#(and occasionally it happens I will never get to it at all. You have no idea how many posts in my queue are just like

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fuss to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next chapter early access

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

[cherrygirlfriend]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° safe in your arms

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: reader wakes up from a nightmare and dean comforts her tags/warnings: smut, oral (fem. receiving), fluff, MDNI! wc: 1.4k a/n; not only does dean eat box, but he eats it backwards, forwards, sideways, on his knees, on his tippytoes, in the morning, in the evenings, at night, in the middle of the day, in the bunker, in the impala, in- you get the gist. thank you to babycakes @gibson-g1rl for giving me the idea w the panties holy lordy ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

dean was never the kind to be a deep sleeper. when you first got together and started sharing a bed, every little thrash you'd made in your sleep was enough to startle him awake, and the first few times it happened, the man had reached under his pillow for his gun.

overtime, though, he got used to you sleeping in his arms, managing to sleep through nearly anything, your movements, squirming around in his arms, the small whines and snores you let out in your sleep, even the occasional times you'd start talking in your sleep about the peanut butter monster.

so, it was odd when he was startled awake in the middle of the night, your warm body nestled in his arms, dean's heart racing. he looked down, smiling fondly at you as his heartbeat started settling down. he sighed, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head, only to realize that the noises you were making weren't the normal whimpers you'd make in your sleep.

your little whimpers were a higher pitch, your breathing was heavy and he could make out soft mumbles of, 'help' as well as his own name leaving your lips.

"sweets?" dean said softly, gently shaking you, "baby, wake up."

after a few more shakes, you were startled awake, your eyes flicking open as you sat up in bed, looking at him with wide eyes, heavy breaths leaving your lips as your heart raced against your chest. you brought your hand to your heart, as if willing it to calm down.

"sorry..." you sigh, your voice still heavy with sleep "did i wake you?"

"don't apologize, silly." dean looked at you with furrowed brows, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "did you have a nightmare, baby?"

you nodded as you settled back into his arms, starting to draw small patterns on his bare chest, a small shiver running down his spine at the contact as he kissed the top of your hear, "you wanna talk about it?"

"just..." a small sigh left your lips, "you were nowhere to be found. that... scared me. It made me feel like you were... actually gone." you swallowed, looking up into dean's eyes as if you were searching for something in the small yellow flecks surrounded by a sea of green, "i don't know what i'd do if you were. i'm so... used to your presence in my life."

his lips twisted into a small smile and he let out a small tut, eyes following his calloused as fingers as they traced the chain of the necklace he'd gotten you for your birthday, "well, sweet girl," he started, looking up into your eyes, his eyes crinkling, "good thing i'm not going anywhere."

"promise?"

"promise." dean pressed a kiss to your lips that was all too fleeting, it always feeling like no matter how many times he pressed his lips on yours, it would never be long enough. his hand traced the strap of your nightgown, "you know what i hear helps with nightmares, sweets?"

"oh? and what's that?"

"orgasms."

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, "and where'd you read that?"

"oh, it was... some science-nerdy magazine thing sammy had laying around. you wouldn't like it. so, wanna give it a try?"

"mmm... who am i to decline some scientific research?"

dean grinned and knelt down on the bed, watching you with a gleam in his eyes as you settled back in bed, your brows raised as if you were challenging him, egging him on.

one thing about dean was that he never rushed when it came to you, and especially when it came to pleasuring you. one of your legs was hooked over his shoulder as his lips made their way up from your ankle at a tortuously slow pace, until they met your knee, one of his hands holding onto your thigh as he drew small, slow circles on your inner thigh that had you clenching around nothing.

from your knee, he kissed up your inner thigh, and it felt like your entire body was clenched in anticipation, each hot press of his lips against your skin making you feel like you were going to die if you didn't feel him right at that moment.

as dean's lips got closer and closer to where you needed him the most, he pushed up the hem of your nightgown until it rested rumpled just over the hills of your breasts. the hand that had pushed your nightwear up kneaded your breast for a moment, your nipple pebbling under his rough hand.

you arched into him once you finally felt his calloused fingers pressing on the damp spot in your lace panties, the man letting out a soft chuckle against the warm skin of your inner thigh, his thumb drawing circles on your puffy clit through the lacy fabric.

"fuck, sweets..." dean groaned as he pressed his nose right at the darkened spot he'd caused, breathing in the scent of your arousal, "she's always so needy for me, huh?" he chuckles, increasing the speed of his thumb.

he flicked his tongue out to taste the patch of fabric with a hum, causing a shiver to run down your spine, "dean..." you whined, as he firmly pressed the fabric of your underwear against your pussy, watching as your arousal started to soak through the fabric. dean ran his finger through your lace-covered slit over and over again until it was practically molded to the shape of your lips.

darting his tongue out, he ran it up the length of your cunt, causing you to let out a gasp as his long fingers teased your entrance through the lace.

"taste s'damn good even through these things..." dean groaned against your pussy, pressing kisses on your clothed folds, "but i think we should take 'em off, huh?" he chuckled, "these must be ruined to all hell, dont'c'ha think?"

"mmhm..." you hummed, your half-lidded eyes watching as dean practically peeled your soaked panties off, slowly sliding them down your legs, looking at the pair with a grin before discarding them, "those are definitely ruined, sweetie."

this time, dean didn't even take a moment to get to where you were aching for him, his eyes glossing over as he looked down at your cunt, practically glistening from how much you needed him. he laid down between your thighs, his muscular arms wrapped around your thighs as he presses a kiss right next to your clit, his stubble tickling your inner thigh, "s'good..."

you let out a surprised yelp when dean immediately started to lap up some of your arousal with his tongue, swirling his tongue around your clit. your hands went to his hair, gripping onto it for your own sanity.

he sucked the puffy bud into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, two of dean's fingers teasing your entrance, gathering some of your wetness before pushing the long digits into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch.

dean thrusted his fingers in and out of you until he finally found a pace that was good for him, one that caused you to grip onto his hair even tighter, that made your legs shake.

you arched into his mouth; you had no idea how he did it; how he managed to touch you in just the right way, to bring you to the edge so easily. every touch made you wish it could last forever, while also knowing that you couldn't take it any longer.

"dean..." you whine, feeling yourself starting to clench around his fingers, "dean, i'm gonna-"

"shhh..." he mumbled against your clit, as if he was too enamored by the taste of you to detach himself from it, to detach himself from you. "just let it happen."

and as you finally felt the pleasure that he'd been building up drop, you let out fervent moans of his name, your hand tugging him closer to your core, the pace of his fingers slowing down as you clenched around them, causing the man to let out a tsk.

after you had finally come down from your orgasm, dean licked a few more stripes up your pussy, mumbling something about 'cleaning up', before his face was right above yours, his lips and chin covered in your arousal as if he had just eaten the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, his lips twisted up into a grin.

"so, think that'll help you with your nightmares, sweets?

[fear-is-truth]

❝ WITH THE LIGHTS OUT, IT’S LESS DANGEROUS ❞

warnings — murder mention. s2 spoilers. suggestive pairing — nam-gyu x f!reader word count — 745 a/n — english is not my first language sorry

THE DORMITORY IS UNNERVINGLY QUIET TONIGHT, just the occasional cough or the faint rustle of shifting blankets break the stillness, but even those small sounds seem out of place. the events of the night before hang like a disaster on a frayed piano string, threatening to snap at any second. bodies are still sore, bruised, and battered from the chaos that erupted when the lights went out—violence erupting in the pitch black, leaving a trail of terror in its wake. the air reeks faintly of sweat and fear, mingled with the metallic tang of blood that had dried into dark brown stains on the floor.

the thanos team is completely disbanded, not that you cared, anyway. you didn’t much like the rapper anyway, but his death felt like a strange relief—a violent severing of a bond you never wanted in the first place. se-mi, though. your chest tightens at the thought of her. se-mi didn’t deserve what happened to her. you don’t even know how she died—no one does.

now it’s just you, min-su, and that asshole nam-gyu.

min-su doesn’t say much these days. he sticks close but keeps his distance at the same time, like he’s not sure if you’re allies or just temporary survivors sharing the same sinking ship. nam-gyu, though, you don’t trust that prick.

you’ve learned to sleep lightly, one ear always tuned to the sounds of the room. and tonight, something feels… off. the faintest sound of movement makes you jolt awake, fingers instinctively curling around the shard of glass tucked in your sleeve.

“relax.” even without seeing him, you know it’s nam-gyu. the last person you want to deal with in the near darkness. “what are you doing?” you whisper harshly, fear twisting into irritation as his silhouette moves closer. he doesn’t answer, just shoves your legs aside like he has every right to be there. the audacity of this man.

“move.”

“get off,” you shove at his shoulder, but it’s like trying to push a wall. he wedges himself onto your narrow bunk, his body pressing flush against yours.

“someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

“you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“not after what you did last night,” his arm bumps into your ribs as he makes himself more comfortable. “you’re better at playing dirty than i thought.” you bristle at the words. from anyone else, it might sound like begrudging respect, but from nam-gyu, it feels like a thinly veiled insult. after all, you were just trying to make it out alive.

“then keep an eye on me from your own bed.”

“what bed?” he snaps. you realise belatedly that his mattress must’ve been stolen during the free-for-all. you open your mouth to argue further, but nam-gyu suddenly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you down against the mattress with him.

“shut up,” he hisses, breath warm against your cheek. “you think i trust you after everything? you’re lucky i’m still on your side, or you’d already be dead.”

the shard of glass digs into your palm, and you loosen your grip, debating whether to stay still or stab him. the latter is very tempting. a chill runs through you, but it isn’t fear. not entirely. his grip on you is unyielding, almost desperate, as if holding onto you because he doesn’t know what else to do with thanos gone.

“this isn’t necessary.”

“stop moving,” he hisses. you shift again, uncomfortable because there’s something hard pressed against your lower back. “unless you want to wake everyone up. trust me, they’ll have a field day when they see us all cuddled up.”

“this isn’t cuddling. it’s you being a creep.”

“call it what you want, just quit squirming for god’s sake.” he grouses, “you’ll just make it worse.” nam-gyu moves again, adjusting himself discreetly.

“make what worse?” the words tumble out before you can stop them, but the second they do, you freeze.

then it dawns on you.

oh.

heat rushes to your face, mortified as the realisation settles in. you freeze, hyperaware of every inch of him against you—the solid weight of his chest, the curve of his thigh pressed to yours, and now… the unmistakable press of his hardened cock slotted firmly against your ass. nam-gyu clears his throat awkwardly.

“just go to sleep.” the edge in his tone is softened by exhaustion, one that mirrors your own. “we’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[selineram3421]

*hides behind laptop*

⬅Prev: Part 1- Opposites

Spell Gone Wrong

Part 2- Devilish Human

Alastor X Reader

Alastor is trying a new spell but it's not right and something goes wrong.

