#3 seasons drabble

[hamiltonhour]

May we interest you in some drabble of how the 3 Seasons boys each hold your hand? 👉👈

Written for warmups as vanade jumps back into outlining Briar's route! Text versions included as image descriptions on each picture, and included below the cut.

Holding your hand: Yuto Edition

Yuto reaches for your hand with hesitance—even now that you're together—as if he's afraid to let himself touch you... Afraid his cool skin might make you flinch away instinctively. He knows you don't mind, but it's a tough habit to break. You find it cute though, how his pinky finger interlocks with yours in quiet silence, wordlessly seeking your consent. You don't need to look at him to know his gaze is averted, the tips of his ears flushed a soft pink, peaking out from his long white hair. You slip your hand into his, intertwining your fingers with a gentle squeeze. He returns your gesture with a firmer grip, the way you'd hold on to something precious you dare not lose.

Holding your hand: Sol Edition

Sol's hand finds yours with such natural confidence. His palm is rough from constant time spent outdoors, and his lightly calloused thumb runs over the back of your hand unconsciously even as he chatters at you about something irrelevant. He tugs you along like an excited kid, his grip sometimes loosening in his excitement to show you things. Every now and then though, something he sees or says will remind him of you—you catch the glint of affection in his eyes as he squeezes your hand, a silent gesture of gratitude that you're with him.

Holding your hand: Rye Edition

Rye's fingers intertwine with yours slowly, assuredly. He enjoys this act and display of intimacy: the symbolism of your bond through physical touch. He doesn't hesitate in the slightest... if anything, his slow and deliberate gesture loudly signals his confidence and his love of romantic actions. It's his own way of communicating to you the thrill and happiness that being in love with you has given him… the ability to shower affection on his own special someone.

[zepskies]

Wanderlust

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

AN: My nightly daydreams led me to Soldier Boy this time. 😂

I was imagining the Break Me Down-verse for this one (shortly after Checkerboard), but it can also be general Soldier Boy x Reader.

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Fluff, innuendo, Sleepy Ben, implied smut.

You traced down his back with light, trailing fingers.

Lying next to him in bed, with scraps of moonlight filtering through the closed blinds in the window as your only guide, your mind was still drifting even though you should’ve been sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself.  

You drew invisible patterns across his bare skin. Ben was warm, always warm, even though the AC was making the room almost frigid. You knew it was the ever-present radiator in his chest that made him your own personal heater.

You propped your head up better with an elbow on your pillow as you laid on your side. You then let your hand drift over every dip of muscle between his shoulders, every small freckle you knew just from memory, then down and down his spine.

You flirted with the idea of inching down the sheets, where his bare ass would greet you. From there, you supposed you'd decide what wandering direction your hand took next.

“If you don’t go to sleep,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m gonna wake up and fuck you again.”

You bit your lip against a giggle, but you didn’t quite succeed.

“It sounds like you’re already awake,” you remarked.

Ben grumbled incoherently in response. He was tired, you knew. He’d just come back from a week-long mission with Butcher and Co. for Supe Affairs. Hence the long night you two spent catching up.

If you were honest, you were still tingling between your legs. Your thighs and ass were a little sore too. Likely they’d be sporting a few fingerprints tomorrow.

You didn't mind it so much though. You two now had a safe word for that kind of thing.

You smirked, sifting your fingers through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe you’d trim it for him tomorrow, since you both had the weekend off.  

Your hand meandered down the back of his neck, just to begin dragging your nails up and down the slope of his back.

“What does that feel like to you?” you asked curiously. You often wondered how much his invulnerability affected the way he felt things, especially the way you touched him.

“Like a tease,” he muttered.

You applied some more pressure with your nails. Not the way you’d scored his back about an hour ago, when he’d had his sinful mouth all over your body, but enough to be more than a tease. Enough that it would’ve left an angry, red trail on your own “fragile” human skin.

Still, you weren’t able to leave any marks on him. Just a faint whiteness of pressure against his skin that soon returned to normal when you moved your hand away.

“How about that?” you asked.

“Like you’re playing with fucking fire,” Ben said, though you heard the smirk in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You smiled too.

“We'll pick this up in the morning,” he made sure to add, though he was already halfway back to slumber, from the sound of it.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, laughing lightly. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder. “G’night, babe.”

“Mhmm,” he responded.

He groaned deep in his throat and turned over onto his back. Your smile remained as your body tensed in anticipation, but all he did was slide an arm under your waist and curl you towards him, trapping you against his chest. His hand splayed against your lower back, heavy and warm.

His lips brushed your hair away from your forehead and lingered there. He closed his eyes and let out a deep exhale. You did the same, relaxing against him. Your hand came to rest against the steady thrum of his heart.

Moments like this with him still managed to surprise you…but admittedly, less and less the longer you lived and shared together.

A girl could get used to it though.

AN: Lol should she have pressed her luck? Let me know what you think of this one! 😉💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

Including the BMD tag list on this, since that's what my heart was imagining. 😂

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @vavafaure1994 @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[viesglitterwings]

18+ minors dni

being sarah cameron's best friend meant that her older brother, rafe was strictly off limits. but sarah didn't need to know about the lingering looks you and rafe shared, or about how every night you found yourself with your hand between your thighs fantasising about rafe. you knew rafe liked you, and you knew, oh you knew you shouldn't have teased rafe about liking kiara, one of the pouges.

"do you ever shut the fuck up?" rafe hisses, one large hand snaking under your waist to pull your hips against him, the other wrapped around your neck, his thumb stroking your pulse. a pitiful moan bubbles up your throat, muffled as rafe pushes your head into the blankets.

"jesus christ, this all it takes, huh? a big dick to shut that bitchy mouth up, yeah?" he groans, his hips slamming into your poor cunt, his cock brushing your cervix.

