#and she does for like. a few days. and then stops

[rottingpink]

cod men with fussy wives

cw. fluff, innuendo, cunnilingus, lovemaking, reader is a bit insufferable but she means well. SMUT

synopsis. price, simon and johnny with very naggy wives who show them love and care they've never experienced before

john price

john is the typical gruff, stern guy who knows when to be serious, calm, or regulated, but around his wife, all he is is soft. he spends all day gritting his teeth during combat, pushing through with wounds the size of golf balls and scolding recruits when they fuck up, and so when he's on leave for a few days to see you, all he wants to do is relax, make love to you, eat your cooking, and maybe go fishing or do some home renovations. you, however, have a different plan. you're on his ass the second he gets home. not that he minds too much. you're too beautiful to be annoyed at.

he's sitting on the couch trying to eat a biscuit, and you gently pry it out of his hands mid bite. "john, did you take your omega-3s today?"

he signs, hand grazing your hip as you stand in front of him. "no, love. not today. but i used that nicotine patch you told me to use to help with the smokin'."

your eyes light up. "you're using them, darling?"

his heart thuds pridefully at your reaction, like it usually does when you call him darling in that dreamy little tone of voice.

"wore 'em everyday for ya, m'love," he murmurs, reaching for your hips so he can tug you gently to stand between his knees. "damn if i don't like a good smoke, but i like my woman's happiness a little more."

you giggle, nuzzling your nose into his hair, relishing in the pleasant, clean scent. "just a little?"

he laughs, bringing you into a sitting position on his knee. "a lot, love. y'said it's no good for m'lungs, and i wanna be around long enough to see our grandbabies. can't have that if 'm coughin' up ash everyday."

your lip wobbles. "oh john," you coo, lacing you arms around his neck tightly. you're so proud of him that you feel your eyes start to well up. you nuzzle your face into his neck to hide the way you're getting so emotional. you're so proud of him. "there there..." he bounces you in his lap a little to soothe you. "you're the sweetest lil' thing, aren't ya? takin' care of me so good. wouldn't know what to do without you."

you sniffle and snuggle into him so tight that you're nearly suffocating.

he tries to act like the fussing annoys him most times, but really, he relishes in it. he rarely smokes unless he's very stressed and isn't a heavy drinker. after all, you told him, "don't drink if you're looking for an escape from your problems, m'kay? 's what i'm here for."

his health's never been better.

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he's been on edge all morning. one of the younger dogs knocked the sheep pen open early this morning and let half a dozen of them loose, and price has been running around like his head's on fire trying to corral them back inside and soothe the other distressed sheep. he just got back in all sweaty and stressed, drinking a large mug of coffee. then a second. third. on the fourth, you stepped in, suggesting that he might wanna slow down, and he snapped. "god's sake woman, d'you ever let up? i don't need a bloody nanny all the time. enough with the naggin' "

you shut up immediately, drawing your hand back with your brows scrunched.

slowly, you stop asking about his vitamins. stop shoveling extra greens on his plate. stop massaging rosemary oil into his hair at night. you stop. it's relieving for about fifteen minutes. then, he's disturbed. the silence brings him no peace whatsoever. he lasts until the evening of the same day, and he corners you while you're making dinner, hugging you from behind. "darlin'," he murmurs into your ear, mouthing at the lobe.

no answer. he huffs, dragging you against him and pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down your ear, along your jaw, to your throat, where he licks a broad stripe back up to your sweet spot. "c'mon darlin', 'm sorry. you know i get heated fast, hm?" his big hands travel along your body, his left now splaying on your breast, and the right squeezing your hip. "just had a terrible morning, nearly lost our sheep, had to run around like an idiot for an hour... 'n i lost my cool with you. 's not okay, i know."

"hate it when you raise your voice at me, john." you say softly, and his heart just about breaks. he didn't mean to, really. he loves when you're bossy with him. it shows you care and it's incredibly sexy. he'd just been very irate this particular morning. he's been with you years and hasn't complained seriously about the nagging ever, and he's not about to start now.

he squeezes your tit in his palm and kisses your cheek. "i know beautiful, i know. i love you s'much, hm? gonna make it up to you..."

he's on his knees behind you soon after, eating your pussy under your dress while you try to cook. his tongue laps at your soaked hole, causing his beard to get soaked with your juices. the thick hair scratches pleasantly against your folds while the spoon you're holding clatters onto the counter, your eyes fluttering shut and hands scrabbling forwards for something to hold - you settle on the heavy stand mixer ahead of you.

he's apologizing with a mouthful of your pussy, hands squeezing your ass and giving your thighs a little pinch any time you try to close 'em.

" 'm sorry. need you fussin', darling, alright? don't ever stop." your breath hilts each time his tongue drags upwards and flattens over your clit. his nose keeps nudging your ass because his big hands keep you spread wide for him.

you sway a little, thighs trembling with the overwhelming amount of pleasure he's inflicting on you, but all he does is grunt and pull you back against his face harder. "this what it takes t'get you talkin' to me again?" he rasps against your cunt. "fine, i'll eat this sweet fuckin’ pussy 'til you forgive me."

you gasp when he sucks on your clit and tips you forward so you're fully presented for him, tongue fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. the food you were tying to make is long forgotten at this point, but he doesn't care at all. all he wants to stuff his face with anyway is your sloppy cunt.

"john, mmh!" you cry out, thighs clamping around his head, but he smacks your ass hard and shoves your thighs wide once more.

"no, no, you'll take it," he grunts. "this is my apology, yeah? let me make it right an' show you how much i love your fussin'. "

you cream onto his face with a loud whine. grinding against his chin and into his mouth, and even then, he continues for a second round, mouthing at your folds and mumbling, "couple more, wife. apology's not done."

johnny "soap" mactavish

johnny's a firecracker and a wildcard. he lives on the edge and likes the unknown that comes with being reckless and unprepared. but when he met, dated, and then married you, he did have to learn to exert some degree of control over himself and his life, because damn you're a very meticulous, bossy little thing. not that he minds. having his woman fuss over him and baby him and give him extra special treatment all day, every day doesn't really feel punishing. your fussing is basically foreplay for him.

you'll tell him, "johnny, you're not going on a run with a level 6 UV outside with no sunscreen on. cmere so i can put it all on you."

"...whatever tha' means."

you frown. "johnny, you're not funny. a level 6 is dangerous. cancerous without protection."

he chuckles. "you just want an excuse to rub y'lil hands all over me, ain' that right?"

"johnny!"

you literally have to tackle him onto the living room floor sometimes to rub sunscreen on his face, because he keeps dodging you and laughing. squirming like a kid while you try to get his ears and nose. "you won't wanna shag me if i've got white goo all over m'cheeks, lass, 'm not havin' it."

"you'll thank me when you don't have skin cancer in twenty years," you huff, massaging the liquid into his cheeks while you straddle him. it's the only way he'll ever sit still anyway. his hands reach up to paw at your hips, and he tilts his head, smiling up at you.

"y'look s'cute on top o' me, don't ya?" he coos, giving your ass a playful slap. you roll you eyes and squeeze his cheek in retaliation, and he laughs and continues. "do y'love me more now that i've been properly slathered?" he teases, raising his brows as you finish rubbing in the last bit of cream.

you kiss his forehead. "only a little."

he smiles. "hm. maybe i should scald myself in the sun so you can love me up more."

"johnny."

"…right, right. responsible. m'havin' a growth arc for m'wife,"

"are you?"

"…no. but m'health has improved dramatically since y'started bullyin' me into slatherin' my skin twice a day."

you lean in so your lips brush his "that's cause i want you around forever, dummy."

johnny smiles softer at your words, tugging you down so your forehead rests on his and his beefy arms wrap around you. "i know," he hums, kissing your lips softly. " 'm not goin' anywhere, bonnie. not if i can help it."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

he'd got home only yesterday from being deployed for several weeks. he hadn't seen his loving wife in ages, and the distance didn't do to well on him mentally. he's really not in the mood for fussing. he just needs to eat, fill you up with his cum a few times tonight, and go to bed.

you, however, had been nagging him the minute he came home. needing a breather, he offered to go grab groceries and run errands, hoping that the little break would help him cool off so he didn't snap at you. he's never raised his voice at you, and he doesn't plan on it today.

but when he got back with a dark bottle of bourbon...

"baby? did you only offer to go so you could buy that nonsense? i told you i hate when you drink-"

he interrupts you. "for fuck's sake, can I breathe without you hoverin'? you're not my mum."

you glare at him. not the sweet glare when you're admiring him, or the shy one, or the deadpan one when he does something dumb and you pretend to be mad at him, the angry wife one. oh, he is not a big fan of this look.

weirdly, though, instead of telling him how rude that was and that he knows you're just trying to look out for him, you turn and walk away in an eerie, icy silence. fuck, this isn't good. "bonnie, c'mon. i didnae mean that. c'mere,"

you swat his hand away lightly, deciding you won't be "mothering" him anymore. and so in the following days, you don't tell him to put on sunscreen. you don't pout when he only sleeps four hours. you barely touch him or look at him.

he tries to charm you at first, knowing how much of a sucker you are for his flirting and pretty words, but it doesn't work this time. you don't bite or get on his case or boss him in the way that makes him hard as hell. no shoving his chest when he gets too close or mewling "johnny please," when he teases you. none of it.

you've been eerily polite, and it's driving him mental. on the second day of this, he tries to nuzzle into your neck while you're folding laundry, whispering, "miss you s'much baby, 'm gonna make it up to you properly tonight."

you pull away and hand him rolled up socks. "drawer." he watches you for a moment, hands slack by his sides, socks limp in his grip.

you're distant. johnny's not good with distance from you. the next day, he's extremely restless, wandering around you like a lost puppy in only a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips, hoping you'll come put that greasy spf you always fuss about all over him. he even lies out on the balcony chair for a full twenty minutes in the sun just to bait you, but you give him nothing. you do spare him a glance periodically through the glass door, but you say nothing. he ends up with a sunburn on his chest and the bridge of his nose.

that night, when you dont wiggle into his chest like normal or ask if he had a vitamin after he ate dinner, he turns to his side to face you, needing to put an end to your stonewalling. "bon."

you hum. he can't tell if it's acknowledgement or just the sound you make when you're falling asleep.

"c'mon," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. "i wasn't nice to you, i know that. didn' mean to be a dick. just been so stressed 'n on edge 'n i spoke outta turn."

while you're deciding whether or not to believe him, he gets closer, forehead nudging yours. "i'll pour the bourbon down the sink tomorrow," he says quietly. "swear it."

your fingers toy with the hem of his sleep shirt. it's the first time in days you've touched him without pushing him away. "you can drink if you want to." you murmur, twisting the fabric in your hands. " 'm sorry if i'm being overbearing."

"y'not, baby." he kisses your cheek. "just wanna do whatever makes you happy. you're the boss, aren't you?"

you wake up the next morning with his head between your legs, slow and steady, taking his time kissing down your body, from your tummy, to your hip, down to your inner thigh, and then your tender core.

his big palms wrap around the backs of your thighs and pull them over his shoulders, locking you in place while his mouth sucks and works at your pussy. he's so focused that he's making pleased little groans, crotch rutting absentmindedly against the mattress. he's grateful to have you back in his arms and your pussy, dripping and sweet as nectar, accessible to him once more, but he needs to make you cum to really feel forgiven.

he's slow and paced, kissing on you like he's starved. the slow drag of his tongue through your folds and the way his lips close over your clit and suck just softly enough to make your thighs tremble is euphoric, and you find yourself blanking on why you were mad at him to begin with.

his arms are wrapped around your thighs so firm you can barely move. and every time you try to squirm, he groans low and pulls you right back down, nose buried, face flushed and mouth messy. you can feel his beard brushing you, scratchy and warm, and your fingers automatically slide into his hair. "that's it, baby," he mumbles between pussy kisses. "lemme say sorry proper."

you whimper, back arching when he flattens his tongue against your clit and gives it a slow, firm swirl. he just groans again with enjoyment when you close your thighs around his head. he loves being smothered. he doesn't even care if he breathes, as long as you're happy and in love with him. when your pleasure crests and you cum on his face, he licks at your folds firmer, dragging that orgasm out of you. he keeps his mouth on you, gentler now. just soft licks and little kisses, tongue soothing over your puffy folds while his big hands rub slow circles into your thighs.

he doesn't stop until your hand in his hair goes limp. you sigh, letting him kiss back up your body to give you a little break before he goes back for more. he rests on your chest, nuzzling into your flesh gently. "you're forgiven, johnny." you huff, a little tired.

he grins, mouth still wet, eyes gleaming with relief. "thank fuck. boss me all you want, love. swear it gets me hard, anyway."

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley is commanding. he’s the most domineering presence in any room he walks in. makes the greatest of men lower their gaze when he approaches. he's taken down large enemy groups all on his own, has killed men with his bare hands, and… he comes home to you telling him "you can't eat that, baby. it's got monosodium glutamate in it. that makes you sick, remember?" and listens every time.

"…right," he'll say after a pause. "forgot abou' that. what d’you want me to eat then?"

he'd drop the bag of crisps he picked up on his way home with the god forsaken MSG in it the second you mentioned it and would nod. "mm. wouldn' wan' to spoil my dinner anyway, right love?" while gently taking you into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

you're not controlling, either. the fussing is very particular. typically just a soft, offhand reminder from the only person in the world who really knows and prioritizes him before anything else. you love him so much and this is part of the way you show it. how could he complain?

you know everything about him, which is huge, considering he is a man of few words and is dreadful at being vulnerable. you know what wrecks his stomach, what gives him headaches, how he gets irritable and loopy when he doesn't sleep at least six hours in the night. you know his favorite clothing fabric and how he just wants to hold you when he's upset.

your voice is so warm and quietly certain that he has to listen every time. once you advise him not to do something, everything in him short circuits. his brute force logic disappears. because you say no, or "you shouldn't si, take this instead," and it's a done deal.

you don't even realize what it does to him, how something as simple as your concern twists itself into a soft knot in his stomach, how it makes him ache, not because you're bossing him, but because you're taking car and watching over him in a way no one else does.

he often glares at you and raises a brow ever so slightly at the way you, a tiny thing with big, expressive eyes and pouty lips just told a tank of a man what to do and expected him to listen.

he does though. listens to your bossy ass every time. and for all his stoicism, the man melts under your fussing.

he's in the shower with you brought that annoying cleanser you insist he needs to use every night and wash it off after thirty seconds because he's got sensitive skin.

"love. this shit's greasy."

"it's hydrating, si. good for your skin. protects the barrier."

"don't wan' hydrating."

you rub into his cheekbones anyway while his eyes are locked on you and his breath comes out slow and heavy. you're standing between his legs in the steam, having him lower his head slightly so you can reach your hands into his short hair once you've finished with the cleanser. you're squinting up at him, so serious as you massage something into his scalp like you're not both bare, soaked, and pressed up against each other.

simon has both massive hands holding your waist while he backs you into a corner of the shower, letting you fuss about exfoliants and scalp health with your tits smushed against his body and your eyes fixed on his face and not his cock nudging against your body, aching and swollen from the sight of you. he's trying to focus but he's so distracted by your body, the way you smell, and how soft you are in his hands.

you tilt your head up, rub a little cream into his hair, mumbling, "gotta keep your scalp health up to par, si", and he loses it.

simon grabs your face in both hands and pushes his mouth against yours, catching you off guard. you squeak into his mouth, and he groans and takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, water pouring down both of you, beard scratchy on your chin.

"god," he mutters hoarsely between kisses, "you fuss over me like I’m your bloody housepet."

you let out another noise in his mouth, not knowing if that means he hates it or not, but he nips your lower lip, trails his lips along your jaw and up to your ear. " 's a good thing, love. don't pout."

you moan softly, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck and jaw. the reassurance felt great, and you find yourself melting into his touch.

" 'm gonna fuck you," he mutters, voice cracked with need, hand already sliding down your back to grip your ass. "righ' now. can't take it anymore." you look up through your lashes, lashes wet, lip caught in your teeth.

"but you still have conditioner in," you stare up at him coyly.

