#this has been sitting in my inbox for so long

[houseofhyde]

Omg maybe a soft moment w manchild Bucky and reader where they are in bed slow touches talking about their feelings and how buckys been after her for so long and how she felt it too and omg.

Maybe not tho bc I might literally die of love resding it

signs in the silence. a manchild drabble.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader. synopsis. fighting off sleep to scrape a little more time together, you interrogate bucky and find out all the things sam told him about you. warnings. mentions of smut/prior sexual activity, bickering, unlabeled relationship, reader being a sore loser (uno is hell on earth when you're losing), fluff, a tiny bit of angst. reader inclusivity. like a single mention of bucky brushing away an invisible strand of hair. wordcount. 2.7k (okay so maybe idk how to only write a drabble, sue me!) hyde's input. bestie, i saw your ask enter my inbox this evening and immediately started writing it, i swear i was possessed into finishing this in one sitting. ik it's not exactly what you asked for but i hope you enjoy reading it! (unedited, we die like real men)

Curtains dance in the wind like billowing ballgowns, lifting and dipping in the arms of the night. Past the window pane, rain reigns the streets below, staining everything beneath the stormy sky. Despite the weather and the ungodly hour, the city is still wide awake and, alongside it, so are you.

“You’re cheating!”

“How am I cheating?” There’s something unfair about how jaw-dropping Bucky still looks like this: cross-legged on the bed, wearing nothing but boxers and tired eyes, and clutching a two-card hand of colourful cards. If he hadn’t just condemned you to pick up twelve, you would reach over and steal a kiss. “I don’t even know the rules to this stupid game.”

“If it’s so stupid, why do you keep beating me?” You’re begrudgingly picking up your dues and struggling to hold the stack of cards in one hand.

As he tries to help you pick up a card that slips off the edge, you swat metal fingers away.

“Begginers luck,” the soldier shrugs, placing down his second last card. “Uno.”

Yellow Seven. Fuck.

“I actually hate you,” you groan, collapsing back against feather pillows.

“You’re holding half the deck, doll,” the ill-will you feel towards him in this moment aside, you can’t help the way your heart gives a little leap at that silly name of endearment. If feelings make fools, you’re leading the pack. “There’s no way you don’t have a playable card.”

Fingertips — flesh, warm and tender with their touch — slide up the back of your calf, hooking under your knee before attempting to tug you closer, down the bed, to where he sits by the edge. Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick your legs, shaking off his touch.

“I don’t wanna play with you any more,” between the yawn you’re fighting off and the pout that’s taken capture of your lips, you truly are a pitiful sight. The knowledge of this doesn’t stop you from throwing down your cards and making a run for it off the mattress.

Unfortunately, your roommate has the reflex skills of a ninja and, no sooner than your feet touch the ground, his arms grab you from behind and drag you into his lap.

“God you’re such a sore loser,” he mouths against the skin of your neck, trailing his lips over the kisses he already tattooed into your skin hours ago, when the sun was barely setting and he had you pressed against the walls of the shower.

“I am not!” Two fingers pinch at his arm. You quietly delight in the way it only makes him squeeze them tighter around you, biceps straining deliciously on either side of you.

“Are too!” His teeth clamp down on your earlobe, and you have to physically hold yourself back from grinding back into his lap, the burning outline of his semi-hard cock straining against navy fabric heavy on your mind. “Sam even warned me about it.”

Glancing at him from over your shoulder, you find his eyes already on you. It’s something you’re coming to learn about him, quietly and unaddressed, just how attentive of a man he is. “You seriously shouldn’t trust a word that man says. He’s an agent of chaos!”

“Hey, that’s Captain America you’re talking about,” this time, he’s pinching you and, when you squirm, he takes the opportunity to scoop an arm beneath your knees and lifts you both off the bed. “And, according to him, you once bit his sister during a game of Twister.”

“One time,” You hold up a single finger and Bucky leans his head forward to bite it. “And it was only after she nearly choked me!”

After guiding both your hands to grab on behind his neck, your soldier takes away the hand supporting your back and uses it to dust off the sheets. Cards go flying and float onto the ground, and not once does the neurotic voice, that lives in your mind and berates any disorganisation, tell you to care about the mess.

In what world could a mess on the floor be more important than the way Bucky slides you both back down atop the mattress, card-free sheets pooling over your skin as the soldier pulls you into him.

He closes his eyes for all of four seconds before you’re whispering across the pillows.

“What else did Sam warn you about me?”

Blue irises reappear, one by one, and you can see how exhaustion has stitched itself across his face. You feel a twinge of guilt, keeping him awake on a night like this, but you’re selfish and you want every extra second with him you can get.

“He said you were the most intelligent yet incapable person he’s ever met,” his legs bump against yours beneath the sheets as he shuffles a little closer. You meet him halfway, intertwining your limbs in a tangle that’s slowly growing familiar. “Nearly didn’t believe him… Then I saw you for the first time.”

“You two are real mean, you know that?” There is not an ounce of grit behind your voice, just pure unadulterated adoration that a more awake version of yourself would be doubled over, gagging at the sight of it. Stand up, girl! You can almost hear her — you — say. He’s literally just a man! “What was so incapable about me opening the door of my home to the needy, huh?”

The soldier takes capture of the hand you poke against his chest, leading it up the path to meet the soft press of his lips. This is another thing you’re learning, how constant he craves contact, a hand always at your back, or a shoulder bumping against your own, or a head buried in your neck, he’s a fiend for the feel of flesh.

“Who said that’s the first time I saw you?” He challenges.

“Oh.”

“It was months before that. Sam and I, we were hiding out at a black-market art gallery in Madripoor because of… well, that’s not important,” as if he feels the tension bubbling beneath your skin, he dances over the dangerous part of his life, the parts you don’t get to see, the parts that turn him into a single phone call for days on end. “You called Sam, one of those face-clock calls-”

“It’s facetime, grandpa,” you tease him with a smile, reward him with a press of your mouth down into his right shoulder.

“Whatever. Point is, there was a mirror behind him and that’s where I saw you,” vibranium cups its palm around your face and you turn into its touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he soothes your cheek. “You were crying, begging for help after smashing your shower door whilst trying to kill a spider.”

“I stand-by the fact that could have happened to anyone.”

“Darling, no it couldn’t,” his laughter shakes his chest and you. It makes you want to dive deeper into his touch, feel his next laugh erupt in your own chest. “No one else would be silly enough to throw a baseball bat at a spider the size of raindrops.”

“It was jumping! And I didn’t have any spray!” You turn away from his touch, only to nestle your face in the crevices of his collarbone. Despite the chill in the air, Bucky’s a furnace against you, sheltering you from the cold. “Tell me something else Sam said.”

“Hmm,” he pauses to think, his flesh arm curling around your back and rolling you into him. He smells like Bucky but, also, you, traces of your citrus bodywash staining him hours after you lathered him in it beneath the flowing waters of the shower. Something curls in your loins, possessive and satisfied with the claim you’ve made on his skin. “That you have an insatiable sweet tooth. Backed it up with a story where he had to pry you out a bakery after failing to get some promotion at work.”

“I still can’t believe they gave it to fucking Frank,” you huff, the bitterness still present on your tongue after all these years. “They ended up firing him within a year after realising that, beneath all that manly testosterone, he was incompetent.”

“Just your type, then?” The bastard muses, effortlessly blocking the hand that’s reaching for his nipple and pressing it flat against his chest instead. You feel his heart, beating a little stronger with each pulse, there's a magnet in your palm commanding it to break free from its ribcage and fly right into your hand. “Sam said you always wanted to learn to bake, but were too lazy.”

“Too busy,” you roll your eyes, though deep down there’s a truth in Sam’s claims. “Luckily, you’re a whizz in the kitchen. And I’m not just talking about when you bend me over the counter and threaten to use the spatula to spank-”

“Why do you think I wanted to learn to bake?”

Reminiscing on your salacious adventures together quickly stops, the moment you take a second to actually think about what he’s saying, what he’s not saying. You’re both good at this game, tip-toeing around a subject you both keep bringing to light yet never fully revealing. There’s excitement in the unsaid, in the quiet touches and unmentioned actions that hint at something you’re both too stubborn to address.

Tonight will not be the night either of you give in and fold.

“Tell me something else,” oh god, there’s a yawn caught in your throat. With difficulty, you swallow it down before the soldier can point it out.

“He never warned me you were so demanding,” you whine in protest into his skin and feel the dance of his hand running up and down your back, an apology that seeps through skin and into your spine. “But he did mention you have awful taste in men.”

The hand on your back slips lower, pressing dimples into the skin at the base of your spine as you push yourself off his chest and come face to face with him. The moonlight is forgiving tonight, granting you the pretty view of his illuminated features. The fondness in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the wrinkles beginning to threaten stains upon his skin, the scars you’ve yet to ask about.

For every imperfection and every inch of adoration, he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Something tugs at your heart.

“The worst taste,” you murmur, bringing your lips down to meet Bucky’s in a kiss that has him exhaling with relief and gripping at your skin tighter.

“Yeah?” He mumbles, stealing the air you exhale. “Tell me, what kind of man merits your attention?”

“The kind who works out every muscle but his brain,” you drag your lips over his jaw, relishing in the scrape of his stubble.

“Hey, I read!” Finally, it’s his turn to feel the sting of offense.

“Typical man, making everything about himself,” you settle back down against his chest, ear pressing close enough to where you can hear the thunder of his heart. “This is about my dream man, Buck, not you.”

“Didn’t you call me your dream man last time I ate your-”

“Anyway, I like the kind of man who listens to both my problems and my complaints, and then does whatever he can to fix things without pressuring me.” Flashback to last week, when you complained about the strap of your bag snapping half-way home only to awaken the next morning to it all stitched perfectly back together.

“You like the considerate kind then,” he whispers, and you swear you hear a twinge of nervousness on his tongue.

“And the kind who makes me feel beautiful with just a single glance at me,” exhibit A stares down at you right now, a shine in his eyes that makes you want to swoon.

“That must be any man,” he brushes a nonexistent hair off your forehead, “I mean, look at you.”

“I also like the kind of man that chases me, even when I’m too focused on what’s ahead to glance back and notice him,” there’s a strange squeeze in your throat as you swallow down a breath, thinking back on all the hints of longing he may have dropped that you’ll never know about.

“That man would still chase you, even if you never looked back,” the way he’s speaking to you and touching you, like you’re a rose petal threatening to fall off its stem, is not helping the lump in your throat. “In case you stumbled and needed someone to break your fall.”

That does you in, sends the first tear falling off your eyelash and landing on his naked chest, while you muster a quiet, “I like the kind of man who calls.”

His hands don’t freeze, and no part of him jumps with shock. Instead, his chest deflates with resignation.

“You know about the mission,” it’s not a question.

It doesn’t need to be, he already knows the answer.

“How?” This, however, is a question he needs to ask.

You shrug into him, refusing to give in to his search for your face as you focus on hiding it in the warmth of his skin, hidden from the look on his face you’re too afraid to confront. “Something just felt… different when I woke up.”

“Like what?” It’s not an accusatory thing, just a simple search for answers from a man who’s trying his best to keep you from falling apart against him.

“Well, you woke me up with your head between my legs-”

“What’s different about that? I did the same on Tuesday, too.

“And then brought me breakfast in bed.”

“You feed me, I feed you, that’s how a-” he doesn’t quite say the R word, but you feel it, in the way he seers a kiss onto the crown of your head, “Is supposed to work.”

“Then there was the three course meal waiting for me when I came home from work,” you still remember the way your heart was stuck between soaring at the sight of him setting the table as you walked into the apartment, and sinking with realisation that your suspicions were definitely true. “If all that wasn’t enough, I could tell from your touch.”

“My touch?”

“It was like… you were trying to memorise me. Not just when we were in the shower, but each time you took my hand across the table and brushed over my shoulder before clearing our plates,” you feel him sinking his fingers over your flesh, a soft squeeze at your hip. “Even now, it’s like you’re trying to hold onto me because you know you have to let go.”

“I just…” He sighs with defeat, not helping his case when he lays another kiss against your head. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“That’s okay,” you lie, for both of your sakes. “It’s not like you’ve not left to go help Sam before.”

“This isn’t before,” you both hate and adore him for the firmness he puts into the statement. “Before was different, we weren’t us.”

As much as this aches, ripping your chest apart to carve out your heart with the bitter truth of Bucky’s life as a hero catching up to whatever safe haven you two have locked yourselves away in, you’ll happily take the pain, the lump in your throat, all of it. There’s no price too high to pay to have this moment, laying in Bucky’s arms and pretending there’s no one in the city but you two, fighting off sleep for a moment more of each other’s presence and leaving fingerprint evidence of one another on your skins.