"rafe! fuck, please- pleasepleasepleaseplease-" your whine pathetically as his arm wraps around your shoulders to pull you up against him.

"yeah, show me how much you love this dick, oh shit," rafe groans as your cunt clenches against him, his cock hitting a deeper spot you didn't even know was possible, moaning when rafe's calloused hand comes down hard on your ass, knowing damn well it's already red.

rafe lets go of you, letting your chest fall forward onto the bed, your smeared lipgloss sticking against the sheets as your running mascara smudges against the pillows.

"rafe- rafey, fuck i'm so close!" you moan, your head lolling to the side as he pounds into your poor pussy, his abs brushing against your ass at every slam of his hips.

rafe tsks, both hands going to your hips, his groans becoming louder, his movements sloppier, "yeah fuck, baby, you gonna come? yeah? shit- come for me, that's it-" he encourages as you chant his name like some kind of prayer, your fingers curling around the sheets for desperate support.

his hips slam into yours one final time, before he comes, painting your walls white, your release following soon after.

"for the record. i like you, not kiara." rafe says, breathlessly, pressing a gentle kiss to your head.

an: this was my first time writing smut so please be kind! also i love kie, this was just for the plot. send me requests i'll be happy to write more!

[geoxstxrs]

don’t make him evil. don’t. dont make morro evil. dont make easily forgiven. don’t make him non- redeemable. don’t make him not care about wu. don’t make him a one off reference. don’t bring him back for fan service. don’t make him irrelevant. don’t make him one-dimensional. don’t make him-

[shouyuus]

hi rain !! i hope u are doing so well!! ive bever requested before so i hope i do this right

can i please request osamu, sun, tsukki, and/or whoever u want hurt comfort? would make my year <3 ive been having a tough time mentally :<

again, hope youre well!!

30 under 30 bday event!

all's fair

tsukishima kei; fluff/hurt/comfort; im so sry ur not having a gucci time bby!!! hope this makes it a bit better! and thank u for sending in a req!!!

─── 月島 SO HE FINDS YOU like this — with your knees pulled up to your chest, chin tucked, staring at nothing in particular, your back against the wall, toes curling into the soft of the bedsheets.

“oi. dinner’s ready.”

you sigh, pouting as you glance up at him with faraway eyes. a spate of unease moves through him even as he narrows his eyes and lowers himself carefully onto the edge of the bed. the mattress shifts and for a few seconds, he watches you in silence. it isn’t till you loosen your muscles, letting your foot slide forward a few inches to nudge against his leg that he lets out a sigh and reaches over to pull you to him.

“what is it?” he asks, and though he tries his level best to sound annoyed, you hear the sliver of concern threaded between his words. his touch is gentle as he curves around your back, holding you as an expanse of shore might hold a tumultuous sea— patient and open and unafraid of whatever the storms might bring.

“just… not fair,” you mumble, melting easily into his embrace.

“tch. lots of things aren’t fair — got anything specific you wanna complain about?”

you crinkle your nose, eyes flickering down to where his hands are curled around yours. you turn your palm and link your fingers. the weight of his palm steadies your racing thoughts as he starts to run soft circles into your skin with his thumb.

“just… life.”

at this, he laughs — not an unkind sound, but he quirks an eyebrow nonetheless.

“wow. there’s a revelation.”

you frown, pressing back against him till he’s got you cradled against his chest. he sighs, shifting his legs on either side of your body.

“yeah,” he says after another brief bout of quiet, and you turn to slate him a glance, “but… well, we’ve got each other,” and for once, his voice isn’t flat, but tender, nuanced, as he hooks his chin over your shoulder, the motion pressing his cheek against yours, “and that’s kinda nice.”

you giggle despite yourself.

“yeah. guess so.”

it’s perhaps not the overt, loud, declarative kind of comfort that some might expect, but then, tsukishima kei is not exactly known for loud, declarative anything.

and, you think settling back into him as you both sink into a comfortable silence, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

final wc: 407|| be part of my taglist!

taglist:

@yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @dira333 @stunies @phroggii @fennecnco

[shapeshifterlore]

picturing a scenario where Evan meets Sam's footballer boyfriend and is unintentionally (?) intimidating.

evan came by to visit (check on her, make sure there's no threats in her immediate vicinity) and he's in the green room and she just got done with an episode (Rachael Ray and Victoria Beckham played scrabble for 40 minutes) and it's just so nice. Sam's still riding that post-show high so he gets to listen to her talk uninterrupted about her new friends, T2's latest achievements, who she's dating.

Speaking of. The boyfriend walks in. He makes a point of seeing Sam once a week after her show, doesn't want her to forget about him. He gives Sam a peck and she introduces him to the guy on the couch. One of the people from secondary school she's always talking about. He's all smiles when he gets up and they shake hands, very polite. The boyfriend is polite too, in that uniquely dismissive way only the English can be. It's not like he wants to encourage these chats between Sam and her old hangers-on.

He turns to his girlfriend and ignores Evan. Or tries to. Something's off. When he glances over, the man is staring at him unblinkingly, face a neutral mask. Has he blinked at all since this interaction started? He's still standing, and the three of them are in an awkward triangle.

Sam doesn't notice her old friend being territorial, no surprises there. She's asking him about soccer practice and he's annoyed. He's corrected her a hundred times, but she's the most American person he's ever met. So yeah, he gets a bit short with her. She laughs it off but then gets called away by her incredibly frazzled producer, and he's left standing there with the bastard, who he's just realized is taller than him.

"so you're with brentford." Flat, grating accent. Did he look him up?

