#[ i gotta kick this out too -> the number of drafts i have in my folder is already in the THOUSANDS -sweats- ]

[hirako5hinji]

random non-contextual drabble of a conversation between aizen and shinji post!TYBW:

          Once again, that Aizen is being so forthcoming is…difficult to fathom. The tendency to overthink when it comes to this man is strong, as always. Layers upon layers of silken deception and subterfuge over the centuries has rendered Shinji unable to simply, blindly, trust in his senses anymore when it involves all that comes from Aizen. Every word, every gesture, every unspoken nuance. The urge to reexamine and carefully pore over it all, turn them around and around in his mind, mulling them over like maybe they will reveal hidden secrets if he looks hard enough. But that is also dangerous. Sometimes, the truth is as is. It is really not that deep. There are no buried depths to unearth.

               “ Yes, barely. The Quincy sure kicked our asses good. ” Shinji does not deny, because Aizen is right. Woefully unprepared and taken off guard, struck repeatedly again and again in quick succession by a shattering series of turbulences that had shaken the Gotei to its core in recent times, the biggest of which was the audacious coup d’état perpetrated by none other than this man before him. Yet he still has the gall to sit there and talk about how he was the one who saved the day (true and undeniable, for without that strength surely they would have been destroyed), but Shinji cannot help but think that a lot of those lives lost as collateral damage could also have been preserved, if this man who claimed to only want to help had done so in a way that hadn’t weakened the Gotei to the point where it was finally advantageous for the Wandenreich to attack in the first place. The resentment is real. The simmering anger, impossible to ­mask. “ Are ya seekin’ praise or credit for yer meritorious deeds? Isn’t this- ” he gestures vaguely to the quasi-pleasant surroundings of the man’s paroled residence; it is at least head and shoulders, hell, an entire torso above the black pit of despair that is Muken. “ - already a nod of recognition towards yer merciful intervention, even when ya provided it with such great reluctance? ”

          The thread of sarcasm that leaks from his tone annoys him, because the control of emotion is something he very much desires to keep a tight rein on whenever Aizen is concerned…but that is slowly unraveling too, in frustration. A weapon of war, Aizen had bitterly labeled himself, but aren’t they all? This is the type of world they exists in; fight to live or perish by the wayside, and Kyouraku had dragged Aizen out kicking and screaming to perform his duty. He pauses, takes a deep breath and holds it, counting the seconds for as long as he can until the disquiet is silently strangled out of existence, his lungs starting to burn. Then, he exhales…and breathes.

               “ …Yer right. Yer strength saved us all. I’m grateful ya fought on our side. ” And he is. He really is. There was true hopelessness and despair, the day the Wandenreich invaded. He can still taste it now, the raw acridness of smoke and fire and destruction, the sharp tang of blood and terror and wailing grief in the air. They were so close to losing it all, until Aizen’s power surged and he pulled off that spectacular act of sacrifice completely out of the left field, buying precious time for Ichigo to finish Yhwach. Even now, Shinji wonders at the other’s motive, wonders why the other chose to do what he did, even if he knows that he will likely never get a straight answer. His eyes continue to seek Aizen’s firmly, trying to read beyond what the other allows him to see. His voice…softens. “ Why couldn’t ya have chosen to do that from the start? Ya already knew that ya couldn’t convince Yamamoto, of course ya wouldn’t be foolhardy enough to seek that direct path. There are other routes; did ya even try? How could it be that yer immediate conclusion was to plan a bloody coup? What the hell were ya even thinking? ”

          Kyouraku, Ukitake. Even Unohana. The previous Soutaichou was notoriously rigid and unyielding, but even a leader would not be able to lead if his followers refused to follow. And Aizen have proven himself charismatic and strong. Inspiring, even. He had been told that the younger Shinigami had idolized him, during his tenure as Shinji’s successor and predecessor. Yet oddly enough, he steered clear of the older Captains and kept his activities low profile. “ I mean it when I say that ya’ve got no faith in yerself. I ain’t referrin’a strength and intelligence, because in those yer excessively proficient and we all know it. I’m talkin’ ‘bout yer inability to establish genuine connections with others, in a way that exposes yer vulnerability. ” All his followers were younger…and depended on him to a certain extent. Even Gin and Kaname. Even his ranks of arrancars and espadas, who were all beholden to him in a way that placed them in a lower position below him, however powerful they were independently. “ Rather than not botherin’a establish trust because ya’ve got no need for it, isn’t it more because ya’ve got no faith in yer own ability ‘ta earn trust, in a way that does not involve using yer power as a crutch or a bargaining tool? ”

          He wants to hunch up like some tortoise, defensive and protective, as if Aizen will take something of value otherwise. Tensed…but also knowing all too well that the other man is not wrong with his pointed remarks. But neither is Seireitei, at least not in the ruling that had resulted in a one-hundred-year long exile for them who have been maligned and tarred, their reputations dragged through the mud and blackened…for a sin not of their choosing. Once upon a time, he was angry. Once upon a time, he raged, and he roiled with seething hatred. He was through with it all. In denial. In bargaining. In grief. And then, finally, acceptance. The past was the past. The years have tempered his fury and smothered the helpless impotence of being abandoned by the very organization they are meant to die for, that will also leave them to die unyieldingly. But this and that, are two different things.

          Shinji glares exasperatedly at Aizen. “ Funny ya brought that up, seein’ as YOU were the whole main cause of our miseries. Ya wanna be thanked again, is that it? ” If Shinji is still disappointed in Seireitei and the Gotei, it is not because they had once been deemed dangerous and had to be exiled for their conditions. Because that was the truth. Back then, they had been out of control, completely out of their minds and irrational, driven by howling instinct and violence. Dangerous and corrupted beings entirely unknown as a new, forbidden hybrid of powerful entities. They were a high-risk peril not just to themselves, but to everyone around them. Those were all true. Until they had been stabilized, until they learned that it was possible to control the feral, corrupted entities that lurked in their souls…there was no telling if they would go berserk and destroy everything in their way until they had to be put down like rabid animals. Coming from the Gotei’s purview, Shinji understands that trepidatious reservation.

               “ I don’t disagree that Seireitei is too entrenched in tradition and unyieldin' laws…and I don’t disagree that a fresh start might be ideal…but so what? ” he scoffs, gaze still hard, voice still low. “ How will yer leadership be any better? You, who turned us against our will, you, who made use of anyone and everyone like expendable pawns just for yer own agenda. You, who could not even spare yer own allies and the innocent. A hundred years passed, and in all that time ya managed to do more harm than good to the people whom you were s'posed to look out for. Is this yer definition of a better system? Seireitei as she is now is full of monsters, true. ” 

          Because even Shinji, himself, has to become one whenever it is necessary. 

               “ But do not think, not for even a second, that yer not also one of them. ”

[starlessea]

"Don’t Cry”

A/N This started off as a drabble, but I got carried away and it turned into a one-shot. I’m really happy with how this one turned out! Based on number #39 from this prompt list for @phoenixblack89​

Summary: Daryl hates seeing your tears. He’d much rather see you smiling, instead.

Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee

Atlanta High School.

You’d graduated a long while back — so long ago now that you’d forgotten the feeling of walking its halls, and having your shoes squeak against the cheap wooden planks.

You could see the rows of lockers you’d chatted by daily, and the one in particular where you’d shared your first kiss with a boy whose name you couldn’t remember. The doors of the classrooms seemed familiar, as did the posters on the walls which were the same as they’d been when you attended — something about washing your hands and remembering to vote for class president.

It was as though time stood still.

And, in this very moment, there was nothing you wished for more.

Daryl’s hand was warm on your cheek, and his thumb gentle as he drew faint circles over your skin. You leaned into his touch, the same way you’d done with that boy against your locker — not even a few feet away.

But this was different.

This was Daryl.

Your lips quivered, trembling like a leaf stuck in the wind. Your hands felt numb as they pressed against him, so hard that you thought they would bruise. But all you could hear were those damn lockers — their doors slamming open and closed as they caught in the draft.

Like a sarcastic fucking applause.

Daryl tilted your head up, gently guiding your gaze from his collar to his face, where your eyes caught his. And your breath died in your throat, before bubbling into a sob that rang out in the air like the Atlanta High School bell.

He was smiling.

“Don’t cry,” he said — in the most calm, accepting tone you’d ever heard a person speak. It lacked all of his usual bite, the gruffness you’d come to know and associate with the man.

It sounded foreign.

Maybe that was why, despite his words, the tears poured over anyway, and settled on your cheeks where he swiped them away with a flick of his thumb.

“I wan’-” he started, but paused for a second to grimace from the pain. “I wanna remember ya smilin’.”

You choked on another watery cry, shaking your head away from his gentle hold, as you returned your focus to his wound.

The bite on his collarbone was deep, gushing blood quicker than you could soak it up with the tattered remnants of your jacket. His skin was a stark, vermillion red, as were your hands, as was the floor, as were those fucking lockers where you’d smeared his blood as you tried to carry him to safety.

Everything was red, red, red.

You pressed more firmly, soaking it up with fluttering hands that burnt from the sheer heat of his skin. He felt like a match having been set alight — burning brilliantly beneath your palms as you tried your best to quell the flames.

Daryl rested his hand over yours, engulfing it. “Listen to me, ” he rasped — and you panicked at how much more weak his voice was sounding — “there’s flares in my rucksack.”

He glanced over your shoulder, at the abandoned bag sitting near your feet. It was stuffed with supplies from the school — all of which were now completely useless, and nowhere near worth his goddamn life.

Sweat beaded on his skin, and collected in the dips of his collar — like little pools of salt water.

He squeezed your hand. “Ya gotta get to the roof an’ flag down Rick,” he told you, his smile dropping from his face as he became much more serious. “He’ll come for ya.”

Your hands stilled over the wound for a second, easing their pressure as you took in the man’s words. Then he flashed those eyes at you, which begged for you not to argue.

But you did.

You kicked out your leg behind you, sending that backpack sliding across those cheap wooden planks, and making it thud against a locker. You didn’t need the flares.

You just needed Daryl.

“I can’t-” you yelled, but your voice split, and the man quickly hushed you before it got too loud. After all, the dead had you surrounded. “I’m not leaving you behind,” you spluttered.

Your tone was frantic, panicked, desperate.

You could feel his heartbeat pounding underneath your palms, where you pressed down against it. It was as though you held his heart in your hands — and he’d probably argue that you always had.

Daryl shook his head smally, careful not to disturb the bite further. “An’ ya can’t take me with ya,” he replied.

No, you thought, you would carry him out if it killed you, you would fight your way through, and get him to the infirmary, and you could-

“I ain’t gonna make it, baby girl,” he whispered, “‘m sorry.”

And you broke.

Suddenly, you were aware of the flickering overhead lights that made his skin look so clammy, so sickly. You were conscious of the blood smear trail he’d left behind — that vibrant scarlet which reminded you of a burning sunset — and the pounding at the doors, and the feet squeaking on those floorboards like the lunchtime rush between classes.

“You will!” you yelled, not at all caring about how loud you’d gotten. “You have to, Daryl,” you cried, pleadingly.

His hand felt so warm that it made yours seem cold. It felt like you were the one dying — your heart shattering each time he took a wheezed breath, or flinched in pain.

“How am I-” you asked, but by now your voice had tapered off to a mere whisper. You shook your head. There was no question about it. “I can’t go on without you,” you told him.

You could hear the blood rushing to your ears as your breaths got away from you — too shallow and too sparse. Daryl looked worse each passing minute, his olive skin now a translucent grey.

He took both of your hands in his, making you drop your jacket, as blood seeped through the material of his shirt. You tried to fight against him, eyeing the trail of red as it ran along his collar like a stream, but he kept a hold of your wrists firmly — with the little strength he had left.

“Ya can,” he growled — the grit to his voice causing you to instantly still — “an’ ya will.”

And he flashed those eyes at you again, but this time they had his usual spark behind them.

“Yer the damn strongest woman I e’er met,” he went on, letting his grip loosen on your wrists ever so slightly, “‘m jus’ happy a dumb ol’ redneck like me got to spend a couple good years with ya.”

Then, he smiled.

“It was fun.”

He let your hands drop out of his, no longer having any fight left. But instead, you used them to clamber onto his lap, wrapping them around his torso as you buried your head deep into his chest — his warm, red chest.

“Please don’t talk like that!” you cried, your words muffled by his clothes and lost to his skin.“I’m not going anywhere! I want to stay with you-”

“Nah, that ain’t happenin’,” he snapped — but his hand remained light on your head, gently stroking your hair in his attempts to calm you. “I swear to god, I’ll haunt yer ass if ya dare pull somethin’ tha’ stupid.”

But you grabbed onto his shirt until your knuckles flashed white, bunching up the material in your fists like you couldn’t bear to part with it. It smelt like him — underneath the coppery scent of fresh blood.

Slowly, he tried to coax you out, but you could feel the way his hands shook, and it only made everything worse. Those hands had always been strong — had always been the ones to pick you up and set you back on your feet every time you fell.

“Look a’ me,” he pleaded, his voice croaky. He tilted your chin up again, in the same way he did every time he went to kiss you — and it made your heart hurt, because no kiss followed. “C’mon now, don’ cry,” he whispered, his breath much too hot against your skin, “‘m here.”

“But you won’t be,” you wailed, the words startling you as they crept out from your mouth.

You hadn’t wanted to admit them.

“But I am now,” Daryl replied, just as quick. “So please jus’ smile for me, would ya?”

His hand fell down to your waist, before rubbing small circles in the small of your back — just how he did every morning to wake you up.

You couldn’t do it, but you needed to do it.

For Daryl.

You uncurled yourself from his chest, and wiped away the fresh tears with your shirt, blinking away the rest. You moved in his lap until you were face to face, trying not to catch a glimpse of his wound which continued to pour red.

Then, you finally smiled back at him.

It was wobbly, and forced, but it was wide — and full of love.

“Atta girl,” he choked back, his voice breaking for the first time.

You couldn’t tell whether his glassy eyes were from the fever, or the pain, or from you, but you bit your lip either way.

Don’t cry, you told yourself, and watched as he did.

“Yer so goddamn beautiful,” he mumbled, raising his thumb to the corner of your lips. It was as callous as always, but at this moment it only felt soft. “I was one lucky son o’ a bitch,” he declared, with a warm smile.

You raised your hands in return, cupping his face and feeling his beard tickle over your palms — thinking back to the times you complained at how unkempt it was. His forehead dropped down onto yours, and the heat from his skin radiated outwards, setting you ablaze as you touched.

“I love you, Dixon,” you confessed, as though it were the first time and not the last. “Now and always.”

The overhead lights hummed as they flickered like camera flashes, and the pounding at the door became more incessant.

So, you drowned everything out with a press of your lips to his — as Daryl tilted your head up in the way he always did, and gave you one final kiss which tasted like seasalt and copper. It was underneath the locker where you’d had your first kiss, but now it marked your last one with the man you loved most in this world.

“Me too,” Daryl whispered, as you broke apart. He glanced over your shoulder once again, at the discarded backpack across the hall. “Now get outta here before they break through.”

You stumbled to your feet violently, needing a strong, stark shock to actually be enough to pull you away from the man for good.

And you didn’t look back.

You couldn’t. If you so much as caught a glimpse of those angel wings or heard as little as a breath escape his mouth, you wouldn’t have left.

And that would’ve killed Daryl in more ways than one.

So, you retrieved the backpack, and opened the fire escape door a few feet away, before slipping behind it, and sliding down to your knees.

The concrete cut your skin open, and once again you were confronted with red.

A cry escaped you, which morphed into a wail as you clutched your chest and tried to fix the bleeding happening inside it — the red that you couldn’t see.

But a shout startled you, and ceased your sobs as soon as they sounded.

“Don’ cry!” Daryl’s voice yelled, muffled by the metal door but still strong, and guttural, and fierce. “I can hear ya!”

So, you picked yourself back up, and set yourself on your feet in the same way he’d taught you how — and you ran for the roof, flare in hand.

Atlanta High School always had the best rooftop view.

The sunset stretched out in the distance, one of brilliant vermillion, and warm, copper orange. The balcony was the same as you remembered, with high metal railings to keep students from jumping, or getting too close to that view.

This roof had been the place where you’d yelled about hating this place, this town, this state — and had cried out to the sky about wishing to anywhere but here.

But now you didn’t want to leave.

Because your everything was right here.

You held the flare in your hand, wondering what colours it would burst and illuminate the sky — whilst praying it would be anything other than red.

You let off the flare, and a single gunshot followed.

End.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

Also, if you enjoy my writing, you might want to buy me a coffee or commission me - tips are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

A/N Blame Jess and Shannon for the increase in angst.

But I’m glad to be getting more comfortable with writing it!

How did you guys find this one? I actually think it’s one of my personal faves? Please let me know :)

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[neet0]

1, 7, 15 and 16 for the writer asks please?

1. give short descriptions of all your current WIPs.

Revelations (Hellsing) -- Christ it's impossible to summarize this epic well, so I'll just be glib: Alucard and Seras get their own happily ever afters, but they gotta earn that shit first. Leads in with a romance and bait-n-switches to epic fantasy. Lots of worldbuilding (mostly of the vampire world), reckoning with past trauma, and larger-than-life supernatural political strife. Remember, you can refuse The Call of Destiny, but The Call knows where you live!

Carolinas (Hellsing) -- After a spate murders, Seras goes to the South Carolina swamps to investigate and finds a vampire man living there. He's not the one killing everyone, but he knows who is. Romance ensues.

Nightcap (Hellsing) -- Short PWP one- to two-shot, Female Reader dares Alucard to come seek her out after he's all worked up from a successful mission, and finds out that a bloodlusting Alucard doesn't bluff.

Subtext of You (Stardew Valley) -- The angst of Revelations got to be too much so I made a sugar-sweet side project where Elliott and a shy Female Reader fall in love. There’s not really a plot here but I try to shoehorn one in.

Highway (Original Work) -- Narrator finds a gas station in the middle of the desert that appears to be open with people inside, but there are no cars anywhere in the lot. Squid Games/Lord of the Flies eldritch horror ensues.

7. what books have shaped the way you think about writing the most? why?