“You’ll be gone by the time I wake up,” you could get mad at him for not telling you, for the chance he almost took at leaving you another measly note on the fridge. But all you feel is the mutual ache of wanting to put off the inevitable, just a little longer. “Won’t you?”

You feel him nod, feel him squeeze his arms around you tighter, feel your heartbeats start to sync as sleep slowly guides you away from his loving gaze.

“I promise I won’t miss a single call, doll.”

[kurooh]

★ EPISODE 02. SLOTH

SUMMARY. a certain producer has been bothering shinsou since before the set up with hanta—you’re urgently wanted in a video with UA bombshell todoroki shoto! how exciting and nervewracking; he’s only one of your biggest fantasies, right? oh, and it looks like it’s shower scene too . . will he live up to your expectations?

WARNINGS. 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader, shower sex, oral, unprotected sex, awkwardness. wc / 6.1k

▸ RETURN TO THE MAIN MENU!

shinsou calls you when the sun is sinking below the horizon and its colors are bleeding through the sky in picturesque streaks. you’re standing in front of the window when you pick up your phone, body thoroughly relaxed since returning from a trip to a nearby spa. tokyo is still very new to you, but it was hanta who’d kindly given you the recommendation.

“hey. sero told me the shoot went well. is that accurate or is he pulling my leg?”

his voice crackles through the phone and you just laugh at the idea of hanta playfully messing with people. it suits him, and makes him all the more attractive.

the shoot did go well—actually, that’s an extremely mild way to put it. your debut shoot had gone much better than you could’ve expected it to; your co-star is just being modest. still, even hours later, you can feel him on your skin.

not the grip of his hands on your waist as he positioned you on his lap, nor the pleasant sting of his teeth grazing along your lip in the middle of a graceless kiss.

once the cameras had stopped rolling, hanta helped to sit you up so that you could be comfortable against the cushions. instead of collecting his clothing off the floor and getting dressed, he’d just walked butt-ass naked around the whole room to find a pack of baby wipes. he tore them open and sank to his knees in front of you, as if to worship. gently, without haste, he began to clean the mess away from your inner thighs and pelvis.

when you flinched from the coolness of the wipe, he only ran his fingers along the curve of your hip and apologized, reminding you to stay still nonetheless. in comparison to the shoot, it was soft. entirely genuine and completely caring.

and it surprised you more than you expected it to. such a simple act of respect and compassion, and yet it’s all you can feel hours later. oh, and he was close—so close that you could see the light freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.

“he’s just being modest,” you’re trying to think of a way to explain that you really liked hanta without divulging too much about the shoot. if he wants details, he can watch the video when it’s uploaded to UA’s website. “we actually connected right off the bat. he really helped me to get past my nerves, and it was a perfect introduction to UA.”

shinsou hums thoughtfully, “i’m happy to hear that. since i’m still in my office, do you want me to add him to your yes list? if you’re still thinking about it, i suppose i can do it another—”

you don’t mean to cut him off, but you do. filming with hanta in the future? where can you sign up? “yeah, put his name down. thanks, shinsou.”

the clacking of a keyboard makes itself heard on his end as he adds hanta to the list. 

“oh, i’ve gotta ask. are you up for a shoot the day after tomorrow? i know it’s kind of fast to be scheduling you, but there’s a producer that wants you in a video. he’s been asking since before i scheduled you with sero.”

“do you have any details on it? or should i just show up and find out?”

“never do that,” shinsou chuckles, checking his inbox on his work computer. it doesn’t take long for him to find the email he’s looking for. “producer wants to pair you with todoroki shoto. the set isn’t at the studio, like it was today. you’d be filming at a condo in koto-ku.”

it isn’t very far from your apartment or UA studios, but the detail about the off-studio set isn’t what catches your attention. it’s the name of your potential co-star, todoroki shoto. you know him as well as any thirsty fan does. he’s a fucking knockout, and you’ve always wanted to meet him in person. even just meeting him at an adult trade show and shaking his hand would give you enough masturbation material for an entire year!

you try to keep the earnest excitement out of your voice by reminding yourself that this is a professional phone call with your manager about your job, not an invitation to join love island.

“sounds good. send me the details once you have them and i’ll do it.”

.  .  . 

you’re so keyed up you nearly scrape the side of someone’s car when you’re parking at the condominium. in all fairness, you’re filming with the todoroki shoto! UA’s pretty boy and easily the catch of the century—how could anyone even act normal about this?

luckily, you have some time to gather yourself when you’re ascending the stairs. shinsou forwarded you the information he’d received from the producer, and the cringe of what you’d be filming didn’t bother you one bit. the provided information about the loosely scripted, caught in the shower scene absolutely did not register in your mind. all that stood out to you in the email was shower sex and todoroki shoto—the only things of importance in the block of text.

this must be some sort of divine intervention.

someone upstairs must’ve witnessed your struggles and experiences at shiketsu, and decided to pay you back with interest. all of that workplace bullshit, those lousy fucks—maybe all of that was worth it, if this is what you get in return. an invitation to be at the top, a decent manager, and some hot co-stars. could this even be classified as working anymore? this feels more like living a dream shared by thousands of people, all of which would kill to have this chance.

according to shinsou’s directions, you’re right where you need to be. you knock on the door and quickly step back, practically vibrating with anticipation. what if your co-star has been practicing positions in the shower and answers the door shirtless? you’re drooling at the thought!

the door swings open, and less than a second later, you’re standing face to face with a middle-aged man. he offers you a friendly smile and extends a hand, skin visibly wet.

“you got here just in time! we’ve been working to prep the set, but it’ll take a little while before we get to filming. one of our mics got wet, so two of the guys are out getting another from the studio.”

part of you deflates a little inside, but your hopes were just too high. in fact, the director answering the door only adds to the amount of butterflies in your belly—the wait means that everything will be made absolutely worth it. he lets you in, and you follow him to the set while he goes on about where you can set your purse down during filming and how the kitchen fridge is actually full of food and drink. apparently, the producer personally owns this condo for filming and uses it regularly, only ever swapping out the talent. you’re way more focused on when you’ll be meeting your co-star and how well you’ll mesh together, but you still nod or say something periodically so he knows you’re somewhat listening.

at long last, your prayers are answered.

todoroki shoto stands in the middle of the bathroom, wearing more clothing than he needs to. he’s holding onto an old shower curtain, expression blank, but then his eyes land on you and his lips press into a small, almost imperceptible smile. 

and, bless his heart, he waves. “hi. nice to meet you.”

you manage to control the impulse to scream and say that you’ve been dying to meet him, schooling your pounding heart into submission. so, to match him, you wave back. “hey. are you replacing the shower curtain?”

“yes. it seemed pretty dirty.”

without elaborating, shoto folds it up and slips past you, out of the bathroom. the director is fiddling with a camera to make sure it’s still on when he glances over at you, feeling the need to assure you.

“he doesn’t talk much. it’s nothing personal, he’s just really quiet.”

“i thought that was the case,” you set your purse down on the counter, pushing it far away from the sink. “i don’t really mind. i’ve filmed some stuff with quiet co-stars, it’s no big deal.”

who the hell cares if he’s quiet right now? you’ll be able to draw him out of his shell once you’re both stripped naked and the camera’s rolling. 

you can hear commotion and the opening of a door. the director steps back, clapping his hands. “okay, the boys are back. you can help yourself to the fridge while we get this set up, and then we’ll be ready to start rolling.”

.  .  . 

“go ahead and turn around so that your back is facing us. yes, there you go. once we’re recording, you’ll strip, get in, all that business. todoroki, you went through the notes? you know when you’re supposed to step in, yes?”

your co-star nods, the packet of notes on the shoot in his hand. his face remains neutral despite all of the conversation filling the room, and he’s looking at the freshly replaced shower curtain—or maybe he’s looking at you. the director says something, gesturing to the camera mounted on the shower wall, but you’re too caught up in following the direction of shoto’s gaze to register what’s said until your name is said.

“everybody good to go?” the director looks around the room, making sure that everyone nods, including yourself. “in that case, action!”

with as much sexiness and grace as you can muster, you slide your top up and off of your head without any struggle. your shorts are next to go, leaving you in your matching bra and panties. they’re not the same as the ones you’d worn with hanta; you hadn’t been able to find those even after the shoot wrapped up, so you just assumed they’d been thrown away. after all, he’d absolutely shredded your panties.

you unclasp your bra and shrug it off. the packet of notes on the shoot didn’t give you much information about each scene, looking like it had been torn away from the writer while they were still brainstorming. messy bullet points with complicated annotations were scrawled below every titled scene—one of the things that had you furrowing your brows was a nondescript bullet point reading sexify soap bottle highlighted in both yellow and blue. who the hell is the producer behind this? yes, you’re thankful that they set you up with shoto, but they need to get their shit together when it comes to giving actors material to go off of. it’s either a neat, legible packet or nothing at all!

emphasizing the slight recoil of your asscheeks as you pull the panties down is a little bit awkward. actually, it’s very awkward, but you have no choice but to push through it. you rush to kick the underwear off and hop into the shower; the camera has seen enough of your ass when you’re undressing. whoever isn’t skipping the slow, teasing removal of clothing scene in the beginning of most porn videos has some serious patience!

anyway, you step under the warm spray. the water pressure is just wonderful, as nice as a hotel shower, and all you can smell is the fresh, new shower curtain. colorful bottles of shampoo and body wash line the shelves, just begging to be grabbed, so you give in, selecting a sweetly scented wash. it pours smoothly into your palm with a soft squirt, and fragrance curls through the air as you start to soap up your legs.

you don’t realize the minutes have gone by until you’re in the middle of spreading the suds all over your tits, and the shower curtain is unceremoniously pulled to the side. the culprit is grasping the plastic, which is printed with rubber duckies all over it, and he manages to look smoking hot rather than unserious. oh, if this was for real, you wouldn’t mind having a roommate like him walking in on you in the shower. hell, you’d make sure your apartment is outfitted with a glass shower if it meant he could watch you get all sudsy!

shoto’s cheeks are the lightest shade of pink as his eyes shamelessly dart from your soapy tits to your face. it’s clear that he doesn’t know where to look—you barely manage to keep the smirk off your lips, remembering that you’re supposed to feign surprise.

“i thought i heard a noise, like you slipped . . or something.”

fuck improv. shoto’s done with having to come up with ridiculous porno lines. he doesn’t watch nearly enough stuff by his lonesome to get creative. like, if you’re a producer hiring him for a shoot, why does he have to come up with dialogue for your video? and for the love of god, any scripts or note packets given must be neat and legible, with useful details or annotations!

the gray and turquoise of his multi-colored eyes look like precious gemstones. how is it possible for someone to hit the genetic lottery like he did? shoto’s skin is clear and smooth, in the kind of way that doesn’t come from just expensive and high quality skincare. behind you, the water falls onto the tile, hitting it like rain, and you realize it’s time to deliver your line.

“i’m pretty sure i locked the door,” then you raise an eyebrow at him, glancing meaningfully at his grip on the curtain and how far he’s pulled it back, “don’t tell me you broke in, roomie.”

shoto’s face darkens with embarrassment, and all you can think to yourself is wow, he’s really such a good actor! with the curtain drawn back, the spray makes its way out of the shower and onto his dry clothing, dampening the fabric. naturally, your eyes begin to wander, raking down his body until you spot the lump of his half-hard cock in his sweats. 

“i didn’t break – alright, i did,” he submits easily, chewing on his lower lip while his gaze flicks from your face to your chest. “but shouldn’t you have made it so i didn’t have to?”

suds slip down your chest, mingling with water and pouring down your slippery body. they mostly dissipate on their way down, but a few traces of soap catch in the hair at your pelvis. you swish your body from side to side, setting a hand on your hip for your next line. he looks up, catching the slightest twitch of your lip—are you holding back a laugh or a smile?

“you’re blaming me for not making a move? don’t think i haven’t seen you skulking around every single day. you’re my roommate, and you’re acting like you wanna be my boyfriend or something.”

again, fuck improv! this entire genre of unscripted hot roommate porn needs to die immediately, but he pushes it out of his mind in favor of thinking useful thoughts. it feels like it’s too early to call a cut, but what if—no, he’s got it. what does any not-so-good actor do when they’re struggling in the middle of a scene? they think of their co-workers and dive into the scenario to better understand it. you are his hot roommate that he’s been lusting after, and he needs to act like it!

you don’t expect him to pull back, and clearly, neither does the director—the man is squinting in confusion from behind shoto, whispering profoundly to the guy opening a laptop.

he clears his throat, suddenly stepping back. “you never once stopped me or called me out. i’m, uh, sorry for misreading the situation.”

before shoto can fully turn around, you do the first thing that comes to mind. 

you reach out and grab him by the dick. that definitely gets his attention; his eyes widen a fraction, and genuine surprise just looks so good on him that it makes your thighs squeeze together. he stares at you, a vehement mixture of both arousal and incredulity buried in his eyes, and you’re still holding him in place. it’s too early to let go, so you squeeze, reeling him in like the catch he is.