"finish after. s'not like 'm goin' anywhere."

what happens if he doesn't wanna be nagged one particular day?

simon didn't mean to snap at you. the harsh tone came out by itself. it's just that he's so tired and sore, joints in his body stiff with exhaustion. all he needs is a breather for five minutes, but you're there by the kitchen counter when he gets home. "hi baby! why don't you start with some of the stir fry i made! dunno if drinking black tea on any empty stomach is the best idea."

normally, he'd melt for your nagging and let you tug the tea bag and mug out of his hands and shove a plate of the lunch you made and a cup of water in his hands instead, and then kiss you stupid for giving a shit, but today, he bristles.

"jesus christ, can i just eat what i want for once?" his voice comes out sharp and cold in a tone he's never used on you before.

you blink, lips parting as you stand frozen in place with the wooden spoon you were using to cook laying limply in your hand. your mouth opens and then closes, and you give him a faint little nod and turn away.

he immediately notices your silence. you're never silent like this, so when you give him a faint little nod and walk off, he knows he screwed up bad. he stews on his stupidity for hours, up until you're laying in bed beside him and not once have you reminded him to put on that charcoal mask you always insist "draws out toxins."

you're just sitting beside him. not even sulking, just indifferent. you know what you're doing, of course. and it's working. he stares at the ceiling for a while, grinding his molars, heart pounding in his chest. he clears his throat in hopes of getting your attention and fails.

"not g'na remind me about the mask tonight?"

you flip a page. "no. thought you didn't want to be nagged."

he winces. actually winces.

"didn’ mean it like that, sweetheart."

"right." you're still not looking at him or touching him.

he can't survive without your fussing much longer. he doesn't have your eyes on him or your little giggles or your hands all over him and sweet night routines and it's making him crazy.

he sits up and breathes in deeply, before reaching for you quietly. you glance over with confusion just as he peels your book out of your hands. "what are you..?"

he's already tugging you across the bed, laying you down on the bed before peeling off your clothes. "simon! wh-what are you doing?" you glare up at him with confusion, squirming under him as he shimmies your panties down your legs and tossing it to the floor.

"apologizin' to m'wife."

he scoops you up and places you on his face with no warning, your pussy lined up with his mouth. he holds you there, palms spread over your ass, fingers sinking into your soft flesh, before diving in.

he groans like a starved man the second he licks into you. his tongue is slow at first, sliding between your folds, and lapping at your soft, juicy pussy. you're still half mad but you can't stop the way your head tips back as he sucks your clit into his mouth and holds it there. you squeal, bucking your hips to try and get away from the overwhelming amount of pleasure, but he doesn't let up, tilting you hips up a little so he can slip his tongue into your soaked hole.

he tongues your entrance and licks you open messily, making you squirm into his mouth. you pull at his hair and try to lift yourself off, whining. "s-simon... s'too much..!"

he slaps your ass. "you don't get to leave me like that, love. won't let you be mad at me."

[hiraizyo]

shall we look at the moon?

pairing: megan skiendiel x female reader

synopsis: in the days leading up to the anniversary of your death, megan spirals in the worst way. she swears she has dealt with her grief, but how can she move on when even in death your presence is constant?

tags: ghost!yn. heavy angst. hurt/comfort. major character death. implied drowning as cause of death. themes of grief. flashbacks / dreams in italics.

a/n: tried experimenting with writing such a heavy topic, despite never having dealt with grief in my life. my poor bby megs :( i’m so sorry y’all, i’ll write fluff for her soon <333 also i’ll try nd attempt continuing the fake dating megan series 🤞this is longer than most fics i write, so get comfy 💞💞

[tuesday, 10:46pm]

the shower water is cold against megan’s skin.

she clenches her hand around nothing, tightening her hand into a fist. her pruned skin rubs against itself. its an odd sensation, and usually she’d stop immediately, but she does it for now. she does it for herself—anything to help her feel.

the icy water is supposed to shock her awake, give a jolt to her system, but it seems like no use. her chest still feels weighed down, her body empty, her mind numb.

megan reaches for the soap. she scrubs away, hard and unrelenting. she’s cleaned herself about three times now, but still—she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs.

megan isn’t sure what exactly she’s washing away, the filthy sweat from practice, or the ghostly grip you had on her soul.

it seems, even in death, you haunt her.

“fuck,” megan hisses as the soap slips from her hands. she reaches down to pick it up, but it slips from her hands again. she tried once more. for a third time, the soap slides out her grasp.

usually, megan would laugh.

normally, she’d smile and find the scene oddly comical.

instead, megan scoffs under her breath, angry. stupid, fuck ass soap! this is why lara shouldn’t buy their toiletry products! whether she’s angry at the soap itself, lara, or at herself, she isn’t sure.

but soon, that hot, burning anger she feels turns into an ache that has a vice grip on her heart.

megan breathes.

her body stills, she waits.

waiting for a crash out feels like watching paint dry, it feels like the calm before the storm. megan knows she deserves this, needs it. she’d fought long and hard the entire day to keep the tears at bay.

god, today absolutely sucked.

the wait doesn’t last long. tears brim the bottom of her eyelids, threatening to drop. the first few that fall mix with the water, until eventually, she isn’t sure what streams down her face— the salty tears or the freezing water.

they’re both the same to her, anyways.

the first sob that escapes her is quiet, as if she’s testing the waters. as if she needs to make sure no one in the house could hear her agonizing cries.

the second sob is louder, heavier. it wracks through her whole body like a piercing stab. it knocks her down, till her knees buckle and her body falls back. she leans against the shower wall, cold water still running.

the third sob feels like a punch to the gut. her breathing labored, her lungs feels like they’ve been cut through. her supply of oxygen is lacking, making it increasingly difficult to breathe.

between her choked weeping, the stinging water, the tears that now burn her eyes, megan hasn’t noticed anything happening around her, until the water stops. only droplets now remain, falling from the shower facet.

a towel is placed over her shoulder, the material soft against her skin.

megan doesn’t notice the voice whispering against her ears, she doesn’t care either. everything is too much—the feelings, her clouded mind, her trembling hands. she grips onto whoever is holding her, grounding herself.

and soon, when megan’s eyes open, the tears now gone and her vision clear, she sees your ghost-like figure standing in the corner of the bathroom. you’re watching her solemnly, a pained look on your face. your hand twitches at your side, itching to reach out to her.

she watches you, silently.

her heart breaks all over again.

sophia pulls her tightly against her, kissing megan’s temple, and tightens the towel around her younger band member. she holds her, grip unrelenting, letting her know she wasn’t alone. and she doesn’t let go until megan’s exhausted herself, passing out in sophia’s arms.

that night, megan’s sobs rattle the walls of the house. it haunts each member, an indefinite scar embedded deep in their lives.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[wednesday, 11:04am]

for megan, the day starts with peeling the blanket off her body. a simple task, and yet she feels it takes a strenuous amount of effort.

today is a break in the kats’ schedule. grateful for having to do no work, megan takes slow steps as she exits the room. lara is nowhere to be seen. she isn’t in their room, isn’t in the bathroom. megan checks each room of her members. first, she finds yoonchae asleep. then, much like lara, sophia isn’t there either. finally, she discovers manon and daniela’s room is equally as vacant.

she trudges along the hallway of the house. its quiet, oddly quiet. the silence is so deafening to megan, her thoughts scream louder in return.

“morning,” a voice startles her.

megan looks up. she sees daniela, who’s sitting comfortably on the couch. a blanket covers her legs, an opened book perched in her lap.

megan waves, small and timidly.

before daniela can say anything else, megan mumbles an “i’m okay” in her direction. she hopes it’s enough for her member to not worry, hopes that it’ll put daniela’s mind at ease after last night.

daniela watches as megan smiles at her. its unconvincing, doesn’t reach her eyes. like megan is a moment away from another breakdown. the younger member walks on, and daniela continues to follow her with her gaze. megan looks lost, like she’s floating miles away.

daniela sighs, shoots a quick text to sophia.

megan makes quick work of preparing a cup of her coffee. she almost burns herself when pouring the hot water, and yet, it doesn’t sting as much as when she hears your voice.

“you should talk to one of them.” you tell her, voice low and quiet.

megan stirs the spoon in the cup. “i told dani i’m fine, because i am. okay, yn?” her words have a harsh bite.

“you don’t seem like it. i know you aren’t alright, megs.” you respond as delicately as you can, eyebrows creased together.

you’d been in this position before—watching megan carry on as if her world wasn’t crumpling around her. you had to admit though, she does a pretty good job at avoiding such a difficult situation.

“jesus—i’m fine.” she tells you, her tone leaving no room for discussion. and finally, she looks up at you. your transparent-like figure greets her, and megan feels her body run cold.

you swallow down another reply, opting to stay silent.

you can tell her seeing you like this brings an unimaginable amount of pain. it stings in your own chest, like your soul was tethered to hers, even if your heart no longer beats.

megan’s hands shake. she drops the spoon, and it clatters along the kitchen counter, echoing around the room.

she lets out a shuttered breath.

“i’m sorry, yn, i— i don’t mean to push you away.”

she watches as you nod, soundlessly. your fingers dance around each other, holding onto your own so that you ignore the itch to reach for megan’s. even if you did reach for her, you’d never be able to feel her in any case.

“i want to talk about it, i do. but i can’t find the words. i only have this hollowing feeling, like a void is in me, and everywhere around my body.”

megan inhales a sharp breath and turns away, back facing you. her coffee she made leaves her mind as she walks away from the kitchen and back to her room, once again catching the attention of a concerned daniela.

the room is cold. megan leans against the door and thumps the back of her head on it, biting down on her lip so hard she draws blood. she walks over to her bed a moment later, and falls into it. the comforter feels itchy against her skin.

megan doesn’t have to look up to know you’d followed her back to the room. she feels your presence, permanently there.

back in the lounge, daniela listens to the door shutting.

she doesn’t follow immediately. instead, she waits. quietly and carefully.

dani gives her the time, the space. she understands it’s what megan needs the most, what megan has stressed to her members countless times before. but this isn’t just giving her space, this is her letting megan drift further away, so far that daniela fears none of the members would be able to pull her back.

she stands from couch, slow and deliberate. her footsteps are light against the floor as she makes her way to megan and lara’s shared room.

she knocks once, no answer.

when daniela opens the door seconds later, she finds megan kneeling on the floor, her body slumped against the side of her bed. her arm is wrapped around her waist tightly, holding herself. daniela comes closer, kneels down along with her and places a tentative hand against megan’s shoulder.

“‘m f-fine.” megan whispers, but her voice is caught in her throat and she looks as if breathing alone hurts her.

“you don’t have to pretend, megs.” daniela tells her, gently coaxing megan into letting her in. “i know it’s hard, it’s a difficult time. but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

at her words, megan crumbles.

the dam breaks, the pressure too much. megan’s sob is loud and raw, the grief clawing at her chest finally rips free. its ugly, intense, harsh.

megan collapses in daniela’s arm. the latina catches her immediately, leans megan’s head in the crook of her neck. she doesn’t care that the younger wets her skin and t-shirt, doesn’t care that megan’s nails digging in her side is hurtful. she simply holds her, keeping megan up as the grief knocks her down.

time moves strangely in that moment.

neither daniela nor megan is sure how long they sat on the floor. daniela is certain her knees were bruised by now, but still, she rubs a hand up and down megan’s back—until her sobs turn into quiet whimpers, until her breathing evens out.

megan sighs, “thanks.. for being here.”

“always.” daniela locks her hands with megan’s, squeezing it gently.

megan tightens her grip. dani doesn’t let go.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[thursday, 05:37pm]

the afternoon sun pans through the house, warming each and every corner. it’s a pleasant summer day, and the streaks of golden sunlight sets megan in a much better mood.

she’d spent the day lounging around, catching up on some episodes she’d missed over the busy weeks of katseye’s newest comeback. getting into a change of clothes, playing some games, listening to her favorite artists—anything to make her feel better and release her from this slump. you watched from the sidelines the entire day, glad she was taking a step in the right direction.

earlier, she noticed the messy heap of clothes thrown around her room, and the equally messy space in her closet. so, she decided she’d clean.

the sight that greets lara when she enters their room is her roommate, on the floor, folding some t-shirts and stacking them atop on another. she also sees there’s already two shelves thats been rearranged and organized, a small smile gracing her features.

“i take it you’re feeling better.” she says, smoothly crossing the room and flops onto her bed.

megan looks at the girl over her shoulder. “yeah, a little.” she nods, and continues folding some tops. she packs the finished pile onto the shelf, and begins folding again, starting another pile.

lara tilts her head to the side, “that’s good.”

the look in her eyes is less pity and more one of empathy, her gaze burning into megan’s. it makes the younger’s chest hurt, having seen this look for three days now. she tears her eyes away from lara and swallows down a lump in her throat.

they continue to sit in silence, being in one another’s presence as they each do their own thing.

when megan’s finished up with organizing her shelves, she stands up and moves over to open the other closet doors. hoodies and jackets laying on her bed await her, needing to be hung in the closet. she makes it through a couple, before she catches sight of one particular jacket—yours.

her hands become taut around the fabric.

megan’s stilled movements are caught in lara’s peripheral vision. she looks up, studying the chinese girl. her eyes were unblinking, like she’d been frozen in time.

lara doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t speak.

megan didn’t mean for the words to fall out, but when they do, they’re heavy with a kind of sadness that could break a person.

“she used to wear this all the time.”

lara looks at the jacket. it’s a beige color, and she can tells its old from the way the zipper is almost breaking away from the interlocking teeth.

“i mean, it’s cute. i can see why she’d always wear it.” lara replies, without any hesitancy, as if it was a normal interaction between the two.

you’re watching them from megan’s bed, sitting against the pillows. “tell her it was my favorite.” your smile was crooked, some humor in your tone.

“it was her favorite, y’know.” megan repeats, quickly looking up at you. the smile she sees in your face lights a fire in her. it’d been a while since either of you had smiled.

“i’d love to hear more about some of her other favorite things,” lara told her band member. quickly, she adds, “some day.”

her words have you gasping, looking at megan with excitement in your eyes. “ooh! you’ve got to tell her about my favorite spot back home! and also, my favorite movie, it’s a classic. my favorite band —mh, what else?— don’t forget my favorite marvel character!”

megan lets out a quick breath. this was all too much. too many feelings, voices, thoughts. she hears your words, but she isn’t taking them in. instead, her mind is far away, the jacket having unlocked a memory she hadn’t thought of in years.

you’d been sitting in megan’s room for quite some time now. an was an episode of spongebob was playing on her laptop, but she hadn’t been paying much attention.

megan tapped her fingers against her thigh, visibly bored and tired of binging cartoons. she looked at you, chuckling at the way you’re engrossed in the show. she sighed.

“let’s go out!” she yelled, quickly getting off her bed and walking around to get a pair of shoes.

“what? megs, it’s almost eleven p.m.” you replied, looking between her and the laptop.

“so?” she shrugged, tying her laces.

you furrowed your eyebrows, pausing the show and sitting up straighter. “what could we possibly do this late at night?”

“go to a park? get some food?” she offered, grabbing that beige jacket out her closet and throwing it on the bed. “i don’t know! but i’m bored and i fear i have a case of cabin fever.”

you laughed, shaking your head at her. “alright.”

following in her footsteps, you got off the bed and slipped on your shoes. when you were done, you turned around and that’s when you noticed the jacket megan chucked out the closet.

“hey, wait! is this mine?” you asked, looking up at megan while holding the jacket in your hands. the girl turned away sheepishly. “i’ve been looking for this for weeks!”

your mouth hung open in shock, thinking you’d lost the jacket somewhere at school. meanwhile, it’d been in megan’s closet this entire time.

“you had it all this time, you… you thief!”

megan’s already out her bedroom by the time she answered you, giggling to herself. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

later that night, while you two sat in the park and the chilly air whipped past you, megan shivered. she tried to hide it, but you noticed anyway. you’d unzipped your jacket, and even though she protested, claiming you’d catch a cold, you easily slipped it in her, making quick work of zipping up the jacket and gave her your signature smile.

