#//and that makes me frustrated and no small amount sad.

[estapa-edwards]

Trevor Zegras with a hairstylist reader whom is his best friend & has the biggest crush on him, he doesn’t know tho. Z always goes to the hair saloon whenever he gets dumped and gets his hair washed to relive stress & ranting about how he somehow can’t keep a relationship, but reader know Z will only go back into a relationship a few days later (full on angst, you can decide if reader & Z will be a couple or not). Thank you, love you!!

KEEP - T. ZEGRAS

paring: Trevor Zegras x reader

word count: 1.6k

requested? yes

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

Trevor Zegras, affectionately called Z by those closest to him, trudged into the small, warmly lit salon. His usually confident stride was subdued, shoulders slightly hunched, and his face was a mask of frustration and sadness. He glanced around the familiar space, taking in the comforting scent of hair products and the soft hum of conversations blending with the background music.

Y/N, his best friend and hairstylist, looked up from her station. Her heart sank at the sight of him. she had seen this scene play out too many times. Trevor was here for his routine post-breakup hair wash, a ritual that had become all too familiar over the years. Y/N had been harboring a secret crush on him for as long as she could remember, but  Trevor seemed oblivious, always lost in his own world of fleeting relationships.

"Hey, Z," Y/N greeted softly, trying to mask the concern in her voice. "Another rough one?"

Trevor sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Yeah, you could say that. Mind if I get the usual? I need to clear my head."

Y/N nodded, motioning for him to take a seat at the shampoo station. As Trevor settled into the chair, Y/N prepared the water, making sure it was just the right temperature. She poured a generous amount of shampoo into her hands and began to massage it into his scalp.

Trevor closed his eyes, a look of relief washing over his face. "I don't get it, Y/N. Why can't I keep a relationship? What's wrong with me?"

Y/N's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She had heard these questions before, each time feeling a pang of sympathy mixed with frustration. "There's nothing wrong with you, Z. Sometimes things just don't work out. It's not always about you."

Trevor huffed, his eyes still closed. "Maybe. But it feels like I'm the common denominator. Every time, it's the same story. I think it's going great, and then bam, it's over."

Y/N continued to work the shampoo through his hair, her fingers moving in soothing circles. "Maybe you're just picking the wrong people. Or maybe you're not ready for something serious yet."

Trevor opened his eyes, looking up at Y/N with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure if she should delve deeper. "I just mean that maybe you're not looking for the right things in a relationship. Or maybe you're not being yourself fully. Sometimes it takes time to figure out what you really want."

Trevor sighed again, leaning back into the chair. "Maybe you're right. I just... I don't know. It feels like I'm always chasing something that slips through my fingers."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to tell him how she felt, how she had always been there for him, how she had seen him at his best and worst, and still cared for him deeply. But fear held them back. Fear of ruining their friendship, fear of rejection, fear of breaking the fragile balance they had maintained for so long.

Instead, she kept her thoughts to themselves, focusing on washing away his stress with each stroke. "You deserve to be happy, Z. And you'll find someone who sees you for who you really are. Just don't lose hope."

Trevor smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Thanks, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Y/N's heart fluttered at his words, but she forced themselves to remain calm. "That's what friends are for, right?"

--- --- --- 

The days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Each time Trevor found himself single again, he would return to the salon, seeking solace in the routine that had become his anchor. And each time, Y/N was there, listening, comforting, and silently yearning for him to see them in a different light.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Trevor walked into the salon, a familiar look of dejection on his face. Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. This time felt different, though. There was a deeper sadness in his eyes, a weariness that hadn't been there before.

"Hey, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, Z," Y/N replied, her voice gentle. "Rough day?"

Trevor nodded, sinking into the chair at the shampoo station. "Yeah. Really rough."

Y/N began her familiar routine, her fingers moving through his hair with practiced ease. As she worked, Trevor began to talk, his voice a mix of frustration and sadness. "I thought this one was different, Y/N. I really did. But she said I was too distant, too focused on other things. She didn't think I was serious about us."

Y/N's heart ached at his words. She wanted to scream that she saw him, that she understood him in ways no one else did. But instead, she kept her voice steady. "Maybe she wasn't the right one for you, Z. Maybe she didn't see all the amazing things about you."

Trevor sighed, leaning back into the chair. "Maybe. But it just feels like I'm never enough. Like I'm always missing something."

Y/N's hands stilled for a moment before resuming her gentle motions. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "Z, have you ever thought that maybe you're looking for the wrong things? Maybe what you need isn't out there, but right in front of you?"

Trevor opened his eyes, looking up at Y/N with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. This was it. The moment she had been dreading and hoping for. "I mean that maybe you've been overlooking something, or someone, who cares about you more than anyone else ever could."

Trevor's eyes widened slightly, realization slowly dawning on him. "Y/N, are you saying...?"

Y/N nodded, her hands trembling slightly. "I've been your best friend for years, Z. I've seen you at your best and worst, and I've always cared about you. More than just a friend."

Trevor stared at them, his mind racing. "I... I never realized. I always thought you were just being a good friend."

Y/N smiled sadly. "I was. But it was always more than that for me. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to ruin what we have. But I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with just being your friend."

Trevor sat up, turning to face Y/N fully. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Y/N shrugged, tears welling up in her eyes. "I was scared. Scared that you wouldn't feel the same way, scared that I'd lose you. But I can't keep hiding how I feel."

Trevor reached out, taking Y/N's hand in his. "Y/N, I don't know what to say. This is a lot to take in."

Y/N nodded, squeezing his hand gently. "I know. And I don't expect you to have all the answers right now. I just needed you to know how I feel."

Trevor looked into Y/N's eyes, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. "I need time to process this, Y/N. But I promise, I won't let this ruin our friendship. You're too important to me."

Y/N smiled through her tears, relief flooding her chest. "That's all I can ask for, Z."

--- --- --- 

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions for both of them. Trevor found himself thinking about Y/N constantly, replaying their conversations in his mind. He had always known that Y/N was special, but he had never considered the possibility of something more between them.

As time passed, he began to see Y/N in a new light. He noticed the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the way she always seemed to know exactly what to say to make him feel better, the way she cared for him with a depth that he had never experienced before.

One evening, as the sun set, Trevor found himself standing outside the salon, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and walked inside. Y/N was there, as always, working on a client's hair. she looked up and smiled when she saw him, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

"Hey, Z," Y/N greeted, her voice tentative.

"Hey, Y/N," Trevor replied, his voice steady. "Can we talk? After you're done?"

Y/N nodded, her heart racing. "Of course. Just give me a few minutes."

Once the client had left and the salon was empty, Trevor approached Y/N, his heart pounding in his chest. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, Y/N. About what you said."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. "And?"

Trevor  took a deep breath, reaching out to take Y/N's hand in his. "And I've realized that you're right. I've been looking for something that was right in front of me all along. You."

Y/N's eyes widened, hope and disbelief mingling in her gaze. "Z, are you saying...?"

Trevor nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "I'm saying that I care about you, Y/N. More than just a friend. I don't know what the future holds, but I want to see where this can go. With you."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she looked into Trevor's earnest gaze. "I've wanted to hear those words for so long, Z. I care about you too. More than anything."

Trevor smiled, pulling them into a tight embrace. "Then let's take this one step at a time. Together."

[mantleoflight]

//frustrated vent under the cut. feel free to ignore

//Y'know what would be great? If Bungie actually made a novelization of Destiny so we knew how the Last City actually worked.

//Bc lemme tell you, there is nothing more frustrating than wanting to build a crossover and having the equivalent of scattered sticky notes compared to a multi-volume encyclopedia. Trying to balance and scale power to make au's fair and fun for everyone is not easy when you don't have good enough source material to go on.

//bc lemme tell you, it feels really scummy of me watching Bad Batch tonight and having to be like "yeah, Crosshair would take out entire fireteams before they knew what was happening." because we really just don't have any idea how the Vanguard or Hidden are structured. And we have no idea what kind of training Guardians get because in game you don't get training. You learn as you go and get lucky if you find people who know what they're doing better than you. There is no training, only encouragement.

//I know we have loretabs about Shaxx training guardians for his Crucible, specifically 1 lore tab about how to take care of your gear, and 1 of Shaw with a class/crowd of newlights during the Lucent attack. But that's all I can find.

//We really don't know their command structure beyond gun-crazed raccoons answering to the main Vanguard directors (Ikora/Zavala). But that's not stable and it's definitely not sustainable. Nor is the Vanguard running everything else in an attempt to keep everything together in the Last City.

//Even Ikora says the Vanguard was never meant to be a political or ruling organization. It was strictly for protecting the Last City, for recruiting and training Lightbearers to prevent Dark Age Warlords from springing up again.

//If the Republic (old or new) came to town, they'd find a sick, barely inhabitable world with a single safe city and a weird inversion of the death star sitting right above it. Sol wouldn't even be worth being noticed by the Empire, and if it was noticed, it wouldn't take much to slag this sparsely populated system - Uluran, Eliksni, Hive, Vex, or not.

//Idk guys, I'm trying to build something worth being proud of but like, it definitely sucks when you can't balance out skill, power, and advancement stats. it really feels like a no-win scenario

[nullians]

About that misogyny in fandom post. I think it’s like… a complicated enough net of “what people want to see in fan creations”, “what people can relate to in fan creations”, “what kind of people make up for most of the creative side of fandom” (remember that “all men do in fandom is make power level tiers and theories” post? It’s bad but like. Shows the general sentiment), “what will give an author interactions”, and “how do people approach each other about their favourite things”. Like there are many factors, and I think sexualisation and fanservice should be counted in too, and the diversity offered to male vs female characters. I’ve said it once before but it’s generally much harder to find a female character who has the same freedom of expression as a male character. And a lot of them are not made with the same enthusiasm as the male ones. Like yeah, that is misogyny but I think it’s not like. A fandom-root problem but a source material problem too? And imo the audience will subconsciously or not react to that.

Plus, maybe this wouldn’t be so visible if fandom wasn’t mostly ship-centric… Because as it stands, even if there is a voice to explore non-romantic and sexual relationships oftentimes it just ends up being a very sad/isolating experience still. Hmm

[redysetdare]

I hate to tell you guys this but it is neither a hot take nor an unpopular opinion to say "i like valentines day" I can assure you that majority of society agrees with you.

[cupid-styles]

renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)

in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry

word count: 6.5k

content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!" 

Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do. 

Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.

(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.) 

"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"

"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"

"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."

Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"

"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh. Okay."

And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain. 

"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"

Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it. 

Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair. 

"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"

She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint. 

"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."

"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky." 

Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late. 

"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"

"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?" 

She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom. 

"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?" 

Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take. 

"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"

Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there. 

"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"

He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."

