#something dumb i needed to get out of my head

[millers-angel]

wait, i need one where joel spanks the reader 🙏 yk for… Educational purposes

the belt ୨୧ joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel loves to teach you a lesson with his belt. warnings: spanks, explicit gif ahead (the one from the first pic lol), fingering, size difference, kind of rough joel ig, and fluff

you hear the truck pull in just as you’re placing the last warm bun on the plate. the air still smells like cinnamon and sugar, sweet and homey, and you’re wearing that little dress—thin straps, soft fabric, barely brushing your thighs. it’s his favorite. you know it.

you don’t run to the door. you wait.

when it opens, he steps in slow. boots heavy, shirt clinging to his shoulders from the sun. he looks tired. tense. but more than that—there’s something dark behind his eyes when he sees you.

“hey,” you say, soft, like honey. “i saved you the last ones. they were still warm when i left the bakery.”

you hold up the plate like a peace offering. like innocence. like you don’t know exactly what you’ve done.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just stares. his jaw tight. brow furrowed.

“you been waitin’ for me dressed like that?” he asks, voice low.

you smile. tilt your head. “don't you like it?”

his eyes drop to your legs. you shift your weight a little, just enough for the hem of the dress to rise. pretend like it’s nothing. like you don’t see the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“i missed you today,” you add, soft again. too soft. like a little apology hiding behind sugar and flour. “wanted to make you something sweet.”

he steps closer. doesn’t touch you. not yet. just looks at you like he’s trying to decide whether to kiss you or scold you.

you hold his gaze and bite your lip.

you know why he looks like that. you know you didn’t wear panties. you know he’s gonna find out when he gets close enough.

and still, you just smile. like you’re not doing exactly what you’re doing.

he glances at the plate in your hands, then back at you. "you went to work dressed like that?"

you blink, tilting your head like you didn’t hear him right. "like what?"

joel huffs, slow and deep, like he's trying real hard not to lose it. "don’t play dumb with me."

you just smile. give him that little look—the one that always softens him. "it’s my favorite dress," you say, like that explains everything.

you spin, slow, playful. let the fabric flutter just enough. when you face him again, he’s not smiling. his eyes are darker now. he sets his hands on his hips. voice low. steady.

"why aren’t you wearin’ any panties?"

you hesitate. just a second. then that smile creeps back in, slower this time. "i didn’t wanna get 'em messy... from the cinnamon rolls." you hold the plate up again like it’s a shield. or an excuse. "i was thinking of you all morning."

he sets the plate down on the table, a little too hard. doesn’t even look at the buns.

"you think this is funny?" he mutters, stepping closer. "walkin’ around town like that. dress ridin’ up. no panties. what the hell were you thinkin’, huh?"

you try to bite back the smile but it wins anyway. "what the fuck were you thinking, huh? thought you've learned your lesson this morning."

the way he’s looking at you—stern, jaw tight, eyes burning—you love it. so you laugh. soft. careless. like you’re not standing on the edge of a storm.

he freezes.

"you’re laughin’?" his voice drops even lower now. there’s a warning in it. "you want me to give you something to laugh about?"

you tilt your head, still smiling. "why are you so mad anyways?"

he takes a step closer. you don’t back away. "because you went out there showin’ everybody what’s mine. dress barely coverin’ a damn thing, no panties—" his jaw clenches. "you really think i’m just gonna be fine with that?"

you shrug, still acting innocent. "no one knew. i mean… it’s not like anyone saw anything."

his face hardens.

"and what if they did?" his voice is sharp now, laced with something darker. "what if some bastard looked a second too long? what if they noticed?"

he’s imagining it now. some guy standing behind you at the counter, letting his eyes stay on you, his blood runs hot even if they didn't really see anything more than just your legs. the thought hits him like a punch to the gut.

his fists clench at his sides.

you notice. and of course, you laugh again—soft, teasing, deadly.

"i thought you were proud of me bein’ yours." you make a spin, letting him see enough. your mound, your bare butt.

he doesn’t answer.

instead, he moves.

quick, rough, effortless—his hands grip your waist and suddenly you’re off the ground, tossed over his shoulder. your breath catches in your throat, a small yelp escaping as your hands press against his back.

"joel!"

"you think this is funny?" he mutters, voice low and dangerous near your thigh. "i’ll show you just how proud i am, darlin’. don’t worry."

he walks through the house like this is nothing new—like carrying you over his shoulder is routine. your fingers clutch at the back of his shirt, but he doesn’t say a word. only his grip tightens when you squirm, and you feel the heat of his palm pressing into your thigh and the breeze hitting your bare slit.

he kicks the bedroom door open, strides in without slowing down, and drops you gently onto the bed—just enough force to remind you who’s in charge, but still careful. you bounce a little, settling on the edge, knees together, looking up at him.

he stands in front of you, hands on his hips now, chest rising slow. his eyes roam over you like he’s deciding what to do even if you both know the answer. his fingers stay too long on his belt.

he unbuckles his belt—painfully slow. "i'm gonna give you five with the belt and five with my hand. understood?"

you squeeze your thighs together, because even if this is what you wanted… you didn’t think he’d actually use the belt again. "b-but—"

"no buts. no nothin’." he rasps. "five with the belt. five with my hand. and you're gonna count every single one."

he sits down at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. then, without saying anything, he pulls you gently forward and settles you across his lap, belly down.

his arm wraps around your waist, steady and warm, and his other hand rests on the back of your thigh.

you’re laid out over him, your hair spilling across the sheets, and you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

once you're secured beneath him, you can only feel how his hand shifts to the side, grabbing the belt while the other hand finally pulled the hem of your dress up, til your waist, revealing your bare butt, all pumped and ready for him.

"this is what you wanted, didn't you?"

his voice is low, rough around the edges. you feel the belt shift in his grip, the leather folding over itself. your breath stutters before the first strike even lands.

you jolt forward slightly, the sting blooming across your skin.

"count."

"one," you whisper, voice already shaky.

his hand rests on your lower back, steadying you. not gentle. just firm enough to keep you in place.

second one.

sharper this time. it makes your toes curl and he's delighted to see.

"two."

"keep count," he mutters. like he doesn’t trust you to.

the third comes with no warning. you bite back a sound, clutching the blanket beneath your hands.

"three."

he pauses—only for a second. maybe to let you feel the heat he’s left behind.

then, another one.

"four," you gasp. your thighs squeeze together, instinctively. maybe to hide, maybe to feel something more.

the last one with the belt hits a little lower.

"five."

you’re trembling now. you don’t even realize he’s dropped the belt until you hear it land on the floor. then his palm replaces it—warm and broad.

"halfway there, sweetheart."

the way he says it makes your stomach twist. you hate how much you love hearing it.

before anything, he took a second to stroke your already sore butt. feeling how warm your skin was, how it practically radiated heat beneath his touch — flushed and tender, like it still remembered every strike. his palm dragged slowly, as if he was checking his own work. "look what you made me do," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

you were still trembling a little, your breath uneven, skin hot and hypersensitive under his palm. your thighs pressed together instinctively, but there was nowhere to hide — not with you draped across his lap like that. you were at his will.

your fingers twisted in the bedsheets, knuckles white, as if grounding yourself in something. you didn’t say anything. didn’t need to. the way your body reacted spoke loud enough.

"alright, love. five more, yeah?" he said now a little more soft. "you think you can do that for me?"

"mhm," you nodded, pumping your butt to him.

he could catch a glimpse of that perfect little thing that belonged to him. your pussy was all his... and you've been wearing this dress at work with no panties. his gaze darkened again, this time, he will have no mercy.

his hand lifts and hit against your ass.

"ouch!" you whimper.

"that's not a number," he said and the next thing you feel is his palm against your butt again.

"six!" you squeaked, trying squirming for how though he had been.

you tried to change your position, trying to make him go softer, but he catched you and locked you even tighter against his lap.

"where do you think you're goin'?" ♡

he smacked his hand one more time, with no warning. the sound was so loud it made the whole room feel even quieter.

you muffled a whimper. "seven," it was barely above a whisper.

"attagirl."

he stopped for a second to take a look.

he could see his own handshape on your butt. it was more flushed, he was sure it would leave a bruise. but then... he spread your cheeks and found out his girl was naughtier than he thought.

"aren't you a sweet thing, mh?" he murmured. "gettin' all wet from spanks,"

you bit your lip and thank god he's not facing you cause your cheeks are burning red. you feel one of his fingers teasing your folds. feeling how slick your flesh was.

"you like the belt, hm?"

"m-maybe,"

he huffed and spreaded your knees enough to have better access down there. you barely gasped before you felt his palm hitting hard against your pussy.

"ah, fuck," you moaned.

"that's. not. a. number." each word was punctuated by the sharp smack of his hand, perfectly timed — one strike for every syllable, like he was making sure you felt each one sink in.

your pussy was responding to it, and so was your whole body, you felt yourself getting more wet, pussy throbbing, and joel… joel was enjoying it as much as you were, seeing how swelled it got, seeing how it turned out flushed by his struck.

he couldn’t help himself and caressed your folds carefully, feeling, teasing, until his finger found your nub. you hissed once he started drawing lazy circles, he loved how sensitive your skin was, how your body responded to his touch.

he swirled his finger around it, pressing, giving you pleasure. you could only moan softly, breathing heavily, feeling how your legs trembled, maybe because of pleasure, maybe because of the spanks.

his other hand came to your entrance, fingers teasing, eyes locked on your tiny little thing. he danced his fingers around it, just watching how you wiggled your hips for him, to let you him know you were ready to take him.

he slowly sank two of his fingers in you. getting a tiny whimper from your mouth. "that it," he rasped.

the view was obsecene even. his fingers—his whole hand looked so big for you. the very first time he was afraid he'd hurt you... but you, looked at him so needy, you'd beg him to fuck you, and he couldn't resist, not when you started rubbing your face on his scruffy beard, not when your hand caressed his cheek and tell him that you wanted him.

his fingers stretched you out. worked on you until all you could do was squirm, beg for more and moan his name.

you felt the orgasm forming in your belly at the same time you could hear your own juices when you pulled his fingers in and out.

he knew.

he knew you were close, knew that his girl was in a bliss, specially when he felt your falls throbbing, when he felt how you were clutching your cunt.

but he wasn't done yet. there were three spanks missing for you to count.

he pulled out his fingers all of the sudden, making you whine. "joel, please—"

"i'm not done," he said parting your knees again, and hitting your now sensitive skin.

you cried out, not sure if pain or pleasure. "eight."

he licked his lips at the view. all pounded, all flushed, all his.

"this what you get for wearing this damn dress with no panties," he growled and hit his hand against your pussy once more. "this is goddamn mine."

"nine," you whimpered.

his finger worked on your clit. you clenched your cunt, squeezed your thighs together, trying to find release, trying to come. but he wouldn't let you, he wanted your orgasm to be caused by him, by his hand hitting on your cunt.

so he just saw you falling apart, begging until he knew you were too weak, too eager.

he smacked his hand one last time, sending you to a total bliss. "ten," you whispered as you came, as you felt your legs weak, trembling.

he knew you were done by the way your body was spasming. you were a mess.

his hand, the same one that had been so firm minutes ago, softened now as it glided over your sore skin. slow, careful strokes — not to tease, just to soothe. your skin was flushed, warm and a little swollen beneath his palm, and he took a second to just be still with you.

then, gently, he shifted your weight. one arm hooked under your legs, the other cradling your back, and he turned you over. he brought you to his chest, settling you against him, your cheek resting right above his heartbeat.

you were still trembling a little, but he just held you there, his thumb tracing light circles over the small of your back.

"you were brave, i'm proud of you," he said softly, pressing his lips on your forehead.

“joel?” your voice was small, muffled against his chest. soft as a breath. “are you still mad at me?”

he let out a quiet sigh, more exhale than sound, and his thumb kept stroking slow circles against your spine. “no, angel,” he said, his voice soft. “you learned your lesson… right?”

you smiled, just a little — that playful smile that always made him raise an eyebrow. “mmhm,” you hummed, lifting your face to kiss him softly. “i did.”

he rolled his eyes like he didn’t believe you for a second, but he was smiling too. the kind of smile only you ever got from him. his hand reached up to tuck your hair gently behind your ear, fingers lingering there like he didn’t want to stop touching you.

“i know it won’t be the last time,” he muttered. “i know what’s mine like the back of my damn hand.”

you let out a quiet laugh, your nose brushing against his jaw, and then you nuzzled into his beard, smiling like it was your favorite place in the world — because it was. you loved the scratch of it against your skin, the way it smelled like him, like sweat and his cologne.

he had no idea what it did to you, how warm it made you feel, how safe. and he was right — it wouldn’t be the last time. because you loved it when he got like that. when his voice was low, when his hands got firm, when he stopped being soft and reminded you who he was.

there was something about the way he held himself — calm, steady, but strong. like even when he didn’t raise his voice, you felt it. and when you pushed too far, when you acted up just to see how far he’d let you go… he always knew how to stop you. how to bring you back down. you loved that. loved the way he could quiet you without needing to say much — just his presence, just his hands, just him being him.

you loved feeling the strength in him, the way he could hold you still with just one look. his big hands on you, setting you in place like you were something breakable and his all at once. you loved how serious he got — that controlled power that lived in his chest, that wrapped around you when you got too bold.

“i know you love the belt,” he added, low in your ear.

𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡

masterlist♡

[rafesbimbo]

Sexist!rafe baby trapping reader...? Its okay if not!! Just a thought

warnings: babytrapping, unprotected sex, manipulation, misogyny, ownership kink, breeding kink, gaslighting, emotional control, possessive behavior, degradation/praise mix

pairing: sexist!rafe x reader

you were quiet when you brought it up.

sitting on the edge of rafe’s bed, knees together, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. you didn’t even look at him when you said it.

“i was thinking about getting a job.”

the silence that followed made your stomach twist.

rafe had been in a good mood that morning — made you breakfast, kissed your neck, even let you wear his chain.

but now? nothing.

he stood there for a second. still shirtless. still damp from the shower.

and then, finally, he laughed. low and slow, like it was adorable that you even thought you had options.

“a job?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief. “what the fuck do you need a job for, baby?”

you looked down at your hands. “just… i dunno. something to do?”

rafe stepped closer, hand tilting your chin up.

his thumb dragged over your bottom lip like he owned it.

he owned you.

