#letting someone willingly go in without paying

[casualshrimp-but-undertale]

WTH THIS JUMPSCARED ME ON MY FEED WHA- WHAT— HE SAID THE THING HE SAID CHOO CHOO!! (SHAKING /POS)

Doodle comic based on THIS

Seems the phrase has grown on him, just a little

Code sans by @callmeherry

Elated sans by @knobe07o

[grotesquevi]

★ cupid carries a gun.

open up your skull, i'll be there climbing up the walls.

cw # 18+ mdni, modern au, mentions of marijuana, dealer+loser!ellie, blink and you miss a slight pervert behavior, sub!reader, switch!slightdom ellie, pussyslapsyum, pet names, fingering, public sex.

an # if you recognize this it may be because it's from my previous account aka @vicorices who got deleted out of nowhere, this is me trying to get all my work back up again cause i'm not losing three months of work thanks to a shitty team who wiped me out of the internet.

the first time she saw you, she called you bro by accident.

it happens unexpected. ellie's been selling weed for a while now and she's used to get random text messages from unknown numbers: a friend of a friend, a recommendation from some old client — of course when she got your text you're not going to receive special treatment, not when she greets you like she would greet a guy, asking you where to meet since the club's big.

you're friends with cat, that's how you got her number. your usual provider is being insane with ridiculous prices you cannot afford not even by chance, so you're searching for someone else, a reliable source you can buy your weed from without getting into much trouble.

she’s perfect for the job.

it's a surprise either way when you tell her to meet you close to the main stairs in the first floor, and you think you saw her by the time you get there, but before you can approach your phone lights up with a new notification from an unknown number you now recognize.

you like it, making them think you’re a man, confuse the people you buy weed from. it's funny cause it's not the first time it happens, matter of fact, it's really common as you approach the auburn haired girl, noticing she's far less intimidating than your last seller, less tattoos on the face to instead, be covered in freckles and green eyes.

and to ellie — it's clear you aren't a bro too.

you don't pay much attention since it's a quick interaction, but to ellie its enough to make her spiral. too much weed, too much booze that night made her look at you like you're most beautiful girl out there, barely illuminated by the sporadic lights that changes time to time as you approach to her in a nice top of a band she also hears.

"hey. sorry to make you wait" you're too kind to her rough heart, yet from up close she's able to look at your face properly: where the fuck did you know cat from? why she hadn't seen you before too? was she hiding you from her?

"ellie," she presents herself like you do and she's almost a little shy to ask you to walk with her to a less crowded space, cause it sounds different from when she usually asks, slapping herself mentally for being so lame when she meets a pretty girl in a situation like this: don't be a fucking pussy. "do you mind if we move to a quieter place?"

"no, no problem" you reply "i was going to ask you the same, actually. don't want to get kicked out from here."

and you must be really trustful person, cause ellie could be a bad person and you're following her willingly, entering a dirty, small bathroom only to lock the door beneath her not really knowing her true intentions. you know she's not going to do anything when she's nervously speaking to you as the space got way reduced.

"so, you're friends with cat" what's she even doing? trying to pull off some small talk she sucks for? either way your nodding as ellie gives you a small bag with an smiley face on it, letting you see the weed she's going to sell you out first — "you study here in this university?"

"yeah, it’s my last year" you say inspecting the weed with a pleased look, sure you're buying when you take a deep breath and it seems like actual weed and not a fucking rock so tight it seems it came in somebody's ass, good smell, some purple there between different shades of green "film school."

"sick," she looks at you for a moment since you're too busy looking at the product. under the white lights ellie can see the details on your face now, the small moles, the scars, things she wasn't aware of as she wasn't so close as she is now — "it's okay? you like it?"

“smells real good, my last supplier was pretty shit and always had the same strain" you find her concern cute, sure she must take pride in selling good stuff, maybe that's why cat shared her number so reluctant to it, you'd gatekeep a good dealer too.

“that’s lemon haze” ellie explains as a subtle layer of red spreads right over her nose, must be the weather inside the bathroom or something like that, but it's hot as she stares at your eyes and she's betting you must be thinking she's the weirdest girl in the planet. her flannel's too fucking tight, too thick. "it's a nice sativa, wont leave you stupid nor like a hungry animal."

girls like you may be out of her league, but even when ellie's brain saying the same, it does not matter when your fingers brush against hers and you're laughing at her bad joke, giggling like she's oh so funny and it's enough. it may be a tactic she's falling all the way in when saying a lower price than regular and your eyes widen cause you don't believe it: why would such a good quality be cheaper than the usual shit?

"you study in this university too?" you curiously ask as if you're trying to catch the trick, clever girl. she’s selling you cheaper to secure you.

"forensic science" you seemed a bit surprised by it since you didn't talk much to stem girls in general, being in two different fields: hot— "it’s my last year too."

"that sounds cool, never met someone who study that," you say as you're pulling out 20$ for at least 3 grams of top-graded-weed: she's fucking stupid for selling that quality for less than $30 "well nice to meet you ellie, if i don't get poisoned with your weed, you'll be definitely hearing more from me."

and she wants to say something flirty, something with her usual witty charm and her sarcastic replies she loves by heart, but instead of saying something clever, ellie ends up stuttering, tripping in her own words as she nods.

"i- uh- yes sure. save my contact and text me anytime."

fuck it, cause it does get her to know you'll be talking to her again someday, maybe this week, maybe the next, tomorrow. her weed is hella good and her own brain is feeding her delusions cause as far as she knows you might as well be the biggest heterosexual girl in university, but you're there waving her goodbye with a warm smile and your perfume lingers in the air for a while even when you're not there.

so ellie stays in the cubicle for a minute. the longest minute of her life when she takes a deep breath at the scent, discovering the fruity notes, the damn strawberries sweet as ever now impregnated under her nose.

fucking cat cause she must have kept you all to herself, pure selfish reasons — ellie thought they were in good terms.

it's crazy to say she would've done the same if you were her friend too.

the second time ellie sells you weed you're talking with your friends seated in a secluded spot of the main quad and the sun hits your skin just in the correct way to make her mouth go dry.

you're using this straight sinful sundress in blue and white, covering from the fresh air in a denim jacket and it looks so good she needs to check you actually messaged her in the first place and didn't imagined the whole thing.

she politely greets everyone but her attention drifts back to you when ellie's sitting close like you're friends with her before the people you’re hanging out with.

"was it good?" she asks, blatantly checking you out you're resting over your elbows, letting the exposed parts of your body fill out with vitamin d after being trapped in class for what it seems an eternity, and ellie feels trapped too, slightly different cause she's experiencing the victorian era on the flesh when only a glimpse of your ankles is enough to kill her — "guess it was if you're texting to meet up again."

"yeah, seems like you got the best weed in the whole place" you laugh, each time warming up to her as you reply under a pair of black shades that make you look so fucking attractive: her weed, the best. "good job, ellie."

awfully good price. outstanding for you, only loses for her.

the third time, you're meeting her outside class and her friends joke calling you her girlfriend as ellie quickly walks away hoping you didn't hear them: do you talk to her about dinosaurs too, williams? you're too polite to say you find it cute.

by the fifth time you're on her car and the silence is so damn loud as the music sound softly in the speakers, some song you say you like as ellie turns up the volume so you can hear it better. you're humming to the tune, a two-minute song as she pretends to be searching for the weed on her bag, taking more time on purpose.

"are you going to take the same three grams or you feel generous this time?"

"no, just three" you reply to her question. you've become quite aware of her consistent gaze on you now after weeks of selling you grass, personally giving you the best, making the moment linger without you noticing until you actually do catch on her subtle tactics— "that way i can text sooner and see you again this week."

ellie’s clueless most of the days but with that? anyone would notice you're flirting, blatantly as you look up to her and your dealer struggles to resist the need on her hands to pin you against the passenger seat and lean all over the console to go on and kiss you until you clearly state what you want. no playing around the bushes this time. demand, as her stomach turns, what do you mean by that.

do you want to see her more? that's why you buy three grams and talk to her every three or four days? are you, by any chance, not straight?

“if you want to see me during the week, you might just ask” ellie says mirroring your tone “like you ask to buy weed from me, s’not that hard.”

you’re the one who's nervous now, and she considers on giving you the weed as a gift before you’re paying. loses, you only mean loses in her economy at this point — and it's driving her hella mad when you get out the car and ellie’s left there with the need to have you as closer as you possibly agree to.

silk fabric slipping through her fingers.

the sixth time, ellie decides she's going to do something about it. about her needs. there’s no actual way you’re not flirting with her, the image of you in the passenger seat still sealed freshly on her mind even if it was a week ago, repeating it over and over again — you got her staring at your profile pic, debating if she can or cannot masturbate with the pictures you’ve shared on instagram from spring break in fucking california, liking your post cause it’s the only way she dares to interact, a way of saying she’s there.

in the middle of a saturday night, thinking about you. two in the morning and it’s all fucking you.

she should make up her mind. you’re a good buyer, and she wishes to keep it that way. you don’t ask for later payments, you constantly buy and don't share her number with weirdo friends like everyone else does, you're a reliable source surely: so why does her heart stops in her chest cavity when her phone's buzzing and ellie's reading the name she saved your contact with?

right. her pathetic crush on you.

her fingers move on their own before she considers to delay her response five minutes to seem busy.

she wont charge you double.

shit. it's two in the morning and she's selling you weed driven by the desire to see you again, using this gray hoodie to protects herself from the cold autumn breeze as she's pulling up to this party totally uninvited, passing the open door like it's her own house as zeta phi seems to be fully loaded now as the music sound loud and strident as all her hopes of catching you alone goes to the trash can.

no she’s not going to charge you double, she’s just guilty she’s so into you without you having any idea of it.

where you waiting for her arrival? fuck. her brain is acting up like a backstabbing bitch and ellie cannot help it as you appear radiant under a sea of people. you're not saying a word either when you're lacing your fingers with her's and you're pulling on your dealer upstairs, feet moving on their own as she don't make a single effort to resist your magnet-like influence in her very self.

ellie’s hand are sweaty cause she's so fucking nervous but you don't seem to care about it, looking back at her from over your shoulder only to offer a smile she cannot wrap her head around for a moment.

"can i ask where you're taking me?" she questions you, hoping her voice doesn't sound like that really, so strained and rough from just see you around — "or am i your hostage now?"

"we need a more private space to buy" you state like it's obvious "duh, the rooftop's empty. i stole the key."

ellie should've know you were a walking hazard.

cause it really seems like an achievement when you're opening the rooftop door, mischief grin as you look twice behind your back paranoid as ever someone can see what you're doing; and ellie chuckles at the sudden adventure, how you're closing the door when you invite her to step in with a subtle head movement, quickly shoving the key back to the pocket in your skirt.

cute. she thinks you’re cute.

it's empty like you said, and the knowledge makes every hair on her arms stand on their own even when she's wearing this thick hoodie that protects her from the cold.

"cannot risk my dealer of getting in trouble down there" you explain now that you can talk to her at a decent volume, and she fully eats it even when it's a clear lie and you're making up excuses to get her away from the noise.

"very kind, gonna name you my knight in shinning armor if you keep this up."

you're panting the spot right next to you as you take a seat in the over-used lounge chair with a tiny wooden table in front of it, and like a trained animal, ellie follows cause it's the perfect spot to leave her backpack as her brain keeps buzzing at the name you used to call her seconds before— my dealer.

she is, by all means, your dealer. it makes her chest fill out with a different kind of emotion, sound so fucking intimate, so nice.

"gonna buy the usual three grams, princess?" your knee brushes against her, and ellie's breathing hitches cause you're wearing this black-sheer stockings all the way to your upper thigh and she becomes aware of it when the material slips down as you're seated, skirt raising slightly upwards against the muscles of your legs: one movement and she swears she'd be able to see your underwear and ellie has to once again, remind herself how you quickly reduce her to this behavior; this state, shoved in a sea of pure filth — "or did you just call me because you wanted to see me tonight?"

she's feeling lucky tonight even when she never feels that way, a strike of confidence ellie feels as a rush on the blood: you give her a sight of your legs and now she's all over the damn place? loser behavior.

"is it that obvious?" you want her to kiss you. it's a need that installs deep down in your chest, and if you're not making it obvious by then you're definitely doing it now: you're not straight, you're not bulletproof to the holes her eyes make on your skin every time you have the pleasure to be left alone in her company, you're not giving up on this constant game of seduction you like to play "i'm buying weed too, so coming up here actually matters for you."

"haven't we state that already?" ellie asks, looking up to you as she drinks in the sight of you under the almost invisible light of the stars up in the sky "if you want to see me during the week-"

"might as well just ask" you completed for her as ellie grabs her bag so she can pull your weed from it. the best three grams she has in her power "i know that- thank you."

"it's a gift" she finally dares to say it now — "don't pay me this time."

has she ever felt this way before? never. the overwhelming pull, the reminder you're not her's? stings on ellie's skin like tiny needles. it's not a big deal, once again she's losing money all reckless, but fuck- it's worth it, worth it when ellie see you malfunction for a long moment, brain short-circuiting cause you don't expect it.

