darkmoka

[2blockseast]

i like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it (logan howlett x gn reader)

summary: logan adores admiring you before leaving for an early morning job author's note: hi all! this is my first ever post on here-- how exciting! i'm still new to tumblr so please bear with me as i figure everything out. i like writing things based on music i enjoy (mostly their titles), and i thought this would be a fun little drabble to start. i hope you like it :] writing is purposefully in all lowercase. tags: logan howlett x reader, reader's gender not mentioned, fluff, domestic, established relationship word count: 449

i like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it

logan hated mornings like this, when he had to wake up early while you stayed in bed sleeping peacefully. it was always because of the x-men: calling him in early for a mission or a meeting before the kids woke up, which was, of course, also before you woke up.

he hated having to leave you before you had woken up. although you would barely notice his absence as you slept, he couldn’t help but feel that he was somewhat abandoning you. you tended to cling onto him like a koala when you slept, and having to push himself out of your embrace only made him feel worse. 

he would slowly and gently pull out of your grasp, often replacing his now vacant side of the bed with a stuffy to keep you company. you would rustle around for a moment, confused by the sudden lack of warmth, but would eventually settle back into your calm slumber. he would smile as he watched you, thinking of how beautiful you were. logan always loved to admire you, but there was a kind of softness that came with doing so as you slept.

logan always made sure to let you know how beautiful you were, but you were often quick to reject his compliments, making jokes about how he was a good liar or about how he must’ve been talking about himself. it hurt him a bit, being able to feel how self-conscious you were despite his attempts to show you otherwise. you were so beautiful, yet so unaware. but when you slept, he could coo at you as much as he wanted without protest.

“you’re so beautiful, baby,” he would say, gently stroking your hair. he would trace the details of your face with his eyes, further committing your beauty to memory. 

“i wish you knew how stunning you were,” he would say, leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

he would sit on the edge of the bed complimenting you and kissing your face for several minutes, often making him late to whatever made him get up so early in the first place. despite the x-men’s grumbles about logan being late every early morning, he never cared about being late. looking over you like this had become routine for him, and it always helped him start his day on the right foot. this was like his morning cup of coffee, but 10x sweeter.

as he gave you your final gentle kiss of the morning, you rustled and quietly mumbled: “please don’t go”. 

logan softened, lightly blushing as he stroked your face again. he leaned down and softly kissed your cheek before whispering: “i’ll be back before you know it, beautiful”.

[makethemhoesmad]

shit you sippin

this took days off of my life to write but at least it’s over 1k words(for the first time ever)

@bueckersstrap was the chosen one

—

some people go to the club for fun. some people go to the club for sex. i needed to forget. get so drunk i didn’t have to think about my piece of shit ex boyfriend and the bitch i walked in on him fucking. i don’t know how many i’d had at this point, but i did know that i was grasped by the hips by an attractive blonde that i thought i knew but couldn’t figure out from where.

“you here for any reason tonight,” she shouts over the music.

“y-yeah i walked in on my boyfriend fucking some other girl,” i say. i try to keep the tremor out

of my voice, staying cool and collected, for the most part. i cock my at her, grinning. she takes my chin into her palm and tilts it up, making me look right into her eyes. my god, her eyes are driving me wild.

“you into girls, baby?”

i shudder at the nickname. collecting myself, i run a finger down her arm while stating, “never thought about it till now, but i just might be.”

“cmon,” she says, tugging my arm. “i’m taking you home with me, baby that alright with you?”

i stare in shock, nodding open-mouthed. she must’ve drank much less than i had, because she leads me out to what i can only guess to be her own car, and after opening the passenger door and helping me inside, she seems to be clear-headed enough to drive.

as she pulls out of the parking lot, i look over and realize who’s car i’m in, and why i recognized her face.

“wait! you’re paige bueckers,” i say, my words slurring together slightly.

“that’s right, baby. basketball fan?” 

i almost can’t answer her, all my remaining focus zoned in on her hand that is now resting on my thigh.

“mhmm,” i mumble. she rubs her thumb in slow circles on the inside of my leg. i let my head thump back against the car seat and close my eyes, only to open them a moment later when the car stops.

paige rushes out of her door to open mine, and i nearly fall flat on the ground when i climb out of the car. she pulls me into her, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me. i zone out at the action, then trip over a doorframe and realize i’m in her bedroom.

“hey, baby, listen,” she says, sitting me on the bed and rummaging in her closet for something

“you’re, like, really drunk right now, but i really don’t wanna kick you out because i like you. so how ‘bout you put this t-shirt on and we talk about it in the morning?”

i nod, then reach back to try and unzip my dress. i can’t do it. could barely zip it up sober, so there’s no chance i can undo it in my inebriated state. i look up at paige with a pout, hoping that she’ll take pity on me. 

she unzips the dress, then helps me put on the t-shirt she gave me. she sheds her shorts and top, leaving her clad in only a bra and boxers. 

“god, fucking athletes,” i mutter, shamelessly raking my eyes down her body.

“what was that,” she asks, smirking. i turn red and she pulls me onto the bed with her, tucking us both under the covers. i curl my body into her, hiding my face in her chest.

“ ‘s nothing,” i say, the words muffled. she strokes a hand down my back and i whine gratefully, falling asleep almost instantly.

~

i wake up confused, sore, and with a boiling headache. i try to roll over, but find that i’m pinned under someone that, instead of smelling of beer and cheap cologne, smells like mint and aloe. shockingly, despite my headache i have a fairly decent recollection of last night’s events. as i’m realizing this, a few things happen. first, i realize exactly who’s bed i’m in and immediately try to free myself from her grasp out of pure embarrassment. second, the strong arms grasping me pull me down closer into the person they’re attached to. finally, said person nuzzles her nose into my neck, and says,

“how are you even prettier now?”

i push my face into the mattress

“ugh, liar. my fucking head, it hurts so bad. like, so, so bad,” i complain. she tries and fails to stifle her laugh.

“hey ma, i’m not sure if you’ve heard this, but i’ve been told head fixes headaches?” i blush, then realize she isn’t kidding when she pulls the covers off of us. she nestles her face in between my thighs, lifting her chin up to yank my panties down. 

“you okay, baby,” she questions, waiting for approval. i nod weakly, and she dives in, licking a stripe against my pussy.

“oh fuck,” i moan, my fingers curling around the bedsheets. she flicks her tongue at my entrance, causing my eyes to roll back. when she takes my clit into her lips, it’s all i can do to not release right then and there. 

“so good, so perfect,” she breathes while laying sloppy open mouthed kisses on my cunt. i fight to stay alert, but every bone in me wants to sink into oblivion, and when her moan vibrates my core, i do just that. i climax on her tongue, with her name on my lips, and if you had asked me my own damn name in that moment, i probably wouldn’t have been able to tell you. 

“how’s that head feeling, ma?” she asks. i look at her in dead shock.

“fucking gone, babe, how can i get you back? i’ve never, like, done it with girls before.”

she grins wickedly. 

“oh, baby i’ve got an idea.”

~

paige’s idea, it turns out, resulted in us not leaving her bedroom until 2 in the afternoon. when i finally checked my phone, i discovered not one, not two, but three missed calls from my now-ex boyfriend, and about a million texts telling me how sorry he was. i show paige, and she just about growls in frustration.

“lemme call him back,” she protests. i shake my head, turning to face her and letting her capture my lips into a kiss.

“pleease,” she whines against my lips. 

“fine.”

she opens my phone and pulls up the contact now only labeled with a gravestone emoji, and clicks the facetime. he answers almost immediately, to paige showing off our current position on her couch, under a blanket with me tucked into her side.

“stop textin her, bro. she’s mine now.”

he shouts profanities through the phone, but is aggressively cut off by paige kissing the top

of my head and saying, loud enough for him to hear, “it’s okay baby, now you can be with someone that can actually make you cum.”

he doesn’t like that, but i couldn’t care less.

[eds6ngel]

Can I request a Steve Harrington fic please?

Him and the reader are always throwing insults back and forth to eachother (enemies to lovers if you will) they’re both at a party, the reader on their own on the couch and Steve comes over to “bother” her. While bothering the reader he sees a girl he used to hook up with but told her that he can’t see her anymore (you can pick the reason why) and he begs the reader to act like his new girl for the rest of the night. He makes her pretend that they’re going up to a room for you know what👀 and the rest is up to you <3

mutual (dis)like ⋆˚✿˖°❀

steve harrington x fem!afab!reader

summary: with yours and steve's feud hitting the four-year mark, what will happen when you have to pretend to be his girlfriend for the night?

warnings: SMUT!! fem!afab!reader. unprotected p in v (pull-out method.) fingering. hickeys. kissing. consent checks. use of pet names (honey, baby, babe.) swearing. alcohol and drug use (everything is still consensual !!) r is 17, steve is 18. some angst and hurt in the middle. fluff and comfort at the end. [3.2k.]

a/n: thank you for requesting, lovely!! sorry it took so long, i experienced some writing slump :') but here you go!! i hope this is what you wished for ♡

To say that Steve and you didn’t get along would be an… understatement.

It all started when you joined Hawkins High in freshman year, Steve a sophomore. Tommy and Carol had decided it would be a fun idea to encourage Steve to target another one of the poor drama students, slowly adding to his ‘King Steve’ status.

However, what Steve thought would be an easy way to keep you down was quickly proven wrong. What he thought would be an easy bully session soon turned into an equal sparked feud.

Every morning at Hawkins High would be Steve turning up to your locker to bother you, you snapping back at him, before you both went your separate ways to class.

Tonight, Tina had invited you over to her house party to celebrate the end of the school year. You were thankful junior year was finally over, and Steve was grateful he actually managed to graduate.

You weren’t much of a partier, so to speak, so Eddie Munson always offered you some weed, which you were very grateful for. It helped mellow out the loud sounds of music and drunken states of sloppy teenagers.

However, like always, ‘King Steve’ (although, he had recently lost that title) came striding over to where you were relaxing on the vodka-stained couch.

“Of course you’re not partying. Why am I even surprised? How much did you suck Munson’s dick to get that bag?”

You scoff, taking another puff of your cig, “Not one bit, actually. Not all guys think with their dicks and some are actually nice around here. He doesn’t need to compensate like you do.”

He whistles as you stand up, smirking as you take a sip from the glass of whiskey in your right hand, “Oh yeah? And what makes you think my dick is so—”

However, Steve falls into a stunned silence as he notices someone very familiar behind you.

“So small? Well, I’ll have you know—”

“I need you to be my girlfriend.”

You splutter on the drink, coughing as you regain your breath, “Fucking hell, Harrington. Are you seriously that desperate—”

“Stephanie,” he blurts out, “She’s my ex-fling and I told her I couldn’t hook up with her anymore as I’d fallen in love with someone else and I need you to pretend to be that someone.”

You shake your head and laugh, “Uh… Yeah, that’s gonna have to be a no.”

About to turn around, Steve grabs your arm at the last minute. Damn, he must’ve really fucked things up for himself.

“Will you just do it? Every other girl in here I’ve either fucked or hates my guts, so—”

“I literally hate you as well, dickwad,” you cut him off, giving him a deadpan expression.

He leans in closer to your face, his eyes pleading as he says in a low whisper, “Yeah, but you’re also the only drama student I know, and if it’s anyone who can help me get out of this situation, it’s you.”

You take a deep breath in, before putting your joint out in the ashtray and your whiskey on the table, “Fine,” you arms flail, “But you better re-pay me for this… What do you need me to do?”

“So, this is the girl you fell for?”

Stephanie was definitely the IT girl around Hawkins. Beautiful blonde perm, luscious lashes, perfectly-shaped nails and an hourglass figure. Her entire outward persona made you feel extremely self-conscious, the whole story becoming even more unbelievable to you.

Steve wraps his arm around your waist, you trying to hide any signs of discomfort, “Sure is. This is my gorgeous girlfriend.”

Stephanie and her friends cackle, almost on level with a witches laugh, “You’re joking. Seriously? This freak?”

That word just made you shrivel up into a ball. You wanted to leave, to run away, to cry into your pillows. You could take insults from the guys, they would never understand what it was like to live in your shoes. But other girls? Women who went through the same universal experience as you living in this century? That stung. That cut deep.

“Steve, just leave it. This is ridiculous—”

But, before you can make your attempt at escaping, Steve grabs tightly onto your upper arm, “Yeah, actually, she is a freak. And for that reason, she makes a much better time than you ever did.”

Stephanie gasps, putting a hand to her heart, “Oh screw you and your shitty girlfriend, Harrington!”

“You know what?” he taps his chin with his finger, “I think that actually sounds like a great idea. You wanna head upstairs, babe?”

You nod subtly, “Yeah. Um… sure.”

“Sweet,” he takes a hold of your hand, “Don’t worry Steph, I’m sure someone else around here will happily take you for a good time.”

He winks, Stephanie scoffing and rolling her eyes, turning her back as the two of you make your way up to one of the spare bedrooms in Tina’s house. Lucky for you, the first room you came across was empty, not having to face the disgusting consequences of seeing two classmates going at it on the bed.

You’ve already parted from Steve, walking over to the other side of the room, hands interlinked behind your head as Steve closes the door.

He tries to make his way over to you, reasoning, “Look, I didn’t know she was going to call you that, I just—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Steve?” you yell at him, tears streaming down your cheeks, breaths coming out ragged as you struggle to catch them in your throat.

“How is this my fault? I didn’t call you that! I didn’t know she was going to say that!” his voice rises, matching the volume of your own.

“Do you even know what it’s like to get bullied by someone of the same gender as you? It’s humiliating! If I can’t trust another girl to be nice, then how can I—”

“Actually, I do!”

His statement shocks you into silence. When in the world has Steve Harrington ever been bullied? He’s been king of the school for almost four years now. He was the bully himself.

“Look,” he takes your wrist, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed, “This whole bullying thing that happened, I…”

He takes a deep breath, afraid to admit the real truth about their ongoing four-year feud.