“you already have something to do,” he said softly.

“you wake up, you keep this house clean, you stay dolled up, and you wait for me to come home and fuck the attitude outta you. that’s your job.”

your cheeks burned, but your thighs clenched too. he always knew how to make you feel dumb — and he liked it that way.

“but you’re bored, huh?” he cooed, pushing you down on the bed now, knee spreading your legs apart.

“need a little more to fill your day?”

you tried to answer, but the words got caught in your throat when he shoved your panties aside and pressed two fingers against your slit.

“i’ll give you something to do,” he muttered, pulling his sweats down just enough to free his cock.

“give you a reason to stay home for the next nine months.”

your breath hitched. “rafe—”

“no,” he cut you off, cock rubbing against your entrance now, thick and hot. “you don’t get to act like this wasn’t what you wanted.”

he pushed in slow, inch by inch, until your back arched and your mouth fell open in a silent moan.

“don’t need a job,” he grunted, setting a brutal pace right away. “you need a purpose. you need to be owned.”

your legs shook, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

rafe grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head, and fucked you harder.

“you wanna work?” he growled. “then work on takin’ this dick. work on stayin’ knocked up.”

you moaned, high-pitched and needy, completely gone.

“you’re mine,” he hissed into your neck. “mine to fill. mine to keep. you’re gonna take every drop and say thank you.”

you could barely think — just nodded, babbling out broken little whimpers as you felt him spill inside you, hot and deep, grinding down until you swore you could feel it in your stomach.

he kissed your forehead after.

sweet.

smug.

“that’s my good girl,” he whispered. “don’t worry about working, baby. you’ve got a full-time job now.”

his hand settled over your belly, already claiming it like it was his.

“you’re gonna look so fuckin’ pretty with my kid in you.”

[lulunothulu]

“He did what?”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Content: 18+ (alluding to sex) ANGRY JAKE, Protective Jake, FLUUUUUUFFFFF, rightful swearing

Summary: When your boyfriend cheats on you, Jake can’t help but want to rip his head off. Because how could that fucker cheat on the most perfect girl he’s ever met?

You’d be getting off work late because of a last-minute training flight, Maverick wanted to test the squad’s night flying. Not ideal, especially because you'd been staying late a lot lately. Because of that, everyone was calling their partners to let them know they’d be home late, including you.

“Are you gonna call Dan?” Hangman, your best friend, asks.

You only nod, holding a hand up for him to be quiet as you hear Daniel’s greeting. Jake's eyes roll when you respond, “Hi, babe.”

“Hi, baby,” your boyfriend, Daniel, replies. “What’s up? Are you heading home?”

“No,” you groan. “I’ll be getting home late tonight. Probably early tomorrow morning.”

“Another late night training?” he sighs.

“Yes, but I’ll make it up to you this weekend!” You chew on your lip, waiting for his reply.

“Well, okay. I’ll probably go out with the guys tonight then.”

“Sounds good, love you.” 

He hangs up with a sigh, causing you to frown. When you turn to face where your friend was standing, you catch Hangman’s eyes on you. “Don’t ask.”

He only smirks at you.

When training finishes, it’s already almost 9 PM. By the time you get back to the locker rooms, your head is pounding from the smell of fumes you’d inhaled all day. With a groan, you jump out of the jet and begin to line up in formation, waiting for the last words Mav likes to give after a long day.

“Nothing from me today, guys,” he says. “Go home, and drive safe.”

Hangman claps your back with a cheeky grin. “What’re we doing tonight?”

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks, dumbfounded. “It’s only,” he checks his watch, “nine.”

“Unlike you, Bagman,” Phoenix starts behind you both. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Is that because you’re both ugly?” Rooster and Coyote ask in unison.

“Jinx!” Bob yells out. “You both owe me a soda.”

You roll your eyes at their (just started) bickering, before turning to Hangman. His green eyes are watching you intently, waiting for you to say something.

You’d have to be dumb not to admit that you kind of liked it a bit. Jake Seresin has that effect on everyone. From the time you’d met him, he had always been a flirt. But with you, it seemed like his mission was to make sure you felt every look, every word, he’d say to you. Like he wants you to be the only one to feel the teal him.

Hence why and how you two got so close. You’re the only person he can be real with–who he can drop his cocky fassade with.

“Sorry, Jakey boy,” you grin. “I need my sleep. But tomorrow we should all get brunch.”

At that, Jake nods and wraps an arm around Bob, almost dragging the poor back-seater to the locker rooms.

You and Phoenix walk into the locker rooms in silence, the only thing on both of your minds being: Shower, change, and go the fuck home. 

This evening, you took your time to shower in the locker rooms. Washing and scrubbing every ounce of skin you have left to get the stink out. By the time you finish, it’s almost an hour later, 10 PM.

“Bye, Nat!” you call into the one of the stalls. 

“Bye, Y/N!” she yells back. “I’m definitely not sitting on the floor and letting the water hit me.”

You chuckle. “Call or text me when you get home.”

“You too!”

Looking down at your phone, you almost groan. Fuck, I’m gonna be home late, hopefully he’s still awake.

But you doubt it.

Daniel worked at a bank, meaning he’d have already been home hours ago. He has the ‘most normal job someone who’s dating a pilot could have.’ (At least that’s what he says.)

The drive home feels longer than usual. Everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong. The road you normally take is closed, there’s a ton of traffic for some reason… all you know is that you can’t wait to get home.

Finally, you’re a few minutes away, and quickly, you’re on your street. As you’re starting to park in your driveway, you get a call from Daniel. Smiling, you press the Bluetooth screen of your radio and answer.

“Hello?” you answer.

Instantly, the smile on your face falls into a confused frown. Because instead of answering, you hear Daniel moaning. Maybe he’s watching porn?

Only when you hear a woman moan his name and the slapping of skin on skin, the frown turns into a gasp.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, tears beginning to form.

“Fuck, Raquelle,” you hear Daniel groan. “You feel so good.”

You hang up the phone, quickly get out of the car, and silently run to the front door of your townhouse. As you open the door, the noises from your bedroom get louder than they were on the phone. Immediately, your stomach feels like it’s going to fall out your ass, and nausea rolls up your throat.

But you will it down. You have to.

Because right now, you need to scream at him to get his shit and move the fuck out. And you can’t do that if you’re vomiting on the floor. 

As quietly as you entered, you sneak up the stairs that lead to the second floor. Your footsteps pad on the carpeting, the only saving grace the universe decided to give you tonight. Though your limbs are exhausted and your mind drained, you need to do this.

Because this isn’t the first time this has happened.

The first time was a few months ago. Daniel blamed it on you being home late, that you were always tired, and never wanted to have sex anymore. Which was a bit true, you were tired…because you’d just gotten back from a mission.

Now, he had no excuse. You’d given him all the physical and sexual attention you thought he’d need. You‘d done it so much that you’d broken yourself to the point of exhaustion. Even when you were tired, you did as much as you could. From blowjobs to actual intercourse. 

But that must’ve not been enough.

You weren’t enough.

With silent tears running down your face, you reach the door to your room and push the door open softly.

A small red head is on top of Daniel, her body moving in synch with his hips. His large hands, the same ones that raked your body once, grip her hips. His mouth is open, and his eyes are only on her. 

That is, until you clear your throat.

“Y/N,” he exclaims, pushing Raquelle off of him. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Really?” you ask. “Because it looks like you’re fucking another woman in my bed.”

You raise a hand, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m just here to get some clothes so that you can move your shit out tomorrow.”

As you begin to pack, you can hear Daniel and Raquelle shifting on the bed. She muttered something to him, followed by him shushing her. Then, their lips as they kiss. 

You couldn't believe you would be this stupid to trust a man who had cheated on you once to not cheat on you again. You grab enough clothes for the night, stuffing them into a duffel bag before walking into your bathroom and grabbing your skincare and toothbrush.

Pulling your phone out, you quickly text Jake, asking if he’s still up to go drink. He responds within seconds, asking if you're all right. But you don't bother answering, instead you tell him to meet you at the Hard Deck.

“Leave the key on the counter when you leave tomorrow,” you tell Daniel as you walk out.

“Can we talk about this?” he calls after you, stumbling as he tries to catch you in the hall.

“No, Daniel. I told you last time that the next time you did this you were going to be kicked the fuck out of my house, and we were breaking up immediately.” You’re crying again, tears spilling down your cheeks in fluid streaks. “I don't want any of your excuses. I just want you and your little girlfriend to get the fuck out of my house so that I can move on.”

“Baby,” he starts.

“Don’t even bother.”

The drive to the Hard Deck is filled with your sniffling and rage music playing. How fucking dare he do this to you…AGAIN. Everything in you wants to break, to punch, and slap something. Mainly yourself for believing that he could ever change.

By the time you put your car in park, you're gasping for air. Quickly, you look in your mirror and sigh at how red your eyes look. Jake is definitely going to know that you’ve been crying. But honestly, you didn’t care. For some reason, you wanted Jake to know that Daniel had hurt you. You wanted him to be as angry as you are, and you wanted him to do something about it. 

Walking into the bar, your eyes scan for Jake and find the dagger squad (except for Natasha) at one of the pool tables in the back. As you begin to approach them, you can’t help but look over at your friend, your eyes glued on him. 

Jake’s brows are furrowed, those green eyes of his staring off into space. He looks lost in thought, almost worried. In his hand, he’s absentmindedly peeling the label off his beer bottle.

“Y/N!” Rooster calls out. 

At your name, Jake’s head snaps to where you stand. His eyes narrow when they fall on you, and you just know he’s about to say something. 

“What happened?” He asks, stepping forward and blocking you from moving another step. 

“Nothing,” you respond. 

He raises a perfect eyebrow before softly grabbing your hand and dragging you out the back doors toward the beach. 

“Jake!” You start. 

“Hush,” he scolds, pulling you to the sand before dropping onto his ass, and placing you beside him. “Now, talk.”

You weren’t going to succumb to his orders. Originally, you wanted to make him work for it, but the way that his thumb caresses the back of your hand (still on his lap btw), you can’t help but let out a choking sob. 

“He’s cheating on me,” you tell him. “He’s cheating on me again.”

“He did what?” Jake’s eyes are practically burning with rage. “What the fuck do you mean ‘again’?” 

You turn to face him, fully expecting him to have soft eyes on you. However, the look of anger that flashes on his face almost scares you. Not because you think he’ll hurt you, but because you know he’s going to hurt Daniel.

“A few months ago,” you start. “I found out he cheated on me.”

Then you launch into telling him everything that happened last month. From you finding the texts Daniel was sending to his coworker, to you being overly sexual even when you didn't want to be. And finally ending with what happened tonight.

Jake feels like his skin is going to burn off. He wants to murder this motherfucker, to skin and burry him alive. How fucking dare he cheat on you. You who never hurt anyone. You who never did anything to deserve that.

If you were his girlfriend, he’d never have done that. Hell, he’d never let you out of his sight. You’d be the only person he’d want to touch, the only person he’d want to look at.

“Y/N,” he seethes. “Please tell me you broke up with that piece of trash.”

“I did,” you respond. 

“Good, because what I’m about to say to you is going to hurt.” Jake takes a deep breath before turning your face to look at him by softly grabbing your chin. “He’s an asshole for ever thinking he deserved someone as amazing as you. The fact that he has you, someone so kind, loving, and beautiful, at his fingertips, and still chose to…” 

He can’t bring himself to say that word, he just can’t. He has to stop to breathe, to calm down. 

“Y/N,” he starts again, “you are the most selfless, funny, and hardworking person I’ve ever met. The fact that you did that for him, and he still chose to do this, just shows that he never wanted you. He wanted the idea of you.”

At the tear that escapes your eyes, he brushes it away with his thumb. His eyes search yours before he smiles softly.

“Anyone would kill to have you in their arms,” he continues softly. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as their own, as their girlfriend.” 

Then, with a deep breath, he adds, “I would love to call you my girlfriend. I would be so proud and would want to show you off to everyone. I would never hurt you, never cheat, never make you cry…I’d be the perfect boyfriend because I’d only have eyes for you. My heart would only be yours.”

Confusion fills your mind. Did he seriously just say that? Did he just admit that he would want to date you? Not that you hadn't thought of it, because you have. Especially those nights when Daniel would want you to give him a blowjob and you just weren't feeling it. But ESPECIALLY on those nights when Daniel wasn’t home and out cheating on you.

To hear him say the words you’d only dreamed of hearing him say made your heart sputter.

“Do you mean that?” you ask, sniffling.

“I do,” he replies softly, almost at a whisper. “I’m sorry you had to go through this again. Why didn’t you tell me it happened a few months ago?”

“Because I was embarrassed.” You sigh, looking out at the crashing waves. “And I knew you’d probably kill him. I was saving you some charges.”

Jake laughs, his shoulders shaking beside you. 

You both sit in silence, the waves and laughter from the bar behind you the only thing in the air. That and the words Jake has told you. You keep thinking about what would've happened if you had never met Daniel. Would you be dating Jake? Probably not. Jake is a flirt. But then again, he's always been levelheaded with you. He's always been himself around you. 

Suddenly, for the first time tonight, you feel like everything was going ot be okay.

“Y/N?” Jake’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

Turning to face him, you find him already looking at you. His eyes are almost blue under the night sky. His sandy blonde hair looks golden under the moonlight, and his lips are pulled back into a soft, but tentative, smile.

“Yes?” you reply.

“I meant what I said. I would never hurt you if you were my girlfriend.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t care. In fact, you welcome the burn. Maybe deep down, this is what you've always wanted. Maybe that was why you sought out Daniel, someone normal, someone who was as close to Jake as you could find.

“I believe you,” you tell him with a smile.

You both stay silent again, looking at one another like it’s the first time you’d truly seen the other. 

Had he always had pretty eyes?

“Jake,” you whisper.

“Yes?” 

“I think I’d like you being my boyfriend,” you finish. “Maybe not now, but later. After I’ve healed a bit.”

Jake looks like he’s just been told he’s getting a puppy because his eyes gleam with joy before he nods, a wide smile you know well forming on his lips. (the smile in question ->)

“I’d like that a lot.” He reaches a hand to brush back a lock of hair that’s blown into your face before tucking it behind your ear. Then, with a wicked smile, he asks, “Now, do you want to go get absolutely hammered? We can have Baby On Board drive your car to my place after.”