"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."

"Messes are okay, though. You said it."

She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?

"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"

His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.

"Riley!" 

Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles. 

"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces. 

"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction. 

"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"

"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"

"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."

Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. 

"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"

Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."

He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."

Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat. 

"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.

She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them. 

Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.

"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone. 

Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."

"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely. 

"Daddy?"

They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg. 

"What does usavory mean?" 

Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.

"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.

. . .

When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes. 

She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes. 

She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class? 

She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom. 

Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.

And that's about it. 

She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N. 

Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included. 

Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper. 

Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07. 

She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table. 

"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"

Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.

"This one, pwease."

She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart. 

"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"

Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."

"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."

"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins. 

"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."

Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always. 

"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."

Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"

"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"

She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.

She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."

"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it. 

"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"

"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."

She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."

"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."

He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."

Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."

Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.

She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.

. . .

"How was Riley today?"

Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."

Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups. 

"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."

"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."

Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."

Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning. 

Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day. 

It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either. 

"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out. 

"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks. 

She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days. 

"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."

Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his. 

"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"

"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.

"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door. 

"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?" 

"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."

Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."

"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.

"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"

"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.

"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in. 

"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."

He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.

"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."

. . .

Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?

Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job. 

On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water. 

Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.

They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this. 

"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman. 

"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"

"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"

Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."

"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs. 

"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."

Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."

Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting. 

"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."

"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."

It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.

The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips. 

Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy. 

He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.

"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."

Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"

He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."

She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."

She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious. 

"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.

"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"

She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu. 

"Every now and then." he answers vaguely. 

As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine. 

"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"

Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.

"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.

Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth. 

"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.

"What? No, why would you—"

"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"

"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."

"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"

"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."

Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."

"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"

She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."

She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.

"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"

. . .

Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life. 

When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips. 

"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors. 

"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"

"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"

He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."

Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"

Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap. 

"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."

It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.

"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."

That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her. 

"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."

Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."

"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."

"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

That.

That's what he's nervous about.

"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."

"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."

"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."

Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body. 

"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."

"Please."

She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience. 

They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile. 

"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."

She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles. 

"So good." she echoes.

He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.

[nottsfawn]

hiii, i love the vibes of your acc and can’t wait for your writing! i was wondering if you could do like a enemies to lovers “who did this to you” with theo ahh i’m a sucker for this trope. if not that’s fine! hope you have a lovely day x

"who did it"

- theodore nott x reader ♡

TW: bruises, insults

🐇 author note: ty for making this req!! sorry cuz it took so long to came out tot, i didn't liked how it was going, but i hope you will!! ♡♡

there was nobody to help, absolutely no one. it was only you and the February moon, the only one who knew about your nocturne tears.

Cedric, your boyfriend, could be awesome. a lot of girls would define him like the real charming prince, but in reality, the only charming thing was the way he could tell you how much he loved you after kicking your poor body just because you helped a 1st year boy to do his potions essay.

every part of you body hurted, not just for the big amount of bruises in it, but your desesperation was manifested through yourself in a weak shaking. the only thing you could think about was how much you hated him. hot tears started to fall down your cheeks, making you sob and whine again, quietly.

suddenly, you felt a small step vibration from the Astronomy tower stairs, getting up.

Theodore Nott's body reveled through the ancient door, examining the space. when he saw your body in the balcony's floor, he let out a airy laugh "what's happening to you right now?" he walked in your direction, putting his arms in his chest and lying in the wall, looking at you with a sarcastic smirk.

fastly, you covered a bruise on you naked arm with your hand, squeezing your eyes in slightly pain. when you did that, he started to tease you "what's up? you don't want me to see thoose stupid draws you make in class on your skin? what did you make now? an unicorn, a bowtruckle.." playing, he took your hand off your arm, specting a dumb doodle of yours. but, instead, his pupils dilated when the purple and blue bruise got his attention, making him freeze.

"go away" you said defensively, covering it again. the desesperation was running through your veins, it couldn't be worse. the feeling of him making fun of it and telling everyone that you were in a abusive environment made your stomach ache.

your eyes started to blurry, water was born from them, the only thing you could do was getting out from there. when you turned off to go out, you felt a big hand taking your wrist, strong enough to stop you from making another step.

he pulled it, making your body be near his "y/n" he said, his cold gaze meeting your blurry and sad eyes "who did it." he demanded to know, making your spine cold. "it's nothing, theodore. my own business" you avoided answering that question, under no term you would tell him what actually happened "let me go, please" you demanded too.

he wasn't an easy guy, "ascolta" he said in your ear, with a deep voice and a foreign accent "if that little boyfried of yours did it, im going to break his jaw till he begs me to kill him, bene?" that words came out from his mouth like a dark an evil poem. "so, y/n" he repeats, in a clear tone. his hands were stroking your shoulders harder "who did it?"

you sob, giving up to his light but deep eyes. they were your missery and your miracle, a perfect sin for a girl like you. "Cedric." the name of your boyfriend left your lips like a cold breeze. "coglione" he shouted looking to another direction, frustrated. his ears were getting red and his finger bones pale. "theodore, don't be stupid, please. don't do anything" you tried to stop him by grabbing his arm. "bella," he said looking at you, with a sudden smirk on his face "i would be too dumb if I don't give that fucker what he deserves" he lifts your chin with too fingers, looking at your lips "let me take the control at least once, mhm?" after saying thoose words, his lips collisioned with yours, in a short but hungry kiss. when it ended, he just gave you a flirty wink, before getting out the tower.

♡

the other day, you spent all the afternoon in the nursery, hearing the story of how your boyfriend got 3 bones broken by a masked student; and in the other corner of the salon, you could feel that european satisfied eyes looking at you.

[jubileemon]

Explaining Huskerdust slowburn

Huskerdust is one of the most popular ships within the Hazbin Hotel fandom, which started with their first interaction in the pilot.

From the outset, Angel Dust shows a clear attraction towards Husk, which is evident from his immediate flirtatious behavior upon Husk's arrival as the hotel's bartender. This attraction is not subtle as Angel Dust is overt in his advances, often pushing boundaries. On the other hand, Husk was initially dismissive and annoyed by Angel's flirtations, responding with expletives and a general attitude of disinterest. Yet, this sets the stage for a relationship that promises to evolve slowly over time.

Although they started off bad, with Husk often finding great irritation in Angel's continued advances, their relationship would begin to deepen as the series progresses.

In the beginning, Husk made it no secret that he was forced to stay at the hotel because of his ties to Alastor and would gladly get as far away as he could if able to. He's addicted to gambling, much the same way Angel is addicted to drugs and sex. He used to be an Overlord but gambled away his bound souls until he got desperate enough to sell his own soul to Alastor.

While his words were poorly timed, pushing Angel's buttons after he'd just suffered a night of abuse from Valentino in "Masquerade", it's hard to deny that Husk is right to be frustrated with Angel's sexual harassment. He's cuttingly accurate when he points out how Angel's lewd and carefree behavior is all a self-destructive act that he hides behind to avoid his problems, and that nobody in the Hotel is particularly impressed with or taken by the front he puts up.

In the episode "Masquerade", a pivotal moment occurs when Husk rescues Angel from a potentially dangerous situation at a club that shows a protective side under his gruff exterior. Afterwards, Husk continues to remind Angel that he can stop his act. However, Angel, shedding tears and expressing his sadness, lashes out at Husk as they argue, explaining he needs to be who he is in order to break himself, both to wash away his misery and escape Valentino.

Saddened by this, Husk helps Angel recognize the parallel misery, which led to them both admitting their regrets and Husk revealing his past as an Overlord to Angel.

Husk getting through to Angel Dust in the manner he does makes a considerable amount of sense when it's taken into account that the first step to overcoming drug addiction is usually getting the addict to acknowledge they even have a problem. Angel hasn't been able to get better despite having some genuine interest because he's been utterly refusing to admit he has a problem to fix, the moment he does his mood drastically improves as does his motivation.

The song 'Loser, Baby' became an uplifting melody for Husk and Angel Dust's relationship. It encapsulates the message that while they may see themselves as losers, they aren't alone in their struggles.

The whole song is just "Stop thinking you're special". Some people may see that as a bad message (at first) considering what Angel goes through, but like him, staying in that mindset of "No one knows what I'm going through, no one else knows what it's like to be me, etc." would not be good for him at all as it would create a barrier of isolation. To be clear, the point is that Husk calls Angel a loser because people, especially very hurt people, need to break their cycle of self-loathing somehow. And sometimes, sometimes, people need to hear that they are, in fact, a loser. But that's okay because a lot of other people are too. This is even reflected in the song, with Angel initially assuming Husk is mocking him, but eventually picking up what he's actually saying. The message isn't "You're not special lmao," it's actually "You're not alone in this, and embracing that is a big step in getting out of it."

A small detail many fans have noticed is that whilst Valentino is very forceful with Angel Dust both emotionally and physically, during the song “Loser, Baby,” Husk is never seen grabbing Angel Dust at all during the song, only ever offering his hand out for him to accept. It's apparent that Husk is expressing more interest in Angel Dust, after seeing that he isn't as shallow as he comes off to be. Since then, Angel and Husk have formed a special bond through being vulnerable and honest with each other. But this scene also shows Husk's concern for Angel's well-being, especially when it comes to drugs and a potential relapse.

In the episode "Welcome to Heaven", Cherri invites Angel and Husk along with Niffty and Sir Pentious to a bar. During this scene, Cherri tries to motivate Angel to take drugs as a way to relieve stress. Husk reminded Angel it would destroy his progress. Husk then admits that Angel succumbing to drugs would really disappoint him. Angel declines the offer, making Husk smile, but later starts heavily drinking, something Husk disapproves of.

This concern is reciprocated when Angel Dust takes care of a drunk Niffty, suggesting a shift from his earlier, more self-centered behavior. The confrontation with Valentino, where Husk is ready to defend Angel Dust, further cements their bond.

Angel was very attracted to Husk and didn't hide it, with his constant boundary pushing flirtation. After being called out for this behavior, Angel not only begins a genuine bond with the cat demon but also stops the annoying, aggressive flirtation.

As they were preparing to fight the exorcists, Husk unconsciously makes a sex comment saying that "Angels won't stop coming", and Angel laughs at this remark. Husk realizes the double meaning of it, and laughs admitting his mistake.

During the bar scene in "The Show Must Go On" an instrumental of "Loser, Baby" plays in the background during Angel and Husks' conversation, which further underscores the hidden depths of their bond. Angel takes Charlie's words to heart about living however you want that night since it may be your last. How does he choose to do it? By simply having a drink with Husk and Cherri Bomb. Husk even notes that he's changed quite a lot since he came to the hotel.

