#punch drunk magic

[clockwayswrites]

Give me situations to put the OG blorbos that I'm supposed to be working with in!

Enthusiastic puppy guy hiding his sever burnout behind a smile. Taken in by his Great Grand Aunt to give him time to find his feet and heal after dropping out of college. Currently helping her run her shop and learning how to be a bodega witch.

Wet cat of a man. Messily divorced from a Very Bad Ex. Runs a plant nursery and lowkey florist shop. Has Issues with magic being used on him.

Not looking for things about their story as much as "puppy in a bar" or "wet cat has a bad customer" etc.

[surielstea]

First Impressions

Pairing: Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rhys is a bumbling buffoon when it comes to meeting his mate for the first time.

Warnings: awkward tension, reader lives in the hewn city

A.Note: not totally proud of this one since it’s hard for me to write first meeting stories with a concluding ending, but I hope you guys enjoy :)

Word count: 4.8k words

The scratching at my door had me sitting up in an instant, my back pressing against the cold stone wall as my hand slid beneath my pillow, fingers curling around the worn hilt of my dagger. My breath came shallow, controlled, as I listened—waiting for another sound, another shift in the air that might give away whoever had decided to test their luck tonight.

Life in the Hewn City never allowed for restful sleep. Not when shadows slithered in every alley when cruelty pulsed like a second heartbeat through its streets. And especially not now that Morrigan was gone.

Her father's estate had been far from a sanctuary, but at least the sheer power Keir wielded had kept the worst of the monsters at bay. Here, in my apartment on the outskirts of town, I had no such protection. Only thin walls, shattered locks, and neighbors who wouldn't need a reason to break into a young female's bedroom—who wouldn't care that I was High Fae, not when my magic was little more than a flickering candle in the wind.

A shiver danced down my spine as I gripped my dagger tighter, pulling it free just as the handle of my door twisted. My breath stilled.

Wards should have held. I'd watched Mor herself etch them into the worn wood, her golden power laced with every careful stroke. And yet the door creaked open, the darkness beyond bleeding into my already shadowed room.

I made myself as small as possible, the blanket of night cloaking me enough to fool a drunk—most in this wretched place were—but if they stepped inside if they came closer...

A head popped through the gap.

Gold hair caught the dim light.

My breath punched from my lungs. "Morrigan."

I tumbled out of bed, my dagger forgotten as I all but threw myself at her. She caught me effortlessly, her arms wrapping tight around my waist, solid and real, her familiar scent washing over me.

"Oh, I've missed you," she murmured, holding me as if she'd been gone for years rather than two unbearable weeks.

I pulled back just enough to take her in, my hands framing her face, my eyes darting over her features, searching for any sign of injury. My stomach knotted at the gauze wrapped around her waist, but otherwise, she seemed unharmed.

"I thought you got out safe?" I whispered.

She smirked. "Forgot some things."

There was something reckless in her eyes, something sharp and unyielding.

My stomach tightened further. "Mor—"

"I'm getting you out of here."

Her grin was edged with mischief, with certainty.

—

I had heard the rumors—the hushed whispers exchanged between patrons in dimly lit taverns, drunken murmurs of a secret city our High Lord kept hidden from the rest of us. A place untouched by the cruelty of the Hewn City, a myth spun to keep fools hopeful.

I never believed a word of it.

But Velaris was real.

"The City of Starlight," Morrigan had said, her voice breathless with something I hadn't seen in her since we were reckless, ignorant children. She'd smiled then—wild, unguarded. And I had known, in that moment, that every whispered legend had been true.

The city thrived even in the late hour. Laughter and music curled through the streets, golden lights casting soft glows against dark stone. I had never dreamed a place like this could exist, not outside of bedtime stories and half-formed wishes. And yet, Mor guided me through its winding paths as if it were the most natural thing in the world, showing me pieces of the Night Court I had never dared to imagine.

Until, finally, she led me to a small cabin at the edge of a quiet clearing.

Warm light spilled from its windows, shadows dancing against the wood as the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter leaked into the night. It was a thrilling sound—carefree, safe.

Mor stepped onto the porch, her fingers curling around my wrist as she turned back to me with a smirk. "I've been living here for the past few weeks," she hummed, as if it were no great thing. "And I decided I missed my roommate."

Her words barely registered over the clatter of voices inside. I could hear the easy teasing, the playful shouts.

I hesitated.

"It's Rhysand's cabin, but—"

"The High Lord's?" I whirled on her, my stomach clenching.

Mor blinked, as if I'd said something absurd. "He's my cousin, you know?"

I did know that. Of course I did. But the knowledge didn't stop the shiver that traced my spine.

I had seen Rhysand twice in my life—twice was enough.

Both times, I had been convinced I would die right there on the spot, crushed beneath the weight of his power. It exuded from him like a second set of wings, dark and monstrous. The ground itself seemed to quake beneath his steps. To say he was powerful was an insult to the very meaning of the word. He was terror incarnate, the nightmare that lived in the dark corners of every court.

I had heard the stories—of him reaching into minds and shattering them from the inside out, twisting their own fears into weapons sharper than any blade. He did not need to lift a hand to kill.

My throat went dry. "He's not in there, is he?"

The words were barely a whisper, but Mor only shrugged, far too casual. "Sure he is."

I nearly choked. What?

"Mor—"

She didn't give me a chance to protest.

Her fingers curled around mine, firm and unwavering, and before I could think to dig in my heels, she had pulled me forward—up the steps, through the doorway, past the foyer—until I was standing in the heart of the house.

The moment we entered, the conversation stopped.

Four sets of eyes locked onto me.

Hazel. Silver.

And then—

A violet gaze, piercing and unrelenting, dilated with something unreadable.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Rhysand.

The High Lord of Night. The male who could level entire armies with a flick of his wrist, who could peel apart minds like flower petals and leave nothing behind. The nightmare whispered about in every corner of the Hewn City.

And he was staring at me.

His lips parted slightly, as if words had caught in his throat.

Mor, of course, was entirely unaffected. "Gentlemen," she said, grinning as she strode deeper into the sitting room. "And Amren."

The silver-eyed female merely flicked a gaze over Mor before cutting straight to me, a sharp, assessing glance that made my stomach twist.

I was still trying to school my expression into something other than imminent death panic when Mor gave my wrist a final squeeze and released me.

"I'd like you all to meet—"

"She's my mate."

Silence.

Utter, perfect silence.

Then—

A choked sound came from the male lounging in an armchair, wings draped lazily over its sides. He had dark hair, hazel eyes gleaming with delight, and an unmistakable aura of shit-eating amusement. That one must be Cassian.

Next to him, another male, shadows curled at his feet like living things, merely blinked—slowly, deliberately—before glancing at Rhys and murmuring, "That was subtle." And there's Azriel.

Rhys, for all his legendary cunning, looked like he wanted to launch himself into the Sidra.

"Mate?" I rasped, my stomach flipping over itself.

No. No, surely not. That was—impossible. I would've felt something.

Or have I all along?

"You must forgive our dear High Lord," Amren drawled, sipping from a glass of something dark. "He usually has more tact when announcing these things."

Rhys finally seemed to snap back into his body, straightening his spine with something like composed horror.

"What I meant to say," he amended, his voice dropping into something far smoother, far silkier—too smooth as if he were compensating, "is that it's a pleasure to meet you."

Cassian snorted. "You just said she was your mate."

"Yes, thank you, Cassian."

Azriel's lips twitched. "I think she got the message."

My head was spinning, my throat tight. But my body had stilled—not from fear, exactly, but from something else. Something coiling in my chest, something aware.

Rhys's gaze flicked to mine, and his expression softened instantly, all humor melting into something devastatingly gentle.

"It's late. You must be exhausted." His voice had dipped, his usual charm tempered with something achingly sincere. "Let me get you something to eat. Or drink. Or—are you warm enough? I can get you a blanket—"

Cassian was shaking with silent laughter. Azriel merely watched, like he was filing this away for later use.

Amren, however, had no such patience. "Oh, for Cauldron's sake," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "She's not a wounded animal, Rhysand, stop circling her like a mother hen."

"I just want her to be comfortable," he argued, flashing her a glare before turning back to me with something so devastatingly earnest that I nearly forgot who he was. What he was.

He liked me.

No—he wanted me to like him.

Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord in history, was tripping over himself to win my favor.

And somehow, that was more terrifying than any of the rumors I'd ever heard.

—

I wasn't entirely sure how I ended up sitting on a plush couch in the middle of the High Lord's cabin, wrapped in a ridiculously soft blanket that I didn't remember agreeing to. A cup of tea—also not requested—was placed carefully in my hands, steam curling in the dim candlelight.

Rhysand hovered nearby.

And I meant hovered.

He was standing at an awkward, not-quite-close, not-quite-far distance, shifting slightly as if debating whether he should sit or stand or vanish into the floor. His normally easy, fluid grace had been utterly abandoned, leaving him looking... well. Uncertain.

Cassian, sprawled in the armchair across from me, was barely keeping it together. His wings twitched every few seconds, his lips pressed tightly as if physically holding in his laughter.

Azriel, seated beside him, was far more composed—but the slight upward tilt of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

I took a sip of my tea, trying to make sense of all this.

The High Lord of the Night Court—the terror of the Hewn City, the most powerful male in existence—had declared me his mate. And then proceeded to fall apart before my very eyes.

I was still trying to process it when Rhys spoke.

"Would you like more pillows?"

I blinked. "What?"

His violet eyes were very, very wide. "You look like you could use more pillows."

Cassian made a strangled noise.

Azriel coughed into his fist.

"I—I'm fine," I said slowly, watching as Rhys's shoulders sagged in relief.

Too fast. All of this was happening too fast, I couldn't keep up.

"Are you sure? Because I can get more."

Cassian let out a wheezing breath, eyes shining with unrestrained delight. "Yes, Rhys. More pillows. That's definitely what she needs."

Rhys shot him a withering glare before turning back to me, smoothing his expression into something intended to be charming, but coming across as deeply, deeply desperate.

"Or food!" he blurted. "Have you eaten? I can make you something. Or, well, I can't make you something, but I can get someone to—"

"She has tea, Rhys," Amren cut in dryly. "You shoved it into her hands two minutes ago."

"I did not shove—"

"You definitely shoved," Cassian confirmed, barely containing his cackle. "I thought you were going to spill boiling tea all over your mate."

I flinch slightly at the term as Rhys shoots back with, "I was being thoughtful."

Azriel hummed, taking a slow sip of his own drink, the amber color telling me it was something much stronger than tea. "Is that what we're calling it?"

I had absolutely no idea what to do with any of this.