“Tommy and Carol forced me into it. They told me to target you, and like the stupid person I was at the time, I followed through. But…”

Your eyes are filled with confusion, looking at the brown-haired boy with intrigue, his expressions confusing you, nervous as to what he was about to say.

“The longer it went on, the more I started noticing things about you. I saw the way you would doodle little animals in your notebook in Biology, the way you would always order the same food for lunch, Mac & Cheese, mashed potatoes and—”

“And carrots…” you finish off his sentence, looking at him with pure shock. But, the emotion quickly turns back into that same anger, “But… if you paid that much attention to me, why did you continue to target me? Even when you ditched Tommy and Carol, you still fucking continued—”

He sighs, frustrated and disappointed in himself, “Because… I was frankly embarrassed to be with you, which is 100% a me problem, nothing to do with you. I still couldn’t let go of the fact that I could fall in love with someone who wasn’t ‘popular.’ I kept bullying you in hopes that you would hate my guts so much that even the pure idea of dating you would be impossible. Which is probably true now, so… mission accomplished for me, I guess…”

His hand was holding yours now, you giving it a small squeeze as you replied, “I don’t hate your guts, Steve. I just…”

Always something else. You still hated him. You had to. He convinced himself of that.

“I saw you bully everyone else, and you hurt a lot of fucking people. I didn’t want to let you win. It wasn’t that I hated you, I just didn’t want to let my guard down. Didn’t wanna act like I did with Stephanie down there.”

Steve notices you grit your teeth at that. You were angry with yourself. Angry with your insecurities, your weaknesses, your lack of ability to so easily defend yourself from everyone.

“So… I continued to fight back. I needed to be strong. I couldn’t let myself break after all these years. I would only stop when you did which… I guess is now.”

You look up into his eyes. You don’t know whether he got closer or you did, or maybe you both closed some distance. Maybe your bodies were trying to tell you something your brains were actively fighting against.

“So…” Steve gulps, “You don’t hate me?”

You laugh softly, grinning from ear to ear. Steve had waited to see that up close for years.

“No, Steve. I don’t hate you. I never did hate you. I just rebutted off of your hatred of me.”

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t hate you either. In fact, I think I said a very different word to describe how I feel about you.”

He was the one leaning closer now. His attitude taking more of a flirtatious tone, eyes staring completely into yours, a mood you’d much rather reciprocate for a long period of time.

“You sure did.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Absolutely not.”

He grins, lips hovering just above yours, “So I assume you wouldn’t mind if I also did this.”

You manage to purr out an “Absolutely not,” before slotting your lips between his.

Your hand naturally went out to cup his cheek, his palms resting neatly on your waist, gripping your dress tightly, wishing to feel your natural skin against him.

The kisses quickly turn desperate, a plea in the form of a whine escaping your throat as Steve takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He lightly taps your exposed thigh, “Come on, pretty girl. Get on top of me.”

You turn to putty in his hands, following his exact orders as you swing your right leg over his body, straddling his lap. Both of your hands remain on either side of his face, his hands sliding lower, perching under the curves of your ass.

The desperation seeps from both of you, your teeth and tongues attacking each other’s necks like a dog in heat, leaving love marks on every inch you had access to.

Your hands explore underneath his shirt, feeling the sparse hairs of his happy trail tickle against your soft skin. Steve’s arms are already guiding yours, lifting his shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor behind you.

You can’t help but let your body take over from your mind, your hands roaming completely over his chest, feeling every muscle and curve he had to give. It was yours now. All yours.

Steve had taken his time tracing your thighs in his fingertips whilst you were divulging in his neck, ever so slowly pushing your dress upwards, bunched up against your waist.

“Can I? Will you let me, honey?” he asks, fingers sitting at the waistband of your panties.

“Do what you need to, baby,” you reply in a sultry tone, lips moving to his collarbone. However, as you soon found out, your lips wouldn’t be attached for much longer.

Steve didn’t even need much preparation. A quick slide up your slit, coating his fingers in your juices and he was slipping his middle and ring finger into your hole.

“Oh fuck, Steve,” you moan out, head falling back, eyes closing as you bask in the pleasure.

“Yeah, honey? Like the feeling of my fingers inside you?”

Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, leaving red marks as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Despite this being your first time together, it feels as if he knows your body inside and out, catching all the right spots to send you to Heaven, fingers moving at just the right pace, curling into the perfect spot.

“Uh huh. You’re so good at this, baby.”

Baby, baby, baby. He could listen to that pet name escape your mouth every single day, especially if it was being whimpered from your vocal chords. The exact throaty strangle he needed to hear.

There’s a sudden curl of his fingers that make you shiver, Steve chuckling as he teases, “Yeah? That the spot, honey? Got you figured out already?”

“Mhm, Jesus, babe.”

“You wanna cum on my fingers, is that it? Fall apart for me, honey?” he taunts, you trying your hardest not to rock back onto them, bringing yourself closer to your release.

“Not on— Fuck, not on your fingers, baby…” Your hand snakes down to the bump formed in his jeans, pressing your palm to it as Steve lets out a groan.

“Oh, you wanna cum on my cock, is that it, honey? Wanna ride me?”

You nod ferociously, “Yeah, yeah. Wanna cum on your fat cock.”

Steve pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, you leaning down to un-do his belt, him shifting the material down his legs along with his boxers.

Your statement about his cock being fat was apparently no lie. His dick hit his stomach, slightly curved to the right, cut, and had to be around 6 inches, a girth of over 5.

You had to contain yourself from drooling, grabbing his dick in your hand and rubbing it against your soaking pussy.

The mere touch of your hand around him had him containing a moan, watching in delight as you lined yourself up above him.

“You good?” you ask him, making sure he’s on the same line of thought as you. This was all so sudden after all, you had to make sure.

“Better than ever, babe.”

You took that as your cue to sink down onto his cock, moans filling the air as Steve gripped onto your ass tighter, ready to guide you if you needed.

“Can I move? Please let me move, Steve. It’s okay, I’m good.”

“Take it away, honey. You can call the shots here.”

“Okay…” you whisper as you lift yourself up, before slamming back down, Steve letting out a choked moan. Soon enough, you begin to find a steady rhythm, your wetness allowing for a ‘slosh’ sound to fill the atmosphere every single time you lowered yourself. With Steve’s balls hitting your ass, it’s like you transcended into Heaven. Why did you ever have meaningless hook-ups when it feels this good with a man who loves you?

Not giving as much as he’d liked earlier, his teeth attack your neck again, pulling and tugging on the skin before soothing it with his warm tongue. His hands help guide you up and down, him trying his hardest not to thrust his hips up into yours. He let you be in control here, and he wasn’t going to take over that unless he needed to.

Your hands come to cup the back of his head, eyes closed as your practically squished up against his face, letting him lean into your chest, feeling his lips press tender kisses between your breasts.

“Ah, ah, ah” is all that can escape your mouth. You’re too far gone at this point. You didn’t even realise the pace of your hips were slowing until Steve’s grunts increased and his cock was hitting a spot so far back that you didn’t know it existed. But, all that you cared is it felt good. Really good.

You could feel the knot begin to tighten in the pit of your stomach, even Steve’s thrusts becoming sloppy, uneven, his cock twitching inside of you, ready to burst any second.

“Shit, gonna cum soon, babe. Where do you want it?”

“I’m close too, baby,” you pant, “I’m not on anything, so my stomach, please.”

“Gonna hold off for you, honey. Wanna feel you tighten around me. Wanna feel you strangle my cock. Can you do that for me? Strangle my cock?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, basically becoming limp in his arms as he continues to pound up into you, your release building and building, before the tide quickly spills over.

“Shit, you’re so tight, honey. Such a good girl for me, fuck.”

Steve is struggling to hold off. The loud noises you are moaning directly into his ear, combined with the tightening of your walls around his cock has him gripping your ass for dear life.

As soon as your moans begin to settle, he quickly pulls out of you, beating his cock until his head is thrown back, four spurts of his cum landing onto your stomach, the rest pooling around his hand and falling onto his happy trail.

You’re sat on his thigh, head leaning against his shoulder as you both pant, his hands now tracing circles on either side of your waist, trying to catch your breaths and enter your post-orgasm hazes.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Steve lets out, lifting your chin so he can lean the side of his face against yours, a sloppy kiss being pressed to your cheek. “I love you so much, and I know that’s really soon, so don’t feel pressured to say it back, but… I just needed to say it again.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, “I get it. It is a lot and I’ll say it in due time, okay? And hey… you’re pretty fucking amazing too. But…”

Steve begins to panic at that, but your next words just make the two of you laugh, “The feeling of your cum drying on my stomach is not as pleasant, I’m afraid.”

Holding onto your hips, he stands up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bathroom to clean you up. “Don’t worry honey, I got you. You just relax for me whilst I get you cleaned up.”

“M’kay… Thank you… for everything.”

He smiles at you, wiping the cum from your stomach with some toilet paper before throwing it in the trash can. He looks back at you, admiring your blissed out state. Your make-up was ruined, hair astray, but you never looked more beautiful to him.

He holds your chin as you slot your lips together once again, him mumbling, “’Course beautiful girl. You deserve it, ‘kay? Now… Tina won’t mind us sleeping in here, right?”

You shake your head, “Should be fine, baby. A sleep sounds good right now.”

“Mmm,” he mumbles, lifting you up into his arms from where you were perched on the toilet seat, carrying you back to the bed and tucking you in, before climbing in next to you.

He wraps his arm around your waist, dragging you closer to him as he presses one final kiss to your cheek. “Goodnight, honey.”

“Night, baby.”

taglist: @tlclick73 @joekeerysmoles @ellharrington @agxxb

[wososcripts]

Tell Me of Your Grief

Stina Blackstenius x Reader

Summary: The fourteenth of March brings back some rather difficult memories, and you don't always make the healthiest decisions. Stina intervenes.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: sorry it's been a while, I've started uni again which means my writing is somewhat slower! With some luck I'll be able to get things up once a week? But that remains to be seen... I promise this is hurt/comfort and not just pain btw.

Warnings ⚠️: discussion of death, self harm behaviors (mild), angst angst angst

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

You woke up that morning to a text from Jonas saying you didn’t have to come to training. 

It felt weak to admit it, but part of you was relieved. You knew Katie must’ve talked to him, which was mortifying if you let yourself think about it too much, but she knew you needed this day to yourself. 

It was the anniversary of your best friend’s passing—five years in the making. You hadn’t told many of your teammates what happened, or why you became so withdrawn and somber the week around the 14th of March. It was too difficult to explain. All of the dramatics that surrounded the event, the pain, what you had done wrong, what she had too, it was all still too delicate for eyes you didn’t completely trust. 

You hadn’t even told your girlfriend Stina yet. You’d meant to, really, you had, but the days slipped by and there never seemed like a good time to do it. You knew it would ruin any good mood you were in, and honestly you enjoyed having Stina as your respite when the rest of the world seemed to be knocking against your skull. But it felt wrong that she didn’t know. It felt as though you were hiding something from her, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“Hi baby, I’m not feeling well today so I won’t be at practice. Don’t worry your head when I’m not there. It’s nothing too serious, though, so I’ll be back tomorrow.” You spoke into your phone, recording a voice note to send to her so she wouldn’t be left in the dark about where you were. 

Stina was a worrier, something you yourself could understand, so you always made the effort to let her know if you were running late or not going to something. Otherwise you’d inevitably get a call with her anxious voice on the other line. 

It was early, too early for even Stina to be up. The sun had barely begun cresting over the horizon, casting a slight glow to everything. You wanted to go back to sleep, particularly since you hadn't slept all that well to begin with. Your back hurt from being tensed all night as you were plagued with anxious dreams. On your palms were the remnants of nail indentations—some of them bloody from how hard you had been pressing.

You turned on a podcast and closed your eyes, hoping the sound of human voices would lull you to sleep. It must've worked for a little while, because the next time you opened your eyes it was truly morning, and the podcast had switched to another episode. 

The dreams had continued, unsurprisingly considering your waking mental state, and the extra hour of sleep you might be able to get if you closed your eyes wasn't worth it. So you got out of bed, throwing on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt to go for a run. 

You weren't typically a runner—in fact you were practically ethically against doing it as a hobby—but it was useful for clearing your head. And with no training today, it would feel good to get out for at least a little while. So you blasted your music and took off into the streets of London, completely lost in your own world. Nobody spoke to you, nobody looked at you. 

By the time you had finished, you were sweaty, red-faced, and exhausted. The endorphins began to flood your system as you stripped and started the shower. You turned it almost as high as it could go, hoping for the burn against your skin. You hissed, stepping under the spray, and tears sprung to your eyes. Your skin immediately began to redden. But you didn’t move to lower the heat, instead grabbing your shampoo, gritting your teeth, and bearing it. 

—

“Morning, Blackstenius.” Beth called, clapping her on the back soundly as she wandered into the locker room. 

Stina expected to find you there, sitting by your locker getting changed into your kit and reading your book as you always did, each morning. But you weren’t there. Your locker hadn’t even been touched. She furrowed her brow, then remembered that you had sent her a message earlier. Maybe you had asked her for a ride and she hadn’t seen? Maybe you were going to be late today? Maybe you had some kind of appointment you’d forgotten about until the last minute—you were notorious for that. 

“Morning,” Katie said, sitting down next to Stina on the bench and pulling her kit out of her bag. 

“Morning, Katie.” She replied, opening her phone to look at her message. 

She brought the phone to her ear, confusion and concern filling her chest as she listened to your voice. Though your words weren’t all that worrying, she could hear in your voice that things weren’t right. 

“How’s she doing?” Katie asked, having heard your voice coming from the phone. Her voice was cautious, something unusual for the Irish captain.

“Did you know she wouldn’t be here today?” Stina asked, confused as to why Katie seemed to be clued in to your mood before her. Maybe you had sent her a similar message? She was your best friend, after all. The two of you made a ridiculous pair—her loud and aggressive, you nearly silent and composed—but you’d known each other longer than anyone else on the team, and everyone knew Katie would do practically anything for you. 