Warnings ⚠

⚠ possessive Alastor, Human Alastor, time travel mentioned, Italics= thoughts, kisses, blood, cussing. ⚠

It's been weeks since the spell mess up, but Alastor still hasn't given up on it and continued tinkering around with some of the words in his book.

You don't know exactly what he's trying to do but as long as there isn't a huge mess it's fine.

The breeze outside is nice as you read your book out in the garden, the aroma of roses and daisies hit your nose every so often, and you have an umbrella next to your chair giving you shade.

An absolutely perfect peaceful afternoon, with the occasional sounds of nature.

Until it wasn't.

A big boom sounded from inside the house. You stood quickly and opened the back door, running into the house.

There was smoke everywhere, it made you cough and slow down in your stride as it was so dense. Barely able to take a few steps forward without worrying about hitting the furniture, you called out to your fiance.

"Alastor!?", you shouted and then coughed. "Are you alright? What happened-", you coughed again.

"I'm fine dear!", Alastor responded. "The damn spell went wrong again. Help me open the windows and doors!"

Both of you worked together and opened what you could to get the smoke out. You got a rag to help move the smoke along and Alastor summoned an electric fan, which did the trick.

Once it cleared most of the way, both of you saw a figure lying on the floor of the house.

"Ugh..", the figure groans and sits up, their back facing you as they lift a hand to rub the side of their head.

"Are you..alright?", you ask and take a step towards the person who suddenly appeared.

The figure turns to face you and Alastor groans in defeat.

"Again?", your fiancé sighs.

They are human, a very handsome one at that, and they back away slowly. Their hand moving around until it grabs onto a metal candle holder on the coffee table, swinging it in front of themselves and pointed at you.

"Where am I and what are you?", the human asks with a scowl.

"Hold on-", you start but Alastor stands in front of you.

"Now, now. We don't point a weapon at someone who's asking if you're alright.", the red deer demon scolds. "You'd think my human self would be a little more put together and wearing a smile."

"Human self?", you say surprised.

You met Alastor after death, so of course you've never seen him when he was alive. However, you didn't know that he was that attractive in life as well.

"That still doesn't answer my question sir.", human Alastor says.

"Put the candle stick down.", your fiance hisses out.

The two glare at each other and you roll your eyes. With a huff, you move out from behind your fiance and place a hand on the candle stick, lowering it down.

"As much as this is a shock to everyone, let's be civil about it. Ok?", you say and glance at the two before looking back at the human man. "You're in Hell. As crazy as this is going to sound, that-", you point at the Radio Demon. "-is demon you. And I am his fiancé."

"Demons?", he says and finally puts down the candle stick. "How did I get here? And how did I- he? How am I a demon here?"

"That would be my fault.", Alastor confesses. "I've been working on a spell but the results have not been satisfactory.. As for the demon part, well you'll find out in due time."

"It's no surprise if he's doing what you did in life.", you say. "This counts as time travel doesn't it?", you ask and look to your fiance. "What spell are you working on?"

"A difficult one darling.", is all the deer demon says before kissing your forehead.

Human Alastor looks away and takes in the interior of the house, finding pictures and art along the walls, with the occasional gun display. The furniture is mostly red and brown, like usual but he sees the decorative pillows and knows that must be the other demon's doing.

"If this is Hell, it's not too bad."

"Are you ok though? Did you hit your head?", you ask, attention back on human Alastor. "Please rest if you're not feeling well."

"I'm fi-"

"Just sit down.", Alastor says and pushes his human self to sit on the couch. "There isn't much you can do in Hell anyway since you're a human. So fragile."

You can see human Al-, hmm.. You can see Astor get annoyed by that last comment your fiance made.

"Alastor. Be. Nice.", you say and pull the red deer away, pushing him towards the back room. "Go and figure out a way to take him back to his time."

"Darling-", he starts.

"If you can't be nice then you won't get any kisses for a week!"

Reluctantly, the Radio Demon does as told and walks into the back room where he does his spells, giving you one last glance before closing the door behind himself.

You sigh and turn to look at Astor, finding him looking everywhere but at you.

"You ok there hun?", you ask.

"Forgive me but-ahem.", the human glances at you before looking away again. "I just can't imagine myself with someone as breathtaking as you."

You blush and wave it off.

"Geez. A charmer even in life, huh?", you laugh. "I'm nothing to look at really but thank you."

"Do I-? Does he not compliment you?", he asks suddenly.

You blink in surprise at the question.

"It's just, you seem to act like he doesn't but I apologize if I am being too rude with my question. It would be terrible if-", he begins to ramble.

"Slow down there.", you smile. "It's nice that you're worried but I'm treated very well. I mean, it is you.", you test the waters and pat his shoulder. "Though, why ask? I was told by my fiancé that he wasn't interested in anyone when alive.", you say.

"I don't get to meet you until after."

Is.. Is he flirting with me? You wonder and move your hand off of his shoulder.

Astor takes your hand before you can move it any farther and places a kiss on your knuckles.

"It's a shame that I don't get to have some time with you when alive."

Like deja vu, your fiancé rips you away from the house guest and holds you close.

"My love, you really must stick by my side when we have such guests over.", Alastor says with a sinister smile. "I still haven't forgotten what that blue bastard did."

Astor just smiles.

"Just telling your fiancé it's a shame we didn't meet sooner.", he says. "I can only imagine what fun we could of had together."

"Yes, though it is a shame, it seems that it was certainly needed. What a terrible flirt you are to my fiancé.", your fiancé gently guides your head and leads you into a kiss.

Astor frowns but then has a strange look in his eye.

"I'm surprised you aren't married to them yet. What's wrong? Not sure?", he grins.

You gasp as you break out of the kiss and glare at the human.

"Alastor-", you then state the rest of his full human name in anger. "How dare you imply such a thing! Do you even understand what you just said!?"

Before he can utter out another word, you turn and stomp off, slamming the back door behind you as you go back to the garden.

"I've forgotten what I fool I was.", Alastor sighs.

"Shit-", Astor stands to chase after you but is held back by his demon self.

"No use in going now. Let them have a moment to themselves.", the deer demon advises. "They are a force to be reckoned with."

Outside, you are upset and make your way over to the water fountain, snatching a hell daisy with a hiss as the thorns prick into your palms.

Sitting on the rim, you mutter curses as you rip petal after petal off of the flower and toss them into the water. You go back and forth doing this until you finally feel yourself start to calm down and your hand stings with all the bleeding scratches.

You walk back into the house after noticing it's getting a bit dark, using your dominant hand to open the door and holding the bleeding one in front of your chest.

When you walk in, you find Astor pacing before he stops and looks over at you.

"Dear, I just wanted to apolo-", he walks over quickly before noticing your hand. "Ah, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine.", you say and move around him to get the first aid kit.

He stops you by grabbing your wrist.

You turn to snap at him but then see the human worried.

"Please let me take care of it.", Astor pleads. "Please?"

"Fine.", you pull your wrist out of his hold and sit down on a stool near the kitchen counter. "There's a first aid kit under the kitchen sink."

He nods and quickly enters the kitchen, opening the bottom cabinet under the sink in search of the first aid kit.

He comes back not a second later and sets everything up to take care of the wounds.

Carefully taking your hand, Astor is gentle as he cleans the blood off. Apologizing when you hiss or squirm in your seat. Your hand is then wrapped up in gauze and he ties the end before tucking the extra bit under one of the folds, making it look neat.

"I must apologize again. I didn't think thoroughly about what I wanted to say. I just-", he sighs. "I'm just jealous that I-. That he has someone but I don't have anyone waiting for me back home.."

"Astor.", you start.

"Astor?", he looks up at you confused.

"Oh, I forgot. I've been calling you Astor in my head so I don't confuse you and my fiancé.", you explain. "Anyway, it was still very wrong of you to say but I can sympathize. It's not easy being alone."

He nods and looks away.

"Please be mindful of what you say hun.", you reach over and place a hand on his cheek, making him look at you agian. "But don't be sad too long. You do have someone waiting in the future. Ok? Keep smiling.", you smile.

With a soft smile, Astor nods and kisses the palm of your bandaged hand.

"Only for you."

Alastor shows up and shoves his human self away, wrapping his arms around you as Astor falls to the floor.

"Yes, yes. Be good and wait.", the red deer smiles cheekily and kisses your temple. "Satan knows you need to practice your patience."

All you do is sigh as Astor gets up and dusts himself off, glaring at his demon self.

"It would seem so."

Your fiancé sets things up to send his human self back and Astor helps him. The two grumble at each other but get the job done.

It's the same process as last time, but now with sun stones surrounding the calk circle.

Both of you watch as the human fades away.

"I swear if there's another Alastor that lays his hands on you-", your love says with a tone.

"Yes, I know. You'll do your worst.", you kiss his nose. "But it's nice to know that you love me in multiple shapes and forms."

Alastor smiles and pecks your lips.

"How could I not my darling? You're everything."

"Mhm..", you hum.

Then you remind him of something.

"No kisses for a week"

*screeches into the void*

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@+in the comments+

ML II Alastor🎙 | SGW ChL✨

[christussy]

boyfriend award

fred weasley x reader

——— fred weasley is ultimately the best boyfriend you’ve ever had ———

he wasn’t your first boyfriend but definitely your last, or at least it felt that way because of how in love you were with him.

laying on his hard chest as he tangled your hair, fred weasley was ultimately the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

you came to that conclusion quite early on.

he was the most lovable guy at hogwarts. sure he was irritating and annoying sometimes but his charms made people fall to their knees.

there was a rumor once that a third year was so in love with him they tried to spike his butterbeer, but fred caught on early enough and fed it to ron.

they then had to go to the hospital wing that day which was coincidentally where you and fred met.

madam pompey wasn’t as mad at them as she was at you that day though.

you had just beaten up marcus flint for “accidentally” spilling porridge all over you. the only reason he even did that was because a week prior to the porridge incident, you had left hair removal in his shampoo and now he looked like the mix of voldemort and big bird had a child.

can’t say he didn’t have it coming.

—

when fred heard of your prank, he knew he needed to meet you immediately. the one thing he knew how to do was prank people more horrid than pumpkin candy.

“the ever-popular y/n, tell me your secrets.” fred teased.

“what secrets?” you countered, folding your arms.

fred had you cornered outside the hospital wing but you swore you had never felt as comfortable as now.

maybe it was his looming presence or the warmth of your now bloody jacket, but everything in that moment felt comforting.

“how did your hands land on hair-removing shampoo? and how did it end up in flint’s bathroom? so many questions and none answered.” he said with a curious tone.

“well maybe if you let me talk first i could answer them.”

fred smirked, for some reason your witty response made his heart flip more times than it did during quidditch games.

“i got the bottle from my cousin in the americas, and i convinced one of flint’s friends to exchange the shampoos without marcus noticing. well of course i had to provide payment by agreeing to do his homework for potions but it was so worth it.” you explained, and fred could see the glint in your eyes.

“well done, if it was up to me i would’ve exchanged his body soap for rocks.”