“Let’s do it.”

--------

This has been in my brain for a little too long and I've jsut now FINALLY let it free lol Enjoy!!!!!!!!

[greypistacchio]

how is supernatural so unapologetically queer like. cOME ON

it's 9.10 ("Road Trip") and Crowley is using Sam's head as a pin cushion so they can talk to Sam without Gadreel listening in. which is obviously not something that Dean can bear for more than a few minutes, so he walks away on the very visible verge of having a breakdown about this whole mess!! and Castiel follows him, and Dean who is infamous for never reaching out when he's in pain does not push him away or pretend he's not in agony!!

there is a generous amount of eye-fucking, but there's also Dean being completely honest about how guilt is eating him alive, which isn't something he tells anyone about! usually he shoves it down for later, because he feels even worse about burdening others with his own pain and regret. after all, doesn't he deserve it!! didn't he do this to himself every time he fell short!! he's not going to give himself the mercy of leaning on someone else, because he doesn't get to. not after failing. he doesn't get to tell someone else about how painfully inadequate and guilty and exhausted he feels, because he doesn't get to share the burden or be understood.

but then,

DEAN.- Cas, I'm sorry (...). Kicking you out of the bunker. That's uh... You know, not telling you about Sam. CASTIEL.- You thought his life was at stake. DEAN.- Yeah, I got played. CASTIEL.- I thought I was saving Heaven. I got played too. DEAN.- So you're saying we're both a couple of dumbasses? CASTIEL.- I prefer the word "trusting". Less dumb, less ass.

in waltzes Castiel with his own mistakes and crushing guilt, and two sentences are all he needs to do to comfort Dean. why does he get through to Dean when Sam has been unable to for 9 seasons now? what is it about this Angel of the Lord in a trenchcoat?

see, Dean thinks himself inferior to Sam in many ways. he couldn't follow his heart like Sam did, he couldn't stand up to their father like Sam did, he isn't fundamentally good at his core like Sam is - or so he tells himself. but Castiel. oh, Castiel, angel of Tuesday, he who fell from grace. he whose good intentions unleashed the Leviathan on Earth, he who thought he did not deserve to be saved and let go of Dean's hand.

what sets Castiel apart, time and time again, is the extent to which Dean trusts him as an equal. sure, he's an angel whereas Dean is a human hunter, but that's the least important thing about them in each other's eyes. the exchange above makes me feral because it shows, once more, just how deeply Dean trusts Castiel and values his opinion of him. Sam would have never made Dean snap out of it in just two sentences, let alone make him smile, but Castiel? Castiel pulls it off like it's as easy as breathing to easen Dean's pain.

they see themselves in each others, they are both mirrors, they are their father's little soldiers who could never be enough, they keep trying oh so desperately to save the world and their kind, they both refuse to give up on protecting others even when it tears their heart apart. only Dean can get through to Castiel with an "I need you", only Castiel can get through to Dean with an "I got played too" (see, you are not fundamentally bad, I trusted the wrong people in my desperation to save the world too)

holy shit does the CW realise what they've got going on here, or did Castiel's radiance melt their eyes and that's why they are queerblind

[slowdrawl]

|Joel Miller X f!reader |

~Everybody Loves Contractors~ |AU NO OUTBREAK|

| 6/? | | Payday | 3.5k words | 18+ minors dni | masterlist |

Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️Age gap? ✔️flirty!contractor!joel!✔️

She’s got a fixer-upper, trauma, and an attitude problem. Joel’s got calloused hands, a tool belt, and a soft spot for crazy. Nothing could possibly go wrong. "“Time to go pay thousands of dollars for a man that you’re pretty sure could ruin your life to get the green light on fixing it instead.”" a/n today we spiral, pay the wo(man), flirt with tommy (my bad dawg), bake aggressively, and tell joel no. all while being paranoid!

| Warnings | Explicit language, little bit of angst, eventual smut, emotional instability, unresolved trauma, PTSD-related behavior, references to past DV, Joel being Joel, emotional avoidance, spiraling inner monologue, moderate age gap.

The couch smells like old people and cigarette smoke. But it was free.

Forest green, mid-century. Not mid-century inspired—like, actually built in the sixties. Probably witnessed at least two divorces, potentially the birth of a child, and absolutely an affair. It has some weird stains.

It took three strangers from Facebook Marketplace and a rope system to get it inside. You’ve had it less than forty-eight hours, and it already holds the shape of your body in the cushions.

Three days. That’s how long you’ve been trying to make this sad little rancher feel like home…or something close to it. It’s about to become a demolition zone anyway, but for now, you’ve got a couch, a functioning TV, and a steamer trunk you found on the side of the road acting as a makeshift coffee table. Dark academia who?

The bedroom is another story. Still looks depressed. But at least you assembled the headboard by yourself, and it seems relatively sturdy. You found matching nightstands at some place in town called Treasure City. You told the guy at the till you didn’t need help carrying them to the car and immediately regretted it. Your forearms still hurt a little.

You wanted to buy a dresser, but unfortunately. Just like the mattress, you cannot fit a dresser in, or on top of, a ‘92 Honda Civic. So you settled for an upgrade from plastic totes and boxes to plastic drawers. You haven’t heard from him, don’t even check your phone to see. Not because you’re avoiding anything…you just don’t feel like it. You’re fine. You’re way too emotionally mature to be spiraling over a man you’ve barely known for a week.

You’re not sad about it, you’re not shrinking. You’re just… keeping your shape. Taking care of yourself for once. That’s brave. That’s admirable.

The money hit your bank account yesterday afternoon while you were staring at the wall of paint swatches inside Lowe’s. You’d already gotten into an argument with an employee about the difference between satin and eggshell before you got the email.

What is it about my face that screams ‘I think being mansplained to is sexy’?

After that, you didn’t have the mental capacity to talk numbers. You certainly didn’t have the patience to play nice with Jenelle.

But that was yesterday.

Today? Today, you’ve got a backpack full of moderately clean clothes and fuck-you makeup just in case you see Joel at the firm after your Planet Fitness shower.

You get in the car and drive to the gym, blaring Destiny's Child, hanging your hand out the window like you’re in some romcom set in the Austin suburbs. The gym stinks like eucalyptus, Clorox, and men who wear Lululemon unironically. You do the usual routine. Head down. Don’t make eye contact. You’re lucky today—nobody’s dumb enough to try and talk to you. The water’s hot, and you spend a full half hour in the shower. Shampoo, rinse, repeat, condition. Shave legs, cry, exfoliate.

You towel off. Brush out two days and hours of yardwork worth of knots from your hair. Then you sit cross-legged on the wooden slats of the sauna until your lungs feel clean and you feel a bit lightheaded.

$19.99 plus tax a month is much more cost-effective than therapy.

For fifteen minutes, you let yourself exist. No mice, no contracts, no men who touch you like you matter and then disappear like they don’t. No ghosts.

Just heat. Just breathing. Just silence.

You don’t unlock your phone. Not even to draft a text and delete it later. You don’t scroll through your text thread like a masochist stalker.

You just sit there. Alive. Hair dripping down your back.

Eventually, you make your way out of the gym. Settle into the Civic to do your makeup—because honestly, the lighting hits different in the car mirror.

You take your time with it. Only a little. Nothing too showy. Glowy skin. Blush. A smudge of brown liner and mascara. You almost feel human. You almost feel like yourself again.

You’re zipping up your backpack when your phone buzzes in the passenger seat.

No Caller ID.You freeze.

Then you snap out of it, scoff. Shake your head. 

It's probably just spam. 

Maybe a political survey. Someone calling to try to sell you an unlimited data plan for $15 a month if you sign a 20-year contract and give them your first and second-born children. 

You grab the phone anyway, hovering over the fuck you button.

You answer it anyway.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

No robot, no background chatter or static. Just...nothing.

You sit up straight in the driver's seat.

"Hellooo?" you repeat, sharper this time

Still nothing.

You look at the screen—still connected.

You're about to hang up when something shifts. You hear a sound.

Small, quiet, a rustle of fabric, and then a sharp exhale followed by a sigh.

Your blood runs cold. 

Then the line clicks dead. Call ended; just like that.

Every nerve in your body is lit up, on high alert. 

Because you swear you recognize the sound of air leaving his chest.

The screen goes black in your hand, you can see the fear in the reflection. Your heart is pounding.

You sit there for a moment, parked outside of Planet Fitness, phone gripped in your hand like it's a weapon you forgot how to use. 

Then you put the key in the ignition and drive to the firm. In silence. Just the engine and the blood in your ears. Time to go pay thousands of dollars for a man that you’re pretty sure could ruin your life to get the green light on fixing it instead. You scan the lot automatically. It’s half full.

Joel’s truck is nowhere to be seen.

Thank god.

You don’t let yourself double-check. Don’t glance toward the back of the building where they keep the contractor vans. Don’t squint at any of the dusty Fords parked too close together.

You just breathe. Deep and shallow at the same time. Your stomach twists.

You told yourself this would be easier, better if he weren’t here.

So why does it still feel like losing?

Inside, you’re greeted immediately by the same girl from last week. You glance at the nameplate on the desk this time. Maddison. Pretty name.

“Jenelle’s just finishing up with someone,” she says, chipper. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

You nod. Humming a quiet, “Thanks.” You sit there, twiddling your thumbs, racking your mind about who could have made that phone call earlier. You changed your number before you moved to Texas. Only gave the number out to a handful of trusted people when you left. Your brother, a few cousins, and Siobhan had it... But she would die before giving it out to anyone. “Alright! You’re all hers!” Maddison chirps, “First door on the right.” When you walk into the room, Jenelle doesn’t even look up from her desk. Just keeps her head down and her eyes on whatever file she’s pretending to read. She’s wearing something freshly ironed and linen. There's a Coach purse that she probably bought from an outlet mall hanging around the back of her chair. It’s tiny, like it was made for a child. Like a wallet on a pleather strap. “You’re back. I’m surprised,” she says. “Why is that surprising? I signed the contract.” “Lots of people sign the contract and then just ghost, especially when Joel starts being Joel,” she says, finally glancing at you through her glasses. “He said you were…thorough.” You raise a brow, “What?” Jenelle's mouth twitches into a smirk for a moment, huffs under her breath, “With the walkthrough.” “Oh, yeah,” you say lightly. “Guess we’re both very… hands-on.” Jenelle blinks once, her brows furrow, and you swear one of her eyelids starts to twitch. Eventually, she mutters something that sounds like “Let’s hope it works out better than last time” under her breath. “Huh?” “Never mind,” she replies, sweet as lemon. Not even two minutes in the office and I’m already biting my tongue hard enough to taste copper. Cool. You pull the envelope out of your backpack and slide it over to her on the desk. “Full deposit,” you say. “Should match the quote.”

You watch as she takes out the bills, counts them slowly. She’s pulling her glasses down to her nose every once in a while to check the bills like she’s worried they may be counterfeit. Doesn’t look at you. “I’ll make sure this is filed. We’ll confirm a timeline by the end of the week. Could have someone at your place by Monday. Be ready”

“Perfect.”

You turn to leave.

“Hope everything’s working alright in the meantime,” she calls after you. “Would hate for anything to… fall through the cracks.”

You pause with your hand on the doorknob.

Then you look back, smiling just enough to show your teeth.

“If something breaks, I’ll call a professional.” You leave before you can say anything regrettable.

When you make it back out of the air-conditioned office, you spot the truck.

Joels.

Just...sitting there. Your pulse thuds.

Then you hear your name.

Not Joel’s voice. Tommy’s. “Hey, it’s you, payday!” he hollers from across the lot.

He’s grinning at you, smoking a cigarette, and leaning against the side of the truck. Hair sweat-slicked and pushed back under a ball cap, work pants low on his hips, work shirt unbuttoned with a wife pleaser underneath.

Maybe either Miller would do… No. Nope. Down, girl. You need to touch grass. You walk up beside him and groan, “Please don’t call me that. It feels like I just got mugged.”

He throws the cigarette down and stomps it out with his boot. “Okay fine,” he says. “You look… less dusty.”

“Thanks. I showered today,” you reply. “You look sweatier.”

“At least now we know both of us clean up pretty nice,” he laughs. “Surprised you didn’t come here to rip up the contract/”

You chuckle, looking down at your feet. “Did quite the opposite, actually.”

“Damn. Sold your soul.”

“I honestly don’t think my soul is worth as much as the renovation.”

He laughs again. “You in a rush to get outta here?” Then, after a moment, “Wanna grab a coffee?”

You hesitate.

Then decide—fuck it.

“Why not,” you say. “I’ve got some time.”

He pushes off the truck and gestures toward the sidewalk. “There’s a café down the street that hasn’t banned me yet.”

You follow him.

And for a minute, it’s easy. Tommy doesn’t ask too much. He just talks. And talks. And talks.

You let yourself settle into it. The cafe is just a few blocks down. It’s one of those places that has exposed brick, black steel signage, and fake greenery…You know the type. It smells like cinnamon and false ambition. There isn’t a line, just a barista who looks like she writes poetry, posts it to Tumblr, and then lies about being published. Tommy orders a coldbrew, looks back at you, “Let me guess, vanilla…no. Brown sugar latte?” “Lavender macha,” you smirk, winking at him. You go to pull out your wallet, but he cuts in without looking at you, “I’ve got it.” You don’t argue until you’re sitting down in a chair outside on the patio, “I don’t need your charity, I swear I can afford caffeine.” “I know,” he shrugs, “just bein’ chivalrous, darlin’ ” “Surprised words like ‘chivalrous’ are in your vocabulary, cowboy,” you tease. “Thank you, Tommy.” “I’m full of surprises,” he replies, grinning. Even though the patio table wobbles every time you shift, there's an umbrella for shade, and they’re playing shoegaze on the speakers. For a moment, the world feels manageable. You forget about the other night, you forget about earlier. Tommy doesn’t press. Doesn’t ask about Joel or your old life. He just chats. About the weather, asks you how you’re enjoying Austin so far. Then he asks what you want the house to look like when it’s done. You answer without thinking, “Safe. Quiet. Like it’s mine.” He nods like he gets it. Maybe he does. “I’d want a porch swing,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Maybe one of those wind chimes that sound like ghosts.” “Porch swing guy, hey?” “Don’t tell my brother, he’ll revoke my masculinity card.” You laugh, an actual laugh. For the first time in a few days now. It feels like a much-needed reprieve. He talks about some job they did last year—a woman who wanted the entire house painted pink. Pepto Bismol pink. Inside and out. “I kid you not, she had a pomeranian with a pink tail.” he shook his head, “poor fucking dog…shoulda’ called PETA.” You trade stories about the worst apartment you’ve ever lived in. “I’m not even kidding when I say that one time I saw a cockroach the size of a pack of cigarettes.” You wince, “I should have charged him rent. That guy paid taxes for sure.” When your drinks are half gone, you head back toward the firm, still yapping away. You talk about the worst dates you’ve been on, the best ones. You talk about your childhood, exchanging cringeworthy stories about your siblings. It’s easy. Good, even.