God, that’s a tough one. Overall I’m often inspired by the things I don’t see often in modern fantasy/sci-fi/horror, but there are certainly books I hold up as aspirational examples, such as the impressionist, avant-garde storytelling in Mark Z Danielewski’s House of Leaves and the simple but tense storytelling in tales such as Penpal by 1000Vultures. Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles was also a formative work for me, and I aspire to write simple but beautiful prose as well as he does. I’m probably a very long ways off but hey, it’s good to have goals, right?

I also have a number of really great writing references I own that have been invaluable.

15. what do drafting and revision look like for you?

Every story starts with an outline of the major plot points and maybe some scenes in between, if I have a really strong idea of what they look like. This part involves a lot of lengthy discussions with my beta to make sure everything makes sense.

Then on to the first draft. This part is the hardest for me. I basically try to shit out as many words as possible without stopping, starting with laying down the dialogue. Real utilitarian “just describe what’s happening” stuff, with no regard for the art of writing.

The magic is in the editing, of which there are many rounds. First round is go back and tweak physical action descriptions. Then another round to add narrative introspection. Then another round to add any narrative exposition, though I try to limit this. Then another round for setting description. Then another round to correct grammar, word choice, spelling. Then another round to correct for rhythm and flow (NaturalReader app is invaluable for this). Then I send it to my beta reader for corrections and suggestions, then incorporate those. Then a few more rounds because I’m paranoid. Then I get tired of fucking looking at it and kick it to publishing.

16. to what extent do you research for your writing?

Way too much. I’m one of those people who likes to try to put as much realism in my fantasy as I can, even for shit that probably no one will ever notice. Like really, just look at my recent posts. Calculated a whole ass lunisolar calendar for a fictional horoscope that may or may not be valid in-universe, because it’ll bother me if the timeline is off. My most recent Google search was how fast an elevator and a bullet train can travel, respectively, because I needed to calculate a realistic depth for the underground vampire city.

I can’t help it, though. It’s a labor of love.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

curtain call, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You know that TikTok trend where girls would drop their towels in front of their gamer boyfriends? As expected, Min Yoongi didn’t until he was informed by his six troublemaking friends. In this case, his girlfriend was the pro streamer and he was the guy in the towel... so what’s the result?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, tiny bit of crack; sexually explicit thoughts; smut (fem reader, handjob, cowgirl); very fluffy; non-idol!AU - established relationship, music producer!Yoongi x LoL streamer!reader

-

“Hahaha, oh my god, chat, did you see that? He bounced so many times from the CC, he literally went sky, holy shit!”

Min Yoongi opened the front door of his apartment to the jovial, laughing voice of his girlfriend. He shut the door, smiling to himself. Her streaming room was in the extra bedroom. The door was open, and he could see the bright RGB lights of her computer tower reflecting off the walls. He took off his black coat, placing it on the hanger in the hall closet.

“Stop cursing because it’s not ladylike?” He heard her scoff. “No, fuck you.”

Yoongi smirked. That’s my girl.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, scrolling through social media. His friends always told him to reply to their posts, but Yoongi was a lurker. The only reason he even had any social media was because his friends set it up for him. He literally only followed six people – his six friends. Everyone else he just stalked from memory, even his own girlfriend. Mostly because he didn’t want random people following him for no reason, because they most certainly would with how popular she was.

When she had asked him what he thought of her full-time video game streaming, Yoongi told her to go for it. She had been obsessed with League of Legends for over nine years, even before she met him. At their first date, she first question was if he knew what League of Legends was.

“Uh… I got to Gold in season 2?”

Later, she told him his answer had seriously tilted her and she even considered not going on a second date.

“But you did. Because of this face.”

She had laughed and nodded.

She had been playing solo queue for a long time. When she finally started streaming her games, her channel grew slowly. She would immediately start playing after she got home from work. Hours and hours, growing a fanbase. Yoongi later learned she was startlingly good – “I was Master for a long time, got Grandmaster this season” – and when she asked him if she could quit her job, he pointed to her bank statements.

“Do you even need to ask? You might make more than me at one point and I’m Big Hit’s top music producer.”

And she did end up making more than him, at least some months, because the team that picked her up as a content creator this year was none other than T1, the most beloved (and hated) organization in Korea. Had she ever met Faker? No, but it was cool to say she was under the same umbrella as him.

Yoongi rounded the corner, knocking his knuckles on the doorframe.

“Hey.”

-

You looked up from your game, grinning. Twitch chat had just said some dumb shit, but your eyes were on Min Yoongi now. The love of your life, standing in the doorframe, looking amused at your antics and dressed sharply in a white dress shirt and black slacks with a matching black tie. Very different to your black T1 hoodie and sweats.

“Whoa, fancy, fancy,” you teased, eyes going back to the game. You pushed back one of your headset’s earcups to hear him better. You clicked rapidly, autoattacking the towers swiftly. You were about to win after a hectic Baron fight. “Why are you dressed like that, Yoongi?”

Your chat was exploding with cat emojis. They had only seen Yoongi a few times and someone had compared him to a cat once. It stuck and now every time Yoongi spoke, your chat was spammed with cats. You even had a custom white cat emote made with Yoongi’s signature black hair.

Yoongi appeared next to you on the cam, only his slacks and bottom of his shirt visible next to you. He patted your head.

“Meeting today,” he said simply in his lovely deep voice. The chat was exploding due to Yoongi’s appearance. Everyone was thirsty for him. You couldn’t blame them. You too. “Looks like T1 Curtain Call is kicking ass.”

You fired the last shot at the Nexus, earning fifty gold. Was it necessary since that was the end of the game? Absolutely not, but it gave you bragging rights. You sat back, smirking. You were in your promos to Challenger, the highest rank in the ladder. It would be really exciting if you could make it to Challenger this season.

You turned to Yoongi as you honored your support Nami. “Chat wants you to say hi.”

Yoongi stuck his large hand out in front of the camera and waved it once. “Hey everyone.”

You chuckled as Yoongi retreated his hand. You clicked on the stats for the chat to read before reentering the lobby. T1 Curtain Call. That was your in-game name, or IGN. It was named after your favorite champion, Jhin, the Virtuoso, mercenary gunman with a sniper ultimate and an obsession with the number four. Your IGN was Jhin’s ultimate ability name. You were an attack-damage carry main, also known as ADC.

You felt Yoongi ruffle your hair, messing it up under your headset.

“Going to take a shower before making dinner. Bye, chat.”

Yoongi stuck his hand in the screen again, right in front of your face.

You leaned forward to read the chat as you queued up. It was going to be a long queue, so you answered questions in the meantime.

“Ask Yoongi to play with you?” You chuckled. “Trust me guys, I’ve tried, even if it was just normals. He’s confused as shit.”

-

Yoongi worked the shampoo in his hair, feeling the hot water hit his back. Before getting into the shower, Yoongi had gotten multiple texts from the group chat. Normally he would ignore them, because he always ignored the group chat. This time, however, he saw his girlfriend’s name pop up in the texts, along with his name with multiple exclamation points. He frowned at it, opening the chat. He did not like his friends typing her name heedlessly.

It was some dumb TikTok trend.

“Hyung, you gotta do this to noona,” Jeon Jungkook had typed with multiple ‘kekekeke’ behind it. The youngest was an idiot for even suggesting this.

“Please do it,” Kim Taehyung typed with multiple laughing emojis.

“I want to know her reaction,” Park Jimin typed with a bunch of winking faces.

“The fuck is this?” Kim Seokjin had typed. “Oh my god, you have to do it, Yoongi.”

“But don’t film it,” Kim Namjoon warned. “Don’t want to make her look bad or anything.”

Jung Hoseok had just typed multiple laughing symbols. Yoongi could hear him laughing through the phone even if he wasn’t here.

It was a stupid trend where girls wrapped themselves in towels after a shower and then dropped said towels in front of their gamer boyfriends while they were playing, with varying reactions. Yoongi had sighed, putting his phone down. He shouldn’t have clicked on the chat. Those guys were loons. Besides, his role was reversed in his situation. A guy’s flaccid dick was a thousand times less interesting than his girlfriend’s perky tits and round ass. And her squeezable thighs. And her glistening pussy.

Yoongi rinsed his hair off, muttering to himself.

Why would he even consider distracting her like that anyway? He rubbed soap on his arms and legs. She took her games seriously and Yoongi wanted her to win them. It would just be dumb to be the reason that she dies in game. It was her job, after all. It was true they had less sex, but that was also partially his fault. He had been working on an album and it ran long hours. He had to finish before the deadline after all. Yes, sometimes Yoongi woke up late at night with a massive hard-on and her warm body next to him, only in her underwear. Sometimes he took her hand and wrapped it around him, considering on waking her up to do it.

But her peaceful, sleepy face was too cute to wake up, so he never did.

Yoongi puffed his cheeks as he rinsed off, thinning his mouth and eyes into lines. They used to mess around, right here in the shower, where he would jerk off on her face and chest, just to watch it drip down her body. He could see her pretty face in his mind, cum sprayed across her cheeks and chin, mischievous smile on her lips. They had different schedules now, so she always showered before her stream, while he was at work.

Yoongi clicked his tongue and turned the water off, body still hot. He grabbed the white towel from the rack and dried his hair, making it stick up in every direction. He rubbed himself down, wicking the water away. It made him remember how her hair used to stick to her body after their shared showers and how he would lift it away to play with her nipples.

He huffed, seeing his phone on the bathroom sink. His friends needed help. How could they even suggest such nonsen–

Yoongi tried to wrap his towel around his waist. He could feel a draft. He looked down, raising his eyebrows.

His dick was pitching a music-festival, VIP-member-only sized tent.

Well.

He pursed his lips. He shouldn’t be that surprised. He had literally been thinking about his girlfriend’s naked body the entire time. His eyes glanced to his phone once again before he opened the bathroom door. He heard her sigh loudly.

“Noooo, that’s the third dodge! Am I ever going to play a game, chat?” she whined.

Yoongi padded out into the hallway. Technically he was already halfway there. Might as well. Was this the stupidest shit he was ever going to do? Maybe. But she wasn’t going to expect it, that’s for sure. The thought made Yoongi smirk.

“When is Jungkook going to duo with me again? I don’t know guys; he said he has finals soon so he has to focus on school.” He heard her click her tongue. “Get him on cam again? Oh, I see, that’s what you all wanted... At least let him get through university.”

Yoongi stopped at the doorframe. Her hands were on her chin and she was sighing, looking depressed at her long queue time.

“Ah, so unlucky. It must be everyone’s dinnertime.”

He called her name in the same tone he usually used.

Her head lifted and her eyes floated in his direction.

Yoongi dropped the towel.

In less than a second, her eyes grew three sizes, jaw dropping. His wet hair stuck to his forehead, shading his eyes a bit. He cocked an eyebrow, slow smirk on his lips.

“Anything you want for dinner?”

-

What.

The.

FUCK?

You heard your queue pop, but you were frozen in place, gawking open-mouthed at your boyfriend standing in the doorframe of your streaming room, butt-ass naked, cock hard as a rock, towel on the ground. Did he just..? What the…? This was Min Yoongi. Your mild-mannered, somewhat-lazy, preferred-to-be-asleep boyfriend. Not suddenly-trying-to-send-you-to-horny-jail-in-front-of-three-thousand viewers boyfriend! You blinked at him, stuttering.

“Y-Yoongi…?”

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. Your voice was a little too breathless, a little too shocked. And slightly too needy for Twitch chat. Your face was heating up fast. You whipped your head back to the screen, realizing you missed the queue. At this point, you didn’t give a single shit.

“You know what, guys,” you said shakily, laughing awkwardly. “I better help Yoongi with dinner and be a good girlfriend.” You rose, feeling the wetness between your legs. “See you tomorrow!”

And you immediately turned off the stream, fuck, you turned off your whole damn computer, mashing the power button, and throwing one of your spare hoodies over the webcam. You exploded from your T1 gaming chair, literally shooting it back three feet into the League plushes behind you, ripping your headset off, tossing it onto the keyboard. Yoongi looked surprised, as if he expected you to be demurer about it.

Yeah, that’s not kind of woman you were.

“Min Yoon-gi,” you hissed, stressing every syllable of his name. “How the fuck do you think you can just show up naked and not expect me to want to immediately fuck you?”

Yoongi chuckled. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

You narrowed your eyes, pressing him against the door with your body. “You don’t watch TikTok. Who put you up to this? Jimin? Taehyung? Jungkook?”

His voice was low and husky. “You know the mankae line are trouble.”

Your hand snaked up into his damp hair and you pulled him down for a sensual kiss. His soft, pink lips parted and you nipped at his lower lip, grinding deliciously into his hard cock. Your sweatpants and underwear were in the way, but you moaned into his mouth, tongue grazing against his lips.

Mentally, you thanked the three mankaes for giving Yoongi this wonderful idea.

He breathed against your lips, smirking.

“How many pieces of clothing are you wearing?” he purred.

You grinned into his kiss, tongue between your teeth. “Four.”

“On brand for you.”

And then you two stumbled into the hallway, Yoongi’s hands on the hem of your hoodie, pushing it up as you kissed him over and over, whispering his name, telling him how handsome he was, how perfectly sexy he was with his wet hair and soft skin. His lips curved upwards under yours, basking in your compliments, drinking them up.

“Count for me,” he drawled, pulling the black T1 hoodie up.

You slipped out of it, sliding down, hands splaying over Yoongi’s chest.

“One.”

He tossed it aside as your hand wrapped around his cock. A sharp gasp left his lips feeling you stroke him slowly, your hand snaking around his neck and bringing his face close to yours, lips on lips. His hands curled around your waist, moving up, grasping the hook-and-eye of your black bra. All the while slowly making your way to the bedroom, nipping at his lips, sucking on his tongue.

Yoongi pinched, releasing your bra. You released his cock, letting it slide off your shoulders.

“Two,” you moaned, feeling his hands on your breasts, rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

“Hah, your body is so fucking hot,” Yoongi murmured. “Missed fucking you.”

You snickered, licking his lips. “Why don’t you actually try to wake me up for once instead of using my hand to jack yourself off at two in the morning?”

His dark brown eyes went wide, shock creeping into his voice. “W-what? How did you…?”

You pushed him through the doorframe of the bedroom. “You think I don’t notice your dick in my hands?” You reached down now, gripping it again, sighing softly at his hardness. “I’m a light sleeper.”

He sputtered at you, fingers curling under the waistband of your sweatpants. “No, you’re not.”

You grinned. “Yeah, you’re right, but this your cock we’re talking about, and I love your cock, Yoongi, fuck,” you continued, pumping him slowly as you felt his length twitch in your hands, his hands pushing down your pants, sliding down your legs.

“Three,” he breathed softly.

You took his larger hand and wrapped it around yours, stepping out of your pants.

“Go on, Yoongi. Show me what you do when you think I’m asleep,” you said softly, nudging him to the bed and laying him down, down, crawling over him, staring into his beautiful dark eyes, falling more and more in love with him every second. Yoongi bit his lip, looking back at you, shifting your hand up and down his cock, whimpering as he jacked himself off, but with your hand and your eyes on him.

“Fuck, you look so pretty,” he mumbled. “Such perfectly shaped eyes.”

You leaned down, squeezing him a little harder, a tiny gasp brushing against your lips. “That’s you, my love.”

He smirked, his free hand hooking on the side of your panties.

“Hit me with the fourth shot,” Yoongi teased, grinning.

You kissed him lightly, smiling. “That’s going to be a critical hit.”

“Better be a critical hit all over my dick.”

You laughed, reaching over to the nightstand and pulling out the drawer, taking out a condom. The two of you pulled down your black panties, Yoongi completing the final number.

“Four,” he exhaled, nearly moaning at the sight of your juices snapping against your thigh.

“Me on top?” you asked, ripping the condom open.

Yoongi’s naughty smirk grew. “You do love me.”

You slid the condom down his length, both of you gasping as his cock throbbed in your hands. You slid up, holding him with two fingers as you sank down on him, tipping your head back at the feeling of Yoongi’s cock buried deep inside.

“I’ve determined we don’t fuck enough,” you muttered, rolling your hips at the delicious sensation of being stretched out by your lover.

“I should wake up earlier,” Yoongi hissed, hands twisting in the sheets. “So we can shower together again.”

“You miss that?” You began to move, riding him deliberately slow but rough, slapping your hips together. You were leaking all over his crotch and balls, adding to the sound. “Miss me on my knees for you, wet from head to toe?”

“Hah… I was thinking about it in the shower,” he panted, feeling you lean down to change the angle, rolling the entire lower half of your body to fuck him hard, fast, intensely squeezing his cock at every descent. “You look so good covered in my cum, my love.”

You smirked, arching an eyebrow. “Yeah? Take some pictures. Show your friends.”

Yoongi laughed, that attractive raspy laugh that showed his pink gums and his pretty white teeth as you rode him, chasing your orgasm and determined to get him to his. “They fucking wish they could see this body,” he growled, a touch of possessiveness in his voice that made your spine shiver deliciously. “Bet they wish they could see you riding my dick right now, your perfect tits and ass bouncing on top of me.”

You clenched him harder and he moaned, head pressed into the pillows, eyes closing, drowning in the feeling of you.

“Ask them,” you snickered. “I already know Jimin’s answer.”

Yoongi gave you an open-mouthed smirk. “That fucking pervert.”

You slammed your hips together tightening your jaw and your core, sucking in his entire length, every contour imprinted into you, every vein pulsing into your walls, Yoongi so fucked out and gone under you, the best image in the entire fucking world. You leaned your head back, gasping triumphantly as the pleasure finally dropped, showering over you, your hips shaking, pussy throbbing all around him, splattering onto his crotch. Yoongi groaned, smacking his fists against the sheets as he shot up into you, cock swelling against your walls, choking out your name due to the strength of your orgasm. You felt your pussy milking him for every drop, draining him. Yoongi’s hips jerked involuntarily up towards you, squelching loudly and lewdly.

Fuck, you loved him.

You bent down, hand between your bodies, holding the condom down as you kissed his open mouth, tongue sliding in to stroke his, murmuring to him how much you loved him. Yoongi panted into your lips, hot erotic breaths that made you moan as you slowly removed yourself from his softening cock. He opened his eyes, half-lidded, drunk with pleasure. His voice was breathless, content.

“I love you.”

You smirked.

“Drop your towel some more, but maybe when I’m not live streaming.”