“quite a sadist, aren’t you fred weasley?” you teased.

“not sure what you’re getting at y/n y/l/n. i only enjoy the occasional bloody prank, nothing sadistic about that.”

“Y/N Y/L/N! when I find you you’ll be sporting your own bruises!” marcus flint exclaimed from inside the hospital wing as his friends attempted to take the mirror out of his hands.

“guess he doesn’t like the look of purple and bald on him.” you shrugged with a smirk.

you assumed fred would’ve laughed along but he was looking quite grim.

it was then that you noticed his stiff body and arms fisted on his side.

“fred, what’s wrong?”

“he shouldn’t be talking to you like that. especially if he’s threatening you y/n.” fred said with anger in his eyes.

“calm down. nothing i’m not used to as an aftermath of another prank.” you tried to reason, “it is my fault that he’s in there looking like lord voldemort.”

fred cracked out a smile at that comment before letting his anger dissipate away.

“it’s still not okay. when he gets out of here another prank is coming his way.” fred muttered the last bit to himself but realized that you could hear him as he looked down at you with a smirk.

a smirk that made your knees weak.

a smirk that would stay in your mind for weeks to come.

—

after that conversation, fred weasley had appeared in your life more times than in the past.

the routes you had taken before were now included with a red headed jokester who always smiled brightly at you in passing.

the rumors you heard about all the pranks happening to marcus flint were created by none other than fred.

you found that out on a fateful day marcus flint almost ran into you with pink robes on. he had fred, george, and a bunch of first years tailing after him as they laughed.

fred threw you a wink when he noticed you were watching with shock on your face.

the way your body reacted to his wink made you realize you might just have a crush on fred weasley.

—

putting ur chin on his chest and making eye contact with him, you smiled up at fred.

“something on your mind, love?” fred asked as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“nothing much. just thinking about how we first met.”

“oh yeah, remind me again. was it with marcus flint’s bald head or when you obsessively started stalking me.” he teased you.

“i did not stalk you fred weasley!” you protested with a grin.

“easily could’ve. but there was no reason to, i was hooked from the moment i laid eyes on you outside of that hospital wing.”

when he said sweet things like that, it was hard for you not to fall in love with him all over again.

fred weasley was ultimately the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

-chrissy!!!

[cha-melodius]

23 23 23!!!!! (Hug prompt)

(This was a popular one! Also requested by @dot524 and @libbygrl, so I made it extra long. Just kidding, it got that long anyway, but we're pretending it's because of that. hug ficlet prompts; read all the hug ficlets)

23. The hug they pull you into when they’re about to kiss you.

This has been the shittiest birthday Alex can remember in a long time.

They’d been slammed all evening, like everyone in the surrounding area decided that they all had to visit the restaurant on the same day. Normally, Alex wouldn’t complain—he likes staying busy, and the buzz of a well-running kitchen is almost soothing to him. Tonight, though, the kitchen had been running far from well.

First, one of his line cooks was out sick and no one else could come in. Then, one of the new kids he’s been training accidentally upended an entire tub of prepped artichokes. Artichokes. Alex’s hands are still raw from the frantic all-hands-on-deck rush to get enough replacements cleaned. His normally extremely capable sous chef had just broken up with her girlfriend and was hanging on by a thread all night, occasionally disappearing to go cry in the walk-in. More than one sauce had been forgotten and burned on the stove. And of course there’d been your usual picky diners, people unable to be satisfied by anything, and while usually he’s pretty good at letting that stuff roll off his back, tonight Alex was seconds away from melting down and turning into one of those chefs he swore he’d never become.

He might have spent the last twenty minutes, after the last diners had finally gone and the rest of the kitchen staff have followed, collapsed in a booth with a bottle of Maker’s. He’s gonna go home, promise. He just needs to get up the energy to move.

Except—

There’s a clattering from the kitchen, and a soft, unexpectedly posh fuck audible in the dead silence of the restaurant. Alex levers himself out of the booth and pushes his way into the kitchen, following the sounds of movement to the pastry chef’s station, which is tucked away in an alcove. There, bent incongruously over a single dessert plate holding some kind of small cake, is his sommelier.

“Henry?”

Henry, who apparently did not hear Alex come in, jolts upright, his face going red like he’s been caught. Caught at what, Alex can’t begin to imagine.

“Oh, Alex,” he breathes. Then he glances down at the dessert in front of him, and his face falls. “Christ, this was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I mean, it definitely is,” Alex offers. As far as he knows, Henry doesn’t cook much. He’s got an exceptional palate, but is fairly hopeless in the kitchen, by his own accounts. And yet, no one else is here. Just Henry, and a cake. There’s a singular candle stuck into the top of it. It’s not hard to draw a conclusion, unlikely though it may seem. “Is that for me?”

“Well,” Henry says uncertainly. He sighs. “Yes, I suppose.”

Alex can’t help the smile playing on his lips as he slowly walks closer. “You suppose?”

“If it’s not any good, then it definitely wasn’t for you,” Henry hedges, but he’s smiling now too—a little, hesitant thing that makes Alex’s heart beat an erratic rhythm in his chest.

Alex stops next to the counter where the cake sits, which also happens to be right in front of Henry. He looks up into sparkling blue eyes under brows still knit together in the middle and wants to smooth out the wrinkle between them with his thumb.

Instead, he picks up the fork sitting next to the plate. “Can I try it?”

“Now hold on, the candle’s meant to be lit—” Henry tries, but Alex laughs at him and cuts a neat corner off the little square cake. It’s a rich, deep brown with a dark filling that oozes out between two layers, and when he sticks the fork in his mouth, a rich interplay of chocolate and the sweet-tart notes of port-soaked cherries bursts across his tongue.

Alex finishes his bite slowly, savoring both the flavors and the nervous fidgeting of the man standing so very close to him. He’s been more than half in love with Henry for a while now, but he could never be sure if his feelings were returned. They work so well together here. It seemed stupid to risk it.

Fuck that.

“Well?” Henry finally asks, unable to help himself, as Alex slowly sets the fork down on the plate. “You don’t have to spare my feelings if it was awful. June tried to help me with the cake recipe, but I fear I might be unteachable—oh.”

The words cut off because Alex has grabbed both of his wrists and is pulling him a step closer, even as he closes the remaining gap between them. He arranges Henry’s compliant arms around his waist, then loops his own over Henry’s shoulders, drawing him in until their bodies are pressed together and mere inches separate their faces.

“It’s incredible,” he murmurs. Yeah, the cake’s a little dry and his ganache isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t matter. Henry made it for him, for his birthday, and for that, it’s better than every Michelin-starred cake he’s ever eaten. “Thank you, H. It means a lot.”

“You deserve it,” Henry murmurs back. His eyes keep flitting down to Alex’s lips, and Alex’s smile grows.

“You know what I really want, though?”

“What?” Henry asks breathlessly as his arms tighten around Alex’s waist. The tips of their noses bump together.

“This,” Alex says, and kisses him.

Clearly, Henry’s been sampling as he constructed the dessert, because he tastes like chocolate and port-soaked cherries, and Alex can’t get enough. Henry kisses him like he’s been aching for it just as long as Alex has, holding onto him like he’s never going to let go, and frankly, Alex isn’t going anywhere.

Maybe this wasn’t such a shitty birthday, after all.

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I like your self aware hsr headcannons a lot, and was hoping you can post more of them? When you get the time ofc :) remember to drink water lol and take care <3 (this is my first time sending an ask, sorry if it's a bit wonky)

Hello, thank you for your lovely message! I’m so happy you enjoyed the headcanons! 🫶 No worries at all, it’s great to hear from you! And I’ll definitely make sure to drink water—your care is much appreciated!

Himeko begins to notice odd patterns in the way the world works, and, after some careful observation, she starts to wonder if there's something—or someone—controlling events. One day, she pulls the Trailblazer aside and whispers, “I don’t think I’m imagining it, but… do you ever get the feeling that there’s someone out there pulling strings for us?” She’ll ask you questions in passing, subtly probing if you have any answers.

Welt starts questioning his role within the universe after noticing inconsistencies in his own memories. “Sometimes I wonder,” he says, staring into the stars, “if we’re just pieces on a chessboard, moved by someone we’ll never meet.” Occasionally, he might say something like, “If I don’t make a decision, will it be made for me?” He becomes oddly philosophical, wondering about the deeper meaning of free will and fate.

Silver Wolf, a master of digital manipulation, starts playing around with the idea that you’re not just influencing the world but shaping it. She might joke, “Let me guess, you’re the one controlling all the variables, huh? Too bad you can’t fix this game with a patch.” Sometimes, if you do something unusual in combat, she’ll give you a sly wink and say, “I see you’re testing my limits again, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll play along.”

Clara, being the sweet and innocent soul she is, starts asking questions that are too pure to ignore. “Hey, is it true that you’re the one who decides when we get to go on adventures/battles? Can you make the stars shine brighter if you want to?” She’s mostly oblivious to the deeper implications, but there’s a childlike wonder in her eyes every time she talks about "you," as if you’re something magical. (Ugh precious 💖🫂)

March 7th seems to notice that the world doesn’t follow traditional logic. After a particularly bizarre event, she looks straight at you and says, “You know… I’m starting to think that you’re not just watching us… You’re making things happen.” or something like, “I bet you have all the answers. You must be the biggest secret keeper on the Express!”

The world of Honkai: Star Rail begins to subtly adjust to your presence. NPCs sometimes mutter under their breath about how things seem a bit too convenient. If you grind too much, they’ll comment, “Did you ever feel like you’ve been here before? Some of us feel like the world’s changing around us…” The idea that the world is aware of the shifts you make in it is a small, eerie undercurrent that runs through daily life.

These are the only ones I could come up for now 😭🙏, I hope you liked them!

[kitkatopinions]

The thing about RWBY volume 10 is... I don't even want it anymore.

Like, when it was first announced that Rooster Teeth was shutting down, I admit that although I was very happy that the company could no longer abuse its employees, I was still kind of disappointed that we might not get more RWBY. Yes, I kind of hate RWBY (I hate and love it,) but I personally never was out to 'destroy the show' or something, and I legit wanted to see where they were going with it and to see what I could get from it.

But it's been a while since then, and I feel like every time I even get a hint that RWBY might be coming back for season 10, my reaction is:

Because the thing is, I know - I just know - that whatever they decide to do is going to be bad and near incomprehensible. But even if they somehow sort of manage to make the next volume somewhat good... There's literally no way to salvage the show without an entire reboot with all new writers, and I truly believe that at this point. I watched all of volumes 1-5 for the first time practically in one setting, and boy the whole thing had some rough parts, but I thought they had a chance to come back stronger and try to fix things, and then every season since, I've thought the same and have come up with tons of things they could do and all the good directions they could take characters and events. But it's been nine seasons, and season nine was the worst written season yet and really just gave the writers a whole host of new problems they have to address and new corners they've backed themselves into and at a certain point and after V9, there's just no fixing it because after nine seasons, it would feel weird to backtrack and there's nothing they could do going forward that would fix this bad show.