Rhysand—the charmer, the schemer, the legend—was unraveling at the seams in front of me.

Because of me.

"I can make my own food," I finally said, mostly just to say something.

Rhys visibly straightened. "Of course! Yes, I knew that. I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, his usual ease nowhere to be found. "I want you to feel at home."

Cassian grinned. "I think she'd feel more at home if you stopped looming over her like a lovesick bat."

Rhys's glare could have melted stone.

Azriel just leaned back in his chair, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this," he mused.

Rhys turned his attention back to me, clearly trying to regain some dignity. He attempted one of his infamous smirks. "You must forgive them. They're not used to seeing me flustered."

Cassian clapped a hand to his chest, eyes sparkling. "Oh, it's a gift, truly."

Azriel nodded solemnly. "We should savor this moment."

Rhys looked seconds away from throttling them both.

I just stared at him, still gripping the cup of tea like it was the only solid thing in the world. "Are you okay?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His breath caught.

And for a moment, the amusement, the chaos—it all faded. His eyes softened, something raw flickering behind them.

"I'm fine," he said, voice lower now, steadier. "I just... I wasn't expecting this."

Neither was I. But still, something shifted in my chest at the way he looked at me—like I was something precious.

I wasn't ready to name that feeling.

But for the first time since I'd arrived, I didn't feel like running.

Slowly—mercifully—Rhys seemed to remember how to function again.

He settled into the chair across from me, still watching me with those impossibly violet eyes, but at least he wasn't hovering like I might vanish if he so much as blinked.

Not that he'd relaxed entirely.

No, because the moment I so much as shifted—adjusting the blanket, setting my tea down—he twitched as if preparing to leap to his feet and fix something.

If I asked for anything, I had no doubt he'd be up and fetching it before I could even finish the sentence.

But at least he was sitting.

Amren, on the other hand, was done with the entire situation.

With a long-suffering sigh, she stood and stretched. "Alright. That's enough of this."

Cassian perked up. "Of what?"

She shot him a withering look. "The two of you sitting here, watching this disaster unfold like it's a theatrical event."

Cassian grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Oh, but it is."

Azriel just sipped his whiskey, but the small smirk on his lips said everything.

Amren turned her glare to them both, then pointed at the door. "Out."

Cassian gaped. "But—"

"Out," she repeated, already making her way toward him.

Cassian barely had time to dodge before she grabbed his arm, yanking him up with surprising strength for someone so small. "Azriel, move," she barked.

Azriel, for all his shadows and lethal grace, barely managed to stifle a chuckle before obeying.

Rhys, looking very much like a male clinging to the last shred of his dignity, just sighed. "Amren, I hardly think—"

"Oh, please." She shot him a knowing look. "You want them gone."

Rhys opened his mouth. Closed it. Then glanced—too quickly—at me.

Cassian cackled. "Oh, this is so good."

"I hate all of you," Rhys muttered.

Cassian just grinned, throwing an arm over Azriel's shoulder as Amren shoved them both toward the door. "Love you too, brother!"

The door shut behind them then silence settled.

I exhaled slowly, my mind still spinning from all of this—this place, these people, Rhysand, sitting before me and looking as though he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

Mor, still seated beside me, gave a soft, reassuring smile. "Ignore them," she said. "They're menaces, but they mean well."

I nodded, unsure what to say.

She nudged me gently. "You doing okay?"

I hesitated.

Then, quietly, "I think so."

Mor's smile warmed. "Good." She stood, stretching. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything, okay?"

I nodded again. "Thanks, Mor."

She winked. "Get some rest."

And then, just like that, I was alone. With Rhysand.

Who, despite his best attempts to seem relaxed, looked about two seconds away from combusting.

The silence stretched for a beat too long before Rhys cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "So," he started, voice smoother now, steadier, "what do you think of Velaris?"

I exhaled, my grip loosening on the blanket around my shoulders as I glanced toward the window. The city lights still twinkled beyond the glass, mirroring the stars above.

"It's..." I searched for the right word. Magnificent."

His lips curved. "It is." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Not what you expected?"

A soft huff of breath left me. "In all honesty, I didn't even expect it to be real."

Rhys chuckled, low and warm. "Most don't."

I looked back at him. "How long has it been hidden?"

His expression turned thoughtful. "Since the war." His gaze flickered to the window, a distant look in his eyes. "My family—my court—has fought to protect it for centuries. It's the one place in all of Prythian untouched by war, by cruelty." He met my gaze again, and this time, there was something softer there. "Now it's yours, too."

Something shifted in my chest at that. The way he said it like I belonged here. I swallowed. "And the court?"

His smile returned, easy and knowing. "You've already met the worst of them."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "I don't believe that."

"Oh, you should." He smirked. "Cassian and Azriel? Winged buffoons. Mor? Chaos incarnate." He placed a hand on his chest, feigning solemnity. "And me? Well, the stories you've heard don't paint me in the best light, do they?"

A teasing edge now, that sharp, clever humor creeping into his voice.

I tilted my head. "No, they don't."

He grinned, but it softened as he glanced back outside. "You'll see for yourself, though." He hesitated, then added, "You'll be here for Starfall."

"Starfall?"

His eyes lit up, and suddenly, it was as if the shadows in the room no longer existed.

"You've never heard of it?"

I shook my head.

Rhys leaned closer, his voice dropping to something conspiratorial, enticing. "Once a year, the sky does something extraordinary."

I raised a brow, peering out the large arched window to look at the galaxy of stars just outside. "More extraordinary than usual?"

A chuckle. "Much more." He sat back again, watching me with a quiet sort of delight, as if he already knew I'd love it. "The stars don't just shine that night. They fall."

I blinked. "They fall?"

"Mmm." He traced a circle on the arm of his chair. "Not like shooting stars—though it looks similar. The souls of long-lost beings drift across the sky, shimmering trails left in their wake. It's..." He trailed off, searching for the word.

"Magnificent?" I supplied, unable to help the small smile tugging at my lips.

Rhys gave a slow, approving nod. "Very."

Something warm settled in my chest. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

And then, finally, I allowed myself to really look at him.

Not the High Lord. Not the nightmare. Just Rhysand.

And gods, he was handsome.

The kind of handsome that made the room feel smaller, the air feel warmer. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, those impossibly violet eyes that seemed to catch every flicker of candlelight. And the way he looked at me—like I was something precious. Like he already knew me, in some deep, unspoken way.

I cleared my throat, shoving away the thought. "It sounds magical."

He grinned, and for the first time, it wasn't the grin of a High Lord, or a male who held the power of nightmares in his hands.

It was just a smile. For me.

A slight yawn slipped from me, Rhys was instantly moving.

"Mother above, I've kept you up too late—" He was already leading me toward the hall, his steps brisk, his hands half-lifted as if he wanted to guide me but thought better of it.

I barely had time to keep up as he strode toward a door across from Mor's, gesturing to it like it was some grand reveal. "This is yours—of course, if you don't like it, we can find you another room, or a different house entirely, or—"

"Rhys—"

"I really should have let you rest earlier, I can be insufferable when I ramble, and—"

"Rhys."

"I hope you find everything comfortable, but if you need anything—extra pillows, a softer mattress, a different view—"

I pressed my palm to his chest. He froze.

His breath hitched, just barely—but I felt it beneath my hand, the sharp inhale, the slight stutter of his heartbeat.

His eyes locked onto mine, the violet darkening, blazing.

I had only meant to stop his spiraling apologies, but now... Now the air between us was thick with tension.

Something unseen curled and tightened, coiling like a living thing beneath my skin.

Rhys exhaled sharply through his nose. Slowly—reverently—his hand lifted, covering mine where it lay over his chest. His fingers curled just enough to hold me there, as if... as if he couldn't bear to let go.

Something between us shifted and I didn't have time to decide if it was for the better or not.

A pull, deep in my ribs. An ache that hadn't been there before.

Rhys went completely still.

Like he was waging some great internal war, fighting against a force that neither of us had yet spoken aloud. But I felt it.

The way his fingers tightened just slightly over mine. The way his lips parted like he was about to say something, only to think better of it.

The way his eyes—those star-flecked, devastatingly beautiful eyes—searched mine like they held the answer to something he'd been waiting for.

I should have stepped back.

I should have moved.

Instead, I stood there, heart pounding, fingers twitching against the soft fabric of his tunic.

Rhys swallowed, his throat working around the motion, but he said nothing. Did nothing. Just stood there, his chest rising and falling beneath my palm, his fingers flexing ever so slightly over mine like he was grounding himself—like he needed to hold on. I knew I should step back.

We had only just met.

Yet that fact seemed irrelevant, insignificant compared to the weight of the moment curling between us, thick as smoke.

Because I could feel it—something pulling me toward him, that bond deeper than attraction, sharper than longing. It was in the way his breath came uneven, in the way his gaze dropped, just briefly, to my lips before snapping back up to my eyes, a flicker of something raw, something wanting, breaking through his carefully placed walls.

His lips parted, like he might say something. Like he might stop this before it went too far.

I didn't let him. Didn't give myself the chance to second-guess, to think, to reason.

I surged forward.

Rhys barely had time to exhale before my lips met his. Soft. That was my first thought—how soft his lips were, warm and parting against mine as if in stunned surrender.

And then he was kissing me back.

A sharp inhale, his hand sliding up my wrist, curling around it like he couldn't quite believe this was happening—but wouldn't dare let go, either.

His other hand found my waist, light, hesitant, his fingers pressing in just enough to ground me, to anchor us both in the storm of whatever this was.

It wasn't desperate. It wasn't hurried. It was slow, tentative, a gentle exploration.

His nose brushed mine as he tilted his head, his lips parting wider, and I felt the way he breathed me in—like I was something to be savored, something he hadn't known he was starving for until now.

A small sound left me—something between a sigh and a whimper—and Rhys shuddered, his grip tightening ever so slightly, his fingertips pressing into my skin like he needed to remind himself this was real.

We lingered there, caught in something we didn't have a name for, something neither of us had expected but couldn't seem to pull away from.

His thumb brushed along my wrist, slow, reverent, as our lips moved together in a rhythm that felt achingly natural.

Like we had done this a thousand times before. Like we would do it a thousand times more.

When we finally parted, it was only enough to breathe, our foreheads pressing together, breaths mingling.

Rhys's fingers flexed at my waist.

"I—" His voice was hoarse, rough with something unspoken. He swallowed. "We should stop."

I exhaled shakily, my hands still fisting the fabric of his tunic.

"We should," I admitted.

His thumb traced slow, lazy circles along my wrist, like he was memorizing the shape of me, the feel of me.