"that's not the deal."

"i don't care what our deal is, you're my best client, and i take care of my clients” it’s simple as she says it “sides. the weed does not matter, seeing you was payment already.”

"don't go yet," you add before she's making a movement to get up, hands cold wrapping around her arm as you pull her down to the lounge chair you're so comfortably seated — "smoke with me. let's talk for a while."

and she knows it's dangerous, but you're batting your eyelashes, looking at her with this sly smirk on your face she wants to kiss away and ellie has no option but to stay there buried in your side, your fingers still tight against her arm muscles as you make her stay.

"okay, but i need you to let go of me baby- i can't roll a joint with you all over."

liar.

she just want to see you get all flustered because of her as her fingers swiftly roll a joint without much effort, allowing the smoke to fill the air seconds after before you’re sneezing and she notices how you shiver on her side, turning her face to look back at your pretty face she’s been avoiding to stare so much.

"you cold?" she asks, and you do not want to admit it, but ellie's taking her hoodie off and it's a fucking sight when she's wearing this white tank top she does not care about until she can physically feel the shift of the air between you and her, caught up with your eyes checking her out as she lights up the joint.

"thank you," and for being a stoner, it's smells surprisingly nice as you relish on the warmth of it, comfortable now as you watch her smoke "i'll gave it to you downstairs."

"go home with it. you're going to catch a cold like this."

the silence it's imminent for a moment before she's passing you the joint an you're holding it between your fingers.

"i like your tattoo" is it also an excuse? not really, but ellie's bringing her arm closer to you as she's showing it under the flashlight of her phone cause she likes it too, showoff — "can i touch it?"

any other time she'd be denying it mumbling something stupid about hating random people to go on and touch her scarred arm but you're not a random girl. so she's whispering a barely audibly yes, and your fingertips are tracing the pattern etched on her skin, taking your time in doing so.

"it suits you," you praise as you touch, and she's fucking melting there under simple caresses, under something so simple as your fingers tracing her inked flesh, invisible shapes as you just want to keep your hand on her "did it hurt too much when you got it done?"

"yeah, sort of" it's not really like she's trying to sound cool, in all honest, she's just trying to be coherent now as you keep touching her skin as you smoke. invested in questions she's answering in full auto-pilot.

you're high after a while, and it's her weed that makes you look like that. half lidded, a lazy smile on your lips as you keep talking to her, red eyes, slower than ever: shit. she'd devour you all.

“have you ever shotgunned smoke into someone’s mouth?” you ask curiously, and the question comes out of nowhere as you stare at her blowing the smoke, a warmth creeping upon her neck as she notices the way you’re staring at her, ellie’s blushing.

selling you weed and not be able to get high with you every single time must be named one of the most horrible crimes in humanity.

“when i was like, 17?" ellie replies thinking for a moment "i dunno, thought it was the hottest thing ever- have you?”

“no, not really."

and to be fair, ellie's high too. she's testing a new strain with you and the words roll out of her tongue so easily she has no time to regret it, not when you're looking at her like you want her to get handsy there in a damn lounge chair, to hell if it’s in the middle of nowhere or not.

“want me to do it for you?” she asks, a gentleman as usual “i’ll gladly be the first.”

it takes a moment for you to consider it before your voice is all low and husky — "mhm."

“come here then miss,” ellie says using a finger to call you out, the joint already on her lips before she takes a long drag — “sit on my lap and open your mouth f’me.”

it's devastating.

your weight on top of her, your ass in her leg as she can see again, those transparent sheer stockings that must be damn useless against the cold, and her hand rest on your upper thigh there where she looked before.

you're so obedient. your skirt is a sinful invitation to touch further, and you're parting her mouth for her so she can get closer, and as she smokes, ellie does get closeto you. closer than she’s ever been — more than the car, the bathroom in the party she met you, mere inches before she's shotgunning the smoke in your parted lips and you're smoking from the same weed that was in her lungs.

"17-years-old ellie was right" you reply, not really moving to give her space as ellie's fingers squeeze your leg like a reminder you're there still, sated on your dealer's lap, her hands on you — "it is the hottest thing ever."

it's almost a chronicle of a death foretold, cause ellie's kiss does not surprise you at the slightest. it's demanding and sloppy cause she's high, you're high, and she's a victim of this force she cannot escape near you.

so she keeps on kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're simply there, slowly wanting more, squeezing your legs together cause you don't want to be a slut now — no. you don't want her to know you're soaking over a few kisses, at ellie's fingers pulling on your high stockings down till they are no longer there anymore.

"you're a fucking menace" she says between kisses, breathing heavier now by the seconds: ellie already noticed— "a menace to me, to my weed and my economy, you know that? how you make me sell out my stuff at half the price cause i want you as my secured client?"

despite her words, she's pushing you closer to her so you can feel her rib cage pressed against you, the goosebumps you produce just from being close to her, red lips and messy hair.

"it’s your loss ellie, cause i'd pay for the full price."

"mmhm well shit, you're really lucky cause you do give damn good kisses" she murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt now and she has the damn audacity to keep on smoking cause she's now confident on her effect, how you’re all affected by her touch — "and if you give damn good kisses, i'm betting all my money that you have an even better pussy for me."

the sounds you're making? fuck. she’s creaming her panties already when you're letting her touch you so freely and it’s not near enough.

"what is it going to be then, huh?" she asks curiously, her mouth already following the path down to your collarbone, your cleavage before she’s taking her time in leaving red-purplish hickeys there hidden beneath her own gray hoodie "should we make it to our seventh selling or you're going to let me play with your needy cunt as a much deserved reward?"

shit. shit. shit. you're so fucking wet when you're parting your legs further apart to give her a nice view of your underwear, a damp spot already there between your legs who’s enough to make her mouth water with the thought of burying her face between your thighs, intoxicate with the smell you're emanating and she feels already under her nose.

good fucking girl. she wants to praise you, let you know you're doing a great job there letting your skirt roll up to your stomach, so easy to get rid of it ellie's sure you did it on purpose now so she can let her hand slip between your legs to feel how soaked you are.

your cunt makes this sound when her finger’s taunting you she just happens to love, and your underwear clings to your pussy lips, hips buckling up to meet her fingers already wanting more.

greedy.

"shh-" she tries to reassure you — "you're comfortable there baby? want you to feel good when i touch you yeah? you'll let me know anything cause you're my well-behaved girl, aren't you? my best client here.”

ellie’s making you shake her head, coaxing you to say out loud you are comfortable there, ass in her lap, spread legs as her fingers push against the fabric right against your entrance, noticing how the cotton soaks at the motion.

"look at you all desperate" she chuckles — "have you been thinking about this a lot like i do?"

her fingers pull on your underwear to the side and there it is: glistening cunt, swollen lips and neglected clit that's just begging to be touched, filled, discovered by her hands, her mouth, tongue. nothing she fucking wants more.

who she is to ever deny anything to you? to stop selling you weed? the joint falls to the ground now as she's using her entire hand to touch you, fingers rubbing against your minor and mayor labia, circling against your engorged clit as you arch your back and she has to use force to keep you still, taking what she has to give like a champ.

"you're fucking soaked-" there's a slap sound that fills the air, and even when there's people in the garden they don't seem to hear your whimpers as her hand comes in contact with your pussy and she's slapping it once again, just enough to apply some pressure in your clit, just enough to make your legs shake "so responsive to me, gonna let me stuff this cunt full tonight? fucking finally huh? you've been haunting me like no one else."

and you giggle, giggle cause you cannot fucking believe it: fucking your dealer? are you so for real right now? you're deep under a cloud of haze you're unable to control, disheveled state when your skirt is all the way to up and your underwear being pulled to the side at her mercy and you can only answer:

"yes- ngh yes please ellie."

"shit- your clit is all puffy baby, all needy for me."

you're squeezing her already so hard when she’s working on you. a wet schlick that fills the air and combined with your incoherent words of praise and moans will send her to the grave.

ellie’s knuckles-deep and fuuuck. you're so tight she needs to ask if you're doing right, cunt engulfing her' fingers until there’s no more and she's curling them right to the spot so you don't care about the drunk fucks in the garden anymore, about anyone who can hear whats going on in an empty rooftop.

ellie’s using a hand to keep your legs spread when your free will collapses like paper cards, pulling them apart only to add a third finger in your used hole and reduce you to pieces now, clenching tight as she rubs on that special spot inside and you're mumbling something about feeling so full, so good with her inside.

"this pussy must be made for me baby, fits me like a fucking glove," ellie’s doubling her efforts, her palm colliding against your clit, fingers thrusting against the right spot over and over — "gonna let me see your pretty face when you cum? i know you're close."

you are. fuck you so are. your movements are erratic, your legs shake, and ellie's kissing on your shoulder, leaving a path of wet kisses on the exposed skin on your neck, biting on your earlobe, anywhere she can get.

"i can't-" you cry out, moving yourself in quick, sharp movements, it’s overwhelming — "fuck i can't hold no more-"

"let go" she replies, holding you tightly against her body — "let go. i got you."

it's hot. messes up ellie's jeans with a damp mark on them, turning the fabric darker when you finally cum and you're gushing on her fingers, leaking through trembling legs.

"fuck yes. drench me like that," your dealer moans, stealing a kiss from your parted lips, keeping the last glimpses of air in your lungs for her benefit "use me, baby, don't stop."

ah. ellie's in trouble after all, cause it don't seem she’ll be selling weed to you now. not when she's mixing business with pleasure and she's making you bend against the top rail of the old lounge chair cause she's not able to wait any longer to lick you clean until you have no other choice but to cum again.

truth be told she once heard cupid's cruel, but she didn't believe it fully, not until now since ellie knows, first hand — the little fucker shoots to kill.

[starxanemone]

꩜ⴰ ࣪˖ BLLK LOVE LANGUAGE HEADCANONS

itoshi sae & nagi seishirou

⸻ in which i'll be rating their love language on a scale of 1-10 based on my understanding of their personality + include the type of person they'd be compatible with.

⸻ [ part ii. isagi yoichi & itoshi rin ] [ part iii. bachira meguru & noel noa ]

ITOSHI SAE

ACTS OF SERVICE: 8/10. His love language is definitely acts of service. The best way he can show that he cares for you is by helping you out with practical things that you actually have trouble with. Too many groceries in your hands? He'll carry them. Need help grabbing an object from the other side of the room when you're busy with something? He's walking over and handing it to you. I feel like he'd do all those willingly so long as you don't make them feel like demands.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: 3/10. Not too big on words of affirmation (I mean, come on. Look at his relationship with his brother). He wouldn't be the best person to receive emotional comfort from and he might even accidentally hurt you with his words, but he's the best person to approach if you want an actual, objective perspective that can aid you in forming a solution or a decision to your predicaments. He just has the emotional intelligence of a rock.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: 2/10. Not into physical touch either. I feel like the most he'd give you is a head pat especially if he comes to grow fond of you. It's tough to break down the cold exterior of his because he's probably pretty a little cold on the inside as well. You'd have to be the one to initiate and let him warm up to the idea of physical touch.

QUALITY TIME: 6/10. If he really likes you, he wouldn't mind spending time with you, although only up to a certain extent. He looks like the type of person to have incredibly low social battery and he'd probably want personal space after hanging out for the entire day. The best way to prolong quality time with him is either (1) you watch him train or train with him or (2) you hang out together doing quiet and calm things together like purchasing groceries, or going with him to pay bills, or getting his passport renewed.

GIFT GIVING: 8/10. He's not too big on super affectionate stuff, but giving gifts is a good way to show that you care without being overly affectionate. He's probably into gifting you practical things like monthly calendars, vitamins, or anti-radiation glasses if you're in front of a screen a lot. Hell, he'd probably even buy you shoelaces if he notices that yours were starting to look wonky.

COMPATIBLE WITH: someone who's emotionally intelligent and is able to read between the lines. He's closed off and almost incapable of telling other people how he feels, so he'd best be suited for someone who doesn't get hurt too easily and someone who can see him for who he is by understanding his behavior. Personality-wise, I think he'd suit an ambivert. Someone who is capable of being outgoing to push him slightly out of his comfort zone and let him experience "life," but also someone who likes to energize by doing indoor stuff.

NAGI SEISHIROU

ACTS OF SERVICE: 2/10. Guys... this guy has zero energy for anything other than soccer or games. I doubt that he would actively go out of his way to help anyone out with anything considering how he's very preoccupied with himself and his very limited number of interests. In order to get him to help you, you'd be the one to urge him and actually tell him whether you need help with something. Still, I think he'd do the most minimal things like holding the corner of a table if you were grabbing something that fell off the floor.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: 6/10. He'd probably be the type of person to reassure you unintentionally. You could be worrying about something in the future and might rant to him about it, but his response would a confused head tilt and saying something like "doesn't seem like that'll happen though... just do x and y like you always do" which you could either perceive as (a) he's trivializing your problems or (b) he has complete faith in you and your abilities. Also, if he grows fond of you, he's not afraid to call you out on actions that might hurt yourself.