“i never said you read things wrong . . and maybe—maybe i liked the attention too much to stop you.”

shoto kisses you right then and there, pressing himself against you so that he’s halfway in the shower. the shower water hits him like rain, soaking his hair, and you realize that if you weren’t completely naked and working to tug his pants down, this could almost be a scene straight out of the notebook. his hands wander to your bare ass and he kneads the flesh there, more for himself than you.

“cut! cut before anything goes further!”

the director is quick to stop recording, holding a hand up as he gets to his feet. he looks toward a member of the camera crew, who is opening tabs and programs on the laptop. “hold on for a second, we just have to make sure the camera in the shower is recording correctly.”

shoto looks like he’s in pain when you let him go, but he doesn’t say anything.

“so,” you smile warmly, reaching out to brush your fingertips along his arm as you talk. “i liked your improv. you really brought the idea of the video to life with all of that.”

yes, it’s a totally regurgitated compliment from your shoot with hanta. you made sure to say it with as much charisma and friendliness as he did, and yet, shoto remains placid. he nods, his lips pressing into a straight line. for a moment, you think he’ll strike up a conversation, but he only says, “thank you. you too.”

oh, so he’s shy. it’s not completely shocking, considering your line of work—it’s easy to be bold and sexy on camera, but actually talking? it can be more difficult for some actors and actresses. although, if you were being completely honest and not just understanding, you had somewhat expected this shoot to go as well as your last one did with hanta. you’d hoped to hit it off initially, then explore the chemistry on set, but he’s just too damn polite. could you break him down in the shower?

at shiketsu, he was a fan favorite among many of the girls. (actually, if you’re thinking back far enough, you’ve definitely heard one or two men talking quietly about him too.) many of them would watch his videos and swoon over the way he’d handle his co-star in it or talk out loud about what they’d do if they got the chance to film with him. now you have the chance to do something with him—and you’re going to make it count.

“you got everything synced up? okay, check this so you can make sure it’s—yeah, that’s good,” the director looks toward you, your co-star, and the mounted camera in the shower. “we’re rolling in five! if you could resume kissing like the last scene, that’d be easier for the editors.”

“hey. should i rinse off all the soap so we don’t risk slipping? it’d be better visually if i left it, but it’s up to you.” shoto hears your whispering and nods, leaning in so that the microphones don’t pick up his response.

“yes, we could turn around so that you can rinse. i don’t want either of us to slip or fall, especially with the shower being as small as it is. it’s an emergency room visit waiting to happen.”

as of right now, the camera is rolling. shoto moves fast, nearly headbutting you when he crushes his lips against yours; the kiss is warm, silently eager, and not at all what would be shared between two yearning roommates. if this video was about thanking your partner after some good sex, maybe it’d work. but it isn’t; you take the reins and crank the heat all the way up.

shoto gasps into your mouth when you hike your leg up and around his waist, dragging him into the shower like you plan to devour him. you’re also not holding onto anything aside from him, so he has no choice but to go along or risk dropping you. by the time he gets under the steady steam of water, his shirt and boxers are entirely soaked; his sweatpants are a gray heap on the floor, the only article of clothing that remains dry.

the mounted camera undoubtedly zooms in on shoto pressing you against the wall, and you grabbing at his cock through his boxers. against the column of your throat and in between quick kisses, he emits the softest of sounds, letting you know to keep doing exactly what you’re doing. the water washes away much of the soap and significantly lowers the possibility of slipping, allowing for easier movement—he leans back to undress, making quick work of his shirt and boxers.

now, it’s just you and one of your favorite pornstars.

you’re minutes away from making a longtime fantasy become reality.

before you know it, he’s on you again, but this time he’s fitting a hand between your thighs. you open up for him like a flower in the moonlight, expecting to hear a moan or even some filthy praise, but there’s nothing. not a word, not even a sigh. you fill the silence for both of you with a breathy moan, spreading your legs wider in hopes that he’ll touch you more.

the tips of his fingers glide against your pussy and come away slick with your arousal. while staring directly into your eyes, shoto raises his hand to his lips and proceeds to lick his fingers clean, like he’s just spilled something sweet while cooking. it’s hot as fuck to watch—you feel the throb of need right in your clit. catching a glimpse of his tongue as it curls around his finger does not help either.

while he’s focused on giving you a show of sin, your eyes leave his to inevitably wander down his body. his chest is all lean muscle and sharp edges, the strength and hard work obvious in a single glance. someone’s voice mixes with the sound of the water and turns to static; you only hear your co-star when he tilts your chin up, bringing your eyes to his.

“i said, bend over.”

it’s only a simple command, but it does so many complex things to your body.

in only a fraction of a second, you’re already bent over and ready. water rushes over your back, much of it sliding off, but some pours down your ass and against your pussy. without looking behind you to check, you know his eyes are on you, and so is the camera—in fact, it’s probably zooming in right now.

there’s a hushed thud as shoto drops to his knees, promptly grasping your hips to draw you back. he doesn’t give a damn if it causes you to lose your footing, but he might just do it again if it means he’ll be able to hear your gasp of surprise again.

fervent and excruciating, a tingling heat surges through your body once he gets his tongue on you. slowly, like he’s savoring a meal, he licks a stripe from your clit upwards, dipping the tip of his tongue past your folds like a fucking tease. it’s good, so good that you gasp out a moan and press back into his face, palms sliding down the wet tile. it’s only just begun, but you’re already wondering what he’ll do to you. what if he overstimulates you, licking your clit like it’s a lollipop, until your knees are buckling? maybe he’ll make out with your pussy, french kissing it in a way that’s a lot less shy than how he’d kissed your lips . .

your back arches when his fingers slide into you without any resistance; he buries them to the knuckle and exhales at how god damn tight you feel around him. after a beat, he begins to flick his wrist, setting up an unwavering rhythm with an ease garnered only through experience.

his tongue slides against your clit and it’s like a match to gasoline—your reaction is immediate and irresistible. it’s no secret that shoto’s currently rock hard, his cock hanging neglected and untouched between his thighs, but it doesn’t distract him in the slightest. right now, it’s only your pleasure that matters, and honestly, he’s not inclined to pause if it means you’ll stop making those pretty sounds.

“fuck, you’re good with your tongue,” you gasp, almost choking on the words, “j-just keep licking me like that, baby.”

baby? baby?

the casual petname slips out of you easily, even if the rest of what you were saying didn’t, and shit, it really does something to him. shoto remains silent, even though his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s possible he could faint; even so, he decides not to say anything at all. doesn’t make any noise. doesn’t let himself breathe too loudly. doesn’t look affected.

you’re too caught up in the sensations of his devastating fingers and the way he uses his tongue in just the right way to notice his silence. right now, it’s just the splashing of water, your breathless moans, and the squelches of your soaked cunt as his fingers plunge in and out, repeatedly hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

“oh my godddd,” an almost-sob tears out of your throat, and shoto’s eyes roll back. he’s licking your clit like the whipped cream on a sundae, his mouth watering at the taste of you. to be honest, he actually regrets fingering you right now—it’d be so much better if he could use both hands to hold you against his face while he drinks in everything you have to give him.

when his agent had let him know the details about the shoot and who the producer wanted to pair him with, shoto dug through his safari tabs to find the shiketsu studios website, the library of alexandria’s filthy counterpart. the website was open on his very favorite video of you, the one where you were giving some bum a handjob and talking him through it. thank god the actor had the sense to stay silent, even though you were giving it to him good. 

that is exactly the kind of porn that shoto likes. if he’s sitting down to watch something either for dialogue inspiration or to jerk off—something that happens once in a blue moon—he prefers the man in the video to be quiet. many of them tend to let out these nasty, animalistic grunts that they mistakenly believe are sexy, and it just ruins the mood. everything about your video was top tier—he could only see you working the guy’s cock, only hear you talking to him, and god, it was perfect. shiketsu was a lot of things, but never sloppy when it came to your videos; during your early days, whoever had been in charge was setting you up in some hot videos left and right, making sure that those angles were nothing short of flawless.

it was posted over two years ago. he still watches it to get himself hot before shoots and in between takes to keep himself hard, locking himself in the bathroom to stroke himself to the sound of your voice. the audio plays in his head, mixing with your pitched moans and occasional whines; shoto’s unconsciously reaching toward his cock, pressing his face flush against your pussy.

“hnngh, shit,” he licks you harder, thinking about how much you deserve this. for accepting this shoot with him, for helping him not get fired, for helping him get off for the past two years.

his hand wraps around his leaking cock, and fuck, it feels like sweet relief. 

“‘m close, baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” frantic desperation makes its way through your words, and shoto’s fist strokes upward, his grip tightening at the tip. part of him wishes that you were filming a video where you were the one leading or controlling the situation . . maybe the opportunity will come along sometime in the future. 

you fall off the edge and into overwhelming euphoria with a sob. all you can do is pant, trying your hardest to breathe against the water rushing over your face. shoto does his best to help you through it by kissing at your clit, his fingers curling deeply against that soft spot inside of you.

he does it until you squirm away, bothered by the overstimulation. he sneaks a peek at the director, who motions to keep going. when he pulls his fingers out of your cunt to hold your hips, you turn, throwing him a heated look over your shoulder.

without saying anything, you’ve communicated what you really want.

shoto straightens, cock still in hand. just to draw it out, he rubs the tip against your swollen clit, trying to be sensitive to the fact that you literally just came a minute before, but the contact is still as electric as a shock. it’s torture at its finest—you’re pressing back, eager to feel all of him.

he exhales shortly when he slides his cock into you, his eyebrows drawing together. there’s no simultaneous moan or words of filthy praise; shoto bottoms out and pulls you a few inches closer. as the post-orgasm bliss begins to ebb away into something more kinetic, you moan a few times, trying to sell the scene. this is supposed to be the heated climax (pun intended) between two yearning roommates, and he doesn’t seem to be engaged. 

as much as you want to see his pretty face, you’re actually grateful that you’re bent over instead. it’d be more awkward making noise if you were looking into his eyes, unable to hide the embarrassment that comes along with doing so. it’s one thing when you and your partner are both making noise, but this is clearly not the case.

it feels good when he starts to move, leisurely rocking his hips into you like he’s taking it slow just to map out your body, maybe commit the details to memory. skin against skin, tip to cervix—the tempo is comfortable as it builds upon itself. there is a certain sense of detachment in the movement, like maybe you’re not on the same page, or perhaps your sexual preferences are very different. the hot fuck me look over the shoulder has worked on your co-stars in the past—there’s something about the wild eye contact right after an orgasm that gets people moving faster than saying the words could.

you’re buried in your head, wondering what you’ll eat for dinner tonight and why he’s so god damn quiet. shoto’s got complete access to your body and he’s fucking you like he’s half asleep; his lower lip is tugged between his teeth, and he appears to be concentrating intensely. how are you supposed to feel comfortable moaning and making noise when it’s just you making an effort to do so?

shoto’s eyes narrow, his heart kicking against his ribcage. he’s raw inside your pussy and able to feel every agonizing squeeze of your walls as you get tighter; he wants more than anything to let himself succumb to your body, the pleasure you’re giving him, but he holds back for the camera. his jaw clenches with effort as he holds his tongue, thinking of what’ll be the best for your budding reputation and the viewers of the UA website. but if he really focuses, listening closely, he can hear you getting quieter now.

so, he murmurs your name and starts to move faster, with more passion, and that seems to get you going. you’re letting out these hushed moans and occasional whines of that’s good or harder, and he actually has to bite at his cheek so he doesn’t get too loud. a faint, iron-like taste gathers on his tongue, but he doesn’t let up. instead, he bites down harder.

the dirty smacking of skin against skin fills the room, giving the microphones half of the noise that they need to make this video a good one. shoto deciding to go a little harder makes it a little bit easier to moan, even though you’re still feeling a little less hot than you’d expected to.

“fuck, right there,” you gasp, hoping that it’ll encourage him to say something back. you really don’t want to call cut and explain why silent sex is a turn-off, then continue filming for however long to get it right. the possibility of offending him—perhaps he’s naturally quiet—and then having to continue afterward is one of the things that bothers you the most. “g-give it to me, babe.”

no response. a slight chance in pace, an adjustment of the angle of his cock, but not a single noise.

you let it go on for about three more minutes, until you can’t deal with it anymore. since orgasming, you haven’t been in the frame of mind to have sex—there’s no haze making your thoughts fuzzy, and not enough arousal to keep you going. even thinking of hanta doesn’t help! you throw your ass back onto him a few times before you bite the bullet, mouth falling open.