Until you turn the corner heading into the lot. And walk directly into him.

Joel.

Coming from the other direction, phone to his ear in one hand, toolbox in the other. Doesn’t even see you until he’s practically on top of you.

“I know, I told her we were gonna have to pause on the flooring until—”

He stops.

Stops walking. Stops talking. A flash of something. Shock, panic, maybe guilt, crosses his face.

“I’ll call you back,” he mutters, already lowering the phone.

Tommy doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care. “There he is,” he grins. “Speak of the devil.”

Joel looks… tired. Like he hasn’t been sleeping. Like maybe he’s been thinking too much and saying too little.

His eyes jump from you to Tommy. Then back again. His jaw tenses.

“Didn’t know you were here,” he says.

You shrug. “Just paid my dues.”

Tommy senses the shift, furrows his brow. “Y’all good?”

“Yep.” Too quick. Too sharp.

He doesn’t buy it.

“Well, alrighty then,” Tommy says slowly, stepping back. He sips his coffee. “This all feels completely normal and not at all weird.”

Silence.

“Catch you later, kid.” He heads toward the lot.

Kid.

Joel doesn’t speak until Tommy’s out of earshot.

“You two close now?”

You laugh. It sounds fake. Feels fake.

“Joel.”

He stares at you longer than he should.

He nods once and walks to his truck without saying another word. Shoulders squared, back too straight. You turn toward your car like your stomach isn’t in knots, like his voice didn’t hit you somewhere soft. You jump in and drive away like it’s just any other Thursday. You pull onto your street just as an SUV pulls off the side of the road right beside your driveway. It’s dark. Shiny. And familiar enough that your breath catches. A compact. Same boxy shape. Same…? Or similar, shitty tint job on the windows. For a second, your hands go numb on the wheel. Because it looks like his. But no. It’s too clean. Wrong year, maybe. The wheels aren't right. Or maybe that's just what you’re telling yourself. You’re being paranoid. Girl, chill. You squint as it gets to the end of the street ahead of you, trying to get a peek at the license plate. No such luck. When you put your car in park, you exhale and then gasp for air, you’d been holding your breath. You sit there in the driveway for a minute and then grab your phone. You go to your contacts, scroll down, and see Joel's name. You hesitate for a second and then lock the screen and take a deep breath. You check your messages, still nothing, no texts, no voicemails. But— 1 Missed Call - No Caller ID Fifteen minutes ago. Right around when you would have left the firm. Your heart does something weird in your chest. Feels like it lurches forward and then folds in on itself. Joel? The timing seems too specific for it to be anyone else. It totally could have been him. You sit there and imagine him sitting in his truck, hand hesitating over the screen. You imagine his thumb hovering, then giving in. Just… checking. Joel wouldn’t leave a voicemail. You tell yourself that’s exactly what it was. Because the alternative is something you’re just not ready to think about right now So you tuck your phone into your bag. You keep your eyes on your front door. And you do not look back. You lock the front door behind you like normal, and then just for good measure, do a sweep of the house. Back door, locked. Patio door, locked. Windows, locked.

You let yourself relax, grab a beer out of the fridge, and melt into the couch like the teenager in that one anti-weed PSA video from high school.

It’s barely past lunch, but it’s June and you’re currently unemployed. So you’ve decided that day-ish drinking is acceptable. //

By 7 PM, you’re three drinks, half a season of Grey's Anatomy, and six cookies deep. Standing in the kitchen with a beer in one hand and a vague sense of dread blooming in your stomach. The next thing you know, the oven’s preheating, and you’re hauling out the comically large bag of chocolate chips.

This will be the third batch of cookies in the last week.

No one’s had a chance to eat the first two. You’ve just been slowly working your way through them like edible evidence of your current mental stability. Will this batch make it into the mouth of a sweaty contractor, a plumber, or anyone who isn’t you?

Only time will tell.

You also bought a discount bag of limes the other day with the intention of making… something. So you decide on key lime pie, minus the key. You’ve never made it before, and you’re half-drunk, but the Google recipe seems simple enough, thank god.

You zest the limes with a cheese grater and almost cry juicing them. The forgotten cuts from tearing out prickle bushes yesterday are lighting up your fingers like a punishment. I fucking hate landscaping. Should have hired someone to do that, too.

You add the condensed milk. Whisk so hard you swear it might beat the ache out of your chest.

You’re covered in butter and graham cracker crumbs, leaning on the counter, watching the oven door like it’s TV. The kitchen looks like a toddler’s potion lab. But it smells like citrus and warmth.

When the timer goes off, you pull the trays out of the oven. Burn your hand a little. Don’t flinch.

You slide half the cookies onto a plate, leave the rest on the tray.

You’re standing over the sink, about to eat one. Still raw in the middle, just how you like them, when your phone buzzes on the counter.

You freeze.

Drop the cookie. Sigh.

Pick up your phone.

(7:48 PM)Joel: You at home?

You stare at it. Wipe your hands off on the front of your shorts.

You type:

Sure. Want a cookie?

Delete.

Try again:

Sorry, Tommy’s already here. We’re close now.

Delete.

You exhale hard through your nose and finally settle on:

(7:54 PM)You: No.

Simple. Direct. Not cruel, per se. Just… enough.

The read receipt hits immediately.

Like he was already there, just waiting.

(7:54 PM)Joel: When will you be?

It’s me vs. pale ale. Who will win?

(7:57 PM) You: Late. You don’t say anything else. You roll your eyes and toss your phone face-down on the countertop, grab the half-eaten, still warm cookie off the counter, and eat your feelings. You grab another beer because it’s still too early to go to bed. Too late to pretend that today never happened. So instead, you clean. Again. You scrub down the counters, rinse every spoon, wipe every splash of batter from the cabinets like you’re on a crime scene clean-up. You stack the cooled cookies in a Tupperware container. You don’t sit down. Don’t turn on the TV. Don’t open the text thread again. You just move like you’re on autopilot. Like maybe if you wipe the kitchen down hard enough, you’ll be able to clean the mess out of your head, too. By the time you’re done, you’re a little unsteady on your feet, but the room looks like it’s never been used. You should eat something real, drink a glass of water. Instead, you open the freezer, stare at the bags of peas and vodka, then close it again. You pace. Check the locks. You pass by your phone on the counter and you don’t look at it…until you do. Nothing. Why would there be? You bring a slice of pie and the whole can of whipped cream into bed. And that’s how your night ends. With graham cracker crumbs in your sheets, a pit in your stomach, and your phone on silent. TAG LIST: @pedritotito @anitraivx @mynameisbaby9 @my-malachai-stilinski @yslgreen @silksepia

ps. if you like this fic please tell me because your comments are what keeps me writing

[yuh13lo]

What kinda women | chris sturniolo

The thing about Chris Sturniolo’s girlfriend was… she was never actually a secret.

She wasn’t hidden. She wasn’t stashed away. She didn’t make Chris sign NDAs before hanging out or hide behind the kitchen counter when they were filming. She just didn’t push. No “soft launch” pressure, no “when are we going public?” texts, no thirst traps hoping for a repost.

She was content sitting off-camera, ankles tucked under her on the couch, watching the chaos unfold in real time. Her laugh—light, a little squeaky—was the only thing that ever made it into the videos. Sometimes, if fans listened closely, they’d hear it just after one of Chris’s offhand jokes.

At first, it was just the usual noise. Another laugh in the background. Could’ve been Nick, could’ve been Matt. Could’ve even been a crew member or a friend. But then it kept happening.

Same pitch. Same beat. Every time Chris said something stupid.

“I swear there’s a girl laughing in the background of every video,” one fan posted on TikTok. “Every time Chris says something dumb, there it is. The laugh. WHO IS SHE.”

The comments lit up:

“LMAOOO I noticed that too!!”

“It’s giving girlfriend energy 🫢”

“Chris got a girl and didn’t tell us??”

Chris noticed the chatter. He didn’t say anything. He just smiled a little wider the next time she laughed.

The story that blew it all wide open wasn’t even anything dramatic. It was a random Instagram post on Chris’s story. Nothing fancy.

Just a short video of him in sweats, socks mismatched, trying to do that dance Nick had bet him he couldn’t get right. The kitchen lights were too bright, and the music was slightly off-beat, and Chris was clearly making it up as he went.

But the best part—the part that everyone latched onto—wasn’t even him.

It was her. Behind the camera. Giggling.

Not a quiet, polite laugh. Not a performative “look at my man being goofy” type of sound.

It was real. A burst of joy, unfiltered and messy, as if she’d tried to hold it in and failed.

Chris glanced at her in the video—just barely—and grinned mid-dance. “That bad?” he said.

She laughed harder, the camera shaking a little.

And that was it. Fifteen seconds. No tags, no captions. Just her laugh, his grin, and a little piece of their world leaking out for everyone to see.

TikTok lost it.

“She’s real???”

“Chris’s mystery laugh girl IS REAL AND HE LOVES HER I’M CRYING.”

“The way he looks at her when she laughs. No one talk to me.”

He didn’t make a statement. There was no big reveal video or relationship Q&A. He still didn’t tag her. Didn’t need to.

But fans started spotting her more often. The back of her head in a mirror. A pink hoodie sleeve that definitely wasn’t his. A “babe” whispered off-camera when he forgot his phone again.

And still, she didn’t push.

She’d sit in the background, giggling at his jokes, watching the boys film, her laughter the only thing she ever really gave away.

And that was enough.

Because Chris? He never hid her.

He just didn’t need to announce her to the world

When she was already his favorite part of it.

[monstersflashlight]

I know this is the monster fucking blog but can you do wholesome monster loving with the Tree Hole Debacle?

Like the reader bringing a picnic to the nature spirit?

A/N: You can find part 1 here, part 2 here, and part 3 (patreon exclusive) here. This is just very fluffy and soft and the furthest for horny ever, but I really enjoyed writing it, hope y’all enjoy reading it!

Forest entity: Picnics and situationships

Forest entity x fem!reader || sfw

Every time you’ve come to the forest, it’s with a secret intention.

Well, maybe not so secret because he always finds you and ends up giving you so much pleasure that you spend days in a dazed fog of post orgasm bliss. Let’s say it’s a secret intention for plot’s sake. Isn’t that what the cool kids say nowadays? Making bad choices… for the plot? Maybe you’re too old for that.

Anyway, you feel really bad because he always brings you pleasure but you don’t even try to befriend him. It must be lonely to live all alone in the forest. Or maybe it wasn’t, but how can you know? It’s not like you ever tried to talk to him when he was fucking you senseless… Okay, you weren’t the only one to blame for that- but you wanted to remedy it.

So here you are, parking your car and grabbing a basket full of food and a big plaid blanket. You take the compass out and follow it until you find yourself in a clearing. You know he should be around here, but you try to act nonchalant as you set your blanket on the ground and prepare your little basket with food.

It takes him less than five minutes to show up, emerging from the forest as his vines move around his body, giving him a kind of godly aura that makes your pussy tingly. Down girl, you remind yourself, we aren’t here for that.

“What are you doing here, human?” He asks. You can’t answer before he’s continuing. “The forest doesn’t want any offerings. I thought you’d be done after last time.” If you didn’t know better you’d say he’s smug about it. Truth be told, he can be smug about it. The things he did to you? Yeah, you still think about them every time you touch yourself.

“I- I didn’t come for that. I’m here to… To have a picnic,” you let out, which is technically correct. You try not to blush too hard, your whole body shivering at the intensity of his stare.

“In my forest?” He says, tilting his head to the side. You nod. “Why?”

“I just wanted to,” you lie.

He catches you instantly, making you feel even more embarrassed. “Lie. Try again.”

“I like nature,” another lie.

“Lie. Try again,” he repeats, almost as if he’s amused.

“Ugh. Okay. I just… I felt bad for always coming here to get fucked and I thought… I thought maybe we could spend some time together.”

“Why?” He asks, again.

“Why not?” You fire back, sounding like a five year old and wanting to stick your tongue out at him.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you just need to go back to your house and stop thinking a literal forest entity has some kind of hurt feelings over fucking you dumb. You’re about to get up and gather everything to run away as fast as possible, but he stops you with one of his vines. He approaches you very carefully, as if he’s trying not to scare you away. His beauty feels forbidden in this light, and you almost have to look away as he sits in front of you, not on the blanket, but close enough.

He doesn’t say much, he doesn’t eat anything, but he seems to enjoy watching you talk and eat some of the snacks you brought. He looks curious as you tell him stuff about your life, so you go in deeper details, telling him about your day, your job, your friends… He never stops looking interested, and he even blooms some flowers when you say something particularly amusing to him.

It’s… really nice.

Like a gentleman, or more like a gentle-entity, he walks you to your car when the light starts to fade. He claims it’s because humans have poor vision (which is true), but you want to think it’s because he wants to spend a little more time with you.

Your suspicions are confirmed when he stops in front of your car. “I like to spend more time with you, human. I won’t be opposed to do it again. I’ll be waiting,” he says before disappearing into the forest again.

Well, shit.

Did you just get yourself into a situationship?

[starhvney]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑 | 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘

𝐖𝐂: ~5.1k

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑: @arienic

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

Gene: I’m here Gene: Wya? You: I think I see you just wait there

You get up from the park bench, walking along the sidewalk to your ride, trying to keep your jaw from dropping as you stare at Gene’s familiar figure. He rests on his sports bike, black helmet visor lifted as he squints down at his phone.

“I didn’t know you had a motorcycle.”

He looks up at you, eyebrow raising as he looks you over. “You look cute. Why did you insist on me picking you up here instead of your place?”