Katie was quiet, glancing around at the other girls in the room. Now Stina was worried. Even though you had told her not to be, that it wasn’t anything serious, she couldn’t help it now that Katie was acting so strangely. 

Once it was just Stina and Katie in the locker room, Katie answered her question. 

“Listen, it isn’t my place to tell you anything. You know how private she is…” Katie sighed, rubbing her temples. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you, probably didn’t want to worry you, the idiot,” she mumbled under her breath to an increasingly concerned Stina. 

“Katie.” Stina said firmly, “What the fuck is going on?” 

She wasn’t usually one to swear. But where you were concerned, the possibility that you were hurting, and had hidden it from her, that warranted much more than cursing. 

“Today is difficult for her, very difficult. That’s all I feel comfortable saying. But if you want to go, Jonas is going to understand.” 

Stina’s heart was in her stomach. Images flashed through her mind, a thousand different horrible things this could mean. 

"Difficult?" She questioned, "Katie, is she safe? Do I have to be prepared for—"

"It's not like that, she isn't in physical danger." 

The answer wasn't reassuring to Stina, who now felt a little ill at the thought of you home alone today. She should be there with you. Someone should be there, if you didn't want her (God, she hoped you wanted her, trusted her). The urge to press more information out of Katie was strong, but Stina held herself back. Katie was right—you needed to tell Stina yourself. Otherwise any insight into your head would be forced entry, a violation of the trust you had both with Katie and with her.

So Stina simply nodded and looked back at her phone to reply to your message. 

Okay, I hope you're feeling all right. Can I swing by later and bring you something? I'd love to see you <3

She wanted to give you an option to say no to her visit—though she would prefer to just go over there now. At least now if you didn't answer before she showed up she could say she had reached out.

—

You waited until the water ran cold to get out of the shower. Your skin was raw to the touch, and still a subtle red color after you had dried yourself off and began braiding your hair. You could hardly stand to look at yourself.  

You threw on the only clothes you could stand on your skin—a pair of soft sweatpants and fuzzy socks—along with Stina's old Häcken hoodie she left at your place a few days ago. It smelled of her which comforted you even if she wasn't here. 

Your phone dinged with a message. Upon opening it, you saw Stina and Katie had messaged, and that you had two missed calls. 

"Eat something." Was all your message from Katie said. 

She knew you, and knew you wouldn't want to eat today. But you had to.

You went to open Stina's text when your phone lit up with another incoming call. It was from Sandra, the mother of your friend. She did this every year, and every year you told yourself you wouldn't pick up. It wasn't healthy for either of you—it reopened wounds that were barely scabbing over as it was. She inevitably cried, and asked why you had left her daughter alone that night, and you bit your lip raw trying to keep quiet and apologize.

But even though you knew the script, you picked up the phone. 

"Hi," you said, your voice noticeably smaller.

You heard a sigh of relief on the other end.

"How are you, Sandra?" You continued, your fingers picking at your lip anxiously. You felt it start to bleed and did nothing.

"Are you still in Limerick?" You continued your flood of questions, waiting for her onslaught to begin.

A few minutes later, once you were on your tenth question and you'd switched from your lip to pressing your nails into your bloodied palm, you heard her begin to cry.

You weren't sure how you managed this every year. Memories of the funeral flashed behind your eyes, and how you hadn't been allowed to stand near the front with the rest of the friends and family. How Sandra had wailed, and smacked you across the face in the parking lot. You stared at your kitchen backsplash and just listened.

"Why, why did you do it?" She cried, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

"I'm sorry." You whispered. 

"You left her alone, you killed her, you always brought her home expect that one fucking night and look what happened. It should've been you, it should've been you, you don't deserve this—" 

And so it continued. Tears streamed down your face as your brain began to shut down as a defense mechanism. You just felt numb. Nobody else existed in the world except for you and this woman whose life you had ruined. No Katie, No Stina, Nobody that gave you their love and wanted you here. You didn't deserve what you had, not your success where it should've been your friend's, not your team, not your girlfriend. You were an imposter on this planet, a thief.

—

It turned out that going over to your place wasn't as simple as it seemed. Stina tried asking Jonas if she could be excused from practice, but he insisted that she stay just for an hour. Arsenal had a match with the Spurs in four days and Jonas wanted to go over strategies with the forwards. No skipping. 

So Stina stayed—looking at her phone every thirty seconds for a text from you. There was nothing, and it freaked her out even more.

Whatever Jonas was saying, none of it was registering. She would ride the bench if she had to, it didn't matter to her now. Her leg bounced nervously, and Viv looked at her with concern on her face every couple of minutes. When Jonas went outside to take a quick call, she turned to Stina and immediately asked after her.

"What's wrong, is it something with Odi?" 

Stina nodded, her tight lipped expression telling Viv all she needed to know. She gave Stina a look of sympathy and glanced at her watch, clearly wondering when the meeting would be over as well.

"Odi, something's wrong with her?" Beth butted in unabashedly.

You'd gotten the nickname for a few reasons: you'd danced for years as a child as a ballerina, which showed in your play. You were showy, and graceful, not the aggressive type. Like a swan, someone had once said to you—and the swan lake association stuck: Odette, or Odi for short. Arsenal's dancer.

Jonas re-entered the room before Beth could ask any more questions, saving Stina the struggle.

"For Christ's sake, let the poor girl go," Beth called out as Stina checked her phone for the hundredth time.

Jonas sent a look Beth's way, but decided to be merciful.

"Alright, Blackstenius, you're excused. But I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

Stina practically ran back to the locker room, throwing her kit into her bag and getting changed as fast as she could. A steady sense of dread was building in her. She decided to call you as she left the training grounds and walked to her car, hoping she could catch you and tell you she was coming. It would soothe her mind just to hear your voice.

But instead of your voice on the other end, Stina was met with the busy signal. That confused her even more—you weren't a fan of phone calls necessarily, and she knew your parents would be working now, so it was unlikely they would have called you.

She tried once more, hoping she had just happened to catch you at the tail end of a call, but you still didn't answer.

—

You had barely hung up the phone with Sandra before the tears began to pour from your eyes. It was as though time had made no difference and you were hearing of your friend's death for the first time. All the pain, all the self loathing that had fallen down upon you then still crushed your shoulders with its weight.

Your phone dinged again—a message from Katie.

Respond to me or I'm coming over there myself.

You didn't want Katie here. She had been there in years past, and for her to see you no better despite the time and therapy you put in, well you couldn't handle the shame.

I'm alive and well - see you tomorrow at training

You replied, knowing if you told her you were fine and left it at that she might kill you herself. 

You giggled at the thought of her huffing and puffing at you, demanding you take better care of yourself like a surrogate mother. When your mother wasn’t around, Katie did a damn good impression of her. You never got away with anything if Katie had a say. You laughed through your tears, feeling like every nerve of yours was on a razor's edge. 

A knock at the door barely registered in your mind as you wandered over to the couch, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and waste away for the next twelve hours. Your head was beginning to hurt from all the crying, which only soured your mood further. For the first time you had the thought: I don't want to be alone.

You thought it must’ve been a hallucination, the way Stina appeared in front of you. 

—

Stina wasn’t sure what to expect when she knocked on the door of your apartment. She had spent the entire drive over worrying about how she could find you, partially cursing Katie for giving her just enough info to get her mind going in a million unhelpful directions. The fact that you weren’t texting her back hadn’t helped either. The road before her blurred as she drove without thinking, her body getting her to your apartment building on instinct. 

The elevator dinged at each floor and with it her heartbeat increased. 

When you didn’t answer the door it dropped. 

“Hello?” Stina called out, having opened the door with the spare key you had given her a few months ago. She cursed herself for not staying with you last night when you looked so weighed down, so tired. She’d let you convince her you were fine—something she wouldn’t do again anytime soon.  

When she turned the corner from your kitchen into the open space of your living room she spotted you. There you were, curled up on the couch in a small ball, silent. 

“Did you hear me knock?” She asked softly, approaching you.

You didn’t reply, didn’t even look at her. 

She slowly reached out a hand to place it on your head gently, when you turned and looked at her. It frightened her—the look in your eyes. She hadn’t ever seen them so empty. 

“Stina?” you whispered, confusion present in your tone. 

“Yes, min kärlek, jag är här.”

She put a hand softly on your face, cupping your cheek.

“You’re really here?” 

There were tears beginning to gather in your already red eyes. Stina felt her throat constrict. You’d been crying, clearly a lot by how swollen your face was. 

Stina pulled you up and into her arms easily, shifting you so she could sit on the couch with you in her lap. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, remembering that you had said once that hearing her speak her native Swedish calmed you down. 

You wiped your eyes, lip still trembling slightly. 

“Did Katie say something? Or Jonas?” 

Stina wiped your cheeks with the pad of her thumb, brow creased with worry. 

“Katie said today was hard for you, that’s it. Promise.” 

You went silent, thinking. 

“I was going to tell you. I promise, I meant to. But it just never seemed like a good time, or I just wanted to avoid it as long as possible…you see, Katie met me not long after it happened, she was there, it’s different. I didn’t trust her with this and not you on purpose. She can’t help but know.” You shifted off of Stina’s lap, curling in on yourself next to her so your skin wasn’t touching.

“I hate myself for it. I do, really. And every time I tell someone, they might hate me too, I know that. And I just couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t give you the chance to hate me.”

Stina put a hand on your shoulder, biting her lip to contain a small sob when you flinched away from her. It was as if you weren’t even there in front of her. All of the grace and kindness and light that had been there just a few days ago seemed to have been swallowed by darkness. To hear you say the words ‘I hate myself’? Stina could cry at the thought of it. Those were words that should never come from your mouth. It was like a knife in her ribcage. 

“Min söta… älskling”

“Don’t call me that,” you sobbed, putting your hands over your eyes and hiding your face from her. 

"Snälla, låt mig hjälpa dig, please, I want to help.” 

You shook your head, face still obscured from Stina’s view. 

This was horrible. Stina felt as though she’d eaten something rotten the way her stomach churned. She was helpless, completely in the dark. Here she was, the person who was supposed to take care of you and love you, and she could hardly do anything. All she could think to do as you cried quietly was pull you into her side and rock you slowly. A melody popped into her head—one her mother had sang to her as a child when she was ill. 

Stina softly sang, trying not to feel embarrassed by her voice. You were beginning to calm, your hands dropping from your face to her shirt, holding it close. By the time she was finished, the room was quiet, empty of your cries. You were clinging to her, your face buried in the crook of her neck as if you were ashamed of the comfort you needed. 

“What was that song?” you asked, voice hoarse. 

“It’s a lullaby. I can’t remember the name.” 

Stina felt you nod against her skin. 

She opted not to say anything further. You were exhausted, she could tell. Anything you wanted to say, you needed to volunteer. 

After a few moments, she felt your grip on her shirt tighten. 

“When I was nineteen, my best friend died.” 

Whatever Stina had been expecting to come out of your mouth, that wasn’t it. She sucked in a breath, trying to remain unaffected. You needed her strength. 

“We had been friends for years, since we were kids. And we’d gotten in this huge fight over something… uni I think. I had an offer to play professionally. I had been drinking, so had she. And I always walked her home, always, when she had been drinking. The way to her house was a bit sketchy, you know? So I figured two people were better than one if anything happened. But the things she said to me that night… I’d never been so upset in my life.” 

You took a breath, 

“So I refused to walk her. She didn’t press, just turned up her nose and walked away, didn’t even say goodbye. And I waited for my bus. The next morning I get a call from her mum—she’s been killed.”

Stina could barely trust herself to breathe. 

“I let it happen, I’m the reason she died.” 

“No—” Stina began, but you cut her off. 

“When they held the funeral, I wasn’t allowed to say anything. I wasn’t allowed anywhere but the very back of the church, because they all knew it was my fault. And still, they know it, they remind me of what happened, what I’ve done. I stole her life!” 

“Stop!” Stina demanded, her face flushed with anger. You were taken aback by her passion, and quieted. “You did not steal anything, you didn’t kill her, it isn’t your fault!” She grabbed your hand as you pulled back from her. 

“You lost your best friend in such a horrible way, and nobody checked in? Nobody held you?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but this time Stina silenced you.

“I want you to tell me what you mean by ‘they remind you’ of what happened.” 

You refused to meet her eyes. 

“It’s not good. Not for me or her… she calls me, my friend’s mom, to talk.” You hesitated, but explained the routine to your girlfriend when she fixed you with a look. 

“That’s…” Stina seemed at a loss for words, “you are the strongest person I know. And you rake yourself across hot coals for a crime that isn’t even yours. For a woman who wants to see you suffer, who can’t accept your healing. That isn’t right. You did not kill her. That is someone else’s burden to carry.” 

You burst into tears again. 

—

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because the next time you wake up you’re in bed, and Stina is wrapped protectively around you. Her warmth encases you; she holds you more protectively than usual, her arms shielding you from the world. 

Eventually the two of you get back up, though not before Stina wraps you in a crushing embrace and lets you know she’s staying for a couple of days. No negotiating. 

She makes dinner, you clean. It’s the first time you’ve eaten all day, and you think she can tell by the way she watches you intently. You feel cared for, and it’s a little overwhelming. Stina doesn’t let you out of her sight save a few trips to the bathroom and one brief call from her sister that she has to take.

You didn’t expect things to shake her up so much. 

She helps you clean the wounds on your palms, grimacing at the sight of them once you unfurl your fingers for her. You try to tell her you can deal with them yourself—especially with how much it seems to upset her—but she isn't having it. You see her set her brow and concentrate on cleaning and bandaging the damaged skin, tears only glazing her eyes as you hiss in pain. 

Eventually you convince her that you're fine enough to settle down on the couch and watch a movie. She insists on having you in her lap—something that you find equally as comforting. Stina isn't typically all that tactile, but now each moment apart from you seems to worry her.