To bring up a minor example, if they made a new season where they acknowledged that Blake and Ruby have barely talked since the first season, it would retroactively make the 'you inspire me' 'meaningful moment' in volume eight feel really weird, and it would be really weird that they were only starting to be friends in the tenth volume after more than a decade. But if the writers continue to write the occasional 'meaningful moment' between Blake and Ruby without actually trying to establish a friendship and bond between them, it'll continue to feel forced and unearned, and if they're written to just ignore each other completely instead, it'll continue to feel like they don't even really know each other and aren't at all friends, and therefore the show constantly being like 'Ruby's friends love her, they have the power of friendship, I'll defeat you with the power of friendship and this gun I found' will ring hollow when what's being marketed as a team of four feels like two people dating and then also two other people who walk near them that are friends with each other.

They're literally in lose-lose conditions of their own making.

And last season, I remember repeatedly saying that there were some good concepts and moments here and there, but by the last episode, anything that had been good had pretty much been ruined. Neo? Ruined. Ruby's season 9 journey? Ruined. The Curious Cat as a concept? Ruined. All the theories I had about how the Ever After could have tied back into the plot somehow? Completely untrue. The lessons I thought there was the slightest chance of the characters coming away with? Wiped out entirely. The somewhat interesting ramifications we could get from what had happened to Jaune? Removed. The possibility of changes to character design even? It came to nothing. I have no faith that the new season will be able to fix things especially because the writers don't seem to want to fix anything, or even pay that much attention to what they're writing, so even minor good things can easily stop mattering or turn terrible just like with the entirety of volume nine. I was full on invested in Ruby's journey, only for it to be essentially brushed aside with no real consequences and seemingly no impact for the characters.

If there's a new season of RWBY that eventually comes along - a very big if - I'll probably still watch it. But honestly at this point, I hope they just leave it unfinished or reboot completely. Because I'm sure that everything I'm coming up with as a 'where from here' concept that isn't even good because I don't think a good story can be salvaged after V9... Whatever I do come up with is going to be better than what we'd actually get, and I'm actually sure that's true most of us and even megastans.

I feel like I would rather have an unfinished badly made work that I can imagine might have at least some semblance of a halfway satisfying conclusion then wind up following this project to the end on a hope and a prayer despite knowing I'd wind up even more frustrated and disappointed, because at this point I know I'm just gonna be disappointed. I literally feel like the best thing the current writers attached to RWBY could do is let the RWBY fans imagine up their own ends.

[lizziesloopy]

NSFW ALPHABET W DARYL DIXON

A - Aftercare: I don’t care what anyone else says, Daryl is the master of aftercare. He’s always worried about you, so he always insists u rest and take a minute after u two do anything, and gets a warm washcloth or tissue to clean you up, and or water. If you’re the type to get tired after sex, he sleeps with you, lets u sleep on his chest while playing with your hair.

B - Body Part: He likes all of you equally, but he’s a sucker for your breasts and hips. I will DIE on this hill. Daryl has a thing for hips, holding them while he’s fucking you, keeping them down while he’s eating you out, brushing his thumb along them while kissing you.

C - Cum: Daryl has a breeding kink. He’s already generally protective of the people he cares about, especially you, and that doesn’t change in the bedroom. The idea of filling you up, cumming inside you, thats what does it for him.

D - Dirty Secret: Daryl is a pretty reserved guy, so I don’t think he’d ever admit to any kind of dirty secret unless you asked first. But, he secretly really likes the idea of you riding his face, and really likes the scent of you.

E - Expirience: The only expirience Daryl has is from before the apocalypse, and even then it was never all that good. He was usually intoxicated when he had the occasional one night stand, most of his sexual knowledge coming from Merle. But once he’s with you, he’s very eager to please you, whether he knows what he’s doing, he WILL make it his mission to learn.

F - Favorite Position: Contrary to popular belief, I think Daryl is a pretty vanilla guy. He mostly enjoys missionary, he likes to be able to see your face, and hold you close. He also likes spooning, it feels much more intimate, and it’s usually a go to for sleepy sex. He also never complains when you want to ride him because god does he love it. But I don’t think he’d like to bend you over something or do doggy style, he feels it’s too degrading or disrespectful.

G - Goofy: Things stay pretty passionate and serious between you too when being intamite. But, when something is akward and happens to be funny, a little laugh here and there isn’t unusual, especially in the beginning.

H - Hair: I mean, it’s an apocalypse, I don’t think people are all too focused on how well groomed thier bits are. Despite that, he doesn’t let it get crazy, keeps it tame, very clean. He doesn’t like the feeling of being unkempt down there, it’s uncomfortable. As for you, who could give two shits bush or bald, as long as he can get in there, he’s a happy man. And if he’s being honest, he’s likes when you have a little more hair because he likes the scent of you.

I - Intimacy: Daryl is extremely intimate nobody is changing my mind. I don’t understand how yall think this man would fuck you like an animal against a tree, absolutely not. He’s very private about your sex life and plans to keep it that way. He’s quiet overall, but that doesn’t stop him from absolutely ravishing you. He likes being as humanly close to you as possible, whether that be spooning you, reverse cowgirl, pulling you impossibly close to him in missionary, anything.

J - Jack Off: Daryl isn’t much of a masturbater. Never has been. He doesn’t have the highest sex drive, and when he does, he has you. He’d rather have you than his hand, always.

K - Kink: Like I said, he’s pretty vanilla, but not to say he doesn’t enjoy a thing or two. He 100% has an oral fixation, going down on you or you going down on him, obsessed with it. He also likes pulling your hair every now and then, but never too hard.

L - Location: Only the bed. Yall are crazy for sayin ‘over a table’ ‘in the middle of the woods’ like what the FUCK are you on 😭. He’s a very private man, who prioritizes your comfort over anything else, therefore, the bed.

M - Motivation: I mentioned how he wouldn’t have a very high sex drive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get turned on by you. If you’re in the mood, that’s his motivation. But also, seeing you all sweaty or working hard, or when he’s teaching you how to use his crossbow, seeing you use it, that turns him on hella.

N - NO: There’s a lot of no’s for Daryl when it comes to intimacy for you. He would never hurt you in any way shape or form, that consists of spanking, slapping, hitting, restraining, choking, etc. IF you asked him to choke you he’d be ok with doing it very lightly, but still worried. He’s not ok with risky/public sex, degrading you, and certain kinks like mommy/daddy. I hate when ppl say he’d have that, he’d hate it.

O - Oral: ORAL FIXATIONNNNNNNNNNN!!! This man is a certified MUNCH. Bro feasts like it’s his last meal alive. He love love loves that he can make you feel that good, because he’s exceptionally good with using his tongue, and has learned all the ways you like it. He likes watching the way you loose control of yourself, your face and your body. He also loooves when you go down on him, but he never says that. He actually has an extremely hard time containing himself when you suck him off. He usually doesn’t last long. Seeing you on your knees, looking at him through your eyelashes with his cock in your mouth, it’s his wet dream.

P - Pace: Depends. Depends on the mood, how you wanted, how you both are feeling, if he’s stressed, if he’s relaxed. I mentioned earlier he likes being intimate, therefore I’d say most of the time he’s not too fast or hard, maybe when he’s getting close or knows you’re getting close though. But times when he’s stressed, or he can tell you are, he’s a bit more fast paced with it.

Q - Quickie: Nope. 100% absolutely not. He despises the idea of rushing sex. He needs to feel comfortable in a safe environment where he knows he has time and there is no danger.

R - Risk: No risks. He doesn’t take risks with places, kinkiness, or new stuff. Unless you specifically say you want to try something and he’s ok with it, or he thinks it something, than nah. The only thing I could think of is he loves cumming in you, so there would be the risk of pregnancy if you are fertile.

S - Stamina: Depends again. He can go for long if you can, but when he’s tired, one round is enough to put him on his ass. But, just solely pleasuring you alone, he could do that all day.

T - Toy: He is definetly not opposed to anything that makes you feel good. If he were to ever stumble upon something on a run, or some other way, he’d definetly grab it. Using something like a vibrator or a dildo on you is definitely something he’s very open too, but when it comes to him, he’d rather not use anything.

U - Unfair: There is lots of teasing in your relationship in general, but when it comes to sexual teasing yes, but very subtle, never things other people would notice. But when it comes down to actual sex, neither of you like to be kept waiting.

V - Volume: He’s mostly quiet like usual. Grunts mostly, especially when he’s cumming, he usually burries his face in your shoulder to muffle himself. He loves to hear how vocal you are though. I think he could be a bit of a whimperer when you give him head too.

W - Wild Card: He doesn’t mind when you’re on your period, he’s just extra cautious with the mess. Puts a towel down or does it in the shower.

X - X Ray: He’s pretty big, not too big, but above average. It’s mostly the girth, cuz damn. Your first time with him had to be slow and steady because YOWCH.

Y - Yearning: Well, I already said this before but he had a medium sex drive, not awfully high. But if you do, especially if you’re younger than him, he’s more than happy to get you off. Eating you out, fingering you, letting you ride his thigh, whatever you want.

Z - zzzz: He gets pretty eepy 😴 He doesn’t like quickies because he likes to have his time with you, specifically time to cuddle you and sleep afterwards. Which is why he mostly prefer sex before bed/at night.

Hope you guys liked it!! My first time writing something like this, lmk how you like it and if I should do a SFW one.

[traumadumpwriter]

JJ Maybank X Reader ~ Relapse and a Half

My first OBX fic. I hope y’all like it.

Summary: The Pogues feel betrayed by the readers sudden relapse into hard drugs, but they’re unable to be angry at her for too long as something terrible leaves her needing their support more than ever.

Trigger warning for: drugs (obviously), guns, sexual assault, violence

Part two

Part One:

You'd been on the edge for a while now. The relapse should've been seen from a mile off. Your uncharacteristic quietness, the way you'd get lost in your thoughts, the distant look in your eyes. Everyone could tell that something was up, but even when they questioned you about it you had no real answers to give - uncertain yourself of what was making you feel so withdrawn.

When you'd first moved to OBX with your busy mum, you'd instantly found a group of friends - a really good group of friends - the Pogues. And they'd been quick to suss out that you were hiding things - particularly JJ. You were practically never sober, for starters, and though he wasn't either, you had a way of taking it to the next level. This was fun most of the time, but sometimes it got to a level that was concerning - even to the most problematic Pogue on the island. Whenever he'd pushed you for answers, trying to figure out what exactly you were self medicating for, you got extremely annoyed and so he never really got a straight answer. You couldn't bare to be so vulnerable with anyone - let alone the boy you'd started to develop feelings for - so you remained somewhat of a mystery.

Sure, there had been nights when you'd shared a bed - both of you very drunk. You'd convince yourself that maybe JJ liked you, maybe the sex meant more to him than just sex, but then when he'd continue to treat you like just a friend the morning after, your hopes would be crushed. It’s not like you ever gave him any reason to think that the sex was anything other than casual, but that was because you didn’t want him to be able to reject you. And besides, could he not tell that you wanted more? Kiera could and she wasn’t even in the bedroom.