“Because I don’t want to be investigated if my parents see a guy pick me up alone. Especially if they see me getting on a motorcycle,” you scoff. “I wouldn’t even make it out of the house.”

He smirks. “Fair enough.”

Despite your internal conflict and the weird tension with Laurance yesterday, you're surprised at how willing you were to come along with Gene today. Maybe a part of you craved the adrenaline rush of doing what you weren’t supposed to after all the years of being the “good kid”. Maybe you were, embarrassingly, doing it out of spite because of current circumstances. And maybe this was dumb. But you can’t deny the giddy excitement you felt knowing you probably weren’t supposed to be doing this.

He picks up an extra helmet from his bike and  lifts it up to you with one hand. With the other, he pushes his visor back down. “Here,” he says. “Put this on.”

“Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you wear a helmet,” you remark, taking the helmet from him.

He snorts. “I may break the rules but I’m not fucking stupid.”

You take a moment to examine the helmet before sliding it over your head, internally groaning at how this was most definitely going to ruin your hair. Once it’s on, you take a step forward so you can get on the bike behind him, only to be stopped by his hand darting out to your waist.

“Did you fasten it?”

Your hands raise to the helmet in confusion. “…No.”

Still sitting on the bike, Gene pulls you towards him, one of his hands moving under your chin where the helmet strap is. One-handed, he tugs the strap tight, his other hand tapping your side once he's done.

“Okay. Now sit as close as you can behind me and wrap your arms around me tight. Got it?”

You nod, doing as he told you to and sliding onto the seat behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging onto him like a backpack snug on his back.

“Ready, doll?”

You nod again.

“I need an actual yes, sweetie.”

You sigh, before leaning forward and confirming with a “Yes.”

Whether it’s adrenaline or anxiety coursing through your body, you’re unsure. But it’s a bit too late to back down when he flicks up the kickstand with his foot and revs up the bike, taking off into the street.

If anyone that you knew saw you right now, you’re sure they’d either assume you were coerced into this, or that you finally lost your mind.

Maybe it’s the latter, because feeling Genes muscles shift under your arms and the wind brushing through your clothes and against your skin was… making you feel giddy. You’re having fun, you realize, and as the motorcycle picks up speed you realize something else: despite the fact that you’re letting a senior delinquent pick you up on one of the most dangerous vehicles to ride, you completely trust that he'll keep you safe.

Every now and then he reaches for your hand—secured on his waist—and squeezes it in what you think is a way to check on you, and so despite the intimate nature of it, you link your fingers with his and squeeze back, earning yourself a satisfied chuckle that rumbles from his back against your chest. The entire ordeal has your ears warming and face flushing. By the time you get to the mall and have to dismount the bike, you're debating just leaving the helmet on forever, for fear that you're completely flushed underneath.

Still, Gene unlatches it for you and gently pulls it off your head, doing the same for himself and placing both on the bike. He pushes the sleeves of his flannel up before turning around, and you can't help but linger on his surprisingly strong forearms. He reaches out to ruffle your hair.

“Having fun so far?” He smirks, leaning down to meet your gaze. 

You swallow, realizing he’d just caught you clearly ogling him, and there’s a deep, primal urge to scream. Executing a little more self control than you had yesterday, you allow yourself to nod. 

“Yeah.” You smile, crossing your arms and attempting to distract the attention from you. “Do you ride around a lot?”

He seems satisfied with your reaction, straightening up and nodding for you to follow him.

“Yeah. When I can, at least. I got it recently, so I don’t want to run it into the ground just yet, you know? I had the money to buy it, but whether I have the money or not to repair it is…” He makes a face, gritting his teeth. The expression is kind of… cute. “And, uh, my mom was not too happy about me buying it.”

“Hm? Why not?”

He snorts. “It’s dangerous. Plus, she’s worried Dante will want to get one, too.”

“Ah,” you hum, your friend’s face popping into your head. Aside from their looks, Dante and Gene seem so different that you forget they're brothers half of the time. “Do you want him to get one?”

“Honestly?” He tilts his head, pondering on your question. “No. I’ve done and currently am doing a lot of really dumb shit that I don’t want Dante doing.”

“Dumb shit, huh?”

He smirks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Say that again?”

“…Dumb shit?” you mutter in confusion, earning a quiet laugh from him.

“Has anyone told you that the cuss words that come from such an innocent face like yours is funny?” he snickers.

“Wh—huh?”

“Say another one.”

You blink at his request. “Um, the fuck?”

He tilts his head back, fully laughing this time. “Oh, that’s actually adorable!”

“Shut up.” You look away, an embarrassed flush rushing over your cheeks.

“Aw, come on, doll, I mean it in the best way,” he insists. You're not inclined to believe him when an amused smile's still plastered on his plump lips. His hand lands on the small of your back. “Hey, you hungry?”

You bite your cheek. Well, you haven't eaten since lunch, and today's choices in the cafeteria were honestly not very satisfactory.

“Sure. I could eat something. I didn’t eat much at lunch, anyways.”

“Let’s go, then,” he says, steering the two of you to a familiar café.

Oh, shit.

The café Laurance works at. Was he on today?

You stumble your steps, swallowing nervously. “On second thought…”

Gene glances over at you, eyebrow quirked as he continues guiding you forward. “You just said you didn’t eat much today.”

“I’m actually not that hungry…” you laugh awkwardly, panic seeping into your bones the closer you make it to the doorway.

“You just said you could eat something.”

“But I don’t—”

“Don’t want Laurance to see us?” Gene leans over with a wide, shit-eating grin, and you can’t help the way your jaw drops and eyes widen. “Why not? If he’s here then this is a perfect opportunity for you to get back at him, no?”

It’s too late to argue further when he continues encouraging you into the cafe, and, oh! What better is your luck than to see the very boy you were worried about behind the counter!

“Oh, this’ll be fun,” Gene muses, flashing Laurance a cocky grin when the boy looks up, his eyes widening at the sight of you both.

Gene’s steps don’t falter as he parades the two of you right up to the register, his head tilting almost mockingly at the soccer captain on the other side. Laurance's eyes jump from Gene to you and you to Gene, gaping for a moment before he snaps his mouth shut. His nostrils flare, clenching his jaw.

“Laurance.”

“Gene.”

If a sinkhole were to randomly open up beneath you and suck you deep into the earth, you wouldn’t complain. In fact, this would be the perfect time for it to happen. 

“Why do you look so hostile towards me and my date here, Laurance?” Gene prods, his eyes lighting up in amusement when the boy’s eyes darken.

“I’m just wondering what brought you two here,” he grits, eyes drifting to you again.

You can’t keep the intense eye contact, instead choosing to duck your head.

Fuck.

“We’re just hanging out.” Gene is so clearly eating this up, and he still has his hand firmly placed against your back, like some sort of claim. “Why do you look so upset? Don’t you have a girlfriend? You can’t have ‘em all, Laurance.”

What the fuck?!

“Aren’t you going to ask us what we want?” Gene continues when he gets nothing but enraged silence from the other end of the conversation.

“What… do you want?” Laurance says carefully, straining with the effort of holding himself back. He does not want to lose his job.

“I’ll take a mocha, medium, and… oh! I’ll take a blackberry turnover, too,” he casually replies, before his hand slides up to your shoulder, lightly pushing you forward—stopping you from backing away like you slowly had been subconsciously doing this whole interaction. “What do you want, sweetie?”

You could throw up. You’re going to throw up.

“J–just a latte.”

“Didn’t you say you were hungry?”

Not anymore, bitch!

“Let’s also get one of those sandwich slices and a macaron in case she changes her mind,” Gene continues, flashing a smile at Laurance, who only glares back.

“Seventeen dollars and sixty cents.”

Gene finally lets go of your shoulder, his hand leaving a searing sensation as he goes to pay. Relief fills you when no other words are spoken between the two, and Laurance turns to prepare the order. As he walks off, Gene saunters over to the pick up section of the counter. You glare up at him.

“Did you know he was going to be here? You did that on purpose,” you whisper, voice wavering and nose wrinkling.

He smiles, shrugging his shoulders. “Oh, c’mon, that wasn’t too bad, doll.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

Your orders are set down in front of the two of you, and you quickly snatch everything up before making a beeline for the exit, desperate to leave. Gene picks up his own food before following after you, able to easily keep up with you despite how fast you’re walking.

“You mad at me?”

You don’t say anything, still attempting to speed ahead of him.

“Doll,” he drawls. “C’mon, he can’t see us anymore. Let’s just sit and eat, yeah?”

You stop in your tracks, whipping around and glaring up at him. His eyebrows raise, hands coming up in defense.

“Woah. That upset at me, huh?”

“That was awful. You’re awful,” you say, frowning deeply. “I hated that whole thing.”

He sighs, shoulders dropping as he steps closer, leaning down to meet your eyes at your level. The cocky smile from earlier is gone, and he seems… strangely serious.

“I’m sorry… for making you uncomfortable,” he says quietly, just to you, voice deceivingly earnest and eyes twinkling as they dart across your face. “I promise I really am. I might like to make Laurance upset, but I didn’t want you to be. Sorry, sweetheart.”

Your lips part, and instead of stuttering and trying to find a response, you simply turn to sit on a nearby bench, looking up at the tree and skylight above you and clutching your drink and snacks in your hand.

“You willing to forgive me?” he presses, slowly sitting next to you.

“Depends on if this is any good,” you mutter, looking down at the wrinkled bag with your sandwich and macaron inside.

He chuckles. “Well, then let's hope it is.”

The two of you start to eat, and you’re surprised at how Gene allows you to stew in silence, giving you space to cool down rather than continuing to press your buttons like he’d done with Laurance just before. It’s almost… unnerving how natural the lack of conversation between you feels, like two friends (or a couple) who were happy to just spend time in each other’s presence. You hate how good the food is, and how it calms you enough to admit it to him when you were both done.

“Guess that means you have to forgive me now, hm?”

You stare at him, eyes narrowed. He merely chuckles, wiping away a crumb from your cheek before ruffling your hair.

“Your intimidation tactics need some work. You only look cuter when you pout like that.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, I just did for a solid, like… ten minutes. That’s gotta be enough for now,” he teases, standing from the bench and taking one last swig of his drink before tossing it in the trash. “You ready to pick out an outfit?”

You stare at him as he outstretches his hand towards you, before sighing and reluctantly taking it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You work on finishing your drink as you walk, your mind drifting back to the boy who made it—the guilt still ate at your insides. You can't believe that you'd been too nervous to look him in the eye at least once before running away. 

The two of you make it to a store front before you can dwell on it further, the inside dim and playing grungy music through the speakers. You look up with a raised eyebrow at the red, neon sign lettered 'Hot Topic' above you.

“They still give me an employee discount here,” Gene says, when you don't speak. “Even though I worked here like, two summers ago.”

Your lips wobble, and a snort leaves your lips before you can stop it. He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to you with a “let’s hear it, then,” look on his face.

“Don’t you claim that you aren’t emo? But you worked at Hot Topic?”

He scoffs, though an amused smile plays on his lips. “Hey, I worked here two summers ago. And they have outfits here that are good for non-normies that aren’t completely emo.”

“Sounds like something an emo in denial would say.”

“Oh, shut up and let’s take a look,” he sighs, looking a little defeated for once.

You’re too satisfied at your small victory over Gene Hyun himself to complain when he pushes you into the store, his hand firm on your back as he guides you through the racks of clothing. Some of the stuff was a little corny, but as you browsed, you had to admit that a few were actually pretty cute. As in, you'd-buy-them-yourself-even-without-Gene's-influence, kind of cute.. You honestly wouldn’t think that Gene got some of his stuff from here, but they had a few selections that you could see him wearing and looking good in.

After a few minutes, Gene pulls something from one of the racks, turning you towards him and holding two pieces of clothing up against your body, looking you up and down with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah. You’re trying this on.”

You glance down, your cheeks reddening at the idea of even wearing it out, let alone in front of him and a bunch of other people at a party. A thin, deep blue, and very short dress with ripped sleeves, paired with a black undershirt and what seemed to also be ripped tights.

“Oh, come on. At least give it a try,” he eggs on at your hesitation. “You’d look really good in this. Trust me.”

You take the clothes, looking at him uncertainly.

“And it matches my eyes…” he coos, nudging you towards the changing rooms and picking up a pair of tall combat boots on the way.

Sighing in resignation, you decide—for whatever strange reason—to entertain him, dragging your feet into one of the stalls and shrugging off your clothes, replacing them with your new party outfit. Heat rushes to your cheeks once you have on the full ensemble and you take a look into the mirror. It was revealing, yes, but it complemented your body well. You had to admit, you looked good. And you had to wonder how Gene got such a good eye for fashion. A knock on the stall door startles you from continuing to stare at your reflection.

“Well?” the ‘gang’ leader calls from the other side.

Gathering some courage, you pull open the lock and peek out, glaring up at him. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

He laughs at your accusation. “Hey, what do you mean by that? I think you’re a cute one. C’mon, let me see the full fit, now.”

With a wave of two of his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion he backs up, nodding for you to fully open the door for him to see you. A low whistle comes from his lips when you oblige, and he fully smiles, nodding his head in approval.

“You can act mad and shy, but you have to admit I have a good eye.”

You look down, picking at the edges of the rips in your tights, where the skin of your legs are revealed. “What kind of party is this, exactly, Gene?”

He tilts his head, walking up to you. “It’s gonna be teenagers making themselves look stupid and doing stupid things at some poor, oblivious parent’s house. That’s for sure.”

Your heart drops. You’ve never even gotten detention before, and now you were going to go to a house party where people would be drinking, smoking, and probably be up to other debauchery. You didn’t want to take part in tearing up someone’s house, and the thought of some drunk teen coming up to you while you were wearing this and trying to pressure you into something was enough to send a sick shiver down your spine. A part of you wants to throw this outfit right in Gene’s face and telling him to forget about the agreement all together, but before you can muster up with the confidence to, he’s moving closer into your space.

Leaning down to your height, he raises his eyebrows in concern, trying to catch your eyes. “You worried?”

You glance up at him through your lashes, unable to hide the nervousness any longer as you nod. Gene's close enough that you can make out each individual freckle scattered across his face, and the shine of his lip ring as he smiles at you.

“I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to, sweetheart. If you don’t want to drink, don’t drink. If you don’t want to smoke, don’t smoke. And if you’re worried about some guy trying to mess with you?” He reaches up and ruffles your hair. “I’ll fuck him up. So you don’t have to worry about that either.”