You're about halfway into the film and slowly drifting off into her chest when you feel her whisper something into your skin. You think she assumes you're asleep (and you nearly are) but you make out her voice slightly.

"Tack Gud att du är här." She repeats it, and soon you can feel the drops of her tears hitting your shoulder. 

"Stina…" you whisper, repositioning yourself to face her.

"förlåt" she says, wiping her eyes.

"You don't have to be sorry… It was an intense day." You press a kiss to her cheek.

"I was so worried," Stina starts, and you figure it's best not to interrupt her, "when Katie said that you might be struggling, I couldn't think of anything else. You can't hurt yourself anymore, please." Stina takes your bandaged hand.

"If you were gone one day, I don't know how I'd cope." 

"You don't have to worry about that, ever."

"You are the most important thing in my life." Stina's lip trembles, and you wonder how you're managing to keep it together.

You pull her into another kiss, lips sore from how you had abused them earlier. The pain reminds you of the struggle of the day, but Stina's hand holds the depths in front of you at bay.

"I'll always be here." She promises.

You begin to think of something lighter. Of an ounce of forgiveness. Of a year that does not revolve around the rising and setting of the sun on this one day. A moment of peace afforded to yourself. The thought passes your mind—you do not deserve this. You instead think of love.

[wishuroses]

.⠀ ݁ ⸜⸜ 𓂃 𓇼 crybaby, neteyam sully.

✶ pairings: neteyam x omatikaya!reader

✶ warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is emotional but cheeky tey is here to save the day, can be read as platonic but with the way he speaks it might as well be romantic, uppercase intended!

✶ word count: 581

✶ na’vi glossary: sänui – failure.

✶ a/n: thought i was about to fall into having writers block or something but all i needed to do was listen to music LOL i am so sleepy. happy reading :-)

“You, child, are truly a disgrace! The only thing the Great Mother has ever disappointed me with is you. Sänui.”

“The children of our clan cry less than you.”

You already knew your mother was about to burst, judging from her clenched jaw and anger practically radiating off her every time you lingered near. You didn’t understand why she didn’t understand that you only cried because of her.

“Leave. Don’t come back until eclipse. Incompetent child.”

That was how you ended up here, your back against the bark of a tree, forest floor lighting up beautifully beneath your weakened limbs. You felt numb, to put it short, your vision blurring with salty tears as you stared ahead, the sound of flora and fauna nulling into nothingness.

Even the sharp snap of a nearby stick didn’t deter you from your trance-like state. Neteyam called your name once, twice, and with a tug to your arm you finally looked over at him, eyes glazed over and not fully in your mind just yet.

“Oh, hey Neteyam.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, pitifully raspy from sobbing your eyes out. After a beat of silence, you were sure you had to repeat yourself, straightening your slouch and readying your chapped lips, until Neteyam cut you right off.

“Are you.. alright?” Oh. He must’ve seen the faraway look in your eyes, nearly masked by the red puffiness that surrounded them.

The question was innocent, simple, anything you’d ask a friend who seemed down. Yet it still managed to strike you right in the heart, tugging at your chest until a sob bubbled from up your throat and out your mouth like hot syrup.

You thought you were fine a few seconds ago, nearly done with your pity party. Why are you crying all over again, now that Neteyam’s here? Your hot tears ran down the slope of your cheek as you sniffled uncontrollably, face flushed a pretty purple from embarrassment.

Neteyam was quiet the entire time, only opting to shuffle closer to you and wrap an arm around your shaking shoulders, squeezing you every few moments.

After he felt like you were calming down, he ran a hand through your braids, tucking your head in the crook of his neck. “Tell me,” he started, accent heavy and voice rumbling from his chest, “what seems to be troubling you, my heart?”

“My mother, she– I–” You gasped out desperately. “She thinks something’s wrong with me, calls me a sänui. Thinks I cry too much… I guess.” The explanation felt like it made no sense when it came out of your mouth, making everything you just cried about feel silly.

“And you believe what she says?”

A second passed, then another, and another–

Neteyam sighed and gently knocked his forehead against your temple. “You are perfect, truly. Nothing short of it.” Your mouth formed a pout, brows furrowed when you felt the faucet in your eyes turn steadily. “The Great Mother has blessed me with someone like you, and I thank her every waking moment–truthfully.”

He tucked a stray braid behind your ear. Your cheeks flush at the action.

“Teyam.. are you trying to make me sad again?”

“You can be a bit of a crybaby.” He pinched your flushed cheeks, making you squirm and playfully slap his hand away. A grumbled ‘tey’ made its way from your mouth, making his ears perk up while mirth shone in his honeyed eyes.

“But you’re my crybaby.”

[lyranova]

Omg so proud of you, you deserve the milestone🎉🎊

If it's alright, could I please request for a nozel x reader with a fairy tale au? Maybe Cinderella?

Hiya anon! Thank you so much, and ofc it’s alright to request a Nozel x Reader. I hope you enjoy 🥰!

Word Count: 1,223

Warnings: None

————

“ Would you care to dance?”

How did this happen, you wondered as you stared at prince Nozel Silva. You had just wanted to come to the ball to see if it was truly amazing as everyone claimed, but your evil step-sisters decided to ruin your plan by destroying your outfit. You had been so upset and hurt that you had all but given up on your dream.

But then, a fairy godmother appeared. She told you she would help you achieve your dream of going to the ball as long as you returned home by midnight.

You had never agreed to something so fast!

After you had arrived at the castle, you did your best to stay in the shadows; just so that your step-sisters wouldn’t see you. But as you walked around you silently admired peoples gowns and suits, thinking about how lovely they were and how expensive they must’ve been, when suddenly you bumped right into someone.

“ Oh, I’m sorry!” You apologized quickly as you took a step back; but as your eyes traveled up you almost had a heart attack.

You had accidentally run into Prince Nozel Silva!

“ I asked if you would like to dance?” He repeated, his tone clearly annoyed. You blinked for a moment as you stared up at him.

“ Me?”

“ Yes, you. Do you see anyone else standing here?” He asked with a raised brow, his tone growing more annoyed by the moment.

“ No,” You replied softly, a nervous laugh escaping you. “ But, why’re you asking me?”

“ Simple; you’re the only person in this entire ballroom who hasn’t asked me to dance.” He explained simply, and you tilted your head.

Really? That was the reason?

As you gazed at his hand you could feel your heart pound in your chest, was this really a good idea? Dancing with the prince in front of everyone, including your step-sisters?

As you contemplated your choices, the prince sighed, grabbed your hand, and led you out to the ballroom.

“ H-Hey!” You exclaimed in surprise. His grip was firm, yet also gentle; you could easily pull your hand out of it and walk away, but you didn’t. It was as though you didn’t want to let go…

You frowned, why did you feel that way with a complete stranger?

As you both stood in the center of the dance floor you could feel everyone’s gazes upon you. Some stared at you in curiosity, some in confusion, and some in anger and jealousy.

“ Ignore them,” Nozel instructed as he pulled you close, holding your left hand in his right, and resting his left hand against your waist. “ They’re just jealous.”

“ Clearly.” You muttered with a narrow gaze, making him chuckle softly.

Oh how that chuckle made your heart skip a beat.

As the music started, as did you two. You and Nozel danced and spun around silently for a few moments, before he suddenly asked you a very odd question.

“ Are you a foreign noble or royal?” He asked, his tone low but curious. “ I’ve never seen you before.”

You hummed in thought.

“ Maybe, or maybe I’m just a quiet noble that lives in Clover’s countryside.” You replied, and he shook his head.

“ I know all of the nobles in Clover, including the ones that live in the countryside,” Nozel told her as his eyes narrowed. “ So if you were one of them I would clearly recognize you.”

“ Why? Because of my dazzling good looks and charms?” You asked jokingly, but that only made his eyes narrow more.

“ Because you’re odd.” He replied bluntly, making you feel like someone had just shot an arrow through your heart.

You…were odd? You frowned, was that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?

“ At first I thought you were an assassin sent here to kill me; with the way you were sneaking around in the shadows and all,” He began as he twirled you around. “ But after watching you for a while I could easily tell that you weren’t.”

“ You’ve been watching me?” You asked. “ So you’re a stalker?”

Nozel’s cheeks turned a light pink as he stared at you in disbelief.

“ Absolutely not!” He began, his voice low but full of shock. “ I was merely watching you because you were acting suspicious!”

You chuckled.

“ I was kidding, geez, do you always take things so seriously?” You questioned curiously, and his face grew even more red.

Nozel quickly cleared his throat.

“ Anyway, since you aren’t here to kill me then tell me; why were you hiding in the shadows and acting suspicious?”

You averted your gaze, your mind going back and forth on whether you should tell him the real reason you were hiding.

“ Personal reasons…” You explained softly, and you watched as his eyes turned curious.

“ ‘Personal reasons’…” He repeated softly. “ Let me guess; siblings?”

You blinked at him in surprise.

“ How did you-?”

“ Just a guess.” Nozel responded softly.

“ I take it you have problem siblings too?” You couldn’t help but ask curiously, and you saw a ghost of a smile appear on his lips before it disappeared.

“ You could say that,” He told you before tilting his head. “ Although my youngest sister is far from a problem, even though our relationship is a bit strained.”

You nodded slowly, completely understanding how it felt to have a strained relationship with siblings.

“ So, the reason you were trying to hide was so you could avoid your siblings?” He asked, and you nodded.

“ Why?”

“ Because…if they found out I was here they would get angry.” You admitted softly, your brows furrowing as you tried to understand why you were telling the prince these things.

He was a stranger, this wasn’t any of his business or concern, so why on earth were you telling him about your step-sisters?

“ Why would they be angry?” He asked in confusion, his brows furrowing. You laughed humorlessly and shook your head.

“ I don’t really know,” You admitted as your gaze drifted down to the floor. “ I guess…because they fear that I might take attention away from them.”

Nozel hummed in response as he slowly nodded his head.

“ Well, I can see why they would be afraid of that,” He began, his eyes staring at you. “ Because so far tonight, you have stolen everyone's attention, including mine.”

A soft gasp escaped you as you suddenly looked up at the prince. You…had stolen his attention?

“ If you have nowhere to be tonight, may I ask that we talk somewhere a bit more privately? Perhaps on the balcony? I would like to get to know you a bit more.” He asked, his face turning a bit pink and his gaze shifting away in shyness.

You felt your cheeks burn as well; he wanted to get to know more? For some odd reason…your heart fluttered.

“ I-.” You began before a loud bell began to chime, and as you turned to look at it your eyes widened.

It was midnight!

“ I’m sorry, but I have to go!” You apologized quickly as you let go of his hand and moved away from him.

“ Wait-!” Nozel called after you, but you had already disappeared into the crowd.

When he went to follow you he accidently kicked something with his foot; frowning, he slowly looked down to see what the item was.

It was a glass shoe…

————

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[holylulusworld]

Deepest love - Flufftober 25

Summary: Dean acts...odd.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers

Trope: Friends to lovers

Idea by the lovely @elle14-blog1

A/N: *Y/F/S = Your favorite song – reader’s choice is your favorite song

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

“Aw, she looks so good, Dean,” you admired his car. Dean did a great job cleaning Baby. He took his time, cleaning every inch of his beloved car. 

“Only the best for my two favorite ladies,” he flashes you a grin. The hunter cleaned his car to make sure you’d enjoy the next ride with his Baby. “We are ready to roll, sweetheart.”

“Me too,” you excitedly look at Baby. She looks shiny and brand-new after Dean took care of her. “She’s so pretty.”

“That she is,” Dean says to himself as he watches you look inside his car. “So, uh—I was thinking about having a nap on our ride. Do you want to drive?”

“What?” Sam and Castiel ask in unison as they watch Dean throw the keys at you. You catch them, giggling as Dean makes a joke about two hot girls going for a ride.

“But no one is allowed to drive your car,” Castiel cocks his head. He furrows his brows as he tries to find out what changed Dean’s mind. “Are you unwell, Dean? Do you need my help? Maybe your hands are hurting.”

“What? No! I’m fine,” Dean snorts. “Can a man not let his friend drive his car?” He purses his lips and glares at his brother and Castiel. “Now, get your stuff. We need to hit the road. I want to gank that monster scaring old ladies.”

Looking at the keys in your hands you smile. Dean trusting you with his beloved car proves he meant what he said a few weeks ago. “Dean, I’ll call shotgun for you,” you wink at Dean. “We are going to be driving buddies.”

“What are we going to listen to today?” You glance at Dean in the passenger seat. “Dean? Mr. Music. What do you want to listen to?”

“Driver picks the music, sweetheart,” he flashes you a smile, “shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

“Awesome!” You exclaim. “How about…” You look at Dean again. “Ramble on, for starters. And then, we will listen to the best song ever, *Y/F/S!”

“I love that one,” Dean pats your hand. “Maybe we can listen to more Zeppelin and your favorite band later on.” He grins. “We are a perfect match.”

“Of course, we are, Deano!”

“What’s going on?” Sam whispers. “Did I miss something?” He frowns. No one is allowed to touch Dean's car or choose the music. Wait, since when is his brother looking at you like this?

“I think he’s in love with Y/N,” Castiel finally concludes. He nods to himself, convinced that his friend must’ve fallen in love with you. “She looks at Dean with heart eyes.”

“What? How do you know that term?”

“I watched humanity for an eternity,” the angel proudly states. He won’t tell Sam that his new hobby is to search for terms and trends on social media. “If you want to know more about human feelings, ask me.”

“Cas, that’s…” Sam glances at the angel sitting next to him, “good to know…I guess.”

“Hey, stop talking so loudly. We can’t hear our song,” Dean and you mutter in unison. "If you want to stay inside the car, stop talking so much."

“Heaven help us, Cas. My brother is in love with his match…”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 13: Fool’s Paradise

Thomas wandered restlessly through the party, ignoring the happy revellers around him, before weariness led him upstairs to bed. He washed his face with cold water in an attempt to freshen up, but couldn’t shake the fog from his mind. Stripping to his trousers, he collapsed on the bed.