“oh my god, oh my god,” and your back arches to make it more believable, “i’m so close, i’m gonna cum.”

you squeeze around him as hard as you can, still flexing the muscles even when you let go, and it actually works. shoto pulls out of you, choking out something under his breath, and spills white and messy across your lower back. the water washes all of it away, and you let your head hang, feeling the disappointment like a freight train. this entire shoot was the complete opposite of what you’d so badly wanted, and you just faked an orgasm to get it over with.

“cut!”

shoto helps you up and turns off the water. much of it has gotten outside of the shower, forming cold puddles on the floor that you’re careful not to slip on. the director comes forward with towels, offering one to you and one to your co-star.

“you can get dressed in the bedroom right across the hallway,” he explains to you, handing you your folded clothes, “and we’ve got a few extra shirts and boxers—uh, what size are you?”

you walk to the bedroom, wiping yourself dry without looking back. as you get dressed, you can’t help but wonder what you’ll tell shinsou. he’d probably picked up on how excited you were to do this shoot, and now you’re coming away from it feeling unsatisfied. but you’re a pornstar! pornstars don’t always have good sex, and that’s fine—sometimes the hottest people in the industry aren’t always the best lays. this was only a trial run with him, right? if you get paired with him in the distant future, it’ll probably be a lot better. maybe his problem is that he doesn’t let loose enough, but who knows?

someone knocks on the door without announcing themselves.

assuming it’s the director, you unlock the door and pull it open, only to come face to face with a shirtless todoroki shoto. it feels like what you wanted to see upon arriving at the condo—damp hair, barely dry muscles on display, gray sweatpants. he’s a god damn wet dream and quite the sight to behold.

he gives you a sideways hug, and okay, you’re ready for a do-over. one bed, no cameras, and a locked door. the camera crew needs to step aside—you’re more than capable of handling this.

“i, um, just wanted to say thank you. for a good shoot. it was very nice to meet you today.”

“of course,” you smile at him, folding up your wet towel and heading to the bathroom. the camera crew is busy breaking everything down while the director works with the laptop to save the footage for editors. “thank you for the towel. is there anything else you’ve got for me before i head out?”

he sets down the laptop and stands to shake your hand. “if you could just drop that into the basket near the washer and dryer before you leave, that’d be most appreciated. we’ll be finished editing and touching things up by this time tomorrow, and then we’ll contact your manager with any additional information.”

shoto doesn’t follow you to say anything more when you step out of the bathroom. just like when you’d first met, he waves again, but this time, a happy smile spreads across his face.

[marsdql]

hiii may I request a best friend’s brother fic with jay where reader has liked him ever since they were little and he’s super popular with girls so like reader feels like she’ll never get a chance but one day things change between them 🙈

hehe well well well.. hehehehe okay this one deserves some warnings. Btw to all the ppl in my inbox… Istg I’m getting to y’all!!!!!!!!!! I see u all queens and kings >w<

18+ mdni: smut, angst then fluff at the end, dubcon, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, crying during sex, emotinal manipulation, toxic relationship, READER IS A CRYYYYYY BABYYYYYYY LIKE WAHWAHWAH, mean jay but he redeems himself, soft aftercare at the end, prob more so read at ur own risk. :>

You shouldn’t have come.

You told yourself that the moment you stepped into Lelye’s house that afternoon, the moment her brother’s car pulled into the driveway like it always did—loud engine, louder ego—and he stepped out like he owned the air you breathed.

You hadn’t seen him in months. Maybe a year. But you knew you hadn’t stopped noticing him.

Jongseong.

Even the name made your throat feel tight. It was humiliating, the way your body reacted just seeing him. That stupid smirk. The cologne that hit you seconds after he passed by. The way he called your name—soft, mocking, always aware of what it did to you.

He looked at you that evening like he knew. Of course he knew.

You’d loved him when you were 16, but that was just a childish obsession. This—whatever this heat under your skin was—this was something worse.

Leyle had fallen asleep with a movie still playing, her room dim and silent except for the muffled dialogue on screen. You couldn’t sleep. You were too full of all the things you never got to say, the way his voice still lived in your bones, the way his girlfriend Karina had once pushed past you in the hall like you were invisible. You remembered the way Jay kissed her neck in the kitchen when you were fourteen. You remembered the jealousy you weren’t allowed to have.

You ended up in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, knees pulled into your chest. Crying. You didn’t even know why exactly—maybe because it still hurt, maybe because he still looked at you like you were breakable. Or maybe because he didn’t look at you much at all.

You thought you locked the door.

“Yo.” His voice came like static in your chest. “Why the fuck are you crying?”

You looked up, and there he was. Jay. Towering in the doorway, messy hair, black hoodie hanging low on his hips, boxers peeking out from his joggers. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable.

Your breath caught. You shrank into yourself instinctively.

“Get out,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I-I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?” he mocked, stepping in and pushing the door shut behind him. He didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to. “Then why are you crying in the fucking dark like a ghost?”

You didn’t know what to say. You hated how hot your face was. How your voice cracked. You couldn’t even look at him.

He crouched in front of you slowly, leaning his forearms on his thighs. “Damn. You really cry that easy, huh?”

You flinched at the tone—half entertained, half annoyed.

“D-don’t make fun of me…”

“I’m not,” he said, low, his gaze flicking over your tear-streaked cheeks. “Well, maybe a little. You’re still the same little girl, huh?”

“I’m not a little girl,” you said too quickly.

He laughed—just a small, cruel sound in his throat. “Oh, you wanna be a grown woman now? Is that what this is?”

You blinked, confused, scared, heart slamming. “What are you talking about?”

Jay tilted his head, watching you. His voice dropped, quieter. “You’ve been staring at me all day.”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“I notice,” he said. “I’ve always noticed.”

You wanted to die. You wanted to melt into the tile.

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Shh.” He lifted a hand, brushed his thumb under your eye. “You’re so damn soft. Still cry when I look at you too long. But you came here like that, didn’t you? Wearing that little tank top. Walking around my house.”

“I-It’s Leyle’s house—”

He laughed again, darker this time. “You think she doesn’t know you want me?”

You gasped.

“You’ve been obsessed with me since you were in 10th grade,” he said bluntly. “You think I didn’t see that shit in your eyes?”

You couldn’t take it. You turned your head, humiliated, but he caught your jaw in his hand.

“Look at me.”

You whimpered.

“I said look at me.”

You did.

He leaned in. “Say it. Say you still want me.”

Your throat burned. Your eyes filled again. “I… I do.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I thought.”

His lips were on you in the next breath—soft at first, like he was testing you, then harsher. Taking. Tasting. His hand cupped your cheek while the other tugged you to your feet.

You stumbled, and he caught you. “So fuckin’ innocent,” he muttered against your mouth. “Don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?”

You shook your head.

He groaned like that turned him on more. “Come here.”

You didn’t remember how you got to his room. Maybe he pulled you. Maybe you followed.

He pushed you down on his bed and hovered over you, hoodie off now, body warm and heavy as he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier. You could barely breathe.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice husky against your neck.

You didn’t. Not a single sound came out of you.

“Say you want me,” he growled, teeth brushing your ear.

“I want you,” you whispered.

He didn’t wait after that. Your clothes ended up somewhere on the floor—soft cotton, pastel lace, completely out of place against his black sheets.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, dragging his hands down your sides. “So fuckin’ scared of me.”

“I’m not—”

“Liar,” he smirked. It’s like he was amused to know that he intimated you.

You cried again—a soft sob in your throat. He paused, cocking his head.

“Oh baby, no. Don’t do that,” he said, voice mocking but low. “What are you crying for now? You wanted this, remember?”

“I-I know, I just— I can’t help it—”

He touched your face again, this time with something gentler in his eyes. “Fuck. You’re really like this, huh? Cry when I touch you. Cry when I don’t.”

You whimpered again.

He kissed you softer then—like he was suddenly sorry for the way he spoke. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head.

He dragged a hand down your chest, mouth following. “Then take it, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He alternated between teasing and mocking you, then babying you when your breath hitched too fast. He told you how warm you were, how tight, how sweet.

He made you cry again and kissed your tears. He told you you were perfect and then called you “his little mess.” He went slow until you asked him to go faster. He stayed inside you until your legs trembled. He kissed your shoulder after like it meant something.

Later, you were tucked under his sheets, his arm draped over your waist. He smelled like sin and soap. You were still trying to catch your breath.

He was still inside you when the first real sob slipped out. Quiet, but trembling.

“Still crying?” he asked lazily, brushing your cheek.

You nodded, just a little.

“Tch,” he scoffed, but his fingers were playing with your hair. “So sensitive. You’re really not made for people like me.”

You said nothing.

He rolled closer, his mouth against your ear. “You gonna fall in love with me now, baby?”

You stayed quiet. He laughed again—quieter this time. “Too late, huh?”

You closed your eyes. His hand slipped under your shirt again, just resting there. Like he wasn’t planning to let you leave.

He kissed your temple. “Sleep. I’ll keep you warm.”

And somehow, you believed him.

Even if you shouldn’t have.

You couldn’t sleep. Your body was shaking. Not from fear. Not exactly. From the ache in your thighs, the overwhelming pressure in your chest, the raw emotion that clung to your lungs like smoke. You were still on his bed —on Jay’s bed— half-covered in his sheets, hair sticking to your face, and your skin burning in places you didn’t know could burn.

His hand, which had been resting lazily on your waist, went still.

“Oh my god, again? You crying again?” he said, breath still heavy and voice husky.

You nodded, barely.

“Shit.”

He pulled back gently, and you winced at the sore stretch. He looked down at you, something unreadable flashing across his face. Sweat at his temples. Jaw tight. Still flushed. But not cocky anymore.

You turned your face to the pillow, ashamed. You hated crying. You cried more than you spoke. You hated that he saw you like this—ruined, aching, pathetic. Like a little girl, not the grown woman you tried to be Infront of him.

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t be mean…”

He blinked. “The fuck?”

You hiccuped. “I know you’re going to say something — something shitty. Like I’m weak, or stupid, or— or—”

He cut you off with a sudden, sharp click of his tongue. “Ayo. What the hell do you think I am?”

You didn’t answer. Your bottom lip was trembling too hard.

He stared at you for a second. Then, to your shock, he sighed — like he was annoyed with himself, not you — and leaned down. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

“It’s been like 30 minutes and you still haven’t calmed down. You’re really crying this hard?” he murmured, quieter now.

You nodded, humiliated.

“You okay?” His voice had dropped, not teasing, not mocking—something closer to careful.

“I-It hurt, it was good but it hurt,” you whispered, barely audible. “A-and I didn’t know I would feel so much— it’s just— I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re sorry for what?” he cut in, staring down at you, like you’d just said the dumbest thing in the world.

“I ruined it—”

“You didn’t ruin shit,” he muttered. “Shut up.”

You flinched.

Then: his hand moved again, softening. He touched your cheek — warm palm against tear-streaked skin—and tilted your face back toward him.

His expression had shifted.

Something in his eyes flickered, as if he were trying to hide something. Not rage. Not cruelty. Something like… guilt? Tenderness? You couldn’t name it.

“You should’ve told me you were a virgin,” he said finally, voice quieter now.

“I thought you’d laugh…”

He exhaled hard through his nose, almost like he was restraining himself. “Dumb little thing.”

More tears. You didn’t know why that hurt more than it should have.

But then—his lips brushed your forehead.

“I didn’t mean that,” he muttered, even softer. “Fuck.”

You didn’t move. Just curled into yourself.

He looked at you, lying there—so small in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his hoodies now, face all blotchy, lashes still wet, lip trembling — and something in him cracked.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you close.

You hesitated, staring at him with big eyes

“I said come here.”

You obeyed. He pulled you back onto his chest, one arm locking around your waist, the other cradling your head like he was trying to protect you from the world—maybe even from him.

“There you go,” he whispered. “There’s my baby.”

You hiccuped again.

“Shh. You did so good, y’know that?” he added, voice low and warm against your hair. “Took me like a good girl. Even when you were scared.”

You whimpered, and he immediately pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Shh, shh. No more crying, princess. It’s okay now. I got you.”

You trembled. “Why are you being nice to me now…?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then, finally:

“’Cause I didn’t think you’d break so easy. And don’t make me regret it.”

You curled tighter against him, his heartbeat loud against your ear.

“I always thought you just had a thing for me. Thought maybe you just wanted attention. But…”

He pulled the blanket up over your bare legs and sighed again.

