#I actually had SUCH a hard time with the colors on this one

[frenchkisstheabyss]

☆ ａｂｏｕｔ ａ ｇｉｒｌ☆

☆ Pairing: rockstar!best friend!mingi x chubby!fem!reader

☆ Genre: rocker au/smut/fluff/friends to lovers

☆ Word Count: 4.4k

☆ Summary: During a late night hang out session your innocent request to color in your best friend's tattoos leads to a revelation about the not so platonic feelings you've held for him. Mingi's a rockstar. One of the best guitarists there is. Every boy you know wants to be him and every girl you know wants to be on top of him. In your eyes, the odds that his feelings are mutual are slim to none but a girl's gotta be wrong sometimes.

☆ Warnings: heavily tattooed mingi, he has a tongue piercing too, bestie wooyoung pops in to stir shit up, drug use (just weed), body worship, dry humping, female masturbation, marking, some soft dom mingi moments, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, spanking, nibbling, scratching, unprotected sex, his dick is kinda (very) big, doggy style, squirting, creampie, pet names (baby, good girl), affectionate use of the word whore (towards Mingi).

☆ A/N: Rockerteez has a special place in my heart, especially rocker Mingi, so I absolutely had to write something for him. I hope this satisfies something for all of my chubby alt girls out there who crush on this man just as hard as I do. Love you guys xoxo byeee.

Mingi can’t say no to you. It’s been that way since the beginning of your friendship. Craving ice cream in the middle of the night? He’ll drive you to every convenience store in a 10 mile radius just to make sure you get the flavor you want. You want tickets to a sold out concert for your favorite band? He’ll pull every string he can behind the scenes to make sure you get them.

You’ve turned into a brat, spoiled rotten to the core, and he can only blame himself for it. Tonight might’ve been the night that he stood up to you if you didn’t look so adorable making the silliest request he’s ever heard. 

You were standing at the edge of his bed rocking nothing but a baggy Linkin Park tee you stole from his drawer and a pair of black panties not meant to impress but cute all the same. Your cheeks were still stained with glitter from tonight’s concert and remnants of smeared mascara lingered in the wake of some discount makeup wipes that didn’t quite do the trick. 

“Just let me color in your tattoos. Like this, see?” You held your phone up to his face, his nose a fraction of an inch from the screen where a girl was busy coloring in the free space of her boyfriend’s tattoos. 

Mingi had been lying on his back, scrolling his own phone as he patiently awaited your return from the kitchen. Snacks. You were supposed to bring back snacks, not a fistful of random markers you found in the kitchen drawer and some impulsive idea you got from Tiktok. 

“No. I’ll get skin cancer or something” he huffed, rolling his eyes and flopping back down on the bed. 

“Oh, because you’re so concerned about your health” you teased, eyeing the shiny chrome vape pen perched between two plush rosy lips. 

Mingi casually drew in a breath, letting the peach infused smoke fill his lugs. “THC is healthy. Whatever the fuck’s in those isn’t.”

Clearing your throat, you hopped onto the bed, spreading the markers out to inspect. “Actually, these are vegan markers so they’re safe. It’s basically the rules, so…let me do it.”

“No…” he started but you were already pouting, your eyelashes batting away fake tears. It was a cheap trick to pull, especially when you know how it always gets to him, but it worked.

“Fine but you’ve got 15 minutes. That’s it.” 

You wasted no time climbing on top of him, popping the caps of the markers off and getting straight to work. Lucky for you Mingi has more tattoos than free skin on his chest. Even luckier, he has zero ability to track time.

An hour’s passed and you’re still here, straddling his lap and doodling away. You hum along to the song on his record player. It’s a vaguely familiar tune, some alt rock album that dropped before Mingi even hit middle school. 

Mingi’s yet to admit it—he actually hasn’t said a word to you since you started—but this is the most relaxed he’s been in the longest time. Everyone thinks that being in a band is one big party. The tours. The magazine spreads. The concerts. The groupies. But there’s more to it than that. Being an artist takes from you in ways the rest of the world couldn’t imagine. Something about sharing this time with you gives a little bit of that back to him. 

He steals a glance at you, eyes flicking back to his phone before you catch him in the act. You’re pretty. Not the disposable kind of pretty that you admire for one night and forget about when the alcohol wears off in the morning. You’re the irreplaceable kind of pretty. The kind that’s too pure to pursue but too precious to let slip out of his reach.

Your friendship’s never been for show. The bond he has with you—the love he feels—all of it’s genuine. But he can’t say there’s nothing else so he says nothing at all. He just lies here, your human canvas, enjoying the feeling of your weight in his lap and your soft hands brushing against his skin. 

“I’m running to the store. You want something?” Wooyoung asks, bursting through the door. 

It’s a house rule that all bandmates knock before coming in but Wooyoung’s never been one to care. His room is his room and everyone else’s room is his too.

“My bad, am I interrupting something?” 

You and Mingi’s heads turn towards the door in unison and your reactions are are identical. “Something like what?”

Wooyoung cracks a smile, tickled by you two syncing up like bluetooth headphones. “You tell me. I’m not the one who has their best friend in cowgirl right now.” 

A marker goes flying across the room at him and he dodges it like a pro. “It’s not like that and you know it’s not” you say, pretending not to know what a lie that is.

It’s not an outright lie. It’s nothing, it truly is, but you can’t ignore what this position’s been doing to you. Mingi’s a gorgeous man. Gorgeous enough to make you wish you were just another groupie some days. It’s inevitable that your vicinity to him might leave your pulse racing now and then. Maybe get you a bit wetter than anything the natural warmth of your body could do. You feel a twinge of guilt for it but not nearly enough to get up. 

“If it’s not like that then what’s it like?” Wooyoung presses, paying no mind to the growing frustration on his bandmate’s face. Mingi’s pisssed but that’s never stopped Wooyoung before. 

“It’s like you getting out of my room” Mingi snaps, “Where’s San? Doesn’t one of you die if you aren’t attached at the hip 24 hours a day?”

Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow, arms folded across his chest, “You should talk.”

“Woo, I’m serious. Mingi and I are just friends. That’s it. You see the type of girls who wait for him backstage. Do any of them look like me?” 

Your question’s met with silence from both men. They share a knowing glance. Wooyoung knows something you don’t and Mingi dares him to open his mouth unless he wants to die. 

“Didn’t think so” you gloat, getting back to your coloring, “I will take something from the store though. Some chips please. My usual. Want something, Min?”

“Just for him to get out of my room. Quickly.” 

“Got it. Chips for the lady and for the gentleman…” Wooyoung flips Mingi off as he backs out of the room.

Mingi returns the gesture, “I love you too!”

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head at their immaturity. On stage all anyone sees are the piercings and the tattoos. They think that they’re edgy…bad boys. But they’re dorks through and through. Ones you’re happy to be around but dorks nonetheless. 

“And what’s so funny?” he frowns, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Tossing your marker aside, you trade it out for the vape resting at Mingi’s side. You take a puff, leaning forward to blow the smoke right into his face. “You.”

Mingi does nothing. He only sits there letting the smoke dance across his face. You’ve done a lot of hot things since the two of you’ve met and that was without a doubt one of them. You’re on top of him, your back arched, plush thighs caging him in on each side. No bra. No pants. And that face—those lips so dangerously close to his. 

A long moment passes between you. The silence adds another layer of tension to what each of you has already been hiding. 

“Just because they wait for me backstage doesn’t mean they’re my type” he says, catching you off guard. 

It takes a second for you to register what he's said and when you do your brain short circuits. “Min, I mean…I wasn’t…it doesn’t matter.”

Mingi cocks his head, strands of platinum hair falling into his face. “What do you think my type is exactly?” 

You sit back up in his lap, taking another puff to calm your nerves. “I don’t know but last I checked you didn’t have a fat girl fetish.”

“It’s not a fetish.” Mingi pushes himself up to face you, refusing to let you run away so easily. His gaze trails over you like fingertips tracing your curves. “I just like what I like and what I like happens to be girls with some meat on their bones. Is that okay with you?”

Brushing off his comment, you place a hand on his chest to push him back down. “You’re being weird.”

He doesn’t budge. He just stares into your eyes, searching for whatever it is that you’re fighting so hard to keep hidden from him. He knows it’s there. It’s in the way your black nails are nervously drumming against his chest. It’s in the shortness of your breath and the subconscious rocking of your hips in his lap. But he wants to see it in your eyes. He needs to. 

“Is that the only reason then?” he asks, slipping an arm around you, “You think nothing’s happened between us because of your body? Which is beautiful by the way.”

You blush, playfully swatting him on the cheek, “Stop. It’s not just that. You and I, we're friends, that's it. Even when you say stuff like that to tease me, I know you only see me as a friend.”

“And what do you see me as?” His voice is deep on any regular day but the way it dips when he asks the question has a bass to it that has you sweating. 

You stumble on your words, fighting to make sense of the alphabet soup that is your brain. You don’t work for the CIA. You weren’t prepped to hold up to interrogation. That’s exactly what this feels like because that’s exactly what this is. Mingi wants an answer, a clear one, and you know better than anyone that when he locks in on something he never backs down. 

“You’re someone who means to me, Min. Someone I’d rather not lose by thinking something’s there when it’s not…”

You have more to say but you can’t for the life of you remember what it was after Mingi’s lips collide with yours. He lays back, finally, and he takes you with him, your body flush against his as he kisses you with a hunger you didn’t know he possessed.

It’s a wild, breathless kiss. It’s wet lips and little nibbles, tongues intertwining and fingers tangling in hair. There’s no more holding back. No reason to pretend that you don’t want what both of you have all along. It’s a relief for Mingi who's been quietly going through hell for the past hour trying not to get hard with you seated on top of him. 

He thought of everything he could to ignore how good it felt to have you resting against his length but now all he can think of is you. It’s dizzying how quickly all of the blood in his body rushes between his legs, his length swelling as he takes greedy handfuls of your figure. You shiver the first time you feel him, a moan as light as air leaving your lips. 

“Where’d that come from?” you giggle, hips rolling to chase the friction. 

Mingi pushes you onto your back, lips latching onto your neck before you even hit the mattress. 

His hands dip beneath your borrowed shirt. It’s one of his favorites but right now he can’t stand the sight of it. He needs to feel the smoothness of your bare skin…feel your curves give beneath his touch. 

“You want some more?” he asks, dragging his tongue across your skin, igniting you like a match.

“Oh, fuck, yes…” you moan at the pressure of his fingertips massaging your breast.

He brushes his thumb across your nipple and it stiffens as if on command. Your whole body’s calling out his name—screaming it—begging for his attention. Mingi presses down onto you, his cock throbbing like a heartbeat against your core with every grind of his hips. Moisture trickles down your slit, soaking your panties to the point of uselessness.

You can’t say it's ever crossed your mind to dry hump a rockstar but thanks to Mingi it’s quickly become your new favorite thing. You could lay here all night moaning and whimpering, making a sticky mess all over his sweatpants while he marks your neck up like you’re his property. Well, maybe not all night. Your mind’s already flooded with thoughts of how badly you need him inside you. Good thing he doesn’t intend to make you wait much longer. 

“This shirt, take it off” he demands, already tugging it up your figure.

Mingi climbs onto his knees, sitting back to give you the room you need to slip the shirt over your head. He can’t tell where it lands, he doesn’t really care. All that matters to him is that there’s a goddess lying between his legs, one ruined pair of panties away from being completely naked. He lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. You��re a gift so perfectly designed to suit his every desire that he must be dreaming. 

“What’s wrong, Min? Never seen a naked girl before?” you tease, your nervous laughter triggering something in him. 

Mingi’s expression darkness like you’ve only seen it when he’s deathly serious about something. “Not like this…” he says, his hands patiently exploring your body, savoring every part of you. “And you thought you weren’t my type? When you’re this pretty—your cute belly, those stretchmarks, these thighs—you think I haven’t worshipped you since the day I met you?”

He pushes your knees up just enough to slip your panties down, “I remember Yunho brought you backstage after the show. You had on those heels and that tiny leather skirt. You were so fucking pretty and all I could think was, ‘I wonder what it’d be like to have those thighs around my neck’. You gonna let me find out?”

Mingi spreads your legs, running his fingers through your glistening pussy. His fingers are coated in seconds, so shiny and wet with your arousal that they slip inside of you effortlessly. He crawls onto his stomach, licking his lips as his fingertips stroke your walls. 

“Aah…mmph…Mingi” you whine, gripping the sheets as he adds another finger.

“I like the sound of my name but that’s not an answer, baby. I need you to tell me.” He licks the tip of your clit, his silver tongue piercing glinting in the light as he teases you, “Can I eat your pussy or you want me to beg for it?”

“No begging. Just fucking do it.” 

Mingi doesn’t need to be told twice. He buries his face between your legs, suckling and slurping, eating you up like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. Your thighs slip over his shoulders and he grabs onto them with both hands, kneading their softness as his tongue dips into you. You try to keep it together but you’re  too sensitive to control how much you tremble when he laps at the ridges of your walls.

You grab him by the hair, not guiding him, just feeling him. You don’t know if it’s the drugs or the way his tongue’s swirling around inside you but it’s like you're floating. Your body’s buzzing with pleasure and when he reaches up to pinch your clit you’re on the verge of falling to pieces. 

And that’s right where he keeps you, dancing on the edge of complete ruin. Occasionally he glances up at you, not caring now if you catch him looking. He wants to see you…wants you to see him. You lock eyes and he hums his satisfaction at every pretty face you make.

A mentor once told him that every girl’s a guitar. You’ve just gotta pay enough attention to know how to tune her. A skilled musician if nothing else, Mingi knows how to tune you just right. He knows which dials to turn to make you sing. He’s strumming every string, hitting every note that he needs to for that fullness to build in your lower belly. It’s never felt this good to be close before, it’s almost too much to take and you inch up on the bed, desperate for a break.

Mingi grabs you by the hips before you can get too far, dragging you back down onto his face. “No running” he grins, “Now be a good girl and stay still for me.”

There’s no time to be shocked by his boldness. You’re right back where you left off. Back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching. He takes your clit between his lips, licking circles around it as his fingers plunge back into you, tapping your sweet spot until you come undone.

He locks an arm across your waist, pinning you to the bed so that you have to take it. All of it. Your orgasm falls over you like a blanket, clinging to your skin, enveloping you in the overwhelming warmth of it. Your moans devolve into a low, broken whine as you lay there helpless. As if you’d want the help if there were any. 