Time passed - he wasn’t sure how much. In the distance, he could hear the band winding down, the music transitioning from lively to sedate, before ceasing altogether. He pictured his guests, his family, no doubt gossiping in excited whispers about his mysterious paramour. Some of them would be going home now, others retiring for the evening, and the rest would continue chatting and playing cards until dawn.

Thomas began to doze. Through half-awake ears, he heard the bedroom door creak open. He imagined for a moment that it was Grace, come to chide him for abandoning their guests in such a huff. But then a loud whisper came from the doorway:

“Mister Shelby? Mister Shelby, are you awake?”

And he knew it was only Alec, creeping into his arms in a desperate search for…something. For love. For a sense of belonging. For easy money.

Hearing no reply from Thomas, Alec entered, trying to be quiet but bumping against furniture. He tripped on the edge of the rug and grabbed the dresser for support, causing the contents to rattle. He shushed himself.

“I’m awake,” Thomas said to spare him the effort.

“It’s me, Mister Shelby.”

“I know.”

Thomas heard the soft rustle of clothes dropping to the floor, then Alec climbed into bed beside him, embracing him from behind.

“Don’t be sad,” he mumbled into Thomas’s hair, “I hate seeing you sad. Not when you make me so happy.”

“How can I make anyone happy?” Thomas wondered.

“Don’t think like that. You deserve better.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm. You deserve to be as happy as I am.”

His hands slid beneath Thomas’s shirt, rubbing his chest.

“She’s gone,” he whispered in Thomas’s ear, “But I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

Thomas recoiled. With a rough jerk of his elbow, he pushed Alec away.

“Get off me,” he grunted.

Alec clung on.

“She left you. I’ll never leave you. You can trust me, Mister Shelby.”

“Get the fuck off me!”

With more force, he shoved Alec off the bed. Alec stumbled backwards, barely decent, his hair dishevelled, his eyes glassy. There was a string of tinsel draped around his shoulders, and his open shirt smelled of spilled brandy.

“What’s the matter?” he slurred.

“Get out.”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to make you feel better.”

“Get the fuck out! You’re not Grace, you’re not my lover, you’re not even my friend. You’re just a whore I took pity on.”

Hurt crossed Alec’s face, quickly followed by anger.

“Just because you’re sad, don’t take it out on me,” he said, “It’s not my fault she’s dead. You’re the one who got her killed.”

“What?”

“I said, you’re the one who got her killed! You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself. But I guess you’re not used to taking responsibility, are you?”

“What did you say to me?” Thomas uttered in disbelief. Then his voice suddenly rose in fury. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“If she was smart, she would’ve let you take the bullet! But then again, only an idiot would marry you. You’re a fucking failure. Everything you got, you got from tricking and hurting other people. I earned every good thing I ever got, but you’ve never earned a damn thing in your life!”

“You fucking - ”

Thomas scrambled off the bed. Seeing him eye-to-eye, Alec must’ve realised he was at a physical disadvantage, because his expression changed from anger to alarm. He abruptly turned and ran away.

“You little shit!” Thomas yelled after him. He snatched his undershirt and put it on - a barrier between his skin and Alec’s now-unwelcome touch - and gave chase. “Fucking get back here!”

Alec fled down the corridor and across the landing to his guest room. He ran straight into the en-suite, slammed the door shut, and latched it. Thomas reached the door a second later and pounded upon it, shouting:

“Who do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Stop it!”

“She was my wife. She was my fucking wife!” Thomas banged his fist against the unyielding door. “I loved her! You don’t fucking speak of her, do you understand me?”

“Please stop it.” Alec’s frightened voice came through the wood. Fear seemed to have cleared his head.

“How fucking dare you?” Thomas kicked the door and rebounded, almost losing his balance. “She was the best thing in my life. I loved her. Open the door!”

“Please stop.”

“Open the door, Alec. Open the fucking door!”

Thomas punched the wood, and cursed at the pain that shot through his hand.

“Fuck!”

The pain was infinitely sobering. He turned away from the door, nursing his knuckles as they throbbed. Hasty footsteps approached, and the door of the guest bedroom banged open. It was Arthur, freshly rolled out of bed, pistol in hand.

“Tom? You alright there, brother? I heard a ruckus.”

“It’s nothing. Go back to bed.”

“Don’t give me that shit. You were chasing someone. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Thomas insisted. “I’ve got it under control.”

He could see Arthur’s brain slowly working, putting together the pieces: the chaos, Thomas’s disarray, the obvious fact that he’d been shut out of the bathroom.

“Are you serious, Tom?” he said, “You’re going to spend Christmas night fighting with your live-in whore? Don’t you pay him well enough to keep him sweet?”

“I don’t pay him anything. Now go back to bed,” Thomas repeated.

“Fine. Have fun.”

Thomas was left standing outside a locked door, half-dressed, massaging his knuckles. His gaze fell on a framed photograph of Clara, taken on her first birthday, sitting happily in Alec’s lap. She was laughing and her father was bursting with pride. Alec kept it on his bedside table, so that even though they slept in separate rooms, he could still see her.

Thomas’s energy left him. He sighed and sank down into a sitting position, his back resting against the wall.

“Look,” he said dully. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“You can come out now.”

“No.”

“I’m not angry any more. I won’t hurt you.”

He heard Alec sink to the floor, and the door gave slightly in its frame as the young man leaned against it.

“You scared me,” Alec said.

“I know. Sorry.”

“You were going to hurt me.”

“I was.” Thomas couldn’t deny it. “It won’t happen again.”

“How do you know it won’t?”

“Because I won’t allow it. I won’t lose my temper with you again.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Thomas heard the latch scrape. There was a pregnant pause as Alec waited for his reaction, then the knob turned and the door opened a crack. The young man peeped out.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know why I said those things. I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I was trying to make you angry. You hurt me, so I hurt you.”

“Well, be proud. You did it.”

The door opened wider, and Alec emerged. He sat on the floor next to Thomas, his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Merry Christmas,” he smiled ruefully, a feeble attempt at lightening the mood.

“Merry Christmas,” Thomas sarcastically echoed.

“I drank too much tonight.”

“Me too.”

“This shouldn’t have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t.”

“This whole thing was stupid.” Alec put his arms around Thomas. It felt uncomfortably like the hug of a child who’d misbehaved, seeking reassurance that it was still loved. “Forgive me and I’ll forgive you.”

“Alright. I forgive you.”

Alec squeezed him tighter.

As Thomas sat defeated on the floor, staring at nothing and stewing in his own regret, a thought began to form in his mind.

It came slowly, furtively, stirring the hairs on the back of his neck, like the tickle of a tiny insect creeping on his skin - faint but disquieting.

“How did you know?” he said out loud.

“Hm?”

“About Grace?”

“What do you mean?”

Thomas’s tired brain was struggling to replay the past six months, trying to remember if he had ever - perhaps in a drunken depression, perhaps in a post-coital glow - brought up the manner of Grace’s death.

“How did you know she took a bullet for me? I never told you.”

“Everybody knows. It was in the newspapers.” Alec smiled weakly. “Even whores read newspapers. Wife of a famous gang-lord and philanthropist, murdered. That’s a story right there. And she was so beautiful, too. People were talking about it for days.”

“...Of course.” It made sense. And yet…something wasn’t quite...

Alec suddenly kissed his cheek. Thomas couldn’t help but feel that it was a distraction.

“I’ll go to bed,” he said, “I need to sleep off all those brandies.”

He released Thomas from his embrace, and stood awkwardly, putting one hand on the wall to steady himself. He hesitated before adding:

“I think…I think we should sleep separately tonight, Mister Shelby.”

“You’re right about that,” Thomas said. He rose stiffly to his feet. “I’ll get out of your hair. Sleep well.”

“Sleep well, Mister Shelby.”

On his way back to his own room, Thomas stopped by the nursery to check on Clara. She slumbered peacefully in her crib, unaware of anything that had just occurred. As he looked down at her sleeping face and wispy blonde hair, he struggled to find any resemblance to Alec. But perhaps it was just the darkness and self-doubt playing tricks on him. He shook the thought away, kissed her goodnight, and left.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

‘’If you can’t handle a heart like mine, don’t waste your time with me.’’ with reader saying it to Marcus please Ik not getting requests is frustrating but I love your weit bf style

I've based this song on one of my favorite Nessa Barrett song 'Lovebombs' (another fic inspired by her music is in my wip). Please look her up!

—

Marcus was your favorite person, but that also made him your favorite target. It’s not what you wanted. That deep attachment made you a very loyal partner, but it had a reverse side. An ugly side.

You didn’t remember how it started — something must’ve set you off. All you remembered was being in the middle of the fight and feeling this intense hatred toward Marcus. You lashed out on him, told him horrible things. Your words had been bullets to his chest, hitting and hurting him in all the right places.

‘’Why do you keep doing this?’’ He was trying to hold it together, knowing if he let his emotion mix with yours, it would be a molotov cocktail.

‘’It’s the way I am, Marcus!’’ you snapped at him, feeling the anger inside you turn into fire. ‘’Sorry that I’m not a perfect girlfriend like Ginny. Sorry that I’m a constant ticking time bomb and ruin dates and parties.’’

‘’Why do you keep bringing Ginny into every argument?’’

The corner of your lips curled into a crooked smile. ‘’That’s an interesting question, uh? I’m not the one that still has pictures of her in my bedroom.’’

Marcus groaned. Shit. You saw them. ‘’I forgot to take them off. They don’t mean anything.’’

‘’Do you imagine her face when we have sex?’’

‘’What?!’’ Half of him wanted to laugh at your ridiculous question, but he bit his tongue. It would only add fuel to the fire. ‘’I can’t believe you’re asking me this… I love you, not Ginny. Can you stop making things up?’’

The sad truth was, you couldn't. Jumping to conclusion, blowing things out of proportion and overreacting was something you were trying really hard to control. It was unfortunately part of your mental illness.

‘’If you can’t handle a heart like mine, don’t waste your time on me.’’

Marcus punched the bridge of his nose and sighed, trying to find something to say that you won’t turn around on him. ‘’I’m not saying— I just want to understand you.’’

‘’I can’t understand myself so, good luck with that.’’ A manic laugh spilled from your mouth.

A few days had passed and an intense guilt filled your body. The war was finally over. A part of you was relieved, but the other was realizing the damages you had caused. All the pain you had caused to the person you loved the most.

With your head hung low, you knocked on Marcus’ door and waved the white flag. He accepted your apologies and wrapped you in his arms, glad the storm was finally over.

‘’I know I’m hard to love sometimes and that I make you the villain of my story. I’m sorry. I really am, Marcus. You don’t deserve all the pain I put you through. It’s not fair to pull you into my chaos.’’ Your eyes were glassy, thinking back at all the horrible things you had said to him the other night. 

He pulled back and tipped your face gently. ‘’When you love someone, you love them regardless of the whole baggage they come with.’’

You looked down. ‘’You say that now, but you’ll change your mind.’’

Marcus shook his head. ‘’Not a chance. I can handle the mean things. I’ve got thick skin.’’ He gave you a soft smile, but you didn’t reciprocate it. 

 ‘’What I said about Ginny—’’

‘’Is all forgiven and forgotten,’’ he finished, shushing you. ‘’I haven't been the most faithful person before, but I love you and that's what makes all the difference to me. I don't care that you're not perfect because I'm not either. I do impulsive things, smoke too much weed and some days I can't bring myself to leave my bed or shower. We're imperfect and it's okay. Perfect people are boring anyway.’’

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny 

[malavera]

Dad's Best Friend, pt. iii (m) — Tom Cruise

↳ Tom Cruise is your Dad's Best friend. Your dad is a businessman in Hollywood, and he happens to be friends with your teenage year crush. You're legal now, what happens when you can finally live out your desires?

summary: Tom gladly accompanies you during your meeting. Though, what happens after all the things you both did previously at your dad's birthday party, you're suddenly in your feelings. You couldn't help but letting him know, so what will his answer be?

warnings: 18+, angst, smut; dom!tom, oral m/receiving, praisekink, agegap (reader is 26 tom is 59)

w.c: 2658

taglist: @deanscroissant @tomsf18 @helloitstsyu @moondustfairies @call-sign-shark @katherineswritingsblog @love2write2626 @gypsymoon548 @elenavampire21 @blondeocean246 @jstarr86

check out the series!

The mighty Tom Cruise sat there and looked pretty,

As if he was your trophy husband that you decided to bring him out to your meetings. You would include him in some parts of the conversation to let him know that you acknowledge his presence and you would appreciate it if he could give some insights on what he thinks about the matter that you and your business manager discussed, though once you and Roy had gotten the responds Tom would released himself from the conversation as he didn't want to interfere and engaged much.

Watching the whole process of you and your business manager coming up with a problem then finds a way to the solution, he couldn't help but feel proud of the woman that you have become. He might not be around your teenage years much, but he's got eyes and ears around you that you might not know of. He's thankful that although your dad might be too royal, he'd spoil you too much that you might end up being a stuck up bitch living in LA who knows nothing but make her daddy's pockets hurt, you're not.

Though, Tom wished he'd known you in a different way.

He wished you weren't his best friend's daughter. He cares about you too much to the point he doesn't see anyone, but you. He wanted to be there for you at all times, he wanted to be the man you'd come running to. But, he's aware of the risks that in fact, he's in a conflict within himself on should he punished himself for what he almost lure you into back there in your old bedroom, or... Should he just say what the fuck and make his move?

"Thank you for the company, Tom."

Tom folded his lips before replying with a nod, his hands folded into fists before he shoved them inside his pockets, afraid he might engage into something that the world may found it frowned upon. You on the other hand, debates on whether you should invite him in or gestured a 'off you go'.

"You're welcome. I- I wished we had more time." Tom chuckled breathlessly,

“I’m leaving tomorrow at dawn.”

You wished you’ve had invited him in.