Yoongi laughed and you laughed too, because in the end it was still hilarious.

-

masterpost

[afandommultiverse]

Solo en la came - Yami Sukehiro LEMON

Words -  1589 Request - 

A/n - I'm sorry, this has been in my drafts for months but I just couldn't figure out how to finish this so I'm sorry if its a bit shit, especially at the end.

I stomped my way towards the inn, Yami following behind loosely and smirking down at me.

"I don't know why you're so mad, Doll, s'nothing." I stopped and turned towards him.

"I told you to stop calling me that! And It's not nothing- THIS WAS MY DAY OFF AND YOU DRAG ME TO SOME STUPID MISSION! BUT WAIT! It's not even a mission, you just wanted to go to some stupid distillery!"

"It was 50% off WHOLE BARRELS. If it's that big of a deal, just take your day off any of the days this week." Yami scoffed with crossed arms, looking at me as if I was the problem.

"Any of these days this week are NOT having a sale at the crystal shop!" I yelled, finally turning to leave and pay for a stupid room because we had stayed too late at the distillery Yami was so crazy about.

"2 rooms please," I asked the old lady at the front counter. She ran her finger down the list of rooms before growing and looking back up at me.

"Sorry dear, we only have one small suite left." I looked up from my Yul and paused. 

"Please there's gotta be another way!" I heard a deep chuckle behind me and I turned to see Yami stepping in.

"Come on, Doll, I'm not that bad."

"Yami, you snore!" I whined, turning back to lade and paying her sadly. The old lady smiled sympathetically and handed me the room number.

"I'll get some water ready!"

I walked to our room and opened it quickly, rushing to get off my feet. I laid my stuff on the end of the bed and sat to remove my shoes. Yami laid down on the bed and kicked off his shoes before lighting a cigarette and resting his arm over his eyes.

"Are you gonna bathe?" I asked getting up going through my bag looking for my nightclothes. I heard him hum a yes before leaving the room to take my own bath. I got to the bathroom and stripped quickly, eager to get into the warm water and wash up. It was a hot day today and being inside the distillery didn't make it any better.

Washing of the dried sweat and any other dirt or grime, I rinsed my hair and stepped out to dry off. As I wrapped the towel around me and turned to start getting dressed, the lock to the door clicked and the door opened. In walked, Yami a towel thrown over his shoulder and shirtless.

"Yami!" I yelled, glaring at him," Close the door!" He stopped and looked at me.

"You're still in here?" He whined, pouting, and goring before closing the door. But before I could dress, I heard him yell through the door.

"Hurry up or I'm taking a bath while you change!" I quickly threw my shirt and shorts before grabbing my door and heading for the door. I opened it and stopped before running into Yami, I glared up at him before moving to the side and walking to our room.