God, the image of Gene beating the shit out of some guy for creeping on you was both startling and honestly a little… attractive. The way he’s so confident in his ability to protect you…

“Why do you want me to go?” you murmur. “I’m not a party person. Zenix said it. You know it. I mean, wouldn't you have more fun if you went with someone more... outgoing?”

He shakes his head, amused chuckles leaving his lips. “Do you really think I’m just messing with you when I say I’m interested in you? I want to have fun with you. And maybe I wanna see you have a little fun.”

You look down. Maybe you're too hard on yourself. Is that really Gene’s goal here? Not to mess with you or make Laurance hate him even more, but to get you out of your shell?

Gene watches you think to yourself for a moment, before stepping forward and pokes your cheek.

"Come on, why don’t you change out of that?" he says, gesturing towards the changing stall. "I'll buy it for you, and then you can hang out with Zenix, Sasha, and me for a bit. Sound good?”

☆

When you get off Gene’s bike and pull off your helmet, you find yourself in a skate park, the sky above beginning to darken as the sun disappears beyond the horizon. There’s a few people hanging around, most of them looking either high school or college age. A group of them smells strongly of weed, and they cheer half-heartedly as one teen pulls a few tricks.

You told your parents you’d be hanging out with one of your friends at 'her' house after school, and you feel a little anxious at the thought of them finding out you’d really been spending time with a boy, and one with a delinquent reputation, at that. An arm slings around your shoulders, and you’re guided to a familiar duo lazing on a park bench. When you get closer, you realize that it smells of fresh spray paint; your eyes widen at a fresh tag on the concrete below, reading 'SK'.

The culprit of the graffiti very boldly still has paint on his fingers, a used can sticking out the pockets of his baggy jeans.

“Sup. Having fun with your goodie-two-shoes here? She still hasn’t wimped out?”

Gene stares at him unamused, pulling you closer to his side. “Zenix.”

“What?” He gets up, ignoring Sasha as she lightly kicks his shin, and pulls out the can of spray paint, shoving it towards you. “If she’s cool, why doesn’t she prove it?”

Your heart rate speeds up, palms sweaty as you swallow. Before you try and flounder for an excuse, Gene speaks up again, his voice firm.

“We’re not doing that.”

Zenix pauses, staring at Gene before rolling his eyes, tossing the can to his bag and snatching up his skateboard from the ground. “So fucking lame.”

“Hey,” Sasha calmly greets, sending Zenix a judgmental look as he stalks off to the skate ramps, then lightly smiling in your direction.

“Hey,” Gene says, sounding less than happy as he squeezes your shoulder and guides you to sit on the bench. “I’ll be right back.”

You sit, watching Gene follow after Zenix before looking over at Sasha. She’s already looking at you, an eyebrow raised and a smile on her lips. She’s… really pretty. Soft white hair brushes across her forehead and flows across her shoulders, framing her pale skin and doll-like features. Mascara and dark eyeliner frames her eyes, the color a startlingly beautiful lilac—almost siren-like. Honestly, a part of you is surprised that neither Gene nor Zenix are dating her, but the way she glances at them like an annoyed sister immediately shoots down any assumptions.

“Don’t mind Zenix,” she comments, crossing her legs. “He doesn’t like that Gene’s changed recently.”

“Changed?” You look over, eyebrows furrowing when you see the two boys leaning on a railing, smoke puffing from their lips as cigarettes burn between their fingers. They’re deep in conversation, and Gene seems to be lecturing Zenix, who's sulking like a kid and staring at the ground.

“Yeah. This year he’s kinda… chilled out a bit. I don’t mind, but Zenix is a… lively person. He’s restless. I think maybe he feels almost left behind.” She taps your shoulder. “And Gene’s mellowed out even more in the past week alone.”

You glance over at her. “In what way?”

“Usually he’d suggest new places to trespass and people to mess with and choose to do that instead of, you know, being normal? But lately he’s been wanting to go to class and chill at places like this instead.” She shrugs. “He’s just different. I think he’s matured. And maybe he’s found a reason to be better, I’m not sure.”

That information settles into you, and you stare off in thought. You both sit in silence until a wave of cigarette smoke hits your nose, the two boys’ footsteps approaching. Zenix stops in front of you, pressing the toe of his shoe into the concrete and sighing.

“My bad.”

You blink up at him. “...It’s all good.”

He wrinkles his nose, looking like he wants to say something snarky in return, but stops himself and continues on towards an awning with some vending machines underneath. Sasha looks up at Gene for a moment, before sighing and standing up.

“I’ll go with him.”

Gene nods, watching his two friends leave before taking a seat beside you, the musky scent of his cologne mixing with the cigarette still between his fingers. He takes one last drag, turning his head from you to release the smoke before flicking it to the ground and smothering it with his shoe. You can’t help but stare, and he sends an apologetic look back.

“…Sorry. Bad habit,” he rasps quietly, clearing his throat and looking up to the sky.

You look up with him. It's the end of twilight now, the last lingering rays of the sun leaving touches of orange on the dark purples and blues that swallowed the light. The street lights scattered around the skate park are pretty dim, allowing you to make out a few stars beginning to show themselves in the night. 

“It’s okay,” you mutter, despite the small nervous voice in the back of your head that worried the smell would stick to your clothes, alerting your parents to what you’d really been up to. “…Have you been trying to stop?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Don’t want Dante to catch on and pick up the habit. Plus, I regret getting… a few other people into it too. It’s not good for them.”

You think of Laurance.

“Not good for you, either.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that too.”

You both watch as the orange fades to a distant pink, and more stars shine against the dark backdrop.

“It’s pretty. The sky,” you note quietly. “And the moon. It’s a perfect crescent right now.”

“Mhm.”

You glance over at him, nearly jumping out of your skin to see him already staring down at you. He looks intense, like he's thinking about something horribly important in his head. Your eyes widen when his hand comes up to your face, the rough calluses on his thumb brushing against your cheekbone as he begins to lean in.

No way this is happening right now.

You suppress a gasp when his lips meet yours, shoulders stiffening and heart thrumming in your chest. His lips are slightly chapped, but they’re plump, and you’re surprised to find yourself leaning into him despite how every other part of your being screams in a confused panic. The taste of tobacco lingers on your tongue when he pulls back, his eyes scanning your face and lingering on your mouth before he leans away.

Guilt washes over his features when he sees your shocked features and stiff body, and he looks down with regret.

“...I’m sorry. I should’ve asked,” he mumbles. “I got carried away.”

You swallow thickly, trying to focus on what he was saying through the blood still rushing in your ears.

“I… I’m just not sure how I feel yet.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “That was a dick move. I’m sorry, doll.”

You blink, staring down at his lap as you brew in your confusion. You feel guilty. Gene had hurt the people you consider your close friends in the past, and one of them was a boy you’d had a crush on for the past two years. But… a small sense of longing lingers in your gut for Gene, his genuine expression tugging at your heartstrings and stirring a strange fluttering sensation in your stomach.

…And you can’t deny, he kisses well.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You break the silence on the way back to his bike, wanting to ease the storm that was starting to brew over his head.

“Thank you for buying me the clothes. And the food.”

He looks at you from the corner of his eyes, a smile threatening his lips. “It was nothing, sweetheart," he says, then tilts his head down at you. “You still on for this weekend?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“If you change your mind and want to do something else, we can,” he says, fastening his helmet on before helping you with yours.

You hesitate, a sense of bravery and determination guiding your next words as he secures the strap under your chin. “We already got the perfect fit, didn’t we? Might as well put it to good use.”

He chuckles. “Atta girl. Time to live a little.”

☆

You’re back home and in your room—thankfully without any suspicion from your parents—when you finally check your phone, and are surprised to see several texts from Laurance.

5:24 Laurance: Sooo what was that about? Laurance: Did he blackmail you into going on a date with him? 6:47 Laurance: …? Laurance: Is everything okay?

Your heart drops as you stare at the screen. Laurance has a girlfriend, but why do you feel like you’ve just been caught cheating on him? With a shaky sigh, you respond.

You: Omg Laurance I’m so sorry I’m just seeing this now!!! You: We were just hanging out, it wasn’t a date.

The read notification shows up immediately, and it feels like your heart is going to leap out of your throat. Staring at the screen, you frown when he doesn’t respond immediately. Is he angry at you? After a second he starts to type, before stopping, and picking up again a few seconds after.

Laurance: Oh, okay.

Your heart drops.

Laurance: I just wanted to be sure. Laurance: You’ll tell me if he tries anything on you, right? You: Of course. You’re one of my best friends, Laurance

He starts typing again, before pausing. You wait for a minute, then two… until you start to get confused. Maybe he accidentally clicked his keyboard, and that was the end of the conversation.

Laurance: You’re one of my best friends too :)

…Weird.

Laurance: Good night, I’ll see you at school You: Yeah, see you :) Good night

Flopping down on your bed, you stare at the ceiling, eyes wide and blank. You know, the love triangle trope is pretty well hated by the reading community for a reason. There’s always a clear choice to make, and anytime you’ve had to suffer through them in any piece of fiction you’ve always wanted to claw at your face from how stressful and stupid it was. After all, it can’t be that difficult!

…

How stressful and stupid this all is.

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz @vyladsgirl @allieyaaa @luvsymai @yoom-ss @garrothswiferealnotfake @fartmonster98

[starlightsuffered]

hey, wanted to ask if ur doing a part 2 of ur series of boyfriend dad? 💞

A/N - yup

My Boyfriend’s Dad (p2)

Info - boyfriends dad smut, face fucking, cheating, guilt, married man, praise kink, innocent and inexperienced fem, age gap, oral (male receiving), masturbating while giving head, needing to be quiet, sex around others, dub con

I tossed and turned in the bed I’d been shown to. I raced into the cabin and thankfully, was able to change my wet skirt. However, that didn’t make dinner any less awkward.

Every time Charlie touched me I was haunted by the touch of his father. Timothée had smirked at me throughout the meal and I’d had to resituate myself. I’d never known what it meant to be uncomfortable wet.

Now I was in bed. Charlie was on the top bunk and I was on the bottom. The room was nice, the blankets were soft, and I’d known what I was fucking doing in the car. It felt so good I was blinded. Never again, Charlie was good and so sweet, the best I’d get honestly.

I just needed to keep thinking that. I was so determined I almost thought I was having a dream when something thick and wet pressed against my lips.

My eyes fluttered open and I saw Charlie’s father above me. A sleepy smile covered my face. If this was just a dream I could indulge. Surely he wouldn’t risk this, with his son just above us and his wife one wall away.

He stood, towering over me, his cock out and dripping profusely. It was hairy and adult and everything about it was girthy. I could hardly breathe when I realised the tip had been pressed against my lips earlier.

“Mr. Chalamet?” I asked groggily. It was as if the need between my legs had called out to him.

“Call me Timothée,” he purred.

“Timothée, I don’t think this is-“

“Shhhhhhhh, Princess,” He cooed at me, his voice was rumbling and deep. He pressed the head of his cock against my mouth again to get me to be quiet.

“You’ve been using that mouth for far too many things that aren’t sucking. Ever since I saw those pretty pouty lips, and the cute faces you made in the car, I’ve wanted to fuck your face so badly.

“Timothée, Mr. Chalamet, ch-Charlie mmmggggfff-“ I was cut off as he stuffed his dick in my mouth. Some roaring need in me was satiated. I felt myself going a bit dumb. I could already taste the salty precum on his bobbing tip.

While his words were purrs, coos, and praises, his hands weren’t as kind. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and began to move my head back and forth like I was a cock sleeve.

“Such a pretty princess,” he whispered. This was terrible to do, so why did it feel so good? A burning in my body was being soothed, yet I felt wild need.

“You deserve this. My son doesn’t have nearly the cock size you need does he?” He asked as he rammed himself down my throat. I shook my head, eyes tearing up.

“You need a real man. A gorgeous girl like you needs to be treated right,” he purred. He caressed the bottom of my jaw. He could feel the drool already gathering there.

“Wouldn’t it be so wild if you woke up my son with the sounds of gagging on his father’s dick,” he asked me in a near whisper. I keened like an animal.

The slick and the wet were pooling between my legs. I felt beyond needy. I didn’t know what to do as I rubbed my thighs together in desperation. My eyes were getting blurry from tears. He was so big.

“Or what about my wife? What if she knew your first time sucking cock it was her husbands?” He asked me.

I whimpered. He threw his head back. He kept his eyes on me, although half lidded. He was pounding away in my mouth. The way he fucked my skull was all consuming.

“Spread your legs,” he rasped. I did as he said.

“Wearing that fucking pink see through little nightgown and I’m expected not to take you?” He growled.

“Why don’t you play with your clitty princess. You’re so pure and good, but I know you want this baaaaaaad.” His words were like heavenly ambrosia.

I reached down and began to rub myself. It felt nothing like what he’d done in the car, no where near as good, but I’d manage.

I humped my own own hand as he pumped his dick in and out of me. He was groaning and grunting, like a fucking MAN. I loved just how much older he was than me. I knew he loved my innocence, my age and my little pink nightgown. My breasts we’re perky and my nipples we’re rock hard.

“Mmmmfffggg,” I moaned. “Gluck, gluck, Gluck.”

“You sound so GOOD, FUCK!” He whispered loudly at the end. I was nearly crying with lust, so happy to be stuffed full of dick.

“Fuck, gonna cum in that tiny, virgin mouth. Fuck, gonna spill a nursery down your throat before my son even touches his tip to your lips,” he gasped. His moves became more sloppy. His balls created strings when it hit the spit on my chin.

Finally, he was pouring his hot semen down my throat. Pumps of cum were filling up mouth. I was trying to be a good girl and swallow everything. I was gasping for breath when he finally pulled out.

“Oh baby, you did so well,” he murmured.

Using the pad of his large thumb to swipe up a drop of cum I’d missed. I whined pathetically. I still hadn’t gotten off. I knew I didn’t deserve it. I was a devil for letting him stick his cock in my mouth.

“Atta girl,” he smirked, rubbing my cum filled stomach. He gently pushed me back. In a show of cocky dominance he pulled up the covers to my chin. He pushed back my hair from my forehead. I was so warm and comfortable and fuck did I feel dirty in the best well.