“there, heat up. your nose is all red from the cold.” a scowl was present on your face, but the anger wasn’t serious in anyway. “looks better on you.” you proclaimed.

you stare lingered, warmth in your eyes. it was a look that megan had seen many times, a look that managed to say i love you without ever uttering the words.

a hand on her shoulder pulls her back, firm. stable. grounding.

it isn’t lara’s voice that reaches her ears. instead, it’s yours. you’d gotten off the bed, now standing beside megan. “hey, megs..” she can feel your gaze boring into the side of her head. it stings. she looks away, but your eyes never leave her.

she blinks, not even realizing the little tears that managed to gather in her eyes. megan sniffles, coughs lightly, and places her hand over lara’s. it’s a small gesture, a thank you, her way of saying that she’s grateful lara is here with her.

“i’m sorry,” megan whispers. “i was just— i remembered something.”

lara doesn’t say anything at first. she takes the jacket out megan’s hands, places it back on the bed and sits down. she gently tugs megan to sit with her, and when her body hits the mattress, she feels the weight of everything.

“god, i miss her so much.” megan’s voice is thick with emotion. “i wish i could go back, spend more time with her. tell her how happy she makes me, that i love her. that she’ll always be my best friend.”

lara listens attentively, rubbing a hand over her roommate’s back.

by now, you’ve stepped back. far back into the corner. her words hit you like a punch to the face. she could still tell you this, still talk to you. why had she felt the need to go back?

“those memories, though it hurts to remember, they’re the kindest ones. warm and comforting. hold them close to you, she’d want you to remember the good times.”

megan closes her eyes.

she thought the grief had been over, but now, sitting there, she felt as if this was a wound she’d never heal from.

this torment, agony, it took up space. space she didn’t have room for.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[friday, 04:20am]

it was late and dark, the air chilly.

there was a large commotion that rang through the streets of megan’s childhood home. she had heard them from outside through her bedroom windows, frowning lightly.

megan looked out her window across the street. your undrawn curtains greeted her, giving her a clear view of your bedroom. the light was off, the room vacant and had no sign of you. she slowly searched for her phone in her bed, wondering where you were at this time of night.

maybe you were in the bathroom? perhaps doing your nightly routine. but megan knew you well, she knew you’d always leave your room light on when getting ready for bed.

she typed out a message, hitting send.

she watched as the message delivered. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to wait on a response from you, but something gnawed at her chest, an unsettling feeling that raised her anxiety.

megan tapped on your contact to call you, the ringing loud as she held her phone against her ear. the sounds of blaring sirens distracted her for a moment and she looked away from your bedroom window.

the call went to voicemail, so megan tried again.

that dread she felt settled deeper in her chest. she rose from her bed and walked out the bedroom door, phone still tight in her grip.

when megan reached the living room, she noticed the front door was open. her brother was out for the night, so the only person to have opened the door would be her mom, but why?

her heart began to race. another unanswered call from you.

megan stepped out the door, trudging slowly. down the road, she saw flashing blue and red lights. people gathered on their front lawns, looking out in curiosity.

what the hell was happening?

megan tapped her phone to call you again. this time, she prayed for you to pick up. she thought maybe you would have the answer as to why the neighborhood was so invested in something that clearly didn’t concern them. you always kept up with street gossip, surely you would know why everyone was rattled and out their homes.

she wasn’t sure when she began to walk out into the street, but soon her legs were carrying her to the end of the road. a large group of people stood around, she tapped on a random person’s shoulder to ask them what this was all about, but the person merely shook their head and sighed.

megan quickly spotted her mom and hastily made her way over, eyes frantic. “what’s going on?” she asked. her mom looked at her with deep sorrow, and megan felt terror struck her heart.

her mom eyes were wet with unshed tears. “it’s late dear, go back home. we’ll talk in the morning.”

“talk in the morning? about what?” megan questioned, a frown present. she looked over the crowd of people. “yn isn’t answering any of my calls, and i don’t know where she is.”

“oh, megan…” her mom shakily breathed out.

she peered at megan with something that the chinese couldn’t decipher. was it pity, or was it sympathy? and why was her mom a second away from breaking out into tears?

megan’s head whirled around. she pushed past the people, ignoring the calling of her name. it was difficult to shove through the crowd, but she managed until she reached the front. she let out a huff of air. policemen stood there, trying to assist the crowd. one lightly pushed on her shoulder, his gaze stern.

“miss, you need to step back.” he told her, and megan shoved his arm away. she didn’t mean to be so rough, but no one was telling her anything, and her anxiety was slowly creeping up on her.

“i’m looking for my friend, i need to—”

“this is a private matter. for your safety, please, i need you to step back.” he said calmly, despite the glaring look megan was giving him.

she swallowed down her frustration, nodded silently, and once his attention was elsewhere, megan moved along the barricades that were set up, trying to get closer to the ambulance van that seemed to entrance everyone.

she still had yet to find you.

as she weaved past the people, megan could feel her body go cold. she wasn’t sure if it was from the cool air of the night, or the worrying feeling that seemed to grip onto her, but something was wrong.

a body was laid out on a stretcher, white sheet covering the person. she watched as a medical team rolled the stretcher towards the ambulance as quickly as they could.

then, she saw it.

the hand that hung off the side of the stretcher looked strangely familiar. megan knew every part of you, even your hands. hands that she’s held in her own, hands that caressed her face with such gentleness, hands that she’s kissed over the years from scratches of accidentally hurting yourself.

megan refused to believe it. this person wasn’t you. this person was dead, and you were alive, somewhere out in the world, alive and breathing, and certainly not the one being rolled up the ramp of the ambulance.

it couldn’t have been you. no, megan refused to let such thoughts be thrown around in her head. it was purely coincidence that tonight was the one time she couldn’t get hold of you.

it wasn’t you, right?

her breathing quickened. that dreading feeling she fought so hard to keep at bay seemed to crack through the surface.

megan pushed away the barricade, the object scraping against the road caught the attention of some of the working officers as one made their way over to her. she moved swiftly towards the van, tears beginning to gather in her eyes.

“no, no…” she mumbled, not even realizing the approaching officer. “no! god, please don’t let it be her.” a force pushed her back as an officer tried to hold her down.

“miss, you need to calm down.”

megan looked at him in scrutiny, eyes squinting together as she tried to focus her blurry vision. she vigorously fought against his hold. his voice had an authoritative tone as he spewed out words that flew past megan’s ears. a ringing echoed in her ears, disconnecting her from everything around her. her body weakened, muscles going limp as she let out a wail.

“hey, no! i need to get through. it can’t— it can’t be yn, not my yn!”

she gasped out, pushing hard against the arms that engulfed her. her throat felt dry, her mind had no other thoughts but to get to closer. she struggled, but ultimately the strength of the man overpowered her.

all the panic she felt denied her the truth, but as she looked around, she saw your mom, weeping into the arms of your dad.

time seemed to stop in that moment.

she knew then, it was you. she felt it deep inside, like her soul had been ripped from yours, like someone had teared her apart.

“YN, NO—!”

megan jolts awake with a pant, her body and clothes drenched in sweat.

her legs are tangled in the sheets, the blanket half off the bed. the room is dark, and eerily silent. she sits up, pressing a hand on her chest as she breathes deep to calm her racing heart. the chinese looks to the side to see lara laying soundlessly asleep in her own bed, unaware of the torturous dream that her roommate had just endured.

megan blinks away remaining sleep in her eyes, running a hand through her damp hair. there’s some difficulty in trying to see in the unlit room, but she manages as she slowly peels the sheet off her and gets out of bed. she saunters out the door, moving about the quiet dorm towards the kitchen.

she’s in desperate need of water, gulping it down as if she’s been deprived of it her whole life. water droplets fall down her chin and neck as she drinks messily, breathing heavy and quick through her nose. she closes her eyes to calm herself once again, but all she could see behind her eyelids was the remains of her dream.

“it happened again, didn’t it?”

megan jumps, startled. she places the glass down and looks to her right, head titling up as she stares at your ghostly figure sitting atop the counter. you’re almost transparent, a mix of white and grey glow surrounding you.

she sighs, “yeah.”

“how many times is that now this week?” you ask, frowning at her in concern.

megan shrugs lazily and walks to the sink to place the glass there. “i don’t know. i stopped keeping track.”

you don’t reply as you observe her. megan’s hands are clenched at her side, the skin of her knuckles turning white. her body is hunched over, shoulder blades peeking through the back of the t-shirt that clings to her body. she raises her hands to grip onto the edge of the counter for some form of stability, letting out a shuttered breath and swallows the swell in her throat.

“have you spoken to your mom?” your voice rings through the air, tapping your finger against your hand.

“what’s with all the questions?”

ignoring her, you continue to talk on. “you should call her. the one year mark is coming up since…” you pause, a deep sigh leaving one you realize your words. “since the night it happened.”

megan shuts her eyes. “stop talking, please.��

“okay.” you mumble somberly, averting your gaze to the floor.

guilt begins to flood in your veins. the last thing you want is to upset her further, but as you look over her, you can tell she’s barely hanging on and all you crave is to comfort her.

megan turns back around to face you, though her eyes are trained on the floor. she took in another deep breath, and walks off. she finds herself in the living room, switching on the tv in hopes to distract her mind. silently, your ghostly body follows after her.

you aren’t sure how exactly any of this was possible. to be able to still be with her, that is.

you’d returned to her three days after your death, a week before the funeral. megan rememberers how she was lying in bed, eyes to the ceiling as she pat her hoodie sleeve against her cheeks to dry them. she’d been crying nonstop. she recalled how she let out a shriek at the sight of you sitting atop her desk, as if your body hadn’t been dragged out before her eyes days prior.

at first, she thought she’d gone crazy. how the hell were you still here?

she assumed it had to be her grief stricken mind, struggling to cope with the quick and sudden loss of her best friend. but time passed on, and you stayed with her. it was difficult and a little weird at first, because how was megan supposed to explain that she could still see you? how was she supposed to answer her mom’s questions of dealing with your death when you would be sat right beside her?

it’s a weird phenomenon that to this day neither you or megan would be able to explain. still, you’re glad to be around, even if megan grew older and you were stuck at seventeen.

the sound of the friends intro playing on the screen was is heard. megan had put the volume low enough so that she wouldn’t wake anyone.

you cross your arms over your chest. “skip this episode, i hate it.”

“but it’s one of my favorites.” megan argues, keeping her stare on the screen.

“let’s just watch the next one.” you sink further into the couch, groaning out loud. your head rolls to the side as you glance up at her.

“i’m not listening to you.” she retorts and moves the remote away from you. (as if you’d be able to touch the object anyways.)

“why? because i’m dead?”

“because you’re annoying.”

you snort out a laugh, and for a brief moment megan feels a smile grace her lips.

“it’s nice to see that,” you mumble. “your pretty smile.”

megan chuckles, a larger smile forming. half of it is out of happiness, the other half from the deep sadness that settles in her heart.

seconds later, the smile drops. “i don’t have much to be happy about these days.” she responds, turning back to the tv.

“thats such a lie. didn’t your newest song just drop?” you remark, sarcastically rolling your eyes.

“yeah, but..” megan bites on her bottom lip. the show does little to distract her. “you aren’t here to experience it with me.”

“i am here.” you say, voice firm.

“not in the way i want.”

her voice goes quiet, not entirely there. trembling and hollow. the base of her throat throbs from the truth now laid out bare.

you flinch, her words soft yet razor sharp.

you look away and down at the tiny gap between yours and megan’s legs. they aren’t pressed against one another, and still, you feel the pressure of her being there.

she moves her hand down. it’s now laid out on her thigh, palm facing upwards. her fingers are flexed out, loose. slowly, unknowingly, you reach down and place your hand above hers. then, you lower it down as if you were intertwining your fingers.

your hand passes through hers. there’s nothing but cold air.

your mouth parts, breath catching on the inhale. suddenly, you felt out of place. like you didn’t know where to belong. like being here with megan hurt more than letting her go.

the rawness of the situation hits you both. megan folds into herself, crumbling. her eyes don’t water, she’d cried enough this entire week. but her body feels dark and empty and numb. and you, you’re aching. not only for yourself, but for megan too. you’re witnessing her shattering, but you can’t hold her. can’t feel her. can’t hold her up as she breaks like porcelain.

so, you sit in it.

the hurt. the grief. the misery that’s made a home in both of you.

₊˚🎧⊹♡

[saturday, 02:30pm - the anniversary]

the park bench digs into the exposed skin of megan’s legs, and the heat of the sun runs across her body. she exists, quietly, leisurely.

the outside is bright, a colorful hue that contrasts the darkness of her mind. but still, she basks in it, reminds herself that she will be okay.

you’re beside her, as always.

neither of you talk. you’d been giving her space after a long phone call she had with her mom moments prior. her mom asked how she was, told her to come home, visit your grave. megan declined, she didn’t think she had it in her. she doesn’t thinks she ever will.

the year that passed weighed dense on her shoulders. there’s an ache in her bones, a blurry picture of how she managed to make it a full year without you.

except, she’s never without you.

megan thinks, perhaps, the grief sticks to her like glue because you’re still there. perhaps, if you weren’t in this form—a ghost, a figment—she’d move on quicker, easier. but in the same thought, she doesn’t want to let you go. not yet.

not when if she were to lose you again, she’d be losing a piece of herself. permanently.

you let the time pass, not making a sound. if there was one thing about you and megan, it’s that silence was a language you were both fluent in.

but the quietness stretches further, minutes turn into hours of unspoken words.

the sun burns her skin now, blotches of red on her legs. megan breathes, deeply, fully, and exhales. this time, she releases the heaviness thats been her companion for far too long.

that pain she felt, you’d felt it too. every day. all over you. but you keep it to yourself, megan shouldn’t have to deal with your pain too.

not not.

not ever.

yall icl i had no idea how to end this one im sorry :/ also yes i edited and revised all this but if you see any typos pls excuse its like 2am rn im fried 💔💔

[cosycryptid]

Steve finds employment in Starcourt mall but instead of Scoops Ahoy, he’s employed as a mall singer. He’s supposed to just sing commercial friendly songs and look pretty to draw more people in to spend more time there and as a result spend more money. What they didn’t tell him to do was sing every song like he’s pouring every bit of him into it, but Steve gets so into it he can’t help it. Whatever he’s feeling, he bares to the world when he sings, and it makes him feel a little lighter and a little freer each time.

He begins to draw crowds made up of eighty percent women who come to stare at him and twenty percent guys who are bored waiting for their wife or girlfriend and little kids who are easily impressed and think he’s actually a famous singer.

Whenever he has a break, he starts running for the safety of Scoops Ahoy and the one girl who doesn’t seem to be interested in invading his space. It’s also great for when he needs to cool down from performing all morning or afternoon. He likes that there’s no pressure with Robin, like he doesn’t feel the need to try and impress her or flirt with her so he can just exist.

Eventually, he finds out that Robin likes women because he recognises the look she gets when she’s talking to one she finds pretty. They have a really long conversation about it after the mall closes which solidifies their friendship and opens up Steve’s mind to different kinds of love.

So when a cute guy who works at a kiosk near the stage Steve sings on shows interest in him, he responds receptively, letting curiosity take the lead. What he discovers is a) that he’s bisexual and b) there’s nothing quite like the heartbreak of learning that someone you put yourself out on the line for in a big way and experienced a bunch of firsts with just isn’t on the same page. Steve thought they really had a connection but then one day when the guy isn’t working, he sees him walk through the mall, right past where Steve’s setting up for his shift, his arm wrapped around some girl. A few moments later he kisses her on the lips and Steve’s world shatters.

Steve went and cried about it behind the counter at Scoops. Robin was his shoulder to cry on. At some point she says ‘it’s a shame you can’t sing all about it, I bet it would feel great to see the look on the guys face’. Steve is plagued by the idea until he sings a couple of songs with risque lyrics to test the waters and no one seems to pay attention to the actual words he’s singing. He decides to just go for it and get some closure.

Eddie is losing his mind because Steve Harrington should not be able to sing. That’s just unfair. He’s already rich, popular and ridiculously attractive. It has to stop somewhere. And now Eddie is spending hours in the mall of all places, listening to him bless some of the most commercial, souless, bubblegum trash songs ever written with that beautiful voice they don’t deserve.

He’s even got a regular spot where he can sit facing away from the stage and pretend he just happens to be loitering in the area and is not listening to Steve make his way through the same set of chart hits.