Exhibit A: Chigiri almost injuring himself in the Episode Nagi manga in their match against karasu's team. I think it was sweet how concerned he sounded when he thought that Chigiri might break his leg.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: 6/10. I don't think he minds too much and he probably won't recoil if you initiate because he doesn't want to go through the trouble of doing anything at all. He probably doesn't want to argue over something as minimal as hugging and he might even find some forms of physical touch to be comfortable. It depends on what it is and how much work he actually has to put into it, but he likely won't even bother to move away unless you're attempting to hold his hands while he's playing or something.

QUALITY TIME: 6/10. He's an introvert and he seems like the type to want to recharge from hanging out with someone. He might go into hiding like hanging out in the school's rooftop or some obscure place, but if you're able to spot him, he probably won't move away. I think that this guy's space should be respected, but at the same time you'd have to pull him out from time to time so that he doesn't isolate himself too much.

GIFT GIVING: 0/10. Sorry, but this guy is extremely preoccupied with himself. He likely doesn't receive gifts from people and so he also likely doesn't give them either. The most you could consider a gift is if you play games and he sends you coins, equipment, or whatever you need if you're on the same team. Outside of games, though? The idea of giving someone a gift probably doesn't even cross his mind.

COMPATIBLE WITH: someone who is more dominant and assertive. You won't be able to get anything out of this guy unless you tell him that you want something. He's suitable for someone who's able to set boundaries and is able to pull him out of his unhealthy habits such as not eating properly, isolating himself frequently, etc. but also still be able to give him space as he needs. You'd also need to be patient because of his zero energy and nonchalance.

who do y'all want me to do next? : ]

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie was all about desecrating corpses. 

Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt. 

Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors. 

The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs. 

It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.

He didn't expect them to. 

Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man. 

It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess. 

The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig. 

To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely. 

(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing. 

Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets. 

They understood things like appearance and public reputation. 

How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.)

His Pa had never cared for any of that. 

Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so. 

It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.

Eddi had gotten lucky in that situation. 

Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne. 

Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right too. 

Eddie would be damned without him. 

But he knows his uncle needs help. 

Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way. 

Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar. 

The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time. 

(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills. 

Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’ 

One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.) 

Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.

 Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.

He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say. 

Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough. 

Sometimes it was fetching information. 

Sometimes it was ferrying an item.

Today, it was a retrieval.

There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.  

The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk. 

Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built? 

Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months? 

Who was even paying for it? 

Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up. 

"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over. 

The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch. 

Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…

People never did look twice.

"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer. 

"A retrieval, Double D." 

Eddie hated that nickname.

"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey said. 

He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take. 

(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.) 

 “Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”

“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.

And Eddie was a damn good poker player. 

“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”

Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it. 

“Who's the kid?” He’d asked. 

Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.

Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire. 

“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style. 

He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react. 

Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest. 

Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it. 

“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up. 

“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…” 

Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front. 

Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after. 

Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there. 

The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive. 

Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station. 

“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”

Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.” 

One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout. 

It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.

Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.

Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.

“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.

They would be wrong. 

“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.

Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.” 

“Honestly dude I just want my car back.” 

“That too.” 

Part Two

[rhea-is-bored-again]

gimme darry and soc reader 🤤🤤🤤🤤

since se hinton said that darry’s second job was stripping, we should so use that as an excuse to write one where darry comes home LOADED, and reader definitely gets hot and bothered by it because like I CAN GIVE YOU MONEY AND YOU SHOWIN EVERYONE YOUR HOT ASS BODY??? 💔💔💔💔 i need him to punch me in the face with his muscles or give me backshots

IDONTONOW

YESSS i will honor that beautiful, canonically correct fact...here we go 🤭

all that for tips?

(new divider im using!! by @dollywons)

you heard the door open before you saw him, late again. darry promised he'd be hime by midnight- something about finishing up a job on the north side- but the clock now read 1:13 am, and you were still curled up on the couch in your tank and little shorts, a book in your lap.

"i'm home, sweetie." came that familiar, deep voice.

you looked up to see him step into the light of the living room. and holy shit.

shirtless, jeans slung low, skin glistening with sweat and...glitter?

his hands? his pockets? full of cash.

you blink slowly. "you rob someone on the way home, curtis?"

he placed the fat wad of ones, fives, and even a couple twenties onto the coffee table with a barely concealed grin. was that lipstick on one of them??

"nah. earned every dollar." he shot you a wink. "tips."

your jaw dropped, cheeks heating up in annoyance and...maybe just a bit of thrill. "you're tellin' me you made that much just for prancing around without a shirt?"

"did a tad more than that, sweetie." he mumbled with a grin, counting the bills. "but hey, i'll be able to pay the rent in full this month."

you swatted at his bare chest- bad idea. he was warm and solid and smelled like cologne and alcohol and it made you a little dizzy.

"i could've given you way more money than just for stayin' at home and you're out there letting some other girl stick it in your belt?" you say outraged.

his smile widened. "jealous?"

"you wish." you hiss. "always denyin' me when i offer money and here you are willingly sauntering into a club."

he raised his hands innocently. "figured if i got it, i might as well flaunt it, hm?"

"flaunt it at me!"

"now that sounds like a request." he grabs a stray ten dollar bill from the pile and tucks it into your tank's strap.

you flushed hot. "i hate you."

he leaned down to gently press a kiss to your neck, and you could feel the smug smile on your skin.

you sucked in a breath, shoving at his chest (and getting glitter ALL over your hands), and decided to get your fill as well.

"gimme a show, will you? i'll give you a lot more than money."

he was already sliding his belt off with a grin. "i guess i don't mind workin' a little overtime."

a/n: i hope we liked it everyone!! (also ur SOO real i need him to do unspeakable things to me)

[qrrieterisunnq]

Crazy Day At College - Jack Hughes

strawberry girl masterlist || 1 year anniversary

JACK!HUGHES X AMARA!JAMES — WARNINGS: nothing just sweet pure content — SUMMARY: When Amara’s classmates somehow figure out she is probably dating THE Jack Hughes and won’t stop asking her questions, one girl finally helps her and becomes her best friend. — WORD COUNT: 2,2K — AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here is the promised fiction to celebrate a year of this AU!! Anyway, I hope Jacky is going to be fine, the hit was nasty... PART OF STRAWBERRY GIRL AU

Humming the rhythm of the song, Amara opened the doors to the room where her next class was taking place.

Trying not to pay attention to the looks she was receiving from the people, she sat down in her usual spot and put the bag right next to her. Focusing on the song, she pulled out her laptop and her notebook with a pen where she wrote exam or assignment dates.

She smiled when she received a message from Jack. They haven’t seen each other this morning. He and Luke left early for the morning skate while she was still sleeping.

Jacky Boo - Good morning Berry!❤️ Enjoy your classes and think about me. I love you🫶🏼💕

A big smile formed on her face when she read it. Without hesitation, she typed an answer and shoved her phone in her bag.

Berry - Good morning, Jacky.🤭💕 Thank you. Enjoy your day! Can’t wait to see you. I love you.✨🫶🏼

Letting out a sigh she rested her phone on her table and pulled her headphones down because the class was starting in a few minutes. She noticed all the looks and whispers thrown her way, but she didn’t pay attention to it. Or at least she tried.

Braelyn, one of her classmates, sat beside her and smiled at her softly. Amara smiled back at her, but her eyes drifted back to her notebook. She pulled out a book for her law class and opened it on the last page they were on.  

Professor Gibson came in five minutes later, with books in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Good morning!” she said in a stern voice and dropped the books on the desk, startling everyone. Today, I will assign you your semester work,” she shrugged and said out loud, earning attention from everyone present. It will be on at least ten pages, the font will be 10px, and the due date will be in five months. I will read your names and the topic of your work.”

Amara wrote down the information and waited until she heard her name.

“Angela Beston, I want you to look into political corruption.” Mrs. Gibson looked at her with a fake smile and moved on to other names until she finally said Amara’s.

“Amara James, you will have the case of Luis Garavito,” she smiled at Amara. “I expect nothing more than the best Amara.”

“Oh course, professor.” Amara smiled back, writing down the name of the most brutal Columbia serial killer.

Mrs. Gibson kept with the rest of the names and their topics, while Amara wasted no time with her research.

“Girl, I so want to be you right now,” Braelyn said in a whisper from next to her.

“What?” Amara looked surprised when she heard the girl next to her talking to her. There was never anyone who would want to talk to her, and she was nervous about that.

“Said that I want to be you right now. Girl, you’ve got the best one. You know what I got? A fucking civil procedure.” She sighed, with a frown on her lips. That is the most boring part of a Law, and I am so fucking angry I didn’t choose a Criminal Law.” She explained, taking in a loud breath when she finished talking.

“Yeah, but you chose it because you were interested in it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I mean…I guess.”

“Well, then it won’t be a problem, or boring for you to do that.” Amara smiled at her politely, because she didn’t really know how to talk to people, she never spoke to before.

“Yeah, I guess, you are right. Thanks,” Braelyn said and extended her towards Amara. “I am Braelyn, but you can call me Brae.”

It took Amara a few minutes to extend her hand a shake hers because she never thought someone would willingly talk to her.

“Amara, but you can call me Ara.”

Braelyn smiled widely and shook her hand, excitedly. “Do you have any plans after this class?”

“Ah, not until 11 am. I have another class and after that one, I am free until 6 pm. Then I have plans with my boyfriend and his little brother.” Amara looked at the clock on her laptop as she spoke. She can’t wait for tonight’s game evening. They haven’t had it in a while, and she can’t wait.

“That sounds nice,” she said a smile never leaving her lips. “So that means, you are free for two hours after this class?”

“Yup.” She popped her lips as she said that, giggling quietly when Brae chuckled.

“Okay, so that means you would come with me for a coffee?” she asked hopefully.

Amara was quiet for a while because she didn’t expect this, as she said before, she never really had a girlfriend, and she was not sure how to act. But she liked that someone might have been interested in her as a friend, so she did not want to screw things up.

“Yeah, I would like. But there is probably one thing you should know,” she had to be honest with her, she needed to tell her about her ADHD. “I have ADHD.”

“So?” Brae asked with confusion written all over her face.” I am not sure, why this should concern me. I have dyslexia so,” she said with a smile. Sure, she got her point, she knew it must have been hard for her to find friends, but she was almost on the same page as her. ”It is cool.”

Amara just watched her in awe. She was surprised she didn’t care let alone told her about her disability. “Well, I guess, I just need you to know that, so you could, back off from this…friendship...”

“Yeah, well now I know, and look here I am.” Brae nudged Amara’s shoulder and focused her attention back on the professor when she started talking again. Same did Amara and for the rest of the class they both stayed quiet.

“And then he just left,” Brae sighed throwing her hands in the air. “I was like, what the fuck is he doing!” Amara giggled at her story, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Did you follow him?”

“Hell nah. He was acting like a brat.” She shook her head, chuckling when she looked at Amara’s red face from all the laughing.

Amara looked relaxed and happy, and Braelyn was glad to be here with her. She wanted to talk to her since the beginning of the semester but was nervous too, but she was happy she eventually did. Amara is the sweetest girl.

Amara looked around her, noticing some girls already looking at her and talking in hushed voices. She didn’t want to make a big deal of it, so she turned back enjoying the moment with Brae.

Just as she sipped from her matcha the girls approached them and stopped beside their table.

Brae looked at them with raised brows while Amara smiled politely. “Need something?” Brae asked curtly when she noticed the looks on their faces.

One of the girls, a brunette with perfectly curled hair and an air of confidence, crossed her arms and tilted her head. “We just wanted to ask Amara something.”

Amara stiffened. She didn’t know these girls, but their sudden interest in her was setting off alarms in her head.

Brae leaned back in her chair, unimpressed. “Then ask.”

The girl’s gaze flickered between Amara and Brae before settling on Amara again. “So… is it true? Are you really dating Jack Hughes?”

Amara hesitated, shifting in her seat. “Sorry, do I know you?”

The girl smirked, clearly unfazed. “No, but everyone’s been talking about it. Like, you and Jack Hughes? How does that even happen?”

Brae made a disgusted noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The brunette ignored her and pressed on. “I mean, seriously. You’re not even in his circle, and it’s not like you’re some influencer or model. So how did you two even meet?”

Amara’s fingers curled around her cup. “Through his captain.”

The blonde girl standing behind the main one raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you used Nico to get to Jack?”

Amara’s stomach twisted. “What? No.”

The brunette scoffed. “Come on, it makes sense. I mean, Jack’s got options. Like, actual options. Why would he settle for someone no one even knows?”

Brae slammed her hand on the table. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight—you don’t know anything about Amara or her relationship. Just because you’re too obsessed with Jack Hughes to function doesn’t mean you get to sit here and act like she doesn’t belong with him.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Relax. We’re just asking questions.”

