birthday yet.

All of your melancholy had been for nothing, you realised, when James led you to the dining table. He'd gone the full mile, with a cheesy red tablecloth and single candle as the centrepiece.

"Happy birthday, my love," He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help it, the tears rolling down your cheeks before you even realised. Once they started you had no chance, sobs wracking through your body as James stood beside you, bewildered.

"Is this not okay? Do you not like it?" He fretted as you cried, and you rushed to reassure him.

"I love it, Jamie, promise. It's just," You managed a half laugh through your bout of tears, "I thought no one cared. I can't believe you've done this for me." James' brow furrowed deeper than you'd ever seen it before as he pulled you into a tight hug.

"I would do anything for you, love. I mean it."

Once your tears had subsided you had a lovely dinner, James making you double over with laughter as all thoughts of your previous shit day dissolved under the weight of the homemade pasta sitting in your stomach.

Just before the night died down, James presented you with a small box, wrapped in the most beautiful silky ribbon. You glanced up at him curiously, untying it slowly. Inside was the most beautiful bracelet you'd ever seen. Connected with a heart-shaped clasp and decorated with a single charm, a love letter. You were embarrassed by the tears working their way back up to your lash line, but James looked delighted by the reaction, he lived to make you happy.

"Thank you," You whispered, "I love you."

James didn't have to say it back for you to know, but he did anyway because it made him happy.

Maybe your birthday wasn't the flashy event you might've wanted, however deep down, but you were strangely okay with it. Despite the fact that no one showed up to your door with a hand-baked cake or essay-length card, you had James, and James would've pulled the stars down from the sky if he thought it would boost your mood. That was enough.

[slowdrawl]

Shear Luck | joel miller x f!reader | {18+ minors DNI} [masterlist]

{TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!} |part 4| Wildflowers and Wine | 2.3k words|

Joel Miller, a single dad, came into your salon for a haircut, but he never expected to leave with a crush. Sarah's alive, tension's are high, the jokes are bad and the chemistry is crazy!

Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Puns? ✔️

sprinkle in a little bit of smut 🔥 and dbf!joel energy and BOOM. You got this sweet-feel good fic.

“You bite back a laugh, heat flooding your face. You stand by the front for a minute, feeling a little dumb for moping around all morning thinking he didn’t really give a shit. You should’ve given him more credit—what a softie." |A/N Part 4 of these cuties. I'm thinking we might only see one more chapter for a while after this... unless I get some protest about it. not that I'm planning on wrapping them up forever, but I do want them to live hea and I have a few other fic ideas on the go. xox

Warnings: Mild language, alcohol use, flirting, fluff, puns, age gap (Joel's 38, reader's 23). eventual smut, alcohol use, YEARNING.

An alarm blares on your phone, and you groan yourself awake. You tap the screen and hit snooze. It’s been two days since the party, and the hangover is still lingering, fogging your head. You’re dehydrated, out of it, exhausted. You just lie there with your eyes clamped shut, willing yourself back to sleep. It’s no use. You spend the next fifteen minutes staring up at the ceiling fan, telling yourself you need to wait. You’ve spent the last 48 hours of your life checking your phone every fifteen minutes for something, anything, but—

bzz.

Your heart jumps, and you rip the phone out from under your pillow, tapping in your passcode with frantic fingers.

(8:07 PM) Kim: idk abt cam, hes cool but also lowkey clingy. hows old dude?

Disappointment floods into your chest, hollowing you out. You sigh, and it comes out half-strangled, throat tight with something—anger? Embarrassment? Shame, maybe? You roll yourself out of bed, bare feet hitting the hardwood, dragging yourself to the shower. You crank the handle to the left, letting the water rain over you, practically scalding. It soothes your muscles, but it doesn’t calm the ache.

//

The salon is humming with the sound of your hairdryer, clippers, and quiet conversation. The afternoon sun is shining through the blinds, hitting just low enough in the sky now that it’s blinding your left eye—sending a pang of pain through your skull, still recovering from the long weekend. You’re standing behind your client, Erin, applying her root color. She’s droning on about her daughter’s wrestling match out of town and her overnight shift in the ER clashing. She’s a single mom, three teenage daughters, working doubles just to make ends meet. You’re barely paying attention to what she’s saying, your mind entirely elsewhere, total dissociation. You hum and work, throwing out a “That’s crazy!” every once in a while for good measure.

The front door chimes open, and you hear heavy footsteps come in. You don’t turn, almost afraid to look. You stare forward and slow your hands, waiting for a natural break in conversation, trying not to be rude. The person at the front desk clears their throat. “Excuse me, Miss. I got a delivery for—” Your head whips toward the desk. You don’t remember ordering anything—probably a mistake, wrong address. There’s a man standing at the desk in a brown button-down shirt, “Freytag Floral” embroidered on the chest. He’s holding a bouquet wrapped up in brown kraft paper, a dark green ribbon tied around the stems.