“Mmm” he hums, taking his last taste of you before his dripping fingers pull out, “I knew you’d taste good but that was…”

He swishes what’s left of your juices around in his mouth, making sure that it lingers behind long after he’s done. “Delicious.”

Pressing his lips to your inner thigh, he kisses his way up your body. Except for a few involuntary twitches from the aftershock, your body’s limp. Far too weak to stop him from teasing you with wet kisses to your curves. He whispers things to your body. Some sweet, some filthy, but the message is the same. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

A part of you wants to deny the truth of his words, shrugging them off as nothing more than lust. But there’s so much sincerity in them that you can’t fight them off. They soak right into your skin and, by the time his lips meet yours again, they’ve become a part of you. 

Mingi cups your face, his thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “You came so hard for me, baby. Think you can do it again?”

You may be lying here with glossy eyes and pouty lips but you’re far from the innocent little thing he’s making you out to be. You slip a hand below his waist, palming his length through his pants. 

“Get rid of them” you whisper, kissing him harshly, “Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pushes himself up from the bed, standing to the side of you to drop his pants. You crawl to the edge of the bed, settling on your knees to watch him. He makes a proper show of it, sliding them down at an agonizingly slow pace. Your eyes widen when his cock springs free, no boxers to hold them back. 

“You didn’t have any underwear on. You whore” you tease, admiring his cock all the while. It’s much longer than you thought it’d be, thicker too, with pretty veins traveling up the side like rose vines and a nice fat tip leaking precum down to the rim. 

Mingi tucks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “If I’m a whore, I’m your whore.”

“All mine?” you ask, popping the tip into your mouth. It’s a tight fit. Not easy in the slightest but you make it look like it is. You drag your tongue across the slit, collecting beads of arousal on your tongue. 

His body shudders, knees almost giving out from the wispy motion of your tongue around the rim. “All yours” he groans, his voice growing shaky the further you take him into your mouth.

You take as much as you can before it taps the back of your throat and then you take a little more still. Bobbing your head back and forth, you drool down his length, sucking him like one of those long, twisty lollipops you get from the candy store. Mingi throws his head back, swearing he can see stars on the ceiling from how tightly your fluffy cheeks are suctioned around him.

Your tongue sweeps back and forth on the underside of his cock, your throat muscles flexing around the tip. Running your fingers down his stomach, you dig your nails in. Not enough to draw blood, just enough to get his attention. He looks down at you, a mixture of ecstasy and pain clouding his mind.  

Leaning back from him, you let him slip out of your mouth. “If it’s all mine…” you sigh, sliding back on the bed and crawling onto your knees, “Then give it to me.”

You arch your back, ass poked out towards him, and he can see that you’re still dripping, your thighs soaked from your last orgasm. He slaps your ass hard enough to make all of you jiggle and you smile back at him, not minding the sting. 

“You’re lucky you look so hot” he says, aligning himself with your entrance.

You wink, sinking back onto him so that the tip pops inside, “So are you.” 

Mingi grabs you by the hips, slamming into you, and your arms give out in an instant, your cheek lying flat against the blanket as the next thrust sends shockwaves through your system. He pauses before the next to give you time to adjust. Really to give himself time to adjust.

The look on his face would make you think that he hates you—eyes narrowed, brows knitted together, lips tight—but it’s the exact opposite. Being inside of you is like dipping himself into a pool of honey. You’re warm and sticky, hugging him so well that pulling out feels criminal. Nothing has ever felt this good. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding from me all this time” he grunts, driving into you again and again.

The tears in your eyes are real this time. None of those play ones from earlier. You can’t help how they water as he bounces you on his cock, your quivering hole stretching a bit more each time to accommodate him. Music’s still streaming from the record player and the sound of your bodies slapping together matches the frantic rhythm. You have to give it to him. He’s good at staying on beat, even at a time like this. 

Leaning forward, he nips at your side before grabbing your arm and guiding it between your legs. “Touch your clit for me. Wanna watch you do it.”

You do as you’re told, blindly feeling around to find your bud. Your fingers slip around, splashing in your own slick. They land right at your entrance and you can feel him pulsing as he disappears into you. You let them hover there, stroking him each time he pulls back, but Mingi forces your hand up to where he wants it.

“Aah, Min—fuck, so good…” you moan at the added layer of pleasure. 

With his large hands splayed out on your ass, he sits back to watch you. Your arm’s shaky, mouth hung open drawing in sharp, jagged breaths. The curves of your body sit just right and each time you arch he finds a new way to admire them.

It’s more than enough to break him, your walls clenching and releasing, worsening the rising pressure threatening to ravage him. But he grits his teeth, suppressing his high until he feels your walls flutter off rhythm, legs trembling as your second orgasm of the night washes over you. 

Mingi stills his movements, keeping you flush against him as you mindlessly ride his cock. “Good girl…” he coos, “Use me like I’m your fucking toy.” 

Your whole world’s shattering and his words only make you come harder, juices cascading down your thighs, soaking the space between you. He follows close behind you, his swollen tip pumping you full of his seed until you’re drowning in the warmth of it. You bite down on the blanket, moaning his name into the thick cotton.

When your body finally collapses into the mattress, you’re on another planet and the feeling of Mingi’s arms around you are all that brings you back to earth. Cuddled up behind you, he sprinkles your shoulder with loving kisses, obsessed with the way you look even when you’re wrecked like this.

Minutes pass without a word spoken but nothing needs to be said for his admiration for you to be clear. It radiates from him, making your skin prickle. 

Turning to face him, you brush sweat slicked strands away from his eyes, “You’re staring at me.”

“I like staring at you” he smiles, kissing your inner wrist, “I always have…always will.” 

This is your cue to say something sweet back. Tell him how handsome he is—that in a room full of people your eyes will always find him. But the gravity of what you two have done sets in and with it comes the paralyzing fear that you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life. When you were his best friend. You were special. Sacred in a way that made you different from all the other girls. So what are you now?

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, searching your expression for any small detail that’ll give it away. 

“It’s nothing…”

Mingi frowns, knowing a liar when he sees one, “Nothing, huh?”

“Really, it’s nothing. It’s just—I don’t wanna be just like one of your little groupies, you know? I don’t want this to mean that you see me differently.” 

“I see you the same way that I always have” he says, fingertips tracing your spine. “But I’d like to see you as something more, if that’s okay with you.”  

The smile on your face is automatic. You can’t even begin to fight it. “Yeah, that’s okay with me.”

“Good. Not that you really had a choice. I can’t let go of a girl like you. Look at you” he growls, locking you in his arms so that you can’t get away.

He tucks his face into your neck, kissing and nibbling at you like a rabid animal. You kick your feet and giggle, hands pressed to his chest in a useless attempt to push him off.

Some things between you will never change. He’ll forever be a menace, always taking every chance he gets to mess with you, but in another sense things will never quite be the way they were before.

And, as you surrender to the relentless assault of kisses raining down on you, you can’t imagine ever wanting them to be. 

[ilovolderman]

Movie Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam tries to gather proof of your secret relationship with Bucky during a movie night.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, sam losing his mind, one shared blanket

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson was back on his BS.

Not because he wanted to be. No. He had to be. This was about justice. About truth. About the undeniable, unquantifiable, deeply suspicious sense that you and Bucky Barnes were absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent... up to something.

He didn’t have hard evidence. He didn’t even have medium evidence. What he had was vibes.

And the vibes? They were criminal.

It all started on a Wednesday.

The group had planned a “Chill Movie Night.”

Sam arrived early, armed with snacks, a color-coded emotional tracking spreadsheet, and a high-end mood ring that Tony insisted was “useless but fun.”

Everything seemed normal. Steve was fluffing pillows like a dad trying to avoid confrontation. Peter was arguing with the popcorn machine. Natasha was already asleep on the couch. (Open-eyed, somehow. Very concerning.) Tony was making a cocktail out of four liquids that were definitely not FDA-approved.

And then you walked in.

Sam’s eye twitched.

Behind you, Bucky entered. Smirking. Carrying your favorite takeout like some kind of emotionally supportive boyfriend ninja.

“Hey, guys,” you said sweetly, flopping onto the couch. Bucky sat beside you, a respectable distance away.

Until Sam blinked.

And suddenly, somehow, your knees were touching.

EXHIBIT Q. KNEE TREASON.

Sam clutched his soda like it was the last thing anchoring him to reality.

The movie choice? A romcom. Obviously. The plot? Two idiots pretending not to be in love. The irony? Painful.

Sam watched you both. Not the movie. You giggled during the fake-dating scene. Bucky smirked.

Your eyes met for exactly 1.3 seconds. You looked away like your life depended on it.

Sam scribbled in his notes. Tony leaned in, whispering, “Are you actually watching the movie or doing telepathy?”

“I’m watching a conspiracy unfold in real time,” Sam whispered back. “...Of course you are.”

On screen, the protagonists shared a dramatic, rain-soaked kiss. On the couch, Bucky passed you a napkin. You took it without looking. No words. No thank you.

EXHIBIT R. EMPATHETIC NAPKIN TRANSFER.

Sam wrote “co-dependent, probably share a soul.” in his notes.

It got worse. At some point  Peter complained about the cold. Tony threatened to install a fireplace. Someone, probably Steve, bless his Midwestern heart, tossed a blanket over the couch. You grabbed one end. Bucky took the other.

Normal. Harmless. Unremarkable.

Until Sam realized there was only one blanket.

And two people under it.

A suspicious amount of shoulder contact was happening beneath that polyester monstrosity. Too much shared body heat. Too much calm.

Sam squinted. “Why are they always so synchronized?” Steve, confused: “Who?” Sam: “The blanket goblins.” Steve: “...Are you okay?” Sam: “NO.”

The movie played on in the background, but you and Bucky were no longer paying attention. Instead, you two were quietly leaning into each other, aware of Sam's eagle-eyed attention from across the room. The couch creaked as Bucky shifted slightly closer, his arm brushing against yours, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

"Do you think Sam's lost it yet?" you whispered, voice low, just enough for Bucky to hear.

Bucky grinned, but didn’t look away from the screen. "Oh, he’s spiraling. I can feel his brain cells popping one by one."

You let out a tiny snort, trying to hold back the giggle that was threatening to escape. “He's so obvious. He keeps glancing over every two seconds. Should we give him a little more to work with?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips curling in a barely contained smirk. “You want to really mess with him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should let him stew for a bit longer.” You shot a playful glance at Sam, who was practically glaring at you two from behind his soda. "He’s getting all worked up for nothing."

Bucky leaned in a little closer, his breath warm on your ear as he whispered, “Let’s make him regret not having a seat next to us.”

He shifted slightly, just enough that your knees brushed against each other. The small touch seemed so innocent to anyone else, but Sam’s narrowed eyes locked onto the subtle movement, his hand hovering over his notebook like a hawk waiting to strike.

Your lips quirked into a mischievous smile. You did your best to make it look like a completely natural movement as you accidentally rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky, of course, played along beautifully, his arm casually draping over the back of the couch behind you, so close that your bodies were practically melting into each other.

“You okay?” he asked in the most nonchalant tone, but the teasing glint in his eyes was hard to miss.

You blinked, putting on your best innocent face. “Oh, yeah. Just—just—getting comfy.” Your hand brushed against his as you adjusted yourself, and you quickly squeezed his fingers once before letting them fall.

Your eyes flicked over to Sam, who was visibly straining to stay calm, his hand twitching over his notebook like it was a lifeline. You could practically hear his thoughts racing: This is it. This is definitely it. They're in on it.

You smiled sweetly, letting your voice drop to an exaggerated whisper. “I think I might be too comfortable.”

Bucky’s smirk widened, and before Sam could even react, he casually pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and gently brushed his fingertips against your knee. The slightest contact. Barely a touch.

Sam’s eyes narrowed so sharply that it looked like his face might implode. He scribbled something aggressively in his notebook. You could almost hear the frantic ticking of his mental clock. *Evidence: They are physically close. Touch. Note: Is this normal?

You stifled a laugh, shifting just a little to let your body lean more into Bucky. “You know,” you said, voice syrupy sweet, “I could really get used to this.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, shifting just enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, and his hand accidentally found its way to your lower back. “Well, lucky for you,” he said with mock sincerity, “I’m just that kind of guy. Always happy to offer some… support.”

You grinned, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. Instead, you pressed your palm into his chest, just enough for the world to think it was a casual adjustment. But oh, you knew. You knew what was happening.

Sam was now glaring at you both with a level of intensity that could melt steel.

Bucky turned his head toward you, but just enough so Sam could definitely see. He made eye contact, and his lips curved into a teasing grin, one that said, I know you’re watching.

You raised your eyebrows in challenge and tilted your head as if asking, What are you going to do about it, Sam?

You caught a glimpse of his expression, then leaned closer to Bucky. “I swear he’s about to pull out a flowchart,” you whispered, lips curling into a mischievous grin.

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Let him. He’ll need it for all this groundbreaking evidence.”

Sam’s eye twitched.

You and Bucky both leaned back, relaxing into each other, casually oblivious to the total chaos you were unleashing. Sam sat back down, utterly defeated, furiously scribbling in his notebook. He couldn’t even look at the screen anymore.

Then, the movie ended. The lights came on. You yawned. Bucky stretched.

And Sam watched in horror as Bucky casually — casually! — helped you into your jacket like it was 1952 and you were going steady after a sock hop.

You whispered something to him. He grinned. Then you both said you were leaving at the same time, but separately.

Bucky went out the back. You left through the front.

Sam looked at Natasha.

“Did you see that?” She didn’t even open her eyes. “Nope.” “Lies.” “You need a nap.” “I need the TRUTH.”

Tony sipped his weird drink. “I give it another week before they start sharing shoes.”

Peter, from the kitchen: “Wait, do they not already?”

Sam screamed into the void.

Later that night the rooftop was quiet, blanketed in the soft hush of city sounds far below. A gentle breeze tugged at the edge of the blanket draped over your shoulders as you curled into your usual corner, legs tucked beneath you. Fairy lights flickered lazily overhead, casting warm glows over Bucky’s face as he joined you with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

He handed one “Cheers to another successful psychological operation,” you said, clinking the mugs.

“To Operation: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlfriend,” Bucky replied solemnly, taking a sip. He immediately burned his tongue and winced.

You giggled, taking a much more careful sip. “You know Sam’s going to start cross-referencing our foot placement on the couch with moon phases, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Bucky said. “I bet he’s already got a red string board with little thumbtacks that spell ‘LIES.’”

You leaned into him with a contented sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “We are going to hell.”

