#this is just my bitter little moment it's not a big deal really | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queensunshinee · 9 days

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His favorite toy || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, fingering), drinking, super toxic relationship, reader is kinda pathetic :(

Word Count: 3.4k

His favorit toy

Sometimes I think he was born to be in love with her, just like I was born to be in love with him. Unconditionally, without consequences. Just like that, love. And it’s not fair that someone can take so much from you and give back so little. It’s not fair that someone can control your entire range of emotions and yet not be affected by them. It’s not fair that Art Donaldson was born to revolve around Tashi Duncan while I was born for the leftovers he allows himself to leave for me.

“You can stay,” I mumbled as he started getting dressed. “I wish I could, I’ve got morning practice tomorrow,” he said without looking at me. ‘That didn’t stop you from coming inside me,’ I wanted to retort but just nodded and turned my back to him. He stopped dressing for a moment, and I knew he was looking at me, wondering if this time would be the time I’d stop letting him emotionally abuse me. Wondering if this would be the time I’d tell him that if he didn’t stay, he could go find someone else to fuck.

“Baby, I’d love to stay,” he sat at the edge of the bed and gave my shoulder a little shake. “It’s not a big deal, Art. You’re a big boy, you can do whatever you want,” I mumbled toward him. And it sounded petty and bitter. But I felt petty and bitter. I could feel the bitterness on the tip of my tongue. I could feel the sag of the crappy dorm bed swallowing me up. “I want to stay, of course I do,” his voice was fake. Like he was talking to a baby who didn’t understand circumstances or an adult’s schedule. “You know I want to,” he continued, this time planting a small kiss on the shoulder he had shaken earlier.

“When someone wants something, they do it. You wanted to fuck me, you fucked me. You wanted to come inside me, you came. You want to leave, you’re leaving. Just don’t excuse it with morning practice, you’re making me feel like an idiot,” I mumbled. He was silent, not expecting that little monologue. Not expecting that I’d finally tell him he’s acting like an asshole. “I don’t think I’m making you feel that way, you’re making yourself feel that way,” he sighed and stood up, going back to getting dressed while I lay on my back. “Are you serious?” I shot back.

“We don’t have to do this, I’m not forcing you to sleep with me, and if it’s making you feel this bad, we really don’t need to.” He said in a calm, almost calculated tone. Clear of emotions. I rolled my eyes in response and turned away again, not wanting to look at him anymore. “I’m gonna go, I’ll see you tomorrow in class?” he asked, and I felt his lips brush against my hair before he left. And if it weren’t for his smell buried in the pillow and his cum still dripping from me with every movement, I would’ve been sure I imagined him. And in my imagination, he was beautiful and sweet and mine. More than anything, mine.

In statistics class, for a change, I sat next to Janet and Shane, and I could feel Art’s blue eyes boring into my back. Usually, I wait for him with coffee at the back of the auditorium. That’s how we met—he was late to class one day, and the only open seat was next to me. He was funny and charming, almost shy when he asked for notes before the first exam. Almost embarrassed the first time I placed a cup of coffee on his desk when he arrived. Almost apologetic the first time he kissed me.

And for a change, I didn’t waste extra money I don’t even have to buy him a cup of coffee. For a change, I sat with friends I hadn’t spoken to in a while. And for a change, I let him wonder if it was over or if I was bluffing. His eyes were glued to me the whole lecture—neither of us was listening to what the professor was saying, and I know it’s going to come back to bite me.

“Are you going to be mad at me for much longer?” I heard a voice from behind me as I walked down the hall, engrossed in my phone. “I’m not mad at you, Art,” I mumbled without stopping. His strides were longer than mine, and he didn’t have to try too hard to catch up. “So why’d you switch seats?” I could guess he was rolling his eyes, but I didn’t look at him. “Because I wanted to sit with Janet and Shane,” I replied. “Since when are you friends with Janet and Shane?” he asked. “If you ever bothered to ask who my friends are, you’d know I’m friends with Janet and Shane,” I stopped this time and looked at him. He looked composed, like a lawyer who had prepared his most persuasive argument.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? I had practice at five in the morning, Peaches.” He sighed, looking at me with big eyes. “I can’t believe we’re arguing over this. We never argue.” He stepped closer to me, and I backed away until there was nowhere left to go. Around us, students rushed to their classes or dorms while I was trapped between Art Donaldson and a concrete wall. “We’re not arguing, Art. I just needed a break,” I replied, feeling less sure of myself as his breaths nearly blended with mine. “A break from what?” his hands brushed against my cheeks. “You know what,” I wondered if he could hear the desperation screaming in my voice too. “Baby,” he sighed. “You don’t need a break. It’s just a busy period.” He kissed me on the cheek. “You can’t keep being mad at me, come on, Peaches,” he said in a playful tone. “Look how cute I am.” He chuckled and nibbled on my earlobe.

“We’re in the middle of the hallway,” I mumbled, feeling myself smile uncontrollably, giving in to his goofiness. “I don’t care. You can’t stay mad at me anymore.” This time we both chuckled. “Here we go,” he continued, and his lips found mine for a short kiss. “I need you,” he declared, and I nodded into his shirt. He needs me, how could I refuse that?

Turns out, it was easier than I thought to take a break from Art Donaldson. All that mattered to him and his ego was knowing that I wasn’t actively mad at him. That he wasn’t the bad guy in the story. That he was okay.

In the following two weeks, I kept sitting next to him in statistics until he found another seat and texted me a simple, 'Haven’t seen Dylan in a while' as an excuse, and I smiled at him without showing my teeth. From being inside me three times a week and whispering in my ear that I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever known, he stopped looking me in the eyes and acted as if we barely knew each other.

And it was almost okay, because that’s what I told him I wanted. He was the one who insisted he needed me.

A month passed, and life returned to an almost-normal routine—going from classes to work, to hanging out on Janet’s rooftop. “You know what annoys me?” I asked, taking a drag from the cigarette rolled with weed she’d prepared. “What annoys you?” she asked, chuckling. “That he looks so damn good.” I said, and her chuckle turned into full laughter. “Oh, yeah, the star of Stanford’s tennis team looks good; that’s usually how it goes with athletes,” she said, half-sarcastically. “I’m telling you, if he didn’t look so good, he wouldn’t have been able to pull off half the shit he put me through,” I added and coughed after another drag. “Oh god, you need a new hookup. I can’t hear any more about Art Donaldson.” Janet couldn’t stop laughing. “Do you think the sky is green?” she suddenly asked, staring at the clouds. “No, I think you’ve smoked too much green,” I gave her a little shove that knocked her sideways as we both laughed.

That’s how we found ourselves at a party later that night. We didn’t exactly know whose party it was, but a friend of a friend texted Janet, and that was enough to go. She fixed the makeup that had smudged around my eyes just before we walked in. I was wearing her black dress, which was at least one size too small for me, and I had to keep pulling it down every few seconds. “Stop it, you look hot. You’re just overthinking it. Go with the flow.” She pulled me inside, and I nodded as we walked. Just go with the flow. What could happen if I just go with the flow?

One beer turned into two and a shot of gin. By that point, half the night felt like a blur, and the other half felt dizzying, but I was dancing with Janet and Shane, who had joined us, and eventually, I went outside to smoke a cigarette and get some air.

Someone handed me a cup, and I looked to the side, seeing Art. “It’s water,” he mumbled. “Thanks,” I replied. “Are you having fun?” he asked, his gaze not leaving me. “Yeah, you?” I asked back. “Yeah,” his voice was calm, “You usually don’t like things like this,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “What’s your point?” I asked, feeling my patience wearing thin with the weird small talk. “What are you doing here, I guess?” he asked quietly. “I can go to a fucking party, Art,” I felt my jaw clench with frustration. “I didn’t say you couldn’t—” “So what are you saying?” I cut him off.

“I just said I’m not used to seeing you at parties, that’s all,” he muttered.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you. Are you coming inside? Who’s this?” Tashi Duncan’s voice was as familiar as her face. She hosted Stanford’s sports program, which they probably forced her to do. Her and Art’s posters were plastered everywhere. “Oh, this is (Y/N), she’s in my statistics class,” Art said quickly, and Tashi nodded. “Nice, is he any good at it?” she asked, half-joking, like someone who's trying to break the ice in a situation she’d stumbled into. “No, he’s shitty. My friends are waiting for me, thanks for the water,” I replied and went back inside without looking back, wondering if this is what it feels like when your heart breaks. If from now on, every time I see Art Donaldson, it’ll shatter a little more.

I sat on the couch, as Shane had told me to, when someone sat next to me. I turned slowly because I couldn’t manage more than that. “Hey,” he had green eyes and blond hair, “I’m Luke,” he offered a hand for a handshake. “We had Intro to Economics together last semester,” he added with a smile. “Oh,” was all I could manage to say back. “We’re also in a few classes together now. You sit one row below me in Micro,” he continued, and I just stared at the guy talking to me.

“Did we talk before?” I asked. “Sorry if that’s rude, I’m just drunk,” I quickly added, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. I was just trying to recall my interactions with people, and I didn’t remember him. He looked good enough that I should’ve remembered him. “Actually, no. You always seem in your own world, and I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said, still smiling. “I see,” I said. “Actually, no. What do you mean, in my own world? I’m right here in your world, you know,” I kept talking faster than I probably should. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re just usually either with friends or scribbling something,” I saw he got nervous.

“Well,” I tried to remember his name, “Luke, you can always talk to me. I’m usually bored in those classes anyway,” I laughed, and he laughed too, clearly feeling relieved. “Can I get your number?” he asked. “Just in case we make plans or something,” he quickly added when he saw the surprised look on my face. I handed him my phone, and I couldn’t tell if the warmth spreading through my cheeks was from the alcohol or the situation. “You have a message from Art Donaldson,” he said, handing my phone back after adding his number. And just like that, the momentary euphoria ended. Art had to remind me at every possible moment that he existed.

If there’s something Art hates, it’s being ignored. Being left on ‘read.’ I guess that’s why he knocked on my door at 3 AM, incredibly drunk. “Your dress is so pretty,” he mumbled, reciting the message he sent me earlier at the party. “Art, it’s really late—” “He’s flirting with you because your dress is pretty,” he recited the next message. I memorized them so well that I could recite them along with him. “Because you’re pretty,” he continued to the next message. “I’m sorry I introduced you like that, I panicked,” the next message. “You’re not just someone who studies statistics with me,” another message. “Art—” I tried to interrupt the show in front of me. “I really am shitty,” he continued. “Are you done?” I asked, even though I knew the answer, that was the last message he sent.

“Did you lose your phone or something, Peaches?” he asked, half-laughing, half-sarcastic. “You’re drunk,” I sighed. “You didn’t answer me. I thought something happened,” he mumbled. “Liar,” I rolled my eyes. “You’re right, I knew nothing happened. I thought you were fucking that new guy you found,” he shot back. “Wow, Art, you think amazing things about me. You really know me well,” I returned sarcastically. “Anything else?” I asked, ignoring the fact that he was getting closer to me with giant steps. “I missed you, Peach,” he mumbled, his breath, which smelled like his usual gum and beer, mixing with mine again.

“So why did you disappear on me?” I asked. And it came out more desperate than I planned. More pathetic than I expected. I could imagine the smirk spreading on his smug face as I closed my eyes. “You asked for a break. I just gave you what you asked for. I couldn’t hold back today though, you were so beautiful, Peach. The most beautiful at that shitty party. So, the break’s over, okay?” he said, and in his drunk mind, it was probably a logical sentence. His lips brushed against mine, and finally, he kissed me like a starving man who stumbled upon his favorite meal. He had never kissed me like this. He was always gentle in his movements, calculated in every shift.

Not this time. His hands brushed over every part of my body they could reach, I don’t know how I found myself without the shirt I was sleeping in, but I stood in front of him only in my underwear, and he took a step back, looking at me in the dark, as if he was an expert in night vision. As if he was trying to capture me in his memory. “You’re drunk,” I said again. “Not even close,” he replied. “Please, Peach. I’ll be good. I need you,” his kisses went down to my neck, and he led me to the bed. Everything was sloppy and messy, but I found myself under him in seconds, with him also already without a shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. And that was the usual mantra, he says all the right words and touches all the right places. He knows what makes me tick. He knows what gives me chills and which position I like best. I felt tears forming in the corners of my eyes, as if waiting for me to blink. Then his lips covered them, gently, and if someone had seen the scene from the side, they might dare to think it was love. “Fuck, baby, I’ll make you happy. You want that? You want me?” he asked, pulling away from me for a second and looking at me with half-plea, in almost mania.

“Yes, Art,” I said quietly. “Yes, what?” he asked with his typical determination. “Yes, I want you,” I returned, running a gentle hand over his face, and he repositioned himself over me. “That’s my girl,” he groaned. “I missed you so much. How needy you are. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll help you. I’ll give you what you need,” his hand pinched my left nipple, and I felt like he was punishing me for the last month. “Mmm Art,” it came out as half-whimper, half-cry. “Shhhh, you can take it, right? You missed this?” he asked, and I nodded. “Of course you can, a slut like you, a month without her favorite cock, my poor thing. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he said, and I felt his hand, the one not torturing my chest, settle between my legs. “Art,” another half-moan, half-whimper.

“Fuck, Peach, you’re so wet,” he chuckled nastily and pushed my panties aside, not waiting too long before he slipped two fingers where I needed him. “Oh my god,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. “No no, look at me. Eyes on me.” He bit my neck and pinched my chest harder. I felt my whole body tighten, and I tried to keep quiet so as not to wake the entire dorm hall. “You’re so easy, Peach,” he said while I clenched around his hand. “Uh-huh, fuck, Art,” I tried to catch his mouth with mine in a half-movement, and he moved his face away with a chuckle, as if trying to prove how pathetic I was now. “Please,” I mumbled. “Please what?” he asked, again close to my face. “Please, kiss me,” I gave in, unable to act like a woman who respects herself. Within seconds, his lips were on mine, and his cock was inside me, filling me. “There you go,” he mumbled into my lips, stroking my hair with one hand and holding my hand with the other. The sad truth is, we’ve never fucked like this. It’s always in the most complicated positions you can think of, never missionary, never in a way that would confuse me into thinking that maybe Art Donaldson loves me.

“You’re so good, baby,” he said, thrusting as deep as he could. Slowly. As if he had all the time in the world. “I missed you. It was like losing a limb, losing your pussy,” another deep thrust. “But you’re mine again, right?” he asked, and all I could do was nod while his hand left mine and started making circles on my clit. His rhythm became chaotic, and he looked at me with a look that told me he was close. “I know, baby,” I mumbled, holding onto his neck, and he nodded. “I think I love you,” he mumbled into my lips with closed eyes. “I love you too,” I whispered. His cum filled me, just like every time since the first time he came inside me.

He kissed me again and stayed inside me for a few more seconds, his weight almost crushing me before he pulled out of me and moved to the side, placing my head on his chest, trying to find a comfortable position on the awful dorm bed. We both panted heavily as his hand made small movements through my hair. “I’ll get you something to clean up…” he mumbled, and I nodded, a bit stunned. Because that wasn’t a typical Art move. He never thought about it deeply enough. He threw a shirt he picked up from the floor at me and studied me for a moment as he started getting dressed.

“You’re not staying?” I asked and sighed. “I can’t, I have practice in the morning,” he replied. And just when I thought something had changed, Art and I stayed exactly the same.