"yeah, mate. You a supporter?" Something moves out of the corner of his eye. The shadow of a table distorts for a fraction of a second. Is something wrong with the lamps in here?

"No, sorry. I don't watch a lot of sports aside from basketball. But I like the logo. The bee, right?"

He doesn't answer. He's watching the table shadow mutely. It's moving towards him. How is it moving towards him.

"did you know there are a lot of bee species that are kleptoparasitic? They're called cuckoo bees. Like the bird. They find pre built hives, eat the host bees' larva and lay their own eggs in the cells."

The hair on his arms is standing on end. He's sweating. It's not his imagination - the shadow is warping, sending out tendrils that are inching closer and closer to his shoes. With the primal awareness of an early human staring into the darkness searching for predators, he understands suddenly that he is in real, immediate danger. And he's paying attention to the wrong thing.

He turns his head slowly to look at Evan. The man Sam always described as "a real sweetheart." His face is gaunt, eyes sunken and blacked out. The realization that he doesn't have a shadow hits like a freight train.

Y̵͍͛͝o̵̬̾̚ú̵̥͇̉ ̵̛̙̱̄ŏ̶͙̒͜k̴̙͉̉a̴̳͒̇y̴̜͝ ̸̧̀̈́m̷̙̗͌a̸͔͙̾ň̷̫̍?̴̦̆ ̸̻̅S̶̪̈ͅo̵̥̓̋m̶̼̔è̵̳̌t̶̘͐h̶̿͜͜i̸̝̙͑n̵̬̻̕g̷̻͇̋́ ̷̝̭͘ẃ̸̥͍r̵̟̓̕o̵͇̭͆n̶̩͖̾g̸̮̽?̸̥̙̃̚ ̵̪͚̌̈́

No idea what he said. His voice is layered and gravelly, and it seems to register in the brain via the nervous system rather than the ears. The edges of the room are going black, the darkness is closing in. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

"sorry about that guys! Vikki and Rach wanted to say bye! Honestly, they are both just so nice!"

Sam breezes back in and the second she enters the room everything goes back to normal. There's some more small talk that he stammers his way through, gets out of there as fast as he can without being rude.

Later, when they break up, he tells himself it's because she was too busy for him, too american.

It's quite some time before he sleeps with the lights off.

[luxesiren]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — h.haganezuka x black!femreader

(⛧) description: hotaru can stay concentrated for hours upon hours and not let up, he wants to show you that skill — drabble

(⛧) warnings: smut, oral (fem), pussy drunk!haganezuka, praise, fingering, overstimulation, teasing. mdni

(⛧) author’s note: when i tell you that seeing this man’s face on my screen had me (s)creaming like i need him today, tomorrow, in the past, the future, in the afterlife…ALLAT. i need him like air fr. also, @smiley-babe this is for youuuu😋

how could one person stay so focused and unwavering through every single task? it seemed difficult but it wasn’t difficult for hotaru, it never was and he made it look so easy.

his concentration never faltered with anything he did and you didn’t think it would travel to your bedroom but there you were, laying on the bed, legs spread and mouth open from the onslaught of noises that flowed freely. his hands gripped your thighs and his mouth latched onto your clit, drool spilling from the side of his mouth and his eyes lidded in pleasure — practically drunk off the taste of you.

your hands finding purchase in his long hair and pulling him closer as if he wasn’t close enough, maybe it was you being greedy and wanting more and he was willing to give it to you.

his tongue swirled, licked, sucked and curled throughout your cunt and your vision faded in and out and his name tumbling out of your mouth, “h-hotaru, fuck, please”

he never said anything while concentrating but his eyes met yours and another high pitched moan bounced off the walls of the room. his hand snaking around your waist and resting there as he continued to pleasure you until your legs started to tremble and your juices flowed into his mouth, cum spilling out the side of his mouth and slowly dripping down his chin. the sight was sinful and you wanted the picture framed and hung so everyone could see it.

he licked you clean, his tongue moving up and down making sure not to miss a drop — how could he waste something so delicious and mind-blowing? his tongue entering your cunt for the second time that night making sure to clean every nook and cranny of your walls. your moans basically whines from the overstimulation, too sensitive from the mind-numbing orgasm you just received.

“mm it’s too much, hotaru! p-please, ‘s too much.” he never listened to your pleas, to which he knew you never meant but instead he always had something else planned. his mouth left your cunt and met your lips, his tongue entering your mouth and you moaned at the taste of yourself settling down on your tastebuds.

while on the other hand, his fingers made their way inside of your tight cunt. wet and warm and pulling his fingers deeper inside and he’s obsessed with the way you feel. he swallows every soft moan and low whine you release just because he can, pulling back he looks at you with nothing but focused eyes and small smirk, “feels good? i bet it does, you always liked how good i can fuck you with my fingers. now, be a good girl and let me concentrate, yeah?”

the deep concentration that it hotaru haganezuka will never cease to amaze you.

© 𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | do not steal, copy, or repost to other websites such as ao3 or wattpad

[newfoundstateof]

but she fell in love with an english man | b.b. x reader

summary: Academy friends drag Benedict to a tavern to watch Irish fiddle player!reader perform. He buys her a drink. But who can play a fiddle and drink a pint at the same time?

word count: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive but none

a/n: definitely not inspired by those tiktoks of dirty talk bar maids at ren faires, who said that???

“They are spectacular,” Rupert Norton declared with an arm slung over Benedict’s shoulder.

The rest of the Royal Academy students hummed in agreement. Already drunk from the party they left minutes ago, a small group of them stumbled down the cobbled streets of Soho. Earlier that night, news broke that a band that visited a few weeks before Benedict enrolled at the Academy had returned to much anticipation. In an instant, pipes were dropped, coats were gathered, and boots were marching to The Intrepid Fox tavern.