“Matching outfits,” he said. “I already ordered the shirts.”

You burst into laughter, nearly spilling your drink. “Bucky.”

He just smiled, wide and soft and unguarded in the dim rooftop light, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side like you belonged there—and honestly, you did.

A beat of silence passed. The kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind that felt like a warm exhale, like a secret just between the two of you.

You smiled into your mug, letting the words settle. The city shimmered below you. The stars above blinked like they were in on the secret too.

“I like it up here,” you murmured.

“I like you up here,” Bucky replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, right at your temple, like he was memorizing the shape of your joy.

You turned your face toward him, bumping noses a little in that silly, clumsy way that always made him smile. “You’re being very sweet. Should I be worried?”

He shrugged. “Just making sure you know.”

“That you like me?”

“That I’m crazy about you,” he said, and then, quieter: “Even when you’re fake flirting with me to drive Sam to madness.”

You grinned. “Oh, babe. That’s not fake.”

Bucky blinked, then broke into a grin so dopey and full of love it made your chest ache.

You clinked your mugs together again, just because.

Meanwhile Sam was crouched on the roof of a building, squinting through a comically long-lensed pair of binoculars that Tony swore were “state-of-the-art.”

They were not.

They were the opposite of helpful.

They had a cracked lens, fog on the inside, and occasionally made a sad whining sound like they missed retirement.

Still, Sam stared across the distance with the desperate determination of a man on the brink.

Through the foggy lens, he saw… two tiny blobs.

Two indistinct, cozy-looking blobs huddled on the rooftop of Avengers Tower, gently illuminated by twinkle lights that only added insult to injury.

He couldn’t see their faces. He couldn’t read lips. He couldn’t tell which blob was Bucky and which was you.

“Come on, do something,” Sam muttered, adjusting the focus knob. Nothing changed. He flipped it the other way. The blobs got blurrier.

He smacked the side of the binoculars.

They shut off.

He swore loudly and rebooted them.

Inside his earpiece, FRIDAY chimed in, unbothered: “Would you like me to send a drone for closer surveillance?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “No. That’s what they want. Then they’ll know I’m watching.”

“They already know you’re watching.”

“I have to catch them, FRIDAY. Not just feel it in my soul.”

Another blob shifted.

Sam gasped. “Movement. MOVEMENT.” He turned the dial again. Still nothing but murky shadow-people. “Are they... hugging? Is that a hug? Or... is one of them standing up? Oh my god, is Bucky proposing?!”

A long pause. Then, FRIDAY dryly: “Sir. They are literally just drinking cocoa.”

Sam groaned and flopped backward onto the gravel roof, his limbs starfished dramatically like a war hero brought low by cuddle-based crimes.

“This is torture,” he moaned. “I’m three buildings away, I’ve got frostbite on my kneecaps, and I’m watching two potato blobs make suspiciously synchronized cocoa movements.”

“Shall I remind you,” FRIDAY said gently, “that you volunteered for this?”

“I VOLUNTEERED FOR TRUTH. AND JUSTICE. AND—” Sam sat up suddenly. “Wait. Are they... did that blob just touch the other blob’s blob-arm?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“Oh god,” he whispered. “They’re holding hands. I feel it.”

“Or one of them is adjusting a blanket.”

Sam made a noise like a teakettle dying. “It’s the vibes, FRIDAY. I am being spiritually attacked.”

A car honked below. Sam yelped and dropped the binoculars. They hit the ground, bounced once, and rolled off the edge of the building with a dramatic clatter that absolutely ruined the "stealth" part of the mission.

Sam stared at the edge.

Then at the sky.

Then at his empty hands.

“FRIDAY, I’ve lost visual.”

There was a beat.

“Sir, you never had it.”

Back at Avengers Tower, on the actual rooftop you snuggled closer to Bucky, sipping your hot chocolate, utterly unaware of the storm raging in a man's soul several rooftops away.

Actually, no—you were very aware.

You nudged Bucky. “Wanna bet where Sam is right now trying to spy on us?”

Bucky grinned. “Roof of that tall brick building with the busted vent.”

You blinked. “How do you know?”

“I waved at him like ten minutes ago.”

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym @starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari

[cxvii666]

“DOWN WITH THE TRUMPETS”

“when i get down, i get respect now”

feat. denki k.

wc: 780

mdni 😴

“don't talk with your mouth full, it's bad manners.”

denki kaminari is a yapper.

he can talk for japan.

about nothing, and everything. about his little hobbies and interests, like the time he got really into origami for two weeks and folded fifty paper cranes before getting distracted by baking videos. about a bug he saw one time that kind of looked like pikachu if you squinted. about an anime he watched five years ago that reminded him of a tiktok he saw yesterday—actually, no, it reminded him of two tiktoks, and he’ll pull them both up even though you’re in the middle of eating.

he doesn't even realize he's doing it. he just talks.

before you started dating, he once spent two full hours explaining the entire five nights at freddy’s lore to you. he even brought a whiteboard. he drew a timeline. there were arrows, names, color-coded events. he kept glancing at you nervously, like he was waiting for you to run. you thought he was fucking psychotic, but according to all his friends that was his weak attempt at flirting.

he talks in his sleep too. full conversations. one night, around 3 a.m., he whispered, “gregory… you have to hide.” and you just laid there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what choices in life had led you here. he was completely out. you even poked him and he just mumbled something about “security breach.”

you didn't sleep much that night. he did.

you hear him on the phone all the time. he’s loud. his voice carries. you don’t even need to be in the same room to catch half the story. in group calls, he’s that guy—never letting anyone finish a sentence, always jumping back in because he just remembered another detail, or because he needs to relate something someone said to a completely different topic.

he narrates everything he does. it’s like living with a one-man podcast. making a sandwich? you’re getting a full tutorial with sound effects. brushing his teeth? he gives ratings to the toothpaste flavor like he’s doing a mukbang. finding a sock under the bed? live drama, complete with shocked gasps and a full backstory on how the sock ended up there.

he doesn't mean to talk so much, honestly, he can't help himself. he just… gets excited. he thinks out loud. he loves sharing things. his brain moves fast, and his mouth just tries to keep up.

"s-so sorry baby, your pussy just tastes so—mmf."

so sometimes you have to shut him up. the only way you know how.

his long eyelashes flutter against flushed cheeks, those bambi eyes of his wide and glassy as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

his fingers gripping the fat of your thighs as he drags your pussy back down onto his mouth. tongue greedy, he mouths at you like you're divine. slow, wet, sloppy kisses, tongue flicking then flattening, dipping in and out like he’s tasting something sacred. he hums against you, needy and messy and so, so fucking eager.

but as he pauses to catch his breath, you realise, he's still running his mouth.

with eyes locked onto the sticky mess he's made, his mouth is still moving, lips slick and parted as he mumbles god knows what into your pussy. eyes fixed on the mess he's made, like he's hypnotized. and the worst part? you can feel it. the vibrations, the breathy whispers, the praise he's spilling straight into your cunt. you strain to make out the words, and between the rush of blood in your ears you catch bits and pieces. "t-thank youuu, so fu-ucking good for me, you’re perfect, so warm, so wet, love you, love you, love yo—"

you roll your eyes and cut his praises short with a forceful tug of his hair. not too hard. just enough. it makes him whine into you, the sound all breath and heat, and you feel his hips twitch against the mattress. he loves it when you take control. he melts for it.

"denki, sweetie, what have i told you?" you sigh contently when his tongue starts doing circles on your clit, "no talking while you're eating."

he doesn’t answer with words—he knows better. just moans, all obedient and desperate, nodding his head so fast his blonde locs shake. sweat glistens on his forehead, some strands of hair sticking to it. you brush them away gently, and his amber eyes snap up to meet yours.

they're wide. glassy. brimming with devotion.

he's docile, pliable. he listens, does what he's told.

and for now, he's quiet.

but you'll keep him here until he's learnt his lesson.

[silly1billy]

Hii! Can I please request the skz boys when the reader drags them into a pampering night? With colorful facemasks, matching hairbands, nail painting and a lot of fluffiness?

~Stray Kids Pampering Night Headcanons~

pairing: Skz x f!reader

genre: fluff

word count: Around 780

warnings: none

Hii! Absolutely, that sounds adorable

🐺 Bang Chan

He pretends to act surprised like, “Wait, you want me to do this?” but he’s already wearing the fluffy wolf headband you gave him.

Tries to be helpful and starts reading the instructions on every product like it's a mission.

Genuinely enjoys how calming it is. His favorite part? When you gently apply the face mask for him.

“We should do this every week,” he murmurs, snuggled up next to you under a blanket, skin glowing and nails pastel blue.

🐱 Lee Know

Sassy. Judgy. But in his seat five seconds after you say “matching facemasks.”

“Why does mine look lopsided? Yours is symmetrical.” Secretly very into it.

Picks out a sleek black nail polish and acts nonchalant while showing off his hands afterward. “Cats need claws, you know.”

His Leebit headband matches yours, and even though he rolls his eyes, he adjusts it carefully so the ears sit perfectly.

🐖 Changbin

Loudly dramatic about it. “Y/N, are you trying to turn me into a beauty guru?!” as he settles in with a bright green facemask.

Laughs the entire time but keeps asking if his skin looks better every five minutes.

Lets you paint his nails glittery purple and tells you their his “manly sparkle.”

Insists Dwaekki gets a little mini facial too. You both end up doing it on a plushie with verrrrry much seriousness.

🦙 Hyunjin

He lives for this. Already had a Pinterest board ready.

Brought his own floral-scented masks and fancy rose gold nail polish. Treats the whole thing like a sacred ritual.

“Skin is art, Y/N. Let me transform you.” Applies your mask with a brush like he's painting a masterpiece.

Wears his headband with pride, and he absolutely documents the night with a Instagram story.

🐿 Han

Makes ten jokes a minute, especially when the cold mask touches his face. “Is this what frogs feel like?” (goofy ahh🥀)

Picks a rainbow of colors for his nails and insists they represent his complex emotions.

Constantly wiggles his fingers while you’re trying to paint them. “Oops. My instincts took over. 👅”

His favorite part is getting to just hang out with you.

🐥 Felix

So excited. His voice drops into that deep warm tone as he gushes, “I’ve never done this before but it looks so fun!”

Picks glittery pink masks and sunflower yellow polish to match you.

Treats it like a spa retreat. Lights a candle, puts on calming music, and keeps checking in to make sure you’re relaxed too.

Puts his BbokAri headband on you first, then himself. “Now we match 💛✨”

🐶 Seungmin

Dry sarcasm🥀💔. “This is my dream night,” he says, deadpan, while letting you stick a strawberry-scented sheet mask on his face.

Protests when you go for pastel pink nails—“Why not black?”—but leaves them on for days.

Surprisingly focussed when doing your nails. Holds your hand carefully, brows furrowed in concentration.

Wears the headband low over his eyes, pretending it’s for privacy, but he’s secretly enjoying every second.

🦊 I.N

Blushes immediately. “We’re doing what?” But the moment he sees your excited expression, he’s in.

Tries to act tough at first—“I don’t need skincare”—but is the most dramatic when his mask feels cold. “I’M FREEZING.”

Picks sparkly sky blue for his nails and insists he gets to paint one of yours too. Concentrates so hard, he sticks his tongue out while working. 👅

Can’t stop giggling when you show him how cute he looks in his FoxI.Ny headband. “Don’t post that—actually… send it to me first.”

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 30

Word Count- 3.7k

Warnings- Swearing, violence, blood, puking

“Up and down, not side to side you fucking freak,” Theo’s agitated voice comes from behind Elena and I as he and Jeremy paint their side of the room.

“That’s what I’m doing!”

Elena chuckles at Jeremy’s response.

“Going darker, huh?”

As if today couldn’t get any worse.

I don’t even turn around because right now I’m not in the mental state to deal with yet another vampire I have a vendetta against. Which means my vampire hate count is up to 4 right now, not including dead vampires such as Mikael and Trevor. 

“It’s the only color we had,” Elena says to Stefan with a smile, and I roll my eyes.

“That’s what happens when you decide to paint your guardian’s room that she shared with her now-dead boyfriend in the middle of the night,” Jeremy retorts and slightly glares at his sister.

I turn over to look at Theo, who is glaring at Stefan, who, as I glance at him, tries to give me a small smile, which I don’t return.  

“I don’t suppose anyone tried to talk you guys out of doing this so soon?”

“We have to keep moving, otherwise we’ll start thinking and we don’t want that…”

My birthmark feels like it’s burning as I listen to Elena’s words, and I rub it in reaction. 

“You good?’’

I jolt back slightly as I turn to see Theo right next to me now. He takes his hand and places it on mine, removing it from rubbing my mark.

“We’re not thinking about it, right?”

Theo sends me a saddened look, but Elena wraps an arm around my waist.

“That’s exactly right. Today we’re just existing. No bad thoughts, just painting and enjoying each other’s company. We’ve all been away from each other for too long.”

I give Elena a raised eyebrow, which results in her lightly pinching my waist and then dropping her hand and going back to her painting. 

She’s been like this since we got to the Gilbert residence last night, overly touchy and affectionate. I know it’s because she’s just trying to fill her time with something else instead of thinking about Alaric, but, holy shit, I forgot how touchy this girl was. For the first few hours we got back, we spent in her room with Jenna watching comedy movies and horror movies to distract ourselves from the actual horror movie we are currently living in. That entire time, I also spent dodging calls and texts from Klaus and Elijah. At one point, Klaus even showed up at the front door, and Theo had to go down and threaten to spray him with the hose if he didn’t leave. Rebekah had called me and apoligized for what happened, mentioning how she had no idea what my birth mark meant and that if she wasn’t body snatched by her own mother she would’ve been there to kick her older brother’s asses. 

“Do you need any help?”

I roll my eyes at Stefan’s question.

“You know how to pant?”

I turn to my brother, wondering why he’s making conversation with a guy he hates.

Stefan perks up, “Ya, I guess it’s not hard.”

Theo taps his chin, “Huh, and here I thought all you knew was how to run girls off the road in your ugly ass Prius,” Theo turns to Jeremy, who wears a smirk, “The more you know!”

For the first time all day, I feel a small smile twitch onto my face.

Stefan’s face morphs into one of shame, “It’s actually a Poshe…and Y/n, I-”

Theo moves in front of him, “You no talk to her- Got it,” He points a finger at the vampire's face.”

Stefan sighs but still nods. 

“Anyways,” Jeremy interrupts, “Are you two together or something?”