“You looked at me like I was the whole damn sky. Even back then. Shit’s dangerous.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No, baby,” he murmured, voice low and guilty now. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

You looked up at him. His jaw was tense again, but his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them.

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?” he said.

You nodded slowly.

He leaned in, lips ghosting over your cheek.

“You better not cry for anybody else like this,” he whispered.

And when he pulled you tighter into his chest, brushing your hair off your face and murmuring “there’s my good girl” again and again until your eyes finally fluttered closed, you didn’t feel scared anymore.

Just full. And tired. And his, even if you knew he’d still break your heart.

taglist: @teddybeartaetae @heebear @tinycatharsis @kristynaah @heeseungsbm -> join

[websterss]

A HEART THAT LONGS — RAY YOUNG

REQUEST: I'm obsessed with motorheads and I wish I was talented enough to write fanfics myself but alas. I'm longing for some motorheads fanfics. I was thinking, if you're up for it, a love triangle with reader, curtis and ray? Maybe like, the reader is good friends with curtis and they kinda like each other, but then because of their friendship and the reader being over at curtis house when they have family dinners, she knows ray a bit too. And maybe because she doesn't want to risk ruining her friendship with curtis and because she has felt a bit of a spark with ray, she gives ray a chance/hooks up with him or whatever. I'm thinking longing, a bit of angst, flirting, etc. I totally understand if you don't want to write this! I would be over the moon if you did, though. (Btw, could the characters be aged up a bit, like in their mid twenties like the actors? I mean, their age doesn't have to be mentioned, just mean that I would prefer them not being in high school. Thank you so much in advance!!!

WARNING(S): Angst, longing, um Curtis gets heartbroken.

WORD COUNT: 7,703

PAIRING: Ray Young x fem!Reader

A/N: Hope you like! Also, requests are closed for now, I'm only answering the ones that are sitting in my inbox right now.

MASTERLIST

You were elbow-deep in metal drawers, rummaging for a new bike chain. The one on yours had been slipping every ten minutes like clockwork. The garage smelled like rust and grease and old rubber, and you'd gotten so lost in thought, you didn’t notice the low rumble of a motorcycle pulling in. Didn’t register the subtle vibration that slithered up your ankles, or the soft scuff of sneakers across concrete.

You definitely didn’t hear his voice.

But you felt him, two hands ghosting around your waist, fingers teasing the sides of your ribs with a feather-light pinch.

You jolted like a startled rabbit, letting out a tiny yelp and twisting away before the laughter even reached your ears.

“Jesus!” You exhaled, heart kicking up. You spun around to find Curtis, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing too hard, shoulders already shaking.

"Sorry." He said through his grin, hands raised in surrender. “Didn't mean to scare you."

Your glare wasn’t exactly murderous, but it was sharp enough to make him feign innocence with wide eyes and an exaggerated pout. Your face burned, not from anger, but from the sound of his laugh, the kind that always made something flutter in your chest before you could stop it. "In my defense, I did say your name like five times." He added, barely holding back another laugh.

“Oh, only five?” you muttered, giving him a shove to the chest. “Guess I lucked out on magical number six.”

He caught your wrist with ease, tugging you in closer, closer than friends maybe should be. Your steps faltered as he guided your palm to rest flat against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thudded beneath your fingertips.

And then it skipped.

You felt it.

So did he.

His voice dropped, smile softening. “Could’ve said it ten times, you still wouldn't have heard me.”

“Maybe eight would’ve worked." You mumbled, lips twitching.

“Seven, tops.” He grinned, eyes never leaving yours. His hand lifted, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your face slightly toward him. Your breath hitched. For a second, the world paused. Then you turned your head, just an inch, but it was enough. Curtis follows the motion, his jaw clenching.

His hand drops.

Reluctantly.

And even then, you kept your hand on his chest. That small point of contact. That tether.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice softer now. “Thought you were busy today.”

He tried to play it casual, even though you could see the faint pink in his ears. “Just a little side project. Nothing important.”

His eyes flicked to the table behind you, where a mess of tangled bike chains lay like metallic guts.

“Chain again?” He asked.

You sighed. “Yeah... Misaligned derailleur. Thought it was stretching, but it’s just loose.”

“And your car?”

“Popped my back tire yesterday. Ray offered to fix it.”

Curtis raised an eyebrow. “For free?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Ray never does anything for free without a cost,” Curtis muttered with a tight laugh. “I could’ve helped, you know. Taken time out of my day.”

“I know,” You said honestly. “But he was already there. It just… happened.”

Curtis nodded slowly, jaw ticking.

"But let's get back to the topic… seriously, what are you doing here?"

"Came to pick you up. You and I are now-" He pulls back the cuff of his jacket, checking his watch. "Five minutes late to a barbeque."

You froze. “Shit. That’s today?”

He smirked, pushing away from the tools and motioning for you to stand with him. "You forgot, didn't you?"

You groaned, wiping your hands on a rag and hopping off the stool.

“Let me guess, you dressed for it too?” Curtis teased, eyeing your grease-smudged clothes.

“Oh, definitely. I was thinking of wearing bike grease to Saturday dinners from now on.”

He laughed again, motioning toward the door. “Come on. Go get changed. If we show up anymore late, Mom's gonna give us hell.”

You make a face, somewhere between the lines of not wanting to see Momma Young's wraith.

-

The smell of grilled meat drifted through the air as you followed Curtis around the side of the house. The backyard was already set up, quiet except for the hum of a small speaker on the porch and the low sizzle of food cooking over the grill. Evening sunset spilled over the lawn, warm and soft.

“Think we’ll find a spot to sit?”

“What do you mean? There’s just the four of you, plus me,” you smiled, brushing your hand against his arm as you walked. “You and Ray are their only children. You’re picnic table seats the four of you and one added chair for me.”

He chuckled, slowing his steps as the backyard came into view. “You know what I mean...”

“No, I really don’t, you weirdo.”

“It was a bad joke-“ He tries to explain.

“Uh-yeah!”

“You know… I like having you here. Makes the whole thing less painful.”

You glanced at him, the warmth in his tone settling somewhere deep in your chest. “You say that like I’m not the one fifth-wheeling your family barbeques.”

Curtis looked over at you then, his eyes soft. “You’re not. You never have been. You're family."

You opened your mouth, maybe to tease him back, maybe to ask what he meant, but the scent of grilled meat and the sight of the old picnic table pulled you both forward.

His dad looked up from the grill just as you stepped into the yard.

“There you two are,” his mom called. “Come on. Sit before it all gets cold. Hope you're hungry.”

Curtis gave your arm a quick, gentle nudge. “Told you."

You shove at his chest to brush by him. You smile at his mom. "Abby."

"Hi, sweetheart. Hope you brought you're appetite, plenty to go around today. Hugo's making ribs."

“Always. Yum,” You said with a laugh. You cast a wave over as he greets you with a faint grin a raise of his spatula.

Abby waved you over. “You know where everything is. Sit, sit.”

Curtis nudged your arm with his. “Right next to me. Honorary Young.”

"Ha-ha." You roll your eyes.

You slid onto the bench beside him, wood warm beneath you. He sat close, shoulders just brushing. The speaker played something low and mellow behind you as Curtis poured two glasses of lemonade from the pitcher and handed one to you.

“This might be the calmest it’s ever been.” You said.

“No complaints,” he replied, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “Then again, Ray isn't here yet..."

You were chuckling when you heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle pulling up on the other side of the house.

The sound alone made your stomach twist. You didn’t move, but every muscle in your body braced for impact like they always did when Ray was close by.

"Speaking of which." Curtis sighed, preparing for the show. You looked up in time to watch Sheriff Hugo take a sip from his beer.

The engine cut off. A pause. Then the creak of the side gate.

Ray stepped into the yard, his helmet hanging from one hand, his hair a little messy. He scanned the backyard until his eyes landed on you. He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you with that quiet tilt of his head, the one that always made your breath catch before you could stop it.

He finally spoke.

“Hope I’m not too late.”

His mom looked up from where she was laying out the sides. A variety of mudpie cookies, tuna salad, chips in a big bowl next to the dip she always made with too much garlic. She smiled. “Never. Curtis and Y/n just got here a little while ago.”

“Hi, Mom. Dad.” Ray leaned in to kiss her cheek, his voice low and easy. He looked toward his father next, who offered him a faint nod and the tip of a beer bottle. Not warm exactly, but not cold either. It was the gentlest greeting they’d exchanged in years. A truce carved from slow, rough history. Progress you and Curtis claimed it as.

Then Ray turned his attention back to the table. Back to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. The volume of his voice dropped. Like it wasn’t meant for the table. Just for you.

You looked at him for a moment, pulse ticking behind your ribs. Then you smiled and glanced at Curtis beside you. “I’m family.” You said, echoing his words from earlier. “Can’t exactly miss.”

Curtis’s mouth curved into a faint smile. "Ha-ha."

Ray’s eyes flicked toward his brother. Just for a second. Then back to you.

He slid onto the bench across from you without another word.

“Baby brother,” Ray said, leaning forward with one arm, reaching over to slap a hand on Curtis' shoulder. “How’s the new bike been treating you?”

Curtis shrugged, not thinking much of his new upgrade. “Fine. It's been better than needing a new chain every week, but nothing serious. She drives well.”

You shifted slightly in your seat, unsure who to focus on. Curtis sat to your left, easy, steady. The one you’d always known. The one who made things feel warm.

Ray was leaning in front of you, legs spread slightly, hand half-curled around a sweating glass of sweet tea like he’d been there the whole time. His gaze, as always, lingered longer than it should. His tone carried a teasing softness, but underneath it was that same flicker of something else... something unreadable and a little dangerous. “I’ll bet.”

You felt the weight of both of them.

The triangle had formed without warning. Without permission.

And now you were stuck in the middle of it, wishing you could lean one way without feeling like you were betraying the other.

Curtis passed you the bowl of salad.

Ray tilted his head, still watching you like he was remembering something you hadn’t said out loud yet.

Your fork hovered in your hand.

The night had barely started, and already it felt like something was going to break.

-

The kitchen smelled faintly like garlic bread and dish soap. You stood at the counter with a towel in hand, drying silverware while Curtis elbowed you gently from where he was camped at the sink.

“Hey.” You laughed, stepping back slightly when a little cluster of bubbles floated toward your face.

“Oops.” Curtis grinned widely, dipping his hand back in the sudsy water and flicking a few more toward you. “Slipped.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it...” He said it like it was a known fact. The way he looked at you, all bright-eyed and slightly smug, made it hard to argue. Another bubble landed on your cheek, and you reached for a spoon to retaliate.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned, but he was already bracing for it.

You swiped a handful of bubbles from the sink’s edge and smeared them on the back of his neck.

“Oh-ho!” He laughed, water dripping from his fingers as he tried to catch your wrist, but you danced just out of reach.

“You started it!”

“I started it? You’re escalating it!” He said, voice full of mock offense as he tried to flick suds back at you, missing by a mile.

You ducked behind the open cabinet and peeked out at him, trying to hide your grin. He was already smiling too, his shirt damp from the splashback, hands still half-drenched in bubbles.

The kitchen window behind you was open.

"I'm the menace, you're a menace." Curtis flicks his wet hands at you.

And neither of you knew Ray was watching.

-

Out in the backyard, Abby handed Ray another bowl and folded the picnic tablecloth over her arm. “That’s the third time you’ve looked through that window.”

Ray didn’t look up. “What window?”

“That one.” She tilted her head toward the house. “The one where Y/N’s standing. With your brother.”

Ray snorted under his breath and adjusted the bowl in his hands. “I’m not looking at anything.”

Abby gave him a long, amused look. “You’ve walked in and out of the house three times in five minutes. With one bowl at a time.”

“I’m helping.”

“You’re stalling,” she said lightly. “Or you like watching her laugh.”

Ray opened the back door, stepped inside with the bowl, and didn’t say anything. A moment later, he came back out again, this time with only the salad tongs.

Abby was waiting by the table, still holding the folded tablecloth.

“You like her.”

Ray gave a dry scoff. “Don’t start.”

“Too late, I started.”

He shook his head, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Mom.”

“Oh, sure.” She passed him the last covered dish. “She’s sweet, isn’t she? Always has been.”

“She’s fine.”

Abby smiled to herself. “Your brother’s liked her for a long time.”

Ray paused, just for a second, holding the bowl in both hands. “Yeah. I know.”

“And you’ve got no intentions there?”

“Nope.”

“Right…”

Ray stepped inside again, set the bowl down on the counter, and caught sight of you and Curtis still drying dishes, still talking, still too close for him to look away. He lingered for a second, then headed back out with the tongs this time.