Hey there guys, it's been a while since I wrote anything and as much as I love TTOOL, and I love the story deeply, I wanted to explore a new concept. It's the first time I have written in a xreader style, so I hope it turned out OK. Can't wait to hear your thoughts, it's my favorite part 💜

Using the taglist from the main story, hopefully you'll like that too: @lydiaxkirby @suzysface tqd4455 @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

#challengers fic #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #challengers #art donaldson smut

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tinytennisskirt · 1 month

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Kiss Me

art donaldson x bestfriend!reader

summary: to keep your crazy ex at bay, you and patrick instill a facade of fake-dating, brought on by an impulsive move that art missed the opportunity to take. art, who has had a thing for you forever, is completely crushed, but you’re only FAKE dating patrick. you do have real feelings, y’know?

warnings: kiss!!!!, mention of punching and blood, broken nose, mentions of marijuana, angst, slight miscommunication trope and fake dating trope with a twist!!!

“kiss me,” you said, looking at the boys a little desperately. both of them went wide-eyed, art turning slightly pink. “please! now! one of you kiss me!”

“what?” art says, eyes as big as plates just as patrick lunges forward, grabbing your face and kissing you. now this was a problem because number one, art donaldson has had the biggest crush on you since the moment he met you in the stanford cafeteria, and two, it was his best friend who just kissed you. there’s no escaping that. what the fuck.

art just watched as you kissed him back, a little shocked and little dumbfounded and honestly a little bit crushed. he pressed his mouth into a line for the duration of the kiss, not able to take his eyes away or even blink. he’s just second-guessed and missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime and patrick just took it. patrick. patrick who had to ask what your name was three times the same day he met you because he kept forgetting.

he watched as you pulled away, feeling his heart strings pull. “i’m so sorry, patrick, but thank you.”

patrick grinned, “you’re welcome.”

“hm… why?” art asked, trying not to focus on the way you wiped your lower lip with your thumb. he felt winded, if he was honest. no fucking way you just walk into a room and ask to be kissed by one of them and he doesn’t take it. no way that just fucking happened.

you were a little panicked, though, it seemed- the way your eyes darted around the room. “my ex- the crazy one. he’s here at stanford by some fucking… crazy chance? i knew he was coming to talk to me, i just needed to look… taken.”

“by me?” patrick laughed. “poor guy.”

art’s mouth fell a little open. “so you needed to be kissed?” his emphasis on ‘kissed’ came out bitter.

patrick shoved art just a little, ruffling his hair, “someone jealous?”

yeah, he was jealous. he was pissed. more than. he pressed his tongue to his cheek, “your ex is here?” he ignored it. “like on campus or going here?”

“i don’t know, but i’m kind of terrified.” you said, folding your arms. “i’m sorry about the kiss, pat.”

“don’t be. wasn’t the worst kiss i’ve ever had.”

“okay, rude!” you hit him in the upper arm.

“it was good, i promise.” he laughed. art felt just the slightest bit sick. “but what’s this guys deal?”

“obsessed with me.” you replied, your usual fun and carefree personality silenced to a serious monotone. “it was hard as hell to get rid of him back home but he’s here and that alone is scary as hell.”

“i get that,” art said, turning to patrick. “you remember that one girl janet back at the academy?”

patrick chuckled again, “oh yeah. art had his own little stalker.”

“really?” it seemed to cheer you up. “what did she do?”

“i’ll tell you back at my dorm. don’t need you hanging out where this guy is.” he offered. you agreed and the three of you walked back to his dorm, telling you the janet stories. you did end up feeling better but it was patrick who beat art to walking you back to your dorm. fucked.

art just sat on his bed, knees to his chest, hands draped over his legs wondering what the fuck just happened and how things got so fucked up so fast. the thing was that this was the only crush art had ever withheld from patrick. how fucking stupid did it seem to have hid it now? god, he was so fucked for it. no way patrick could say he kissed you now, that was fucked. and stupid. and lucky. his face fell into his hands as he flopped backward on his bed, hoping patrick came back quickly.

art’s stomach kept flip-flopping at the thought, remembering how you kissed patrick. you kissed patrick. it was so stupid! so fucking stupid. by some hesitation, he fucked everything up for himself. he could have kissed you. he could have KISSED YOU. he groaned out loud, rolling just slightly in pure frustration. this is what he got for keeping shit a secret.

the next day, the three of you were eating in the cafeteria. you and patrick on one side, you sitting across from art. “so he’s definitely going here now-“ you said, gesturing with a french fry. “which is insane and a little bit threatening.”

“he wouldn’t try anything, would he?” art asked, concerned.

“i don’t know,” you shrugged. “he did back home and it was bad. and he’s here and he knows i’m here and the look he gave me yesterday…”

patrick spoke with his mouth full, “as if he could get past me. and art.” he said. you smiled, art hated how beautiful it was when you smiled at his best friend. patrick swallowed his fries, “there’s no way he’s getting close with us around.”

“what if i’m alone, though? class to class? or class to dorms?”

art was about to offer to walk to to and from whenever he could but patrick spoke first, again. never had he wanted to jam a fork in his best friend’s throat so quickly. “i’ll walk you. you said yesterday you wanted to look taken, so i mean, it would keep up appearances.”

you gasped and grabbed the table, “oh my god. fake dating. like in the movies. that’s such a good idea.”

art wondered if you remembered that the fake dating trope always ended in falling for each other for real. he felt his chest tighten, there was no way fake dating was just suggested because patrick kissed you first. “i don’t know about that,” art said. “if you have to say ‘like in the movies’ is it a great idea in real life?”

“it could be?” you shrugged, looking at patrick. “maybe it will. and then once he knows to leave me alone for sure we can just go back to normal. if you’re up for it, pat?”

“yeah i’m up for it,” he says. “i don’t have anywhere to be but here anyways.”

“true,” you nodded.

art just covered his mouth with his hand and looked somewhere else. he couldn’t eat anymore. this was actually happening in front of his eyes and he couldn’t say anything or do anything about it. his chest stayed tight, as if someone had laced around his rib cages and started pulling hard. he bit his cheek to keep from showing just how much this hurt him. because it did, it hurt him, no matter how innocent it was on your end, on patrick’s end. well, maybe not on patrick’s end. art wasn’t sure about how patrick really felt on the topic- he could only hope that patrick didn’t see real potential…

you placed your hand on art’s, trying to get his attention again, “oh my god you’re freezing.” you said, squeezing his hand just a little. his attention fell on that, on you. “you’re okay?”

“with what?” art said, a little presumptuous.

“just asking if you’re okay. you stared off for a bit there.” you said, hand still intertwined with his like it was nothing. it was nothing.

patrick was focused on his food. and art already hated third wheeling a fake couple. “i’m fine, i just remembered i have some shit i have to do before my next class. i’ll see you guys back at my dorm later?”

“oh, meet at mine,” you said as art got up with his meal that was only 1/4 dug into. “just in case you-know-who is around?”

“yeah,” art nodded. he didn’t have many words left in him. he was sure if he forced words out it’d be some monologue about how frustrated he was that he missed the fucking opportunity to kiss you and this was snowballing and he was not feeling good at all, in fact he was feeling really sick. “see you guys later.”

he didn’t see the way your eyebrows furrowed when he walked away. patrick did though. “was that weird?” you asked him. “the way he got up and left, was that weird? am i imagining things?”

“no, that was weird.” patrick agreed. “i don’t know what’s up with him though, he hasn’t said anything.”

“nothing?”

“he was like that last night when i was over after you left. didn’t talk much.”

you twisted your mouth to the side, wondering what could be up with him. but he didn’t say anything, not for the two weeks that you and patrick were fake-dating. art pretended like he was fine when patrick walked you to art’s dorm room to hang out, pretended like he was fine when you sat with patrick in the stands at his own tennis game, too close for comfort just because your ex was in the crowd too. art lost that game just thinking about how much he wanted to toss his racket right at patrick. it wasn’t out of hatred- he did not hate his best friend, he was jealous of his best friend. all because art hesitated and he didn’t…

and you kept wondering why art was so distant. was he upset with something? what was he keeping to himself that made him so standoffish? you were determined to know because obviously two weeks is a while to be ‘out of it’ as art claimed he was.

you and patrick held hands at the table, you were trying not to look at your ex who stood in the corner on his phone, standing facing you. “your hands are really hot,” you said to him, chuckling.

“that’s not me.”

“that’s all you,” you said, laughing quietly. it doesn’t sound very genuine, you were nervous. art could tell. “he’s still watching?”

art pretended to scan the cafeteria, noting the cold gaze your ex set on you. patrick had two people in this room to be jealous of, which sucked. patrick for the hand he held and your ex for the simple fact that he had you. he was ugly, to be honest. not a great looking guy but apparently enough to date you at some point. fuck. he nodded back at you to tell you yes, you were still being watched.

you wished you didn’t have to hold patrick’s hand. the fake dating thing wasn’t so bad, it was just added actions to hanging out with your best friend. just a few kisses and he wasn’t bad- but there was nothing in it. it was funny if anything, you usually ended up laughing about it. it was so dumb. maybe you could let your hand slip out if his… his hands were sickeningly warm.

art stared at your intertwined fingers. fucking sick and jealous and upset. you, perfect, pretty, purple nail polish, lip gloss, quick humour and soft gaze and your hand was in patrick’s. unappreciated, almost an empty gesture. patrick didn’t like you. not the way art did, not the way art could have. if he didn’t fucking hesitate. if he’d kissed you then. it would have been so easy… he watched your hand slip out of patrick’s and brush against your jeans. art hated how it made him smile just in the slightest. but it was fleeting. patrick reached his arm around you and pulled you closer and art swore he felt his heart drop a few inches in his chest. he should have been used to it by now.

but he wasn’t when you hugged patrick the next day when saying goodbye, your ex just always around. art was on his way to trying to get rid of this guy just so you’d stop touching patrick. art, a sweet boy, thinking about kicking this guys ass just for patrick to take his hand off of your waist. it was killing him, it was taking him apart.

it killed him when he watched all these empty acts… why was your ex always fucking there? it was crazy how afraid you were of him but so rightful, why was he always around? but you hugged patrick, you kissed him on the cheek, you held his hand and it was vile and it hurt, this ache in his chest never dulling. even when you weren’t around, it was still there. art prayed for easy sleep most nights, if he was awake laying in bed it would eat him alive. his chest would tighten to the point of pain. he missed out on one thing and spent every night just repeating that moment of hesitation, that mistake.

you and art alone was hard to come by naturally. usually patrick was around, even if the both of you didn’t want it. you sat with him in the library. “you’re so lucky that janet girl didn’t follow you to stanford,” you groaned, resting your head on your arms on the table. “i miss being free.”

“you can be free.” art said, closing the book he was looking at. “he shouldn’t control anything. fuck him, honestly.”

“don’t remind me,” you groaned again, putting your face into your arm. “i feel haunted and i’m scared, im never not scared.” your head turned on it’s side, facing him without lifting your head. “his actions back home, if the cops hadn’t gotten involved i don’t even know what would have happened. he got a warning and i moved away but he’s here and he’s everywhere. it’s a good thing he’s not literate.”

art smiled just a bit at that, but not all of that. you smiled too. he was glad you were making light of it. it was good to see you not so on edge without being in your room or his. “i’m sorry you’re scared. you have the right to be, but i wish you weren’t. he’s here, yeah, and as long as patrick and i are around, he won’t get to you. not even a word. i catch him within ten feet of you, he’s done.” he pulls a loose string off of your sweater- “can you still do that cartwheel thing?”

“yeah i’m gonna cartwheel him to death,” you nod. “i’ll teach you if you want to help me tag team him with cartwheels.”

“i think if you can do it, he’s already a goner.” he pushed your hair out of your face and you smiled, shutting your eyes, enjoying the peace of a public space without the eyes of anyone but art. art was a quiet contrast to the whirlwinds and overstimulation of feeling watched and having to hold hands or be touching patrick in some way. art was a perfect break from it.

he watched how you looked with your slight smile on glossy lips, your eyelashes perfect as your eyes laid closed. and more than any time he’d seen you and patrick, more than any touch and kiss he knew you’d exchanged with his best friend, he was the angriest he’d ever been that he didn’t kiss you then. the angriest. but it coexisted with the extent of how he felt about you, being here with you, the extreme happiness. art donaldson was a fairly simple guy but you were so… how could he not be…

fuck.

the next day it just about ripped him to shreds to see you kiss patrick again. even after you pulled a bit of a face. and it was too much. he couldn’t do it anymore. his avoidance worsened, he tried to get out of hanging out as much as he could. he couldn’t bear seeing the empty affection. how lucky patrick was to get to do it. he just couldn’t see it anymore. he got further and further from you both. hanging out with you alone only sometimes, patrick alone sometimes. he felt a little outcast but it was his own doing for his own good.

you enjoyed all the time you got with him alone. he was the peace and quiet. he was the next safest thing but without the pretending part. with him you didn’t have to pretend anything. you’d just talk, laugh, he made you laugh so much you almost forgot you were having an ex-boyfriend crisis. he was sweet and he was so kind and it was refreshing to know someone who just wanted to spend time with you. and you didn’t have to be anyone for anyone. but you missed hanging out with him the way you used to- which was a lot more, and you missed the three of you hanging out, smoking, talking, dancing, being weird and loud. it meant a lot to you and it just sucked when he wasn’t there. you had to fix it. you had to see him more!

you caught him after one of his late evening classes, running up from behind and covering his eyes. “guess who?”

“it’s not patrick…” he said, small smile on his face as you uncovered his eyes and began to walk his pace next to him. “hey.”

“hiii,” you lead. “so i was wondering if maybe you wanted to get dinner?”

he looked the other way to hide how his eyes widened. “dinner?” he looked back at you.

“yeah. nothing crazy, i mean, probably just the campus bar if you wanted.” you just wanted some time alone with him in a good setting. maybe start going out without patrick…

art pressed his lips together, looking at you. dinner meant patrick. the campus bar meant a risk of being seen by your ex. appearances were important, after all. “i have chinese leftovers,” art lied for the sake of not having to be around you and patrick and the fake hand-holding and all of the things that made him nauseous. “i’ll see you after though?”

“oh.” you said, smiling. “why don’t we skip dinner? i can grab something on the way back to your dorm.”

“it’s fine. i’ll see you after, no problem. i think patrick has an ounce on him still, we can smoke or something.”

“yeah.” you said, honestly a little embarrassed your attempt at hanging out with him alone had failed. but even with that, he still “i’m just going to head back to my room. what time do you want me over?”

“maybe nine? make sure patrick doesn’t forget his rolling papers.”

“i won’t…” you said, noticing how art’s pace picked up. you had no idea how badly he wanted to get away from the idea of you and patrick out to dinner for appearances. “art?”

“yeah?”

your next words sounded a bit insecure. you swallowed them and decided on saying something else. “i like your hat.”

“you bought it for me.” he smiled.

“i know.” you smiled back. “see you later.”

“see you.” the second he could, his face turned to an expression of disgust. this whole thing was so stupid- all of this because he hesitated. bullshit. he’d almost gone a day without thinking about it. when would it end?

you went back to your dorm alone. or you tried. earbuds in, ipod on, listening some 90s hit you’d been obsessed with again lately and it didn’t occur to you that this was the first time you’d walked across campus alone. you had shortcuts patrick showed you, alleyways between residencies.

and there he was. him. by chance or by choice you didn't know and the second you realized was the second you realized it was too late and he had you blocked into a corner. your earbuds fell from your ears as he began to curse at you. the events began and you tried to use your speed dial to get either art or patrick, but you could only click patrick’s before he yelled at you to put your phone down. patrick didn’t pick up.

you were afraid.

it was forty minutes later when art got a call from patrick, asking if he was free. just on a whim.