The question is aimed at Stefan and his sister, who both instantly start shaking their heads and deny it. 

“I was just checking up on you guys. Seeing how you were doing…after everything.”

Jeremy glares at him, “We’re fine. But if you are trying to be the good guy again, why don’t you do the right thing and give us one day? Just one day without any vampires in it.”

“That sounds nice,” I mutter to myself. 

Jeremy huffs and then storms out of the room, Theo of course following after, but not before making an “I’m watching you” finger motion to Stefan.

“He didn’t mean that,” Elena says to Stefan.

“Ya, he did,” I reply, and Elena shorts me a look, and I shrug before putting down my paintbrush and following after the boys. 

“Y/n?”

My shoulders deflate at Stefan’s voice, but I still pause.

“I am really sorry. What I did on the bridge…and what I said after it wasn’t me. It wasn’t how I truly feel. And I know you won’t forgive me today, but hopefully one day we can get back to where we once were in our friendship.”

I look over my shoulder at him and nod, a look of relief pushes onto his face momentarily...that is until I open my mouth. 

“Any chance of us ever being friends died the night you tried killing me and then called me a waste of space, but thanks for the apology. It means nothing.”

With that, I turn and walk out of the room. As I head down the hall, I hear Elena’s quiet voice say something about giving me time and how I’m going through a lot right now. 

Understatement of the fucking centuary. 

Not only did I find out I’m a goddamn werewolf yesterday, watch my history teacher die because of a bitchass witch, find out my soulmates have been lying to me the entire time I’ve known them…I also had to tell everyone the fact that my father wasn’t actually my father and that Theo and I are actually half-siblings. So that cat is out of its bag. 

“Kol wants to come over and play Modern Warfare,” I hear Theo’s voice come from Jeremy’s room. 

After the conversation Elena and I had about our brothers yesterday, I’ve been watching how they interact more closely. So like any nosy sister, I hide beside Jeremy’s door and listen to their conversation. Sue me. 

“You do realize he tried to kill me, right?”

“Kol didn’t try to kill you…he tried to kill Damon. And honestly, y'all should’ve let him. The world would be a much better place without him in it.”

Jeremy’s quiet for a moment.

“Ya, you’re probably right. But…”

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I just…wanted to hang out with you…y’know, just me and you. Like old times or whatever.”

My face softens at Jeremy’s nervous voice.

“Oh..”

Seriously, Theo, “OH”.

“Oh?”

“I don’t mean Oh,” Theo quickly says, “Not like Oh Oh, but just like Oh. Y’know?”

This dumbass.

“Not really, Theo.”

“Right…well, what I mean is that I’m cool with just us, y’know, hanging out like bros do.”

“Ok…cool.”

“Cool…”

I hate these two. Jesus Christ. 

“Y/n?”

Oh shit!

I just slightly and see Jenna approaching me. Her tear-ridden face and red, puffy eyes send a tight pain to my heart. 

I move away from Jeremy’s door so they don’t hear us.

“Hey, Jen. I thought you were napping in Elena’s room?”

Jenna swallows a lump in her throat and tightens the blanket she has wrapped around her, “I just needed some fresh air.”

I nod, trying not to be awkward, but I’ve never been one to know how to console others.

“Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something?’’

I frown at Jenna’s words, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking you these questions?”

Jenna huffs out a sad laugh, “Ya probably, I just…I guess I could use the distraction.”

Oh.

“Ok, then I guess I could eat if you are also making yourself something.”

“I’m not hungry,” She tries to deny, and I shake my head.

“I’m not eating unless you do too.”

Jenna reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, “Fine. Then how does waffles sound?”

“Wait, did someone say waffles?”

I whip around to see Theo with his head poking out of Jeremy’s room and the other boy peeking behind my brother.

“Yes, I was going to make your sister and me some. Do you both want any,” Jenna responds.

Both boys eye each other before nodding and practically hopping out of the bedroom. Theo moves over to Jenna and wraps his arm around her shoulder, to which Jenna gives him a small smile, the first one I’ve seen from her all night. Theo just has that kind of power. 

“I personally prefer mine with brown sugar, but if you guys don’t have that, I can make do with…” 

Theo continues to drone on about waffle mix as he drags Jenna and Jeremy down the staircase, with me following behind. 

I make it to the final step when the doorbell chimes. 

“I’ve got it,” I say to the group, and they continue their way into the kitchen.

I grab the door handle and- oh shit.

“We’ve got a problem,” Damon says as he holds a bleeding Bonnie to his side. 

—-

“What do you think they’re talking about?’’

I shrug as I dip my paintbrush into the green paint. 

“Beats me.”

After I opened the door to find Damon and Bonnie, Stefan came downstairs to let me know he could handle it, and I don’t exactly want to deal with any vampires today, so I let him and went back upstairs to help Elena. 

The sound of a phone ringing turns my attention to Elena. I watch as a look of confusion morphs onto her face as she reads the caller's info.

“Elena, who is it,” I stand up, and my breathing halts as I read the caller's name.

Alaric. 

“That’s fucking sick.”

Elena shakes her head and presses the answer button, “Whoever this is, it’s not funny.”

“Who else would it be?”

No way. Not possible. 

At the sound of the supposedly dead Alaric’s voice, Elena and I both shoot each other fearful looks. 

“Listen closely, I’m at the school. I have Caroline, and if you want to keep her alive, I need you to get into your car and come down here…and bring Y/n with you, I know she’s with you. If you tell anyone where you are going, I will kill her.”

—

“Never thought I’d get murdered by my history teacher, but here we are,” I mutter to myself and Elena as we stand at the entrance of Mystic Falls High.  

“He’s not going to kill you, Y/n. I won’t let him.”

“As much as I appreciate the effect, Elena, but well…he’s kind of an Original so and you’re well… you.”

I look at Elena, who sighs in defeat.

“We got this, together,” She grabs my hand and sends me a look, and at this point, I’m so numb that I just laugh.

“Right, let’s go defeat the big bad Original with the power of friendship!”

—

The sound of painful groans makes me cringe as Elena and I run down the hallway to find a very undead Ric sitting all-American Psycho in his classroom. Caroline has a cloth wrapped around her face to keep her from talking, and oh… two pencils impaled into her hands. 

“Let her go, Alaric,” Elena says the the man. 

He smirks at us, “Free her yourself.”

“Oh ya, I’m sure he’s going to let you do that,” I say sarcastically, but Elena still runs to Caroline and tries to pull the pencils from her hands. 

As Elena is about to pull out the pencil Alaric speeds over to them and shoves the pencil back in, making me take a protective step forward even though there aint shit I can do.

“What have I told you, Elena? Stop trusting vampires!”

—

I watch with a painful look as Alaric dips Caroline’s gag into a glass of vervain. Her cries fill the room, and I find myself abruptly standing up to help her.

“Stop, Ric!”

But before I can get over to my friend, a sharp pain hits the side of my face, and then I feel myself bang the edge of my head off one of the student desks. 

Through a loud ringing in my head, I hear Elena yell and a muffled cry from Caroline. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/n. I truly don’t. But you must understand what you mean in all of this. So sit down and shut up,” He leans down to my level on the floor, and I flinch as I catch a glimpse of his fangs. 

He stands up and then pauses. He proceeds to sniff the air and then glare down at me, “You should probably clean that up. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out…just yet.”

The ringing still hasn’t subsided, so I’m still incredibly confused…until a wet feeling falls down my face. I bring my fingers up and swallow a throatful of bile as I see my fingers covered in blood. 

Deja vu much?

—

“Why are you doing this?”

Elena’s angry voice asks Alaric as he paces the small classroom. 

Elena runs a hand up and down my back soothingly as I lay my pounding head on the cool desk. Over the past 15 minutes, I’ve tried to keep up with the back-and-forth arguing between the Original and my friend, but I’m just really tired. 

“Because you need me. Because you’re an 18-year-old girl, without parents or guidance or any sense of right and wrong anymore,” Alaric harshly says. 

“She’s got Jenna,” I softly say as my eyes flutter closed. 

“Keep your eyes open, Y/n.”

I groan in annoyance at her request, but with enough resilience, I peel open one eye to glance at her, which seems to relieve Elena. 

“Look at you,” Elena then turns to Alaric, “How is this right,” She gestures to Caroline and then to me.

“She’s a murderer. She told me she killed someone and liked it. Now, how is that right? And her,” He points to me and I use whatever strength I can muster to lift my hand up and show him my middle finger, “It’s only a matter of time before she starts murdering people just like the people she’s mated to,” He walks over to Elena,  “Listen, Elena, your parents led the council. It was their life's mission to keep this town safe. They weren’t dead six months before you went and undid it all.”

Elena, I think, goes on to deny him, and they argue some more, I think. I’m not exactly paying attention. Fuck, I need advil. Or vodka. Or both. 

A loud scream makes me open my eyes, eyes I hadn’t even realized I had closed.

“Take Y/n and get help!”

Who’s taking me?

I groan in pain as I feel strong arms wrap around me, and next thing I know, I’m being dragged out of the room. I try to struggle out of their hold.

“Y/n, it’s me, stop.”

Oh. Care. Never mind, take me away.

Caroline drags me some more before we stop. 

A hand pressing to my mouth makes me jolt, but the overwhelming smell of something woodsy makes me relax. 

Klaus. 

“I’ve got you, my love. I’m not going to get to you. You’re safe,” I find myself leaning into his touch and I almost fucking moan when he runs a warm hand down my face. 

“We’re going to save Elena,” His voice is no longer soft, and I look to see him staring at Caroline, “Get her and yourself out of here.”

We?

I fast movement catches my eye, and I see Elijah standing a few feet away from us, his eyes running over my body frantically, he’s surprisingly not in a suit. Or maybe he is, and my head injury is just so bad I’m imagining things. 

“Come on, Y/n,” I feel a tug and groan in annoyance.

“We’ll be coming out right after you, Elskan,” Elijah’s dark voice fills my ears, and I close my eyes as if to savor it.

“Take her and heal her.”

—

I’m going to barf. 

A wave of nausea flows over me as a blinding light hits my eyes. 

“She’s coming back now,” An old scratchy voice says from above me.

God?

“No dear, not God,” The voice says.

Am I saying things out loud?

“Yes, you are,” A younger voice chimes in.

I let out a groan as I peel open my eyes slowly, and take notice of the blurry figures in front of me.

“Go slow, Elskan,” A warm voice fills my senses, and I find myself giggling. 

“Such a pretty voice.”

A loud laugh makes me cringe in pain, and then I hear a yelp.

My vision finally starts to come together, and I can make out an old woman sitting above me, Elijah standing beside her, and Kol and Alastiar standing farther away. 

I go to sit up, but the old woman, presses her hands to my shoulders, “Easy, young lady. You took quite the spill. Just lie back.”

“What…who…”

Ya, I’m definitely going to barf.

“Ew, someone get it a bucket.”

“Kol,” I hear Elijah’s stern voice.

“Fine.”

A split second later, Kol returns with a blue bucket and puts it in front of me with a grossed out look. 

And another split second later, I’m pushing the old woman out of the way and I’m barfing into the small bucket, or at least trying to aim for the bucket. 

I feel a hand rub my back soothingly, and then I feel my hair being pulled away from my face, “That’s it, Elskan.”

—

I then proceeded to throw up for the next five minutes. Kol left 2 minutes in with a gag of his own. Alastair still stands by the door with a solemn expression, the old woman has been doing whatever old people do, and Elijah has not left my side.

For the past five minutes, he’s been holding my hair, whispering soothing words to me, and just being so kind, it almost makes me forget I hate him. 

Almost. 

“What the hell happened?”

Elijah grabs a tissue from the side table of the bed I’m currently lying in and wipes my mouth. I try to grab it from him but he won’t budge. 

“Alaric took you and…” He pauses as his jaw tightens and he grits his teeth, “You hit your head. Your blonde vampire friend healed you, but you remained unconscious, so I called in a nurse to come look over you.”

“You must’ve had a nasty spill,” The woman says, and I realize from the glazed-over look in her eyes that she must be compelled, “I stuck an IV into you to get some fluids into you.”

My eyes look down towards my arm, and like she said, a small IV is implanted. Its tube is connected to a walkable IV stand, which is next to my head. 

“Oh.”

“Oh? That is all you have to say,” Elijah’s tone is slightly harsher than before as he shakes his head.

“Your work here is done,” He turns to the woman, “Go home and forget this happened. A check will be sent to you.”

The woman then grabs her bag and leaves the room, leaving only Alastair, Elijah, and me. 

“You are dismissed as well, Alastair.”

“I’m fine right here, Sir,” Alastair says, not taking his eyes off me. 

Elijah turns over his shoulder to glare at the younger vampire.

“He’s fine, Elijah. I want him here.”

“We need to talk,” Elijah tries to argue.

“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of him,” I try to glare at him, but too much movement is making me nauseous. 

Elijah must take notice because he instantly loses the dark facial features and places a cool hand on my face. 

He’s like a fucking ice pack.

“We can talk when you’re better,” He says softly and leans forward to place a kiss on the top of my head. 

A thought quickly crosses my mind, and I straighten up, “Where’s Elena?”

A grim look passes over Elijah’s face, “The Salvatores and Klaus are still at the school fighting Alaric. Niklaus and I thought it was best if I made sure you got to safety before anything else. But, they’ve got a plan to help her, so just sit back and get some rest.”

“Will you stay with me,” I say through a yawn.

Elijah gives me a soft smile, “Of course.”

I shake my head, “I was talking to Alastair.”

—

“AHHHHHH!”

A sharp pain flies through my body, and I quickly sit up.

“Y/n, what is it!? What’s going on?!”

I stare wide-eyed at Alastiar, who is nearly by my bedside, watching me frantically. 

I clutch my chest, “I…I can’t…”

“Can’t what?!?”

“Breathe, I can’t breathe!”

A loud crash fills the house, and Alastiar quickly takes a defensive stance in front of me. Alastair stares at the door like a guard dog, ready for attack in case someone walks in. I grabbed his hand for support, and he clutched it in his. 

“Just try to take deep breaths, Y/n. I’m sure one of the Mikaelsons will figure this out.”

The door handle jiggling catches our attention, and Alastair takes a defensive step forward, dropping my hand. 

 “Y/n?’’

If I could sigh in relief, I would as I see Elena pull herself into the room. She holds herself on the door frame and I frown as I see Damon standing behind her with s solem look on his face.

“What’s happening?”

—-

I clutch my knees to my chest as Theo sits wordlessly at the end of my bed. 