Then the overdose happened. The Pogue's had suspected that you'd been taking something other than just alcohol for a while. The night that you'd almost died at the Chateau their suspicions became a painful fact. You'd taken a few too many pills - benzodiazepines to be exact - and though you'd known that you were reaching a point of no return, after hearing all about the gorgeous touron that JJ had been obsessed with, you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

That night had been awful for everyone, and you'd ended up tearfully promising that you would get clean after that, unable to bear the hurt on the Pogue's faces. So you'd been almost a year clean now, blossoming into a new person that the Pogue's liked even more than the old you. Yours and JJ's relationship remained just as complicated though - still having the occasional hookup but largely seeming as if you were just friends. Now that you weren't on pills and you could actually fully remember the sex, it hurt even more in the morning after. Still, you continued, desperate to feel wanted even if it was just for a night.

You hadn't realised how much this routine was actually bothering you until in a night similar to the one you'd overdosed on, JJ had been making out with another gorgeous touron.

*Your POV*

I'd watched jealously from across the party, ignoring the sound of Kie in my ear telling me that "I was much prettier than that touron."

I appreciated the sentiment, but I knew it was a lie, and so in a split second decision, I told Kie that I was going to go home. "I'm going to have an early one." I said, knowing it was a lie. "I'll see you tomorrow."

In that split second decision, I'd decided that all of my progress didn't matter if I still felt this worthless. What was the point in being clean if it meant that I wanted to die? JJ's insistence had been one of the things that had motivated me to stay away from the pills, but he hadn't been interested in me for a while now. He hadn't even asked me for a fuck. Had he grown bored of me? Or maybe I had gotten uglier without realising it. Maybe I had put on some weight or he didn't like my haircut. Maybe he’d developed feelings for a different girl - a better girl.

Kie nodded worriedly, clearly not sure whether to believe me or not. I hadn't even directly confessed to her that I liked JJ, she was just the only one in the group who wasn't too stupid to see it.

"Okay. Be safe." She smiled, pulling me into a hug, and though I felt bad, I still hopped on my bike and headed straight to Barry's as soon as the coast was clear.

Kie would be devastated if she'd known where I was actually going. So would John B, and Pope, and maybe even JJ, but they would forgive me quicker than her. At least, I thought that they would.

Blurred memories of the night I'd overdosed filled my mind; the sound of shouting, someone's fingers down my throat, a muffled sob, flashing lights. A shiver of shame ran down my spine as I struggled to push the images from my mind.

The ride to Barry's was short, though it felt like a lifetime as all the things I hated about myself bounced around in my head like a torturous broken record. Of course JJ didn't want to be with me. I wasn't beautiful enough. I wasn't cool enough. I wasn't good enough. I would just continue to be his slutty friend that he could stick it in whenever it was convenient for him, and he didn't even seem to want that anymore. The thought made me even more ashamed, remembering all the times I'd let him fuck me, hoping that he'd found me beautiful, thinking that maybe he liked me, just to realise in the morning that I was easy to him.

Yet I knew, that if he were to approach me in that moment and ask for a fuck, I wouldn't say no. I wanted to be wanted so badly, even if it was just for a fleeting moment, and the feeling was unbearable. It ate me up inside, making my chest tight and my eyes water. I was quick to blink any dampness away from my eyes though, focused instead on the high that I would soon have - the comfortable numbness that it would bring me. My clean streak meant nothing, a stupid concept when compared to the internal anguish I felt. From my low self esteem to my repressed trauma, I had no fight left in the battle to stay clean. Sure, the Pogue's would be upset if they found out, but I wouldn't let them find out. I would keep it low-key, unlike I did before.

When I knocked on Barry's door, I was relieved that he was the one to answer and the house was seemingly empty, meaning I only had to speak to him. His friends were annoying, and though I didn't particularly like Barry, I found him funny sometimes.

"Well shit, Y/N. Been a while." He grinned.

"Yeahh. Well I'm back." I said with a mock smile.

"Come inside."

The transaction had soon been completed; a pot of pills in my hand and some cash in Barry's. I leant back into the sofa and took one immediately, swallowing it down with a beer handed to me by him.

"Bad night?" He questioned with an amused scoff.

"Something like that." I answered. "How about you? Place ain't usually this empty on a Friday." 

"Want my own company sometimes. That a crime?"

"No. Just strange is all." I murmured, taking another swig from the beer.

Paired with my already drunkenness, the feeling of the pill was starting to hit - hard and strong - and I felt my body slump comfortably into the sofa. My head felt light whilst the rest of my body felt heavy, creating a strange, cosy sensation. It was a feeling I'd missed.

"Well what happened with you, party princess?" He scoffed, cracking open a beer for himself.

I let out a light chuckle at the question, now feeling as if it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"Dumb shit."

"You looked pretty upset when I opened the door. Boyfriend troubles?"

I raised my eyebrows in mock offence.

"Why would I have a boyfriend?" I questioned with a laugh "Who'd you hear that from?"

Barry laughed too.

"Cus a girl like you - you're pretty. I'm surprised some Kook hasn't swiped you up."

I snorted at that and rolled my eyes.

"Well thanks I guess."

I thought about having sex with Barry in that moment, just to hear him call me pretty again. But I decided against it, slightly sickened by the idea, and pulled myself off the sofa.

"I should go, see you around?"

"You sure you can ride that thing safely?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine." I chuckled before heading out the door and throwing myself back onto my bike.

The ride home was perilous, and though I did almost crash a few times, my body went into autopilot and I was soon safely in my bed, mind too numb to pick myself apart for the first night in a while.

For the next week I was able to keep the pill-taking to a minimum, only popping two a day at most. I only did it to make the thoughts stop - to bring on the comfortable numbness so that I could actually bare to be awake. So that I could actually bare to be around my friends.

I'd always managed to keep my feelings for JJ locked up and manageable, but for some reason seeing him with that touron had bothered me in ways I hadn't been bothered before. Perhaps it was because she was so gorgeous, or maybe it was how pleased JJ looked to have pulled her. Either way, it just reinforced to me how worthless I was. He brought her up one day at the Chateau and it instantly made me feel hot with annoyance.

"That touron from the other night just texted me, should I go there again?" He said with a proud smirk, looking around the room.

I rolled my eyes and picked up the half smoked blunt from the ashtray, relighting it and sucking on it in hopes that it would make my jealousy fade.

"Didn't you steal like a hundred dollars from her purse?" Pope scoffed, eyes focused on the television. Adventure Time was playing with the volume on low, and both Pope and Kie seemed more interested in it than the conversation that JJ and John B had been having. I'd been drifting lazily between the two, too high to properly contribute to anything, but now JJ had my full attention.

"Yeah. Obviously didn't notice though. Girl had too much cash for her own good." He mused, eyes on his phone screen. "Ooh! And guess what she just sent me."

"Tit pic?" John B asked, a grin crawling onto his lips.

"Tit pic." JJ confirmed, chucking his phone over to John B.

"Nice." He chuckled, looking at the phone before chucking it back to JJ.

"You guys are disgusting." Kie scoffed. "I mean like really JJ? Did that girl send you that picture for you to show your friend? You have no respect for women sometimes."

"I respect women very much, actually Kie. I respect you and Y/N. I respect your mums and Pope's mum. I just don't respect easy, spoiled touron's like her." He said defensively, and I loudly scoffed at that. He didn't respect me.

"What? You think I don't respect women too?" He asked me with furrowed brows, crossing his arms.

He was sat across the room from me; myself, Kie and Pope spread out across the sofa whilst him and John B sat in chairs. I looked him up and down, pleased that there was no lump in my throat to swallow, no butterflies in my stomach to squash and no loving gaze to hide.

“Sure, you really respect women JJ. Whatever you say.”

He looked surprised by that response, probably expecting me to get defensive, then continued on a rant about how he wasn’t misogynistic. Kie argued with him for a little bit, and John B and Pope eventually joined in too. Usually I also would’ve joined, just for the amusement of it all, but no words came to my mind. Instead I just watched, chuckling at the occasional insult being thrown and smoking my blunt.

Two weeks later and I’d upped the dose to at least four pills a day. The thoughts had gotten harder to crush, growing a tolerance. Much to my relief though, none of the Pogue’s seemed to suspect anything.

It was a hot day and we’d decided to go swimming, using the inner ring of a tire as a floaty - which we all fought over.

“I stole the tire, so I should get it!” JJ proclaimed, and though he was right, I wanted the ring.

“Okay well if you’re not a woman hater, prove it by letting me and Kie have the ring!” I grinned.

“Yeah! Prove it!” Kie added, high-fiving me.

JJ groaned and rolled his eyes, but eventually gave in with a slight smirk to me.

“Okay fine - but we’re sharing it!”

I giggled at his childish nature, feeling the butterflies rise up in my stomach that I’d been managing so well to suppress. The second that I realised what I was feeling, I knew that I needed to take another pill.

“I’m gonna go pee. Don’t wait for me.” I said, heading back indoors.

Once I was in the bathroom, I dug through my bag to find the orange pot, irritated when I realised that I didn’t have a lot left. I’d have to go back to Barry’s soon. That was annoying. I swallowed one of the pills with some water from the sink and looked at myself in the mirror before heading back out. I looked tired and unattractive and I sighed at that, thinking of how good the girl that JJ had been dancing with at the boneyard this week looked.

I reached into the fridge and took myself out a beer, cracking it open and downing half of it before stepping out of the kitchen. I didn’t expect to see JJ stood on the porch waiting for me, a slight furrow to his brow. I purposely hadn’t been alone with him in weeks and it sent a pang of anxiety into my chest.

“Starting this early? Haven’t seen you do that in a while. You feeling alright?” He asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You just seem.. different.” He was wording himself carefully, I could tell, which was very out of character for him. What could he possibly want from me?

“I’m just tired.” I said with a huff and tried to walk past him.

He suddenly put his hands on my waist, which was exposed in a bikini, holding me still. At the initial contact, I felt electrified, but I was quickly reminded of what I had missed - and the reasons why. I worried that my flesh felt too squishy under his fingers, that there was too much of it, or that the dip of my waist wasn’t defined enough. Compared to that touron I probably felt like a whale.

“What’s going on Y/N? Are you mad at me?” He asked, his eyes wide with concern, but I couldn’t think about his words - only the crippling self hatred his hand on my waist was making me feel.

I stepped backwards so that he was no longer touching me, something that only seemed to deepen the crease between his eyebrows, and blinked a couple of times before I could speak.

“I’m, uh- I’m going to grab a shirt.”

And with that I paced back inside, finishing the beer and pulling one of John B’s oversized vests over my bikini. The pill hadn’t kicked in yet and I could still see JJ stood waiting on the porch so I decided to go into the bathroom and take another. Then I grabbed another beer from the fridge and downed it, relieved when I felt the relaxing effects kick in almost immediately.