“hey, you up for anything?”

art blinked, “you’re with Y/N?”

“nah. actually, i didn’t call while you were in class, but she said she was going to ask some guy out, i think the fake dating thing is done for.”

art’s stomach did it’s first front flip instead of a backflip. “done for?”

“yeah, honestly i’m glad. she’s been scaring away a few girls i’ve had my eyes on. not that i minded helping her out, it just- she’s not my type, you know? she’s a good friend but i couldn’t… you know.”

art rethought you finding him after class. he was fucking stupid- asking a guy out, asking him out? he didn’t know if he was crazy but when you mentioned getting dinner you didn’t mean with patrick, you didn’t have plans with patrick. oh fuck, art thought, feeling five things at once. distress, joy, stupidity, a bit of anger, and regret. “she say who she was asking out?”

“no. but i’m happy for her. i think she’s not afraid of her ex as much anymore. plus, fake dating or not we’re still her friends and we’re around her pretty often. the guy wouldn’t go near her with us around.”

“that’s what i keep saying,” art nodded as if patrick could see him. he was grabbing his sweater and shoes as he spoke. “listen- uh- come meet me here at campus at ten. i might not be back at ten but you know where the key is. i gotta go… bring rolling papers.”

“done,” patrick agreed. “talk to you later.”

“bye,” art said, leaving out the door. if he was right, you’d just asked him to dinner and he had said no. without hesitation this time, he had said no. he said he had chinese leftovers, he didn’t have anything. fuck. so stupid, you were probably at your dorm alone right now. fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck.

he ran a hand through his hair as he jumped the stairs and left his building to head over to yours. walking a little faster than he had control over- breaking a jog. yes he’d go to dinner with you, what the fuck, how did this happen, did you like him? his head was a bit of a mess but he had to find you. he called you on his way over but no answer. he walked up to your dorm and knocked, but no answer. hm. maybe he wasn’t the guy? or something. his brain drew conclusions and he checked the common rooms on his way downstairs and outside.

fuck. did he miss a chance again? again, after all of this? another chance? he’d had too many taken from him but this was his own fault.

��i’m sorry, okay!” you said, voice shaky. you were trying to be loud without letting him know you were trying to draw attention to yourself so that anyone might intervene. “i’m sorry we haven’t spoken, i didn’t know you wanted to.”

“bullshit. you saw me, you didn’t even say hi.”

“hi! please, can i just go back to my dorm i don’t know what else you want.”

“you know what i want. what i miss. what i know you miss too, i know that patrick asshole doesn’t give you what i gave you…” trauma, you thought. fought not to say it to his face. but you were afraid. “you miss me.”

“i-“

“bullshit! just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you don’t want me.”

“can i please go back to my dorm room? if you don’t let me go, i’ll scream.” you said, a little more panicked by the second. he stepped closer and you stepped back into the wall. “i will scream and you will be caught.”

“you’re not going to be screaming anything but my name-“

“please.” you pleaded. “it’s not worth it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” art said, punching your ex in the face, hard. pain immediately splintered up his hand and into his wrist. he hissed a bit in pain, immediately shaking his hand out. “fuck.” he’d never punched anyone ever in his life. not like that.

you covered your mouth and watched as your ex raised his hand to his nose, bleeding and honestly disgustingly crooked. art broke his nose. you reached to the side for him, unable to take your eyes off your ex as he scrambled to his feet. he wasn’t the type to fight and he was a coward, always was. your hand found the sleeve of art’s shirt and you grabbed hard.

“fuck you,” your ex seethed, blood running down his face. “say goodbye to your tennis career buddy, that’s assault.”

“and what were you about to do?” he had never felt more adrenaline in his body. he wasn’t himself. your ex went quiet and if there was ability to turn red even after bleeding, he was pink in the face. he stumbled, stuttered. And hurried off. “fuck!” art said, holding his hand with the other hand. it pulsed in sharp pain. “jesus-“ his eyes fell on you and immediately he was pulling you into a hug he didn’t even hesitate about. his hand hurt like hell but with his arms wrapped around you he ignored the pain coursing through his fingers, hand, and wrist just to squeeze you tight. you were breathing hard, a little ragged, a little bit like you were trying not to cry. “you’re okay.” he said gently.

he made sure not to get the blood from his knuckles on you. it was more important to hold you than it was to tend to that right now.

you could have stayed in his arms a while longer and he would have let you, but things sunk in. “you punched him.”

he winced in pain again, “not properly. fuck, this hurts. i’ve never punched anyone before.”

he knew you were still in some state of shock and surprise and frankly, so was he. “that was…” you saw his hand, how badly he’d hurt it, your hands gently grabbed it. “oh my god, art…”

“it’s fine,”

“it’s not fine. i’m so sorry, does it hurt badly?”

“no, not much.” a lot. “just a bit.”

“i’m so sorry, art, i’m so sorry, thank you, that was… crazy.”

art almost chuckled. you were sorry, of course you were. you were the sweetest girl in the world, sorry for something he did. “why are you sorry? don’t be sorry.” he said.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you said, taking his fucked up hand in your own.

“what if i told you i really wanted to?”

you smiled just a bit. you knew he wasn’t violent. in fact, art was one of the most gentle people he’d ever known. “thank you. i think if anyone was deserving, it was him.” you held his hand the way you did and it was gentle in return, but your hands were shaking. you looked him in the eyes, grateful and genuine. “come on. let’s get this cleaned up.” you said. the pain in his hand almost dulled when you looked at him, he swore. it returned, shooting and throbbing as he followed you into your dorm room.

he sat on your bed and you came over with your little first aid kit and some water. your hands were still shaking. “you’ll report him later?” he asked.

“i think i will. will you come with me?” you asked, wiping the blood that wasn’t near any of the wounds.

“of course.” he nodded. “you’re okay though?”

“i will be.” you nodded. in the dim of your dorm room, the lamplight warm, he saw you smile just a bit. his heart beat hard in his chest. he understood your short responses. “i was just walking home… he cornered me, i didn’t think he could. he did.”

“he won’t do it again.”

“i know. he’s a coward. once he’s caught he backs off.”

“you’ll be free from him. especially if you report him and it goes over well.” art said. “but you stood your ground that whole time?”

you sniffed as you tossed the bloody tissue away, “yeah. i didn’t cartwheel though, not enough space.”

art laughed just a little and so did you. “i’m sorry i didn’t either. probably would have hurt less.” he flexed his hand, wincing in pain. “can’t believe i punched a guy.”!

“me neither,” you giggled. “i think you broke his nose.”

“i hope so.” he returned. “would be a good first try.”

“would be good. he was already ugly anyway- now maybe he can get some reconstructive surgery.” you giggled. he was glad to see you laughing about it. “art, this is going to sting a bit.” you said, his hand in your own. art nodded, braced, and you put a few drops of some solution on his hand, watching it fizz up. he hissed just a little, and you tightened your grip on his hand. his lips pressed together.

he sighed, breathing out slowly. “i’m never punching anyone again, jesus christ-“

“good, i hope you don’t have to,” you said, cleaning it again, him wincing in pain again. “i’m sorry-“ you added.

art smiled, “don’t be sorry.”

“then i’m not.” you said, cheeky smile in return. you were so beautiful… silence filled the room for a moment. it was a thick silence, filled with unsaid words.

until art broke it, “you think you’ll continue to fake-date patrick?”

you looked at him through your eyelashes, “i’m done with that. he was angry with patrick, said some shitty things. it didn’t stop him.” you nodded. “plus patrick said it was scaring other girls away.” you laughed. “i’m just glad i don’t have to hold his hand anymore, he’s so… warm.”

art nodded. he adjusted the way he sat, getting the slightest bit closer. “you’re glad it’s over with?”

“for sure,” you said, bandaging his knuckles up, securing it with with pins. “i hate kissing people without meaning, you know?”

“i know.”

“it just… it wasn’t bad but it wasn’t what i wanted from the getgo.”

art’s eyes softened, but his eyebrows furrowed, “you seemed pretty excited about the fake dating. like in the movies. was it anything…” he trailed off as you raised his bandaged hand to your lips and kissed his hand gently. as if kissing it better. you did it like it was the most natural action. art cleared his throat, “wasn’t what you wanted?”

“wasn’t what i wanted. from the start.” you repeated.

“i thought you had plans with patrick tonight, that’s why i said no.” he stated, just so you knew.

he swore he saw you blush, “no- that was just- i didn’t. i just, i don’t knowwww.” art noted how close the two of you were. “i just thought maybe you would.”

“i didn’t know you meant just me,” he chuckled. “if i did, it would have been yes.”

your hands still shook ever so slightly. “it’s good to know. and if i asked again…” you trailed, your cheeks just the slightest bit pink.

he smiled, trying to keep it a smile and not a grin, “i’d say yes.” he swallowed hard, “and if i asked you if i could kiss you right now…”

“i’d say yes,” you replied. “hypothetically- i mean-“ you started giggling as he moved your hair from your face, smile turning into a grin, bandaged hand grazing your cheek just slightly. your eyelashes fluttered gently and your giggle turned into a smile.

“hypothetically?” he beamed, leaning in

“mhm,” you smiled, meeting him halfway. you both smiled into the kiss, but it was slow, sickeningly slow, with no impulsivity and nothing at stake. lips barely grazing each other’s, gently, not fully kissing, not yet. art’s non-bandaged hand slid over your jaw, settling to the place just below your ear before he closed the (very) small gap between.

the kiss stayed slow, art’s lips pressed to yours sweetly, gently, easily. and it filled the void every empty kiss with patrick left in you. his lips were soft, and so were yours, your berry lipbalm the cause. your lips almost melted into his, the way it felt like you were meant to kiss him. your lips fit together in a way where they never really had with patrick. or anyone, ever.

mouthes open, just slightly, taking in as much as possible in a kiss while still moving with only patience. the breaths in between filled with the feeling of you smiling against his lips. his heart pounded in his chest, about as hard as it did when the adrenaline kicked in earlier. but it was just you. only you.

and the kiss was slowly undoing the ache he’d felt for two months. his chest was full, heart pumping, feeling warm. and actually happy. really happy. there was no pain to be felt, not in his hand, not in any manner. your hand on the back of his head, fingers slowly moving through his hair, sliding over his jaw. it was only a few minutes, both of you not wanting to stop, not for anything, but there was a knock on the door. and you both pulled away, both a little dazed. art’s cheeks and nose were visibly pink and he for sure was wearing your lip balm at that point.

“it’s probably patrick,” art said. “he’s got… weed.”

“he’s got weed?” you smiled, standing up over him. “think he’ll knock again?”

“probably,” art replied, reaching up and pulling you back down into a kiss, your body between his legs on the edge of the bed. another kiss, just a little faster this time, your hands cupping his face gently. interrupted once more after twenty seconds by patrick knocking. you pulled away with the prettiest grin and went to answer the door.

patrick came in with a knowing look that he shot art before questioning art’s bandaged hand. the story unravelled over a joint and a good amount of laughter and for once art was able to enjoy his friend’s company without those nagging thoughts and feelings. you might have been patrick’s with the facade, but this was real. art’s hand rested on your thigh and before the night truly ended, the proper plans were made. not only to report your jackass of an ex, but to get dinner after.

#challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson angst #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson oneshot #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x reader #tinytennisskirt #bestfriend! art

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heizours · 1 year

Text

YOUR FIRST

summary. he overhears a conversation about who was your first favourite character in the game, and they grow jealous about it

tags. gn! reader, grammatical mistakes may occur

cw. none as far as i have check

feat. scaramouche, thoma, childe, xiao, dottore

< back to event m.list

INTRO.

"Who was my first favourite character during the early days I was playing it?" You repeated the same question that your friend was asking you.

"Precisely! C'mon, I'm sure there is someone who had really caught your attention the moment they entered a quest you were playing or something like that."

They responded back, as they waited eagerly yet patiently for you to tell them, while you were busy thinking and reflecting back on who it was.

Little do you know, that they are not only one who's itching to know your big revelation.

If the doors have eyes, then the walls or perhaps the screens have ears as well.

"Well, I'd say that the first character who caught my attention and became my favourite in a short span of time is-"

SCARAMOUCHE.

"-Childe!

Scaramouche acts like he is not deeply affected by it and acts like it wasn't a big deal to him, but the expressions that were painted on his face betrayed the best of him.

Why are you smiling when Childe's the topic?

What did he do to make you joyous like this?

But... if he is the first character you like, is it now a liked?

There is this some sort of uneasy feeling that continues to brew and swirl inside of him the very moment your face had brighten up at the mention of the harbinger's name, and he has no idea how to stop it and why was he feeling it in the first place.

Is this another emotion that a heart can experience and learn, from time to time? What was it called again?

Ah yes, jealousy.

Scaramouche suddenly scoffs at the realization, finding it hard to believe that he would feel the bitterness of what enviousness is like sooner than he had anticipated, and the primary cause that triggered it was none other than that side character.

Childe? Cool and Captivating? Please, you haven't even seen how he could be a million times better than him.

"You mean to tell me that I'm simply getting worked up all for this? Why should I be bothered over it, when I could be a whole lot better than him? Heh"

THOMA.

-Itto!

Thoma rarely taste the medicine of jealousy but seeing that look on your face when you rambled on about the oni, somehow snapped him into his senses. He felt the need to grab your attention from the screen to tell you that he is here too, and maybe - just maybe you could switch your favours around.

I'm not jealous...being one is simply irrational

Maybe — I am a little bit jealous

Alright, I am jealous...

While he would be in denial at first with the jealousy he is dealing with, he would still come to the generalization that he is indeed jealous, and if he will have to cope up with it, he would put back on his smiley facade, only this time something about his smile is a little unpleasing, that even Itto himself will not dare to breathe around him.

But, instead of continuing to bottle up his jealousy and act petty like the others, he would understand why you favour the oni and would put that first before his feelings.

Don't be fooled though, compliment him too while you're at it!

“Oh...I didn’t know they like him. It sounds very surprising coming from them, but who am I to judge? Well then, has anyone seen Itto? I bet he will be delighted to hear the news!”

CHILDE.

“-Thoma!

Childe laughs it off - Yes, it’s the laugh that you are thinking right now where he is this close from committing another arson. He is definitely not a second away from taking a trip to Inazuma and is on the go to plan a competition with the housekeeper, because he’s too cool to even to something like that.

I see, another challenger perhaps?

Hmph, what’s the point of challenging him if I know that I am the strongest?

Clear skies Ajax, clear skies

At this point, it is quite clear that he is turning into the embodiment of jealousy due to the amount of assurance that he is telling to himself, not because he is threatened by Thoma but because he is threatened that your favouritism about him will be the reason for his downfall.

He is threatened by the fact that you could easily evict him from your main team and replace him with someone else from another region who is just newly released and is almost a carbon copy as him, if not for the differences of their physical appearances.

It is indeed true that jealousy is a disease, that not even Ajax himself could flee from it.

“Thoma? I have heard of that name, but I also heard that I can excel ten times better at the things he could do. No- I’m not showing off, I am simply describing that I am a way better option than him, that’s it.”