When Yami did return, I was almost asleep, only feeling the movements of him getting in bed before I finally went to sleep.

~~~

I woke up to a foul smell and sniffed it a few more times and I sat up. I looked down with my eye scrunched trying to see through grogginess.

"Yami? What time is it?" I yawned, opening my eyes clearly and losing breath at the sigh beneath me. My hand resting on his naked chest and the other holding up my weight at his side, brushing the skin of ribs. A cigarette rested on his soft lips and blinked up at me sleepily. Realizing his cigarette was the source of the smell, I took it from his lips and reached across him to put it out in the ashtray beside his side of the bed.

"Those are gonna kill you," I muttered.

"One way or another." I slapped his chest lightly.

"I hate it when you talk like that," I laid back down, moving to get off him before he spoke again.

"I don't mind." I stopped looking down at him, then looking to the other side of the bed. The sheets were cold, and Yami was really warm. I nodded before laying back down on his chest.

"Good, 'cause you're warm." He let out a deep chuckle and wrapped his arm around me, resting his hand on my back.

"You wanna rub my back?" I question half-jokingly, surprised when his head started moving. It was nice, and for a moment we just laid there. I wasn't ready to go back to sleep yet and stared out the window in front of me. The sun hadn't begun to raise but the sky was beginning to lighten.

"Y/n?" I turned to look up at Yami.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry." My eyebrows flew up in confusion.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry I dragged you here today. I know you were looking forward to that sale." Yami didn't look at me, instead, he was looking off to the side.

"It's okay, Yami. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was just irritated, that clerk was a weirdo." Yami laughed and held me a little tighter as he laughed.

"He was, wasn't he?"

"Oh god yes!" He laughed more, only making me laugh with him. When we calmed down, Yami finally looked at me with a small smile and I smiled back at him.

"Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"Don't be mad."

"Wha-?" Yami pulled me up to him and pressed his lips to mine gently. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me to rest on top of him comfortably. I wasted no time kissing back, resting my hands on his face. His hands moved down my body and gripped at my hips. As I dragged my tongue against him, I ground my hips harder against him and moaned into the kiss.

His hands gripped tighter, moving to still me. Pulling back he stared at me a little breathless.

"You sure about that, Doll?"

"You have no idea." I rushed to pull off my shirt and leaned back down to kiss him. He rolled us over and peppered kissed down my neck, nipping and sucking every now and then. Soft moans fell from my mouth and my hand ran through his hair tugging at it gently.

"Yami," His fingers ran up my sides, sending shivers down my spine in excitement. His lips latched to a nipple and rolled it with his tongue while one of his hands rolled my other bud with his fingers. My thighs tightened around his waist and squeezed his sides, sensitive to the onslaught of his tongue.

I gripped Yami by the hair and pulled him away from me, flipping us over, I settled over his hips. I kissed my way down his body, nipping, and weak points that made him shudder and moan. I was quick to remove his briefs, eager to get a hold of his cock. He stood tall and erect, bulbous head red and weeping.

My tongue flicked the head teasingly before taking him in. For what I couldn't fit in my mouth I stroked with my hands gently. Yami gripped at my hair and guided me slowly.

"Look up at me darling, I wanna see you, I wanna see those fucking eyes," He panted softly looking almost out of it as I sucked his cock. His hips stuttered when I would suck harder on the tip, tightening his grip in my hair. Finally, he pulled me off, wasting no time in pulling me back up and kissing me feverishly.

"You are too fucking good at that, Doll," He nipped at my neck, a hand slipping between us as he moved to center himself below me. He lowered me gently, waiting patiently as I lowered. I had never felt so full, so stuffed.

"Jesus, Yami." I gripped at his shoulders tightly and rocked my hips testingly, moaning softly when each vein dragged against me just right. Yami's hands were hot against my hips, lifting and dropping them against him.

"Yeah, you're a bit of a tight fit for me too, Doll." I cried out as he dropped me down a bit harder, pulling into his neck as he began to buck his hips against me. Collapsing against him, I could only moan in his ear kiss at his neck as he used me as a cock sleeve. Yami flipped us over fast, pinning me to the sheets.

He was definitely something to look at, sweaty and flushed. His grin was lewd and lazily, his eyes glinting with a lust that would take hours to satisfy.

"I hope you don't expect this to be a one-time thing, Doll." He punctuated it with a certain thrust, aimed to hit that spongy spot just right.

"W-Why would I think that- oh god!" Yami leaned down and kissed me softly.

"I dunno, you tell me." I wrapped my legs around him, bringing him in closer and looking him in the eyes.

"I'll tell you one thing, Yami, this won't be the only time we do this. I-in fact, I expect you to do this every day from now on. If you're up for it?" He slipped out and flipped me over, angling my hips up he slid back in fast, keeping my chest against the sheets.

"Doll, you have no idea how up to it I am.

[4stars-uswnt]

Healthy Competition [Tierna Davidson x Reader]

requested by anon: college tierna x ucla reader. 

A/N: i got a lil carried away with this one... also feel free to send in any requests!! :))

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” You pout at your best friend, Mallory Pugh. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I know, (Y/N/N), I’ll miss you too, but this is what’s best for me.”

At that, you’re silent because you know she’s right. Mal was too talented for UCLA and joining the Spirit was her best option. Although there had been speculation of you also going pro, especially after your performance in the U-20 World Cup, you decided to stay at UCLA one final year, hoping to win a national championship.

With one final hug, you say goodbye to Mal, as she enters the airport, departing for Washington DC.

—————

It had been a long and tough season, but with you up on top and Jessie in the middle, UCLA was now about to play in the NCAA championships against Stanford.

While the two schools were not the biggest rivals, your own personal rival played for the Cardinals: Tierna Davidson. She had been your greatest opponent since high school, as the two of you had been in the same division, even facing off in the state championships. Your positions, you being a right forward and her a left back, just added more fuel to the fire. For the past two years, as UCLA and Stanford exchanged wins and losses, the two of you had formed a rivalry, getting under each other’s skins like no one else could. The only times you two would get a long, or at least act pleasant, was when you played for the youth national team.

—————

With the biggest game of your life being only a couple of days away, your nerves were through the roof. You hadn’t been your bubbly self at practice; instead, you were stone cold serious, constantly snapping at your teammates and yelling out directions.

Jessie Fleming, your other best friend, noticing your change in behavior, pulls you aside at a pause in training.

“What, Jess?” You ask, exasperatedly. The younger midfielder takes in your appearance before continuing, noting the dark bags under your eyes and the deep lines in your forehead.

“Are you okay?” You go to open your mouth, but Jessie interrupts you. “And don’t you dare lie to me, (Y/N/N).”

You give a tired and defeated sigh, knowing you could tell your friend what’s been bothering you.

“I’m fine, J. I’ve just been so stressed about this game, you know how it is.” And Jessie did know how it was, not only from personal experience, being only 15 on the Canadian national team, but also from all the publicity this championship game had gotten. Based on the number of articles with your name in the headline she had seen, she knew that had been adding to your stress and affecting both your attitude and your play.

Jessie gives you an understanding look, putting her arm around your shoulder, as practicing was staring up again.

“Look, I know this is a big game for you, I do, but losing sleep over it and stressing about it isn’t gonna help you. And yelling at your teammates definitely isn’t gonna help.” She smirks. “You’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and you’re gonna show the whole world who you are and why you’re going number one at next year’s draft.”

Smiling at the last statement, knowing your departure was still a sore subject for the midfielder, you lean your head on her shoulder.

“Thanks, Jessie. I really needed that.”

Jessie give you a smile in response. “Now, let’s get back to practice and get ready to kick Stanford’s ass.”

—————

Jessie’s pep talk had awoken something within you. That practice, you went back to your usual self, leading and working together with your teammates and putting the ball in the back of the net. In fact, you felt at the peak of your game, and your team was working like a well-oiled machine. You were feeling good about Saturday’s game.

—————

Despite the incredible practices you and your team had the days before, as you sit on the bus on the way to the stadium, you can’t contain the nerves that consume you. Jessie, knowing the telling signs of your nerves, the bounce of the knee and the long gaze, staring out the window with your music blaring, pulls out her phone to make a call.

Poking your arm, Jessie holds out her phone. Removing one of your headphones, you give her a puzzled look. Instead of an explanation, the midfielder just shakes her phone, waiting for you to take it. You hesitantly grab it, putting it up to your ear.

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N),” You immediately recognize the scolding voice to be that of Mallory Pugh. Your eyes widen, turning to a smirking Jessie Fleming, not believing your friend had basically tattled on you to your other best friend. “You better get out of that head of yours and stop worrying about other people and what they’ll say or think of you. Just concentrate on what you can control, okay? You and the team have worked all season long to get to this point, so just go out there and do what you do best.” Mal continues her pep talk.

Nodding along to your best friend, you gain more and more confidence. “Thanks, Mal.”

“Of course, (Y/N/N). And know that win or lose, you’re still my best friend, and you’re a winner in my eyes.”

You roll your eyes at the cheesiness of her words, even though you secretly love it. “So you’re gonna be watching?” You ask sheepishly.

“OF COURSE!” Mal screams, and you have to pull the phone away from your ear due to the volume. “Do you think I’d miss my best friend win a championship?!”

You tuck your head in embarrassment. “We haven’t won yet.” You mumble, not wanting your best friend to get her hopes up, and more importantly, not wanting to let her down.

“Well, yeah, but I believe in you.” You can practically see Mal smiling through the phone.

“Thanks, Mal. It means a lot.”

“Of course. Look, I gotta run, but I’ll be watching!” You got to end the call, but before you can, you hear Mal’s voice one last time. “Wait! One last thing: don’t get too distracted by Davidson either.”

As Mal hangs up, your cheeks flush, and you hand Jessie’s phone back to her without meeting her eyes, knowing the younger girl had heard the last bit of your conversation.

Although you and Tierna had been rivals, you couldn’t help but developing a crush on the defender. The way she challenged you both on and off the field not only infuriated you, but it also attracted you to her. When you weren’t competing against her, you admired her play and the way she stayed composed no matter the situation. Though the media pitted the two of you against each other, it was hard for you to hate her, as she was probably the kindest person on earth, off the field that is.

“Mal teasing you about your little crush again?” Jessie gives you a cheeky smile.

“I don’t have a crush.” You grumble.

Jessie laughs in disbelief. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

You go to protest, but your friend is already getting up from her seat, as the bus comes to a stop. Jessie turns back to you. “We can talk about this later, but right now we have a game to win.”

You nod in all seriousness, forgetting about your nonexistent crush.

—————

It was about thirty minutes into the first half when Jessie slipped you a through ball, right past the outstretched foot of Tierna. With one touch, you set up your shot just inside the eighteen. To say your shot was an absolute beauty would be an understatement, as it curved around the goalie, perfectly place in the upper right corner.

Throwing your hands up in the air, you feel Jessie crashing into you. Pulling the midfielder into a hug, you have an ear splitting grin across your face. You celebrate with the rest of your teammates with more hugs and high fives. Before making your way back to the center circle, you pass the blonde defender, giving her a smirk and a wink.

“Better luck next time, Davidson.”

Although clearly frustrated, Tierna playfully rolls her eyes at your antics. “You’ll be lucky if there is a next time, (Y/L/N).”

You chuckle under your breath, as you jog away from her, ignoring the the butterflies in your stomach.

The first half came to an end, your lone goal being the only notable action.

As you were heading to the locker room, you could feel a certain blonde staring at you from across the field. The two of you lock eyes, Tierna giving you a small smile. You return a smile, the butterflies returning.

Jessie pulls you out of your daze, wrapping her arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards the locker room.

“C’mon Romeo, we’ve still got another half before you can go suck face with your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” You mumble.

—————

The beginning of the second half was pretty uneventful, until the Stanford freshman, Sophie Smith, broke through your back line. You could only watch, as she slipped a shot past your goalkeeper. Putting your hands on your knees, you hang your head, as the opposing team celebrates.

Jessie comes up behind you, patting your back. “C’mon, cap, there’s still plenty of time left in this game, and it’s only 1-1.” Recollecting yourself, you tap the ball forward, restarting the game.

—————

It was around the seventieth minute when you received a diagonal ball out on the right wing. Dribbling towards the corner, you looked up to the box, noticing Jessie had beaten her defender in the box. You take a long touch, hoping to out run Tierna. Getting to the ball first, you go to send the cross in, not noticing the blonde defender sliding in beneath you.

Despite making contact with the ball, effectively knocking it out of play, Tierna had also clipped your ankle. The tackle caused you to fall to the ground, grabbing your ankle in pain.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to contain your tears but with no success, as the pain is overbearing. You roll over onto your side, trying to distract yourself. Tierna kneels down next to you, wiping your hair from your face.

“(Y/N), you with me?” She gently grabs your hand.

You open your eyes, tears spilling down your face, and see Tierna with a worried look in her eyes.

“Had to injure me to win, Tierna?” You attempt to give her a cheeky grin, but you wince, as your ankle throbs.

She manages a small smile at your playfulness, even in pain. “The medical team is on their way.” Tierna squeezes your hand before getting up and letting your teammates and the trainers check up on you.

The trainers ask you a bunch of questions, and you affirm that you did hear a pop in your ankle. With the help of Jessie and one of the medical staff members, you limp off the field to the applause of the crowd. As you make your way back towards the locker room, you notice Tierna still glancing in your direction. Her eyebrows furrow, silently questioning if you’re okay. Although you were in an immense amount of pain and frustrated you couldn’t continue playing, you smile and throw her a thumbs up, not wanting to make her anymore guilty than she probably already feels.

—————

You laid back, as the trainer evaluated your ankle, moving it in different directions despite your grimaces and protests. Stuck back in the locker room, you were forced to watch the rest of the game on the monitor.

Holding your breath, you watch as Stanford takes a corner kick in the eighty-seventh minute. The ball knocks around in front of the goal, and you’re unable to see who kicks it in, but somehow the ball ends up in the back of the net, putting them ahead 2-1 with only a couple minutes left. You shut your eyes in disappointment, a fresh wave of tears overcoming with you. You barely register the trainer trying to get your attention, until he repeats your name once more.

“(Y/N),” He starts with a sympathetic look. “It looks like you completely tore one of the ligaments in your ankle and partially tore another. We’ll take you to get an MRI tomorrow just to clarify.”

You put your hands in your face, crushed from the disappointment of losing your final college game along with your injury. A knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. Removing your hands, you see Tierna Davidson peeking through the cracked open door.

The trainer gives you the details of your MRI appointment before exiting, leaving you and Tierna alone in the room.

Tierna comes to sit on the edge of treatment table, placing her hand on top of yours.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You sigh. The two of you sit in silence, not really know what to say.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). It was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt you at all. If I had known I would’ve clipped your ankle, I wouldn’t have—“

“Tierna.” You intertwine your fingers, interrupting her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Like you said, it was an accident. It’s part of the game.” You give her a reassuring smile. You laugh half-heartedly, “I’m more disappointed about the loss.”

Tierna doesn’t really know what to say at that, knowing there’s nothing she can say to make you feel better. You and her stay like that, with your hands together, for a couple of minutes, before Tierna once again breaks the silence.

“I have something to tell you.” She whispers. You watch her intently, moving to sit up.

The defender takes a deep breath before continuing. “I like you. I really like you. I have for a while now, and I know we’re always competing against each other, but there’s just something about you. And now that we’re not technically rivals or anything, with both of us going to NWSL, and hopefully the national team, maybe I could take you on a date sometime?”

You remain quiet, still processing the other woman’s confession that turned into a mini rant. Not really knowing what to say, you grab her face and pull her in for a kiss. Your lips melt together, and before you can deepen the kiss, Jessie bursts through the door.

“(Y/N), how are you— OH! Oh my gosh. I am so sorry! I’ll just go. Let me know when I can come in. I’ll just— sorry. Bye.” Jessie interrupts, before realizing what she’d walked in on, stumbling backwards out the door.

You giggle at you friend, resting your forehead against Tierna. She reaches her hand up to brush your baby hairs out of your eyes.

“So, about that date?”

You frown slightly. “Well, I’m a little incapacitated at the moment.” She rubs your noses together and then places a kiss on your cheek.

“That’s okay. I’m fine with anything as long as I’m with you.” Tierna gives you a cheeky smile.

Your heart swells at her corniness. “Me too.” You hum in agreement.

“So no more rivalry?” She asks, almost rhetorically.

You smirk. “Mmmm. I dunno about that. I’m still going number one in the draft.”

Tierna playfully growls at you before pulling you into another kiss. Laughing, you can’t help but feel grateful for the rivalry between you and the defender.

And what’s a good relationship without some healthy competition?

[theunconcernedembalmer]

Toko! I was thinking of creating an ask the character blog for IDV or Genshin Impact and wanted a few tips on how to start off. Anything you can share?

ey yo my dude!! thank you so much for this question, now im lowkey tempted (again) to make a genshin ask blog sjadhlkshgkahshglsaj anyway my 1.5 cents is under the cut, yall know how much i talk here HAHAHAHAH

uhhhhhh so i guess we start with picking a character u really Vibe with tm? I KNOW THIS SOUNDS LIKE COMMON SENSE BUT LIKE ive been considering making a genshin ask blog for a while now but i never really got to it cos i couldnt really decide on a character (plus the fact that their outfits are. so intricate. is also a hmm since i try to follow details to a t) (at first i wanted to do zhongli, but i feel like to be able to muse him well u need to know the lore super super well, which i dont n im too lazy to research on that aha. n u know how much i respect characterizations, especially for such a complex character like him. i also considered xiangling for a period of time mostly for guoba but also like i have 2+1 blogs here n having one more might not be a very good idea aha) (as for aesop he was my Hyperfixation Character tm also cos i looked at his kit n went Yep i could work with this. probably)

so assuming ur not a dumbass like me n u kinda know who u wanna pick, id actually say to snoop around here for other ask blogs n kinda get a feel of the... scene? is that the word? or like u know, other blogs that u can potentially vibe with. ive run a couple of ask blogs before this current one (both that have died for different reasons) n from my experience interacting with other blogs (if theyre okay with it, i think most should be) is pretty fun. it also kinda helps get ur blog around to other ppl on other blogs so they can go Oh whats this cool shit n check u out, n its also a reason why we kinda reblog promo posts for other blogs (also cos we’re always excited when someone new comes on, its really the more the merrier. we see all :eyes:). interacting with other blogs is also an option when ur inbox is looking real roomy too

another reason why i havent exactly done a genshin blog is that idk i cant actually seem to find genshin ask blogs around (i have seen rp blogs, or those that answer asks with mostly text instead of art, but thats. not my thing since i hate my own writing aha) (i did find one aether blog some time ago, but for some reason i hardly see them around anymore??? idk man i might be wrong). its not like im trying super hard to find them ask blogs, so im sure they exist out there (hopefully?? im not sure but im being optimistic). i mean theres nothing wrong with just starting an ask blog without others around, but for me i do find a difference when i interact with other ask blogs n when i dont, n i prefer when theres others to have fun with (unfortunately i couldnt find any ask blogs to interact with in my previous fandom. i tried, but the blogs i approached seemed to go inactive shortly afterwards...) plus u get to meet friends that way too :D (i made a lot of friends via idv askblogs n its really been a joy vibing with others)

as for the idv scene. gestures around me. unfortunately there are a lot of ask blogs that arent that active anymore, but theres still some of us who are alive n kicking empty inboxes, n im sure everyone would love to see a new face around. winks at u. also there seems to be a lot more blogs popping up lately, which is really heartening to see.

then u kinda just. make ur blog? n a starting introduction post so ppl can reblog it n spread the word XD n yay u have a blog i guess??? XD

i gotta say tho. dont expect ur blog to take off immediately (especially for smaller fandoms like idv, tvbh i didnt think my blog would even get half this far when i started cos of how non existent idv tumblr seemed to be) n ur inbox will probably be looking pretty empty a lot of the time (or at least filled with some that u havent quite thought of how to reply to yet aha) (but also like empty inboxes happen pretty often, im sure most of us here have experienced this problem)

in the case of the first ask blog i ever started, it never really took off at all. ngl it was kind of demoralizing n depressing but to be fair i had picked one of the more obscure characters in the series, so obscure that many ppl in the fandom would have never heard of this character before. if u wanted to know, i took a character that only appeared in the 2nd musical of the series, who also made a very brief cameo in the manga to acknowledge his existence within that universe. thats how obscure my character was, but i went with him purely because he was my favourite character. i will say though i did enjoy it while it lasted n i learnt a lot from the experience, n i think thats whats important really.