And then, softer—softer than I'd ever heard anyone speak my name—

"But I don't want to."

I barely had time to whisper, "Neither do I," before he kissed me again.

His lips were still on mine, still moving, still taking, even as he rasped against my mouth, "We can't."

But he didn't stop. Didn't pull away.

If anything, his hands tightened at my waist, fingers pressing into my skin like he was anchoring himself—like he was fighting a losing battle against whatever force was unraveling between us.

I gasped as his tongue slid against mine, slow and thorough, like he was trying to memorize me, like he was desperate to learn every piece of me with nothing more than his lips, his hands, his breath.

"Rhys," I whispered, not knowing if it was meant to be a plea or a warning.

He groaned, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath coming out in short, uneven pants.

"I want to know you," he said, his voice so raw, so gutted that it sent a shiver down my spine.

Then his lips were on mine again, harder, deeper, like he was proving it, like he needed me to believe him.

"I want to know everything," he murmured against my mouth, between kisses that left me gasping, left me trembling, my fingers still tangled in his hair. Another kiss, this one rougher, hungrier. "Everything."

I whimpered against his lips, barely able to think, barely able to breathe with the way he was consuming me, the way his words were carving themselves into my ribs.

He groaned, like the sound was being ripped from him. "I—" He shuddered. "Tell me to stop."

I froze beneath him, blinking up at him, my head spinning, my lips swollen from his kisses.

He swallowed hard, his breathing uneven, his hands flexing at my sides.

"Tell me to stop," he repeated, voice ragged, "because I don't think I can on my own."

His words hung between us, raw and trembling, his breath fanning against my lips. I could still taste him, still feel the imprint of his hands at my sides, as if he had branded himself into my very skin. My heart pounded against my ribs, my body warring between the pull of the bond and the sliver of hesitation curling in my chest.

I slipped my hands from his hair, brushing my fingers along his jaw, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. "Rhys," I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

His eyes, dark and blazing with emotion, searched mine. I saw the restraint there, the war he was fighting within himself, the way his hands trembled against my sides.

I swallowed, forcing myself to find the words through the haze of want clouding my mind. "I'll accept the bond," I murmured. His breath hitched, his entire body going utterly still. "I just need some time."

A heartbeat passed. Then another. And then—he exhaled, his forehead pressing against mine, his entire frame shuddering. His hands skimmed up my sides, gentle now, reverent, like he was memorizing every inch of me before letting go.

"You could take centuries," he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple, featherlight. "Beyond that, if you wanted. I'd wait for you, always."

Something in my chest ached, something too big to name. I closed my eyes, breathing him in, the warmth of him, the endless patience laced in every word.

I tilted my head up, pressing the softest of kisses against his lips—nothing like the desperate, fevered ones from before. Just a promise. Just a thank you.

His hands lingered on my waist, like he wasn't quite ready to let go, but he didn't stop me as I pulled away. A small smile tugged at my lips. "Goodnight, Rhys."

His eyes softened, something almost wistful in them. "Goodnight, my love."

With a final glance, I turned and slipped into my room, closing the door behind me. And even then, I could still feel him—like a shadow, like a promise—waiting.

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[psychedelic-charm]

I wonder how Berry Punch would behave drunk.

Because this just popped into my head, I thought I'd toss it out there. Yes, this is something my husband and I have discussed in great detail.

How each of the Mane 6 (from MLP: FIM) would behave drunk:

Twilight Sparkle

Twilight is the lightweight of the group. She has half a wine cooler and is nearly falling asleep. The next morning she wakes up with her mouth feeling like she'd sucked on cotton and will swear off drinking forever.

Rarity

She's the sobbing drunk. Get a few in her and she'll regale you with her tales of lost love, lost opportunity, and overall where her life went wrong. After a while she devolves into whiny sobs that pierce the eardrum, and are completely incomprehensible.

Fluttershy

The giggly/flirty drunk. Well, she's not necessarily flirting, but she's more outgoing and just falls over herself laughing over everything. She's also the one to start karaoke singing.

Rainbow Dash

She's the 'everybody's friend' drunk. She'll go up and pound you on the back, pull you into a bear hug, and swear she loves ya forever.

Applejack

Oh, my girl Jack, she's the angry drunk. She's always up for a fight, and usually gets one because this Element of Honesty just doesn't keep her mouth shut when she wants someone to know what she REALLY thinks about them. The booze loosens her tongue and she just lets those thoughts FLY.