“They’re from Ireland,” someone said.

“I’ve never danced so much in my life,” another added.

“And the fiddle player is quite easy on the eyes,” Rupert slurred into Benedict’s ear. “Try and buy her a drink if you can. That usually gets her attention.”

Benedict laughed. “I’m just here to enjoy the music. As should all of you scoundrels.”

Once inside the tavern, a few of the men beelined to the bar to order whiskey shots for the fiddle player despite the empty stage in the corner. Benedict simply took a seat at the bar, observing the growing crowd. The band’s reputation must have preceded them, as he was soon shoulder to shoulder with the eager fans. But for the next twenty minutes, only chatter filled the room.

“They always like to keep you waiting,” Rupert grumbled into his ale. “But it’s worth it, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Benedict smiled. “It’s good people watch-”

The room erupted into cheering, and he turned toward the stage. Sure enough, two men climbed the small wooden platform. One carried a fiddle, the other a flute. The room roared even louder when you emerged with your fiddle, waving a good-natured hand to the audience. Your smile was wide and disarming. Your gaze was equally piercing. Looking at the gleam in your eyes, Benedict knew just how aware you were of your control over the room. Soon the clapping died down, and every soul waited with bated breath to what you would say.

A scrawny kitchen hand hurried up to you and set a tray of shots down on a small barrel.

“Wow,” you breathed. “All this for little old me?”

Benedict found himself chuckling with everyone. As you threw a shot back, his stomach dropped. You were certainly not like the young ladies of the ton. 

“This crowd is mighty impressive, isn’t it, boys?” you asked your bandmates as you all started tuning your instruments. “We appreciate you for coming out. If you don’t know us already, the lad on the flute is Johnny. My fellow friend on the fiddle is Patrick. And I’m Y/N. I have a favor to ask of you all… From now until the last of you sorry lot leave this building, I hereby decree this an Irish pub! That means we will be clapping along to the songs, singing if you know the words, and if you are so inclined, I would love to see some dancing tonight.”

Someone in the audience whistled, evoking more cheers.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” you grinned.

The trio launched into Seven Drunken Nights, a popular jig even Benedict knew. Though his classmates were rowdily singing along, he could only stare at you. Johnny and Patrick generally kept to their places on stage, but you swayed across, drawing your bow theatrically compared to Patrick’s controlled movements. He was the main vocalist, but during the wife’s lines in the song, you sang with the crowd. 

“Ah, you’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly ol’ fool. Still, you cannot see, that’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me!”

Benedict couldn’t decide if you were a better fiddle player or singer, you were impeccable at both. But without a doubt, you were the best at simply putting on a show. You encouraged people to dance along as you skipped across the stage. Benedict could only imagine how taxing it was for you. Dancing, singing, and playing an instrument all while not breaking a sweat. He eyed the tray of shots, turned to the nearest bartender, and ordered something more refreshing for you.

As you strung out the last note of Seven Drunken Nights, the same kitchen hand ran the mug of beer up to your tray. You sighed to yourself.

“Which one of you did this?” you cried out, lifting the mug high.

Heads spun every which way. Benedict froze. Was liquor the only appropriate drink to tip a musician? He wasn’t sure, he’d never been to something like this. Awkwardly, he coughed and raised his hand.

Your eyes found him in the sea of faces, and you smirked. “Don’t be shy, come here!”

 Rupert clapped Benedict on the back. “Don’t screw this up, Bridgerton. She might go home with you tonight.”

Though he had been with many women and dangerously close with a few men, you still intimidated him somehow. Nothing intimate had been on his mind before Rupert’s comment, but now his heart skipped a few beats at just the thought of it. Benedict snaked through the crowd, trying to read the expression on your face. But all you looked was smug, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you poured the ale on his head. 

“Finally,” you breathed as he stood before you. “One of you buys a lady a real drink!”

He exhaled in relief.

“I’m afraid I’m quite thirsty though,” you pout, getting down on one knee. The stage was barely a foot off the ground, putting your face directly in front of Benedict’s wide shoulders. “And we need to get on with the next song, but I don’t have enough hands. Would you help me, good sir?”

Without waiting for his response, you shoved the drink in his hands and looked up to the ceiling. Before Benedict could blink, you were poising your instrument and drawing out a note with your bandmates following suit.

“We’re lucky I don’t sing in this one,” you smile, giving him a pointed look. “Get on with it, now. I’m parched.”

Never one to argue with a lady, Benedict slowly tilted the rim of the glass to your lips and poured the liquid steadily down your throat. You looked up through your lashes at him, daring him to look away. But he didn’t. Only when some of the ale dripped down your chin and onto your bodice did his gaze break yours.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No,” as much as you could with your lips around the glass.

As you neared the last dregs, your head tilted back more and more to get it all. The eroticism of it all was not lost on Benedict, especially as you swallowed the last gulp and moaned audibly. The growing friction in the front of his pants was no help. But once the glass was finished, you rose to your feet and sent him off with a wink. As you spun to the other side of the stage, the hem of your skirt brushed his groin and he mindlessly reached for the fabric. But you were gone. In a trance, Benedict walked backward to his friends at the bar, adjusting himself. 

“Has she done that before,” he coughed.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Rupert crowed. “And I’ve seen them perform at least five times since I started at the Academy.”

“You’ve got to talk to her after, Bridgerton,” someone urged.

“Can I come along?” a voice teased.

“You’re the luckiest bastard on earth right now,” another sighed.

Across the room, you caught him starring and blew him a quick kiss.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Luckiest bastard on earth.”

[rallentando1011]

empathetic (emphasis on pathetic)

Hamato Donatello did not frequently feel fondness. Nor attraction. Nor much of anything, for that matter.