We’ve been sitting like this for 2 hours, or at least since he drove me home from the Mikaelsons. 

“What’s going to happen?”

I don’t respond to my brother. 

“Y/n?”

“Y/n?!”

I glance up at my brother. 

“Klaus is gone. There’s nothing to do.”

[karikarasuno]

part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen

making law blush is a difficult task. he doesn't blush. it's not his thing. it's never been his thing. he expects most things, so catching him off guard is quite the task. yet you try and try. often times failing. but there have been a few occasions where his cheeks have burned. where he's looked in the mirror and saw an unfamiliar stain of red creeping across his cheeks.

the first time it happened was when you drunkenly stripped for him. it was cute at first. the way you tugged sloppily at your own clothes. he didn't think you would actually be able to pull off your top after your arm caught in the sleeve. he laughed. but his laughter died quickly when you finally tugged the fabric over your head and revealed a red lacy bra. law has never been the biggest fan of red. until you kicked off your pants. matching underwear. red. somehow and suddenly red became law's favorite color.

that was until he looked in the mirror after tucking you in and faced himself. the red on his cheeks matched the red that adorned your body.

the second time was at cora's apartment. it was his turn to host family dinner. you were obviously invited. your attendance was actually a requirement per cora's insistence. he said having you around made law less irritable. law didn't agree, but he extended the invitation anyway.

you were just about to sit down beside him after having gotten up for a third time because you forgot to grab a napkin. but before you sat down at the table where his entire family was already seated you grabbed his jaw and lightly, casually said "you have something on your face."

law felt his nose scrunch up in distaste. "what is it?"

and instead of answering you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "a kiss, but i got it for you."

law's mom giggled. he heard it but he had a hard time registering it. not with the loud, overwhelming sound of blood rushing to his cheeks. you smiled to yourself. satisfied. smug. meanwhile law's mind buffered. he felt dumb. and law was far from dumb.

but this time. his blush is a slow burn. one that stemmed from annoyance more than anything else. it's your lotion. you bought it over the weekend when you went shopping with the girls. it's an unassuming bottle. one that he thought was normal until he saw you apply it under the bright lights of the bathroom.

"why are you shimmering?" he says, eyes tracking the way your hand massages the lotion into your shoulder.

"huh?" you're watching a video on your phone, so you use your knuckle to pause it before turning your undivided attention to him.

"your skin," he says slowly, "there's glitter on it."

"oh yeah! isn't it fun?" you twist your arms to watch as the light catches your glittery skin. law doesn't know about fun. what law sees is a problem. especially if that glitter likes to transfer.

and it does. everywhere. the first time he notices it on his black tshirt. he stepped outside to grab the mail and when he looked down he realized he too was shimmering. it's on the pillowcases. the sheets. the blanket you use on the couch. just fucking everywhere.

"do you have to use that lotion every night?" he asks one evening before bed as he watches you apply it to your legs.

"yes, my love, i do. makes me feel pretty," you respond, placing your foot on his thigh as you massage the moisture into your calf.

"i promise, you're equally as pretty without it." he's staring at the way your hands follow the curve of your legs. trailing your fingers from your ankle to your knee. you know how easy he is to distract. but he won't fall for it this time. not when he's seriously concerned with the fact that he might be ingesting the stupid glitter.

“oh don’t be a grouch,” you laugh, swapping one leg for the other. “it just makes me feel girly and sexy.”

“you’re always sexy,” he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. he feels the way your muscle twitches beneath his lips.

“you’re never not sexy,” he continues, trailing two more kisses up your thigh.

“stop trying to butter me up,” you complain breathily. your hands have already found his shoulders and if you really meant what you said you’d push him away. but the closer he gets to your center the more you open up to him.

“come here,” he groans when his nose nuzzles your crotch. and in an instant law is on his back and you’re sitting on his face. he doesn’t bother removing your underwear. doesn’t push them to the side either. he flattens his tongue against the fabric that covers you. and he licks until your hips twitch in his grip.

you grind against his tongue when it meets your clit, pressing down harder for the sake of friction. he groans and it’s starts in his chest. gets caught in his throat when he begins to taste you through your panties. the cotton is sticking to you, molding against the contours of your lips.

“you gonna keep teasing me or are you gonna do something?” you look down at him, eyes locking where he’s caught between your thighs. and this is a view he enjoys. he indulges in.

he slips a finger into the side of your underwear and pulls the wet fabric away from your cunt. his fingers barely graze you and you flinch from sensitivity.

“and what do you suppose i do?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazes up at you. and he knows after all this time that the back and forth turns you on. you ask him not to tease you, but every time he does you’re wetter than before. his knuckle traces your slit. slow. agonizing.

“you could move my stupid underwear out of the way,” you rise slightly onto your knees, “and kiss me.”

his tongue drags along his lower lip. “ask me nicely.”

“will you kiss me?” you ask and he hooks his finger around the fabric and pulls it out of the way. fully exposing you to him. and he’s dying to tilt his head up and taste you. dying to lick into you. but he doesn’t.

not until you “say please.”

“law,” you laugh incredulously because he never makes you beg. it’s not really something he needs to hear. but tonight it’s what he wants. and he wants you to give it to him.

“come on, pretty,” he breathes, kissing the crease right beside your cunt. “say it for me.”

you tense up above him. and your chest is rising heavily with each breath you take. your nipples hard and poking the fabric of his t-shirt. your favorite one to wear to bed.

“will you please kiss me?” your voice pitches up when you ask. dripping with need. with desperation. “please, baby, please kiss me.”

there’s no restraint left in him. no urge to tease or delay. his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks it into his mouth. you cry out when he flicks his tongue against it. whine when his lips leave your clit and he drags his tongue to your entrance. your upper body tilts forward. your hand jumps out to grasp the headboard and the other cards through his hair.

you tug on him when his tongue slips inside of you. he moans at the pressure it applies to his scalp. he can’t help it. you only hurt him when you feel good. when you can’t control how good he’s making you feel.

law’s dick leaks where it’s caught in his sweatpants and his hand moves to grip himself without thought.

“ah, that’s it,” you moan when he flattens his tongue so you can ride him. your hips roll with urgency against his face. and he matches your motions every time he strokes his cock. faster when you grind harder. slower when your hips draw back.

it’s hard for him to watch you the way he wants when his eyes keep closing from the pleasure of being used by you. so unashamed. without care.

“need you to come,” he mumbles into your pussy. his other hand manages to slip beneath your thighs, two fingers parting your folds so he can focus on you. feel you better as you rut into his mouth.

“keep doing that and i will,” you respond. and there’s a pleasant amusement in your voice. one that sends tingles down his spine and he shoves his hand in his pants, fisting his cock as he you work yourself to orgasm on his face. thighs straddling his cheeks and muffling your noises from his ears.

and when you come, the sounds are distant. your moans are playing right above him but all he can focus on is the way your entire body seizes over his head. how your fingers tighten in his hair. and when the pain blossoms across his scalp, he finishes in the palm of his hand. it shocks him. the strength of his orgasm. it catches him off guard.

you body finally relaxes as you sit on his chest. his own endorphins are still wracking through him. his abs tense once more and the feeling of a cramp erupts in his side.

“shit, get off,” he hisses, slapping the side of your thigh. when you’re off he rolls onto his side, his free and clean hand massaging at the space below his ribcage.

he feels your eyes drag down his body and when he looks at you, you’re grinning. flushed and delirious. “did you get a cramp after you came?”

he glances down to the mess in his other hand. and his head falls back onto the mattress. “i don’t wanna talk about it.”

you laugh. freely. joyfully. without shame. and when law’s no longer in pain. he laughs along side you. kisses you. touches you all over again.

the next morning law is so satiated he doesn’t remember the glitter. he doesn’t give a shit about the glitter. he doesn’t even notice the glitter on his neck and cheek until he’s at work and changing into a fresh set of scrubs in the bathroom. the bathroom light is harsh, but when he shifts in front of the mirror he sees the the way it shimmers across his skin. and funnily enough, instead of the annoyance he expects to feel, his dick hardens. and a blush, real and true, erupts across his face.

[silkpagess]

Every Summertime - Part I

Summary: Fresh off a breakout role, Y/N is cast in the year’s most anticipated romcom. She’s ready for the spotlight—until she finds out her on-screen love interest is Harry Styles, and the lines between fiction and reality start to blur.

Content Warning: none :)

Word Count: 4,311

This is a 5 part story that I've started writing last year and finally had the courage to post lol, I hope you guys like it 🤍

The kitchen smelled faintly of orange peel and clean linen. Y/N stood barefoot by the sink, towel-drying her favorite mug—the one with a tiny chip on the handle that she always used anyway—when her phone rang.

She nearly didn’t answer. It was past noon, and she’d promised herself a day off: no emails, no self-tapes, no endless doom-scroll through industry chatter. But then she saw the caller ID: Miriam Klein – Agent.

She grabbed it immediately.

“Hey,” she said, balancing the mug on the drying rack. “What’s up?”

“I hope you’re sitting,” Miriam said, too calm in that way she only got when something big was about to land.

“Not yet,” Y/N replied, already walking to the kitchen table.

“Okay. Here’s the deal. You’re being asked to read for Every Summertime.”

Y/N sat down hard. Her heart did the exact thing it always did when something she’d dared to want actually started to happen.

“You’re serious?”

“I’m very serious,” Miriam said. “It’s happening. Big studio, full greenlight, same producers from Before the Fall. Sadie Bloom’s doing the script.”

Y/N blinked. “As in Sadie Bloom, the Sadie Bloom?”

“Yes. She adapted the novel herself. It’s been buzzing for months. Everyone’s been asking who’s playing Ivy. They’ve done weeks of auditions already, but apparently they’ve been holding off on final callbacks because the director wanted to take a look at a few new names. You’re one of them.”

Y/N leaned forward, elbows on the table. She’d read the book a year ago, cover to cover in two days, sobbing over the last few chapters and immediately texting Mara to do the same. It was that kind of story—summer and heartbreak, family and longing, slow-burn romance and two people who find each other just as their lives are unraveling in opposite directions.

She had loved Ivy. Had quietly imagined playing her, though she never said it out loud. The role was delicate. Not easy. The kind of part that asked for both lightness and real emotional weight. She hadn’t seen a female lead written like that in a long time.

“What’s the catch?” she asked, finally.

“No catch,” Miriam said. “Just that the room is tight. They’re only seeing three people, total. You’re one of them.”

Y/N’s chest felt tight in the best possible way.

Then Miriam added, as an afterthought, “Oh, and Harry Styles is already attached. He auditioned a few weeks ago and got cast as Theo.”

She blinked again. “Wait—he auditioned?”

“Yep. Just like everyone else. He read three times. Apparently, he worked his ass off for it.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N said. “I mean, I figured it’d be someone big, but I didn’t think…”

“I know,” Miriam said, “but I don’t want that to throw you. You’ve got just as much shot at this. They asked you. That means something.”

Y/N nodded, even though Miriam couldn’t see her. “Okay. Okay, yeah. Send me everything.”

She spent the next two hours reading the sides, walking through the scenes quietly in her living room, letting the language settle into her skin. Ivy was just as rich and warm on the page as she was in the book���witty and careful and emotionally bruised but still hopeful. She understood her immediately. Not just as a character, but as a person.

By the time Mara and Gia showed up at her apartment uninvited—with iced matchas and a chaotic playlist of "songs you can fake-date to"—Y/N had already color-coded the script, flagged three emotional beats she wanted to dig deeper into, and made a Pinterest mood board for Ivy’s wardrobe.

“You’re disgusting,” Mara said, watching her set up a ring light for practice. “You just got the call and you’re already in prep mode.”

“You don’t understand,” Y/N said, breathless, holding the script to her chest. “It’s Every Summertime. It’s Ivy. And they asked for me. They didn’t even make me chase it.”

Gia threw herself on the couch. “Wait, and Harry Styles is Theo? Like, officially?”

“Yes. But that’s not the point.”

“That is absolutely the point,” Gia muttered.

Mara leaned forward. “Do you think he’s going to remember your name? Or like… do that thing where he knows way too much about your performance in something you did three years ago?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

“I don’t care if he remembers me,” she said, and she meant it. “I just want to walk into that room and be Ivy. That’s the only thing I care about.”

And she meant it. This wasn’t about him. It was about her. And if there was even a small chance that this role—the one everyone in the industry was quietly circling—could be hers, she was going to show up ready.

No matter who else was in the room.

The studio was quiet in that specific, clinical way only casting buildings managed to be—sterile, over-air-conditioned, and filled with soft voices and the occasional sound of someone clearing their throat in a hallway.

Y/N arrived fifteen minutes early.

She always did, not because she wanted to impress anyone, but because she hated walking into a room while her heart was still racing. She liked having a moment to breathe, to ground herself, to flip through her pages one last time and pretend that this was all normal—that she wasn’t sitting in a casting office about to read for the role every young actress in the industry was dreaming about.

She kept her headphones in while she signed in at the front desk, though no music was playing. Sometimes she liked the illusion of noise, the space it gave her from being approached or spoken to. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun, clean and simple. She wore a soft cream knit top tucked into well-tailored navy trousers—comfortable, but confident. She hadn’t overthought the outfit. She’d learned the hard way not to try and look like the character. The work had to speak louder than the styling.

She sat down in the holding area, a sleek gray couch pushed against a glass wall. There were no other actresses waiting outside. That meant they were being seen one by one. Intimate. Focused. Possibly recorded.

Her heart thudded softly against her ribs.

She reread the scene again, even though she didn’t need to. The one where Ivy and Theo were walking through a parking lot at night after an argument they didn’t totally finish. It was quiet and tentative and messy—full of unfinished thoughts and sideways glances, two people trying not to say the thing they were thinking. The kind of dialogue that lived in pauses, in breath, in what wasn’t said.

She loved it.

“Y/N?” a woman called gently, peeking her head out from a side door.

She stood quickly, smoothing her pants as she walked.

The room was bright and white and warmer than she expected. A camera on a tripod faced the taped floor marks, and a few people sat behind a folding table covered in notebooks, iced coffees, and half-eaten snacks. The director—Elaine Kim, a sharp, perceptive woman Y/N had read about in interviews—looked up from her notes and smiled.

“Hi, Y/N,” she said, warm but professional. “Thanks for being here.”

“Thanks for having me,” she replied, stepping into the light and placing her water bottle gently on the ground beside the mark.

And then she saw him.