Pinkie Pie

She can't get drunk. Alcohol straight up doesn't affect her. She could down bottles upon bottles of the hardest liquor known to man, and she would still walk straight as an arrow. The girl is a freak of nature.

~~~

There. Now that's something you know.

[wolverigrl]

Thirst Tweets

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

!Disclaimer! I’ve got a lot going on right now, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get back to writing. There will definitely be more parts, but not this week. I also have two oneshots saved that might go online this week, so don’t be surprised if you see them.

I'd be happy about some feedback and just a reminder to you, I have my requests open, so feel free sending some of your ideas! :)

Warnings: tiny bit of fluff and some swearing here and there

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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Returning to New York felt like waking up from a beautiful dream I never wanted to end. Sydney had been a paradise - sunshine, the salty breeze from the ocean, and Hugh. God, Hugh. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, behaving like love-drunk teenagers. Whether it was our sunset strolls by the harbor or cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets, we found ourselves growing closer every day. There was something magical about that time - like we were in a world of our own, free from distractions.

Hugh would sometimes visit his family, leaving me to explore Sydney on my own. I’d walk through the city, admiring the sights, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. But no matter where I went, I was always thinking about him. It wasn’t long before I’d be back at his place, sharing stories of my solo adventures while he teased me with that wicked smile.

Of course, the paparazzi had a field day. Every moment seemed to be caught on camera - whether we were laughing together at the beach, wandering the streets hand in hand, or lounging in the park. There were endless photos of us everywhere, but I didn't mind. Honestly, I found it kind of funny how we had become some sort of internet sensation. I had even started posting more pictures of Hugh on my socials - candid shots of him with funny, flirty captions. The fans ate it up, especially when I started liking and commenting on their fan edits of Hugh. They said I was fangirling hard, and maybe I was, but could you blame me? The man is perfect.

The hate we used to get was slowly dying down, too. People were starting to root for us. It felt good.

Today, though, was on a whole new level of fun. We were shooting a "Thirst Tweets" video, and it was as chaotic as you'd imagine. The energy in the studio was electric as we settled into the plush chairs, both of us trying to stifle our giggles before the chaos of "Thirst Tweets" began. I glanced over at Hugh, who looked far too calm for what was about to go down, his long fingers tapping lightly on his knee, his face carrying that familiar smirk that always made my heart race. It was like he knew exactly what was coming and how I’d react.

The first tweet was mine to read. I grabbed the small card from the pile and cleared my throat dramatically. “Okay, here we go…” I scanned the text quickly before bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, okay. ‘I would let y/n punch me in the face just to say I’ve been touched by perfection.’ ” I couldn’t help it - I snorted.

Hugh chuckled beside me, shaking his head. “We’re starting off strong, aren’t we?” he teased.

I leaned over, nudging him with my shoulder. “What can I say? I have violent fans.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Perfection though? Can’t argue with that." he said, giving me a wink that made my face heat up.

It was Hugh’s turn next. He grabbed his card, took a quick glance, and then raised an eyebrow at me. “Alright, here’s a good one. ‘I’d like to officially announce that Hugh’s arms should be declared a public service. Like, those things could end world hunger. Use them for good, sir.’ "

I let out a loud laugh, slapping my knee. “See, this is what I’m saying! They should be protected. Maybe insured.”

He flexed a little - just enough to make me roll my eyes - and grinned. “I’ll take it under consideration.” he joked. The crew behind the camera was already in stitches, but I could tell this was just the beginning.

The next tweet was handed again to Hugh, and he gave it a quick scan before bursting into laughter. "Oh, this one's good. 'Hugh, you can call me baby girl and tell me to sit down, and I would happily obey for the rest of my life.' "

I raised an eyebrow, trying to hold in my laughter. "I mean.. you do have that commanding presence."

He turned to me with a devilish grin, his voice deep and teasing. "You think I should try it out, love? Call you baby girl and see what happens?"

I immediately blushed, my laughter betraying how flustered I was. "Oh no, let's not give the fans more material!"

He chuckled, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Too late, baby."

He took the card with a dramatic flourish, his eyes quickly scanning it before he burst out laughing, almost choking on his words. “Oh no, this one’s for you, love. ‘Y/n really out here fangirling over Hugh like the rest of us. She’s one of us now.’ ”

I groaned, though I couldn’t hide my smile. "Listen, I am not fangirling!" I protested weakly, but Hugh gave me a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it.

"Oh, you totally are!" he teased, nudging me playfully. “You’re in deep.”

I shot back with a grin. “Okay, maybe I’m a little obsessed with you. Can you blame me?”

The crew behind the camera was losing it by now, and I could hear some of them whispering amongst themselves, probably trying to stifle their own laughter. But we were just getting started.

I grabbed another card, still grinning. "Hugh could choke me with his biceps, and I'd die happy."

Hugh started laughing again, clearly enjoying himself. "There's a lot of love for my arms in this, isn't there?"

I looked at him, pretending to be serious. "I mean, have you seen your arms?"

He flexed again, playing it up for the camera. "I guess I have no choice but to deliver." I snorted loudly and leaned against him while laughing and hiding my face behind my right hand.

Hugh took the next tweet, shaking his head in amusement. “Alright, here’s a spicy one. ‘Hugh, please, just throw me against a wall. Like, I’m begging you.’” He read it in such a deadpan tone that I nearly fell out of my chair laughing.

He raised an eyebrow at me as I tried to compose myself. “Well?”

I fanned myself dramatically. “That’s a strong request, but relatable."

Hugh opened his mouth to say something but instead snorted with laughter and shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

I picked up the next card, already giggling before I even read it aloud. " 'Y/n’s laugh could cure my depression, I swear. She could rob a bank and I’d still be like, wow, what a cute laugh!' "

Hugh looked over at me, grinning. “See? You do have a cute laugh.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though my cheeks were burning. “I mean, if it works for bank robberies, maybe I should test it out.”

He gave me a look, smirking. “I’m not bailing you out.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to." I replied, laughing. “I’d just charm my way out of it.”

I grabbed the next card from the pile, glancing over at Hugh before reading it aloud. "Y/n, how do I sign up to be your sugar baby? I don't need much - just a little attention and maybe to sleep on Hugh's abs as a pillow."

Hugh let out a loud laugh, his eyes widening. "My abs, huh?" He leaned back, pretending to flex for a moment before winking at the camera. "I didn't realize they had so many applications."

I rolled my eyes playfully, unable to hide my grin. "I mean, you have to admit, they're not wrong. Those abs could solve a lot of problems."

He smirked, leaning in closer to me, his voice dropping a bit. "Is that what you think about every time you cuddle me, baby? Using me as your personal pillow?"

I nudged him, trying not to laugh. "What can I say? I'm resourceful."

The next few tweets were just as wild, some downright inappropriate but in a way that had us both cracking up. Hugh read a particularly bold one aloud: " 'Hugh in that leather jacket… sir, I’m on my knees. What do I need to do to get you to ruin my life?' " He paused, glancing over at me with a devilish grin. “What do they need to do?”

I covered my face, laughing into my hands. “Oh God. This is escalating so much!”

He looked at the camera and lowering his voice. “Maybe just say ‘please?’ ”

The crew burst out laughing again, and I could see the camera shaking slightly as the person filming struggled to keep it steady. By this point, even the sound guy was wiping away tears of laughter.

Hugh grabbed the next tweet from the pile, his eyes quickly scanning it before a sly grin spread across his face.

"Okay," he began, in that rich voice that could melt butter, "Here’s a fun one: ‘Hugh Jackman could breathe in my direction, and I’d immediately drop to my knees, ready to serve.’"

I let out an involuntary snort, burying my face in my hands. "Oh my!" I gasped between fits of giggles. "They went straight for it!"

Hugh, trying to maintain composure, turned toward the camera with a half smile. "Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm." he said, and then turned to me. "Is that something I should be adding to my skill set?"

I swatted his arm playfully, still laughing. "Please, let’s not turn this into a live demonstration."

Hugh chuckled and nodded towards the camera. “Fair enough. But hey, I’m flattered."

I grabbed the next tweet, scanning it quickly and feeling my face heat up even more. "Oh, this one’s good. ‘Y/n’s legs are so long, they could wrap around me twice, and I’d happily suffocate.’"

Hugh let out a low whistle, his eyes flicking down to my legs and back up to my face with a teasing grin. "I mean, they’re not wrong." he quipped, making the entire crew laugh again.

I gave him a playful serious look. "Careful, you might encourage more of this behavior."

He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Too late."

I passed the next tweet to him, still trying to suppress my laughter. Hugh's eyebrows shot up when he read it. “Oh, wow, okay. ‘Hugh could literally break me in half, and I’d say thank you.’” He paused, a devilish grin creeping onto his face as he looked up at me. “I’m sensing a theme here.”

The crew behind the camera was howling at this point again, and I could barely breathe through the laughter. "I mean… who wouldn't be thankful?" I teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Hugh laughed, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. "Should I be concerned for you people, or…?”

"Concerned, maybe. Grateful, definitely,” I replied, still giggling.

He handed me the next card, his smirk widening. “Your turn. Let’s see if it gets wilder.”

I took the card and immediately had to press my lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. “Oh God, here we go again… ‘Y/n could ruin my life, and I’d thank her by paying her rent for the rest of the year.’ ”

Hugh’s laugh boomed across the room, his head falling back as he tried to catch his breath. “Well, if you’re ever looking for a side hustle…”

I gave him a playful nudge. "Hey, rent’s expensive in New York. I might just take them up on that."

He wiped away a tear of laughter, still grinning. “You’d definitely have no shortage of offers.”

Another tweet landed in Hugh’s hands, and he gave it a quick read before raising an eyebrow at me. “Oh jeez, we’re diving straight into the deep end now. ‘Hugh Jackman’s voice is so hot, I’d let him read the phone book to me while I climax.’”

My jaw dropped. "NO." I immediately covered my face with my hands, laughing so hard. I would lie, if I'd say my body doesn't hurt of laughter by now.

Hugh, ever the professional, barely flinched. He just gave the camera a deadpan look. “The phone book? Really? That’s a bit outdated, but… hey, I’m here for it.”

I peeked at him from behind my hands, still laughing uncontrollably. “You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?”

He winked at me, his voice dropping an octave. “If that’s what the people want, who am I to deny them?”

I playfully shoved him, still blushing furiously, but loving every second of the ridiculousness. “We need to talk about boundaries later." I joked.

He shot me a grin. “Boundaries? What are those?”

I took a deep breath, composing myself enough to grab the next tweet. The second I read it, I was gone again. “Oh, this one’s golden. ‘Y/n, I will pay you $1,000 to sit on my face. I don’t even need to breathe. Just consider it.’”

Hugh burst out laughing, clutching his chest and wiping tears from his eyes. “A thousand dollars? Only? That’s a bargain!”

I covered my face again, my shoulders shaking with laughter. “This is officially out of control.”

Hugh leaned in closer, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Come on. You’re underselling yourself. You’re worth at least $10,000.”

I laughed so hard I almost fell off my chair. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, babe.”

By this point, the crew behind the cameras was barely keeping it together. The laughter was contagious, and it felt like the entire room was on the verge of tears from how absurd the tweets were getting.

Hugh, still grinning, took the next card, glancing at it before giving me a cheeky look. "Alright, last one for me. ‘Hugh, you could crush me between your thighs, and I’d die a happy person.’”

I dissolved into laughter again, leaning back in my chair. "See, this is what I’ve been saying!" I managed between giggles.

Hugh turned to the camera, looking far too amused. “I’m sensing a lot of… very creative fans.”

I wiped away tears of laughter, still grinning. “Creative is one word for it.”

With that, the video wrapped up, and the crew finally stopped laughing long enough to give us a round of applause. Hugh’s charm and my endless giggling made for the perfect combination, and I could tell this video was going to go viral the second it dropped.

One of the cameramen approached us, grinning. “I’ve been doing this for years, and that was easily the funniest shoot I’ve ever been a part of.”

Hugh smiled, thanking him, while I nodded in agreement. “That was insane!” I said, still feeling the buzz of excitement. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard.”

After the shoot, we headed back to Hugh’s place to get ready for dinner. Ryan and Blake were coming over with their kids and dogs, and Hugh was in charge of cooking, much to his delight. He loved being in the kitchen, and it was one of those little things about him that always made me swoon.