Feelings were like syrup: superficially sweet yet so easy to boil over, develop a sludgy, sticky mess of. Texturally, they were a resounding no.

And so he avoided them, ignored them at all costs, swept them under the rug then proceeded to incinerate said proverbial rug.

It worked like a charm, time and time and time again without fail.

Until it didn’t.

Somehow, this weird, warm, fuzzy sensation managed to infiltrate his nigh impenetrable defenses and make a muddle of things and his mind, i.e. he was struck by the L-word, i.e. he met you.

So quickly had the almighty fortress of his emotional front crumbled upon your arrival, so quickly had his resolve instinctively melted, so quickly had he caved.

It was terrifying.

He’d never quite seen the appeal in confiding in others. Sure, he had his brothers, father, April, but they were different, steadfast, reliable, family.

Letting new people into your life and mind and feelings was too vulnerable, too complicated, too messy.

Emotions: fickle, fleeting, forlorn, unlike the reliable cogs and circuits and familiarity of his lab and normal life. An anomaly in themselves.

It certainly was not intentional, letting you into his life, his lab, his affection; it was more of you simply waltzing in and staking claim and refusing not to occupy his thoughts at each and every waking hour.

The realization of the existence of his ill-fated infatuation dawned upon him nary a few months following your introduction as he recognized the textbook signs of it.

Feeling comfortable, at ease with you, longing to message and text and talk to you, experiencing restlessness nightly at the thought of you - he was certifiably done for.

If his fancies were unrequited, it may have been easier; just confess to the hopeless romanticism, get utterly rejected, accept the futility of love and how it was doomed from the start, go back to being your companion.

But no, you just had to complicate things further.

Your reciprocated affections, your incessant presence at his side, an accidental I love you or two - it was unbearable.

So he ditched it. Ditched you. Poured himself into his work and holed himself up in the lab.

Was it the coward’s way out: leaning into the easiest option without consideration for the alternative of not being an emotional recluse? Certainly.

Would that hinder him from doing so in the slightest?

Negatory.

He would rather get the situation dealt with earlier on than encourage the muck of emotions between you two to grow, fester, rot.

No chance he’d ever given for a relationship resulted in anything but failure, pain, anger - giving it another shot could only end in a repeat.

So maybe it was for the best that he pushed you away; better to focus on something sturdy, tangible, real rather than whatever blend of oxytocin and endorphins and serotonin and dopamine was convincing your mind that you loved him.

Those hormones, and consequently those feelings, would fade with time.

You’d get over it.

And he would too.

[metalhoops]

Read Part 1 Here

Eddie wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he had a boyfriend. 

He thought he had a boyfriend, at least. None other than Steve goddamn Harrington. They’d been on dates, plural. He wasn’t sure Steve was ready for the word ‘boyfriend’, but no one Eddie had dated was, so it felt the same as it always did. He got it. This was new for Steve. Hell, this was new for Eddie. 

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for things to go bad. They were one month into whatever the hell they were doing and everything was still peaches and cream. From Eddie’s past relationships, he knew things always went south quick. People didn’t stick around. But he had a good feeling about Steve, against his better judgment. 

Things did go bad, but not in the way Eddie expected. 

The first and only ‘unofficial’ date the two had gone on was when Eddie stumbled across Steve, cruising at a beat of all places. The first time Eddie realised who the guy was he’d been shocked breathless and knocked back on his heels. Space and fucking time ceased to make sense because there was no way in hell The Steve Harrington, Mr Popular, ladies’ man was in a place like that. But he was. 

More shocking still, Eddie had fallen for him before he knew who he was. He’d been all red-faced and tongue-tied, trying to help Steve ride out the wave of panic that’d overcome him. Eddie still wasn’t sure what had him so shaken up that night, but the time had passed to ask. If it was important, Steve would tell him. 

Somehow, knowing the pretty guy he’d been making goo-goo eyes at all night was the same Steve he’d shared a history class with hadn’t changed things. Eddie had still wanted to take Steve home with him, even if nothing came of it. Eddie had his share of casual hookups. Enough to know it wasn’t what he wanted, but in a place like Hawkins, where the town borders were small and people’s minds were smaller still, you’d take the scraps that were given to you. 

Steve was different to how Eddie expected. They’d orbited each other in high school. Well, Eddie had orbited Steve. He kept his distance, but trailed in the boy’s wake, much to Eddie’s own dismay. For a dude who had a stick up his ass regarding the high school hierarchy, and jocks in general, developing a crush on Steve during his first go at senior year had been a devastating blow to his sense of self. Hell, the guy had been a thorn in his side for years, spurring on a mad case of cognitive dissonance every time he crossed his path. 

Eddie was constantly surprised at how easy it was to date Steve. Not that he’d expected dating Steve to be hard on his end, but dating guys always came with complications. In Eddie’s experience, it was never simple. There were always hoops to jump through, parents or friends who couldn’t find out. Not with Steve. It was equal parts, comforting and disconcerting. 

Steve’s parents never factored into the equation besides a couple of off-handed comments the boy made, which always left a vile taste in the back of Eddie’s throat. Steve never said anything that’d raise alarm bells to an unassuming ear, but if you knew what to look for, they were there. Eddie heard his father’s voice echoing back through the years when Steve would talk about his father. 

Steve wasn’t going to come out to his parents, at least not while he still lived under their roof, but they’d been out of town for months, so the Harrington house had become a refuge, as had the Munson’s trailer. 

Wayne was always working nights, not that he’d care if Eddie had a guy around. His uncle knew about him, and he’d rather guys come around to their place instead of Eddie sneaking out to make out with them in his van or in the back of some club. Wayne was understanding, the rest of the world wasn’t always. 