Then all of a sudden Steve begins to sing songs that are not exactly mall friendly and definitely not on the pop charts. It does nothing to disuade his loyal audience and somehow he doesn’t seem to have had any complaints or gotten in trouble for it. It must be the King Steve charm, but Eddie’s not complaining because Steve’s taste is far better than the crap he was being told to sing before.

Then one day, Steve sings something Eddie’s never heard before. And yeah it is a bit too pop like for Eddie’s taste, but then he realises in quick succession that this song is a one hundred percent Steve Harrington original and that the lyrics are gay as hell.

Eddie's so surprised that he forgets to pretend to be uninterested, he turns so fast to look at the stage that a couple of people give him funny looks for it. Steve looks so passionate when he sings, it's mesmerising, Eddie's so glad he hasn't looked until now because he would have been throwing himself at the guy's feet.

When the bridge comes up, Steve glares at someone directly across the mall. Eddie, curious, follows his line of sight to a nearby kiosk and the guy working there. Oh yeah, Eddie's been there, done that, cried in Wayne's arms about it. But he cannot believe the guy is stupid enough to fumble a chance with Steve Harrington, every gay guy's unattainable straight guy dream.

Except now Eddie knows he's not so straight and not so unattainable, and he'll be damned if he doesn't at least attempt to whisk him off his feet. He strolls over to Scoops Ahoy, asks Buckley to get him a cone of whatever Steve's favourite flavour is and endures the 'Steve's recently had his heart broken, so if you aren't one hundred percent serious about this then don't bother because I will hunt you down if you hurt him' shovel talk as Robin's ringing him up.

He practically runs over and pushes his way past several enamoured mothers to get to the back of the small stage as Steve is going on break. Steve looks shocked as Eddie hands over the ice cream, but the smile on his face when Eddie says he got it for him because he noticed Steve likes to go in there on his breaks is warm enough to light a campfire.

"I've been listening to your set for weeks and I think you have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. Would you please consider going see a movie with me when you finish work today?" Eddie says, and he feels a little bit pathetic over how mushy it comes out.

He doesn't regret it though, because Steve is beaming at him when he says, "Sure, I finish at five thirty." And follows it up with, "So, what movie are we going to see?"

----------------------------

I'm not going to lie, the idea for this came from a MLM cover of Good Luck, Babe! I found on Spotify and imagined Steve singing to someone while Eddie looks on and thinks 'what kind of idiot would do this to the Steve Harrington?'

I've put a link to the cover here if you want to hear it.

Unrelated to this specific idea, but there's also this cover of Ain't it Fun that I sometimes imagine him singing to Billy or Tommy H. [x]

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ jealousy, jealousy ~ k. bakugou

sum: just some jealous! bakugou thoughts

pairing: katsuki bakugou x girlfriend! reader

content: 18+ - mdni. jealousy p in v, language, dirty talk, possessive talk, implied/suggested multiple rounds, marking, cream pie, brief cum plugging, reader gets called princess/baby/good girl, general NSFW content.

a/n: a rework of a request from my wattpad days, and another instalment in the jealousy, jealousy series! this time featuring our favourite explosive boy. as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 1.2k

links: jealousy, jealousy masterlist | bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

jealous! bakugou who will be more than happy to show when he's in a jealous mood. who'll not back down without a fight where you're concerned.

jealous! bakugou who'll not hesitate to send explosions towards the poor soul who's entered your personal space. who lets out a growl as he stomps towards where you're standing.

jealous! bakugou who wraps a hand on your hip and pulls you to him, not too hard to hurt you, just enough to make sure the other extra gets their hands off you as soon as possible.

jealous! bakugou who'll grip a hold of the poor soul's collar, pulling them close, close enough for them to flinch when he yells at them. "oi extra. what the fuck do you think you're doing?", "care to tell me why you're touching my girlfriend?" and "she's my girl, got that?".

jealous! bakugou who once the person he's grabbed a hold of agrees, lets go of them as he feels you tugging on his arm. who huffs out before grabbing your hand and stomping off with you in tow.

jealous! bakugou who'll slam doors once he reaches his room, to let your roommates know he's pissed off. who knows that they'll keep clear if they value not only their lives but their hearing as well.

jealous! bakugou who picks you up and throws you onto his bed, chuckling deeply when you gasp in surprise. who'll slowly crawl over you until he has you caged between his arms and body. "people think they can touch what's mine" and "they're fucking wrong, you're mine".

jealous! bakugou who loves to place rough kisses on your neck, biting and sucking to make sure he marks you for everyone to see. who'll always favour leaving a huge love bite with smaller ones dotted around it. "looks like i'll have to remind those fuckers and you, my peach, who you belong to".

jealous! bakugou who mutters to himself while he does this. who likes to press his body into yours, groaning at the way you push back into him. who loves the way you grind yourself against him.

jealous! bakugou who likes to get your clothes off you as soon as he possibly can. who practically rips the fabric of your underwear and bra off your body, chucking them in the room, not giving a fuck where they land.

jealous! bakugou who likes to trail his fingers over your skin, making sure to tease your nipples with ghost-like touches. who smirks at the way you gasp and arch your back to try and get him to touch you more.

jealous! bakugou who'll move his mouth to your chest, taking each of your nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the bud. who likes to bite down on them as you squirm below him, tugging them slightly as you hiss.

jealous! bakugou who'll move his hand down your body, stopping at your cunt as he gives it a slap. who'll move his fingers along your slit before pressing them knuckles deep into your waiting cunt. who loves how wet you already are, slick helping his fingers scissor you open.

jealous! bakugou who'll kneel up when he gets bored after a few moments, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to clean your juices off them. who chuckles when he sees you trying to hide your face behind your hands. "how cute, peach, but i need to see your eye roll back when i stretch you wide".

jealous! bakugou who grabs hold of your legs and presses them against your chest with a smirk. who doesn't give you a chance to prepare when he lines the tip of his cock against your wet cunt and thrusts himself in fully in one go.

jealous! bakugou who loves how your walls spasm around him, and the look of pure bewilderment on your face. who doesn't give you a moment to breathe before he's pistoning his hips into you, driving his cock further into you.

jealous! bakugou who gets more harsh with his thrusts when you whimper out. "need to remind you who this pretty pussy belongs to", "damn extras thinking they can touch you", "need to mark you in a way only i can".

jealous! bakugou who only gets spurred on more by your moans and whimpers. who'll groan when he feels your fingernails drag down the smooth skin of his back, red marks sure to appear. "kats, h-ah, please, so deep". "be a good girl and take everything i've got to give your pussy".

jealous! bakugou who'll pull out and run the tip of his wet cock against your cunt, tapping it against your clit as you writhe beneath him. who'll chuckle deeply before thrusting back into you. "you like that princess? fuck, your pussy feels so good squeezing my cock like that".

jealous! bakugou who'll use every single surface imaginable to his advantage when fucking you. who'll bend you in ways you don't even remember being able to get into in the first place. "such a good little princess, taking all of me".

jealous! bakugou who'll bite your neck as he spills his cum deep within you. who'll mark you in any way he possibly can so you don't ever forget who you belong to, that he's the one who stole your heart. who'll press his hips close to you as you let a broken cry of his name pass your lips.

jealous! bakugou who'll pull out of your puffy pussy slowly just to see ropes of his seed still attached to his cock, who loves to watch how they break the further he pulls out. who watches how this cum slowly seems out of you, pussy clenching to try and keep it in.

jealous! bakugou who'll take a moment to gather up his cum on his fingers before slipping them inside, pluggin you for a moment as he feels the way your walls still pulsate around him. "such a greedy little cunt".

jealous! bakugou who'll pull you into his arms as he lies down with you. who pulls you closer to him as he absentmindedly draws patterns on your torso.

jealous! bakugou who's actually fearful! bakugou. who's scared to admit he's worried you'll up and leave him one day. who'll spend most of his time alone, thinking the worst of any situation.

fearful! bakugou who watches how you interact with people, how you smile and laugh with them so easily, yet it took you a while to warm up to him. who knows, deep down, you wouldn't leave him, but he's his own worst enemy at the best of times.

fearful! bakugou who spends time watching you as you lie on his bed, chatting away about your day. who sees the way you look at him with a sincere smile as you turn and cup his cheek. "it'll always be you, kats".

fearful! bakugou who finds himself softening up to your touches as you make sure to make him feel more secure in himself. who'll close his eyes as you reassure him you love him for who he is, mean looks and all.

jealous! bakugou who when it comes down to it, wants to show the world you belong to him with his marks. it's the only way he can until you're both a bit older and comfortable with your lives together in a few years at least.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[adieutristana]

appelle mon numéro; powder x fem!reader

the way i love mylène farmer it’s blasphemous i haven’t made a fic based on one of her songs. finally fixing that!

songfic based on ‘appelle mon numéro’ by mylène farmer

english lyrics

summary; powder calls late at night because she misses your voice. one thing leads to another.

characters included; powder (act iii au)

tags/warnings; dom!reader, sub!powder, phone sex, dirty talk, fluff, masturbation (powder), praise, squirting, porn with (some) plot

men and minors dni.

this is torture.

of course you're busy. you're one of the academy's top-performing students, finals season is approaching. you've been taking just under the maximum amount of credits for the semester, despite powder's insistent protests that you don't always need to work so hard.

but your pride gets in the way, despite the love you have for powder. "just two more days," you'd told her. "two days until the weekend, and i won't study. we'll spend the whole weekend together, i promise."

powder understands. she really does, and she'd never want to purposely get in the way of your studies. it's only been three days, but you've never been apart this long in the entire seven months you've been dating, and she can't help the way she feels. she checks her phone to see if you've texted anything, but her notification bar is dry- so she does the next best thing, checking your location.

you're at the academy's library, either deep in textbooks or sleeping on one. great.

powpow:

hey baby, just checking in to see if ur ok. miss u :(

around ten minutes pass of silence, and each of those minutes only add to the fire of powder's anxiety. dare she say it- loneliness. and then a little 'ding' comes from her phone.

my heart:

hi love, i'm ok. just wrapped up a study session, now i'm going to the dining hall and i'll probably go to sleep after that.

i miss u more, i'm counting down the days till the weekend 💋

powpow:

but that's too long to wait </3 can't u make a stop underground after eating??

my heart:

i wish, but i have a 9am review session tmr :( i'm sorry pow

she sighs behind the screen, but powder gets it. this is temporary, soon enough you'll be done with finals and have the entire summer to spend with her. and despite all of those completely rational reasons why you can't see each other right now, she just wants to see you. be close to you, be able to kiss you, feel your skin on hers tangled in the sheets-

she needs to distract herself somehow. so powder reaches underneath her bed and picks up the blue notebook you'd bought for her. she'd never been one for journaling, but the fact it was a gift from you made her start using it. she'd write down what happened throughout her day- her thoughts, feelings, anything that would come to mind. it was therapeutic, like you'd told her it would be.

though even as the girl writes, the words are looking less like actual coherent thoughts and more like jumbled scribbles. her grip on the pen is faltering, and she stares at the page for a few moments before writing the next sentence. this usually does something to put powder's mind at ease, so why isn't it working now?

powder knows why, but she's trying not to admit it to herself. because damn it, you're busy, you've had a long day hunched over your laptop and books. you're probably just finishing up your late dinner by now and heading back to your dorm hall to get ready for bed. she feels so selfish, but the girl can't help it. she's needy.

she feels that ache between her legs, the one you're usually there to soothe. your long fingers curling inside her at just the right angle, or your tongue slithering around her swollen clit until her thighs almost clamp around your head. she looks back on those memories like they're distant and gone, like they didn't happen last week.

her phone buzzes beside her, and she immediately picks it up to the notification that you've arrived at your building. she's almost trembling now, and powder's going through such internal turmoil. she just wants to talk to you at least, not read text on a screen. at this point, she'll take anything she can get.

her finger moves to your contact, and her fingertip hovers over the 'call' button for just a moment before she taps it. a few rings on your end, then-

"hello?"

powder's heart contracts in her chest at the mere sound of your voice, and fuck, she's already feeling hot.

"hi, babe," she says into the receiver. "sorry, i know you're about to go to bed, i just.. wanted to hear your voice."

"don't worry about it, pow. i'm glad you called," you hum. "what's an hour or two of missed sleep?"

she hears a rustling of sheets, and your voice sounds so sweet. you do sound tired, but you're using the same gentle tone you always do with powder.

"how was your day?"

"it was good," a bit of a lie, she misses you like hell. "i didn't do much. helped out at the last drop in the morning, and i've kinda just been.. relaxing at home since then. what about you?"

you nod as if she can see you, a little smile tugging at your lips.

"i'm glad you had a good day," you murmur. your voice grows a bit softer, likely due to academy quiet hours going into effect. "the same as yesterday and the day before. just studying, studying, and more studying."

"well, you're being productive."

"i guess i am," you sigh, finally pulling the covers over yourself. "i miss you."

that does powder in. if she wasn't desperate before, she absolutely is now- and her breath nearly catches in her throat at those words. this is embarrassing.

"i miss you too."

her voice is trembling, and she hopes to janna that you won't catch onto it. maybe you're too tired and disoriented after studying to notice, but you've always been rather perceptive.

"...are you okay?" you murmur. "you sound a little.. i don't know, off."

powder swallows, taking a deep inhale in through her nose to try and muster some kind of believable response.

"yeah, just uh- had a lot of caffeine. have to keep my energy up somehow!"

"powder, i know that's not what's going on. come on, talk to me. you know i'll listen."

and still, it takes the girl such extreme effort to not just bare her soul to you right now. the fact that she can feel her body heating up, her pale cheeks flushing at every word you've spoken. she finds herself subconsciously squeezing her thighs together. the fact that she wishes you were giving her some kind of stimulation- anything, just to ease the absolute agony she's in.

"i just miss you, a lot. i told you.."

"you're hiding something," you respond, your voice taking on an almost pleading tone. "just tell me. i'm your girlfriend."

the world 'girlfriend' does her in all over again. she switches the phone to her non-dominant hand before her free hand starts trailing down her body, over her clothed stomach and toward the soft fabric of her sleep shorts. it takes every ounce of restraint in her body to not start stimulating her clothed clit- not now. not while you're talking so sweetly to her.

but powder also can't bear the thought of lying to you when you so obviously see through it, and when you're practically begging her to tell you what's wrong.

"damn it, i need you."

a beat of silence, then a little hum from the speaker.

"that's it?" you ask, your voice still soft- but with a rasp that wasn't there just a minute ago. "why didn't you just say so?"

"because it's- you've been working so hard! i get why we can't see each other, but fuck, i can't help it. i miss you. i miss your voice, i miss your lips, i miss you touching me."

"yeah? you do?"

your voice seems almost teasing, mocking her without even meaning to. her fingertips slip underneath the elastic of her sleep shorts while she leans back into the star-shaped pillow on her bed. the room is dark, only illuminated by distant moonlight and the faint glow of her phone screen.

"so badly," she nearly gasps. "please, just.. anything, anything. wish you could take a break from those stupid books and just fuck me."

fingertips ghost over the elastic of her panties. powder rarely ever gets this needy, but maybe that's because she's not used to going without your touch for this long. she's acting out of character. she can't help herself, it's like her mind isn't her own.

"you wanna touch yourself, don't you?"

"yes, yes-" her breath hitches in her throat, her hand staying still. she wants nothing more than to fuck herself to the sound of your voice, but powder is good. she'll wait. "please, let me..."

"go ahead, baby."

the girl wastes no time. her fingers dip under her panties, immediately finding her aching clit. the second her thumb lands, she lets out a sharp gasp into the receiver, one she swears she hears you chuckle at.

"ahh- toots," she breathes out, rubbing slow circles into the bud. "i need this, thank you..."

"no need for thanks," you whisper. "fuck, i wish i wish there. do you have any idea what i'd do to you?"

"no.. no, ah- tell me, please."

her finger picks up speed, letting out breathy moans. each noise is music to your ears, strengthening your own sense of want. but this is for powder. you're the one who's been gone, this is the least you can do.

"shit.. i'd be on top of you, my thumb on your pretty clit while i slip a finger inside."

power moans at the words themselves, and almost as if she's taking your words as instructions, slips a finger into her already dripping hole. wet and warm, it nearly sucks her in. it's not just desire, it's a sort of primal need.

"nngh.. yeah, what else?"