XIAO.

“-Scaramouche!

Xiao stays the same as he is, or - that’s what he thinks. Truth to be told, he doesn’t even realize that he is jealous, but as they say - actions speaks louder than words, and the way he is acting right now shows how he is envied by this favouritism topic.

Did I expect too much?

I don’t like this feeling...

Is this what those mortals call as jealousy?

It takes a while for him to accept that he is jealous, but after that whole feeling finally sinks in, well let’s say he is displeased by this realization because by every second, that feeling continues to sink deeper and deeper as if it’s attempting to land in the deepest depth of the ocean.

But, like Thoma, he is another who tries to get over with it and respects why you favour that character the most. Maybe it’s because you see them in a different light that others can’t, and he understands that.

Everyone has favourites, and he can’t blame you for that because even him has one which is you but he would rather not say it.

"Hm, while I do not fawn over him, I suppose I understand why you like him in the first place. Whatever makes you happy, is simply enough for me to know why."

DOTTORE.

- Alhaitam!

Dottore remains indifferent or so what he assures to himself, because if anyone where to see right through him, displeased is not even used enough to describe how disturb he is by that revelation.

The Akademiya scribe is what they fawn over the most, hm?

How interesting....

Though, irritating would be the right word for it

His pride is wounded, and what makes it even more worse for him is he is a man of intelligence. So naturally, he is intimidated and threatened that the scribe who is also intelligent but not as him, could be the reason why he can’t turn the favour of you to him.

To get rid of the jealousy that he is feeling, he will dedicate most of his time (like he isn’t in the first place) inside his lab, doing things where only he knows what it is. He is one of the upper rank harbingers and dictated as the doctor for a reason, and the only way he could could get off the steam he is feeling, is to be busy.

While he is ordering around his clones and agents at the same time, any step or news that he gets from them and will be deemed as a failure, will have to face some serious issues from him, especially that Dottore is not in the mood to be in a dilly dally manner.

“Anything I need? Perhaps you can give me a little information about the scribe - take it or leave it. Either way, leaving it is not even an option in the first place.”

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dandylovesturtles · 3 months

Text

Decided to write a quick little something for @whumperless-whump-event Day 4: chronic pain/"I'm used to it."

featuring, of course, Sidelined Leo!

like I said before, since it's disability pride month I'd like to do a few things for the Sidelined AU, so hopefully I will find time for more as the days go. For now, I hope you enjoy this!

-----

Leo can tell it's going to be a bad day the moment he wakes up.

The pain in his arms and legs has grown from it's constant dull thrum to a more present burn, and there's a pinch between his eyes that tells him a headache is on the way. Really, he's not surprised; the last few days have been really good. He even went out on a mission two days ago, and did a little skateboarding yesterday. It stands to reason that his body has crashed out on him.

Sometimes he feels angry and bitter about it. Today, he just feels a sort of resigned acceptance. And that means maybe it won't be such a bad day after all.

He hits the button on the side of the bed so it bends him into a reclined position, then fumbles around on his side table until his hand lands on his pill organizer. He should probably text someone to bring him water, but it feels like a pain, so he dry swallows them one by one and just resolves not to mention doing that to Dad or Raph.

Then he finally blinks the sleep out of his eyes and looks around his room and... darn it, his chair isn't here. Where'd he even leave it...

His memory is a complete blank on that one, so he sighs and clears his throat.

"Hey, Shell-man?"

There's only a second of silence before Shelldon's voice echoes from who even knows where. Donnie rigged his new room with more electronics than Leo will ever know about.

"S'up bro?"

"You know where my chair is?" he asks, like Shelldon can't track it instantly.

"You left it in the arcade, dude," comes the answer. "Want me to wheel it over?"

Yeah, no way he's getting himself to the arcade today. "Sure, thanks, Shelly."

"No problem, dude!"

Leo lets his head flop back on his pillows while he wants for his chair to be delivered. He fumbles around for his phone this time and takes a look at his reminders.

6:00 PM: Concert with Mikester

"Crap," he mutters, closing his eyes. Right, that yokai hip-hop group Mikey wanted to go see. Leo had promised he'd go with him, but he doubts he'll be able to do it now.

It's not that big a deal. Raph or Donnie will probably go with him if Mikey makes big enough puppy eyes at them. It's just, Leo had been kinda excited about it, too...

The dark buzz that heralds his anxiety flares up, and he sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slow. He doesn't want this day to turn terrible. He needs to relax and accept the things he can't change, like April always says. Even when it sucks.

There's a whir of electronics that signals the arrival of his chair. Leo waits until it parks itself next to his bed, then he swings his legs over the bed and stands up just long enough to sit down in the chair again. Even that leaves him feeling a little winded, but he doubts his arms could have handled the transfer so he doesn't bother trying.

He wheels around his room until he finds his big comfy unicorn hoodie, then drives out into the rest of the lair, making his way up the ramp to the kitchen. He can smell breakfast cooking, and hear Raph's voice.

"Morning fam," he says as he comes in, trying to keep his voice upbeat even though he already feels tired.

"Morning Leo!" Mikey echoes, turning around with a whole plate of waffles. His smile falters a little when he sees the chair and the hoodie. "Oof. Flare up?"

"Yeah," he admits, steering his chair into the empty part of the kitchen table. Mikey sets the waffle plate down, and without having to be asked Raph starts fixing some for Leo, with blueberries on top.

It took work for them both to find the line between helping and babying, but they're better at this now. Leo doesn't mind Raph helping him out this way, especially because he'd rather not make a mess of the kitchen table.

"Mikey, can you grab my fat fork?"

"It has a name," says a tired voice behind him, and Leo smirks as Donnie comes around the side and makes for the coffee machine.

"I just used it. It's the fat fork."

"It's a GeniusBuilt Secure Grip Adjustable Fork-"

"I'm not saying all that."

Donnie huffs. Mikey snickers, swinging around him to deliver the fork with the thick grip to Leo. He has another set with a loop that can secure to his hand if he needs it, but this one is fine for now.

"Here!

"Thanks Angelo."

"Did you take your meds this morning?" Raph asks.

"Yes, Mom," says Leo, rolling his eyes as he cuts off a bite of waffle.

"Really? 'Cause Raph didn't hear you ask anyone to bring you water-"

"I had some leftover Gatorade in my room," Leo lies quickly.

"Uh-huh." Raph looks at him skeptically. "Leo, you know taking pills without water hurts your throat."

"Meh meh meh, you'll hurt your throat," Leo repeats in a mocking voice. Raph reaches over like he's going to cuff Leo on the head, then seems to rethink it and steals some of his blueberries instead. "Hey!"

"You are all so noisy already," comes Splinter's voice, and he finally comes into the room to join them, wearing the robe he slept in. He looks up at Leo in his chair. "Are you in pain, Blue?"

Leo hums an affirmative. "It's not that bad, though," he adds, because it's not. Comparatively.

Now it's his dad's turn to look skeptical. "Are you sure?"

Leo grimaces. "It's... a little worse than normal," he amends. "But I can handle it."

"Mmm..." Splinter walks off to get in his own seat. "Let us know if it gets worse."

"Yeah, yeah..."

The conversation moves on to other topics, up until Leo's wheelchair beeps at him. He groans, glancing down at the battery indicator, which is firmly in the red.

"You forgot to charge it, didn't you?" asks Donnie, looking amused.

"Shut up, I've been busy!" Leo snaps back.

"If you left it on the charger when you aren't using it then this wouldn't happen."

"Alright, anyone else have any criticisms for me today?" he says, except it comes out a shade too bitter and Donnie's grin falters.

Good job, Leon, way to be a dick. He winces, focusing again on his waffles. His arm is sore from the effort of eating and he wants to crawl back in bed and stay there, which is exactly the sort of attitude he's been trying to avoid.

"...I have the backup chair in the lab if you need it," says Donnie. A peace offering.

"Thanks," says Leo, returning it.

So after breakfast, Donnie helps him swap chairs. His main one is put on the charger and he wheels himself to the living room with the backup, then calls for Raph.

"Think you can help me get comfy, big guy?" he asks.

"Of course," says Raph with a grin. "What do you want?"

It's nice that he asks now, instead of assuming.

Leo directs him to help him onto the couch, then Raph gets him his fluffy blue blanket to cover him up. Even though he took his meds, he can feel the pain radiating at his hips and knees and he guesses he's going to need more later. He sets an alarm on his phone and settles in with a Jupiter Jim flick to fall asleep to.

He's not out yet when he hears the pad of feet, then feels the couch dip as Mikey sits next to him.

"Hey Leo," he says softly, and Leo gives a hum to let him know he's still awake. "You think... you're gonna feel up for the concert tonight?"

Oh right. Shoot. It had already slipped Leo's mind, and now he feels guilty all over again.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head so he can see Mikey. "I don't think so. I'm sorry."

"You don't gotta apologize!" says Mikey quickly. "I'm sorry you're having a rough day."

"It's fine," says Leo. "I'm used to it."

"I'm still sorry," says Mikey firmly. He gets up, then comes over so he can give Leo a very awkward couch hug. "I wish you didn't have to hurt," he says, sincerely.

Leo leans into the hug. Feels the dark buzz of anxiety ebb away.

"Hey, it's alright. All you guys make it easier."

Mikey beams at that, bouncing back up. "Hey, I know," he says. "I'll get Donnie to help me set up a sweet livestream so you can see the concert from right here!"

They don't have to go to all that trouble for him. But Leo looks up at his little brother's shining smile and can't say no.

"That'd be really cool," he says, and Mikey claps his hands.

"Yes! Okay, I'll go get Dee and we'll get on it!"

He races away. Leo chuckles, curling up under his blanket.

Maybe it won't be such a bad day after all.

#rottmnt #dandy fanfiction #sidelined au #rise leo #rise raph #rise mikey #rise donnie #whumperless whump event #day 4 #once again there is minimal proofreading on this one haha

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i-luvsang · 4 months

Text

sienna — jeong yunho

pairing : yunho x gn!reader ➖⟢ genres : fluff, little bit of angst ➖⟢ cw : not proofread/edited, kissing, mentions of exhaustion and stress ➖⟢ wc : 1K ➖⟢ rating : pg-13 .. listen to sienna by the marías ! for you @megumisthv tysm for sending all the atz reqs i'll do my best to get to as many as i can!! <33

yunho has trouble opening up. he’s a sweet, sunshiney guy and he’s not one to get very emotional around others. he thinks he’s supposed to be smiling all the time, and that he’s the one who should be comforting others. and it’s not that big of a deal, he tells himself. he’s just so, so exhausted, and it’s starting to get to him. on top of that, he really, really misses you.

when you hug him, you feel it, the way he melts into your arms and can’t seem to peel himself away from your embrace.

it’s been weeks since you’ve seen each other, both of you so busy, him even more so with his hectic style of life.

“hey, love,” you mumble into the fabric of his jacket. “miss me, huh?” all he does is nod. “i missed you, too, yun.” you feel the smile on your face turn a little sad, full of affection for him, because you can feel all of the tension in his body as he keeps you close. it’s a little awkward, because you’re standing in the doorway of his apartment, but you happily let him take what he needs.

when he finally pulls away, your heart breaks to see the subtle mist of tears in his pretty, pretty eyes.

“hey,” you say all soft, “grab me an extra sweatshirt and let’s go sit on the roof, yeah? we should be able to catch the sunset.”

“okay,” he agrees with a half smile. there’s a few sweatshirts hung up by the door, so he grabs the nearest one that's his and his smile grows a little more as he refuses to give it to you. instead, he bunches the fabric up in his hands and holds it up like he’s going to put it on for you. you laugh a little, but don’t protest.

already, you know you’ll let him do whatever he wants tonight. with that, his hands are over your head and he’s tugging the garment down until he can see your face again. when you feel the fabric fall down past your chin, you open your eyes to see yunho leaning in close, his nose mere centimeters away from your own. you giggle, and the gentle sound knocks whole tons of pressure off yunho’s shoulders. he smiles, all genuine this time, then presses a sweet kiss to your lips. you feel the soft exhale from his nose as he parts from you and tugs the bottom of the sweatshirt down for you to put your arms through the sleeves.

yunho’s about to turn to close the door and walk out with you, but you grab his hand to stop him.

“get yourself a jacket, too. it’s cold out.”

“right,” he smiles sheepishly as he lets his hand slip from yours for just a moment to grab another layer for himself. then, his hand is back in yours and the door clicks shut.

once on the roof, yunho’s hand shifts to your waist to pull you closer. you grab his hand and tuck it into your sweatshirt pocket, and now you’re so close to each other that your walking is more like a waddle. but neither of you could care about that, all you can think about is having the other near and keeping warm from the bitter bite of the chilly rooftop wind.

you sit on the bench that faces the sunset, and yunho’s head immediately finds its way to your shoulder. your eyes drift closed for a soft moment as you relish the feeling of him so close and comfortable, the brush of his hair against your jaw and his arm wrapped around you tight.

he sighs heavy and you open your eyes again, grabbing his other hand and placing it on your knee, keeping your own hand over his to rub your thumb over his knuckles.

you bite the inside of your cheek in contemplation, wondering whether you should ask what’s bothering him or wait for him to speak up about it on his own. in the meantime, you figure that watching the sky turn different colors is enough. a few minutes later, and it would have been too late to see the sun set, but now it’s hovering over the horizon, reaching for the tops of buildings in the distance and highlighting the bright orange of fall trees.

you let the time pass slowly, let yunho stay silent and burrow into your side as the sun sinks every so softly into the darkening line of the horizon. if you were to crane your neck and look up, you’d see the darkness of autumn night creeping up on you, but you instead take in the orange, pink, purple, and baby blue of the fading daylight.

only when it’s dark, colder than ever, and the automatic night lights of the roof reveal the puffs of your breathing that come out foggy, does yunho speak.

“i’m so tired,” he whispers, finally letting the words tumble out into the open night air. with a sigh of your own, you squeeze his hand in yours.

“i know,” you sympathize with your brows pulled tight in worry. “let me do everything for you tonight, will you?”

this time, his sigh is one of relief. you don’t let any pity slip into your voice, just love and genuine care. you understand him and you present him with the little things that you can do for him, and he couldn’t be more grateful for that.

“thank you,” he breathes out. “let’s go inside, it’s cold.” you hum in agreement, but let him keep sitting there when he doesn’t get up right away. when he wants, he’ll stand, and you’re more than happy to bear through the cold for a minute longer if it means doing things at his pace.

when he stands, you stay right with him, stuck to his side as you make your way to warmer air.

#yunho #yunho x reader #yunho scenarios #ateez yunho scenarios #ateez yunho #yunho fluff #yunho fanfic #ateez fic #ateez fluff #jeong yunho #ateez jeong yunho #ateez reactions #ateez oneshot #ateez x reader #ateez x gender neutral reader #yunho x gn reader #yunho imagines

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lazythinking · 2 months

Note

OMG ALSO IMAGINE THIS

You and patrick are fighting and he says something very mean so you slap him in the face thinking he will loose his shit with you or something but he whimpers and just says “harder.” UGHHHH IN MY MIND HE LOVES GETTING HIT ON THE FACE

He lives for this shit. Genuinely, he does. Patrick doesn’t really want to get you genuinely mad, I don’t think he’s that much of an asshole. I imagine the argument is probably about how he treats you; I think in the early days he probably would have a tendency to sort of carry you around as a proto-trophy wife, a trophy girlfriend if you will, and as nice as it is to be paraded as the hot girlfriend, you end up feeling like he’s just undermining your own achievements and career at points. After a dinner out with his friends, you get into a fight over it; you yell at him about how tired you are of playing that role, and he yells back at you about how he doesn’t see what the big deal is, that he knows that you’re successful too, he just really likes to baby you, and so on.