Also, the way he looks at Husk and the little piano reprise of "Loser, Baby" playing in the background. Angel's feelings for him may run deeper than they seem... 😍

[starkeyisthelastname]

Okay so I was like super angry and irritated all day but when I get mad I cry and throw things so could you do something where the reader is doing just that and rafes comes to calm her down and theyyy 😏 you know

It was just one of those days where everything seemed to irritate you. Rafe had been busy with Barry but had promised to take you out to dinner that night. With your makeup and hair both done, you headed towards the walk in closet to find something to wear. You were frustrated with every little thing you put on, it either looking wrong or you didn’t understand why you bought it in the first place.

Rafe was in a good mood for once after money had been made. He was ready to take you out to dinner and then pound your guts in. He wasn’t expecting you to be in the disaster of the closet now, pretty face covered in hot tears.

“Hey. What is going on?” He asked, voice firm as he walked over to you. Kneeling down, he gripped your chin to make you look at him.

With a wobbly chin, you glanced at your boyfriend with sad eyes and a frustrated sigh. “I can’t find anything to wear…” You mumbled, the amount of clothes in the closet saying other wise.

Rafe’s jaw ticked, looking around the space and shaking his head. You were a spoiled fucking brat who got handed his amex card on the daily to go shopping and now you couldn’t find anything to wear. “Are you serious?” His tone, incredulous.

You nodded, still barely covered in your pink little robe that you wore when you did your makeup. “Just wanna look good for you Rafey..” You told him, eyes averting his dreamy blue eyes.

Rafe’s felt himself relax when he heard you say that. Pouty lips and pink tear streaked cheeks and you were still fucking perfect. “Fucking brat..” He said under is breath. “You need some dick to make you calm down? Show you how good you look to me.”

Your gorgeous eyes glanced back up at him, already feeling better just from being there. Nodding your head with a small giggle, you wrapped your arms around his strong neck. Rafe let out a scoff, amazed that he could fuck you to make you not upset anymore.

“You make.. me f-feel better Rafey..” Tiny whines leaving your lips as the sexy man above you had a dick that filled you up with each thrust.

Thumb rubbing your sensitive pearl, Rafe laughed. Your dinner reservations had started 30 minutes ago as he was relishing in the feeling of your wet cunt. You looked gorgeous too taking his thick pipe, he didn’t know why you worked up about not looking good for him.

“Yeah I know.. dick gets you feeling better about yourself.” He told you, huffing out a breath as you squeezed his cock in a vice grip.

[ink-n-shadowfiction]

Omg I am so head over heels for your bodyguard!simon AU ;w;

Nah because with my sensitive ass the “M’ not touching you again” would instantly make me sad like SO fast :’3

so, how would he react if she got all pouty because he said that? Because in all actuality she definitely wants him to touch her more often, yknow? Like it ain’t even gotta be sexual…probably-

🍋-

i like the way you think, anon🍋 >:) this one's not sexual (unfortunately) BUT it is cute and a bit angsty so enjoy

pairing: bodyguard!Simon "Ghost" Riley x rockstar!reader (link to all works in this au)

genre: somewhere between fluff and angst

word count: 588

warning: mean!ghost at first, then soft!ghost, crying for something small, drunk!reader

"what did i say when you were on vacation last month, hmm?" ghost grumbled as he lead you through the lobby of your apartment building, keeping a grip on your upper arm. "m'not. fucking. touching you like that."

you had gone out with the rest of your bandmates, having a few drinks (way more than you needed) to celebrate the upcoming release of your first album. you weren't completely wasted, but you were damn close—your face flushed, steps a bit wobbly, eyes bleary.

ghost kept as much distance between you two as he could, but he knew he had to help you walk. so he gripped your upper arm to steady your steps, walking slow enough to help you keep pace with him. he glared down at you, but when he noticed the pout on your face and the tears beginning to form in your eyes, his eyes softened.

it wasn't the usual bratty pout you'd use—no, this one appeared legitimately sad.

"y-you're so mean, ghost. i just—" your sentence paused in the middle as a hiccuped sob shook your chest, your free hand coming up to wipe at the tears and smearing some mascara down your cheek. "i just wanna hold your hand. but y-you don't like me. why don't you like me?"

ghost let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head a bit as he approached the elevator and pushed the call button. he moved to stand in front of you, his grip on your arm falling away. "dove, c'mon—you're ruinin' that pretty makeup on y'face." he thumbed at the mascara on your cheek, frowning under his mask as the black only smeared more.

you tried to push his hand away, but the amount of alcohol in your veins made your movements slow and uncoordinated. "i don't care, ghost. just like you don't care about me."

"god—would you stop that?" ghost grumbled out in frustration as he ran a hand over his mask, trying to regain his composure before looking back down at your teary face. he lifted a hand up to grip your chin, forcing your eyes on him. "i obviously fuckin' like you. i wouldn't be walkin' you home from the bloody club if i didn't, 'kay? you're just drunk right now—and you get a bit emotional when you're drunk."

you sniffled up the tears lodged in the back of your throat as your unsteady eyes met ghost's, skin warming at the way his gloved fingers trapped your chin in his grip. "t-then why won't you just hold my hand? i-it's not like i'm asking you to kiss me or date me or somethin'. it'll make me feel better."

ghost let out a scoffed breath as he turned away from you, shaking his head and grumbling something under his breath before you felt his leather-covered fingers lace with yours. the elevator dinged and pulled open with a hiss, and ghost gently tugged you inside with a squeeze to your hand. "there—happy now? gonna stop being a little crybaby about it?"

as soon as you felt ghost's hand in yours, a drunken smile smeared across your lips, warmth coating your skin as you stumbled into the elevator behind him. "you have big hands."

"jesus." ghost muttered with a shake of his hand, using his free hand to punch the button for your floor and watching the elevator doors close in front of you two. "don't get used to this, 'kay? m'only doing this because you're bloody cryin' over it."

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

I admire your patience with those readers who need you to spoon feed them the story. Everything is in the comics but they still manage to go pass it. I can't help but feel a bit sad for them? Do they not understand what they read? Are they not attentive when reading it? I'm legitimately concerned because I function so differently I can't fathom this. If you like a story, isn't it normal to make your best to grasp it's essence and reflect on it? I know I project a lot about this, everyone works and registers things differentely of course but sometimes it's very frustrating to see people consume any media and just completely miss all the important messages in it, or even just fail to get the scenario sometimes, and it feels like it's very common now... Idk I just wanted maybe to have your perspective on this? Sorry for the long post (Been here for a few years now and your a true inspiration to me. All my luv to you! ❤️)

You know, I'm gonna be honest. I used to stress out about this... a LOT.

As a story-brained person, this is definitely something that comes naturally to me, and perhaps to you, and to many other people who are wired similarly. To us, following the path of a story in an analytic, highly detail-motivated manner and unwrapping the themes can be as exciting as lifting up a rock to see the bugs underneath. It's an exciting mental activity that's stimulating and feels effortless.

And yes, as an author who spends literally 60% of my day thinking about this comic and how to draw it, panel it, script it, make it better (I script and panel in my head constantly)........ I have trouble realizing/dealing with the fact that some people are just here to CASUALLY enjoy the story that I am lowkey obsessed with.

But I've come to realize that... that's NORMAL! And healthy.

People have different attention spans for different things.

People have varied ways to read a story and engage with it.

People have unique interests.

People don't have the same amounts of energy to devote to reading!

Maybe someone missed a detail I lovingly and painstakingly put into the dialogue because they're reading the update late at night after a long shift at work. And maybe someone scrolled past the dialogue completely and just got the gist from looking at the art, because they're in a hurry to get to practice at their favorite sportsball.

And maybe someone just had a really bad day with a really bad encounter, and they're reading the update in a terrible mood and instead of seeing MY grey-morality narrative, they're focusing on all the negative points and misread the vibes because of their own biases that stem from places of hurt.

The thing is, I have to be okay with that as an author, because I will NEVER be able to get into my audience's heads and read this comic 'correctly' for my own sake.

They will always have a slightly different interpretation of things, and they will always misunderstand details and miss clues. And sometimes, they will be wrong about the way they read a character's motivations... and sometimes maybe they won't be! That's just a part of communication. That's a part of telling a story.

An imperfect delivery, and an imperfect reception should, in my opinion, be a natural and accepted part of storytelling. We're human, and we all have a different lived experience, and we will ALL have different takes on a comic, even if it's so close that we THINK we are both getting the exact same thing. That small human interpretation variation is a home-made touch that makes it feel more organic.

In short.... Not all light particles make it here from the sun, but damn the result is stunning anyway.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 21 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You toss and turn, of course, utterly unable to sleep.

Your body does not get the memo that it’s a bad idea to fuck a man like John Wick, who is a killer who is holding you prisoner, and refuses to simmer down. You are uncomfortably swollen between your legs, your pussy aching with frustration, and in the wee hours of the morning you are certain you are about to lose your goddamn fucking mind.

 How is he really going to fucking know?

This is the stupid little thought that plays through your tired brain as you writhe beneath the covers, running hands up over your torso, pretending they are his.

Imagining his touch tweaking the sensitive tips of your nipples, his fingers buried inside you, seeking that sensitive place that drives you wild.

Yours are too soft, too small, not long enough or thick enough by half.

You try to trick yourself that it’s his unrelenting touch circling your clit, furious in his claiming of your pleasure as his own…

It’s not enough by half, and the release that washes over you is a paltry consolation at best, a weak pleasure that you know is a sad facsimile of the real thing. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sighing his name, and how has he mind-fucked you so royally in such a short amount of time?

It pisses you off, and in a last act of defiance for the night you flip off the camera high in the corner.

He’s probably not watching anyway. He’s probably asleep, snug in his bed with Dog, the bastard.

Feeling sad and not really sated at all, you curl into a ball and try to finally get some rest. It’s lonely in this big bed all by yourself, and by the time sleep finally claims you your pillow is damp with tears.

-When finally you wake in the morning, you are cold. The covers are down around your waist, and your shoulders ache, your arms at an odd angle out in front of you.

You never sleep like this.

There’s something on your wrists.

You open your eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep. Your vision focuses on something red.

A very neat line of shibari style knots encircles your wrists and half your forearms. They would have been beautiful, in a different setting. Like, not on your body, without your consent.

They’re not so tight to cut off your circulation, but they’re not exactly comfortable either. You strain against the silk rope, and find you can’t budge them.

You are so fucked.

“I warned you.”

John is sitting in the chair in the corner, watching you. He’s wearing all black again, a button down and slacks this time. Looking his best for you, or does he have somewhere to be? It’s not something you would have paid attention to before, but this morning, you can’t help but fixate on the fact that he’s wearing a leather belt.

Because you’re an idiot, you snipe anyway, “Wow, looks like someone earned his merit badge in macramé.”