"i'd fuck you nice and slow at first," you rasp. "just.. take my time with you."

the digit slips in and out of her, slow- in, out, in, out, creating a gentle rhythm. she wishes so badly that it was your finger instead, you've always been able to reach places she couldn't herself. you know how to please her just right.

"and then i'd add another finger, and start going a little quicker.. curling my fingers inside."

"shit- aaahh," she whines. her ring finger goes into her hole, starting to fuck herself harder and deeper- curling her fingers so she can just barely graze her own g-spot. her walls flutter around her fingers, and she feels so hot. "keep talking, keep talking-"

powder loves you, she really does. she imagines glancing over her shoulder at you pounding into her from behind with your strap, then your pussy gliding against hers as you both chase a mutual peak. but your words are the thing that affects her the most. choppy blue hair fans out beneath her on that same star pillow, framing her as a portrait of pure longing.

"gods, i can almost feel it- you're soaked, aren't you?"

"hmmph, yeah, sofuckingwet.."

"keep fucking yourself," you whisper, a soft yet firm command. "make yourself cum to my voice, baby. you're doing so good, my perfect girl.."

heat pools in her stomach. sweat drips down her forehead, fingers pounding in and out of her cunt with a loud schlick sound over and over. powder's head tilts back the slightest bit- her fingers still working her clit, lewd moans falling from her pouty lips. in her mind's eye is your face directly above hers, looking into her eyes so lovingly. what she wouldn't give for that to be real.

"you sound amazing, come on.. i bet you look so pretty right now, you always do."

"wish it was you, ungh-" she breathes out through whimpers. part of powder wonders if you can hear her arousal, hear her getting herself off. she hopes you can. "please, i just want you- ah.."

"i wish it was me too," the sound is somewhere between a whine and a groan. "but janna, you sound so good.. i love you, you know that?"

"mhm, love you too.."

pale thighs part further out of instinct powder feels the knot in her belly tighten, tighten. her body feels like it's on fire, set ablaze by every praise from the speaker. she's holding onto that phone as if it's her lifeline.

"gonna- gonna, oh, janna!"

if only you could see her right now. you're internally cursing yourself for not asking her to prop up the phone and turn her camera on, but it's a bit late for that now.

"cum for me, powder," you whisper, words low and sweet. "you can do it, i know you can."

your final encouragement pushes the girl off the edge, her back arching off the bed as a strangled cry escapes her. the rasp of her voice cracks, gripping her phone so tight as liquid shoots over her hand. onto the sheets, soaking underneath her, chest heaving.

"ah, aah! cumming.. oh, fuuuuuuck-"

"that's it, powder, that's it- fuck, you were perfect."

her breath is coming in slow pants. the girl slowly slips her glistening fingers from her pussy, letting out one final shaky breath. she's slowly, slowly coming to her senses.

"...thank you," she breathes out. "thank you, thank you.. i'll see you this weekend."

"mhm.. i'm counting down the hours."

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hi hi!

Apologies if you're in the middle of something, but I just wanted t9 request:

Sucrose, Asta, Silverwolf, March 7th and Jean getting their faces peppered with kisses by their partner, if that's good with you.

Kindest of regards and have a wonderful night/day!

(Genshin Impact) Sucrose and Jean being kissed by their S/O

I've already done Asta, March, and Silver Wolf here, but I will gladly write for the other two!

Sucrose is startled when her S/O suddenly begins kissing her.

Especially when they take off her glasses before she feels their loving pecks.

After a few seconds, the shock is replaced by giggles, being tickled more than anything by their kisses as her heartbeat still climbs higher.

(Sucrose) "S-S/O! Wait, give me a second-!"

Her soft laughter melts into a little hum, still unused to the burst of affection but certainly not complaining.

Sucrose leans further into their kisses, her ears twitching with each smooch they give her.

Still too shy to suddenly do something like this on her own, she'd never refuse a kiss attack, in private anyway.

If S/O does this same thing in public she will die.

But it still feels pleasant to Sucrose, if a bit foreign.

Affection isn't her strong suit to begin with, especially receiving it.

But for S/O? She thinks she could get used to it soon.

Jean at first freezes a little feeling S/O's kiss on her cheek, followed by several more.

But it doesn't take her long to laugh and immediately hold S/O close to her, taking the affection head on.

Jean's eyes close as her hands snake up to their back, breathing deeply feeling S/O's kisses.

After a few more seconds of having her face pecked, her hands gently hold S/O in place, not saying anything until they stop and get the hint.

Her eyes are half lidded when they open up again, her thumb gently brushing the side of their forehead before giving them a single, passionate kiss on the lips.

Pulling back, Jean smiles and slowly pushes S/O back.

(Jean) "S/O, I'll give you some attention when I'm finished. I promise."

(S/O) "Come on, no one walks into your office at this time!"

(Jean) "S-Still...It'd be embarrassing if someone catches us by surprise."

(S/O) "Can I not show my lovely girlfriend how much I love her to the other Knights!"

(Jean) "Hah, perhaps once we're home for the day, dear."

[jewishvitya]

May i ask why are you still living in occupied Palestine, shouldn't all anti zionist Israelis leave, cause they're currently benefiting from Palestinians's oppression.

You know what. Sure.

Thing is, have you ever tried immigrating? I'm disabled, fully relying on disability pension and family support, how many countries do you know that take in a person unable to work? Where do I immigrate to? I need a country that would take me.

I don't have another citizenship. I know there's this perception that all Israelis have two citizenships, but most people I know don't. Many of our families came here as refugees - which doesn't negate them becoming settlers, I'm describing a situation, not making excuses - and the countries they left don't want us and made sure we have no way back open to us.

This is pretty sad for me to answer because I love it here, just the land itself. Even today that it's unbearably hot and I'm sensitive to heat lol. If the political situation wasn't what it is, I wouldn't even think of leaving. This is home. But I do want to hopefully leave one day.

A family member is in the process of trying to obtain a citizenship like that, and if she succeeds, I'll see what that might mean for me.

Also, the process is expensive. Just getting the citizenship, but even more the immigration itself. I'm sure there are people who wouldn't do it because "I don't want to put that much money into it, but I could if I wanted to." But my situation is "I don't have any."

And you also asked about anti-zionists generally. So. There are anti-zionist activists who feel they can do the best work here, where everything is happening, compared to from a distance. If all left, all that work would stop.

One of my favorite examples of activism is Protective Presence. Look up Andrey X. He immigrated here, I think from Russia, saw the occupation, went "fuck this" and joined activist groups. West Bank settlers and military harass and terrorize Palestinians on a regular basis, and it can't all be prevented this way, but Protective Presence try to just be there where things are happening.

Sometimes the presence of Israeli Jews with cameras is enough to deescalate. Sometimes they get into altercations with the settlers or the military. They physically try to put themselves between the Palestinians and the WB settlers and military. There have been a few situations where they were a big reason that a group of Palestinians was able to draw water from wells despite settler harassment, for example.

And when Israel decides to demolish a Palestinian house, sometimes groups of Israeli activists go there to physically stand in the way. This is a kind of work you can't consistently do if you're living somewhere else.

Not everyone does that, like I said it's my favorite example of organizing they do, but many people are trying to do things to help.

There are also groups that offer some support for young people who want to refuse service. Spreading information to hopefully encourage more people to refuse. The pressure to enlist here is something that would take me several paragraphs to describe, and I think it's good there are groups who let those people, fresh out of high school, lean on them while dealing with hostility from others (often including family) and with imprisonment for refusing. Even when it's just moral support.

Hopefully we get to see a free Palestine soon.

[fayevalentiinee]

— ACT I: Lights, Camera, Fake it.

Summary. After saving Gojo Satoru’s life, you’re suddenly caught in the spotlight when his team offers you a contract to fake a relationship with him to repair his scandal hit image. Reluctantly agreeing for your own reasons, you face the intense glare of the public and the challenge of pretending affection with a man who’s a master at the performance — even if he claims he isn’t.

— pairing. celebrity Gojo Satoru x f!reader

— info. to join the taglist comment under this post

series mlist. — art by _3aem on twt — wc: 3k — not proofread

you didn’t save gojo satoru’s life out of affection.

you saved it because it was your job as a set assistant and if a 200 pound lighting rig crushed the talent while you were nearby, in charge of adjusting the lighting rigs, the whole shoot would’ve been scrapped — and the blame would’ve landed squarely on your shoulders.

but that didn’t stop the internet from eating it up.

the clip of you tackling the most recognizable face in asia — gojo satoru, six foot something with a jawline that looks like it's been sculpted by gods and a personality better suited for comedy than serious acting — circulated like wildfire. the way he looked at you afterward, dazed and blinking, his white hair in disarray, hands still raised in surrender — it was instant meme fuel. edits. fancams. fanfiction.

and now, apparently, it was also a pr strategy for his team after his recent scandal; just a week ago, gojo satoru’s name exploded across headlines after paparazzi caught him leaving a luxury hotel at 3am with a crying socialite wrapped around him — her engagement ring missing, her mascara streaked, his shirt nowhere in sight.

the video showed just enough to suggest scandal, and the silence that followed only made it worse. rumors took over — cheating, manipulation, something darker — but no one knows the full story. he didn’t deny it. didn’t explain. just smiled through the noise like he didn’t care. sponsors pulled out. projects stalled. his agency scrambled.

a few anonymous “sources” claimed he “crossed a line emotionally” and that she was “taken advantage of” while in a vulnerable state.

#gojoisover trended for three days.

“i’m sorry, what?” you ask flatly.

you’re seated now, across from the man himself in a too bright, glass walled office, staring at a contract that might as well be written in blood.

across the table, gojo satoru looks exactly like he does on billboards and glossy covers — except here, he’s slouched like a delinquent in a chair that costs more than your rent. one leg draped over the other, sunglasses dangling from his fingers, hair tousled like it’s been styled to look effortless. it pisses you off that it works.

“i’m not doing that,” you add, in disbelief.

gojo doesn’t even glance your way.

he stretches lazily, jaw tilting with a slow exhale, voice thick and unhurried when he finally speaks.

“it’s six months,” he murmurs, smooth as silk. “a handful of appearances. handholding. posing.”

his agent cuts in. “just enough to convince the public he’s capable of something stable. affectionate. low drama.”

gojo lets out a lazy, humorless chuckle. “in other words... boring.”

you turn to him. “then don’t do it.”

he finally looks at you. his gaze is heavy lidded, cool, like the room barely interests him.

“you ever try saying no to a table full of men in suits who know what you’re worth per second?” he says, slow and low. “it’s like screaming underwater.”

his agent interjects again. “you went viral. you’re not famous. you have no online presence and no digital footprints. the public likes you.”

you lift a brow. “i didn’t sign up to be likable.”

gojo’s head tilts slightly. he watches you now, really watches — like you’ve said something that woke him up a little, piqued his interest — maybe.

his smile slips at the corners.

“you wouldn’t have to do much,” his agent continues. “a few interviews. red carpet appearances. affectionate photos. you’re allowed to keep your private life private. this is all surface level.”

“surface level,” you repeat. “that’s supposed to be comforting for me?”

gojo exhales through his nose, head leaning back against the chair. “don’t take it personally. none of this is personal. it’s just pr strategy.”

“you don’t like this either,” you say, more of a statement than a question.

he shrugs, voice dropping quieter, lower, then he closes his eyes, probably tired from all the shootings. “i don’t fake things well.”

“aren’t you an actor?”

he opens one eye, a smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. “bingo.”

the paper in front of you doesn’t budge. it just waits — silent, oppressive, too full of zeroes for you to ignore.

your eyes drift back to the number. it's not money. it’s freedom.

your father’s treatment. your brother’s tuition. your own life — something bigger than scraping by in the shadows of other people’s fame, tossing you money not sufficient for a week. you should probably walk away, you should say no, that they can't bribe you with money.

but instead, you reach for the pen.

“you don’t get to touch me unless there’s a camera on us,” you mutter, flicking your signature across the page.

gojo’s smile returns — slow, lazy. he leans back like a man with all the time in the world, voice smooth as honey when it leaves his lips.

“mmh,” he hums, the sound low and easy. “sure.”

his voice dips a little lower, that amused lilt creeping back in. “but let’s not pretend you’ll stay that strict for long.” he winks.

you pause. your gaze shoots to him.

he’s already turning away like the conversation’s over — but then he adds, with a smirk ghosting across his mouth once more:

“i also really hope you like flash.”

you grimace.

every part of you wants to snap something back — but you’ve already shoved the pen across the table and are halfway out of your chair. your hands are stiff, your jaw tighter than it should be, your steps too fast.

if you don’t leave now, you might say something you’ll regret.

and just like that—

the contract is signed.

the cameras haven’t even started rolling, but something tells you the real performance just began.

the elevator doors slide shut with a hiss, sealing off the glass bright office out of sight and everything you just agreed to inside.

your hand is still shaking. not visibly. not enough for anyone to notice. but you feel it — in the way your fingers press too tightly around your phone, the way your thumb misses the unlock button twice before it finally unlocks.

you weren’t even going to check your messages. but you do as an instinct. and there he is. you stare at the screen.

Your boyfriend, who kissed your forehead before you left this morning after staying over, who told you not to let this industry swallow you whole — how could you forget?

you’re supposed to tell him about the meeting — but instead, you let it blur at the edges, ashamed of how much you’re hoping it slips your mind completely.

your stomach flips. hard. when you scroll down and see a whole new set of messages from him, checking in every hour like a worried mother.

you chew the inside of your cheek and tap open the message thread. Then close it. Then open it again.

should you even tell him?

the truth is ugly, even in your own head — outrageous, really: you just signed a contract to publicly date the most recognizable man in the country.

were you supposed to text him something like, hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but i’m probably a gold digger bribed by hush money for my financially unstable family — and in exchange, i’m gonna fake date another guy to help clean up his scandal and get a paycheck out of it?

would he even believe that bullshit? he’d probably laugh. it sounded like something ripped straight out of a bad rom-com.

for six months. on red carpets. on camera. in staged, “intimate” moments designed to look real.

you press the edge of your phone to your forehead and exhale like it might clear something out.

your boyfriend isn’t famous. he’s not even online. hell, he hates the whole industry you work in for the things they've done to you.

you could explain it. spin it. beg forgiveness and swear you didn’t want it — because you didn’t, but that won’t stop it from hurting him.

and besides — it’s not real. it doesn’t mean anything:

gojo satoru barely looked at you in that room. he slouched, smirked, spoke like he was only half listening. he probably won’t even remember your name after six months, and if he does, it’ll be for convenience.

he won’t ask. he won’t dig. you tap out a reply. then delete it. then start again.

you didn’t say a thing about the contract.

“sorry, got caught up in a meeting. i’ll call you tonight.”

a white lie. small. harmless. you hit send.

but the guilt lingers, low and sharp behind your ribs — even if it’s fake, even if it’s for your family…

you’re not sure what hell looks like, but you’re pretty sure it smells like too much perfume and tastes like red lipstick cracking in the corners of your mouth.

a few days ago, you received your first official duty as gojo satoru’s “girlfriend”: attending a fashion event together.

you couldn’t even remember the name — too long, too extravagant, too complicated for someone of your caliber.

or so you thought, staring at your own reflection in the mirror.

people are now fussing around you like you’re a bride on a reality tv show. someone pins a mic near the side of your chest, a bit too close to skin. what did you even need it for?

another tugs the hem of your dress into place. a makeup artist taps at your cheekbone with a beauty blender and gently angles your chin up.