While he started prepping in the kitchen, I disappeared into the bathroom to get ready. I slipped into something simple but nice, touching up my makeup before making my way back to Hugh. He had his back turned, fully focused on whatever he was chopping up, so I tiptoed up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his back.

He jumped, clearly startled, but then relaxed into my embrace. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he chuckled, setting down the knife.

I grinned, squeezing him tighter. "Sorry, couldn’t resist." My hands slid over his chest as I pressed closer. "You look ridiculously good in that shirt, by the way."

He glanced down at himself - just a casual button up and jeans - but it worked for him in a way that made my heart race. “Oh yeah?” he asked, turning his head slightly to look at me with a playful smirk.

“Yeah. Like.. annoyingly good." I teased, letting my fingers linger on the fabric. “Distractingly good. It's kind of a problem.”

He turned fully then, wrapping his arms around my waist, and leaned in close, his voice low. “Maybe we should skip dinner then?"

I bit my lip, laughing softly as I pushed against his chest. "Nice try. We’re not blowing off dinner with Blake and Ryan. You know they’d never let us hear the end of it."

Before we could get any further into our flirt, the doorbell rang, and we both groaned. The Reynolds were right on time, of course.

With one last grin at each other, we reluctantly pulled apart. Hugh grabbed a towel to wipe his hands before we made our way to the door. When we opened it, we were greeted by a whirlwind of chaos - Ryan with the kids and Blake holding onto the dogs. It was loud and warm, the kind of energy that made you feel instantly at home.

Blake gave me a tight hug while Ryan and Hugh exchanged their usual friendly banter. We all gathered in the dining room, Hugh finishing up in the kitchen while Blake and I set the table, chatting and laughing about everything and nothing.

Dinner was filled with easy conversation, laughter, and the occasional bark from the dogs. Hugh caught my eye from across the table more than once, and each time, I couldn’t help but smile. This was our life now - full of love, friends, and shared moments that felt like they could last forever.

And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing.

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@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1

Next part

[lacevenom]

I think I’m gonna marry your ears ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆.

PAIRING : Ethan Landry x silly! drunk!fem! reader

WARNINGS : alcohol

A/N : feeding my Ethan girlies

SUMMARY : reader gets drunk after the frat party but thankfully her curly headed boyfriend takes care of her (Ethan)

—🦌

Ethan practically sprinted out of the frat house the second he spotted you wobbling out with Tara, your arms flailing as you rambled something about how the moon looked like a big glowing pancake. “hey, hey—whoa, I got her,” Ethan said quickly, steadying you as Tara sighed in relief.

“ETHAAAANNNNN,” you sing-song, practically falling into his arms.

“she’s all yours. have fun,” Tara muttered with a tired grin before heading back inside.

you blinked up at him, your eyes glossy and unfocused but filled with delight. “Eeeethan! You have the best arms,” you said dramatically, poking his bicep like it was a magical artifact. Ethan’s cheeks flushed pink. “okay, um, thank you?” he mumbled, already gently guiding you down the sidewalk, one arm firmly around your waist to keep you from tripping.

“you smell like cinnamon toast,” you whispered against his chest as you walked. “but like… sexy cinnamon toast.”

“okay,” he laughed softly. “you’re done. that’s it. no more party punch for you.”

you suddenly gasped. “wait, Ethan. do you think squirrels get drunk? like… on acorns?”

“I… have no idea,” he said, trying not to laugh as he unlocked the door to your dorm and helped you inside. “you’re so drunk.”

you blink up at him with the biggest grin he’s ever seen. “I THINK SO.”

you lean forward suddenly, cupping his face with both hands. “wait. hold on. has anyone ever told you… your ears are, like, insanely adorable?”

he blinks. “my… ears?”

“yea,” you sigh, swaying dramatically. “I think I’m gonna marry your ears.” you declared dramatically, tossing your shoes off and flopping face-first onto the bed. Ethan froze for a second—caught between laughter and a lovesick meltdown—before kneeling beside the bed, brushing your hair back gently.

“can you hold me? or I’ll fall off the bed and die.” you grumbled causing a chuckle from your boyfriend. he laughed again—soft and sweet—and climbed in beside you, letting you snuggle into his chest.

“Ethan?”

“yes?”

“I forgot what I was gonna say.”

“that’s okay, baby.” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “you can tell me in the morning. maybe after a gallon of water.”

you fell asleep mid-snuggle, your hand still resting against his chest like he was your personal teddy bear. and Ethan just stayed there, holding you, red-faced and totally whipped.

[starryhyuck]

the chase. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: slytherin!hyuck x afab!ravenclaw!reader

words: 3.6k+

summary: the only way to get lee donghyuck to leave you alone is to actually give him your attention.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: sex in the infirmary, spanking, pussy eating, breeding kink, nipple play, creampie, choking, gagging, subspace, overstimulation

this fic is exclusive to both tiers on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

“He’s the best Seeker player in the world. His only flaw is that he wants to go out with you.”

You glare at Renjun, who whistles casually with his Ravenclaw scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. You tug on the fabric and nearly choke him, earning you a death stare from your tiny friend. He punches you on the arm in retaliation.

“If you kill me, you’ll never know the secret of how to get Donghyuck to leave you alone.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “Do tell.”

He smirks. “He loves the chase. Once you start showing him attention, he’ll be so far out the door that you won’t have to ever talk to him again.”

You chew on your lower lip as you stare at the bane of your existence in the stands. Donghyuck flies around the pitch with a speed you’ve never seen from another player before. He has a grin plastered on his face the entire time, only stopping every once in a while to wink at you.

You’re pretty certain that Donghyuck started liking you during your third year at Hogwarts. The Slytherin flashed his gooey eyes at you when you became Mark Lee’s partner in your History of Magic class, often joining him in the library to work on your project together. Donghyuck would come in to bug Mark relentlessly, batting his eyelashes whenever he saw you sitting across from his friend.

Ever since then, you can’t seem to get rid of him. He’s constantly lingering near you when he’s not wrapped up in Quidditch practice. Renjun thinks you can manipulate him since he’ll be the richest Quidditch player in the country after Hogwarts, but you would much rather be single and poor than deal with Lee Donghyuck your entire life.

“Renjun, why is he flying this way?”

“What do you mean- Oh!”

You shield your arms over your face when you spot Donghyuck zooming in your direction, eyes full of determination as he holds on tighter to his broom. The crowd shrieks around you at the sight of the Slytherin player diving headfirst into the stands. You mentally block off time later in the day to head to the infirmary, but to your surprise, Donghyuck hovers inches away from your face and grabs the Golden Snitch fluttering close to your ear.

He smirks at you when the commentator declares Slytherin victorious. He flies back up in the air, outstretching his hand to display his win while his teammates surround him and praise him.

Renjun swallows as he adjusts his scarf. “You weren’t turned on by that at all?”

You ignore the pulsating of your core, lying through your teeth. “N-No. And you shouldn’t be either, horndog.”

When students begin to filter out, you and Renjun make your way back to the castle. He somehow convinces you to attend the after party, tugging you roughly into the Slytherin common room. You don’t bother questioning how he knows the password.

The older students snuck in bottles of firewhiskey for the celebration, and a cup is pushed towards you without any hesitation. The place is filled with both Slytherin and Ravenclaw students, and you guess the members of your house cared more about getting drunk than actually winning the game.

“There she is!”

You narrow your eyes when Donghyuck barrels towards you. He’s freshly showered, hair still wet as he nuzzles into your side. You’re reminded of Renjun’s hot tip before you show too much distaste, plastering on a fake smile for the Slytherin.

“Great match,” you say, and his smug expression remains intact while he downs a shot of firewhiskey.

“Thank you, baby. I caught that Snitch just for you, you know that? I couldn’t keep my eyes off you and then bam! The grand prize was sitting right there. I’m starting to think that you’re my good luck charm.”

You would normally roll your eyes and find a way out of this conversation, but this time you nod in agreement.

“I’m starting to think that too.”

His eyebrows raise to his hairline at the lack of sarcasm in your tone. His grin spreads from ear to ear when he throws an arm around your shoulder.

“Really?” He muses, brushing back a strand of your hair. “Then maybe you’ll let me take you to Hogsmeade tomorrow as a thank you.”

You shrug. “Sure. Why not?”

want to read the rest? access both tiers on my patreon here!

[solxamber]

Heartslabyul, 9, with hurt/comfort, ("You are a dumbass... But you always would be MY dumbass...) Not very original I know

slightly changed the line to suit the fic more, i hope that's alright <3

Punch-Drunk || Deuce Spade

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "You're a dumbass, But you're my dumbass" ; Genre: Hurt/Comfort (Very Mild)

Deuce winced as you dabbed the cloth against the cut above his brow, his bruised knuckles resting limply on his lap. You weren’t even looking at him, your focus squarely on cleaning him up in silence. He hated the quiet more than the sting of antiseptic.

“I... uh, it’s not as bad as it looks,” he tried, his voice a little hoarse from the shouting match he’d been in earlier.

You didn’t respond, your lips pressed into a thin line. The quiet was deafening.

Deuce shifted uncomfortably, his leg bumping yours under the table. “I-I’ll pay for the supplies! And for the table, or whatever got broken—”

“Deuce,” you said flatly, cutting him off, “shut up.”

He froze, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. The scolding he’d been bracing for didn’t come, and instead, you resumed your quiet ministrations.

When you finally taped the last bandage in place, you sighed, your shoulders slumping. “What happened?”

“I... It wasn’t a big deal,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at you.

You stared at him, crossing your arms. “Deuce Spade, you got into a fight. A fight. You’re bruised, bleeding, and limping, and you think it’s not a big deal?”

He scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks reddening despite the swelling near his jaw. “...Someone said something dumb, that’s all.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What. Did. They. Say.”

Deuce bit his lip, his fingers twitching on his lap. “They... they said you were useless ‘cause you don’t have magic. That you didn’t belong at NRC.”

Your heart dropped.

“And I wasn’t gonna just let them say that about you!” he continued, his voice growing louder with emotion. “You work so hard! You’ve done more for me, for everyone here, than they ever could! How dare they—”

You cut him off by grabbing his face, ignoring the hiss of pain as your thumbs brushed over a tender bruise. You leaned forward and kissed him, your lips pressing gently against his before pulling back just enough to whisper, “You’re a dumbass.”

Deuce blinked, his face going redder than you thought was possible. “Wha—”

“But you’re my dumbass,” you said, your voice trembling. “You didn’t have to do that for me, Deuce. You shouldn’t have.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back, shaking your head. “But thank you. Really.”

Deuce swallowed hard, his hands coming up to grip your wrists gently. “I couldn’t just stand there and let them insult you. You mean too much to me.”

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers brushing through his messy hair. “Well, next time, just tell me instead of punching someone, okay? I can handle idiots like that without you getting hurt.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning your forehead against his. “You’re hopeless.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “But I’m your hopeless dumbass.”

And somehow, that made it all better.

Masterlist

[bayjaruchel]

Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)

－－－

Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

－－－

It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 

You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 

Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 

Yeah. Heads, plural. 

Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 

Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 

It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 

"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 

"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 

Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."

"I wouldn't say shitty."  

"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 

You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  

"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 

"Expensive wine?" 

"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 

You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 

He snorts. "Too classy." 

It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 

"Cheap beer it is, then." 

Clapton's grin is back. 

"Unfortunately." 

You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 

"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 

"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 

The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 

"Four minutes," he echoes. 

You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 

"Yeah." 

You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 