Harry Styles sat on the folding chair just behind Elaine. He was relaxed in that effortlessly casual way some people managed to be—wearing dark jeans, a light blue sweater, sleeves pushed to his forearms, his hair a little messy like he hadn’t tried to fix it before walking in. He was holding a copy of the sides in one hand, a pen tucked behind his ear.

He looked up when she walked in.

And smiled.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t flirty. It was quiet. Just… acknowledgment. Recognition. Maybe even a little curiosity.

She gave a small nod back—professional, polite, but not overly familiar.

Elaine gestured to the center mark. “So this is the parking lot scene. Let’s start from the top and just run through it once. No pressure. We’ll play with it after.”

Y/N nodded and shifted into place.

Harry stood, moving to his own mark opposite her, flipping his page to the correct scene. Up close, he looked exactly like you’d expect him to—but also not. Less glossy. More present. There was something focused in his expression. Something serious.

They locked eyes for the first line.

And something clicked.

It wasn’t fireworks or electricity—not yet—but it was ease. He listened, which was rare in reads like this. He responded, didn’t just deliver lines. He watched her mouth when she spoke. He took a second before replying. His body language changed with hers. And when she shifted her tone halfway through a sentence, he adjusted like he’d already lived in this character for months.

When the scene ended, there was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just thoughtful.

Elaine leaned back. “That was great,” she said. “We’re gonna try a version where you lean into the frustration a little more, Y/N—like Ivy’s holding in a thousand things she doesn’t want to say. Can you try that?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N replied, already feeling her body recalibrate.

Harry stayed quiet, letting her take the lead.

They read again. Then again. They tried new beats, changed pacing, added a half-second pause in the middle of a breath and watched the tension stretch out like taffy between them.

It was the most fun she’d had in weeks.

When they wrapped, Elaine stood and clapped her hands once. “That’s great, guys. Thank you so much.”

Harry turned to her and gave a small, genuine nod.

“You were really good,” he said simply, in a soft voice that made her want to double-check if she’d imagined it.

“Thanks,” she replied. “You too.”

They exchanged one more look. Just a moment of eye contact. No lingering. No flirtation. Just… mutual awareness. Two people who understood what this scene could be. Who knew that if they ended up doing this together, it would work.

It wasn’t chemistry in the cliché way.

It was trust.

And that, she knew, mattered more than anything else.

The moment she stepped outside the studio building, the sun hit her straight in the face. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been inside until the daylight made her squint.

She didn’t rush home right away.

Instead, she walked three blocks up and sat on a quiet bench tucked next to a tiny bakery she used to visit when she was still auditioning for short films and background roles. It felt like a good place to land for a second. Familiar. Neutral.

She took out her phone and opened the Notes app—not to write anything in particular, just to look busy, to give her hands something to do while her body caught up with what had just happened.

The read had gone well. She knew that. Not in the arrogant, self-congratulatory way. But in the honest, I-was-present-and-I-did-the-work way. She had hit the beats she wanted. Had felt the tension she built in the back of her throat as Ivy. Had watched Harry adjust and lean into the shifts in energy, the kind of give-and-take that felt real.

She hadn’t felt that kind of scene partner chemistry in a long time. Not the fake “oh my god we just clicked” type people always said in interviews, but the real kind—the kind that made you breathe differently when the camera was rolling.

Still, callbacks were a strange kind of limbo. You left everything in the room and walked out with your hands empty, unsure if what you gave was the version they wanted.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Mara.

MARA:

Did it happen?? Did you cry? Did he cry?

She smiled but didn’t reply yet.

She wasn’t ready to open the door to speculation and “what ifs.” Not yet. Not when her heart was still beating in callback rhythm, not regular rhythm.

Instead, she ordered an iced tea, sat with her thoughts, and let herself do the hardest part of the job: wait.

Two days passed. Then four.

By the fifth, she had convinced herself she didn’t get it.

It was ridiculous—how the brain worked. She could feel confident one minute, and then in the next, be absolutely sure she’d imagined the connection, that the casting team had probably already offered it to someone else. Someone with a bigger name. A better following. A longer résumé.

She went about her days normally—pilates, meal prep, overdue errands—but there was a thin string of tension running through everything she did. An invisible thread tied to her phone, which she kept just slightly too close. Just in case.

Mara and Gia didn’t help.

GIA:

I keep checking Deadline for a casting announcement like I work there. Do you think you’d know before they publish?

MARA:

Should I casually follow the director on Instagram or is that too obvious?

Y/N replied only with a gif of someone staring out a rainy window.

She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. She just didn’t want to break the spell.

The call came on a Friday afternoon.

She was folding a blanket over the back of the couch when her phone rang—and this time, unlike before, her stomach dropped the second she saw Miriam’s name. Her breath caught in her chest.

She answered slowly.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Miriam said, a smile already in her voice. “You ready?”

Y/N didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“You got it.”

It took a full second for the words to land.

“What?”

“You. Got. It. Ivy Carter is yours.”

Y/N stood still in her living room, one hand still holding the corner of the blanket.

“You’re serious?” she whispered, barely able to say it.

“I’m serious. They just called. Elaine said—and I quote—‘She is Ivy.’ You nailed it, Y/N. It’s yours.”

She sat down, knees folding underneath her like they couldn’t hold her up anymore.

A full breath left her chest. A real one. The kind that only comes when something you’ve wanted quietly, patiently, for longer than you let yourself admit… actually becomes real.

“Oh my god,” she said softly, tears springing to her eyes before she could stop them. “Oh my god.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Miriam said. “Start wrapping your head around it. You leave for pre-production in two weeks.”

Y/N laughed through the tears. “You’re really just gonna say that like it’s nothing.”

“I’m saying it like it’s everything.”

She hung up and sat for a long moment, letting her body catch up to the news. Letting the weight of it settle gently, instead of crashing.

She didn’t need to scream. Or jump. Or call everyone she knew.

She just needed to sit there, quietly, hand over her heart, and smile like she hadn’t in a long time.

Because she had done it.

Not because someone asked for her. Not because of luck. Not because she was “someone’s pick.”

Because she earned it.

She didn’t text them. She could’ve—God knows they’d been obsessively waiting for an update—but this felt bigger than a three-line message or a gif. This deserved real faces. Real reactions. Real yelling.

So she told them to come over.

No context. Just “Please come by tonight, I made dinner. And wear something cute.” Which, in their language, was code for something is up and we’re not taking it lightly.

By seven o’clock, her tiny apartment smelled like garlic and lemon and the fresh rosemary she’d tucked into the sauce just because she could. She wasn’t a show-off cook, but she liked the rhythm of it. Stirring, chopping, laying the table—things that made her feel grounded when everything else was floating.

She’d even lit candles. Mara was going to be suspicious the second she walked in.

When the buzzer went off, her stomach jumped. Nerves, again. Not the kind from auditions, but the kind you get when something good has happened and you finally get to say it out loud.

She opened the door before they even knocked.

Mara walked in first, hair piled up in a claw clip, carrying a bag of chips and a bottle of prosecco. Gia followed, dramatically overdressed in a vintage floral maxi dress with a belt that jingled when she walked.

“Okay,” Mara said, eyes scanning the apartment. “What is this vibe?”

“Why are there candles?” Gia added, narrowing her eyes. “Are we mourning something? Are we casting a spell?”

Y/N grinned. “Sit down.”

Mara raised an eyebrow but dropped onto the couch without another word. Gia flopped down beside her, kicking off her boots and reaching for the chips before the bag was even open.

Y/N took a deep breath.

Then she grabbed the script off the counter, walked over, and dropped it gently on the coffee table in front of them. No words. Just the bold-font title staring back at them:

Every Summertime

FINAL SHOOTING DRAFT

CONFIDENTIAL

There was a pause.

Mara leaned forward slowly. “No. Way.”

Gia blinked. “You got it?”

Y/N nodded, and just like that, the room exploded.

Mara let out a shriek so loud she startled herself. Gia screamed into one of Y/N’s throw pillows. Someone knocked over the chips. Y/N just stood there, laughing and trying not to cry again while her two best friends lost their collective minds.

“YOU’RE IVY?!” Mara yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“You’re fake-dating Harry Styles in a movie based on that book?” Gia yelled right behind her. “Do you understand what you’ve done to me emotionally?”

“I can’t believe it,” Y/N said, the words still tasting new. “They called this afternoon. It’s mine.”

Mara paced a circle around the living room like she needed to walk off the adrenaline. “I’m so proud I think I’m going to vomit. This is not a joke. I might actually cry.”

Gia was already pouring prosecco into mismatched glasses. “To Ivy Carter! To our girl! To the woman who is going to be impossible to sit next to in a movie theater because I will be whispering ‘that’s my best friend’ the whole time.”

Y/N finally sat down between them, letting their joy fold over her like a blanket. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. Her stomach still fluttered every time she pictured that moment on the phone—You got it.

“Did he say anything to you?” Mara asked suddenly, already fishing for gossip.

“About me getting the part?”

“No, about like… your aura or whatever. Your essence. Did he cry when he looked into your eyes?”

Y/N laughed. “We just read the scene. Nothing dramatic. He was focused.” 

Gia sipped her drink. “So you’re telling me he wasn’t completely in love with you already?”

“I’m telling you he was doing his job. And so was I.”

“Boring,” Mara muttered. “But fine. We’ll allow it. For now.”

Y/N rested her head on Gia’s shoulder, letting the room go quiet for a moment. She watched the candle flicker on the coffee table. The script sat between them, the pages fanned slightly from being flipped through too many times already.

This was real.

No more waiting. No more wondering. She was Ivy. She was going to spend the summer fake-dating a man half the world was obsessed with while bringing to life a character she’d secretly been carrying in her chest for months.

And she got to share that moment—with them.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly serious. “For making this feel… big. It’s easy to pretend it’s not. To try and act like it’s just another job. But it’s not. It means something.”

Gia reached out and gently clinked her glass against hers.

“We know it means something,” she said. “We’ve always known.”

The building didn’t look like much from the outside—just another converted studio space in the middle of a quiet block in West Hollywood. The kind of place you’d walk past without thinking twice unless you were part of it. Inside, though, it was buzzing. Quietly. Like a hum under the surface.

Y/N was greeted by a production assistant with a headset and an iced coffee in one hand, who led her down a hallway lined with framed posters from past films and into a bright, high-ceilinged room that smelled faintly like paper, Sharpie ink, and someone’s very expensive cologne.

The long table was already half-filled when she walked in.

Labeled name cards sat in front of every chair. A stack of fresh scripts lay at each place setting. Crew members milled around the edges—producers, assistants, someone from hair and makeup who gave Y/N a small, polite wave as she walked past.

It was her first table read for a major studio project. And even though she had already been cast—contracts signed, emails exchanged, fittings scheduled—it didn’t quite feel real until now.

She spotted her name about halfway down on the left side. Y/N Y/L/N — Ivy Carter. Seeing it printed, so simply, gave her a little jolt in the chest. She ran her hand over the card before sitting down.

She glanced to her right—and there he was.

Harry Styles, sitting just one seat away, wearing a soft gray hoodie and black trousers, flipping through the top pages of the script like he hadn’t already read it a dozen times. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered. He looked relaxed but alert—attentive in that calm, still way he had in the callback room.

He looked over when she sat and gave her a warm smile.

“Morning,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too. Congratulations, by the way.”

She blinked, a little caught off guard. “For what?”

“For getting the part,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I heard they saw a lot of people. Said you were the easiest decision they made.”

It was such a quiet, sincere compliment that it took her a second to respond.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling back. “That means a lot.”

Before she could say more, the room began to settle. Elaine, the director, took her spot at the head of the table and greeted everyone, her voice calm and no-nonsense, but not cold.

“Thanks for being here,” she said. “This is going to be a long day, but a good one. We’ll read straight through, pause halfway for a break, and then meet the department heads after. But for now, let’s just live in the story.”

A few people clapped quietly, and then the rustling of scripts filled the air as everyone turned to page one.

The table read began.

The first scene was a quick one—an establishing moment in Ivy’s flower shop, full of overlapping dialogue and neighborhood energy. Y/N found her rhythm quickly, her voice soft at first but steady. It was strange, hearing the lines spoken aloud by real people instead of looping them over and over in her head. They lived differently in the air.

Then came the first scene with Theo.

It was early in the script—scene eight—a chaotic rental pickup gone wrong. Ivy arriving to find out the place she thought she’d have to herself for the summer had been double-booked by a tired, borderline-annoyed journalist who couldn’t believe she still arranged flowers for a living.

Y/N delivered her first line.

Harry replied in character, voice a little lower, a little dryer than his usual one. It was subtle. American, but not distractingly so. Wry, but not smug. He nailed the tone. The sarcasm. The guarded frustration. He even underplayed the joke in a way that made it land harder.

Their back-and-forth built naturally. A little sharper than in the callback room. Quicker. Like two people who had known each other long enough to know exactly how to get under the other’s skin.

By page twenty-four, someone at the far end of the table laughed out loud during a bickering scene.

By page thirty, they were all leaning in a little closer.

They broke for coffee halfway through.

Y/N stood in the corner of the room, quietly sipping a too-hot green tea and listening to the murmur of conversations happening around her—crew members catching up, producers on quick phone calls, someone from casting laughing softly near the door. She felt out of place for exactly forty seconds before Harry walked over.

“How’s it feeling so far?” he asked, nodding toward the table.

“Honestly?” she said. “Like I’m still dreaming it a little.”

He smiled at that. “I know what you mean.”

There was a pause.

“You’re really good,” he said. “You’ve got this way of landing emotion without forcing it. It makes the scenes feel… like real moments. Not written ones.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Was that feedback or a compliment?”

He shrugged. “Both, I think.”

She laughed, and he smiled wider.

The second half of the read went even smoother. Their final scene of the day—the one where Ivy and Theo slow dance under string lights in the middle of an accidental town party—ended with a pause so soft, no one moved for a second afterward. Not even Elaine.

When she finally looked up from her script, the director just gave her a small, meaningful nod.

The whole room felt different after that.

She didn’t say anything on the way out. Didn’t want to break the stillness. But as she stepped into the hallway, script tucked under her arm and nerves finally quieted, Harry caught up with her and said simply:

“See you on set.”

And she believed it. Not just that she’d see him—but that this story, this world, this version of herself she was stepping into… it was real now.

And it was only just beginning.