He hadn’t told Wayne about Steve. He hadn’t told anyone about Steve, not that he didn’t want to. He did. He just didn’t think Steve was ready. The guy was good at acting calm, but Eddie knew there was something bubbling beneath the surface. He’d act smooth and unbothered when they’d make out on the couch. Hell, he’d been willing to go to third base quickly for a guy who’d thought he was straight up until a few weeks before. Steve had been calm. He’d taken it in his stride.

It was the little things that did it. They’d been watching a movie together at Eddie’s place. He’d taken Steve’s palm into his lap and traced absentmindedly, hating to sit still for too long. Eddie paused as he felt Steve’s hand tremble beneath his fingertips. He looked at Steve and for once the boy looked rattled, seeming floored that someone had touched him so gently. Again, Eddie felt the old familiar ache. King Steve wouldn’t crumble just because someone was soft with him, right? No way. Not back then. Something must have happened, but that was the thing about them. Their pasts were their pasts. They had each other and that would have to do for now. 

It wasn’t until Eddie showed up late to Steve’s place that he realised they needed to talk about it. Sometimes, when Eddie was absorbed in something, the rest of the world fell away. He’d told Steve he’d come around to his place for dinner at seven. He’d been making notes for the latest Hellfire campaign. He’d decided the party’s latest ‘big bad’ was going to be none other than the dark wizard, Vecna himself. He’d been poring over lore to set up things just right for the long road ahead of them and he’d lost track of the time. 

It’d been a hell of a day for it too. A dark cloud had descended on the sleepy town of Hawkins, breaking the winter freeze early. The sky was dark and if Eddie thought about it, the lights had been flickering with the storm. When he emerged from writing, it was dark outside and the alarm clock radio by his bed read 12:05. Which definitely wasn’t the time. 

Shit. Eddie threw on a jacket, hit the gas and was pulling up to the Harrington manner in no time. The clock in his car let him know it was eight-fifteen. 

Eddie expected Steve to be pissed. He felt worse when Steve wasn’t. 

He let himself in without knocking. To his surprise, Steve hadn’t locked the door. He always locked the door. He’d shot up from where he’d been sitting stock-still at the dining room table as Eddie’s footfalls seemed to bring him back from where his mind had been. He looked at Eddie for a long moment. Eddie could wilt under the scrutiny of Steve’s gaze, his jaw set, his eyes scraping over every last inch of him. He’d sighed, looking all at once like a lost child, uncertain and vaguely ashamed. 

“I thought something happened,” Steve muttered. 

It set off all the alarm bells and red flags Eddie had been ignoring. When their new partner didn’t show up to a date, some people might think the worst, that they were being stood up or that their date had found somebody else but not Steve. He’d been worried something happened to Eddie. He’d looked the way he had when the two first ran into each other at the fairgrounds. Wide-eyed and on the verge of a breakdown. 

Eddie kept telling himself that whatever had happened with Steve wasn’t a big deal, because Steve kept telling him it and damn Eddie wanted to believe him. Being with Steve had been easy, but Eddie knew facing whatever the hell this was would make it harder. The signs had all been there from the start.  

The guy rarely slept, and when he did, it was fitful and filled with incoherent mumbling. He’d ball Eddie’s sheets between his clenched palms and whimper like a dog in a car during the midday heat. Eddie didn’t bring it up because he’d been right during their first night together. Steve was haunted by something goddamn awful and Eddie wanted so badly to do something that’d make it go away, but he also knew things were never that simple. 

“I’m fine. I just got caught up. It was stupid. I’m sorry I made you worry,” Eddie spoke when he found his voice. 

Steve was shaking. Shit. 

Eddie reached out and touched his hand, balled so tightly into a fist, his knuckles turned white. As Eddie slowly pried his hand open, he realised his palms were bleeding, his nails having made five deep, half-moon crescent wounds.

“Was it that dragon game? The little shitheads don’t appreciate how much effort you put into that stuff,” Steve spoke, almost sounding normal, seeming unaware of the blood, or the way his knees knocked together, the way his body swayed like a strong breeze would send him tumbling. 

Steve wanted to know about his stupid goddamn fantasy game and god Eddie wanted to take the out, he didn’t want to have to dredge up whatever unspoken thing that’d twisted Steve up, knowing it might just ruin what the two had together but in the end, it didn’t matter. Eddie would rather know Steve was okay. They could work out what they were after. 

“Stevie, what did you think happened to me tonight?” Eddie asked, holding the boy’s hand, and leading him to the kitchen sink. 

He wet a dishtowel and gently rubbed it over Steve’s palm. 

“The power went out,” Steve mumbled, as though that explained it all. Eddie tried to follow. 

“Yeah Stevie, there was a storm. Storms kinda do that. Did you think I’d run off the road or something?” He watched Steve’s jaw tense.

“The thought crossed my mind,” He confessed, and Eddie nodded, placing Steve’s palm to his cheek, nudging against it. 

“But I didn’t and I’m fine. We’re going to talk about this, okay? Maybe not tonight, but I want you to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. I’m your boyfriend, Steve. That’s what boyfriends do. They tell each other shit.” 

Steve’s eyes were suddenly on him again. Oh shit. Eddie had used the word, hadn’t he? That word was meant to stay in his head for another few months, at least. 

This is how you scare people away, Munson. You go too hard, too fast and you scare people away, but Steve had stopped shaking. 

He pulled Eddie in for a bone-crushing hug, holding him so tightly the man could hardly breathe. He felt Steve bury his head into the nape of his neck and holy shit, Eddie was so gone for this stupid jock. 

“Alright. Okay. Yeah. I’ll tell you about it, just not tonight,” Steve muttered, mostly to himself. 

Eddie wasn’t convinced, but he wanted to believe Steve. 