“Interrogating is more like it,” Brae shot back. “Why do you care so much, anyway?”

The brunette crossed her arms. “Because it’s weird. No one knew who she was before, and now suddenly she’s with him? It’s sketchy.”

Amara finally found her voice, steady and firm. “What’s actually weird is you acting like you’re entitled to know anything about my life.”

Brae smirked. “There it is.”

The girls huffed, exchanging glances before the brunette scoffed. “Whatever.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned on her heel. “We’ll see how long this lasts.”

As they walked away, Brae let out a dramatic sigh. “Wow. That was pathetic.”

Amara exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders. “That was exhausting.”

Brae shot her a grin. “Yeah, but you handled it like a queen.”

Amara shook her head with a small smile. “Thanks for backing me up.”

Brae smirked. “Babe, get used to it. You’re stuck with me now.”

For the first time in a long while, Amara felt like she wasn’t alone.

By the time Amara got back to the apartment, she was exhausted. She hadn’t expected to spend her day getting grilled by random girls about her relationship, and even though Brae had been there to back her up, the whole thing still left a weird feeling in her chest.

She let out a deep breath as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, setting her bag down by the couch. The apartment was quiet, but she knew Jack and Luke were home—Jack had texted her earlier saying they were back from practice.

Kicking off her shoes, she made her way toward the kitchen, where she could already hear the faint sound of Jack humming to himself.

She turned the corner and found him standing by the counter, drinking a protein shake while scrolling through his phone. The second he looked up and saw her, a wide grin spread across his face.

“There’s my girl,” he said, setting his cup down and immediately walking over to her. His arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Missed you.”

Amara melted into his embrace, letting the warmth of him settle her nerves. “Missed you too.”

Jack pulled back slightly to look at her. “How was class?”

Amara hesitated for a second before sighing. “Weird.”

Jack’s brows furrowed. “Weird how?”

She bit her lip, debating whether to downplay it or just tell him everything. But one look at Jack’s concerned expression told her she should just be honest.

“Some girls came up to me today,” she started, leaning back against the counter. “I don’t even know them, but they just… started asking me all these questions about us. About you.”

Jack frowned. “What kind of questions?”

Amara crossed her arms. “Like how we met, why you’re dating me, if I used Luke to get to you.” She let out a humorless laugh. “One of them even said I wasn’t your type.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair, his expression darkening. “What the hell? Why do people think they get to have an opinion on who I date?”

Amara shrugged, but before she could say anything, Jack gently cupped her face, his blue eyes filled with nothing but love. “Hey. Don’t listen to them. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. You’re the only person I want, Amara.”

Her heart fluttered at the certainty in his voice. “I know.”

Jack leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling her into another hug. “I hate that you had to deal with that.”

She let herself relax against him. “Brae shut them down pretty hard.”

Jack pulled back slightly. “Brae?”

“My new friend,” Amara said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She’s in my class, and she kind of… defended me the whole time.”

Jack grinned. “I like her already.”

Amara chuckled. “Yeah, me too.”

Jack brushed his thumb over her cheek. “If it happens again, just tell me, okay? I don’t want you stressing about this.”

She nodded. “I will.”

He smirked. “Good. Now, come here—I think you deserve extra cuddles for putting up with that bullshit.”

Amara laughed as Jack pulled her toward the couch, already making good on his promise. And for the first time since this morning, she felt completely at ease.

[p0orbaby]

Slow Motion Mountain Climber

summary: leah signs up for pilates, what could go wrong?

warnings: none

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 981

-

Leah texts you on a Tuesday morning, right before your alarm, like she does whenever something has gone terribly wrong in her life. Like when she found out gluten was in soy sauce, or when she discovered she might have to use that godforsaken 6 train in New York. This time, it's a message that reads: Just signed up for Pilates. You may never see me again.

You roll your eyes, groaning at the incoming rant that's sure to follow. Leah's the kind of person who only does new things for one of two reasons: someone dared her, or she's trying to prove to herself that she is still young and can get away with eating three chocolate croissants in a single sitting. You suspect it’s a combination of both. She’s mentioned something about trying to build a "strong core," which you assume is code for "I'm slowly being bullied into this by the fact that all my teammates have six-packs and I have a soft spot for bread."

At 7:45 AM, just as you’re pouring coffee, Leah calls. You pick up on the third ring because you’re not a monster.

“I’m going to die,” she says, without so much as a hello

“Bold start to the day,” you reply. “Anything specific, or is it just a general feeling?”

“Pilates,” she says, and it sounds like a curse word. “Do you know what that is?”

You almost spit out your coffee because, yes, you know what Pilates is. You’re not sure what’s more shocking: that Leah doesn’t know or that she actually followed through on signing up.

“Yeah, Leah, I know what Pilates is”

“Well, it’s hell. No one told me it was this hard. And the instructor—she’s, like, smiling at me while she’s killing me. How are you supposed to trust someone who's trying to make you do something called a 'teaser' while she grins like a lunatic?”

You can picture it now. Leah, in the middle of a room full of people who've been doing this since their nannies signed them up for ballet at age three, contorting herself on a reformer like it’s some kind of medieval torture device. Meanwhile, the instructor—probably named something like Tiffani with an 'i'—is telling her to “engage her core,” as if Leah didn’t already have a job that required her to do that for 90 minutes straight, several times a week.

“Did you die, though?”

“Almost. My legs were shaking. My abs—I didn’t even know I had abs. Why does anyone do this willingly? I’ve literally been fouled by Fran Kirby, and that was less painful”

“Maybe you should stick to yoga”

“Yoga!” Leah scoffs. “I can do yoga. That’s just stretching and pretending you’re one with the universe or whatever”

You let her have that one because there’s no use arguing with someone who once mistook a meditation class for an excuse to nap in public.

Leah continues, “This class, though—it's not natural. They make you put your legs in straps. Straps! Like a harness, but for your feet. And then they expect you to lift them while you're suspended in the air like some sort of flying squirrel”

You’ve taken Pilates before, so you know exactly what she’s talking about, but you can’t help but laugh. Leah, in her infinite wisdom, probably signed up for the most advanced class because, as she said once, “Go big or go home.” Now, she’s paying for it.

“Maybe you should ask to start in a beginner class,” you suggest, knowing full well she won’t.

“Yeah, no. I already told them I’m an athlete. Can’t back down now. But I swear, if one more person tells me to ‘breathe through it,’ I’m going to punch them in the face”

You imagine the looks on the faces of her Pilates classmates as she throws a fit in the middle of a serene, candle-lit studio. You’ve seen Leah frustrated before, but this is a new level of agitation, and it’s all directed at something she willingly signed up for.

“Maybe it’s good for you,” you offer, “builds character”

“Yeah, and scars. On my pride”

You laugh again because you can see where this is going. Leah, who tackles challenges like they’re personal vendettas, is going to keep going back to that class until she can hold a plank longer than anyone else, even if it kills her. Or, more likely, until she finds something else to distract her, like knitting or extreme ironing.

"I’m just saying," she adds, after a pause, "if I end up with a six-pack, it’s because I earned it. None of this ‘strong core’ bullshit. I want abs of steel. Like, I want to be able to crack a walnut between my ribs”

You’re crying with laughter now, imagining Leah doing sit-ups in front of a mirror at home, testing her progress with various hard-shelled nuts.

“Don’t worry, babe,” you say, trying to calm yourself down. “If you do get abs of steel, I’ll make sure to bring walnuts everywhere we go”

“Good,” she replies, and you can hear her finally start to laugh along with you. “You’re on walnut duty. And if this all goes horribly wrong and I never make it out of Pilates alive, just know it was the straps that did me in”

You shake your head, still smiling. “You’ll be fine. But maybe next time, start with a class that doesn’t sound like it was designed by someone who secretly hates people”

Leah sighs dramatically. “Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to spend the rest of the day lying flat on the floor and cursing Joseph Pilates”

“You do that, babe,” you say, hanging up as you imagine her sprawled out on the carpet, texting you updates about how her muscles are rebelling against her. And you can’t wait to read every single one.

[moonstruckme]

hiii i would love a tasm! peter where reader has just moved out of home for the first time and is feeling a bit lonely! peter comes over and keeps them company, maybe they make dinner or have a movie night :)

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: reader deals with loneliness

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 753 words

You open your door to the smell of smoke. Instantly you beeline towards the kitchen, worried you’d left the stove on or your new apartment came with some faulty wiring, but you find yourself blocked at the threshold. A tall figure steps into your way. 

“Please don’t—” 

You gasp and jump at the same time, up and back, and Peter has to grab your arms to keep you from tripping over the couch. 

“Freak out,” he finishes. He grins as he rights you, eyes light with amusement. “Sorry, there were probably better ways to do that.” 

“Fuck,” you sigh, bending and setting your hands on your knees. “Peter, what the hell? How did you get in here?” 

“You left your window unlocked.” Peter lets you go, holding his hands aloft for a second to make sure you don’t topple before stepping back. “Super not safe, by the way. I’m not the only person in New York who knows how to climb a fire escape.” 

You shake your head, baffled, before remembering your original concern. “Are you burning something?” 

He winces. “Not intentionally.” 

You raise your eyebrows and move past him, into your kitchen. Peter follows behind. 

“It’s out,” he assures you. You spot a smoldering dish in the sink, the charred remains of what you suppose was once food submerged in cold water. At least the smoke seems to be thin, clinging to the ceiling and drifting slowly out your open kitchen window. “I thought I could be fancy and make something, but, uh, reinforcements have been called.” 

You turn. “Reinforcements?” 

Peter grins sheepishly. “Pizza.” 

A little laugh sputters out of you, and his grin softens around the edges. 

“Can I get a hug?” he asks. 

You step forward willingly, the remainders of the day’s exhaustion seeping out of you as Peter wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders. You squeeze his middle in return, resting your cheek on his chest and wishing stupidly that you could fall asleep just like this. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Peter’s tone is teasing, but it’s still a bit gentler than usual, mushy fond. “Where else would I be? You thought you could move to Staten Island and get away from me?” 

“It’s kind of far,” you admit. 

“You’re delusional. You don’t get to have an apartment all by yourself, you’re stuck with me and my mooching forever. This is our new apartment.” 

“Really?” you ask, though the words have happiness and affection sprouting to life in your chest. When you’d moved here on your own, you’d figured it would seem empty without your family but you hadn’t known how much you would feel it. You like the freedom, having control of your own schedule and how you decorate and which things go in the dishwasher, but you miss having people around. It’s been so easy to fall into a routine characterized by solitude, with nothing but work to make you leave the apartment and no one to keep you company when you’re home. “You gonna pay rent?” 

Peter squishes his cheek into the top of your head. Unbeknownst to you, he’s picked up on all of this. You’ve been calling him more since you’d moved in here, late at night and in the middle of the day. He’s gotten the sense you just want to talk to someone. He’s always happy to be that someone, but sometimes the phone doesn’t cut it. The trip from Queens to Staten Island isn’t a short one, but he’s going to be making it more often. He’s missed seeing you, your sweet face and the way your eyes crackle when you look at him. 

He pulls back, and they’re doing it now. You’re smiling at Peter like he’s the best thing you’ve seen all week, which is very flattering, but it seems like a low bar. 

“I’m thinking I’ll pay thirty percent of utilities,” he says. “Sound fair?” 

“Totally fair,” you agree, rolling your eyes. 

He grins. “Perfect. You’re getting a great deal, here, sweetheart. I’m already providing pizza and a movie.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “A movie?” 

Peter goes to your couch, whipping up the DVD case. “Yup. Blu-ray.” 

You’re smiling so big he can see all your teeth, but you shake your head. “Oh, Peter.” 

“What?” 

“I just moved in here. Why would you think I had a DVD player?” 

Peter’s head rolls back, an odd breath leaving him that’s half sigh, half laugh. “I guess that’s another thing I’m getting you, huh?”

[sematarygirls]

frat!rafe being so obsessed with you to the point that he kept his radio tuned to the campus radio station just so he never missed your voice.

                   ౨ৎ

you started working at your campus' radio station to earn a little extra money and have something to do to pass the time, but it quickly became the thing you looked forward to every day.

for a couple of hours every day, you were in control. your voice and your favorite songs were broadcast throughout the campus and into the homes and cars of anyone in town that had tuned in to your college's station.

you loved the feeling of control after a whole school day of being in class, under the guidance and control of your professors. of course, you loved class. you had to, after all, you were paying to be there, but you loved your job even more.

unbeknownst to you, head of the most prominent frat on campus and notorious womanizer, rafe cameron, also loved your job.

he'd stumbled upon it by accident. he had been giving one of his frat brothers, johnny, a ride, and the boy started fiddling with his radio. rafe hated when people fucked with his stuff, and right when he was about to yell at him to knock it off, he heard your voice.

you were introducing some song he didn't know or care to know, but your voice alone captivated him.