[babykittenteach]

I'm never going to fault someone bringing up dicks in Ed's orifices. This is another good and complicated topic. For illustration, story time? A couple years ago, I made a fandom predictor in a google sheet. For fun. I make spreadsheets of things for fun. I have been doing fandom since I was a preteen, it's been a couple decades since then, and you notice trends. The predictor had Character A, Character B, and you filled in stuff like who was taller, who was older, who was stronger, who was more booksmart, who wore darker or lighter clothing, etc. At the end it predicted which one the fandom was going to declare The Bottom with degrees of certainty like "probably" or "definitely", etc. I ran it through some friends and we checked the results against ao3 for a bunch of fandoms. It got it right for most things, except iirc Disco Elysium? Not my fandom, I can't comment, but that was fun. Fandom has habits. And those habits come in a suite of things, where no one thing has to be true all the time but probably several others are. The associations we make about gender roles, about sexual preferences, about sexual roles, about race, about disability are formed by the societies we grew up in and the cultures and subcultures we live in, and we carry them through the world like this set of filters we pull out to look at things. The human brain likes shorthand because it speeds things up and frees cognitive capacity. No one is bad or wrong or guilty for having a brain that instinctively does this because that's how it's supposed to work. But it strips nuance and when it comes to the shorthand you learn from your society, it comes with a whole lotta baggage about marginalized people Women are dumb and passive, black and brown people are aggressors, disabled people don't deserves agency, etc. Tropes and assumptions whose function isn't understanding but diminishing the respect and social power people are given. Sometimes it's even about something you are, and you have learned to, like I reference in another reply, minimize yourself. You have internalized the shorthand. When it comes to fandom's associations, you probably know the general shape of it. Femme = bottom = weak = weepy = passive = incompetent and so on. Maybe one or two things aren't true at any given time, but probably more are than aren't. Like I said, google sheets predictor.

But, that's describing a trend. Trends are not the fault of one specific person, and moreover, fandom's full of both weirdos and nerds. People who might not have taken that socialization exactly the same, people who have innate quirks and preferences that color their associations, or people who actually are in some process of looking at and dismantling their associations. It's really hard to know off a single data point around here if, to use the plushie example, any given person who gives Ed a plushie is also imbuing him with the bog standard cloud of associations that are the overall trend but may not be this one person's thing.

So people can argue about plushies and that plushie carries with it both their own associations, and what they assume other people associate with it. People can argue about babygirling and it's really about the suite of things they've brought to it and have experienced other people bringing to it.

Best I got on combating this is you should try to be specific and narrow about what you're talking about and do your best to, in good faith, figure out if you and who you're disagreeing with are working on the same assumptions.

Probably. Lol, idk, that sounds like something wise, but I do sometimes just block people off those assumptions instead of bothering to figure out if they've Done [X] to Ed because they're treating him like a helpless dumb caveman or Done [Y] to Stede because they're slotting him into weepy nerdy forever bottom, etc etc. both for things I just don't like on taste or things I find insulting. You can just avoid digging into shit a lot of time as long as you're not going to then argue with people in public without trying to understand them or explain your position.

Not in response to any one specific take, but how much of the grey area for people in the back and forth about the ethics of babygirling is due in part to the conflation of cuteness and incompetence? The girls and the gays and especially the bottoms can't math can't drive need jars opened etc etc etc type humor that I would say is rampant on tumblr and tiktok, because it is, if that didn't obfuscate that it's an old trope across like all of society.

Because there's a lot of other sources of cuteness, most of which aren't demeaning --personally I'm a fan, one will note, of dresses and plushies and sparkly eyes, etc.-- but there's a lot of internet culture built up around treating helplessness as charming. And perhaps on this specific part of the internet, there's a somewhat high rate of neurodivergent people who are invested in various inabilities being treated as lovable.

Stick that in a blender with race and you can have at the exact same time both the legacy of black and brown people not being allowed the affection of being seen as cute/pretty and the legacy of black and brown people being seen as incapable. Add in a general lack of specificity, and while we're at it, some people who just don't seem to like certain tropes because it's just not their thing holding grudges and some other people defensive because it is their thing, and honestly, any time I stick my eyeballs back on tumblr it doesn't seem like anything like actual synthesis is happening.

Idk, but this late night post is not actually in defense of or accusatory towards any Thing Someone Did so much as general meta musing about how people talk about things.

[luvseraphh]

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

▹ synopsis: you have a bit of a crush on your new psychology professor, and you have to find out where it's going to go

▹ content warnings: fem!reader, fluff, suggestive but nothing explicit happens, drabble, age gap (both are adults)

▹ pairing: shinso x reader

▹ side note: based off of a dream that I had, there will most likely be a part two

you sat in the middle of your lecture hall, feet kicking back and forth as you looked down at your phone. you scrolled through the various tiktoks on your for you page, ranging from boring to rage bait to amusing.

you hear the clearing of the throat from who you assumed to be the professor and you slowly put down your device and looked towards the front. you finally got a look at your teacher and your breath hitched at the sight of his messy hair and purple stubble. he had dark eyebags under his tired looking eyes and his black outfit fitted him perfectly. he was certainly a pleasant sight.

when he finally spoke up and started the lesson, his voice certainly didn't help your case. his voice was deep and gruff, the melodic sound music to your ears. it was going to be hard to pay attention to what he was actually trying to teach you and not just how bad you wanted to get him into bed.

the next day you have his class, you make it a point to wear a cute outfit to class. you spent longer modeling clothing than you did studying introduction to psychology and reading your text book. you also spent a great portion of the morning making sure you had on cute makeup and had put your hair in a seductive hairstyle. you were trying anything and everything to get a chance with professor shinso.

you couldn't help but feel your heart flutter when you saw his eyes graze across your appearance, subtly looking you up and down amidst his teaching. you bit your lip and smiled softly, struggling to hide how much you wanted nothing more than to giggle and skip around like a lovesick teenager.

finally, one day you decide you want to make your move. you had just gotten back from hanging out and shopping with friends and already had on a nice outfit and some decent makeup, and your hot professor's office was open.

you make your way across the campus and towards the psychology building, where you found your professor's office. you spent a moment outside smoothing out your hair and clothing and making sure your lip gloss wasn't smeared before entering.

"professor shinso?" you said, walking into the room. your alluring instructor looked up from the computer he was typing away on, his jaw clenching slightly when he looked at you.

"come in," he said with a soft sigh, trying to hide the way he was eyeing your figure.

you hadn't thought this far, you had no clue what you were going to say to him now. you just sat down on the other side of his desk, awkwardly looking around the barely decorated office.

"what's the craziest thing that's ever happened to you when teaching?" you ask, trying to force yourself to make some kind of conversation with him. as much as you wanted to, you hadn't just come in here to gawk at the man.

"is that what you came in here to ask me?" he retorted with a soft laugh, a lazy grin gracing his face.

"would you ever date a student?" you blurt out, your face immediately turning a shameful shade of red. it should be made the pantone color of the year, really.

"I mean, there's nothing wrong with two adults engaging in a consensual relationship," he responded calmly, fidgeting with a pen on his desk.

"so is that a yes?" you hopefully ask, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you stared at him in awe.

"next time you come in here actually make a move instead of gawking like a school girl," he mocked placidly, turning back to his computer as you scampered back out.

Taglist - @justmylvr @lwcedribbons @im0nsaturn @dvartefox @failurewater @f0reverfaded @t0asty1 @iv-vee @mp3nai @straows @grenadehearts @hecate-frenchfries

ⓒ luvseraph 5/5/25

[halexxsam]

Mushy May: Day 14 - Arts & Crafts

I can't believe we are halfway done, thats crazy !! as always, thanks to @forlorn-crows for mushy may! Calendar here. Divider from @/wrathofrats.

words: 602

characters: perpetua/ghouls

Keeping the ghouls occupied on tour proved to be hard for Perpetua. After a few days of constant attention, being used as a pillow, and having his ear talked off, he knew he had to figure out something to calm down the pack. 

He had one of the drivers go to a local craft store, picking up coloring books, paints, clay, and even small wooden figures. He hid them in a closet, waiting until after the ritual tonight to show the ghouls. They had over a day's drive until the next tour stop, and he knew the ghouls would be just itching to do something during that time. 

Crowding back onto the bus hours later, Perpetua quickly collapsed onto one of the loveseats in the back, closing his eyes. The showers at the venue were terrible, so he still felt hot and gross, even forgoing washing his hair. Unfortunately, they weren’t stopping tonight, so he would have to build up the strength to shower on the bus. 

His peace was quickly disturbed by Rain, who sat down next to him and planted his legs over his lap. “Hi Papa,” Rain bounded out, causing Papa to grimace at his voice. God, his head hurt. He smiled though, still so much love for his ghoul. 

“Hiya, Pet.” He murmured, one hand coming up to rub the water ghouls leg. “You did good tonight.” 

Rain just chuffed, leaning in closer. Swiss cast a look, finding the two on the seat, and decided he also wanted in on the action. He walked over, swaying his hips. 

“Hi, Papa,” He purred out, eyeing the man up and down like dessert.

Papa smiled, catching onto what his ghoul was looking at him for. He shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m really tired, and I still have to shower.” 

Swiss pouted, hands on his hips. “Could shower with you.” 

“Both of us would not fit in there.” 

Swiss just sighed. “Alright, alright.” He said, sitting down on the couch and spreading out like a starfish, staring aimlessly at the bus ceiling. “I just feel so amped up afterwards, kinda wish we had something to do.” 

Papa sat up at that, almost forgetting the surprise he had. “Actually, I’ve got something. All of you can do it if you want.” 

At that, all the ghouls turned to him, eyebrows raised in question. They watched as he made his way to his personal cabinet, pulling out three big bags. “Have you ever done arts and crafts?”

The ghouls shook their heads, staring intently as they watched him take everything out of the bags. 

“I figured as much, so I got some things picked up. We have coloring books, markers, different kinds of paints, wooden pieces, and clay. You can do whatever you’d like with it,” He said, pausing to eye Dewdrop and Swiss, “So long as you use it for its intended purposes.” 

The ghouls nodded, quickly making their way to the table. Rain immediately grabbed one of the coloring books, smiling as he flipped through the pages. Mountain chose to paint a wooden bird house, wanting to hang it on the outside of the tour bus to see if they might get any little visitors. Cirrus and Aurora picked out some paints and canvases, pulling their hair up and getting to work. Surprisingly, Dew and Swiss both chose to play with the clay. He had successfully entertained all the ghouls that were not dead asleep in the bunks. 

“Alright, you guys have fun. I am going to shower.” He said, pulling a towel over his shoulder. 

[horrorenjoyer159]

this was originally going to be a list of headcanons but writing for a jock is actually hard. so, i decided to write a little backstory and i think i got a little carried away so now i guess its a mix of headcanons and a drabble or something????? idk i'm not that great with fanfic lingo. sorry

also!!!! like the eddie one, i didn't specify a time for this. again i was thinking the eighties when i wrote this bc i'm into that decade but you can read this with whatever time you're more comfortable with lol. anyway, enjoy

you’re steve’s girlfriend. who would’ve thought? definitely neither of the two of you. the jock and the weird girl? an unlikely couple. fortunately, after high school, steve’s friend group broadened. obviously, he befriended eddie – and in extension, also befriended the members of corroded coffin. the band is actually how the two of you met.

the two of you had met at a show at the hideout. you had been about three people away from each other when you caught his eye. you were banging your head to nearly every song and he’d grow increasingly concerned for your neck and head. at some point when you stopped, he noticed you wearing an animal bone for an earring. he was immediately intrigued. after the show, he tried to find you but had no luck in doing so. so, he met up with the band backstage. that’s when eddie introduced the two of you.

after that, you two were pretty much inseparable.

though, it must be said that your relationship was pretty awkward at first. when he visited your house for the first time, he noticed your collection of animal bones carefully placed around various rooms, reminding him of the earring you wore the night you two met. he uncomfortably asked about them and you noticed how uneasy he was acting so you gently explained your fascination with death and how you thought animal bones were beautiful and that’s why you had them displayed around your home.

you’d go on dates to antique stores and he’d constantly ask why you wanted to buy and collect old things when you could just get it all brand new. said it all looked nicer too. and you had to explain that you wanted the things in your home to have history. And character. and you liked the look of older things anyway.

about a year into your relationship, you asked for a vile of his blood and you swore you saw him shiver at your question. and of course, he asked why you wanted it. you told him that you wanted to make it a necklace so you could keep a part of him with you whenever you weren’t together. and with steve being such a romantic, his heart melted and he agreed.

whenever you two would go thrift shopping, he’d try helping you pick out clothes to buy. with the two of you having vastly different tastes in almost everything, it was a little difficult. but you appreciated the gesture anyway.

sometimes, things went well and he’d find something that fit with everything else you wore, though sometimes the colors weren’t always right. so, the two of you would go home and dye said clothes either black or red or purple – which he says he likes best on you.

[strangepetscomicbooksbat]

Chapter Update

Hunger is So Heavy by Mau_Iren on ao3 Chapter 18: Hellish Shopping Trip Chapter under the cut for those who don't use AO3, link above for those who do. Word Count: 2954

After the eventful texts early in the morning, Madison decided to take up their favorite tool in their toolbox. Avoidance. They ate their breakfast, had like.. half a pancake. Which is more pancake than they usually stomach, so they were pretty happy with it. And they took their medication. That they did not ask their Psychiatrist about, and just split the pill in half and prayed. There were plenty of things to do today that didn’t involve thinking about Tom and Alex, and how those two were apparently in the know about stuff that they weren’t. That Alex has been in regular communication with Tom, who was the first to leave, but not with Madison. Not like Madison missed him or anything, they were just his baby sister that he used to spend every day with. They aren’t upset. They aren’t upset at all. 

Eurylochus seemed concerned. He really shouldn’t be, they’re gonna be so productive today. There’s plenty of stuff that needs doing. They could get groceries, they could do laundry, they could maybe even change the sheets on their bed. It’s gonna be summer soon, maybe they need to change the bedsheets to a more summer-y color. When they went back upstairs after breakfast, they couldn’t help but glare at the words on their phone. “Since when did you have a roommate?” 

The question is giving them pause. Since.. a while ago, really. Maybe he would know that if he visited more often. The question is reasonable, considering the fact that this is an owned house with no mortgage, and Madison doesn’t actually have that many friends that they would be likely to live with. But still. Something ugly curled in their chest when they texted back, “I’ve had a roommate for a while now.” After some thinking, they answer his other questions, “I guess I was. I’m trying not to text him as much though, since he clearly doesn’t feel like talking to me.” 