i guess this kinda leads on (not really but let me digress) to the whole uhhhh thing where if u choose a more popular character, u get more attention. which is fine i guess? if u really vibe with the character, i mean theyre popular for a reason. n choosing a more popular fandom (like genshin) would objectively also get u more viewers n numbers. but like honestly i believe that ask blogs are meant for u to have fun with, n like trying to get popular gets tiring pretty fast (this shouldnt be like a main goal, but u know sometimes u subconsciously also want that gucci follower count n bomb ass notes or something. i used to be guilty of this until i realized it isnt worth it) especially if ur not enjoying yourself in the process. (case in point: my previous fandom was considerably larger n my blog got about 700 followers within a year or so, but it got very tiring n stressful to maintain after my interest in it died, n no one was really interacting with the blog even though i tried which kinda made it even more depressing despite the so called success n popularity of the blog)

anyway on a less serious note, theres a lot of fun stuff u can do with the ask blog, like some ask blogs have really fancy tags that i really like n try to do but also like not really HAHAHAHA. i kinda just channel what i want to see in an ask blog into my own ask blogs (good art is one, i try very hard for it to be good :,DD another is characterization, n others is just extra miscellaneous arts n stuffs like au ideas or memes. these are also somethings u could work on during ask box downtimes perhaps)

uhhh another side thing is like a posting schedule i guess? like ppl would be more likely to interact (i think) if ur blog is relatively active, n this is usually determined by the last post u made (i think XD). but like generally for blog maintenence id say try to kinda find a frequency that ur comfortable with?? cos i know my once a day posting is kinda insane if i wasnt so hyperfixated on all of this n fight the urge to dump all ur replies when u finish them XD (though ive seen some blogs do that n they do it pretty frequently so its pretty nice to know once u see their post u can spend some time going through the latest batch of posts XD) the queue function is pretty useful here even though i truthfully have never really used it, i kinda just post from my drafts really but it also helps to space out ur content to seem somewhat active especially when u dont have the time to be working on replies sometimes. i hope u know what im trying to say here aha

ANYWAY that was like my 1.5 cents cos i dont even think its worth 2 cents HAHAHAHAH these are just my thoughts from running all my blogs up till now, some that are still running n the others that have just died a natural death. i wouldnt actually delete them (theyre still around actually XD) cos theyre kinda like archives n i can look back at what i did last time. cos ngl i made some high quality stuff back then, n i dont even know how i managed to do that aldhflhdsgk. also ppl do look at archive blogs every now n then for the content thats there yknow

BUT YES anyway if u do decide to join the idv ask blogs hmu, ill be sure to give u a lil shoutout here. winks

[deadwriter16]

👀

hi! this is from the old draft of my high school au, im fully scrapping and rewriting it now but i thought this scene was funny and i didn’t wanna give bkg angst cuz im not in an angst mood right now, so we get comedy instead :)

—————

“Yolo,” Shouto deadpans. The delivery is so great, Izuku snorts a bit.

“We’ve been teaching Shouto more about modern slang,” Ochako explains, seeing Izuku laughing, “he grew up kinda sheltered. We’re helping him out.”

“Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss,” Shouto says, completely unpromoted.

“Also known as Ochako Uraraka,” Kacchan butts in. Ochako kicks him in the stomach, and Kacchan wrangles her shoes off and throws them at her. She shields her face, giggling, and Kacchan turns to Izuku, hand out and expectant, a mirth Izuku’s never seen in his eyes. “Gimme your shoes. I gotta throw them at ‘Chako.”

She has a nickname, too?

Forcing down his jealousy, Izuku smirks at Kacchan. “Sorry, Kacchan, but I think two shoes to the face is enough payback. Right, Ochako?”

“Oh, definitely,” Ochako grins, “see, Kat? Your friend agrees with me! I like him better than you. I think he’s going to be my best friend now.”

“Fine,” Kacchan spits, “I happen to have two best friends. So fuck you.”

“I’m best friend number two,” Denki says as fast as he can, “it's not Mina, and it’s not Shouto. It’s me. I am Bakubro’s number two best friend.”

“I’m number one, in case that wasn’t obvious,” Eijirou states proudly.

“I should be number two,” Mina pouts, “I’m Bakubabe’s bestie!”

“Nah, I think it should be me,” Kyoka puts in, “since I’m the least annoying.”

“Hey!” Denki yells, “I resent that! I may be annoying, but I’m amazing!”

“Yeah, a real joy to be around,” Hanta butts in.

“I believe I should be the number one best friend,” Shouto inputs.

“Are you kidding me?” Eijirou yells, and then the six of Kacchan’s closest friends devolve into a very loud argument.

—————

ask game: https://deadwriter16.tumblr.com/post/671852397272956928/end-of-year-wip-meme

[writingjoycebyers]

Twice in her life — or: the last days he saw her smile

(Joyce Byers x Jim Hopper - observations of a friendship — a one shot)

warnings: a bit angsty, mentions sex (not explicit)

Reblogs, comments and feedback make me really happy. Let me know if you like it or what else you'd like to read. No one asked for this. My brain just came up with it. ✨❤️👀 There's a little bonus at the end and I gotta say it's a little off canon maybe. Have fun✨❤️

Enjoy the read...

Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life.

One might think it's a story about Lonnie. But no, it's most definetely not. Lonnie doesn't count. Lonnie is a side character. She left Lonnie, kicked him out all by herself after all those years that would have been wasted if they hadn't been for her boys. Her boys were her gift, and the only thing she'd ever thank Lonnie for, to some degree. He helped create them, but she had been the one to form them. She was the one she should thank for, really.

No, Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life, and it had been much more subtle events than her large fights with Lonnie, making her the main topic of the gossip all those midaged ladies were spreading at the grocery store, the doctor's office, the elementary school. You heard it? someone called the police to Joyce Byers house.

Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life, and nobody had really noticed, but her.

The first time, she had just turned nineteen. It was a rather warm day in September, and life in Hawkins couldn't be easier. High-school was done, the heat of the summer was still lingering in the air, and her dark hair was still damp from swimming in the lake as she rode around Hawkins with her best friend, Jim Hopper. Or... Was he her best friend still? She sometimes couldn't tell, couldn't put a label on it, when he was kissing her senseless in the back of his dad's old truck, parked in the dark at Lover's Lake, parked in the shade of a large oak tree — so that although it was the middle of the night, and no one would come there anyways, they'd have a bit of privacy, a roof of leaves covering their clumsy attempt on passing first base. Friends didn't do that, right?

They rode along the streets of Hawkins, and Joyce had her legs propped up on the dashboard of his car, puffing away on one of Hop‘s cigarettes. They tasted awful, but she did not mind as long as it were his. She felt connected to him through that cig. Tonight was the night. Tonight, she‘d tell him - tell him that she wanted to be more than friends, more than friends who make out occasionally. She wanted to finally look into his eyes and work up the courage to say Jim, I like you a little more than expected.

She looked at him from the side, his hands holding the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road as day turned into night with a wonderfully orange sky. Tonight was the night she‘d say it. Jim, you make my fucking heart race.

Jim looked beautiful to her, peaceful and innocent, like he didn‘t know that outside Hawkins there was a whole world — both good and bad — that was waiting for them and looming like a dark shadow at the same time. For him, this dark shadow could mean draft cards, his ticket off to fight a war he himself hadn‘t started, a conflict neither him nor Joyce would ever support or understand. She knew it could be his duty to leave one day, but she could still breathe every day his number didn‘t come up. As long as Hopper didn‘t have to take the trip, she wouldn‘t have to take hers either: Her trip down the road of loneliness, facing the fact that she couldn‘t afford college, being left behind with the mess she had to call her parents. She knew he wasn‘t all that innocent though, stealing booze from his dad‘s wine cellar, sharing the bottle with her shamelessly on a friday night. She knew he wasn‘t all that innocent when he pressed his body into hers, parked under that old oak tree, and she could feel his need and want press against her while he silently accepted her wish to explore second base, but not enter the third one just yet. He kissed her, and told her that it didn‘t matter how far he had gone with other girls - that all that mattered was her needs. That specific night under the oak tree though, Joyce had realised that the tingling feeling in her belly was growing more and more, and that she wouldn‘t be able to hold back for much longer. I‘ve never done it, Jim. Her whispers had been low and husky, and he had caressed her cheek as she had thought of the moment she had once caught him and Chrissy Carpenter in the back of the blonde cheerleader's car. I know, Joycie, don‘t worry about that, one day we‘ll take it slow, just give me a sign. Tonight would be the night she‘d give him said sign, she thought, as he took a turn into the road she lived on.

He pulled up into her driveway, slowing down to park in front of her house. Tonight was the night.Tonight he‘d tell her - tell her that she meant the world to him, but that he‘d have to go, and that he‘d understand if she didn‘t wait. Tell her that he‘d try to write, no matter what. Joyce, I should have told you sooner. He had kept it to himself for weeks, had just not found the words to break the news to her. The letter had been in his mailbox one rainy Monday afternoon, telling him to fight a war he neither could nor wanted to understand. A war that would send him to hell and leave Joyce in the small little bubble of a heaven that was Hawkins, Indiana. He was a coward, he couldn‘t tell her, not when they were riding in his car, or munching on a burger at the diner, not whilst smoking on her windowsill and especially not whilst kissing her in the dark, parked in the shadow of the old oak tree. He just couldn‘t, but tonight was the night. Joycie, I gotta go to Vietnam. My train leaves tomorrow.

Jim pulled the keys, and she looked at him. It was a ritual already: They’d spend their day at the lake, he‘d drive her home long after dark and as her parents were barely ever home anyways, he‘d follow her up to her room under the roof and they‘d sit by the window, smoking and kissing and exchanging little secrets. Jim loved Joyce, and Joyce loved Jim. They both knew it, they just never said a word.

The two friends, him, tall and blonde and her, small and brunette, took their usual spot by her large window. He was just about to light the last smoke from his pack, when Joyce reached for the cigarette, her hand grazing his as she took it, putting it aside. She kissed Jim with such force than that he nearly lost track of time and place. Was this still Hawkins, Indiana?

They kissed, and kissed ... and kissed some more, before she finally pulled away, taking his large hand into her small one. Their fingers were intertwined, her thumb drawing small circles to the side of his hand. Dark doe eyes met blue ones, and she breathed in once more before saying it: “Jim, I think... you‘re my best friend. But I also think... I‘m in love with you.“

Her words came out all in one breath, more a sighed whisper than a real sentence, but she had said them. Her pulse was pounding as she waited for him to respond. She had practiced the worst case already: That‘s okay, Jim, you do not have to love me back. I just hope we can stay friends?

But then his hand found her cheek and he pulled her closer, whispering an I love you, Joycie, right onto her lips as he found hers, grazing them softly. It felt like a gentle hello to Joyce, like this was the start of something new, although she had kissed him a hundred times before. She couldn‘t know it was a goodbye. Quickly, their kisses became more passionate, hungry and loving. Does he love me, she wants to know, how can she know if he loves her so?

That night, Jim Hopper made love to Joyce Horowitz — sweet, gentle and slow love. He touched her in a way he had never touched anyone before, softer, more tender - out of love and out guilt, his conscience forcing him to treat her even better, to worship her body to balance out the fact that he couldn‘t be true to her. His feelings for her were so strong that they held him back from breaking her heart - although it would in the end have to be broken, if he wanted that or not.

They shared that last cigarette afterwards, the one that had been waiting on the window sill. They‘d not share another one until almost twenty years later.

That night, Joyce Horowitz made love to Jim Hopper — sweet, gentle and slow love. She touched him in a way she had never touched anyone before, soft, tender and a bit shy as she explored his body and her own, further discovering the hot, tingling feeling in her lower belly as their clothes sprawled out on the floor and their bodies intertwined under her comforter. It‘s in his kiss.

Joyce fell asleep in Jim‘s arms, breathing softly as she felt safe and secure of the fact that he loved her too, that they were more than friends and that this was just the start.

Jim watched Joyce fall asleep in his arms, pulling her as close as he could once more. He wanted to remember this moment forever, capture every little detail for the nights to come in which he‘d sleep somewhere in the jungle of the war, with so many miles separating him from the girl he loved. He studied her face in the dim light of her room before falling asleep for a few hours himself.

When Joyce woke up the next morning, she already began to smile with her eyes still closed. It was a rainy Monday morning, she could hear the raindrops fall against her window in a steady rythm - It was soothing and she was ready to cuddle up again. She turned around, reaching for Jim, only to find the bed empty. She sat up, confused and still half asleep, stumbling across a note.

- Joy, I should have told you sooner. I won‘t forget our summer. My train leaves today, I‘m gone into training for Nam. Please don‘t come looking for me at the station. I’ll be gone already. I‘ll write. Jim. -

Joyce Horowitz had been left for the first time in her life, broken and flustered, unable to move or cry for hours and hours. She sat in bed, the note in her hands, and she cursed Jim, the world, the war and love - and even herself for falling for him. She didn‘t believe there was a feeling on earth that could be more horrible. Joyce Horowitz had been left for the first time in her life, and she had no clue there would be a second one.

......... 20 years later.........

Joyce looked at Jim one more time as he stood next to the machine, tears in their eyes, both his and hers.

I love you.

I love you.

Leaning to the side, she reached for the keys once more. She stopped breathing as she turned them, held her breath as lights blended her vision, time stopping around her and then... he was gone.

Joyce Byers had been left twice in her life.

_____________________________________

Thanks for reading everyone. I appreciate every kind of constructive feedback. Feel free to send asks or messages if you wanna talk about this little piece here, or if you have any other Joyce asks or prompts!

Bonus: a little mood board I made

Sources: there's a reference to the shoop shoop song. Pics are all from pinterest if anyone Needs the sources. I don't own anything related to ST or Winona Ryder. Credit goes to the respective owners and creates, I just wrote this little fic for fun.

[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part One) - Tyson Jost

gif by @pavszacha​

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Word Count: 3.5k

series playlist

January 2017 – University of North Dakota

It was your senior year at NoDak, and you couldn’t believe that you had somehow made it through nearly four years of school already. You of course had the help from your roommates who doubled as your best friends, and the hockey team to keep you sane from everything that comes with being a student studying purchasing management. If you were told freshman year you would be buddy-buddy with any D1 sports team, you would’ve laughed.

That’s kind of how you ended up where you were today: a student-athlete tutor. You were a marketing major, loving it so much and needing some extra money, you had decided to tutor the first level econ and marketing classes when you were a second-semester sophomore.

You were in the middle of tutoring a few of the guys that were all enrolled in Intro to Economics when a guy you had never seen came barreling in the room.

“Hey, Boes, do you know when the bus leaves tomorrow? I didn’t write it down and no one sent it in the group chat.” The curly headed brunette spoke. You figured he was on the team with what he said combined with the green UND hockey shirt he wore.

“Uhh 10:30, and don’t be late you saw what happened to Cam last week.” The blonde in front of you chirped. The brunette scoffed as he rolled his eyes, exiting the room just as quickly as he entered.

“Who was that?” you ask the guys surrounding you, bringing your Yeti to your lips for a sip of water.

“Why, you think he’s cute?” Brock smirked, causing both Tucker and Andrew to laugh. He was one of the guys you had been tutoring since freshman year, so you had a closer bond to him then some of the other guys on the team.

His chirp had you choking on the last bit of water in your mouth, “What! I can’t just ask who a guy I’ve never seen before is?”

“Name’s Tyson, he’s a freshman from Canada.” You nodded, noticing the slight accent he had when he spoke earlier. “I think he’s only here for the year though, he was a top 10 pick in the  draft.”

At that, the boys all went back to taking their notes and working on their case studies as the new boy’s face stuck in your mind for a few more minutes.

“By the way, are you coming to our next home game? It’s next Friday.” Tucker said as he put his laptop into his backpack. “I’ll even let you wear my alternate jersey.”

You laughed at this, the boys always making jokes on who’s jersey you got to wear whenever you went to games. “Only if you finish your econ stuff before then.” He agrees, and you and the boys all make your way out of the common room.

-

A knock on your front door startles you as you eat your sandwich, and before you can get up to go see who it is, Tucker is walking into your apartment, green sweater in hand.

“Okay, so I might not have washed my jerseys still, so here’s a different one.” He admits, tossing the sweater in your general direction. You unfold the jersey seeing the number 17 stitched onto the sleeves and the name Jost on the back.

“Tuck, I literally have no idea who’s jersey this is?”

“Oh! It’s Josty’s, the freshman. We’re also playing a prank on all the new guys tonight so we stole all of their green jerseys so they think they're missing.” The brunette in front of you laughs to himself. You agree to wear it, only because you don’t really have anything else to wear and you’d thought entertaining this so-called prank would do no harm.

It’s a few hours later and the mystery-man’s jersey looks like it was made to fit you with how it drapes over your shoulders. You’re sitting with two of your roommates that you had to drag along as well as one of their boyfriend’s. One of the many perks about going to a school like North Dakota was that there was one sport everyone bonded over: ice hockey.

Warmups had just started and you finally spot #17 on the ice and that’s when it hits you. Jost. Tyson Jost. Number 17. The freshman, the guy that you had met for the first time just a few days prior. The guy that you thought was kind of cute. No scratch that, not kind of, but definitely cute.

“Dude, Allison,” You nudge your roommates shoulder. “I don’t think the team is playing a prank on the freshies, I think Tuck is playing a prank on me.”

Allison quirks her eyebrows in confusion, urging you to keep talking. “If they were gonna steal their jerseys why would they hand them out to people and not just hide them?” You groan, and Allison doesn’t think too much of it, not knowing the ins and outs of the team like you do.

The game ends with a win, the arena shaking with excitement. You knew the boys would be excited with the win, especially coming after a tough loss earlier in the week.

You and your friends make your way back home and you text the group chat you’re in with the guys you tutor letting them know they played great.

Dumb Jocks + 1 Y/N: great game guys 🤩 *Brock loved the message* Andrew: thanks y/n! Andrew: also party at the house 10pm Y/N: might drag the roomies and make an appearance. and tuck, im ripping you a new one when i see you Tucky: just for that i decided its going to be a jersey party 😈 *Brock laughed at the message*

It’s two hours later when you walk through the front door of the NoDak hockey house. You were probably one of the handful of people there that actually spend time there both sober and when the sun is shining. This gives you much more confidence navigating your way through to the back of the living room, finding the small group of guys you actually know on the team.

The group consisting of Tucker, Andrew, Brock, and Johnny, cheers as you approach them. You walk straight up to Tucker, giving him a hard clap on the shoulder to say hi to him. “Hey, Tucky, you gotta real nice jersey on you there.” You chirp, gesturing to his Drew Doughty jersey. “It’s almost like you play hockey or something.”

Tucker shakes your hand that’s still resting on his shoulder off and points it back towards you. “I think the real story here, bud, is the jersey you’re rocking tonight.” You hadn’t bothered changing out of the green sweater between the game and now, opting to show school spirit. Besides, how often did you get to wear a player’s jersey, right?

You roll your eyes as the other boys look to see the commotion between you and Tucker. The boys snicker at the sight of you two upon seeing the green #17 sweater still adorning your body.

“Tucky, I didn’t know you actually got her to wear it!” Brock emphasized, going into to dap up his teammate. Your head snapped towards the blonde, shooting him, as well as the other boys all a glare.

“Anyways, I’m here to get drunk and win some flip cup, not be patronized by a bunch of dumb jocks.” You joke, looking over your shoulder to see where your other friends went. You say your goodbyes, letting them know you’ll see them around throughout the night.

You’re standing near the staircase with your friends, about halfway done with your third drink when the freshman brunette walks up to your group.

“So that’s where my alternate jersey went, eh?”

You scoffed into your cup, your friends laughing at the confrontation. “Yeah, I guess so.”

An awkward silence falls over your small group, the unintended snarkiness of your tone being felt by everyone. Your few friends leave the two of you, mentioning that they needed refills.

“Sorry about the jersey. I can wash it tomorrow and bring it the next time I tutor the guys.”

Tyson leans against the wall across from you, “It’s no problem. I don’t think we wear them again until next month anyways.”

Silence falls between the two of you again, the one common denominator between the two of you being the jersey hanging over your shoulders.

“So, uh, what do you tutor the guys in?” Tyson pipes up, hiding his expression behind the Bud Light in his hand, bringing it to his lips for a swig.

“Mainly econ, but I help some of the guys in specific classes depending on their major. Like, Johnny and Tucker, for example. They’re both in finance and econ, and I’ve taken a lot of those classes.”

“You’re an econ major then?”

“Oh, no,” you laugh. “My minor is econ, but I’m a marketing major. What about you? Have you decided on a major yet?”

The question pulls a laugh out of Tyson, confusing you. “Yeah, I’m pre-athletic training, but I don’t see myself finishing that out.”

You swallow the rest of your drink and decide to chirp him a bit, “What? Too big of some hockey hot-shot to get a degree?”

That comment elicits another laugh from the Canadian in front of you, and that’s when you decide you could definitely get used to hearing that sound.

He gets ready to answer when Tucker yells at the both of you from the kitchen, “Josty! y/n! We’re about to start flip cup, let’s go!”

Tyson chugs the rest of his beer before setting it on a nearby table and grabbing another one from the case in the fridge. He takes a spot across from you on the other side of the table as you guys jump into the game.