He just smirks at you, the beautiful bastard.

“I’ve got more than a badge, honey.”

“Very funny. Untie me.”

“You’ll have to earn it, bad girl.”

Your heart skitters around in your chest as you wonder what that means.

He goes on, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you last night?”

“Guess I assumed you’d be sleeping. It was way past your bedtime.”

He scoffs at the old man dig, leaning forward on his knees, fixing you with that hawkish gaze. “I found out I only sleep well with you in my arms, darling. Wouldn’t that have been nice last night?”

Yes, it would have. However, you just frown at him.

“So, was it worth it?” he pushes.

You sigh, half tempted to tell him how utterly unsatisfying your little session of self-indulgence had been. Rather than answer him, you look at the knots again. They really are beautiful. It makes you think of the book binding shop you’d visited in Florence, and the complicated stitches and knots they used to affix the signatures of pages together.

This man likes binding all kinds of things, it seems.

“Are you hungry?”

Only then do you notice that he has a plate of breakfast foods on the little table beside him. Eggs, toast, and bacon. A little plastic cup that might be water or juice. Your tummy answers with a rumble. Dog did eat your dinner last night, and John never offered you a replacement sandwich. At the time you’d been too worked up about…everything, to care.  

“Maybe.”

He huffs a little laugh at you. “Come here.” He pats his knee, and you realize he wants you to sit on his lap—so he can feed you. A little growl in the back of your throat escapes you, and it only makes his smirk widen.

“God, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grouse.

You are starving, and you both know it.

“Come. Here.”

There’s that chilling tone of voice again. It does not fail to fill your veins with ice, your heart skipping a beat before skittering irregularly in your chest. You’ve come to understand that it means playtime is over.

You are so fucked.

It is awkward, getting out of the bed with your wrists tied like this. You almost fall on your face, your foot getting tangled in the sheet. From John’s forbidding expression, you don’t think he would have caught you from hitting the floor this time.

You are still only dressed in the thin nightie, and the air is cold on your skin. Your nipples tighten, forming sharp peaks beneath the fabric, the silk lending agonizing friction that makes you want to press your thighs to relieve some of the sudden ache between them.

Last night so did not help you with this problem, and John’s eyes fixating on them does not help either, and you wonder if you’ll be in trouble when you stain his neat looking pants leg with your slick after sitting on him.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone much gentler this time.

Defeated, you shuffle forward, letting him guide you to perch on his knee with a hand on your hip. You barely manage to suppress a shudder as possessively his hand slides just under your skirt, resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. His long fingers are so close to your center, but he makes no move, letting you stew in it.

Bastard.

Only then do you turn to look at him, finding his gaze fixed on your face. “Good morning.”

When you say nothing in return he lifts one eyebrow, and you swear, this man will be the death of you out of frustration alone.

“Good morning,” you finally return, hating the meek timbre of your tone.

“Do you like scrambled eggs?” You nod, and he scoops up a forkful. You notice the fork is plastic, and you wonder if its for your safety, or for his.

He’s clearly never seen Hot Tub Time Machine.

“I would have taken you to breakfast in Venice, but someone had to run away.”

“Well, someone was an insufferable prig the night before,” you return primly, wondering what punishment this will earn you, unable to stop yourself from saying it anyway. He actually smirks at this, though his grip tightens a bit in warning on your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but oh.

You are definitely leaving a wet spot on his trousers, and you hate yourself a little more for it.

You finish your breakfast bite by bite like the good girl you’re apparently not. It was good, if not the weirdest seating arrangement you’ve ever endured. You tremble inside, as you wonder what he has in mind for you next, now that your energy is up and you are trussed like a holiday goose for his pleasure.

You couldn’t be more surprised, than when he deposits you on the bed, kisses your cheek, and bids you, “Have a nice day, sweetie.”

“Wait!” you exclaim, whirling as he is already halfway to the door, swinging his suit jacket about his broad shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You hate it, that hearing this fills you with panic. “Are you coming back?”

“Do you want me to come back?” There is a dangerous glitter in those dark eyes, and you know that is a question loaded with fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.

You decide on, “I want you to untie me.” Holding up your wrists as exhibit A.

He shrugs a little, and you know that was not the answer he wanted. “Maybe later.” Then he sweeps out of the room, leaving you staring dumbfounded at the door where he’d just been. The man is like a fucking ghost.  

“Bastard!”

You hope he hears you, but you suspect the epithet falls on deaf ears.

-Your first order of business, of course, is trying to undo these beautiful fucking knots. Unfortunately for you, they are tight, and secure, and John was smart enough to make the finishing hitch with the end tails on the opposite side of your wrist where you cannot easily reach them with your teeth.

Sonofabitch.

If he’d left you Dog for company you could have enlisted the pooch’s formidable chompers, perhaps, but no dice on that one.

Fine.

You sit under the covers for a while, because you’re cold. You try to read, but it is infuriatingly difficult to turn the pages of a book and read comfortably with your hands like this.

You are certain lunch time comes and goes, without a peep out of John.

Did he actually leave you?

You hate it, how the thought makes a trill of panic vibrate in your chest.

Fine. It’s fucking fine.

He thinks he can break you with alone time? You? You are the Queen of Introversion. You can go for days without human interaction, happily, so long as you have a sketchbook or a book. Bring it on, Mr. Wick.

He left you the water cup with the straw, and boy is that an adventure to refill in the bathroom when you’re thirsty.

Going pee without making a mess is no small feat either.

You pace the room, just to get some exercise. You look out the window, watching the birds in the trees.

You laugh to yourself, banging your head against the bulletproof glass. How funny, that you’d once fancied yourself Jane Eyre, when it turned out you were destined to be Mad Bertha locked up in the attic by Rochester all along.  

You hate to admit it, but by the time the sun is starting to set behind the trees you are going stir crazy with wondering where the fuck he is.

It’s definitely not because you miss him.

It’s just…these fucking ropes, of course. It’s not those burning dark eyes, or those large sure hands, or that sturdy long body he likes to press to yours. It’s not that the silence of the room feels empty without his deep voice, even if he’s using it to taunt you.

It is late by the time you hear the locks on the door whir, and you have been sitting in your nest in bed feeling listless and way too sorry for yourself. You are half out of your mind with boredom, and your shoulders and elbows ache at the joints from the restraints at your wrist. You try not to show it, but you are ready to climb up the fucking walls.

Like he might have some inkling of this, John pays you a knowing smile, assuming his seat with the confidence of a king in his throne room. He snaps and pats his thigh, no words this time, expecting you to obey.

Someday, you are going to make him pay for this.

But now…there’s nothing for it but to play his twisted game.

He’s prepared some kind of stir-fry tonight, with vegetables, beef, and rice. You are starving by now, and it smells heavenly.

Again, the food is good, simple but filling. He feeds you forkful by forkful with a careful tenderness that could make you weep. Your time with John is like a game of Russian Roulette. Spin the wheel, which John shall you receive this minute?

It’s easy to hate Mean John. Insufferable Ass Hat John, could drive you to murder. But Sweet John? You would do anything, for Sweet John, and you’re afraid he knows it too.

It’s only been a day, really. Is that right? A day? And already, you feel yourself slipping into the mould he’s fashioned for you.

Perhaps in a knee-jerk attempt to counter this, you ask, “Did you used to play this game with Helen?”

He freezes with the fork halfway to your lips, his hand underneath your skirt with his dead wife’s name in your mouth.  

You meant to throw him off, but as far as you can tell, all it earns you is a scoff. “No.”

“Why not?”

He actually seems to consider your question, toying with the food again, re-loading the fork with a different bite. “I was never afraid she would leave me. Funny, how that worked out.”

You feel like he’s handed you an important piece of information. Emboldened by his quietness, you dare push, “And…what do you think she’d think, about what you’re doing to me now?”

“I’d say she lost her vote, when she left me.” The indifference is gone; this is delivered with a stinging bitterness, and you realize he blames her for leaving him. There’s a clue in this too, and you feel like the solution to all this is an illusive thing hovering just barely out of your grasp. If you can find just the right words, push just the right buttons…maybe you can bring him back to sanity?

“She never would have left you on purpose, John. She got sick. You’ve got to forgive her.”

And accept you can’t control everyone around you. Then preferably, untie me! motherfucker.

The only indication he gives that you’ve upset him is the tightening of his fingers digging into your thigh. You’re going to have bruises, but if he’s actually processing what you’re saying, it’s a price you’ll gladly pay.

He just continues to push the medley of food around on the plate, shaking his head in silence. Disappointed in his nonreaction to your question, you sullenly accept the next bite.

Three seconds later, your mouth is on fire.

You squeal with panic, leaning for the plate to spit it out. But John’s big hand clamps over your mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, and you know you’re going to have to swallow it. It takes three tries, but you manage, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes.

You can do moderately spicy food, but that was just fucking diabolical.

“What the fuck?” you hiss between coughs.

“I knew you’d have something smart to say tonight.”

You try to reach for the water cup with its stupid little straw and your stupidly bound-together hands, but John sets it out of reach. “Oh my god, please?”

He speaks calmly, as though the lining of your mouth is not being eaten away like you took a bite of rice laced with battery acid. “You keep speaking about Helen like you knew her. I suggest you cut it out. Unless you would like all your meals seasoned like this.”

You blow a long breath of air over your tongue. It only sort of helps.

Mother. Fucker.

You glare daggers, but for now, you’re wise enough (broken enough?) to keep your epithets to yourself.

He sits back in the chair to regard you, tossing the fork into what’s left on the plate. You’re still hungry, but you’ll be damned if you eat anymore from that dish. You flinch as he reaches for you, though he is not cruel as he grips your hair at the base of your head. Just…exacting, and he guides you to perch on the edge of the chair between his legs, your bare ass fitted against his crotch.

It feels good as he starts to braid your hair, a jarring contrast to the pain still simmering in your mouth. You whimper a little, despite yourself, arching into him behind you. You didn’t even mean to, really, but it wins you a low groan that fills you with forbidden warmth.

This is so fucked.

Nothing you’ve experienced in your life has prepared you for handling this.

When he finishes he wraps the new handle of your plaited hair in his fist, pulling you back against his chest. He is warm, and solid, and you fail royally as you try not to enjoy this contact. It’s ridiculous, but all you really want is for him to hold you.

He speaks against the shell of your ear, his other hand lightly encircling your throat. “I’ll never let you leave me.”

Your heart drums frantically in your chest; he means business. You can just tell, there is an unyielding hardness in his tone that somehow wasn’t quite there before. You thought you could reason with this man, but maybe you were wrong, or maybe you only succeeded in pushing his sanity the other way, further into the red.