That felt mean. They didn’t know if they could delete it though. Probably not. Madison tried to shimmy into one of their favorite pairs of cargo pants. It was just their luck that they noticed a hole. In a very inconvenient place. It kind of made them feel like crying. They just want to wear their stupid pants and put on a shirt that probably needs to be washed, and they can’t put on a sweater because it’s getting too hot. Their eye-watering frustration was once again interrupted by Eurylochus kneeling next to the bed, already dressed in that green flowy dress he likes. He looked imploringly at them and asked, “do you want help?” His eyes are pretty. Have they ever noticed how pretty his eyes are? They need to tell him how pretty they are, they’re nice eyes. Not like, perfectly symmetrical, but the color is really cool. “..yeah, I’d like help please.” 

Eurylochus was just.. a godsend. Madison was taking deep breaths, trying desperately not to cry as he helped them out of the torn cargo pants. It was sometimes hard getting changed sitting down. They never really realized how easy it could be if they had help. She isn’t sure why this is bothering her so much today. It’s literally just ripped pants. Their activity of distraction for the day has literally fallen right into her lap. They need new pants, they can go take an uber or something to the mall and buy pants. That’s great. They can take an uber, and when they get there, they could get agua frescas again, like when Eurylochus first got here.

And he knows fruit names now! They could take him to get agua frescas, and he could order this time! That could be really exciting. First time ordering food in modern English. That feels like something they could celebrate, too. 

Madison was so consumed in her own thoughts, she barely noticed Eurylochus taking a different set of softer green pants out of their dresser. He knelt down again at the side of the bed, rolling the pant legs up until they could just slip their feet through a simple ring of fabric, which then could glide up their legs. At least, until they got to their hips, where they could either have to awkwardly shimmy or eventually stand. 

She opted to stand, putting both her hands on his shoulders for balance. They shouldn’t have abandoned their cane earlier this morning; now their joints ache. Their phone dings. “Who is it? A girl from school? Or that Rebecca girl?” Once again, their irritation wells. Oh yeah, that Rebecca girl, their best friend.. when they were eight. They haven’t really talked to Rebecca since the woman broke up with her over text for not wanting to go out on dates during a literal pandemic, as an immunocompromised person. Breakup mid-virtual date planning. How does an asexual manage to keep dating people who want her for her body? Their luck is astonishing. “Hey, do you want to go to the mall? Since these tore,” they hold up their sad, hole-y cargo pants, “I was thinking we could go replace these? Maybe we could get drinks again too. You could try ordering your own this time and everything.” Eurylochus looks like he wants to push the topic, but he doesn’t. He just nods his head and agrees, “sounds nice. I’ll put on my shoes.” Madison almost feels guilty for their immediate reaction, which is to think, Holy Shit, that was a good sentence. They briefly wonder if he is even gonna need them for much longer. They very pointedly ignore the way that the thought unsettles them.

While Eurylochus walks across the hall to his own room, they type out a response to Tom. “I’m not really friends with Rebecca anymore. The breakup made things awkward. And I got covid after she tricked me into going to a megachurch with her.”

The text back was almost instant. “I’m sorry, did you just say you got COVID? Are you okay??” It kind of made them laugh. “Uh, yeah. I got covid two years ago dude. I’m literally fine, I didn’t even lose my sense of smell. I was just tired all the time for a bit. But the covid test was definitely positive.” They still kind of can’t believe that happened. But hey, that’s what you get for trying to stay friends with your ex, huh? Their smile dropped again when Tom wasn’t completely distracted by their clearly superior storytelling skills. “If not Rebecca, who are you rooming with?” It was cute the first time he asked. But now they were getting annoyed. “A guy I know. He’s really nice and makes good breakfast. Why do you suddenly care?”

Now they know that one was mean. They said that to try and hurt him on purpose. But never once in their life have they proofread or second thought a text, and they won’t be starting now. Especially not when Eurylochus walks back into their bedroom with his shoes on, and they remember that they probably should have put theirs on too. She doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to take off yesterday and last night’s socks that she slept in to put on fresh socks. But also.. What about when they try on pants? No stinky socks in the fitting rooms. So with a groan that stays completely on the inside, they take off their kinda dirty socks in favor of fresh white ones. 

Putting on their sneakers made them want to cry. Again. Their sneakers were supposed to be slip-ons, but they ended up just crumpling under their heel most days, and they just couldn’t slip their foot in, so they just end up tying their shoelaces anyway, and it’s so dumb. It’s so dumb.

Getting to the mall didn’t help as much as they wanted it to. Eurylochus had their phone in his hands, because he was watching Spinch over the nanny cam. Which was objectively hilarious, but Madison was on a mission. New pants, shoes that don’t suck. Preferably velcro. They don’t care how childish velco might make them look, they just want to wear shoes that don’t make them spiral. 

They feel nauseous, which is kind of putting a dark cloud over the whole trip to the mall. She is willing to bet it’s the medication’s fault. They should have just made that stupid appointment to ask about changing medications, but now they’re just gonna be vaguely nauseous for the rest of the day. Lovely. 

The first stop is shoes. They can do shoes. Shoes are easy. The mall is a maze of escalators, and women with double-wide strollers that should really look into a sleeker model. Maybe those kinds that stack the kids on top of each other. Their mom used to just have their dad pull them around in a little wagon, and they remember loving it. 

This mall in particular has a lot of shoe stores with big fancy shoes. Heels that make Madison almost green with envy, because they are so pretty, but they can just imagine the ways they would manage to twist their ankles in them. But there is at least one store that is filled with sneakers. It’s the same place that also had comfy sandals for Eurylochus the first time they brought him here. “Mind holding my bag?” they’d ask while sitting on one of the little benches to try on a pair of blue velcro sneakers. 

Eurylochus, like the great guy he is, held their bag. And he also made suggestions, “I think.. those are tight.” He was right. But they weren’t sure how he could tell from just looking. But they nodded their head regardless. “Yeah, I think I need just a half-size up.” Their estimate was pretty much right. Going from a size 7 to a size 7½  pretty much made all the difference. “Hey, since these fit, do you think I should get them in just blue, or in other colors?” 

Eurylochus holds up the box, inspecting the label. “This is the size, yes?” he asked while pointing at the 7½ in bold. Upon their little hum of confirmation, he inspected the labels of the same shoe but in pink, offering them the box to try these as well. “Test.

It was smart to give them a second test. But they fit as expected, and Madison felt slightly less crappy. Pink was a good choice, they really like pink. It’s a cute color, they really need to buy more of it. 

Pants shopping is hell, actually. 

Not to be dramatic, but cargo pants come in such a variety of fabrics. Some fabrics? Soft, lovely to touch. But they sag too much when they try to put their phone in their pocket. No use for cargo pants if the pockets, the main focus, are useless. Other fabrics are very structurally stable, but so rough on their skin. They tried to take a singular step with this one pair, and they just felt the fabric rub against their inner thighs with every movement. 

They are holding onto their mental stability by a thread. And not a fun, stable, six-stranded embroidery thread. A pathetic singular thread of a spider web that is about to get run through by a toddler with absolutely no fear of insects, type of thread. They bought a singular pair of pants. Not cargo pants, but vaguely acceptable sweatpants. Because they simply would not be trying anything else on, and they wanted an adjustable waist. After the disastrous attempt at buying pants, they just wanted to get their fun little fruity drinks. Madison is ready to buy a fruity little drink and go the fuck home. They aren’t even worried about looking childish in public. They are holding their favorite stuffed bunny that was previously in their bag, because if they don’t hold something, they might lose their mind. 

The mall feels especially loud, and they almost tripped on the way down the escalator, and Eurylochus had to catch them by the elbow and it was embarrassing, and there is this crying fucking baby that they would like better if it was quiet. Their sleeves are touching their arms, and it’s bad. Their sock folded in a weird way inside their shoe. They should have worn contacts, because their headphones are squeezing their glasses so their glasses won’t rest on their nose and are actually slightly in the air, ever so slightly askance, and it is driving them insane, They were almost half way to the agua fresca stand when Madison gave the fuck up. It was too much. They were too nauseous, and everything was too loud, and too many things were touching them. Madison could feel Eurylochus’s confusion as they sat down on the carpeted floor, next to the walkway railing. But they really just needed a moment. Several moments. Once again, they are crying today. It starts with sniffles, then progresses to ugly sobs and hiccups. Their mother used to hate it when they cried. There was never a good enough reason for tears. Years later, and they can’t stop the corners of their mouth from straining tight into a weird not-smile when they cry. It hurts. 

Eurylochus kneels. It feels like he’s doing a lot of kneeling down today. That’s their fault. They want things to stop being their fault. 

Eurylochus runs a hand through his.. host/charge’s hair, and he tenderly cups their cheeks once more. “Are you okay?” He doesn’t get a verbal answer. Or any answer beyond Madison shaking her head. But that’s okay. He doesn’t need a verbal answer, as long as she isn’t completely unresponsive. It’s an awkward first few moments, waiting to see if she would stand on her own. But she didn’t. 

“I just wanna get our stupid drinks and go home,” her voice cracked, and so did his heart. He carefully arranges the bag with her purchases over his shoulder, folding her cane to fit into one of the totes, and gently tucks his hands under her legs and back. When he stands, he arranges Madison onto one arm. He feels her tuck her face into his neck and shoulder, and he asks again, “are you okay?” She nodded her head, which he could feel against his skin. This was fine. He could carry her. He could carry her for as long as she wanted. Eurylochus started to walk towards the drink stand again, not wanting to deny the tearful woman half of her main request. The hustle and bustle of the line was loud, and he watches her clamp one hand over the ‘headphones’ that cover her ears. Once at the front of the line, Madison passed him the green ‘cash’ that they often use for purchases while he did his best to request drinks for the both of them. “One watermelon, and one.. mango,” he settled on, only faltering when asked if he wanted medium or large. He glanced down at his upset friend and answered, “Large.” The wait for their drinks to be served wasn't awkward. At least, not to him. Madison wasn’t exactly calming down yet, but she wasn’t openly sobbing. He can only imagine that the lack of open sobbing is a good sign. When their drinks were handed to them, Madison took the watermelon cup. 

The drive back to the house was.. Interesting. Madison was quieter than Eurylochus had ever known her to be. He noticed her gnawing on the straw of her drink as she quietly sipped from it, and she occupied herself with watching Odysseus on her phone. Getting out of the car was another matter entirely. Eurylochus helped her unbuckle herself from the safety bindings and carefully juggled holding her, the bags, and their drinks. Madison very helpfully unlocked the door for him. 

Their keychain jingled as the lock turned, and Odysseus was immediately upon them as the door opened. Eurylochus carefully sidestepped the small beast to set his now-finished drink down on the small table situated near the entryway and closed the door behind him. He isn’t sure what to do with this armful of teary-eyed Madison. But he has a theory. 

Madison felt really silly. With their silicone chewelry in their mouth, headphones over their ears, and bunny in their arms, and it still wasn’t enough? Somehow? They really only half registered Eurylochus setting them down on the couch, draping a soft throw blanket over them. The gesture was really appreciated.. because yeah, they are a big fan of soft things. A post-breakdown nap on the couch is always nice. 

But what really made them tear up anew was watching Eurylochus fumble with the TV for a few seconds, first turning on the screen, and then the DVD player. He messed with the remote for a few moments, and then the lyrics to the Aristocats opening song started to filter through the living room. Eurylochus settled back on the couch with them, hefting Madison up into his lap, and then Odysseus into their lap. And it was.. nice. Odysseus protested at first, then seemed to settle when he realized both of his humans were, in fact, also on the couch, and that he did want to be included. 

This was just.. a level of care that Madison found almost overwhelming. Her phone chimed, and she didn’t pick it up. Instead, they toss it to the other side of the couch. Unburdened with any need to respond to Tom right that second, they rest their head against Eurylochus and mumble a small, “thank you..” 

Eurylochus hums, gently rearranging Madison into a slightly more comfortable position before answering, “Any time, my friend.” 

[nullandvalid]

GUH, KILLER SANS.

Killer sans...

I have had to inform people that Killer was recoded to accept The Players deal his WHOLE THING. (Fun thing, in the original comic, Sans actually tells them to kys and that's what convinces them to recode him, little silly fact)

People tend to take all of Killer's interesting cannon traits and give them to other people, and then characterize him like he's just another lust. (Or very very childish).

Killer is the only one who works with Nightmare?

Do people know how his stages work? His whole thing? Is this common knowledge?

Did you know Killer hallucinates everyone from his timeline?

Did you know he was so disgusted with himself after being forced to kill Papyrus that he vomits?

Did you know that the popular Dust tale scene where Papyrus tells him he can kill him if it would make him happy is a Something new scene?

Also Killer's timeline is called Something new not Killertale-

Killer is also technically not a monster or human, I've never once seen that discussed

He also wouldn't eat Chocolate, he would dislike it, along with any food that would remind him of his past.

I could yap forever, but a lot of what I'm yapping about can be found in his wiki, it's not even too hard to research.. it upsets me a lot that no one gives Killer the time of day, he's like a more in character Dust

This is probably the most important note of this:

Killer's story is about struggling with a loss of autonomy. His story is about loosing control of your life, your fate, even your body. Sexualizing him feels like a spit in the face and is only justified by 2 comics I believe?

(One ask confirming he's a romantic with a flower in his mouth, and one joke comic where he's "flirting" with Nightmare.)

These are jokes, one-off gags, he has so much more to offer.

YOU WILL BE HAPPY TO KNOW THOUGH

He does have a close relationship with Color and seems to like Dream, and the cats thing is entirely canon. (Sort of, he had two pet cats and the creator said they think it's likely in agreeance with the fandoms conclusion)

Please Utmv fandom I beg

(He also very canonically smells nice please stop saying he smells bad it's kind of ableist (entirely on accident) and represents a misunderstanding of his character)

I think the undertale fandom has a problem {especially in the past} with spreading misinformation because no one actually chose to read the canon material and just keep saying headcanons as canon

[mmiirage]

a VERY belated drawing for the 10th anniversary of over the garden wall 🍂

[your-local-uwu-artist]

IS THAT THE AUTHOR OF WAX AND WANE??!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

HI HELLO YES UM HI HEELLO WOW WOWZIES UM HEELLO HI YES HI HELLO UM WOW HOLY SHIT GAHHHHHH

you know that bit that happens in tv where someone meets a celeb says 'excuse me' goes ot the other room to squeal then comes back with a straight face? yeah well thats happenign to me right now oh wow

NINJAGO DOODLE DUMP

had to get some drawings off my chest before starting season 7 (on ep 5 btw)

[mumblesplash]

as if he needed more ways to be everywhere at once