“Why are you downing beer? Since when do you do that?” JJ’s voice from behind me made me jump, his face critical.

“I’m just having a good time.” I smiled at him.

“Really? Because you don’t look like you’re having a good time. You look miserable, Y/N.”

Was it that easy to see through my charade? It irritated me that he cared now when he should’ve cared a couple of weeks ago. Now it was too late.

I huffed and shook my head, managing to walk past him this time undisrupted and lead the way to the water.

“I’m fine. Come on, let’s go.”

He didn’t bother me for the inflatable ring at all. In fact, he didn’t speak to me for hours after that. I wasn’t bothered by it though, the mix of booze and benzos that had finally hit making me entirely unfazed by everything. The comfortable numbness that I craved so badly.

I lay floating in the ring for what felt like hours, my eyes closed as I felt the waves move me freely around. The water was so cold compared to the beaming sun, but the two extremes together made me feel more relaxed than I had been in a while. Maybe I had fallen asleep, I wasn’t too sure, but when someone was suddenly directly next to me, interfering with the natural direction of the waves, I jumped up at their presence.

“What are you thinking about?”

It was Kie, her tone lighthearted though her face was concerned.

“Not much. The sound of the water mostly. You?” I answered truthfully.

“Honestly, right now I’m thinking about you.”

“Why? You into me or something?” I teased, not expecting her tone to change to match her face.

“No Y/N I’m serious. What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird ever since that party with the blonde touron.”

Kie was catching on, which was bad. It wouldn’t take her much to figure out what was really happening, so I had to come up with a lie, or maybe not a lie but a distraction.

“Yeah. Okay. I’m sad about JJ… But it doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.” I confessed, relieved when I saw the stress in Kie’s face relax.

“He’s a total idiot. You can do better than him anyway.” She said with exasperation, stroking my hair.

“No I can’t.” I laughed. “But like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

Kie sighed.

“I wish you weren’t so harsh on yourself. If you could see what other people could see you wouldn’t be.”

I smiled at her, feeling appreciation for the girl buzz through me.

“Love ya Kie.”

She smiled too, but it was weaker than usual.

“Love you too… Now give me the floatie.”

When it got dark some hours later we all piled back into the Chateau and put on a movie, squeezing onto the couch. I sat on the edge and much to my displeasure, JJ sat next to me. That displeasure only lasted a second though before it was washed over by a tidal wave of carelessness, and I was able to relax my body against his like he was anyone - not the most problematic Pogue on the island.

The movie went on for a while until JJ shifted positions, wrapping his arm around me and placing his hand on my leg.

This had been a fairly standard position for us, his fingers creeping up my thigh in the darkness of the room and our friends none the wiser. Now it felt different though, and instead of being excited by it I was annoyed. Was I only good enough to touch in secret? Was he touching me now just because I was there and it was something to do? Could he only bare to touch me when he was drunk? I needed to take another pill.

With a wobble, I flicked JJ’s hands from me and pushed myself up, grabbing my handbag and heading to the bathroom. Pope and Kie had passed out on top of each other and John B was too engrossed in the movie to look up. So when I heard a knock on the bathroom door, I knew who it was before it even opened.

“I didn’t say you could come in. I could’ve been taking a shit.” I teased.

JJ’s stoney face didn’t offer a crack of amusement as he stepped closer to me.

“What’s going on with you? It’s like you can’t stand to be around me. Have I done something?”

“No. Everything is fine.” I answered with a fake smile.

He didn’t buy it, becoming visibly annoyed.

“You’re so full of shit Y/N. Don’t try to play dumb with me right now. I know you’re pissed off about something.”

“Why do I have to be pissed off about something?” I said combatively, crossing my arms.

“Because you’re acting like my touch is gonna make you sick or something and you clearly can’t stand to be around me! Is this because of that tit pic I showed John B? I don’t get it. Are you jealous or something? Or do you just think I’m a sexist pig too?”

“My world doesn’t revolve around you. Have you ever considered that I just stopped giving a shit about what you do?”

I usually felt horrible about lying to my friends, but looking at his beautiful face, thinking of how he didn’t want me, the lie came out easily. He clearly didn’t buy it though.

“Oh really? Is that why you don’t want to fuck anymore? Because you stopped giving a shit about me? Yeah right.” He scoffed and I felt my face start to angrily heat up. “What the fuck is going on? Did someone tell you some bullshit about me? Do you have a boyfriend now or something?”

I scoffed right back at him, widening my eyes in disbelief.

“Would that make you jealous? If I had a boyfriend?”

“Do you or do you not?” He demanded with gritted teeth.

I didn’t answer for a moment, enjoying the stressed expression on his usually uncaring face. Did he really care if I had a boyfriend? Surely not in any way that mattered. Just in some stupid male ego way. I sighed at that and uncrossed my arms as I answered.

“Obviously not. Who would want to be with me? Don’t be stupid, JJ. Now what did you come in here for?”

He looked at me incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I didn’t understand why he seemed so stressed for and it was irritating to me.

“For this conversation, right now! What do you think I came in here for?” He said exasperatedly and I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t know but can you leave? I need to pee.”

“No, I can’t leave until I know what the fuck is going on with you. Jesus! How much have you had to drink?”

Had I been slurring? I couldn’t tell.

“Not enough for this.” I tutted bitterly.

He sucked in his lips and took a deep breath, eyeing me like he was trying to work something out.

“Wait, look at me straight for a second.” He muttered, reaching his hand out to touch my face, angrily repeating himself when I questioned why.

His thumb stroked over my bottom lip and I straightened my back, trying to match his stare but unable to stand completely still. He hadn’t looked at me with such intrigue in a long time, and I was glad I was so high or else I would’ve completely submitted under his blue gaze. His next words instantly shattered any fantasies that could’ve been playing in my head though, instead filling me with unreasonable rage.

“You’re high aren’t you?”

I knew it wasn’t a question. The steely look in JJ’s eyes and his flared nostrils made it abundantly clear that he’d already figured out the answer for himself. But I couldn’t let him think he was right.

“I mean yeah, I’ve smoked a lot today, you have too-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” He hissed, dropping his hand from my face. “I can’t fucking believe you. This is why you’ve been acting weird. I should’ve known.”

I rolled my eyes and mumbled “You’re overreacting, I’m just drunk” to which he quickly shot back “Oh yeah? Why are your pupils the size of mars then?”

“They’re not.” I felt my footing slip slightly as I lied, and I had to quickly lean against the wall to stop myself from falling.

“And now you’re just lying to my face. Nice one Y/N. How long had you been clean? A year, almost?”

I thought of the hours that he’d spent with me when I’d first gotten sober; looking after me when I was being sick, bringing around food, washing my hair. I’d felt so loved. I’d felt like there was no reason for me to ever pick up a benzo again.

The betrayal in his voice told me that that would never be happening again. With a huff, I picked up my bag from the side and shoved past the blonde, gasping when he grabbed my arm.

“Where are you trying to go now?” He laughed humourlessly.

“Get off me, JJ. I’m going home.”

“What because you’ve been caught out?”

“No. Because you’re being a dick.”

He wouldn’t loosen his grip on my arm despite my desperate pulling and so I started to speak louder, hoping someone would intervene and give me a chance to slip out.

“Get off me!”

“I’m not letting you go.” He said with gritted teeth, tightening his grip. “What have you taken?”

“Get the fuck off me!” I repeated louder, relieved when John B appeared in the doorway.

“What the hell is going on?” He looked between us with a concerned expression and JJ loosened his grip.

“She’s on fucking drugs again, John B.” JJ hissed and though I wanted to argue and try to prove him wrong, I quickly slipped out of the bathroom and paced out of the house, ignoring JJ’s shouts from behind me.

“What the fuck is going on Y/N?”

“Do you just not give a shit about yourself? About your friends?”

“How could you do this? You were clean for so long.”

His words stung, and though I rationally knew he was right, I was too ashamed to feel anything other than anger and embarrassment. The Pogue’s would hate me now, and rightfully so.

I understood why JJ was so annoyed. I’d listened to him seethe about his dad, about how he was an abusive drug addict - but yet, when the blonde came home and he was passed out on the sofa, JJ still always checked if he was breathing. I’d seen the bruises, and met the man who left them, begrudgingly shook his hand and tried to forget what he’d done with them. Was I reminding JJ of that? Was I like his piece of shit father?

In a rush, I picked up my bike and went to get on it but instantly fell over, dropping the bike as I did.

“You’re gonna ride home like this? Seriously?” JJ’s voice came from behind me, loud and aggressive.

I struggled to pick my bike back up, almost falling over it again, and his hands were suddenly on top of mine, holding the handles and stopping me from going. John B was quick behind him.

“Are you really on drugs, Y/N?” John B questioned, eyes wide.

“I’m just drunk.” I hissed, trying to pull the bike out of JJ’s grip.

“Right, she says she’s just drunk, let her go JJ.” John B said harshly but JJ scoffed.

“She’s lying! Look at her! She can’t even walk properly!”

Then he turned to me, his voice suddenly pleading and face full of pain. It caught me off guard and I felt another pang of guilt ripple through my body, tears attempting to escape my eyes but being successfully pushed back by the Xanax.

“What have you taken, Y/N? Please don’t lie to me. I know you’ve taken something.”

I wanted to tell him the truth so bad. The whole truth. I wanted to break down and beg for his forgiveness, to tell him I loved him and that I would get clean again.

But I couldn’t do it.

There was no point.

I’d ruined everything now anyway.

“I’m just drunk. Leave me alone.” I slurred and tried to pull the bike from his grip again.

It didn’t work. I fell backwards onto the ground, landing on my butt with a groan. I laughed at my fall instinctively, forgetting the situation I was in for a second, but when I looked up and saw my friend’s distressed faces my laughing stopped. Even John B looked suspicious now, his eyes snapping from mine to JJ’s. He bent down and pulled me up with ease, though he huffed after he’d done it.

“Y/N, can we look in your bag?”

My heart leapt into my throat and I quickly jumped to defence.

“No way you fucking pervs. Let me go home.”

He turned to JJ with an straight face and both of them exchanged a short look before looking back at me.

That was it. He believed JJ. He knew.

“I’m not letting you ride home. I’ll drive you.”

His voice had been so monotone, so void of any real offering, that it caught me off guard. He was angry. I looked at JJ. He was angry too.

“N-No. I’m fine. I can ride-”

“I’m fucking driving you home, Y/N. Get in the Twinkie.” John B cut me off sharply and I jumped backwards, almost falling again until he caught me.

They both looked so disappointed and I was so ashamed at that point that all I could do was nod, following him silently to the van. JJ said nothing and I didn’t dare look back to see if he was looking, though I felt that I could feel his stare on the back of my head. This was the worst thing that could’ve happened. Why did I have to take it so far? Why did I have to lie to their faces like that?