You ponder on every chances that you could’ve taken hours ago. He’s got you wrapped around his fingers. You couldn’t eat, you couldn’t sleep, you even tried putting on YouTube and crank up some ambient music but still—your heart couldn’t help but missing him.

Staring at your screen, displaying a blank space of text messages to his number—as you kept typing… Though ended up not sending the messages. What were you supposed to say?

I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

I want you back then.

I want you to do things to me.

Wreck my insides please, daddy?

For fuck sakes, calling him Daddy? Would it be awkward? You’ve never tried it, except in your dream. It was so juicy why did your father ever wake you up?

Your mind kept rewinding the scenes in your old bedroom. How you could finally have a taste of him back then, feel him, use him. You sighed in distress, why couldn’t you faced him using the confidence that you always have when it comes to you and the reality. You couldn’t even pretend to be confident, now that you think of it—your heart grimaced in shame. I must’ve looked so fucking dumb back then, he must’ve thought i’m an amateur—fuck no I am no amateur, you thought.

With no surprise, your screen displayed calling… as you waited for him to pick up his phone. You bet on yourself if on the third ring he didn’t-

“Hello?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. He picked up.

“H-hey..” Way to go.

“Y/N is there something wrong?”

“Uhmm-” You muttered. Fuck, stop stuttering.

You mentally shook your head to shrug off all of the burden on your shoulders, clearing your throat and straighten your posture from leaning against your pillow.

“I am no amateur, Tom.” You declared.

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise, he wanted to chuckle and shook his head from side to side. What on earth are you on?

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Don’t let him get to you, don’t let him shake your ground, You speak to yourself.

“I could’ve fucked you back there.” You taunted,

“I am not afraid. I am not some dumb little teenage girl who’s got a big fat crush on her Dad’s Best Friend. I am more than that. I am a woman, who’d tend to her needs and wants and-.. And- you’re not what I need but- but- I want to suck your cock and make you cum.” You digressed.

“I- I- I want you. I want your hands all over my grown body. I want you to do things to me that you knew you’d end up in hell or beat up by my father. I want you to- to- touch me. I want to feel you, fuck- I- I- I want to feel you! I loved that you’re so warm even though we weren’t even on top of each other, but I could feel you.” You croaked, speaking to him with your heart on your hands.

"And I-" You sighed, "I wished I could feel you." You finished, swallowing your saliva. Relieved is what you can express, it's like the lump in your chest has finally washed away. Turns out, spitting out all of these things are what your mind didn't know that you need. For some reason, the wave of confidence has returned to your body. You should've felt ashamed as you did not received any feedback on the other line after you spoke with your heart on your hands.

You felt like slapping your head after you realize how dumb you must've sounded. It's almost minutes why is he not responding? You should've thought better. With your head hung, your shoulders slowly slumped, you tugged your phone away from your ears looking at the screen watching the number of minutes turned from each seconds.

Really Y/N you should've known better, you thought.

"H-have Have a safe trip." You muttered, the line went cut off.

The boiling sound from the pot on the stove is the only thing that may seemed alive. Way to go to start your morning at 5 AM, the water dispenser broke, you couldn't have a cup of hot tea to relax all of your muscles that failed to when you tried to bring yourself down to sleep.

Should you regret the things that you've said last night?

You wished that you hadn't opened your mouth as now waves of guilt and shame washes over you. He must've think you're a teenage girl after the stupid confession.

You jumped when the phone rang the famous opening ringtone, you didn't realize you've been zoning out, the water had formed bubbles from the boil. You switched off your stove before grabbing your phone from the counter, you wished it was him calling you but your heart dropped when it's your dad.

"Hey, Dad." You answered.

"Good morning! I bet you wouldn't answer at this very early," He laughs.

"Aha, I did though. What do you need?"

"What do you say to make up the time that you, literally, missed yesterday a.k.a my birthday-"

"Right, about that Dad I am so sorry. It was urgent and-"

"No, No, No, of course I understand. Hear me out, what would you say for Golf?"

You stare at your hands, licking your bottom lips. Maybe a day with your Dad could get you out of your thoughts. You've checked your schedule and it's safe to say that you have the whole day off, let's hope there's no surprises from your office for once.

There is no surprises from your office for once, and thank god you've been receiving great feedbacks from your manager. You locked your phone before handing it to your caddie as she exchanged it to your golf stick. You watched your Dad having his turn before he swung his stick sending the ball away.

"That's a great one, Dad." You praised, clapping your gloved hands.

"Watch your back you don't want to twist 'em!" Your heart winced, your clapping stops.

Your dad rolled his eyes before making a face as you watched him appearing in your vision, dressed in a golfing kind of outfit. Didn't he said he's leaving at dawn? If your jaw could fall to the ground, it would. But, you remembered where you are as you slowly closed your slightly agape mouth.

"Tom! What are you doing here? I thought you're leaving to London for the shoot." Your Dad greeted him with a tough handshake.

"Yeah, I should've." Tom sighed before he turned his head towards you.

"But, I realized I've had such little time with this little one. I missed her. So, I'm staying for a while until we have a good time." He emphasised that only he knows, you could understand. You folded your lips suppressing a smile.

"Well come on, there's always room for one more. Ashton throw Mister Cruise a stick!"

You ignored him, throughout the golfing. Not only you were ashamed, but you were furious. Did he thought showing up here was a good idea? Hell fucking no. What a fucking douche, You thought. He could've texted you, called you back, or better yet he could've just responded. Sighing as you closed the door to the VIP changing room, all of a sudden you felt hot. Your hands went flying to harshly tug off your hat, throwing them away to your duffle bag.

"So, you're giving me the cold shoulder now?" You shrieked and jumped before you turned your heels towards the voice. Turns out he's been in the room's bathroom as he slowly shuts the door before crossing his arms.

"Why are you here?" You barked.

"I needed to see you." You scoffed.

"Yeah? For what? Make me feel even more embarrassed?" Tom's heart fell, that's not how you feel isn't it? He asked himself.

"Why would you be so?"

You scoffed in disbelief, "Why wouldn't you be? After you told the man who's old enough to be her father, that she wanted him to fuck her and then proceeding to pour her heart out only to not getting single response?" You barked once more.

"Go away, get out of here. I don't want to see you." You spat out.

"That's not how you should speak to me, sweetheart." Tom warned.

"Yeah? Well hear this, FUCK YOU!" You fumed.

Something inside him snapped as he launched to you slamming your back against the wall. Tom might be kind and generous, but when you get on his nerves, you would regret it. You shrieked when you felt your back clashed against the wallpapered walls, your eyes briefly shut before you open them back. Tom's chest heaves, his breath exhaled through his nose in fury.

"Are you trying to turn me on?" Tom smirked, "Because it's working, sweetheart." He grinned.

One hand on your throat, the other on your shoulder blade. Your eyebrows scrunched together, you struggled to maintain your breath, a needy whine drives out from your throat to your pursed lips.

Tom lessen his grip on your throat, "Now are you going to be good and show me what you said last night on the phone?"

Your teeth gritted inside your closed mouth, your eyes darted side to side to his eyes, searching something. Your chest heaves, your breath turned panted, a whimper escaped from your mouth.

"Fuck me." Your hands went to his neck, harshly pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss was sloppy, teeth clashing, tongue battling for dominance kind of action. Tom's hands went under you to lift you up from the ground, your legs automatically wrapped around his waist. Tom guide you both towards the leathered sofa before laying you back against the cushion.

Seconds later your top was laying on the floor with your bra and his shirt, the last piece of garment covering you both was the bottoms. You in your white skirt, him in his pants. You both were panting, lips still colliding. Tom's hands wander from your collarbone to your chest, to toy with your breasts. A mewl from you he received.

You pushed yourself up to guide him ushering to take a seat on the sofa. Your lips moved down to his jaw then to his neck, Tom watched as you go down kissing his chest, your hands wander down to his abdomen before reaching what you're looking for. The waistband of his pants, your hands went to undo his belt before undoing the button of his pants.

Tugging them off of him, Tom impressed. You settled on your knees, as Tom look to the front to find a mirror facing both of you. He groaned once he sees your laced panties, the fabric squeezed in between your rounded ass as you slightly bent to tend on his growing hard on.

"Shit, sweetheart. I wished you could see how you look right now." Tom grunted, hands on your hair caressing your head. You're too busy massaging his bulge, groping his balls before you finally took the last piece of garment off of him.

His cock sprung free slapping his abdomen, as Tom hissed with his eyes closed throwing his head back before turning his attention back to you. Your eyes locked on his, grabbing his cock with your free hand as the other played with his balls. Your plumped and moist lips inch towards his flaring red tip as your tongue grazes against the tiny slit on the head.

Tom moaned once he felt your warm tongue, you repeated this action over and over again before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock.

"Sshiit... Look at you, don't you think you should've just get on your knees and suck my cock instead of throwing shits at me, sweetheart? Mmh.. You're doing so good." Tom moaned, his hands playing with your hair in hopes of prying them away from your face.

You relaxed the muscles on your jaw, as you pushed your head further down his shaft. With the action that you pulled sends shiver down his spine as Tom shuddered feeling your warm throat.

"Shit look at you, you really are not an amateur. You suck cock like a good slut." Tom praised but degrade you at the same time, calling you a slut, for some reason made your pussy throbs as you moaned around his cock.

"Mmm.. Mmm.. What would your father say about this? What happens when he finds his daughter on her knees sucking his best friend's cock like her life depends on it?" Tom taunted, you seemed to like his dirty mouth when Tom watched the way you squeezed your thighs from the mirror, your pace went fast.

Tom moaned when he saw your panties drenched due to your pussy getting wetter by each seconds.

"Fuck yes, keep doing it. I'm almost there, sweetheart. You're doing great." Tom moaned, throwing his head back, his hips thrusting upwards slightly to meet each bob from your head.

The tip of his head throbs, as he feel it coming, forming from his balls. "F-fuck, I'm coming sweetheart. Argh!" Tom shoots his load in your mouth, the strings streamed down your throat, his hips lifted stopping midway, his hands gripping your hair holding you down on his cock.

He gave one final thrust to clean out the last bit of his load, before slowly pulling his cock out of your mouth. His hands went to your chin as he leaned down,

"Swallow it."

Like a good girl, you did what he said. Tom chuckles, shaking his head side to side in disbelief.

He just fucked his best friend's daughter's mouth.

[flowershaveeyes]

The Red means “I Love You” ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

╰┈➤˗ˏˋ Synopsis: It’s funny—no, it’s pathetic. It’s pathetic how everything that Kayjo has worked to hide from Boothill for oh-so long is all unveiled with only a few bitter glasses of red wine.

╰┈➤˗ˏˋ Warnings: Usage of alcohol, not x reader—this is for a friend! (I made an agreement..), slightly suggestive, getting intoxicated/drunk, romance (ew).

xxx

p.s : forgive me.. for i have SINNED. (translation: ruck u carol for making me write this)

The distinct sound of saxophone (playing jazz, unsurprisingly) fills Kayjo’s ears, and they can’t help but find it soothing. They didn’t usually fancy jazz music much, but it was comforting, they ought to admit. Especially when their mind was so fuzzy, all because they’d had more than enough to drink.

Boothill was a real gentleman when he wanted to be, no doubt. Kayjo likes to think they aren’t too obvious when it comes to their thoughts on him, but how awfully wrong they are.

They aren’t sly in the slightest, especially not when half out of their head, and especially not with Boothill’s cold, metallic hand (perhaps even as cold as the air that fine evening, with the raindrops hitting the roof out and about) slowly sliding up their thigh. They wanted to believe it was nothing, but it certainly wasn’t nothing.

Kayjo wasn’t the philosophy type, they didn’t like speculating nor overthinking things. But they couldn’t help but ponder on this man’s touch—surely, it was more than just a mere meeting of skin and metal. Surely, he cared? Surely, surely, Kayjo was more than a plaything or reverie for Boothill. They had to be more. They had to.

How could they be so sure?

“Sugar, ya’ zonin’ out again?” his voice is so naturally harsh, but Kayjo thinks they’d much prefer it over some cheesy, romantic jazz music. It didn’t match the scene, they decide. There’s nothing romantic between the two anyhow, and they’re insistent on this fact. They don’t want to get hurt, they don’t want to break down when the truth that they know will come upfront, comes upfront. But they know they will. Kayjo knows they will.

So they smile, one that was so far that it must’ve been stars apart from the reality where they stood. Kayjo was far. Far, far from the man who they sat so close to on a loveseat. “Jus’ thinking.”

They feel like throwing up, but they really shouldn’t. It was their own words, after all. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but Kayjo swallows it all back down still.

There’s a moment of silence—respite, Kayjo thinks. But he makes a sort of noise, like a laugh but not as boisterous- and he smiles, baring his sharp teeth fully. “Penny for yer’ thoughts?” Kayjo feels it’s cold all of a sudden, and a chill slithers up their spine, wrapping round their neck like a vicious serpent would a sparrow. “I was thinking about.. us.”

At the full-stop, the outlaw quirks an eyebrow. “Whaddya’ mean, darlin’?” It was bound to happen, truly- The individual in the black un-buttoned dress-shirt, being Kayjo, feels an albatross on their shoulders. “It’s.. nothing. Nothing important, I mean,” they elaborate, but they are certain that Boothill would not deem it enough an elaboration.

“‘Can’t lie ta’me, Sugar.” He was a weakness, perhaps an Achilles’ heel. It would not be an exact comparison, but Boothill was not just any weakness. Boothill was Kayjo’s weakness. And perhaps, they think, that Texan accent has an odd lot of things to do with it. “I know, Boothill.”

His hand hasn’t moved from their thigh, so now they are confused. more so than they have ever been with Boothill- this says a lot, because not often is it that they are not confused when in the overwhelming company of the pretentious space cowboy.