"don't touch my shit again," he gritted his teeth, glancing over at the boy to make sure he wasn't going to change the station again.

"sorry, man," johnny replied, holding his hands up in defense. the unfamiliar song began playing, and he frowned. it wasn't exactly something he would willingly listen to or enjoy, but he let it play, wanting to hear your voice again when it ended. "what is this shit, dude?" his friend laughed.

"shut the fuck up," rafe replied, ever the aggressive type. he tapped the steering wheel impatiently, willing the song to be over, so he could hear you again.

from that day on, he never touched the radio, and he memorized the station number in case someone else touched it without his permission.

every day, no matter where he went, he was always listening to the campus radio station waiting for you to come on.

he had no way of knowing where to find you, so listening to your voice and laugh as you passionately talked about your music was the only thing he had.

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

How to Protect Yourself from Unwanted Spirits/Entities

Hi friends! 🤗🫶 right away I’m going to say if you’re getting into channeling of any kind, you need to learn to protect yourself from malicious, trickster or unwanted spirits/entities. Its absolutely necessary, not a choice. Our energies can easily be manipulated and used if we don’t protect ourselves! At the end of the day, I learned all of this through experience, but I am not a professional! Please do your research outside of this post.

👎 Lets talk about what not to do 👎

Do not provoke, harass, or invite malicious spirits/entities, or spirits/entities you think you are aware of. Not only will this piss them off, but you are willingly allowing them to have control over your energy, mind and emotions. If you don’t know what is out there, do not provoke it.

Making friends with spirits/entities you haven’t vetted

Vetting is a necessary tool and practice to make sure what you’re talking to is consistent, real, reliable, and overall: safe. If you’re rushing into a spiritual connection without vetting it, you don’t know what you’re talking to and what it’s capable of. You also aren’t aware of its intentions towards you/others.

Ignoring intuition

Have ya’ll seen those horror movies where the main character ignores its intuition? Okay, well in a sense you NEVER ignore your intuition and gut feelings. Biggest mistake you can make is ignoring visuals, feelings, emotions, visceral responses in your body when talking to a spirit/entity. Pay attention to yourself and your intuitive responses. That’ll tell you enough.

👍 Lets talk about what to do 👍

Cleansing, Banishing, and Warding

Do your research into these 3 methods. Cleansing removes any and ALL energy, including positive energy. After cleansing you want to fill your space with peace. This can be done with incense, singing bowls, crystals, spells, sigils, mantras, herbs, etc.

Think of cleansing as a way to remove any dirt and buildup that happened over time, any muck. You can’t get in properly if you don’t remove the muck.

Banishing is a stronger form of removing spirits/entities and unwanted energy. Involves a combination of movements or spells to remove the spirit/entity.

Warding is simpler in the way you create sigils to protect the space. Commonly used on windows, door openings, all corners of the bed. Cleanse first, do not ward yourself and the spirit/entity in the room with you. You can also use herbs to hang by door openings or entrances.

You can also use your voice! Use the power of your voice to command your spiritual boundaries. This can be done by saying “you have no access to my energy, body, or mind.”

The difference of all:

Cleansing clears energy.

Banishing drives spirit/entities out.

Warding prevents outside unwanted energy from coming in.

Do ask for help if you’re unsure

Reach out to someone experienced or understands this type of work, having their expertise will help greatly. Read books on spiritual protection to accumulate knowledge. Do your research. Always stay informed!

Cast a circle of protection before communicating with a spirit/entity

The circle is meant to help with creating a healthy distance between you and the spirit/entity. Always have one. Always close it. Do not leave the circle as that can break it, so make sure you have what you need in it. When done, break the circle and cleanse/ward if needed.

Call upon other Deities/Guides/Angels you trust for protection

The more backup the better.

How to know if you are dealing with trickster spirits/malicious entities

Your intuition/bodily reactions to communicating with said spirit/entity

We all inherently communicate with the spirit world differently. Learn to trust how it comes to you. Whether that’s through visuals, feelings, emotions, bodily sensations, aroma, or all. For example, if your body is feeling exhausted, lethargic, and you know you just cleansed your space, the spirit/entity is pulling on your energy.

If you are experiencing visions of unwanted imagery, it may be how the spirit/entity is communicating to you. Pay attention to what it shows you and how you feel in response. If it’s showing you the images to scare you, ground yourself and close off the session. Cleanse again and ward.

If you’re experiencing sadness, anger or paranoia, and haven’t had that before the spirit session, or do not experience this on the daily, please close the session as the spirit/entity could be inducing these symptoms.

Your body will talk to you. Listen to it first before listening to something you don’t know about.

Inconsistent responses

If you ask the spirit/entity its age, and receive no answer, or different answer each time, it may be trying to mess with you. For example if it told you it was 22, and later said it was a child, either its a different spirit/entity completely, or its messing with you. Always VET to avoid getting in bed with trickster spirits/entities. If its story does not match what it originally said, be concerned.

Actively hurting you/harming you

If the spirit/entity is slamming doors, throwing things to get your attention, or is physically hurting you or others, it’s time to perform stronger rituals/spells to protect yourself. If you begin to experience insomnia after meeting the spirit/entity, or sleep disturbances, its time to cleanse and protect yourself. Sleep disturbances are very common with trickster spirits/entities, and its one way it to increase levels of fear/paranoia through sleep deprivation. Please be careful!

Not every spirit/entity will be malicious or have malicious intent, but it can be draining to deal with or experience. It’s why these methods are put into place to protect ourselves.

Best crystals I have used to help against spirits/entities:

🪻Amethyst calms and relaxes me if I’m encountering a difficult energy. It also creates a protective sheild around the user when interacting with spirits/entities or doing spirit work.

☁️ Clear Quartz amplifies the energy of other crystals, making them overpowered 👍 it is also protective and allows for better communication, and allows for “clear seeing.” Seeing through intentions, motives, and desires.

🖱️ Selenite is gentle and yet an amazing crystal for purifying energy. Anything negative and unwanted will transmute for peace and love.

🤍 Black Tourmaline is powerful and important for protection. It repels negative energy and grounds you, giving you stability.

🪻 Hematite grounds and protects as well, and absorbs negative energy and creates stability.

Thank ya’ll for reading. Please like comment and reblog so this reaches people! 🤗 remain safe & protected!

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Are you now or have you ever been (Sam Winchester x female reader)

Fic masterlist

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Chapter 1 - The Angel

Gadreel, fallen angel of the Lord, the lowest of the low, who allowed the Garden to become corrupted, walks towards the old farmhouse, intent on washing at least some of his sins clean.

It’s the middle of the night, only the stars keeping him company. The old wooden floor creaks beneath his feet, and not for the first time, Gadreel is reminded of the limits of the human body. How a wrong step can make a sound that will give him away, or a bone can be broken with barely a snap of his finger. How an essence can be burned out, the eyes melting, the pain unimaginable.

No wonder this vessel let him in so willingly. The man was ravaged by alcoholism, so deep in debt that he saw no way out. Gadreel found him with a gun in his mouth sitting at the foot of his bed, offered him another chance. He took it without a second of hesitation.

Gadreel felt bad when he left him, but he needed to. He didn’t enjoy tricking Sam Winchester, either, but Gadreel is one thing above all others: someone with a mission. Someone who has to make up for a crime that might be as old as the stars above, but has not lost any of its severity.

Of course, as these things go, the atonement he was trying to make led to more sins, more pain. He keeps trying to make up for them, but somehow he can never catch up. The tally always rises, and he cannot pay quickly enough. Maybe that’s why this vessel called to him. Because he’s the same.

The floor of the old house is dirty and there’s wind coming in through the broken windows. Gadreel will have to fix that, he thinks. He doesn’t mind, but a human won’t be comfortable here. And he wants you to be comfortable.

He kneels in the middle of what used to be the living room. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out small pouch with the powder it’s taken him weeks to create. He had almost all the ingredients together when the man who was supposed to sell him the tears of a saint started haggling. Gadreel couldn’t risk not getting the last ingredient. He got carried away. Just another sin to add to the list.

There was a time when dragging a soul from Hell would have been easy for an angel. He would have shot downward, like a diving bird, grabbed you and simply been gone again in the next second. But that was before the Fall. Now, Gadreel needs to use spells and tinctures and powders like some low-class witch. It doesn’t matter. He’ll do what’s necessary.

He opens the small pouch, pours the powder out over the floor. Then he lays his hand flat on the cold wood. His right hand. The one he used only a little while ago to kill the prophet Kevin Tran.

He closes his eyes. Says the incantation. This needs to work. He knows what he’s done, knows how many people he’s hurt. He’s seen inside of Sam Winchester’s head. Seen the turmoil, the pain. The lies and regrets and the doubt. The shame.

But he also saw you. Gadreel thinks, no, knows, that your presence in the hunter’s life will heal him. And it will make Gadreel feel like he has done something right.

He doesn’t expect the glaring light, the feeling of a jet of flame briefly enveloping him, filling out the room. It’s not real fire, which is good, considering he’s basically standing inside a pile of kindle.

Back in his glory days, hellfire couldn’t touch him. Still, now, he coughs at the intense smell of sulfur. Many people think it’s the smell of demons, but it’s actually what Hell smells like. The demons only carry the stench to the surface.

You’re on the ground, naked, knees pulled up to your chest. Your eyes are closed and you’re shaking. There’s soot covering large patches of your body, your hair, your face. Streaks of tears have washed some of it away.

Gadreel takes off his jacket, lays it over you and you flinch at the touch, a small whimper coming from between your chapped lips. Like waking from a long sleep, you slowly blink your eyes open, and look up at him. Gadreel’s never met you, but your face feels as familiar to him as his own.

“Welcome back,” Gadreel says.

Sam’s staring at the book on the table before him, but he hasn’t been reading for a while. This happens to him, more often now than it used to. He’ll zone out, drift away, and then a sound or sensation will bring him back. He doesn’t like it. Sam’s not one to lose concentration. It reminds him too much of what it was like when that angel possessed him. Coming back to himself, unsure where he had just been.

He clears his throat now, reaches for the beer standing on the table. It’s a little too warm to still be enjoyable, but he takes a sip anyway. Not that he’s ever really enjoyed drinking as much as Dean, but even less now. He doesn’t like how disoriented it makes him, and if it doesn’t make him disoriented, it makes him sad. He puts the beer down, wipes his mouth. He’ll pour it out or Dean will drink it later.

Speaking of, his brother walks in with his usual noisiness. Sam leans back, arm going behind his head, half stretching, half just a gesture to show that he is awake, that he’s here. His right hand scratches at his neck, kneads the skin there. The hand he can remember killing Kevin with. He quickly puts it back on the table.

Since Dean’s been back in the bunker, he and Sam have done their best to be courteous with each other, but things have been weird. There’s a distance between them that’s different that anything they’ve ever gone through, not even the previous times they’ve been apart. Dean’s mad at himself and looking for redemption down a self-destructive path. And Sam is hurt, he’s angry too, but more than that, he’s just tired.

Things have always been hard. Being a hunter and a Winchester both isn’t a recipe for a long, happy life. But the last years have been harder than all the years before, and it just seems like they can’t catch a break.

Sam nearly going crazy, Dean going to Purgatory, the trials, Kevin. And you. Sam clenches his hand into a fist. No. He’s not in any condition to be thinking about you today.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, coming towards where Sam is sitting at one of the library’s tables. Sam breathes in, then shakes his head.

“Nothing much,” he says, his tone aiming for neutrality but coming out somewhat dismissive. Dean nods, says nothing. Points at the beer next to Sam.

“You finished?” he asks. “Want another one?” The gesture feels loaded, and Sam should say yes just to keep the peace. But he shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says, and a look passes over Dean’s face like somehow that’s a personal insult. Like he’s wondering why Sam can’t just have another beer, for Christ’s sake. Why he can’t just do things the way Dean does them.

That’s where their conflict started – Dean not understanding why Sam didn’t look for him. Because Dean powers through trauma and loss like a high-powered steam train through a herd of cows – blindly, violently and speeding up even as the collateral comes into sight. But Sam’s not like that. He’s never been like that. The time he spent on his own while his brother was in Purgatory proved that to him over and over.

With you gone and Dean gone, Sam slipped into something that could barely be called living. For those months that he was on his own, he was a shell. He traveled but never went anywhere. He just needed to keep moving, needed to be somewhere else, somewhere different from where he was.

When he stayed too long in one place, he always wound up sitting at the side of his bed, gun in his hands. So he never stayed. His grief and depression were so thick and intense that he had no idea how to do anything else.

Dean being back lightens the load somewhat, and it also makes everything harder, because now Sam knows he can’t end it – he can’t do that to his brother. Sam has tried to explain, tried to make Dean understand but then he always stops, because he tires of touching that dark part of him. Dean doesn’t need to know, and never does, what those months were like. What Sam thought about doing. He can never know.