Abby was waiting with the tablecloth tucked under one arm.

“Sure you don’t like her?”

Ray sighed, exasperated. “You want me to say it just so you can say ‘I told you so’ later?”

“I want you to admit you feel something for a girl who’s clearly impeding your helping skills.”

“She’s not.”

Abby raised her eyebrows.

“She’s not,” he said again, less confident now. “She’s just—nice.”

“A vintage car is nice, Ray.”

He muttered something under his breath, brushed past her with the last of the dishes, and went back inside.

Through the window, you smiled at something Curtis said as you tossed him a towel. Curtis caught it easily, looking at you like he couldn’t imagine anyone else standing there.

Ray stood still for a moment longer in the kitchen doorway.

He watched Curtis lean against the counter, laughing under his breath as you reached for another dish to dry. There was something light about the scene, like it didn’t belong to the rest of the world. Just the two of you and the low sound of water still running.

Then Curtis’s phone buzzed.

He slid it from his back pocket, glanced at the screen, and his smile slipped just enough for you to notice.

“Shit." He muttered under his breath.

“What is it?”

He sighed, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey. Yeah. I’m at home, what’s up?”

There was a muffled voice on the other end. You caught onto what sounded like Marcel, probably Zac, and something about the valve being loose again.

Curtis pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re kidding. Right now?”

Another pause. His jaw tightened.

“Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen. Just don't move it anymore.”

He ended the call and looked at you with something like disappointment tugging at the edges of his expression.

“I’m sorry. That was Marcel. And Zac. Something with the Rallye... again. I told those idiots not to move it, even Caitlyn told them."

You nodded, still holding the towel. “You’ve got to go.”

“Yeah,” he said, regret clear in his voice. “They’ve already tried fixing it twice. I told them not to take it out today. Should’ve known better.”

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay. Duty calls.”

Curtis opened his mouth to say something more, but then noticed movement over your shoulder.

Ray stepped into the kitchen, quiet as ever, still holding the tongs. He lifted them slightly as if to say, got another dish for you.

Curtis looked at him for a second longer than he needed to. Then at you. He hesitated.

“You think—” Curtis started, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Could Ray give you a ride?”

You turned slightly to look between them, uncertain.

Ray leaned against the doorway, arms crossed now, the tongs resting against his forearm like some kind of prop. He said nothing. Just waited.

Curtis exhaled slowly, clearly torn. “It’s getting late. I don’t want you walking home. And I’d feel better if someone made sure you got there.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve walked farther.”

“I know,” Curtis said gently. “But I’d still feel better.”

Ray finally spoke. “I can take her. Not a problem.”

Curtis looked at him, and something passed between the two of them, silent but heavy. It wasn’t quite tension. Not quite approval either.

You caught the edge of it but didn’t say anything.

Curtis finally nodded, still looking uneasy. “Just...make sure she gets home safe.”

Ray didn’t flinch. “Always.”

Curtis turned back to you, his voice softer now. “Sorry, we didn’t get to finish cleaning up.”

You smiled, even if your chest felt a little tight. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

He left with one last glance at Ray. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Ray cleared his throat as he stepped further into the kitchen. The tongs dangled awkwardly from his hand, still smudged with barbecue and something that might’ve once been tuna salad. The silence had stretched just a beat too long.

“You want me to wash these?” He asked, holding them out toward you.

Without moving, you gave him a slow look. “I’m already drying.”

“So?”

“So…” You stepped to the side just slightly, enough to give him room to stand between the sink and counter. “If you're thinking of handing those over,” you said, finally breaking the silence, “you're gonna be disappointed.”

Ray raised a brow. “You don’t want help?”

“I want my system. Curtis washed. I dried. We had a rhythm.”

He gave a quiet scoff, stepping forward and holding the tongs out anyway. “Guess I missed sign-ups.”

You took a step closer, just enough to block him from getting near the sink.

“I already claimed the towel,” you said, gaze steady. “Which means you get dish duty. That’s how it works.”

Ray hesitated, then glanced down at his leather sleeves. “You’re serious.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. He glanced down at the tongs, then up at the sink like it might bite.

You pointed at them. “Proper dishwashing etiquette requires rolled-up sleeves. Unless you want soap up to your elbows.”

He sighed like it was a major inconvenience, but he slipped out of his jacket anyway and tossed it over the countertop behind you two. You didn’t miss the way the cotton of his t-shirt pulled at his shoulders as he rolled each sleeve up with slow, practiced movements.

“You don’t give up easily, do you?” He muttered.

“Only when people try to take my towel.”

“Better?” He muttered, stepping beside you.

“Much,” you said lightly, handing him the tongs. “Curtis and I made a good team. I'm seeing to it that we manage well as a team, too.”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “So, naturally, you’re making me do his part.”

“Never. Curtis does a much better job." You leaned against the counter beside him, arms crossed, still holding the towel loosely. A stupid grin makes its way onto your face.

Ray cracked the faintest grin, barely a curl at the corner of his mouth. “Noted.”

The next few minutes passed in the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty. Neither of you is quite sure what to say. So you didn’t fill it right away.

Until finally, Ray spoke again. “Did you have fun tonight?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “Yeah. I did.”

“Good food. No family drama this time.”

You smirked. “No bets on who would leave first. It was quite refreshing. My money would have been on you. You always leaves first. Curtis owes me money now.”

“Curtis was glad you came.” He added.

“I could tell, though I didn't have much of a choice, he all but dragged me here.” You didn’t say more than that, and neither did he. His hand lingered under the faucet longer than it needed to. You could feel the heat of him next to you.

Ray chuckled softly, rinsing the tongs with a little more focus than necessary. “I think that’s a first.”

"What is?"

"A decent Saturday family barbecue."

“Only took, what, six years of trial and error?” You teased, bumping your elbow gently into his.

He gave you a sideways glance, the kind that lingered just long enough to warm your cheeks.

“I didn't realize you’ve been coming around that long?” He asked, quieter now.

You nodded, your smile softening. “Since high school, practically. My most memorable one, though, would have to be when Curtis dragged me into that one Fourth of July thing one year with the busted fire pit.”

Ray grunted. “Right. The one that exploded.”

“I still have the scar on my ankle,” you said, raising your brow. “Thanks to someone’s lighter fluid overkill.”

“Hey,” he said, defensive but amused. “I saved the burgers.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You charred the hell out of them.”

“I call it, giving them some flavor.”

You bit your lip to hide another smile and took the tongs out of his hands. Ray moved just slightly behind you, leaning past to grab another dish towel, his arm brushing your back.

Neither of you said anything about the contact.

But neither of you stepped away, either.

Something about the quiet made the kitchen feel smaller than it was. Like the air had thickened around you both, filled with things unsaid. It wasn’t uncomfortable, never was.

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” You said after a beat.

Ray dried his hands on the towel slowly. “Didn’t think you would either.”

You looked over at him.

His eyes were already on you.

But before either of you could say more, the floor creaked behind you. You both turned just as Abby appeared in the doorway, her robe tied loosely, a knowing smile soft on her face.

“Well,” Abby finally said, cutting through the tension with a gentle smile. “You two make a pretty good cleanup crew.”

Ray shifted, back straightening like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Still here, I see.” She said, already glancing between you both.

Ray leaned back on his arms placed on the sink. “Just finishing up.”

Abby's gaze lingered on the distance, or lack of it, between you two. She walked over and gently placed her hand on your arm.

“Thank you for coming tonight, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “It was good having you.”

“Of course,” you replied with a nod. “Dinner was great.”

She smiled and turned to her son. “Don’t keep her here too long, Ray.”

Ray gave a light nod. “I won’t.”

Abby paused in the doorway, looked back once more, then disappeared down the hall, her footsteps fading with the hush of the night. “Drive safe, okay?”

The room felt even smaller now.

Ray set down his towel after having gripped it. “You want to head out?”

You watched him for a moment. “Sure. If you’re still offering that ride.”

“Always.”

And for some reason, it felt heavier than it should have. Like maybe he wasn’t just talking about the ride.

You followed Ray through the kitchen and out the back door, the air cooler now, brushing against your arms with the kind of breeze that smelled faintly like cut grass and summer dust. The neighborhood was quiet, lit in amber by the streetlamps overhead. His bike sat parked at the curb, low and dark and gleaming beneath the glow.

Ray stepped ahead, lifting the back seat and pulling out a second helmet. He held it out to you without a word, waiting.

You looked at it, then at him. “Ray… I live two blocks away.”

He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “Yeah, I know.”

You didn’t take the helmet.

A faint crease formed between his brows as he let his hand drop slightly. “Just figured…” He looked away, then gave a small shrug. “You said yes to the ride.”

You smiled softly. “I did. But I didn’t know you were gonna treat me like a tourist.”

That earned the tiniest smirk, but it didn’t rise all the way. He nodded once, almost to himself, then slid the helmet back into its place and lowered the seat without another word.

He climbed onto the bike, less smug now, and waited.

You hesitated before stepping forward, swinging your leg over the seat behind him. No helmet. Just you and the warm press of your hands resting lightly on either side of his waist.

Then, over his shoulder, his voice low and casual, he said, “By the way… I swapped out your tire earlier today.”

Your brows lifted behind him. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Got around to it before dinner. It’s at the garage if you wanna grab it.”

You hesitated, blinking up at the street ahead.

“Or,” he added quickly. “I can just bring it by tomorrow if you’re beat.”

You smiled, just a little. “No, it’s fine. Let’s go.”

Ray nodded once and adjusted his grip, his movements relaxed but focused. No smugness, just a quiet satisfaction. The bike hummed a little louder as he turned the key and revved the gas by the handles, as you shifted slightly, settling in behind him.

Neither of you said anything else. Not as he kicked the stand up and rode forward.

-

The garage came into view as the bike turned down the back road, headlights brushing across the lot in long, low beams. Most of the shops in town were already closed, dark, but the wide windows of Ray’s garage still glowed with soft fluorescent light from inside.

Ray eased the bike into the side driveway, parking near the entrance. The engine cut out with a low click, and the sudden stillness made everything feel louder, the chirp of summer insects, the faint groan of cooling metal, the soft shift of your clothes as you swung your leg off the seat.

You stepped back, brushing your hands against your thighs. The ride had settled something in you, even if you weren’t sure what.

Ray stayed seated for a second longer, glancing over his shoulder. “You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He got off the bike and reached for his keys, walking ahead to unlock the side door. The overhead lights flickered awake, bathing the garage in neon turquoise warmth. It smelled faintly of oil and rubber, old leather and something sharp underneath.

He pushed the door open wider, motioning for you to go first. “She’s right inside.”

You stepped in, your footsteps echoing lightly against the concrete floor. And there it was, your car, looking slightly cleaner than when you’d left it, the tire freshly replaced and the front end wiped down. You smiled softly at the sight.

“It looks good.” You said, turning your head back toward him.

Ray lingered near the doorframe, one hand on the edge of it, watching you. “Should hold up better now. You’ll still need to check on the pressure, though. I didn’t trust the spare.”

You leaned against the side of your car, arms crossed, watching Ray as he moved forward into the space to rearrange a few tools on the workbench. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just giving his hands something to do. You could tell he was aware of you.

“You didn’t have to fix it today. I could've waited.” You said softly.

Ray looked over but didn’t meet your eyes right away. “Didn’t mind.”

“Still, you could’ve told me. I would’ve said thank you sooner.”

“You don't need to thank me, Y/n. Besides, I was just gonna leave it at your place once it was done.”

You gave him a small smile. “That would’ve been kind of mysterious.”

He huffed out a faint laugh and finally looked up. “Didn’t think it'd be a big deal.”

“It is,” you said. “It was thoughtful. Thank you. Really.”

He gave a small shrug. “Like I said...”

Ray shifted where he stood. His jaw clenched like he wanted to say something else, but wasn’t sure how to word it. His fingers flexed once before uncurling back.

“You always do that.” You said, quieter now.

“Do what?” Ray looked at you, brows drawn faintly, the question soft but edged with tension.

You turned slightly toward him, leaning one hip against the car, your arms still loosely crossed. “Downplay things. Like they don’t matter when they obviously do.”

His eyes flicked to the floor, then back to you. He let out a faint breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “I don’t know. Guess it’s easier that way.”

“Easier than what?”

He was quiet for a moment, staring down at a wrench, avoiding your gaze, like it might give him something to hide behind.

“Easier than saying what I actually mean. And maybe being wrong about it.”

You blinked, heart thudding a little harder. “Try me.”

Ray looked up. “I didn’t fix your car just to be nice,” he said slowly. “And I didn’t pass up the chance to give you a ride ‘cause it was convenient. I didn’t want the night to end just yet.”