“Uh, for who?” you call out, voice high enough to carry over David’s blowdryer, but it cracks. You slap what’s left of the color on your tint brush to Erin’s head and pause, placing the brush down in the bowl. “One minute, darlin’. Be right back.”

You walk over to the desk, watching the guy fumble with the flowers. He pulls out a little green card and squints as he reads it. “Looks like—you, if I had to guess. You’re the hairdresser?” He looks around the room like he’s deciding if it’s a safe bet to assume or not. He’s right. It’s just you and David today—unless his husband sent them. “Card says ‘Trouble.’ You Trouble?” He raises his eyebrows at you from behind the cardstock. David shuts his dryer off and shoots a smirk your way before going back to styling.

Yup, that would be me.

Nobody has ever sent you flowers before. You’re stuck standing there, wide-eyed and nervous, picking at the skin around your thumbnail and chewing your lower lip. “Oh—okay, do I have to pay—or sign? Anything?” you mumble to him, eyes on your feet.

The delivery guy just smiles and shakes his head at you, placing them down gently on the desk. “Nope, have a good day, Miss. Here ya go.” He turns and leaves the shop—thank God, because that was really fuckin’ awkward.

Erin’s already swung her chair to face you, grinning. “Who’s the admirer—secret or what? Go on, kid, read it!”

You slip off the dye-covered nitrile gloves you’re wearing, throwing them in the trash under the desk, before picking up the arrangement. It’s stunning—wildflowers, daisies, sunflowers, and lavender filling the spaces between. A single red rose sits in the middle; it’s messy and perfect and absolutely you. You stop for a second and wonder if it was Kim who sent them—she knows you well enough to pick out your dream bouquet like that. Maybe an apology for the “use protection” jab or something? You grab the card, fingers brushing against the rough paper, opening it, your heart hammering in your chest.

The envelope does indeed say “Trouble,” handwritten in sloppy, boyish cursive. The inside of the card says, “dinner, my place, tonight, 7. No complainin’, bring the bratty attitude with you.”

Yup—Joel for sure. What a dick. Two days of radio silence and then this stunt?

You bite back a laugh, heat flooding your face. You stand by the front for a minute, feeling a little dumb for moping around all morning thinking he didn’t really give a shit. You should’ve given him more credit—what a softie.

You slot the card back into the flowers and shove them under the desk. You take a deep breath, trying to play it cool, but Erin’s craning her neck, staring like she could read through the envelope with X-ray vision or something. You smile at her and walk back over.

“So, who was it? Spill it.” You can’t hide the smirk curling at your lips. “Just a friend, no big deal.”

She scoffs. “You’re so full of shit! He cute at least?”

Disgustingly, and so is his daughter.

“He’s alright, little rough ’round the edges.” You pick up the color brush and finish applying, glancing at the clock. It’s already 4:30—Erin’s gonna have to sit for half an hour, then another to rinse and finish. You’ll be out by 5:45 after cleanup. You look in the mirror and cringe—it wasn’t hair-wash day, and you’re wearing fucking cargo pants.

You text Kim and pace in the back room while Erin processes.

(3:42 PM) You: Joel sent flowers, dinner tonight at his place. I look like i crawled out of a dumpster. 👍

(3:45 PM) Kim: oh shit, you shave today? or is it like… the amazon rn. 😂

You did not.

You map out your plan of attack as you rush to finish Erin’s hair. You convince her to skip her haircut today, knocking off a good fifteen minutes or so. She heads out the door, but not before giving you a cheeky smirk, saying, “Have fun, be safe!”

You decide to do your hair at work, curling it into soft waves, nearly burning your forehead when your hands start shaking. You grab your purse and a plastic shower cap, practically running out of the shop to your car, flowers tucked under your arm. You’re nervously sweating the entire ride home, checking the clock every few seconds like time’s going to bend and disappear on you.

You rush into the shower, listening to the water hit the plastic on your head,distracting you. You move onto taming the beast, shaving every inch of your body until it’s slick like a hairless cat or something. When you get out, you lather yourself up in a lotion you bought a few weeks ago from the farmers market—it smells like patchouli and rosemary, real hippie shit. You bet yourself five bucks Joel will make some stupid comment about you smelling like a Portland bookstore or someone fresh from Burning Man.

You throw on some mascara and a bit of lip gloss and head to your closet, picking out something comfortable but cute, a black sundress that sits low across your shoulders and hugs you in all the right places. You’re about three minutes from leaving the house when it hits you—fuck, you don’t even know where this guy lives.

(6:45 PM) You: Hey, i tried texting the other guy, he said it wasn’t him who sent the flowers so ur my last guess.

(6:46 PM)  Joel: ha ha ha, very funny. Brat.

(6:46 PM) You: I dont have ur address, cuz im not a stalker like u are. plz send it.

He turns on his location and sends it to you.

Okay—domestic! Weird, but I like it.