“Sweet dreams princess,” he murmured before pressing the chastest kiss to my lips.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker r @therealbeabodoobee @slytherinqueen4life

[cherrywriterrr]

psych 203 eight

college!rafe x pinkhaired!oc

warnings: 18+ mdni, strong language, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, chaotic best friend energy, sibling awkwardness, post-hookup tension, fluff, jealousy, hints of possessiveness, slight angst, pillow talk aftermath, emotionally confusing behavior, more bickering, casual hookup dynamic with unresolved feelings

seven eight nine

“you didn’t have to throw him out,” nova muttered, arms crossed over her bare chest, one of sarah’s oversized hoodies barely hanging off her shoulders.

sarah stood in the doorway, clutching her iced coffee like it was her emotional support. “oh, i absolutely did. nova. you were literally cuddling. cuddling with my brother. naked. on my bed.”

nova rolled her eyes. “we weren’t naked—“

“you were naked,” sarah cut her off flatly. “his shirt was on the lamp.”

nova glanced toward the lamp and winced. “…that’s not proof.”

“and my blanket was on the floor!” sarah groaned, dramatically flopping onto the desk chair like her soul had just left her body. “do you know how traumatic that is? i came in thinking you’d be watching some dumb rom-com, maybe crying about your ex or something normal. not—not whatever that was!”

nova huffed, brushing her messy hair out of her face. “okay, first of all? we are not serious. and second of all? you didn’t need to walk in like the fucking kool-aid man and throw him out.”

sarah gasped. “nova! he’s my brother! you and rafe were looking at each other like you were one blink away from round two.”

nova gave her a flat look. “…we might’ve been.”

“gross,” sarah gagged, covering her ears. “do not say that. do not ever say that again. i can’t believe this. i trusted you.”

“oh come on,” nova laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “you trusted me with your trauma and birth control schedules, but not with your hot older brother?”

“exactly!” sarah threw the pillow right back. “and now i have to bleach my eyeballs.”

nova just grinned, falling back onto the bed, tugging the blanket back over her legs. “you’re being dramatic.”

sarah sipped her coffee like it was her last hope. “i’m not. are you sure you’re not catching feelings? because that whole ‘cuddling and forehead kissing’ situation didn’t scream ‘casual.’”

nova’s smile faltered for a second, but only for a second. she masked it with a scoff. “no feelings, i swear. i literally told him we’re not a couple. he knows the deal.”

sarah raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. and what did he say?”

nova hesitated. “…he said he thought we could go on a date or some shit.”

“oh my god.”

“but i shut that down,” nova said quickly, waving her hand. “i told him it’s just fucking. casual. secret. exclusive-ish—like, no layla.”

sarah blinked. “…exclusive-ish?”

“you know,” nova shrugged, “like he can fuck whoever he wants, just not that bitch.”

sarah stared. “nova.”

“what?”

“you’re in so deep.”

nova tossed another pillow at her. “shut up.”

sarah caught it midair, smirking. “so when’s round two?”

“probably tonight,” nova said without missing a beat.

“i hate you.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

and through all the chaos, neither of them noticed the unread text from rafe sitting quietly on nova’s phone screen:

“u left ur necklace here. wanna come get it. or should i bring it over. also—i want round two. no interruptions.”

nova didn’t see it yet.

but she would. and round two?

yeah, it was coming. with a hell of a lot more than either of them expected.

“please, please, please,” nova begged, hands clasped dramatically as she leaned forward off the bed. “don’t tell anyone. swear on your overpriced hair serum.”

sarah squinted at her. “…the one from sephora?”

“yes.”

“damn,” sarah said, sighing, “okay. fine. you know i won’t.”

nova dropped back onto the mattress with relief. “thank you. you’re my favorite bitch.”

sarah stayed quiet for a moment, spinning slowly in her desk chair. “but nova…”

“oh god.” nova groaned into a pillow. “don’t ruin this for me. i can hear it coming.”

“i’m serious.”

nova lifted her head just enough to see sarah’s face—and yep, there it was. the concerned sister energy. the one that always came before a hard truth. her stomach twisted a little.

“i’m not gonna tell anyone,” sarah said softly, “but i don’t want you to get hurt. or… you to hurt him.”

nova blinked.

“i know how you are,” sarah continued, sipping her coffee like it’d help soften the blow. “you’re all tough and whatever but you feel shit so deep, nova. you say you don’t catch feelings but when you do? it wrecks you.”

nova stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.

“and he’s…” sarah trailed off, biting her lip. “he’s rafe. you know how messy he can be. but he’s also my brother. and lately? i’ve seen him trying. like, really trying. and you’re probably the first person in a long time that he actually wanted to date.”

nova turned her head slowly. “…you’re saying this like we’re soulmates.”

“i’m saying this like i care about both of you,” sarah corrected, voice low but firm. “and this whole sneaky, secret hookup thing? it’s fine until it’s not. and when it blows up—because it will—i just… i don’t want you both to end up hating each other.”

nova didn’t respond. she just stared, fingers curling into the blanket.

“you don’t have to promise anything,” sarah added, standing from the chair, “just… think about it, okay?”

nova nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “i will.”

“good.” sarah leaned down, pressing a kiss to nova’s temple. “i’ll see you after class.”

nova waited until the door shut behind her.

then she rolled onto her back again, pulled her phone into her hands, and stared at the unread message from rafe.

nova chewed her lip.

no one was supposed to get hurt. but her heart?

it was already on the table.

the thing was—nova did call herself a slut. all the time. loud and proud.

“whore rights,” she’d say in class after casually flirting with the barista and the professor in the same breath.

“slut power,” she’d whisper when she left someone’s dorm at 3am with lipstick smudged and no regrets.

“queen of hoetry,” she’d declare when her film photos turned out beautifully raw and aching, like love notes to strangers she barely knew.

but it wasn’t always just a joke.

not when she sat alone in the bathtub at night with her knees to her chest wondering why she couldn’t just not care about people.

why it always hit so fucking deep.

why one kiss, one smirk, one look could make her stomach twist into hopeful knots she’d never admit to anyone—not even sarah.

because for someone so loud, nova hart loved to suffer in silence.

she fell too fast, too hard. every time.

a stranger held her gaze for three seconds too long? she’d start wondering what their apartment looked like. what their cologne smelled like on bedsheets. if they’d remember her birthday without needing the instagram reminder.

it was embarrassing. it was dangerous.

so she protected herself the only way she knew how.

she became the one who left first.

the one who said, it’s just sex, don’t get clingy.

the one who laughed when her heart cracked open like a damn glass bottle and said, “whatever. he was mid anyway.”

because deep down? no one had ever stayed.

her dad “left” emotionally before she was old enough to even spell the word “abandonment.”

and even after all the therapy and the jokes and the carefully curated chaos, her daddy issues still called shotgun in every situationship she entertained.

and rafe fucking cameron? he was a walking red flag.

a man with his own scars.

and the worst possible person to give a piece of her heart to.

but he made her feel. wanted.

like she wasn’t just a punchline with pink hair and a sharp mouth.

and that terrified her more than anything else.

so she rolled her eyes, picked up her phone again, and typed.

nova: just bring the necklace, i’m lazy

nova: and round two depends. are you gonna cry again if i call you pinkie pie

rafe: no, but i might shut you up with my mouth again

nova: promises promises

she smiled at the screen, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

because jokes were easy. and feelings were not.

and falling in love was the most dangerous thing nova hart had ever been good at.

there was a knock at the door.

nova didn’t bother checking who it was.

only one person knocked like that, lazy, like the door owed him a favor. she pulled it open and—there he was.

black hoodie. gray sweatpants. hair still damp from a shower.

holding a tiny bag between his fingers.

“brought the necklace,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the place.

like they hadn’t just been naked and gasping against each other.

nova raised a brow. “only one? where’s my crown and my daily morning kiss?”

he leaned in. slow. intentional “i can take care of that second part.”

and he kissed her.

soft. warm. dangerous. the kind of kiss that lingered. not just physically, but somewhere beneath her ribs.

and nova—nova fucking froze.

only for a second.

only long enough for the panic to flash behind her eyes before she smiled, clapped her hands dramatically, and said— “congrats. you’ve officially made out with a slut in her pajamas. bucket list item, huh?”

rafe didn’t laugh.

he just looked at her. eyes narrowed slightly, studying her like he was starting to see through the glitter, the noise, the walls she built with sarcasm and red lipstick.

“why do you do that?” he asked.

“do what?” she blinked.

“act like this doesn’t mean anything.”

nova opened her mouth—closed it—shrugged. “maybe because it doesn’t.”

he tilted his head. “so if i said i wanted us to be exclusive, what would you say?”

her heart dropped into her stomach. then bounced.

then shattered and reformed itself all in the span of three seconds.

“i’d say it’s okay, rafe. really. i don’t mind if you see other women.”

she said it lightly, like a joke. like she didn’t care.

like her chest wasn’t aching already.

rafe stepped closer. “but i don’t want to.”

his voice was quiet. honest. “and i don’t think i want you seeing other guys either.”

nova’s eyes flickered up. fast. unsure.

he went on, slow and careful.

“i wanna maybe… get to know you. for real. we have a whole semester together.”

she hated how that sentence made her breath catch.

how her throat tightened like she might actually cry. so instead she rolled her eyes, like the words hadn’t knocked the wind out of her.

“you tryna be my boyfriend, cameron? what’s next? you gonna ask me to prom?”

“i might,” he smirked. “if you stop calling me pinkie pie.”

she grinned back, but her voice was quieter now.

“i’m… not good at this.”

“me either.”

a pause. just breathing. just looking.

then she finally said, “fine. exclusivity. but if you so much as look at layla, i’m killing you.”

“deal.”

they didn’t kiss again. they didn’t need to.

the promise had already landed—somewhere fragile.

nova shifted her weight, folding her arms, eyeing him with that dangerous mix of nervousness and bravado.

her fingers toyed with the edge of the necklace he’d just given her—small, silver, something delicate that didn’t feel like it should be in rafe’s hands, and yet… somehow did.

“but no dating,” she said flatly. “like—no couple shit. no matching bios or brunch or posting me on your story with some stupid heart emoji.”

rafe leaned against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted. “yet.”

she blinked. “excuse me?”

he smirked like he’d been waiting to say this. “you’ll catch feelings before you know it.”

nova scoffed. loudly. stepped back like the very idea was a crime against her brand.

“we agreed to no feelings, rafe,” she shot back, chin tilted in defiance. “this is a fucking arrangement. i get off. you get off. end of story.”

he pushed off the wall, walking up to her. close enough for her to feel his breath.

close enough to make her heartbeat stutter. “we’ll see, pinkie baby.”

his voice dipped lower, smug and certain. “we’ll see.”

nova held his gaze for a beat too long, the necklace chain tangled in her fingers, her mouth parted like she wanted to argue, but didn’t know how.

because deep down,buried beneath glittery sarcasm, layered in fake confidence and heavy eye makeup, was a part of her that was already falling.

and it scared the fuck out of her.

so she did what she always did. rolled her eyes, flipped him off, and said, “get outta my dorm before i forget we’re not doing feelings and let you kiss me again.”

he grinned. and didn’t move.

next<< taglist series masterlist my work

just a quick reminder — if you ever want me to stop tagging you, please don’t hesitate to let me know. no hard feelings at all! also, if you’re not interacting with the posts, I’ll assume you’re no longer interested and might remove you from the taglist to keep it active. appreciate you all 💋

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafescloudie @iconiccolo @viqtoria @devoutedlover @k4yr14 @purplerose291 @qversazex @sc05 @t0x1cfaerie @certifiedlovergirl112 @faithlyn444 @mrspuffdriving @feverg1rl @eviev097 @cherryhoneybabe @ijustwanttoreadlols @rafecamwifeyy @alphabetically-deranged

[edenvillee]

Dingaan Analysis : Self Esteem

I’ve already discussed this with @cynicalflesh but I wanted to make a post for it to archive this thought piece!

I really do find dingaan interesting in many ways, one of them being how his character displays low self esteem. He’s blatantly characterised as the ‘dumb’ player with no further explanation on the depth or reason behind it (but what do you expect from a children show), but I hate labelling characters that way and stopping at just that, it’s very insulting, so I’d like to analyse him further! Here is my very first Dingaan Analysis on Self Esteem!

Let’s start with the obvious. It is shown throughout the whole show that dingaan is the ‘punching bag’ and gets insulted constantly by his team. Yet he seems to ,in a way, internalise it as a compliment? I personally can’t say I understand how that processes in his brain but you do you honey. He even seems to miss these insults like in “Food for Thought” where Skarra was off to the Swiss Institute and Dingaan missed his insults. He even wanted him to be mean! In the match of that same episode, Skarra was feeling down and was about to yell at dingaan for missing the ball but changed his mind, and Dingaan seemed disappointed. But at the end of the episode, he was happy or relieved(?) that their relationship was back to “normal”.

Woah the quality is horrible ;;

As both lee and I mentioned, Dingaan is not stupid. He’s very well aware that he isn’t as close to anybody as he thinks he is, but he’s willing to ignore it for the feeling of having friends and people to be around, even if it comes at the cost of his self respect. I think that might be one of the reasons to what happened in “Food for Thought” because in his head, insults are the core of him and Skarra’s friendship and if he doesn’t do so then he must’ve grown bored of him or something along those lines. Such spineless behaviour would make you wonder what prompted him to turn out like this? Now, they show little to none of his childhood, excluding the “Assocerlypse Now!” episode where we got a flashback of him watching croccie as well as a few seconds recording of him showing his mom a new soccer move before said clip was erased (such a shitty move, I know!). What will be said from now is mostly headcanons and ideas, so buckle up!!

I hate to like to think that this started from his childhood. He was the weird kid that nobody wanted to play with, but he would let other kids make fun of him or call him names in exchange of him being around them or at the very least not being alone. This seems to have stuck with him because he might still feel like the weird kid in Invincible United— everyone is so mature and serious and he’s just..Dingaan. Older than some of his teammates yet is more visibly childish than all of them combined , always confused and never knowing whats going on. That last part shows in multiple instances as well. 

In “The Last Action Figure”, the IU trio was driving off with the El Matador figures and Dooma was telling Skarra to try to sound like he means it because they need all of them, and dingaan agreed then immediately followed with a why ;; Another instance was shown at the end of the same episode. Even after all that, he admitted to not understanding why they changed them as he played with the Skarra figurine (I’m getting him all the figurines he wants don’t even worry honey). 