You swallowed. The edges of your chest felt softer.

He shrugged again, but it didn’t carry the same false weight. “I know I’m not always easy to be around. Or the nicest. But… I like when you’re around. At the races. At dinner with us. Here...”

You stayed still, just breathing. Then finally said, “That’s not so hard to say out loud.”

He gave a faint, sheepish smile. “No... But it’s harder when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you might be thinking the same thing I am.”

You hesitated. Then shrugged. "And what would I be thinking?”

The silence didn’t stretch this time. It folded in. Pulled tight. And this time, when he reached out, he did touch you.

Just a hand on your waist. Gentle. Steady. Like he wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he was finally brave enough to find out.

He looked down, then back at you. “You always fidget when you’re nervous? You did it at dinner. You’re doing it now.”

You glanced down at your hands. You hadn’t realized they were picking at the hem of your shirt. When you looked back up, he was still watching.

He looked at your mouth, then your eyes. “You’re not nervous around Curtis.”

“That’s different." You said quietly.

He nodded once. Like he already knew that. “Why hasn’t Curtis ever made a move on you?” He shook his head like he knew Curtis didn't play his cards correct. Didn't take that chance with you.

You blinked. That wasn’t what you expected. "What?"

“He likes you,” Ray added. “That’s obvious. So why hasn't he?”

You glanced at your shoes for a second before looking back at him. “We’re just friends.”

He tilted his head a little. “You didn't answer the question.”

You gave a half shrug. “I don’t know. Timing? Our friendship means too much… maybe it was just easier to not risk crossing that line.”

Ray didn’t say anything at first. His hand on your waist caressing the skin where the hem of your top rose. “You ever think maybe you were waiting on him to do something more? Or maybe he likes you more than you like him?”

You looked at him, brows slightly raised. “What is this, auto-shop therapy?”

His mouth curved into a small smile. “Maybe. But you're not denying it. I just think it’s strange that someone who looks at you the way he does hasn’t done anything about it.”

You shook your head slowly. “He’s tried.”

But you'd shoot him down every time because you were scared. Is what you didn't say.

Ray raised a brow. “That doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about it.”

“And what about you?” You asked before you could stop yourself. "Have you thought about it? About me?"

The question hung there, suspended.

Ray didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropping to the floor for a beat.

“I don’t make a habit of stepping in where I’m not wanted.”

You tilted your head to catch his gaze, the tension tighter now between you. “You think you’re not wanted?”

His eyes met yours. “You’re hard to read.”

You swallowed. “Maybe you just don’t know what to look for.”

That made him smile but it was softer this time. More real.

“I think I do,” he said quietly. “But I’m just trying not to get it wrong. Don't want to get my hopes up.”

You held his gaze. “You’re not.”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up. “You sure?”

You nodded.

And that was when he stepped forward, slow, steady, no hesitation this time. His hand came to gently brush your cheek, fingers rough but careful. The warmth of his palm grounding you. His hand at your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Tell me if you don’t want this.” He murmured.

You shook your head, breath catching. “I do. I want you.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn't rushed. It was sweet, slow, full of everything he hadn’t said out loud. You melted into it, one hand fisting lightly in his shirt, the other sliding up his arm. You followed as he pulled back, grabbing your hand and guiding you into his office, the shut clicking behind you as he pressed you against the door. The world outside, nonexistent.

-

The sharp clatter of a wrench echoed off the walls as Ray stood over the open hood of a half-finished rebuild, sleeves pushed up and a line painting along his forehead as he tighted a bolt. The music was turned low in the shop’s speaker. Something older, gravel-voiced, humming beneath the buzz of the lights.

Curtis pulled in a few minutes past noon, the rumble of his bike cutting through the quiet before sputtering out with a rough cough. One look at it had Ray straightening from the hood.

The front fork was bent just off-center. The left handlebar had deep scratches. Curtis swung his leg off stiffly, wincing just a little.

“You get hit by a truck?” Ray asked, eyes narrowing as he approached the bike.

Curtis cracked a weak smile, but didn’t bother explaining. His lip was split, darkening with a healing scab. His knuckles were worse. Scraped, raw.

Ray gave the bike a once-over, then glanced at him. “You want to tell me what happened, or should I guess?”

“Some guys from high school. Ran their mouth, said some things about Zac and Caitlyn's dad. Nothing we haven't heard before,” Curtis unbuckled his helmet, setting it on the seat. “Zac opened his mouth... They didn’t like it.”

Ray nodded slowly, jaw tightening. “And you went after them?”

Curtis lifted his hand gesturing to his busted up lip.

Ray crossed his arms, eyeing the busted lip. “You sure you don’t want me to have a talk with someone?”

Curtis smirked faintly. “I handled it.”

The sound of tires on gravel interrupted the exchange. Both of them turned as your car rolled up quietly in.

You stepped out, keys still in hand, and paused when you spotted Curtis.

He looked just as stunned to see you.

Your eyes went straight to his face, your voice lifting with concern. “Curtis—what the hell happened?”

His smile faltered. “It’s nothing.”

You took a step closer, eyes scanning his bruised lip, the tension in his posture, the scabbed knuckles he didn’t bother to hide.

He looked you up and down, something guarded behind his eyes, before he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Your voice came quieter than you meant it to. "Oh I just came by-"

Ray moved first, stepping in between the two of you before the moment could spiral. “Told her to swing by,” he said, glancing at you. “To check the pressure on that front tire I changed. Just making sure it holds.”

You blinked, catching on. “Right. Yeah, it was feeling off.”

Curtis’s gaze flicked between you and his brother. His shoulders dropping. "I thought it was your back tire?"

Ray gave him a steady look, then turned back to you. “Yeah... it is. My bad. Give me a second, yeah? I’ll take a look.”

He headed over to grab the pressure gauge, giving you a second with Curtis, though you could feel his eyes still on the both of you.

Ray stepped out with the air compressor, muttering something about checking the pressure on all the tires too, though you knew he was just giving you two space.

The garage door was still open, the light from the beautiful day falling in, but it still felt dimmer somehow. You leaned your weight onto your left side, arms crossed, watching Curtis as he ran a hand through his hair. He winced when his knuckles brushed his temple.

Your eyes dropped to his lip again. Then to his hands. The skin across his knuckles crusted faintly at the edges. He was pretending it didn’t hurt, but you knew better.

Curtis looked up, catching you mid-stare. His mouth curved into a soft smirk.

“I’m not gonna break,” he said quietly. “You can stop looking at me like a wounded puppy.”

You scoffed, but your arms tightened around yourself anyway. “I’m not.”

He tilted his head, like he didn’t believe you. “You are.”

“I’m just worried,” you said, voice quieter now. “That’s allowed.”

He moved a little closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket to keep from reaching out. “I’ve been in fights before.”

You gave him a dry look. “Yeah, but not recently. And none with your bike involved again.”

Curtis shrugged with that same boyish calm he always wore when he wanted to act like things didn’t matter. “Could’ve been worse.”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence curled at the edges, until he finally added, more seriously this time, “They had it coming.”

You nodded once, then looked back at his lip. “Still hurts though, doesn’t it.”

He licked it absently, the metal tang probably still fresh. “Only when I smile.” He smiled anyway.

You hesitated, then stepped forward and reached out, slow, brushing your fingers just beneath his chin to tilt his face toward the light.

He let you.

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him for a second longer, a soft thumb brushing the corner of his jaw. Close enough to feel his breath.

Curtis was the first to break the moment. “You really came all the way here just to get your tire checked?”

You let your hand drop, stepping back with a small laugh. “I—uh… Yeah.”

He looked back toward Ray where he was crouched with the back tires of your car. He held his breath. When he looked back at you, something in his eyes had changed.

“He took his chance, didn’t he…”

Your breath caught. You didn’t answer right away.

Curtis gave a slow, dry nod, like he already knew. “Should’ve figured. He’s always been good at reading when the timing’s right.”

You swallowed hard. Not wanting to lie to him about it. “It wasn’t planned, Curtis. It just… happened last night.”

He didn’t look angry. Just tired. Hurt behind his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the part that hurts a little.”

You opened your mouth to say something, to explain what, you weren’t sure you fully understood, but he just shook his head gently.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “I really don’t. Ray’s… Ray. He gets under people’s skin.”

You gave a weak smile. “So do you.”

Curtis smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just not the right way, I guess.”

The silence stretched. You hated it. Hated that this was how he was finding out. Hated that you were the one standing there, still unsure where you and he stood, but knowing that you didn’t want to hurt him.

“I didn’t mean for it,” You said softly. "To hurt you."

Curtis looked at you for a long moment. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Then he exhaled and turned back to his bike, the quiet between you no longer soft. You watched him for a second longer, heart sitting heavy in your chest, and behind you, heavy footfalls approaching.

Ray stepped closer, his eyes flicking between the two of you. He paused just long enough to know something had shifted, but not long enough to ask.

“Pressure’s good. You’re fine to head out.” He said, voice even.

You nodded, but didn’t move.

Curtis still had his back to you, hand resting against the edge of the bike seat. He didn’t turn around.

Ray looked between you and his brother. Something in his jaw tensed, then eased again. Then Curtis turned back, jaw clenched.

“How hard would you punch me if I kissed her, Ray?”

You closed your eyes, the words catching in your chest like a stalled breath. “I’m right here?!”

Curtis didn’t look at you. His eyes stayed on his brother, the bruise on his cheek more prominent from the sun coming in through the open metal door. He wasn’t joking, but he wasn’t angry either.

Ray blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and a laugh that didn’t quite make it past his teeth.

“Do you want to kiss him?” he asked, turning toward you like he couldn’t help it. His voice was low and sharp, but not raised. Just edged deeper.

You snapped your gaze to him, eyes wide. “What kind of question is that?”

“A real one,” Curtis cut in, voice tighter now. “You’ve got both of us here. You can’t pretend you don’t feel something for me, and you sure as hell can’t act like Ray hasn’t already gotten to you.”

Ray’s jaw clenched.

“Curt.” You started, stepping forward, but he held up a hand, not to stop you, but to brace himself.

“I just wanna know where I stand in all this,” he said. “Because I’m not about to play the idiot and act like it’s not gonna kill me a little every time I'll see you with him. But I can take it. If it’s him, fine. But don’t look at me like I’m the one who's standing in between your feelings.”

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It rang in your ears, pressed against your ribs.

Ray stepped forward then, just slightly, his hand brushing the side of your arm, a grounding touch. “You don’t owe either of us anything,” he said quietly. “But you should be honest. With yourself.”

You looked between them. Curtis, bruised but standing tall, eyes raw. Ray, calm on the surface but simmering underneath, thumb still brushing your skin like it'd keep him steady.

Your mouth parted, but no words came out.

Not yet.

You hesitated.

The air felt thick, dense with everything unspoken and everything too late.

Curtis stood still, like breathing might break whatever fragile thread you were standing on. Ray didn’t move either, his touch at your arm gone now, like he understood this wasn’t his moment to interfere.

You took a step forward.

Curtis held his breath.

Your hand found his chest first, fingers splayed over the collar of his shirt. You looked up at him, eyes searching his, and for just a second, you saw something raw flicker there, hope or dread, maybe both.

Then you rose to your toes and kissed him.

Not on the mouth.

But just to the side.

A quiet press of your lips to his cheek, warm and slow and full of all the things that had never been said. A kiss that wasn’t a beginning or an end, just a moment you owed him. A sorry, in the middle of all the unapologetic decisions made by you.

Curtis exhaled, the breath he’d been holding escaping like it hurt to let it go. His eyes shut. Just for a second.

When you stepped back, he didn’t reach for you. Didn’t ask for more. But the ache in his eyes said he felt it, all of it.

When you turned toward Ray, the silence still lingered.

His eyes were already on you.

Not hardened. Not smug. Just steady. Like he’d been bracing for your answer and had promised himself not to flinch with what you decided on.

When looked at him your heart gave a quiet tug.

Then, with a breath barely caught in your chest, you mouthed it.

You.

No sound. Just the word, small and unshakable on your lips. A tear falling down your cheek.

Ray didn’t move at first. His eyes held yours, unmoving, unreadable for a long beat. You could feel Curtis behind you, still watching. Still absorbing what hadn’t needed to be said out loud.

Then Ray’s shoulders eased, just slightly. His chest rose with a slow breath, and something in his jaw unclenched. His heart, for all its roughness, stayed steady.

He stepped forward, not in a rush, not to claim you, but like he understood the weight of that word you’d given him. The reassurance that your heart was his.

He stopped in front of you, just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Yeah?” He asked, voice low, meant only for you.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at you for another second, searching for a second guess. But there weren’t any this time. So he reached out, slid his hand gently against your neck, fingers curling softly at the base of your skull. His thumb brushed your jaw, slow and grounding.