"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 

When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 

"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 

His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 

"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 

"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 

Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 

There's a shift in the air. 

"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  

The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 

"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 

"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 

"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 

He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 

"Yeah, you don't." 

You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 

"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 

The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 

"Just do it," you breathe.   

And he does. 

The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 

You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 

There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 

Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 

"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 

You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 

Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 

"Wanna go upstairs?" 

You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—

"Okay," you agree. 

The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 

It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 

"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 

"You think?" 

He grins. "Sure do." 

You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 

But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 

He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 

"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 

"Go ahead," you interrupt.  

Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 

Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  

Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 

"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 

You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  

When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 

"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 

Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  

"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 

You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  

You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 

"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  

You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 

Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 

"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 

He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 

You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 

"In your—?" 

Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  

You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 

"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 

You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 

Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 

"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 

You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 

"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 

He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 

Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 

He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 

"Don't hold back." 

And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 

You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 

His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 

"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 

"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    

"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 

He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 

He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 

He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 

You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 

"We should get cleaned up or something." 

He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 

You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 

He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 

Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 

It's silent, before he interjects: 

"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 

The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 

"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 

Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 

You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 

"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 

He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 

"I liked it too," you reply, softly.

The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 

"You wanna get out of here?" 

He beams. 

[bear-yawns]

　𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗞𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦.　franco colapinto · #43

　　　your boyfriend acts on impulse, leading him to get into fights, and you to worry about his safety.

genres : hurt/comfort ... established relationship ... franco x fem!reader.　 request : anon for franco + stitches on a cheekbone for the 100 event.　word count : 0.6k.　warnings : mild arguing ... mention of injuries (bruises, a cut, stitches) ... mention of franco punching someone ... profanity ... some spanish petnames (i do not speak spanish but i think they're all translated correctly).　 note : tell me why there were no good pics of franco so i had to find a random gif instead LIKE i swear finding pics takes longer than writing the actual fics sometimes.　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

“Franco? Where the fuck have you been?” you asked disgruntledly as the figure of your boyfriend stepped through the door. Wide eyes, clearly tired, but they softened at the sound of your voice, no matter how irritated your tone was. He dropped his tattered backpack on the floor and pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly and nuzzling his face into your neck. 

“I’m so sorry, hermosa. I didn’t mean to leave you worried,” he whispered. You breathed, closing your eyes and reciprocating the hug. More than twenty-four hours with no word from him had you thinking of the worst possible scenarios to explain what had happened. Although you were still very much mad at him, you let him have the hug that you both needed in the moment. Breathing in his familiar scent, letting it calm your senses just slightly. He was safe, back in your arms. You could finally let your brain take a break from running in circles.

You felt him press a few kisses to your neck, soft and slow, travelling up to your cheek until you pulled away from the hug. 

“Where were you? Why didn’t you call?” you questioned, withdrawing to look at his face. 

“My phone died. And I got in a little fight— but, I’m really okay, Y/n. It was just a crazy night.”

Your face fell. “You’re so reckless all the time, amor. Don’t you ever stop to use your brain once?” 

You knew the words would do little to change anything. Franco was messy. Nothing could magically make him a clean person. Usually it didn’t bother you. It was something you loved about him. But when it got in the way of his safety, it scared you. Staring at the bruises starting to form on his left cheek, and the cut on his cheekbone closed up with a few stitches, you only wished he would listen to you for once. 

“How’d you start a fight this time?” you asked, leading Franco to sit down on the couch. Now that he was back home, it was time for you to take charge and take care of him. And if you were lucky, knock some sense into his brain. He was silent for a moment, thinking of how to phrase what had happened in the mildest way possible.

“Well… we were all drunk, and some guys said some things about you, so I just punched them in the face so they would shut up,” he said simply, trying to stop himself from grinning. You stared at him in shock. 

“Franco—”

“Y/n, you can’t possibly have expected me to just let them talk shit about you? I don’t think I overreacted,” he defended. In his mind, a few bruises to his face was more than worth it to shut up a few assholes talking about his girlfriend. And seeing them run off with much worse injuries than him was satisfying. 

“You didn’t have to fight them over it. Now you’re hurt, and I was left worrying about you for hours. It was unnecessary and completely avoidable,” you pleaded, hoping that he would understand where you were coming from. A few tears building in your eyes stopped Franco from arguing over it more.

“I’m sorry, hermosa,” he whispered, cupping your face and silencing you of any other critical words. You knew it was time to drop the issue. You didn’t want to press him more after he apologized. “I won’t do it again,” he said, noticing the doubt in your eyes. It eased up, and you relaxed slightly. 

“Promise?” 

“Swear on my life,” he assured, sincerity swimming in his pearly eyes. You knew he meant it this time.

taglist: @caffeinboi

[clockwayswrites]

@wandixx

Either of them come across lost kid in the crowd

When Auntie had suggested going to the park for some fresh air, Carry had agreed. Of course he had. She could have suggested he throw himself into the water and he probably would have done it. (Assertiveness was still a work in progress.) He didn’t think, though, that she knew about the festival going on.

Or maybe she had?

Carry doubted anyone really knew what sort of things were part of her plotting or just her good luck.

It was just that… now he was in the middle of a festival. There were people and a cacophony of noises and bright colors and people. Carry took a breath and let it out slowly. He counted to ten. He didn’t know how much it helped, but he walked into the crowd anyways.

Maybe he could find somewhere in the shade to sit, and, if not, he could at least say that he tried. It was just people. He used to have no issue with crowds of people. He even used to enjoy them! But he used to be a lot of things, hadn’t he? Before he was a failure.

Carry shook is head, trying to get rid of that thought.

It was a festival.

Be happy.

Carry squeezed past people, dodged small children, pet a few dogs, and finally made his way to where he could hear the band currently playing in the pavilion. They weren’t bad, in an inoffensive way, so Carry found a spot of shade to sit in and listen.

The life of the festival ebbed and flowed around him. Kids went off and came back with hands full of cotton candy or balloons or large off brand stuffed animals. Young couples kissed. Old couples dragged each other out onto the makeshift dance floor.

It… it was nice.

Simple.

Happy.

Carry was just considering actually getting himself a churro when the unmistakable sound of a kid’s sob broke the air. That wouldn’t mean much, not at a busy festival, but there was no comforting parent voice following the sound up.

“D-daddy? M-mommy?” The sob came again.

Carry looked into the crowd. No kid. Right, left… then behind the tree. A kid—little enough that Carry figured elementary school was an okay guess—was rubbing at their eyes. A balloon was clutched desperately in their other hand, as if it was the only thing keeping them safe.

Carry crouched down to the side of the tree. “Hey. I’m Carry. What’s your name?”

“H-harper.”

“Nice to meet you Harper. I love your balloon,” Carry said with a smile. “The confetti in it is really cool.”

“Thank you,” Harper mumbled. They finally peered out at Carry from over their tear stained fist.

“You’re welcome. Are you okay? Did you lose your parents?”

Harper nodded. Their lip wobbled.

“That’s okay, we’ll find them,” Carry said with more confidence than he ever had. He’d make sure someone did, even if they ended up needing to go to security. “Do you remember where you last saw them?”

“The b-balloons,” Harper mumbled. Slowly they found their voice. “Daddy got me my balloon and then Mommy called over by the… um… the lemon ice! I tried to hold his hand I promise!”

“I’m sure you did. But there’s so many people it can be a little hard,” Carry said. “How about you hold my hand for a little bit, and we’ll go back by the balloons, okay? If you’re ever lost, you should stay where you lost your parents or teacher so they can find you.”

“Okay, thank you,” Harper said. They rubbed their hand against their t-shirt, smearing tears over the pink dinosaur, before they reached out and took Carry’s hand in theirs.

The hand felt almost impossibly small as they started off into the crowd. Carry was very sure to not let go as they moved rather slowly towards the balloon stand. Which at least was easy to see even with the crowd.

The balloons were looming close when a shout cut through the noise. “Harper!”

“Daddy!” Harper yelled back.

Carry still didn’t let go until the man was right there, dropping to his knees in from of Harper and pulling them into a hug.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry that I let go! I didn’t mean to,” Harper’s dad pleaded into her hair as he hugger her close.

“It’s okay Daddy! Carry helped me! They held my hand the whole way!” Harper said, cheerful in the way that only a little kid could be after something traumatic.

Their dad looked up. “Thank you so much—”

“Harper!”

“She’s here!” the Dad said. He hoisted Harper up onto his hip as he stood.

The woman who had called out ran up and kissed Harper on the forehead, talking frantically to her in a language that Carry could only barely recognize.

“Carry here helped Harper find us,” the dad said, with a little wave of his fingers towards Carry.

“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you,” the mother said as she took Carry’s hand.

“It was nothing—”

She let go of his hand after another squeeze before she dug around in her cross body bag. “Please, take this.”

“No, it’s okay,” Carry said, waving away the offered money. “I’m just glad that we found you so quickly.’

“We insist,” Harper’s dad said.

“Really, it’s fine!” Carry said. “ Remember Harper, if you get lost again stay near where you were lost, okay?”

“Yes Carry!” Harper chirped.

“Thank you again, really,” their dad said.

“Yes, thank you,” their mom urged with another shake of Carry’s hand.

When they disappeared into the crowd, Carry was left with a twenty dollar bill in his hand and a feeling of exasperated bemusement. He was getting some churros he guessed and maybe even a frozen lemonade. He could stay a little longer.