See, Kayjo has not a clue why they want Boothill- they already have him, do they not? Some form of that, they believe, is what Boothill would tell them when they ask for his heart (like it is an object that can be traded—they are selfish. That’s bad, yet they can’t help themself) so longingly, so truthfully. Maybe it has something to do with the way he speaks- or how he teases. Now Kayjo thinks themself stupid. Surely, anyone would fall for a man so charming, and now they’ve caught themself between a rock and a hard place. Embarrassing is what it is, yes, that’s the word.

“..Sugar? Ya’ there?” He keeps saying that nickname, and they find it very frustrating. Because it does spur them on further to confess, but maybe that’s just his personality, maybe that’s just him.

Quickly, they realise that they have kept the man waiting, so Kayjo invites themself back to their senses and begins apologising, “oh, sorry. I was thinking.” And the cowboy chuckles. “I know you were thinkin’, you already told me.” Oh, did they? They suppose they did. The alcohol seems to be getting to their head now, however. So they’d best excuse themselves for the night-

“I want to talk.”

And there goes their precious sleep. It must be one or twelve in the morning now, but Kayjo recognises no such thing. For there is only one thing- no, one man on their mind at the moment, and that is the one sitting in front of them. “Talk ta’ me, then,” he says. “I like hearing your voice.”

Kayjo is positive that he is doing this purposefully at this point in time. “..I think.. uh,” Their words faded into a sentence, and just as swiftly faded out, for they weren’t sure how exactly they would frame this. ‘I want to be more than friends’— No, that’s cheesy. They don’t like cheesy. How about.. ‘Let’s go on a date’? No- too straightforward. ‘Let’s get married!’ No way! That’s far too quick!

“I’m waitin’,” his tone is melodious when he says the last word, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table in front of them, the other long moved from their leg to now swirl a glass of wine. He didn’t prefer wine, really, but alcohol is alcohol, and he’s not a picky eater (or drinker, in this case).

What a way to pile on the pressure, Kayjo thinks. And in a daze of red wine and butterflies, they blurt out- “I like you!”

It was childish. Kayjo was far from a child, and so was Boothill- but the words that left their lips sounded like the exact ones that would a high-schooler confessing their emotions to the one they fell head-over-heels for. It was embarrassingly silent in that room at that moment, but Boothill broke it with a laugh. “Don’t be silly, sugar.”

Oh, Kayjo was more than stunned, and it happened to show on their face from the way the ranger took a quick pause, averting those sharp eyes of his (they frightened Kayjo at times, mainly because they could never find it in themself to deny the beauty of them), and then directing them back to the individual’s own. “Yer’ drunk, not in yer’ best state of mind.” He heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. He got up from his seat, with Kayjo watching cluelessly with their head angled up at him- he couldn’t help but snicker at the sight.

“What? Gonna keep starin’? ‘Cause I gotta get you to bed, so it’d be better if ya’ cooperate, yeah?” And so, Kayjo furrows their eyebrows, “I’m being genuine, ‘M not.. that drunk,” they attempt to retort, but in their eyes and on their face, it is visible that the alcohol is taking a hefty toll on them- their head aches, and they feel as if the room is gently swaying- no, spinning. Like when one fiddles with a rose.

“I can see riiight through ya’, so there ain’t no reason to fudgin’ argue.” It was silly, his habit of cursing hadn’t been lost even when he no longer truly could. Looking at his face, it is natural, real, all of it- the only part of him that is. So they comply and allow him to lift them up by their shoulders and guide them to the bedroom, and rest them on that bed, and shut that door—but only after tucking them in.

But he never leaves, no. He leans against that very door, and he crosses his arms—and, Boothill, he thinks to himself. What if they were being truthful? There was the slightest of chances, and Boothill wished to believe, but he could not. For believing isn’t all it takes to get what you want, and he has long learned that in the rough fashion.

For a moment, Boothill indulges himself. A smile makes its way onto his scarred lips, and he closes his eyes.

“I like ya’ too.”

extra notes : - let’s ignore how long this took me (it didn’t HAHA what who said it did LOOOOLL who said that who EVEN said that) and i only managed to complete it at 3 am because i had. a sudden burst of energy and motivation n as soon as i finished writing this my stomach started growling but it’s 4 am so i’m not eatin

first ever hsr work.. wooooooo forgive me if it’s ooc i didn’t have time to research and study his character well enough 😭

fin - : sat, 29/06/2024, 4:10 am

[captain-mj]

angels of digitalism part two please very very pretty please

Done!! Part 1 is right here

Soap pulled into the parking lot the next morning just in time to see Ghost fly by and park. Without Roach. He noticed a car he didn’t recognize and assumed they must’ve came separately today. 

“Hey Ghost!” Soap beamed at him as Ghost slipped off his helmet. He just had a neck gaiter on so Soap could see his fluffy blond hair. It was clearly bleached, having the unnatural platinum that came from doing so, 

“Johnny.” Ghost tilted his head at him and Soap almost tripped over air.

“Don’t remember telling you that name.”

“It was on your resume. Would you prefer I stick to Soap?” He looked at him, tilting his head. Ghost had the most puppy dog brown eyes that Soap had ever seen. It didn’t help that his hair fell in his face and that he could only be described as pretty. 

“No. It’s fine. Only you can call me that though, alright?”

Ghost’s eyes crinkled like he was smiling. “I’m glad I’m your favorite.” He started walking and Soap felt flustered as he started to walk after him. 

Soap looked up at him, hands going behind his back. “You uh… have any plans today?”

“Mostly rigging checks. I put the wires and harnesses up myself so I’m going to make sure they’re all solid.”

Soap frowned. “Don’t the venue owners handle that?”

“Don’t trust them. A lot of them don’t follow the same standard. Not putting Rudy and Roach at stake because of that.” 

“Also you. You’re also doing the fancy tricks this time right?”

Ghost shrugged. “Not the same. I fall, I recover. They fall and they… crack. I threw Rodolfo onto a bed once and it sounded like pop rocks.“ He sighed. Soap had to pause and really think about that. 

Did he have it wrong? Was Ghost dating Rodolfo and Alejandro was dating Roach? Where did that leave Alex? Was Alex dating anyone? 

Maybe if he was single… He was a strapping young man. 

Soap laughed and decided to change the subject. “You hurt your wrist so bad you can’t play guitar.”

Ghost was silent for a minute and Soap was wondered he offended him before laughed. “Fair enough. I did…” He rubbed his bandaged wrist. 

“How did you hurt yourself anyway?”

“Scraped it up on my bike. Someone pulled out in front of me too fast and I skidded across the road. More embarrassing than anything honestly.” 

Soap frowned. “You were in a fucking accident?? And that’s all that happened?”

“No. I’m just lying to you.”

“Oh.”

“Also, don’t trust any story Alex gives you about losing his leg. 50/50 chance he’s lying to you.” Ghost patted his shoulder and held the door open for him. 

Soap nodded and just got to work. He perched on the edge of the couch since Rodolfo was lounging on it, headphones in. Occasionally, he’d speak in spanish so Soap assumed he was on a call. Made sense, he was the manager. 

Soap started to draw again and tried out different methods and styles to see what might look best. 

Rodolfo sat up after a while and used the couch properly. He kicked his legs out and took his headphones off after saying goodbye in English. 

Soap hummed. “Who was that?”

“Alejandro Vargas. He’ll be dropping by later. You can ask for an autograph if you want but no pictures.” Rodolfo started to work on his tablet.

Soap shrugged. “Might get one for a friend of mine but I don’t actually like his music that much.”

“Me either but he’s a friend of everyone here.” 

Soap nodded and showed him what he had so far. 

“I like it. This it?”

“No. This is a rudimentary sketch.” Soap frowned, wondering if they seriously considered that worth the amount of money they were paying him and decided not to ask, lest his feelings get hurt. They didn’t really seem to get how art like this worked.

Rodolfo nodded and handed him roughly 40 bucks. “Coffee again. Need me to text it?”

“Nah, I still have the texts from yesterday.” Soap took the money and did a two finger salute. He once again got all of their drinks and handed them out. When he got to Ghost, he paused. “Uh, where is Roach?” He was trying not to look at Ghost who was hanging upside and shirtless. After working up there for the past hour, he must’ve gotten hot but that logical explanation did not erase that Ghost was fit and scarred and so damn attractive Soap was worried he’d get hard right then and there. 

Ghost glanced around. “He might be working with Alex. I think they were doing something with his outfit for the vocaloid.” He twisted himself in the ropes so he sat upright and took his drink. The position spread his legs and put a little strain on his arms, making them tense. Soap’s knees started feeling a little weak. 

Ghost drank some more and tilted his head. “You okay? You look really flushed?”

“I’m fine.” Soap smiled, noticing the tattoos circling Ghost’s arm. They were clearly covering some scarring. It looked rough, a bit like a dog or something had attacked him. “I’ll go find Roach.” He stepped away and went in the direction that Ghost pointed out to him. 

Soap watched Alex grab Roach’s hips and move him. Roach’s back arched a little and the image on screen just didn’t move. Alex sighed and put his head on Roach’s, almost pouting. 

Were they dating?? 

Alex glanced over, hand going around Roach’s waist. Roach leaned into him and they both either didn’t realize the position or simply didn’t care. Soap wasn’t sure how to handle that considering just yesterday Roach and Ghost had been tangled together. He stared for another minute before Alex snapped his fingers. “Hey, Soap, you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” 

“Cool.” They took their drinks and got back to debugging the vocaloid. Roach would do certain moves and the vocaloid would just stop and freeze until it would snap into whatever position Roach was in. Alex was quickly getting annoyed and it was obvious. They went back and forth on it with them either moving around or standing still. 

Alex groaned. “Soap. Wear the costume.”

“What?”

“Wear the costume.” 

Roach started to strip and Soap stared blankly. “Why do I need to do this??” When he was down to his underwear, he handed them to Soap. 

“I need Roach to help me at the computer so someone has to wear the suit.” 

Soap slowly took of his own clothes and quickly put on the outfit. Roach was a little slimmer than him so it was tight over his shoulders and ass. It was just leggins and a long sleeve shirt with wires so it wasn’t the most revealing, it was just tight. He listened to Alex’s explanations and watched Roach sign back at him. Roach had no shame in continuing to stand there in his underwear. It was hard for Soap not to look at him. They were musicians and performers, it made sense they were attractive, had to be honestly, but it was ridiculous just how hot Roach was. Slim figure, the exact opposite of Ghost, nice thighs and an even nicer ass. And the entire time, he’d bend over the laptop, back arching slightly. 

Was everyone here trying to kill him? What next? Alex taking his shirt off and pouring water over his head? Rodolfo speaking to him in spanish?? 

Was this flirting? Or were they just oblivious? They couldn’t be, right?

After a bit, the vocaloid followed the movements like they were supposed and Roach beamed at Soap. He reached up and lightly bonked their heads together before helping Soap out of the clothing. It felt more like he peeled the shirt off and it made him really flustered. Roach’s hands were very cold and they brushed against his back before he politely handed Soap’s shirt to him. He was clearly smiling and that made Soap even more flustered when he pulled it on. Soap nodded at him and fled, running back to his couch and his laptop. 

Except… Alejandro was sitting there. He was playing what looked like a knock off of candy crush and completely ignored Soap as he walked past him. 

“Hi.” 

Alejandro nodded at him. He sipped his drink and Soap picked up the tablet to get to work. The silence was… actually kinda nice. Soap wasn’t usually one that could handle sitting there without talking, but he was deep in his art and Alejandro was deep in typing whatever it was he was typing. 

Ghost reappeared and Alejandro wolf whistled at him. “What are you doing walking around like that?”

Ghost glared at him. “Fuck off you slag.” 

“Not my fault you’re a fine piece of ass.” Alejandro grinned and Ghost rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt back on. His back muscles flexed as he did. 

“You’re so annoying. Why are you here?”

“Tour just ended so I’m hanging out with you guys. Obviously. Why? Don’t love me anymore?”

Ghost shook his head and sat between them. Three big men on a couch was a bit of a hard fit, but Soap wasn’t going to complain. 

Soap showed Ghost who leaned into him to watch him draw. The silence was slightly less comfortable so he started explaining what techniques he was using. Ghost didn’t really seem to get it, but he listened nonetheless. 

Soap was coming to terms with the fact they were all a lot less cool than he was expecting, but it was nice. Maybe they could be friends when this was over.

[noodleshark]

How I see Six

    Six is so interesting to me when thinking about where her character starts and ends. Her starting off as kindhearted and hopeful is something I mostly made up but there’s reason behind it. When she and RCG got to meet for real, her first instinct was to help. Even after she got left for dead, she still tried to save RCG’s life, but it ended horribly. The first “friend” she ever had died infront of her, and Six probably thinks she could’ve prevented it.

   Then she gets kidnapped and isolated from everyone but her captor for I think 2 goddamn months. Her first interaction with someone who isn't the hunter after that time is the door being BROKEN DOWN WITH AN AXE! The first thing she gets to do after escaping the hunter is killing him which can either be really cathartic or mixed for her depending if she started developing stockholm syndrome or not.

   And then after being saved she gets kidnapped again, so girl has no sense of safety at this point. I like to think that during the city part of LN2, she started getting a bit better, maybe she started feeling safe again, but that safety and healing gets taken away from her when the thin man kidnapped her. Yes, even though she has anything she could want when we find her, I’m not gonna ignore how much the thin man kidnapping her traumatized her.

   Six tried to find peace after all of this and share her music box with Mono but he destroyed it with her trust in him in the process(this isnt to slander mono he was just helping her but she didnt know that). The amount of anger she must’ve felt at him, for releasing the thin man, for destroying the 1 nice thing she had, so Six lets go. I don’t think it dawned on her what she did until she got out.

 The worst part is that she saw another friend fall, but this time she was the one who did it.

      The first time she saw a TV after all of this, has a hat and that music box in the same room. She tried to share something she’s interested in with other kids again, but it gets destroyed in front of her eyes once again. She’d lose all of her hope in befriending other kids at this point, why should she try, they’ll just hurt her or she’d hurt them. 

      She has to make an awful decision and eats the lady to survive, she kills the guests. Starting the story as someone kind, only to become angry and hurt by the end of it.