He had a chance to end it all, when he tried to close the gates of Hell. But even then, Dean couldn’t let him go, an act Sam knows, in all his love for his brother, wasn’t entirely unselfish, same as letting an angel possess Sam to heal him. But Sam can’t say these things because they go against the very nature of who Dean believes he is.

What’s right is wrong, and what’s wrong is more wrong, Dean said a little while ago. It’s true in ways he can’t even imagine.

Again, Sam finds his thoughts are far away, and when he comes back to himself, he’s worried Dean has asked him something, noticed that he isn’t listening. But Dean’s still where he was, looking at his phone, reading a message. The beer is still there, condensation making the bottle drip wet. Suddenly, Sam needs to stand up. Dean looks up at the scrape of the chair.

“Left a book in my room, I’m just gonna get it,” Sam says. Not that he needs to justify himself. But he still does.

He walks down the hallway of the bunker to the room he sleeps in. This place is strange, wonderful and weird at the same time. It’s the first place he’s stayed for longer than two weeks at a time since he was in college. Sometimes it makes him feel restless.

He walks into his bedroom, closes the door behind him and sits on the bed with a deep sigh. God, he’s so tired these days. He rubs his hand over his eyes. He just wants a goddamn break. Something nice, something soft. To lay down to sleep and for once wake up rested.

He knows he shouldn’t do it. Knows that no matter how good the immediate relief feels, he’ll pay for it later. Pay for it in the darkest thoughts a person can have, debilitating grief and longing making his body feel heavy. But he can never stop himself.

He stands, goes to his dresser. Opens the middle cupboard, gets the little cardboard box out, then sits back down. He looks at the content, and immediately he feels that soothing wave come over him.

“Hey there,” he says, taking one of the pictures out. He took it when the three of you had to hike into that reserve where you suspected some werewolves were nesting. You were a little annoyed at him when he took the picture, saying you were sweaty and gross, but Sam couldn’t disagree more. There’s a light blush to your cheeks, and you’re squinting in the sunlight. He thinks you look absolutely beautiful.

This is all the things of yours he has. There’s some clothes he kept, tugged into their own little drawer, slowly losing the smell of you. Not for the first time, Sam wonders if getting rid of them would help him move on. But the truth is, he doesn’t want to move on.

There’s a thin gold chain in there that you always wore, that used to be your mother’s. The delicate band ripped on the night you died, but Sam kept it anyway. Kept meaning to get it fixed, but never did. The comb that was in the bathroom. It’s a silly thing to keep, Sam thinks, but he has so little of you that it feels important.

The next picture he takes out of the box is of the two of you. Sam remembers he was sitting down, and you came up behind him to pose, which is why he isn’t looking at the camera but you are. Garth took that photo – the only hunter Sam knows to do something like that regularly, who knows the importance of mementos like this. He sent it to Sam after he heard about your death, along with a letter telling him how sorry he was, how good you were, always seeing the best in people, always fighting for what’s right. Sam doesn’t know what happened to the letter. There’s long stretches of that time he doesn’t remember.

He puts the box down and leans back until his head hits the pillow, holds the picture up over himself. He’s terrified he’ll forget what your face looked like, what your voice sounded like, what you felt like in his arms. It’s been over two years, maybe this is just what happens. But if he can do anything to stop it, he will.

So he indulges himself, just a little. Lays the photo on his chest, closes his eyes. Thinks of your laugh, your earnestness. The way your voice sounded when you fought with Dean over something trivial. The way you told him, back when the two of you were only friends – although the truth is you were never just friends – that he better get a move on and ask you out on a date, before someone else had the same idea.

That’s what he tries to focus on. But when he closes his eyes, that’s not what he sees. He sees your face in front of him, tears running down your cheeks in the moments before you knew you were going to die. He sees you on that motel room floor, empty eyes staring at nothing. He sees a rerun of all the times in that year before you died where you seemed distracted, sad for no reason. And he had no idea. Had no idea what you’d done for him.

What he sees when he closes his eyes is how utterly he failed.

The small mirror in the bathroom is dirty and you wipe at it. There’s no electricity so the man – Ezekiel he says his name is – has brought you some candles that you can clean yourself by. There’s water, quickly cooling in the night air, a few towels. You locked the bathroom door, but the guy is big – you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have any trouble breaking it down if he wanted to. He seems like he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you know not to trust appearances. You’ve been in this game for too long.

Which is why, when you put on the clothes he brought you – a man’s work shirt and jeans that are roughly your size – you also tug the shard of glass that has fallen out of the mirror’s frame into the back of your pants.

Quietly and carefully, you step out of the bathroom. There’s candles in the living room too, and Ezekiel is kneeling by a small camping cooker, heating something from a can. The smell makes you queasy. You wrap your arms around you as he looks up.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, regarding you carefully. You nod slowly, take a careful step towards him.

“What day is it?” you ask, voice scratchy. Then you shake your head. “I mean, what’s the date?”

Ezekiel stands up, still looking down at where the food is cooking. You’re not sure if he heard you but then he speaks. The way he talks is strange. Like he needs to think about the words before saying them. Like he hasn’t talked in a long time.

“It’s been two years,” he replies, his eyes going up to you. He doesn’t need to clarify what he means. You remember perfectly. Still, the impact of what he says makes you feel ill.

“Two years,” you repeat. Two years. It’s nothing. It’s an eternity.

Ezekiel watches you, maybe waiting for you to speak. He’s almost unmoving when he’s not talking. It’s unnerving.

“Where is everyone?” you ask, not sure if he knows who you’re talking about. “Where’s… where’s Sam?” Ezekiel takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

“You can see him soon,” he replies, which doesn’t answer your question. “Dean and Castiel, too. I just first want to make sure you’re…” His sentence tapers off. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Make sure I’m what?” you say, unable to hide the suspicion in your voice.

“Make sure you are… whole,” Ezekiel says, and the words make a shiver run down your spine.

“What does that mean?” you ask, hating that your voice sounds so quiet. Ezekiel looks down, thinks about what he wants to say, maybe.

“The magic I used to bring you back is complex,” he finally answers. “It’s violent. I want to make sure you are alright before you see them.” You wrap your arms a little tighter around yourself.

“And what if I’m not alright?” you ask. Ezekiel takes a small step towards you, and it takes you everything not to move backwards, away from him.

“You are,” he replies, then adds: “You will be.” You just watch him. The light of the candles dances on his face. He doesn’t look convinced.

“Who are you?” you ask, the question that’s been burning in you this whole time. He told you his name, or told you a name, but you have no idea who this man who claims to have brought you back from Hell is. He takes another step forward, his features softer.

“I’m a friend,” he says, like that explains anything. Still, you nod.

“I want to leave, Ezekiel,” you say, knowing that this might be the turning point. That now you’ll find out who he really is. “I want to see my family. I need to know that they’re okay.” You see him raise his chin a little.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s either a good actor or he, in some messed up way, actually is. “You can’t.”

“So I’m your prisoner?” you ask, but Ezekiel has the nerve to shake his head.

“No,��� he answers quickly. “This is… like a stay at the hospital. I’m keeping you under observation to make sure you’re alright. And when I know you are, you can go. You can go to Sam.”

The mention of his name from this stranger’s mouth makes you tense. Sam. He’s out there somewhere. You try to swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Why can’t Sam come here?” you ask, noticing you’re trying to haggle with this man, meaning you’re already accepting the reality he’s proposing to you. “Is there… is there something wrong with me?” Flashes of blood, screaming. Your skin tearing. No. Don’t think about that.

“You are fine,” Ezekiel answers, contradicting himself. He said he doesn’t know. “And you are no longer in Hell. You are free.” You clench your jaw.

“Except I can’t leave,” you point out.

“Yes,” he says, voice full of regret.

“You know what I think, Ezekiel?” you say, now taking a step towards him. He’s an armlength away from you. You’re not sure if it’s close enough. So you take another step. Your entire body is rebelling against it, telling you to stay away from this strange man. But it’s what you need to do. You look up into blue-grey eyes.

“I think you’re full of shit.”

Despite wrapping a scrap of one of the towels around part of the mirror shard, you feel its sharpness press into your palm when you pull it from its hiding place. It doesn’t matter. A cut in your hand is like a fleabite to you these days. You ram it into his chest just above his heart. The next second you’re running towards the front door. You don’t make it far. 

He’s behind you with a speed that baffles you. One of his hands wraps around your arm and drags you back when you’re just two steps from the door. You spin around, hoping to punch him, fight him, anything. You stop when you see the bright blue light coming from his eyes.

“You’re an angel,” you gasp. Instead of answering, Ezekiel brings his free hand up to the glass shard and pulls it out of him with a grunt. There’s some blood, but then the wound closes. He turns to you.

“Yes,” he says, an expression like you just hurt his feelings, rather than stabbed him, on his face. “Like I said, you can trust me.” You almost laugh.

“There’s only one angel I trust,” you say, almost snarling. “And that’s not you.” Ezekiel frowns at you. You’ve seen that look before. On other angels when the monkeys just won’t do what they’re told.

To your surprise, his features soften as he studies you. He watches you so intently that you need to look away.

“I know your instinct is to fight,” he says, voice low and soft. “But you don’t need to. I’m here to help you.”

You’re not gonna make it out of here, you realize. Blood. Screams. You just exchanged one prison for another.

Gadreel doesn’t know how to get you to trust him, and the frustration nearly drives him mad.

He knows about humans, of course, although his position in the Garden didn’t allow for a lot of contact with them, with notable exceptions. He approves of the concept of them, but never had particularly strong feelings about any individual ones.

But you. You manage to make him sigh and rub his face in frustration. It’s only been a day, but the way you have locked yourself off from him is astounding. The way your eyes narrow every time you look at him makes him feel like, despite the fact that you don’t know him, that he gave you a wrong name, that you wouldn’t even know him under his real name, that you somehow know who he is. What he’s done. Yes, he’s made sure you can’t leave. But don’t you understand that is for your own best?

Because you’ve been in Hell. Dragged down there by one of the disgusting mutts his lying snake of a brother made his own. Tortured for what, in your limited human experience, must have felt like a quarter millennium. Longer than Sam and Dean Winchester combined, and yet you seem fine. You’re quiet and refuse to eat, a problem he will have to deal with sooner or later. But other than that, you seem to be doing well. All he wants is to help you, heal you as much as he can.

He turns the corner of the hallway of the farmhouse and sees that the door to the room he has designated your bedroom is closed again. He sighs. He’s clearly instructed you not to close the door. Even though he can hear you through the walls, he doesn’t like that you even feel it necessary to close the door. What do you think he’ll do?

He knocks, because he knows if he wants you to trust him, he cannot simply barge in. No answer. He knocks again, listens closely. He hears whispering. So he opens the door.

You’re sitting on the old bed frame with the thin mattress. Your feet are on the floor, your hands in your lap and you are staring at the wall opposite you. There is nothing there as far as Gadreel can see, so he takes a step closer. Says your name. No reaction again. Is this some kind of trick? Will you try to escape again?

You don’t react until he lays his hand on your shoulder. He expects you to be startled, but you’re not. You simply turn to him, then look up at his face.

“Hmm?” you say, the shadow of a polite smile on your face. Despite himself, despite being an angel of the Lord and thousands of years old, Gadreel has the sudden urge to look at where you were staring. He knows there’s nothing there. But he wants to know what you saw.

“Are you alright?” he asks, expecting you to lash out at him like you did earlier. But you don’t. You simply nod slowly.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Just tired.” With that, you move, lay yourself on the mattress. It must be dusty, Gadreel thinks, and it probably smells. He’s not sure if it’s comfortable. There’s one scratchy blue blanket at the foot of the bed, and when he picks it up he swears to himself he will get a nicer one. He opens it and lays it over you. Tries to look at your face, but he would have to walk around the bed. So instead, he walks out of the room. Leaves the door open.

In the night, he hears you whisper again. He walks to your room. You’re lying on your back, lips moving slightly. He’s sure he’s perfectly silent, but he must be wrong because your eyes look his way suddenly, and you go quiet. Gadreel leaves and when he reaches the living room, he hears you whisper again.

The next morning, you seem more yourself. Gadreel makes you some breakfast and you actually eat. Drink a large glass of water. He feels relief unlike he has felt in a long time.

After breakfast, he sits you down. Again, you’re strangely pliant. He kneels before you, then gently lays his fingertips against your temple, one hand on each side. You blink, confused, but let him. Gadreel closes his eyes and concentrates.

Physically, you are fine. Yes, you could stand to eat some more, but you are healthy, your body being, for all intents and purposes, new. Sam salted and burned your corpse when you died, and part of the spell was about restoring it. So no surprises there.

But when Gadreel moves to examine your psyche, he frowns. He looks and searches for the woman he expects to find from the time he possessed Sam. Strong, fierce even, optimistic. A fighter. What he finds instead, is a battlefield. Everything that makes you you shattered into a million pieces. You should be a drooling mess, banging your head against the wall. Why aren’t you?

He drops his hands and looks up at you. You look back at him, slight curiosity in your eyes.