Just a bit.

---

AN: Sad Puppy got a name! (Carry, short for Carson. Might become Cary?). And was more anxious than expected? This is probably pre-story but ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ. Hopefully you like him.

[east-polaris]

I’m reading the script for the Wicked movie (which you can also read here if you scroll down!) and believe me I am so in love with the movie as is but some of the stuff we could have gotten?? Anyways I’ve compiled some of the new (old?) info, scenes, and changes in case you don't want to read the whole thing

‼️SPOILERS FOR WICKED PART ONE AND TWO‼️

In the intro, we were supposed to see Dorothy and co leaving Kiamo Ko with the broomstick

Glinda gets interrupted like she does in the Broadway version ("how dead is she?")

Different bullying scene witht he munchkin kids

they throw rocks at her??

Galinda meeting Pfannee and Shenshen

Elphaba and Nessa are both in their 20s

Morrible canonically has great shoes

No one lets Elphaba sit with them :(

Elphaba's vision in Something Bad is a black and white barn, presumably in our world, which is GENIUS. Elphaba is so powerful because she's a child of both worlds, and in The Wizard of Oz, our world is in black and white

We get a name for Fiyero's horse- Feldspur

A montage of everyone learning about Fiyero's arrival, including Boq riding an Ozian bicycle which i would have loved to see, considering the bikes in the movie are disappointingly normal

A lot of moments with Nessa being infatuated with Boq before he asks her out

A whole subplot with Aravic (a character from the books) being in love with Nessa

We get way more info about what the animals are going through. They need permits to speak, and when dr Dillamond went to a cafe he was shown to the “non speaking section”. The animal teachers have separate quarters that are small and rundown

Fiyero immediately adopts Boq as his best friend

Like Fiyero sing the beginning of Dancing through life to Boq specifically

Boq offers his hankerchief to Galinda instead of forcing her to take it and she accepts it

basically they did my guy Boq right in this script and I'm sad it didn't entirely translate to screen because I love him

Galinda redirects Boq to Nessa because she doesn't want to hurt his feelings

A turtle guards the door to the Ozdust. Fiyero bribes him to get in and Morrible just intimidates him by glaring

we were supposed to get the punch line :(

They are all drunk at the Ozdust

Students are actually worried when they see their teacher at the illegal nightclub they're all at instead of not caring

Elphaba, Galinda, Fiyero, Boq, and Nessa all dance together

The montage after popular is phenomenal and I'm so sad that they cut it, I'm going to make a whole separate post about it because I have a lot of feelings

Galinda genuinely thinks Elphaba is beautiful

HUGE Fiyero Scarecrow reference (We could go this way? Or that way?)

The flying contraption that the Wizard sends says Omaha State Fair on the side

Morrible can only do weather magic

There was a tiny Wizard and I reprise

Dulcibear comes to see Elphaba off to the Emerald City

Boq confronts Galinda about leading him on

Elphaba and Boq have a conversation about romantic feelings and I want to see it so bad

Wiz-o-mania was going to be a theme park ride

Dr Dillamond's glasses are in Elphaba's pocket when she meets the Wizard

Tiny Sentimental Man reprise

They don't crash the balloon, just use it to get to the attic space

Fiyero turns away from Boq and rides away on his horse during Defying Gravity

TLDR: It's largely the same movie, but some major changes were made and I need a director's cut STAT

[merakidoll]

warnings : nerd!eren x black chubby! reader ( guess this is also because a series >_< ) intoxication, oral ( f ), eren has glasses ( CUMS )

mirah’s note : the day i write them having sex will be magical, until then foreplayforeplayforeplay ! i guess you could consider this kinktober day 1

i’ve been think of nerd eren attending a halloween party. how you begged him to come, throwing in the pouty lips, and puppy dog eyes. and maybe, just maybe, you suede him with your lips around his cock until he screamed how he would come, as he was cumming.

he would walk in awkwardly, his anxiety spiking at the large amount of people, that he had to constantly rub his sweaty palms against his pants. but as soon as he saw you the nerves quickly left. you coming up to him in a tight little red riding hood dress kissing his cheek and leaving a glossy print. you pulled him through the crowd, eren giving quick apologies to anyone he bumped into with a nervous chuckle.

“what can i get you to drink rennie”

“uh- i - punch?” you two would conversant - your whispering in his ear sensually how you loved his harry potter costume, while rubbing all over his body. as eren started to become buzzed off of the spike punch. he kissed you hard, and sloppy. his print rubbing against your stomach, while his tongue swirled around your own moaning at the taste of your saliva.

you both couldn’t even answer how you ended where you got. your legs spread wide as you sat on the bathroom counter, pushing the man’s face deeper into your cunt. his glasses where squished against his face, nose rubbing your bud, while his tongue licked and sucked all of your flowing juices. “s-shit rennie more! moreeemmm”

bucking up into him, his brown hair was held tightly by you, your pussy close and eren waited with an eager mouth to slurp on the sweet cream. which he did. moaning into your cunt, and incoherent words falling from his full mouth of just how much he was in love with you.

you two would leave the bathroom with your cum still on him, a very obvious hint at what had just taken place. and eren rocked it proudly to the line of drunk people who had to use the restroom.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

Hiii I adore your writing especially for Pedrii. I have a requestt pleaseee

Pedri x reader

The reader is a forensic psychologist and therefore she has to work with criminals. One of the prisoners gives her a black eye and she comes home extremely late because of this.

Can we just have her bf pedri getting extremely angry,worried, possessive for yn and the rest of the barca boys also protective

Thank youuu

black and blue.

masterlist requests word count: 964

a/n: i'm really sorry that i changed the request so much, but I wasn't quite sure how to write for a forensic scientist! hope you like it though <3 genre: angst to comfort warnings: drunk people mentioned, black eye, worried pedri.

summary: you come home late with a black eye after a drunk guy at work hits you, and pedri gets pissed and worried. he ends up taking care of you, all soft and quiet.

The key turns the lock over a little past 4 AM.

You push the door open slowly, trying not to make a sound, hoping maybe you can sneak into the bathroom before Pedri wakes up. But you’re not even halfway through the threshold when you hear it;

“¿Dónde estabas (where were you)?”

His voice cuts through the silence like a blade. Calm, but sharp. Awake. Alert. Slightly angry.

You freeze.

He’s standing at the end of the hallway, hoodie on, face puffy, voice croaky, jaw locked. You try not to wince, but he sees it. Of course he does. It’s hard to miss. 

“What happened to your face?” You open your mouth, but your throat is dry. All that comes out is a tired sigh. You set your keys on the counter on your way to the bathroom sink. “Work,” you mumble. “Don’t freak out.”

“Don’t-?” He moves to follow you, voice rising slightly. “No. Don’t you dare tell me to freak out. You have a black eye!”

You look at your reflection under the bathroom light. It’s ugly. The swelling has come up more on the way home. The bruise is starting to form, dark, angry, and purple. You touch it and flinch. 

Pedri’s behind you now, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s physically holding himself back. His eyes stay fixed on yours in the mirror. Not necessarily on the bruise. On you. 

“I’m fine,” you repeat. Weakly. Like, if you keep saying it, it’ll magically become true. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t lie to me, mamí. I’ve been calling you for the past three hours.”

You finally turn to him. “My phone died. Looking for a charger wasn’t exactly my first priority.” You gesture to your eye.

“That’s not the point.”

“Well, what is the point, then?” Your voice cracks, but you’re too tired to care. “Some drunk idiot threw a punch, it hit me in the face, and now I have a black eye. I’m fine. I didn’t go to the hospital. I didn’t need stitches. I just wanted to come home and sleep, Pedro.”

There’s a long pause. His fists unclench slightly. His shoulder dropped a little. 

And then, “¿Sólo te golpeó a ti (did he only hit you)?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No. I wasn’t the only one. He was throwing shit at everyone. Security handled it eventually.”

You’re not quite sure why you’re still trying to downplay it. Maybe because you know how he gets. Calm on the outside, yes. But you’ve seen it in his eyes before - when someone got too close to you in the stadium once, when a comment online went too far. That mix of protectiveness and rage. 

And it’s there again now. Boiling beneath the surface. 

He steps forward, gently this time. “Let me see.”

You tilt your head, and his fingers hover just over the bruise. He doesn’t touch it. Just breathes. His jaw muscles flex slightly.

“I should’ve picked you up,” he says under his breath. “I should’ve been there or something.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You always say that,” you murmur.

“Because it’s always true.”

You’re so tired, you almost sway on your feet. Pedri catches you by the waist before you can fall, and then suddenly you’re wrapped up in him, face tucked against his chest, arms around your back. You feel his heartbeat. Steady, but fast.

He doesn’t speak for a long while. Just holds you.

Eventually, you mutter, “I’m sorry, I know I still smell like the bar.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s tight. “You smell like trouble.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m gonna get you ice.”

“Pedri, it’s fine, honestly-”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Madre mia, just… let me take care of you, vale? No arguments.”

And that’s what finally makes your throat tighten. Not the black eye. Not the pain. Not the screaming guy at the bar. Not the fact that you’d been scared for a second, back there, wondering how bad it could’ve gotten.

It’s this. His voice. His eyes. The way he looks at you as if you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

So you nod.

He guides you to the couch like you’re made of glass. Puts a pillow behind your head and disappears into the kitchen. He returns with ice wrapped in a towel and the softest blanket from the bed.

You watch him crouch in front of you, his sleepy curls and worried brows making you blush slightly. He presses the ice to your face so gently, it almost makes you cry.

“Can I ask you something?” you whisper.

He nods.

“If this happened again… if someone grabs me, or hurts me again… what are you gonna do?”

He looks up at you. No hesitation. No smile. Just pure, unapologetic honesty.

“I’ll kill him.”

You snort.

“I’m serious,” he says, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “I won’t be calm. I won’t be reasonable. I’ll lose my shit completely.”

You let out a tired laugh. “Then I guess it’s good you’re a footballer, not a bouncer.”

He shrugs. “I’d be a hot bouncer.”

You grin. “Cocky much?”

He takes your hand and squeezes it. “Only because I’ve got you.”

Your heart aches. But this time, in a good way.

He curls up on the couch beside you, pulling the blanket over both your legs, letting your head drop onto his shoulder. And just like that, you feel safe again.

Bruised. But safe.

Wrapped up in Pedri’s silence, his warmth, his quiet promise that no matter how bad the night gets, he’ll always be waiting on the other side.

[nottsbabe]

I've Got You

Bully!mattheo riddle x sensitive fem!reader Summary; You get a late night call from Mattheo who needs help after a fight, and doesn't know who else to go to. Warnings; cursing, slut shaming, underage drinking, noncon if you squint, slight stalker Mattheo, smut, fingering. Let me know if i missed anything!! 18+!!!

Mattheo's pov:

Mattheo was at the annual "boys only" poker game Draco threw at the end of every school year. The night started out fine, with everyone arriving exited because this was a sign summer was almost upon them. They all sat down and started playing.

The trouble started when Draco brought out the drinks. Everyone was pounding down beer, including Mattheo. He was use to drinking abnormal amounts of alcohol at times, so he knew how control himself when he drank liquor. Draco however, did not. Draco was a menace even when he was sober. When he was drunk it was 10 times worse.

Mattheo always made fun of y/n. Tripping her in the halls, calling her a slut when she wore "skimpy" outfits, and smacking her ass when she bent over. He knew she hated him for it, but he couldn't stop. It made him feel better about himself, and at least he got to talk to you often even if it meant ruining your day.

Mattheo loved bullying and bothering you, but when anyone else did, he went ballistic. cussing people out, and starting fights. He had already had an exceptionally bad day. He had failed the history of magic final, causing his dad to call him threatening to "kick him out of the deatheaters if his grades continued to descend!"

So when he heard Draco make a snide comment about y/n being a "Little whore" in her skirt earlier that day in potions, He exploded. Mattheo walked with clenched fists over to where Draco was sloppily leaning against a wall, He grabbed his shoulder harshly turning Draco to look at him before punching him square in the face knocking the boy down.

Usually Theodore and Blaise were quick to jump in when Draco got beat up, It happened very often. But this time, since it was Mattheo doing the beating up, they were hesitant, giving each other the same knowing look. They had both encountered Mattheo at his angriest and did not want to be in between them. So they stayed back watching as Mattheo straddled Draco, throwing punches every which way.

Mattheo stood up, wiping blood from his nose off his chin. He took one last look at Draco before walking out of the dimly lit room. Even though Draco was completely wasted, he still got a few good punches in. Giving Mattheo a bloody nose, busted lip, and a bloody black eye. The poker game was being thrown in a empty classroom, it was risky of course, but Draco enjoyed the thrill of it.