Maybe there’s nothing left to reason with, and that is the thing that finally, truly scares you.

“Maybe you need something else to fill up that sassy mouth.”

With his improvised handle he guides you down to sit between his splayed legs. Your eyes are drawn to the newly erected tent in his pants, that formidable bulge that should be the stuff of your nightmares, but still inspires a maddening longing inside you.

Why do you have to feel so empty, when he’s near?

Frustrated by the unfairness of it all, you glare daggers up at him. You know what he’s angling to extort out of you, of course. It makes you sad, but not for the reason he might have expected. It makes you sad, because you would have rubbed your knees raw sucking him off, if he’d just asked you nicely.

“Thanks, but I’m full.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah? Someone doesn’t want her hands untied that badly.”

Now, that is something you want, and maybe you’re willing to play with that on the table. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who is easily led, but he is good at manipulating you. It makes you wonder if any of it was ever real, or if this is just a game he’s been playing with you from day one.

The thought makes you sigh, and you rest your cheek on his lean thigh, closing your eyes.

He looks down at you like you’re a puzzle he’s not quite sure how to solve.

Welcome to the club, Mr. Wick.

“Were you planning this all along?” you ask. “When you were so sweet to me? Am I that fucking stupid that I didn’t see this coming?” Obviously, from the clothes in the closet, he’d hoped you’d come stay with him at some point, but all the rest? It feels spontaneous, like the way something hard can suddenly crack with too much pressure. But then again, maybe just because it took you by such fucking surprise.

He strokes your hair, and that gentle touch just makes it worse somehow. You feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because that gentleness is all you wanted from him. The ironic part is that he wouldn’t have had to do any of this shit, just to keep you.

You do not love easily, but once you do…it is a total, and all-consuming thing.

“I don’t know,” he answers begrudgingly. “I just…couldn’t let you leave me.”

You think about how he’d been an orphan. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his dog. He’d gone on a rampage and slaughtered an entire Russian Bratva…for the loss of a dog.

In perspective you guess he’d actually behaved rather tamely, at the threat of losing you. This man does nothing by halves, and the only thing John Wick fears, it seems, is losing those he loves.

Is that what he’d meant, when he said his love was a curse?

It doesn’t excuse it, but there is a key somewhere in that, you reason. A key to freedom, or the gates of Hell, you’re not really sure.

You do your best to blink away your tears. Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not half as tough as he is, but you don’t really want him to see you cry.

He lets you sit like that for as long as you want, stroking your hair. It’s almost sweet, and it gives you time to collect yourself.

Someday, he’s going to figure out it’s best not to give you a chance to plot your next move. It occurs to you that maybe you have one last card to play.

You sit up slowly on your knees between his legs, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze weighing upon your skin. You reach for his belt, brushing his erection through his pants, his manhood twitching in anticipation. For just a second, he allows himself to close his eyes.  

Maybe you have power too. You just have to figure out how to use it here, and maybe not lose you mind over how thick and wonderful he just felt beneath your hand. That unhelpful pulsing between your legs casts its vote. You try to unobtrusively squeeze your thighs for some relief, but you fear this man sees everything.  

Good for you, that your voice sounds almost steady. “I have to say, you’re a brave man, Mr. Wick.”

It is not easy to work the buckle of his belt with your hands bound like this, but somehow you manage, even pulling it from its loops. You fight the urge to throw the damn thing across the room, but settle for resting it at his feet.

“How do you figure?”

“Well...” You flip open the top button of his pants, your fingers shaking slightly. “If we are engaging in that time-honored exchange of a favor for a blowjob... and you just essentially carpet bombed my mouth with napalm...wow, you do like to live dangerously.”

He sits still as a statue for a good few moments, weighing what you’re telling him, gauging if the capsaicin would transfer through your saliva to what is arguably the most sensitive area of his body. You’re 98 percent certain they would, and a part of you hopes he’ll opt to try it even after you warn him.

It would make for a neat little slice of revenge.

But then, what you really want is out of these ropes, and you hope your honesty will win you some points with him.

In the end he catches your hands, as you are awkwardly trying to work his zipper.

“Maybe we'll skip that for now.”

“You sure? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He narrows his eyes down at you, and you wonder if you’re inventing it, or is there a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes?

“In my other pants.” 

In the end he pulls you back up into his lap with a grumble.

You suspect you’ve only delayed the inevitable, but you feel some satisfaction for your little coup.

“I’ll be back,” he tells you, (threatens you?), depositing you on the bed, gathering the dishes and sweeping out of the room. You have a feeling this interaction was not half as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.

Well, good.

Bastard.

-When he returns, he brings you a cup of milk. Though most of the pain from the chilis has already subsided by now, you accept it for the calorie count if anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a hand on your cheek, looking you over appraisingly.

Thinking this might be your best moment, you lift your bound hands with a pitiful pout, blinking your eyelashes innocently.

“Will you untie me now?” you ask in your sweetest tone, words loaded with contrition.  

“You think you’ve earned it?” he asks, and you sense this is a perilous path you’re approaching.

“I’ve been good.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on. I mouthed off. You punished me. You had your fun. And rather than give in to my initial vindictive impulses, I saved you from a very uncomfortable evening. It’s the least you can do.”

He actually chuckles at this, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He seems softened by your bright little tirade, but then this man’s mood can change on a dime.

“And, it’s starting to hurt,” you add.

It’s not a lie, and it seems that is the thing that makes him pause.

“You don’t like my knot work?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, and you know you must proceed with caution, or you’ll be wearing this shit for a week at least.

“Your knots are very fine, Mr. Wick.”

Your captor practically purrs at hearing that, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hand burying in your hair. It sends a tingling thrill all across your scalp.

You’ve come to reluctantly love his fixation with grabbing your mane.

You really are losing your mind.

“I’ll make you a deal, kitten.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll untie you…if you will take a bath with me.” His tone is the low rumble of a jungle cat, and your heart leaps into your throat. You knew this was coming, eventually. Maybe you just didn’t expect it tonight.

Looking back, you’re not sure why.

“NowI get to see you?”

You are still puzzling over the way he’d outright prevented you from undressing him, in Venice. It was almost like he’d been afraid, and you don’t understand at all. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. So…why?

“I told you, you weren’t ready then.”

You suspect the real answer is that he wasn’t ready, but for once, you don’t contradict him.

He runs a finger down the line of his neat knots that are starting to bite into your flesh. It’s starting to affect the feeling in your fingers, and you know that can’t be good.

“So? What do you say?”

You crane your neck to look up at him, drinking in the lines of his handsome face, his straight nose and proud lips, and the delicately drawn sweep of his eyes. Even with the shadow of a black eye, courtesy of you, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t want him, after everything he’s done to you. You shouldn’t, but you feel yourself inevitably drawn to him, like the moon pulls the tide.

You feel like you’re signing a piece of your soul away to the devil on the dotted line, when at last you nod.

He puts a hand to his ear with a smirk. “What was that?”

Your groan comes out like a growl.

“You have a deal, Mr. Wick, sir.”

His low rumble of approval gives you chills, and when he turns your face up to kiss you sweetly you utterly melt beneath his hands, jarred by the contrast from earlier, but not questioning it. You bask in the press of his soft lips, greedy for his tenderness, hoping stupidly that this is the way things will be from now on. Then you yelp with surprise as suddenly he scoops you up with his hands on your thighs, carrying you into the bathroom.  

[gardnhee]

can we start over? - c.yj

✸ tw/content. intentional lowercase, cussing, angst(very little), fluff, use of baby (only like once or twice.), reader is slightly antisocial in the beginning, not really proofread

✸ exbsf!yj x afab!reader

✸ note. yj drabble cs i love him an unhealthy amount

✸ song rec. start over - jacquees

you stood in a corner like the awkward person that you are. away from all the chatter, laughter, yelling, and horny crowd. this is how you liked it, you indulged in your solitude.

the unbearably loud music rang in your ears, the fact that you were standing just a couple feet from the speakers didn’t help either.

you decided to drown the ringing by taking a sip of your cup, inhaling a sharp breath as the liquid cascaded down your throat.

“…who hired this dj? music’s unbearable…” you murmured as you frowned at the dj who stood a couple steps from you.

it was fairly boring for a while, the music slowly started to feel faint as the stuffy atmosphere began to push its way into your already tight space. you slightly squeeze the plastic cup in your hand, pressing your back against the wall.

you felt trapped.

deciding you’ve had enough of this, you walk away from the corner. as if you were popping a bubble; like a puppy opening its eyes for the first time, but instead of meeting with a fascinating world, you’re met with drunk shit heads who can’t dance, let alone walk in a straight line.

“where is she…” you huffed, looking for the coworker who invited you to this party, if you can even call it that. it’s more depressing than a fucking funeral.

pushing through everyone was a literal pain in the ass, the environment reeked of alcohol, and the air was incredibly thick. you were starting to regret even accepting the goddamn invitation.

go they said, it’ll be fun they said, “fun my ass.” you utter a small ‘tsk’ as a man twice your size bumps into you, not even having the common courtesy to apologize. god, this is horrible.

you somehow ended up in the kitchen. sighing in frustration, you rest yourself against the counter.

“i’m going to fucking kill-“ you started, but were rudely interrupted when someone walked into the kitchen.

your eyes slightly widened as you acknowledge the person. your ex best friend. fun.

he was whistling along to the horrendous noise these people call music, happiness basically oozing from his pores.

he turned his head to you, looking at you from head to toe in shock, shock which soon subsided and was replaced with an expression you can’t quite describe.

“oh.. hey.” yeonjun waved, mullet drenched in sweat as some loose hairs stuck to his forehead. he breathed heavily, his once joyful demeanor now engulfed in…uncomfortableness? melancholy? nostalgia? it’s been so long that you can’t tell anymore.

he slowly made his way to the fridge, giving you an awkward smile as you bite your inner cheek and look away.

it was silent for a while, you could feel his eyes burning holes into your face.

“yn?” he quietly said, arms crossed over the open fridge door. he looked at you, waiting for a response.

in all honesty, he didn’t expect one. at least not after ghosting you completely and then coming back a couple months later like nothing happened.

he scoffed and shook his head with a sad smile, sighing in disbelief. he was disappointed in himself.

yeonjun shut the fridge door and begun to lead himself out the kitchen, “yes?” you replied with urgency, you didn’t want him to leave. not again. not after losing him for months.

he chuckled, looking back at you. “you’re…not mad at me?” he asked, feet moving in your direction. he realized you aren’t so closed off anymore, you’re more…awake, as if you’ve come to terms with the gravity of things, and for that, he’s thankful. he can make things right now.

you grew nervous, a prominent lump built up in your throat, making it difficult for you to breathe. “i wouldn’t say i am - or was - mad, i guess i..“ you stopped yourself as yeonjun stumbled, falling onto you.

you tried backing up, but couldn’t. fucking counter…you thought, swallowing slowly as the smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils.