“keep your eyes on him,” she says. “and smile like you’ve known him forever.”

you nod. but your stomach turns. you haven’t even seen him yet.

the hotel lobby where you’re waiting is luxurious, echoing with distant voices, but none of it registers. your thoughts are pounding too loud. you’re not supposed to be here. you’re a set assistant. a background figure. you’re not supposed to be in heels, wearing a dress someone else picked for you, about to step into a scene you didn’t audition for.

outside the hotel glass doors, the crowd roars. the screams of fans and paparazzi rise and fall in waves. camera flashes explode like fireworks. they’re already chanting his name. the pr team probably leaked the address on purpose for your debut — you picked up on that much.

this isn’t a red carpet. this is war for you and of course — your reveal.

the set assistant who went viral for saving gojo satoru. now, playing the role of his girlfriend.

fake, of course. but that detail is yours alone.

he arrives just as you’re exhaling your fifth breath. you hear him before you see him. a smooth voice, a familiar drawl.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says. “ready to pretend we’re in love?” you look up. and there he is.

he looked like he stepped out of a runaway. no, who are you kidding? — he is a model, too.

he’s wearing the dries van noten suit from last month’s paris runway. black silk lapels, tailored waist, open collar. a glint of chain at his throat. he’s undone but sharp, rumpled in that intentional way that costs thousands.

his sunglasses are perched in his snow white hair, tousled and slightly pushed back. his skin glows like it’s been professionally lit. and he’s smiling that same slow, easy smile that the internet eats alive with edits.

he’s obnoxiously beautiful. and the worst part is he knows it. you know it.

he extends a hand. you hesitate — then, slowly, you take it, only then do you notice: you're both matching, each wearing the same colours.

his grip is warm. confident. yours is stiff.

he tucks your hand into the crook of his arm as if you belong there, and just like that, the two of you are walking.

the lobby is suddenly smaller. you can feel every pair of eyes on you as you and gojo satoru approach the front entrance of the hotel. he walks like he owns the marble floors, like the flickering chandeliers are bowing toward him.

outside the revolving doors, the storm is already swelling.

and then — you step out together.

the noise hits like a wall.

flashes. shouting. the low buzz of security trying to hold people back. fans pressed up against barricades. phones in the air, capturing every second.

he lifts a hand, waving like a politician. "showtime," he mutters to you, lips near your ear. his touch doesn’t linger, but it travels. it burns. not in a good way.

in a don’t-make-this-harder-than-it already-is kind of way. the car door opens. a long, black vehicle, glossy like lacquered ink.

he lets you slide in first. you do, silently.

once inside, you sit stiffly, tucking your legs to the side as best you can in your dress. the fabric feels too tight, too short. the makeup on your face too heavy. your skin prickles with awareness.

he follows, slipping in beside you with the same ease he uses to slip through cameras and conversations. his knee bumps yours as he manspreads. you pull back instinctively.

he doesn’t seem to notice. or maybe he does. and he just doesn’t care.

he lounges beside you like it’s any other night. one hand on his thigh, the other adjusting his watch with that same idle grace that makes people fall in love with him from behind a screen.

but you’re not in love. you’re not even interested. what you are is overwhelmed — anxious, guilty for lying to your boyfriend, full of regret — but determined to make your family’s life better.

the car pulls forward. the driver says nothing. the partition rises. and suddenly, it’s quiet. insulated.

and that’s worse.

because now there’s nothing to drown out your thoughts with.

“we’ll step out together,” he says after a moment, eyes still on the passing lights outside. “walk like it’s second nature. hold my hand if you want. or don’t. just don’t trip.”

“thanks for the encouragement,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, sarcastic. his mouth twitches.

he turns his head slightly to look at you. his gaze lingers. not affectionate. not curious. just assessing.

“if it helps,” he murmurs, “you look like you belong here.”

you don’t respond. your heart is already galloping ahead of you, preparing for the next performance, the big one, this time.

the car slows down.

he steps out first. the flashbulbs go off instantly, blinding bursts that eat the night. he poses with the natural ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times. fingers splayed in a careless wave. smile lopsided. chin tilted just right.

the crowd screams. and then he turns, offering his hand to you. you take it.

the moment your heels hit the pavement, the noise doubles.

lights erupt all around you. cameras click in rapid succession. someone yells your name. another screams his.

the sidewalk feels unsteady beneath your feet — no, the world feels unsteady.

a thousand flashes strobe across your vision. people are screaming. pushing forward behind barricades. reporters lurch in with microphones like weapons.

you blink against the lights, smile faltering. your chest feels too tight.

and then — his hand finds yours again. a light squeeze. not forceful. not showy. just there.

“deep breath,” gojo murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. you try. but your inhale is shallow. it catches in your throat.

voices rise, slicing through the static:

“aren’t you the set assistant who went viral for saving gojo satoru from a light rig?”

“what’s your name? are you dating?”

“hey, gojo! what happened to that woman from two weeks ago?”

“did you cheat on her?”

the words crash over you like waves. sharp. relentless.

you flinch. fingers twitch. your free hand lifts like it might shield your face, you're not used to this, you overestimated yourself, you can't do this, you're not meant to be here — but gojo moves quicker.

he turns toward you just slightly, still smiling for the cameras. his hand slides from yours and guides it, smooth and easy, to rest over his chest.

your palm lands flat against silk and warmth. his hand covers yours — solid, grounding. he leans in, voice barely audible beneath the noise.

“they’re always like this,” he murmurs. “you’re doing fine.”

you don’t respond, you’re not sure you can as you desperately try to breathe in some fresh air, under the gaze of the blinding lights.

they're too bright. the crowd is too loud. the questions are piling on, pressing in like heat, making you overstimulated. gojo adjusts your position to pose like he's done this a million times. for someone who didn't want this, he for sure played the part just fine.

his hand grazes your hip, subtle. his fingers brush a piece of hair behind your ear. his body angles yours toward the cameras just right.

he’s managing the scene. managing you.

you focus on the rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. because everything else is moving too fast.

his laugh cuts through the chaos — practiced, charming — as he leans in, whispering something you don’t catch.

you nod with a smile anyway. because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

another voice barks calling out for you to answer. another microphone is shoved in your direction.

gojo’s hand presses a little firmer over yours. his body shifts even closer, acting as a soft barrier between you and the crowd. you hated him, hated this whole industry from the start, but in this moment, his grip is the only thing keeping you from unravelling and running away.

so you stand there. pretending, faking. letting the noise wash over you like a cold shower in the winter.

then, in the silence beneath the shouting — the part no one else sees, the part you won’t say out loud — you realize something.

a few days ago, he told you he doesn’t fake things well. not good at pretending, he said. you were utterly fooled. he is an actor after all of course he'd handle this well.

what a liar.

and as the cameras keep flashing, his hand stays steady on yours, you wonder—

how could someone this composed, this untouchable, who handled everything amazingly so far be the center of so many scandals this past year? leaving that kind of chaos behind him like smoke trails.

you don’t know. and maybe you won’t ever get to have an answer.

but right now, under all the makeup and perfume and eyes that don’t blink—

you’ve never felt more unlike yourself.

taglist: @earth-to-mee @cherryflavoredconversationsposts @tushkiiiiiii @sanestsanstan @saanday @fawnfaer @miiikooooooo @ilovebeansyay @nanamisbbygirl @sato-suguoi @chocalycake

a/n: put act instead of chapter since they're acting ykykykyk its wayyy more fitting

[blueberrypancakesworld]

heyyyy love your work and I wanted to request something!

Could I ask for an Erik x reader. She’s a teacher or professor or something like that and having lunch with her colleagues. Erik stops by to bring her her bag she forgot with a textbook or go have lunch. Her coworkers are quiet when he leaves and she asks what for and one of them says “I just didn’t think someone like that would be your type” and she just shrugs and says “I didn’t either”

(This feels a little dumb, but it’s sorta been rolling around my brain like a marble)

The colorful, dark couple in love

Erik Campbell x fem!reader (teacher)

warning : kissing, fluff, no use of Y/n

Summary : A teacher at the local small school and her partner Erik, who works at the local piercing and tattoo studio. Two people who were at opposite ends of the job spectrum, but that didn't stop them from falling in love. A happy relationship that is normal for them is something completely new for their fellow teachers when they find out what kind of type their colleague has...the tattooed, pierced, sexy guy.

info : Hi dear anon! So happy to hear that you like my works, sorry you had to wait, I hope you enjoy reading it (I love the marble in your brain), thanks again for all the support and see you next time :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who would have thought that two such different people would find each other?

A teacher who does nothing all day long but teach children, write tests, correct papers, and look forward to the weekend with her fellow teachers and discuss how the children are doing in school.

A social job, one with responsibility and care for others, almost something bright and good...on the other hand, there was him, alone in the dark shop where chains and skulls were a must.

Despite everything, he had very little to do with the customers, just a few words, money, and the needle that went through the body, nothing more.

Maybe it was precisely these differences that brought them together, the mornings between them almost always the same, Erik snoring contentedly in his dark T-shirt while she was already awake and making coffee.

The first quarter of an hour of the day was a blessing, just peace and quiet, her and her cell phone with a cup of coffee and no one around. Until Erik came into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek with a “Good Morning” as she handed him his black cup.

Erik was a late sleeper and if he didn't set several alarms, he would fall back asleep when she called him and turned on the light.

More than once he had overslept and had to stay longer in the studio, and she picked him up in the evening and just gave him a kiss.

On the other hand, she was an early riser who enjoyed the quiet morning and gave Erik a gentle kiss on the forehead before getting out of bed.

The few minutes between them in the morning were slow and caring, she made Erik coffee and the black-haired man took care of breakfast before they said goodbye.

Despite his tiredness, he was excellent when it came to a quick, tasty breakfast, whether it was toast with eggs and bacon, pancakes or breakfast burritos, Erik always came up with something new, for which she was more than grateful.

When they sat across from each other at the small table, the quiet meal was punctuated by talk about dreams or other things, his hand sometimes landing on hers or her running her fingers through his tousled hair, which he still had to comb.

As a teacher, she had to leave earlier than him, so Erik stayed at home to tidy up when he suddenly noticed the yellow spray can that had been left on the kitchen counter.

A curse escaped his lips as he got dressed more hastily than usual to get to his partner before his shift started, because if there was one thing she needed, it was his support after all the people around her.

The Campbells had a large family, but he also valued his peace and quiet.

Erik would never have volunteered to be a teacher—too many children with too many problems.

The thought alone made him roll his eyes as he turned onto the street leading to the school.

The large building with hundreds of children and several teachers came into view as he parked across the street and arrived just in time for recess.

Clutching the can more tightly, he ran across the street and entered the school grounds.

He had been here a few times before, either to pick her up, accompany her, or just to look at her classroom, but he had left before the others could see him.

Taking the hallway, he quickly saw through the small crowd in the cafeteria that the rest were probably outside, so he followed the nearest sign and found himself on the spacious grounds.

The schoolyard had a few benches, and he quickly found the other adults, who stood apart from the younger children.

The first eyes looked at him questioningly as he came to stand next to his partner. “Hey, you forgot your food, I wanted to bring it to you” he said briefly and held out the food to her, which she accepted with a happy expression and a “Thanks, Erik, I knew I forgot something” as she looked into the box and her hand rested on his for a brief moment.

She felt him squeeze her hand gently, a silent sign of love that he would see her again soon.

His gaze met hers as he nodded and murmured, “Have a nice day” and turned on his heel to return to the car and start his own day.

A day that started for Erik with loud metal music turned into sudden silence for her, his partner, a silence that she didn't notice at first as she took a hearty bite of her sandwich and a sip of water before she felt eyes on her.

Not looks that said a child was coming or watch out, principal—no, these were questioning looks.

Swallowing her bite, she asked, “Why so quiet?” as if something terrible had just happened, she was about to turn around, thinking that a child had fallen or something else.

Instead, her colleague said, “I just didn't think someone like that was your type” and pointed toward the street where Erik had disappeared, but she understood what the others were getting at.

Taking a sip of water and shrugging her shoulders, she replied with a slight smile, “I didn't either” and enjoyed her meal while the break lasted.

Yet the pleasant feeling of realizing how much she liked Erik stayed with her as she returned to the classroom, and she could hardly wait to be home with him again.

She had a super cute, black-haired, tattooed, pierced guy as her boyfriend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@porterroths , @intothesuccourofshar , @monkeydoll5, @starry-eyed-wild-child , @porterroths , @amanfalove1355 , @mythicalcowboyatheart , @rhaenyrathecruell , @fapqueen , @sadslasher13 , @everdxen-mellark

[potatoplace]

Dazed ... And Confused

Dazed | C1 | C2 ... And Confused | C3

Dark!BatBoys + Feyre x Reader

Summary: You're confused, angry, then confused again. Oh, and sore. Very, very sore.

Warnings: dub-con as fuck, smut, mind manipulation, forced mating bond acceptance (lemme know if I missed somethin)

Words: idk on my phone again lol

Author's Notes: I hope you guys like this ooone I'll come back and edit it some after work but I neeeded to get this out to you guyssss I worked on it at midnight last night and then from 6:30 to now 😂 lemme know what you think!

18+ only pls

🩵💜🤍💙❤️

Soft light poured through the trees above you, orange, red and gold leaves adorning them. A few fluttered to the ground, one of them tickling your nose before falling to the earth and eliciting a soft laugh from you.

Your hands were interlaced with two others, and sneaky glances out of the corners of your eyes revealed them.

Your... What were they again?

You scrunched your forehead in confusion, your left hand receiving a gentle squeeze a moment later.

"Are you alright, little flame?" You turned your head to look at him, eyes meeting warm amber, red hair covering the earth beneath him.

"Of course," you said lightly, pushing away the sinking feeling that something was wrong.

"You want to get married, don't you?" The female next to you sighed, tugging on your hand lightly. Her skin was glowing brightly, tiny flames burning at the ends of her hair. "I always knew this day would come, but I don't want you to. I'll miss my baby girl so much," she cooed, brushing a hand filled with tiny, swirling flames over your cheek, the heat tickling your skin. "You should stay at the cottage with me forever."

"I won't go anywhere, mama, I promise," you reassured her. "Besides, who would I marry?" you giggled, trying to think of any males that you knew-

"Breakfast time!" a voice yelled, pulling you from your dream. "Mother, how are you still asleep, Y/N?" The tall one- Cassian- said, the mattress beneath you shifting, and you felt a weight hovering over you. "Does your head still hurt?" he whispered, letting a thumb brush over your temple.

There was still a dull ache behind your eyes, but you felt... better? Still foggy, though, like you were wading through mud in your mind.

"Not too much," you whispered softly, a happy thrill tugging against your heart-

Leading you straight to him.

Three other golden strings were tied to your heart, each of them pulsing gently in time with your heartbeat.

Your mates.

"Good, good. Let's get you to the kitchen, baby girl," Cassian said, pulling himself off of you, a chill running up your spine with the absence of his warmth. He stood and scooped you out of the bed, a surprised squeak leaving your lips. His long legs carried the two of you swiftly to the door, and you pinched his arm gently.

"I'd like to wear something," you said when he stopped to look down at you, hazel eyes worried for a moment before softening.

"Of course, baby. I know just the thing," Cassian said when he set you on your feet carefully. He went into the closet, coming back a moment later with a giddy smile on his face. He held up a large maroon t-shirt, sliding it over your arms and letting it fall over your body, the hem resting an inch above your knees. "You look even more perfect," he sighed happily before lifting you into his arms again.

The hallways all blurred together, each turn only making you more confused-

If you lived here, shouldn't you... remember your home?

Unease gnawed at your stomach, setting you on edge as Cassian brought you into the kitchen, your other mates busy setting the table for breakfast.

"Good morning, Y/N!" Feyre squealed, dropping the cutlery she was holding to the table before beelining towards you, prying you from Cassian's arms so you were standing. Her arms encircled you tightly, your mate scenting your neck deeply before pulling away. "Are you hungry, love? We made your favorite- pancakes!"

Your brow furrowed. Pancakes weren't your favorite, muffins were-

Suddenly you remembered trying Azriel's pancakes for the first time, declaring that they were your favorite breakfast food from now on through a mouthful of them. The memory sent a sharp pain to the base of your skull, your slight wince of pain noticed by all four of your mates.

"Is your head hurting you, darling?" Rhys asked knowingly, as if you'd already confirmed it. You felt a distinct pressure in your head for a moment, your confusion at the sensation disappearing a moment later. "Sit and eat, it will make you feel better."

Four pairs of hands fussed over you, pushing your chair in carefully. Your plate was piled high with pancakes and fruit, plenty of blueberry syrup poured over the fluffy stack.

Cassian had gleefully stolen your silverware, cutting each bite and feeding it to you, taking bites of his own while you were chewing.

Rhys, Feyre and Azriel were discussing something to do with the Hewn City- where that was, you had no clue.

In fact... you had no clue where you were.

You were halfway through your plate when the memory hit you again-

Your nose was plugged by two strong fingers, your chin held in place by a large hand.