Things take a turn when he succumbs to name-calling. Patrick, rashly, asks why you’re being such a bitch. You whip your head around with a loud gasp. Your jaw clenches as he looks at you blankly, heels click-clacking loudly against the ground as you furiously make your way towards him—and then, SMACK. Your brain doesn’t process it fast enough when your open palm makes contact with his face, harshly smacking against his cheek so hard his head turns around. You’re flushed red in the heat, head hot with the fire of your fury, chest heaving from the intensity of the moment as he slowly turns back to you, his hand coming up to gently graze over the red mark you’ve left on his face.

A smile creeps up on Patrick’s face. The silence is tense. Then, he speaks.

“Harder,” he says.

His tone is sort of whimpering, not sounding pained, but pleasured. You cock up an eyebrow, coming even closer to him now with an interrogating gaze. “Did that—are you horny, Patrick?” He doesn’t reply, still goofily smiling at you, but you know the answer anyway and it makes you scoff.

“You’re so—you’re such a—you’re a fucking pervert,” you spit out, coming so close to him now that the tip of your nose is almost touching his. “You’re fucking gross.”

He tilts his head up a little, sly smile still on his face, his eyes half-lidded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Is this it?” You say. “Do you get off on this?”

You place a gentle hand on his face, fingers clutching at the sides of his chin. “Do you bully girls so you can get off on them punishing you?”

Patrick chuckles at your words. He hums. “Maybe.”

You let out a bitter chuckle in response. “Close your mouth if you don’t wanna hurt yourself.”

SMACK! You strike him on the cheek, his freckled skin soon flushing deep red. SMACK! The other cheek, now. SMACK, SMACK, SLAP! You notice him start to slump as his knees buckle, his lips parting as he groans loudly, his eyes rolling back. Patrick heaves, chest rising and falling from the adrenaline as your hand smoothes over his cheeks almost lovingly.

Now you smile at him, your body pressing up against his. Your lips graze against the bruising skin as he sucks in a deep breath. “You fucking slut,” you whisper.

You slap him again, the crisp, sharp sound of it like music to your ears as it elicits a loud whine from him. He mewls, grinning as you cup the side of his face. His eyes fall down to your lips before meeting yours, and you recognise the mischievous look in them.

“Harder,” Patrick says.

#why was this genuinely fucking nasty to write thank you soooooo much for this ask #i love when i write something and i have to hold my breath the whole time to hold onto my sanity #asks #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut

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enaelyork · 5 months

Note

Cooper Howard (ghoul) x fem!reader with this prompt:

*someone smacks readers ass*

*gun clicks*

Ghoul - “oh I really wish you hadn’t have done that”

Hi ! Thx for this request ! Here i go :)

Bad idea ~ The Ghoul x F!Reader

Tw : Injurie, Sexual harassement, insultes

Banners by @saradika

It wasn't a good idea.

However, he was used to bad plans, ever since he roamed the wasteland with the firm intention of surviving there. But he had never made a series of bad decisions so quickly.

Let yourself be convinced to be accompanied. Let his new companion in misfortune enter this mess to make a deal.

Really. That being said, this idiot clearly didn't give him a choice.

And he was obliged to follow it because it was the only possible option to know the route to take towards your next objective. Staying in the background, he observed all the eyes on her.

A woman like that wouldn't often walk through the doors of a bounty hunting establishment.

This interest they had in his associate bothered him more than it should and he felt a certain form of inexplicable anger boiling within him.

- I'll do it. Wait outside.

Sitting at the bar, Y/N turned towards him, her eyes filled with burning determination and resentment. It wouldn't be easy to change her mind, not after your little talk last night.

- Do you want to team up now? The Ghoul returned the bitterness in her eyes, resting her elbow on the counter where she had just swallowed her second glass.

What if he wanted to work in a team? Never ! What if this situation made him crazy? Absolutely.

- I didn't say that, I said you had to wait for me outside.

- And I told you that I would take care of this matter.

And if you continue, you're going to have a lot more business to attend to. He thought, observing the eyes fixed on her again. The irrepressible urge to put out each of those eyes was excruciating and he was going to have to keep a low profile if he didn't want the plan to screw up further.

But everything went to hell the moment this idiot placed his ass on the stool that separated you from her, devouring the entirety of her silhouette with a wicked and disgusting look. He shouldn't get involved. After all, Y/N had gotten into this mess alone, you had nothing to share other than a common quest.

It was now time she truly discovered the horror of the world they lived in. So if this guy wanted to try anything, she would defend herself or find out the hard way that there weren't all good people here.

- What is such a pretty girl like you doing in this shithole? The man stood between them like a thick, disgusting wall.

The Ghoul looked away, hoping that by detaching himself from this pathetic spectacle, he would also curtail his murderous urges.

- The pretty girl doesn't talk to strangers. You better give me some space.

A smile appeared on the Ghoul's mouth. Presumably, guts wasn’t a privilege Y/N reserved for him. And that was probably what he liked most about her, even if he would never admit it.

- Relax, my beauty. In this brutal world I just want to share a moment of gentleness.

And me a bloody parenthesis, but unfortunately we can't have everything. The Ghoul thought, looking down at the back of the man next to him. He had placed an arm on the table and was already handing Y/N a glass.

- I am not thirsty.

- So maybe you want something else?

That's how everything went wrong.

Him and his rudeness, him now clinging to her and his hand sliding up her thigh to go up to her buttock. He touched her with such eagerness that it was embarrassing and although she wanted to slap him, she did not want to attract the attention of the tenants. Big mistake.

- You have a fucking ass, my beauty. Would you like me to warm it up a bit? It seems that not many people have had the opportunity to…

The man didn't finish his sentence, the pressure he felt between his legs and the very characteristic click of a gun about to fire froze him in place.

- What is…

He met nothing but the cold, imperturbable gaze of the Ghoul. The sinister look he hid in the shadow of his hat would have caused the bar to evacuate immediately. Y/N saw him, she felt anger boiling in the pit of her stomach, causing a completely different reaction in her.

- Try touchin' her again and I guarantee you'll never be able to play with what's between your legs again.

- Such a smart one, you. Are you looking for troubles ? I was there before.

- Big mistake, she belongs to me.

- I don’t belong to…

- Shut it up, sweatheart. I have some scores to settle with this guy.

Oh damn, no problem. Y/N grumbled in a whisper mixing anxiety and excitement. Had he really just threatened a guy because he had the misfortune of touching her and feeling her butt? A thin smile appeared on her lips at this idea, but she preferred to leave this strange reaction to the effect of adrenaline.

- Get out of here where you will end up with a hole between your legs and, rest assured, I will think of you when I caress her with your blood on my hands.

It was too much.

No waves.

No shouting.

No tussle.

Just a stupid hunter freeing himself from the coldness of his gun to flee with a step that he wanted to be serene but which betrayed the panic that reigned within him. The ghoul followed him with his gaze, making sure that it wouldn't occur to his to turn back.

When he disappeared from the bar, however, he felt another figure settle down on the stool next to him.

- Did you really just do that?

YN.

She had taken her place there, next to him. Her eyes glided over him with a light he didn't know existed and it upset him. So much so that he preferred to ensure the safety of his weapon before storing it in its holster.

- I did it. And you will quickly forget everything. That and also your stupid idea. Let's get out of here.

He didn't give her time to respond, taking off from the seat to head towards the exit as well. If she stayed there, too bad for her, he wouldn't intervene twice. But her shadow followed him, and he could make out the sound of her footsteps behind his, hastily approaching him.

- It would be a shame to forget the idea that you could touch me.

This is how he understood that she had reduced him to nothing.

Him and his certainty of now being insensitive.

#fallout tv #fallout show #fallout #fallout series #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard x you #cooper howard/the ghoul #cooper howard/the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x female reader

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minhosbitterriver · 18 days

Text

──── * ˚ ✦ THE LAST STRAW ( stray kids )

❛ After a final argument with your toxic, manipulative mother over your irresponsible younger brother, you decide to cut ties with your family, only to be overwhelmed by doubt and panic until your supportive boyfriend, Felix, reassures you that choosing yourself was the right decision.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 14 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Here's a wonderful request made by @lixies-favorite-cookie! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Non-Idol AU, emotional abuse, family conflict, mommy issues, mental health struggles, parental neglect, parental favoritism, depression and self-worth issues, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

The kitchen feels like a war zone, the air thick with unsaid accusations and the sharp remnants of long-festered wounds. Your mother stands at the sink, her back rigid and unforgiving, hands submerged in soapy water as she scrubs a dish with a ferocity that speaks louder than words. Each stroke of her hand seems to scrape away at the silence, but instead of clarity, it only stirs the storm between you. You can almost see the tension rippling off her like waves of heat from a furnace, feeding the blaze that has been building in your chest, threatening to consume you.

“So, that’s it?” you ask, your voice taut, straining against the anger simmering just below the surface. “You’re really going to ignore everything I’ve said and expect me to drop everything—again—to drive him around?” There’s a tremor in your tone, a plea for acknowledgment masked by the bitterness of your words. But she doesn’t turn to face you. Instead, she sighs, a heavy, exaggerated breath that fills the room with disdain, as if you are the one being irrational, ungrateful.

“He doesn’t have anyone else,” she replies, her voice dripping with exasperation, as if you should already know this. “And it’s not like it’s a big deal—you’re already out and about. What’s a little detour to help your brother?”

Her words hit you like a slap across the face, stinging and familiar. “A little detour?” you echo, a disbelieving laugh slipping out, sharp and brittle. “Mom, I have a job. I have classes. I’m barely keeping up as it is. But sure, let’s add ‘chauffeur for the man-child’ to my list of responsibilities.”

At this, she finally turns, her face set in that hardened expression you know so well—eyes narrowed, lips pulled into a thin, unforgiving line. “Don’t talk about him like that,” she snaps, her voice a low warning. “He’s your brother. He’s just going through a rough time.”

A bitter, exhausted laugh escapes your lips, and you can feel the years of buried frustration rising up, threatening to overflow. "A rough time?" you repeat, your voice growing louder, each word carrying the weight of all the grievances you’ve kept bottled up for so long. “He’s been ‘going through a rough time’ for the last five years! And every single time he screws up, you’re right there, wiping his slate clean, making excuses for him. He never has to face the consequences of anything, and somehow, I’m always the one left to pick up the pieces!”

Your voice cracks, and the room seems to tremble with the force of your words. All the times you’ve been overlooked, all the sacrifices you’ve made without a second thought, all the nights spent wondering why you were never enough—everything comes crashing down in this moment. You stand there, breathless, waiting for something, anything, that resembles an acknowledgment of what you’ve endured.

But she doesn’t see it. She doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t even flinch. And that, more than anything, is what breaks you.

"That's not true," your mother snaps, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a whip, cold and biting. "You don’t know what he’s going through. You’ve always been so hard on him, never understanding." Her words hang in the air, thick with accusation, and you feel a familiar frustration beginning to coil tightly in your chest.

You scoff, the sound escaping before you can stop it, disbelief etched across your face. "Understanding?" you fire back, voice laced with incredulity. "You mean like how you’re 'understanding' when he crashes his car because he was out partying, and you expect me to drop everything, put my entire life and future on hold, to make up for it? Or how you’re 'understanding' when he blows all his money on God knows what, and I’m the one who has to lend him my hard-earned cash so he can pay his rent? You’ve always been ‘understanding’ of him, but when have you ever been ‘understanding’ of me?"

For a moment, the room falls silent, heavy with the weight of everything that has been left unsaid for far too long. Your mother’s eyes flash dangerously, a mix of anger and frustration, a glare that once would have made you swallow your words, scramble to backtrack and apologize. But not today. Today, the exhaustion has settled too deeply in your bones, mingling with the anger that has simmered for years, bubbling to the surface.

"You think I don’t care about you?" she spits out, her voice rising, each word sharp and defensive. "I’ve done everything for you! You grew up with food on the table and a roof over your head. You have a job now, you’re in college, you have everything going for you. Do you think that just happened by itself?"

Her audacity stings, her self-righteousness fanning the flames inside you. Every vein feels like it’s on fire, adrenaline surging through your body. “No,” you say, voice trembling but strong, each word pushed out with a force that surprises even you. “Don’t you dare take credit for what little good I have in my life. Don’t you dare. Everything I have going for me is because I worked for it. I was the one who graduated as valedictorian in high school—not you, not him. I worked my ass off to get into college, scrapping for every scholarship I could find so I wouldn’t have to drown in debt later. I found my own place to live, found a job so I could pay my own bills, held myself together when everything around me was falling apart.”

Your words pour out like a flood, each one more bitter than the last. You can see her eyes narrowing, her lips tightening, but it only pushes you to keep going. “But you? Sure, you fed me, you put a roof over my head—like the law says you should. But you only ever noticed me when I was useful to him, when I made things easier for your golden child."

The silence that follows is deafening, filled with the echoes of things that have finally been said, the raw truth laid bare between you. The tension in the room is electric, the weight of years of imbalance, neglect, and misplaced loyalty pressing down on your shoulders. But for the first time, you feel something shift inside you—a spark of liberation, a sense that perhaps, just perhaps, you’ve finally stepped out of the shadow that has loomed over you for so long.

"You're being so selfish," she spits, her voice trembling with a barely controlled fury that makes the walls tremble. The dishes slip from her hands, clattering into the sink with a loud clank as she whirls around to face you. Her eyes are wild, nearly bulging out of her head, her face flushed with indignation. "You have no idea what it's like to be a parent, to have to make these kinds of decisions." The venom in her words seeps into the air, choking you with its bitterness.

But you don’t flinch. Your fists curl even tighter at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you stand your ground, locking eyes with her. "I'm selfish?" A bitter laugh escapes you, sharp and brittle, and you can feel the hot sting of unshed tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Do you even hear yourself? You've spent years bending over backwards to coddle him, to fix every single one of his messes. And every time, it's me who gets caught in the crossfire. It's always me who’s expected to be the 'responsible one.' And what do I get for it? Nothing. Not a thank you, not a 'good job,' not even a fraction of the support and understanding you so eagerly throw at him."

Your mother’s hand slams down on the counter with a thunderous bang, making you jump. Her face is a twisted mask of rage and frustration. "You've always had a chip on your shoulder about him," she sneers, her tone dripping with condescension, as if speaking to a petulant child. "Maybe if you weren't so jealous—"

"Don't even start." You cut her off, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’ve kept bottled up for so long. "I'm not jealous, Mom. I'm tired. I'm tired of being the one who has to sacrifice everything while he coasts through life, knowing you’ll always be there to bail him out. I'm tired of you making me feel like I’m never enough, like I’m only here to clean up his messes and make things easier for him."

The air thickens, a suffocating silence falling between you. Your mother’s face hardens, her eyes narrowing into icy slits. "If you don't like it, then maybe you should just leave," she says, her words cutting through the tension like a knife. "You're an adult now, aren’t you? You can make your own choices."