“Alright, not tonight.” 

The two stood together for a moment as another bout of rolling thunder cut the lights. Steve’s hands grasped at Eddie’s jacket. The silence felt loaded. Eddie needed to break it.

“You’re not weirded out I called you my boyfriend?” He asked, testing the waters, wondering how much back peddling he was going to have to do. 

“No, why?” Steve breathed, pulling back slightly, trying to work out Eddie’s features in the sudden darkness. It was just like the night at the fairground.

Eddie knew Steve better in the darkness than he did in the light. Steve, in the dark, seemed right. He was a figured silhouette, beautiful but inscrutable to Eddie. 

“It’s not too soon?” He watched Steve blink at him through the darkness. 

“I might have told Robin you were my boyfriend weeks ago,” Steve spoke hesitantly, his hand still ensnared in Eddie’s jacket. 

Eddie let out an exasperated laugh and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Oh, okay, cool. I was worried I was taking things too quick,” Eddie mumbled, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, thankful for the darkness. Goddamn, he really had a boyfriend. 

“Life’s short,” Steve reasoned. It didn’t sit right. 

“Maybe for other people. I’m gonna live forever, baby. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he teased, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Steve’s jeans. 

He didn’t know what happened with Steve but this seemed important. Steve needed to know he wasn’t going anywhere.

Though the world had a funny way of turning around to bite you in the ass. The next time Eddie missed a date night, Steve really goddamn needed to be worried. 

[replaytech]

Crosshair enemies to lovers drabble cause why not 🤭

- Crosshair is DEFINITELY enemies to lovers like cmon don’t lie. The two of you would CONSTANTLY argue but like the kind of arguing where when he finished yelling he would stare at your lips a lil bit AHHH😫 ALSO the banter would be crazy

The two of you had argued at least 18 times on this mission. After walking through the forrest for what seemed like days, crosshair turns to you, who happens to be walking a few feet behind.

“Struggling to keep up, pretty?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

He takes the toothpick out of his mouth, “I don’t think so. I have too much fun watching you squirm.”

“I do not squirm”, you insisted.

He stops walking and turns to you completely, “You’re playing with your shirt sleeves and your face is pink. Thats squirming”, he puts the toothpick back between his teeth.

You smirk, “It’s so flattering that you’ve memorized my body language, you must pay an awful lot of attention to me.”

He said nothing and turned back around to catch up with the group.

You stay a few feet behind but were still able to hear everyone laugh after hunter muttered, “She got you there.”

[godsfaultycreations]

Do You Want Taco Bell??

turns out he didnt want taco bell. . . noted.

Animal Crossing -> Natural Selection

[pamwritessometimes]

Fridays are for beer and heartbreak

Beau Arlen x Reader

Summary: Your favorite patron’s there to mend your broken heart.

A/N: It's just a little something I came up with the other day. If I'm being honest, I've never seen Big Sky, but I'm a simp for a man in cowboy boots, so... enjoy. 🤍

Warnings: none? oh, maybe that English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day. For what it's worth, it was a relatively nice, sunny day in Montana terms. Sure, my boyfriend declared the final break-up of our relationship, but to be frank, I was utterly unfazed by his antics; we’ve been in an on-again-off-again relationship for a year now. Not that it was serious in the first place. At least, not for him. And, if I’m honest with myself, maybe not for me either. So yeah, it was a relatively okay day.

Still, there’s something about hearing the finality in someone’s voice, even when it’s a toxic someone, that leaves you feeling a little hollow. The break-up itself wasn’t anything spectacular. Just another drawn-out argument that ended with him muttering some lame excuse before walking out. It had happened so many times before that I almost laughed when he slammed the door shut behind himself.

I was free. Really free. But that didn’t stop the ache sitting heavy in my chest.

I pushed through the rest of my day, the usual routine of prepping for the evening rush at the bar. A glance in the mirror told me I looked the part: western boots, worn-in jeans, a dark brown suede jacket I loved more than I probably should, and my hair pulled back just enough to stay out of my face but still look effortless. I should have felt like myself. I was supposed to be this confident, tough woman who didn’t need anyone to mess with her head, but tonight… I just didn’t have the energy to be that.

The bar was packed, as it usually was by this time of the night. The usual crowd was in full swing, with the sound of old country and blues tunes playing from the jukebox and the steady clink of bottles being set on tables. It was one of those oldie bars that still had that charming and rustic atmosphere, like time stilled between its four walls. That night, I stayed behind the counter more than I usually did, letting the other servers handle most of the tables. I wasn’t in the mood to make small talk or listen to the same old stories I’d heard a thousand times. I didn't have the energy for that either.

Then, Beau walked in. Right on schedule.

He had this easy confidence about him, something I noticed the first time he came in months ago. It was in the way he held himself, like he could command a room without trying, but somehow never made a big deal about it. Tall, broad shoulders, chestnut hair that always looked like he just ran a hand through it after a long shift. And those eyes, green, like the pines up in the mountains after the rain.

He always came in around this time on Fridays, right after his shift ended. Sheriff of Helena by day, patron at my bar by night. There was something comforting about the routine of it. Maybe because he was the closest thing I had to a friend here, even though we were more like two people who enjoyed each other’s company but kept everything else at arm’s length. Still, there was always something unspoken between us, something that hung in the air when he sat down at the bar.

Beau slid onto the barstool closest to me, the one he always sat at, and gave me a smile that eased the ache I’d been feeling all damn day.

“Evening” he said in that slow, easy drawl of his, laying his hat on the counter. “How’s it going, darling?”

I forced a smile, pulling a cold beer from behind the bar and sliding it across to him without asking. He always ordered the same thing, and I always had it ready for him.