The short drive back to mine was agonisingly silent, all John B said was “Look after yourself” before I stepped out of the van.

My voice got caught in my throat and all I could force out was “Y-Yeah” before closing the door and stumbling towards my house.

Had I destroyed my friendship with the Pogues? It certainly felt like I had.

[sviiserax]

( 弗洛 · 𝒟𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝒯𝐇𝐄 𝒫𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄 )

↳ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 ; Romantic headcanons about the way you broke Rin’s iron clad heart into something more soft and gentle— something that he would of called someone insane if they told him he changed to be like that before he met you.

• 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 his eyes dilate into something innocent and fragile, dropping his entire cold facade. Whenever he hears your teasing words he looks away quickly, refusing to meet your mocking gaze and mumbling words of excuses.

• 𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍, he acknowledge the way your smile drops into a small frown whenever you hear something you dislike and how your eyes looses the fire he adores. His occasional quiet speeches of annoyance turn into snarky comments, leaving the person shambling and breaking down into tears.

• 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐖𝟐𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔, the slow and soft tune reminds him of your eyes. The way they brighten up like the sun makes his lips quiver and eyes become more child-like. He hates it at times— he clings to you like a bee latching onto delicate skin before it finally dies. Yet he loves it at the same time, the way you bring out a gentler side of him he never knew existed.

• 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, he always softly spoke to you with his expression calm although his ears and cheeks were dusted a pretty pink. “I always dreamed of you cooking up dinner while I play with our kids, you know? I know it might sound cheesy and unlikely of me but I can’t help it when it just sounds so perfect.”

• 𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, if it was someone else he would scoff and call them lukewarm bastards then walk away but not with you, he carefully demonstrates what to do with patience. He would give you small words of encouragement, sometimes even teasing you while shooting an effortless goal.

• 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐒. You both adore them so much, whenever you both feel down or unable to sleep then midnight talks or walks will happen. Facetiming while doing skincare or talking to each other till you both fall asleep. On walks you both chat about whats on your mind, wherever it’s something silly or serious you'll both listen to each other about it.

• 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒. Its a comfort to you both, always staring at it whenever feeling down or missing each other. He has a light blue one that you spoke about it being the colour of his eyes and you have a f/c one chose by him since he couldn't find a bracelet with your eye colour sadly.

• 𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄. The tree both you and Rin used to hangout under all the time when you was little, even sometimes with his older brother. You decided to carve both of your initials into the old bark of the tree and he excitedly nodded his head. It’s been there ever since, a sign of your everlasting relationship.

• 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃. The blue ink decorated his skin of small cat drawings and hearts always left his heart pounding while he rolled his eyes playfully and carefully drew stars and footballs onto the back of your hand.

• 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄. He always does this even if your with him or not, his pen idly writing down your initals on where his heart beated on his wrist and quickley covering it up on his sleeve so you or anyone else wouldn't notice it.

• 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑. It’s a must for everytime you get out the shower, his hand keeping a fair distance away from your hair while the other hand held the base of the brush, letting the bristles slowly comb through the strands of your silky hair and watching with fascination.

• 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. He loves it so much, adores it even. When the relationship was first established, he wasn't that keen on them before he grown fond of them quickly. He can't help but smile softly to himself as he sits you down on the sofa or counter, his head laid on your chest and arms wrapped around your middle tightly, almost as if he was protecting you from the word staining your innocence with your chin on top of his head and carding through his hair.

[cicobuffs]

preachers son!art is a fan of domesticity part two…(bc someone asked a while ago and i aim to please!!!)

he is just such the type of person where if he sees a piano he has to play atleast a little something: a hymn he learned for church or just a song he taught himself. you could have a keyboard in your room or one of those cat, meowing pianos as a joke and he’d be playing something like holy, holy, holy. with that being said, art would 100% teach you how to play some of the songs he knows: sitting down with you and placing his hands over yours against the keys. you both laugh when you mess up a note and smile when you play through a full piece without messing up.

as a kid one of the chores, art hated the absolute most was doing the dishes (he was, still is, more of a laundry person). he hated the pruny fingers and the sleeves of his shirts and sweaters getting wetter and wetter from washing bowls, pots, and pans. but now he’s realized he enjoys it a lot more as a two person job. you’re the one who washes and he’s the one who dries. he likes the small banter and conversations the two of you have whether it be about how his day went or the cable tv show marathon you got sucked into watching. he, also, doesn’t mind the silent moments: where it’s just the running water and the sound of a towel grazing a plate. its calming in a way and he loves to do it at the end of the day: like a little bookend of whatever type of day the two of you had.

if there is one thing about art that you absolutely need to know, it would be that he is a sucker for a photo booth. they remind him of when he was a kid, going to the town carnival that would happen every couple of years that was sponsored by a neighboring church: dragging his friends and occasionally his parents to the black and white print photo booth: his dad only being in one photo of the whole strip the booth would spit out but it didn’t really matter to him because he always looked a bit happier when it was just a picture with him and his mom anyways. he loves to drag you into one whenever he spots one when the two of you are out and about. he gets so happy going, “we have to take a photo,” before taking your hand and pulling you into the booth and pulling the curtain. he never lets you pay by the way, it could cost a quarter and he’d still be digging around his wallet trying to find loose change. he carries around a photo strip of the both of you all the time: it’s probably his favorite too because one of the photos is of you smiling at the camera and him looking at you grinning ear to ear, just a really, really fond memory of his.

[peachhcs]

do you think ryan and gabe ever had a crush on sammy growing up and never voiced it, or do you think they’ve only ever seen her as a sister?

WE ARE STIRRINGGGG THE POTTTTTT AHAHAHHAHA i love it. angst, drama, and jealousy is my favorite to write as u all know by now 😌

well obviously i think ryan, gabe and all of them definitely knew who she was before they found out her and will were family friends because i imagine samy made a name for herself when she still played hockey and then when her brothers gained more traction, so yeah i think at first it’s like a little celebrity crush.

if we wanna stir the pot, i’ll say yeah that celebrity crush turns a little more real when they finally meet her for the first time. the more they hang out with her in those first few months, i can definitely see maybe gabe having a crush on samy. (idk when ryan started dating julianne, but maybe before he started dating her he also slightly liked samy)

but ryan’s subsides more into a brother-sister relationship. gabe’s lasts for a bit longer, but with everyone teasing will about samy, gabe never says anything. especially their senior year when things start getting real.

obvi, gabe’s subsided into that brother-sister dynamic, but for awhile in those dev years, it was something gabe thought about occasionally, but he fully backed off when things started happening between samy and will

au masterlist

[chiacanwritesometimes]

casual (part 1)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.2k

authors note: this was a little hard to write, as i had to delve into the reserves of my own experiences, so this hits a little close to home. i will be updating soon! unedited. there is soft smut and mentions of homophobia. this whole series is about situationships, so dni if this triggers anything or makes you uncomfortable. please do not get into anything you do not feel comfortable doing, and know that you are loved and should not settle for less. my dm’s are always open. much love, and enjoy.

===========

your pov

you didn’t blame him. he wasn’t really in the best of mentalities for a relationship, so it must’ve meant a lot for him to choose you. or, at least, not push you away.

after losing his best friend, he decided he should lay low. if he didn’t get close with anyone, he would get hurt. except you. always, except you.

you would come over to his bleak apartment, and chat for a bit. occasionally, you’d bring him some food. you’d write down the events in your journal, rereading them time and time again to feel closer to him. you knew he didn’t want you, or rather, want you the way you needed him to. he was still stuck, mourning the loss of his best friend, and…lover. but he was gone, and you were right here. why wouldn’t he pick you? you weren’t terrible looking, and you weren’t … terrible in bed either. what was so utterly unappealing in you? you wrote in your journal. maybe in your thoughts, you’d find the answer.

entry 1:

it was 2 in the morning when i came over. the clock keeps ticking longer each time i go, and im hoping that one of these nights you’ll ask me to stay. you never do. i dont like the way i manage to say everything that’s on my mind when im with you. i think that one day, ill let you read all this, but for now, its just mine. i want to not like you, so badly. i get so nervous around you, my chest tightens, my lips curl inward, my eyes dodge yours, my hands are occupied with my sweater, and my heart beats speeding up by the second. i usually am more eloquent and organized with my words and feelings, but today was so frustrating. i can’t look into your eyes when we fuck, because i know that through mine you look for him. your eyes attack mine. your eyes are unkind, your eyes are bitter. your hands hold me, wishing i was someone else. your lips softly graze against mine, hoping that you’d catch a glimpse of what it would be like if it was him instead.

you picked up your pen, and sighed. that was enough angst for tonight. you still had his sweat on your skin to wash off.

he wasn’t evil, just in a confusing situation. you convinced yourself that if you were in his shoes, you would probably do the same. it still didn’t take away from the pain, though. you liked him best when you were the sole focus on his attention, and when he told you pretty things. you got a sick sense of comfort when he squirmed under your gaze. he knew what he was doing wasn’t right, but cmon. he must have had some sort of clue if he felt guilty.

his pov

you had just left his apartment on a sour note. it wasn’t uncommon for that to happen. he would send you a text, saying he was sorry, you’d respond, and the cycle would repeat again. it was almost comical how long it has been since you two had been at this. he had put himself in an awkward situation again, but he wasn’t sure if it was an uncomfortable one. the last time he was in a one sided relationship was with… it wasn’t a relationship, at least not by technicality. sure, they slept together, spent time together, cried together, but he knew deep down his heart belonged to peggy. he wasn’t jealous, but a part of him wondered what would have happened if he was honest with his feelings. hes sure nothing would have changed, as it would have been extremely controversial for america’s sweetheart to have a sweetheart of his own, let alone a male one. he felt like a kept secret, a promise that one day, things will be different. they never were.

now, with you, things were different. he felt the need to shield himself from the world, but it wasn’t because homosexuality wasn’t accepted, rather because he wasn’t. his mere existence was hated by many, for who he was, who he hurt. the winter soldier, although gone, still haunted him.

he didn’t want to hurt you. being close with you would mean that you’d have to take care of him, something he hardly ever did, so why should you? other than aftercare, he wouldn’t let his guard down when you were near. he was afraid that he would be right, and you wouldn’t give a shit about him, worried that you just wanted him for his body, like them. he didn’t like thinking of you that lowly, but after a life like his, it was bound to happen.

he sighed, and grabbed his phone. he texted you a small apology, silently cursing himself for continuing this cycle. he threw his phone on the couch and sighed. he got up, walked to the kitchen and made himself a small breakfast. the morning didn’t start just yet, but might as well start the day now.

your pov

you couldnt hate him. you loved the way he loved you, the way you came undone with his touch. his scent was addicting, and you were obsessed with the way he tucked your hair behind your ear, the way he breathed heavily under the sheets, the way he held you so gently when pumping inside you. you thought of this morning, and sighed.

you got his text, and smiled. “miss you. door’s open. bb.” you found it adorable how he typed in short sentences, and finished each message in “bb”, for “bucky barnes”, as if you didn’t know it was him. you dressed yourself casually. nothing too fancy, nothing too drab. you wore a small amount of perfume, just enough so his bedsheets smelled like you. you wore your favorite lingerie, knowing that romance was out of the picture. this was just a fuck, a quick connection between two people before the knowledge of knowing you will never be his overcame you. you showed up to his apartment, and he opened the door. you didn’t even need to knock, he knew you were there. he smiled.