"Open up, and you can breathe again," Feyre said, waving a forkful of pancakes in front of you. "Come on, for your mate? Please?" You narrowed your eyes at her, trying to convey that you would never eat something from any of them-

But you ran out of air before the message was understood, and the moment you opened your mouth to take a breath, the food was shoved into your mouth. A hand clamped over your mouth, and paired with the fingers still pinching your nose, you had no choice but to chew.

Tying you to them forever.

You stood up abruptly, only managing to turn to the doorway you'd come through before you were restrained, hands pinned behind your back and a large, tanned hand holding you against Cassian's stomach.

"Oh, no, little love," Feyre said darkly. "You're not going anywhere. You're our mate, remember?"

You shook your head, wiggling in the Illyrian's hold. "I didn't choose to accept the bond! You forced me to!" You insisted, fighting hard against the iron grip keeping you still.

"Because you don't know what you want, darling," Rhys stated simply. "But we know exactly what you want."

"What I want is to go home!"

"And where is that?" The question came from Azriel, who had been silent until now. His hazel eyes were dark as they roved over your body before locking with yours. "The only place you belong is here."

You shook your head, trying to remember what your home looked like but-

There was nothing.

You couldn't remember where you'd grown up, what hobbies you enjoyed, childhood friends, even your parents- all of it sat on the edge of your mind, slipping through your fingers when you tried to reach for it.

Cool fingers met your cheeks, bringing your attention back to the four people keeping you captive.

"How about we let Cassian show you just how much you belong here, hm?" Feyre asked, blue-grey eyes staring at you intently. You weren't sure what she meant, but you were certain you didn't want to. Without wasting a second you were pulled through the fabric of the world for a moment, the three of you landing in the bedroom you'd woken up in.

Panic started growing in your chest, your breathing quickening-

It was snuffed out, leaving you sitting on Cassian's lap, one hand moving up from your waist to knead your breast, the other snaking down between your legs, lifting the fabric of your borrowed shirt-

You glared at Feyre, not entirely sure why you were so upset, but the playful smile on her lips had some of it melting away.

"See, little love? You belong with us," she said softly, a hand cupping your cheek so, so gently. "Don't you agree?"

Cassian's fingers dipped between your folds, a groan vibrating against your neck. "Sweet girl, so wet for your mates," he murmured against your skin, gently biting down before laving at the hurt.

"If you play around with her too long, Cassian, maybe Azriel or I should show her who she belongs to," Rhys said. Your eyes fluttered open, you hadn't even realized they'd fallen shut, and now you had three witnesses as Cassian growled, pulling you tighter to his chest.

"Don't even dare," he hissed. "What do you think, baby? Can you take me without preparation?" Your brow furrowed in confusion, but it was short lived as Cassian stood, turned around and deposited you on the bed, his pants shoved from his hips.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, the head of it red and leaking precum, and entirely too large for you to take.

"Oh, don't doubt yourself like that darling," Rhys smirked. "You've taken Cassian countless times, you'll be fine."

"Maybe a bit sore," Azriel chuckled.

Two thick fingers pushed into you, stretching you quickly as your eyes watched Cassian, his own darkened with desire. A satisfied grin slipped over his lips at the squelching noise they made, heat covering your cheeks. You tried lifting your hands to cover your face, only for them to be pinned to the bed gently, Feyre and Rhys smirking on either side of you.

"This is your punishment for thinking you don't belong here, with your mates darling," Rhys cooed, brushing his free hand against your cheeks. "There will be no hiding your pleasure from the four of us today."

You pouted at him, only for Cassian to curl his fingers just so, a pleasured sigh leaving your lips instead. He chuckled before pulling them out, using the slick on them to coat his cock. Just the sight of him running his hand over it had butterflies fluttering in your stomach, knowing he'd be inside of you in just a moment-

But you had been angry, right...? What had you been angry-

Cassian pushed into you slowly, the stretch of the first inch burning, and you tried to back away, tried to get some space-

"Ah, ah," Cassian said, pinning your hips with his hands. "No running away from us, sweet mate." Inch by inch, he forged his way inside of you, the stretch leaving you with no room to breathe by the time he'd seated himself fully inside of you.

You were gasping, your hands curled into the sheets as you tried to breathe, tried to adjust to the size of him stretching you so completely, but there was no getting used to it, especially once he started moving.

The hard and fast pace he set had you gasping with each thrust, the head of his cock bumping against your cervix every few times, pain melding with pleasure. Two fingers slipped over your clit in time with Cassian's movements, building you up higher, higher higher-

You came with a cry, walls quivering around Cassian as you squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed at the pleasure still being thrust into you. Cassian groaned, falling forward to lave at your neck as he emptied himself inside of you.

You felt stretched beyond belief, tenderness already blossoming when his cock twitched inside of you, a whimper leaving your lips.

"Cass, get off of her, she's learned her lesson. Right, darling?" Rhys said expectantly.

You weren't sure what they were talking about, but you nodded your head anyways. Anything to lessen the pressure inside of you-

Cassian pulled out reluctantly, pressing a kiss to your lips before getting up completely. "I'll go grab a cloth, alright love?"

You didn't care what he did as you rolled onto your right side, curling into a ball and wincing at how sore you felt already, the small about of preparation he'd done doing little to stop the pain blooming inside of you.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic little love," Feyre giggled. "You love the feeling of being sore after sex, remember?"

Memory after memory hit you of you reveling in the feeling left behind by your mates, curling into Feyre's side as she held you gently while the boys cleaned you up.

Oh. You supposed you did enjoy it, then.

🩵💜🤍💙❤️

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars @le-nottibianche @archerxnn @littlest-w01f

[quietplace26]

What if Furina!MC retains the ability to shift into a Otter even after the curse was broken? Let's see-

Otter Furina!MC shenanigans!

First off, she uses her tiny size to her advantage and lets Neuvillette carry her around everywhere if she was too tired or in a mood. Because being both a human and Archon sucks sometimes.

She even uses it to sneak onto Nevuillette's lap during a trial so she could nap.

So, it's not uncommon to see Nevuillette leave the courtroom after a long Trial with a snoozing Otter in his arms

Furina!MC also uses this form to more or less mute out Focalors voice, as the transformation somehow blocks the Goddess out.

To her embarrassment, however, Fontaine never forgot about the whole curse incident, and it was written down into the history books.

Even 400 years later shops still sell her otter form as a plush.

Neuvillette even has one! Or more. Furina!MC wasn't sure cause she swears she saw more than one in his office AND bedroom-

Furina!MC tries to get back at him by having an otter plush version of himself commission, but all he does is smile and place his own Otter Furina!MC plush beside his otter self.

"We match now. Like mates."

Furina!MC just blushes, grumbling as she hid her face behind her Otter Neuvillette plush, but smiles either way.

This also kick-starts the making of Otter Neuvillette plushies in stores-

Especially ones that come in special pairs, cause Fontaine as a whole has been shipping both their Archon and their Ludix since the begining!

Furina!MC uses her Otter form to sneak down to the fortress of Meropide to say hi to Wriothesley and Sigewinne, which usually leads to her napping in Wriothesley's office or Sigewinne's med bay.

Another place she visits in this form is Merusea village! The Melsuines there are always delighted when her Otter form pops in to visit them.

But one of the best things about her Otter form is how she always, without fail, scares the hell out of the tourists.

People from other nations walk into the Court of Fontaine and see this random Otter, wearing a hat at that, wandering around like it owned the place-

And then it talks.

Ah, it never gets old to Furina!MC, seeing the startled look on tourist faces when she talked in this form.

It's practically an ongoing joke within Fontaine. And it NEVER gets old, hah!

A good example of this is when the Traveler arrived and was talking to Lyney when the magician looks over their shoulders and smiles.

"Ah, Lady Furina!MC! I see it's one of those days, huh?"

And the Traveler turns around to see-

An Otter. An Otter wearing a hat. An Otter that just cheerfully said hello to Lyney!

"Did that Otter just talk?!" Paimon screeches in disbelief.

And Lyney only grins as Lynette sighs, looking somewhat amused as well.

"Oh no! That's no regular Otter! That's our eccentric but loveable Hydro Archon, Lady Furina!MC!"

Traveler just stares as the Otter wearing a hat comes wandering up to them, cheerfully asking the twins how their day was going and when their next show would be.

That's the Archon?! What?!

While most of the time this is funny, it did get her into a pickle one time when she went out swimming in her Otter form and got caught by some poachers along a few other wild otters.

The poachers all boast that they did this under that 'stupid' Hydro Archon's nose and that the fur would sell for big money-

(NOTE! Furina!MC banned hunting on Otters after her curse.)

But Furina!MC ruins their plans by scaring the fuck out of them all when she shifts into her human form and easily beats them up, taking them into custody while releasing the captured otters.

Besides that, Furina!MC newest mischief is when someone made a joke that someone should make a bag so their Archon could be carried around like a toy dog.

Furina!MC hears about this. She makes a quick stop at Chiori's shop-

Cut to the next day, and there's several sightings of both Clorinde and Navia walking around the Court with a similar looking purse... And people swear they saw Furina!MC poke her head out of it!

Tagging: @platinumrosetail, @arn9tails, @bloodytea, @esthelily

[angeliteeyes]

Platonic Shenhe + Sibling Reader Headcanons

Inspired by an ask sent by @the-ultimate-puppeteer ❤️ hope u enjoy!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

- For a period of time, you two were completely estranged from one another, an unfortunate side effect of her less-than-stellar history with your father. It's honestly a miracle that you managed to find and recognize each other later on in life at all, given how many lies and rumors clouded your understanding of your formerly close sibling. If it weren't for your timely use of a familiar exorcism technique, you two may have remained estranged to this very day.

- Shenhe ends up warming up to you rather quickly once her mind starts to fully process the situation. Something tells you that you're going to have to get used to being doted on sooner than later, with how tenderly she's already treating you, despite only having recently reunited.

- If anybody EVER dares to threaten you or harass you to any degree, they have essentially signed their own death warrant. There is no world in which she could ever forgive herself if any danger were to befall you. Even if you're the eldest sibling, it does not matter to her one bit. In her eyes, no matter your age, gender, or anything like that, it is her responsibility to protect you.

- You are easily her strongest motivation for improving herself as a person. Every step that she takes toward properly reintegrating with regular human society is—at least partially—done with the hope of making you proud and showing how reliable she can be. The thought of you is honestly just as, if not more, effective than the red ropes when dealing with crude individuals. She still might deck them though, if need be.

- For a while, very few people are actually aware of your shared ancestry due to the nature of her past and lifestyle. Many don't even recognize the fact that she's also human to be able to put two and two together. Still, those who are aware and have hung out with you as a duo always seem to comment on how it "makes total sense". If your personalities are roughly the same, they'll note how you're practically a carbon copy of one another. If yours are opposite, though, they end up noticing just how well you two balance each other out in a yin-yang type of fashion.

Xianyun, in particular, is a huge fan of you siblings. At some point, she's inserted herself into both of your lives far enough that she's essentially your adoptive mother. Bonus points if you take the time to write to her often or stop by for some afternoon tea.

- She tries her best with things like birthday gifts and the like. She really does. The problem is that she's not quite aware yet of what exactly constitutes an appropriate present. Unless you tell her in explicit detail what exactly you want for each holiday, you're basically leaving it up to luck whether you're getting a cute trinket or a pile of herbs you have absolutely no use for.

- Once she got her job as a waitress at Wanmin Restaurant, you better believe that she's bringing home leftovers for you on the daily. True, her own tastes are a little... peculiar, but that doesn't stop her from enjoying whatever goodies she managed to snag for you vicariously.

Speaking of, she really appreciates it if you stop by for a meal during one of her shifts. As much as the majority of customers who come in nowadays know to be on their best behavior, every now and then, a particularly obnoxious person winds up waltzing in and making a scene. Having you around really helps a lot in calming her spirit down once the altercation is over and done with.

- Another thing she'll greatly appreciate is if you decide to go out in the mountains and train with her. Your two fighting styles already are quite similar given your history in exorcism arts, so it feels only natural to her. Plus, it puts her mind at ease knowing that you're capable of defending yourself in a worst-case scenario.

- While she may still struggle somewhat with emotions, she's incredibly skilled in the matter of physical ailments—both detecting them and treating them, provided it's something curable via herbal remedies. You won't even get the chance to feel sick before she's already guiding you back home, quietly taking note of your temperature and other vital signs.

She gets that your taste buds aren't as accustomed to bitter flavors as hers are, so she does her best to disguise those notes with honey or other pleasant ingredients. Still... you may need to wash whatever concoction she gives you down with a generous amount of juice or whatnot. To her credit, at least you end up recovering far faster than you ever would've otherwise.

- Physical contact is a bit difficult for her to adjust to at first, admittedly. Simple things like feeling your forehead for your temperature come to her just fine, but hugging? Feels completely alien to her.

That isn't to say that she wouldn't eventually grow to enjoy it, though. Particularly if you're the sort to initiate that sort of stuff, she ends up actually enjoying it far more than she first expected. This cozy, warm feeling feels strangely familiar, even if she can no longer recall a time in which she would have experienced it before.

- Overall, Shenhe is easily the greatest sister you could've ever hoped for. It's a shame that you two spent so many years apart, but at least now you can make up for it as much as you like!

[deliciousangelfestival]

50 Director Orson Krennic Headcanons

AKA : Enemies to “You’re Mine, But I’ll Never Say It”

Based on the series The Director's Obsession

Let’s take a short playback before we see Domestic/Husband!Director Orson Krennic 👀💓

He picked you for propaganda because you were a tool. At first. Then you became essential. Now you're his obsession.

He reads every report you write, not for intel, but to hear your voice in his head.

After your first major argument, he didn’t sleep. Not because of guilt. Because he hated not being in control of you.

He has never apologized to anyone in the Empire… until he saw your tears at that damn gala when you were with Marlon (that freaking rebel).

He doesn’t understand emotions. But he understands silence. And yours drives him mad.

He never apologizes. But after you cried in the fundraising gala, he didn’t speak to anyone else for few days. 

You once dreamt of him touching your face. Then woke up and hated yourself for it.

“You’re beautiful.” He never says it. But stares hard enough during fittings that the tailor gets uncomfortable.

The gala wasn’t to show the Death Star. It was to show you to everyone.

He told the tailor you were his wife. He didn’t correct it. He didn’t want to.

The night he carried you to your apartment after the gala, he wanted to stay. But he forced himself to walk away.

When he learned you were kidnapped, he nearly broke the entire Scarif command center in half.

He never said “I was scared.” Instead, he said “You shouldn’t have been alone.”

He didn’t just kill Marlon. He made sure you wouldn’t hear the scream.

He held your body like it was made of glass. Not because you were fragile. Because he was afraid he’d shatter.

He showed you Cinderis burning not for cruelty, but so you’d never feel powerless again.

He let Joric live just long enough to know who destroyed him. That justice was your kiss.

When you fainted after being rescued, he held you the whole shuttle ride back to the Death Star. Didn’t let go. Not once.

He hates politics. But he sat through that Emperor meeting with pride, because you spoke.

He doesn’t get jealous of power. Except when Tarkin or Mas Amedda look at you too long.

He watches you in meetings. Not for mistakes. But because you’re the only thing in the room that’s his.

He memorized the pressure point on your back where your injury is. He never touches it again.

He refers to you as “my asset” in reports. But never when you’re in the room. Then it’s just your name.

When Mia joked about firing him using her nepotism, he actually smiled. A real one. Because he knew you holding back from laughing.

He keeps the pen you stabbed Joric with. It’s in a locked case. It has more value than the kyber crystal.

He once told Jung, "Don’t speak unless she’s present."

After you kissed him, he didn’t sleep. He paced. Because you took control. And he loved it.

He rewatches your ISB interrogation footage. Not for intel. For your fire.

He sometimes repeats your lines from propaganda to himself. Because your words got him what he wanted.

The Death Star is his life’s work. But now he thinks it means nothing if you don’t stand beside it.

He hasn’t told you yet. But he already knows how he wants you to look on your wedding day.

He watched the camera footage of you walking through the gala entrance 47 times. Not for security. Just to replay how they stared.

He custom-ordered your dress before the gala. He told the designer: “Make it look like she could end a war with a glance.”