“yeonjun? yeonjun, you’re drunk.” you tried pushing him off, but he didn’t budge. instead, he laid his head on your shoulder, “not drunk, just… tipsy.” he blabbered.

it was silent for a couple seconds until you heard him sniffle. he was crying.

“wha…” he grabbed your waist, sobbing into your shoulder. “i’m so-“ he hiccuped, followed by a groan. “i’m sorry, yn, i’m sorry!” yeonjun cried, lifting his head in an attempt to look at you. you stood there, dumbfounded. heart hammering against your chest. he’s drunk. it was evident, yet he still denied it.

he peeked at you through his wet lashes, incoherent sounds slipping past his lips as he wiped his runny nose. “and you say you’re not drunk? look at you! why are you crying?!” you raised both brows in confusion, stroking his hair softly.

you’re supposed to be cussing him out for all the hurt he’s caused you, for leaving with absolutely no explanation, yet here you are, combing your cold fingers through his sweaty strands as he bawls into your shoulder. you’ve seen him like this more often than not; always manages to surprise you, though.

“i’m not drunk…. ‘m sorry” he hesitated, wiping the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand. as you realize how close your bodies are, you nod, circling around him.

yeonjun turned, biting his lip. he wants to say something. you know he wants to say something, but he’s holding back and it’s making you anxious and impatient.

“would you maybe…want to leave?” you blink, all previous feelings of discomfort disappearing. “what’re you planning?” you question, crossing your arms as you sternly stare at him.

“maybe grab some drinks and then go to my place?” he smiled, which quickly disappeared when you displayed a doubting look. “i mean, i just want to talk to you…without all the noise…and the multitude of people.” your heart shattered, and you were sure your eyes softened, because his did too.

“fine.” yeonjun’s ears perk up, big smile on his face. “let’s go.” you nodded, grabbing his arm before he left the kitchen.

“i’m driving.”

“but-“ his eyebrows furrowed, “no buts, deny it all you want, we’re not risking it.” he sighed, defeat poking through the pout on his lips. he lowly hummed in agreement, walking out of the kitchen with you trailing close behind.

“home sweet home!” yeonjun exclaimed, arms flying in the air as the bag of soju dangled in his hand. “yeonjun, be quiet, it’s late.” you slowly grabbed his arm, taking the bag of soju away. “i shouldn’t have allowed you to drink on the way here.” you sighed, placing the bag on the counter and taking out the already opened box of soju.

he pouted, stumbling towards the little coffee table that sat in the middle of his living room. “bring some soju, please!” he slurred.

you grabbed the box, nestling it under your arm as you made your way towards drunk yeonjun.

you sat down, setting the box on the coffee table. “oh…i forgot to bring shot glasses.” you groaned, fixing to stand up when yeonjun stopped you.

“no, it’s okay. i’ll go get them.” he smiled, patting your hand.

“but-“

“it’s okay.” he shook his head, standing up and making his way to the kitchen.

in a matter of seconds, he was back, sitting in front of you with soju in hand, two shot glasses already set on the table.

yeonjun held the bottle from the bottom with one hand, and swirled it vigorously with the other. you watched him closely, how his hands wrapped around the bottle, you wonder how they’d feel on your face-

“yn?” you blinked, snapping back into reality. “yes? i’m sorry.” you gulped, noticing a full shot glass in front of you.

as you were about to reach for the glass, you stopped midway. sighing as you plopped your arm down on the table. yeonjun noticed this and raised a brow, “is everything…alright?” he asked, pouring soju into his glass.

“yes…and no.” you admitted, “i mean i just…i missed this, you know? spending time with you. i missed being here. i missed this apartment.” you paused, staring at yeonjun who was now looking down at his thighs.

“i missed you.” you leaned forward, arms now crossed on the table. yeonjun snapped his head up, quickly grabbing his glass and gulping the liquid down.

“ahhh…” he set the glass down, frowning as the liquid burned his throat. “i missed you too yn…” he smiled weakly, you realized he wasn’t in the right mind for all the sappy stuff right now, so you decided to change the subject.

“tell me, what have you been up to?” you smiled, grabbing your glass, tilting your head to the side as you swallow the drink.

“me? hm…not much….” yeonjun leaned forward, smile spread across his flushed cheeks.

✸ ✸ ✸

you lost track of time, it seemed. but you weren’t the only one. yeonjun, too, lost track of how many shots he took. not that it mattered, he was already drunk out of his mind to begin with. “baby…..” he slurred, reaching out to you as you gasped. baby?? are you serious??

“yeonjun what…” you decided to stop yourself, not even questioning anything that came out of his mouth.

after looking around for a minute, you groaned. there is so much to clean up.

an unfinished 20 pack of soju on the table; only 4 remaining, some snack wrappers thrown on the table, and a drunk yeonjun who can’t even utter a proper sentence.

“‘m s’sorry” he hiccuped, head lulling as he smiled like an idiot. his lips glistened under the dim light, most likely from all the constant licking and drinking he’s been doing.

“let me take you to your room so you can sleep.” he shook his head violently, backing up against the sofa behind him as you made your way to him.

“no!” he pouted, looking at you with tears brimming his eyes. “oh you’re such a child, come on let’s go!” yeonjun pushed your hand off his arm, whining.

you stopped and huffed, sitting down beside him in order to comfort him, “why are you crying?”

“i f…feel like shit” he cried, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “why do you feel that way?” you knew this was just a drunk fit of his, but you had to at least hear him out.

“‘cuz i ruined my chance with the person i love” he sniffles, staring into your eyes with his teary ones. you blinked, wiping his tears with your thumbs. “and who may that be?” you question, stroking his shoulder in a comforting manner.

“you.” you inhale sharply, blinking in confusion. you shook your head, chuckling awkwardly, “you’re just drunk, come on.” yeonjun stopped protesting, defeated by his own tiredness.

you wrapped his arm over your shoulder, dragging him while leaning against the walls for support. “goddamnit, what have you been eating? you’re so heavy.” you strain, sighing in relief as your eyes find his bedroom door.

opening the door was one thing, laying him on the bed was another. you pant, his body weighing you down. as a result you slipped and fell.

on top of him.

jesus fuck.

you froze when he groaned. “i’m so sorry!” you scrambled to stand up, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you against him.

“sleep with me tonight, please.” yeonjun whispered, lazy smile spreading across his face. you shake your head, “yeonjun, you’re drunk. we can’t be doing this. you’re not in the right mind!” you faintly shake your head, “please?” he insisted.

you sighed, pressing your forehead against his chest. “fine. but i will be leaving first thing in the morning.” he chuckled, nodding. “if you want to get comfortable, my shirts are over there-“ he hiccuped. you nodded and patted his chest in understanding. “just sleep, okay?? i’ll be right back.” yeonjun hummed, closing his eyes.

you wake up groggy and disoriented, staring at the window as a ray of sunshine peeked through the curtain, making you squint and smile lazily.

you rub the sleep from your eyes and stretch, “good mor-“ you stop as you notice yeonjun isn’t in bed with you anymore. you look around the room once more, no sign of him.

a pang of worry and confusion washed over you. one would think it’s stupid considering the fact that you’re in his house, yet you can’t help but be alarmed.

what if he left you again?

‘oh that’s stupid, yn. pull yourself together.’ you shake your head and scoff, but the panic settles at the pit of your stomach nonetheless.

throwing the blanket to the side, you stand, yawning as you wobble towards the door.

“yn-“ yeonjun stops, doorknob in one hand and breakfast tray in the other. he eyed you as you stood there, eyes wide in confusion.

yeonjun blinked, “good morning?…” he lets out a breathy laugh, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him with his foot. “i made you breakfast.” you felt your heart squeeze at that. he smiled, walking over to the bed and signaling you to lay down.

and you did. you laid down, placing the warm blankets back on your body and smoothing them over in order to create a flat enough surface for the breakfast tray.

“thank you so much..” you gush as yeonjun placed the tray in front of you. he sat down, crossing his legs and smiling like a total idiot.

“you’ve been nothing but smiles since you walked in the room…did something happen?” you question, making yeonjun hang his head with an even bigger smile on his face. “you look so beautiful.” he mumbled, adjusting his position on the bed.

“what?” you looked up, cheek stuffed with food. he snorted, scooting forward and leaning towards you. “i said,” he wiped your lip with his thumb, eyes traveling to yours, holding them dearly. “you look so beautiful.” he chuckled at your expression, making his heart skip a beat.

“you’re making a mess, be careful, yeah?” you grab the tray, placing it to one side as you choke on your food. yeonjun stands with you, stroking your arms with his soft hands.

“hey, you alright?” you nodded, grabbing onto his shoulder for support. “it’s just…” you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. “you caught me off guard, that’s all.” yeonjun’s eyes softened, “i meant it.” he caressed your face as a warm smile tugged at his lips.

“why…why are you being so nice to me?” you stepped away from his hold, sitting back down on the soft bed. he sighed and flopped down beside you, staring at the curtains that blocked the sunlight.

“because i’m in love with you.” his eyes traveled from the window to you, “i’ve been in love with you.” you waver, eyes widening in confusion. “and i don’t want to mess up again.”

“so last night-“

“i remember.” yeonjun nodded, fidgeting with his thumbs as he bit his bottom lip. “i guess i was drunk enough to let that slip but not enough to forget.” he reasoned, gazing at you briefly before staring at his feet.

“it’s okay if you don’t want anything to do with me, i mean-“ you placed a hand on his, drawing circles on it with your thumb. “yeonjun, im in love with you too.” he stopped, shifting on the bed.

“what?…”

“im in love with you too.”

he stuttered, mouth opened for a few seconds before closing it again. you saw the glint in his his eyes before being pulled into a hug.

a long, warm, cozy hug.

a hug you’ve been craving for a while.

his hug.

you broke into tears, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “oh god, yn, i’m deeply sorry. i’ve hurt you so much.” yeonjun ran his fingers through your hair, cooing softly.

you stained his shirt, but he didn’t care,“i missed you so much, you know? we stopped talking for so long. i thought i lost you for real…” you say between sobs, lightly punching his chest.

“i forgive you, dumbass.” he stayed quiet, you’re too nice. he didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. yet you gave it. you gave something so precious to someone who doesn’t even deserve a single look from you.

yeonjun held your face in his hands, wiping your tears with his thumbs. he smiled, “how about this, you finish breakfast and then we can go wherever you want. i’ll explain myself. i’ll explain everything.” you nod slowly, grinning.

“there’s my yn, i missed you.” he quipped, earning himself a slap to his arm. he winced, rubbing the spot.