“you look beautiful.”

you walked in, and he started kissing you. you always wore a low cut tank top, and he always lingered on the straps of your shirt. he’d bite it, almost whining that the small piece of fabric was in between him and your body. he led you to the couch, and let you straddle him. he removed your pants, complimenting the way they hugged your hips while doing so. you got on top of him, loving how almost natural it felt, how perfectly you fit on top of him. his favorite part to leave hickeys was in the sweet spot of your neck. he kissed over the healed bruise, evidence of the last time you came over to his place.

you went to bed. might as well catch some sleep before the morning came.

[skeletonh0e]

You will add Edgy, yeah 🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 Write for Edgy~ 🌀🌀🌀🌀🌀

He’s hot great.

ANYWAY— since you wrote general hcs for US Sans, is it okay if I ask for the same but with Fell?

Also, I’m happy that I can get to accompany your blog since the start :)) I’ll be there for your next writing, good luck! <3

Awww thank you sm! And as for Edge, I'm tempted. He is hot you right, anyway time for the red boy. Gender neutral reader and some suggestive content because Fell is a ✨ sleazebag ✨, a minor tw for alcoholism because Fell is also a bit of a mess

Underfell Sans x Reader Headcanons

Remember how I said Swap was inexperienced and needed some time adjusting to a relationship? Same here tbh.

Granted Fell isn't completely naive nor does he have zero relationship experience, he's had hook ups, the occasional date and has certainly tried his hand at it but like?

A serious committed relationship when he's deeply invested in the person and that sentiment is 100% returned? He's out of his element

It takes a level of patience on your part, he's not a bad partner, he loves yous and god dammit he's trying! But he's utterly shit at communication, impulsive, impatient, insensitive and can be an asshole even when he's not trying to be

Doesn't help the fact that there is a part of him scared that you will leave, hurt him, betray him, and he can lash out about those feelings real easily.

You two will find your rhythm eventually, but it's not instant and even then he makes it clear he is trying his best, he apologizes when he can in his own round about way, he tries to be sweet without seeming "soft", etc, etc.

After being together for awhile you've properly got everything settled in, not that you'll ever stop having issues (that's part of being a couple) but you've basically got everything sorted out allowing a new level of comfort

A very jealous guy tbh, it once again ties back into some underlying insecurities but generally he just doesn't like it when anyone gets too close. He'll frequently insert himself into conversations or just pull you into an embrace while glaring at the poor fucker in question

The message is always clear. His.

Surprisingly handsy, it's not like there's constant PDA but he'll frequently wrap an arm around your shoulder, nippling at your neck, happily set you right on his lap and it isn't unusual for him to just straight up slap your ass before leaving

Always looking like the smugest bastard alive when he does it

More lovey dovey crap is kind of kept behind doors though, you can't mess with his tough guy image alright. Though occasionally he'll let certain gestures slide

He really softens up when he's drunk though, something that happens more frequently than it should.

Your grouchy angry "none of that soft shit" boyfriend suddenly is all over you, praising you, kissing you, nuzzling you, telling you how much he loves you and it's a little embarrassing.

Taking care of his drunk ass is a common practice, dealing with him hung over is the other one. Which yeah in the mornings he's kinda just back to his usual self

Getting him food, water and aspirin is your go to, sometimes he'll jokingly ask if you're sure you're not an angel because it's a hell of a lot better than what Papyrus does

Not big on pet names but occasionally calls you stuff like "darling" or "sweet heart", maybe "doll" depending on the situation.

He's definitely the type of boyfriend that takes on a "only I I can bully you" mentality, he'll call you out for doing something dumb or extremely lame but the moment someone else tries to do that exact same thing he slaps them on pure impulse

You do occasionally have to reign him in as he is the type of guy to let things escalate, which he does do for you...reluctantly.

He has many unique ways of showing that he cares, sometimes they are more subtle and sometimes they're more overt, however if ever asked he'll never deny his feelings for you

"Do you loooove me?"

"i think you get too much of a kick outta asking- yes"

[fanficsbysteve]

Chasing Shadows

Note: So this was an interesting chapter to write. I wanted to do a first kiss kind of scene, but I also figured that Tommy would freak out a bit over it, being in the closet and all that. So this is what you get. I also wanted some silly car dancing. So you get this chapter.

This comes from an idea that @weewoo911 put out into the universe and it latched into my head. The title comes from @verschlimmbesserung

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

***

Tommy was exhausted. It was a busy day, they ended up getting called to 3 four alarm fires, as well as two vehicle rescues. Evan was following along the entire time, “You… do that… everyday?” Evan gasped as he flopped onto the bench in the changing area of the 118.

“More or less,” Tommy said, “There’s a reason we always seem to be at the gym when we aren’t rescuing people. It can be exhausting work. But it’s worth it when you save someone.”

Evan smiled up at Tommy, “Seeing their… faces when you pulled them out of that car was really cool… to see,” Evan stripped the top of his uniform off, “So what do we do now?”

“Well, I go home and have a nice shower before passing out in bed,” Tommy said, “I’m not sure what you end up doing. I’m not aware with what celebrities do in their off time.” That was a complete lie. Tommy knew well what Evan was prone to doing during his off time. It usually involved alcohol, women, and lots of sex, at least that's what the tabloids and fan sites said.

“Want to come get a bite to eat with me?” Evan said to Tommy, “As a thank you for everything today.”

Tommy choked a bit on his saliva, “D-Dinner with you?” Tommy got flustered at the thought. Evan was still stripping off his clothing until once again, Tommy was standing in a room with Evan Buckley, the man of all his fantasies, with him only in his underwear.

Tommy could see all Evan’s tattoos, each one probably had a hidden meaning that Tommy could only imagine, his muscles were toned, his thighs lightly furry with hair. Tommy couldn’t help himself imagining things with this man. But he was straight and Tommy, even though he was new to accepting himself as being gay, he knew that you should never fall for a straight man because that would always end in heartache, “Well you’ve shown me so much in just a single day,” Evan said as he looked at Tommy, “And I want to say Thank You for this.”

“Well, you will be here for the next few months,” Tommy stuttered his words out, “So you’ll learn lots from all the other firefighters here. Hen and Howie are both very skilled as well. And let’s not forget about -.”

Tommy was cut off by a set of lips pressed against his. He hadn’t noticed Evan walking towards him. Tommy melted into the kiss. Evan’s lips were soft and felt amazing. He had a slight amount of stubble on his face, the amount you usually grew over the course of the day. There was a hand along the side of Tommy’s face, gently caressing him. Tommy was in heaven. Was this what kissing another man felt like? He could get used to this if it were.

Evan broke the kiss, a slight gap between their mouths. Tommy had closed his eyes, his breath coming deep and purposeful, “I have to say,” Evan said quickly, “I have wanted to do that all day.”

As if slapped, Tommy’s eyes opened and he saw who was standing in front of him, “Oh god,” Tommy looked left and right, trying to make sure that nobody saw him, “Oh god,” Tommy ran from the room as fast as he could. Not bothering to get his bag or change. He just ran. Ran to his truck. Ignoring the calls from behind from Evan. Tommy had to get away. He couldn’t let anyone see. He needed to get away.

Once Tommy got into his truck he sat there and stared at the steering wheel. His breathing was shallow, borderline hyperventilating. What had just happened? And why did he like it so much? Why did he want it to happen again? He knew he was gay, but he wasn’t THAT gay right? He was an ‘occasionally check out a hot man and move on’ kind of gay. Not a ‘full-fledged fantasy life with a man who just kissed him’ kind of gay.

Tommy managed to get his breathing under control. Just as he took a single deep breath, he heard a gentle knocking on his truck window. Standing there sheepishly was Evan, holding up Tommy’s duffel. Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep breath before rolling down the window, “You forgot this inside,” Evan said. He was blushing a bit, “I’m sorry if I misread the signs,” Evan passed the bag into the truck through the window which Tommy accepted.

Evan turned around to walk away, and Tommy worked up every bit of courage that he could muster in that moment, “Didn’t you want to go have dinner?” he asked. He shocked himself with how forward he was about that. He threw his bag into the back of his truck and motioned for Evan to get into the front.

“Don’t you need to change?” Evan asked as he walked to the other side of the truck.

“I’ve gone to eat more times in my uniform than out of it,” Tommy replied, “I think people forget what I look like without it honestly.” Tommy smiled as Evan got into the front seat, “You get to control the music.” Tommy held his iPod out to Evan. It was connected up to the trucks sound system.

Evan smiled as he looked at the playlist, “You have some pretty fun songs on here,” Evan scrolled and then put on a song, “I love this song,” Evan started to dance in his seat while Tommy drove, swaying to the song. Tommy was just having fun vibing, telling himself that this was just him going out for a drink and maybe a bite to eat with someone who is just as fun as he was. But he also couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. That powerful, wonderful, life changing kiss. He needed to talk to someone about that kiss. He also needed to kiss Evan again. Taste his lips again. Feel those perfect full lips pressing against his. Tommy decided at once that maybe he needed to stop denying that he was gay in real life situations. Maybe Hen would have some helpful insights.

Tommy pulled into a place called Micelli’s, “This is my favourite Italian restaurant in the entire city.” Undoing his seatbelt, Tommy made to jump out of the truck, “Hope you like it as well.”

Tommy watched as Evan got a silly smile on his face, then he jumped out and they went inside to hopefully get a seat. Tommy was starting to feel more comfortable with Evan. Tommy also started to feel something deep in his stomach whenever he looked at Evan. He definitely needed to have a private conversation with Hen as soon as possible.

***

Note: Behold!!! Chapter 3!!!! If you haven’t figured it out, I’m posting this on Sundays, around Noon MST (UTC-7 for those who need a better time estimate). As I finish writing a chapter, I edit it, then I schedule it to post at Noon on Sunday. I feel this kind of schedule gives me time to get the chapter to a standard that I enjoy. Please ignore any inconsistencies while you read, I have a writing style that is basically I start and just write what comes into my head as I go along and sometimes while editing I miss things. If you notice any inconsistencies, let me know and I'll make an effort to address them either in another chapter, or make an edit to this one.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in the new chapters. I should also probably reblog previous chapters so that they get more traction but I’m also lazy and don’t tend to remember to do that haha.

Tag List is as follows so that you all know that something has been posted: @thedyingwriter @all-the-feelss @justahumblecabbagemerchant @figuringitoutaloud @neverstopschanging and I'm adding on @jamieroyjamieroy even though she hasn't asked for it cause she's the one who usually tags me in the Make Me Write tag games that go around.