(6:48 PM) Joel: there, now cool it with the attitude before i do something ’bout it. Don’t be late.

(6:50 PM) You: shaking in my boots rn. See you in 10 🤠

You do not see him in ten—it’s more like twenty, no surprise at all.

You pull up to his house, parking in the driveway next to his truck. It’s a cute craftsman rancher with a rocking chair on the front porch—very Joel. It’s only a few blocks from your house, the yard overgrown with shrubs. You laugh to yourself, thinking contractor, not a landscaper. You do one more mirror check, then stare down at the flowers in the passenger seat, picking them up as you push open the door. You give yourself a mental pep talk, psyching yourself up to walk to the house. You’ve got fuckin’ butterflies in your stomach like you’re a teenager again.

You knock twice, and he swings the door open like he was standing there already. He’s wearing dark-wash jeans low on his hips, a plain black t-shirt stretched across his chest with a—say it with me—flannel over the top, sleeves rolled up tonight to show off his forearms. The sight alone makes you salivate. His hair’s still damp from the shower, slicked back and off to the side just like you’d do it for him. He smells good too—cologne, no cedar today. He’s smiling at you, dimple flashing like he knows you’re already a goner.

What a slut.

“Well, well, well, look who showed up,” he drawls, leaning against the frame. “Thought you might’ve changed your mind—or chickened out, at least.”

“Me? Chicken out?” You scoff. “You’re the one who ghosted me for two days, remember that?” You grin, shoving the flowers into his chest. “Now you pull this corny bullshit? What’s wrong with you, Miller? What’s your game?”

He takes the bouquet from you, smirking as he steps aside to let you in. “No game. Figured you’d be less of a brat with some food in you, though. C’mon, dinner’s gettin’ cold.”

His house is decorated exactly how you’d imagined it—with mismatched furniture and paintings of woodland creatures here and there. Sarah’s drawings are Scotch-taped to the walls; it’s a little cluttered but in a homey way. You follow him toward the kitchen. It smells like rosemary and something roasted, vegetables, chicken maybe? Joel’s kitchen is airier than the living room, with big windows facing the backyard and an open layout. He grabs a mason jar and uses it as a makeshift vase for the flowers, setting them on the dining table. It’s set already, real proper-like—how fancy.

“Sit. You’re gettin’ the full Miller treatment tonight.”

You plop down, eyeing the spread in front of you—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, a salad, all simple, but it looks pretty damn good.

“This your apology for kissin’ me then actin’ like you fell off the side of the earth?” you ask, grabbing a fork.

“Maybe… drink?” He sits across from you, cracking open a bottle of white wine you can’t pronounce the name of—you’d bet money he can’t either. You don’t respond, but he pours you a glass anyway before going on. “Figured maybe you were busy with that other poor son of a bitch.” He’s trying to keep a straight face but failing. “Or maybe I just wanted to keep you on your toes.”

“You’re an asshole, know that?” you mutter, taking a sip of the wine. It’s cold, cutting through the end of your three-day hangover fog. Dinner is quiet at first—he’s got the radio on low in the kitchen; it’s all forks clinking and birds chirping outside. Then he starts talking, dumb stuff: Sarah’s school projects, work ordeals, a leaky pipe he fixed—and you’re trading jabs, laughing over nothing and everything. It’s domestic, easy…too easy, and you feel that ache from this morning start to fade away.

When your bellies are full and the dishes are cleared, Joel sits back down, folding his arms. “So, still thinkin’ about that other guy?”

You snort, shaking your head at him. “Nah, he didn’t even send me flowers. Think I’ll kick him to the curb.”

“Okay, good. Now c’mon, I got one more thing for ya—surprise.” He stands, grabbing your hand and the bottle of wine, leading you toward the back door. The yard is small and more manicured than the front, with a swing set, patio furniture, a big glass-top table, and green chairs—you know the type. There’s a propane firepit going already, crackling low.

“S’mores round two?” you tease, sitting down in one of the chairs next to the fire.

“Not quite…somethin’ better, I think.” He pulls his guitar out from beside the table, slinging it over his knee, grinning. “You wanted to hear Wonderwall, right?” He starts plucking the strings.

You laugh, real and loud. “Oh my God, no—please tell me you didn’t.”

He’s strumming a few chords now, laughing with you. “Nah, ain’t gonna subject you to that. But I figured you’d like somethin’ anyway.” He starts playing something you don’t recognize, soft and dreamy. His voice rumbles in, gravelly and warm. You lean forward, just watching, smiling like an idiot, hypnotized. You wish you could bottle up this feeling, film this memory, and watch it over and over again. That feeling from the other night comes back into your chest, but it’s lighter now, less “fucked,” less terrified.

He keeps playing for a while, the crickets coming out in full force as darkness settles in. The sky is open wide, the stars so bright, moon so close—like you could pluck her out if you reached up.

I could get used to this.