Her words hang in the air, daring you to speak, to react. For a moment, you’re stunned, the breath catching in your throat. Then, softly, like a truth you've kept buried, you say, "Maybe I should." The words taste like freedom on your tongue, a release from years of guilt and fear. "Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep letting you use me to prop him up while you tear me down. I deserve better than this."

For a fleeting moment, something flickers in her eyes—something almost vulnerable, almost human. But it vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by the same cold indifference that has always been there. "Fine. Do what you want," she says dismissively, her tone devoid of emotion. "But don’t come crying to me when you realize you can’t handle the world I’ve protected you from."

A humorless laugh bubbles up in your throat, but you swallow it down, taking a deep breath instead. You feel the weight of years of resentment, of pain and unspoken truths, settling into place. "I won't," you reply, voice steady as a stone. "Because I've been handling the world all my life. You never protected me from it—you only ever protected your golden child. And I’m done."

You turn away, leaving her standing there, leaving behind the suffocating grip of a mother who never truly saw you. You walk out of the kitchen, out of the house that never felt like a home, and with each step, the air feels a little lighter, the world outside a little more open. For the first time, you feel the distant, hopeful glimmer of something new—something that belongs to you, and you alone.

You sit in the driver’s seat, fingers clenched around the steering wheel with a grip so tight that your knuckles have turned ghostly white. Each breath you take is shallow and ragged, barely filling your lungs. Your heart hammers in your chest, erratic and wild, a drumbeat of panic. The weight of the argument you just had with your mother crashes over you like an unrelenting wave, cold and suffocating. It presses down on you with a force that makes you feel as if you’re drowning, gasping for air but finding none.

Your eyes remain fixed on the house in front of you—your childhood home, a place that should have held comfort and warmth but instead feels like a prison. Each window, each door, every familiar detail seems to glare back at you like a hundred judgmental eyes, watching, waiting. This is where you learned the rules of a game you never asked to play. A place where love was conditional, tethered to sacrifice and silence. And now, it’s a place you’ve walked away from—perhaps for good.

Your vision blurs with unshed tears, and you let out a shaky breath that comes out more like a sob than you intended. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the sting from your eyes, but it’s useless. You can’t stay here, not in front of this house where the walls seem to whisper accusations, where every step closer feels like sinking deeper into quicksand. You can’t risk your mother storming out with that familiar fire in her eyes, her voice like a vice, twisting your emotions to suit her will.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, fingers unsteady as they swipe through your contacts. You need an anchor, something to steady you before you’re pulled under by the crushing weight of it all. You find his name—Felix. Your thumb hovers for a moment, then presses the call button. You raise the phone to your ear, the screen blurring with tears as you pull out of the driveway. You don’t have a destination in mind; you just need to be moving, to put distance between you and that house.

The line rings once, twice, and with each unanswered ring, the panic coils tighter in your chest, rising into your throat like bile. What if he doesn’t pick up? What if he’s busy? What if you’re left alone with the noise in your head? But then—

"Hey, sunshine," his voice breaks through, warm and steady, like the first rays of dawn piercing through the darkest night. His tone is so familiar, so safe. "You okay? I'm just—"

You don’t let him finish. Your voice cracks as you speak, holding back the sob that threatens to spill over. "Felix...I—I did it. I told her...I told her that I'm done. I can't...I can't believe that I actually did it." The words rush out of you in a breathless stream, a confession that feels both terrifying and freeing.

There’s a pause on the other end, a silence that feels heavy with the weight of his understanding. You can almost hear him processing your words, feel the concern threading through the line. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, careful. "You talked to her?" he asks, his tone gentle yet laced with worry. "What happened?"

His question hangs in the air, pulling at your heartstrings, inviting you to pour out the torrent of emotions swirling inside you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like you can breathe, even if just a little, knowing that someone is there to catch you as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, a futile attempt to push back the tears that threaten to spill over. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a heavy, uneven rhythm that matches the chaos in your mind. When you open your eyes again, you force yourself to focus on the road, blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness from your vision. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, to find some semblance of calm amidst the storm raging inside you.

"It was about my man-child of a brother again," you start, your voice wavering as you speak. Each word feels like a shard of glass, cutting through the tightness in your throat. "She wanted me to...to fucking drop everything and take care of his mess again. He crashed the damn car, and she’s not even mad at him. She was actually more pissed at me for not wanting to drive him everywhere." The bitterness in your tone is unmistakable, tinged with a raw edge of frustration that’s been simmering for far too long. "And I just...I couldn’t take it anymore, Lix. I told her I’m done. I told her I wasn’t coming back."

Your breath hitches, and a sob finally breaks free, raw and unrestrained, as you come to a stop at a red light. The tears you've been holding back spill over, warm and unwelcome, streaking down your cheeks. "But what if I made a mistake? What if I’m wrong?" you choke out, the words heavy with doubt and fear. "I mean, they are my family at the end of the day, and I’m nothing without them. What if I...what if I shouldn’t have done this?"

On the other end of the line, you hear a soft rustling, a familiar sound that brings a small measure of comfort. You know he’s moving, pacing like he always does when he’s worried. Felix’s voice comes through, steady and gentle, like a lifeline. "Hey, hey, take a breath for me, hmm?" he murmurs, his tone soothing. "Just breathe. In and out, yeah? I’m right here."

You try to follow his instructions as you ease off the brake, the traffic lights changing to green. You take a deep breath in, filling your lungs, and then let it out, but the exhale is shaky, faltering, as if your body is resisting the calm he’s trying to instill. The tears keep flowing, unchecked, but his voice remains a steady anchor amidst the turbulent sea of your emotions.

"You did the right thing, love," he continues, his voice firm with conviction—a conviction you desperately need to hear right now. "You’ve been dealing with their bullshit for so long. Too long. You deserve to let it go. You deserve to be free of it all."

Without much thought, you turn the car to the right, feeling the pull of his reassurance guiding you, even if you’re not quite sure where you’re going. "But what if...what if Mom’s right?" you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "What if I am being selfish? I just...I grew up with this rule in my head that family always helps family, so what if I’m being a shitty person by refusing?"

For a moment, there’s a pause, a breath of silence that hangs in the air, heavy with all the questions and fears you can’t quite voice. Felix’s next words are gentle, but they cut through that fog with a clarity that brings you back from the edge. "You’re not selfish," he says quietly but firmly. "Sometimes, family isn't about blood; it’s about who stands by you, who sees you. And you’ve been standing on your own for a long time. It’s okay to want more than just survival."

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, blurring your vision as they cascade over your skin. You press the heel of your hand against your eyes, trying to stem the flow, but it’s like trying to dam a river with a single stone—futile. The weight of everything, the argument, the years of silent endurance, crashes over you in waves, threatening to pull you under. With a shaky breath, you pull onto the side of the road, the tires crunching over gravel, and the car comes to a halt.

"I’m scared, Lix," you confess, your voice breaking, small and fragile as it escapes you. "I’m scared that I’ll regret this." The words hang in the air, and for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath with you. Your heart is a clenched fist in your chest, squeezing tighter with each passing second.

Then, his voice breaks through the silence—a warm, comforting presence that feels like a soft embrace, wrapping around you when you need it most. "You won’t," he says, his tone gentle yet firm, a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. "You know why, huh? Because you’re finally choosing yourself. And that’s not something to regret, not ever. Love, I’m not trying to say it’ll be easy from now on, but you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved for who you are, not for what you can do for someone else."

A shaky breath escapes your lips, and the tightness in your chest starts to loosen, if only a little. His words are like a lifeline, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge of your doubts. Deep down, beneath the fear and the uncertainty, you know he’s right. You’ve carried this weight for so long that it feels strange to think of setting it down. But his words are a steady anchor, keeping you from drifting away.

"Can I come over?" you ask, your voice almost a whisper, raw and vulnerable. "I don’t... I don’t want to be alone right now." The admission feels like exposing a wound, but with Felix, it’s okay. It’s always been okay.

There isn’t a moment of hesitation before he responds, his voice filled with that unwavering reassurance you’ve come to rely on. "Of course. I’m not home right now, but I was already on my way from class, so I’ll meet you there, okay? Just stay on the phone with me until I get there. We’ll figure everything out together."

You nod, even though he can’t see you, feeling a small, tired smile tug at the corners of your lips. There’s still a lingering ache in your heart, but it’s softer now, more manageable. "Thank you, babe," you whisper, the words heavy with gratitude and love.

"Always," he murmurs back, his voice a soft promise that settles deep within you. "Just keep breathing, sunshine. I’ve got you. I always will."

With his voice still in your ear, you restart the car, feeling his presence as a guiding light through the darkness that’s clouded your path for so long. The road stretches out before you, uncertain and unfamiliar, but with Felix by your side—even if only through the phone—it doesn’t seem quite so daunting.

For the first time in what feels like years, there’s a flicker of something warm blooming in your chest. Hope. Fragile, tentative, but undeniably there. And for now, that’s enough.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie @tajannah-price1 (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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lalovi · 6 months

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AN: This is an April Fools special because I feel like Shadow Milk definitely uses this day as an excuse to pull pranks on you. I really wanted to make an Easter Special yesterday but ran out of time.

Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader

Oneshot

Warnings: None

-April Fools!-

Today is a day that you haven't exactly been looking forward to. You see, Shadow Milk Cookie is no stranger to pulling a prank or two. He actually does it very often, and every time you fall for one, he'll laugh and laugh and laugh.

But now that it was April first, he actually had an excuse.

Normally, you're awoken by the chime of your alarm clock or by Shadow Milk Cookie shaking you awake because he's bored and needs attention.

Today it was from a gong.

Yes, that big cymbal looking thing. Honestly, who just casually has one of those lying around?

Shadow Milk, apparently.

"Good morning Doll!" He said cheerfully and like he did not just burst your eardrums.

You would groggily lean up in the bed, giving your boyfriend an annoyed glare.

"You've just been holding onto one of those for this moment?" You asked him, referring to the gong.

"Nope! I just got it in yesterday."

Of course he did.

"Now come on, we've got a big day ahead of us! Hurry up and get ready, silly." He shoved you into the bathroom for you to get yourself ready.

If you thought that he also wouldn't take this chance to pull something, then you'd be poorly mistaken.

The mirror was fully covered in sticky notes, and this was a big mirror. All of them were different shades of blue, as well.

Written on each of them was a different thing that he liked about you.

You read every single one.

It was a cute prank and you appreciated the dedication, but... now you didn't want to take them off.

Okay, that's fine, you can just use the mini makeup mirror instead. No big deal.

He's such a brat. Cute, but still obnoxious.

Once you finished getting ready, you walked out of the bathroom to see a still smiling Shadow Milk Cookie.

He was waiting for something.

"It was cute," You'd say.

"I know! ...Did you take it down though?"

"No."

"Oh really? You liked it that much? I'll make sure to compliment you more often, then."

He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. He left some soft kisses along your neck.

"Come on dove, let's go eat~"

Shadow Milk Cookie began to guide you outside of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Everything was upside-down.

The couch, the picture frames, the lamp. Everything.

When you looked towards the obvious culprit, he only had yet another innocent smile on his face.

"Oh my, what happened here?" He'd ask, feigning ignorance.

"I wonder.."

How did he even have the time for something like this? No. How did he even do something like this? It was almost impressive.

"So... how do you plan to eat breakfast like this?" You asked him, crossing your eyes with a disappointing look.

"Ah right..." He just kinda stares at the ceiling before snapping his fingers. All of the furniture returns to its original place. There was also some breakfast on the table.

"See. I think ahead!" He gestured for you to sit down, to which you obliged, and began eating the food that Shadow Milk Cookie prepared.

Nothing seemed odd about it.

It's strange. He keeps alternating between sweet and sour.

What exactly was his plan?

You took a sip of the coffee Shadow Milk had prepared.

It wasn't sweet.

No, it was actually very bitter.

Salty, even.

"Do you like it? I added a special little something," he said with a smile.

"Why are you like this?"

"April Fools!"

It was going to be a long day.

#cookie run kingdom #crk #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie crk #april fools #shadow milk crk #shadow milk cookie oneshot #shadow milk cookie x reader oneshot #shadow milk #shadow milk x reader oneshot

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tennessoui · 8 months

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so i've been thinking about this premise for so long but it wasn't working for obikin (which of course i took as a challenge) and i think i finally got it where i want it so

au where 35 yo obi-wan is a music sensation across the world but he's recently divorced and going on tour again after releasing a very cutting, personal, and well-received album

and 19 yo anakin joins his tour with his very small band of two other people (ahsoka, padmé) to be his opening act - they have a small but loyal following, a pretty big social media presence, and there are even people who ship anakin and padmé which you know means these are die-hard fans

anakin has definitely looked up to obi-wan and his music for a good portion of his life and he's like. beyond excited that he's going to tour with The Obi-Wan Kenobi - this is big, not just for his music career but also for himself and the little boy he was listening to obi-wan's music for the first time!!

i'm just imagining like....obi-wan and anakin meeting after a few days of rehearsal for opening night, and it's not the most auspicious start because obi-wan's going through like 20 different emotions at any given moment (he's on tour, he's divorced, he's tired, he loves the music, he can't be the person he was in his twenties when he was first on tour but that's a whole different matter, he has all the media training and charismatic instinct to cover up these less than savory emotions with flirtatious empty words) and anakin is just like. sorta starstruck sorta shy sorta eager sorta awkward so:

"i'm uh, i'm a singer it's nice to meet you. hi yeah. hello. i'm on tour. as well. with you. actually." "ah no, are you one of my backing vocal artists? we can't have that - you're much too gorgeous and my ego is much too dependent on the audience focusing on me." "um 😳"

so it's a relationship that begins with a lot of flirting and being flustered and progresses through moments of vulnerability and honest emotion which turns into mutual affection which turns into anakin's celebrity crush becoming very real....meanwhile obi-wan googled anakin and the opening band after the first show/introduction and finds all the stuff about him and padmé being together and that's. that's fine. young love. how sweet. any sort of disappointment obi-wan feels is because he's recently divorced and bitter about it and he's going to have to spend at least half his tour watching the lovebirds snuggling up together.

and even when all the misunderstandings about relationship statuses have been addressed and the pretense has fallen away to leave just attraction, both have to think about their careers - it's all well and good for obi-wan to date someone sixteen years his junior, post divorce, but that's an image he's never wanted to deal with or be associated with. and this is the biggest shot of anakin's career - his best chance to make it in the music industry. in the words of his bandmate, is he really, honestly thinking about risking it for a chance to sleep with The Obi-Wan Kenobi?

but what his bandmate doesn't seem to really understand is that for anakin, obi-wan hasn't been The Obi-Wan Kenobi in a long time. he's just been obi-wan. and that makes a world of difference.

#kit's silly lil aus #obikin #my social media algorithm pulled me into music-tok but make it instagram reels lol #and then i watched the grammys last night #so i was like fine lets come back to this and figure out what's missing #so i know it basically sounds like what if firefighter au obi-wan was a little more jaded and less flirty #coupled with what if band au anakin opened for firefighter au obi-wan #but i'm seeing different nuances for the characters so i feel comfortable making this its own post #like. what if you met the person you were going to love forever at somehow #both the best time in the world for your career #and the worst time in the world for your personal life #etc etc #sorry for the long post i hope you can tell this is all i thought about on a 5k run today lol

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v3nusstardust · 9 months

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🧡”Just so you can enjoy it. “🧡

Pairing : BF!Niki Nishimura x you <3

Genre : Fluff but lowkey sad 🗿🎀

(A/N : This song also reminds me of this scenario <3 thanks to my sister Justine for the idea tho 😝🧡)

Alone at the kitchen table, you awaited Niki's return from practice. You just started dating a month ago, there was still a lot to learn about him. Lost in the demands of your college work, the day slipped away, and you realized you hadn't eaten since morning. Your stomach was growling from the lack of food , but you HAD to finish this last assignment.