“How do you feel?” Gadreel asks, hoping you’ll answer truthfully. You look past him, eyes moving back and forth while you think of your response.

“I feel fine,” you say. Gadreel looks back at you, studies your face. He can only take your word for it.

A few days later, and nothing has changed. He wonders if this means he should let you go, bring you to Sam. He hopes that Sam will see you, understand what Gadreel did, and be able to find some forgiveness in his heart. Remember him for something other than violating his body and killing his friend.

But you can’t go as you are. Gadreel makes sure you are clean and warm, but there’s comfort to be desired. He’s also running out of food for you. You don’t eat a lot, but Gadreel doesn’t know how much humans need and he underestimated it. He wants to buy some high-caloric food in the hope that you might put on a little bit of weight, look healthier.

He doesn’t like leaving, so he doesn’t tell you. The farmhouse is two miles from the next road where Gadreel has parked the car he drove here. He should be able to leave and be back in two hours. He looked in on you earlier and you were sleeping under the blue blanket again. Gadreel watched you for a second, watched the slow rise and fall of your chest, the calmness of your face. Remembered, suddenly, what your breathing felt like against Sam’s chest when you fell asleep next to him. Your little noises and movement when you had a dream. He needs to almost shake himself out of the memory. A memory that isn’t his.

So he leaves. Hurries. He still wants to get you another blanket.

He comes back to the house in the late afternoon, the sun already beginning its descent and the moment he crosses the threshold, he knows something is wrong. He drops the bag of groceries, something in it spilling when it collides with the floor. Then he rushes to your room.

The door is closed. How many times has he told you not to close the door? He pushes it open but you’re not there. He locked the house, made sure you can’t leave. But where are you?

He hears you in the bathroom. You’ve lit a few of the candles, since the bathroom has no window and it’s otherwise impossible to see. Gadreel sees the smashed glass of the mirror and he curses himself. How could he be so stupid. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone?

You are sitting against the tub, legs outstretched in front of you. Most of the color has already drained from your lips and your eyes are falling closed. Gadreel kneels down next to you, not sure where to put his hands first. Finally he takes the shard from your hand, tosses it away so that none of the blood on it gets on you. It’s pointless of course. Your entire lap is red with it already.

“What did you do?” he says, even though he knows the answer. He thought you were fine because you weren’t climbing the walls, weren’t screaming at things that weren’t there. How wrong he was. He really has a lot to learn about humans.

“Please,” you mumble, as he gently takes your hands in his, takes a closer look at the deep cuts along your wrists. He can heal them without a problem, but for some reason, the sight of them still shocks him. “Please make it stop. Please stop hurting me.”

Gadreel realizes that you don’t recognize him right then. You are speaking to someone else. Maybe the same person you spoke to during your first night. Your torturers. Gadreel understands enough about the metaphysical realities of Hell to know that other souls damned to it will have been allowed to hurt you, as well as demons. What a perfidious system his brother came up with.

He moves one of his hands over your first wrist. You barely flinch at the contact of his skin with your wound. While he heals you, he looks at your face. You are looking at him, sadness so deep it makes him feel like something is breaking apart in him in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he knows what he wants to say. “I’m so sorry.”

He wanted to bring you back to do something good. For Sam, but also because for all intents and purposes you and him are on the same side. You are just another soldier in the fight against evil. Bringing you back seemed like an act the goodness of which could not be doubted. But it seems, once again, Gadreel’s judgement has been off.

He heals the other wound, then brings his hand up to your face, holds it. You let him, but he’s not even sure you realize he’s there.

“I’m sorry,” he says again as his thumb touches your cheek. “You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” An almost gentle smile spreads over your face. He wonders what you’re seeing now. Wonders if it’s Sam.

So Gadreel concentrates again, burrows into that deep part of you. Takes the pieces of what you were and uses them. Uses them to build a wall.

He feels your pain then. Feels it pulsing through you. It grasps at him. He only feels a tinge of it, but it reminds him of his own torture in Heaven’s prison so much that he keeps going, keeps building. Builds the wall higher and higher until almost all pieces of you are a part of it.

Gadreel opens his eyes. He sees you blink. Sees life in your eyes.

“Let me do this for you,” he says as he puts the final piece of you into the wall. “Let me do something good.”

[nightlyrequiem]

Love Bite

Perhaps in another life, one where she was still living, you two could've been something. If she had a heart that still beat maybe you wouldn't look at her like she was a monster. 

Masterlist AO3 Little Red Riding Hood Love Bite Crawl to Me Scream Challenger Deep

A/N- I would let Valeria feed from me.

Tags/Warnings: Vampire Valeria, Power Imbalance, Blood, Blood Drinking, WLW, Unrequited Pining, Slightly Sexual Themes

Two, tiny goldfish mindlessly swim around in their tank. Their orange scaled bodies turned vermillion by the low red lights in Valeria's office. The tank isn't small, but it's not large either. You feel bad for the fish. It must be maddening to only be allowed to swim within such a limited perimeter for the rest of your short, short life. You shiver and pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders. Not that it does much good. This coldness is inside of you is like a disease. Thin sheets of ice covering your delicate, mortal organs. Your heart works overtime to try and supply you with the proper amount of blood but it just can't keep up the demand.

You needed money. The only jobs available to someone of your skillset didn't pay enough. Not even the cheapest apartment was cheap enough. There was one job that paid very well. Ever since Vampirism started making it's rounds within the human population, those infected were afflicted with heightened strength, stamina, and cravings. The newly infected quickly adapted to their new lives and decided they were superior to the uninfected. The Dark Days, is what they're called. Thirty years before you were even conceived Vampires had waged war on Humans. Trapping and slaughtering them left and right. The Rebellion were a large group of humans who didn't roll over and die. They bit back, and hard enough to earn the begrudging respect of the Vampires.

Negations were hashed out and governments were formed. Parliments and parties of Humans and Afflicted (the technical term both medically and politically.) to protect the rights of both groups. Although the Vampires remain at the head of the seat, metaphorically speaking. While it is illegal for Vampires to go out and hunt and kill free standing people, they still reap the most benefits of the new barbaric system. Criminals who receive the death sentence are given to vampiric guards to satiate their hunger. The afflicted can get by on animal blood, now stored beside the milk in most grocery stores but human blood is just better. Thus, the Feeder Program was born. Humans who need more money - or just find the idea of being indentured to a stronger, crueler being erotic - can sign up to be paired with a Vampire. A living, breathing blood bag, essentially.

Only the wealthy can afford a Feeder. You suspect the Vampiric government has increased the prices on everything from rent to food to force more people into the program. The allusion of choice. You used to judge the people who participated. Why would you willingly throw yourself at the mercy of an unmerciful creature? You told yourself you'd work hard so you'd never resort to that. Unfortunately, that's not how the real-world works. You were speeding down the highway to homelessness and without a home you're as good as dead here. The government spends all its energy and money on the afflicted that there aren't even any homeless shelters. Leaving the homeless to battle with both the elements and blood thirsty creatures of the night.

The door opens, startling you awake. You hadn't even realised you were drifting off. Valeria strides in. She joins you on the couch, her harsh expression softening as she meets your gaze. Her eyes are a normal shade of brown, her ears aren't pointy, the only giveaway to her different biology are her fangs. Which aren't visible unless she's smiling or laughing. Valeria pulls you into her lap and turns you around to straddle her. Having your back to the room makes your skin crawl. She nuzzles her face down your jaw, resting it in the crook of your neck. Valeria is one of the few vampires that will employ humans. Species based discrimination also isn't allowed but the Afflicted have found a way around that. Most of Valeria's grunts are human though. It should comfort you, but the disgusted looks they throw your way when they think you can't see just makes you feel like you're less than human.

Valeria breathes in your scent. You imagine she can hear the fragile beating of your heart. Smell the blood currently running through your veins. 

"I'm hungry." She murmurs. You hate being fed from. That should be obvious but there are people out there who get off on it. There is a certain point during the feeding that does feel pleasant, but it has never turned you on. 

"You fed yesterday." You reply quietly. She's been feeding from you more and more. From the recommended monthly to unhealthy weekly feedings.

"And I want to feed again." Valeria replies. Gently grabbing the side of your face to tilt your head, baring your throat to her predatory gaze. Valeria noses along your neck, searching for the best vein to pierce.

Your face scrunches with apprehension as you wait for that painful little pinch. Valeria sniffs along your cold skin before pausing. She takes another inhale before slowly sinking her teeth into you. You hiss at the pinch and wave of warmth that passes through you. You can feel the blood leaking from the puncture holes into her mouth and the sensation makes you feel ill. Or maybe it's losing so much blood that's making you feel ill. Valeria cradles you to her body while she feeds. Rubbing her hand across your back in an attempt to comfort you. You lean against her for support. Her hand wanders lower, fingers skimming over your clothed tailbone.

The red light is giving you a headache. You close your eyes, but the lack of visual stimuli just accentuates the pain. There's an uncomfortable heat inside of you. Pulsating in waves and slickening your skin in sweat. This doesn't seem to bother Valeria though, who greedily laps up your life force. The other side of your neck is littered in bruised bites. Overlapping and scarring after not being given any time to heal. The heat dies down and the blissful tingling feeling is beginning to take hold. Your body relaxes. Just as it starts to feel good Valeria unlatches from your neck, a bead of blood runs down your neck and chest.

Valeria smooths her long fingers over the stray hairs at the back of your neck in an affectionate gesture.

"Good girl." She murmurs. Not mockingly but as genuine praise. Valeria is aware of the stress put on your body from being fed on. Not that it stops her from doing it. The momentary high wears of and you're slammed by exhaustion. Every limb weighing twelve tons. You have no choice but to lay your head on her shoulder as your eyes droop. You don't see the smile gracing Valeria's usually stern features.

The feel of your body against hers is the highlight of her day. Your breasts pressed against hers, your soft breath in her hair while she feeds. You taste warm and tender and Valeria wonders if you're warm and tender anywhere else. She can feel you trembling slightly. Can picture that little furrow in your brow. The imagery will serve to fuel some late-night fantasies in the privacy of her bedroom. You're the star in every single one. Valeria can hazard a decent guess as to what you'd sound like moaning and breathless, but the lack of confirmation leaves her frustrated. The fact that you'd never give her a chance just leaves her sad.

She continues to stroke you gently like she would a pet. Her nails gently catching on your scalp.

"I wish you did this willingly." She says quietly. The words drag you from sleep.

"What?" You ask, voice slightly slurring.

"I wish you were here willingly, in my lap, in my life." Valeria clarifies. The light bleeds into her sclera, making her look every bit of the monster she is.

"...I am." You reply, confused. You made the conscious decision to sign up for the Feeders Program. You are a legal volunteer. Valeria silently considers your words.

"No, I mean without the money." She sighs. "I want you to want to be here."

Your eyes droop again. You're so tired and cold.

"I'm tired." You mutter. Ignoring her words. They make you a little angry. It feels entitled, to want you to be here, to want you to enjoy being fed off of.

"I know." Valeria says after a few seconds. Voice hardening slightly. She's feeling the rejection. She had attempted to be real with you. She let you catch a glimpse of her dead, shriveled heart and you stabbed a stake through it. Valeria carefully adjusts you so she can lay down with you. Despite your rejection she still seeks your companionship.

Perhaps in another life, one where she was still living, you two could've been something. If she had a heart that still beat maybe you wouldn't look at her like she was a monster. Valeria gets a little burst of satisfaction when you wriggle up against her. she can tell by your breathing and the slowing of your heart that you're asleep. Valeria never realised how fragile the human body was until she turned. You're like a little bird. Hollow bones and delicate limbs. If she's not careful she'd shatter your ribs, snap your neck. She wants to clip your wings to make you stay.

She buries her face into your hair. Inhaling lungfuls of you. For a fleeting second, she thinks she'd sacrifice immortality for you. Briefly considering offering you enough money to never need to come back again - to open your cage door - but she fears if she did, you'd never return to her. Valeria is a monster. Even before she turned, she was a monster. She will never do what's best for you. Feeding from you has weakened you and made you sick, but it has brought Valeria closer to you. She knows she should, but Valeria is selfish. If she has to slowly kill you to keep you then so be it. She presses a loving kiss to your cool temple and closes her eyes. Finding tranquility in the slow beating of your heart.

[akutasoda]

Hey! I've never requested anything like this before but I saw that your requests were open and I thought I'd give it a go. I've been really sick for the past two weeks and I've had this terrible insomnia and I've just felt really kinda alone and abandoned lately. Can you write a soft Alhaitham x reader thing where he tucks reader into bed and cuddles and holds them and reassures that they're loved and safe and wanted? It would be really nice if you could also have reader relax into little space and be referred to as a guy, but if you aren't comfortable writing that then don't worry about it.