As the games continue, your level of sobriety starts to deteriorate and a light dizziness falls over your body. The current game of flip cup being played is elimination style and your team had lost, the other team electing to have you kicked off your team.

You move to the side, leaning against the kitchen counter to continue watching the game unfold in front of you. You pulled out your phone, trying to figure out where some of your group had disappeared to, seeing that one of them had already left to go hookup with one of her usual hookups.

You start to type back to her, letting her know that you’ll text her when you’re home when you feel a presence next to you. Turning your head to the side you see Tyson reappearing next to you.

He notices the mix of drunkness and tiredness on your face, asking if you were all good. You nod your head, going to scratch the discomfort you feel at the back of your left elbow. “I think I’m getting ready to go home soon, just trying to make sure my friends and I all leave at the same time.”

Tyson nods, tight-lipped, and offers to help you find them. As you walk around the house gathering your friends, the discomfort on your elbow only grows.

April 2017 – University of North Dakota

You’re standing in your apartment, waiting around on Tucker and Brock to come pick you up before the banquet, staring yourself down in the mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. You get dressed up often, but never quite this dressed up and your nerves are getting the best of you. You don’t think anything can prepare yourself for the dinner you’re about to go to: the North Dakota men’s hockey senior banquet.

As you put your earrings in, you hear a knock on the front door and the boys shouting that they were here. You yell back that you were coming, heading to the kitchen to grab your flask and purse.

“You excited for your first hockey banquet?” Tucker yelled into the kitchen. You had known him for the past two years, regularly tutoring him, and over the course of those years he had somehow become one of your best friends.

Walking out into the living room, where the two boys were sitting, you let them know that you were excited and ready to go.

“Damn, y/n, didn’t know you were such a rocket.” Brock whistles. You roll your eyes at them, but specifically him, and gesture towards the door.

You sit with Tucker and some of the other guys you know from tutoring, and get through dinner barely speaking a word due to all of the speeches being made. The dinner was good, it was a nice break from your cooking and the fast-food you were used to eating on a regular basis.

You got more involved in the conversations as the seniors got to make speeches, asking Tucker what some of the inside jokes and chirps were all about. Lots of laughter and snuck-in alcohol later, the boys and their dates were ready for their bar crawl.

Your large group walks into to the first bar, the boys going straight up to the bar to get drinks as no-one really pregamed. The group ends up all back together for the first bit, taking over one of the front corners of the balcony that overlooks the rest of the bar. You guys were clearly over dressed for the dive bar located right off of campus with all the guys in suits and ties and the girls in dresses and heels, whereas everyone else was dressed for the cold April weather.

Tucker finally makes his way back to you, two drinks in his hand, as he hands one over to you. You thank him loudly and quickly jump into conversation.

“You sad I’m leaving you guys soon?” You yell, with a wide smile on your face. Tucker, Andrew, Brock and Johnny all laugh at you. You were the oldest of the group, as everyone else was either a junior or younger.

“I’ll be sad not being here, but I won’t be sad that I’m finally done with school.” Brock admits, to which he earns a few eye rolls from the other guys. Both Andrew and Johnny weren’t really on a clear cut path to the NHL, instead just playing for the fun of it at this level.

The conversations start to slow down in the group as the music gets louder and more drinks are consumed. Tucker and Brock get pulled away by some of the other guys for a little bit, leaving you alone with some of the girls as well as Andrew and Johnny.

You’re in the middle of a story being told when you hear Brock and Tucker’s booming laughter not too far away from you. When you turn to look at them, they’re standing with Tyson, who looks as if he’s speaking into both of their ears so they can hear him properly. Tucker is grasping his chest as he spots you looking at him, causing him to only laugh harder.

A light flush falls on your cheeks, confused as to why the sight of you makes him laugh more. You put your straw in your mouth, biting down on it as a nervous habit, and look down at your dress making sure nothing was spilled on you.

When you look up again, Tucker is no longer where he was standing and his voice startles you as he appears next to you. “You will never believe what just happened,” he starts, a hint of laughter still laced in his tone. “Tyson just asked me if we were together.”

The accusation makes you laugh, too, the both of you starting to lose your breath at the crazy thought. The both of you had become such good friends over the past 18 months that he was more like a brother than anything else.

The laughter dies down, and a realization hits you. “Why the fuck did he want to know if we’re dating?”

“I think the kid thinks you’re cute.” Tucker smirks, raising his eyebrows before downing the rest of his drink.

Your face flushes again, and as you finally go to respond to the statement you see the culprit of the previous conversation heading your way. Turning to your friend for an escape, you see that he has made himself seemingly disappear into the crowd. By the time you spot the tall brunette he’s out on the dancefloor talking to some girl.

You turn back around, trying to find someone new to start a conversation with when there’s a tap on your shoulder. Looking over your shoulder, you see that Tyson finally made his way over to you.

In light of the new information Tucker has given you, you sheepishly greet the freshman in front of you. His just as shy response gives you a little boost of confidence and you decide to mess with him a little. “Aren’t you a little too young to get into American bars?”

“Perks of my status, I guess.” He shrugs with a hint of cockiness in his tone, a new found confidence showing on his face.

“Oh, the big-shot Canadian hockey player status?”

He laughs pointedly “that’s the one.”

You were trying to figure out how to articulate your words about what he was laughing about with Tucker earlier in the night, when a wet substance pours down your back. Your jaw drops open, shoulders shrugging in both shock and discomfort. The back of your light blue dress is completely and noticeably soaking wet.

Tyson watches everything unfold in front of him. He watches your bright eyes and smiling cheeks do a complete 180 into a scowl. You whip around to whoever spilled their drink on you, ready to give them a piece of your mind. As you open your mouth, getting ready to tell the guy off that he hadn't noticed what he had just done, a large hand wraps around your stomach pulling you back.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal. He’s probably plastered and didn’t mean to spill.” Tyson assures lowly into your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand straight up. The hand not holding your drink goes to hold where Tyson’s hand is placed on your stomach, using his warmth to bring you back down to earth.

You take a deep breath and try to swallow your embarrassment before turning back towards him. You rest wrap your hands around his biceps as he continues to rest his free hand on the small of your back. Looking back up at him only makes you feel embarrassed again, realizing he’s touching the gross substance that was dumped all over you.

“I want to leave.” You let out in a whisper.

“You sure? We can find the other guys and stay if you want and try to have a good rest of the night. I don’t think anyone will care.” Tyson says, caution laced in his soft tone.

Shutting your eyes and tightening your grip on him, you continue, “I care and I just want to go home and shower.” You turn out of his grip for a moment to try and spot either Tucker or Brock in the crowd. You find them rather quickly, both with girls, causing you to sign heavily. “I’m going to call an Uber.”

You start to walk away towards the door but Tyson catches up to you quickly. Grabbing your hand he pulls you back into him slightly. “I had two beers, y/n, I can drive you back.”

You nod your head and thank him for the offer, leading him out of the bar and towards the parking lot. You follow him to his car and as you get to your door, he opens it for you. You thank him and he runs over to the driver’s side, jumps into the driver’s seat, starts the car, and turns the radio down.

His car finally pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex, and you lift your head from the car window to turn to him. “Thank you for driving me, I really appreciate it. Sorry you had to miss out on the senior bar crawl for this.”

“It’s no problem, at all. I would’ve wanted to leave under those circumstances, too.” He admits. You give him an awkward tight lipped smile to say goodbye as you hop out of the car. As you open your front door you turn back to wave at him, yelling another thank you.

When you’re in the shower a little while later, you can’t seem to shake the comfort you felt when he pulled you away from the guy that had spilled his drink on you. Smiling to yourself, you turn the water off, dry off and put lotion on your elbows noticing how dry and itchy they both were towards the end of the night.

[chilling-seavey]

Heartbreak Hotel (d.s.) - Chapter One

A/N Hey there, ladies and gents! It’s time to be swept away into an alternate universe where 1950s LA is the place to be. This is my first ever soulmate au and it took a lot of planning to make everything fit just right so I hope you all enjoy! 

Summary: It’s 1958 and summer has just begun, sending the teenagers of Los Angeles into warm weather freedoms and part time jobs. Eighteen-year-old Daniel finds himself spending his days trying to find his soulmate and he refuses to give up until he has her.

Los Angeles in 1958 was a thriving city of luxury and fame; housing many of the greats and certainly more to come in upscale Beverly Hills mansions with top dollar views. They lived in their own worlds in the coastal city; unbothered by the working class with 9-5 jobs and single-family bungalows in the suburbs. To the everyday person, life in Los Angeles was more than nice with the beach on one side, the mountains on the other, and enough cultural entertainment to hardly ever be bored. People were happy you could argue and, in a sense that was true. Happy that they were able to settle down in that warm American Dream with the one they were destined to be with. Their soulmate.

This wasn’t a world full of lonesome heartbreak – unless one would choose to live that way – as everyone was assigned someone that they were meant to be with. By their eighteenth birthday, strange habits started to arise where you could taste whatever your soulmate was eating at any given time. It started faintly the day of your eighteenth birthday, as just a light sensation on your tongue, sort of like what it feels like to have a craving for a specific type of food. As weeks progressed it became more pronounced until after a month or so you could taste nearly exactly what they were eating as if you were eating it yourself.

It was something to get used to at first, but it was reality, and everyone went about their day to day lives with this invisible connection to the one they were destined to be with. Some people never found their soulmate – after all, the world had a population of almost three billion, so the odds weren’t always on your side – but eighteen-year-old Daniel refused to let that be his fate.

The second the clock hit midnight on April 2nd, 1958, Daniel shut his eyes really tightly in his bed and swirled his tongue around his mouth to try and taste something. You see, he was in love with the idea of love for as long as he could remember, and he had been counting down the days until he turned eighteen since he was old enough to know what numbers were. His parents had that perfect love story; high school sweethearts in 1935 where his father knew she was the one from the first week he turned eighteen, married and expecting their first child by 1936 and had three boys with a baby girl on the way before his father was drafted into the war in 1942. His father returned home in 1945 just as in love with his mother than ever before and the rest was history. Daniel wanted a story just like his parents; one where it all just fell into place.

The two-and-a-half months from the day Daniel turned eighteen to his high school graduation gave him absolutely no clue as to who his soulmate was. He tried scrounging the cafeteria at lunch time to see if any of the girls were eating that turkey sandwich he could taste or drinking that cold bottle of Coca-Cola, but he was met with no luck again and again. His soulmate seemed to eat something different everyday for each meal, but he soon came to realize that the only consistent thing was strawberry milkshakes. Usually around the time Daniel got off the school bus at home he’d lick his lips with the sweet flavour of strawberry and whipped cream that was rolling its way along his tongue.

He was just glad it wasn’t chocolate. He hated chocolate.

On the first real day of summer vacation, after graduation and their final high school dance, Daniel was staring out his bedroom window towards the street, impatiently waiting to see his older brother’s shiny red Thunderbird turning onto their street. Sure enough, he got a glimpse of the shiny red sports car in the distance and with an excited gasp, Daniel took off for the stairs.

“Christian’s home!” he shouted through the house, hopping the last three stairs and whipped open the front door just as the car pulled into the driveway.

He jumped off the porch as his parents came out of the house behind him and Daniel rushed to set his hands on the pretty red hood of the car that was still warm from the long drive from upstate.

The tired nineteen-year-old stepped out from the driver’s side and pulled off his sunglasses to offer a dimpled smile to his family, “Hey, you guys. What’s shaking?”

“Christian! How was college?” Daniel asked with a grin.

“Just swell, little brother. Why don’t you come help me bring my things upstairs? I have something for you.”

Daniel absolutely idolized his older brother, so he didn’t need to be asked twice to carry his things. As Christian headed for the porch to greet his mother with a kiss to her cheek and his father with a handshake, Daniel opened the trunk of the car to unload the bags. Out of the four Seavey children, Christian and Daniel were closest in age; Christian was only four months old when their parents fell pregnant with Daniel; leaving the two boys at only thirteen months apart. This made them very close and they shared a bedroom up until their oldest brother Tyler moved out for college a few years before. It was safe to say that when Christian was next to leave for school, Daniel had a hard time adjusting to life in the house without him.

But he was finally back, dressed in his usual slicked back dark brown hair and finished with a leather jacket. Leather was never usually Christian’s choice and Daniel let his eyes linger on the back of his brother’s jacket as he helped him carry his things upstairs to his room.

Christian stopped in the doorway to the left at the top of the stairs, poking his head into the light pink painted room, “Hey, ankle biter, I’m back. Did ya miss me?”

Their younger sister, Anna - a moody force to be reckoned with at fifteen - glanced up from her magazine she was reading on her bed, her record player playing quietly from on top of her dresser, “Didn’t even notice you were gone.”

“Did you get that Elvis guy to marry you yet?”

“Oh, shut up, Chris.” Anna blushed, throwing one of her stuffed animals at him before getting up to slam the door in his face.

Christian glanced back at Daniel with a small smile before heading into the room adjacent to toss his bag on his bed. Daniel set his suitcase by his closet and leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“What’s with the new getup?” Daniel finally asked.

“Oh, this old thing?” Christian grinned, pulling at the hem of his leather jacket. “A buddy in the dorms threw this little bash back in the fall and there were all these swell guys there talking about this new fashion tread. Said it was what everyone’s doing now. I think it looks pretty good, don’t you?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Christian scoffed. “Well something’s coming to you of this whole business too.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. The guys got me a job at the car shop upstate for the year, I made a bit of dough, fixed up some wheels, and I’m even transferred to another shop down here for the summer. But with the big bucks I made since the fall I can afford a new car.”

“That’s great, Chris.” Daniel said slowly, unsure of where his brother was going with that.

“So I want you to have my T-Bird.” Christian tossed over the keys.

Daniel tried to grab them in his shock but fumbled them and they fell to the carpet. He bent down quickly to pick them up, “Are you pulling my leg?”

“Nope. Car’s all yours. That or I’ll resell it but I know you’ve had your eye on it since I first got it.”

“Yeah! Oh, boy! Thank you!” Daniel grinned.

“Only thing I ask is that you tell me how your birthday went.” Christian smirked, flopping back onto his bed. He leaned back against the headboard with his hands tucked behind his head and his shoes resting up on his bag.

Daniel bit back a small smile, sitting gently at the end of his older brother’s bed, the car keys still in hand, “It was nice. Mom made me a cake. Vanilla, of course. And I had a few friends over to watch a movie on tv and we ordered a pizza.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Christian kicked him with the toe of his shoe lightly.

Daniel’s whole family knew about how excited he was to turn eighteen, solely for the purpose of finally being able to find his soulmate. The younger brother blushed lightly through a smile.

“I haven’t found her yet. But she likes strawberry milkshakes.”

“Strawberry? Well, thank God it’s not chocolate or you’d be miserable.” Christian chuckled. “Think she goes to your school?”

“I dunno. High school’s over anyway. But I want to try and find her this summer. She’s gotta be in the city, right?”

“It’s a big city, little bro.” Christian said.

“You’ll help me, right?”

“I gotta work.” Christian shrugged. “Besides, I gave up on that junk.”

“That junk? Finding your soulmate?” Daniel frowned over at him. He thought back to the late-night talks in their shared bedroom when they were nine and ten, sitting up facing each other on their adjacent twin size beds, talking about what it would be like to grow up and find their soulmates.

Christian hummed, sliding his tongue over his lips and in his mouth, an obvious unaware habit that meant his soulmate was eating something right then. Daniel wondered what he could taste.

Christian clicked his tongue and sat up with a deep inhale as if to pull himself out of his own thoughts, “Yeah, no use stressing yourself over it. Plenty of swell birds around to find, right?”

“I guess.” Daniel mumbled.

“I gotta unpack my things. Why don’t you take the car for a spin before dinner?” Christian suggested, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

“Sure.” Daniel stood up, glancing down at the keys in his hand. “Thanks again.”

Christian only sent him a dimpled grin and Daniel left his brother’s room without another word. He walked down the stairs and to the front door, calling over his shoulder to his parents that he would be back in a little bit before heading for the driveway. Daniel hopped over the door of the convertible and settled into the red leather seats with his hands falling gently against the steering wheel. He let a small smile come to his lips as the engine roared to life and the familiar taste of strawberry milkshakes grazed his tongue.

[sheerbeautyreigns]

DESIRE

Part 45

Joe was glad to be home for the weekend. His sister and mother came to visit and he felt a bit more at ease compared to how he’d left Paul at the hotel. He hated that he’d have to work with Colby. Vince always loved to use real life scenarios and somehow make a storyline out of them. Joe loved his job and the WWE but sometimes, honestly he just would feel like he’d have enough.

He didn’t want things to be awkward when he got to the arena tomorrow and contemplated calling Colby to make amends. Anytime he came close to doing it, he immediately thought of Paul. He hadn’t been in touch with him since New York.

“Hey baby, I was going to call you. Check in. You OK?” He sounded like he was in a good mood.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just saw some family earlier and just packing. What are you up to?” Joe asked pacing around his bedroom.

“I just had dinner and just doing some admin for NXT. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“About that…I was thinking of calling Colby-” Joe started. “Why would you do that?” The tone in Paul’s voice changed. “I just don’t want things to be awkward. I don’t know if Colby even knows about this yet but you know I can have anxiety about these things.”

“Don’t call him. That’s an order. Just wait until you get to the arena. Vince wants this to be as natural as possible.” Joe sighed heavily raising his hand to his head. “This really sucks, you know that.” Paul had never heard Joe speak in this tone before. “It’s not my problem babe. You brought this on yourself.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t at least try to speak to Vince. Just stop it. You know how this is affecting me.” Joe argued.

“Don’t get pissed off with me. I already told you. It’s outta my hands.” Paul shot back. Joe didn’t respond. “Joe?”

“I’ve gotta go.” He simply said before hanging up. A horrible feeling filled the pit of his stomach right after he pressed the button. He knew he shouldn’t have hung up on Paul. This wasn’t entirely his fault. His phone lit up. Paul was calling him back. He hesitated in answering. “Don’t you ever do that again.” Paul started. He sounded so pissed off. “Look I’m sorry. This whole thing is pissing me off.” Joe defended. “Well don’t take it out on me. Its not my fault someone ratted you out!”

“I know!” Joe responded. “I don’t want us to fight about this. I made this mess and I’m just gonna have to deal with it. Anyway, I have to finish packing my things. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Joe ended the call. He shut his eyes and laid back on the bed. He had never spoken to Paul like that before and knew there would be consequences.

Joe arrived at the Nationwide Arena in Columbus, Ohio the next day. Joe had just left his bags into the locker room when a crew member knocked on the door.

“Joe, Paul wants to see you.” His stomach dropped. “OK, I’ll be right there.”

He was surprised to see Colby there too when he arrived in the room. Paul was sat behind a desk with his laptop and Colby occupied one of two seats in front of him. Joe passed both men a glance as he took a seat and the door was closed. Colby’s cheek was slightly bruised. Paul moved his laptop aside and clasped his hands together on the table.

“We all know why we’re here. Vince has asked me to deal with this.” Colby sat with his arms folded while Joe clasped his hands across his stomach. “Fortunately for us, he doesn’t actually care about what you two were fighting about the last night but when he sees an opportunity…you guys know the rest. I’ve drafted you both the programme for tonight so go over it and don’t screw it up.”

Colby rolled his eyes. “This is bullshit. We know how to do our jobs Paul.”

“You clearly don’t if you’re brawling in the locker room.” Paul answered sarcastically. Colby looked at Joe. “Don’t you have anything to say about this?”

“What is there to say? We fucked up and now we’ve gotta deal with it.” Joe answered. “Passive as always-” Colby interjected. “I wasn’t so passive when I hit you in the face last week!” Joe shot back.

“Enough!” Paul raised his voice. “Fuck this-” Colby said, getting up. “You sit your ass down!” Paul stood up, staring at him angrily. Joe hadn’t seen him this angry in a while. Colby folded his arms again like a spoilt child.

“You both don’t want this feud, I don’t want this feud but you’re stuck with it so just do what’s asked of you both and you can move on with your lives. Do you both understand?” Paul said setting his palms on the desk.

“Yes Sir.” Joe said immediately causing Colby to look at him and mock “Yes Sir? Sir?”

“You’re an Asshole.” Joe said narrowing his eyes at him. “Colby, I swear to God!” Paul interjected. “OK I got it. Are we done now?”

“You can go.” Paul told him. Colby left, slamming the door behind him. “He’s such an asshole.” Paul fumed moving towards the door and locking it. Joe relaxed himself in the seat. “You see what he’s like? It’s even worse now.” He said raising his hand to his temple. Paul gently massaged the back of his neck.