After a half-hour wait, the jingling of keys signaled Niki's return. Your eyes briefly shifted from the laptop to the door as he entered. "Hi sweetheart," he greeted with a warm smile, but your focus swiftly returned to the demanding college assignments. "I’m gonna go shower. I’m really sweaty," he chuckled. Approaching you, he planted a kiss on your cheek before heading to the bathroom.

You weren’t even paying attention to him at all. It hurt his feelings how you said absolutely nothing to him, but he knew you were really busy.

Once he got out of the shower, he came back and sat at the table with you. He looked really cute with damp hair. He wore gray sweatpants with a white tank top.

Niki stared at you for a while, his brows furrowed. You noticed his expression and glanced at him. “What?” You murmured in a confused tone. “How long have you been on the laptop for?” he inquired with worry in his voice. “All day.” You sighed. “You’ve got really dark circles under your eyes. I suggest you take a break; Let’s go lay down for a while.” He suggested. “I cant, but I’m….almost done.” You rubbed your eyes as you yawned. You groaned as your looked back at your laptop. Niki looked at you with worry in his eyes. “Have you eaten?”

“No.” You said in a shy voice. You were afraid Niki was going to scold you for not eating, so you just continued your assignment, your fingers typing away. Niki kept his eyes on you. He had such a sad look on his face.

Rising from the table, Niki made his way for the pantry. Returning with two clementines in hand, he settled back at the table, placing one next to your laptop. "Eat this," he gently insisted, a warm smile on his face. “You’re not upset with me for not eating?” You asked. “Darling, I could never be upset with you.” His voice was raspy yet so soothing. The dim lighting made him look even more handsome. The way he called you darling sent butterflies to your stomach and for a moment it felt like nothing else mattered, not even the work you’ve been dying to finish.

You stared at the clementine, unsure if you should eat it or not. You honestly just didn’t feel like eating. “When I eat after not eating all day, I usually throw up. Especially at night.” You sighed. Concern creased Nikis forehead. “You need to eat. If you throw up, I’ll be here to take care of you.” His expression turned gentle. You really didn’t feel like eating. You know if you didn’t, you would worry him sick, so you made some lame excuse. “I don’t like clementines Niki. I mean I would totally eat them, but the white part is so bitter..” you breathed out in a shy tone. “Oh okay. Give me.” He extended his hand and you gave him the clementine. He began to carefully Peel the orange part. You glued your eyes back to your laptop and sighed. You honestly felt bad for rejecting the food he offered you. It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway, it was just a little clementine, right?

After five minutes of unwavering focus on your work, the sound of Niki rising from his chair reached your ears. You thought he was going to leave to y’all’s room and go to sleep. If he did, it was a consequence of your unintentional silence. You didn’t bother looking at him, you knew if you did you would’ve started tearing up because of how guilty you felt. He hadn’t seen you all day and you were practically ignoring him.

Suddenly, you felt arms wrap around your upper body. His warm embrace was all you needed. You fell into his touch and exhaled. He rested his head on your shoulder. You smelled his hair. It smelled like fresh Mint and earthy sandalwood shampoo. The lingering freshness of his shampoo comforted you. “Give me your hand.” He grinned. You slightly raised your eyebrow at him and put out your hand. He reached to the table and grabbed one of the clementines. You were so confused, it looked slightly different from some reason but you thought “I just told him I didn’t want it. Why is he giving it to me?”

“I peeled off all the white parts of this clementine. You said you liked them. It was just the white parts you didn’t like, right? Eat it please. If you throw up remember, I’ll be here to take care of you. Just please eat my love.” He gently voiced. The realization of his thoughtful act hit you, and a rush of different emotions swelled within. It wasn't just about the fruit, it was about the care and consideration he had put into making a simple moment special for you. Tears began to swell in your eyes and a lump formed in your throat. You began to slightly shake from holding back your tears. Words wouldn’t come out of your mouth. How did you get so lucky? No one had cared about you that much.

You tried your best to hold it in. The amount of love you were receiving eased everything. He unwrapped his arms from you and sat back down at the table. His eyes locking yours. He saw the tears swelling in your eyes. His expression changed to a worried one. “What’s wrong love?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice. Just hearing his voice sounding so worried for you shattered your heart. You began to cry. You sobbed, actually. HARD.

He allowed you the release of tears, recognizing the emotional weight you carried. He knew you needed it. “Take your time darling. I’m here.” Niki assured. You put the clementine down on the table and put your hand in his. “N-no one has ….ever cared for me like you have. Just you peeling the white part of the clementine .. means a lot to me.” You confessed amid sobs . Niki was so patient and caring with you, it wounded your heart. “My love, I would spend eternity peeling off the white bits of a clementine just so you can enjoy it.” He declared. That made you cry even harder. You shut your laptop and walked over to him, seeking refuge in his warm embrace. He got up from the table and hugged you tightly. Your tears stained his shirt, but he didn’t even care. “I love you, forever y/n.” He whispered. His hands gently caressed your hair as you surrendered to the cathartic release, wondering how you had become so fortunate to have someone so understanding and loving by your side.

(Another A/N : y’all my ass is dramatic af. Feedback is greatly appreciated🍊lmk if I messed up anywhere Cus i stg I’m literally fighting for my life to stay up rn🗿)

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peachy-panic · 3 months

Text

Happy Birthday, Sebastian.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, mentions of alcoholic behavior, homophobia, bad parental relationships, talk of parental death

“You didn’t mention it’s your birthday,” is the first thing Jaime says when they get back in the car.

He’s getting better about that, Sebastian thinks. Initiating casual conversation on his own terms. On one hand, Sebastian is elated at the show of progress. On the other…

Sebastian winces. The well-meaning bank teller had checked his ID and wished him a happy birthday while Jaime stood in earshot, keeping his expression neutral until they were alone.

“I didn’t,” Sebastian agrees, retrieving the two lollipops he had swiped from the bank from his pocket. “Red or blue?” he asks, holding them out to Jaime.

He studies them for a few seconds—maybe trying to predict which one Sebastian prefers, maybe thinking about the strict rules around food inside the facility—before plucking the blue one from his hand.

“Thank you,” Jaime murmurs. Then, after a pause, “Sorry. Did you not want me to know?”

Sebastian pulls the wrapper off and pops the cherry sucker in his mouth, then shifts the car into gear to avoid Jaime’s eyes.

“It’s not a secret,” he assures him. “I just don’t like to make a big deal about it.” Or any deal at all. “I haven’t in a long time.”

For a moment, the only sound is the soft crinkle of Jaime’s wrapper as he unpeels and pockets it. “How long?” he asks.

Sebastian shrugs. “Few years,” he says, which might be understating things. He hasn’t had a real, proper, friends-gathered-round, cake-eating, too-many-shots-of-tequila birthday since his final year of undergrad.

Well. Except for the tequila. That part doesn’t require friends.

For a moment, he braces himself for the inevitable why, but Jaime doesn’t push. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he says something much more true to character:

“I’m sorry.”

Sebastian flashes him a quick smile. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “I’m hardly a social butterfly.”

“What about your friends? Do they know that you don’t like to celebrate it?”

“Kind of makes it easier that I don’t have any,” he says lightly. Or, at least he intends for it to sound light.

Jaime glances at him with what appears to be genuine confusion. “What about Aria and Sam? Ezra?”

And that makes Sebastian blink, because…

“Oh,” he says lamely, a small kernel of guilt and surprise forming. “Well, I guess… I mean, I didn’t know them until more recently. This was my first birthday since becoming… their friend, I guess.”

“What about your family?” It’s like Jaime hears his own question as it comes out, and surely he must feel the sudden tension that grips the silence between them, because he immediately backtracks. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have… That’s none of my business.”

The regret in his voice borders on fear, and Sebastian has to keep himself from reaching out to reassure him.

“It’s alright. You’re allowed to ask me questions, Jaime. My parents…” He has to stop and swallow around a rising lump. “They’re not really in the picture.”

“Oh.”

Jaime doesn’t ask for more, but the silence—and maybe it’s not just the silence, he thinks—makes more words rush to the surface, breaching the floodgates to a subject he rarely speaks about.

“I mean, they raised me,” he rambles. “They’re alive. But I haven’t spoken to them in a long time. Since I was eighteen, to be exact.” He stops, really thinking about the expanse of time that now bridges between now and then. It feels like a mile and an inch all at once. “Almost a decade, now,” he adds quietly.

Sebastian is fairly familiar with the careful way Jaime chooses his words, so he’s not surprised when he takes a while to chew his next ones over, patient and only a little bit nervous.

“I’m sure you have a good reason.”

“Ha,” the bitter noise startles out of Sebastian. “Yeah, no, it wasn’t quite my decision.”

“Oh,” Jaime whispers. “They…?”

Sebastian nods, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his grip steady on the wheel. “They are religious,” he said, keeping his voice detached. “Traditional. Whatever you want to call it. And they didn’t take kindly to their only son coming out.” Sebastian flashes him a wry grin. “In case you weren’t aware, I’m extremely gay.”

Jaime doesn’t return the smile. “They kicked you out?”

“Technically, I was already leaving. I told them right before I moved away to college, but… Yeah. They cut me off completely after that. Anyway,” he finishes ineloquently. “My birthday isn’t much of a problem for them, either.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime repeats.

“Thanks, Jaime. It's okay, really. I’m fine now.” I’m fine now, he repeats internally, for good measure. I turned out fine.

For a moment, it almost seems like Jaime is going to argue, but he settles back into the seat instead, turning his head toward the window.

They’re a few minutes from home when Jaime speaks again.

“My parents were out of the picture, too,” he says softly.

Sebastian has to grip the wheel so as not to crash the car out of utter shock. Because he can count on approximately one finger the number of things he knows about Jaime’s past, and this piece of information carries weight he didn’t expect to be handed right now. He wants to cradle this secret between his palms with all the delicacy of balancing a bubble on skin.

“Yeah?” Sebastian nudges him carefully, stealing a glance in his periphery.

A single nod. “They died when I was young. Both of them. I... I grew up in foster care.”

It’s strange, what happens when you begin to build a relationship with someone from the ground up; how a piece of the puzzle can come in and snap others into place. How one sliver of context can start to paint a picture. How it can break your heart for the person sitting next to you, and also give you some insight on how they got there to begin with.

An ugly chain of events begins to take root in his mind: passed from one government system to another, another vulnerable statistic slipping through the cracks.

“I…,” Sebastian begins and immediately falters. “Jaime, I don’t...”

“I’m not supposed to talk about them,” Jaime says. "Or any of it."

“I know.”

“It’s hard to remember them clearly. It’s been so long.”

“You can talk about them with me,” Sebastian offers, knowing he is tiptoeing on precarious grounds. “If it helps to remember them.” Jaime nods, and Sebastian wishes he could reach over and take his hand. “How old were you? Only if you're comfortable saying.”

Sebastian watches the jerk of his throat as he swallows. “Eleven.”

“God, Jaime, you were just a baby.” You’re still so young.

They come to a stop in the driveway, and Sebastian kills the engine, plunging them into a heavy quiet. From beside him, Jaime’s hands are a constant twitch of nervous energy.

“I want to say something,” Jaime says. “I… I don’t want to overstep. I’m sorry if I…” He stops to clear his throat, then looks up, piercing Sebastian through the middle with a rare moment of held eye contact. “I think your parents are wrong. For wanting you out of their lives.”

The contempt dripping from the word "wrong"—a brand new edge to Jaime’s normally soft spoken tone—suggests there is something far worse he’d like to say. But the fact that Jaime has voiced this much negative emotion at all speaks volumes. And despite the sore spot of the subject matter, something like fondness glows bright in his chest.

He holds Jaime’s eyes for a few more seconds. “That’s nice of you to say.”

Jaime lets out a slow breath. He nods.

As they retrieve the paper grocery bags from the trunk, Jaime’s shoulder brushes warmly against his own for just a fleeting second. “Happy birthday, Sebastian,” he says.

When he smiles, the inner edge of his lips are tinted blue from the candy.

Sebastian, carefully, lets his shoulder nudge him back. “Thank you,” he says. “For that, and for telling me about your parents.”

He doesn’t say: your trust is the best gift I could have asked for. But he means it all the same.

****

When Sebastian comes out of his room, just after sunset, he stops short at the warm-sugared aroma of the house. His nose leads him to the kitchen, where he finds a small, circular cake sitting on the table. A singular candle flame flickers in the low light, and behind it, Jaime. The shadows dance over his mask of trepidation, his fidgeting hands held at waist height.

“I hope this doesn’t count as a big deal,” Jaime says quickly, as if he’s been rehearsing the words in his head. “I found a pack of candles in the back of the cabinet, and you already had all the ingredients to make it from scratch, so I figured…” He stops short, eyes widening. “Are you okay?”

It is only then that Sebastian feels the moisture beading down his cheek. He wipes it away, a breathy, startled laugh escaping him.

“I kind of want to hug you right now.” The words sort of stumble out without much thought, and he stiffens as he hears them, ready to snatch them back.

But Jaime says, “You can, if you want.” He must hear the passive choice of words as he says it, read the apprehension on Sebastian’s face, because he shakes his head and rephrases. “I want you to. I’d like to give you a hug.”

And then he’s stepping around the table, and Jaime is in front of him. He holds his eyes for a moment, checking and double checking that this is alright. When Sebastian raises his arms in invitation, just a few cautious inches, Jaime steps into them.

It’s slow and soft, and it doesn’t linger. Just a few precious seconds of Jaime’s hands pressed flat against Sebastian’s back, of Sebastian’s arms featherlight above Jaime’s shoulders, and the warm pulse of heartbeats where their chests touch between them.

The cake is still warm, the frosting slightly melty, when Sebastian takes his first bite. He nearly cries all over again at the taste. Sebastian makes sure to cut Jaime the slightly larger slice, and relishes in watching him finish the whole thing.

They spend the rest of their Saturday night curled under blankets on opposite ends of the sofa, with Bella stretched out between them. Jaime’s eyes start to drift during the opening credits of their third movie, and by the end he is fast asleep. Sebastian allows himself a few selfish moments to watch him at peace. His mouth hangs slightly agape. Bella, who has crawled onto Jaime’s chest at some point in the night, vibrates with soft purrs against his neck.

Sebastian blinks hard and remembers the wish he made as he blew out the candle—the first he had made since he was a child.

Please, let him be happy. Please, let him be free.