Another thing I'd like to add is that I believe that Dingaan does try to fit in, even if those attempts aren't the best. In "Assocerlypse now!", Skarra told Dingaan that the show was stupid and was something only kids watched. Later, Klaus came up to Dingaan singing the croccie song and he tried to hide his excitement, saying he used to like the show in the past. Though I must say, the reason as to why he was embarrassed sharing it with Klaus yet wasn't (from what I could tell) about mentioning it to Skarra and Vince, I don’t know. They're not exactly..erm..a safe space. But that's an analysis for another time as to not make this any longer than it already is.

Now, as much as I love him, to say that he's a complete angel would simply be untrue. Of course, his joy and whimsy come from a genuine place but he is an Invincible United player at the end of the day, and there must be a reason as to why he’s in that team and no other. I will repeat this a thousand times over but he’s not “stupid”, He’s well aware of what IU does and better yet enthusiastically participates in sabotaging plans and fouling. Now I’m not sure about this one but this could also go back to the point of trying to fit in where he enjoys being a part of it all rather than the actual act because that’s what they seem to bond over. That’s the core of their “friendship”. As to why he chose and stayed in Invincible United and not another team who he knows might’ve been nicer or more supportive indeed does make me curious, and I’m sure that being ‘friends’ with skarra is not enough reason. Again, they confirm very little of his past so it could very possibly be due to certain circumstances or maybe because of his longtime love for the team and players. In the flashback, the room he’s in does show a poster of younger Vince playing for Invincible United.

I feel like I have more to say about him but it’s nothing related to how his character displays low self esteem, so I must unfortunately end this analysis at that ;; He stays one of my all time favourite characters, along with Dooma and Skarra! Now that I’ve written this, I love him even more (platonically) and am interested in him even more! Two seperate ideals coexisting within his character make him more human and that’s something I love to see.

Thank you to leeleeoomfie for talking about him with me, alot of the things mentioned here are from you and I’m glad to have someone who shares the same interest in him and other characters..cough cough..Dooma. If you specifically have anything else you wanna add or anything you interpreted in your own way then please do let me know! Love you ho ❤️

[yustardino]

My problems with GQuuuux Ep9

Macchu doesn't feel like the main character of her own show at times and the pacing is very lightning fast. I found the writing is great with the new characters but absolutely awful with the old ones, and when I mean absolutely awful with the old ones... I mostly mean Lalah. While in my other post I did praise the intent of showcasing a Lalah whose absolutely broken after years of abuse that continued into adulthood and thus has escapism dreaming about the other timelines with her and Char. (Something I do relate to) Ultimately though, she is device in the episode she stars in. Her main purpose is to be an exposition dump and get Macchu from A to B. She is ultimately here to tell us viewers about the other timelines and get Macchu out of the current situation and we don't have time to dwell on Lalah outside of that because this is a 12 episode series with a 22 minute run time. If this was the 50 episode series Gundam used to be, we'd have spent two or perhaps 3 episodes with Lalah and got to know her better. See more of her nature and usual quirks because we only get told she is so kind and nuturing through her maids, never shown. Maybe instead of the maids being there when Macchu wakes up, its Lalah and thus more time spent with her. Also Macchu's complete non reaction to Lalah's Kira Kira-ing, not even a "Whoa, this connection is the same I feel with Shuji!" and perhaps Lalah and Macchu bonding over that. And yeah I agree with the sentiment, she should've allowed herself to go with Macchu and the only reason why I see they can't is because they wanna show Lalah finding her own self worth and escaping herself. (Which yeah not happening with 3 episodes left). The problems really rear they ugly head in the show because of 12 episode run time. This series should've been 50 episodes even if the animation takes a hit because that was what filler was for. We should've been getting episodes where Macchu and Nyaan have to do the most ridiculous thing for Shuji and its get him red paint but its nowhere near town, so they have to fight gangsters to get red paint. See this show needs dumb fun regarding these kids. (ao3... ao3 calls to me)

[azonewithu]

She likes me better too. Ha ha ha dim shady. Dim fuckn lady. Ha ha no i just like beating you up shit rappn monkey. Fuck rap homie it sint shit. You think God sits back and goes wow that nigga nonsense is heavy. No he listens to heavy metal and old school gangsta rap. Before it got all fuxkn stupud and watered down. Now it just all sounds the sane it fell off. Its over come on. Yoy wouldnt wanba arguecwith me face to face ill rip your off entrertauner. You need to shut the fuck up retire and then go give people upur stupud angry look then. Ha ha ya fuck you monkey. You si t getn no money from facebook fuck off.dont rap id you sdo t want people making soundbytes. Copyrighting never worked for shit. People took done if my worrs im beyond the cutting edge way beyond what dome goof rappa from dumby town coukd dver come yp with. Ill durl shady ill duel with a pistol ill bliw your stupid head off bitch. Punk lil cotner damcin monkey. Fuck you and your rap period punk. Im such a shadow over a butxh like tou you wont ever see shade agsin. Only stupud assholes listen to that shit. Stupid assholes i burried i forget how many of them in a landfill in michigan. I know who got proof we did. You wanna duel iver your friends ass ill duel. I saud we murdered that mother fucker ge git what he deserved whays up? Im doen whsts iup with dim lady? Yo fyvk that csr ilk blow hos punk ass away. Fuckn hip hipnused to be there aint nutn left of you. I have Ukranian friends god prefers real men. Not aneri cans. Ha ha ga you got beat up this morning. Lets duel fool. Stop talking your esp means something yo rejectsvinly. Snart people think youre all stupid. They just cant hesr it because its dumb. Kiniption fit lil bitch. Yo you get a real dueler out here smerican. I murderwd a fewcrsppers so whst fuck them snd rap period these days. It was at kne time fun music niw its stupud ill hlill anyone eho dares defend it. Desd i want them dead Michael. My chiefs watching ooen your moyth ounk ass bniggas and wanbabe niggas. I saud you sint dhit and ill murder all if you. Its Jesus whats up? Yiuve been called out!!!!!!!! Find thst goofs daughter Michael. Kill her.

[louiseolivier]

Fic Idea

Post 8x05

Bobby's acting strangely—not overtly, but just enough that everyone is side-eyeing each other. Buck decides to hang back after his shift one morning and catches Bobby still in his office. He asks him what's up, and Bobby admits that even though Gerrard is gone, that doesn't mean the budget cuts also went away. The good news is that with union pushback, instead of firing someone, they've agreed to rotating month-long furloughs, effective Nov 1st.

Buck immediately volunteers for A shift. He'll do Nov and Dec. Bobby says he can't let Buck sacrifice that much of his paycheck. Buck tells him he's got enough stocked away for a couple of months and that he wants to do this. It might even be good for him.

The first month is really good. Tommy works 48/96, so they get four full days off together and it's amazing. They had a mini vacation in Palm Springs where they went stargazing, hung out by the pool, and spent a day in Joshua Tree.

Buck gets in a lot of reading and knocks down his sizable tbr. He fills in as a sitter for Jee-Yun and enjoys the hell out of spending time with his niece (never mind her deep disappoint on the days Tommy isn't there too). He also gives himself a full day of doing nothing but scrolling his phone. He jumps from one Wikipedia article to another and explores exceedingly niche substacks.

And he still gets 118 time. At least once a week he goes in and cooks a filling lunch for them. He does it at the 217 too, where they sing his praises. He even spent two days being a firefighter when Chim came down with a cold. All in all his month off was pretty amazing, and he figures December would be a piece of cake. He's so sure that he tells Bobby he'll take January too.

Except it stops being a piece of cake. Two days in and he's already restless. It doesn't help when Tommy, Chim, and Eddie show up and tell him how they worked together for a rooftop rescue at Nakatomi Tower. Buck doesn't know the building and asks where it's located. The guys are dumbfounded. "Like, Die Hard, man," Eddie tells him. "Come out to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs?" Tommy says hopefully. "Die Hard...Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker?" Chimney prods. "Oh, yeah," Buck says, having it all click together.

After that his aimlessness really takes hold. He keeps himself busy by feeding the 217 breakfast, lunch, and dinner on the days Tommy works. On his second day, one of Tommy's crew tells him, "You know, you should start taking orders. Make some money since they won't let you fight fires.

Buck's surprised at how fast the idea takes hold. He spends all four of his days with Tommy talking about it. He feels like he's vibrating out of his skin, and he falls just a little more in love with Tommy when he tells Buck that his idea is not only good, but that he knows a guy who can help make it happen.

Buck next goes to his team and explains his idea. He's going to open a sandwich service. Nearby fire stations will send in orders the day before, the sandwiches will be made the next morning, and delivered throughout the afternoon. Tommy has a friend who will rent out commercial kitchen space to him, and the employees will be fellow furloughed firefighters. They wouldn't be making the same pay, but they would be making something instead of draining out their savings like Buck. Eddie's all in, but Hen and Chim are a little more hesitant. Whether they come around or not, that's okay. Buck plans on starting small and thinks he can do it with three or four people, and he has multiple firehouses to pull from. But he knows his biggest hurdle is coming up with the start-up cash.

He toys with the idea of asking his parents for a loan. They were willing to fork over money for Chim and Maddie's down payment, and they swear up and down they want to make amends, so if Buck needs to use guilt to get a cut, he will. Before he can work up the nerve to ask, Tommy hands him a card and calls it an early Christmas present. Inside is a check for 10k. Buck's floored and misty eyed. He asks how and why and are you sure? Tommy pulls him in and tells Buck that he's sure. That he believes in Buck and wants to do whatever he can to help him succeed. Including making sandwiches.

And that's it. That's all I've got. Purged from the system.

[pharmasrightarm]

oops, still feral over pre-war Dead End Dratchet

(drift: you're rusting at every joint gasket: but isn't that doctor chummy with the cops? we're literal thieves??)

started with the headcanon that drift hung around the clinic like a feral wet cat for a while, then halfway through shading these, I started thinking, what if deadlock was an especially reliable assassin because he knew what kind of damage would make sure that even the best of the best couldn't bring you back

[lizzybeeee]

DATV explaining the 'Regret Prison'

A REGRET PRISON IS STUPID AND I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING THAT ITS NOT

TL;DR: a prison can serve as a metaphor but it shouldn't be entirely comprised of a metaphor.

From what I understood from what the game gave us: Solas has made a new prison to move the God's too - since bringing down the veil would free them from the Black City. This new prison is separate(?) from the fade or so far removed/contained that bringing down the veil would not compromise it...apparently. We interrupt his ritual, Solas gets sucked into the new prison he made, and the elven gods are free.

When Rook gets kicked into the fade they're physically there - which means it's a physical place in the fade, like how it was a mixture of physical/thought when we entered it in DAI. Which makes sense - the gods are real and living beings, they need to be in a place, there must be some aspect of physicality to it.

Alright, cool, it's a Black City 2.0 - I assume it's better defended to prevent people breaking in/out again?

NOPE.

We get there and it's a 'regret prison'?? It's tied to the regrets of those within it? Composed of regrets??? Solas had to wait for the right moment for Rook to be sufficiently 'full of regret' that they could switch places?

So is the prison tied to Solas's regrets? If so, how can Rook escape? The prison seems to work around the idea that it relies on the regrets of the person it's holding to work - which is how/why Rook was able to be trapped and later free themselves (along with whatever remains of the team apparently being able to do something on their end, not that we hear about it).

WHICH IS STUPID!

Are you telling me the prison intended to hold to megalomaniac elven gods was going to imprison them based on their own regrets? Is Solas assuming that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are as self-pitying as he is? They'd break out quicker than Rook did! He made a time out corner for the elven gods to sit in and gave them an out if they reflected on their emotions/regrets or decided that they don't regret what they did. Elgar'nan, a spirit of tyranny, is not going to 'regret' his actions - he is going to justify them by telling himself and others that he knows what's best.

We can come across some of Solas's regrets in the prison if you run around a bit and explore:

Remnant of Failure - talking about the orb from Inquisition.

Remnant of Parting - talking about Mythal

Remnant of Reflection - more vague, talking about the Titans I believe.

So maybe he altered it - maybe he intended the prison to be 'locked' with his own regrets because after a millennia of having a pity party he still can't bring himself to self-reflect and look to the future. But what if Solas died? Or if his guilt lessened - would it diminish the strength of the regret prison?

We already have pre-established lore (though DATV has shown they don't really give a crap tbh) that once the being that has claimed/altered an area of the fade is slain, it's influence diminishes both in and outside of the fade. So if the prison was tied to his regrets then it would require Solas to basically live forever to keep it stable - especially if he brought down the veil and removed the one barrier that kept the world and the fade apart.

Rook and Solas needed some assistance to exit - but it doesn't seem like it was much! Solas used his dagger and Rook just...got out through a fade tear? This is Solas's 'more secure' second prison? It has a worse track record than the Black City! If Rook - who is not an elven god - managed to escape the regret prison what is to stop anyone else from breaking in and out of the prison?

And what did Solas intend to do with the blight - the bulk of which is apparently in the black city?? If bringing down the Veil would free the gods in the black city doesn't that mean that the blight would also be released?! Did he have a plan? Why does he go fully ahead with bringing down the veil at the end if the black city is still there and filled with blight?!

I get it: the 'regret prison' is a metaphor for how Solas holds onto the past and how Rook can move past their regrets and grow. He's trapped by the past - it's a prison. Cool. But this prison is supposed to by a physical place to contain the gods - not just to solely contain Solas. The mission is literally called 'A Cage for Gods'.

The Black City is an actual place that's so far out of reach of anywhere else in the fade that no mage can ever reach it while in dreams - let alone physically, which was only done once and took tremendous effort/blood sacrifices. It made sense - it was cool to see floating in the sky in DAO!

Though it's not said specifically, it's strongly implied that Arlathan is the Black City. You can see in the concept art that floating elven city is exactly the same as the black city in DAO! It's this foreboding thing just lurking in the sky - a constant reminder of the sin that led to the horrors of the blights and darkspawn. A real place with lore and history that also serves as a metaphor for the hubris and destruction of those who call themselves gods and act as tyrants -> for both the evanuris and the magisters.

I WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS BIOWARE!

WHAT IS THIS KINGDOM HEARTS NONSENSE???!!