“is this a date then?” you question, grabbing another bite of your once forgotten food.

“hmmmmmmm” yeonjun tapped his chin, laughing as you whine. “yes dummy, it is.” he flicked your forehead lightly as you giggled.

you grab his arm, “let’s get ready then.” yeonjun didn’t budge as you tried dragging him along, “but the food…” you shook your head, “it’s gone cold, plus i know you’re somewhat hung over so let me treat you to food, hm?” you tapped his hand reassuringly.

“yn-“

“i’m not taking no for an answer.” he pursed his mouth, slowly nodding in defeat.

“perfect, where do you want to go?”

“how about…”

you both disagreed the entire way to the bathroom, laughing and giggling as jokes were thrown around between sentences.

you missed this.

you missed yeonjun.

he was willing to start over, and you were willing to let it happen.

© GARDNHEE 2024, do not copy, modify, or upload on other platforms.

💌: im sorry this is lwk ass, i hope you enjoyed regardless! please make sure to leave a like, comment, and reblog!! thank you 🫶

[xoxodiluc]

stress reliever | leon kennedy ( resident evil 2 remake ) x female! reader

genre nsfw, oneshot

cw sub! reader, praising, fingering, missionary, unprotected ( stay protected pls ) aftercare / 17+ only please, not proofread

notes last post for 2023! been one hell of a fucking yeaaar

it was night time and you were on the verge of tears as you sat on your study desk, head resting on your hand while you breathed in and out slowly.

you were getting stressed out by the amount of work you have to do, all you wanted was stress relief.

you bit your lip as tears dared to fall from your eyes. you didn't even notice the sound of the main door opening downstairs.

"y/n? i'm home!" your boyfriend, leon, called out. your eyes widened as you tried to wipe your tears away. you stood up and made your way downstairs. when you saw him, he was removing his shoes and he looked at you, smiling brightly. "hi, babe."

you tried to smile back with the same energy, "hi..." noticing your sad expression, he frowned.

"baby? what's wrong?"

he walked towards you, giving you a tight hug. "j-just... stressed. i want to rest but... i have to finish these as soon as possible. i don't think i could handle this anymore..."

"oh, love..." he ran his hand through your hair, placing a kiss on your forehead as he wiped the remaining tears resting on your cheeks. "you can rest, you know? even just for a little while. you deserve it because i know you've been working hard. you're doing so so well, baby. no matter what i'll always be here for you, alright?"

you melted into his embrace, slowly calming down. "thank you... i love you."

"i love you y/n." he pulled away and caressed your cheek, "come on, let me take care of you."

"huh?"

leon led you upstairs to your shared bedroom before smashing his lips to yours. the action caught you off guard, but you slowly kissed him back. "i'm going to make you feel better, love..." he said between kisses.

he carried you and slowly laid you down onto the bed, not breaking the kiss you two were sharing. he took your shorts off and pulled away, breathless. you were feeling hotter every second as he removed your shirt, leaving you with your undergarments. "please, i need you, leon..."

"you do?" he asked in a teasing tone, showering your neck with small kisses as you nodded vigorously. "okay then..." he slowly slid off your panties and rubbed your already wet pussy, looking up at you to see your reaction when he teased your clit.

"a-ah... leon..." you closed your eyes in satisfaction. he continued kissing you all over your body while he slowly inserted a finger inside you.

"you like that, baby?" he asked and you nodded, sighing softly, "you're so beautiful..."

your face heated up at his words, pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss. he inserted another digit inside you, making you arch your back unconsciously and let out a moan. "l-leon!"

he removed his fingers from you and you whined because you wanted more of him. he took off his pants and undergarments, revealing his hard cock with precum leaking. "i'm gonna make you feel good, baby. is it okay?"

"y-yes, baby. please. please fuck me."

he smiled at your words before positioning himself and intertwining his fingers to yours as he slowly pushed his cock inside you, making you moan loudly. "that's it, my pretty girl..." he groaned as you clenched around his dick.

he thrusts into you, slow and deep. you tightened your grip onto his hands as you bit your lip, "faster, leon..." you whined.

he granted your desire by fucking you faster and harder, mixed moans echoing in the room along with skin slapping against skin. your frustrations and stress suddenly vanished, and you were grateful to have someone like him to relieve it.

your trail of thoughts disappeared when he moaned in your ear, "so good for me, love... taking that cock so beautifully..."

leon brought his lips to yours as he pounded into you, muffling the whines of pleasure that was coming out from your mouth. "mmm...! i-i'm close!" you managed to cry out as he broke away from the kiss.

"yes baby, fuck. come for me." he rubbed your clit using his thumb and finally, you felt your orgasm come crashing down to you as your legs shook.

you both panted, and he smiled at you. "do you need anything? water?" he asked, and you shook your head.

"just cuddles..." you responded, and it wasn't long till he laid down beside you, bodies pressed together as he wrapped his arms around your figure. "you didn't get to come..."

"don't worry about me, love." leon kissed your forehead. "like i said, i want to make you feel better. i'm here to relieve your stress anytime."

xoxodiluc © 2023 | all rights reserved. do not claim as your own, modify, copy or repost.

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

i would like to request a yandere scenario but oh no it's really really sad. if you can, i would want to see yandere kazuha, childe, tighnari like regretting breaking reader. like reader keeps getting hurt by the yanderes until they feel nothing and at first the yanderes didn't mind it thinking they were obeying them but then they start feeling guilty for breaking you because now you aren't expressing any emotions, no matter what they do.

all in all, very very angst at the end

<3

OMG I LOVE THIS ANSGDYNRDRINWONGHer. You going make me cause drama for no reason and go in my emo phase and it will be all MY FAULT. And yours too, but mostly mine. Trigger Warning: Vomiting, force feeding, Privacy violation, Not eating, and etc of that nature.

Kazuha ╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅─ ⋅ ⋅──╮

You were once a free spirited person, wild, and challenged the world. Nothing could shake you. You were fierce and rebellious. You had fire in your eyes Now Kazuha was staring at your lifeless body, as you sat on the bed staring at nothing, with a chain collar and leash on your neck attached to the wall. Kazuha had a fear of losing you, ever since he lost his precious friend to Raiden Shogun. He saw how wild you were, as his anxieties got the best of him. Kazuha restricted you, to where you went, how you got there, he would lose his temper on you if you did anything rash or reckless.

Everyday, he would fight with you. Everyday, he would take a piece of you one by one, in front of your face, with his own hands. Your childhood friend who was a man, that you were *way* too close with? Gone. Doesn’t matter how, or why. Gone. Your family who is taking way too much of your time? Gone. Your pets that you admit that you would drop anything for...indirectly including him? Gone. However Kazuha fell in love with the rebellious free spirited person you were, you fought alongside him, taught him new tricks in battle, you were incredibly agile and intelligent. Well..not anymore. Kazuha stared at your lifeless body, as you were alive, but you weren’t responding. Your eyes were greyed out, you refused to even digest food, as when Kazuha tried to feed you, it just fell out of your mouth. Kazuha wiped your mouth, and coo'd you. "Come on my love, you desperately need to eat. I can’t stand you losing so much weight this fast. Don’t make me shove this down now..." Kazuha, frustrated with himself, with you with the idea that everything will be the same after everything he had done, he cried on your lap. However, you felt nothing but a warm lump of weight.

Childe ╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══════╗

Childe had you locked up in a small cage, all of it decorated in pink and cute attire. However...that dead face of yours didn’t go along with the theme. You were dressed in pink and purples. The cage was beautifully decorated, as you were a little princess in her little cage. However, you used to be a tomboy who hated girly clothing. You loved fighting, you loved challenges, you loved eating. You were incredibly independent, and the part that bothered Childe the most, is that you had a generous amount of male friends. You liked male friends as company, as it served better than female. They understood you, and your style.

Childe was someone with quite a temper when it was triggered. And it was triggered a lot when he sees your hand on their shoulder, back, and even hand. No matter how many times, he had threatened your friends with his glare, balde, his "devoted loving" eyes, nothing seemed to work. He had to do it. It was either he murdered all of them, however of course you didn’t want that. So, he was left with no choice but to betray your trust and carrying you into a cage while you sleep. He placed heating pads in there for course. Along with pillows. Of course, he would feed you three meals a day, He would always feed you your favorite meals. He would bathe you, dress you and of course he refused to let you use the bathroom so...there were other alternatives to that. However, everyday, your privacy was violated, no matter how much you scream to ask him to stop, respect your boundaries, let you go, However, he just continues to take care of you, way past your comfort. You begged him to let you go, let you have your friends back, your life. You hated all the pretty things he forced you to wear because he wanted you to be his one and only princess. However, all of that is too late, as he stared at you, pale, lifeless, leaning against the cage bars. You no longer complained or screamed. You no longer cared. You became a shell of yourself. The cage is all you knew. You didn’t even look at anything anymore. The world around you were hollow and disconnected. "Don't look at me like that...you asked for this! You wanted this! I had no..I had no choice..." Childe spoke in a stern and angry voice, however, the tears streaming down his face couldn’t mask the regret in his voice.

Tighnari └── •✧• ──── •✧• ──── •✧• ────•✧• ──┘

Tighnari was angrily force feeding you hypericum perforatum with frustration, as you lay there. None of his medicines and herbs were working. This herb was specifically meant to treat your mental state, more so, assumingly your depression. However, you were beyond depression. You were b̷̢̐ṟ̷̹͂̇o̵͍̤͆͆̉̎k̴̗̝̆̑͊̚è̶̟͖̺̓̅̈́n̵͎̣͌̀̇͜. So no form of treatment can really help you, can they? Despite Tighnari knowing this, he was still trying to force feed you this herb, hoping you can be as cheerful and happy as you used to be. However, there was nothing. There was nothing but vomit around him, as when force feeding you, your body would only make you vomit the contents out on him. Tighnari screamed in frustrated, as he cupped your face as tried to coo'd you. "Why...Why are you like this? I just did what was best for us! You can’t keep doing this forever! You are supposed to by my happy little flower forever!" He complained and looked into your dead eyes. You were just a wonderful gardener, who loved plants, who loved trees. You loved the green nature, and you grew them as you please. You were such a gentle women. You were kind, funny, and you always were laughing and smiling. You had a proficiency in making medicine, and poison. However, you created medicines to help travelers and townspeople. Despite Sumeru having free health care, you wanted to help those who were unfortunate. Tighnari fell in love with that. He wanted you very badly. And just when he got you in his arms, you went limp. He got too greedy. He was constantly scolding you. He wanted to grow your gardens only for him, and make medicines only for him. He wanted all this to himself. He wanted you, his precious flower, to himself. He got too greedy, and locked you in his house. He wanted you to satisfy his needs and his only. Funny how that worked out for him, huh?