Anyways please don’t put her in LN3, she’s at her breaking point and if anymore shit happens she might either go apeshit or have a breakdown.

[kpop-kitkat]

Partying | Kim Jungwoo

pairing | boyfriend!kim jungwoo x f!reader

genre/cw | angst, fluff, explicit language, sexual themes, alcohol, teenagers/young adults partying, slight possessive behavior, crying, happy ending 

wc | 1.2k

notes | none

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Y/n nearly tripped over her own feet as she danced to the party music, highly influenced by alcohol.

“I’m so glad you came! It would’ve been boring without you,” her friend Sana explained, also a bit tipsy.

”Oh my gosh, right?!” Y/n laughed, bumping into a stranger and muttering a quick drunken apology. 

“You know,” their third, non-intoxicated friend Jeongyeon, began. “Your boyfriend is going to kill you.”

”That’s funny,” Y/n replied, hardly understanding what she said.

”Jungwoo literally told you not to come, you said it yourself!” Jeongyeon crossed her arms.

”Did I?” Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Who cares about him anyway? I’m having the time of my life without him,” she giggled. 

“Your funeral,” Jeongyeon rolled her eyes before going to talk with her boyfriend. 

“Don’t listen to her. Just enjoy yourself,” Sana reassured. “Jungwoo can’t always have you to himself.”

Kim Jungwoo. While slightly overprotective of his girlfriend, he had common sense. He told Y/n not to go out when he left, because they had been in an argument, and he knew how she loved to drink her problems away. And why not go to the party? She could hurt herself, or worse, be hurt by other men. And the thought of that possibility infuriated Jungwoo with every single fiber in his body.

Of course Y/n was stubborn and a bit of a brat, so she did it anyway.  Her sober self would’ve regretted ever coming here and left for home, but she’d had a bit too much to drink by now.

”Attention everyone! My parents are getting home in two hours, so let’s clean up and sober up! Get home when you can, and please don’t drive drunk!” Announced Doyoung, the host of the party.

”Ugh, I was about to play beer pong,” Sana poured, leaning on Y/n’s shoulder.

”Me too,” Y/n whined.

”Omg you two,” she facepalmed. “Just chug water and take a hot shower upstairs. You both need it. I’ll drive y’all back,” Jeongyeon ordered. Being the oldest of the three, she felt it was her responsibility as an unnie to care for her younger friends. 

With hesitation, the two complied.

Y/n had to admit, the warm water on her skin felt absolutely incredible. But something was missing. Ah, Jungwoo. He joined her in the shower every chance he got. What would he think of her now?

Even after chugging thirty ounces of water, the alcohol still affected her. And while she was too drunk to walk properly or drive, she was sober enough to come to her senses. “I really messed up.”

”I know,” Jeongyeon, laughed, throwing some clothes at her friend, who only wore a bath towel around her body. “Put these on. Sana is already down stairs. Be quick please,” she said, going downstairs.

Y/n quickly put on the shorts and t-shirt before following Jeongyeon downstairs.

“Jungwoo is going to kill me,” she whispered to herself, making her way towards the front door, where Jeongyeon and Sana had already exited.

”You got that right,” a chilling, familiar voice replied.

Y/n squinted her eyes to see him, on the other side of the room. “Jungwoo?”

”The one and only.”

”Jungwoo I-“

”Shut your fucking mouth and get in the car. We’re going home,” Jungwoo growled. Jungwoo never cussed, unless he was angry. He must’ve been very much so.

She hung her head and complied, going out of the front door and getting into the passenger seat of Jungwoo’s car.

When he got into the driver’s seat, he slammed the door angrily, scaring Y/n. And his silence scared her even more.

”Baby-“

”I don’t want to hear it,” Jungwoo interrupted, eyes focused on the road.

”But I-“

”Shut the fuck up or I’m dumping your ass on the side of the road!” He yelled, eyes now focused on her and they were stopped at a red light.

Her eyes stung with tears as she sunk into her seat and hid her face from her boyfriend. She made an audible sniffing sound, and Jungwoo tried to convince himself he didn’t care. But he did. His girlfriend was sorry, guilty, and regretful. And when she cried, his heart cried with her.

”I’m sorry,” she whispered, arms hugging her legs.

Jungwoo remained silent. What did he have to say anyway?

Y/n didn’t have to look up to know he pulled into their apartment’s driveway. And once the car was no longer running, she opened her door and went up two flights of stairs to their apartment door. With the keys in her hands, she unlocked the door and made her way to the couch, plopping onto it and continuing to cry. How could she ever do something like this?

Jungwoo sighed as he heard her sobs as she locked the door behind him. He debated going to bed or talking with her. He ultimately decided on the latter.

”What made you think you could go out drinking with your friends without my permission?” He asked angrily.

”I don’t know,” she sniffed.

”You don’t know?!” He yelled. “Look at me Y/n!” 

She looked up from the couch and saw the anger in his eyes. Fear overtook her senses. She had never seen him like this in their two years of dating.

”You could’ve been hurt! How do I know you’re safe when I’m not there to protect you? How do I know you’re not in some other guy’s arms struggling for your fucking life? What if you,” he paused, panting. “What if I found out when I got home, that my girlfriend got herself killed because we had a stupid little argument a couple hours before?”

Y/n couldn’t blame anyone but herself now. He was right. And he really did care about her. He wouldn’t have said those things if he didn’t. 

“Look baby,” he sighed, crouching down beside her to move some hair from her face. “I love you. I need you safe. I can’t just let you go party with your friends when I can’t protect you,” he explained. 

She got choked up on her tears as she nodded. “I won’t do it again.”

”You better not.”

Y/n’s trembling body was warmed when Jungwoo wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said quietly, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll always love you. No matter what you do. I can never stop.”

He moved away just enough to place a sweet kiss on her lips. “You still taste like alcohol,” he mumbled against her lips, and he couldn’t help but smile.

”Are you still mad at me?” Y/n smirked as he wouldn’t stop chasing after her lips.

”Not really,” he replied, licking her bottom lip.

”You know, we could just go to the bedroom,” she whispered tugging at his shirt. But she pouted when he pulled away.

”This is your punishment for getting drunk around other men, darling,” he smirked.

”Please?”

”Maybe tomorrow,” he smiled, pecking her lips once more before getting off the couch. “Plus, you probably need to be able to walk tomorrow. You know, for that exam you’ve been worrying about for ages?”

[synthetickitsune]

hiii. i absolutely love ur optional bias drabbles <3 if ur requests are open, i’d like to request if u could write about the aftermath of an argument with optional bias. fluffy ending of course. thank u ♡

Hello, of course! I'm kind of surprised anyone even remembers that one lmao. But tbh idk about this one, it's kind of awkward for me to write optional bias things ^^'

Optional bias | Aftermath of an argument angst | 0.8k

Why did you have to fight now? It’s not like you want to fight ever, but it hurts worse because it’s happened now. 

On the days you’re both free, you like to do some cleaning. It doesn’t take long at all when you both divide the tasks, and with the music turned on, you wouldn’t hesitate to say it’s actually fun. He dances with you, often interrupts you as you work to wrap his arms around you and steal a kiss. It’s almost heaven.

There’s no music today. No chatter, no laughter. Just heavy silence occasionally disturbed by something falling or doors being closed and opened. It feels heavy, just like your heart. You don’t like the tension that has settled over your home. The fight wasn’t even a big one, just a minor error in communication. And yet why does it feel like you can’t approach him?

Clearly he feels the same. It’s awkward when you need to pass by each other, both struggling to shrink as much as you can so you don’t touch. Your hands shake and awkwardly hover and flinch when you pass him something so you don’t accidentally brush your fingers against his. So many things get dropped just because he won’t risk that possibility.

You’re both adults, you tell yourself. You should sit down and communicate. It wasn’t even a big deal. Yet you’re both acting like children, sulking and avoiding each other. Stubborn.

Are you making it a big deal? What if he’s just acting awkward because you are? Is this your fault, somehow? You second-guess your ability to read the room. It really wasn’t that deep. Was he avoiding you just because his hands were dripping wet? Did the box of tissues only slip his hands? You couldn’t be sure. You’re of course aware that you tend to overthink things, but what if this time you were right? 

Sighing, you lean against the wall and listen to the silent apartment. Somewhere in a different room, you can hear his footsteps. It feels like you’re a stranger in your own home. You don’t like it.

A sigh. Some rustling. A loud bang echoing through the now empty apartment.

So you’re both finished with your tasks. You look at the clock and see that you’ve finished much faster than you usually do - but at what price? Feeling a familiar burning sensation in your eyes as tears pool behind your eyelids, you take a couple deep breaths. He must’ve gone take the trash out, and you use this opportunity to venture out of the bedroom.

As you make your way to the kitchen, you wonder whether you should try and talk to him now. You can’t imagine how painfully awkward it would be to avoid him now that you have no work to pretend to be busy with. 

What you don’t expect is the two cups of steaming hot tea sitting on the table. It’s almost enough to make your tears spill over. You take a seat and close your hands around your mug, matching his, and discover it’s your favorite tea. Perhaps you’re not the only one who feels bad about the situation.

Soon enough you hear the door being opened and closed again. Without a word, he joins you, even dragging his chair closer to yours. Your knees bump together, and you both get startled by the contact that you jump slightly and your eyes meet. Your boyfriend is wearing a sheepish smile, one that you return.

“I’m… sorry?” he guesses aloud, making you shake your head.

“If you’re sorry, then I’m too,” you sigh, “But honestly I don’t think either of us should apologize.” He nods, and slowly, experimentally, takes your hand into his. 

“This was the weirdest morning I’ve ever had,” he mumbles and visibly relaxes upon hearing you laugh.

“Tell me about it,” you agree easily, allowing for your fingers to intertwine with his. “Thank you for the tea.”

“I didn’t know what to do to make things right,” he chuckles, “I figured I can’t go wrong with tea.”

You hum before a comfortable if a bit nervous silence falls over you. Relief floods your body so quickly and strongly you feel like all strength has left you. You stand up from your seat and instead motion for him to move away from the table. It’s much more cozy in his lap. Immediately, his arms wrap reassuringly around you.

“Is everything okay between us?” he asks quietly, “It’s so strange, I don’t know what to do.”

“I mean, I guess? I’m honestly just really confused,” you groan. He nods in agreement and once your eyes meet again, you can’t help but laugh.

As if coming to a silent understanding, you don’t talk about it anymore. But a hint of anxiety lingers in your movements, your voices, both of you moving cautiously and speaking softly. It’s strange, it’s messy, but you suppose that’s just life.  

[dem0nguy]

RAMBLETIMERAMBLETIMERAMBLETIMERAMBLETIME

(Thanks @spinningbagel for persuading me to ramble lol)

Ok so I’m gonna ramble about Sheriff (and a bit of Ryan), and how much I headcannon/theorize he was traumatized throughout his childhood and the effects of that later on.

Starting it off strong, WHERE THE FUCK ARE SHERIFF AND RYAN’S PARENTS??

Like we just have these two silly boys, living on a pig farm, all by themselves??

They had to have parents at some point right? So where they at???

(Unrelated but I find the 2D flashback style in this show aesthetically pleasing, it’s just so smooth and nice looking :>)

I think that their parents just owned the farm, and made Jim and Ryan do all the damn work while they sit on their asses doing nothing all day.

That would explain Ryan’s need to join the army, and to take Sheriff with him. Because he knew damn well that their parents weren’t gonna take care of Sheriff.

I don’t think their parents outright abused the two of them though, I think it was just child neglect (yippee)

Sheriff was still pretty young when Ryan joined the army (probably like, in his early teens) and being in that environment took a major toll on him. It’s likely what made him such a cocky asshole tbh.

Compared to everyone else in the series, Sheriff is the most emotionally immature. Aside from the fart jokes, he is a genuine egotistical asshole half the time. He even gets on Shooter’s nerves, and Shooter isn’t nearly as bad as him when it comes to this. (Shooter’s just a little bit of a dumbass, but its ok, we still love him <3)

This does make sense in relation to Sheriff randomly proclaiming himself as leader of La Résistance though. His only real adult figures were army men who order people around and get whatever they want. So he must’ve taken after them when given the opportunity to “lead.”

It is possible that he picked up a few good things from Ryan, but I think that was greatly overshadowed by everything else.

Later on down the line when the Big Fart happened and Sheriff lost Ryan, I imagine that it took an incredible toll on him. Ryan was Sheriff’s only friend, and only family, and he just lost that in the blink of an eye.

After that, Sheriff wandered aimlessly for a while, waiting for the mutation to overtake him. When he realized it wasn’t overtaking him, he decided to find a new purpose.

That purpose was likely something along the lines of “Ryan would want me to keep going.” Because honestly, he really didn’t have jackshit else to keep going for.

He also 110% has an unhealthy attachment to the star Ryan gave him. He doesn’t go anywhere without it.

He was probably a loner for a while too, he became a treasure hunter(thief) to get by, and then racked up debt with Brutux by stealing from the land he had claimed.

Knowing Sheriff, he definitely knew it was Brutux’s territory and thought he could get away with stealing.

(This reminds me, i need to ramble about Brutux at some point, because my guy is a gang leader and it’s just never addressed???)

I think Shooter was the first person Sheriff had trusted in a while, because although he definitely seemed hesitant at first, he also seemed gullible. He was willing to trust someone he met not a few hours ago.

He was desperate to be around people again, to have someone like Ryan to trust and rely on. Shooter did take quick advantage of that though, which I feel like should’ve hurt Sheriff more than it did.

(Another reminder, i need to ramble about Sheriff and Shooters gayness. (SLOW ROMANTIC GUITAR MUSIC PLAYS DURING THAT SCENE ABOVE, I SWEAR IT. ALSO JUST LOOK AT HOW SHOOTER LOOKS AT HIM! ITS SO GAY!!!))

Anyways I think thats all I got folks, hope you enjoyed the rambling! :3