“Don’t let him get to you. He’s always been a little shit.” Paul moved around, crouching down. “Look babe, I know this isn’t what you want. I’ve feuded with people in the past that I didn’t get along with. I just put that negative energy into the storyline. Look at it this way. At least you won’t have to act this time around.” A small smile crossed Joe face before he let out a sigh. “You’re right. I can’t let this affect me.”

And he didn’t, both men did as scripted and avoided each other in the locker room. Paul had a car waiting to take Joe to Hotel LeVeque where he was waiting.

“You did good tonight babe. Vince is happy.” Paul said pulling him into a kiss. “Then again, you’re always good at doing what you’re told.”

“I’m just glad it’s over, until next week anyway.” Joe kissed him back, “I need to shower.” Paul tapped him on the ass “You do that, just relax. I’ve got some emails to respond to.” Joe put his phone on charge by the dresser. He kicked off his Nikes and peeled off his tank top and bottoms and went into the bathroom.

A good hot shower was just what he needed right now. It had been a long day full of anxiety and a physical evening thanks to this new feud with Colby. He tried to wipe the thoughts from his head and hummed a tune instead.

Paul was deep in thought when Joe's phone went off nearby. He walked over to take a look, only to see that it was Colby calling. Paul was a little puzzled. Why would he be calling him if they’d just been at the arena? It eventually stopped ringing just as Joe appeared. “That my phone?” Paul was startled. He didn’t expect Joe to be finished so soon. “Yeah, Colby was calling…for some reason.” Joe didn’t like that Paul was checking his phone. A look of annoyance crossed his handsome features. He knew Paul would want to know why but he didn’t humour him and ignored it. Paul went back to his emails, occasionally eyeing Joe as he went through his case to retrieve his toiletry bag. Paul noticed something was up with Joe. He heard him brushing his teeth in the bathroom and waited for him to return.

“Something the matter babe?” Paul asked from the desk. “I’m sorry. I just feel a bit out of it at the moment with everything that’s going on.” Joe said perching on the edge of the nearby sofa. “It’s just been really getting to me.” Paul got up and came to him “Come here.” He said leaning in to the corner of the sofa where he settled down with Joe, wrapping his arms around him. “I know I said earlier I was just gonna get on with it but it’s hard. We were best friends and I know you don’t wanna hear it…” Joe sounded like he was getting choked up “Shhh baby…” Paul said stroking his hair as the young man started sobbing. Paul pulled him into a proper hug, comforting him “I’m sorry baby. I didn’t realise you felt this bad.” Joe awkwardly wiped away his tears and looked up at Paul. “I’m sorry, I’m always so sensitive.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s good that you’re in touch with your emotions. Better than hiding them.” The older man reasoned. “Why don’t you call Colby back? See what he wants?” Joe shook his head “I can’t .”

“Don’t be silly babe-” Paul started. “No, I can’t .” Joe told him again. “OK, OK don’t call him then.” Why was he so agitated? Paul got up and went to the minibar. He took out a bottle of Jameson whiskey and poured two glasses, adding some ice. “Have this.” Paul handed the glass to Joe. “Thanks,” Joe said before taking a mouthful. The burn hit the back of his throat. Paul finished his much quicker. Joe sat eyeing his glass as Paul disappeared out to the balcony, closing the door behind him.

He had to take matters into his own hands. Colby sounded a bit confused when he answered the phone. “Hey. Look I know I’m the last person to expect to hear from right now. I saw that you called Joe.”

“I know I shouldn’t but I wanted to check on him to be honest. I have a feeling he’s struggling with everything at the moment.”

“One thing we can finally agree on.” Paul tried to make light of the situation.

“Is he…bad?” Colby asked hesitantly. “He’s very upset. I just poured him a drink. He doesn’t know I’m calling you.”

“I see…Look I don’t wanna fight with him. Sure you and I have our past but I don’t want this affecting him. I know he can be pretty sensitive sometimes.”

“Where are you staying?” Paul asked, out if the blue. “I’m at the Hilton.”

“Well we’re just over at the LeVeque. I think it’d really help if you came to see him.” Paul suggested. Colby was hesitant. “I dunno man-”

“Please?” Paul asked “I’m worried about him-”

“OK, OK what’s your room number?” Colby asked “227.”

“OK I’ll be there in like twenty minutes.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Paul ended the call and took a moment to himself on the balcony.

Joe was watching some wildlife programme on TV when he returned. He had finished his drink. Paul settled down next to him. He put his arm around him and watched the TV with him. Like clockwork, there was a knock at the door about 15 minutes later.

“Who’s that?” Joe asked looking at the door. “It’s OK baby.” Paul went to answer. “Hey,” Colby stepped in. Joe recognised his voice immediately. “What are you doing here?” he asked standing, looking at both Paul and Colby in confusion as Paul closed the door. “I wanted to see if you’re OK? I tried to call.” Colby explained. Joe looked at Paul as they occupied the sofa and Colby took a seat in the nearby armchair. “You’re not in a good place babe. I figured it’d be good for you guys to sort this thing out before it gets any worse.”

“So you guys are on the same page now?” Joe asked, eyeing them both. “Well, until this evening, I didn’t realise how much this was affecting you. Look, I’ve been thinking and I know we don’t see eye to eye Colby.” The young man nodded in agreement. “We all have a history with each other, it’s no lie but for the sake of working together, I’d like us to wipe the slate clean and start afresh.” Joe couldn’t believe what Paul was saying. As far as things were concerned previously, Paul would have kept them apart by any means possible. He was clearly concerned about Joe’s mental health if he was willing to do this for him.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you on something Paul but…yeah. I’m down with that.”

“Wait, after all the drama, the animosity between you two, you’re just suddenly wiping the slate clean?” Joe asked. These two strongly disliked each other. “Look man, we’ve known each other for years. We were best friends. I’m sick of fighting.” Colby explained. “If that’s what it takes to make things better, I’m all for it. I don’t want you feeling this way.”

“Me either.” Paul chimed in, putting his hand on Joe’s leg. “You really mean it?” Joe asked looking between both men. Paul and Colby exchanged looks “Yeah.”

Joe exhaled, a smile finally appearing on his face. “Thank you. Thank you both. You don’t know what this means.”

“We do babe.” Paul chimed in. “What do you say we have a drink to toast this?” Joe and Colby agreed. Paul poured a few glasses of Jameson to which they toasted to “A fresh start.” They sat in conversation for the next while until Colby excused himself. “Shit, I didn’t realise it was so late. I need to get back to my hotel guys. Got a flight home at nine.”

They said their good nights and bid Colby farewell. “I can’t believe you did that.” Joe said looking up at Paul as the older man returned to the sofa. “I had to do something.” Paul lowered next to him. “I love you. So much.” Joe said before kissing him passionately and resting his head on the older man’s chest. Paul stroked the back of his head until he could hear him lightly snoring. A faint smile crossed his face. “Baby,” Paul gently nudged him “Let’s go to bed.” Joe dragged himself off the sofa and walked to the bedroom, shedding his robe. He crawled into the bed naked next to Paul who spooned him from behind. He reached over and put some lube on his fingers and lightly massaged Joe’s opening. Low, sleepy groans escaped his throat. They got louder as Paul’s cock penetrated him. “Aww baby…” Paul breathed into his ear as he slowly started to fuck him. He was so hard thanks to some of the noises coming from Joe. Late night, sleepy sex was always something they both enjoyed. “Fuck me…” Joe told Paul. Paul forced him onto his stomach and picked up the pace, fucking him faster, grasping Joe pelvis. “Christ,” He moaned into Joe ear as he came, pulling Joe into him. “…feels so good.” Joe shuddered as Paul filled him, kissing and nuzzling the back of his neck. Joe sank into the bed as Paul pulled out and flipped him over. He brushed the matted hair away from his lovers face and kissed him passionately.

[redbeanboi]

In A Bind (Mista/F!Reader)

I said I’d feed my beanie babies!! Help yourselves to a little snack, my dear friends and readers!!!!! :’)

Warning: A preview/very premature draft to scene 1 for my upcoming college!au fic based on this post. Boy that was a mouthful. Modern/College AU, characters are adapted for normie lives (so slight exaggerations can be expected), etc.

Summary: Mista needs to find new digs and fast—luckily for him, he’s found your ad on a bulletin board on campus! 

Alternatively: Meet your nightmare roommate, Fratboy!Mista.

Word count: 578 (so far)

Several months of living at the frat house on campus taught Guido Mista that 1) he didn’t like sharing a bathroom with six other guys, 2) that bringing people over for the night was almost impossible, and 3) he’d rather starve than pick at the food that ‘David’ cooked for dinner every night. His only option then was to move out as soon as the next semester picked up, and when he broke the news to the other guys, he made sure to pout as much as possible and pack his things as quickly as he could. Parting with your brothers isn’t the most heartrending experience a guy could experience, but Mista was sure a couple of them sniffled as soon as he shuffled out of theinto Narancia’s car.

That was three weeks ago. 

In the time that had passed since then, Mista made the decision to crash at Narancia’s studio apartment with the promise of moving out when the right place came up. Narancia had one bed in the corner of his space and a sofa bed set in front of his immaculate gaming setup. At first the arrangement seemed perfect—Narancia and Mista played co-ops, watched newer releases on Netflix and even ordered takeout. But after the first week, Narancia became all too aware of Mista’s awful habits.

They weren’t completely unbearable, no—not if you didn’t mind dirty dishes piling up in the sink, smelly laundry lying all over the floor or losing hours of sleep because of Mista’s sleep-talking. There were worse roommates to deal with and that wasn’t any real secret to Narancia.

Regardless, Mista was surprised to have been given a very unexpected stern talking from Narancia in the library one day, and it wasn’t until he was halfway through his coffee that he realized that Narancia was giving him two more weeks to find a place.

“You’re kicking me out? But–”

“It’s not you, Mista,” Narancia chittered. “It’s—”

“Whatever, I get it.”

“Awesome! I actually can help you find some places if—ow!”

And it was entirely in Mista’s luck that he found the perfect apartment just a few days later, so he made sure to sprint over to Narancia as soon as he found it—the perfect ad. 

“You sure about this?” asked Narancia, turning the flyer over and reading it a second time.

“Giorno said this guy doesn’t sound so bad.” Mista shrugged and pointed at a line of text. “Look—it says he doesn’t mind cooking, bakes occasionally, super clean—”

“It’s not like you’re going to stay at the apartment all day though,” Narancia pointed out. “And c’mon, this sounds way too good to be true. If they say they like cleaning, they’re probably slobs who’ll say anything just to get another person to sign the lease and help with rent. Oldest trick in the book.” Not that Narancia knew that by experience, of course. Ahem.

“Or maybe I found the perfect roommate who’s going to help me land more dates. This guy’s definitely gay. Probably has a couple of cute friends too.”

Narancia’s face dropped. “God, you’re such a pig. And this is probably a bad idea, so don’t drag me into it. There’s gotta be someone else you can room with.”

“Do you really want me to keep sleeping on your couch until I find new digs?”

Mista grinned when Narancia pulled out his phone and began texting the number. “I’ll do you a favor and set a meeting for you and this guy.”

-----

A/N: This is definitely going to go through a bunch of changes before I upload it to ao3, but I told myself to get to work on this and this is part of what I cranked out a few days ago. You haven’t even seen the worst of Fratboy!Mista yet, so be prepared!!!!!! >:)

[catharrington]

@harringroveweekoflove Day 1: Bed sharing

Fighting in the summer breeze.

The job wasn’t done. There was cleaning up they had to do after the battle with the mind flayer. But it isn’t always an easy job picking up the scraps. Especially if the scraps fight back. Steve and Billy can fight as hard as they want but getting outnumbered will win every time.

(3.3 k words. Simple fic of hurt/comfort. Slight blood and gore. Steve does get hurt badly. Mostly boys talking about their feelings and mutual pining.)

***

“God, stop touching it!” Steve howled with pain, his voice cracking in a way it hadn’t since he was 12, as he was carried into the motel room.

Hopper just rolled his eyes as he followed into the bedroom. “You aren’t going to die, kid!” He growled, closing the door behind them. El watched with wide worried eyes as Steve was lead over to the mattress and laid down, whimpering the whole time. Billy was holding onto his arm and helping him down into the bed, his own body not unscathed.

They had just got away from a pack of demo dogs still loose and running in the woods around Hawkins. El and Hopper were sure they would be destroyed by the portal closing but they just kept showing up like roaches when the lights turn off. There must be something still open around Hawkins that had to be cleaned up. And Billy, even though he had already proven himself as a friend by being a human shield against the mind flayer, volunteered first for the portal closing hunt.

Steve was more drafted by Hopper and the kids. You don’t get much room to not be a hero when you’ve fought these things off with a nail covered baseball bat before.

They had tracked a sighting of a starved looking feral dog to an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods. All the evidence pointed to three, maybe two, demo dogs holding up and a small portal letting them come though for hunting, but when they got there it was more like ten. They were almost over run by the numbers. Hopper did his best with his police pistol, and El took care of most, but Billy and Steve caught the brunt of the surprise.

“Don’t talk down to him!” Billy hissed as he laid Steve down sloppily on the bed, “it’s your damn fault he got hurt!”

“Watch it!” Hopper warned. “We did the best with the intel that we had! No one saw that shit coming- even El didn’t see them!”

Billy had one leg crossed over the bed and the other leg dangling down to touch the floor. He was leaned over Steve in a protective hunch that he wasn’t even aware he was doing. “You should have gotten some fucking better intel then, Hop.” Billy pushed his curly hair back from his forehead, it turned red with blood.

Interrupting the tense showdown, Steve moaned loudly as he settled into the bed. His wounded arm laid limp next to him while his left arm griped white knuckled into the remains of his sweater ripped all the way down to his stomach.

El was quietly watching from the sidelines, her eyes going to the people talking for only a moment but mostly staying locked on Steve’s bloodied wound. He had 4 huge gashes dragged over his shoulder and down his pectoral, already bruised black and blue and still bleeding.

With Steve’s bat and Billy’s axe they had stayed to the sides of the formation to catch any straggler or finish off what Hoppers gun didn’t, but that was a perfect target for a group of demo dogs sneaking out of the woods. Steve fought off most of them, skillful with his bat, and nimble in his dodging- but as he crushed one into the ground another jumped on his back and dragged those demonic claws from his chest to his shoulder.

The scream he made is something the group won’t be getting out of their head for a while.

“We did the best we could,” El spoke softly.

Hopper continued to glare daggers into Billy but focused on taking out 2 water bottles from the motels mini fridge. Collecting towels from the bathroom, he placed some under Steve’s shoulder and whispered something heroic to the boy before he flushed out the wound.

Dumping the cold water right into the flayed flesh made Steve howl. He bent his head back into the pillow and let his voice carry until it simply cracked again into a whimpering cry. His face was covered in sweat, blood and something else much darker. His shaggy hair, equally as sweaty, clung to where ever it could catch. The famous volume was mostly lost in its wetness and that broke Billy’s heart.

He brushed a strand from Steve’s ghostly pale face in an attempt to be comforting.

When Hopper dumped the second bottle Steve cried again but only what his used throat could muster. Billy watched in horror as Steve’s eyes fluttered closed and his head fell limply onto the pillow.

“Hop,” Billy gasped, he held onto Steve’s cheek and examined the boys pale face.

“Chill out, kid, he’s just unconscious.” Hopper finished with the second bottle then threw them and the stained towels into a trash can. He took more towels and laid them softly over Steve’s shoulder. The motel owner isn’t going to be happy she’s out of four nice cotton towels but it made Billy happy to see the wound finally covered in something.

Hopper took Steve’s left hand and applied it as pressure to the wound. The room became way too quiet without Steve being awake groaning in pain. The rest of the group took a breath of silence between themselves before Hopper finally moved.

“You have to stay here, watch him! We will be back soon!” He scooped up his sheriffs hat and made for the door, El loyal on his heels.

“We need to go to a hospital now,” Billy sputtered out. “These cuts need stitches- I can tell!”

“Absolutely no hospitals. They can’t be trusted. And before anything else, we have to clean up the shit show of dead dogs all over that cabin so El can close that portal for good.” Hopper rested his hat on his head and sighed. “We gotta stop these bastards or this fight will be for nothing. Harrington is tough. He will last-,”

“That’s really not something you get to decide.” Billy stood up from the bed and marched to the door. He had gotten his share of black blood on his clothing and a few scratches here and there. Most notability across his forearm one demo dog's back leg caught him and left a nasty gash, but Billy hadn't started to feel it yet. “You can’t just expect him to go all these damn rounds for no one to be in his corner. You can’t just-“

Billy’s rant was cut off before it started by a sharp intake of breath. Steve’s soft hair shook as he came awake. “Billy,” he muttered out, fluttering his eyes as he came to terms with the burning irons on his shoulder once again. “...Billy?”

“Yeah, easy Stevie, right here,” Billy rushed back to his side, leaned over the bed a little less close than before, but he wanted to be so much closer.

Hopper took this as his time to leave. “Don’t let him out of your sight. We‘ll be only a minute!” And the door was slammed behind the two.

Billy didn’t have a moment to grumble any discourse before his attention was taken again by the injured boy.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve involuntarily flexed his good hand and shoulders as he tried to sit up only making him hurt more, “Mother fucking Mary!”

“Stop,” Billy pressed his open palm down into Steve’s chest. “Do not get up, it’s gonna hurt a Hell lot more if you keep moving.” From the touch he could feel the boy’s breaths quicken under his ribs, shallow and hard. “Just take it easy, Steve.”

Steve said nothing, but did as he was told.

Working intently on steadying out his breaths, he took a look around the room to try and steady his mind. The motel was familiar, the group used it to ready up before heading into the woods to find the abandoned house, but the spaces between that was a blur. All purple and blue like a bruised spot that wouldn’t stop hurting as Steve tried to remember it.

Billy had taken his hand back from Steve’s chest, carefully keeping his distance. He moved to the very edge of the bed hunched over with his messy blond hair covering as much of his face as he could. The streaks of blood in his hair made it seem a darker shade than it was.

Out of the corner of his eyes Steve watched Billy, half to have something to focus on, and half because he hasn’t seen this boy so far gone since he was drugged unconscious on Byers’ floor. But that time his eyes were not blown wide open. Looking at him now, Billy had a face like he was sitting in the middle of a mine field and couldn’t get out.

“Is that your blood... or mine?” Steve rasped out so weak it was easy to miss. But Billy was listening for it.

“You know, I don’t know.” He balled his hands into the sheets. “I think it’s yours. I’m not really bad off. Don’t think.” Billy knew he was distracted as he replied but couldn’t help it under Steve’s half lidded stare. The gash on Billy’s arm wasn’t bleeding or painful and the darkened blood looked like demo dog guts to him.

Steve hummed and it was pretty. “My blood,” he started, “I’m sorry I-,”

“Don’t you dare!” Billy turned his eyes sharply and dug a glare into Steve. “Nothing tonight was your damn fault.”

Steve kept watching him, kept him trained with those big brown eyes. “I was gonna say, jerk, that I’m sorry you had to actually fight while I was down...,” Steve trailed off to let out a groan, “instead of just getting creamed in the end like last time.” He laughed but it was painful sounding.

“Last time?” Billy was astounded that with his shoulder ripped out and losing so much blood Steve still had the gull to be a bratty little shit. He even had the nerve to let out a small smile. “Last time I single-handedly fought back a three story tall monster made of rat AND people bones? You mean that last time?” Billy enjoyed watching that little smile on Steve getting bigger.

“Yeah, single handed, but I do remember you getting creamed?” Steve’s words were so light and easy. They were a warm breeze in the summer time, kicking up flowers, and Billy could easily be in that breeze forever without wanting to leave.

Billy laughed. “Saving El, saving you too, by getting impaled... that’s not getting creamed, pretty boy.” Running his hand over his chest Billy could feel the scar from the mind flayer right there. Always a reminder of how he fought. And a badge that said he would do it again in a heart beat. 

“Hey maybe you’ll get a wicked scar then I can’t call you pretty boy anymore.” Billy said it as a joke but Steve’s smile fell into something else, even something sadder maybe.

Steve clutched the towels over his shoulder with his hand Hopper was kind enough to place over it. His other arm, the one that was holding on with just the bones of his shoulder and not so much the flesh, he only flexed those fingers just to make sure they still worked. But he kept his arm laying down like Billy ordered him to.

Wetting his lips and fixing the other boy with another locking stare, he whispered. “Hum. I don’t know if I would want that. Not really the scar type.”

“Not the type? But you know scars get all the chicks? You’ll be a magnet. I’ll have to use that bat to fend them off.” Billy laughed at his own joke. He lifted his hands and made a goofy swinging motion. Steve gave him a scoffing laugh and Billy felt comfortable enough to laugh with him. Dropping his hands Billy inched a little more towards Steve, trying to get more of that warm breeze on his face.

Steve shook his head in a no motion very lightly so he didn’t hurt himself. It made his wet hair fan out over the pillow. “First of all, don’t use my bat.” Billy raised his eye brows. “Second, don’t really care... about being a chick magnet.”

Billy wanted to ask so many questions. He might not be the King any more but Steve still has game, he still should want to add notches to his bed post. And now that he was out of school his game should be even better. But Billy didn’t ask.

In almost a defensive mode, Billy kept his head down and chewed his inner cheek like his thoughts were getting chewed over inside of his head. But he didn’t back away from how he was leaning towards the injured boy.

Thankfully, Steve’s breathing was as normal as one could get. He only moaned a few times between breaths. Billy had the painful realization that with the scratches across his upper chest it likely hurt to have the rising and falling motion. It made Billy angry that Hopper was taking so long to come back.

“Are you tired?” Steve’s summer breeze knocked Billy out of his thoughts. “You can...,” Steve swallowed hard, shifted a little as he spoke, “You can lay down. If you are tired.”

Billy watched Steve with a hesitant eye. Yeah- his body was screaming to lay down. Yeah- he was very, very tired from fighting off a hoard of demo dogs and then carrying Steve’s limp body to this motel. Shivers ghosted up his spine as he considered it, laying down in the same bed as Steve Harrington, but he was too tired to really pay attention to the reminder of self loathing.