“Same as always” I replied, but even I could hear the flatness in my voice.

His eyes narrowed a little as he studied me, and I could feel his gaze linger on my slight but easily visible frown. He had a way of seeing through me like he could tell when something was off even before I said anything. 

“You sure about that?” His voice was anything but pushing. It was the way he asked, like he already knew the answer but was giving me a chance to speak first.

I glanced away, grabbing a towel and pretending to wipe down the already squeaky clean countertop. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just… had one of those days, you know.”

Beau took a long sip of his beer, but he didn’t take his eyes off me. “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

I let out a breath and leaned on the bar, dropping the towel and meeting his gaze.

“He broke up with me. For real this time.” I hadn’t planned on saying it, but the words came out before I could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow, but there wasn’t any hint of surprise in his face. It’s like he not only knew it was going to happen, but anticipated it too. “You mean, finally?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, a short yet sharp sound that felt good coming out. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Beau didn’t say anything right away. He just sat there, watching me with those damn eyes that made it hard to keep things light. I couldn’t keep anything light with him. Not now, not ever.

There was something deeper there tonight, something that had always simmered between us but felt more dangerous now, like we were toeing a line neither of us had been willing to cross before. 

“You good with that?” His voice was softer now, the edges so much gentler, and it felt like a real, genuine question, not just some small talk or polite chitchat.

“Honestly?” I asked with a sigh ”I’m better off. I know that. But… it still stings, you know?”

Beau nodded, and something flickered in his expression, something almost protective. His gaze softened matching his voice. “You deserve so much better than what he was giving you, darling.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with underlying meanings. I knew what he meant. I knew he wasn’t just talking about my ex, and that’s when the tension snapped into something sharper, something deeper. I felt it in the way he was looking at me now, not as the bartender he chatted with every Friday, but as someone he cared about. But could that be the truth?

Maybe I wasn’t just his bartender either. Maybe we’d been dancing around this for too long. I leaned in slightly, not even realizing I was doing it until I saw his gaze drop to my lips. The bar around us seemed to fade, the noise, the people...none of it mattered in that moment. It was just me and Beau and the weight of everything unsaid between us thick and obvious in the air. 

“You gonna be alright?” he asked finally, and I couldn't help but notice how his voice became an octave lower... intimate in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

“I think so” I whispered.

But my heart was pounding, not from the breakup, but from the way he was looking at me. Like maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for this moment as long as I had.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day.

Thanks for reading! Have a nice day, loves. 🤍

[demonsandpieohmy]

Aziraphale and Crowley aren’t talking, and when they finally do it’s awkward and charged and tense and Aziraphale is avoidant and Crowley is sarcastic and distant.

But when shit hits the fan and Armageddon strikes and entire city blocks are leveled, they’re tearing through the rubble, frantically looking, hoping that the other survived. Screaming each others name and when they finally find each other all they can do is cry in relief and hold on for dear life, because at the end of the day when the chips are down they will always come through for each other.

[starstruckkittensweets]

A little bit of Levi angst inspired by the new AoT premiere. Season 4 Part 3 spoilers ahead!

-

He’s shaking again. He blames it on the scars, the damn ODM gear he’s forced to assemble onto his body. His body hasn’t fully recovered, it’s too soon to go back out into battle like this. But it’s not like he has much of a choice; it’s either die in here or die out there...and he's made his decision already.

A soft curse slips through his mouth. The damn trigger is acting up again, he’s not used to holding it with just two fingers. His muscles are straining, fingers quivering beneath the pressure, his heart leaping in his throat, mind a blurry mess—

Something warm closes over his fist. Warm and soft. And suddenly you’re kneeling down in front of him, staring up at him in that way you do, as though he hung the moon and stars. It does nothing to quell the fluttering in his chest.

“Hey,” your voice is soft and gentle, matching the look in your eyes, the way you clasp his trembling hand in yours. Wondering if he can feel you shaking too. “It’s alright. I’m here, okay?”

And Levi feels sick all over again; because as much as he’s grown to love you, as much as he admires your strength and courage and the hopeful look in your eyes...this is the one time he wishes you weren’t here with him.

Maybe you’d be safer if you’d stayed on the island. Maybe then you wouldn’t be staring certain death in the face. Maybe then you could forge a new life for yourself on the island. Start a family, a business, explore the uncharted lands of the island—whatever it is, it’s bound to be better than this.

And yet you’re here of all places, adjusting the straps of his ODM gear, tracing your nails over the space of his hand where his missing fingers should be. Leaning over and kissing him right on his bandaged cheek, right on the ragged scar that spans across his eye and lips.

Get out of here while you still can. Go with them on the ship, you’ll be safer there. The kids need you. We can handle this ourselves, you don’t need to get yourself killed like this.

But he knows better than to ask that of you. You’re the type to throw yourself into the fray without any regard for yourself; always eager to lend a helping hand, even at the cost of your life. Something he used to despise, something that still makes his teeth clench together and his hands twitch around nothing.

“We’ll get through this, okay?” You’re still smiling, albeit a little shakily, and you’re holding his hand a little tighter than before. “I promise, we’ll be fine.”

And Levi wonders, as you pull him close to your chest with a kiss, if he can allow himself to believe you, even just for one fleeting moment.

[imgondeletedis]

hey guys so

who would be interested if i wrote a mini-series Benedict bridgerton x reader, like a dark multi-shot, might or might not be inspired by fortnight by Taylor Swift because in my opinion one of the complex songs on this album, you've got to trust the process, I MIGHT GET A LOT OF BLACK LASH BUT ALRIGHT I am kinda proud of it, gonna include a slight cheating warning. So who wants to be on the taglist?

Gif not mine obviously.

Will also post on ao3 if someone's actually interested hehehe