@whumpervescence

@shiningstarofwinter

@distinctlywhumpthing

@whumptywhumpdump

@nicolepascaline

@anotherbluntpencil

@hold-him-down

@crystalquartzwhump

@maracujatangerine

@batfacedliar-yetagain

@thecyrulik

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@finder-of-rings

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@insaneinthepaingame

@skyhawkwolf

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@mylifeisonthebookshelf

@dont-touch-my-soup

@whump-world

@inpainandsuffering

@cicatrix-energy

@quietly-by-myself

@whumpsday

@extemporary-whump

@the-whumpers-grimm

@thebirdsofgay

@firewheeesky

@whumperfully

@hold-back-on-the-comfort

@termsnconditions-apply

@cyborg0109

@whumplr-reader

@pinkraindropsfell

@whatwhumpcomments

@honeycollectswhump

@pirefyrelight

@handsinmotion

@alexmundaythrufriday

@scoundrelwithboba

@starsick1979

@b0rgid

#do no harm: jaime & sebastian #whump writing #bbu #whumplr #big things happening in quiet moments

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mustainegf · 4 months

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idk if uve done smth like this b4 but dave in like 84-85 and ur at a party and he's mad cause ur with kirk.. 😁 then he finally gets u two alone anddd it escalates!!! thank uuu

Young Dave is sooooo Mmm… dave at this age was pretty toxic so I tried to give that vibe

WARNINGS: Degradation, really possessive dave, dave is a little toxic, rough sex

❕ ALL SEX IS CONSENSUAL ❕

I navigated my way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for my friend Dave. He was off doing his own thing, mingling and drinking—and probably indulging in some sort of heavy drug, while I tried to find my own place in the chaos.

I eventually found myself in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall and nursing a drink.

I felt a bit out of place. That's when I noticed him, a tall, lean man with long, curly black hair and a calm presence.

Kirk Hammett. The newest addition to Metallica, and Dave’s replacement in the band.

I watched him for a moment, captivated by his soft eyes. He looked up and caught my eye, a small, welcoming smile spreading across his lips.

"Hey," he said, his voice smooth and friendly. "Enjoying the chaos?"

I nodded, feeling a bit shy but drawn to his easy demeanor. "Yeah, it's something," I replied, trying to make myself heard over the music.

He giggled softly, a sound that seemed to cut through the noise.

"It's always like this," he said. "But it's nice to take a break and talk sometimes. I'm Kirk, by the way."

"I know," I said with a smile.

We began talking, the conversation flowing like melting butter. Kirk was charming and quite easy to talk to. I found myself finally relaxing, enjoying his company and the temporary escape from the madness.

But then out of nowhere, Dave appeared. His expression was dark, eyes narrowed as he glared at me.

I barely had time to react before he grabbed my arm and tugged me away from Kirk.

"Dave, what-" I started to say, but he cut me off, his grip tightening painfully around my arm.

"We need to talk," he hissed, pulling me through the crowd with a force that made my heart race.

I glanced back at Kirk, who looked concerned, but there was nothing he could do. Dave was determined, and I knew better than to argue with him when he was like this.

He dragged me down a hallway and shoved me into an empty bedroom, slamming the door behind us and locking it. The sudden silence was uncomfortable, the party's noise now a distant hum.

I turned to face him, my heart thudding in my chest.

"Dave, what the hell?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fear growing in me.

He was fuming, his face red with anger. "What the fuck were you doing talking to Kirk?" he spat, his eyes blazing.

"Do you know who he is? He's my fucking replacement!"

I took a step back, the intensity of his anger catching me off guard.

"I was just talking to him, Dave," I said, my voice trembling. "He seemed nice, and we were just having a conversation."

"Just a conversation?" he sneered, taking a step closer. "Do you have any idea how that looks? You, talking to the guy who took my place? Do you think that’s acceptable?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the room closing in around me. "Dave, I didn't mean to upset you," I said softly, trying to calm him down. "I didn't think it would be a big deal."

He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that sent a curb in my gut. "Not a big deal?" he repeated, shaking his head. "You need to learn who you belong to."

Before I could react, he grabbed me and shoved me onto the bed, his hands rough and demanding. I gasped, the force of his actions leaving me utterly shocked.

He loomed over me, his eyes dark with fury and something else, something possessive.

"You think you can just talk to any guy you want?" he growled, his hands gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head. "You need to remember who owns you."

I trembled beneath him, a jumble of fear and arousal flooding my senses. There was something so sexy about his dominance. Despite the fear, I could feel the heat building between my legs, my body responding eagerly.

"I'm sorry, Dave," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to make you angry."

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You'll be sorry," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm going to remind you exactly who you belong to."

He released my wrists, only to tear at my clothes, his hands rough and unyielding.

I whimpered, the sound escaping my lips as he stripped me bare, he did it with such ease, as if he’d imagined tearing my clothes off hundreds of times before.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So fuckin’ sexy. All mine."

“Do you want this baby? I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” he whispered, squeezing my thigh.

“Keep going, I want it Dave, I want it,” I begged.

He didn't give me a chance to say any more before his hands were ravaging me again, his grip harsh. And I liked it.

He grabbed my hips, flipping me over so that I was on my hands and knees, my body trembling. I could feel his breath hot against my skin.

I was a little nervous to have my pussy perched up and at his full display, but by the growl that seemed to tumble from his throat, he was enjoying it.

"You're going to take everything I give you," he growled, his hand coming down hard on my ass, the sting making me gasp. "You're going to beg for it."

"Please," I whimpered, my body aching for more. "Please, Dave, I need you.”

"Good girl," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You're going to take it all."

I heard the sound of his zipper, I couldn’t believe this was happening, Dave was really going to be inside of me. I could hardly believe it, or wait, I wanted it so bad.

He grabbed my hips, positioning himself at my entrance, the tip of his cock teasing me, making me moan.

"Tell me who you belong to," he demanded, his grip tightening on my ass.

"You," I gasped, my voice trembling. "I belong to you, Dave."

"That's right," he growled, thrusting into me with no warning, making me cry out. "You're mine."

He didn't hold back, his thrusts hard and fast, each one making me clench and squirm. I could feel the heaviness of his anger in every movement, the way he took me with such dominance.

It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and I could feel myself getting lost in the rough sex.

"You're going to take everything I give you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "You're going to beg for it."

"Please," I whined, my body trembling with need. "Please, Dave, I need more."

He laughed, a dark and wicked sound. "That's right," he said, his thrusts becoming even more forceful, somehow. "You're mine. Say it."

"I'm yours," I gasped, my voice raw and raspy. "I'm yours, Dave. Please, I need you."

"That's right," he sneered, his voice dripping with pure venom.

"And don't you ever forget it. I'm not some replacement like Kirk. I'm the real deal. He could never make you feel like this, could he?"

"No," I whimpered, my body trembling with the force of his hips. "Only you, Dave. Only you can make me feel like this."

"Exactly," he growled, his cock becoming even more demanding. "Kirk could never fuck you like this. He could never own you like I do."

I begged, the pleasure and humiliation combining in a way that left me hornier than ever.

"You belong to me," he said in a low growl. "No one else. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I whimpered. "Yes, I understand. I'm yours."

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick. "You're going to cum for me, aren't you?"

"Yes," I moaned, my body on the edge of release. "Please, Dave, I need to cum."

"Then cum for me," he commanded, his thrusts becoming uneven. "Cum for me, and remember who you belong to."

With a final, desperate moan, I came, my body shivering with my orgasm. It was probably the best feeling I’d ever had.

Dave didn't stop, his hips relentless, scooping out my pleasure until I was a trembling, boneless mess.

He followed mere seconds later, his grip tightening on my hips as he came with a low, guttural growl.

I felt my insides warm up, gushing full of his hot and sticky seed.

The room was filled with the sounds of our ragged breaths, the air foggy with the scent of sex and sweat.

We collapsed onto the bed, our bodies tangled together, both of us sated. Dave pulled me into his arms, his touch surprisingly gentle in the aftermath of our not so gentle encounter.

"You're mine," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Always remember that."

"Mmhm," I whispered, my voice laced with exhaustion. "I'm yours, Dave. Always."

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brigdh · 11 months

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Okay. My thoughts on the Our Flag Means Death finale. Obviously I'm not very happy with the ending, though I'm also not as upset as some people are. I would say I'm discontent. Unsatisfied. Too aware of how it could have been improved, and a bit bitter that we didn't get a better version, but I also don't hate what we did get.

I know a lot of meta has attributed the problems to a shorter season, and absolutely I would have loved to get 10 episodes instead. I would have loved 22 episodes! Why don't we do that anymore? But I don't think the 8 episode length was the ultimate problem. A) The showrunner and writers knew they had only 8 episodes, so they needed to choose a story that fit into that length, but even more importantly, B) my problem is not that they had too much story for too little time, but actually that they had plenty of time and chose to fill it with too little story.

As I've sat with it over the last few days and thought more about the season's arc, it feels to me like we got eight episodes of filler. Filler episodes can be great! Filler episodes can have some of the funniest lines, the greatest scenes, the most intriguing ideas. But filler episodes do not progress character arcs or major themes, and that's exactly the problem this season had.

The only characters who got arcs this season are Izzy, and to a lesser and more rushed extent, Lucius. Which sure is a choice.

Ed and Stede and their relationship did not meaningfully change from S1. (Okay, yes, they had sex, they said I Love You – but these are external changes, not internal. They don't represent character growth. Stede realized he loved Ed and was telling everyone back in 1x10. Ed clearly would have slept with him in S1 if they'd had a little more time.) Ed and Stede in 2x08 are not different from who they are in 2x01. If Ed had asked Stede to be innkeepers in 2x01, does anyone think Stede wouldn't have immediately agreed? One of the big moments in 2x08 is Ed reading a letter that Stede wrote in 2x01! Stede's exact words from the very beginning of the season! What better way to underline that none of the subsequent seven episodes had important growth or changes?

Another one of 2x08's big shippy moments is Ed and Stede running to each other across a beach – deliberately paralleling the dream Stede had in 2x01. What are we supposed to take from this parallel? My original thought was that we're supposed to see how different the real version is from the dream, but there's honestly not many differences. Neither one has a beard, now? The dream mocked how Stede knew they needed to have a conversation about their relationship that he wanted to avoid, but they don't have a conversation in the "real" version either. They exchange about two sentences (which includes Ed's I Love You, yes, which is a big deal but still isn't a conversation) and then they charge right back into the fight, without discussing anything like Ed abruptly dumping Stede to go be a fisherman, Stede killing Ned Low when Ed asked him not to, their differences of opinion on being pirates, if having sex was a mistake or if that's only a thing Ed said because he was panicking, etc etc. They have just as many issues to address as they did in the dream, but just like the dream they act like everything is magically okay without talking about it!

So I think we're meant to take the beach-run parallels as "here's what Stede's been wanting, and after waiting for so long he finally gets it". Which is fine, a very sweet take-away for a finale. But it underlines what I'm saying is the problem of the season: Stede has just been waiting for eight episodes for his dream to come true. Not changing. Not growing. Not doing anything to bring the dream about, other than trying to get himself and Ed into the same physical location. Just... waiting.

This is an extra surprising development, because the show was really good at giving Ed and Stede character arcs in S1! Ed and Stede in 1x10 are significantly different than they were in their first introductions. Also, just to preempt some criticism, by 'progressing' I do not mean 'wrap up literally every loose end and make a firm final ending' – S1's finale is an excellent example of both moving the characters forward and leaving a ton of room for future stories. I wasn't expecting for 2x08 to show us a Stede and Ed who were perfectly on the same page and would never again have a problem. I was expecting them to be somewhat different than they were in 2x01, and I just don't see that.

Instead of arcs, we got little pieces of single-episode growth here and there that never added up to an overall whole. The season brought up a ton of potential arcs for Ed – violence, piracy, guilt, suicide, daddy issues, self-loathing, apologies, redemption, his tendency to idealize escaping into a different life – but didn't do anything with any of these options. Stede had nothing resembling a season arc at all.

Stede works to improve as a captain! Stede kills someone and has regrets! Stede confronts Ed's dark side! <- All potential arcs, but none of which lasted for more than an episode or had consequences. We don't even know what the ending means for Stede: does he want to be an innkeeper because he failed as a pirate in 2x07? Because piracy was always just a displaced search for love, and now that he has love, he doesn't need piracy? What does the crew of the Revenge leaving mean to him? Stede's understanding of their new arrangement literally happens off-screen and we're left to fumble at guesses for its significance to him as an individual.

Ed and Stede's last big conversation in the season is their break-up fight in 2x07, which is a shocking way to send off your main couple in a rom-com. Yes, there's the I Love You on the beach (again: two sentences) and the brief 'let's try to be innkeepers' conversation at the very end, but that's it for them in 2x08, except for their inclusion in some brief large group conversations about their fighting skills and the plan for escaping the British. How can you end your rom-com with the main couple exchanging only a paragraph's worth of dialogue in the finale? None of the stuff was brought up in the fishing fight in 2x07 is ever addressed at all!

Again, I don't think this is solely a matter of time crunch. Instead of using the eight episodes to progress the two main characters, we got a bunch of filler episodes that used the time in amusing side tangents instead of forward progress. I don't think that's the inevitable result of having to work with eight episodes.

Look, I can come up with a better Ed/Stede relationship arc without needing more episodes, and despite only thinking about this for a couple days and not having an entire writing room to work with:

(Note: this only addresses the Ed/Stede relationship. It doesn't fix Stede completely lacking an independent character arc and Ed having about ten thousand of them, none of which went anywhere.)

In 2x05 to 2x07, I would make Ed's motivations in their relationship very clearly that he's pushing Stede away so he doesn't get hurt again. Basically play up Ed's comment about "I was all in" in 2x04, and make him determined not to get 'all in' this time around. This aligns the "let's take it slow" conversation in 2x05, the "sex was a mistake" in 2x06, and Ed running away to be a fisherman in 2x07 into a single arc. He wants Stede, but he's afraid of what that wanting will do to him. He's trying to find a way to have a relationship without making himself vulnerable. He keeps pushing off commitment and openness.

Then, in 2x08, I'd make it more explicit that Ed thinks/fears Stede is dead when he sees the pirate ships burning. I think it's subtext in the episode as-is, but give him a line or two to make it really clear. Ed and Stede still see each other on the beach, have their dramatic run to each other, and Ed says, "I love you". Now this moment is Ed acknowledging his love, exactly what he's been avoiding for the last three episodes.

Near the end of the episode, Ed and Stede have a conversation where Ed says something like, "I didn't want to get hurt again, I was afraid of the risk of falling in love and you leaving again, but thinking you were dead made me realize that never loving you would be worse" (but better written, ha, this is a tumblr post that's already too long). (Also possibly you could tie in Izzy's death here to underline both Ed and Stede not wanting to lose another person they care about, if we must have that plot point for some reason.) We actually get to see Ed asking Stede to come be innkeepers with him, paralleling asking him to run away to China (and paralleling NOT asking Stede to a fisherman), Stede voices some of his worries (paralleling him keeping them inside in 1x09, but also giving him a chance to explain what piracy and love mean to him and why he'd give up one for the other), but ultimately they agree that they at least want to try.

This both puts them into a much clearer place for a happy ending, has clear growth from S1 and the beginning of this season, but also leaves open a ton of room for S3, because welp, it turns out trying to have a relationship entails all sorts of problems! Especially with these two. It also would make me feel like they'd at least addressed some of the issues between them.

Right now I feel like S3 will have to spend at least the first few episodes running through exactly the same "don't talk – break up – get back together dramatically" arc that Stede and Ed have already done twice but have never discussed and never learned from. I liked it, but I don't need to see it yet again. That will – ironically – feel like yet more wasted time, more episodes that are just churning through beats without moving the characters forward. I wanted them to have new, different fights in S3, but now I don't even feel like they've made enough progress to have a fresh set of problems.

#ofmd meta #our flag means death #ofmd 2x08 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd critical #(I guess)

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