After walking for a few minutes Mattheo slumped against the wall, sliding to the floor, putting his head in his hands. He couldn't go to his room, Draco was unfortunately his roommate. Mattheo didn't have many friends besides Draco, Theo, and Blaise. He usually kept to himself, most people were scared of his condescending demeanor, so people rarely started a conversation with him.

He reached for his phone before pausing to contemplate what he was about to do. He started to dial before pausing again, he finally made up his mind lifting his phone eagerly awaiting for the ringing to stop and for your sweet, soft, tired voice to greet his ears.

Y/n's pov:

You awoke suddenly to a loud ringing. At first you ignored it, mistaking it to be a part of your dream but around the fourth ring you woke up. You groggily grabbed your phone not even looking at it before answering.

"Hello?" you say, sleep still heavy in your system. Theres a long pause before the person answers.

"...Hey doll." He says hesitantly. "I kinda got into something with Draco, and didn't really know who to call." You were shocked when you heard Mattheo's deep voice coming through your phone speaker. You could feel the pain and embarrassment in his voice, making you shudder. "He must have been desperate if he called me of all people" You thought.

There was silence while you thought of what to do. You could go meet him in the halls, but it was past curfew, if you got caught the professors would think the absolute worst. after a another second, you answered. "You can come over." You say with a sigh. "it's dorm-" you start to say before he cuts you off. "...I know where it is.." He says in a low, deep voice that sends shivers down your spine.

Around 10 minutes later you hear a knock on your door. You stand up and walk over to the door unlocking the bolt. Your parents were very protective of you, and the only way they let you go to a boarding school like Hogwarts, was if you had your own room. You found comfort but also fear in the thought of being alone with Mattheo.

You open the door quietly, jumping when you get a good look at his face. You had never been in a situation like the one you were in, you were always very squeamish when it came to blood. You looked at Mattheo with wide eyes, barely breathing. Your lip trembled. Knowing he was in a lot of pain hurt your heart, he always bullied you but you had a heart of gold. You wanted to give him a hug, to kiss his pretty lips and tell him everything was going to be okay. But you couldn't, it would be too inappropriate at a time like this.

He noticed the way your lip trembled and your eyes began to water, his expressions softened and his jaw loosened. He carefully grabbed your face, squeezing it so your lips smooshed together. "I know baby, i'm ok." He said quietly, letting go of your face and walking past you taking in your dorm. He walked over to your book shelf picking up a tattered marked up book that had clearly been "loved" as your mom called it. He glanced back at you, looking you up and down. He ran his tongue over his top teeth as he took a good look at you. You were wearing a baby blue pajama set, the bottoms were short and tight clinging to your warm figure. The shirt was slightly cropped with a small white bow at the top.

His eyes lingered on your chest as he laid the book back down on your shelf and started walking over to you. Your breath hitched as he looked down at you. "Your pajamas make you look like a whore." He said with a chuckle knowing it would get under your skin. You looked up at him, your brows crinkling together. You could smell the faint scent of the cigarette he had enjoyed earlier, mixed with a minty fragrance. You pouted a bit, looking down at your sleepwear. "I thought i looked pretty" You said wiping a tear away that had rolled down your cheek.

Mattheo rolled his eyes, looking about your room again. "You do look pretty, you look more slutty though." He says absent mindedly walking over to your bathroom. "How does he know where everything is?" you think, dismissing the thought as you follow him. He flips the light on walking over to lean against the counter, watching your every move. You grab a washcloth from your cabinet, along with a first aid kit you thankfully never had to use.

He crosses his arms as he watches your small hands open the first aid kit and pull out bandages, rubbing alcohol, and ointment. You didn't know what you were doing hoping Mattheo wouldn't notice but, of course he did. "Oh baby..." He says condescendingly. "You don't know anything, do you?" "Put water on the washcloth and clean the blood off." He demanded. He was perfectly capable of doing this on his own, hell he had done it more times than he could count, but he enjoyed having this power over you, and he loved making you do things for him.

Your hands shook as you wet the washcloth with warm water. You gently turned the water off, turning to look at Mattheo with big questioning eyes. "Thats a good girl." He said with a smirk. "Now clean my wounds." You carefully moved the cloth towards his eye first. wiping it softly, trying to remove the dried blood without hurting him. After you had cleaned all his injuries, you cleaned them with rubbing alcohol, per Mattheos orders.

You grabbed the bandages but before you could open them, Mattheo lifts you up in one swift move turning around to place you on the sink, standing in between your legs. You just look at him, too scared to move. He lifts his hands to gently stroke your thighs, stroking circles on your soft skin. "Keep going pretty girl." He practically coos, smiling smugly at your reaction. You open the bandage but stop abruptly when you feel his hand creep from your thigh to your core gently rubbing circle around your clit.

You try and focus on bandaging him up but all you can think about is how much pleasure your feeling. You feel the knot in your stomach tighten, as Mattheo moves your shorts aside. "No panties..? You dirty little girl." He growls, licking his lips. "No Mattheo, please don't!" You protest. He does the opposite and inserts one of his digits into your tight hole, making you moan and roll your eyes back. Your release was close, Mattheo could feel it. "You dont even want this, and your already about to cum..?" He chuckles darkly picking up his pace. That was all it took to push you over the edge. You came with a loud scream, clenching around Mattheo's finger.

He pulled out his index dinger licking your remains off and groaning at the taste of your sweet cunt. His eyes met your tired ones. "You did so good for me, pretty baby." You were dazed and confused. barely keeping your eyes open. "Come on baby we're almost done." He said, kissing your forehead. You move your hand up bandaging the rest of his wounds. Once your finished he picks you up, carrying you to your bed. As he does so, you wrap your arms around his neck, letting out a big yawn. He lays you down on your bed, walking over and making sure your door is locked for the night.

He comes back to your bed, shedding his clothes off till he's only in his boxers. He climbs in and lays atop of you, resting his head on your chest. He wrapped his big arms around your torso. You let out a deep breath, running your fingers through his curly hair. You close your eyes, your breath evening out and syncing with Mattheos.

"Mattheo..?" You ask. "Yes...?" He responds lazily.

"I think i love you." You say fearfully. How could you love someone who makes your life hell? You felt dirty and embarrassed.

"I know you do baby. I've got you." He says pressing a soft kiss to your stomach. "I've got you."

Not proof read ! ! !

[absolutebl]

Tag Game: 10 Scenes I will never forget (BL from China, Japan, Korea & Taiwan)

Tagged by @hughungrybear

Rules: Share five (5) ten (10) scenes you can't forget. Not your favorites, the ones that got stuck in your brain for any reason.

I took that "not your favorite" line seriously.

1. Sleeves in Gay (Chinese Bromance)

Untamed was the first instance I remember but I have a screen shot from Word of Honor. Look we all get it, China. But the DISCOURSE we had over this whole thing around China, BL, and sleeves kinda cemented my relationship with BL on tumblr.

I guess you had to be here. But A TIME was had on this hellsite and we have all been Paying Attention to sleeves ever since.

As we very well should.

2. Opening meet cute Seven Days

THE STAGING. My first incidenct of a BL outright DOING manga RIGHT just on our screens for us. The perspective, the framing, the body positions... everything was perfection.

3. Into the trash bag Kieta Hatsukoi

It broke us. Every one.

4. Blueming's how to film a gay sex scene in Korea... an education

I don't like that they felt they had to do it this way, but I like that the strictures and confines pulled out a kind of shadow puppet art and the coloring was remarkable. Speaking of...

5. Color Rush's musical montage date

I liked the sound track for this show (rare for me) and I loved the atmospheric underwater feeling of this sequence plus the musical score.

There are others from this show like the rain hung, the crystal rainbow, and the rainbow fan of color wheel, but I had to pick.

6 The double down "crash into to me" trope used to emphasize the love triangle in Light On Me

Korea is just so CLEVER with their trope deployment. Watching them juggle multiple back-and-forths damn near perfectly to emphasize the love triangle and manipulate our emotions was brilliant. I still don't love a love triangle, but I appreciate the art of this one so much I gave it a 10/10.

7 "Have you been well, without me?" Our Dating Sim

Possibly one of the greatest lines ever delivered in a reunion romance.

8 Air gun to the heart in We Best Love

I could pick so many from this show but many of them would qualify as favorites. But this moment and the way you can see the invisible shot hit, because, well, Sam is just that good. It's just perfect tsundere meets pining seme acting.

9 Kiss through the net (ICONIC) in HIStory 2 Crossing the Line

Just amazing, perfect, beautifully shot, sports romance at its finest.

10 These goobers in Love is Science

Tiny family for the win.

Others I seriously considered but eliminated because they ARE favorites

Takara falling into the wall

My Personal Weatherman drunk boyfriend lap cuddles

Just Friends kissing in public in uniform

The ending running confession sequence in My Beautiful Man (I will never forget it because this one broke me, in real time)

Love Class 2 the boxers sequence

Jun & Jun the little whimper before he gives up and the kiss, also squishy cheeks

Love for Love's Sake gay punching, also "who hit you," also the magic kiss, also....

Light on Me - the confession, the hand hold at school, Namgong in the cape with flowers

The blood covered kiss in Long Time No See

Our Dating Sim's stealth kiss giggle

Cats/dogs, dark meat/light meat chicken, bisexual awakening in Oh My Assistant.

"To soft" in History 3 Trapped

Peaking over the divider in Semantic Error, also seme subscription service, ending fairy, yaja time, the LETTUCE line, also...

The backpack drop in Why R U? Korea.

The nod to the bed in See Your Love

Ghat kisses!

Dishonorable mention for the dirty minds in the corner

Minato's Laundromat - the sheet scene

My Personal Weatherman - the shirt scene (similarly My Day and the belt)

Old Fashion Cupcake - the finger bite

First Love Story - Pervert

Jun & Jun - THAT lap sit

The lap site tie grab in Kiseki Dear to Me

Love is Science in the closet makeout scene

This line in Unknown:

Should I do a whole second one for Thailand?

I don't tag but if you want to play you absolutely should!

[tea-and-cats-and-books]

The Shadowhunter Chronicles rated by Alec content:

The Infernal Devices

Alec hasn’t been born yet. A true tragedy for the characters living in this time- 0/10

The Last Hours

Alec still hasn’t been born yet, and did not time travel, so did not appear. This is very sad- 0/10

The Mortal Instruments

City of Bones- We’re introduced my grumpy precious little angel child- 10/10

City of Ashes- Alec continues to be the best even though nobody properly appreciates him- 10/10

City of Glass- Yay for Alec! - 10/10

City of Fallen Angels- Alec comes back from vacation and is still the best (plus I adore those postcards)- 10/10

City of Lost Souls- This book hurts my soul, and I need this to be fixed yesterday, but Alec is still better than everyone- 10/10

City of Heavenly Fire- Alec is 100% done with everyone and tells them what’s what and I love it. Alec wins at life- 10/10

The Bane Chronicles

Alec is adorable and perfect and I love him and wow I love reading him from Magnus’s point of view (even if those voicemails cause me great pain)- 10/10

Tales from Shadowhunter Academy

Alec and Simon talking and becoming proper friends + Born to Endless Night= A+++++++++++- 10/10

The Long Conversation

pouty, considering poisoning the punch, worrying about his family Alec- 10/10

The Dark Artifices

Lady Midnight- Magnus says he’s going to meet Alec in Buenos Aires and Emma sees Alec through a portal at the end- 10/10

Lord of Shadows- Alec becomes the temporary Head of the London Institute and is the best as always- 10/10

Queen of Air and Darkness- ALEC BECOMES CONSUL AND GETS MARRIED AND IS THE BEST FICTIONAL CHARACTER EVER- 10/10

A Love That Never Tires

Alec hanging out with Jace towards the end of his wedding party- 10/10

Ghosts of the Shadow Market

BABY ALEC HIDING BEHIND A VASE AND THE LAND I LOST- 10/10

The Eldest Curses

ALEC IS A MAIN CHARACTER-  ∞/10

The Red Scrolls of Magic- ALEC IS BASICALLY A FAIRY TALE PRINCE, EXCEPT BETTER BECAUSE HE IS ALEC, AND THIS IS THE BEST BOOK EVER 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 -  ∞/10

The Lost Book of the White- ALEC GOES ON AND ADVENTURE WITH THE PEOPLE HE LOVES MOST AS THE MAIN CHARACTER AND IS BEST DAD, BEST HUSBAND BOYFRIEND AND SAVES THE DAY LIKE THE FAIRY TALE PRINCE HE IS  💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖-  ∞/10

Secrets of Blackthorn Hall- Alec goes on a well deserved vacation with his family- 10/10

The Wicked Powers

haven’t been written yet, but Alec will be there, so- 10/10

The Shadowhunters Codex

A list of Alec’s stats is included- 10/10

Not for Humans

Alec having to deal with his idiot of a parabatai and not noticing a drunk Magnus checking him out- 10/10

Kissed

💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 - 10/10

A History of Notable Shadowhunters & Denziens of Downworld: Told in the Language of Flowers

Alec threw Magnus a surprise birthday party where the guests were cats- 10/10

Classics Reimagined in the World of the Shadowhunters

Alec is Snow White- 10/10