[shdysders]

club heaven

pairing: jenna ortega x female reader

summary: in which jenna found herself thinking about you and where you might be.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: mentions of death & alcohol

author’s note: wrote this fully based on the song club heaven by nessa barrett, mainly because it’s currently one of my favorite songs. and i suppose it’s confusing if you haven’t read the lyrics to it, so take that into consideration while reading!

i didn’t rly like how this turned out, so please tell me if it’s too confusing and i’ll delete it. hope y’all like it!

As Jenna sat at the lavish Met Gala table, surrounded by the dazzling lights and extravagant fashion, all she could find herself thinking about was you.

It was currently the place and time of the Met Gala after party, and as sad as it sounded: Jenna was alone. Even though she was encircled by people in the same working industry as herself, she should be enjoying herself. This was people she was supposed to actually relate to.

But the thought that was stopping her from doing so, was you. You just wouldn't leave her mind. She just couldn't stop thinking about where you were, what you were doing or who you where with.

You had always liked afterparties, no matter what the occasion, so she should've known that thoughts of you would appear when she would attend them. You claimed it was the icing on the cake when it came to celebration. You wanted one after your birthday, Christmas and even on New Year's Eve.

It was something Jenna loved about you, you always felt the need to celebrate, whether it was for a new project she had finished or such small things as finishing an audition tape.

Her thinking was harshly interrupted by a strong white light flashing onto her, followed by both male and female voices yelling her name from afar.

You hated the paparazzi, despised them. It was a conversation topic you and Jenna talked about almost all the time, you couldn't stand the people that made it their mission in life to make well known peoples life a living hell: taking pictures who all looked the same, making them partly blind in the process.

A smile appears on Jennas face at the thought of your hatred towards them. The fact that you were now somewhere they couldn't go made relief wash over her, but it also made her feel worry. You wouldn't be there to protect her if they ever tried to do something, like you always said you would.

She just prayed to the gods above that you knew how truly sorry she was for not being with you, for not being able to tell you how much she loved you, how much she adored you; like you had told her everyday. She wouldn't be with you for the future years at least, maybe even decades unless she would die in any sort of accident.

Your number still lingered in her contact list, your name followed by an amount of hearts she never bothered to count.

She texted your number almost every day, every chance she got, knowing she would never get a reply from you.

She knew that your number would eventually get shut down for it's lack of using and that a new user would get it, but when it did she certainly didn't know how hard she would take it. Everything that ever belonged to you was starting to slip out of her grip, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Although the new user didn't stop her from texting the number, she didn't care if that meant for her number to get leaked. Because if it made her feel closer to you, she didn't mind. It actually got to the point where the number had called her multiple times, your number called her. But this time the picture of you didn't cover the screen, nor did the contact name she made especially for you.

Jenna tried to tell herself it was you calling her, that you were calling her to ask if she could join you up in paradise.

But she never actually answered the calls because she knew what it would be like if she did: an old lady full of frustration, telling her to stop texting her phone because she didn't know how to block the number. But in the fantasy of it being you, she tried to tell herself that she couldn't hear the signal through the clouds, just so you didn't think she was ignoring you.

The champagne in the glass ran slowly down her dry throat, her face crunching together at the scary feeling of the liquid barely making it through. The paparazzi was now long gone; probably because she didn't give them any satisfaction in posing for their worthless pictures.

Jenna stared with guilt onto the empty glass, that was just minutes ago all full of luxury exotic fruit champagne, Enrique had told her to take it easy multiple times, not wanting her to be completely out of it and not being able to make it home, but of course she didn't listen.

She enjoyed the feeling of the buzz in her head that shut out the bad thoughts in her head; the thoughts of you. She had been trying to escape them with alcohol more than she could remember, drinking all alone at night, either alone in her hotel room or in her apartment, that was once yours too. And when drinking alone got too boring, she tried going to a club.

But unfortunately, she wasn't allowed. Surprisingly enough it wasn't for her short figure or petite and short looking body. The bouncer claimed she was too well known, that she would cause a fuss by being there, crowding people around her and making people turn the attention away from the actual place.

He had told her that she would have to sign herself in as a performer or an entertainer so they had time to schedule it in. But that didn't stop her, she waited right outside every night, even trying to bribe the bouncer with an autograph or a photo, but she left there without avail; the only answer she got was "not tonight".

She hoped that you were up there somewhere, spending your time at your own club, dancing and drinking. You loved dancing, you were always the first person onto the dance floor, practically forcing or dragging Jenna with you.

She hoped that you were up there smoking some blue dream and cigarettes with your legends and idols; even though you never liked when Jenna smoked, she knew you liked to do so yourself when she wasn't around.

She could actually bet all her life savings that you were up there raising all kinds of toasts for her, telling all of the other people up there who she was, what she did, and who she was to you, so everyone else would know who she was until she would get in. To club heaven. The club up there that she prayed so deeply you were at.

And even though she was constantly surrounded by warm and kind hearted people that only wanted the best for her and her career, it never filled the void, the void of you. It was like the city was filled with beautiful angels, but it missed the best one.

She wished for nothing else but being able to cut the line, whether it was up to you or the club she was rooting so hard to get into.

It was either seeing you, or forgetting the loud and bad thoughts about you; the thoughts that you were actually gone, that you weren't with her. Of course she didn't want to forget about you forever, it was just a temporary solution for when the thoughts got too loud.

But a thought that had hit her, was the long wait. The line up towards the place where you were at weren't exactly short, and she was probably way too far back in that line. What if she would never get in? What if she can't get in at all? If that happened, how would she ever see you again?

What if she can't get in? How will she see you again?

[henrioo]

°•*⁀➷ TWO AGAINST ONE: PORTGAS D. ACE

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "Ace makes the mistake of eating one of your pregnant husband's sweets, you, now he needs to somehow earn her forgiveness. However, it seems that in this dispute, your son has already chosen who his favorite father will be."

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : TRANS MALE READER, FTM READER, TRANS MASC READER, PREGNANT MALE READER, MEN PREGNANT, BIOLOGICAL PREGNANCY, GAY RELATIONSHIP, Reader is a little dramatic, pregnancy dramas, unnamed baby but is a boy, Ace and you are married, Ace is a golden retriever and you're mean to him (just a little), Ace is a perfect dad and husband

꒰ WC ꒱ : 917

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : Wow, more babies! Hahah who would have thought... Okay I wanted to say that it's the last baby story but it's not, At least next time I'll try to post another topic or you'd start to think I'm weird. The post was supposed to be yesterday and it was also supposed to be a late ask, but the ask is 7k words long and I'm having a serious problem translating it, so I'm going to post this other story today so I can have more time, enjoy!

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"Love, honey, my husband, my man, my sweet, forgive me." Your husband, Ace, whimpered beside you as you lay on the reclining sofa, covered in pillows and with a soft blanket over your huge belly. You had an irritated expression and crossed arms, purposely ignoring him and pretending to pay attention to the television.

"I'm not talking to you," you snorted irritably, and if your feet weren't swollen and your legs weren't aching, you would have kicked his ass out of the house.

"I swear, I didn't know it was your chocolate! I thought it was mine... I'm sorry, my love," he was kneeling on the sofa next to you, his hands clasped together begging for forgiveness, and his puppy eyes were so sad that anyone would have accepted his apologies.

Anyone, except you. No, no, you were a pregnant man dealing with a very active baby and hormones so out of whack that you seemed like a ticking time bomb. You definitely wouldn't forgive your husband for eating the last of your chocolate stash. Especially because it was Sunday! The store that sold your favorite, expensive, artisanal chocolate only opened on Tuesdays. You would have to go two days without your chocolate because of your husband's stupidity in not checking who the chocolate belonged to before swallowing it!

Okay, you weren't exactly craving chocolate in the past few days, and that one had been stored for a long time... But that doesn't change the fact that he shouldn't have eaten it!

"I swear I'll buy the whole store for you to forgive me! Please, don't pout at me like that," he whined again as he lovingly rubbed your arm. Ace hated hurting you, no matter how small the reason. Now that you were pregnant, he tried his best to make you live in paradise, as he was extremely worried when he found out that stress could cause serious complications in pregnancy. Although Marco and Law tried to explain that it had to be an absurd amount of stress, he practically didn't listen and accepted as an absolute truth that even the smallest amount of stress was a deadly risk for you and the baby!

"I hate you," you murmured irritably, and your frustrated pout grew. You didn't like arguing with Ace and usually didn't care so much about something like this, but those damn hormones made you go crazy. One moment you were crying, and the next you were trying to set the house on fire with Ace inside. Then, you would go back to normal as if everything were fine. You could only think that this was Ace's punishment for taking so long to propose to you.

"What can I do to make you forgive me, my king?" he sighed and sat closer to you, kissing your arm and then trying to kiss your cheek, which resulted in you moving away. "You're breaking your poor husband's heart."

"I'll ask for a divorce if you keep annoying me," you said, trying to stay strong, although you were almost giving up on arguing and just getting lost in Ace's warm embrace.

"Ouch... So cruel," he whimpered and carefully laid on your belly, then gently stroked it, giving kisses on the shirt you were wearing. "Come on, little guy, help your old man make peace with your daddy. He'll put me to sleep on the couch if he stays like this," he whimpered, trying to get help from his unborn child.

Before you could reprimand Ace again, a kick was felt by both of you... Your baby had just kicked exactly where Ace's head was, making him startle and jump from the slight blow he received, causing both of you to widen your eyes in shock.

"Our son just kicked me?" he asked, confused and incredulous about the situation.

"Humph, looks like it's two against one now," you smiled triumphantly as you caressed your belly. "Our son is smart, he knows that this daddy here is the only one whose right," you continued teasing Ace, already feeling your mood improve and the anger dissipating.

"This is unfair! The two men in my life are ganging up against me!" he crossed his arms with a pouting expression.

"Think twice before eating my sweets next time," you shrugged. "You heard the baby, today Daddy Ace sleeps on the couch," you laughed, feeling some gentle kicks from your baby, as if he really agreed with you.

"This little rascal will have to deal with me when he's born... Stealing my husband, I was here before you," he muttered childishly as he glared at your belly. "And you, mister grumpy husband, I'm going to squeeze and kiss you until you're forced to forgive me! And if you try to kick me out of our room, I'll cry at the door like a stray dog," Ace made his threat, and before you could disagree, he threw himself on top of you, covering your face with kisses as he hugged you tightly. All you could do was laugh, feeling ticklish from his kisses. You didn't usually get mad at your husband so often, but if it meant having him as a repentant little puppy trying to win your forgiveness through affection and love... Maybe you would start getting mad more often, especially if your son would help you.

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