He remembers the exact moment your voice cracked during your outburst in front of ISB. That sound haunts him more than the rebel attacks.

The night he told you to call him Orson, he couldn’t stop repeating it in his head after you said it. Like a confession.

He’s terrified of how much you matter. So he covers it with threats, control, and silk-lined sarcasm.

He won’t say “I love you.” But when the Emperor commended you, he said, “That’s my doing.”

He doesn’t dream often. when he does, it’s you on the observation deck. Wearing his cape. Giving the orders.

He once threatened a Death Trooper for “touching her too roughly” while lifting you to safety. The trooper now guards garbage chutes on a mining asteroid.

After he killed Joric, he ordered the Death Star crew not to clear the footage. He wanted you to see it. Proof.

He doesn’t like music. But after your gala dance, he requested the orchestra’s sheet. “To study tempo,” he claimed. He never returned it.

He memorized the measurements the tailor took of you. Not for obsession. For control. For readiness. (Wedding Dress?)

He keeps your broken earpiece from the day of the gala. Found it himself. Cleaned the blood off. It's in a case labeled "unknown hardware."

He personally sent a warning to Mon Mothma. Not official. Not traceable. Just one message: “Try again, and I’ll burn your planet too.”

He doesn’t say “I missed you.” He just shows up. Late. Quiet. Always when you least expect it.

He once imagined how it would feel if you left. It gave him a headache for three hours. He canceled three meetings.

He still wears the cufflink you adjusted for him before the gala. Hasn’t taken it off since.

He corrects anyone who refers to you by title only. “Agent” is fine. But if they skip your name, he’ll repeat it aloud with venom.

He could have any propagandist. But he will burn through every system before he lets another write in your place.

Krennic doesn’t believe in love. Until you kissed him. Then, maybe. Just maybe. He started to.

Sorry if I tagged you without permission. If you want to be removed, please let me know.

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Please feel free to leave your comments. I'd love to know what you think. What do you want too see in the next chapter?

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle.

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[lipstickreptile]

Happy birthday Haymitch!

A little one-shot made inspired by one of my incorrect quotes.

Thank you to @hayffieee for making the art for this! It's far better than the story I wrote for it. Perhaps I will do some fixes later but I wanted to publish it today! So here it is

"Does Haymitch even like cake?".

Peeta is walking slowly behind her, holding the cake as steady as he can. The distance between their house and Haymitch's is not that long. It does however feel much further when you're holding a 6 hour project in your hands. "Come on, Katniss. Everybody likes cake."

"Do you think he has ever had a proper birthday?".

"I can't imagine he has. I wouldn't either if I had to be a mentor every year".

Katniss hopes this doesn't trigger something for him. Even before he was in the games his birthday must have been a bitter day. Katniss and Peeta used to have a classmate who's birthday on July 6th. That was bad enough. Frankly the whole week afterwards used to be a sad affair.

Peeta stops in his tracks. "What's going on Katniss?".

"I'm just worried for him. The line between relapse and sober is very thin".

"Oh fuck. I was not supposed to put whiskey in the frosting?".

Katniss chuckles, unwillingly so. She is genuinely worried boredom will force Haymitch back into alcohol.

“We should have invited Effie out”. Peeta says casually. He doesn’t look away from the cake for one second. Slowly following behind Katniss that is leading the way.

“It would have been weird if we did”.

“What do you mean by that?”. Peeta has always been Effie’s boy. He spent a few more months in the Capitol post-rebellion and spent months with her there before he was cleared to go back to 12. They must have gotten even closer during that time.

“Their relationship is kinda….”.

“Non-platonic”. Peeta adds, a smirk on his face.

“You think so? They were always fighting and bickering. At times I thought Effie would kill him in his sleep”. They did kiss goodbye though which Katniss found a bit out of character for them. But she won’t tell Peeta that. It would only back up his argument which he would be rather smug about it.

“So do people who have been married for a long time”.

Katniss doesn’t have a comeback for that. He does have a point, but the image of Haymitch and Effie together seems too bizarre for her. “We can invite her next year. Maybe your birthday. You were always her favorite after all”.

Peeta doesn’t deny it. “And you were always Haymitch’s favorite”.

Katniss knocks on Haymitch’s door. They never wait for him to open, it’s only to announce their presence. Back in the day they would usually find him drunk on the floor and it wouldn’t matter much if they knocked or not. Now that he is sober privacy might be something he wants.

It’s rather quiet once they enter which worries her. Haymitch’s doctor told her that relapse is very common within the first year. “Should we come back?”. Peeta doesn’t seem to like his own idea. He desperately wants to put the cake down even if it results in it being spoiled in the hot house.

“Let me check his cupboard first”.

“A bit rude to snoop in his stuff on his birthday?”.

“Yeah ok, but what if he is drinking again?”. Peeta places the cake on a little table standing by the door. He has had enough of carrying it around. “Today would be the day he would relapse”. He agrees.

“Thank you!”.

Haymitch’s house is very much alike theirs, but the floor plan is mirrored. Where the kitchen is in their house lies the living room in Haymitch’s. Therefore they quickly waltz into the wrong room where they find their old mentor on the couch, no shirt and a woman naked on top of him.

Katniss is so stunned that her mouth goes wide open.

Only the naked back of the woman is visible. Her blond hair is swaying back and forth. They only get to stare for a few moments, but it is enough to start wondering. Who in town has gotten a liking to Haymitch? No way Haymitch would pay someone for their "services".

"Ready for your birthday present, darling.” The Capitol accent is impossible not to recognize

“And what would that be, Miss Trinket?”.

Katniss looks at Peeta, she is stunned and clearly wants to turn in the door to leave. But Peeta on the other hand smirks at the scene in front of him. He seems to have been a few steps ahead of Katniss. His suspicion has turned out to be correct.

“Whatever you would like to do to me…”. Effie whispers sensually into his lips and with that Peeta has had enough. “Do you want us to come back later?”. Katniss swears she could kill him. They could have just walked out.

Haymitch and Effie turn to look at them. She jumps in his lap, awkwardly trying to hide her nudity from the kids. Haymitch is quick in his movements and throws his T-shirt over her head. Seems like this is not the first time someone has walked in on them.

Peeta throws out his hands. “Happy Birthday, old man! Didn’t know you had it in you!“.

“Ever heard of knocking!” Haymitch barks and lifts Effie off his lap, gently placing her in the leather couch.

“We did….”. Katniss mutters, her eyes are on the ceiling at the moment. The less she sees the better.

“I knew your house is not up to date like ours, but if you need a bigger bed, Haymitch…”.

“I’m going to kill….”. Effie gently kick Haymitch in his legs, making him cool down a bit. He takes a deep breath and tries again: “Why are you here?”.

“Celebrating your birthday! It’s the first non-reaping day! We even brought cake!”.

Katniss is so embarrassed she wishes that she could disappear into the floor. “Although I think I preferred being reaped to this”.

“Of course. That was very thoughtful”. He is suddenly very polite, like he has just graduated from Effie’s school of good manners. “If you could give us a few hours…”. He looks over his shoulder at Effie. Katniss swears she could barf from the look they share. She is soon enough halfway out the door, shouting loudly. “YOU CAN COME AND GET US THIS TIME. I am not taking any risks! Be careful with him Effie! He is an old man”.

_

It takes them several hours for them to complete Haymitch’s birthday present, just as Haymitch predicted. They need a shower too before they go and get the kids, but it can wait another 30 minutes. Post-sex-bliss is almost better than the act itself. “This is all a man needs. Good sex on his birthday”

“And you always get it, don’t you?”. Effie pampers his jawline with kisses, the sweet salt of his sweat lingering on her lips.

Haymitch chuckles. “I do. This year with no risk of getting caught….at least that is what I thought”.

´´We will be more careful next year``.

Haymitch cups her chin and whispers sensually to her: “I certainly hope I don’t have to wait until next year”.

Effie sits back up, grinding against him slowly. “Not anymore.” She runs her nails down his chest, stoping right underneath his belly button. “Though I do have to be careful with an old man”.

“If they only knew the truth!”.

“Don’t you dare tell them!´´. Haymitch throws them around in a quick movement, already eager to take her again. They giggle and laugh as they make love again on the couch.

Whiskey only crosses Haymitch’s mind once or twice that day. The first time is when they open his cake later that evening, how well whiskey would taste with it. The second time is when he thinks about how grateful he is to the Capitol, ironically enough.

They made him an addict to alcohol that almost killed him. But they also gave him a far more dangerous addiction. One he could never be sober from.

His family.

[toasttt11]

family

July 30, 2024

Ophelia was sitting on one of the couches in the basement bundled under layers of blankets with a hot chocolate Jack had just brought her down.

She was just looking out the window watching the rain storm.

The lake house has been pretty empty the last few days after a lot of friends started leaving which Ophelia doesn’t mind because she does like when the house has less people.

Ophelia hummed softly talking a sip of her hot chocolate as the thunder started, she has always hated being outside in the rain but always enjoyed watching the rain from somewhere warm inside.

Quinn walked down the stairs seeing a small glimpse of Ophelia’s hair as she was completely bundled under blankets only her face was out to drink her hot chocolate.

“Don’t you look cozy.” Quinn teased as he sat down on the couch next to her.

“Warm.” Ophelia said with a happy laugh making Quinn just smile shaking his head.

“So uh did you have anything planned for the summer? Or anywhere you wanted to go?” Quinn spoke up asking her.

He didn’t know if she had any plans but if she did she just didn’t tell him and he just wanted to make sure she was doing what she wanted in the off season.

Ophelia titled her head looking at Quinn, “No i don’t think so. I like it here.” She didn’t mind having a simpler off season with how much they travel in the season.

Quinn smiled a bit, “Do you want to go to Seattle?” Quinn didn’t know how Ophelia felt fully about that house but he could tell she was a tiny bit uncomfortable being in her childhood house.

Ophelia tightened her grip on her mug and set down the mug on the side table letting the blankets fall off her head.

“I don’t want to go there.” Ophelia let out quietly making Quinn’s face soften, “It’s hard being there.” Ophelia admitted quietly.

“Is that why you didn’t want to stay when we stopped there?” Quinn asked her softly reaching over grabbing her hand, they had stopped in Seattle for a few hours at the beginning of the season to pick up her car and some of her things.

Ophelia slowly nodded looking down and fiddling with Quinn’s bracelet, “It doesn’t feel like home anymore.” She let out quietly.

“Being in that house makes me sad now.” Ophelia continued and slowly looked up at Quinn, “It changed after my Dad died and i stayed in that house alone during quarantine.” That house reminds her of her pain and the harsh grieving she had in that house.

Quinn’s face dropped at her words, “You were alone for all of quarantine at fifteen right after your Dad passed away?” Quinn looked shocked and sad for Ophelia.

Quinn of course knows that Ophelia’s birth mother is a horrible person but every time he learns something more she gets worse and worse. He couldn’t believe someone couldn’t love Ophelia and want to care for Ophelia.

Ophelia just shrugged a bit with a wry smile, she has come to terms with that her birth mother wasn’t a good person or mother and she never did love her, “She doesn’t love me.”

“Well i do.” Quinn’s said firmly squeezing her hand softly giving her a serious look. He would love Ophelia the way she has always deserved but her never got, “But that wasn’t right Bee.” Quinn firmly spoke.

“I know.” Ophelia softly replied never once doubted Quinn or any of the Hughes love for her, they never gave her any reason to doubt them, “I know it wasn’t.” She knew the way she was treated by her birth mother was not okay.

“Good.” Quinn smiled pleased to know she knows he loves her and glad to know she knew it wasn’t okay for her to be alone like that.

“I’ve never doubted that.” Ophelia reassured, “You’ve all become my family.” Ophelia admitted shyly with a tiny smile.

Quinn froze and his face shifted into the softest look and smile, “Your my family, your our family. You’re apart of the Hughes family for however long you want.” Quinn softly and firmly told her.

Ophelia has a spot in the Hughes family forever as she’s become a special part of the family.

Ophelia gave him a shaky smile and leaned forward quickly hugging Quinn making him let out a surprised huff but he happily hugged her back resting his hand on the back of her head as she rested her head on his chest.

“Thank you.” Ophelia mumbled against his chest. Without Quinn Ophelia would never have experienced the true meaning of family, he’s the whole reason she doesn’t feel alone anymore.

“Always Elia always.” Quinn promised her gently rubbing the back of her head as he felt her grip onto him tightly and didn’t press feeling a very small sniffle against his chest.

Ophelia pulled back giving him a happy smile as Quinn very gently wiped the few happy and sad tears Ophelia had on cheeks.

“So Michigan sounds good for the summer?” Quinn gave her a teasing grin and poked her side gently making her immediately laugh and squirm.

Ophelia was laughing but nodded, “It sounds perfect.” There’s no where else she would rather be.

“Good because none of us wanted to you to leave without us anyways especially Moose and Rowds.” Quinn told her amused knowing how much Luke and Jack have been spending so much time with her because they both missed her a lot during the season.

Ophelia grinned at his words.

“Now i’m joining your blanket pile and we are watching a movie.” Quinn told her and gently pushed her more into the couch as he slid under all of her blankets make her laugh as she used his shoulder as a pillow and Quinn chose a movie for them to watch.

“Woah woah you’re getting Bee cuddles!” Jack protested as he walked down the stairs seeing Ophelia and Quinn cuddling and a movie just starting.

Ophelia glanced up giving Jack a smile and patted the spot next to her making him happily perk up and quickly claim the spot next to her and using her arm as a pillow as he got comfortable under all of the blankets.

Only a couple of minutes later the three of them heard Luke’s loud footsteps come down into the basement.

“Where was my invite.” Luke gave them all a frown before plopping down next to him making Quinn grunt as Luke elbowed him.

Jack and Luke were bickering, Quinn letting out amused huffs and Ellen and Jim’s leading upstairs could be heard from basement.

Ophelia just smiled content, she was with her family.

[ingravinoveritas]

Isn’t it funny that Anna is suddenly supportive and posting about Michael after a) people noticed she had stopped posting about him, b) David revealed his HC is the Crowley and Azi are at it like rabbits. Although Michael’s face in that pic tells a different story….

Oh, quite funny indeed, Anon. It doesn't seem to be an accident at all that people on social media are talking about what David said about Aziraphale and Crowley at the Con yesterday, and then suddenly Anna makes this post. (Screenshot below as well, for anyone who hasn't seen it...)

If you take a look at the caption, this is all clearly promotion for Nye, as Rufus Norris is the co-director of the new run for which Michael is now in rehearsals.

Shortly after posting this, Anna also reshared a clip from Michael's appearance on the Assembly, as if to somehow make up for ignoring it and posting nothing when the show won a "Media Moment" award last month. (And not posting about Michael being named as part of Time's 100 Philanthrophy list, or the release of his children's book, or the WNT finding a home in Swansea...) Anna also reshared the new Nye rehearsal photos that were released today...again, not really feeling like a coincidence, and only seems to further underline the exact purpose of this post.

(Let's also not pass by the "mum and dad" mention, which seems to be the sum total of their relationship these days. And feels like yet another instance of Anna copying Georgia to deliberately pander to the fan base...)

But yes, as you said, Anon, Michael's face certainly seems to be telling another story. I wish folks would look just at him in this picture, for a moment:

One week ago, he looked like this, and he looked like this in a video from just a few days ago--twinkly and soft as he always is, as we've come to know of him. We recognize Michael's "happy" and can point it out in multiple pictures. In this new picture, there is a distinct and noticeable lack of that twinkliness and softness. So if we say that Michael looks tired, or unhappy here, then it should not matter who else is in the picture. If we recognize Michael's tired/unhappy expression from other pictures, then it becomes no less the case and doesn't suddenly not exist just because he is in a picture with Anna.

It's also that this goes right back to something I said the other day...that Michael and Anna are doing little more than standing and breathing next to each other, and everyone falls all over themselves exclaiming about "couple goals." In the photo with Bronwen, however, Michael looks present and in the moment--he's taking a picture where he is happy to be there. But with Anna, he's just there, waiting for the picture to be taken. And those are very much two different things...

So yes, it does seem like these posts today are all for the sake of promotion/seizing on the moment of high social media engagement because of David's panel. This is hardly the first time this has happened, either, so...the patterns are still patterning...