But yes so soft Alhaitham comforting needy and hurt reader please and thank you

his way of comfort

synopsis - he's noticed you're not quite yourself lately, so he tries to help

includes - alhaitham

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, maybe ooc, wc - 705

a/n: this was actually req by @c1evererer, i hope you get better soon! no matter how alone you may feel, there will always be someone there for you!! please take care of yourself!

if alhaitham was anything, it'd be observant. he could have a keen eye on anything around and still pay attention to what he was doing, although sometimes he did choose to block out his surroundings with the trusty help of noise cancelling. although, alhaitham wasn't exactly a people's person. he couldn't care less about others around him, those that he associated with were barely excluded even though he'd still deny it.

however, no matter what, he would care about you. he never imagined caring about someone the way he did for you, but sometimes love made you do crazy things. alhaitham would willingly keep an eye on you at any time and even more so when he started noticing your mood shift into something sour. admittedly, he wouldn't intervene for a while as you may have simply had a bad day. but he couldn't ignore it after you seemed to get worse by the day.

your usual demeanour seemed to disappear by the day, in its place was a kind of sadness that seemed to make you slightly distant. alhaitham wouldn't pry, he knew it probably wasn't his place to, but he couldn't stand seeing you in such a state for any longer. he wasn't the best, or even knew where to start, when it came to comforting people but he wanted to try. something was plaguing your mind and he wouldn't sit there and do nothing.

he soon found you swiftly after returning home, immediately he asked if you had anything left to do for the day and at one shake of your head, he urged you to come with him. you weren't going to reject his offer, even if you would, you simply didn't have the energy.

you followed behind closely as he brought you to your shared bedroom. you let him lead you into bed and indulged in the way that he tucked you in, doing whatever would make you comfiest, uncaring for his own later - it didn't matter what he wanted, if it would help you feel better he'd do it. it felt nice. your usually stoic lover being so caring.

it wasn't too long after before alhaitham himself laid down beside you and brought your figure, covered in blankets, into his embrace. one hand found its way to yours as he laced his fingers with yours while the other reached to cradle the back of your head as he gently rested his on top of yours.

you two laid in a comfortable silence for a while before he broke it. “if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to” he paused slightly in hesitation before adding “as long as you know that i'm always here for you, whenever and for whatever”

another beat of silence. he pulled away slightly to look at you, “right now, i just want you to know that you're here, you're safe and loved” you could see his features softening ever so slightly.

“i don't know what i’d do without you sometimes, how dull my life would be without you, i never imagined it but now that i have you, i wouldn't have it any other way” he leaned in again, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, and letting you rest. eventually, you both drifted off in each other's embrace listening to his words of affirmation - alhaitham would claim it was the worst sleep he's ever had, but you would say the opposite and that's all he cared about.

alhaitham wasn't a people's person. he wasn't the best at comforting someone, but when it came down to you, he would try his damn hardest.

(for the following weeks, alhaitham became incredibly doing. ensuring that you returned to your normal self that he fell so hopelessly in love with)

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[ghostingon]

aw man another brain ramble (part 3) (18+ MDNI)

14DWY DAY 4 DROPPED!!!! YIPPEEE!!!!

so i spent some time replaying the game to find some info and went through my old posts because some stuff is new! i also have guess ren’s name and idk whether i got it right or not HOWEVER if i do get it right nobody will know… i’ll take it to the grave.

anyways some fun things in day 4, i feel like we’re finally getting into the LORE. which is exciting because one of the reasons i became so invested was the lore we would get on the blog.

ren likes to draw in his free time, that’s a fun tidbit. mysterious ink and mysterious black smoke? interesting… angel having flashbacks about their childhood the more time they spend with ren? LOVE IT.

parts 1 and 2 are here!

anyways with new content i have new observations! i am going down the "let's make him better not worse" route so keep that in mind in this post. i’ve gone through the blog again and hopefully haven’t missed too much, so let’s goooooooo

14 Days With You belongs to @14dayswithyou and @cutiesigh!

1. The Black Smoke

i have to admit i’ve gotten the bad ending without meaning to, because usually aren’t we supposed to want to move in with ren? he wants us to stay right?

not today!

this obviously has something to do with the main factor as the black smoke. what is the black smoke? it’s not a hallucination, and ren seemed EXTREMELY invested in it. and, not only that, he seems perplexed by it. what is the black smoke?

nobody is supposed to live on that floor with him, and even he has no idea about it. he becomes almost extremely fixated on it, and even distracted enough that if you tell them you want to stay at his house he barely pays attention.

it almost seems as if someone is incinerating something in there, but what?

something to point out is a lot of ren's scars are from burns, as fire has something to do with his past. i think i've talked about it before but in case i haven't, i have a belief that ren may have burnt down his childhood home in the past.

could the black smoke be an omen? we can see it as well, so it's not a hallucination of his mind. but this brings me to my next idea of what the black smoke could be.

2. His Computer

if while looking around you decide to peak into his computer, you get a conversation. i think their laptop is connected to their phone, because we can see a one way conversation as if ren had sent something to someone and then answered.

i believe this is river! as there is literally no one else ren would willingly talk to and even that is a rarity. however, confiding in someone with this kind of information seems like something he would say to river.

o - olivia

we know that river knows olivia from this relationship chart, and we've already run into her a few times. however, if she is involved in their past one way or another, she may have some of her own secrets. for one, she refers to ren in quotations, as if not believing their name, and river has been having issues of her following him around. could olivia be the killer? could olivia have something to do with their line of business?

"didn't we... u know?"

olivia isn't dead, so did they threaten her? blackmail her? hurt her?

it seems from my perspective that olivia may have rented out that apartment space and that smoke could be her doing.

we don't get a whole lot of information after that, since river or ren accessed and shut off the messaging app. but it seems olivia plays a bigger part than we thought.

3. What Is "It"?

this is the one that gets me thinking, because in the chat messages we hear about something river refers to as "that thing" and "it".

my first thought was olivia, but that made no sense because they had been properly referring to her and ren probably has no need to stay connected with her.

would this maybe be what's connected to the black smoke?

i haven't seen anything supernatural or non-human in this game, but the first thought i had was that it's some kind of entity. but, if there is nothing non-human in this game then what is ren in contact with? who? what happens when ren makes the thing mad?

it could be connected to his job, or something from his past entirely. one thought was maybe taylor, but why would he be in contact with his father? last time we heard, he has little to nothing to do with his family anymore.

What Is It?

4. The Drawings

something i learned is ren can draw! seems he likes to in his spare time. although angel seemed a bit concerned, as his drawings are not as light and romantic like the web comics they read, but... darker.

ren obviously connects with this gloomy character, who seems to be the main love interest in "always with you". my guess is he depicts gloomy and the MC as those characters, but gloomy specifically connected with them.

ren's inner turmoil is much more extreme then i considered, it feels as if he thinks he is always being watched. he purposefully isolates himself, but we know from childhood they were severely neglected by his father. maybe his father is those eyes, continuously tormenting them due to him not wanting to turn out like taylor.

some final thoughts

i may do another post when i get the time to look through more stuff and try connecting the dots, but this is what i have for now! i hope these coming days are more lore involved because it's been so fun to try and decode stuff.

another thing i didn't mention was the locked box, but there wasn't anything significant there. a ring is the key, so maybe we can get our ring from childhood back soon.

this may have been my favorite day thus far, and i'm excited for more in the future! i think i've been with this game fore around two years now, so i probably will stick around til the end.

[vqmprxz]

jeff the killer moodboard + hcs

jeff’s playlist

(faceclaim: rory culkin)

basics (in my au)

🔪age: 23

🔪nationality: canadian-american

🔪height: 5’11

interests, habits, etc.

🔪absolute asshole. it’s a mystery how anyone deals with him.

🔪pays literally anyone to go out and grab a beer for him because he’s too lazy to

🔪most brutal killer out of them all. i don’t think we’re really surprised, he’s batshit crazy so..

🔪after his charred hair grew out and the brown roots came in, he hated how it looked and dyed it black. he’s been dyeing it ever since

🔪really obnoxious metalhead. if you tell him what you listen to, he will 100% make fun of your music and say it’s “not heavy enough” meanwhile he listens to mayhem

🔪plays guitar and bass. (always INSANELY loud in his room, everyone yells at him to turn it down.)

🔪he has depression and sometimes goes a week or so without showering before liu makes him get up and clean himself

🔪insanely strong. he may have poor judgement but liu convinced him into getting his anger out in the gym instead of taking it out on other people, and it worked surprisingly well

relationships with others

🔪the only person who really tolerates him, unsurprisingly, is liu. jeff will never admit it but he loves his big brother and is grateful for all that he’s done for him

🔪thinks nina is annoying as fuck and will go right back up to his crusty lil room if he sees her

🔪toby is unfortunately jeff’s VICTIM. this kid cannot catch a break from the teasing, pushing, shoving, etc.

🔪ben looks up to him for some reason. (i think it’s only because jeff willingly plays video games with him). they have a brotherly relationship.

🔪makes fun of literally everybody, so nobody really likes him.

a relationship with him

sfw

🔪why would you put yourself through that

🔪he can be extremely manipulative so just beware.

🔪dates usually consist of late night car rides with metal music blasting in the background (and some deep talks, if you’re lucky)

🔪not big on physical touch, unless he sees someone else looking at you in a way he doesn’t like. then he’s ALL over you

🔪unfortunately the type of guy to not want to tell anyone you’re together

🔪despite all the arguments you get in, you can’t get rid of him. he’s not leaving you and he’ll always come back to you.

🔪on very rare occasions, there’s nights he’s apologizing, laying on your chest and crying softly while holding you tight, telling you how much he loves you

nsfw

🔪knifeplay. nobody’s shocked about that. loves watching you writhe and moan under him as the handle of his knife rams into your g spot

🔪his favorite position is doggy. loves pounding into you and being able to slap your ass and pull your hair so easily

🔪far from submissive. will not let you take control EVER.

🔪since he’s a guitarist, hes fast with his fingers (literally has you seeing stars and gripping the sheets)

🔪can read you like a book. you’re turned on? he can already tell by the way you’re squirming and breathing a little heavier

🔪before you guys got together, he’d definitely show up at your door in the middle of the night giving you those eyes, wanting a quickie

[your-neighbor-in-the-northblue]

Garp, Koby, And Helmeppo With A Pirate S/O

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Romantic

Garp

He hates that he’s fallen for someone of your stature. He hates that you're considered a criminal in the eyes of the government. He hates that you willingly throw yourself out into the light of ridicule. He hates that you’re constantly in danger, but most importantly, he hates that the two of you can’t legally be seen being friendly with each other.

There are moments when he considers offering you a spot alongside him in the navy, but he knows what you'd say and it shatters him.

So many people in his life have already chosen the same path as you and he can't help but watch them all ruin themselves because of it.

He’d probably make it so that he and his unit followed your ship around, mostly just to tease you, but also because he's severely worried you'll end up in danger.

A part of him lives for the power dynamic between you both. He likes being able to arrest you whenever he wants, and he LOVES how you could kill him whenever you caught him alone (or at least try to).

Whenever he manages to get you both alone, he'll bring your hands up to his lips and kiss them, begging you to, at the very least, consider the idea of being a marine — to consider the idea of putting your talents into something a tad bigger than yourself.

Forbidden lovers, but in the saddest kind of way. Where Garp lays awake at night thinking of whether or not you'll survive the night without him. But he'll have to learn to let go of his naturally protective nature.

Koby

He feels so conflicted. He wants to be with you so badly, but he’s scared to be found out. It weighs on him to the point where he’ll constantly be promising you that he doesn’t feel ashamed of you or any other negative connotation you could connect with it, he just really wants this job.

He'll sneak around and try to hide your files so that you slowly become more and more forgotten about by the Marines. He wants to get you out of the public eye as much as he could possibly manage.

Every time he sees your wanted poster he tears it down (although he does keep one folded under his cot).

When he does finally get to see you, he'll hold your face in his hands and just smile lovingly at you, telling you everything that's happened since your last departure.

He always comes bearing small gifts — what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't? It's always something that resembles him in some way — his old dog tags, a crumpled note, and sometimes even your missing files.

And when the two of you have to leave, he'll fall into a short depression, wishing that one day, the two of you could be together openly without the fear of persecution.

He honestly couldn't care less about whether or not you're a pirate, he loves you for you, the labels don't mean anything to him.

Helmeppo

He loves the thrill of it all. He adores the way you both have to sneak around just to meet up with one another. It floods him with the best kind of adrenaline.

He won't tell a soul about you until he gets drunk. Which makes him the worst one on this list. Once he's a bit intoxicated, he'll blabber on about you for the whole night.

You'll probably end up arrested due to how much he mentions you.

Old habits die hard, however, and he'll find himself scrounging up cash to pay off whoever it is being sent after you.

He's following you around the second he finds out you're both on the same island. He makes it sooo obvious and you'll have to tug him into an alleyway so no one arouses anymore suspicion than they already have.

Helmeppo doesn't care if the two of you get caught — he can deal with all that later — he only cares for you and the fleeting moments spent together, even if it means your secret relationship is plastered in the news.