“You don’t care?” He asked for permission.

“It’s a big enough bed,” Steve smiled.

Billy couldn’t help but groan as he let himself lean back into the mattress. His muscles were more tired than he thought. Adrenaline and maybe shock was to thank for that. Billy laid his head down on the pillow right next to Steve’s pillow. However, he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling.

There was a softness in the air, the rhythm of steady breathing slowly syncing up together, so close but looking away. Warmth from that closeness felt like laying in the summer sun.

Steve wanted to turn his head with every fiber of his being but he was scared it might hurt. He did it anyway, turning with a light moan to look at Billy’s direction. The others long blonde hair dark with blood crunched up against the pillow and his chiseled jaw muscles taught under tanned skin was worth all the pain to look at it. Even with his eyes drilling holes into the ceiling, he was an Adonis.

Billy kept his breathing quiet and tried not to make a big deal about laying in a shitty motel bed touching his shoulder against Steve’s shoulder. Sure it was a large bed but they were growing men, and Billy wasn’t going to punish himself with not at least trying to lay enough to the side where he could touch the other. Steve’s skin was flushed under Billy’s touch. In different circumstances Billy would have been flattered. Maybe even if it was different he would have let those questions about Steve and the notches in his bed post surface. But he couldn’t do that to him now.

Instead they just laid there and breathed.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice kept waking Billy from his thoughts. It was like the boy couldn’t keep quiet. Truthfully, he wanted something to distract him from the pain. 

Billy turned his head over on his pillow and their eyes met. Big and brown, red with tears, locked into Billy’s sharp and blue, almost glowing with a protectiveness he didn’t knew he had in himself. Those eyes meeting Steve’s felt like the best pain killer.

“Thank you.” Steve smiled.

“What the fuck for?” Billy played dumb.

“Everything,” then those big brown eyes rolled, it was positively endearing. “Saving my life twice. Being here. Being... you.”

Billy felt his breath catch. He had never once been under the lock of an emotion like this. Under the watch of those brown eyes Billy felt real, that his life mattered and his existence wasn’t a burden to anyone. Sure he sacrificed himself and was heralded as a hero, but this was on another level. And to top it off he was swimming in the high of those eyes, that melodious voice, and uniquely sweet summer winds.

“Yeah well...,” Billy’s voice caught for a second so he cleared his throat. He had to pull away from these feelings before his voice left completely. He looked back up to the ceiling and continued, “I’m just me.”

Steve laughed the same condescending laugh he pulled in the drive way of the Byers’ house. The laugh that was so superior and patronizing it would have made Billy crazy back when all he cared about was fighting the mighty King Steve. Back when he needed to pull Steve down to his level, to make him feel Billy’s pain with fists and blood. But now Billy could tell he hasn’t done the pulling, it was Steve who pulled him down. Within all this monster fighting and children helping, Steve showed him there were no levels.

Only here.

Only now.

Only saving those that he cares about. And Billy really did care about Steve. From the first moment he saw him in school he knew he cared so much for this brown haired, spoiled, smug, heroic, selfless hurricane named Steve Harrington.

To make it worse, that laugh was so beautiful.

“You are really a great guy, Billy. I want you to know that.” And just as the last word left Steve’s lips the door opened to a hurried Hopper and El.

The sheriff hesitated for a second as he noticed their closeness but Hopper was in a time crunch. He collected the few things they left around then a large duffel bag to put them in while he ordered everyone for the door. “No hospitals,” he reminded, finger pointed at Billy, “but I know someone from the department who can fix him up.”

Billy was already up moving to help Steve from the bed. Steve tried to stand by himself but he didn’t have the strength. Blood was soaking into the towel making it a strawberry pink, reminding them all that Steve has lost more than was safe by this point. More groans and slight whimpers filled the air as he stood up from the bed to attempt to walk.

El was tired herself, hanging back by the door to keep her jacket sleeve on her bloodied nose. Hopper joined her with full hands by the doorway and expectant eyes telling them to hurry.

Billy looked between them for a second before he lowered his head towards Steve’s ear to whisper, “Thanks for letting me rest up. I feel loads better.” Then in a quick movement Billy scooped the back of Steve’s knees with one arm and cradled the boy around his ribs with the other. On sure and strong legs Billy lifted him off the ground.

Steve’s one good arm kept holding the towels tightly to his shoulder while the other he could only let hang limply. Blood dripped down his pale skin and rolled off his finger tips. 

Another time, different circumstances, he would have loved to brace himself on Billy’s strong arms. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t think of anything. For once, his bratty comments caught in his throat. Instead Steve let his head drop and his forehead rest so very lightly against Billy’s neck.

“Don’t pass out on me, pretty boy.” Billy teased as he carried him out the door and started into the parking lot.

“Shut up, Hargrove.” Steve hissed but it held no venom.

Billy tucked Steve into the back seat of Hopper’s sheriff Jeep and stayed as close as he could while they rode back into town.

[lilxmcrtes]

My URL, The URL Meme

Send Me A URL and I’ll Respond With My Opinions... | @thornstocutyouwith | Mun

Roleplaying/Writing

My favorite muse(s) of theirs and why

Gosh dang it. You’re really gonna make me pick? Alright... for now I’m gonna go with Lief because he’s a Good Boy (tm). So sweet and caring to Oliver. Their relationship is so nice when Lief isn’t bringing / cooking wild animals in his home x’D Also I just enjoy his view on things. So simple, and amusing at times

My favorite interaction/thread of theirs

Again. Pick?! Hm... That food fight in the IMs was pretty funny x3 Aeron and Jace making play bites their Thing (tm) was also good. Or that thing with them as kids playing with dino toys together. It wasn’t a thread but it was so freaking cute

My thoughts on their unique characterization/interpretation of their muse(s)

CONTENT. ALL THE C O N T E N T!!!!!

Anyone that gets to see such content should feel blessed. You have SO MANY muses and they’re all so unique and real. Also seriously love how they connect in this relationship web that I’ve only seen part of

My thoughts on their writing style as a whole

Good shit bro. Sometimes a little overwhelming but good

Situation(s)/Plot(s) I’d love to see their muse(s) in

ALL OF THEM??!?! But to be more specific, H.unger G.ames or T.he G.ood P.lace plot would be cool. Ooo A.merican H.orror S.tory? C.oven or A.pocolypse? Omg humor me with a C.ells At W.ork AU. ( Eira and Tancred can be the white and red blood cell!!! ) Or another anime, P.arasyte? U.mbrella A.cademy?! D.etective P.ikachu / P.okemon?!?! All the plots Thorn.

Someone else I love seeing them interact with

I honestly don’t read a lot of threads n stuff outside of what I’m doing. Sometimes things will catch my eye but otherwise... heh... I do be seein u with ofwondersandhares a lot tho. So there’s that?

Anything else I want to say about their roleplaying

I really don’t get why people don’t write with you more. There’s a lot of opportunity right there for people. :/

And did I mention content?! You know so much about your muses. I aspire to be that in tune with these guys one day

If We Know Each Other

What I Think Are Their Best Qualities

Honesty. I mean sometimes it can be pretty blunt but I don’t really have to be guessing what you might not be saying. I figure if you have a problem with me you’ll tell me. Which is kinda relieving to me. Helps when I overthink.

Also ridiculously imaginative. I mean do I really need to elaborate on this one?

What I Think Are Their Strengths

Besides the answer to the above question, you don’t take things to heart too much, which I admire since I do that all the time. It’s great you can brush things off and move on to other good things without getting too caught up in being upset

A Memorable OOC Interaction Of Ours

First game night. Absolutely one of the best nights I’ve ever had. Hilarious. Can’t wait to do it again. The fact that we named the killer Asher was AMAZING

Why Others Should RP With Them

Hello if it’s not clear from what I’ve been saying then idk how to help you. The sheer vastness of content for all the rp you could ever want is right there man. So much opportunity! All the little details and plots too!! Bonus, you get a friend that will give you head pats- no, wait. those are mine. But still, good fren! *pats their head* A lot of friENDSHIP can fit in here

How Others Should Approach Them

You could toss them some memes. Pretty sure they crave them lol ( Not like they don’t post about it ). And as a multi I am well aware of the specifying muse deal but I don’t think they mind so much that they won’t answer. You’ll just get whatever they roll lol BUT definitely specify muse if you can bc like I said, as a multi, it’s just better that way especially with the number of muses they have. OR you could do the big brain move and IM them “Hey I wanna write with you but I have no idea where to start with your muses. Do you have a preference?” and you guys can talk about who would mesh well together and then you can send memes or write a starter or even get a starter! Pretty sure it’s the same for anyone.

Funny note on that one tho. I think they approached me ooc by just sending my a post in IMs. I don’t even remember what it was or why they sent it. I was wildly confused but ya know. Gotta start somewhere lol Point is, you’ll be fine approaching them however you do. Just don’t ghost.

Other Roleplayers I’d Recommend To Them

You could write with the Teares’ siblings ( in the verse where they are related at least. Haven’t talked about if that’ll be a main thing or not ), baby sis @the-wonderland-jinx and Aeron’s twin @faultycode. The other muses on there are also great.

@klavz​ is a great Klaus imo. The dialogue is so on point. Like I could actually hear Klaus saying those things. Whether you feel the same is up to you but... definitely give ‘em a chance.

There are others but it’s more of a general ‘I like them’ rather than having specific reasons you’d mesh well with / be interested in them.

Anything else I want to say about them

I think I’ve said quite a lot already lol Anything more is pretty much a repeat

I like writing with them. I like talking to them. I think they’re pretty cool and I think other people ought to check them out. A summary by me

If We Have/Plan To Interact Together

A plot I’d like to write with them

Ooo. Um. I know a lot of plots probably got lost bc I’ll come up with an idea and then get distracted with something else. But if I remember any of those definitely lol Also now that I’m on a fresh new blog I will heckin put that shit in a post so I don’t lose it.

That thing where Aeron drops into Wonderland and runs into Soulless!Asher is still in my drafts if you still want that to be a thing. So not all things were lost! lol

But getting back to the question, outside of those sort of things, and being more specific than just everything... T.he G.ood P.lace plot seems good. Pretending these people got into ‘heaven’ when they’re actually in a special hell that tortures them psychologically by picking a set of people that would eternally torture each other bc their personalities and behaviors clash perfectly. Asher ( or all your deadly sin demons really ) would definitely get a kick out of that I bet. Especially on Aeron. Ooo and Oliver.

A muse I want to introduce to them

Max. He’s a muse that’s gonna be on my other multi. He’s a soft boi like Oliver but not as fragile. Very friendly, and actually not human! He’s a changeling that ended up being raised human. Still working on him but I feel like he is basically the peak of my creativity lmao

A ship/broship I’d like to propose to them

I mean I know we mentioned it but Post!Oliver and Tancred would be cool. And I say Post! bc I’m pretty sure Tancred would stay the heck away from him otherwise lol

Also! Lorelei should meet Killian sometime. I’ve never really figured out her and Oliver’s relationship soo... It’s bound to be interesting whatever I do on the fly lol

A thread with them I’m excited about

Every time I see you in my notifications I get excited. But I suppose I am pretty excited for that band ask to turn into a thread 👀

Anything else I want to say

At this point, you might as well follow them if you follow me. Spice up your dash with whatever they’re into for the moment. Find new interests. Learn how to develop your muse

Please read that with the same energy as ‘fuck around and find out’

[cubeswhump]

Will Not be a Victim for my character, Blondie.

The neglected Blondie. I need to get back to my Powers Verse too. And the immortal bitches. I have a Sweetie and Michelle story drafted though.

Warnings for mentions of violence, referenced torture, bit of ableism. Pretty tame compared to what I usually write.

The phone rang from her nightstand, and again, and again. Then it started pinging with texts: Terry-Ellen has spoken to me but my own daughter won’t answer her phone.

I’ll be arriving at your house at 6PM.

Blondiw growled and dialled the number. The phone rang only twice before the deep voice came on the other line: “Oh, so you’ve decided to stop ignoring me?”

“Fucking hell, Dad. I’m twenty-three,” Blondie reminded him. “Chill.’

"Language, Melinda,” he scolded lightly. “I don’t care of you’re eighty-three. You’re still my daughter and we just got you back. I need to be sure that you’re okay.”

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Are you really?"

Blondie pinched the bridge of her nose. Don't call him a nosy twat, don't call your dad a nosy twat. She breathed out. "You hired a fucking bodyguard for me. "That's humiliating enough, and now you're prying into my life like I'm a child."

"Language. Good lord, you take after your mother," he sighed. "Who are you embarrassed in front of? You haven't left your house in more than two weeks." His voice was so even and annoyingly calm. Blondie swallowed back the snarl crawling up her throat. "Is it really prying to be concerned about my daughter? I just want to know that you're okay. I haven't seen you since-"

"Okay, okay, I'll stop by tomorrow. No need to stop by." She knew her father would have some words if she saw the state her house was in. Tej wasn't hired to clean after the slob, and no one had patched up the hole Blondie punched in the living room.

"Are you sure? If I come over you can stay home and rest," he offered.

"You just got on my ass for staying in my house!"

"You know that is not what happened, Melinda."

"I'll be there at eleven in the morning, okay?"

"I'll expect you by twelve."

Blondie huffed and hung up as he chuckled.

***

Tej was prodding her. "Get up. We've gotta go soon."

Blondie lifted her head abd ahot rhe other wonan a glare. "There's no we. You're staying home."

"You know that's not how it works," she said, unfazed. "I'll make you coffee."

"Don't." Blondie pyr one foot on the floor and grabbed one crutch. The other must have fallen over at some point in the night, and Blondie whacked Tej with the crutch in her hand when the thin woman tried to help her retrieve the fallen one. "Scram, bitch."

"Very nice, " Tej said sarcastically, handing her the crutch anyway. She caught the crutch Blondie swung at her. "Have you ever considered treating the help like people?"

"Go on, call me a bitch. There's nothing in your contract that says you can't insult me, yeah?"

"I'll leave you to get dreased," Tej said dryly. "Your hair looks nice. Did you wash it?"

She shut the door behind her just in time for the television remote to crash into the wood.

Blondie had only worn bath robes and undergarments for the last few weeks and she hadn't gotten to modifying any pants to her new body. Skirts? No, fighting in a skirt wasn't a great idea - if she needed to fight. Fights were always possible.

Shorts. A pair of shorts, one sock, one combat boot. The left bood sat all alone and sad. She kicked it over. Hair in a bun.

"Your coffee, Blondie." Tej shoved the steaming mug right in her face while Blondie was trying to sneak out the front door.

"I told you not to make me coffee," Blondie grumbled.

"Coconut creamer and one Sweet-N-Low," Tej tempted her, voice sing-song.

"I'm getting coffee on the way to my dad's, shithead." And she was out tje door, slamming it behind her - or trying to. Tej caught it just before it closed and slipped out after her.

"Want me to drive? You can relax," Tej offered, reaching for the keyring in Blondie's hand. Blondie jerked it away.

"I'll relax when you're dead. It's my fucking car."

"Cool, cool."

Tej was in the passenger's seat before Blondie had even opened her door so she couldn't even lock her out. Tej smiled at her knowingly. Blondie gripped the steering wheel sp hard her fingers turned white.

Tej tried to make conversation throughout the drive and Blondie turned the volume up a few notches every time she opened her mouth. After a million years, she pulled up in front of the coffee shop.

"I'll get you an iced mocha cappuccino," Blondie said as she got out of the car. Tej was stepping out too.

"Nah, I wanna look at the menu," she replied. Blondie squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, reciting the "calming phrases" from her counseling sessions as a teenager.

When was this place ever this busy? Blondie sighed as she joined the line, Tej at her side. "You know, you're paying for your own shit."

"That's fair," Tej shrugged. "Your daddy pays me weekly."

Blondie sneered at her.

The line inched forward. A woman and her child joined. Seriously, did the entire fucking town want coffee right now?

"Wow..." the woman said, her voice hushed. "What happened?"

Blondie didn't realize the woman was talking to her until she felt a tap on her shoulder.she turned around, finding the woman's wide eyes on her still-bandaged stump. The little girl stared too, reaching for Blondie's crutch. Blondie jerked it away from her sticky hand and scowled, but neither noticed.

"What happened?" the woman asled again. "Why don't you get a prosthetic leg?"

"I pesteres someone with intrusive questions and she pulled out a machete," Blondie snapped. The woman recoiled.

"Ma'am, you're being very insensitive, and you should teach your child not to touch anyone's mobility aids." Tej launched right into a lecture. "Please treat my friend as you would treat-"

Blondie's temper boiled over. She raised one crutch and bashed it into the woman's knee. Tej's hand clamped over her own mouth as the woman fell over with a screech, dragging her daughter down with her.

"Oops. My bad." Blondie turned her back on the pair.

"Did you see that?" the woman cried as she got back to her feet. The cashier looked over from the customer he was dealing with, frowning.

"I'll be out fast," Blondie promised the cashier. "No trouble."

They walked out with their coffees and gluten-filled breakfast, Blondie's coffee spouting steam that smelled of coconut... Something she could have gotten at home. Tej predictably got a mocha cappuccino.

"I mean," Tej finally said during their resumed drive, mouth full of bagel, "not that I blame you much, but public battery isn't a food luck."

Blondie turned the radio up higher.

The guard let them into the gated, cookie cutter community. Towering houses were identical, painted a cream not a shade lighter or darker than the house nextdoor. Perfect gardens, no blade of grass even a centimeter overgrown. One house had flowers a different shade of pink than the rest. Blondie might have struggled to differentiate the houses if Chase weren't waving frantically at the end of one driveway.

"Melinda, love, how are you?" The large man was coming at her with open arms as she stepped out of the car. She was too slow thinking of an excuse to get out of hugging her stepdad, and he squeezed her tight.

"Peachy," she told him.

He hugged Tej too before letting both women into the house. He was talking a mile a minute and Blondie let Tej handle the conversation.

"I see you brought beverages. No tea then?" he asked. Blondie shook her head. "Oliver's in his study."

"Tell him hi for me," Tej chirped, and Blondie decided she would not do that. She hurried away when the other two started discussing how much they lift at the gym.

115 pounds? Unimpressive, Tej.

She didn't bother knocking on the mahogany door, throwing it right open. "Yo."

Oliver swiveled around in his chair like a James Bond villain. He even looked the part with his coiffed grey hair and serious expression. "Good morning, Melinda. You were almost on time. Have a seat."

"Nice to see you too," Blondie said sarcastically, falling back ontp the plump sofa.

"Oh, no, you're covered in crumbs! Why didn't you brush yourself off outside?"

"Just vacuum later. I had a muffin."

Oliver sighed, turning back to his laptop. "Depending on your recovery time, we'll get you fitted for prosthesis." He flicked through images. Some were very realistic and even matching her skin color, others clunky and robotic, some abstract and hardly resembling a limb. "We should find a design that fits your activity level, preferably a more realistic one. No one has to know. At that point we'll get you to that physical therapist I've been talking to, and-"

"Whoa, hold on a minure. Don't I get a say?" Blondie snapped. "And who said I want a realiatic one? Maybe I don't want to pretend I'm fucking normal."

"Whatever you want, darling. But I'm not going to let you hold yourself back."

"You tell me to take it easy abd slow down and then you get on my ass for being behind the curve. The fuck is that?"

Oliver sighed. He turned back tp his daughter, choosing his next words carefully. "I know how much you enjoy your hobbies. I think it'll be better for your mental health if you get back into dance and martial arts soon."

Back into dance. She was already the largest girl in the studio, dwarfing the tiny instructor even when she was twelve. Skilled as she was, she never had a ballerina's body and her instructor's main complaints were her thundering footsteps and "unladylike gait". Well, at least pointe shoes wouldn't hurt a prosthetic leg.

"It's my body and my life," Blondie reminded him.

"And it's my money that pqid your medical bills," he shot back. She rolled her eyes. "Melinda, you know I just want what's best for you. I want to help you. I need to help you."

"Help yourself first," Blondie snarled. "How's your boytoy?"

"I've been married to Chase since you were eight. Stop calling him my boytoy," Oliver sighed. Any other time, Blondie might have laughed at how annoyed her dad got when she mocked his husband. "And fifteen years isn't such a significant age difference when you're out of your twenties."

"He's a gold-digger."

"He's well worth what he costs, and he loves you like his own daughter. Come on, stop changing the subject. You mean so much to me. You were the victim of such a-"

"I'm not a victim," she hissed, leaning forward in her seat. Her eyes narrowed. "If anyone's a victim, it's that bitch Camilla. You know, queen of the cabbage patch."

Oliver's eyebrows knit together. "Cabbage patch?"

"Because she's a vegetable," Blondie said, and her father sighed heavily.

"I'm not denying that she's a bad person, but you don't need to be discriminatory. Other, much nicer people live with brain damage."

"Dad, shut the fuck up and listen to me," Blondie demanded. "I fought my way out. I'm not a victim!"

"Yes, yes, you're a survivor," he said in a voice like he was placating a toddler.

"No, I'm Melinda fucking Van Doren."

He lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Before anything, you're my daughter and I want what's best for you."

"I actually know what's best for me because I am me."

"I'm your father. I know you pretty damn well."

"Yeah, okay. I'll keep in tough." Blondie started to stand, but Oliver held a hand up.

"Stay for lunch. Samantha made two extra plates."

It still weirded her out that her father had a cook. Her mother missed having servants after the divorce, but Blondie tried her best to keep her home free of employees. And she got stuck with Tej, the most intrusive Van Doren employee.

Chase brought two plates of chicken parmesan to the damn study.

"Workaholic," he said and rolled his eyes, kissing Oliver on the cheek. Blondie rolled her eyes. "Well, I've been having a lovely chat with Miss Tej while you two have been bonding."

Bonding. Sure.

Blondie stabbed into her chicken. She imagined it was the Queen - no, Camilla - that she was stabbing over and over, making sure she never recovered. Because she wasn't the Queen's victim.

She was Melinda "Blondie" Van Doren. She was a fucking hero and people would know that soon.