Just a touch. Steady, quiet, certain.

Behind you, Curtis stepped back. No outburst, just a shift, a quiet surrender. You didn’t have to look to know he was already turning away.

Ray kept his eyes on yours.

And for the first time since the tension began pulling all three of you in different directions, you didn’t feel like you were standing in the middle of a tug-of-war.

You just felt... sure.

[iwanttobepersephone]

Can ya do one of Will riding Tug? or Horace as a ranger?

Oh, my, lord. Somehow, somehow! I NEVER saw this ask! Oh lord, how long has this been sitting in my inbox? I am so sorry!!! Here, Will on Tug for you <3<3<3

[sturniolo04]

YN Sturniolo, a sophomore and younger sister to the well-known Sturniolo triplets, overhears cruel rumors at school but about her relationship with her junior boyfriend, Nathan Doe. and he find her crying and helps her calm down .

A/n:  ofc! I put a little spin on it and made it into a little blurb! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

Being the younger sister of the triplets which were your brothers had some major great things that came along. I mean their friends were kind of your friends. So when you and Nate became close and started dating you really didnt think twice about what could go wrong.

You of course didnt factor in the fact that Nate was a year older than you making him a junior in highschool while you were a sophomore. That age difference allowed alot of people to make assumption about the realtionship as a whole.

It was supposed to be a normal friday in school last day of the week before the weekend. You didnt think that you would over hear a bun h girls in you grade calling you 'easy' and a 'slut.'

At first ignoring it seemed to work but as you got closer towards the last couple of passign periods of the day it got worse.

"oh my god there is no way they are actually together he like has to be in it because she puts out"

a random girl in the back of the class whispers a few feet away. The truth was you and Nate have never had sex so there was no way what they were saying was true butyour brain was telling you something completely different.

You scurried off to an empty classroom once the bell rang singalling that school was over, bawling your eyes out. How could they say something like that they didnt even know you or nate and they geuninely believed what they were saying which made it all worse when you thought about how many others might say and believe the same thing.

"hey you ready to head to the house since i know you and sis are wanting to hangout"

matt asks nate as they all met up by his locker for him to grab the jeep keys.

"yeah i just cant find her i saw her at lunch and then walked her to her last class but havent seen her since"

nate states shurgging his shoulders kind of worried.

"thats weird did you check by her locker"

nick asks as Nate simple nods his head 'yes'

"maybe she went to the bathroom then"

chris suggests.

"maybe i will look there and wait for her you guys can go out to the car"

nate states as they all nod and begin to bhead to the parking lot.

Nate walked his way to the bathrooms calling out your name to see if you were even in there but of course you werent.

"where could she be this school isnt that fucking big"

nate mumbles to himself. Nate stops in the middle of the hallway hearing muffled sob from a random class next to the bathrooms. Turning on his heels he follwoed the soun walking into the classroom to find you tucked in the corner by a bookshelf crying.

"baby"

nate quietly coos out making his way over to you sitting in front of you running comforting hands along your legs that were tucked into you chest. You continued to cry not bringing yourself to have response back.

"what happened talk to me"

nate softly asks you as you lfit your head up slowly eyes puffy from how long and hard you had been crying.

"girls are mean nate"

you mumble shakily out.

"what did they say"

nate asks.

"they said you were only with me because im easy"

you trails off.

"they are calling me a slut saying that you also just with me still because they think that i put out good"

you shakily let out.

"baby you know thats not true right"

nate asks you.

"yeah i know"

you huff out

"okay then let them talk you know and i know thats not the case okay"

nate states softly reaching his hand to thread through your hair softly. you leaning into his touch.

"yeah"

you sigh out.

"i got you princess always"

nate replies leaning over to place a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Taglist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333

@stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris

@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @sturniolosymphony @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws @sturnioloslut101

[deadmercenaryslover]

anyone else up wondering how things would have gone if erik was killed instead of istvan

First off, I’m so sorry, anon, that this ask has been sitting in my inbox for basically forever. I didn’t have an immediate take on it, so I had to let it sit and really think it through before forming an opinion.

As far as I'm aware, Warhorse intended to portray Ištván as “a brutal and relentless man who will stop at nothing,” and sure, it’d be easy enough to imagine him dropping everything to chase revenge. But honestly, I find the idea of Erik’s possible death pushing him in the opposite direction far more compelling.

I mean, we see Erik go full rampage mode for vengeance, but Ištván already knows that “revenge doesn’t give life meaning, it’s just childish nonsense.” He’s lived long enough to understand that it’s a hollow indulgence, even if sometimes necessary. In his case, chasing revenge would only postpone the inevitable.

So instead of going berserk, I could see him quietly coming apart, until even his old goals and ambitions stop mattering, because without Erik, nothing does.

In this reimagining, I could see him begging Henry not to spare Erik, as we see him doing in canon, but to kill him instead (perhaps after an unsuccessful attempt at Henry's life?), because there's simply nothing left worth fighting for. And from Henry’s perspective, I imagine letting Ištván live with everything he’s done, and everything he’s lost, would be a far more fitting punishment than offering him any kind of release.

[mastermicd]

well hey, strangers. it's been a minute.

my ridiculously full queue has continued to run one post a day in my absence, but i honestly haven't actually been here for a long while. i've had a lot going on, most of which i won't bore you with. but one factor of my disappearance is the fact that my external hard drive has decided to give up –– which stored my whole indie life. my dearest beloveds ( @bruiseeasily & @krys4lis ) have encouraged me to return despite this.

so i've pulled together some (super rough) new graphics and banners to use, and while i don't have the energy or muse to completely rebrand, i'm hoping that by dipping my toe, the muse might come back!

i plan to continue leaving my queue running as is, and the threads sitting in my drafts will be responded to and dropped into it, though if muse comes back i may look to increase the post frequency. thank you to everyone that has taken the time to reply to things while my only presence has been one post a day. i'm going to really make an effort to engage with the memes my mutuals post to encourage interactions (as i haven't been the best at that, and i can only apologise) and will be keen to get some new things going. new threads won't be put in the queue, at least not at the moment, to not keep you waiting any longer than i already have.

big ramble over! i'd appreciate it if you engaged with this post in some way if you'd like to write –– i'll come and message you on here, or on disco if i have it, to get some things moving again. you might see some memes drop into your inbox over the next few days too. i appreciate you all ♡

p.s. what do you think of the new headers?

[beannary]

Anon from before, I fully agree that the others would be great parents. So maybe it’s not so much that Donnie is the most paternal but that he has the strongest desire to be a parent. Do you think he ever has another kid down the line? Maybe when Nettie is a teenager, Donnie misses having a baby around. Plus he’s always kinda wanted Nettie to have a sibling. The relationships he has with his siblings are the most important ones in his life, aside from his daughter.

i dont think that donnie would have another kid, mostly because he already has two! he has shelldon who is his oldest and then internet who is his youngest! i think he's more than happy with his two little guys :)

[roseoswiins]

Taylor Swift song game ✍️

First I ever heard:

Made me a swiftie:

Favourite country song:

Favourite pop song:

Favourite folklorian song:

Favourite lead single: 

Favourite music video:

First I ever heard: Tim McGraw!! early morning getting ready for school

Made me a swiftie: Love Story

Favourite country song: State of Grace is the first one to come to mind

Favourite pop song: Out of the Woods

Favourite folklorian song: (this is the hardest one to answer by far) last great American dynasty at the moment

Favourite lead single: willow (I have to show evermore some love)

Favourite music video: Look What You Made me Do

[urmomsfavelesbian]

hey you 🦃turkey🦃 lurkey slut👅👅. it’s 🍂HOEvember🍂. you know what that means❓ 🕖time🕐 to gobble👏 gobble👏 gobble👏 on a big ol😜😜 dick👌💋. back in 1️⃣4️⃣9️⃣2️⃣, our main bitch💁💁 Christopher Columbus👦🏻 and those slutty👙👠 pilgrims🏊🏊 had to 💦💦cum💦💦 2️⃣ America⛵️⛵️⛵️⚓️ in search🕵 of new dicks to suck🐓🐓🐓. send this to 1️⃣0️⃣ of your sluttiest pilgrim 🌽🌽 bitches or you won’t get any 💦gravy💦 this year. Get 5️⃣ back and you’re a mashed potato hoe😟😟. get 1️⃣0️⃣ back and you’re a sexy stuffing slut😽😽. happy 🦃cock🐓 gobbling👄 thursday

:) got this posted literally one minute before midnight after it ended i love that for me :)

[archerdepartures116]

Hey hey your art is gorgeous and I appreciate how much you love Liu Qingge. He is the best of all of everything and so under appreciated.

Do you have any Liu Qingge specific headcanons?

HHAHH tysmmm he's the best and I think he needs more appreciation because he as so much potential

my pookie adnsndjkdjeakfjt

anyways here is a list of my personal favorite headcanons:

first off, I hc that he's great with small children or babies, cause he used to take care of his sister when she was very young

He squeezes himself into fuckass crevices or sleeps in trees when he has to camp out and the hunt or mission took longer than he anticipated and there's no inn near (that being said, he would probably kind of suck at making campfires the normal mortal way cause why go through all that effort when you can just blast qi to light up the branches + he never needed to ever since he cultivated a core)

can smoke or grill some banger meat, he sometimes shares it with his disciples and they love it

secretly is a little vain, afterall someone put that braid there and having a long piece of hair dangling in front of ur face isn't very practical for certain situations

probably cuddles with cheng luan, need I say more?

him and his sister look very similar (except for height) so they can usually get away with swapping identities

he looks like he stands on his tiptoes most of the time (based on the eng novel art, Ik that's prolly just for dynamic posing sake but this is such an awkward stance for a normal human being lmfao)

probably autistic, i can feel it in my bones

he can crawl on all fours really efficiently for no reason, sometimes uses this skill to scare/test his disciples

giggly typa drunk, i just think it's cute

mf is stacked so he often overestimates the monetary value of items, great for the seller, excruciating for whoever was assigned to accompany monitor him

views food as another testament to his physical will, loves spicy food (but also really likes sweets)

in a modern au, he would be so untech savy it would make your 90 yo grandpa look like a NASA engineer

his closet is one of those cartoon ones where its the exact same fit across the board

[junk-heart]

*tries to rizz up eyeless jack and ticci toby but fails horribly*

[alalskalska]

YOUR TANGO!!!‼️❤️💝🥰💖💗💝🩷❤️‍🔥

OMG HI THANK YOU!! I can’t believe I didn’t see this earlier 😭 it only took me TWO MONTHS lol

here have some tango doodles! I gave his design a tiny update :)

[weatheredcopper]

Tango testing decked out and walking into a berry bush

those darn berries !!

[just-some-user-hunny]

Kinda curious on how you would rate the escapability of yandere alucard, anderson, captain, and enrico maxwell from hellsing

EscapingYandere Maxwell ...

4/10

. Maxwell is a terrifying yandere. His desire for control and manipulation is hidden beneath those pretty violet eyes of his, always treating you like delicate porcelain with gentle words and gentle hands. He's very deceptive- often disarming you with calm approaches and reassurances. He is tall and slender, like a weeping silver birch tree. So pretty and harmless, only existing to be admired by you.

. He's ambitious and stubborn. Blinded by how own greed. He wants to keep you- keep you held between his hands, like palms clasped in prayer. All his life he has felt cheated of fairness and joy- discarded and thrown away, and the fire that resides inside him to burn away anyone that threatens him and his power grows hotter everyday. So hot it could put the very fires of hell to shame.

. Oftentimes you'll be locked in your room- a dove behind pretty silver bars. You'll be pampered and taken care of but you'll never be granted freedom from your new cage. Your bed will be comfortable and clean, your room spacious and kept adorned with plenty of books and craft materials to keep yourself busy. He wants you to feel as if this is where you'll be the happiest- the safest and most content. You don't need to be out there, not when he's here to keep you happy.

. He's always there, weaving himself into your everyday tasks and indulgences. Maxwell will join you for meals, accompany you to the library or garden during his free time, and read to you whilst you settle for sleep. He enjoys your company very much and likes to be a part of it as often as possible.

. The only way to truly escape Maxwell would be to leave after his demise, and retreat to the saviour of none other than father Anderson.

. Overall, he's a difficult yandere to get a grasp of. He's manipulative and selfish and spiteful, often talking you down whenever you talk of being somewhere where he's not. Reminding you of how lonely and generous he's been. The world is a dangerous place, my dear. Do you really want to be out there with all those undead running around eating innocent people like you? No, he thinks not. Stay behind the holy walls where you'll be safe. It'll cost you, but it'll be worth it, he assures.